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23274	----	Lost in the Forest, by R.M. Ballantyne. ________________________________________________________________________ In this book we meet once again "Wandering Will", one of Ballantyne's perpetual heroes. They are on a touristic cruise in the eastern Pacific, when the second mate, Griffin, eggs on some of the seamen to mutiny and take over the ship. The captain and some of the senior officers are cast off in a ship's dinghy to survive however they can, while Will and others of his party are retained on board the "Rover", because of their medical knowledge, which Griffin believes might one day come in useful. They visit a small island to restock the larder, and then head for the mainland of South America. On arriving a party goes ashore, including our heroes, landing through heavy surf. Everyone made it to shore, but Griffin touches ground on quicksand, and suddenly disappears from sight, never to be seen again. At this point our heroes manage to give the mutineers the slip, and disappear into the forest. Unfortunately they become disorientated, so their original plan of regaining the coast and then travelling northward along it until they should come to some major settlement had to be abandoned. Hence the title of the book. Thereafter we are given an interesting tour of the Andes, very well written and entertaining. Eventually our heroes find a way to where they can take ship for England. ________________________________________________________________________ LOST IN THE FOREST, BY R.M. BALLANTYNE. CHAPTER ONE. AT SEA--AN ALARMING CRY AND A RESCUE. "At sea once more!" said Will Osten in a meditative mood. Our hero made this remark one night to himself, which was overheard and replied to by his friend, Captain Dall, in a manner that surprised him. "It's my opinion, doctor," said the captain in a low voice, "that this is the last time you or I will ever be at sea, or anywhere else, if our skipper don't look better after his men, for a more rascally crew I never set eyes on, and, from a word or two I have heard dropped now and then, I feel sure some mischief is in the wind. Come aft with me to a place where we ain't so likely to be overheard by eavesdroppers, and I'll tell you all about it." Will Osten was so much astonished at his friend's remark, that he followed him to the after part of the ship without uttering a word, and there sat down on the taffrail to listen to what he had to communicate. There was no moon in the clear sky, and the hosts of stars that studded the dark vault overhead did not shed any appreciable light on the waters of the Pacific, on which the _Rover_ floated almost motionless. That beautiful and mysterious phosphorescence which sometimes illumines the sea was gleaming in vivid flashes in the vessel's wake, and a glowing trail of it appeared to follow the rudder like a serpent of lambent fire. It was one of those calm, peaceful nights in which God seems to draw nearer than usual to the souls of His creatures. The only sounds that broke the profound stillness were the pattering of reef-points on the sails as the vessel rose and sank gently on the oily swell; the measured tread of the officer of the watch, and the humming of the man at the wheel, as he stood idly at his post, for the vessel had scarcely steering-way. "Doctor," said Captain Dall in a low whisper, taking Will Osten by the button-hole and bending forward until his eyes were close to those of his young friend, "I little thought when I set sail from England that, in a few weeks after, my good ship the _Foam_ would come a wreck an' sink to the bottom of the Pacific before my eyes. Still less did I think that I should be cast on a coral island, have to fight like a naked savage, and be saved at last by missionaries from being roasted and eaten. Yet all this has happened within a few months." At any other time Will Osten would have smiled at the solemn manner in which this was said, but there was something in the hour, and also in the tone of his friend's voice, which tended to repress levity and raise a feeling of anxiety in his mind. "Well, captain," he said, "what has this to do with the present evil that you seem to apprehend?" "To do with it, lad? nothing--'xcept that it reminds me that we little know what is in store for us. Here are we becalmed--three day's sail from the coral island, where the niggers were so near converting us into cooked victuals, and I wouldn't at this minute give twopence in security for the life of any one on board the _Rover_." "Why, what mean you?" asked Will, with increasing perplexity. "Some of the crew are bad enough, no doubt, but many of them are evidently good men--what is it that you fear?" "Fear! why, there's everything to fear," said the captain in a suppressed but excited whisper, drawing still closer to his friend. "I've often sailed in these seas, and I know that while some of the traders sailing between these islands and South America and other parts are decentish enough, others are as great cut-throats as ever deserved to swing at the yard-arm. But that's not the point. I have overheard, of late, some of the rascals plotting to murder the officers and take this ship. But I cannot point 'em out, for though I heard their voices I couldn't see their faces. I think I know who they are, but could not swear to 'em, and it would be worse than useless to denounce them till we have some evidence to go on. I therefore want you to help me with your advice and assistance, so that we may get up a counterplot to spoil their fun--for I'm quite certain that if we fail to--hark! what's that?" Will did not answer, but both listened intently to the sound which had interrupted Captain Dall's discourse. It was evident that the officer and men of the watch had also heard it, for they, too, had ceased to walk to and fro, and their figures could be dimly seen in a listening attitude at the gangway. For several minutes they listened without hearing anything--then a hoarse, guttural shout broke the stillness of the night for a few seconds and died away. The men looked at each other, and some of the more superstitious among them grew pale. Again the cry was repeated, somewhat nearer, and again all was still. Some of the oldest hands in the watch stood transfixed and powerless with terror. They would have faced death in any form manfully, but this mysterious sound unnerved them! The officer of the watch went down to report it to Captain Blathers, who immediately came on deck. Just as he appeared, the cry was repeated and a slight splash was heard. "Some one in distress," cried Captain Blathers promptly; "a crew for the starboard quarter-boat to pick him up. Stand by to lower. Be smart, lads!" These words, heartily uttered, put superstitious fears to flight at once. The men threw off their jackets; the boat was lowered, and in a few minutes was pulling about and searching in all directions. Our hero was one of the first to leap into her, and he pulled the bow oar. For some time they rowed about in vain. The night was intensely dark, and the cry was not repeated, so that they had nothing to guide them in their movements. A lantern was fixed in the ship half way up the mizzen rigging, but the lantern in the boat was concealed until the moment when it should be required, because it is easier for men to distinguish surrounding objects in comparative darkness than when a light is glaring near them. Presently Will Osten saw a dark object like a small canoe right ahead of the boat. "Back water--all!" he shouted. The men obeyed, but it was too late; the boat struck the object, and overturned it. Will saw something like a human form roll into the water, and heard a gurgling cry. Without a moment's hesitation he leaped overboard, head foremost, and catching hold of the object, brought it to the surface. He remembered at that moment having heard of a fact which is worth stating here. The best way to save a drowning man is to approach him from behind, seize him under the armpits, and, then, getting on your back, draw him partly on to your breast and swim _on your back_ to the shore, or to a place of safety. Thought is quicker than the lightning flash. Will could not, of course, carry out this plan fully, nevertheless the memory of it served him in good stead, for, the instant he caught the drowning man by the hair, he kept him at arm's length, and thus avoided his death-clutch until he could grasp him under the armpits _from behind_, and thus render him powerless. He then rose and drew him gently upon his breast, at the same time striking out with his feet and shouting-- "Bear a hand, lads--I've got him!" A loud "hurrah!" burst from the men in the boat, and was re-echoed vehemently from the ship. They had overshot the spot only by a few yards. Instantly they pulled round: two strokes brought them to the spot where Will was swimming, and in another moment our hero and the rescued man were hauled into the boat. The men gave vent to another loud and prolonged cheer, which was again replied to from the ship. The boat was soon alongside, and the rescued man, who proved to be a man of colour in a very emaciated and exhausted condition, was hoisted on board. His story was soon told. He was not a native of the islands, but had been living on one of them, and had gone off to fish in a canoe, when a gale sprang up and blew him out to sea. Four days and nights had he been exposed to the storm in his frail bark, without food or water, and was on the point of perishing when the ship chanced to pass near him. The utterance of the cry which had attracted attention, was almost the last effort of which he was capable. He spoke a little broken English, having learnt it while serving on board of an English trading vessel. His name, he said, was Bunco, and a fine powerful-looking fellow he was, despite the sad condition to which he had been reduced. His shoulders, and indeed most parts of his body, were blistered by the continual washing of the sea over him, and when he was lifted on board his skin was icy cold. Had he not been a man of iron mould, he must certainly have perished. The poor fellow was at once taken into the cabin and carefully attended to. He was first bathed in fresh water, then rolled in blankets, and a tumbler of hot wine and water administered, which greatly revived him, and soon caused him to fall into a sound sleep. Whether it was that this incident softened the hearts of the seamen for a time, or that their plans were not yet ripe for execution, we cannot tell, but certain it is that nothing whatever occurred to justify Captain Dall's suspicions for several weeks after that. CHAPTER TWO. DESCRIBES A MUTINY, AND SHOWS THAT THE BEST OF FRIENDS MAY PART SOONER THAN THEY EXPECT. "A wilful man will have his way." That this is a true proverb is almost universally admitted; indeed, there is reason to believe that it is equally true of women as of men; nevertheless, Captain Blathers did not believe it although he was himself a living illustration of its truth. He laughed at Captain Dall when that worthy warned him of the mutinous intentions of his crew, and when several weeks had passed away without any signs of disaffection appearing, he rallied him a good deal about what he styled his suspicious disposition, and refused to take any steps to guard against surprise. The consequence was, that when the storm did break, he was utterly unprepared to meet it. Griffin, the second mate, was the leader of the conspiracy, but so ably did he act his villainous part, that no one suspected him. He was a tall, powerful, swarthy man, with a handsome but forbidding countenance. One evening a little before sunset, while the captain was sitting at tea with those who usually messed in the cabin, Griffin looked down the skylight and reported "a sail on the weather bow." The captain immediately rose and went on deck. The moment he appeared he was seized by Griffin. Captain Blathers was an active and powerful man, and very passionate. He clenched his fist and struck the second mate a blow on the chest, which caused him to stagger back, but, before he could repeat it, two sailors seized him from behind and held him fast. The noise of the scuffle at once brought up the first mate, who was followed by Will Osten, Captain Dall, and others, all of whom were seized by the crew and secured as they successively made their appearance. Resistance was of course offered by each, but in vain, for the thing was promptly and thoroughly carried out. Four strong men stood at the head of the companion with ropes ready to secure their prisoners, while the greater part of the crew stood close by, armed with pistols and cutlasses. "It is of no use resisting, Captain Blathers," said Griffin, when the former was pinioned; "you see we are quite prepared, and thoroughly in earnest." The captain looked round, and a glance sufficed to convince him that this was true. Not a friendly eye met his, because those of the crew who were suspected of being favourable to him, or who could not be safely relied on, had been seized by another party of mutineers at the same time that those in the cabin were captured, and among them were three friends of our hero--Mr Cupples the mate, Muggins, and Larry O'Hale, seamen belonging to the lost _Foam_ to which Captain Dall had referred while conversing with Will. For a few seconds Captain Blathers' face blazed with wrath, and he seemed about to make a desperate attempt to break his bonds, but by a strong effort he restrained himself. "What do you intend to do?" he asked at length, in a deep, husky voice. "To take possession of this ship," replied the second mate, with a slightly sarcastic smile. "These men have taken a fancy to lead a free, roving life, and to make me their captain, and I am inclined to fall in with their fancy, and to relieve you of the command." "Scoundrel!" exclaimed the captain, "say rather that you have misled the men, and that--" He checked himself, and then said sternly, "And pray what do you intend to do with _me_?" "I shall allow you a boat and provisions, Captain Blathers, for the use of yourself and your friends, and then bid you farewell. You see we are mercifully inclined, and have no desire to shed your blood. Ho! there-- lower one of the quarter boats." This order was obeyed with promptitude. Some provisions were thrown into the boat, and the captain was cast loose and ordered to get into it. He turned to make a last appeal to the crew, but Griffin presented a pistol at his head and ordered him peremptorily to get into the boat. It is probable that he would have made another effort, had not two of the men forced him over the side. Seeing this, Will Osten was so indignant and so anxious to quit the ship, that he stepped forward with alacrity to follow him. "No, no, my fine young fellow," said Griffin, thrusting him back, "we want your help as a doctor a little longer. It may be that you are not inclined to serve us, but we can find a way of compelling you if you're not. Come, Mr Dall, be good enough to go next." When Captain Dall's hands were loosed, he shook his fist in the second mate's face, and said, "Rascal, you'll swing for this yet; mark my words, you'll swing for it." Having relieved his feelings thus, he went over the side. While this was going on, Larry O'Hale, Muggins, and Mr Cupples, with several others, were brought to the gangway. Griffin addressed these before ordering them into the boat. "My lads," he said, "I have no objection to your remaining aboard, if you choose to take part with us." "I, for one, will have nothing to do with 'e," said Mr Cupples sternly. "Then you may go," said Griffin, with a sneer. Muggins, who, to use one of his own phrases, looked "as sulky as a bear with a broken head," made no reply, but Larry O'Hale exclaimed, "Sure, then, what better can I do than take part with yees? It's a heavenly raigin o' the arth this, an good company. Put me down on the books, Capting Griffin, dear. I'd niver desart ye in your troubles,--be no mains." There was a slight laugh at this, and Larry was graciously cast loose, and permitted to remain. Both Will Osten and Muggins gazed at him, however, in amazement, for they had supposed that their comrade would rather have taken his chance in the captain's boat. Suddenly an intelligent gleam shot athwart the rough visage of Muggins, and he said-- "Of coorse I'll remain too. It would be madness for an old salt like me to go paddlin' about the ocean in a cockleshell of a boat when he has the chance of sailin' in a good ship. Put me down too, capting. I'm game for anything a'most, from pitch an' toss to manslaughter." So Muggins was added to the ship's company, and poor Mr Cupples went over the side with a face almost as long as his thin body, because of what he deemed the depravity and desertion of his old shipmates. Several of the ship's crew, who refused to join, also went into the boat, which was then cast loose, and dropped rapidly astern. The whole of this exciting scene passed so quickly, that it was only when the boat was far away, like a speck on the sea, that Will Osten realised the fact that he had actually said farewell, perhaps for over, to his late comrades. But he had not much time given him for reflection, for the new captain, after changing the course of the ship, and making a few arrangements to suit the altered state of affairs, ordered him to go forward and do duty as a common seaman, telling him that he did not intend to have any land-lubbers or idlers aboard, and that he would be called to do doctor's work when his services should be required. That night our hero contrived to hold a whispering interview, in a dark corner of the forecastle, with his friends Larry O'Hale and Muggins. He found that the former had resolved to join the crew in order to be near himself; that Muggins had joined, because of his desire to share the fortunes of Larry; and that both had made up their minds to effect their escape on the first favourable opportunity. "Now, ye see, boys," said Larry, "this is how it is--" "Don't open your bread-basket hatch so wide," growled Muggins, "else you'll be overheerd--that's wot it is." "This is how it is," repeated Larry, "not bein' fish, nor gulls, nor say sarpints, we haven't the ghost of a chance of gettin' away from this ship till we're close to land, an' even then we wont have much chance if it's suspected that we want to escape. What then?--why, let us from this hour agree to give each other the cowld shoulder, and go at our work as if we liked it." "You're right, Larry," said Will. "If they see us much together, they'll naturally suspect that we are plotting, so--" At this point a voice growled from an adjacent hammock-- "Avast spinnin' yarns there, will 'e!" "Ay, it's that sea-cook, Larry O'Hale," cried Muggins aloud; "he was always over fond o' talking." Larry, who at the first sound had slipped away to his hammock, shouted from under the blankets, "Ye spalpeen, it's no more me than yersilf; sure I'd have been draimin' of ould Ireland if ye--hadn't--(snore) me grandmother--(yawn) or the pig--" A prolonged snore terminated this sentence, and Muggins turned into his hammock, while Will Osten rose, with a quiet laugh, and went on deck. One morning, some weeks after the conversation just related, our hero was leaning over the bulwarks near the fore-chains, watching the play of the clear waves as the ship glided quietly but swiftly through them before a light breeze. Will was in a meditative frame of mind, and had stood there gazing dreamily down for nearly half an hour, when his elbow was touched by the man named Bunco, who had long before recovered from his exposure in the canoe. Will was a little surprised, for he had not had much intercourse with the man, and could not comprehend the confidential and peculiar look and tone, with which he now addressed him. "Mister Os'en," he said, in a low voice, after a few preliminary words, "you be tink of escape?" Will was startled: "Why do you think so?" he asked, in some alarm. "Ha!" said the man, with a broad grin, "me keep eyes in head--me doos-- not in pocket. Ho! ho! Yis, me see an' hear berry well Muggins go too if hims can--and Larry O'Hale, ho yis. Now, me go too!" "You too?" "Yis. You save me life; me know dis here part ob the univarse,--bin bornded an' riz here. Not far off from de land to-day. You let me go too, an' me show you how you kin do--" At this point Bunco was interrupted by a shout of "Land ho!" from the look-out at the masthead. "Where away?" cried Griffin. "On the lee-bow, sir." Instantly all eyes and glasses were turned in the direction indicated, where, in a short time, a blue line, like a low cloud, was faintly seen on the far-off horizon. CHAPTER THREE. DESCRIBES A TREMENDOUS BUT BLOODLESS FIGHT. Proverbial philosophy tells us--and every one must have learned from personal experience--that "there is many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip." Heroes in every rank of life are peculiarly liable to such slips, and _our_ hero was no exception to the rule. Finding that the vessel in which he sailed was now little, if at all, better than a pirate, he had fondly hoped that he should make his escape on the first point of South America at which they touched. Land was at last in sight. Hope was high in the breast of Will Osten, and expressive glances passed between him and his friends in captivity, when, alas! the land turned out to be a small island, so low that they could see right across it, and so scantily covered with vegetation that human beings evidently deemed it unworthy of being possessed. "There's niver a sowl upon it," remarked Larry O'Hale, in a tone of chagrin. "Maybe not," said Griffin, who overheard the observation; "but there's plenty of _bodies_ on it if not souls, and, as we are short of provisions, I intend to lay-to, and give you a chance of seeing them. Get ready to go ashore; I'm not afraid of you _wandering too far_!" Griffin wound up this speech with a low chuckle and a leer, which sent a chill to the heart not only of Will Osten but of Larry and Muggins also, for it convinced them that their new master had guessed their intention, and that he would, of course, take every precaution to prevent its being carried out. After the first depression of spirits, consequent on this discovery, the three friends became more than ever determined to outwit their enemy, and resolved to act, in the meantime, with perfect submission and prompt obedience--as they had hitherto done. Of course, each reserved in his own mind the right of rebellion if Griffin should require them to do any criminal act, and they hoped fervently that they should not fall in with any vessel that might prove a temptation to their new captain. A few minutes after this, the order was given to lower one of the boats, and a crew jumped into her, among whom were Larry and Muggins. Will Osten asked permission to go, and Griffin granted his request with a grin that was the reverse of amiable. "Musha! what sort o' bodies did the capting main?" said Larry, when they had pulled beyond earshot of the ship. "Ha, paddy," replied one of the men, "they're pleasant fat bodies-- amusin' to catch and much thought of by aldermen;--turtles no less." "Ah! then, it's jokin' ye are." "Not I. I never joke." "Turthles is it--green fat an' all?" "Ay, an' shells too." "Sure it's for the coppers they're wanted." "Just so, Larry, an' if you'll ship your oar an jump out wi' the painter, we'll haul the boat up an' show you how to catch 'em." As the sailor spoke, the boat's keel grated on the sand, and the Irishman sprang over the side, followed by his comrades, who regarded the expedition in the light of a "good spree." The party had to wait some time, however, for the anticipated sport. It was near sunset when they landed, but turtles are not always ready to deliver themselves up, even though the honour of being eaten by London aldermen sometimes awaits them! It is usually night before the creatures come out of the sea to enjoy a snooze on the beach. The men did not remain idle, however. They dragged the boat a considerable distance from the water, and then turned it keel up, supporting one gunwale on several forked sticks, so that a convenient shelter was provided. This look-out house was still further improved by having a soft carpet of leaves and grass spread beneath it. When these preparations had been made, those men, who had never seen turtle-turning performed, were instructed in their duties by an experienced hand. The process being simple, the explanation was short and easy. "You see, lads," said the instructor, leaning against the boat and stuffing down the glowing tobacco in his pipe with the point of his (apparently) fireproof little finger--"You see, lads, this is 'ow it is. All that you've got for to do is to keep parfitly still till the turtles comes out o' the sea, d'ye see?--then, as the Dook o' Wellin'ton said at Waterloo--Up boys an' at 'em! W'en, ov coorse, each man fixes his eyes on the turtle nearest him, runs out, ketches him by the rim of his shell an' turns him slap over on his back--d'ye understand?" "Clear as ditch wather," said Larry. "Humph!" said Muggins. "Well, then, boys," continued the old salt with the fireproof little finger, "ye'd better go an' count the sand or the stars (when they comes out), for there won't be nothin' to do for an hour to come." Having delivered himself thus, he refilled his pipe and lay down to enjoy it under the boat, while the others followed his example, or sauntered along the shore, or wandered among the bushes, until the time for action should arrive. Will Osten and his two friends availed themselves of the opportunity to retire and hold an earnest consultation as to their future prospects and plans. As this was the first time they had enjoyed a chance of conversing without the fear of being overheard, they made the most of it, and numerous were the projects which were proposed and rejected in eager earnest tones--at least on the part of Larry and Will. As for Muggins, although always earnest, he was never eager. Tremendous indeed must have been the influence which could rouse him into a state of visible excitement! During the discussion the other two grew so warm that they forgot all about time and turtles, and would certainly have prolonged their talk for another hour had not one of the men appeared, telling them to clap a stopper on their potato-traps and return to the boat, as the sport was going to begin. The moon had risen and commenced her course through a sky which was so clear that the planets shone like resplendent jewels, and the distant stars like diamond dust. Not a breath of air ruffled the surface of the sea; nevertheless, its slumbering energies were indicated by the waves on the outlying coral reef, which, approaching one by one, slowly and solemnly, fell with what can only be called a quiet roar, hissed gently for a moment on the sand, and then passed with a sigh into absolute silence. "Don't it seem as if the sea wor sleepin'," whispered one of the men, while they all lay watching under the boat. "Ay, an' snorin' too," answered another. "Whisht!" exclaimed a third, "if old Neptune hears ye, he'll wake up an' change his tune." "Och, sure he's woke up already," whispered Larry, pointing with great excitement to a dark object which at that moment appeared to emerge from the sea. "Mum's the word, boys," whispered the old salt who had charge of the party; "the critters are comin', an' England expec's every man for to do his dooty, as old Nelson said." In the course of a few minutes several more dark objects emerged from the sea, and waddled with a kind of sigh or low grunt slowly up the beach, where they lay, evidently intending to have a nap! With breathless but eager interest, the sailors lay perfectly still, until fifteen of the dark objects were on the sands, and sufficient time was allowed them to fall into their first nap. Then the word "Turn" was given, and, leaping up, each man rushed swiftly but silently upon his prey! The turtles were pounced upon so suddenly that, almost before they were wide awake, they were caught; a bursting cheer followed, and instantly ten splendid animals were turned over on their backs, in which position, being unable to turn again, they lay flapping their flippers violently. "That's the way to go it," shouted one of the men who, after turning his turtle, dashed after one of the other five which were now hastening back to the sea, with laborious but slow haste. His comrades followed suit instantly with a wild cheer. Now, to the uninitiated, this was the only moment of danger in that bloodless fight. Being aware of his incapacity for swift flight, the turtle, when in the act of running away from danger, makes use of each flipper alternately in dashing the sand to an incredible height behind and around him, to the endangering of the pursuer's eyes, if he be not particularly careful. Sometimes incautious men have their eyes so filled with sand in this way that it almost blinds them for a time, and severe inflammation is occasionally the result. The old salt--Peter Grant by name, but better known among his shipmates as Old Peter--was well aware of this habit of the turtle; but, having a spice of mischief in him, he said nothing about it. The consequences were severe on some of the men, particularly on Muggins. Our sedate friend was the only one who failed to turn a turtle at the first rush. He had tripped over a stone at starting, and when he gathered himself up and ran to the scene of action, the turtles were in full retreat. Burning with indignation at his bad fortune, he resolved to redeem his character; and, with this end in view, made a desperate rush at a particularly large turtle, which appeared almost too fat for its own shell. It chanced that Larry O'Hale, having already turned two, also set his affections on this turtle, and made a rush at it; seeing which Muggins slyly ran behind him, tripped up his heels, and passed on. "Have a care," cried Will Osten, laughing, "he'll bite!" "Bad luck to yez!" shouted Larry, leaping up, and following hard on Muggins' heels. Just then the turtle began to use his flippers in desperation. Sand flew in all directions. The pursuers, nothing daunted, though surprised, partially closed their eyes, bent down their heads, and advanced. Larry opened his mouth to shout--a shower of sand filled it. He opened his eyes in astonishment--another shower shut them both up, causing him to howl while he coughed and spluttered. But Muggins pressed on valorously. One often reads, in the history of war, of brave and reckless heroes who go through "storms of shot and shell" almost scathless, while others are falling like autumn leaves around them. Something similar happened on the present occasion. While Larry and several of the other men were left behind, pitifully and tenderly picking the sand out of their eyes, the bold Muggins--covered with sand from head to foot, but still not mortally wounded--advanced singlehanded against the foe--rushed at the turtle; tripped over it; rose again; quailed for a second before the tremendous fire; burst through it, and, finally, catching the big creature by the rim, turned him on his back, and uttered a roar rather than a cheer of triumph. This was the last capture made that night. Immediately after their victory the men returned to the boat, where they kindled an immense bonfire and prepared to spend the night, leaving the turtles to kick helplessly on their backs till the morning light should enable them to load the boat and return with their prizes to the ship. Meanwhile pipes were loaded and lit, and Doctor Will, as Old Peter called him, looked after the wounded. CHAPTER FOUR. IN WHICH ANOTHER FIGHT IS RECORDED AND AN ESCAPE IS MADE, BUT WHETHER FORTUNATE OR THE REVERSE REMAINS TO BE SEEN. The supply of fresh meat thus secured was very acceptable to the crew of the _Rover_, and their circumstances were further improved by the addition of a number of fresh cocoa-nuts which were collected on the island by Bunco, that individual being the only one on board who could perform, with ease, the difficult feat of climbing the cocoa-nut palms. After a couple of days spent at this island, the _Rover_ weighed anchor and stood away for the coast of South America, which she sighted about two weeks afterwards. Here, one evening, they were becalmed not far from land, and Griffin ordered a boat to be lowered, with a crew to go ashore. The captain had been in low spirits that day, from what cause was not known, and no one ever found out the reason, but certain it is that he was unusually morose and gruff. He was also rather absent, and did not observe the fact that Larry O'Hale, Muggins, and Will Osten were among the crew of the boat. The mate observed it, however, and having a shrewd suspicion of their intentions, ordered them to leave it. "What said you?" asked Griffin of the mate, as he was about to go over the side. "I was about to change some of the crew," he replied confidentially. "It would be as well to keep O'Hale and--" "Oh, never mind," said Griffin roughly, "let 'em go." The mate, of course, stepped back, and Griffin got into the boat, which was soon on its way to the land. On nearing the shore, it was found that a tremendous surf broke upon the beach--owing to its exposure to the long rolling swell of the Pacific. When the boat, which was a small one, entered this surf, it became apparent that the attempt to land was full of danger. Each wave that bore them on its crest for a second, and then left them behind, was so gigantic that nothing but careful steering could save them from turning broadside on, and being rolled over like a cask. Griffin was a skilful steersman, but he evidently was not at that time equal to the occasion. He steered wildly. When they were close to the beach the boat upset. Every man swam towards a place where a small point of land caused a sort of eddy and checked the force of the undertow. They all reached it in a few minutes, with the exception of Griffin, who had found bottom on a sand-bank, and stood, waist deep, laughing, apparently, at the struggles of his comrades. "You'd better come ashore," shouted one of the men. Griffin replied by another laugh, in the midst of which he sank suddenly and disappeared. It might have been a quicksand--it might have been a shark--no one ever could tell, but the unhappy man had gone to his account--he was never more seen! The accident had been observed from the ship, and the mate at once lowered a boat and hastened to the rescue. Those on shore observed this, and awaited its approach. Before it was half way from the beach, however, Peter Grant said to his comrades-- "I'll tell 'e wot it is, boys; seems to me that Providence has given us a chance of gittin' away from that ship. I never was a pirate, an' I don't mean for to become one, so, all who are of my way of thinkin' come over here." Will Osten and his friends were so glad to find that a shipmate had, unknown to them, harboured thoughts of escaping, that they at once leaped to his side, but none of the others followed. They were all determined, reckless men, and had no intention of giving up their wild course. Moreover, they were not prepared to allow their comrades to go off quietly. One of them, in particular, a very savage by nature, as well as a giant, stoutly declared that he not only meant to stick by the ship himself, but would compel the others to do so too, and for this purpose placed himself between them and the woods, which, at that part of the coast, approached close to the sea. Those who took his part joined him, and for a few moments the two parties stood gazing at each other in silence. There was good ground for hesitation on both sides, for, on the one hand, Will Osten and his three friends were resolute and powerful fellows, while, on the other, the giant and his comrades, besides being stout men, were eight in number. Now, it chanced that our hero had, in early boyhood, learned an art which, we humbly submit, has been unfairly brought into disrepute--we refer to the art of boxing. Good reader, allow us to state that we do not advocate pugilism. We never saw a prize-fight, and have an utter abhorrence of the "ring." We not only dislike the idea of seeing two men pommel each other's faces into a jelly, but we think the looking at such a sight tends to demoralise. There is a vast difference, however, between this and the use of "the gloves," by means of which a man may learn the useful art of "self-defence," and may, perhaps, in the course of his life, have the happiness of applying his knowledge to the defence of a mother, a sister, or a wife, as well as "self." If it be objectionable to use the gloves because they represent the fist, then is it equally objectionable to use the foil because it represents the sword? But, pray, forgive this digression. Ten to one, in _your_ case, reader, it is unnecessary, because sensible people are more numerous than foolish! Howbeit, whether right or wrong, Will Osten had, as we have said, acquired the by no means unimportant knowledge of _where_ to hit and _how_ to hit. He had also the good sense to discern _when_ to hit, and he invariably acted on the principal that--"whatever is worth doing, is worth doing well." On the present occasion Will walked suddenly up to the giant, and, without uttering a word, planted upon his body two blows, which are, we believe, briefly termed by the "fancy" _one--two_! We do not pretend to much knowledge on this point, but we are quite certain that number _one_ lit upon the giant's chest and took away his breath, while number _two_ fell upon his forehead and removed his senses. Before he had time to recover either breath or senses, number _three_ ended the affair by flattening his nose and stretching his body on the sand. At this sudden and quite unexpected proceeding Larry O'Hale burst into a mingled laugh and cheer, which he appropriately concluded by springing on and flooring the man who stood opposite to him. Muggins and the old salt were about to follow his example, but their opponents turned and fled, doubling on their tracks and making for the boat. Larry, Muggins, and Old Peter, being thoroughly roused, would have followed them regardless of consequences, and undoubtedly would have been overpowered by numbers (for the boat had just reached the shore), had not Will Osten bounded ahead of them, and, turning round, shouted energetically-- "Follow me, lads, if you would be free. Now or never!" Luckily the tone in which Will said this impressed them so much that they stopped in their wild career; and when they looked back and saw their young friend running away towards the woods as fast as his legs could carry him, and heard the shout of the reinforced seamen as they started from the water's edge to give chase, they hesitated no longer. Turning round, they also fled. It is, however, due to Larry O'Hale to say that he shook his fist at the enemy, and uttered a complex howl of defiance before turning tail! Well was it for all of them that day that the woods were near, and that they were dense and intricate. Old Peter, although a sturdy man, and active for his years, was not accustomed to running, and had no wind for a race with young men. His comrades would never have deserted him, so that all would have certainly been captured but for a fortunate accident. They had not run more than half a mile, and their pursuers were gaining on them at every stride--as they could tell by the sound of their voices--when Will Osten, who led, fell headlong into a deep hole that had been concealed by rank undergrowth. Old Peter, who was close at his heels, fell after him, and Larry, who followed Peter to encourage and spur him on, also tumbled in. Muggins alone was able to stop short in time. "Hallo, boys!" he cried in a hoarse whisper, "are yer timbers damaged?" "Broke to smithereens," groaned Larry from the abyss. Will Osten, who had scrambled out in a moment, cried hastily, "Jump in, Muggins. I'll lead 'em off the scent. Stop till I return, boys, d'ye hear?" "Ay, ay," said Larry. Away went Will at right angles to their former course, uttering a shout of defiance, only just in time, for the mate of the _Rover_, who led the chase, was close on him. Soon the sounds told those in hiding that the _ruse_ had been successful. The sounds died away in the distance and the deep silence of the forest succeeded--broken only now and then by the cry of some wild animal. Meanwhile, our hero used his legs so well that he not only left his pursuers out of sight and hearing behind, but circled gradually around until he returned to the hole where his comrades lay. Here they all remained for nearly an hour, and then, deeming themselves safe, issued forth none the worse of their tumble. They commenced to return to the coast, having settled that this was their wisest course, and that they could easily avoid their late comrades by keeping well to the northward. This deviation, however, was unfortunate. Those who have tried it, know well how difficult it is to find one's way in a dense forest. The more they attempted to get out of the wood the deeper they got into it, and at length, when night began to close in, they were forced to come to the conclusion that they were utterly lost--lost in the forest--"a livin' example," as Larry O'Hale expressed it, "of the babes in the wood!" CHAPTER FIVE. SHOWS WHAT THE LOST ONES DID, AND HOW THEY WERE FOUND. The condition of being "lost" is a sad one in any circumstances, but being lost in a forest--a virgin forest--a forest of unknown extent, in a vast continent such as that of South America, must be admitted to be a peculiarly severe misfortune. Nevertheless, we are bound to say that our hero and his friends did not appear to regard their lost condition in this light. Perhaps their indifference arose partly from their ignorance of what was entailed in being lost in the forest. The proverb says, that "where ignorance is bliss 'tis folly to be wise." Whether that be true or not, there can be no question that it is sometimes an advantage to be ignorant. Had our lost friends known the extent of the forest, in which they were lost, the number of its wild four-footed inhabitants, and the difficulties and dangers that lay before them, it is certain that they could not have walked along as light-heartedly as they did, and it is probable that they would have been less able to meet those difficulties and dangers when they appeared. Be this as it may, Will Osten and Larry O'Hale, Muggins, and Old Peter, continued to wander through the forest, after discovering that they were lost, until the increasing darkness rendered further progress impossible; then they stopped and sat down on the stump of a fallen tree. "It is clear," said our hero, "that we shall have to pass the night here, for there is no sign of human habitation, and the light is failing fast." "That's so," said Muggins curtly. "I'm a'feard on it," observed Old Peter with a sigh. "Faix, I wouldn't mind spindin' the night," said Larry, "av it worn't that we've got no grub. It would be some comfort to know the name o' the country we're lost in." "I can tell you that, Larry," said Will Osten; "we are in Peru; though what part of it I confess I do not know." "Peroo, is it? Well, that's a comfort--anyhow." "I don't 'xacly see where the comfort o' that lies," said Muggins. "That's cause yer intellects is obtoose, boy!" retorted Larry; "don't ye know that it's a blissin' to know where ye are, wotiver else ye don't know? Supposin', now, a stranger shud ax me, `Where are ye, Paddy?'--ov course I cud say at wance, `In Peroo, yer honour;' an' if he shud go for to penetrate deeper into my knowledge o' geography, sure I cud tell him that Peroo is in South Ameriky, wan o' the five quarters o' the globe, d'ye see?" "But suppose, for the sake of argyment as Shikspur says, that the stranger wos to ax ye wot ye know'd about Peroo, what 'ud ye say to that, lad?" asked Old Peter. "Wot would I say! Why, I'd ax him with a look of offended dignity if he took me for a schoolmaster, an' then may be I'd ax him wot he know'd about it himself--an' krekt him av he wos wrong." "I can tell you this much about it, at all events," said Will, with a laugh, "that it is a Republic, and a celebrated country for gold mines." "And I can add to yer information," said Old Peter, "that there's an oncommon lot o' tigers an' other wild beasts in it, and that if we would avoid bein' eat up alive we must kindle a fire an' go to sleep in a tree. By good luck I've got my flint and steel with me." "By equal good luck I have two biscuits in my pocket," said Will; "come, before we do anything else, let us inquire into our resources." Each man at once turned his pockets inside out with the following result:-- Our hero, besides two large coarse sea-biscuits, produced one of those useful knives which contain innumerable blades, with pickers, tweezers, corkscrews, and other indescribable implements; also a note-book, a pencil, a small pocket-case of surgical instruments (without which he never moved during his wanderings), and a Testament--the one that had been given to him on his last birthday by his mother. Old Peter contributed to the general fund his flint, steel, and tinder--most essential and fortunate contributions--and a huge clasp-knife. Indeed we may omit the mention of knives in this record, for each man possessed one as a matter of course. It was by no means a matter of course, however, but a subject of intense gratification to at least three of the party, that Muggins had two pipes and an unusually large supply of tobacco. Larry also had a short black pipe and a picker, besides a crooked sixpence, which he always kept about him "for luck," a long piece of stout twine, and a lump of cheese. The sum total was not great, but was extremely useful in the circumstances. All this wealth having been collected together, it was agreed that the biscuits, cheese, tobacco, and pipes should be common property. They were accordingly divided with the utmost care by Will, who, by the way, did not require a pipe as he was not a smoker. We do not record this as an evidence of his superior purity! By no means. Will Osten, we regret to say, was not a man of strong principle. All the principle he had, and the good feelings which actuated him, were the result of his mother's teaching--not of his own seeking. He did not smoke because his mother had discouraged smoking, therefore--not having acquired the habit--he disliked it. Thousands of men might (and would) have been free from this habit to-day had they been affectionately dissuaded from it in early youth. So, too, in reference to his Testament--Will always carried it about with him, not because he valued it much for its own sake, or read it often, but because it was the last gift he received from his mother. It reminded him of her; besides, it was small and did not take up much room in his pocket. Blessed influence of mothers! If they only knew the greatness of their power, and were more impressed with the importance of using it for the glory of God, this would be a happier world! The costume of these wanderers, like their small possessions, was varied. All wore white duck trousers and blue Guernsey or cotton shirts with sou'-westers or straw hats, but the coats and cravats differed. Larry wore a rough pilot-cloth coat, and, being eccentric on the point, a scarlet cotton neckerchief. Old Peter wore a blue jacket with a black tie, loosely fastened, sailor fashion, round his exposed throat. Muggins wore the dirty canvas jacket in which he had been engaged in scraping down the masts of the _Rover_ when he left her. Will Osten happened to have on a dark blue cloth shooting-coat and a white straw hat, which was fortunate, for, being in reality the leader of the party, it was well that his costume should accord with that responsible and dignified position. They had no weapons of any kind, so their first care was to supply themselves with stout cudgels, which each cut in proportion to his notions of the uses and capacities of such implements--that of Larry O'Hale being, of course, a genuine shillelah, while the weapon cut by Muggins was a close imitation of the club of Hercules, or of that used by the giant who was acquainted with the celebrated giant-killer named Jack! "Now, boys, if we're goin' to ait and slaip, the sooner we set about it the better," observed Larry, rising and commencing to collect sticks for a fire. The others immediately followed his example, and in a few minutes a bright blaze illuminated the dark recesses of the tangled forest, while myriads of sparks rose into and hung upon the leafy canopy overhead. There was something cheering as well as romantic in this. It caused the wanderers to continue their work with redoubled vigour. Soon a fire that would have roasted an ox whole roared and sent its forked tongues upwards. In the warm blaze of it they sat down to their uncommonly meagre supper of half a biscuit and a small bit of cheese each--which was washed down by a draught from a neighbouring stream. They had finished this, and were in the act of lighting their pipes, when a roar echoed through the woods which caused them to pause in their operations and glance uneasily at each other. "Sure, it's a tiger!" exclaimed Larry. "There's no tigers in them parts," said Muggins. "I don't know that, lad," observed Old Peter. "I've hear'd that there are jaguars an' critters o' that sort, which is as big and as bad as tigers, an' goes by the name, but p'raps--" Old Peter's observations were here cut short by the loud report of a gun close at hand. As if by instinct every man leaped away from the light of the fire and sheltered himself behind a tree. For some time they stood listening eagerly to every sound, but no foe appeared, nor was there a repetition of the shot. The longer they listened the more inclined were they to believe that their senses had deceived them, and Larry O'Hale's heart was beginning to make a troublesome attack on his ribs, as he thought of ghosts--especially foreign ghosts--when all eyes were attracted to a human form which appeared to flit to and fro among the tree stems in the distance, as if to avoid the strong light of the fire. Knowing that one man with a gun could make certain of shooting the whole party if he chose, and that he would not be more likely to attempt violence if trust in his generosity were displayed, Will Osten, with characteristic impetuosity, suddenly walked into the full blaze of the firelight and made signals to the stranger to approach. Larry and the others, although they disapproved of the rashness of their young leader, were not the men to let him face danger alone. They at once joined him, and awaited the approach of the apparition. It advanced slowly, taking advantage of every bush and tree, and keeping its piece always pointed towards the fire. They observed that it was black and partially naked. Suddenly Muggins exclaimed--"I do b'lieve it's--" He paused. "Sure, it's the nigger--och! av it isn't Bunco!" cried Larry. Bunco it was, sure enough, and the moment he perceived that he was recognised, he discarded all precaution, walked boldly into the encampment, and shook them all heartily by the hand. CHAPTER SIX. BUNCO BECOMES A FRIEND IN NEED AND INDEED, AND LARRY "COMES TO GRIEF" IN A SMALL WAY. "Sure yer face is a sight for sore eyes, though it _is_ black and ugly," exclaimed Larry, as he wrung the hand of the good-humoured native, who grinned from ear to ear with delight at having found his friends. "Wot ever brought ye here?" inquired Muggins. "Mine legses," replied Bunco, with a twinkle in his coal-black eyes. "Yer legses, eh?" repeated Muggins in a tone of sarcasm--"so I supposes, for it's on them that a man usually goeses; but what caused you for to desart the ship?" "'Cause I no want for be pyrit more nor yourself, Mister Muggles--" "Muggins, you lump of ebony--don't miscall me." "Well, dat be all same--only a litil bit more ogly," retorted Bunco, with a grin, "an' me no want to lose sight ob Doctor Os'n here: me come for to show him how to go troo de forest." "That's right, my good fellow," cried Will, with a laugh, slapping the native on the shoulder; "you have just come in the nick of time to take care of us all, for, besides having utterly lost ourselves, we are quite ignorant of forest ways in this region--no better than children, in fact." "True for ye, boy, riglar babes in the wood, as I said before," added Larry O'Hale. "Well, that being the case," continued Will, "you had better take command at once, Bunco, and show us how to encamp, for we have finished our pipes and a very light supper, and would fain go to sleep. It's a pity you did not arrive sooner, my poor fellow, for we have not a scrap of food left for you, and your gun will be of no use till daylight." To this Bunco replied by displaying his teeth and giving vent to a low chuckle, while he lifted the flap of his pea-jacket and exhibited three fat birds hanging at the belt with which he supported his nether garments. "Hooray!" shouted Larry, seizing one of the birds and beginning to pluck it; "good luck to your black mug, we'll ait it right off." "That's your sort," cried Muggins, whose mouth watered at the thought of such a delightful addition to his poor supper. "Hand me one of 'em, Larry, and I'll pluck it." Larry obeyed; Old Peter seized and operated on the last bird, and Bunco raked the embers of the fire together, while Will Osten looked on and laughed. In a very few minutes the three birds were plucked and cleaned, and Larry, in virtue of his office, was going to cook them, when Will suggested that he had better resign in favour of Bunco, who was doubtless better acquainted than himself with the best modes of forest cookery. To this Larry objected a little at first, but he was finally prevailed on to give in, and Bunco went to work in his own fashion. It was simple enough. First he cut three short sticks and pointed them at each end, then he split each bird open, and laying it flat, thrust a stick through it, and stuck it up before the glowing fire to roast. When one side was pretty well done he turned the other, and, while that was cooking, cut off a few scraps from the half-roasted side and tried them. We need scarcely add that none of the party were particular. The birds were disposed of in an incredibly short time, and then the pipes were refilled for a second smoke. "How comes it," inquired Will, when this process was going on, "that you managed to escape and to bring a gun away with you? We would not have left the ship without you, but our own escape was a sudden affair; we scarcely expected to accomplish it at the time we did. I suppose you had a sharp run for it?" "Run! ductor, no, me no run--me walk away quite comfrabil an' tooked what me please; see here." As he spoke, Bunco opened a small canvas bag which no one had taken notice of up to that moment, and took from it a large quantity of broken biscuit, a lump of salt beef, several cocoa-nuts, a horn of gunpowder, and a bag of shot and ball--all of which he spread out in front of the fire with much ostentation. The satisfaction caused by this was very great, and even Muggins, in the fulness of his heart, declared that after all there were worse things than being lost in a forest. "Well, and how did you manage to get away?" said Will, returning to the original question. "Git away? why, dis here wos de way. When me did see the rincumcoshindy goin' on ashore, me say, `Now, Bunco, you time come; look alive;' so, w'en de raskil called de fuss mate orders out de boat in great hurry, me slip into it like one fish. Then dey all land an' go off like mad into de woods arter you--as you do knows. Ob coorse me stop to look arter de boat; you knows it would be very bad to go an' leave de boat all by its lone, so w'en deys gone into de woods, me take the mate's gun and poodair an' shot an' ebbery ting could carry off--all de grub, too, but der worn't too moche of dat--and walk away in anoder d'rection. Me is used to de woods, you sees, so kep' clear o' de stoopid seamans, who soon tires der legses, as me knows bery well; den come round in dis d'rection; find you tracks; foller im up; shoots tree birds; sees a tiger; puts a ball in him skin, an' sends him to bed wid a sore head-- too dark for kill him--arter which me find you out, an' here me is. Dere. Dat's all about it." "A most satisfactory account of yourself," said Will Osten. "An' purtily towld," observed Larry; "where did ye larn English, boy, for ye have the brogue parfict, as me gran'mother used to say to the pig when she got in her dotage (me gran'mother, not the pig), `only,' says she, `the words isn't quite distinc'.' Couldn't ye give us a skitch o' yer life, Bunco?" Thus appealed to, the gratified native began without hesitation, and gave the following account of himself:-- "Me dun know when me was born--" "Faix, it wasn't yesterday," said Larry, interrupting. "No, nor de day before to-morrow nother," retorted Bunco; "but it was in Callyforny, anyhow. Me fadder him wos a Injin--" "Oh! come!" interrupted Muggins in a remonstrative tone. "Yis, him _wos_ a Injin," repeated Bunco stoutly. "Wos he a _steam-ingine_?" inquired Muggins with a slight touch of sarcasm. "He means an Indian, Muggins," explained Will. "Then why don't he say wot he means? However, go ahead, Ebony." "Hims wos a Injin," resumed Bunco, "ant me moder him wos a Spanish half-breed from dis yer country--Peru. Me live for years in de forests an' plains an' mountains ob Callyforny huntin' an fightin'. Oh, dem were de happy days! After dat me find a wife what I lub berry moche, den me leave her for short time an' go wid tradin' party to de coast. Here meet wid a cap'n of ship, wot wos a big raskil. Him 'tice me aboord an' sail away. Short ob hands him wos, so him took me, an' me never see me wife no more!" There was something quite touching in the tone in which the poor fellow said this, insomuch that Larry became sympathetic and abused the captain who had kidnapped him in no measured terms. Had Larry known that acts similar to this wicked and heartless one were perpetrated by traders in the South Seas very frequently, he would have made his terms of abuse more general! "How long ago was that?" inquired Old Peter. "Tree year," sighed Bunco. "Since dat day I hab bin in two tree ships, but nebber run away, cause why? wot's de use ob run away on _island_? Only now me got on Sout 'Meriky, which me know is not far from Nord 'Meriky, an' me bin here before wid me moder, so kin show you how to go--and speak Spanish too--me moder speak dat, you sees; but mesilf larn English aboord two tree ships, an', so, speak him fust rate now." "So ye do, boy," said Larry, whose sympathetic heart was drawn towards the unfortunate and ill-used native; "an', faix, we'll go on travellin' through this forest till we comes to Callyforny an' finds your missus-- so cheer up, Bunco, and let us see how we're to go to roost, for it seems that we must slaip on a tree this night." During the course of the conversation which we have just detailed, the wild denizens of the forest had been increasing their dismal cries, and the seamen, unused to such sounds, had been kept in a state of nervous anxiety which each did his utmost to conceal. They were all brave men; but it requires a very peculiar kind of bravery to enable a man to sit and listen with cool indifference to sounds which he does not understand, issuing from gloomy recesses at his back, where there are acknowledged, though unknown, dangers close at hand. Bunco, therefore, grinning good-humouredly as usual, rose and selected a gigantic tree as their dormitory. The trunk of this tree spread out, a few feet above its base, into several branches, any one of which would have been deemed a large tree in England, and these branches were again subdivided into smaller stems with a network of foliage, which rendered it quite possible for a man to move about upon them with facility, and to find a convenient couch. Here,--the fire at the foot of the tree having been replenished,--each man sought and found repose. It was observed that Larry O'Hale made a large soft couch below the tree on the ground. "You're not going to sleep there, Larry?" said Will Osten, on observing what he was about. "Why, the tigers will be picking your bones before morning if you do." "Och! I'm not afraid of 'em," replied Larry; "howsever, I _do_ main to slaip up the tree _if I can_." That night, some time after all the party had been buried in profound repose, they were awakened by a crash and a tremendous howl just below them. Each started up, and, pushing aside the leaves, gazed anxiously down. A dark object was seen moving below, and Bunco was just going to point his gun at it, when a gruff voice was heard to say-- "Arrah! didn't I know it? It's famous I've bin, since I was a mere boy, for rowlin' about in me slaip, an', sure, the branch of a tree is only fit for a bird after all. But, good luck to yer wisdom an' foresight, Larry O'Hale, for ye've come down soft, anyhow, an' if there's anything'll cure ye o' this bad habit--slaipin' on trees'll do it in the coorse o' time, I make no doubt wotiver!" CHAPTER SEVEN. WHEREIN ARE RECOUNTED DANGERS, DIFFICULTIES, AND PERPLEXITIES FACED AND OVERCOME. Next morning the travellers rose with the sun, and descended from the tree in which they had spent the night--much refreshed and "ready for anything." It was well that they were thus prepared for whatever might befall them, for there were several incidents in store for them that day which tried them somewhat, and would have perplexed them sadly had they been without a guide. Perhaps we are scarcely entitled to bestow that title on Bunco, for he was as thoroughly lost in the forest as were any of his companions, in the sense, at least, of being ignorant as to where he was, or how far from the nearest human habitation: but he was acquainted with forest-life, knew the signs and symptoms of the wilderness, and could track his way through pathless wastes in a manner that was utterly incomprehensible to his companions, and could not be explained by himself. Moreover, he was a shrewd fellow, as well as bold, and possessed a strong sense of humour, which he did not fail at times to gratify at the expense of his friends. This tendency was exhibited by him in the first morning's march, during which he proved his superiority in woodcraft, and firmly established himself in the confidence of the party. The incident occurred thus:-- After a hearty and hasty breakfast--for, being lost, they were all anxious to get found as soon as possible--they set forth in single file; Bunco leading, Old Peter, Muggins, and Larry following, and Will Osten bringing up the rear. During the first hour they walked easily and pleasantly enough through level and rather open woodland, where they met few obstacles worth mentioning, so that Larry and Muggins, whose minds were filled with the idea of wild beasts, and who were much excited by the romance of their novel position, kept a sharp lookout on the bushes right and left, the one shouldering his gigantic cudgel, the other flourishing his shillelah in a humorous free-and-easy way, and both feeling convinced that with such weapons they were more than a match for any tiger alive! When several hours had elapsed, however, without producing any sign or sound of game, they began to feel disappointment, and to regard their guide as an exaggerator if not worse; and when, in course of time, the underwood became more dense and their passage through the forest more difficult, they began to make slighting remarks about their dark-skinned friend, and to question his fitness for the duties of guide. In particular, Muggins--who was becoming fatigued, owing partly to the weight of his club as well as to the weight of his body and the shortness of his legs--at last broke out on him and declared that he would follow no further. "Why," said he gruffly, "it's as plain as the nose on yer nutmeg face, that ye're steerin' a wrong coorse. You'll never make the coast on this tack." "Oh yis, wees will," replied Bunco, with a quiet smile. "No, wees won't, ye lump o' mahogany," retorted Muggins. "Don't the coast run nor' and by west here away?" "Troo," assented Bunco with a nod. "Well, and ain't we goin' due north just now, so that the coast lies away on our left, an' for the last three hours you've bin bearin' away to the _right_, something like nor' and by east, if it's not nor' _east_ an' by east, the coast being all the while on yer port beam, you grampus--that's so, ain't it?" "Yis, dat's so," replied Bunco with a grin. "Then, shiver my timbers, why don't ye shove yer helm hard a starboard an' lay yer right coorse? Come, lads, _I'll_ go to the wheel now for a spell." Will Osten was about to object to this, but Bunco gave him a peculiar glance which induced him to agree to the proposal; so Muggins went ahead and the rest followed. At the place where this dispute occurred there chanced to be a stretch of comparatively open ground leading away to the left. Into this glade the hardy seamen turned with an air of triumph. His triumph, however, was short-lived, for at a turn in the glade he came to a place where the underwood was so dense and so interlaced with vines and creeping plants that further advance was absolutely impossible. After "yawing about" for some minutes "in search of a channel," as Larry expressed it, Muggins suddenly gave in and exclaimed,--"I'm a Dutchman, boys, if we ha'n't got embayed!" "It's let go the anchor an' take soundin's 'll be the nixt order, I s'pose, Captain Muggins?" said Larry, touching his cap. "Or let the tother pilot take the helm," said Old Peter, "`he's all my fancy painted him,' as Milton says in Paraphrases Lost." "Right, Peter," cried Will Osten, "we must dethrone Muggins and reinstate Bunco." "Ha! you's willin' for to do second fiddil _now_?" said the native, turning with a grin to Muggins, as he was about to resume his place at the head of the party. "No, never, ye leather-jawed kangaroo, but I've no objections to _do_ the drum on yer skull, with _this_ for a drumstick!" He flourished his club as he spoke, and Bunco, bounding away with a laugh, led the party back on their track for a few paces, then, turning sharp to the right, he conducted them into a narrow opening in the thicket, and proceeded in a zig-zag manner that utterly confused poor Muggins, inducing him from that hour to resign himself with blind faith to the guidance of his conqueror. Well would it be for humanity in general, and for rulers in particular, if there were more of Muggins's spirit abroad inducing men to give in and resign cheerfully when beaten fairly! If the sailors were disappointed at not meeting with any wild creatures during the first part of their walk, they were more than compensated by the experiences of the afternoon. While they were walking quietly along, several snakes--some of considerable length--wriggled out of their path, and Larry trod on one which twirled round his foot, causing him to leap off the ground like a grasshopper and utter a yell, compared to which all his previous shoutings were like soft music. Bunco calmed his fears, however, and comforted the party by saying that these snakes were harmless. Nevertheless, they felt a strong sensation of aversion to the reptiles, which it was not easy to overcome, and Muggins began to think seriously that being lost in the forest was, after all, a pleasure mingled considerably with alloy! Not long after the incident of the snake, strange sounds were heard from time to time in the bushes, and all the party, except Bunco, began to glance uneasily from side to side, and grasped their weapons firmly. Suddenly a frightful-looking face was observed by Larry peeping through the bushes right over Muggins's unconscious head. The horrified Irishman, who thought it was no other than a visitant from the world of fiends, was going to utter a shout of warning, when a long hairy arm was stretched out from the bushes and Muggins's hat was snatched from his head. "Och! ye spalpeen," cried Larry, hurling his cudgel at the ugly creature. The weapon was truly aimed; it hit the monkey on the back, causing it to drop the hat and vanish from the spot--shrieking. "Well done, Larry!" cried Will Osten; "why didn't you warn us to expect visits from such brutes, Bunco?" "Why, cause me tink you know all 'bout 'im. Hab larn 'im from Jo Gruffy." "From who?" "From Jo Gruffy. Him as you was say, last night, do tell all 'bout de countries ob de world, and wot sort of treeses an' hanimals in 'im. Der be plenty ob dem hanimals--(how you call 'im, mongkees?) in Peroo, big an leetil." "Well!" exclaimed our hero with a laugh, "possibly geography may refer to the fact; if so, I had forgotten it, but I'm sorry to hear that they are numerous, for they are much too bold to be pleasant companions." "Dey do us no harm," said Bunco, grinning, "only chok full ob fun!" "Git along wid ye," cried Larry. "It's my belaif they're yer own relations, or ye wouldn't stick up for them." Thus admonished, the native resumed the march, and led them through the jungle into deeper and darker shades. Here the forest was quite free from underwood, and the leafy canopy overhead was so dense that the sky could seldom be seen. Everything appeared to be steeped in a soft mellow shade of yellowish green, which was delightfully cool and refreshing in a land lying so very near to the equator. The howling and hoarse barking of wild beasts was now heard to an extent that fully satisfied Larry O'Hale and his friend Muggins. There were patches of dense jungle here and there, in which it was supposed the animals lay concealed, and each of these were carefully examined by our travellers. That there was need for caution became apparent from the fact that Bunco carried his gun at full cock in the hollow of his left arm, and had a stern, earnest expression of visage which was quite new to his nautical companions, and made a deep impression on them. Curious and interesting change of sentiment:--the man whom, while at sea, they had treated with good-humoured contempt, was ere long clung to and regarded almost with reverence! "Be quiet, boys, here," he said, "an' no make noise. Keep de eyes open." After this he did not speak, but gave his directions by signs. CHAPTER EIGHT. IN WHICH BUNCO DISPLAYS UNCOMMON VALOUR, AND TIGERS COME TO GRIEF. Advancing cautiously, the travellers arrived at the brink of a dark ravine, in the bottom of which there was a good deal of brushwood, with here and there several pools of water. They had remained a short time here on the top of the bank, listening to the various barks and cries of the wild animals around them, when their attention was arrested by several loud yelps, which sounded as if some creature were approaching them fast. Bunco signed to them to stoop and follow him. They did so, and had not advanced a hundred yards when the loud clatter of hoofs was heard. Bunco crouched instantly and held his gun in readiness, while his black eyes glittered and his expressive features seemed to blaze with eagerness. His followers also crouched among the bushes, and each grasped his club with a feeling that it was but a poor weapon of defence after all--though better than nothing! They had not to wait long, for, in a few minutes, a beautiful black wild horse came racing like the wind along the clear part of the ravine in the direction of the place where they were concealed. The magnificent creature was going at his utmost speed, being pursued by a large tiger, and the steam burst from his distended nostrils, while his voluminous mane and tail waved wildly in the air. The tiger gained on him rapidly. Its bounds were tremendous; at each leap it rose several feet from the ground. The poor horse was all but exhausted, for he slipped and came down on his knees, when abreast of, and not thirty yards distant from, the place where the travellers lay. The tiger did not miss his opportunity. He crouched and ran along with the twisting motion of a huge cat; then he sprang a clear distance of twenty feet and alighted on the horse's back, seizing him by the neck with a fearful growl. Now came Bunco's opportunity. While the noble horse reared and plunged violently in a vain attempt to get rid of his enemy, the cautious native took a steady aim, and was so long about it that some of the party nearly lost patience with him. At last he fired, and the tiger fell off the horse, rolling and kicking about in all directions--evidently badly wounded. The horse meanwhile galloped away and was soon lost to view. Instead of loading and firing again, Bunco threw down his gun, and, drawing a long knife, rushed in upon his victim. His comrades, who thought him mad, sprang after him, but he had closed with the tiger and plunged his knife into it before they came up. The creature uttered a tremendous roar and writhed rapidly about, throwing up clouds of dust from the dry ground, while Bunco made another dash at him and a plunge with his long knife, but he missed the blow and fell. His comrades closed in and brandished their clubs, but the rapid motions of man and beast rendered it impossible for them to strike an effective blow without running the risk of hitting the man instead of the tiger. In the midst of a whirlwind of dust and leaves, and a tempest of roars and yells, the bold native managed to drive his knife three times into the animal's side, when it rolled over with a savage growl and expired. "Are ye hurt, Bunco?" inquired Will Osten with much anxiety, when the man rose, covered with dust and blood, and stood before them. "No moche hurt, only scrash a bit." "Scratched a bit!" exclaimed Larry, "it's torn to tatters ye ought to be for bein' so venturesome." "That's so," said Muggins; "ye shouldn't ha' done it, Bunco; what would have comed of us if ye'd bin killed, eh?" "Oh, dat am noting," said Bunco, drawing himself up proudly; "me hab kill lots of dem before; but dis one hims die hard." Will Osten, who was anxious to ascertain whether the man had really escaped serious injury, put a stop to the conversation by hurrying him off to the nearest pool and washing his wounds. They proved, as he had said, to be trifling--only a slight bite on the shoulder and a few tears, by the animal's claws, on the arms and thighs. When these were dressed, Bunco went to work actively to skin the tiger,--an operation which he performed with great expedition, and then, having rolled it into a convenient bundle and slung it on his back, he re-loaded his gun and again resumed his duties as guide. They had not gone far when a fierce growling behind them told that other wild animals, probably tigers, had scented out the carcass of the slain animal, and were already quarrelling over their meal. Shortly after this they came suddenly and quite unexpectedly on a house or hut, which turned out to be the residence of a man who was half Spaniard half Indian. The man received them kindly, and, finding that Bunco could speak Spanish, offered them hospitality with great politeness and evident satisfaction. "Good luck to 'e, boy," said Larry, when their host invited them to partake of a substantial meal, to which he had been about to sit down when they arrived, "it's myself'll be proud to welcome ye to ould Ireland if iver ye come that way." "Ask him, Bunco," said Will Osten, "where we are, how far we are from the coast, and what is the name and distance of the nearest town." To these questions the Spaniard replied that they were in the northern part of the Republic of Ecuador, and not, as they had supposed, in Peru, which lay some hundreds of miles to the southward; that a couple of days' walking would bring them to the coast, and that in two days more they could reach the town of Tacames. This, being one of the few ports on the western coast of South America where vessels touched, was a place from which they might probably be able to make their way to California. He added that there was a rumour of gold having been discovered of late in that region, but, for his part, he didn't believe it, for he had heard the same rumour several times before, and nothing had ever come of it, at least as far as he knew. "Ye're wrong there, intirely, mister what's-yer-name," said Larry O'Hale, pausing for a moment in the midst of his devotion to the good things spread before him. "Sure it's my own brother Ted as wos out there a year gone by, an' he swore he picked up goold like stones an' putt them in his pocket, but the capting o' the ship he sailed in towld him it wos brass, an' his mates laughed at him to that extint that he flung it all overboord in a passion. Faix, I've made up my mind that there _is_ goold in Callyforny and that wan Larry O'Hale is distined for to make his fortin' there--so I'll throuble ye for another hunk o' that pottimus, or wotiver ye call it. Prime prog it is, anyhow." An earnest discussion here followed as to the probability of gold having been found in California, and whether it was worth their while to try their fortune in that direction. During the course of the meal, the Spaniard incidentally mentioned that on the previous night a tiger had broken into his enclosure, and injured a bullock so badly that he had been obliged to kill it, and he had little doubt the same beast would pay him another visit that night. This was good news to the travellers, all of whom were keen--though not all expert--sportsmen. As evening had already set in, they begged to be allowed to rest for a little so as to be ready for the tiger when he came. Their host at once conducted them into a small room, where several hammocks were suspended from the walls. Into these they quickly jumped, and, in a few minutes, the concert played by their noses told a tale of sweet repose after a day of unusual toil. For several hours they slept, and then the Spaniard awoke them with the information that the tiger was coming! Up they sprang, as a matter of course, and with considerable noise too, but Bunco soon impressed them with the necessity of being quiet. The Spaniard had only two guns, one of which he handed to Will Osten. The seamen were of necessity left to be spectators. It is necessary here to describe the Spaniard's hut, which was peculiar as to its architecture. It was a mere shed made of bamboo canes closely placed together, and roofed with large cocoa and other leaves. The floor was of rough boards covered with matting. The whole structure stood on the top of a number of strong posts about twelve or fourteen feet from the ground, and the entrance was gained by a ladder which could be drawn up at night. The object of this great elevation and the ladder, was protection from the nocturnal visit of wild beasts such as tigers or jaguars, as well as monkeys of a large size. In the door of this hut there was a hole of about two feet square, at which the host stationed himself with the muzzle of his gun thrust through it. Two smaller holes in the walls, which served for windows, were used on the present occasion as loopholes by Will Osten and Bunco. Perfect silence was maintained for about half an hour. The sky was cloudless and the moon full. Not a breath of wind stirred a leaf of the forest that encircled the small clearing. The buzz of mosquitoes, or the flapping about of a huge bat alone disturbed the silence of the night, and the watchers were beginning to fear it would turn out to be a false alarm, when the cattle in the yard began to low in a quick yet mournful tone. They knew full well that their enemy was at hand! A few minutes, that appeared an age, of anxiety followed. Then some bullocks that had been purposely fastened near the hut began to bellow furiously. Another instant, and the tiger cleared the fence with a magnificent bound, alighted in the yard, and crouched for a spring. The moon shone full in his glaring eyeballs, making his head a splendid target. Three shots crashed out in one report, and with a roar that would have done credit to the monarch of the African wilderness, this king of the western forest fell down and died. He was a full-grown tiger with a beautifully marked skin, which Bunco was not long in stripping from the carcass, while the Spaniard, who was highly delighted by this success, set about preparing breakfast. They were all too much excited to think of going to bed again; and, besides, it was within an hour of daybreak. During the morning Will Osten persuaded his host to give him one of his old guns in exchange for a beautiful silver-mounted hunting knife, which was the only article of value that he happened to possess. With this useful addition to their arms, the travellers resumed their journey shortly after dawn, being convoyed several miles on their way by their amiable host. They parted from him, finally, with much regret and many professions of gratitude and esteem, especially from Larry, who, in the fulness of his impulsive nature, reiterated his pressing invitation to pay him a visit in his "swait little cabin in the bog of Clonave, County Westmeath, ould Ireland!" We will not drag the reader through every step of the rough and adventurous journey which was accomplished by our travellers in the succeeding week, during which they became so familiar with tigers, that Muggins thought no more of their roaring than he did of the mewing of cats, while Larry actually got the length of kicking the "sarpints" out of his way, although he did express his conviction, now and then, that the "counthry wos mightily in want of a visit from Saint Patrick." They travelled steadily and surely under the guidance of the faithful Bunco, through tangled brake, and wild morass, and dense forest, and many a mile of sandy plain, until at length they reached the small town and port of _Tacames_, into which they entered one sultry afternoon, footsore and weary, with their clothes torn almost to tatters, and without a single coin--of any realm whatever--in their pockets. "Well, here we are at last," said Will Osten, with a sigh. "True for ye," responded Larry. "That's so," said Muggins. "It's all well as ends well, which wos Billy Cowper's opinion," observed Old Peter. Bunco made no remark, but he gave a quiet grunt, which might have meant anything--or nothing--as they entered the town. CHAPTER NINE. DESCRIBES A SURGICAL OPERATION, AND RECORDS THE DELIBERATIONS OF A COUNCIL. The town of Tacames, in the republic of Ecuador, is not large, neither is it important to the world, but it appeared both large and important in the eyes of our hero and his comrades. In their circumstances any town would have been regarded as a city of refuge, and their joy on arriving was not much, if at all, marred by the smallness and the poor appearance of the town, which, at that time, consisted of about twenty houses. They were built on the top of posts about twelve or fourteen feet from the ground--like the hut of the Spaniard already described-- because, being closely walled in by a dense jungle, tigers and huge monkeys were bold enough to pay the inhabitants nocturnal and unwelcome visits very frequently. "A curious-looking place," observed Will Osten, as they drew near. "So would the natives obsarve of London or Liverpool," said Old Peter. "With less cause, however," replied Will. "That depends on taste," retorted Old Peter. "Be no manes," put in Larry; "it neither depinds on taste, nor smell, but feelin'--see now, here's how it is. We being in Tickamis, _feels_ it coorious; well av the natives here wos in London _they_ would feel it coorious. It's all a matter o' feelin' d'ye see--wan o' the five senses." "Wot a muddlehead you are, Larry," growled Muggins; "ye don't even know that there's six senses." "Only five," said the Irishman firmly--"seein', hearin', tastin', smellin', and feelin'; wot's the sixth sense?" "One that you are chock full of--it's non-sense," replied Muggins. "Think o' that, now!" exclaimed Larry, with a broad grin; "sure I wint an' forgot it, an' the sevinth wan, too, called common sense, of which, Muggins, you haven't got no more in yer skull than a blue-faced baboon. Hallo! wot's that? Is it a wild baist on its hind-legs or only a mad man?" He pointed as he spoke to a man who approached them from the town, and whose appearance as well as his actions were well calculated to surprise them. He was a fine-looking man of gigantic size, with a poncho over his shoulders and a Spanish-looking sombrero on his head, but the most curious thing about him was his gait. At one moment he sauntered, holding his face between both hands, next moment he bent double and appeared to stamp with his feet. Then he hurried forward a few paces but paused abruptly, bent down and stamped again. Presently he caught sight of the travellers. At once his antics ceased. He raised himself erect, and advancing quickly, lifted his sombrero and saluted them with the air of a prince. Will Osten addressed him in English, and, to his surprise as well as gratification, the Spaniard replied in the same tongue, which he spoke, however, in a most remarkable way, having learned it chiefly from the skippers of those vessels that touched at the port. "I sall be happy to offer you hospitabilities, gentelmans," said Don Diego--(for so he styled himself). "If you vill come to meen house you vill grub there." The grin of unnatural ferocity which Don Diego put on while he spoke, surprised and perplexed the travellers not a little, but he suddenly explained the mystery by clutching his hair, setting his teeth and muttering wildly while he gave a quick stamp with his foot-- "Skuse me, gentelmans, I got most desperable 'tack of toothick!" Will Osten attempted to console Don Diego by telling him that he was a surgeon, and that if he could only obtain a pair of pincers he would soon remedy that evil; but the Spaniard shook his head and assured him that there was a miserable man in the town calling himself a vendor of physic, who had already nearly driven him mad by attempting several times to pull the tooth, but in vain. "Indeed," said the Don, "the last time he have try, I 'fraid I shut up won of his days light--it _was_ so sore!" Will Osten ultimately persuaded the Spaniard, however, to consent to an operation, and the whole party accompanied him to his house, which was the most substantial in the town. Leaving his comrades there, Will went with Bunco in search of the apothecary, whom he soon found, and who readily lent him a pair of forceps, with which he returned to the residence of Don Diego. Considering his size, Will deemed it advisable to have Larry and Muggins standing by ready to hold him if he should prove obstreperous. This was a wise precaution, for, the moment Will began to pull at the obstinate grinder, the gigantic Don began to roar and then to struggle. The tooth was terribly firm. Will did not wonder that the native dentist had failed. The first wrench had no effect on it. The second--a very powerful one--was equally futile, but it caused Don Diego to roar hideously and to kick, so Will gave a nod to his assistants, who unceremoniously seized the big man in their iron gripe and held him fast. Then our hero threw all his strength into a final effort, and the tooth came out with a crash, and, along with it, a terrible yell from Don Diego, who sent Larry and Muggins staggering against the wall! The relief experienced by the poor man was almost instantaneous; as soon as he could speak he thanked Will in fervid Spanish, and with genuine gratitude. It is interesting to observe how often matters of apparently slight moment in human affairs form turning-points which lead to important results. The incident which we have just related caused Don Diego to entertain such kindly feelings towards Will Osten, that he not only invited him to stay at his house with his companions during their residence in Tacames, but insisted on his accepting a very large fee for the service he had rendered him. Of course this was not objected to in the circumstances, but a still better piece of good fortune than this befell the wanderers. Will found that a number of the inhabitants had been attacked with dysentery, and that the ignorance of the vendor of physic was so great, that he could do nothing for them, except make a few daring experiments, which were eminently unsuccessful. To these poor invalids our embryo doctor was so useful, that after a few days dosing with proper medicine, their health and spirits began to improve rapidly, and their gratitude was such that they heaped upon him every delicacy that the place afforded, such as bananas, plantains, oranges, lemons, pumpkins, melons, sweet potatoes, beef, goat's flesh, venison, and pork, besides filling his pockets with doubloons! Thus it came to pass, that from absolute destitution Will and his comrades suddenly leaped into a condition of comparative affluence. At the end of a week a council was called, to discuss future proceedings. The council chamber was, as usual, the forest, and Spanish cigarettes assisted the deliberations. Will being called to the chair, which was a tree stump, opened the proceedings by propounding the question, "What shall we do now, for of course we must not trespass too long on the hospitality of Don Diego?" "I don't see why we shudn't," said Larry, "p'raps he'll have another touch o' toothache, an' 'll want another grinder tuck out." "That may be, nevertheless it behoves us to fix our future plans without delay. As there are no vessels in port just now, and we cannot tell when any will arrive, it is worth while considering whether we cannot travel by land; also, we must decide whether California or England is to be our destination." "I vote for Callyforny," said Larry O'Hale with much energy. "`Goold for ever,' is my motto! Make our fortunes right off, go home, take villas in ould Ireland, an' kape our carriages, wid flunkeys an' maid-servants an' such like. Sure av we can't get by say, we can walk." "If I had wings, which is wot I haven't," said Muggins, with slow precision of utterance, "I might fly over the Andes, likewise the Atlantic, to England, or if I had legs ten fathoms long I might walk to Callyforny; but, havin' only short legs, more used to the sea than to the land, I votes for stoppin' where we are for some time, an', p'raps, a sail will heave in sight an' take us off, d'ye see?" "Ho!" exclaimed Bunco, with a nod of approval, "and wees kin go huntin' for amoosement in de meaninwhiles." "It's my opinion, sir," observed Old Peter, "that as we're all dependent on the money earned by yourself, the least we can do, is to leave you to settle the matter of when we start, and where we go. What say you, mates?" A general assent being given to this, Will Osten decided that they should remain where they were for a week or a fortnight longer, in the hope of a vessel arriving, and that, in the meantime, as suggested by Bunco, they should amuse themselves by going on a hunting expedition. In accordance with this plan they immediately set about making preparation for a start by borrowing from their host two small canoes, each made of the trunk of a large tree hollowed out. Bunco acted as steersman in one of these. Will Osten, after a few hours' practice, deemed himself sufficiently expert to take the post of honour in the other, and then, bidding adieu to Don Diego, and embarking with their guns and a large supply of ammunition and provisions, they commenced the ascent of the river Tacames, little thinking that some of the party would never descend that river or see Don Diego again! CHAPTER TEN. HUNTING IN THE WILDS OF ECUADOR. There is something very delightful and exhilarating in the first start on a hunting expedition into a wild and almost unknown region. After one gets into the thick of it the thoughts are usually too busy and too much in earnest with the actual realities in hand to permit of much rambling into the regions of romance--we say _much_ because there is always _some_ rambling of this sort--but, during the first day, before the actual work has well begun, while the adventures are as yet only anticipated, and the mind is free to revel in imaginings of what is possible and probable, there is a wild exultation which swells the heart and induces an irresistible tendency to shout. Indeed, on the present occasion, some of the party did shout lustily in order to vent their feelings; and Larry O'Hale, in particular, caused the jungle to echo so loudly with the sounds of his enthusiasm that the affrighted apes and jaguars must have trembled in their skins if they were possessed of ordinary feelings. The scenery, with its accompaniments, was most beautiful and interesting. The river, a narrow one, flowed through a dense and continuous forest; rich and lofty trees over-arched it, affording agreeable shade, and on the branches were to be seen great numbers of kingfishers, parrots, and other birds of rich plumage, which filled the air at least with sound, if not with melody. The concert was further swelled by the constant cries of wild beasts--such as the howl of a tiger or the scream of a monkey. But there is no pleasure without some alloy. On this river mosquitoes were the alloy! These tormenting creatures persecuted the hunters by night as well as by day, for they are amongst the few insects which indulge in the pernicious habit of never going to bed. We cannot indeed say, authoritatively, that mosquitoes never sleep, but we can and do say that they torment human beings, and rob them of _their_ sleep, if possible, without intermission. Larry O'Hale being of a fiery nature, was at first driven nearly to distraction, and, as he said himself, he did little else than slap his own face day and night in trying to kill "the little varmints." Muggins bore up stoically, and all of them became callous in course of time. Fish of many kinds were seen in the clear water, and their first success in the sporting way was the spearing of two fine mullet. Soon after this incident, a herd of brown deer were seen to rush out of the jungle and dash down an open glade, with noses up and antlers resting back on their necks. A shot from Bunco's gun alarmed but did not hit them, for Bunco had been taken by surprise, and was in an unstable canoe. Before the deer had disappeared, two or three loud roars were heard. "Quick! go ashore," whispered Bunco, running his canoe in among the overhanging bushes, and jumping out. Three tigers bounded at that moment from the jungle in pursuit of the deer. Bunco took rapid aim, but his old flint gun missed fire. Luckily, Will Osten, having followed his example, was ready. He fired, and one of the tigers fell, mortally wounded. Before he could wriggle into the jungle Bunco ran up and put a bullet into his brain. This was a splendid beginning, and the hunters were loud in their congratulations of each other, while Bunco skinned the tiger. But the reader must not suppose that we intend to chronicle every incident of this kind. We record this as a specimen of their work during the following three weeks. They did not indeed shoot a tiger daily, but they bagged several within that period, besides a number of deer and other game. We must hasten, however, to tell of an event which put a sudden stop to our hero's hunting at that time, and resulted in the breaking-up of that hitherto united and harmonious party. One evening, a little before sunset, they came upon a small clearing, in the midst of which was a little house erected, in the usual way, upon wooden legs. The hunters found, to their surprise, that it was inhabited by an Englishman named Gordon, who received them with great hospitality and evident pleasure. He lived almost alone, having only one negro man-servant, whose old mother performed the duties of housekeeper. Here they passed the night in pleasant intercourse with a man, who, besides being a countryman--and therefore full of interest about England, from which he heard regularly but at long intervals--was remarkably intelligent, and had travelled in almost every quarter of the globe. As to his motive for secluding himself in such a wild spot, they did not presume to inquire, and never found it out. Next day they bade their host adieu, promising to make a point of spending another night in his house on their return. Our hunters had not gone far when a growl in one of the bushes induced them to land and search for the growler. They found him in the person of a large tiger, which Will Osten caught a glimpse of sneaking away with the lithe motions of a gigantic cat. A hurried shot wounded the beast, which, instead of flying, turned round suddenly, and, with a bound, alighted on our hero's shoulders. The shock hurled him violently to the ground. During the momentary but terrific struggle for life that followed, Will had presence of mind to draw his hunting-knife, and plunge it, twice, deep into the tiger's side, but the active claws of the creature tore his thighs and arms; several large blood-vessels were injured; the light faded from the eyes of Wandering Will; his strong arm lost its cunning, and, in the midst of a loud report, mingled with a roar like thunder in his ears, he fainted away. When Will recovered his senses he found himself stretched on his back on a low couch in a hut, with a man kneeling over him, and his comrades gazing into his face with expressions of deep anxiety. Will attempted to speak, but could not; then he tried to move, and, in doing so, fainted. On recovering consciousness, he observed that no one was near him except Larry O'Hale, who lay extended at his side, looking through the open doorway of the hut, while a series of the most seraphic smiles played on his expressive countenance! It would have been an interesting study to have watched the Irishman on that occasion. Just before Will Osten opened his eyes, he was looking into his pale face with an expression that was ludicrously woe-begone. The instant he observed the slightest motion in his patient, however, he became suddenly abstracted, and gazed, as we have said, with a seraphic expression through the doorway. Poor Larry acted thus, in order to avoid alarming his patient by his looks, but, in spite of his utmost caution, Will caught him in the transition state, which so tickled his risible faculties that he burst into a laugh, which only got the length of a sigh, however, and nearly produced another fainting fit. "Ah, then, darlin'!" whispered Larry, with the tenderness of a woman, "_don't_ do it now. Sure ye'll go off again av ye do. Kape quiet, dear. 'Tis all right ye'll be in a day or two. Bad luck to the baist that did it!" This latter remark brought the scene of the tiger-hunt suddenly to Will's remembrance, and he whispered, for he had not strength to speak aloud-- "Was he killed? Who saved me?" "Kilt!" cried Larry, forgetting his caution in his excitement; "faix he was, an' Bunco did it, too--blissin's on his dirty face--putt the ball betune his two eyes an' took the laist bit of skin off yer own nose, but the blood was spoutin' from ye like wather, an' if it hadn't bin that the cliver feller knowed all about tyin' up an'--there, honey, I wint an' forgot--don't mind me--och! sure, he's off again!" This was true. Our hero had lost almost the last drop of blood that he could spare with the slightest chance of recovery, and the mere exertion of listening was too much for him. For many weeks he lay in the hut of that hospitable Englishman, slowly but gradually returning from the brink of the grave, and during this period he found his host to be a friend in need, not only to his torn and weak body, but also to his soul. Day after day Gordon sat beside his couch with unwearied kindness, chatting to him about the "old country," telling him anecdotes of his former life, and gradually leading him to raise his thoughts from the consideration of time to eternity. Will Osten, like every unconverted man, rebelled at this at first; but Gordon was not a man to be easily repulsed. He did not _force_ religious thoughts on Will, but his own thoughts were so saturated, if we may say so, with religion, that he could not avoid the subject, and his spirit and manner were so winning that our hero was at last pleased to listen. Will's recovery was slow and tedious. Before he was able to leave Gordon's cottage his "independent" spirit was subdued by the Spirit of God, and he was enabled to exchange slavery to Self, for freedom in the service of Jesus Christ. For many a day after that did Will Osten lie helpless on his couch, perusing with deep interest the Testament given to him by his mother when he left home. During this period his companions did not forsake him, but spent their time in hunting and conveying the proceeds to Tacames, where they disposed of them profitably. On one of these occasions they found that an English ship had touched at the port in passing, and, among other things, Larry brought a number of old newspapers to the invalid. Among the first that he opened Will read the announcement of the sudden death of his own father! No information was given beyond the usual and formal statement, with the simple addition of the words "deeply regretted." We need not say that this was a terrible shock to the poor wanderer--a shock which was rendered all the more severe when he reflected that he had parted from his father in anger. In his weak condition, Will could not bear up under the blow, and, for some days, he lay in such a depressed state of mind and body that his comrades began to fear for his life. But after that he rallied, and a sudden improvement took place in his health. One day he called his companions round him, and said:-- "Friends, I have resolved to leave you, and return to Europe. You know my reasons. I am not a companion, but only a drag upon you; besides, my mother is left unprotected. You will excuse me if I decline to enter into a discussion on this point. I have not strength for it, and my resolve is fixed." Will paused, and Larry O'Hale, with a leer on his countenance, asked by what road he meant to travel. "Across the Andes to the northern coast of South America," answered Will, smiling. "An' you as waik as wather, with legs like the pins of a wather-wagtail!" "That will soon mend," said Will, jumping up and pulling on his clothes; "get ready to go out hunting with me, Larry, if you have a mind to!" Despite the remonstrances of his friend, Will Osten went out with his gun, trembling with weakness at every step. He was soon induced to return to the cottage, but his resolve was fixed. Next day he went out again, and, finally, in the course of a week or two, had recovered so much of his old vigour that he felt able to set out on his journey. Of course there were many disputings and arguings as to who should go with him, but it was finally agree that Larry and Bunco should be his companions. Indeed these two would take no denial, and vowed that, if he declined to accept of them as comrades, they would follow him as a rear-guard! Muggins and Old Peter decided that they would return to Tacames, and make their way thence to California. Just before parting, Larry took Muggins aside and said, in as dismal a tone as his jovial spirit was capable of, "It's little I thought, mate, that you an' me would come for to part in this way, but ov coorse, I couldn't leave Mr Osten in such a fix, so, d'ye see, I must say farewell; but kape yer weather eye open, ould boy, for as sure as Larry O'Hale has got two legs, which makes a pair, you'll see him in Callyforny yit, diggin' for his fortin'. In the main time, as I know ye'll want money, an' as I've made a lot more than you by huntin'-- becase of being a better shot, d'ye see--here's a small sum which I axes you to accept of as a testimoniyall of my ondyin' friendship." Muggins bluntly refused the leathern bag which Larry thrust into his hand, but he ultimately allowed him to force it into his pocket--and turned away with a sigh. It was a lovely morning when Wandering Will sorrowfully bade his friends farewell, and, with his faithful followers, turned his face towards the snow-capped range of the mighty Andes. CHAPTER ELEVEN. WANDERING WILL TRAVELS, FINDS HIS PROFESSION PROFITABLE, AND SEES A GOOD DEAL OF LIFE IN NEW FORMS. The first part of the journey was performed in a canoe on the Tacames river, up which they ascended with considerable speed. The scenery was delightfully varied. In some places the stream was wide, in others very narrow, fringed along the banks with the most luxuriant timber and brushwood, in which the concert kept up by birds and beasts was constant, but not disagreeable to the ears of such enthusiastic sportsmen as Will Osten, Larry O'Hale, and Bunco. The only disagreeable objects in the landscape were the alligators, which hideously ugly creatures were seen, covered with mud, crawling along the banks and over slimy places, with a sluggish motion of their bodies and an antediluvian sort of glare in their eyes that was peculiarly disgusting. They were found to be comparatively harmless, however. If they had chanced to catch a man asleep they would have seized him no doubt, and dragged him into the water, but being arrant cowards, they had not the pluck to face even a little boy when he was in motion. Towards the afternoon of the first day, the hunters came to a long bend in the river. Here Will Osten resolved to leave Bunco to proceed alone with the canoe, while he and Larry crossed the country in search of game. Their friend Gordon had given them an elaborate chart of the route up to the mountains, so that they knew there was a narrow neck of jungle, over which they might pass, and meet the canoe after it had traversed the bend in the river. "Have you got the tinder-box, Larry?" inquired Will, as they were about to start. "Ay, an' the powder an' shot too, not to mintion the bowie-knife. Bad luck to the wild baists as comes to close quarters wid me, anyhow." He displayed an enormous and glittering knife as he spoke, with which he made two or three savage cuts and thrusts at imaginary tigers before returning it to its sheath. Cautioning Bunco to keep a good look-out for them on the other side of the neck of land, the hunters entered the forest. For several hours they trudged through bush and brake, over hill and dale, in jungle and morass, meadow and ravine, without seeing anything worth powder and shot, although they _heard_ the cries of many wild creatures. "Och! there's wan at long last," whispered Larry, on coming to the edge of a precipice that overlooked a gorge or hollow, at the bottom of which a tiger was seen tearing to pieces the carcase of a poor goat that it had captured. It was a long shot, but Larry was impatient. He raised his gun, fired, and missed. Will Osten fired immediately and wounded the brute, which limped away, howling, and escaped. The carcass of the goat, however, remained, so the hunters cut off the best parts of the flesh for supper, and then hastened to rejoin the canoe, for the shades of night were beginning to fall. For an hour longer they walked, and then suddenly they both stopped and looked at each other. "I do belaive we've gone an' lost ourselves again," said Larry. "I am afraid you are right," replied Will, with a half smile; "come, try to climb to the top of yonder tree on the eminence; perhaps you may be able to see from it how the land lies." Larry went off at once, but on coming down said it was so dark that he could see nothing but dense forest everywhere. There was nothing for it now but to encamp in the woods. Selecting, therefore, a large spreading tree, Larry kindled a fire under it, and his companion in trouble discharged several shots in succession to let Bunco know their position if he should be within hearing. Neither Will nor Larry took troubles of this kind much to heart. As soon as a roaring fire was blazing, with the sparks flying in clouds into the trees overhead, and the savoury smell of roasting goat's flesh perfuming the air, they threw care to the dogs and gave themselves up to the enjoyment of the hour, feeling assured that Bunco would never desert them, and that all should be well on the morrow. After supper they ascended the tree, for the howling of wild beasts increased as the night advanced, warning them that it would be dangerous to sleep on the ground. Here they made a sort of stage or platform among the branches, which was converted into a comfortable couch by being strewn six inches deep with leaves. Only one at a time dared venture to sleep, however, for creatures that could climb had to be guarded against. At first this was a light duty, but as time passed by it became extremely irksome, and when Larry was awakened by Will to take his second spell of watching, he vented his regrets in innumerable grunts, growls, coughs, and gasps, while he endeavoured to rub his eyes open with his knuckles. "Have a care, lad," said Will, with a sleepy laugh as he lay down; "the tigers will mistake your noise for an invitation to--" A snore terminated the speech. "Bad luck to them," yawned Larry, endeavouring to gaze round him. In less than a minute his chin fell forward on his breast, and he began to tumble backwards. Awaking with a start under the impression that he was falling off the tree, he threw out both his arms violently and recovered himself. "Come, Larry," he muttered to himself, with a facetious smile of the most idiotical description, "don't give way like that, boy. Ain't ye standin' sintry? an' it's death by law to slaip at yer post. Och! but the eyes o' me won't kape open. Lean yer back agin that branch to kape ye from fallin'. There--now howld up like a man--like a--man--ould-- b-o-oy." His words came slower and slower, until, at the last, his head dropped forward on his chest, and he fell into a profound sleep, to the immense delight of a very small monkey which had been watching his motions for some time, and which now ventured to approach and touch the various articles that lay beside the sleepers, with intense alarm, yet with fiendish glee, depicted on its small visage. Thus some hours of the night were passed, but before morning the rest of the sleepers was rudely broken by one of the most appalling roars they had yet heard. They were up and wide awake instantly, with their guns ready and fingers on the triggers! "It's draimin' we must have--" A rustling in the branches overhead checked him, and next moment the roar was repeated. Larry, with an irresistible feeling of alarm, echoed it and fired right above his head--doing nothing more serious, however, than accelerating the flight of the already horrified monkey. The shot was followed by another roar, which ended in something like a hideous laugh. "Sure 'tis a hieena!" exclaimed Larry, reloading in violent haste. "A hyena!" exclaimed Will--"ay, and a black one, too! Come down, Bunco, you scoundrel, else I'll put a bullet in your thick skull." At this invocation the rustling overhead increased, and Bunco dropped upon the platform, grinning from ear to ear at the success of his practical joke. "Och, ye blackymoor!" cried Larry, seizing the native by the throat and shaking him; "what d'ye mean be such doin's, eh?" "Me mean noting," said Bunco, still chuckling prodigiously; "but it am most glorus fun for fright de bowld Irishesman." "Sit down, ye kangaroo, an' tell us how ye found us out," cried Larry. "You heard our shots, I suppose?" said Will. To this Bunco replied that he had not only heard their shots, but had seen them light their fire, and eat their supper, and prepare their couch, and go to sleep, all of which he enjoyed so intensely, in prospect of the joke he meant to perpetrate, that he was obliged to retire several times during the evening to a convenient distance and roar in imitation of a tiger, merely to relieve his feelings without betraying his presence. He added, that the canoe was about five minutes' walk from where they sat, and somewhat mollified the indignation of his comrades by saying that he would watch during the remainder of the night while they slept. Next morning at daybreak the party re-embarked in the canoe and continued their journey. Soon the character of the country changed. After a few days the thick forests had disappeared, and richly cultivated small farms took their place. Everywhere they were most hospitably entertained by the inhabitants, who styled Will "Physico," because Bunco made a point of introducing him as a doctor. One evening they arrived at a little town with a small and rapid stream of water passing through it. There was a square in the centre of the town, surrounded by orange, lemon, and other trees, which formed an agreeable shade and filled the air with fragrance. Not only was there no doctor here, but one was seldom or never seen. Immediately, therefore, our Physico was besieged for advice, and his lancet, in particular, was in great request, for the community appeared to imagine that bloodletting was a cure for all the ills that flesh is heir to! Will of course did his best for them, and was surprised as well as pleased by the number of doubloons, with which the grateful people fed him. After passing some days very pleasantly here, Will made preparations to continue his journey, when an express arrived bringing intelligence from several of the surrounding towns to the effect that a sort of revolution had broken out. It was fomented by a certain colonel in the employment of the State, who, finding that his services and those of his followers were not paid with sufficient regularity, took the simple method of recruiting his finances by a levy on the various towns in his neighbourhood. He was, in fact, a bandit. Some towns submitted, others remonstrated, and a few resisted. When it was ascertained that the colonel and his men were on their way to the town, in which our travellers sojourned, preparations were at once made for defence, and of course Will Osten and his comrades could do no less than volunteer their services. CHAPTER TWELVE. IN WHICH TERRIBLE THINGS ARE TREATED OF--THE ANDES ARE CROSSED, THE ORINOCO DESCENDED AND THE BOOK ENDED. At the time of which we write it was not an uncommon thing, in the provinces on the western coast of South America, for dissatisfied military officers, with a number of malcontents, to get up miniature revolutions, which were generally put down after much plundering and bloodshed. These bands of armed men went about like regular banditti, disturbing the peace of the whole country. They were not much heard of in Europe, because intercommunication and telegraphy did not exist then as they do now, and insignificant affairs of the kind were not taken much notice of. One effect of the threatened attack on the town about which we write was, that the people became desperately excited and tremendously vigorous in their preparations. Arms were sought out and distributed; chests were opened, and gold and silver--in quantities that amazed Will and his friends--taken out and buried in the woods. Pistols, guns, and swords were produced in abundance, with plenty of ammunition, and the manner in which the men handled these proved that they meant to make a determined stand. Trees were felled, and the roads leading to the town barricaded. As the express came along he spread the news around, and farmers came in from all quarters driving their cattle before them. All the arrangements for defence were made under the direction of Don Pedro, a retired officer, who proved to be quite equal to the occasion, posted his men judiciously, and sent out scouts on horseback. Will Osten, Larry, and Bunco were left to do as they pleased, so they armed themselves, procured horses, kept close together, and rode about the town observing the arrangements. The night passed without alarm, but early in the morning a horseman arrived with the news that the rebels were advancing. A few hours afterwards they appeared in full view. Some were mounted, but the majority were on foot, and a more villainous set of rascals could not well be imagined. They advanced irregularly, evidently not expecting opposition from so insignificant a town, but those who first approached the barricades were received with such a galling fire that several were killed, many wounded, and the rest driven back. Their leader, a tall dark man on a powerful charger, rode to the front in a towering passion, and endeavoured to rally the men. At that moment a bold idea flashed upon Will Osten. He suddenly put spurs to his horse, galloped round to the lowest part of the barricade, leaped over it, and, drawing his sword, charged the leader of the rebels like a thunderbolt. The man faced him, and raised his sword, to defend himself, but Will's first cut was so powerful that it broke down his guard, cleft his helmet, and tumbled him out of the saddle. The contending parties had scarce time to realise what was being done when the deed was completed, and a wild cheer burst from the townspeople, high above which there sounded a terrific "hooroo!" and next instant, Larry O'Hale, followed by Bunco, shot from the barricades, and charged the foe! The consternation caused by the suddenness and the unexpected nature of this onset made the banditti waver, and, when they beheld the townsmen pouring out from their defences and rushing at them with an evident determination to conquer or die, they turned and fled! The rout was complete, and for some time the people of the town continued to chase and slay the enemy, until the pursuit was suddenly stopped by an event as terrible as it was unexpected. For some weeks previous to the day when the town was assaulted, the neighbourhood, and, indeed, the whole of the surrounding provinces, had been visited by a series of slight earthquakes. So common are these tremblings and heavings of the earth in South America, that unless very severe, not much notice is taken of them. At the time of which we write, the slight shocks had been so frequent that the people were comparatively indifferent to them. On the very day of the assault there had been several smarter shocks than usual, and some of the more thoughtful among the inhabitants remembered that it was on an unusually dry summer, similar to the one that was then passing, that a terrible earthquake had visited the province of Venezuela and entirely demolished the city of Caraccas. But the sudden attack of the rebels had for the time banished all thought of earthquakes. It was while the people of the town were pursuing their enemies that another shock of the earthquake occurred, and it was so violent that many of the pursuers paused, while others turned at once and ran back to the town. Here they found the women and children in a state of consternation, for they had more thoroughly realised the force of the shock; and the dreadful scenes that had taken place in Caraccas, when upwards of ten thousand of the inhabitants perished, were still fresh in their memory. Another shock occurred just as Don Pedro, Will Osten, and his friends galloped into the principal square of the town. Here there were hundreds of cattle which had been driven there for safety, and crowds of people hurrying to and fro. The horsemen rode towards the principal church of the town, which had been made a place of temporary retreat for the women and children. They had got within a few hundred yards of it when there came a shock so terrible that it seemed as if the binding forces of nature were being dissolved. Hollow thunderings were heard deep in the bowels of the earth, which heaved and undulated almost as if it had been in a semi-liquid state, while great rents and fissures occurred here and there. Will Osten's horse stumbled into one of these and threw him, but he leaped up unhurt. Don Pedro and the others pulled up and dismounted hastily. Before they could make up their minds which way to turn or what to do, another shock occurred; the houses on either side of them began to sway to and fro, and one not far distant fell. Just then a terrible crash was heard, and Will Osten turned round in time to see the large church in the act of falling. Women and children were rushing out of it frantically, but those within were doomed. One wild and awful shriek mingled with the roar of the tumbling edifice, and five hundred souls were instantaneously buried in a common grave. Terrible though this event was, much of the impression it was fitted to make on those who witnessed it was lost because of the danger that surrounded themselves. The shock or series of shocks continued for several minutes, during which time the houses were falling into ruins in all directions, and there was so much danger in remaining in any of the streets that most of the inhabitants who had escaped flocked, as with one consent, into the great square--many of them, however, being killed by falling masonry on their way thither. Others nearer the outskirts of the town fled into the woods. When this shock ceased, the earthquake appeared to have terminated for that time, but even if it had continued, further damage could scarcely have been done, for the little town was reduced to a heap of ruins. The desolation was complete. Scarcely a house was left uninjured, and the greater part of the buildings were completely demolished. But the sights that met the eye were not more terrible than the sounds which filled the ear. Death and destruction reigned on every side. Groans of agony and frantic cries for deliverance were heard issuing from beneath the ruins, while men, women, and children were seen rushing about with dishevelled hair and bloodshot eyes, wildly searching for, and shouting the names of, their lost relatives and friends, or crying to God for mercy. It was a sickening and terrible sight--a sight in regard to which those who dwell in the more favoured parts of our sin-smitten world can form but a very faint conception. At first all was disorder, but by degrees the spirits of the survivors began to calm down a little, and then systematic efforts were made to rescue those who had not been killed outright. It need scarcely be said that in this work our hero and his companions were conspicuously energetic. Will and Don Pedro organised the men into gangs and wherever cries or groans were heard, they tore up and removed the ruins so vigorously that the poor sufferers were speedily released; but in performing this work they uncovered the torn, crushed, and mangled bodies of hundreds of the dead. "Come here, Larry," said Will, in a low, sad tone, as he stood on a pile of rubbish digging towards a spot where he had heard a faint cry as if from a female. The Irishman leaped to his side and saw a small hand sticking out of the rubbish. It quivered convulsively, showing that life still remained. With desperate eagerness, yet tender care, the two men disentombed the poor creature, who proved to be a women with a child clasped tightly in her broken and lacerated right arm. The woman was alive, but the poor child was dead, the skull having been completely smashed and its brains scattered on its mother's bosom. As they carried them away, the woman also expired. In the course of a few hours great numbers of wounded persons, young and old, were laid under the lemon-trees by the banks of the little stream that traversed the town. Some were slightly hurt, but by far the greater number were terribly crushed and lacerated--many of them past all hope of recovery. To these sufferers Will Osten now gave his undivided attention, washing and bandaging wounds, amputating limbs, and endeavouring by every means to relieve them, and save their lives, while to the dying he tried, in the little Spanish he knew, to convey words of spiritual comfort, sometimes finding it impossible to do more than whisper the name of Jesus in a dying ear, while hurriedly passing from one to another. If earnest heart-expressive glances from eyes that were slowly fading conveyed any evidence of good having been done, Will's labour of love was not spent in vain. Reader, a volume would not suffice to detail a tithe of the sights and scenes of thrilling and dreadful interest that occurred in that small South American town on the occasion of the earthquake. Yet, awful though these were, they were as nothing compared with the more stupendous calamities that have been caused by earthquakes in that land of instability, not only in times long past, but in times so very recent that the moss cannot yet have begun to cover, nor the weather to stain, the tombstones and monuments of those who perished. For many weeks Will Osten remained there tending the sick and dying. Then he bade his kind unfortunate friends farewell, and, once more turning his face towards the Cordillera of the Andes, resumed his homeward journey with his faithful attendants. There are times in the career of a man--especially of one who leads a wandering and adventurous life--when it seems as though the events of a lifetime were compressed into the period of a few months, or weeks, or even days. Such, at least, was the experience of our hero while he travelled in the equatorial regions of South America. Events succeeded each other with such rapidity, and accumulated on each other to such an extent, that when he looked back it appeared utterly incredible that he and his companions had landed on the coast of Peru only a few months before. It was natural, indeed, that in such a region, where the phenomena and the forces of nature are so wild and vast, one incident or adventure should follow quickly on the heels of another, but it did not seem to be altogether natural that each incident should be more singular or tremendous than its predecessor. In short, there seemed to be neither rhyme nor reason, as Larry said, in the fact that they should be continually getting out of the frying-pan into the fire. Yet so it was, and, now that they had left the low country and plunged into the magnificent recesses of the great Andes, the metaphor was still applicable, though not, perhaps, equally appropriate, for, whereas the valleys they had quitted were sweltering in tropical heat, the mountains they had now ascended were clothed in wintry snow. Far down in the valleys Will Osten and his friends had left their canoe, and hired mules with an _arriero_ or mule-driver to guide them over the difficult and somewhat dangerous passes of the Andes. They had reached the higher altitudes of the mountains when we again introduce them to the reader, and were urging their mules forward, in order to reach a somewhat noted pass, before the breaking out of a storm which the arriero knew, from certain indications in the sky, was rapidly approaching. The party consisted of four--Will, Larry, Bunco, and the arriero--with three baggage-mules. On reaching an elevated position at a turn in the road whence they could see far in advance, they halted. "Why, I had supposed _this_ was the pass," said Will Osten, turning to Bunco; "ask the arriero how far off it is now." "Troth, it's my belaif that there's no pass at all," said Larry, somewhat doggedly, as he shifted about uneasily in the saddle; "haven't we bin comin' up to places all day that we thought was the pass,--but they wasn't; I don't think Mister Arryhairo knows it hisself, and this baist of a mule has blistered my hands an' a'most broke my arms with baitin' of it--not to mintion other parts o' me body. Och, but it's a grand place, afther all--very nigh as purty as the Lakes of Killarney, only a bit bigger." The country was indeed a little bigger! From the dizzy ledge on which they stood a scene of the wildest sublimity met their gaze, and, for a few minutes, the travellers regarded it in profound silence. Mountains, crags, gorges, snowy peaks, dark ravines, surrounded them, spread out below them, rose up above them everywhere in the utmost confusion. It was the perfection of desolation--the realisation of chaos. At their feet, far down in the gorge below, lay a lake so dark that it might have been ink; but it was clear and so very still that every rock in the cliffs around it was faithfully portrayed. High overhead rose one of the more elevated peaks of the Andes, which, being clothed in pure snow, looked airy--almost unreal--against the blue sky. The highest peak of the Andes (Chimborazo) is more than 21,000 feet above the sea. The one before them was probably a few hundred feet lower. Of living creatures, besides themselves, only one species was to be seen--the gigantic "condor"--the royal eagle of the Andes, which soars higher, it is said, than any other bird of its kind. Hundreds of condors were seen hovering above them, watching for their prey,--the worn-out and forsaken mules or cattle, which, while being driven over the pass, perished from exhaustion. "The ugly brutes! Is it a goat they've got howld of there?" said Larry, pointing to a place where several of these monstrous eagles were apparently disputing about some prize. On reaching the place, the object in question was found to be the skeleton of a mule, from which every morsel of flesh had been carefully picked. "Hold my mule, Larry," whispered Will, throwing the reins to his comrade, and grasping a rifle with which one of his grateful patients who survived the earthquake had presented him. A condor had seated himself, in fancied security, on a cliff about two hundred yards off, but a well-aimed bullet brought him tumbling down. He was only winged, and when Will came up and saw his tremendous talons and beak, he paused to consider how he should lay hold of him. "Och, what claws!" exclaimed Larry. "Ah!" said Bunco, smiling, "more teribuble for scratch than yoos grandmoder, eh?" Before they could decide how to proceed, the arriero came up, threw the noose of his lasso over the head of the magnificent bird, and secured it easily. He measured eight feet seven inches from tip to tip of the expanded wings. Will Osten was anxious to skin this bird, and carry it away with him as a trophy, but the guide protested. He said that the pass was now really within a short distance of them, but that the thunder-storm would soon come on, and if it caught them in the pass they ran a chance of all being lost. Will, therefore, contented himself with cutting off the head and talons of the condor, and then resumed his toilsome upward journey. According to the arriero's prophecy, the storm burst upon them in less than two hours, while they were still some distance from the top of the pass. Although they had now reached the region of snow, the zig-zag track by which they ascended was tolerably visible, but, as they proceeded, dark clouds overspread the sky, and snow fell heavily, while peals of muttering thunder came from afar, echoing among the mountain peaks and betokening the rapid approach of the storm. The arriero looked anxious, and urged the mules on with whip and voice, turning his eyes furtively, now and then, in the direction of the dark clouds. Presently, on turning one of the bends in the track, they came upon a singular party travelling in the opposite direction. Their singularity consisted chiefly in this, that instead of mules they had a train of bullock-waggons, which were laden with ponderous mill-machinery. At their head rode a fine-looking man of middle age, who addressed Will in Spanish. Bunco's services as interpreter being called into requisition, the traveller told them that the pass was pretty clear, but advised them to make haste, as the storm would soon break, and might render it impassable. On the same ground he excused himself for not staying to exchange news with them. "Your cargo is a strange one," said Will, as they were about to part. The traveller admitted that it was, and explained that he meant to erect a flour-mill in his native town, towards which he was hastening. At these words the arriero seemed peculiarly affected. He advanced to the traveller and said a few words. The latter started, turned pale, and asked a few hurried questions. While the arriero was replying, the pallor of the traveller's countenance increased; a wild fire seemed to shoot from his eyes, and his hands clutched convulsively the poncho which covered his breast. Suddenly he returned to his followers and gave them a few hurried orders, then, without noticing any one, he put spurs to his mule, and galloping down the track like a madman, was out of sight in a moment. His men at once unharnessed the cattle and followed him, leaving the waggons and the ponderous machinery in the snow. The first gust of the storm burst upon the travellers at this moment, and Will with his friends had to ride to a neighbouring cliff for shelter before he could ask the meaning of the peculiar conduct of the stranger. The guide soon cleared up the mystery by telling him, through Bunco, that the traveller was an inhabitant of the town which had been so recently destroyed by the earthquake. "I happened to know him by name," continued the guide, "and am aware that his wife with every member of his family was buried in the ruins. You saw how deeply he took it to heart, poor fellow." "Poor fellow indeed; God help him," said Will sadly, as he left the shelter of the cliff, and continued the ascent. They never saw the unfortunate man again, but it is worthy of remark that, years after, Will Osten heard of him through a friend who happened to cross the Andes at the same point. The blow had been so severe that he never returned to claim his property; and there it lay for many a day on the wild mountain pass--perchance there it lies still--far from the abodes of men, and utterly useless, save as a ponderous monument and memorial of the terrible catastrophe which had robbed its owner of home, kindred, wealth, and earthly hope. The storm had at last burst upon our travellers in all its fury--and very different is the storm in these weird altitudes, where earth and heaven seem to meet, than in the plains below. The wind came whistling down the gorges as if through funnels, driving before it not only snow, but sand and pebbles, so that for a time our travellers being unable to face it, were compelled to seek shelter under a ledge of rock. After the first burst there was a short lull, of which they availed themselves to push on. Will, being mounted on the best mule, went considerably ahead of his companions; but at last the falling snow became so thick as to render objects almost invisible. The track, too, which ran unpleasantly near the edge of a precipice, was almost obliterated, so he thought it best to wait for the others. Just then another squall came howling down the gorge at his right. His mule became restive and frightened, and, slipping on the snow, came down on its knees. The violence of the wind rendered it almost impossible to keep the saddle, so this decided Will. He slid off. Scarcely had he done so when there came a gust which fortunately threw him flat down; at the same time his mule staggered over the edge of the precipice. One moment Will saw the poor animal struggling to regain its footing--the next it was rolling down into the abyss, bounding from rock to rock, and he knew, although the swirling snow prevented him seeing it, that his steed was, in a few minutes, dashed to pieces in the gorge a thousand feet below. For some time Will did not dare to rise. The gale grew fiercer every moment, and the darkness--not of night, but of thick clouds--increased. As the snow accumulated over him he feared being buried alive, so he struggled out of the drift and looked around him. It was utter chaos--not a landmark was visible. Having turned round once or twice, he did not know how to direct his steps. While hesitating as to what he should do, another gust swept by, carried away his hat and poncho, tore his over-coat right up the back and compelled him to lie down again, in which position he remained until he felt benumbed with cold. Knowing that to remain much longer in that position would insure his death, our hero rose and staggered forward a few paces--he scarce knew whither. There was a lull in the gale at this time, and he continued to advance, when a voice behind arrested him. "Hooroo! doctor, whereabouts are ye?" "Hallo! Larry, here I am, all right." "Faix, it's well ye are that same," said Larry, looming through the drifting snow like a white spectre, "for it's all wrong with us. Wan o' the poor baists wi' the packs has gone clane over the cliffs an' bin smashed to smithereens--more be token it's the wan that carried the kittle an' the salt beef, but the wan wi' the biscuit an' the fryin'-pan is safe, an' that's a comfort, anyhow." Will expressed his regret at this, and was beginning to tell how his own mule had been killed, when Bunco suddenly made his appearance, and, seizing him by the collar, dragged him with extreme violence a few paces forward. For one brief instant a flush of anger mingled with Will's surprise at this unceremonious treatment; but all other feelings gave way to one of gratitude to God when, observing his faithful attendant point to the spot from which he had been dragged, he turned round and saw that he had been standing on the extreme verge of the precipice. Had he advanced one step after being arrested by the voice of his comrade, his mangled body would, in a few seconds, have been lying beside that of his poor mule! There was no time to speak of these things, however, just then, for the storm, or rather the squall, burst forth again with increased violence, and the pass was still before them--so like the men of a forlorn hope who press up to the breach, they braced themselves to renew the conflict, and pushed on. The truth of the proverb, that "fortune favours the brave," was verified on this occasion. The storm passed over almost as quickly as it had begun, the sky cleared up, and, before night set in, they had crossed the pass, and were rapidly descending the eastern side of the mountains towards the fertile plains and valleys of Columbia. The transition from the wintry cold of the high regions of the Andes to the intense tropical heat of the plains and forests was rapidly made. In a few days the travellers were obliged to throw off their ponchos and warm garments, and at the end of a few weeks we find them stretched out lazily in the stern of a canoe, under the guidance of four Creoles, floating quietly down one of the numerous tributaries of the Orinoco. The change was not only sudden but also agreeable. In truth, our adventurers had been so long subjected by that time to excitement and exhausting toil--especially while crossing the mountains--that the most robust among them began to long for a little rest, both bodily and mental, and, now that they lay idly on their backs gazing at the passing scenery, listening to the ripple of the water and smoking cigarettes, it seemed as if the troubles of life had all passed away and nothing but peace lay around and before them. "'Tis paradise intirely," observed Larry, removing his cigarette for a moment, and winking facetiously at a small monkey which happened to peep at him just then through the foliage overhead. "Him won't be long like dat," said Bunco. "Come, now, ye ill-omened spalpeen, don't be causin' yer dirty clouds to come over this purty vision. Wot's the use o' cryin' before ye're hurt, or pretendin' to know the futur' whin ye knows nothin' about it? Ye're no better than a baboon, Bunco, as I've fraiquintly had occasion to tell ye before now." Bunco made no reply to this, but smiled slightly as he changed his position to one of greater comfort, and lit a fresh cigarette. "Larry," said Will Osten, "did you remember to put the fresh meat in the canoe this morning?" "Och! morther," cried the Irishman, starting up with a look of desperate annoyance on his expressive face; "sure I've wint an' forgot it! It's hangin' at this minit on the branch where I putt it last night for fear o' the tigers--bad luck to them!" "Ho, ho!" ejaculated Bunco, "paradise am gone a'ready!" Larry turned upon his friend with a look that betokened no good, and appeared to meditate an assault, when Will Osten said quietly,--"Never mind, Larry; I luckily observed your omission, and put it into the canoe myself." "Ah, then, doctor, it's not right of 'e to trifle wid a poor man's feelin's in that way, especially in regard to his stummick, which, wid me, is a tinder point. Howsever, it's all right, so I'll light another o' thim cigarettes. They're not bad things after all, though small an' waik at the best for a man as was used to twist an' a black pipe since he was two foot high." The Irishman lay down and once more sought to recover his lost paradise, but was interrupted by an exclamation from one of the canoe-men, who pointed to a part of the river's bank where no fewer than eight crocodiles were lying basking in the sun. They were of various sizes, from eight to twenty feet in length, and slept with their jaws wide open, and their formidable rows of teeth exposed to view. "Well, wot's to do?" asked Larry, half rising. "Oh! hums only want you to look to de brutes--'tink you hab never seed him 'fore to-day," said Bunco. "Tell him he's mistaken, then," replied Larry testily; "we've often seed 'em before, an' don't want to be roused up by such trifles." Saying this, the Irishman once more sank into a recumbent state of felicity; but his peaceful tendency was doomed to frequent interruptions, not only on that day, but on many other occasions during the voyage down the Orinoco. In the evening of that same day he had an adventure which induced him to suspect, more strongly even than Bunco, that terrestrial paradise was indeed still a long way off. The party landed at a small clearing, where they were hospitably received by a professional tiger-hunter, who, although nearly half-naked and almost black, was a very dignified personage, and called himself Don Emanuel. This Don invited them up to smoke and eat at his residence, which turned out to be a very large one--no less than the wild forest itself, for he disdained houses, and was wont to sling his hammock, nightly, between two trees. At his encampment they were introduced to his wife and two daughters, who were as wild and as lightly clad as himself, and the only evidence (if evidence it was) that the ladies belonged to the gentler sex was, that Donna Isabella--the elder sister--fondled a large cat, for which she appeared to entertain a strong affection. Having supped and smoked, the travellers slung their hammocks to the trees and went to sleep. In the middle of the night, several times, they were awakened by the cries of the denizens of the thickets. It was supposed that when any two of these took to fighting the others were stirred up to roar in sympathy! Be this as it may, the mingled cries, roars, and shrieks, of sapajous, alouates, jaguars, cougars, pacaris, sloths, curassows, parraquas, etcetera, broke forth from time to time with such fury, that sleep was almost unattainable; then a thunderstorm came on which wet them to the skin; after that a large vampire-bat bit Bunco on the nose, causing that worthy to add his noise to the general concert; and, finally, a soft hairy animal dropt from a branch into Larry O'Hale's hammock. The Irishman received it with open arms and a yell of terror. He crushed it to his chest, which drew forth a responsive yell of agony from the animal, whose claws and teeth were instantly fixed in Larry's chin and cheeks. He caught it by the tail--the teeth and claws were at once transferred to his hands; then he seized it by the throat, from which there issued a gasping shriek as he hurled it high into the air, whence it descended into the embers of the expiring fire, and, bolting violently from that too-warm spot, sent up a shower of sparks which revealed the fact that the unfortunate man had all but annihilated Donna Isabella's favourite cat! Thus they proceeded down the Orinoco, and, finally, reached the sea-coast, where they opportunely found a vessel ready to sail for Old England. It was not long, therefore, before they were once more out upon the wide sea, with the happy consciousness that they were actually "homeward bound." There are times in a man's career when realities appear to memory like the dim shadows of a dream, just as there are periods when dreams rise up with all the bold and startling vividness of reality. Our adventurers felt something of this when they had been a few days at sea, and began to think of and talk about their recent career in South America. It seemed to them as though their romantic life in the woods, their encounters with wild beasts, their adventures and misadventures in Ecuador, their dangers and difficulties in crossing the Andes, and their tranquil descent of the Orinoco, were a confused yet vivid vision; and often, while pacing the deck together, or sitting on the bulwarks of the ship in the dreamy idleness of passenger-life at sea, did they comment upon the difficulty they had in regarding as indubitable facts the events of the last few months. Nevertheless, as Larry expressed it, there could be no doubt whatever that it was all true, and after all, according to his carefully formed estimate, worse luck might have befallen them than being "cast away on the shores of Peroo an' lost in the forest!" 
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17414	----	THE BLOOD SHIP by NORMAN SPRINGER Grosset & Dunlap Publishers ---------- New York Made in the United States of America Copyright, 1922, by W. J. Watt & Company Printed in the United States of America Third Edition THE BLOOD SHIP CHAPTER I It was the writing guy who drew this story out of Captain Shreve. He talked so much I think the Old Man spun the yarn just to shut him up. He had talked ever since his arrival on board, early that morning, with a letter from the owners' agent, and the announcement he intended making the voyage with us. He had weak lungs, he said, and was in search of mild, tropical breezes. Also, he was seeking local color, and whatever information he could pick up about "King" Waldon. He had heard of the death of "King" Waldon, down in Samoa--Waldon, the trader, of the vanishing race of island adventurers--and he expected to travel about the south seas investigating the "king's" past, so he could write a book about the old viking. He had heard that Captain Shreve had known Waldon. Hence, he was honoring a cargo carrier with his presence instead of taking his ease upon a mail-boat. Captain Shreve must tell him all he knew about the "king." He was intensely interested in the subject. Splendid material, you know. That romantic legend of Waldon's arrival in the islands--too good to be true, and certainly too good not to put into a book. Was Captain Shreve familiar with the tale? How this fellow, Waldon, sailed into a Samoan harbor in an open boat, his only companion his beautiful young wife? Imagine--this man and woman coming from nowhere, sailing in from the open sea in a small boat, never telling whence they came! He said this was the stuff to go into his book. Romance, mystery! It was quite as important as the later and better known incidents in the "king's" life. That was why Captain Shreve must tell him all he knew about the fellow. If he could only get at the beginning of the "king's" career in the islands. Where did the fellow come from? Why should a man bring his bride into an uncivilized and lawless section of the world, and settle down for life? There must be a story in that. Ah, yes, and he was the man who could properly do it. Well, that was the way that writer talked. He talked so steadily nobody could slide a word in edgeways. Yet he said he wanted information. We wondered. If the ability to deliver an unending monologue, consisting chiefly of the ninth letter in the alphabet, is any sign of lung power, that chap didn't need any cod-liver oil or sea air. He could have given up writing, and still have made a good living ashore as a blacksmith's bellows! And as for the local color and information--well, he blinked through his black rimmed glasses at our immaculate decks, and said it was a pity they built ships for use and not for looks nowadays, and went on talking about himself, and what he could do with "King" Waldon. Briggs, the mate, confided to me in a soft aside that the chap was making the voyage because he knew he had an audience which couldn't escape--unless it jumped over the side. Captain Shreve didn't confide; his face kept its accustomed expression of serenity, and he made no attempt to stem the author's flood of words. I was somewhat surprised by this meekness, for our Old Man is a great hand to puncture a windbag; but then, I reflected, the writing guy, being a passenger, was in the nature of a guest on board, and, according to Captain Shreve's code, a man to be humored. We lay in the Stream, with a half dozen hours to pass ere we proceeded to sea. It was Sunday, so we were idle, the four of us lounging on the lower bridge deck--the Captain, Briggs, myself, and this human phonograph. It was a pleasant day, and we would have enjoyed the loaf in the warm afternoon sunshine, had it not been for the unending drivel of the passenger. I enjoyed it anyway, for even though the ears be filled with a buzzing, the eyes are free, and San Francisco Bay is an interesting place. ". . . and the critics all agree," the passenger rambled on, "that my genius is proved by my amazingly accurate portraits of character. I have the gift. That is why I shall do 'King' Waldon so well. I need but a mental image of the man to make him live again. You must tell me what he looked like, Captain. Is it true, as I have been told, he was such a giant of a man, and possessed of such enormous physical strength? And that his hair retained its yellow luster even in old age? And that he had a great scar on his face, or head, about which he never spoke? Ah, yes, you must tell me about him, Captain." Captain Shreve grunted at this--the first sound he had been able to squeeze into the talk for half an hour. But the author did not pause; in fact he hastened on, as though determined to forestall any interruption. Talk! I don't know when that fellow found any time to write. He was too eager to tell the world about his gift. "You know," says he, "I need but a few little intimate facts about 'King' Waldon's appearance and character, and I can make him stalk through my story as truly alive as when he was in the flesh. If he were alive I should not need your assistance, Captain; one look at the man and I could paint him in his true colors. I have that gift. Not men alone--I am able to invest even inanimate objects with personality. A house, a street, or a--yes, even a ship. Even this ship. Now, this old box----" Captain Shreve sat up straight in his chair. I thought he was rasped by the fellow's slur, for he is very proud of his ship. But it was something else that rubbed the expression of patient resignation from his face; he was staring over the starboard rail with an expression of lively interest. I followed his gaze with mine, but saw only a ferryboat in the distance, and, close by, a big red-stack tug towing a dilapidated coal hulk. The Captain's eyes were upon this tow. He tugged excitedly at his beard. "Well, by George, what a coincidence!" he exclaimed. He turned to the mate, his bright eyes snapping. "Look, Briggs! Do you know her? By George, do you recognize her?" The writing guy was disgusted by this interruption, just when he was going to prove his genius. Briggs shifted his quid, spat, and inspected the passing hulk with extreme deliberation. I looked at her too, wondering what there was about an old coal-carrier that could pierce Captain Shreve's accustomed phlegm. The tow was passing abreast, but a couple of hundred yards distant. The tug was shortening the line, and on the hulk's forecastle-head a couple of hands were busy at a cathead, preparing to let go anchor. She was ill-favored enough to look at, that hulk--weather-beaten, begrimed, stripped of all that makes a ship sightly. Nothing but the worn-out old hull was left. An eyesore, truly. Yet, any seaman could see with half an eye she had once been a fine ship. The clipper lines were there. Suddenly Briggs sat up in his chair, and exclaimed, "Well, blast my eyes, so it is!" He nodded to the Captain, and then returned his regard to the hulk, his nostrils working with interest. "So it is! So it is! Well, blast my----" "Is what?" I demanded. "What do you two see in that old hull that is so extraordinary?" Just then the writing guy decided we had monopolized the conversation long enough. So he seized the opportunity to exercise for our benefit the rare gift he was endowed with. He glanced patronizingly at the coal hulk, wrinkled his nose in disapprobation of her appearance, and delivered himself in an oracular voice. "What a horrible looking old tub! Not a difficult task to invest her with her true personality. An old workhorse--eh? A broken down old plug, built for heavy labor, and now rounding out an uninspiring existence by performing the most menial of tasks. An apt description--what?" I noticed a faint smile crack the straight line of Captain Shreve's mouth. But it was Briggs who was unable to contain himself. He turned full upon the poor scribe, and plainly voiced his withering scorn. "Why, blast my eyes, young feller, if you weren't as blind as a bat you'd know you were talking rot! 'A workhorse!' you say. 'A broken down old plug!' Blast me, man, look at the lines of her!" The passenger flushed, and stared uncomprehendingly at the poor old hulk. The tug had gone, and she was lying anchored, now, a few hundred yards off our starboard bow. A sorry sight. The author could see nothing but her ugliness. "Why, she is just a dirty old scow--" he commenced. "Blast me, can't you even guess what she once was?" went on Briggs, relentlessly. "Well, young feller, that dirty old scow--as you call her--is the _Golden Bough_!" The passenger only blinked. The name meant nothing to him. But it did to me. "The _Golden Bough_!" I echoed. "Surely you don't mean the _Golden Bough_?" "But I do," said Briggs. He waved his hand. "There she is--the _Golden Bough_. All that is left of the finest ship that ever smashed a record with the American flag at her gaff. She's a coal hulk now, but once she was the finest vessel afloat. Eh, Captain?" Captain Shreve nodded affirmation. Then he turned to the writing guy, and courteously salved the chap's self-esteem. "Small wonder you overlooked her build; it takes a sailor's eye for such things. And really, your description strikes home to me. We are all workhorses, are we not, we of the sea? And time breaks down us all, man and ship." The Old Man was staring at the hulk, and his voice was sorrowful. "Aye, but time has used her cruelly! What a pity--she was so bonny!" The writing guy perked up at this. "Well, you know, I see her through a layman's eyes," he explained. "And she does look so old, and dirty, and commonplace----" Briggs snorted, and the Captain hastened to continue, cutting off the mate's hard words. "Oh, yes, she looks old and dirty--no mistake. But time was when no ship afloat could match her for either looks or speed. Aye, she was a beauty. Remember how she looked in the old days, Briggs?" Briggs did. He emphatically blasted his eyes to the effect that he remembered very well the _Golden Bough_ in the days of her glory, the days when she was no workhorse, but a double-planked racehorse of the seas, as anyone but a lubber could see she had once been, just by looking at her. Yes, blast his eyes, he remembered her. He remembered one time running the Easting down in the _Josiah T. Flynn_, a smart ship, with a reputation, and they were cracking on as they would never dare crack, on in these degenerate days, when, blast his eyes, the _Golden Bough_ came up on them, and passed, and ran away from the poor old _Flynn_, and Yankee Swope had stood on his poopdeck at the passing, and waved a hawser-end at the Old Man of the _Flynn_, asking if he wanted a tow. "And then we caught hell," commented Mr. Briggs. Aye, he should say he did remember the _Golden Bough_. But he had never sailed in her. "And she looks commonplace enough," continued Captain Shreve, "providing you know nothing of her history. But she does not look commonplace to Briggs or me. I suppose we regard her through the mist of memory--we see the tall, beautiful ship that was. We know the record of that ship. Aye, lad, and if those sorry-looking timbers yonder could talk, you would not have to make the voyage with us in order to get a taste of the salt. You'd get real local color there--you'd hear of many a wild ocean race, of smashed records, or shanghaied crews and mutinies. Yes, and you'd get, perhaps, some of that particular information you say you are after. Those old, broken bulwarks yonder have looked upon life, I can tell you--and upon death." "The dangerous life of the sailor, I presume," drawled the writing guy. "Falling from aloft, and being washed overboard, and all that sort of thing." "Not always," retorted Captain Shreve. "There were other ways of going to Davy Jones in the old clipper days--and in these days, also, for that matter. Knives, for instance, or bullets, or a pair of furious hands--if you care for violent tragedy. But I did not mean the physical dangers of life, particularly; I meant, rather, that Fate tangles lives on board ship as queerly as in cities ashore. I meant that the _Golden Bough_, in her day, left her mark upon a good many lives. She broke men, and made them. And once, I know, she had to do with a woman's life, and a woman's love. There was a wedding performed upon that ship upon the high seas, and a dead man sprawled on the deck at the feet of the nuptial pair, and the bride was the dead man's widow!" "Oh, come now--" said the writing guy. It was plain he thought the skipper was stringing him. But I knew how difficult it was to get our Old Man to spin a yarn, and I was determined he should not be shunted off on a new tack. I interrupted the author, hurriedly. "Did you ever make a voyage in the _Golden Bough_, Captain?" I asked. "Yes," replied the Captain. "I was a witness to that wedding; and I played my small part in bringing it about. Yes, that old wreck yonder has had a good deal to do with my own life. I received my first boost upward in the _Golden Bough_. Shipped in the foc'sle, and ended the voyage in the cabin. Stepped into dead man's shoes. And more important than that--I won my manhood on those old decks." "Ah, performed some valorous deed?" purred the writing guy. "No; I abstained from performing an infamous deed," said Captain Shreve. "I think that is the way most men win to manhood." "Oh!" said the writing guy. He seemed about to say a lot more, when I put my oar in again. "Let us have the yarn, Captain," I begged. Captain Shreve squinted at the sun, and then favored the passenger with one of his rare smiles. "Why, yes," he said. "We have an idle afternoon ahead of us, and I'll gladly spin the yarn. You say, sir, you are interested in ships, and sailors, and, particularly, in 'King' Waldon's history. Well, perhaps you may find some material of use in this tale of mine; though I fear my lack of skill in recounting it may offend your trained mind. "Yet it is simply life and living--this yarn. Human beings set down upon those decks to work out their separate destinies as Fate and character directed. Aye, and their characters, and the motives that inspired their acts, were diverse enough, heaven knows. "There was Swope, Black Yankee Swope, who captained that hell-ship, a man with a twisted heart, a man who delighted in evil, and worked it for its own sake. There was Holy Joe, the shanghaied parson, whose weak flesh scorned the torture, because of the strong, pure faith in the man's soul. There were Blackie and Boston, their rat-hearts steeled to courage by lust of gold, their rascally, seductive tongues welding into a dangerous unit the mob of desperate, broken stiffs who inhabited the foc'sle. There were Lynch and Fitzgibbon, the buckos, living up to their grim code; and the Knitting Swede, that prince of crimps, who put most of us into the ship. There was myself, with my childish vanity, and petty ambitions. There was the lady, the beautiful, despairing lady aft, wife of the infamous brute who ruled us. There was Cockney, the gutless swab, whose lying words nearly had Newman's life. And last, and chiefly, there was the man with the scar, he who called himself 'Newman,' man of mystery, who came like the fabled knight, killed the beast who held the princess captive, and led her out of bondage. And I helped him; and saw the shanghaied parson marry them, there on the bloody deck. "Stuff for a yarn--eh? But just life, and living. By George, it was mighty strenuous living, too! And yet, well as I know this tale I lived in, I am at a loss how to commence telling it. You know, sir, this is where you writing folk have at disadvantage the chaps who only live their stories--you see the yarn from the beginning to the end, we see but those chapters in which Fate makes us characters. The beginning, the end, the plot--all are beyond our ken. If indeed there is a beginning, or end, or plot to a story one lives." "Every story must have a beginning, a middle, and an end," began the writing guy, sonorously. "Now I----" Just then I leaned over and placed my number nine brogan firmly upon that writing guy's kid-clad foot, and held him in speechless agony for a moment, while Captain Shreve got his yarn fairly launched. CHAPTER II Then, if I must have a beginning for the yarn (said Captain Shreve), I'll begin with that morning, in this very port of San Francisco, when I walked out of the Shipping Commissioner's office with my first A.B.'s discharge in my hand, and a twelve months' pay-day jingling in my pocket. For I must explain something of my state of mind on that morning, so you will understand how I got Into Yankee Swope's blood-ship. It was the heyday of the crimps, and I walked through the very heart of crimpdom, along the old East street. It is not a very prepossessing thoroughfare even to-day, when it masquerades as the Embarcadero, a sinner reformed. In those days, when it was just East street, it consisted of solid blocks of ramshackle frame buildings, that housed all the varieties of sharks and harpies who live off Jack ashore; it was an ugly, dirty, fascinating way, a street with a garish, besotted face. But on this morning it seemed the most wonderful avenue in the world to me. I saw East street through the colorful eyes of youth--the eyes of Romance. I stepped along with my chest out and my chin up-tilted. A few paces behind me a beachcomber wobbled along with my sea-bag on his shoulder--for what A.B. would demean himself with such labor on pay-day, when moochers abounded at his heel! I was looking for a boarding-house. But it was not the Sailors' Home. That respectable institution might do very well for boys, and callow ordinary seamen, but it certainly would not do for a newly made A.B. Nor was I looking for Mother Harrison's place, as I told Mother's runner, who stuck at my elbow for a time. Mother Harrison's was known as the quietest, most orderly house on the street; it might do for those quiet and orderly old shellbacks whose blood had been chilled by age; but it would never do for a young A.B., a real man, who was wishful for all the mad living the beach afforded. No; I was looking for the Knitting Swede's. Knitting Swede Olson! Remember him, Briggs? A fine hole for a young fool to seek! But I was a man, remember--a MAN--and that precious discharge proved it. I was nineteen years old, and manhood bears a very serious aspect at nineteen. No wonder I was holding my head in the air. The fellows in my watch would listen to my opinions with respect, now I was an able seaman. No longer would I scrub the foc'sle floor while the lazy beggars slept. No longer would I peggy week in and week out. I was A.B. at last; a full-fledged man! Of course, I must straightway prove my manhood; so I was bound for the Knitting Swede's. Everybody knew the Knitting Swede in those days; every man Jack who ever joined a ship. They told of him in New York, and London, and Callao, and Singapore, and in every foc'sle afloat. The king of crimps! He sat in his barroom, in East street, placidly knitting socks with four steel needles, and as placidly ignoring every law of God and man. He ruled the 'Frisco waterfront, did the Knitting Swede, and made his power felt to the very ends of the seas. Stories about him were without number. It was the Knitting Swede who shanghaied the corpse on board the _Tam o' Shanter_. It was the Knitting Swede who drugged the skipper of the _Sequoia_, and shipped him in his own foc'sle. It was the Knitting Swede who sent the crowd of cowboys to sea in the _Enterprise_. It was the Knitting Swede who was the infamous hero of quite half the dog-watch yarns. It was the Knitting Swede who was--oh, the very devil! And it was on this very account I was bound for the Swede's house. Very simple, and sailorlike, my motive. In my mind's eye I saw a scene which would be enacted on board my next ship. Some fellow would ask me--as some fellow always does--"And what house did you put up in, in 'Frisco, Jack?" And I would take the pipe out of my mouth, and answer in a carefully careless voice, "Oh, I stopped with the Knitting Swede." And then the whole foc'sle would look at me as one man, and there would be respect in their eyes. For only very hard cases ever stopped at the Knitting Swede's. Well, I found the Swede's place easily enough. And he was there in person to welcome me. I discovered his appearance to be just what the stories described--a tall, great paunched man, who bulked gigantic as he perched on a high stool at the end of the bar, a half-knitted gray sock in his hands, and an air about him of cow-like contentment. He possessed a mop of straw-colored hair, and a pair of little, mild, blue eyes that regarded one with all the innocence of a babe's stare. He suspended his knitting for a moment, gave me a fat, flabby hand, and a grin which disclosed a mouthful of yellow teeth. "_Ja_, you koom for a good time, and, by and by, a good ship," says he. "Yoost trust the Swede--he treat you right." So he sent my bag upstairs to a room, accepted my money for safekeeping, and I set up the drinks for the house. What? Give him my money for safekeeping? Of course. There was a code of honor even in crimpdom, you know. I came to the Swede's house of my own choosing; no runner of his snared me out of a ship. Therefore I would be permitted to spend the last dollar of my pay-day, chiefly over his bar, of course, and when the money was gone, he would ship me in a ship of my own choosing. Unless, of course, men were exceptionally scarce, and blood money exceptionally high. Crimpdom honor wouldn't stand much temptation. But I was confident of my ability to look after myself. I was a man of nineteen, you know. So, at the Knitting Swede's I was lodged. I spent most of my first day there in examining and getting acquainted with my fellow lodgers. Aye, they were a crowd, quite in keeping with the repute of the house; hard living, hard swearing, hard fighting A.B.'s, for the most part; the unruly toughs of the five oceans. I swaggered amongst them and thought myself a very devil of a fellow. I bought them drinks at the Swede's bar, and listened with immense satisfaction to their loud comments on my generosity. It was, "He's a fine lad, and no mistake!" and, "He's a real proper bloke, for certain!" And I ordered up the rounds, and swung my shoulders, and felt like a "real proper bloke" indeed. Well, I saw one chap in the house who really attracted me. I should liked to have chummed with him, and I went out of my way to be friendly towards him. He was a regular giant of a man, with yellow hair and frosty eyes, and a very white face. In fact he looked as if he might have recently been sick, though his huge, muscular frame showed no effects of an illness. He had a jagged, bluish scar over one eye, which traveled up his forehead and disappeared beneath his hair, plainly the result of some terrible clout. But it was not these things, not his face or size which drew me to him; it was his bearing. All of the chaps in Swede Olson's house were hard cases. They boasted of their hardness. But their hardness was the typical tough's hardness, nine parts bravado, a savagery not difficult to subdue with an oak belaying pin in the fist of a bucko mate. But the hardness of this big, scar-faced man was of a different sort. You sensed, immediately you looked at him, that he possessed a steely armor of indifference that penetrated to his very heart. He was a real hard case, a proper nut, a fellow who simply did not care what happened. It was nothing he said or did, but his demeanor declared plainly he was utterly reckless of events or consequences. It was amusing to observe how circumspectly the bullies of the house walked while in his neighborhood. But I found him to be a man of silent and lonesome habit, and temperate. He discouraged my friendly advance with a cold indifference, and my idea of chumming with him during my pay-day "bust" soon went glimmering. Yet I admired him mightily from the moment I first clapped eyes upon him, and endeavored to imitate his carriage of utter recklessness in my own strutting. CHAPTER III The talk in the Swede's house was all of drink and women and ships. I was too young and clean to find much enjoyment in too much of the first two; much liquor made me sick, and I did not find the painted Jezebels of sailor-town attractive. But ships were my life, and I lent a ready ear to the gossip about them. To tell the truth, I didn't enjoy the Knitting Swede's place very much. I did so want to be a hard case, and I guess I was a pretty hard case, but I didn't like the other hard cases. Youth likes companionship, but I didn't want to chum with that gang, willing though most of them were that I permit them to help me spend my money. I hadn't been ashore twenty-four hours before I found myself wishing for a clean breeze and blue water. Shipping was brisk in the port, and I discovered I would have no trouble in picking my ship when my money was gone. The _Enterprise_ was loading for Boston; the _Glory of the Seas_ would sail within the fortnight for the United Kingdom; there were a half-dozen other smart ships wishing to be manned by smart lads. I had nothing to worry about. I could blow my pay-day as quickly as I liked; there was no danger of my being stranded "on the beach." So I spent my money, as violently as possible. I made a noise in the Swede's house, and was proud of myself. My first A.B.'s spree! On the third evening of my "bust," my mettle was tested. There was a woman in the Swede's house, a slim wisp of a little Jewess, with the sweet face of a Madonna and the eyes of a wanton. Well--she smiled on me. She had good reason to; was I not making my gold pieces dance a merry tune? Was I not fair game for any huntress? But she belonged to the Swede's chief runner, his number one bouncer, as ugly a brute as ever thumped a drunken sailor. The bully objected, with a deal of obscene threatening, to my fancied raiding of his property. We had it out with bare knuckles in the Swede's big back room, with all the little tables pushed against the wall to make fighting space, and the toughest crowd in San Francisco standing by to see fair play. I was the younger, and as hard as nails, he was soft and rotten with evil living, so I thrashed him soundly enough in five rounds. After he had taken the count, I turned away and commenced to pull my shirt on over my head. I heard a sharp curse, a yell of pain, and the clatter of steel upon the floor. When my head emerged, I beheld my late antagonist slinking away before the threatening figure of the man with the scar. The bully's right arm dangled by his side, limp and broken, and a sheath-knife was lying on the floor, at the big man's feet. The sight gave me a rather sick feeling at the pit of the stomach, for I realized I had narrowly escaped being knifed. The scar-faced man would not listen to my thanks. He bestowed upon me a cool, bracing glance, and remarked, "You must never take your eyes off one of that breed!" Then he resumed his seat at a table in the far corner of the room, and quite plainly dismissed the incident from his mind. Indeed, the house as speedily dismissed the incident from Its collective mind. A fist fight or a knifing was but a momentary diversion in the Swede's place. Five minutes after he left the room, the whipped bully left the establishment, his one good hand carrying his duffle. The Knitting Swede would have no whipped bouncer in his employ. That was a purple night for me. I was the victor, and the fruits of the victory were very sweet. The Jewess murmured adoring flatteries in my ear. The others--that crowd of rough, tough men--clapped me respectfully upon the back, felt gingerly of my biceps, and swore loudly and luridly I was the best man in the port. I agreed with them--and set up the drinks, again and again. Oh, I was a great man that night! The house caroused at my expense till late. Only my silent friend in the corner declined to take part in the merry-making. The man with the scar sat alone, drinking nothing, and regarding with cool and visible contempt the dizzy gyrations of the roughs who were swilling away the money I had worked for. But his open contempt of them was not resented, even at the height of the orgy. They were hard cases, rough, tough fighting men, but they gave the big fellow plenty of sea-room. No ruffling or swaggering in his direction. No gibes or practical jokes. The bludgeon-like wit of the house very carefully passed him by. For he was so plainly a desperate man. "He's a bad one," whispered the Jewess to me, lifting an eye towards the lonely table. "He has the house bluffed. Bet you the Swede doesn't try any of his tricks with him. He's a real bad one. Wonder who he is?" I openly admired the man. I'd have given my soul almost to own his manner. The careless yet grand air of the man, the something about him that lifted him above the rest of us--aye, he was the real hero, he was the sort of hard case I wanted to be. "I know he's a sailorman by the cut of his jib," I said. "But he is so pale--and that scar--I guess he is just out of the hospital. Been sick, or hurt, most likely." The woman gave me a pitying look that set my teeth on edge. She was continually marveling over my innocence, and I didn't relish being innocent. "Just out of hospital!" she mocked. "You certainly haven't been around places like this very much or you would know." "Know what?" I demanded. She shook her head, and looked serious. "No, I'll not preach, not even to you. And I like him--because he saved you." Next morning the Swede interrupted his knitting long enough to toss my last ten dollars across the bar. "Ay tank you ship now?" says he. The huskies who were gathered about the room immediately chorused their disapproval. "Oh, give the poor beggar a chance!" they sang out. "Let him rest up a spell, Swede!" But the Swede had gauged me correctly. He knew I would not want to stay on the beach after my money was spent. "I am ready to ship," I told him, "but, remember this, Swede, in a ship of my own choosing." He grinned widely, and showed his whole mouthful of yellow teeth. His baby stare rested appreciatively upon me, as though I had just cracked an excellent joke. "Oh, _ja_, you pick him yourself," he chortled. "Mineself get you good ship, easy ship. No bucko, no hardtack, good pay, soft time, by Yimminy!" His mirthful humor abruptly vanished. He leaned towards me, and the lids of his little round eyes slowly lifted. It was like the lifting of curtains. For an instant I looked into the unplumbed abyss of the man's soul, and I felt the full impact of his ruthless, powerful mind. It was an astonishing revelation of character, that glance. I think the Swede designed it so, for he was about to make me a momentous offer. "Ay ship you by easy ship, shore-going ship. No vatch, no heavy veather, good times, _ja_. You thump mine roonar, you take his voomans, so--you take his yob. _Ja_? You ship by the Knitting Swede?" The eyelids drooped, and his gaze was again one of infantile innocence. His fat smooth jowls quivered, as he waited with an expectant smile for my answer. I'll admit I was completely bowled over for a moment. A hush had fallen upon the room. I heard a voice behind me exclaim softly and bitterly, "Gaw' blimme, 'e's got it!" I knew the voice belonged to a big Cockney who was, himself, an avowed candidate for the runner's job. My mind was filled with confused, tingling thoughts. Oh, I was a man, right enough, to be singled out by the Knitting Swede for his chief lieutenancy. I was a hard case, a proper nut, to have that honor offered me. For it _was_ an honor in sailordom. I thought of the foc'sles to come, and my shipmates pointing me out most respectfully as the fighting bloke who had been offered a chief runner's berth by the Knitting Swede. For I did not doubt there would be other foc'sles, and soon. Life ashore at the Knitting Swede's was not for me. Young fool, I was, with all the conceit of my years and inches. Yet I realized clearly enough I would only be happy with the feel of a deck beneath my feet, and the breath of open water in my nostrils. I was of the sea, and for the sea. And if anything were needed to make my decision more certain, there was the little Jewess. She leaned close, and there was more than a hint of command in her voice. "Boy, say yes! I want you to, Boy!" "Boy!" To me, a nineteen-year-old man, who had just been offered a fighting man's berth! "I want you to," she commanded. I saw more clearly just what the Swede's offer meant: to spend my days in evil living, my drugged will twisted about the slim, dishonest fingers of the wanton; to spend my nights carrying out whatever black rascality the Swede might command. An ignoble slavery. Not for me! "I'll only ship in a proper ship, Swede," I said, decisively. The Swede nodded. My refusal did not disconcert him; I think his insight had prepared him for it. But the tension in the room released with a loud gasp of astonishment. It was unbelievable to those bullies that such an offer could be turned down. A sailorman refusing unlimited opportunities for getting drunk! "Gaw' strike me blind, 'e arn't got the guts for hit!" a voice cried at my elbow, and I found the Cockney openly sneering into my face. I saw through his motive immediately. Cockney wanted the job, and he wasn't going to allow the Swede to overlook his peculiar qualifications a second time. Therefore, he would risk battle with me. I was nothing loath. I might turn down the job, but I would not turn down a challenge. I stepped back, and my coat was already on the floor by the time the Swede had a chance to form his words. And his words showed him also cognizant of the Cockney's ruse. "'Vast there, Cocky! Ay give you the yob. No need to fight, and get smashed sick. To-night I got vork--to put the crew by the _Golden Bough_!" The Cockney's hostility melted into a satisfied smirk. He called upon his Maker with many blasphemies while he assured the Swede he was the very "proper blushin' bloke" for the berth. The crowd straightway lost all interest in the runnership; they had another sensation to occupy them. At the Swede's words, a low growl ran around the room, a growl which swelled into a chorus of imprecations. The Swede was going to ship the crew for the _Golden Bough_ that night! That meant he needed sailors. And every man who was in debt to the Swede, or in any way under his thumb (and I suspect every man Jack of them was under his thumb in some fashion or other), quaked in his boots, and thought, "Will the Swede choose me?" For they knew ships, those men, and they knew the _Golden Bough_. Some of them had sailed in her. The Swede grinned jocosely at me. "How you like to ship by the _Golden Bough_! There ban easy ship, _Ja_! Plenty grub, easy vork, good mates----" "Yah-h-h!" One swelling, jeering shout from the whole crowd submerged the Swede's joking reference. "Plenty to eat!" yelled one. "Aye, plenty o' belaying-pin soup, an' knuckle-duster hash!" "Easy work!" sang out another. "In your watch below, which never happens!" "Proper gents, the mates are," spoke up a third. "They eats a sailorman every mornin' for breakfast!" Oh, they knew the _Golden Bough_! Who did not? "How many, Swede?" called out a man. "Ay ban ship a crowd of stiffs--and some sailor-mans," stated the Swede. Cursing broke out afresh. Some of them must go! The bulk of the crew was to be crimped, of course, in the Swede knew what kennels of the town. But a few tried sailormen must go to leaven that sodden, sea-ignorant lump. It was like condemning men to penal servitude. No wonder they swore. And swear they did, with mouth-filling, curdling oaths, as though in vain hope their flaming words would quite consume that evilly known vessel. In the midst of that bedlam I stood thinking strange thoughts. It is hardly credible, but I was considering if I should tell the Swede I would ship in the _Golden Bough_. And I had heard all about the ship, too, for if the Knitting Swede was the hero of half the dog-watch yarns, the _Golden Bough_ was the heroine of the other half. I knew of the ship, the most notorious blood-ship afloat, and the queen of all the speedy clippers. I knew of her captain, the black-hearted, silky-voiced Yankee Swope, who boasted he never had to pay off a crew; I knew of her two mates, Fitzgibbon and Lynch, who each boasted he could polish off a watch single-handed, and lived up to his boast. I knew of the famous, blood-specked passages the ship had made; of the cruel, bruising life the foremast hands led in her. And I stood before the Swede's bar and considered shipping. Oh, Youth! For my thoughts were fathered by the vaulting conceit of my nineteen years. Consider . . . a few days before I had for the first time assumed a man's estate in sailordom. Already I was a marked man. Had I not stopped at the Knitting Swede's, and ruffled on equality with the hard cases? Had I not whipped the bully of the beach? Had I not been offered a fighting man's billet by the Swede, himself? Was not that glory? Then how much greater the glory if I spoke up with a devil-may-care lilt in my voice, and shipped in the hottest packet afloat! Glory!--why, I would be the unquestioned cock of any foc'sle I afterward happened into. You know, in those days the ambitious young lads regularly shipped in the hot clippers; it was a postgraduate course in seamanship, and accomplishment of such a voyage gave one a standing with his fellows. I had intended going in one--in the _Enterprise_, or the _Glory of the Seas_, both loading in port. But the _Golden Bough_! No man shipped in her, sober, and unafraid. If I shipped, I should be famous the world around as the fellow who feared neither God, nor Devil, nor Yankee Swope and his bucko mates! So I stood there, half wishful, half afraid, deaf to all save my own swirling thoughts. And there happened that which gave me my decision. It was the man with the scar. He had been lounging against the bar, an uninterested spectator of the bestowing of the runnership. Now, my eyes fell upon him, and I saw to my surprise that he was shaken out of his careless humor. He was standing tensely on the balls of his feet, and his hands were gripping the bar rail so fiercely his fingers seemed white and bloodless. It was apparent some stern emotion wrestled him; the profile I saw was set like chiseled marble. There was something indescribably menacing in his poise. The sight of him jolted my ears open to the noises of the room. The crowd was still talking about the _Golden Bough_. And the talk had progressed, as talk of the _Golden Bough_ always progressed, from skipper and mates, to the lady. They spoke of the ship's mystery, of the Captain's lady. She was a character to pique a sailorman's interest, the Lady of the _Golden Bough_. Her fame was as wide, and much sweeter, than the vessel's. With all their toughs' frankness, the crowd were discussing the lady's puzzling relations with Swope. "Uncommon queer, I calls it," said one chap, who had sailed in the ship. "They call 'em man an' wife, but she lives to port, an' he to starboard. Separate cabins, dash me! I had it from the cabin boy. They even eats separate. . . . He's nasty to her--I've heard the devil snarl at her more than once, when I've had a wheel. . . . Blank me, she's a blessed angel. There was I with a sprained wrist big as my blanked head, an' Lynch a-hazin' me to work--and every morning she trips into the foc'sle with her bright cheer an' her linaments. A blanked, blessed angel, she is!" "He beats her," supplemented another man. "I got it from a mate what chummed with the bloke as was a Sails on her one voyage. He said, that sailmaker did, as how Swope got drunk, and beat her." The big Cockney, who had been visibly possessed by a pompous self-importance since his elevation to the dignity of runner, saw fit to interpose his contrary opinion of the Lady of the _Golden Bough_. Because the man was vile, his words were vile. "Blimme, yer needn't worrit abaht Yankee Swope's lydy, as yer call 'er. She arn't nah bleedin' lydy--she's just a blarsted Judy. Yer got to knock a Judy abaht, arn't yer? Hi 'arve hit straight--'e picked 'er hoff the streets----" The man with the scar wheeled on his heel, reached out, and grasped the Cockney by his two wrists. I exclaimed aloud when I saw the man's full face. There was death in it. He spoke to Cockney in a voice of cold fury. "You lie!" he cried. "Say you lie!" Cockney was a big man, and husky. He cursed, and struggled. But he was a child in the grasp of that white-faced giant towering over him. The hands I had seen gripping the rail a moment before, now gripped Cockney's wrists in the same terrible clutch. They squeezed, as though to crush the very bones. Cockney squirmed, and whimpered, then he broke down, and screamed in agony. "Ow, Gaw' blimme, let hup! Hi never meant northin'! A lie-- Ow, yuss--a lie! She's a proper lydy-- Hi never 'eard the hother-- Gaw' strike me blind!" The man with the scar cast the fellow contemptuously away; and Cockney lost no time in putting the distance of the room between them. The big man turned on the Swede, and his voice was sharp and commanding. "Swede, does the _Golden Bough_ sail to-morrow?" "_Ja_, with da flood," the Swede answered. "Then I ship in her," declared the man. "I ship in the _Golden Bough_, Swede!" It was the spark needed to fire my own resolution. What another dared, I would dare. I thumped the bar with my fist and sang out valorously, "I ship in her too, Swede!" The Swede's needles stopped flashing in and out of the gray yarn. He regarded us, one after the other, with his baby stare. Then he said to the big man, "Vat if your frients ship by her?" "I have no friends," was the curt answer. The Swede leaned back on his stool, and his big belly quivered with his wheezy laughter. "By Yimminy, Ay tank da _Golden Bough_ haf vun lively voyage!" he exclaimed. CHAPTER IV We signed articles in the Swede's house, almost within the hour. A little man with a pimply, bulbous nose appeared in the house; he carried in his person the authority of Shipping Commissioner and in his hand the articles of the _Golden Bough_. After the careless fashion of the day and port we signed on without further ado for a voyage to Hong Kong and beyond--sitting at a table in the back room, and cementing the contract with a drink around. The Shipping Commissioner made the usual pretense of reading the articles. Then he squinted up at us. "What's yer John Henry's?" says he. My big shipmate mused a moment. He stroked the scar on his forehead--a habit he had when thinking. He smiled. "My name is Newman," he made answer. "It is a good name." He took the pen from the Shipping Commissioner's hand and wrote the name in the proper place upon the articles. "A. Newman," that is how he wrote it. Not the first time he had clapped eyes upon ship's articles, one could see with half an eye. I wrote my own "John Shreve" below his name, with an outward flourish, but with a sinking sensation inwardly. As soon as the ceremony was completed, A. Newman got to his feet, refused my pressing invitation to visit the bar, and went upstairs to his room. Now, this seemed very peculiar to my sailor's way of thinking; it seemed more peculiar than his choice of a name. Here we were, shipmates, together committed to a high adventure, yet the man would not tarry by my side long enough to up-end a schooner to a fair passage. I was to have other surprises before the day was out--the mean-faced beggar, and the way in which the Knitting Swede put us on board the _Golden Bough_. Surprising incidents. But this refusal of my new shipmate to drink with me was most surprising. Think of a sailor, a hard case, too, moping alone in his room on the day he shipped, when downstairs he could wassail away the day. I was surprised and resentful. It is hard for a nineteen-year-old man to stand alone, and I felt that Newman, my shipmate, should give me the moral support of his companionship. I strutted away the day in lonely glory. I had not the courage to violate the hoary traditions of the foc'sle and join my ship sober, so I imbibed as steadily as my youthful stomach permitted. Towards evening I was, as sailors say, "half seas over." I was mellow, but not befuddled. I saw things clearly, too clearly. Of a sudden I felt an urgent necessity to get away from the Swede's barroom. I wanted to breathe a bit of fresh air, I wanted to shut out from my mind the sights and sounds and smells of the groggery, the reek and the smut and the evil faces. Above all, I wished to escape the importunities of the little Jewess. She had gotten upon my nerves. Oh, I was her fancy boy to-day, you bet! I was spending my advance money, you see, and this was her last chance at my pocketbook. So, when opportunity offered, I slipped away from the crowd unobserved, and went rolling along East street as though that thoroughfare belonged to me. And in truth it did. Aye, I was the chesty lad, and my step was high and proud, during that stroll. For men hailed me, and pointed me out. I was the rough, tough king of the beach that hour; I was the lad who had whipped the Knitting Swede's bully, and shipped in the _Golden Bough_. Upon a corner, some blocks from the Knitting Swede's house, I came upon a fellow who was spitting blood into the gutter. He was the sorriest-looking wretch I had ever seen, the gaunt ruin of a man. He drew his filthy rags about him, and shivered, and prefaced his whine for alms with a fit of coughing that seemed to make his bones rattle. I can't say that my heart went out to the man. It didn't. He was too unwholesome looking, and his face was mean and sly. His voice was as remarkable as anything about him; instead of speaking words, he whined them, through his nose it sounded like, and though his tone seemed pitched low, his whine cut through the East street uproar like a sharp knife through butter. Well, he was a pitiful wreck. On the rocks for good, already breaking up and going to pieces. Without thinking much about it, I emptied my pockets of their change. He pounced upon that handful of silver with the avidity of a miser, and slobbered nasal thanks at me. I was the kindest-hearted lad he had met in many a day, he said. We would have gone our different ways promptly but for a flurry of wind. I suspect that, with the money in his hand, he was as eager to see the last of me as I was to see the last of him. But I felt ashamed of my distaste of him; it seemed heartless. And when the cold wind came swooping across from the docks, setting him shivering and coughing, I thought of the spare pea-coat I had in my bag. It was serviceable and warm, and I had a new one to wear. So I carried him back to the Swede's house with me. I did not take him into the barroom, though he brazenly hinted he would like to stop in there; but I feared the gibes of the boisterous gang. This bum of mine was such grotesque horror that the drunken wits of the house would not, I knew, fail to seize the chance to ridicule me upon my choice of a chum. Besides it was clothes not whisky I intended giving him. I took him upstairs by the side entrance, the entrance to the lodging-house section of the Knitting Swede's establishment. The house was a veritable rookery above the first floor. I lodged on the third floor, in a room overlooking the street, a shabby, dirty little cubicle, but one of the choice rooms at the Swede's disposal--for was I not spending money in his house? My companion's complaining whine filled the halls as we ascended the stairs. He was damning the times and the hard hearts of men. As we walked along the hall towards my room, the door of the room next to mine opened and the big man, who signed himself Newman, looked out at us. I had not known before that he occupied this room, he was so silent and secretive in his comings and goings. I hailed Newman heartily, but he gave me no response, not even a direct glance. He was regarding the derelict; aye, and there was something in his face as he looked at the man that sent a thrill through me. There was recognition in his look, and something else. It made me shiver. As for this fellow with me--he stopped short at first sight of Newman. He said, "Oh, my God!" and then he seemed to choke. He stumbled against the banisters, and clung to them for support while his knees sagged under him. He'd have run, undoubtedly, if he had had the strength. "Hello, Beasley," said Newman, in a very quiet voice. He came out of his room, and approached us. Then this man of mine threw a fit indeed. I never saw such fright in a man's face. He opened his mouth as If to scream, but nothing came out except a gurgle; and he lifted his arm as if to ward off an expected blow. But Newman made no move to strike him. He looked down at him, studying him, with his stern mouth cracked into a little smile (but, God's truth, there was no mirth in it) and after a moment he said, "Surprised? Eh? But no more surprised than I." The poor wreck got some sound out of his mouth that sounded like "How--how--" several times repeated. "And I wanted to meet you more than I can tell," went on Newman. "I want to talk to you--about----" The other got his tongue to working in a half-coherent fashion, though the disjointed words he forced out of his mouth were just husky whispers. "Oh, my God--you! Not me--oh, my God, not me!--him--he made me--it was----" No more sense than that to his agonized mumbling. And he got no more than that out of him when he choked, and an ugly splotch of crimson appeared upon his pale lips. His knees gave way altogether, and he crouched there on the floor, gibbering silently at the big man, and plainly terrified clean out of his wits. Well, I felt out of it, so to speak. The feeling made me a little resentful. After all, this bum was my bum. "Look here, the man's sick," I said to Newman. "Don't look at him like that--he'll die. You've half scared him to death already." "Oh, no; he'll not die--yet," said Newman. "He's just a little bit surprised at the encounter. But he's glad to see me--aren't you, Beasley? Stop that nonsense, and get up!" This last was barked at the fellow; it was a soft-voiced but imperative command. The command was instantly obeyed. That was Newman for you--people didn't argue with him, they did what he said. I'd have obeyed too, just as quickly, if he had spoken to me in that tone. There was something in that man, something compelling, and, besides, he had the habit of command in his manner. So Beasley tottered to his feet, and stood there swaying. He found his tongue, too, in sensible speech. "For God's sake, get me a drink!" he said. I was glad to seize the cue. It gave me an excuse to do something. "I'll get some whisky downstairs," I sang out to Newman, as I moved for the stairs. "Take him into my room; I'll be right back." But when I returned with the liquor a few moments later, I discovered that Newman had taken his prize into his own room. I heard the murmur of voices through the closed door. But I had rather expected this. Half seas over I might be, but I was still clear-witted enough to realize that I had accidentally brought two old acquaintances together, and that one was pleased at the meeting and the other terrified, and that whatever was or had been between the two was none of my business. I had no intention of intruding upon them. But the fellow, Beasley, had looked so much in need of the stimulant that I ventured a knock upon the door. Newman opened, and I handed him the bottle without comment. I could see my erstwhile tow sitting upon the bed, slumped in an attitude of collapse. He looked so abject; his condition might have touched a harder heart than mine. But there was no softening of Newman's heart, to judge from his face; the little mirthless smile had vanished and his features were hard and set. Aye, and his manner towards me was curt enough. "Thank you; he needs a pick-me-up," he said, as he took the bottle. "And now--you'll excuse us, lad." It wasn't a question, that last; it was a statement. Little he cared if I excused him or not. He shut the door in my face, and I heard the key turn in the lock. Well, I suppose I should have been incensed by this off-hand dismissal. Oh, I was no meek and humble specimen; my temper was only too touchy, and besides there was my reputation as a hard case to look to. But strangely enough I did not become incensed; I never thought of kicking down the door, I never thought of harboring a grudge. It wasn't fear of the big man, either. It was--well, that was Newman. He could do a thing like that, and get away with it. The carousing gang downstairs was more than ever distasteful to me. I went into my own room and lay down upon the bed. The liquor that was in me made me a bit drowsy, and I rather relished the thought of a nap. But I discovered I was likely to be cheated of even the nap by my next door neighbors. The walls in the Swede's house were poor barriers to sounds, and lying there on the bed I suddenly found myself overhearing a considerable part of the conversation in the next room. Newman's deep voice was a mere rumble, a menacing rumble, with the words undistinguishable, but the beggar's disagreeable whine carried through the partition so distinctly I could not help overhearing nearly every word he said. I didn't try to eavesdrop; at the time Beasley's words had little interest or meaning for me. But afterwards, on the ship, I had reason to ponder over what he said. The burden of his speech was to the effect that somebody referred to as "he" was to blame. Aye, trust a rat of that caliber to set up that wail. For some time that was all I got from the words that came through the wall. I wasn't trying to listen; I was drowsing, and paying very little attention. But gradually Beasley's whine grew louder and more distinct. I suppose the whisky was oiling his tongue. Once he cried out sharply, "For God's sake, don't look at me like that! I'm telling the truth, I swear I am!" The scrape of a chair followed this outburst, and when the whine began again it was closer to the wall, and more distinct than ever. "I didn't want to, but he made me. I had to look out for myself, hadn't I? I had to do what he said. He had this paper of mine--he knew they were forgeries--I had to do what he said. But, my God, I didn't know what he was planning--I swear I didn't!" Newman's rumble broke in, and then the voluble, reedy voice continued, "But he was wild when he came home and found you and Mary so thick, and everybody just waiting for the announcement that it was a match. Why, he had the whole thing planned, the very day he arrived. I know he had, because he came to me, in the tavern, and told me I was to drop hints here and there through the village that you and Beulah Twigg had been seen together in Boston. I didn't want to, but I had to obey him. Why, those checks--he could have put me in prison. My father would not have helped me. You remember my father--he was ready to throw me out anyway. He never could make allowances for a young fellow's fun. "He had others dropping hints around. Trust him to handle a job like that. He was your friend, and Mary's friend--your very best friend, and all the time the tongues were wagging behind your back. Why, it was the talk of the town. You and Beulah Twigg, together in Boston; you and Beulah together at sea; you and Beulah--well, you know what a story they would make of it in a little town like Freeport. Mary must have heard the gossip about you; the women would tell her. "But it didn't seem to have any effect. The two of you were as thick as ever. We were laying bets in the tavern that you would be married before you went to sea again. He didn't like that--the talk about your wedding. But he wasn't beaten yet; he was just preparing his ground. Oh, he was a slick devil! "He came to me one day and said, 'Beasley, give me the key to the Old Place--and keep your mouth shut and stay away from there.' "Now you begin to understand? The Old Place--that tumble-down old ruin of a house all alone out there on the cliffs. It belonged to my father, you remember, but it hadn't been lived in for years. I had a key because we young bloods used the place for card-playing, and high jinks. "I gave him the key. Why not? It was a small matter. He went off to Boston--business trip, he said. I could make a good guess at the nature of the business. Didn't I know his ways? But I wouldn't blab; he owned me body and soul. I was afraid of him. His soft voice, his slick ways, and what he could do to me if I didn't obey! "He brought Beulah Twigg back with him from Boston. Now you understand? Little Beulah--pretty face, empty head, too much heart. He owned her body and soul, too. When folks wondered where she had run off to, I could have told them. I knew how he'd played with her, on the quiet, while he sparked Mary in the open--last time he was home. You were home then, also. Remember, you left a day ahead of him, to join your ship in New York? A China voyage, wasn't it? Well--Beulah left the same day. Just disappeared. And poor old Twigg couldn't understand it. You remember the old fool? Beulah was all the family he had, and after she skipped out he got to drinking. They found him one morning at the bottom of the cliffs, not a hundred yards from the spot where they afterwards found her. "But I knew what had become of Beulah. I guessed right. Didn't I know his ways with the girls? You know there weren't many women who could stand out against him. Mary could, and did--that's why he was so wild against you. But little Beulah--she threw herself at him. And when she ran away, it was to join him in Philadelphia, and go sailing with him to South America. "Now you know how he turned the trick on you, don't you? But--don't look at me like that! I didn't know what he was doing, I swear I didn't! I thought he just wanted his sweetheart near him, or that she insisted on coming, or something like that. I thought it was devilish bold of him, bringing the girl where everybody knew her. But then, he really wasn't taking such a chance, because nobody ever went near the Old Place, except upon my invitation, and he drove her over from the next township in the night, and she didn't come near the village. I knew, but he knew I wouldn't blab. My God, no! "Well, he came to me the next day after he got back from Boston. 'I ask a favor of you,' he said to me. Yes--asking favors, when he knew I must do what he said. Smiling and purring--you remember the pleasant manner he had. 'Just a short note. I know you are handy with the pen,' he said. "What could I do? I had to look out for myself. He gave me a page from an old letter as a sample of the handwriting. It was Mary Barntree's writing; oh, I knew it well. I had it perfect in a few minutes. You know--I had a rare trick with the pen in those days--before this cough got me, and my hand got shaky. The note I wrote for him was a mere line. 'Meet me at Beasley's Old Place at three,' with her initial signed. That was all. But he had a sheet of her own special note paper for me to write on (no, I don't know where he got it!) and of course he knew--like we all knew--how fond the two of you were of lovers' walks out on the cliffs. "Do you remember how you got that note? Oh, he was a slick devil. He thought of everything. Abel Horn brought it to you--remember? He told you, with a wink and a grin, that it was from a lady--but he didn't say what lady. Remember? Well, Beulah had given him the note, and told him to say that--not to mention names. Abel was a good fellow; he wouldn't gossip. _He_ knew that. "That wasn't the only note he had written. He made Beulah write one, too, addressed to Mary, and asking her to come to the Old Place, and be secret about it. Ah, now you understand? But--I swear I didn't know what he was leading up to. No, I didn't. I thought it was--well, all's fair in love, you know. And I had to do what he said, I had to! "Poor little Beulah had to do what he said, too. I only feared him, but she loved and feared him both. He owned her completely. He had made her into a regular echo of himself. She didn't want to, she cried about it, but she had to do what he said. "Mary came, as he knew she would. Didn't she have the kindest heart in the country? And there he was, with Beulah, with his eyes on her, and his soft, sly words making her lie seem more true. I heard it all. I was upstairs. He placed me there, in case Mary didn't believe; then I was to come in and tell about seeing you and Beulah together in Boston, and how she begged me to bring her home. But--for God's sake!--I didn't do it. I didn't have to. Mary believed. How could she help believing--the gossip, and poor little Beulah sobbing out her story. Beulah said it was you who got the best of her. She didn't want to say it, she faltered and choked on the lie, but _his_ eyes were on her, and his voice urged her, and so she had to say it. The very way she carried on made the lie seem true. "Well, Mary did just what he expected her to do. She promised to help Beulah; she told Beulah she would make you make amends. Then she rushed out of the house and met you coming along the cliff road--coming along all spruced up, and with the look about you of one going to meet a lady. Just as _he_ planned. "What more could Mary ask in the way of evidence than the sight of you in that place at that time? Of course she was convinced, completely convinced. And she behaved just as he knew she would behave--she denounced you, and threw your ring in your face, and raced off home. And you behaved just as he knew you would behave. He was a slick devil! He knew your pride and temper; he counted on them. He knew you would be too proud to chase Mary down and demand a full explanation; that you would be too angry to sift the thing to the bottom. You packed up and went off to New York that night to join your ship--and that was just what he wanted you to do. "Next morning you were gone, and--they picked up little Beulah at the bottom of the cliffs. And you gone in haste, without a word. They said she jumped--desertion, despair, you know what they would make of it. The gossip--and Abel Horn's tale--and you running away to sea. "And I--my flesh would creep when I looked at him. I was certain she--didn't jump. I tell you he was a devil. There wasn't anything he wouldn't do. He didn't have such a feeling as mercy. Didn't I find it out? He wanted to get rid of me--and he did. Before the week was out; before Beulah was fairly buried, before Mary was outdoors again. He showed those checks I had signed--and I had to go, I had to go far and in a hurry. After all I had done for him, that's the way he treated me." There was a movement of chairs in the next room, and a scraping of feet. There was more talk, Newman's heavy murmur, and responding whines. But I do not remember what else was said. In fact, although I have given you Beasley's tale in straight-forward fashion, I did not overhear it as I tell it. I caught it in snatches, so to speak, rather disconnected snatches which I pieced together afterwards. I heard this fellow, Beasley, talk while lying drowsing on the bed, and not trying particularly to understand his words. In fact, I did drop off to sleep. First thing I knew, the Knitting Swede was shaking me awake. "Yump out of it, Yackie," says he. "We go aboard." I turned out, shouldered my sea-bag, and went downstairs. There was Newman, with his dunnage, waiting. He was alone. There was no sign of my beggar about. In fact, I never saw him again. Newman's face didn't invite questions. As a matter of fact, I didn't even think of asking him questions. I had forgotten Beasley; I was worrying about myself. Now that the hour had come to join the ship, I wasn't feeling quite so carefree and chesty. I went into the bar, and poured Dutch courage into myself, until the Knitting Swede was ready to leave. We rode down to the dock in a hack. I was considerably elated when the vehicle drew up before the door; It is not every sailorman who rides down to the dock in a hack, you bet! The Swede was spreading himself to give us a grand send-off, I thought! But I changed my mind when we started. The hack was on Newman's account, solely; and he made a quick dash from the door to its shelter, with his face concealed by cap and pea-coat collar. He didn't want to be seen in the streets--that is why we rode in the hack! The ride was made amidst a silence that proved to be a wet blanket to all my attempts to be jovial, and light-hearted and devil-may-care. The Swede slumped in one seat, with our dunnage piled by his side, wheezing profanely as the lurching of the hack over the cobblestones jolted the sea-bags against him, and grunting at my efforts to make conversation. Newman sat by my side. Once he spoke. "You are sure the lady sails, Swede?" was what he said. "_Ja_, I have it vrom Swope, himself," the crimp replied. Now, of course, I had already reasoned it out that Newman was sailing in the _Golden Bough_ because of the lady aft, and that he had once owned some other name than "Newman." That was as plain as the nose on my face. I didn't bother my head about it; the man's reasons were his own, and foc'sle custom said that a shipmate should be judged by his acts, not by his past, or his motives. But I did bother my head about his question in the hack--or rather about the Swede's manner of replying to it. It was a little thing, but very noticeable to a sailor. The Swede's manner towards me was one of genial condescension, like a father towards an indulged child. This was a proper bearing for a powerful crimp to adopt towards a foremost hand. But the Swede's manner towards Newman was different. There was respect in it, as though he were talking to some skipper. It considerably increased the feeling of awe I was beginning to have for my stern shipmate. I supposed we would join the rest of the crew at the dock, and go on board in orthodox fashion, on a tug, with drugged and drunken men lying around, to be met at the rail by the mates, and dressed down into the foc'sle. Such was the custom of the port. But when we alighted at Meigg's Wharf not a sailor or runner was in sight. A regiment of roosting gulls was in lonely possession of the planking. The hack rattled away; the Swede, bidding us gather up our dunnage and follow him, waddled to the wharf edge, and disappeared over the string-piece. "Why, where is the crew?" I asked of Newman. "You and I, alone, aren't going to sail the ruddy packet?" "They'll follow later," replied Newman. "The Swede is going to put us two aboard. He's getting the boat free now." I stopped stock still. The constant surprises were rapidly shocking me sober, and this last one fairly took my breath for a moment. The Swede was putting us on board! Now, the King of Crimps didn't put sailormen on board. He hired runners to oversee the disposal of the slaves. The most he did was lounge in the sternsheets of his Whitehall while his retainers rowed him out to a ship to interview the captain, and collect his blood money. It was unusual for the Swede to go down to the dock with a couple of men; and now, he was going to fasten his lordly hands upon a pair of oars and row us out to our vessel! "Say, what is the idea?" I demanded of Newman. "We are no flaming dukes to be coddled this way!" Newman placed his hand upon my shoulders. "What say you call it off, lad?" he said. "That hell-ship yonder is no proper berth for you. Take my advice, and dodge around the corner with your bag. I can fix it with the Swede, all right." I should have liked to have taken the advice, I admit. I was not in nearly such a vainglorious mood as I had been back in the Swede's barroom, with the waterfront applauding me. If Newman had offered to dodge around the corner with me, I'd have gone. The aspect of that empty wharf was depressing, and there was something sinister about all these unusual circumstances surrounding our joining the ship. I began to feel that there was something wrong about the _Golden Bough_ besides her bucko mates, and I possessed the superstitions of my kind. But Newman did not offer to dodge around the corner with me. He was merely advising me, in a fatherly, pitying fashion that my nineteen-year-old manhood could not stomach. "I shipped in her, and I'll sail in her," I told him, shortly. "I can stand as much hell as any man, and I'd join her if I had to swim for it. That flaming packet can't scare me away; I'll take a pay-day from her, yet!" I was bound I'd live up to my reputation as a hard case! I was letting Newman know I was just as proper a nut as himself. The Swede hailed us from the darkness beyond. We reached the wharf edge, and dimly made out the Swede's huge bulk squatting in a Whitehall boat below. "Yump in!" he bade us. We tossed our bags down, followed ourselves, and a moment later I was bidding farewell to the beach. The Swede lay back manfully on the oars, grunting with every stroke. He was expert; he seemed to make nothing of the inrushing tide, and quickly ferried us out into the fairway. Newman and I sat together in the sternsheets, each wrapped in his mantle of dignified silence. I kept my eyes on the black bulk of the vessel we were rapidly nearing, and I confess my thoughts were not very cheerful. One needed jolly companions, and more drink inside than I had, to have cheerful thoughts when joining the _Golden Bough_. The Swede lay on his oars when we were a few hundred yards from the ship, allowing us to drift down with the tide. He fumbled about his clothes for a moment, and produced a bottle. "Here, yoongstar, you take a yolt!" he commanded, passing me the bottle. I thought he was just bolstering up my courage, and I was grateful. I swallowed a great gulp of the fiery stuff. It was good liquor, and possessed an added flavor to which I was stranger. I passed the bottle to Newman; he accepted it, but I noticed he did not drink. The Swede lifted up his voice and hailed the ship. Immediately, the most magnificent fore-topsail-yard-ahoy voice I had ever heard bellowed a reply, "Ahoy, the boat! What d'ye want?" "That ban Lynch," remarked the Swede to us. Then he called in reply. "Ay ban Swede Olson with two hands for you! Heave over da Yacob's ladder, Mistar Lynch!" He lay back on his oars, and shot us under the quarter. A moment later the three of us were standing on the clipper maindeck, confronting a large man who inspected us with the aid of a lantern. Afterwards, I discovered Mister Second Mate Lynch to be a handsome, muscular chap, with not so much of the "bucko" in his bearing as his reputation led one to expect. But at the moment I was impressed only by his big body and stern face. In truth, even that impression was hazy, for the drink I had taken from the Swede's bottle a moment before proved to be surprisingly potent. No sooner did I set foot upon the deck than I commenced to feel a heavy languor overcoming my body and mind. Lynch turned, and his voice rumbled into the lighted cabin alleyway. "Oh, Fitz, come here. Those two jaspers we heard of have come aboard." A moment later a man came from the cabin and stood by Lynch's side. Here was a true bucko, even my addled wits sensed that. A human gorilla, with a battered face and brutal, pitiless mouth--the dreaded Fitzgibbon, "chief kicker" of the _Golden Bough_. Mister "Fitz" regarded us with a sneering smile. "_Huh_, stewed to the gills! What did you dope 'em with, Swede?" he said. Then he added to Lynch, "Good beef, though. They'll pull their weight. Hope there are more like them." He gave his regard to me, looked me up and down slowly, and then turned his eyes on Newman. "Shipped themselves, did they? Two jumps ahead o' the police, I bet! Lord, what a cargo he's got aboard!" This last referred to Newman. I was staring at him, myself, with stupid surprise, his peculiar antics aiding me to retain a slender clutch on my senses. For Newman was drunk, rip-roaring drunk. Now mind, he had been cold sober a few moments before when I handed him the Swede's bottle, and I was quite certain he had not touched that bottle to his lips. He came over the rail with the bottle clutched in his hand, and as soon as he touched the deck he was as pickled as any sailor who ever joined a ship. He hung his head, and lurched unsteadily from foot to foot, mumbling to himself. Suddenly he brandished the bottle, and commenced to howl, "Blow the Man Down," in a raucous voice. "Stow that!" commanded Lynch, shortly. "You'll wake up the lady!" Newman shut up. "Vas da lady on board?" asked the Swede, respectfully. "Yes, and if that jasper rouses her, I'll shove a pin down his gullet!" answered Lynch. "Here you two," he commanded us, "gather up your dunnage and get for'rd!" Newman and I grappled laboriously with our bags. Fitzgibbon spoke to the Swede. "When does the crew come off?" "Flood tide," answered the Swede. "Captain Swope comes with them. And I send a port gang to get you oondar way." "Hope there are some more huskies like these two," said Lynch. "_Ja_, day ban all able seamans," declared the Swede. "You're a filthy liar!" I heard Lynch comment. But further words I lost, for Newman and I went stumbling forward to the forecastle. We dumped our bags upon the floor, and Newman lighted the lamp. My knees gave way, and I sat down upon the bench that ran around beside the tiers of empty bunks. Then, when the flickering light revealed my companion's face, I felt another shock of surprise. For Newman was sober again. As soon as he was out of sight of the group on the after deck, he dropped his inebriety like a mantle. The face I looked into was alert and hard set, and the eyes gleamed strangely as though the man were laboring under a strong, repressed excitement. Newman wore an air of triumph, as though he had just accomplished a difficult victory. My tongue had suddenly become very thick, but I managed to mumble a query. "Say, matey, what's the game?" He regarded me sharply. "What's the matter with you, lad?" he exclaimed. He leaned over, pressed up one of my eyelids, and looked into my eye. Then he tilted the bottle he still carried, and wetted his laps with the liquor. "That . . . Swede! He drugged this bottle! Bound to get the blood money for you!" I didn't answer. I couldn't, for while Newman was speaking, a wonderful thing happened. He suddenly dwindled in size until he was no larger than a manikin, going through the motion of drinking from a tiny bottle; while in contrast, his voice increased so tremendously in volume it broke upon my ears like a surf upon a beach. I couldn't grasp the miracle. ". . . well, not enough to hurt . . . all right tomorrow . . ." Newman boomed. Then he picked me up in his arms and deposited me in a bunk. He got a blanket out of my bag and spread it over me. I found something very comical about this, though I couldn't laugh as I wished. One hard case tucking in another hard case, like a mother tucks in her child! The last thing I saw, or thought I saw, ere oblivion overcrept me, was Newman's manikin-sized figure stretching out in a manikin-sized bunk opposite. CHAPTER V My head ached, my tongue was thick and wood-tastey, but I awoke in full possession of my faculties. Even in the brief instant between the awakening and the eye-opening, I sensed what was about. The motion told me the ship was under way. The noises that had probably aroused me, boomed commands, stormed curses, groans, sounds of blows, feet stamping--all told me that the mates were turning to the crew. I sat up and looked around. It had been dark night, and the foc'sle empty, when Newman had tucked me in for my drugged siesta. Now it was broad day, and a bright streak of sunlight streaming into the dirty hole through the open door showed men's forms sprawled in the bunks about me. The _Golden Bough_ had a topgallant foc'sle, the port and starboard sides divided by a partition that reached not quite to the deck above, and which contained a connecting door. Newman and I had stumbled into the port foc'sle the previous night, and as I sat up, I discovered that the babel of sound came from the starboard side of the partition. I swung up into the bunk above my head, raised my eyes above the partition, and looked down. I saw Mister Lynch, the second mate, standing in the middle of the starboard foc'sle's floor. He was turning to the crew with a vengeance. His method was simple, effective, but rather ungentle. His long arm would dart into a bunk where lay huddled a formless heap of rags. This heap of rags, yanked bodily out of bed, would resolve itself into a limp and drunken man. Then Mister Lynch would commence to eject life into the sodden lump, working scientifically and dispassionately, and bellowing the while ferocious oaths in the victim's ear. "Out on deck with you!" he would cry, shaking the limp bundle much as a dog would shake a rat. A sharp clout on either jaw would elicit a profane protest from the patient. The toe of his heavy boot, sharply applied where it would do the most good, would produce further evidences of life. Then Lynch would take firm grasp of the scruff of the neck and seat of the breeches, and hurl the resurrected one through the door onto the deck, and out of range of my vision. A waspish voice streaming blistering oaths proved that Mister Fitzgibbon was welcoming each as he emerged into daylight. Another voice, melodiously penetrating the uproar, proved another man was watching the crew turn to. I recognized the silky, musical voice of Yankee Swope. "Stir them up, Mister! Make them jump! My ship is no hotel!" is what it said. The second mate boosted the starboard foc'sle's last occupant deckwards; then he paused a moment for a breathing spell. Next, his roving eye rested upon my face blinking down at him from the top of the wall. "Oh, ho--so you have come to life, have you!" he addressed me. "The Swede said you would be dead until afternoon!" He stepped through the connecting door, into my side of the foc'sle, and looked about. I leaped down from the upper bunk and stood before him, feeling rather sheepish at having been discovered spying. "Where is that big jasper who came aboard with you?" he suddenly demanded of me. "Why;--there!" I replied promptly, indicating the bunk opposite the one in which I had slept. Then, I became aware that Newman was not in that bunk; and a rapid survey of the foc'sle showed he was not in any bunk. He was gone, though his sea-bag was still lying on the floor. The bunk I thought he was in contained an occupant of very different aspect from my grim companion of the night before. A short, spare man of some thirty years, wearing an old red flannel shirt, was stretched out upon the bare bunk-boards. Lynch and I contemplated him in silence for a moment. He was no beachcomber or sailor, one could tell that at a glance. His skin had no tan upon it. It was white and soft. Obviously, he was no inhabitant of the underworld of forecastles and waterside groggeries. His white face looked intelligent and forceful even in unconsciousness. In some way, the man had come by a wicked blow upon the head. It was the cause, I suspected, of his swoon, and stertorous breathing. Dried blood was plastered on the boards about his head, and his thick, dark hair was clotted and matted with the flow from his wound. Lynch leaned over, and opened one of the fellow's loosely clenched hands. It was as white and soft as a lady's hand. "This jasper is no bum--or sailor!" declared Lynch. "That damn Swede's been up to some o' his tricks. Well--we'll make a sailor of him before we fetch China Sea, I reckon!" He straightened, and turned on me with another demand for Newman. "Where did you say that big jasper was?" I shrugged my shoulders helplessly. I could have sworn Newman had turned into that bunk; and I told him so. Lynch snorted. "Didn't have the guts to face the music, I reckon, and cleared out! Well, if he tried to swim for it, I'll bet he's feeding fishes now!" His eyes roved around the room. Several of the bunks were occupied by nondescript figures, but Newman's huge bulk did not appear. "Damned seedy bunch," commented Lynch. "Couldn't afford to lose good beef. Hello--who's this?" His eyes rested upon the bunk farthest forward, athwartship bunk in the eyes. The body of a big man lying therein loomed indistinctly in the gloom of the corner. Lynch reached the bunk with a bound, and I was close behind. But it was not Newman. It was--the Cockney! The very man to whom the Swede had tendered the runner's job, the man Newman had manhandled! He lay on his back, snoring loudly, his bloated, unlovely face upturned to us. I laughed. "It's the runner," I said. "The Swede's first runner. Swede gave him the job yesterday." "And gave him a swig out of the black bottle last night!" commented Lynch. Then he grasped the significance of the Swede's double cross, and his laughter joined mine. "_Ho, ho_--shanghaied his own runner! _Ho, ho_ . . . that damned Swede!" Then it evidently struck Mister Lynch that he was conducting himself with unseemly levity in company with a foremast hand. His face became stern, his voice hard, and my moment of grace was ended. "Turn to!" he commanded me. "What are you standing about for? Get out on deck, before I boot you out!" I knew my place, and I obeyed with alacrity. As I reached the door, his voice held me again for a moment. "I guess you are a smart lad," says he. "I'll pick you for my watch, if Fitz doesn't get ahead of me. Got your nerve--shipping in this packet! If you know your work, and fly about it, you'll be all right. Otherwise, God help you!" CHAPTER VI During my brief communion with Lynch in the foc'sle, I had, of course, been conscious of ship work proceeding on deck. I had been deaf otherwise, what with the mate's obscene, shrill voice ringing through the ship, and the rattle of blocks, the cries of men, and the tramp of their feet as they pulled together. Now, as I stepped from the foc'sle into the bright daylight, I saw just what work was doing. The vessel was aback on the main, her way lost for the moment. Abeam, a tug was puffing away from us, carrying the port crew--who had lifted anchor and taken the _Golden Bough_ to sea--back to San Francisco. And we were fairly to sea; the rugged coast of Marin was miles astern, and the Golden Gate was lost in a distant haze. The voyage was begun. I saw this at a glance, out of the corners of my eyes, as I ran aft to join the crowd. For I was minded to take the second mate's advice, and fly about my work in the _Golden Bough_. To wait for an order, was, I knew well enough, to wait for a blow. The crowd were already at the lee braces, commencing to trim up the yards, and I tailed onto the line and threw in my weight, thanking my lucky star that Mister Fitzgibbon was too busied with the weather braces to accord my advent on deck any other reception than a sizzling oath. We got the ship under wary, and then jumped to other work. Mister Lynch had flung several more sick, frightened wretches out of the foc'sle, and now he joined with the mate in forcible encouragement of our efforts. The port gang had hoisted the yards, and loosed the sails, but the upper canvas was ill sheeted, and soon we were pully-hauling for dear life. The best of ships is a madhouse the first day at sea, but the _Golden Bough_--God! she was madhouse and purgatory rolled into one! My own agility and knowledge saved me from ill usage for the moment, since the mates had plenty of ignorant, clumsy material to work upon. Such material! I never before or after saw such a welter of human misery as on that bright morning, such a crowd of sick, suffering, terrified men. Most of them knew not one rope from another, some of them knew not a word of English, half of them were still drunk, and stumbled and fell as they were driven about, the other half were seasick and all but helpless. Oh, they caught it, I tell you! The mates were merciless, as their reputations declared them to be. It was sing out an order, then knock a man down, jerk him to his feet, thrust a line into his hands, and kick him until he bent his weight upon it. It was bitter driving. But I'll admit it brought order out of chaos. We cleared the decks of the first-day-out hurrah's nest in jig time. Mercifully, it was fair weather, with a light, steady, fair breeze. I found myself working shoulder to shoulder with a big, trim-bodied mulatto. He was a sailorman, I saw at a glance, and we stuck together as much as possible during the morning. He already bore Fitzgibbon's mark in the shape of a raw gash on his forehead, and his blood-specked eyes were hot with mingled rage and terror. He murmured over and over again to me, as though obsessed by the words, "Does yoh know where yoh am, mate? Lawd--de _Golden Bough_! de _Golden Bough_!" There came an ominous flapping of canvas aloft. "He done gib her too much wheel!" said the mulatto to me. "Lawd help him!" The black-bearded man who had been lounging over the poop rail watching us work, and at whom I had been casting curious and fearful glances as I rushed about beneath his arctic glare, now swung about and damned the helmsman's eye with soft voiced, deadly words. The mates' voices dropped low, and we listened to Yankee Swope's storm of venomous curses with bated breath. As a man curses so he is. I learned that truth that morning, a truth amply tested by the days that came after. It was like a book page before my eyes, revealing the different characters of the three men who ruled our world, by comparison of their oaths. Now Lynch swore robustious oaths in a hearty voice. They enlivened your legs and arms, for you sensed there was a blow behind the words if you lagged. But they did not rasp your soul. You knew there was no personal application to them. They were the oaths of a bluff, hard man who would drive you mercilessly, but who would none the less respect your manhood. They were the oaths of the boss to the man, and they bespoke force. Fitzgibbon's swearing always sounded dirty. His curses fell about you like a vile shower, and aroused your hot resentment; the same words that came clean from Lynch's lips, sounded vile from Fitzgibbon, because the man, himself, was bad through and through. His oaths were the oaths of a slave-driver to the slave, and they bespoke cruelty. But the curses of Captain Swope! God keep me from ever hearing their like again. They sounded worse than harsh, or vile, they sounded inhuman. The words came soft and melodious from his lips, but they were forked with poison and viciousness. As we of the foc'sle listened to him curse the helmsman, that first morning out, each man felt fear's icy finger touch the pit of his stomach. The captain's words horrified us, they sounded so utterly evil, and foretold so plainly the suffering that was to come to us. He suddenly cut short his cursing, and turning, caught sight of us, men and mates, standing idle by the main fife rail. "What's this, Misters?" he sang out. "Going asleep on the job? Rush those dogs--rush them! And send a man aft to the wheel--a sailorman! This damned Dutchman does not know how to steer!" Those evenly spoken words aroused us to a very frenzy of effort. Fitzgibbon struck out blindly at the man nearest him, and commenced to curse us in a steady stream. Lynch reached out and dragged me away from the line on which I was heaving. "Aft with you!" he ordered me. "Take the wheel--lively, now!" Lively it was. I ran along the lee deck towards the poop, my belly griped by the knowledge that the black-bearded man was watching my progress. Nineteen-year-old man I might be, able seaman and hard case, but I'll admit I was afraid. I was afraid of that sinister figure on the poop, afraid of the soft voice that cursed so horribly. It was a little squarehead who had the wheel. A young Scandinavian, an undersized, scrawny boy. He was pallid, and glazy-eyed with terror, as well he might be after facing the Old Man's tirade, and when I took the spokes from his nerveless grasp he had not sufficient wit left to give me the course. Indeed, he had not much chance to speak, for Captain Swope had followed me aft, and as soon as I had the wheel he commenced on the luckless youth. "You didn't watch her, did you? Now I'll show you what happens in my ship when a man goes to sleep on his job!" he purred. _Purred_--aye, that is the word. Through his beard I could see the tip of his tongue rimming his lips, as he contemplated the frightened boy, much like a cat contemplating a choice morsel about to be devoured; and there was a beam of satisfaction in his eye. Oh, it was very evident that Yankee Swope was about to enjoy himself. The poor squarehead cowered backward, and Swope stepped forward and drove his clenched list into the boy's face, smashing him against the cabin skylights. The boy cried out with pain and fear, the blood gushing from his nose, and, placing his hands over his face, he tried to escape by running forward. Swope, the devil, ran beside him, showering blows upon his unprotected head, and as they reached the break of the poop he knocked the boy down. Then he gave him the boots, commenced to kick him heavily about the body, while the boy squirmed, and pleaded in agonized, broken English for mercy. It was a brutal, revolting exhibition. I was an untamed forecastle savage, myself, used to cruelty, and regarding it as natural and inevitable, but as I stood there at the wheel and, watched Yankee Swope manhandle that boy I became sick with disgust and rage. Aye, and with fear, for what was happening to the squarehead might well happen to me! The boy ceased to squirm under the impact of the boots, and his pained cries were silenced. Then the captain ceased his kicking, though he did not cease the silky-toned evil curses that slid from his lips. He leaned over the bruised, insensible form, grasped the clothes, and heaved the boy clear off the poop, much as one might heave aside a sack of rubbish. So the little squarehead vanished from my ken for the time being, though I heard the thud of his body striking the deck below. Swope stood looking down at his handiwork for a moment; then he swung about and came aft, brushing invisible dirt from his clothes as he walked. When he drew near, I saw his eyes were bright with joyous excitement; yes, by heaven, Captain Swope was happy because of the work he had just done; he was a man who found pleasure in inflicting pain upon others! He paused at my side, glanced sharply at me, then aloft at the highest weather leech, for I was steering full and by. But he found no cause for offense, and after damning my eye to be careful, he turned away and commenced pacing up and down. I was in a furious rage against the man. But when he looked at me my knees felt weak, and I answered his words respectfully and meekly indeed. God's truth, I was afraid of him! Oh, it was not his size. Yankee Swope was only of medium build; I was much the better man physically, and could have wiped the deck with him in short order--though, of course, a quick death would have rewarded any such attempt upon the master of the _Golden Bough_. Nor was his face ill to look at. Indeed, he had a handsome face, though beard and mustache covered half of it, and there was a peculiar and disturbing glitter in his black eyes. Some of my fear was caused, I think, by the sinister softness of his voice. But most of it was caused by the impression the man, himself, gave--call it personality, if you like. It was much like the impression of utter recklessness that Newman gave, only in Yankee Swope's case it was not recklessness, but utter wickedness. An aura of evil seemed to cling about him, he walked about in an atmosphere of black iniquity that was horrifying. Any foremast hand would look after Yankee Swope and say, "There--he's sold his soul to the Devil! He's a bad one, a real bad one, and no mistake!" So I looked after him, and thought, while he paced the poop, and I held the wheel. "You're in for it, Shreve!" I thought. "This packet is so hot she sizzles, and this Old Man is a bad egg, and no fatal error! There will be bloody, sudden death before this passage is ended, or I'm a ruddy soldier!" Standing there at the wheel, with one eye upon Captain Swope and the other upon my work, I found I owned a full measure of rueful thoughts. The _Golden Bough_ was an eye-opener to me, used though I was to hard ships and hard men. I wished I had not shown myself such a hard case back there in the Swede's. I cursed myself for the vainglorious fool I was for having put myself in such a hole. The only rift in my cloud of gloom was Lynch; the second mate seemed favorably disposed towards me, I reflected, and had promised to choose me for his watch. He said I would be safe if I jumped lively to my work. I promised myself to do that same, for I foresaw a cruel fate for the malingering man aboard that vessel. From Lynch, my thoughts naturally jumped to Newman. What had become of him? Deserted, as Lynch had declared? Developed a craven streak, and cleared out? No. My grim, reserved companion of the night before had had some strong, secret purpose in joining the _Golden Bough_; if he had deserted, I knew it was in obedience to that same hidden purpose, and not from fear of ship or officers. It was while I was speculating about Newman's disappearance that Mister Lynch came aft and reported that fact to the Old Man, in my hearing. "We have them all hustling except two," he told Swope. "One jasper the Swede dosed with his black bottle, and another one who has been sandbagged. I'll have them on deck by muster. A damned seedy bunch, taken by and large, Captain. We're one hand shy!" "What's that? One hand shy?" exclaimed Swope, sharply. "Yes, sir; cleared out, I expect. Came on board last night--one of the two the Swede told us about, who picked the ship themselves. There's one of them at the wheel. But the other one, the big one, was gone this morning. Best looking beef of the entire lot, too. Good sailorman, or I'm a farmer; looked like an officer down on his luck." Swope turned to me. "Where is the fellow who came on board with you?" he demanded. "I don't know, sir," I replied. "He had disappeared when I woke up this morning." "_Huh_! Sounds fishy!" was his response. "Don't lie to me, my lad, or I'll wring your neck for you!" He stood silent a moment, opening and shutting his fingers, just as though he were turning the matter over in the palms of his hands. Then he cursed. "You searched about for'ard for him?" he asked Lynch. "Yes, sir; he isn't on board," the second mate answered. "Then why are you bothering me?" the Old Man wanted to know. "If the swab is gone, he's gone. Drive the rest of them the harder to make up for his loss!" He resumed his pacing of the poop, while Lynch went forward. I was well enough pleased by the ending of the incident. For a moment I had feared the captain would blame me for Newman's absence. With the little squarehead's fate fresh in my mind I had no desire to foul Yankee Swope's temper. But I could not help thinking about Newman. His going was a mystery, and, moreover, I was sorry to see the last of him. I wondered why he had not stayed. It was not fear that made him clear out; of that I was certain. What then? The lady? I began to think about the _Golden Bough's_ lady. To think of Newman was to think of her. I was sure she had drawn him on board the ship. Had she, then, sent him packing ashore, while I slept? What was he--a discarded lover? Was she the lass in the beggarman's yarn? Had he shipped so he might worship his beloved from the lowly foc'sle? Or was he seeking vengeance? Oh, I read my Southworth and Bulwer in those days, and had some fine ideas regarding the tender passion. I felt sure there was some romantic heart-bond between Newman and the lady. I wondered if the lady were really so lovely, possessed of such goodness of heart, as glowing foc'sle report declared. Was she really an incarnate Mercy in this floating hell? Did she really go forward and bind up the men's hurts? Why did she not show herself on deck this fine morning? I wanted to see this angel who was wedded to a devil. I heard her voice first, ascending through the skylight. It thrilled me. Not the words--she was but giving a direction to the Chinese steward--but the rich, sweet quality of the voice. I, the foc'sle Jack, whose ears' portion was harsh, bruising oaths, felt the feminine accents as a healing salve. They stirred forgotten memories; they sent my mind leaping backwards over the hard years to my childhood, and the sound of my mother's voice. No wonder; I had scarce once heard the mellow sound of a good woman's voice since I ran away to sea five years before, only the hard voices of hard men, and, now and then, the shrill voice of some shrew of the waterside. She ascended from the cabin, and stepped out upon deck, and, as if moving as far as possible from the harsh voices forward, came aft and stood near the wheel. And at the first glance, I knew that foc'sle report of the lady was not overdrawn, that the most glowing description did ill justice to her loveliness. Her age? Oh, twenty-four, perhaps. Beautiful? Aye, judged by any standard. But it was not her youth, or the trimness of her figure, or the mere physical beauty of her features that touched the hearts, and made reverent the voices of rude sailormen. No; it was something beyond, something greater, than the flesh that commanded our homage. Once since have I seen a face that was like the face of Captain Swope's wife--in a great church in a Latin country. It was a painting of the Madonna, and the master who had painted it had given the Mother's face an expression of brooding tenderness as deep as the sea, an expression of pity and sympathy as wide as the world. You felt, as you looked at the picture, that the artist must have known life, its sufferings and sins. It was a like expression in the face of the Captain's lady. She was no pretty lass whose sweet innocence is merely ignorance. She was a woman who had looked upon life; you felt that she had faced the black evil and hideous cruelty in a man's world, and that she understood, and forgave. You felt her soul had passed through a fierce, white heat of pain, and had emerged burned clean of dross, free of all petty rancor or hatred. It glowed in her face, this wide understanding and sympathy, looked from her eyes, and sounded in her voice, and it was this that won the worship of the desperate men and broken derelicts who peopled the _Golden Bough's_ forecastle. Hair? Oh, yes, she had hair, a great mass of it piled on her head, black hair. Eyes? Her eyes were blue, not the washed out blue of a morning sky, but the changing, mysterious purple-blue of deep water. She turned those wonderful eyes upon me, as I stood there at the wheel, and the red blood flushed my cheeks, while the mask of cynical hardness I had striven so hard to cultivate fled from my face. She saw through my pretence, did the lady, she saw me as I really was, a boy playing desperately at being such a man as my experience had taught me to admire. I was abashed. I was no longer a hard case with those pitying, understanding eyes upon me. I was like a lad detected in a mischief, facing my mother. She had heard some talk in the cabin, or perhaps she had overheard Lynch's report to the Old Man, for her words showed she knew me as one of the men who had shipped in the vessel of my own will. "Why--you are only a boy!" she said, in a surprised voice. Then her face seemed to diffuse a sweet sympathy and understanding. I can't explain it, but I knew that the lady knew just why I had shipped. She looked inside of me, and read my heart--and _understood_! "Oh, Boy, why did you do it?" she exclaimed softly. "It is not worth it--why did you come! Listen!--do not give offense; whatever they do, show no resentment. Oh, they are hard--forget your pride, and be willing!" She seemed about to say more, but Captain Swope interrupted. When she appeared on deck, he affected not to see her; he had paced past her twice, but not by the quiver of an eyelash had he shown himself aware of her presence. Now he suddenly paused nearby. Perhaps his sailor's sense of fitness was ruffled by the sight of her in conversation with the man at the wheel; or, more likely, his eye had noted the scene occurring forward, and he wished to force it upon her attention, because it would cause her pain. "Ah, madam, commencing your good works so soon?" he remarked, in a soft, sneering voice. "Well, from all signs for'ard, you had better overhaul your medicine chest. You will have a patient or two to sniffle over to-morrow morning." The lady shuddered ever so slightly at Swope's words, and her features contracted, as though with pain. Just for an instant--then she was serenity again, and she gazed forward, as Swope bade, and silently watched the mates at their work. They were manhandling, of course. I might have found humor in the scene had not the lady just stirred the softer chords of my being. Away forward, by the foc'sle door, Mister Lynch was engaged in dressing down the Cockney. This was not a particularly interesting exhibition, though, for although the Cockney showed fight, he was clearly outmatched, and arose from the deck only to be knocked down again. But, by the main hatch was a more interesting spectacle. There, Mister Fitzgibbon was busied with the spare, red-shirted man, he of the intelligent face and gashed skull, the man I had found so mysteriously occupying the bunk Newman had gone to bed in, and who, Lynch declared, was neither sailor, nor bum. There on the poop, we could not overhear the small man's words for Mister Fitz's shrill cursing, but he seemed to be expostulating with the mate. And he seemed intent on forcing past the mate and coming aft. He would try to run past the hatch, and Fitzgibbon would punch him and send him reeling backwards. Even as we watched, the mate seized him by the collar of his red shirt, slammed him up against the rail, and then, with a belaying pin, hazed him forward at a run. I heard the lady sigh--and Swope chuckled. Then I noticed she was staring fixedly at the side of the cabin skylight. A few drops of the blood the Old Man had drawn from the little squarehead were splattered upon the woodwork and the deck. Silently, she regarded them, and her slight figure seemed to droop a bit. Then, with a queer little shrug, she squared her shoulders, and faced the Captain with up-tilted chin. . . . Aye, and I sensed the meaning of that little shrug, and the squared shoulders. It meant that she had picked up her Cross, and that she would courageously bear it in pain and sorrow through the dark days of the coming voyage. For I truly believe the lady suffered vicariously for every blow that bruised a sailor's flesh on board the _Golden Bough_! "Yes, I must look to my medicines," she replied to Swope. "I see they will be required." There was no active hate in her voice, or in her eyes, but she looked at the man much as one looks at some loathsome yet inevitable object--a snake, or a toad. And she turned away without further words, and descended to the cabin. Swope watched her departure with a half smile parting his beard and mustache. Oh, how I longed to be able to wipe that sneer from his mouth with my clenched fist! CHAPTER VII The Cockney relieved me at the wheel, at one bell, when the mates turned the crowd to after a short half hour for dinner. Oh, what a changed Cockney from yestereve! He came slinking meekly along the lee side of the poop. When he took over the wheel he had hardly spirit enough in him to mumble over the directions I gave him. His eyes were puffed half closed, and his lips were cut and swollen. Gone was the swanking, swaggering Cockney who had paraded before the Swede's bar. Instead there was only this cowed, miserable sailorman taking over the wheel. That Cockney had suffered a cruel double cross when he drank of the black bottle, and was hoisted over the _Golden Bough's_ rail. Yesterday he was a great man, the "Knitting Swede's" chief bully, with the hard seafare behind him, and with unlimited rum, and an easy, if rascally, shore life ahead of him. To-day he was just a shell-back outward bound, with a sore head and a bruised body; a fellow sufferer in the foc'sle of a dreaded ship, mere dirt beneath the officers' feet. Such a fall! Keenly as I had disliked the man yesterday, to-day I was sorry for him. The more sorry because I felt that the Jocose Swede had come near having me as the butt of his little joke, instead of Cockney. I scurried forward, intent upon dinner. I drew my whack from the Chinaman in the gallery, and bolted it down in the empty foc'sle. It was a miserable repast, a dish of ill-cooked lobscouse, and a pannikin of muddy coffee, and I reflected glumly that I had joined a hungry ship as well as a hot one. I finished the last of that mysterious stew, and then filled and lighted my pipe. I felt sure I would be allowed the half hour dinner spell the rest of the crowd had enjoyed, and I relaxed and puffed contentedly, determined to enjoy my respite to the last minute. For the sounds from the deck indicated a lively afternoon for all hands. But something occurred to interrupt my cherished "Smoke O," something that caused me to sit up suddenly and stiffly on the bench, while my pipe fell unheeded from my slackened mouth, and an unpleasant prickle ran over my scalp and down my spine. I have already mentioned that the _Golden Bough_ had a topgallant forecastle; that is, the crew's quarters were away forward, in the bows of the ship, beneath the forecastle head. It was a gloomy cavern; the bright day of outdoors was a muddy light within. Well, in the floor of the port foc'sle, wherein I was sitting, was the hatch to the forepeak, below. It was this yard square trap-door which caused my agitation. My glance fell casually upon it, and I saw it move! It lifted a hair's breadth, and I heard a slight scraping sound below. Aye, I was startled! A rat? But I knew that even a ship rat did not grow large enough to move a trap-door. The ghost of some dead sailor-man, haunting the scene of his earthly misery? Well, I had the superstitions of a foc'sle Jack, but I knew well enough that a proper ghost would not walk abroad in the noon o' day. I stared fascinated at that moving piece of wood. It slowly lifted about an inch, and then, through the narrow slit; I saw an eye regarding me with a fixed glare. I glared back, my amazement struggling with the conviction that was oversweeping me; and then, just as I was about to speak, Bucko Lynch's voice came booming into my retreat. "_Hey_, you! D'you reckon to spell-o the whole afternoon? If you've finished your scouse, out on deck with you--and lively about it!" There was no denying that request, eye or no eye. And at the second mate's first word, the trap door dropped shut, I clattered out of the foc'sle, and to work; but I was turning that little matter of the forepeak hatch over in my mind, you bet! It was near dusk, well on in the first dog-watch, when the mates let up with their driving, and herded all hands aft to the main deck. The forepeak hatch had rested heavily upon my mind all afternoon, and I was tingling with excitement when I went aft with the rest to face the ceremony which always concludes the first day out, the choosing and setting of the watches, and the calling of the muster roll. Something unexpected was about to happen, I felt sure. We were a sorry looking crowd gathered there on the main deck, before the cabin, a tatterdemalion mob, with bruised bodies and sullen faces, and with hate and fright in our glowering eyes. Those few of us who were seamen possessed a bitter knowledge of the cruel months ahead, the rest, the majority, faced a fate all the more dreadful for being dimly perceived, and of which they had received a fierce foretaste that merciless day. Captain Swope came to the break of the poop, lounged over the rail, and looked us over. In his hand he held the ship's articles. He regarded us with a sort of wicked satisfaction, seeming to draw delight from the sight of our huddled, miserable forms. Without saying a word, he gloated over us, over the puffed face of the Cockney, over the expression of desperate horror in the face of the red-shirted man, over the abject figure of the little squarehead, who had been going about all afternoon sobbing, with his hand pressed to his side, and whose face was even now twisted with a pain to which he feared to give voice. Aye, Swope stared down at us, licking his chops, so to speak, at the sight of our suffering; and we glared back at him, hating and afraid. Then the lady appeared at the poop rail, some paces distant from the Old Man. It was heartening to turn one's eyes from the Old Man's wicked, sneering face to the face of the lady. There was sorrow in that brooding look she gave us, and pity, and understanding. She was used to looking upon the man-made misery of men, you felt, and skilled in softening it. There was a stir in our ranks as we met her gaze, a half audible murmur ran down the line, and the slackest of us straightened our shoulders a trifle. The Old Man sensed the sudden cheer amongst us, and, I think, sensed its cause, for without glancing at the lady, he drawled an order to the mate, standing just below him. "Well, Mister Fitz, start the ball rolling--your first say." The mate allowed his fierce, pig eyes to rove over us, and to my secret delight he passed me by. "Where's the nigger?" he said, referring to the mulatto, who was at the wheel. "The wheel? Well, he's my meat." So the watch choosing began. Lynch promptly chose me, as he had promised he would, and I stepped over to the starboard deck. Fitzgibbon chose the Cockney, Lynch picked a squarehead--so the alternate choosing went, the mates' skilled eyes first selecting all those who showed in their appearance some evidence of sailorly experience. "You!" said Fitzgibbon, indicating the red-shirted man, and motioning him over to the port side of the deck. The red-shirted man, whose agitated face I had been covertly watching, instead of obeying the mate, stepped out of line and appealed to Swope. "Captain, may I speak to you now?" he asked, in a shrill, excited voice. "_Eh_, what's this?" exclaimed Swope, gazing down at the fellow. He lifted his hand and checked the mate, who was already about to collar his prey. I think Swope knew just what was coming, and he found sport in the situation. "What do you want, my man?" his soft voice inquired. A flood of agitated words poured out of the red-shirted man's mouth. "Captain--a terrible mistake--foully mistreated, all of these men foully mistreated by your officers--tried to see you and was beaten. . . ." With an effort he made his speech more coherent. "A terrible mistake, sir! I have been kidnapped on board this vessel! I am not a sailor, I do not know how I come to be here--I have been kidnapped, sir!" "How terrible!" said Swope. "I do not doubt your word at all, my man. Anyone can see you are no sailor, but a guttersnipe. And possibly you were--er--'kidnapped,' as you call it, in company with the wharf-rats behind you." "But, Captain--good heavens, you do not understand!" cried the man. "I am a clergyman--a minister of the Gospel! I am the Reverend Richard Deaken of the Bethel Mission in San Francisco!" The Reverend Richard Deaken! I saw a light. I had heard of the Reverend Deaken while I was in the Swede's house. The labors of this particular sky-pilot were, it appeared, particularly offensive to crimpdom. He threatened to throw a brickbat of exposure into the camp. He was appealing to the good people of the city to put a stop to the simple and effective methods the boarding masters used to separate Jack from his money, and then barter his carcass to the highest bidder. I had heard the Swede, himself, say, "Ay ban got him before election!" And this is how the reverend gentleman had been "got"--crimped into an outward bound windjammer, with naught but a ragged red shirt and a pair of dungaree pants to cover his nakedness; and he found, when he made his disclosure of identity, that the high place of authority was occupied by a man who enjoyed and jeered at his evil plight. For, at the man's words, the Old Man threw back his head and laughed loudly. "_Ho, ho, ho_! D'ye hear that, Misters? The Swede has given us a sky-pilot--a damned Holy Joe! By God, a Holy Joe on the _Golden Bough_! _Ho, ho, ho_!" Then he addressed the unfortunate man again. "So you are a Holy Joe, are you? You don't look it! You look like an ordinary stiff to me! Let me see--what did you call yourself? Deaken?" He lifted the articles, and scanned the names that represented the crew. "Deaken--_hey_! Well, I see no such name written here." I did not doubt that. Save my name, and Newman's, I doubted if any name on the articles could be recognized by any man present. "I see one name here, written in just such a flourishing hand as a man of your parts might possess--- 'Montgomery Mulvaney.' That is undoubtedly you; you are Montgomery Mulvaney!" "But, Captain--" commenced the parson, desperately. "Shut up!" snapped Swope. "Now, listen here, my man! You may be a Holy Joe ashore, or you may not be, that does not concern me. But I find you on board my vessel, signed on my articles as 'Montgomery Mulvaney, A.B.' Yet you tell me yourself you are no sailor. Well, my fancy man, Holy Joe you may be, stiff you are, but you'll be a sailor before this passage ends, or I'm not Angus Swope! Now then, step over there to port, and join your watch!" "But, Captain--" commenced the desperate man again. Then he evidently saw the futility of appealing to Captain Swope. Abruptly, he turned and addressed the lady. "Madam--my God, madam, can you not make him understand----" The lady shook her head, frowned warningly, and spoke a soft, quick, sentence. "No, no--do not protest, do as they say!" Well she knew the futility of argument, and the danger to the one who argued. Indeed, even while she spoke, the mate took the parson by his shirt collar, and jerked him roughly into his place. And there he stood, by the Cockney's side, wearing an air of bewildered dismay both comic and tragic. The mates renewed their choosing, and in a few more moments we were all gathered in two groups, regarding each other across the empty deck. There were fifteen men in the mate's watch, but, because of Newman's absence, only fourteen had fallen to Lynch. The Old Man handed down the articles to Mister Lynch. "All right, Mister, muster them," he said. "And (addressing us generally) if you don't recognize your names, answer anyway--or we'll baptize you anew!" Lynch held the papers before his face. I thrilled with a sudden expectancy. Something startling was going to happen, I felt it in my bones. Some clairvoyant gleam told me the forepeak hatch was wide open now. "Answer to your names!" boomed Lynch's great voice. "A. Newman!" "Here!" was the loud and instant response. As one man, we swung our heads, and looked forward. Sauntering aft, and just passing the main hatch, was the man with the scar. He came abreast of us, and paused there in the empty center of the deck. It was the lady, on the poop above, who broke the spell of silence the man's dramatic arrival had placed upon all hands. She broke it with a kind of strangled gasp. "Roy--it is Roy--oh, God!" she said, and she swayed, and clutched the rail before her as though to keep from falling. She stared down at Newman as if he were a ghost from the grave. But it was the manner of Captain Swope which commanded the attention of all hands. He was seeing a ghost, too, an evil ghost. It was like foc'sle belief come true--this man had sold his soul to the Devil, and the Devil was suddenly come to claim his own. He, too, stared down at Newman, and clutched the rail for support, while the flesh of his face became a livid hue, and his expression one of incredulous horror. "Where have you come from?" he said in a shrill, strained voice. Newman's clothes and face were smutted with the grime from the peak, but his air was debonair. He answered Captain Swope airily. "Why--I come just now from your forepeak--a most unpleasant, filthy hole, Angus! And less recently, I come from my grave, from that shameful grave of stripes and bars to which your lying words sent me, Angus! I've come to pay you a visit, to sail with you. Why, I'm on your articles--I am 'A. Newman.' An apt name, a true name--_eh_, Angus? Come now, are you not glad to see me?" It was unprecedented, that occurrence. A foremast hand badgering the captain on his own poop deck; badgering Yankee Swope of the _Golden Bough_, whilst his two trusty buckos stood by inactive and gaping. But, as I explained, there was an air about Newman that said "Hands off!" It was not so much his huge, muscular body; there was something in the spirit of the man that was respect-compelling; something lethal, a half-hidden, over-powering menace; something that overawed. He was no foc'sle Jack, no commonplace hard case; as he stood there alone, he had the bearing of a man who commanded large ships, who directed great affairs. And his bearing held inactive and over-awed those two fighting mates, while he mocked their god, Swope. And Swope! The man became craven before Newman's upturned gaze. He was palsied with fear, stark fear. I saw the sweat beads glistening on his brow. He lifted a shaking hand and wiped them off. Then he suddenly turned and strode aft, out of our view, without a parting word to the mates, without even the time honored, "Below, the watch." In the quiet that was over us, we heard his footsteps as he walked aft. They were uncertain, like the footsteps of a drunken man. We heard them descend to the cabin. Newman turned his gaze upon the lady. She stood there, clutching the rail. Her body seemed frozen into the attitude. But her face was alive. Yes, alive--and not with fear or horror. There was a delight beyond the powers of description shining in her face. There was incredulity, with glad conviction overcoming it. Her eyes glowed. Her heart was in her eyes as she looked at Newman. Newman spoke, and his voice was rich and sweet, all its harsh menace gone. "I have come, Mary," says he. She did not reply with words. But they looked at each other, those two, and although there were no more words, yet we gained the impression they were communing. Men and mates, we gaped, curious and tongue-tied. This was something quite beyond us, outside our experience. Bully Fitzgibbon, across the deck from me, pulled wildly at his mustache, and every movement of his fingers betrayed his bewilderment. For what seemed a long time the man and the woman stood silent, regarding each other. The dusk, which had been gathering, crept upon us. The lady's face lost its clear outline, and became shadowy. Suddenly she turned and flitted aft. We listened to her light footsteps descending to the cabin, as, a short while before, we had listened to the Old Man's. When sound of her had ceased, Newman, without being bidden, stepped to the starboard side and fell into line beside me. The mate finally broke the awkward silence. Lack of the usual sting from his voice showed how the scene had shaken him. "Well--carry on, Mister!" he said to Lynch. "Finish the mustering." The second mate read off the list of names. With the single exception of myself, not a man responded with the usual "Here, sir." Not a man recognized his name among those called; a circumstance not to be wondered at, for the list was doubtless made up of whatever names happened to pop into the Knitting Swede's mind. But the mates did not care about responses. As soon as Lynch was finished, Fitzgibbon commanded shortly, "Relieve wheel and lookout. Go below, the watch." We of the starboard watch went below. Newman came with us, and he walked as he afterwards walked and worked with us, a man apart. CHAPTER VIII A man apart Newman was. We instinctively recognized that fact from the beginning. When we had gained the foc'sle, the rage in our hearts found expression in bitter cursing of our luck, the Swede, the ship and the officers. But Newman did not curse, nor did we expect him to. We sensed that he was glad he was at sea in the _Golden Bough_, that he was there for some peculiar purpose of his own. He was, of course, the dominant personality in the foc'sle, indeed, in the ship. But, strangely enough, we did not look to him for leadership. We regarded him curiously, and with awe and some fear, but we did not look to him to lead the watch. We felt he was not one of us. His business on the ship was not our business, his aim not our aim. Because of this aloofness of Newman, I suddenly found myself occupying the proud position of cock of the starboard watch. A foc'sle must have its leading spirit, and the cockship is a position much coveted and eagerly striven for in most ships, decided only after combat between the fighting men of the crew. But the _Golden Bough_ had an extraordinary crew. The majority of the men in my watch were just stiffs, who possessed neither the experience nor desire to contest for leadership. The few seamen, besides myself and Newman, were squareheads, quiet peasants of Scandinavia and Germany, who felt lost and unhappy without somebody always at hand to order them about. So, within half an hour after going below for that first time, I found myself giving orders to men and being obeyed. They were the first orders I had ever given, and, oh, they were sweet in my mouth! Think of it, my last ship I had been ordered about by the foc'sle cock. I had gone to the galley at command and fetched the watch's food. Now, scant days after, I, a fledgling able seaman, was lording it over the foc'sle of the hottest ship on the high seas, and ordering another man to go after the supper. And he went. I think I grew an inch during that dog-watch; I know my voice gained a mature note it lacked before. I was a true son of the foc'sle, you must understand, with the habits and outlook of a barbarian. This leadership I so casually assumed may appear a petty thing, but it was actually the greatest thing that happened to me since birth. This little savage authority I commenced to exercise over my companions by virtue of the threat of my fists, was my first taste of power. It awakened in me the driving instinct, the desire to lead, and eventually placed me in command of ships; it also gave me my first sense of responsibility, without which there can be no leadership. During the supper, and after, I found myself watching and studying my companions. For I feared that my youth might later cause someone to question my cockship, and I meant to fight for it in that event. But my scrutiny satisfied my natural confidence. There was no man in my watch I could not handle in either a rough-and-tumble or stand-up go, I thought, with the exception of Newman. He would not interfere with me--his interest lay aft, in the cabin, not in the foc'sle. In the port watch were two fighting men, my eyes had told me, the Cockney and the Nigger. If they disputed my will in foc'sle affairs, I was still confident I should prove the best man. I felt my tenure of office was secure, and that new, delicious feeling of power quite effaced, for the moment, the memory of the day, and reconciled me to the ship. This scrutiny I gave my companions was the first chance I had to fairly size them up, and I afterwards discovered that my first impressions of them, individually and collectively, were quite correct. We were, as you know, thirty men before the mast, fifteen to a watch. More than half of the thirty were of that class known to sailors as "stiffs." This is, they were greenhorns masquerading on the articles as able seamen. And such stiffs! The Knitting Swede must have combed the jails, and stews, and boozing kens of all San Francisco to assemble that unsavory mob. In my watch, Newman, myself, and four square-heads could be called seamen. But the squareheads knew not a dozen words of English between them. The other nine were stiffs, various kinds of stiffs, broken men all, with the weaknesses of dissolute living stamped upon their inefficient faces. Except two men. These two were stiffs right enough, and their faces were evil, God knows, but they plainly were not to be classed as weaklings. I noticed them particularly that first watch below because they sat apart from the wrangling, cursing gang, and whispered to each other, and stared at Newman, who was lying in his bunk. They were medium sized men, as pallid of face as Newman, himself, and their faces gave one the impression of both slyness and force. A grim looking pair; I should not have cared to run afoul of them on the Barbary Coast after midnight. I already knew the names they called each other--the only names I ever knew them by--"Boston," for the blond fellow with the bridge of his nose flattened, and "Blackie" for the other, a chap as swarthy as a dago, with long, oily black hair, and eyes too close together. Even as I watched, they seemed to arrive at some decision in their whispered conversation. Blackie got up from the bench and crossed over to Newman's bunk. The latter was lying with his face to the wall. Blackie placed his hand upon Newman's shoulder, leaned over, and whispered into his ear. I saw Newman straighten out his long body. For an instant he lay tense, then he slowly turned his head and faced the man who leaned over him. On his face was the same expression of deadly menace he had shown the Cockney, back in the Swede's barroom. Blackie could not withstand that deadly gaze. He backed hurriedly away, and sat down beside his mate. Then Newman spoke in low, measured tones, and at the first word the babel of noise stopped in the foc'sle, and all hands watched his lips with bated breath. "I play a lone hand," he addressed the pair. "You will keep your mouths shut, and work, and play none of your deviltries in this ship unless I give the word. Otherwise--" The great scar on his forehead was blue and twitching, and his voice was deadly earnest. He did a thing so expressive it made me shudder. He lifted his hand, and carelessly placed his forefinger on the outer side of his bunk, and when he lifted it, two of the myriad cockroaches that infested the foc'sle were mashed fiat on the board. Blackie's face set sullenly, and the angry blood darkened his cheeks. Boston wriggled uneasily on his seat, and cleared his throat as though about to speak. But, at the instant, Lynch's booming voice came into the foc'sle, calling the watch on deck, and putting an abrupt end to the scene. There was an immediate scramble for the exit to the deck. Aye, the mates had put the fear of the Lord--and themselves--into us, and we were all eager to show how willing we were! But I heard Fitzgibbon without, as well as Lynch, and, from the gossip I had heard at the Swede's, I suspected the foc'sle was about to be introduced to the orthodox hell-ship manner of turning to the watch. Both mates would meet us coming up, and the first man on deck would get a clout for not being sooner, and the last man a boot for being a laggard. So I held back, and allowed another the honor of being first through the door. This honor was seized by none other than Blackie. I suppose he was anxious to escape from Newman's disturbing gaze; anyhow, at the second mate's first summons, he bounded from the bench, and tumbled through the door. I followed immediately after, and saw my suspicions confirmed. Mister Fitz was holding a lantern, and Mister Lynch had his hands free for business. He met Blackie's egress with a careless jab of his fist that up-ended the unfortunate stiff, and the injunction, "Hearty, now, you swabs! Lay aft!" I quickly sidestepped out of the second mate's range, in case he should aim a blow at me, and started to obey the command to lay aft. But I had taken but a step when I was arrested by Blackie's action. Instead of adopting the sensible course of meekness under insult, Blackie rebounded from the deck and flew at Lynch. In the light cast by Mister Fitz's lantern, I saw the gleam of a knife blade in Blackie's hand. I suppose the anger that Newman's words had raised exploded beneath Lynch's blow, and caused his mad rashness. But Bully Lynch made nothing of the assault. "Ah, would you!" I heard him say as Blackie closed with him, and then the knife-hand went up in the air, and the weapon fell upon the deck. "I'll teach you!" said Lynch, and he commenced to shower blows upon the man. Blackie screamed curses, and fought back futilely. Lynch commented in a monotone with each of his thudding blows, "Take that--that--that." Soon he knocked Blackie cold, across the forehatch. Then he turned to us who were clustered outside the foc'sle door, watching. "Aft, with you! Jumping, it is, now!" Aft, we went, and jumping, too, with the mate's laugh in our ears. CHAPTER IX I had the second trick at the wheel that watch, from ten o'clock till midnight. I came panting and sweating to the task, keenly relishing the chance of resting. For there was to be no "farming" away the night watches in the _Golden Bough_; the second mate had kept us upon the dead run from one job to another, and I sensed this was the routine of the ship. It was a fine, clean smelling night of moon and stars, and brisk breeze. The wind had freshened since day, and the vessel was stepping out and showing the paces that made her famous. She had an easy helm; one of those rare craft that may be said to steer herself. I had time to think, and receive impressions, as I half lounged at the wheel. The round moon brightened the world, the west pyramids of canvas above me bellied taut, the cordage wrung a stirring whistle from the wind, the silver spray cascaded on the weather deck. I watched the scene with delight, drank in the living beauty of that ship, and felt the witchery the _Golden Bough_ practiced upon sailors' minds steal over and possess me. Aye, she was a ship! I was soon to curse my masters, and the very day I was born, but never, after that night, did I curse the ship. I loved her. I felt the full force that night of a hoary sea axiom, "Ships are all right. 'Tis the men in them." I was surprised not to see Captain Swope upon the poop. According to the gossip I had heard at the Knitting Swede's, this eight to twelve watch was Yankee Swope's favorite prowling time. But he did not appear; indeed, he had not shown himself since he had so ignominiously surrendered the deck to Newman. I was not disappointed. I shouldn't have cared if he remained below the entire voyage. But I did see the lady that watch. When Mister Lynch, and his familiars (of whom more anon), had gone forward to a job, she suddenly stepped out of the companion hatch and flitted aft towards me. Then, when she was close enough to discern my features by the reflection from the binnacle lights, she stopped. I heard a sort of gasping sigh that meant, I knew, disappointment, and she moved over to the rail, and stood staring at the sea. I knew what was wrong. She had, in the darkness, mistaken my very respectable bulk for Newman's gigantic body. She had expected to find Newman at the wheel; she was eager for a private word with him. I watched her, with my head half turned on my shoulder. Aye, but it thrilled me, the sight of her! You will call me a romantic young fool, but it was not that. It was no thrill of desire, no throb of passion for her beauty, though she was fair enough, in all faith, as she stood there in the moonlight. It was something bigger, something deeper, a wave of sympathy and pity that surged through my being, a feeling I had never before felt during my savage young life. A pretty pass, you say, when the ignorant foc'sle Jack pities the captain's wife? Aye, but the very beasts of the field might have pitied the wife of Yankee Swope. Her body seemed so slender and childlike. Too fine and dainty to hold the woe of a hell-ship, and, Heaven knew, what private sorrow besides. She did not know I was observing her, or else her great trouble caused her to forget my presence, for she suddenly buried her face in her hands, and her shoulders commenced to heave. It stabbed me to the quick, the sight of that noiseless grief. My eyelids smarted, and my throat bulged uncomfortably. What was her trouble? Swope? Had he hurt her? Was the talk I had heard at the Swede's correct, did that black devil beat the lady? My hands grasped the wheel spokes fiercely, as though I had Swope's sleek throat between my fingers. I heard Mister Lynch coming aft. I thought the lady would not wish him to see her weeping, and since she did not seem to hear the approach, I called softly to her, "Lady! They come!" She straightened, and, after a second, came swiftly to me. She bent her face within the narrow radius of the binnacle lights, and her eyes looked straight into mine. Aye, and the misery and suffering I saw in those great eyes! "God bless you, boy," she whispered. "You are his friend? Tell him I come forward in the morning. Tell him--for my sake--as he loves his life--to look behind him when he walks in the dark!" With that she turned and sped to the hatch, and was gone below. And up the poop ladder tramped Lynch, with the two tradesmen following him. I have mentioned these two familiars of the second mate before, and I had better explain them. The _Golden Bough_ carried neither junior officers, nor bo'suns, an unusual circumstance, considering the size and character of her crews. Instead, she carried two sailmakers and two carpenters, and these tradesmen lived by themselves in the round-house, ate aft at a special table, and, save when emergency work prevented, stood watch and watch. They stood their night watches aft, with the officer on deck. This arrangement--unique in all my sea experience--provided three men, awake, armed and handy, throughout the night. It worried us a good deal, this arrangement, when, in due time, we began to talk of mutiny. But I was not talking, or even thinking, of mutiny this night, or for many nights. Nothing was further from my thoughts. Mutiny is a serious business, a hanging business, the business of scoundrels, or the last resort of desperate men. I knew the consequences of mutiny, so did the others, squareheads and stiffs, and we had not been sufficiently maltreated to make us ripe for such an undertaking. But there was mutiny in the air on the _Golden Bough_ from that very first day or the voyage. I was soon to learn that there was plenty of rebellious spirit forward, and shrewd, daring fellows eager to lead, because of piratical greed. Also, she was a hell-ship. It was part of a hell-ship's routine to thump the crew to the raw edge of mutiny, and keep them there. You must understand the _Golden Bough_, and to understand her you must understand the knock-down-and-drag-out system in vogue on board a good many American ships of that day, and later. A hell-ship was not just the result of senseless brutality on the part of the officers. She was the product of a system. The captain rode high in his owner's esteem when he could point to the golden results of his stern rule at sea; the bucko mates were specifically hired to haze the crew, and drew extra large pay for the job. It was, of course, a matter of dollars. If the owners did not have to pay wages to the crew, they would save money, wouldn't they? I suppose some sleek-jowled, comfortable pillar of church and society first thought of it, and whispered it into his skipper's ear. And the skipper whispered it to his mates, and they made that ship so hot the crew cleared out at the first port or call, leaving their wages behind. So was the hell-ship born. For instance: We were thirty men before the mast in the _Golden Bough_, signed on for the voyage at $25 a month. Of course, we didn't get any of this wage until the voyage was completed, until the vessel returned to an American port. Think of the saving to the owners if we deserted in Hong Kong. They would have no labor bill, practically, for working the ship from America to China, no labor bill during the months ere she was ready for sea again. Then when ready to leave Hong Kong, Swope would ship a new crew, haze them as we were being hazed, and they would clear out at the next port. That system worked. It was a money saver, and lasted till the ascendency of steam, and the passage of tardy laws, ended it. Why, some skippers--like Yankee Swope---boasted they never paid off a crew. Talk about efficiency, and reducing overhead costs! Some of those old windjammer skippers could swap yarns with these factory experts of to-day, I tell you! Of course, not all American ships, or even a majority of them, adopted this system. But enough did to give American ships an evil name among sailors that has endured to the present day. And this evil name helped sustain the system. It completed a kind of vicious circle. The crew ran away from the hell-ship, and spread the evil fame of the vessel over the five oceans. Sailors then would not willing ship in her--save, of course, a few adventuresome young fools, like myself, who sought glory--and the skipper found himself putting to sea with a mob of stiffs in his foc'sle. Often he had trouble getting stiffs. In some ports, where the crimping system was not developed, the hell ship waited for months for a crew. In other ports, like San Francisco, where the boarding master's will was the law of sailortown, the captain paid over his blood money, and the boarding master delivered him his crew, drunk, drugged and sandbagged. When he got to sea he would find his crew composed chiefly of the very scum of the waterside, a mode of unlicked, lawless ruffians, and his bucko mates would need all their prowess to keep them subordinate. Hazing such a mob was the only way to manage them. Also, it made them run away and leave their wages behind. But there were degrees of "heat" in the hell-ships. The bucko mates usually contented themselves with working the men at top speed, depriving them of their afternoon watches below, and thumping the stiffs, because they were lubberly at their work. This treatment was sufficiently severe to produce the desired results. This was normal hell-ship style. The few sailors, in the crew, providing they were willing, rarely received more than verbal abuse. Now, brutality feeds upon itself. Some officers, after living under the system for a time, became perfect fiends. They came to enjoy beating up men. In some ships, the dressing down of the crew was a continuous performance, and sailors, as well as stiffs, caught it. As in the _Golden Bough_. God's truth, there was blood spilt every watch! Always, after the first day out, did the foc'sle bunks contain a miserable wretch or two laid up because of a manhandling. Yet we of the starboard watch were comparatively lucky. Mister Lynch, our officer, was what I may call a normal bucko. He hazed for the results rather than for the pleasure of hazing, though I think he did get some satisfaction out of thumping the men. You feel a fine thrill when you see a half dozen huskies cringe away before you with fear in their eyes. I imagine it is the same thrill a wild animal tamer feels as he faces his beasts. I felt this fascinating sensation many times after I had become a mate of ships. Lynch had no mercy on the stiffs of our watch; he hammered the rudiments of seamanship into them with astonishing speed. He cuffed a knowledge of English into the squareheads. But he kept his hands off Newman and me, not because he was afraid of us--I don't think Lynch feared anything--but because we knew our work and did it. Oh, I got mine, and with interest, in the _Golden Bough_, but not from Lynch. The mate was a different type. He was all brute, was Fitzgibbon, and sailors and stiffs alike caught it from him. A natural bully, and, like most such, at heart craven. Lynch used his bare fists upon the men, Fitz used brass knuckles. I don't think Lynch ever bothered to carry a gun in the daytime. Fitzgibbon never stirred on deck without a deadly bulge in his coat pocket. Lynch stalked among us by night or day, alone, and unafraid. After dark, the mate never stirred from the poop unless Sails and Chips were at his heels. Lynch was a bluff, hard man; Fitzgibbon was a cruel, sly beast. And Swope! Well, I cannot explain or judge his character. It would take a medical man to do that, I think. He was his two mates rolled into one, plus brains. He had fed a certain strong Sadistic element in his nature until inflicting pain upon others had become his chief passion. I can imagine his perverted soul living in former lives--as a Familiar of the Inquisition, or the red-clad torturer of some medieval prince. But explain him, no. I will tell his ending, you may judge. But, of course, I was not musing upon the economy of hell-ships, or the characters of bucko mates, during the balance of that trick at the wheel. The lady's message to Newman possessed my mind. When I went forward at eight bells, I immediately called Newman aside, and delivered her words. He listened in silence, and his face grew soft. He squeezed my hand, and whispered somewhat brokenly, "Thank you, Jack"--an exhibition of emotion that startled as much as it pleased me, he being such a stern man. Then, when I repeated the latter part of the lady's message, "Tell him . . . to look behind him when he walks in the dark," his features hardened again, and I heard him mutter, "So, that is his game!" "What is?" I asked. He did not answer for a moment, and I turned away towards my bunk. But at that he reached out a detaining hand. "You are a big man, Shreve," he said. "Not such a difference in our sizes but that a man might mistake us after dark. Keep your weather eye lifted, lad; you, too, must look behind when you walk in the dark." "And what shall I look for?" asked I. "Death," he said. CHAPTER X Came morning, but not the lady. And the foc'sle was in sad need of her ministrations. Quite half the crew needed salves and bandages for their bruises and cuts, and there was, besides, a more serious case demanding attention. When the starboard watch was called at four o'clock, we heard a low, insistent moaning in the port foc'sle. The man who called us said that the little squarehead--the lad Swope had manhandled--had again fallen afoul the masters. The hurts Swope had inflicted prevented the boy moving about as quickly as Mister Fitzgibbon desired, so the bucko had laid him out and walked upon him during the mid-watch. When he was through, the lad had crawled on his hands and knees into the foc'sle, and collapsed. By eight o'clock in the morning, when the starboard watch went below again, we found the poor chap daft, and babbling, and on fire with fever. The mate gave up his efforts to arouse him, and admitted to Lynch that "the damn little stock fish is a bit off color. Needs a dose o' black draught." After breakfast, Newman and I stepped into the port foc'sle. The squareheads of our watch were already there, sitting gloomily about, or clumsily attempting to make the injured youth more comfortable. He looked bad, no mistake. Newman shook his head, gravely, as we turned away. "It is a task for her," he said to me. "She has the healing gift. The boy is badly hurt." A growled curse took my answer from me. It came from one of the squareheads, from Lindquist, a sober, bearded, middle-aged man, the one man among them who could manage a few words of English conversation. "Koom vrom mine town," he said, indicating the tossing form in the bunk. His blue eyes had a worried, puzzled expression, and his voice bespoke puzzled wrath. It was evident his slow moving peasant's mind was grappling with the bloody fact of a hell-ship. It was something new in his experience. He was trying to fathom it. Why were he and his mates thumped, when they willingly did their work? What for? "Nils iss goot boy," he said to us. "So hard he vork, _ja_." Then he bent over the bunk and resumed the application of his old folk remedy, the placing of wetted woolen socks upon Nils' forehead. Before the foc'sle door, we found our mob of stiffs, nursing their hurts, and watching the cabin. For, as all the world of ships knew, this was the time of day the lady came forward on her errand of mercy. They were a sorry-looking mob, as sore of heart as of body. It was not so much medical attention the stiffs wanted, I think, as sympathy. Bruises and lacerations, so long as they didn't keep a man off his feet, were lightly regarded in that tough crowd. But the lady's sweet, sane being was a light in the pall of brutality that hung over the ship. She was something more than woman, or doctor, to those men; in her they saw the upper world they had lost, the fineness of life they had never attained. They had all felt the heartening influence of her presence at the muster; they craved for it now as thirsty men crave for water. They were men in hell, and through the lady they had a vision of heaven. Two bells went, and then three, and the lady did not come. At last Wong, the Chinese steward, came forward. "All slick man go aft," says he. "Lady flix um." "Is she not coming forward?" asked Newman. "No can do. Slick man lay aft." "What have you there?" I demanded, for he bore a glass filled with liquid. "Dosey. Mlissa Mate, him say give slick man inside," and he pointed into the foc'sle. Newman ripped out an oath. "Give it here. A bonesetter, not a dose of physic is needed in there." He reached out his hand, and Wong obediently surrendered the glass. He surrendered something else. I was standing by Newman's side, and, saw the piece of paper that passed into his hand with the tumbler. Newman's face remained as impassive as the Chinaman's own. He sniffed of the draught, made a wry face and tossed it, glass and all, over the side into the sea. Then he turned on his heel and went into the foc'sle. Wong went aft, followed by most of the watch. I went after Newman. He was sitting on the edge of his bunk, musing, and the note was open upon his knee. He handed it to me to read. It was just a strip of wrapping paper, hastily scribbled over in pencil. But the handwriting was dainty and feminine. It was from the lady, plainly enough, even though no name was signed. "_We have quarreled, and he has forbidden me to leave the cabin, or go forward this voyage. He is drinking, he is desperate--oh, Roy, be careful, he is capable of anything. I know him now. Do not come aft with the sick._" I looked at Newman inquiringly. But he said nothing to supplement the note. He took it from me, lighted a match, and burned it up. I guessed he was disappointed, that he had counted upon the lady coming forward. "And did the little dear write? And what did she say," drawled an unpleasant voice behind us. I swung about with a start, and saw Boston and Blackie lying in their bunks, one above the other. Boston had spoken, but they were both eyeing Newman. The dangerous light came into Newman's face. "Mind your own business!" he said, shortly. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, broken by Boston, with a wheedling note in his voice. "Aw, say, Big 'Un, don't get horstile. We didn't mean to horn in. We just want to be friends; we feel hurt, Blackie an' me, at the way you're giving us the go by. We're all on the dodge together, ain't we? And we got a rich lay, I tell you! Blackie and me has it all figured out, but we need you to lead, Big 'Un. What d'ye want to pal with that cub for, when two old friends like Blackie an' me are ready and willing to work for you? We got a rich lay, I tell you!" "Damn your thieving schemes," said Newman. "Aw, now, bring the cub in, if you like," persisted Boston. "He's a game 'un." Blackie, the hot-headed, spoke up, resentfully. He lifted his battered face on his elbow, and lisped through the gap Lynch's fist had made in his teeth. "Number seven hundred and three wasn't so finicky about his pals the time he jumped the dead line, and ditched the Big House!" Newman crossed the foc'sle with one catlike bound. He got Blackie by the throat and yanked him from the bunk. Then he shook him, and threw him into the farther corner. "There will be no scheme set on foot from this foc'sle, save the one I father," he told the pair in his cool, level voice. "I gave you your answer last night. Now, if you two come between me and my goal, in this ship, as God lives, I'll kill you!" With that, he swung about and stepped into the port foc'sle. "Come on, Shreve," he said to me, over his shoulder. "Lend a hand. You and I must attend to this boy." Presently I was standing by Nils' bunk, together with the squareheads, marveling at the gentleness with which Newman's huge hands handled the sufferer. It was an exhibition of practiced skill. The feeling was strong on me that moment that Newman had gained this skill in no foc'sle, but in a cabin, where as master he had doctored his own sick. But, after all, he was no surgeon, and there was little he could do for the lad. Newman undressed him--the squareheads had not been able to accomplish this feat, because of the pain their rough handling caused--and bared the poor broken body to view. The squareheads cursed deeply and bitterly at the sight of the shocking bruises on the white flesh. Nils was delirious, staring up at us with brilliant, unseeing eyes, and babbling in his own lingo. "He say, mudder, mudder," commented Lindquist in a choked voice. "I know his mudder." Newman explored the hurts with his finger, and his gentle touch brought gasps of agony. His face grew very grave. Then he ripped up a blanket, and with my assistance, skillfully bandaged Nils about the body. When he was through, he looked Lindquist in the eyes, and shook his head. "So?" said Lindquist. His eyes, so stupid and dull a while before, were blazing now. Aye, it was evident his law-abiding mind had arrived at a lawless decision; his lowering face boded no good for the brute who had maltreated his young friend. "Gott, if he die!" he said. It was a full-mouthed promise to avenge, that sentence. As we left, I became aware that Boston and Blackie had followed Newman and me, and had witnessed the scene. Said Boston to his mate, in a low voice that I just caught, "If the kid croaks we'll have the squareheads with us." CHAPTER XI Captain Swope did not emerge from the cabin that day, nor the next day, nor the next. But we obtained plain confirmation of the lady's word he was drinking, when, every morning the Chinese cabin boy brought empty bottles out on deck and heaved them overboard. Whereat, all the thirsty souls forward clicked their tongues and swore. But this interim, during which Yankee Swope stayed below, and moped and drank, was, you may be sure, no peaceful period for the foc'sle. The _Golden Bough's_ mates could be trusted to hustle the crowd whether or not the skipper's eyes were upon them. There was bloody, knock-about work with belaying pin and knuckles, while the ship settled down into deep sea form, and the mob of stiffs learned to keep out of its own way and hand the right rope when yelled at. Since leaving port, the _Golden Bough_ had been standing a southerly course, on a port tack. Now, on the third day, the wind hauled around aft, and came on us from the nor'east, as a freshening gale. We squared away, and went booming down before it, true clipper style. By nightfall it was blowing hard, and the kites were doused. The night came down black as coal tar, with an overcast sky, and lightning playing through the cloud in frequent, blinding flashes. My watch had the deck from eight to twelve, and Mister Lynch (and his satellites, Chips and Sails) kept us hustling fore and aft, sweating sheets, and taking a heave at this and that. Few watches in my life stand out so sharply in my memory. And it was not the near tragedy that concluded it that so impressed my mind; it was the sailing. For Lynch was cracking on, and there was no faint-hearted skipper interfering with his game. Indeed, had Swope been on deck before the hour when he did come up, I do not think he would have protested. This reckless sailing was what made half the fame of the _Golden Bough_. It was said that Yankee Swope sailed around Cape Stiff with padlocks on his topsail sheets! And this night we showed the gale the full spread of her three t'gan's'ls, and the ship raced before the wind like a frightened stag. Oh, I had seen sailing before. I had been in smart ships, had run my Easting down in southern waters more than once, had made the eastern passage of the Western Ocean with the winter storm on my back the whole distance. But this night was my introduction to the clipper style, where the officers banked fifty per cent on their seamanship, to avert disaster, and fifty per cent on blind chance that the top hamper would stand the strain. An incautious system? Aye, but cautious men did not sail those ships. It was so dark we had to feel our way about the decks. I could not see the upper canvas, but I could imagine it standing out like curved sheet iron. Every moment I expected to hear the explosion of rent canvas, or the rattle of falling gear on the deck. Not I alone thought so, for once when Chips and Sails went to windward of me, I heard Sails bawl to his companion, "He'll have the spars about our ears before the hour is out!" "Not he," responded Chips. "Trust Lynch and his luck!" True enough. The hour passed, and another, and Lynch still carried on without mishap. Indeed, the wind had moderated a bit. Throughout the watch I kept close by Newman's side. That warning, to look behind me in the dark, had by no means escaped my mind. When we came on deck, Newman said to me, "A good night for a bad job, Jack! Keep your eyes open!" Small advice on such a night, when a man could not have seen his own mother, stood she two feet distant! That warning had puzzled me, and I did not dare question Newman concerning it. He was not the kind of man one could question. But what was likely to lurk in the dark? "Death," said he. Did that mean he feared a stealthy assassination, a knife thrust from the dark? Did he think that Captain Swope was planning the cold-blooded murder of an able seaman? There was the question. In one way, it opposed my reason. Of course, this was a hell-ship, and murder might very well take place on board. But that the captain should deliberately plot the removal of a foc'sle hand! Able seamen were not of such importance in a hell-ship. Yet Newman was more than a foremast hand. God knew who he was, or what his business in the ship, but it was plain he was Swope's enemy, and there was a private feud between them. His mere appearance had caused the Old Man to run below, and remain hidden for three days! . . . There was the lady. She was Newman's friend. She knew the Old Man's moods, and she was positive about it. The warning was doubtless well founded, I concluded. And Newman was my friend, my chum for the voyage, I hoped. If there were danger for him in the dark, it were well his friend stayed handy by. So, throughout that black watch, I stuck as close as possible to his elbow. Six bells went when the watch was forward at a job. Suddenly, down the wind, came a dear, musical hail, from aft. "Ahoy--Mister!" "B'Gawd, the Old Man's on deck!" ejaculated Lynch to his assistants. Then he bellowed aft, "Yes, sir?" "Reef t'gan's'l's, Mister!" came the command. "_Eh_!" blankly exclaimed Lynch. "Now, what is he up to?" But he yelled back his acknowledgment, "Reef t'gan's'ls, sir!" When the sails were clewed up, Newman and I were ordered aloft on the mizzen. The stiffs were useless aloft on such a night, and the fore and main were given the handful of squareheads and the two tradesmen. When we jumped for the sheer pole we passed within a foot of a figure lounging across the rail at the poop break, and we knew it was Swope. There had been no word from him since the initial order. It was so dark we did not see his face. As we swung up into the mizzen rigging, Newman shouted words in my ear that I knew the wind carried to the captain. "The devil is abroad, Jack, and there is hell to pay!" And when we had gained the yardarm, he added, "It is coming, Jack; one hand for yourself and one for the ship!" But he did not act upon the advice himself. No more did I. Indeed, one needs both arms and a stout back to pass reef points. We leaned into the work, put our united brawn into it, and progressed briskly. All the while I stared beneath me, into the whistling, inky void, trying to discern that spot on the deck below, where the braces that held this yard steady were made fast. I felt this lofty spot was no healthful abiding place for Newman and me. I had a premonition of what was coming! Yet, when it did come, I was caught unawares. I felt the wood I leaned on draw suddenly away from me. There came a jerk that nigh snapped my neck. My feet left the foot rope, and I was falling, head foremost, into the blackness. They said I screamed loudly. I was not conscious I opened my mouth. It is strange, the trick a thing like that can play with one's senses. I seemed to be falling for moments, an immeasurable distance. Actually, the whole thing occurred in about a second's space, and my feet just about cleared the yardarm when Newman's grip fastened upon my ankle. My face was buried in the smothering folds of the threshing sail; then Newman had drawn me up until my body balanced on the yard. A second later my feet were again on the foot rope, and my hands fastened for dear life to the jackstay. I was conscious of using my voice then. Aye--but I swore! "By heaven, he let go the port brace!" I yelled to Newman. For answer, Newman grabbed me around the waist, just as a fork of lightning zigzagged through the sky. For the briefest instant, the ship stood out in a bright light. Far below us, on the deck, we saw Captain Swope standing, looking up at us. Then blackness again. I felt myself for a second time jerked clear of my foothold--to immediately wrap my limbs about a wire rope. For Newman had leaped for a backstay, as the yard swung close, and carried me with him. For a moment we hung there, one above the other, then we commenced to slide to the deck. Mister Lynch's voice came booming up to us, and we saw the light of a lantern bobbing about. A moment later we clattered off the poop, on to the main deck. A group was bunched together in the lee of the cabin, Captain Swope, and Lynch and the tradesmen. Lynch carried the lighted hurricane lamp that hung handy in a sheltered nook during the night. Forward, a respectful distance, the stiffs of the watch made a vague blot in the gloom. As, we came down the poop ladder a voice I recognized as Boston's called to us from this last group, "He tried to get you, Big 'Un!" So I knew that the lightning flash had revealed to the watch what it had revealed to us. "The brace was slipped," said Newman to Lynch. "I know," replied the second mate, shortly. There was contempt in his voice, and I knew, when I looked at his grim, disdainful face, that he had had no hand in the affair. Bucko Lynch might kill a man in what he considered the line of duty, but snapping men off a yardarm was not his style. But I also knew that he was an officer of an American ship, and would consider it his duty to back up his captain no matter what villainy the latter attempted. Swope smiled sweetly at us. One might think that a man, even a ship's autocrat, when detected in an attempt at cold-blooded murder, would make some specious explanation of his act. Not Swope. No hypocritical contrition showed in the face the lantern lighted; rather, a cool, pitiless inhumanity that squeezed my bowels, even while rage surged within me. We had understood that Swope was drunk for the past three days, but the smiling features showed no mark of his dissipation. Neither did he exhibit any of the fear he had shown at Newman's sudden appearance the other afternoon. It was plain that Captain Swope had taken heartening counsel with himself regarding the danger he might incur from Newman's presence on board. Whatever was the mysterious feud between the two, Swope had the upper hand. He rested secure in the knowledge of his power as captain, in his knowledge of Newman's helplessness as a mere foremast hand. And so he smiled, and said musingly, and distinctly, to Newman, "A miss is as good as a mile, eh? But it is a long passage!" The cool insolence of it! God's truth, it chilled me, this careless confession of the deed, and threat of what the future held. And then, as though to remove the last possible doubt in our minds that the slipping of the brace was an accident, that the whole job of striking sail was but a pretext to get Newman aloft, Swope turned to the second mate. "I think she'll stand it, Mister," he said. "You may as well shake out the t'gan's'l's again!" CHAPTER XII I went below after that watch with the thought of mutiny stirring in the back of my mind. But in the back, not the front, mind you. For mutiny on a ship is a dreadful business, as I, a sailor, well knew. A neck-stretching business! Yet there the thought was, and it stuck, and pecked ever more insistently at my consciousness as the days passed. Of course, I was wild with rage at Swope's attempt. And I was anxious on Newman's account. You see, I looked upon him as my chum, and--had he not saved my life, up there, on the yard? It is true, there were none of the usual manifestations of foc'sle friendship between us; we did not swap tobacco, and yarns, and oaths. Newman did not permit such intimacy; always he was a man apart, a marked man. But, from the very first, the man's personality dominated me, and, after that night on the yardarm, I felt a passionate loyalty to him. He was not insensible to my friendliness, I knew; he welcomed it, and found comfort in it. If he had come to me that night, or afterwards, with a scheme for taking the ship, I should have joined in straightway, no matter how harebrained it might seem. But, of course, he did no such thing. Indeed, he never mentioned the incident to me, after we left the deck that night. For all of him, it might never have happened. And, you may be sure, I did not intrude upon his reserve with queries, or reminiscence. Nor did the rest of the watch approach him. Rather did they avoid him, as a dangerous person. With that thought of rebellion in my mind, I watched my watchmates that night with more tolerance than my eyes had yet shown them. I wanted to judge what stuff was in them. The stiffs whispered together and eyed us furtively. I did not like the stuff I saw in them. Rough, lawless, held obedient only by fear, the scum of the beach--I did not like to imagine them sweeping along the decks with restraint cast aside, and passions unleashed. The squareheads were a different kind. Good men and sailors, here, but men whose habit of life was submission. Yet, I saw they were gravely disturbed by what had taken place on deck. No wonder. I knew their minds. "Who is safe in this ship?" they thought. "Who, now, may go aloft feeling secure he will reach the deck again, alive and unhurt?" Those squareheads had proof of the mate's temper in the person of their young landsman, lying broken in his bunk. Now, they had proof of the skipper's temper. My eyes met those of Boston and Blackie, eyeing me speculatively, and the contact brought my musing to a sharp turn. What did Boston and Blackie think of it? I could tell from their bearing that, for some reason, they were pleased. I thought of them as fighting material--and did not relish the thought. Fighters, yes, but foul fighters. I did not like to think of being leagued with them in an enterprise. And what was this "rich lay" they spoke of? What was this game they were willing I should enter? Did they, too, think mutiny? These thoughts plagued me for days, and I found no answer, or peace of mind. Hell was preparing in that ship, I felt it in my bones; and we were getting enough hell already, with drive, drive, drive, from dawn to dawn. Yet, there were rifts in the clouds. For one thing, Lynch quieted my mind of the fear that the Old Man would again get Newman aloft at night, and attempt his life with better success. The very next day, Lynch came to the foretop, where Newman and I were working on the rigging. He examined the work, and then said, abruptly, to Newman, "I had nothing to do with that affair last night." "I know you had not," answered Newman. "I give you warning--he intends to get you," continued the second mate. "But he'll not get you that way in my watch. From now on, you need not go aloft after dark." "Thank you, sir," said Newman. "You need not," was the response. "I'm not doing this for your sake. Well--you understand. And make no mistake, my man, as to my position; I am a ship's officer, and if trouble comes it will find me doing my duty by my captain's side." "There will be no trouble if I can prevent it, sir," was Newman's reply. "Then you have your work cut out for you. You--understand?" "Yes, I understand," said Newman. I watched Mister Lynch leap nimbly to the deck, and go striding aft, a fine figure of a man. "Why, he's on the square!" I exclaimed. "Yes, he is not like the others," said Newman. "She says his heart is clean." She says! Well, it was hardly news to me. I was sure he was in communication with her. He always made it a point to meet Wong, the steward, when the latter came forward to the galley. And there were times in the night watches below when his bunk was empty. He was a great hand for pacing the deck in lonely meditation, and for stowing himself away and brooding alone in odd corners. We did not spy upon him, or force ourselves upon him, you may be sure. Not upon Newman. The lady was, we understood, forbidden by the Old Man to come forward. The daily visits to our dogs' kennel, dispensing cheer and mercy, and for which she was famous the world around, were to be denied us this voyage. Because of Newman's presence. We missed the visits; they would have brightened the cruel days. But I don't think any man felt resentful against Newman. Our sympathies were all with the lady, and the lady's feelings, we knew, were all with Newman. So it was upon Yankee Swope's unheeding head we rained our black curses. The lady was doing what she could to aid us. She held, every morning, a levee in the cabin for the lame and sick, all who could drag themselves aft, and tended them skillfully. But this did not help the bedridden ones. It did not help young Nils. But nothing could have helped Nils. The bucko had done his work too well. Not once did the boy rally; daily and visibly his life ebbed. You must understand the callous indifference of the afterguard to realize its effect upon the foc'sle. The boy lay dying for weeks, and not once did the Captain come forward to look at him. Medicines and opiates were sent forward by the lady, but, though they eased the chap, they were powerless to salvage his wrecked body. Newman said Nils' ribs were sticking into his lungs. Lindquist went aft to ask permission to move the boy to the cabin, where the lady could nurse him. Swope blackguarded the man, and Fitzgibbon kicked him forward. Lynch ignored the very existence of Nils---the lad was not of his watch, and the whole matter was none of his business. But Mister Fitz came into the port foc'sle every day, to make sure Nils could not stand on his feet and turn to; and on deck he would sing out to his watch that Nils' fate was the fate of each man did he not move livelier. "Jump, you rats! I'll put you all in your bunks!" he would tell them. The sight of their young landsman in agony stirred the berserk in the squareheads of the crew. It made them ripe for revolt, drove them to lawless acts, as their shanghaiing and the brutality of the officers could not have done. These squareheads were no strangers to each other. They were all friends and old shipmates. The Knitting Swede had crimped them all out of a Norwegian bark, plied them with drink, and put them on board the _Golden Bough_ after he had promised to find them a high-waged coasting ship. Young Nils was a sort of mascot in this crowd. He was making his first deep-water voyage under their protection and guidance. Most of them were his townsmen; they had known him from babyhood. As Lindquist said to me, his blue eyes filled with pain and rage, "I know his mudder. When Nils ban so high, I yump him by mine knee." So it was that rage over the pitiful fate of their dear friend fanned into flame a spark of rebellion in the squarehead's disciplined souls, and caused them, eventually, to leap the barriers of race and caste prejudice and make common cause with the stiffs. Now, I do not wish to idealize those stiffs. No use saying they were honest workingmen kidnaped to sea. They were not. They were just what the mates called them--dogs, scum, vile sweeps of jail and boozing-ken. With the single exception of the shanghaied parson, there was not a decent man in the lot. Bums and crooks, all. These men had lived violent, lawless lives ashore. Here, at sea, the mates hammered the fear of the Lord and the Law into them. This was well and good. But the mates hammered too hard. They aimed to cow the stiffs, and cow them they did. But the stiffs' fear of the afterguard became so great they were like cornered rats. They came below after a watch on deck with fresh marks upon their faces and bodies, and heard little Nils moaning in his pain. And each man said to himself, "I may be the next to get what the little squarehead got." Misery loves company, so these stiffs naturally drew close together. Their common hatred and fear of the afterguard fused them into a unit. By the time we were a month at sea, the stiffs, like the squareheads, were in a most dangerous temper, and ripe for any deviltry. This common state of mind grew beneath my eyes, but at first I did not see significance in it. A mutinous state of mind is a normal state of mind in a hell-ship's foc'sle. But a mutiny was incubating in that ship. There were men forward who were vitally interested in bringing trouble to a head, in causing an outbreak of violence, in fomenting an uprising of the slaves. One day, my eyes were opened to their game. For weeks I noticed Blackie and Boston circulating among the men during the dog-watches. They were great whisperers, a secretive pair, and they never spoke their minds outright before the crowd. I paid them little attention, for I did not like them, and felt no interest in what I thought was their gossip. It never occurred to me they were industriously fanning the spark of revolt, suggesting revenge to the squareheads, and tickling the rascally imagination of the stiffs with hints of golden loot. So far my rule as cock of the foc'sle had been unchallenged. All hands had accepted my will in foc'sle matters willingly enough, and I had been careful not to hector. As number one man, it was my place to see that the men stood their "peggy"--that is, they took their regular turn about at getting the food at meal time, and cleaning up the foc'sle. It came Boston's peggy day. He didn't like it a bit. He thought himself too good for such menial tasks, and suggested that Shorty, the smallest and weakest of the stiffs, be made permanent peggy. I vetoed this as unfair, and Boston went about the work, but sullenly. Next day was Blackie's peggy, as he well knew. When we came below at noon, he made no move to fetch the grub from the galley. "How about dinner, Blackie?" I demanded. "Well--how about it?" he replied. "I'm no servant girl! Get your own grub!" All hands looked at me, expectantly. This was open defiance, and they wanted to see what the cock would do about it. There was only one thing I could do, and I did it gladly. I took that chesty stiff by the throat, and squeezed until his eyes popped. Then I carried him out on deck and stuck his head in the wash-deck tub, to cool his ardor; the whole watch following us as interested spectators. "Well, Blackie, how about dinner?" I asked, when I released my grip. In answer, he backed quickly away from me, spluttering oaths and salt water. I watched him warily, for his affair with the second mate had shown him to be a knife wielder, and I had no wish to be stabbed. True enough, he jerked out his sheath knife. "Stop that, you fool!" came Boston's voice, from behind me. "Do you want to crab the whole game?" Those words had an astonishing effect upon Blackie. His bellicose attitude vanished abruptly, he stopped cursing, and his knife went back into its sheath. "That dinner, Blackie," I insisted. "Sure--I'll get it," he answered submissively. But I wasn't satisfied with my victory. Of course, I was confident I could have knocked him out as handily as Bucko Lynch, himself, but I knew it was not fear of me, but obedience to Boston's words that caused Blackie to give in so readily. Those words bothered me. "Do you want to crab the whole game?" Now what the deuce did Boston mean? What game were these two worthies up to? Undoubtedly, it was that "rich lay" they had spoken to Newman about. But what had I to do with it? How could I crab their game? I began to think there was something besides loose talk in these hints of revenge and loot the pair were dropping in the foc'sle. I guess Boston knew my suspicions must be aroused, and thought it time to sound my sentiments. Also, as it turned out, he wanted to pump me regarding Newman. I was Newman's one close friend, and Boston must have thought I knew something of the big man's intentions. Anyway, after supper that evening, as I was sitting on the forehatch, whittling away at a model of the _Golden Bough_ I was making, Boston came and sat down beside me. "Should think you'd be so fed up with this hooker, you wouldn't want any model of her," he remarked, by way of opening a conversation. "She's a bonny ship," I told him. "It is not the ship, it is the men in her. You'll never see a better craft than the _Golden Bough_, Boston." "_Faugh_!" he snorted, and followed with a blistering curse. "Blast your pretty ships! I'd like to see this old hooker go on the rocks, by God I would! Well--maybe I will see her finish, eh?" I glanced at him sidewise, and discovered he was likewise regarding me, with the lids drawn over his pale eyes till they were mere slits. I didn't like Boston's eyes. For that matter, I didn't like anything about Boston. But I was interested; I sensed this was no idle talk. There was something behind the words. "Small chance of your seeing her finish," I said. "As well found a ship as there is afloat--and you may call the Old Man and his buckos what you will, but they are sailormen." "I've heard of ships sinking in storms," says he. "You talk like the stiff you are," I scoffed. "Show me the weather that will drown the _Golden Bough_, with good sailors aft! Besides, Boston, we're not likely to have any bad weather, for which you can say a prayer of thanks, for you stiffs would catch it if we did pick up a decent blow." "Why not?" he asked. "It's a fair weather passage," I explained. "These trades will blow us clean across one hundred and eighty, into the sou'west monsoon, and with luck that'll carry us into the China Sea. Of course, there is always the chance of meeting a hurricane this side, or a typhoon on the other side. You'll squeal if we do, I bet!" Says he, "Well, now how about running on a rock? We'll be going among islands, _hey_? These South Sea Islands?" "Forget it," I replied. "We'll not sight the beach this side of the Orient, unless the Old Man makes a landfall of Guam. We are running along sixteen north, and that takes us south of the Sandwich group, and north of the Marshalls and Carolines." "Well, now, I guess the Big 'Un has been showing you his map, hey?" "What's that to you?" I said, shortly. "Nothing. Nothing at all," he answered, hurriedly. In truth, I was surprised and nettled. I hadn't got the point of Boston's questions, and I hadn't supposed he was watching Newman and me so sharply. For Boston had it right, I had been looking at the Big 'Un's "map." Newman had a fine, large scale chart of the Pacific in his bag, and this he brought out every day, and traced upon it the progress of the voyage. He got the ship's position either from the steward, or from the lady, I did not know which. I had been privileged to see the chart, but I knew that none other had ventured to approach when it was spread out on Newman's bunk. Newman had traced the ship's probable course clear to Hong Kong, for my benefit, and explained to me the problems of the passage. He did not speak like a man merely guessing, but with authority, like a man who had sailed his own ship over this course. I absorbed the information greedily, but did not venture to inquire how he was so positive about Yankee Swope's sailing plans. Somehow, I knew he was correct. It pricked my conceit to discover that Boston was aware Newman had fathered the information that was falling from my lips. "Say, how long before we reach Hong Kong?" went on Boston. "You had better ask Newman, himself," I retorted. "Now don't get mad, Jack," he said humbly. "You know I didn't mean nothing. Guess you _sabe_ as much about sailing as the Big 'Un, anyway." "Well, this is a fast ship--none faster," I told him, mollified by his flattery. "Say seventy days, at the outside, from 'Frisco to Hong Kong. Probably sixty days would be nearer to it." At that he burst out cursing, and consigned the ship and all her afterguard to the Evil One. "My God, another month of this hell!" he cried. "Will you stand it, Shreve?" "Sure. We'll all stand it. What else to do?" I replied. "What else!" said he. His voice was suddenly crafty. "Well, now, Shreve, didn't it ever strike you as how we're blasted fools to let those fellows aft knock us about? There are thirty of us, and two of them!" "More than that," I warned him. "You forget Captain Swope, and the tradesmen. There are seven of them, aft, all armed, and of a fighting breed. You are hinting at a silly business, Boston." "Oh, I don't know," he persisted. "Thirty to seven ain't so bad. And they haven't all the arms--we got our knives, ain't we? And maybe other things, too." "Forget it," said I. "Don't imagine for a minute these stiffs will face guns. You and your mate might, but as for the rest of the gang--why, Lynch could clean them up single-handed. Better stow that kind of talk. It's dangerous. You have the law against you, and it's a neck-stretching affair." "The law?" he echoed. "What do you think that gang cares for the law? Mighty few laws they ain't broke in their time! And they may be stiffs, right enough, but they'll fight--for money!" "Dare say," I remarked, sarcastically. "And I suppose you'll hire them with your bags of gold, which you probably have stowed under your bunk?" "Well, now, maybe I'd just have to promise them something," he said. He glanced around, then leaned towards me and lowered his voice to a whisper. "Shreve, there are a hundred thousand dollars in hard cash aft there in the cabin!" "What's that?" I exclaimed. "Yes," he said. "I know. You bet I know. Blackie and me knew before ever we come on board this cursed hooker. The Swede didn't shanghai us, you bet!" "Oh, stow that sort of guff, Boston," I told him. "Maybe the Swede didn't shanghai you; but if he didn't, it was because you and your mate were willing to ship with the devil himself in order to get out of the country." My words touched his temper, as I thought they would. "You seem to know a lot more than I know myself," he sneered. Before I could answer, he regained control of his tongue, and continued with oily suavity. "I guess the Big 'Un has been talking to you? Hasn't he? I guess maybe he's told you that Blackie and me are two men who can take a chance without weakening? Say, Jack, what has the Big 'Un been saying to you about us? I want particular to know." "He hasn't said a blessed word about you," I answered, truthfully. Boston cursed, and favored me with an evil squint; then he hid the look behind a forced laugh. "Well, If you don't want to tell me, I guess you don't have to," he remarked. "It don't hurt me and Blackie none, whatever the Big 'Un says. And say, Jack, you and us ought to be good friends. Blackie and me know that you're a good man, the kind that'll take a chance, and keep his word. Well, we're the same. There are only a few of us in this end of the ship that have any backbone to speak of, and we ought to stick together. There's pay-dirt in this ship if we only play the game right." "What do you mean?" I wanted to know. But Boston concluded he had said almost enough for once. He rapped his pipe against the hatch-combing to dislodge the dottle, and got to his feet. I thought he was going to leave me without replying to my query, but after he had taken a step or two he spoke over his shoulder, softly. "That's true what I said about the money, Jack. It's there, just waiting for a few lads of nerve to come and take it." "If that talk gets aft, the Old Man will have you thumped into a jelly, just as an example to the other stiffs," I warned him. He gave the devil's cackle that passed with him for a laugh, and stepping close to my side, spoke directly into my ear. "Who is going to take the talk aft? Not you. Blackie and me know that Jack Shreve ain't a snitch. Not the Big 'Un. You can tell him what I said if you like. You can tell him something more. Blackie and me think there is a snitch in this gang, and the Big 'Un had better keep his eyes peeled for a double-cross. You tell him that. You tell him to ask Nigger about it." "What do you mean?" I cried. His answer was a mysterious shake of the head, and he disappeared into the foc'sle. CHAPTER XIII If Boston meant to give me something to think about, he succeeded. He left me worried. Not about the treasure or mutiny at which he hinted; for the time being I put this subject out of my mind. I was concerned over his unexplained warning. What did it mean? Did some new danger threaten my friend? I went in search of Newman, to give him the warning. He was not in his bunk, so I stepped into the port foc'sle, expecting to find him by Nils' side. Nils was dying--we had been expecting him to go at almost any hour for a week past--and Newman had been spending a goodly share of his watches below by the lad's side. But he was not there now. The parson, and some of the squareheads of the port watch, were keeping sick vigil. Nils was very near the time when he must slip his cable; he lay quiet, eyes closed, hardly breathing, and his thin, white face seemed already composed into its death mold. Holy Joe sat holding the boy's hand; his head was bowed, and I judged he was praying. The others stared miserably at the floor, or ceiling, or at each other. Aye, the taste of bitter sorrow was in the air of the port foc'sle. I left without disturbing the silent watchers, but I wondered at their boldness. They should have been on deck. Mister Fitzgibbon did not give his men respite, even during the dog-watches. I went poking about the odd corners of the fore deck, expecting to find my man tucked away somewhere smoking and meditating, for Newman was a solitary fellow, very fond of his own company in his free time. I laid the ill-success of my search to the dusk; it was past seven bells, and although there was still a glow in the western sky, on board ship it was quite dark and the sidelights had been out a half hour. Finally, I decided to lay off, waylay the Nigger when he came for'ard from his trick at the wheel, and ask him myself what was the meaning of Boston's talk of "snitch." Now it was no light undertaking for a foremast hand to trespass abaft the main mast in the _Golden Bough_. There was risk in it, risk of a beating, or worse. A man might lay aft in that ship to work, or in obedience to orders, but for no other reason. Hell-ship discipline. So I slipped aft without making a noise, and avoided attracting to myself unwelcome attention from the poop. I was barefoot, and I crept along the rail, keeping within the shadows on the lee deck. When I came abreast the roundhouse, I darted into the black shadow it threw upon the lee deck, and crouched there, composed to wait. My eyes were aft, upon the break of the poop, and I was ready to take instant flight for'ard, did discovery threaten me. After I had lain there a moment, I noticed the figure of a man standing motionless, flattened against the cabin wall, on my side of the deck. He was so still he appeared to be lifeless, a part of the ship; I looked hard before I decided it was a man. It was too dark to make out his features, almost too dark to discern outline, but by the bigness of the blot he made against his background I was sure the man was Newman. What he was doing in such a position I could not guess, but I was so sure of my man, I did not hesitate to move towards him. I even spoke his name, in an urgent whisper. My hiss brought a prompt response, but not the one for which I was looking. To my surprise the fellow ran away from me; he slipped across the deck (padding noiselessly, for he was barefoot, like, myself) and, bending nearly double, scurried for'ard beside the weather rail. I stared after him, undecided what to do. The man looked like Newman, but he did not act like him. I had half a mind to pursue his flitting figure. Then all at once I discovered I must take cover myself. I heard the mate's voice, up on the poop; he was hailing his tradesmen. "We'll take a whirl for'ard," says he. "I'll give the bums a sweat at the braces so they won't think I'm asleep." I had moved away from the shadow of the round-house, and was revealed, as I stood, to any eye looking over the poop rail. I was in a ticklish position altogether. If braces were to be tightened, the lee of the roundhouse would be a poor hiding-place for me. In fact it would be no hiding-place at all. But get out of sight I must, and quickly, or suffer the unpleasant consequences of discovery. I heard boots clumping on the poop deck. There wasn't time for me to escape forward. So I darted aft and flattened myself against the cabin wall, in exactly the same position, and in very nearly the same spot, as that occupied by the fellow I had scared away. I was not a second too soon. Sails and Chips came down the port ladder, and paused on the main deck, almost within arm's reach of me, waiting for the mate to join them. If they had glanced in my direction they must have seen me. But they were looking forward, and were also occupied with talk. Said Chips, "But what's the game? He's working up trouble, that's plain. But what's he after this time?" Said Sails, "He's after that fellow in the Greaser's watch, or I'm a damn bad guesser. But, his game--well, ask me something easy. Did you ever know anybody to fathom his game?" This I heard with one ear. At the same time my other ear was getting filled with different kind of talk. Aye, my post was between two conversations, and I found myself eavesdropping in two directions. This wall I hugged was the forward wall of the sail-locker, which, in the _Golden Bough_, was a large room in the cabin space, and as I stood, my starboard ear was but a few inches distant from the sail-locker door. This door was in two parts, and the upper half was barely ajar. Through this narrow slit I heard--I couldn't help hearing--the murmur of low-voiced talk. Two people were in the sail-locker, talking. Oh, aye, I had discovered Newman. I recognized his voice. I recognized the other voice--the lady's voice. "Oh, Mary--little love--it doesn't seem to matter any more. When I am with you, it is just a hideous dream from which I have awakened." It was Newman speaking, and in a voice so tender, so vibrant with feeling, it was hard to believe the words came out of the mouth of the foc'sle's iron man. "But now I wish to live again. Ah, little love, I have been dead too long, dead to everything except pain and hate. But now that I know, now that we both know--oh, Mary, surely we have earned the right to live and love. God will not hold it against us, if I take you from that mad beast. God--I am beginning to believe in God again, Mary, when I am with you." "I, too, wish to live--and in clean air," came in the lady's voice. "Oh, Roy--five years--and the piling up of horrors--oh, I could not have stood it very much longer, Roy. But now--we can forget." "That lad for'ard is all ready to slip his cable," came from the other direction, from Chips. "The steward says he's all set to go." "He's been all set for a fortnight," was the other man's comment, "but he hangs on. Takes a lot to kill a squarehead. Most likely he'll be hanging on when we make port." "Not if I know Fitz and--him," said Chips. "You don't think they'd leave evidence of that sort for a port doctor to squint at. Remember that Portagee, last voyage, and how he finished?" "Aye, it was hard on the lady, that job was. But he--he's a devil, sure. No use standing out against him." "Five years! My God, how have you been able to stand it, Mary?" said Newman. "Five years--and most of them spent at sea in this blood ship!" "It has been my penance, Roy. It has seemed to me that in sailing with him, in lessening even a little bit the misery he causes those poor men, I have been atoning, in a little measure, for my lack of faith in you. Oh, it was my fault in the beginning, dearest. If only I had had faith in the beginning, if only I had trusted my heart instead of my eyes and ears. I might have known that time that Beulah was lying." "Hush. How could you know? It was my stubborn, stupid pride. If I had not rushed away and left the field to him. And I never knew, or even guessed, until Beasley told me." "If I was that big fellow, I'd just hop over the side and have it over with," came from Sails. "If the Old Man is after him, he's bound to get him, and making a quick finish himself would save a lot o' bother all around." "What's it about, anyway?" says Chips. "How do I know?" answered Sails. "I don't go poking my nose into Yankee Swope's business, you can bet your bottom dollar I don't. I take my orders, and let it go at that. Same as you. Same as the others. There's Fitz up there now, chinning with him, and I bet Fitz don't know much more of his game than you and me. He takes his orders just like we do." "That's right. We ain't hired to think. Not in this ship," agreed Chips. "Do you think, Roy, that Beulah--that she jumped--herself?" The lady's voice was trembling. "I don't know, dear. I think maybe she did. But Beasley thought--oh, well, what does it matter now?" "Beasley thought he did it. I knew--I felt it was him, oh, long, long ago. It would be like him, Roy. He has never dropped a hint that would incriminate himself, but I have known his guilt of the other thing--for which you suffered--ever since our marriage. When he dropped the mask, revealed himself in his true character--oh, I knew he must be guilty. And I was helpless." "My God, five years!" muttered Newman. "How could you stand it?" "It was not so hard, except at first," said the lady. "Too much horror numbs, you know. And one thing made it endurable--he has spared me the intimacy of marriage. It is true, dearest; I am as much a maid as I was five years ago. He is that kind of a man, Roy. It is not women he lusts for, it is--oh, it is blood. There is something horrible in his mind, a diseased spot, an unnatural quirk, that drives him to abominable cruelties. It is some tigerish instinct he possesses; it makes him kill and destroy, it makes him inflict pain. Oh, Roy, it is his pleasure--to inflict pain." "Lynch doesn't like it," said Sails, in reply to some question I had missed hearing. "Little good not liking it will do him," was Chips' opinion. "He'll do what the Old Man wants him to do, just like the rest of us." "Has he ever used you--as victim?" said Newman, a new, hard note in his voice. "No, no, not in that way," answered the lady. "It is to the crew he does that. He has never hurt me physically." "But mentally, eh?" remarked Newman, "He enjoys refinements of cruelty, also? Mental torture, when he finds a mind intelligent enough to appreciate subtleties? That is it?" "Yes, that is it," said the lady. "It was horrible at first. But afterwards, when I had found my work, I did not mind him very much. He let me go on playing doctor to the crew because he thought it hurt me to see and handle those poor creatures. Oh, it did hurt! But the work, the being useful--it has saved me, Roy, it has kept me sane." "He's a good man, none better," said Chips, still talking about Lynch, "but he's too soft for a bucko's job in this wagon." "Five years; good God! The prison was heaven compared to what you have lived through. Oh, my poor darling! And he--the vile brute----" "No, no, not that attitude! You have promised--" exclaimed the lady. "He's not soft," Sails disputed with Chips. "He's as hard as they're made. But he's a square-shooter, Lynch is, and the rest o' us ain't. That makes the difference. Now we got good reasons to do anything the skipper says, we being what we are, and him being what he is, and we knowing he can turn us up, and will, if we don't suit. But Jim Lynch--not Swope, or any other man, has a hold on him." "No man, maybe," says Chips. "But in the other quarter, now. If Lynch ain't soft there, I'm a soldier." "Who ain't a bit soft in that quarter?" Sails demanded. "I'm mighty sorry for her, same as you are, same as everyone is, save Fitz. If it wasn't that Swope has me body and soul, I'd side with Lynch, b'Gawd, in anything he wanted to start." "Shut up!" exclaimed Chips. "That's damn fool talk to come out o' your mouth." "Oh, you have softened me, Mary, you have unmanned me!" I heard Newman say. "I came to this ship to kill, and now--there is little bitterness left in my heart. I am only eager now to be gone with you beyond his reach." "I am glad, more glad than I can tell," the lady told him. "His lies have ruined your life, and mine, but I do not want you to stain your hands with his blood. Oh, there has been so much bloodshed! You must not; you have promised!" "Yes, and I will keep my promise," said Newman. "But you have promised, too, and you know how I qualified my promise. We cannot take too many chances with him, and you know that he has no scruples about shedding blood. He knows, he must know, that I do not intend to leave you in his hands; he must realize, also, that now he is not safe so long as either of us is alive and at large. Why, dear, you know the trap he is preparing!" "Yes, yes, I know," was the response. "But my prayer is that we may get away before he is ready." "It is my prayer, too," said Newman. "I gladly give up my revenge for your sake, little love. But I intend to protect you, and myself--that, too, is my promise." "Here comes Fitz now," said Sails. It was touch-and-go with discovery a second time as Mister Fitzgibbon stamped down the ladder. But he was already bawling for the watch, and had his eyes fixed straight ahead; and immediately he went forward with the tradesmen at his heels. I waited until the mate's bellow sounded well forward, and I was sure my retreat would be unobserved. Then I placed my lips to the opening in the sail-locker door and called softly, "Newman! Come out of that at once; you are spied upon!" I heard the lady gasp, and knew my message was received and understood. I waited for no other response. I scuttled away from that perilous spot as fast as caution permitted my legs to travel. Jack Shreve was no Newman; I had not his cool nerve when it came to flouting hell-ship rules. In truth, I was in a blue funk all the time I was aft, for fear I would be discovered. And there was another reason for my haste in getting forward. There was a sudden uproar in front of the foc'sle that bade fair to carry through the ship. There was trouble in the air; I could sniff it as I ran. Although time enough had elapsed since the mate sang out his order to man the braces, the watch was not yet at the rail; and this was a strange thing in a ship where men literally flew about their work. The trouble was in the port foc'sle; I could see the crowd bunched on the deck before the door, and Mister Fitzgibbon's voice had risen to a shrill, obscene scream as he poured blistering curses upon some luckless head. I dodged across the deck and around the starboard side of the deck house, and thus came upon the scene in a casual manner, as though I had just stepped out of my own foc'sle to see what was wrong. I mingled with my watch mates, who had turned out to a man to watch the row. Over on the port side of the deck a royal shindy seemed to be preparing. Aye, the mate had at last struck fire from his squareheads! They were on the verge of open rebellion. The stiffs of the port watch had fallen to one side, and stood quaking and irresolute, but the squareheads, all of them, were bunched squarely between the mate and the foc'sle door, and to the mate's stream of curses they interposed a wall of their own oaths. Mister Fitzgibbon had his right hand in his coat pocket, and all hands knew that hand was closed about the butt of a revolver; moreover, the tradesmen stood on either side of him, prepared to back him up in whatever course he chose to take. They were good men, those tradesmen, fighting men, and skilled in just such battles as this promised to be. The port watch Sails, who stood nearest to me, was armed with a heavy sheet pin, and he stood with his face half turned towards the starboard side. Aye, they were canny fighters--if it came to blows they would not be taken in the flank by surprise. Mister Fitzgibbon was swearing over the heads of the squareheads. He threw his words into foc'sle. He was calling upon Holy Joe, the parson, to come out of it blasted quick and be skinned alive, b'Gawd! Broken bones were being promised to poor Holy Joe. That was why the squareheads were showing fight--not to protect their own skins, but to save the parson from the mate's wrath. For their little Nils was dying, and Holy Joe was by his side, praying for his passing soul. As I learned afterwards, when the mate sang out for his watch to man the braces, all jumped to obey save the parson; he stayed with Nils. His absence was noted immediately, for the mate was lynx-eyed; and Fitzgibbon was all for invading the foc'sle and hauling out the truant by the scruff of the neck. Aye, Mister Fitz was all for teaching a lesson with boot and fist, for Holy Joe was a small man and a pacifist, fair game for any bucko. But the squareheads would not have it so. For Nils was dying, and Holy Joe was praying for his soul. Suddenly Mister Fitzgibbon stopped cursing, and in a voice that meant business, ordered the watch aft to the braces. The stiffs tumbled over themselves in their eagerness to obey; but not a squarehead budged. They still stood between the mate and his victim. So he drew the revolver out of his pocket, and pointed it at Lindquist. "Lay aft--or I'll splatter lead among you!" he said. He meant it. He would have shot Lindquist, I am sure, for winging a man, or worse, meant little to the mate of the _Golden Bough_, and the squarehead bravely stood his ground. But the threat to shoot into the men who were shielding him had the effect of drawing the parson out of the foc'sle. He suddenly appeared in the lighted doorway. "_Oho_, that brought you out of it--_hey_, you sniveling this-and-that!" hailed Fitzgibbon. He lifted his aim from Lindquist, and brought the weapon to bear upon Holy Joe. "Step aft, here, you swab, or I'll drill you through, s'help me!" The words brought a menacing growl from the squareheads; there was a stir among them, and they seemed about to fling themselves upon the trio. But Holy Joe checked the movement with a word. "Steady, lads," said he. "No violence; obey your orders. Spread out, there, boys, and let me through; I will speak with him." That was what he said, but it was _how_ he said it that really mattered. Aye, Holy Joe might have been the skipper, himself, from his air. He spoke with authority, in a deep, commanding voice, and the squareheads instantly gave him the obedience they had refused the mate. They did not, indeed, tumble aft in the wake of the stiffs; but they did spread out and make a lane through their midst down which Holy Joe advanced with quick and firm step. Right up to Fitzgibbon he walked, and stopped, and said to the bucko's face, "Put away that weapon! Would you add another murder to your crimes?" To me, to the mate and his henchmen, indeed, to all hands, it was a most astounding situation. And perhaps the most surprising element in it was the fact that Holy Joe was not immediately shot or felled with a blow, and the additional fact that none of us expected him to be. It was the stiff, not the officer, who commanded the deck that moment. By some strange magic I could not as yet fathom, the little parson had assumed the same heroic proportions Newman had assumed the day he chased the skipper from the poop. Oh, it was no physical change that took place; it was rather as if the man doffed a mask and revealed himself to us in his true self. There he stood, a full head shorter than his antagonist, with his head tilted back to meet the larger man's eyes, and Bully Fitzgibbon quailed before his gaze. I watched the little man, awe-stricken. I had been bred to worship force, it was the only deity I knew, and Holy Joe was in my eyes the symbol of force. He radiated force, and it was a strange and wonderful force. I had glimpsed this power in Newman; now, for the first time in my life I saw it fully revealed. The only kind of force I had known or imagined was brute force, the kind of force Mister Fitzgibbon epitomized; but now, in this duel of wills that was taking place before my eyes, I saw another and superior power at work. It was a force of the mind, or soul, that Holy Joe employed; it was a moral force that poured out of the clean spirit of the man and subdued the brute force pitted against him. "Put down that weapon!" Holy Joe repeated. Slowly, the mate lowered his arm. The parson turned to the squareheads; aye, he turned his back full upon the bucko, and the latter made no move against him. "Obey your orders, men," Holy Joe said to the sailors. "Go to your work as he commands. I will stay with the boy." The squareheads obeyed without question. They knew, just as all of us knew, that their little champion was in no danger of mishandling, at least not at that moment. They trooped aft, heavy-footed, murmuring, but docile, and joined the stiffs at the lee braces. Holy Joe, now alone on that deck so far as physical backing went, turned again to the mate. But indeed he needed no physical backing; his indomitable spirit had cowed the bucko. "Your men will give you no further trouble, sir; they are at their stations," said he. It was the first time he had used the "sir." For an instant it seemed a weakening. It gave Mister Fitzgibbon the heart to bluster. "I ordered you aft with the rest," he began. "What d'ye mean----" "I have other work to do this watch--as you know," interrupted the parson. He said the words so solemnly and sternly they sounded like a judgment; aye, and they nipped the rising courage of the mate. He could only mumble, and stammer out, "You--you refuse duty?" Holy Joe was silent for an instant. All of us were silent. One could have heard a pin drop upon the deck. Then, out of the port foc'sle, a dreadful sound came to our ears, a low, strangled moan. It stabbed the vitals of the most hardened of us; with my own eyes I saw the mate tremble. Aye, in some way Holy Joe had sent a fear into the brute soul of Fitzgibbon; in some way he had sent a fear into the brute souls of us all, and, at least in my case, a great wonder. The pain-filled wail of Nils, coming as it did, seemed magic-inspired to light for me a universal truth. I felt it crudely, saw it dimly, but there it was, dramatized before my eyes, the age-long, ceaseless battle between the Beast in Man and the God in Man, the resistless power of service and sacrifice. Aye, and Holy Joe's softly spoken reply to the mate's words confirmed what I saw and felt. "You speak of my duty, sir," said he. "I see it--and do it!" With that he turned on his heel and walked into the foc'sle. When he had disappeared something seemed to have gone from the air we breathed, something electric and vitalizing. There was an immediate let down of the nervous tension that had gripped us, a common sigh, and a half-hysterical snigger from some fellow behind me. Mister Fitzgibbon seemed to come out of a trance; he shook himself, and stared at Sails and then at Chips. He glared across the deck at us of the starboard watch. He even swore. But there was no life to his curse, and he made no step to follow the defiant stiff into the foc'sle. Instead, he went to the job at hand, and quite obviously sought to regain mastery and self-respect by sulphuric blustering towards the men bent over the ropes. He was a defeated man. He knew it, and we knew it. A hand fell upon my shoulder. Newman stood behind me. "A brave act and a brave man," said he. "But they will not let him keep his triumph." After a pause he added, "They dare not." CHAPTER XIV I seized Newman's arm and led him aside, intending to impart my news. But eight bells struck, and while they were striking, Mister Lynch's voice summoned the starboard watch to assist in the job the mate had started. We hurried aft with the crowd, and I found chance to say to him no more than, "Be careful; someone is spying upon you. Boston told me--and I saw him." "Who?" "I couldn't see. It was too dark, and he cleared out on the run. Ask the Nigger." When we had belayed, the watch was relieved, and Newman went aft to the wheel. Lynch kept the rest of us on the jump, as ever, and I had no chance to steal a word with the Nigger when he came forward. At four bells I relieved the wheel. I found Captain Swope and the mate pacing the poop with their heads together. As I took over the wheel, Newman whispered to me, "Keep your weather eye lifted for squalls, Jack!" I did not need his warning; the mere presence of either of the pair was sufficient to keep any sailorman wide awake and watchful of his _p's_ and _q's_ while steering her. There was nothing uncommon about the Old Man's presence; he was in the habit of appearing on the poop at all hours of the night, though he never went forward. But for the mate to give up his sleep in fair weather was unprecedented. There was something in the carriage and attitude of the two, as they slowly paced fore and aft, or stood at the break staring forward, that gave me a feeling of impending disaster. Aye, I could smell trouble coming. Captain Swope could smell it, too. That is why he walked the deck with Fitzgibbon by his side. I could feel the alertness of the man. Yankee Swope had his finger upon the pulse of his ship. A mutiny, however sudden, would not catch the master of the _Golden Bough_ napping. That is what I thought as I watched him, and Boston's vague scheme became harebrained in my eyes. The second mate was seldom aft during the two hours I stood at the wheel. The times he did appear, he engaged in conversation with the Old Man, beyond my hearing. But near midnight be clumped aft hurriedly, bringing the tradesmen with him. The strollers happened to be near me at the moment he appeared, and he came towards them, speaking. "Well, sir--he's gone," he said. So I knew that Nils was dead. "Very good," said Swope. "And the hands?" "All quiet, sir." Mister Lynch's voice was quite respectful, but I fancied I detected in it a note of contempt. "There was danger of trouble, even before the boy went out," he went on. "Morton stood by the door and heard it all." This Morton was the sailmaker in the starboard watch. "The big Cockney in the port watch was all for trouble, a rush aft of all hands; he said he had the backing of my watch. The squareheads were willing; they want revenge. But the big jasper in my watch, Newman, went into the foc'sle and squelched the scheme with a word. He clapped a stopper on the Cockney's jaw, and told the squareheads there was to be no trouble. So there will be none, Captain." A black curse slid out of the skipper's mouth. Aye, the man breathed fury. "So--he commands for'ard, eh?" he said. "Well, I command aft." He seemed to think over the matter for a moment, and arrive at a decision. "Well, Mister, if it doesn't happen to-night, it may happen another night," he said. "Tell your men to keep their eyes and ears open. And--better have that body carted aft, and your sailmaker fit him to canvas. We'll dump him at dawn." "Very good, sir," replied Lynch, and he went forward again. The Old Man and the mate immediately went into conference. They moved over to the rail, and spoke in soft tones, so I overheard nothing they said. A ray of light from the companion hatch fell upon them, and watching them furtively, it seemed to me that Captain Swope was laying down the law to Fitzgibbon, giving him certain orders, to which he at first objected, and then agreed. It looked wicked to me, this secretive conversation. My excited mind saw evil in it. I smelled evil, tasted evil, the very skin of my body was prickled with the air or evil that lay upon the ship. A case of nerves? Aye, I had nerves. Most sailormen had nerves when they were within sight of Captain Swope. This night he seemed to drench the ship with evil, it poured out of him as ink from a squid, it was almost something tangible. Somehow I knew that Newman's long grace was ended. This black villain had prepared a net to trap my friend, and was even now casting it. Somehow I knew that fresh wrongs and miseries were to be heaped upon the wretched foc'sle. As I watched Captain Swope out of the corners of my eyes, God's truth, I was afraid to my marrow. Presently the second mate returned aft. "You may have your trouble now, Captain, if you wish," he said in the same clear, carrying voice he had before used, as he approached the skipper. "The squareheads won't give up the body. They'll fight if we take it. They say they'll drop him overside themselves." The captain appeared pleased with this news. He laughed, that soft, musical little chuckle of his that contained so much malice and cruelty. "Oh, let the dogs dispose of their own offal, Mister," he said, carelessly. Then, when Lynch went down to the main deck, Swope spoke eagerly, though in low voice, to the mate. Aye, the Old Man was gleeful, and the mate received his instructions with servile pleasure. Presently, they went below, and the yelp of the cabin boy--roused from sleep, doubtless, by the toe of the skipper's boot--and the subsequent clink of glasses, told me they were toasting the occasion. I was consumed with dread. But just what to dread, I could not guess. The Cockney took over the helm at midnight. I hurried forward, eager to see what was happening in the fore part of the ship, and anxious to speak with Newman. The air of unease, of expectancy, which I had felt so strongly aft, was even more evident forward. My watch, though off duty, did not go below directly. Men were standing about whispering to each other. The wheel and lookout had been relieved, but the mate did not summon his watch to labor, as was his custom; he kept to the poop, and we heard not a peep from him. The squareheads had taken a lamp from the lamp-locker and a sack of coal from the peak, and Lindquist had the body of Nils upon the forehatch preparing it for sea-burial. He stitched away in silence, his mates watched him in silence. But it was not a peaceful calm. I found Newman in the port foc'sle, talking to Holy Joe. When I entered, I heard Newman say: "They are good, simple lads--use your authority as a minister. Reason, command, do your best to convince them they must be obedient. Tell them they will be the ones to suffer in case of trouble." "I will do my best," the parson answered. With a nod to me, he went out on deck. "Who was he?" I asked, when we were alone. Newman looked blank. "The spy," I added. "Didn't you ask the Nigger?" "Oh, that--I have been too busy to bother about it," was the careless response. "It really doesn't matter, Jack; I dare say it was some one _he_ set to dog my heels." He inclined his head aft to indicate who "he" might be. "But--remember what happened that night on the yardarm! And--I heard some of you talk aft there; I couldn't help hearing! I tell you, Newman, the afterguard is awake and waiting; the Old Man is afraid of trouble. I think he is afraid you will lead the crowd, and try to take the ship." "No; he is afraid I won't," said Newman. I blinked. The words struck me with the force of a blow. The big man smiled at my puzzled expression, and his hand clapped upon my shoulder with a firm, friendly pressure. "Strange things happen in this ship, eh, Jack?" said he, in a kindly voice. "No wonder you are stumped, you are too young and straightforward to be alert to intrigue. You do not understand, yet you are eager to risk your skin in another man's quarrel? And you believe in me, eh, Jack?" I felt embarrassed, and a little resentful. I did not like to be reminded so bluntly of my youth and inexperience. "You saved my life, and I don't forget a debt like that," I growled, ungraciously. Newman gave a little chuckle. He knew very well it was liking, not debt, that made me his man. "I want you to know, Jack, that your friendship is a strength to me," he said, with sudden earnestness. "It is a strength and a comfort to her, too. Your unquestioning faith in me has given both of us courage. You have helped me regain my own faith in men and in right. Heaven knows, a man needs faith in this ship!" Oh, but I was exalted by these words! I was in the hero-worship stage of life, and this mysterious giant by my side was my chosen idol. The lady aft had quickened into activity whatever chivalry my nature contained, and it was pure, romantic delight to be told I had served her by loyalty to the man. Aye, I felt lifted up; I felt important. "You can count on me. I'll back you to the limit," I said. Then I rushed on, eagerly, and blurted out what was on my mind. "You are in danger; I know it, I feel it. That Old Man is planning something against you. Remember that night on the yardarm! Remember the lady's warning! Look at Nils! I tell you, we'll have to fight! You can depend upon me, I'll back you to the limit in anything. So will the squareheads--you know how desperate and bitter they are. So will the stiffs--they are just waiting for you to say the word. Every man-jack for'ard will follow you!" He checked me with stern words. "Put that thought out of your mind!" he exclaimed. "There will be no mutiny, if I can prevent it. If one occurs, I shall help put it down." I was astonished and crestfallen. But after a moment he went on, more kindly. "I know you are thinking of my safety, lad, and I thank you. But you do not know what you are proposing. Mutiny on the high seas is madness, and these jail-birds for'ard would be worse masters than those we now have. Besides, you do not understand my situation--an uprising of the crew whether or not led by me, is the very thing the captain expects and wishes. You are quite right in thinking he intends to kill me--and not me alone--but at present he is checkmated. I am an able seaman, I do my work and enjoy the favor of my watch officer, and both Lynch and the tradesmen revere the lady and hate, while they fear, their master. But in case of a mutiny--why, Jack, those fellows aft would unite, and back up Swope in anything he chose to do. Their own safety would depend upon it. He would have his excuse to kill." "But if we win--" I commenced. "We would be murderers, and our necks would be forfeit," he interrupted. "Put away the thought, lad, for only evil can come of it. A mutiny would mean disaster to the crew, to you, to me, and above all, to her. For her sake, Jack, we must prevent any outbreak." "For her sake?" I echoed. I was aghast. Somehow, it had never occurred to me that the lady might be in any danger. "You don't mean that she would be harmed!" I exclaimed. He nodded, and there crept into his eyes an expression grim and desperate. "I have cursed myself for giving way to the storm of hate and passion that brought me on board this ship," he said, moodily. "And yet--it could not have been otherwise." He observed my questioning face, and added, "Swope knows we have talked together, she and I. He knows he must extinguish us both if he would rebury for good and all the truth he thought was already buried." "His wife--his own wife!" I exclaimed. The words probed the quick. For a minute Newman's reserve was gone, and the tormented soul of the man was plainly visible. "It is a lie, a legal lie!" he cried. He calmed immediately. His self-control took charge; it was as if his will, caught napping for an instant, awoke, and drew a curtain that shut out alien eyes. I was dumb, ashamed and sorry to have unwittingly hurt my friend. But now he was speaking again, in his accustomed sober, emotionless voice. "Of course, I trust you absolutely, Jack. I'd like to tell you the whole story. But--I am not free to talk----" "You don't have to tell me anything," I blurted. "I know you are my man, and you know I am your man." "You _are_ a friend!" he exclaimed. "But I will not sail under false colors in your eyes, lad. I am a jail-bird, an escaped felon." "Oh, I knew all about that long ago," I said, carelessly. He looked his surprise. "I heard that bum's story through the wall, that night in the Knitting Swede's," I explained. "I didn't try to listen, but I couldn't help hearing him. About the frame-up they worked on you--Beulah Twigg, and Mary--that's the lady, isn't it?--and the one Beasley called 'he'--I know 'he' is Yankee Swope. Oh, it was a dirty trick they played on you, Newman. I'm with you in anything you do to get even." He shook his head, smiling. "What a young savage you are, Jack!" says he. "An eye for an eye, eh? But you guess wrongly, lad. That treachery you heard Beasley explain was but the beginning. I was sent to prison for a murder, the brutal and cowardly murder of a helpless old man." "I know it was a frame-up," I cried. "And, anyway, I don't care. I know you're on the square, and that is all that matters with me." "If I were not, your faith would make me on the square," he answered. "But--I was not guilty. I came on board the _Golden Bough_ intending to become a murderer--but that madness is past. Now I am anxious to prevent killing--any killing. Now I am determined to preserve peace in this ship. "For she is safe so long as I am alive, and he cannot easily dispose of me so long as the crew is peaceful. You can understand that, can you not? Angus Swope is a fiend; he is more than half-insane from long indulgence of his cruel lusts. But he is cunning. I am a menace to his safety, and now he knows that she is also a menace. But he will not offer her violence or do her any harm while I am at large. By God, it would be his death, and he knows it. I give him no chance to strike at me alone and openly, so he is striking at me through the crew. "For he must consider the attitude of his second mate. Lynch is her friend, remember that, Jack. He is an honest man. He is bluff and harsh and without imagination, as brutal a bucko as one is likely to find In any ship, but he is 'on the square,' as you put it. Also, he has more than an inkling of the true state of affairs in the ship. He knows who I am, and he guesses why the captain fears and hates me. I wish I could tell you what he has done, and is doing, in my--no, in her behalf. And in spite of his bucko's code. He would not lift a finger to aid me in case of trouble (you remember the warning he gave us that day we were in the rigging) for he is an officer, a bucko, and I am a hand. But he would not stand for another such attempt at murder as Swope made the night we were aloft. He told Swope he would not stand for it, he would not keep silent. It was a brave thing to do, to defy such a master. This is Lynch's last voyage in the _Golden Bough_, as he well knows. So our canny skipper set to work his crooked wits, and for weeks he has been fomenting a rebellion of the port watch. Mister Fitz is a more pliant and obedient tool than Lynch." I was excited, wide-eyed. For I was suddenly seeing a light. The words I heard were truth, I knew. It explained what I had seen and heard that night upon the poop. This trouble that threatened was made to order, to the captain's order; even as Newman said. "Good heavens--then Nils' death--and the hazing"--I could not continue. The heartlessness, the malignant cruelty of the man who had ordered these things was too horrifying. "Nils' injury was unpremeditated, I believe," said Newman, "but leaving him die without attention or nursing was a calculated brutality, designed to inflame the boy's mates. Fitzgibbon's bitter hazing, without distinction or justice, was for the same purpose. They kept a close eye upon the boy's condition; they evidently figured that the hour of his death would be the hour of explosion. As you know, it very nearly was--only the parson's courage averted trouble in the dog-watch, and but a little while ago I had to quiet a storm. But the danger is passed now, I think. The little fellow's mates are naturally quiet, law-abiding fellows." "The squareheads may be kept quiet," I said, "but how about the stiffs? How about Boston and Blackie?" An expression of disgust and contempt showed in his face as I mentioned the names. "I will attend to them if they try any of their tricks," he said. "But they are, and have been, trying their tricks," I persisted, "and for some reason they are eager to have you know what they are up to. Boston told me to tell you." I repeated Boston's gossip. "He knew about the spy," I said. He nodded. "I know; I have had an eye upon them. What Boston told you about the treasure is quite true; the ship is carrying specie. And they are precious rascals, capable of any villainy; I know them well, they--they broke jail with me. But they have wit enough to know that their gang of stiffs could put up no sort of fight, unless backed by the sailors in the crew. It is loot they are after, and there will be trouble from them before the ship makes port; but now we are in mid-sea, and they realize they would be quite helpless with a ship on their hands and no navigator. That is what they want of me. A pair of poisonous rats, Jack! "But they will keep quiet. They had better. I promised them I would kill them both if they disobeyed me!" I gazed at the big man with admiring awe. He spoke so coolly, was so conscious of the strength and power that was in himself. Here was the sort of man I should like to be, I thought, here was the true hard case, no bully, no ruffian, but a man, a good man, a man so hard and bright, so finely tempered, he was to the rest of us as steel to mud. Oddly enough, as I had this thought, it also occurred to me that there was a man in the ship who might with justice claim to be Newman's peer, another man of heroic stature--poor meek little Holy Joe. "If Swope does not interfere with the decent burial of that poor boy, there will be no outbreak," added Newman. "He will not interfere," I was able to assure him. I repeated the skipper's words to Mister Lynch. "'Let the dogs dispose of their own offal!' is what he said." To my surprise Newman was disturbed by this news. He stared at me, frowning. "Swope said that?" he exclaimed. "Now what is he up to?" He sat thinking for a moment, then he said: "The burial of Nils is the weak point in my defense. If Swope offers an indignity to the boy's body, even I will not be able to restrain Nils' mates. Surely Swope has guessed that. I have planned to bury the lad from the foredeck just as quickly as preparations can be made; that is why Lindquist is at work on the forehatch. If Swope is overlooking this chance, he must have something else up his sleeve." He got to his feet and moved toward the door. "Lindquist must be nearly finished. I will carry out my plan at any hazard. Common decency demands we should not let the boy be cast into the sea by the very men who murdered him." At the door we were met by Olson, one of the squareheads, come to tell Newman that all was ready for the burial. So we joined the crowd, and Nils was put away, in the dead of night, by the light of one lantern and many stars. The hum of the wind aloft and the purr and slap of the waters against the bows were his requiem. That scene left its mark upon the mind of every man who took part in or witnessed it--and every foc'sle man save the helmsman saw Nils go over the side. It was already late in the middle watch, but no man had yet gone to his sleep; and, considering the habits of sailors and the custom of the sea, this single fact describes how disturbed was the common mind. Yet the putting away of Nils was peaceful. We knew that the mate was not alone upon the poop, that the men aft were alert and must know what was going on forward; but, despite Newman's fears, there was no interference from that quarter. Nils' bier was a painter's stage, and four of the lad's shipmates held the plank upon their shoulders, with the weighted feet of the shrouded form pointed outboard. The rest of us, sailors and stiffs, stood about with bared, bowed heads; aye, and most of us, I think, with wet eyes and tight throats. It seemed a cruel and awful thing to see one of our number disappear forever, and Holy Joe's words, spoken so softly and clearly, were of a kind to squeeze the hearts of even bad men. That parson had the gift of gab; he was a skilled orator and he could play upon our heartstrings as a musician upon a harp. Yet he did not preach at us, or even look at us. He wasted no words, and the ceremony proceeded with the dispatch Newman desired. All Holy Joe did was lift his face to the night and pray in simple words that Nils might have a safe passage on this long voyage he was starting. The words seemed to wash clean our minds. For the moment the most vicious man in that hard and vicious crowd thought cleanly and innocently. Our wrongs and hatreds seemed small and of little consequence. Aye, while Holy Joe prayed for the dead we stood about like a group of awed children. When he was finished praying, he recited the beautiful words of the Service, and raised his hand--and the pall-bearers tipped their burden into the sea. Silently we listened to the dull splash, silently we watched the four men lower the stage to the deck. It was over. The parson fell into step with Newman, and the two paced up and down, conversing in low tones. The crowd dispersed. Some of my watch went into the foc'sle, to their bunks. Most of the men sat about the decks, and smoked and talked in whispers. But the topic of Nils was avoided, as was talk of mutiny. The squareheads did not mutter threats, the stiffs did not curse. The spell of the parson's words was still upon us, and peace reigned. Newman had won, I thought, and danger was passed. I found the Nigger seated upon the fore-bitts, whetting his knife upon a stone. There was something sinisterly suggestive about his occupation at that hour; it was the first break in the strange calm which had fallen upon the crew. "Tell me, Nigger, who's the man that's spying on the big fellow?" I said abruptly, as I sat down beside him. Nigger did not pause in his work, but he turned his battered face to me. A couple of days before he had fallen afoul of the mate's brass knuckles for perhaps the twentieth time since he had been in the ship, and his face was a mass of bruised flesh, a shocking sight, even though his color hid the extent of his injuries. The Nigger had been, perhaps, the worst misused man in the crew--and this notwithstanding the fact he was by far the best sailor in the port watch. But Fitzgibbon hated "damned niggers," especially did he hate "these spar-colored half-breeds," as he was fond of calling this fellow. I do believe he chose the Nigger for his watch so he might pummel him to his heart's content. Beat him up he had, constantly, and without cause, and as a result Nigger had become a surly, moody man. "Who say dat Ah know?" demanded Nigger, in reply to my question. "Boston said so." "Dat man's too free wif his lip. Ah don't tell him Ah knows who's the spy; Ah tells him Ah knows dey is one." I waited patiently, for Nigger's temper would not bear pressing. He reversed his stone, spat upon it, and resumed his monotonous whetting, then, after looking around to make sure he could not be overheard, he explained what he did know. "Night befoh last Ah was hangin' 'round aft----" "What?" I cried, surprised. "Hanging around aft--what for?" "Dat's my business," he told me, curtly. Then, after a moment, he added, "But Ah don't care if yoh know, because Ah knows yoh ain't no snitch. Ah was hangin' 'round waitin' to meet Mistah Mate when he ain't got them othah two debbils wif him. Ah was waitin' 'round to meet dat man alone. And he come to de break ob de poop wif de Old Man, and de Old Man say, 'Ah got a good man watchin' every move he makes; he can't turn around in de foc'sle wifout me knowin' it. We'll be wahned befoh it happens.' Dat's what de Old Man say to Mistah Mate. And Ah knows he mus' be talkin' about de big fellow, and so Ah tells Boston about it." "But didn't you hear any names mentioned?" I asked him. "Dat's all Ah hears," he answered. "Den dey went away." I was disappointed. The Nigger's news amounted to just nothing; we already knew that a spy was watching Newman. But indeed this fact seemed not so threatening as it had a few hours before. Newman's careless contempt of the spy had made me contemptuous, too. And, indeed, what could a spy report against the big man that could injure him? Newman was openly working for peace, counseling obedience. His actions invited scrutiny. I voiced this thought to my companion. "Well, anyway, a spy can't hurt Newman. He is doing nothing underhand, or wrong. He's keeping peace in this ship." Nigger gave a queer little hoot of derision. "Does Ah look like peace?" he said. "Dis am a debbil-ship; Ah tells yoh dey can't be no peace in dis ship nohow." I gestured towards the forehatch. A dozen men sat upon it, quietly smoking and gossiping. "The squally weather is past," I said. "Those lads don't want trouble. A few hours ago they were all for fight--but now they've settled down. And don't you try to start trouble! The big fellow wants peace, the lady wants peace, we must help them to keep peace. Don't you want to help the lady and the big fellow?" "De lady been awful good to me," said Nigger, in almost a whisper. "Ah gone crazy long ago if it ain't foh de lady." He stopped his whetting and tried the edge of the blade with his thumb; then, suddenly, he reached out and clutched my wrist, and continued in a voice so charged with pain and grief, that I was appalled. "Ah'd do mos' anything foh de lady, but, Shreve, it ain't foh me, and it ain't foh any of us forward to say what's goin' to happen in dis ship. Ah ain't no sea-lawyer; man and boy Ah've gone to sea twenty year, and Ah ain't nebber made no trouble in no ship, no suh. But, oh mah Lawd, yoh knows what all's happened to me in dis ship! Dey won't let me be a man. 'Yoh niggah, yoh black beast!' Dat's what dey calls me, and dat's what dey makes me! Ah wants peace, yoh wants peace--but does dey want peace? No, suh! Yoh say de ship peaceful now? Dis am a debbil-ship, and dey's a king debbil aft! And dey's a shark overside, and he wasn't waitin' foh what jus' went into the water, no, suh! Yoh ebber sail out East? Yoh ebber see de quiet befoh a typhoon, so quiet seems like yoh can't breathe? Dat's de kind ob peace dat's on de _Golden Bough_. Ah don' want to make no trouble no time, but, oh mah Lawd, when Ah does mah work right an' gets hazed foh it, when dat mate makes a beast out ob me--does yoh think Ah stand dat fohebber?" I had no answer of good cheer. What could I say? The man's wrongs were too bitter, his hurts too constant, to be glossed over or soothed by any words I could think of. For I knew he still had weeks of brutal mistreatment ahead of him. This Nigger was a man who would not, perhaps could not, cringe and whine--and so the mate was "breaking" him. But after all Nigger gave me the promise I was after. "Ah nebber talks trouble. Ah nebber wants trouble, and Ah nebber stirs up no trouble." CHAPTER XV The day following Nils' death was the most peaceful day we had had since leaving port. There was less cursing and driving from the men aft, and less wrangling among ourselves. But it was a strange peace. An air of suspense lay upon the ship; we went around on tiptoe, so to speak. The quiet before the typhoon--aye, Nigger's phrase just about described it. We went around telling each other that the trouble had blown over, and nothing was going to happen, and all the time we were watching and waiting for something--we didn't know just what--to happen. During the morning, Mister Fitzgibbon and his bullies came swaggering forward and into the port foc'sle. Now that was a moment that very nearly saw the calm broken; for an instant I was sure there would be a grand blow-up. For the mate was after Nils' belongings, his sea-chest. Even though it was the custom to take a dead man's gear aft, the squareheads resented the removal of Nils' effects. Especially did they resent Fitzgibbon's part in the removal. The lads in my watch crowded the door connecting the rooms, and the port watch men collected on deck and glowered in at the proceedings. The muttered curses grew in volume. Oh, it looked like trouble, right enough---for just a moment. Now that I was enlightened as to the skipper's game, I could see what the mate was up to. He, who was largely responsible for Nils' death, had come forward upon this errand because he knew--or Swope knew--his presence would enrage Nils' mates. The Chinese steward, or the tradesmen alone, could have taken Nils' gear without raising a murmur from the squareheads, but quite naturally they would resent Fitzgibbon's pawing over the poor lad's treasures. But Newman took the sting out of the mate's visit, Newman and Holy Joe, working separately, but with a common end in view. Oh, it was rich--but you must know the foc'sle mind to understand how rich we thought it was. It was nothing subtle, nothing above our heads. Newman made us laugh, at the mate's expense, and--presto!--impending tragedy was turned into farce. Fitzgibbon, himself, was overhauling Nils' gear. The tradesmen stood idle and watchful, one near either door of the foc'sle. Out on deck, Holy Joe was busy; we could hear him urging his crowd to be quiet and peaceful. Newman pushed through our crowd until he was fairly into the port foc'sle, and there he stood, filling the doorway, and effectually blocking any attempt on the part of those behind him to rush the room. Well, Newman looked down at the mate, and he commenced to chuckle very softly to himself. After a moment we began to chuckle too, every man-jack of us. We didn't laugh out loud--not one of us, except Newman, who had the nerve to laugh out loud at Blackjack Fitzgibbon--but, hidden behind the big fellow's back, we chuckled and snickered readily enough. And the butt of the joke was the mate, himself. It was the mate's behavior. Anybody could see with half an eye that the fellow was looking for trouble. He expected trouble, and it made him nervous. He was determined he would be ready for it. So he kept one hand in his coat pocket, where he carried his gun, and tried with the other hand to cast adrift the lashings that held the chest to the bunk posts. It was a two-hand job, and he made slow work of it. But he wouldn't call one of his tradesmen to help him--that would have left a door unguarded, you see. Nor could he fix his attention upon the job; he kept twisting his ugly face this way and that way until his head looked as if it were on a pivot. If Newman hadn't pointed it out, I doubt if any of us would have seen the humor of the scene. But Newman's chuckle forced it upon us. Mister Fitzgibbon did look ridiculous--fumbling blindly with the ropes, and at the same time trying to keep both ends of the foc'sle in sight at once. "I'll lend you one of my hands, Mister," said Newman, suddenly. The mate glanced at him, startled, but before he could open his mouth, Newman stepped past the tradesman and bent over one end of the chest. "It's neatly wrapped; the lad would have been a good sailorman, Mister," he remarked as he undid the lashing. The mate realized he was at a disadvantage. He glared vindictively at the big fellow, and snarled an oath in reply. Then he drew a knife, and committed the lubberly act of cutting through the lashing at his end of the chest. Newman had finished undoing the rope at his end, and now he stepped back into the doorway. I've never been sure, but I think Newman did it purposely. The rope's end was spliced about the handle of the chest, and when he cast the rope loose, it trailed upon the floor. Newman left the bight turned about the bunk-post, and in such fashion that it would tighten into a clove-hitch. Now that it was a case of our laughing at him, the mate was eager to get out of the foc'sle with as little loss of dignity as possible. He started to walk away, dragging Nils' chest after him. The clove-hitch checked him. He jerked, with all his strength, and his strength was enormous--there was a crack like a pistol shot as the bunk-post snapped, the chest leaped like a live thing at the man, and Fitzgibbon's heels flew out from under him. He landed upon his back, and the chest landed upon his stomach; and the wind went out of him with an explosive _oof_! Oh, it was rich. Aye, it was the kind of joke the foc'sle could appreciate. We did appreciate it. We did not quite dare roar our laughter, but our chuckles would have shaken windows ashore. Even the tradesmen grinned--behind their hands--as they lifted the chest from off their boss, and him to his feet. He needed assistance, too; he had no wind for curses, and bent double nursing the injured spot while he grunted at the tradesmen to pick up the chest and carry it aft. He paid no attention to the rest of us, but as he hobbled out of the foc'sle in the wake of the others, he gave Newman a look of such malignant hatred that we all knew just where he placed the blame for the episode. It did not bother Newman, that look. He was on deck at the mate's heels. Bravado, I thought at first, and I was close behind Newman, for I wanted to have a hand in any further fun. He followed the mate aft, at a respectful distance. Suddenly, I understood his action, for I saw how warily he was watching the hands, the port watch squareheads, particularly, who were bunched about the foredeck. Newman wasn't following the mate to make sport for us; he was seeing that the mate, and the tradesmen, got aft without trouble. He was seeing to it that no one on deck gave the bucko the excuse to start trouble that had been denied him in the foc'sle. Aye, Newman was a wise lad; he would not be caught napping. Yet, despite his care, he nearly lost. Mister Fitzgibbon brushed past Cockney, who was standing alone by the forward end of the deck-house. He croaked something at the man, an oath, I thought. Cockney waited until he passed by, and then suddenly whipped out his knife and drew back his arm to throw it at the mate's back. Newman might possibly have reached Cockney. But he did not try. Instead, he leaped in the other direction, a cat-like bound that took him over to the rail, as far away from Cockney as he could get. It was Holy Joe who spoiled Cockney's knife-play. He was standing behind Cockney, and, quick as Newman himself, he leaped forward and struck Cockney's arm. It spoiled the aim. The knife did not go in the mate's direction at all; it went flashing across the deck, and stuck quivering in the rail. "You fool!" cried Holy Joe. The mate wheeled about at that. Aye, and he had his pistol half out of his pocket as he turned. We could see by his face that he understood what had happened; indeed, he would have been blind not to have been able to read the meaning of the scene--Cockney still bent in the attitude of throwing, and the parson clutching his arm. I expected--we all expected--he would shoot Cockney. Surely, this was his chance, if he wanted trouble. But he hardly glanced at the man. His eyes passed him by, and darted about until they spotted Newman lounging over there by the rail, with his hands in his pockets. I guess it was an unpleasant surprise to find Newman over there, just opposite to where he expected to find him. The knife was sticking in the rail close by Newman's shoulder; there could be no connecting it and Newman--indeed, Newman's own knife was in plain view, in its sheath. Newman shook his head. "Not this time, Mister," says he. The mate was stumped, and enraged. His face grew actually purple with his choked rage, as he glared at Newman. But he did not draw the gun free of his pocket; he had no excuse to offer Newman violence, and he did not deign to notice Cockney. He did not even seem to notice the naked knife. Slowly his hand opened, and the butt of the weapon dropped back into his pocket. Then he turned, and went aft. I breathed again. So, I guess, did the others. When Fitzgibbon was beyond ear-shot, Cockney began to damn Holy Joe for spoiling his aim. But he didn't get very far with his tirade before Newman had him shouldered against the wall of the deck-house. Cockney changed his tune then, and mighty quick. For Newman looked as he had looked that day in the Knitting Swede's; aye, there was death in his face. "Ow, Gaw', 'ear me. Hi didn't mean no trouble!" Cockney bleated. "Hit was the nyme 'e called me. 'E myde me see red, that's wot." "Would have been a damn good job if he'd landed!" cried Boston's voice. There was an emphatic chorus of approval of this sentiment from the hands, from squareheads and stiffs both. "We'd have been rid of one o' them, anyhow!" piped up Blackie. The backing gave Cockney heart. "Hi'd 'ave spliced 'is bleedin' 'eart but 'e spoiled me throw, the blarsted Bible shark, the----" "That will do," said Newman quietly, and Cockney shut up. "Cockney has the guts, anyway," says Boston. "The bucko hain't; he backed down," says Blackie. "That will do you," Newman threw over his shoulder, and they shut up. "If I were sure--" said Newman to Cockney. He left the sentence unfinished, but he must have looked the rest for Cockney fell into a terrible funk. "Ow, s' 'elp me, Hi didn't mean no trouble. Hit was the nyme 'e called--'e called me old mother hout o' 'er blinkin' nyme, that's wot! Hi didn't mean for to do it--but me temper--the wy the blighter's used us blokes--hand the nyme on top o' that----" "Well, remember, if I thought for a moment--" broke in Newman. I thought Cockney would flop at the big fellow's feet this time. But he recovered quickly enough when Newman turned away, without further words, and without offering to thump him. He slouched forward, and immediately became the hero of the hour with the gang. Aye; I was even a bit envious. It took a hard case to heave a knife at a bucko--even at his back. "But why didn't he shoot Cockney?" I asked Newman. "Didn't he see him?" The big man glanced at Holy Joe, and smiled. "Perhaps he didn't want to see him," he replied. And I was so thick-headed I didn't understand. But it really was a peaceful day. After Nils' chest went aft, we might have been a comfortable family ship so little were we troubled by the afterguard. Lynch, of course, kept his watch busy while it was on deck, but he didn't haze; and Fitzgibbon all but forgot he had a watch. It was a queer rest. It got upon my nerves, this waiting for something--I didn't know what--to happen. It carried over into the night, this unusual quiet. Aye, Captain Swope kept the deck that night in the first watch, as well as Fitzgibbon, and not a single man was damned or thumped. When we turned out for the middle watch, we found the port watch lads crowing that they had farmed away their hours on deck. Well, we didn't farm, by a long shot. Trust Lynch to keep hands busy. It was rule number one with him. He sweated us up in the usual style, yet his manner was milder than usual and he didn't lay a finger on even the most lubberly of the stiffs. Aye, for the first time during the voyage--perhaps for the first time in the life of the ship--a full day passed in the _Golden Bough_ and not a man felt the weight of a boot or a fist. It was an occasion, I can tell you! Yet, for all of the afterguard's surprising gentleness, that mid-watch was a nightmare to me. Newman disappeared. Ever since the night at the beginning of the voyage when Captain Swope tried to snap us off the yardarm, I made it a practice to stick close to the big fellow during the night watches. I owed him my life, and, anyway I was eager to give him the service of a friend, of a mate. I was always dreading that Swope would try again some dark night, and with better success. It is so easy to do things in the dark, you see; get a man separated from the watch, beyond the reach of friendly eyes, give him a crack on the head and a boost over the rail, and then what proof, what trace, have you? Just a line in the logbook, "Man lost overboard in the night." Aye, many a lad--and many an officer--has had just that happen to him. So it was that in the night watches I became Newman's shadow. It was literally shoulder to shoulder with us, we handed the same lines, bent over the same jobs. Newman never mentioned it, never asked me to stick close, but I knew he welcomed the attention. He knew the danger of walking alone in the dark in that ship. Mister Lynch kept his word and never again sent either of us aloft at night. In fact, the second mate did more than that; from that night on, whenever Newman had a night wheel, Lynch stayed aft on the poop during the trick. Oh, there was no friendship between the two; I know that for certain. Lynch was an officer, and Newman just a hand. But he was a square man, and he was seeing to it that Newman got a square deal, at least in his watch. And, I guessed, the lady had something to do with Lynch's attitude. She was not friendless in the cabin, as I had discovered. This night Newman had no wheel. Neither had I. During the first half of the watch we touched elbows. As usual, the second mate worked sail and kept us dancing a lively jig. He made work, Lynch did. He would walk along the deck and jerk each buntline in passing--and then order lads aloft to overhaul and stop the lines again. He would command a tug on this line, a pull on that; no sail was ever trimmed fine enough to suit him. Oh, aye, he was but following his nature and training; he could not bear being idle himself, and he knew that busy men don't brood themselves into trouble. And running a watch ragged was hell-ship style. We were aft on a job--brailling in the spanker, I recall--when I missed Newman. An instant before we were together, we had handed the same line; suddenly he was gone from my side. At first I thought he had passed around to the other side of the mizzenmast, for we were coiling down gear that had been disarranged during the job, and I was not worried. But when the second mate ordered us forward to another job, my friend was not with the gang. The second mate left one of his tradesmen aft, and during the remainder of the watch kept us forward of the waist of the ship. He drove us, kept us jumping, at perfectly useless jobs on the head sails. It was as plain as the nose on my face that he was purposely keeping us forward. Something was going on, aft there by the boat skids, by the break of the poop; it was a moonless night, but once or twice I saw shadows flitting about the main deck. I was in a quandary. Something was going on aft--but what? Newman was missing. The bucko knew he was absent from the gang, he must have known. Yet he ignored his absence. Was it treachery? Was Newman in trouble? Had he and I been mistaken in our judgment of Bucko Lynch? Oh, I was tormented with fear--and with doubt. I wanted to gallop aft and lend him a hand, succor him, at least help him to put up a good fight. But I wasn't sure he was in trouble, that he would welcome my advertising his disappearance. Perhaps he was keeping a rendezvous, with the second mate's aid. That was what the other lads thought. Oh, aye, they missed him too. But they didn't have wit enough to realize that Lynch also had sharp eyes; they thought Lynch didn't know Newman was gone. They thought it was a great joke, a score against the cabin. They thought Newman had boldly slipped away from work to meet the lady. "The Big Un's queenin', b'gawd, right under the Old Man's nose!" That's how Boston put it. I did nothing. I made no break. Luckily. At seven bells, Lynch marshaled us aft again, to set the spanker this time. As we worked, Newman slipped into the group as quietly and unobtrusively as he had slipped out nearly two hours before. Coiling down gear, I discovered that the running part of the spanker vang was off the pin, and trailing over the side. It dropped down past the open and lighted porthole of one of the cabin berths. Whose berth? Well, I thought that Boston had the right of it. Newman had been "queenin'," with his feet in the ocean, so to speak. But he had been up to something else, as well. As he and I walked forward, after the watch was relieved, we were overtaken by Lindquist, who was coming from the helm. "Vat you ban doing mit da longboat to-night?" he asked Newman, curiously. "Nothing, lad. You must have dreamed at your Sybeel--understand?" was Newman's prompt reply. It took a moment to filter into the squarehead's mind. But he got it. "So--_ja_, it ban dream; I see noddings," he said. "And you say nothing?" "_Ja_, even to mineself I say noddings," promised Lindquist. At the foc'sle door, Newman placed a detaining hand upon my shoulder and held me back. "Was there much comment among the hands?" he asked. I told him what Boston had said, and that it was the common opinion. "That will do no harm," he remarked. "So long as they did not see, or guess--yes, it is a good blind." I was a little resentful, and showed it. "You know I don't want you to tell me anything you don't want to tell me, but I think you might have dropped a hint In my ear. How was I to know that the greaser hadn't played a trick on you, and given you over to the Old Man? I don't know what game you're playing, and if you don't want to tell me I don't want to know--but I tell you I came pretty near spoiling it, whatever it is. I was on the verge of going aft and raising a row, just to find out what had become of you." "Jack, it isn't my mistrust that keeps you in the dark," says he. "You know I trust you absolutely. But I cannot explain--others have that right. But, lad, I can tell you this--things are moving, aft there, and the sky is brighter for me--and for her. And, you must not worry about me if this should happen again, some other night. I shall be safe; don't come hunting me, it might ruin everything. You will know soon just what is happening. And you already know, Jack, how I count upon you--and she, too. If things should go wrong, if he outwits me, it is your head and arm I count upon to aid her." "Anything, any time," was my eager response. "Oh, I want to help." I found my hand being tightly squeezed in his, and there was a little catch in his voice. "A thick-and-thin friend, eh, Jack? I've learned something about friendship since I have known you." CHAPTER XVI This strange peace, this interlude of quiet, lasted for several days. It was a curious time, a period of uneasy suspense for me, for I could feel hell simmering beneath the smooth surface of the ship's life, but I could not see it, or guess when or where it would bubble over. Even Lynch toned down his adjectives, and slackened his driving. He was commanded to do so by Captain Swope while the watch was within hearing. The Old Man told him to "go easy with those boys, Mister; we've made it too hard for them this voyage." Aye, that was a nice bitter pill for Bucko Lynch to swallow before his watch; oh, the lads enjoyed it, I can tell you. Fitzgibbon, the roaring lion, became the bleating lamb. He hardly worked his men during those days, let alone haze them. He let Nigger alone. He stopped swearing at Holy Joe. Why, a man might fancy from his manner that he had become afraid of his men. Aye, a man might fancy from their behavior that the lot of them aft possessed a sudden fear of the crew. Even the tradesmen were publicly ordered to treat the men with civility. But I didn't fancy they were afraid. I knew better. It was part of the game Swope was playing. "I took the trick when Nils died," explained Newman, when I asked him what the new program meant, "and now our sweet captain is dealing a new hand, from a cold deck. He is nursing the scum, because this time he will strike through them, instead of through the squareheads." By "scum," Newman meant our unsavory mob of stiffs. And indeed they were being "nursed," and without even suspecting it. Inevitably, the unwonted gentleness of the men aft was interpreted as weakness and fear, and of course their stiffs' courage mounted and slopped over. Aye, he was a canny brute, was Captain Swope; he knew just how to play such a crowd as we were. And I think he thoroughly enjoyed such a cat-and-mouse game. There was valorous talk in the foc'sle, and half-veiled insolence on deck. These cringing stiffs began to swank and swagger. They began to bluster openly about what they could do and would do; they began to tell each other how easy it would be to "dump 'em over, and take charge o' the hooker." That's the sort they were. It took bucko methods to keep them decent. Blackie and Boston were plainly jubilant over this turn of events. Now they were fairly shrewd men, even if they were damned rascals, and one would have thought they possessed sufficient insight to at least be suspicious of the skipper's sudden 'bout-face. But they were not. They were just as convinced as the rest of the stiffs that the afterguard had suddenly become afraid of the foc'sle. Just lack of imagination, I suppose; I've read that it is usually a characteristic of professional criminals. They ceased hinting darkly and whispering in corners, and came out fiat-footed with their great news. Aye, and it was a weighty argument with the stiffs. Even though they knew about it already--as most of them did--it was a delight to talk about it openly. There was money in the hooker. That is what made their tongues wag. Aye, money; kegs and kegs of shining trade dollars, aft in the lazaret, to be had for the taking by lads with stiff backbones. And their backbones were stiff enough for the job. So Boston and Blackie told them, so Cockney told them, so they told each other. It surprised me that Newman ignored this state of affairs among the stiffs. He could have clapped stoppers on Boston's and Blackie's jaws by just telling them to shut up. They stood in such awe and fear of him. He could have as easily silenced Cockney; aye, and the gang, too. We all stood in awe of him. There wasn't a man forward who would dream of opposing him openly. But Newman was contemptuous of stiffs' talk. "Oh, let them blow off steam," says he. "Big talk, small deeds; that's their caliber, Jack. They'll have their sauciness hammered out of them quickly enough when Swope plays his next card." "Aye, but what if Blackie and Boston, or that Cockney, make trouble? They are bossing the stiffs." "Those two jail-birds know what I will do to them if they go beyond talk," said Newman. "As for that Whitechapel beauty, he is quite harmless, I think. They would not follow him into a fight; they know he is scum, like themselves, for all his bluster. They would follow me, or you, if we led the sailors aft. But so long as the sailors are quiet, there is no danger. That scum would not fight alone. And, as you know, our little friend has his Norsemen eating out of his hand." This last was certainly true. By "our little friend" Newman meant Holy Joe. The squareheads idolized him. For one thing, his being a parson gave him, from the beginning, standing with them. They were decent, simple villagers, with an inbred respect for the cloth. But more important, was the service he had rendered their dead shipmate. They were not the men to forget a thing like that, or fail to be impressed by the fine courage Holy Joe had exhibited when he faced the angry mate. Now there was a curious thing. The decent men in the crew gave Holy Joe unstinted admiration; his bravery that day clinched his authority over the squareheads. They would have done almost anything for him; aye, they loved the little man, and admired him. Yet the stiffs were not much impressed by what Holy Joe did to the mate. I guess they simply couldn't understand it. But Cockney's trying to stick a knife into the mate's back quite captured their fancy. Aye, that attempted murder was a great deed; it made Cockney their hero. I won't say that the rest of us damned Cockney. We were, after all, foc'sle savages, and our hatred of Fitzgibbon was very bitter. But it took the stiffs to honor Cockney for that knife-play. Well, Newman might dismiss this fellow with a contemptuous word, but I couldn't. Cockney had become a rival I must reckon with. I didn't like the way he lorded it over the stiffs in my watch, even if the stiffs themselves did like it. I didn't like the noise he made in the starboard foc'sle, or the hard case airs he assumed. I was number one bully in my watch, and intended to remain so. I was, in fact, cock of the crew (Newman excepted, of course) and I thought that Cockney's chesty boasting was in a way a defiance of me. No doubt I was right. As I discovered in time, Cockney had a good reason behind his blatant tongue. It was necessary that he accustom some of the crew, even a few stiffs if no more, to follow his leadership. But he couldn't blow big in his own foc'sle, because Holy Joe wouldn't allow it; and he didn't dare lay a curse or a finger on the little parson because he knew if he did the squareheads would jump him in a body. So he ventured into my bailiwick, hoping, I suppose, that the open support of Boston and Blackie, his size, which matched my own, and his newly got reputation as a bad man with a knife, would bluff me. It didn't. His dirty and violent talk sickened and wearied me, and just as soon as I had a reasonable pretext I ordered him out of the foc'sle. This wasn't as high-handed as it sounds, for Cockney had the gall one afternoon to leave the deck during his watch out, and break into my watch's rest with his obscene gabble. He was disposed to dispute my order, and the stiffs backed him up with talk. So I turned out and turned to. I slapped a few stiffs, and threw Cockney through the door. He invited me out on deck, and of course I accepted. We had a nice set-to before all hands. Even the tradesmen came forward to see the sport. Well, Newman's estimate of the man was correct. Cockney was scum, yellow scum. His fighting methods were as foul as his tongue; he tried all of his slum tricks, the knee, the eye-gouge, the Liverpool-butt, and when he found I was up to them, and the stronger man in the clinches, he wanted to call enough. But I was too incensed by this time to let him escape easily, and I battered him all about the foredeck. Finally he turned tail and fled aft. Of course I did not pursue beyond the deck-house. His fleeing the battle really pleased me more than knocking him out. I felt sure that such an ignominious defeat would cook his goose with the stiffs. It did. Boston and Blackie stopped grooming Cockney for mob leader; they had seen that he lacked guts in a pinch, and that finished him with them. The other stiffs still welcomed and admired him (for, although he was a good sailor, he was one of them at heart, and, after all, hadn't he tried to stick the mate?), but he was no longer their hero. Aye, it was quite a fall for Cockney; he lost a lot of face when he ran away from my fists. He kept out of my foc'sle thereafter. I mentioned that this fight started because Cockney came into our foc'sle during his watch on deck. Now, that illustrates the surprising slackness of discipline in the port watch. Just a few days before the mate was ready to shoot Holy Joe for going below during his watch on deck, but he never bothered his head about Cockney's much worse offense. In fact, during these strange days he seemed not to bother his head about anything his men did. He promenaded on the poop during his watches on deck, alone, or arm-in-arm with the captain, and just about left the ship to sail herself. No wonder the stiffs commenced to believe they could take liberties; in fact, they could take them in the mate's watch, and get away with it. But they couldn't take liberties in the second mate's watch. You bet they couldn't! Bucko Lynch curbed his vocabulary and stopped using his fists, as the captain ordered, but he didn't stop working his men. There was no slackness in his watch; he kept us up to scratch. That made the starboard stiffs especially bitter against him. They felt themselves cheated of the easy times Fitzgibbon's men were having. But the sailors didn't feel that way about it. They were worried, just as I was. The sailors knew ships as the stiffs did not. They could _feel_ ships. Those dumb squareheads could not reason it out as I could (with Newman's assistance), but they could feel the undercurrent of intrigue. They were glad to escape the thumpings to which the mates had accustomed them; but they were not satisfied with the new order for they could feel that this strange peace was unreal, unhealthful. Aye, the calm before the typhoon. They felt it just as I felt it, just as Nigger felt it. As for pessimistic Nigger, so strictly did he mind his own business these quiet days he was like a dumb man, a silent brown shadow. But he went on sharpening his knife. To heighten the squareheads' foreboding, and to scare the wits half out of us all, Nils' ghost visited the ship. You know what sort of men we were in that foc'sle; save Newman and the parson, we were ignorant men, and superstitious. We all believed implicitly in ghosts, I, and the squareheads, Nigger and Cockney, and even the stiffs who had not the sea in their blood. Aye, even Blackie and Boston believed in haunts. It seemed reasonable to us that Nils should come back to the scene of his earthly misery. Reasonable, and fearsome. Nils came at night, in the middle watch, always in the middle watch. That circumstance might have aroused suspicion in sceptical minds. But we were not sceptical. Lynch had us busy forward this night. Aye, it had become a practice with him to keep us busy in the fore part of the ship during the night watches. One of his tradesmen, Connolly, kept the poop watch for him. No, we did not think this arrangement odd; we worked too hard to think. Newman had the first wheel. At four bells, a lad named Oscar went aft to relieve the big fellow. A moment later he reappeared forward, wild-eyed and spluttering his own lingo. Oh, he was a frightened squarehead. All we could understand of his speech was the word "Nils." The word was enough. We didn't need the commotion and consternation among Oscar's countrymen to help us interpret. He had seen Nils. "What's the matter with you?" demanded Lynch. Lindquist answered for Oscar. Nils was at the wheel. Oscar had gone aft to relieve Newman, and he had seen his dead shipmate at the wheel, steering the ship. He was afraid to relieve a ghost. "Oh, rot!" says Lynch. "Here, come along aft with me, the lot of you. We'll lay this ghost." Oscar did not want to go aft again, but he had to. It was better to face a ghost than disobey Bucko Lynch. That is what the rest of us thought, too. We were all afraid to go aft, but more afraid not to. So we huddled close upon the second mate's heels, and clumped noisily upon the deck, as though to rout the wraith with our racket. Perhaps our racket did send Nils away. It certainly aroused the men sleeping in the cabin, and the roundhouse. But we saw Newman at the helm, not Nils. "Well, m'son, where's your ghost?" demanded Mister Lynch. Oscar was still too frightened to muster his scant English, but Lindquist talked for him. "He say like dis, sir, Nils ban at da wheel when he koom aft, oond den he yump vrom der wheel oond run for'ard yust like da time da captain thoomp him." "Rot!" says Lynch. "My man, have you permitted a ghost stand your trick at the wheel?" This last to Newman. "Hardly a ghost, sir," answered Newman. We could not see his face, but from his tone I knew he was smiling. "Do I look like one? Not yet, I hope. I was just about to turn over the wheel to the lad, sir, when he shied--at the shadow of the mizzen stays'l I think--and rushed away forward." "What is wrong, Mister?" inquired the captain's soft voice. Aye, we all jumped as if it were the ghost talking. Captain Swope, with Mister Fitzgibbon behind him, had popped up from below as quietly as If he were a ghost. "Nothing wrong, Captain," replied Mister Lynch. "One of my jaspers declared he saw the little squarehead's ghost dancing about the poop, and now the lot of them have nerves. I brought them aft to teach them better in a peaceful way." This was a straight dig at the Old Man's "be gentle" orders, but it didn't pierce his skin. Swope laughed, genuinely amused, his soft, rippling laugh that always frightened us so much. "Peaceful, eh? By the Lord, Mister, it sounded like an army overhead. And it was no more than a ghost!" He peered aft, and discerned Newman at the wheel, recognizing him by bulk, I guess, for the binnacle lights were half shuttered and Newman's face invisible. But I'm sure he recognized him, for he pursed his lips in a way I had seen him do before when he looked at Newman. He strolled away forward, to the break of the poop, glancing this way and that, and back again to the hatch. "If it were moonlight, I'd say your man was touched," says he to Lynch. "But I suppose he was half asleep and dreaming." "I'll wake him up and work the dreams out of him," promised Mister Lynch. "But no hazing, Mister. The men are in bad enough temper as it is." Aye, thus to Lynch, as though the rest of us were beyond ear-shot. But all the time his eyes were upon us, measuring the effect of his words. Oh, he was a sly beast, a "slick one," as Beasley said. "Which is the lad who beheld this--ghost?" he added. The second mate shoved Oscar forward so that he stood in the light that streamed up from the cabin. "So one little ghost scared you, eh?" says he to poor trembling Oscar. "Why, my man, if all the ghosts in this ship were to begin walking about, we living men would be crowded into the sea." With that he went below, laughing, as though he had just made a fine joke, and leaving us more frightened than ever. The mate went below again also, but he wasn't laughing. We sensed that the news worried Fitzgibbon, and that strengthened our conviction. Blackjack Fitzgibbon had cause for worry. So we thought. Wasn't it he, as well as Swope, who mishandled the boy to his death? That ended the scene aft. Oscar relieved the wheel; he had to. Lynch put the rest of us to work again, and during the balance of the watch we saw ghosts in every corner. When we went below at eight bells, we held a grand talk in the foc'sle, a parliament that practically all hands attended. Aye, we were quite convinced that the ghost was abroad. Oscar stuck to his yarn, and embellished it, and left no room in our minds for doubt. Newman laughed at us, and denied the presence of a spook on the poop; that done he turned in and slept. But his evidence didn't shake our belief. Oscar gave too many particulars. The compass had not been shuttered when he went aft to relieve the wheel, and he had seen Nils standing in the light. He couldn't be mistaken. "Yust as plain like a picture." He knew him by his boyish stature, by his beardless features, by his clothes. He was wearing his Scotch-plaid coat and red tam-o'-shanter; Oscar couldn't be mistaken in them, because he had helped Nils pick them out in a Glasgow slops shop "last ship." Didn't his mates remember those togs? His mates remembered them. So did the rest of us. That coat and cap had hung on the wall opposite Nils' bunk all during his illness. He was very proud of these colorful garments. Of course, we told each other, he would appear in them after death. And, of course, he was bound to come back. Didn't murdered men always come back? So we assured each other; and the older men began spinning yarns about other ghosts in other ships. Aye, we talked so much we were afraid to turn in. Captain Swope's words about the ghost crew in the _Golden Bough_ impressed us mightily. We told each other that many men must have died cruel deaths in this notorious hooker; very likely Nils' spirit was but one of many. Some of the lads recalled mysteries of the night that they had encountered in this ship, shadowy things melting into darkness, strange noises, and the like; and always they had seen or heard these things aft, around the break of the poop or beneath the boat skids--in just about the spot where Nils had been beaten up, first by the skipper and then by the mate. Aye, Nils gave us the creeps. Another herald of storm, I felt. Next night Nils did not walk, though the lads in both watches insisted they saw and heard things that were not right or natural. The night following in the midwatch--our midwatch--half the watch swore they saw him flit across the main deck and disappear behind the roundhouse. The next night marked Nils' last and most startling appearance. In the heart of the middle watch, while my mates were sound asleep, the ghost walked into the empty port foc'sle. That is, the port foc'sle should have been empty, since the mate had the watch out. But it happened that Nigger, coming from the wheel, seized an opportunity to slip into the deserted room for a quiet smoke-O. It was a liberty he was safe in taking, now that the bucko mate had reformed. My bunk in the starboard foc'sle was handy to the door connecting the two rooms, and when he burst terror-stricken through that door my unconscious head was right in front of him. I awakened abruptly to discover Nigger clawing my hair; aye, and when I looked up and saw his convulsed face and gleaming, bulging eyes, I knew at once he had seen Nils. He was too scared to talk; he could only stutter. "Gug-gug-gug-God!" But he pointed into the other foc'sle. Well, my bowels were water, as the saying is, but nevertheless I turned out promptly. I had to. Other men were waking up. Even Newman, in the bunk opposite, had his eyes open; and he was regarding me in a very curious way. So I couldn't hold back. I was bully of the crowd, and I would not let the crowd think I was afraid to face anything, even a ghost. Out I rolled, and into the doorway I stepped. There I stopped. God's truth, I was frozen to the spot with terror. For Nils' shadow lay athwart the floor of the port fo'sle, his moving shadow. It was this shadow coming in through the deck door that had frightened Nigger. He recognized the shadow as Nils because a tam-o'-shanter crowned the silhouette, and Nils had owned the only tam on board. I recognized that awful shadow, too. But I saw more than the shadow. I saw a white hand appear on the door jamb. A ghost-like hand, it was so white and small, a patch of plaid cloth, a little bare, white foot lifting above the sill, and then the tam and the white face beneath it. Aye, that white face with its great, staring eyes! So much I saw during the instant I stood in the doorway. Then Newman pushed past me and crossed the port foc'sle in a bound. He joined the white face in the other doorway, and disappeared with it into the outer darkness. Not a man save I--and Newman--had had nerve enough to turn out. Not a man save I--and Newman--had seen that white face. Even Nigger had not seen it; he had run out on deck through the starboard door. But my watch-mates were awake and eager. "Is it gone?" they chorused. "Yes," I answered gruffly. I rolled into my bunk, and turned my face to the wall. My wits were still spinning from shock, and I didn't want to answer questions. "Where did Big 'Un go?" came from Blackie's bunk. "How do I know? Stow the guff, the lot of you; I want to sleep." But I didn't sleep. I lay there thinking about the face I had seen. Nils' shadow, Nils' clothes--and the lady's face! The ghost that had scared all hands was the lady dressed in Nils' clothes! CHAPTER XVII The lady brought Newman bad news. As I afterwards learned, the steward overheard a conversation between the captain and the mate, and reported it to her, and she immediately risked her masquerade forward to carry the tale to Newman. During the morning Newman said to me, "Watch your step to-day, Jack. Trouble brewing." I watched my step, but not until the middle of the afternoon watch, when I went aft to relieve Newman at the wheel, did I see any indications of a coming breach of the afterguard's own peace. I sensed it then, before I saw it. Aye, as soon as I stepped upon the poop I smelled the old air. The very carriage of the officers said that the old times were back again. Newman gave me the course. I repeated it aloud, as is the custom. Then he whispered, hurriedly. "I think he intends to lock me up. Help Deakin keep peace for'ard. Remember, lad, my life--and hers--may depend upon it." He started forward. I wanted to call after him, run after him, ask him a score of questions and directions. But I was chained to my task. I dare not leave the wheel. Neither dare I call out. For Captain Swope had appeared on deck. He stood lounging against the companion hatch, staring aft, in our direction. Bucko Fitzgibbon stood by his side. They had suddenly appeared from below as the helm was changing hands. Aye, and as soon as I clapped eyes upon them I knew that at last hell was about to bubble over. They had thrown off the masks of meekness that so ill fitted them. Fitzgibbon was truculence personified. The expression in Swope's face when he looked at Newman was so terrible it might almost of itself make a lad stop breathing--an expression of gloating, pitiless, triumphant cruelty. Lynch, in charge of the deck, stood apart from the others, but he too was looking aft, not at me, but at Newman. There was something in his bearing also which declared plainly that some ugly thing was about to happen. Yet Newman was permitted to pass the companion hatch without interference. In fact, the pair turned their backs to him. I had, for an instant, the wild hope that Newman was mistaken in his fears. But only for an instant. Because, when Newman neared the forward end of the poop, the two tradesmen of the port watch suddenly popped up from the ladder and confronted him. Sails carried a sawed-off shotgun in the crook of his arm, and Chips had a pair of handcuffs dangling in his grasp. Newman stopped short. Who would not, with the muzzle of a shotgun carelessly pointed at his breast? No order to halt was needed. Suddenly I saw through the skipper's game. Aye, and the devilish craft of it horrified me, and wrung a cry of warning from my throat. For when Newman halted, Swope and Fitzgibbon turned towards him, and, while Swope continued to lounge against the hatch, the mate closed in behind Newman, and I saw a revolver in his hand. At the same time, the man with the shotgun said something to Newman, something that angered the big fellow, I could tell from the way his shoulders humped and his body tensed. Squarely behind him stood the mate. Oh, it was a clever murder Yankee Swope had planned, a safe murder! If Newman made any motion that could be interpreted as resisting arrest, and was shot in the back and killed--why, the officer who shot him was performing his duty, and an unruly sailor had received his deserts! That is the way the log would put it, and that is the way folks ashore would look at it. The second mate saw through the scheme, also. I am sure he had no previous knowledge of it, for an expression of surprise and consternation showed in his face, and he threw up his arm in a warning gesture. But it was I who warned Newman. I sang out lustily, "Look out--behind you!" Newman looked behind him. He threw back his head and laughed. It amused him to see the mate standing there so sheepishly, with his pistol in his hand. But I did not laugh, for Yankee Swope was staring at me, and there was fury in his face. God's truth, my hair stood up, and my toes crawled in their boots! Oh, I knew I had let myself in for it with that warning shout. But if Newman laughed, he did not venture to move. He, too, saw through the skipper's plan, and by his action promptly defeated it. He laughed, but he also elevated his hands above his head to show his unarmed condition and his pacific intent. Then, ignoring the mate, he spoke to Captain Swope. "Am I to consider myself under arrest, Captain?" Swope turned his face to the speaker, and glad I was to be free of his gaze. He was a furious man that moment; I could see him biting his lips, and clenching and unclenching his hands from excess of anger. Yet he answered Newman in a soft, even voice, and in the same half-bantering vein the big fellow had used. He was a strong man, was Swope; he could control his temper when he thought it necessary. "Yes, my man, you may consider yourself under arrest!" he said. "Then you will notice I offer no resistance," added Newman. "I am unarmed, and eager to obey all legal commands of my captain. Shall I lower my arms, and permit this gentleman to fasten the irons upon my wrists?" "No less eager to break into limbo, than to break out of it--_eh_?" commented the captain. "Yes, I grant you permission to be handcuffed--but not that way!--turn around, and place your hands together behind your back." Newman promptly complied with the directions, and the carpenter stepped forward and slipped on the cuffs. "Lock those irons tightly, Connolly," Swope directed the tradesman. "We have to deal with a desperate man, a tricky man, a damned jail-bird, Connolly. Squeeze those irons down upon his wrists. It doesn't matter if they pinch him." From where I stood I could not see, but I could imagine the steel rings biting cruelly into my friend's flesh. I felt a rage against the captain which overcame the sick fear of what he might do to me. But my rage was impotent; it could not help Newman. Mister Lynch tried to help him; and by his action indicated plainly what was his position in the matter of the arrest. He crossed the deck, and examined the prisoner's wrists. "These irons are too tight, and will torture the man," he said to the captain. "In my judgment, sir, it is not necessary to secure him in this fashion." "In my judgment it is," was Swope's bland response. Then he added, "And now, Mister Fitzgibbon, and you, Mister Lynch--if you will escort this mutinous scoundrel below to the cabin, I'll see that this affair is properly entered in the logbook, and then we will put him in a place where he cannot work further mischief. Connolly, you and your mate may go for'ard." A moment later I was alone on the poop. So quickly and quietly had the affair been managed that none of the watch on deck seemed to be aware of it. They were busied about the fore part of the ship at the various jobs Lynch had set them to. But the tradesmen of the watch were not in sight, and I had no doubt they were forewarned, and had joined the port watch tradesmen before the cabin, to guard against any possible trouble. I wondered what to do. Do something, I felt I must. If I sang out and informed the watch, the afterguard would reach me and squelch my voice long before my mates could lay aft. And indeed, laying aft in a body was what the crew must not do. That would be trouble, mutiny perhaps, and Newman's injunction was to keep the peace. I could do nothing to help my friend. But I felt I must do something. The cabin skylights were open, for it was tropic weather, and a murmur of voices ascended through the opening. I could not distinguish words, but I felt I must know what they were saying to Newman, or about him. So I took a chance. I slipped the wheel into the becket, and crept to the edge of the skylights. I could peek into only a narrow section of the saloon, for I did not dare shove my face into the opening. They would have seen me. But I could hear every voice, every word, and my ears gave me an accurate picture of the scene below. The first voice I heard was the voice of one of my foc'sle mates, and he was giving testimony against Newman. "'E was in the syl-locker mykin' hup to 'er," the speaker said, "an' tellin' as 'ow 'e'd lead the crew arft, and kill the hofficers, and tyke charge 'imself. That's wot 'e says, s' 'elp me!" "Ah, yes, he was making up to her, eh? And plotting mutiny? And my wife lent herself to such a scheme, did she?" This came in Swope's voice, soft, purring, the very tone an insult. "So my wife was in the sail-locker with this convict, and he was making up to her? Well, well!" "You know that creature is lying, Angus!" broke in another voice. Aye, and I very nearly gave myself away by craning my head to see the speaker. For this was the lady's voice, hot with anger and resentment and loathing. "You know very well why I met Roy in the sail-locker; you know very well we were planning to avoid bloodshed, not cause it." "What are you doing here?" exclaimed the captain, with a savage edge to his words. "This is a man's business, madam! Return to your room at once. Mister Fitzgibbon, take her to her room!" There was the sound of movement below. A chair scraped. Then Lynch's voice rang out sharply, "Stop that, Fitz!" The lady's voice said, "You need not touch me, I am going." A second later she spoke again, from a different point, and I judged her to be in the doorway of her stateroom. "You, at least, Mister Lynch, will bear witness that I deny these charges against myself and against--against him. They are lies. This spy is lying, my husband is lying. I know the truth. Do you hear me, Angus? I know the truth, and you cannot silence me with lies!" A door closed. "Now we will continue our examination," said Captain Swope. Just then I heard a faint slatting of canvas aloft. I sped for the wheel, and when, an instant later, the tradesman, Morton, poked his head above the level of the poop, and looked aft, I had the ship steady again. Morton's head disappeared, and after waiting a few moments to make sure he did not intend coming up on the poop, I returned to the skylight. My precious shipmate was talking again. "Hi 'eard 'im sy in the Knitting Swede's 'ow 'e was shipping in this ship just to ryse 'ell." "He said that, did he?" commented Captain Swope. "Now what have you to say to that, Newman?" For the first time I heard my friend's voice. His words were cool, contemptuous. Aye, they heartened me; they told me he was far from being defeated. "The rat lies, of course, as all of you know." "And you say that Newman has persistently endeavored to stir up the crew to acts of disobedience and violence?" continued the captain. "Yes, sir," was the answer. "'E would sy as 'ow there was a lot o' money in the lazaret, and if we would follow 'im arft 'e would give hit to us." "Now I know that is a lie," broke in Lynch. The second mate's voice was also contemptuous, but not cool; I could tell he was excited and angry. "I've watched this crowd, Captain; I know them like I know the back of my hand. This man, Newman, is the best sailor for'ard, and the strongest influence for peace. He, and the little Holy Joe the crimp gave us, prevented a riot the night the boy died. I know this fellow is lying, Captain!" "That will do, Mister Lynch," exclaimed Swope. "I did not ask your opinion in this matter. I would suggest, sir, that it is your watch on deck, and the ship may need your attention." "Very good, sir," retorted Lynch. "But I wish to tell you this, Captain--I know this man is innocent of these charges, and I will not be a party to your action against him." "Have a care, sir; I am captain of this vessel," cried Swope. "I recognize your authority, but that does not alter my stand in this case," said Lynch. "That will do, sir; go on deck!" was the captain's command. I was at the wheel, and the ship was on her course, when the second mate appeared. Oh, but he was in a towering rage! He stamped the deck like a full watch. He sang out to me, "Damn your eye, man, watch your wheel; the wake is like a snake's track!" I answered meekly, "Yes, sir," and held her nose true. He looked at me sharply, and I knew that he guessed what I had been up to. But he said nothing more; instead, he stormed for'ard, and worked out his rage among the stiffs. I overheard no more of the proceedings in the cabin, for I did not dare leave the wheel while Mister Lynch was on deck. But I was easier in my mind concerning Newman's fate, for what I had overheard convinced me the big fellow stood in no immediate danger of his life. That Swope meant to kill, I had not the least doubt--Newman, himself, said as much--but the time was not ripe for that act. So I occupied myself with thoughts about the traitor in the crew. At that moment Captain Swope was not the only man on board with murder in his heart! My fingers pressed the spokes as though they had hold of the Cockney's throat. I cursed myself for a stupid fool not to have known Cockney was the spy. I should have known. He was that sort, a bully and a boot-licker by turns. In the foc'sle he was more violent than any other in his denunciation of the buckos; on deck he cringed before them. He had always fawned upon Newman, but I suspected he hated my friend, because of what happened in the Knitting Swede's. But I had not suspected him of treachery to his foc'sle mates, because he was an old sailor and a good one, and there were plenty of stiffs on board more fitted, I thought, for spy's work. But Cockney was the man. I could not mistake his voice for another's. He was even now down below bearing false witness against my friend. I watched the deck closely, and pretty soon I saw Cockney go forward. So I knew that the farcical examination of Newman was ended, and that he was probably locked up with the rats in the lazaret. I promised myself I would have a heart-to-heart talk with Cockney just as soon as eight bells released me from the wheel. But when eight bells did go, I had something else to think about. Indeed, yes! My own skin, no less. All hands were mustered aft when the port watch came on deck. This was unusual, a break in routine, for it was not customary to call the crew aft at the close of the day watches. Moreover, the men were herded aft by the tradesmen, who were armed. Mister Lynch came up on the poop, and was obviously taking no part in the proceedings. Oh, it was the end of the easy times, and all hands knew it. When the men were collected by the main mast, the little parson was plucked out of the crowd and ushered into the cabin, where the skipper and the mate awaited him. Aye, that was the reason for the muster; Holy Joe must be punished for his defiance of Fitzgibbon. Five minutes after he entered the cabin, he was thrown out upon the deck, bruised, bleeding and unconscious, and his mates were told to pick him up and carry him forward. The Old Man and the mate appeared on the poop immediately afterwards. The instant I clapped eyes upon Swope, I knew that my turn was next. I saw it in his eyes, in his face and carriage. He looked and behaved just as he had that day he attacked Nils. He looked at me with a bright, cruel glare; he smiled, and licked his lips with his tongue. Oh, I was frightened; worse, I felt sick and weak. And I felt anger, too; aye, there was rising in me a wild and murderous rage, which, if I let it go, would, I knew, master both fear and caution. I kept repeating to myself during the few minutes of grace allowed me, "I must not lose my temper, I must not lose my temper." For if I did lose my temper, and defy my masters with fist and tongue, I knew I should be beaten until I was physically disabled, perhaps fatally disabled. And then who would hold the crew in check, who would labor to save Newman? The Cockney came aft to relieve the wheel. There was a smirk on his face, and a swagger in his walk, as he came along the lee side of the poop. I noticed him leer confidentially at the mate, as he passed that worthy. That Cockney thought himself a very clever fellow, no doubt, having been taken into the confidence of the ship's masters, having been assigned to do their secret dirty work. It was all I could do to keep from flying at his throat, when he came within reach of my arms. He murmured some hypocritical words as he stepped into my place. He was a good dissembler. "My heye, but poor 'Oly Joe caught it," says he. "They bloomin' near skinned 'im alive. They 'arve Newman in the lazaret. Blimme, Shreve, we got to do somethink abaht it!" The answer he got was a grunt. My mind and eyes were on the officers. I started forward, saying to myself, "I must not lose my temper." CHAPTER XVIII "Not so fast, my lad. I think I should like to look you over." These were the words with which Captain Swope arrested my progress. He had permitted me to almost reach the ladder leading to the main deck, before he hailed. The cat and the mouse; aye, that was it! He must play with his prey. Such teasing gave him pleasure. I stopped, of course, and turned, and faced him. Never did Captain Swope remind me more of a cat than that instant, when I met his glittering, pitiless eyes, and saw his smiling, red-lipped mouth, and listened to his soft, purring voice. I was his mouse, helpless, trapped. God's truth, I felt like one! He looked me over slowly, from head to foot. The mate walked around behind me, and I knew the attack would come from that direction. Swope knew that I knew it; that is why he held my eyes to the front with his deliberate and insulting inspection. The cat and the mouse--he would enjoy my nervousness. I think I disappointed him, for I tried hard to appear unconcerned. So, finally, he spoke again. "What is your name?" "Jack S-hreve, sir," I answered. "Shreve? Now, what signboard did you rob? Shreve is a good name, too good for a foc'sle rat. Did you come by it honestly? Did you have a father by that name? I dare say not. A gutter product would not know his father, _eh_, my lad?" There was no mistaking the deliberate intent of the insult, or its foul meaning. Despite my efforts, I felt the blood in my cheeks, and my fingers clenched of their own accord. I thought how white was Yankee Swope's neck, and how near, and how easily I could reach out and choke the vile words in his throat. I very nearly lost my temper--and with it, my life, and, I think, the other two lives, which I actually valued above my own. The thing which saved me was the glimpse of a cold, speculative gleam in my tormentor's eyes. It was the mere shadow of an expression, but it acted like cold water upon my hot thoughts. I divined, suddenly, that something more than sport was behind the captain's insults. He wanted me to blow up in a great rage, and attack him, or the mate. I suddenly knew this was so, and the danger of my losing my temper was past. I lowered my eyes, afraid their expression would betray my knowledge, and said submissively, "Yes, sir, I guess so, sir." "I was told you had a long tongue, but you do not seem very glib this minute," Captain Swope went on. "You've taken a reef in it, _eh_, Shreve?" I said, "Yes, sir." "But you forgot to take a reef in it awhile back, didn't you?" I knew he was referring to the shout that warned Newman. I did not venture a reply. "So now you have put your tongue in gaskets," he commented, after a pause. "Too bad you didn't do it before. A long tongue is a very bad habit, my lad, and I do not allow my hands to have bad habits. I correct them--so!" He struck me then, not a heavy, stunning blow, but a short-armed, slashing uppercut, which ripped the flesh of my cheek, and sent me stumbling backwards against the mate's body. I took that blow meekly, I took Fitzgibbon's harder blow meekly. I stood there and let the two of them pummel me, and knock me down and kick me, and I made no show of resistance. I buried my head in my arms, and drew up my knees, and let them work their will on me. Oh, it was a cruel dressing down they gave me! My face became raw meat, my body a mass of shooting pains. I took it meekly. I tried to guard my vitals, and my addled, star-riddled wits clung to the one idea--"I must not lose my temper!" I took my medicine. I did not lift a hand against them. I grovelled on the deck like a cur, and did not fight back. It was hard to behave like that. It was the hardest thing I had ever done--keeping my temper, and taking that beating without show of resistance. I was a fighting animal; never before in my life had I tamely turned the other cheek. Long afterwards I came to realize that those few moments, during which I lay on the deck and felt their boots thud into my flesh, were educative moments of vital importance in my growth into manhood. I was learning self-control; it was being literally kicked into me. It was a lesson I needed, no doubt--but, oh, it was a bitter, bitter lesson. They gave over their efforts, finally. I had not much wit left in me, but I heard the captain's voice, faintly, as though he were at a distance, instead of bending over me. "There's no fight in this rat," he said. "Might as well boot him off the poop, Mister, and let him crawl into his hole. He's not dangerous, and the ship needs him as beef." No sooner said than done. I had obligingly saved them the trouble of booting me very far, for I had been inching myself forward ever since the onslaught. When the captain spoke, I was almost at the head of the ladder to the main deck--an instant after he spoke, I was lying on the main deck at the foot of the poop ladder, and all the stars in the universe were dancing before my eyes. I got dizzily to my hands and knees, and then to my feet, and staggered forward. Captain Swope's soft voice followed me. "Next time reef your tongue before you open your mouth!" he called. I made my way into the foc'sle, and my watchmates grabbed me, and swabbed and kneaded my hurts, and swore their sympathy. My injuries were not very severe--some nasty gashes about the head and face, and innumerable bruises upon the body. Fortunately I was in no way disabled. My bones were intact. I was in far better case, they told me, than poor Holy Joe. He was lying in his bunk unconscious, that very moment; he had a broken arm, and most of his teeth were gone. I saw at once that the men were quite wild with rage and anxiety. From the sounds that came in the foc'sle door, I knew that the mate was hazing his men. Aye, he was going after them in the good old way, quite as if there had been no peaceful interlude. I did not have to see the mates' men to know their temper; I could tell from the temper of my own watch how the other watch felt. It was a terrific shock to most of them, that sudden return of brutality. Aye, just in that I saw the devilish cunning of Captain Swope. He knew what the effect would be upon the minds of the men of slackening his hell-ship discipline, and then, when the habit of passive endurance was weakened, suddenly tightening the reins. He knew that then the bit would be well nigh unendurable. Oh, Swope had calculated shrewdly; he foresaw the effect not only of an outburst of promiscuous brutality, but of the arrest of Newman, and the beating up of Holy Joe. I could see the effect at a glance. The stiffs were panicky. These valorous stiffs were glowering, really dangerous at last. The squareheads were hysterical with rage. The squareheads knew why Holy Joe had suffered--because of them, because of Nils. Because of Newman, too, but they did not guess that. Then, the knowledge that Newman was trapped was a heavy blow to sailors and stiffs alike. They had all, consciously or unconsciously, depended upon Newman's sane strength. With him taken from them they felt--every man-jack--that their backs were to the wall. Just as soon as the blood was washed out of my eyes, and I could see my mates' faces, just as quickly as the ringing in my ears subsided, and I could hear their voices, I knew that the moment was past when the peace could be kept in that foc'sle. Perhaps Newman could have composed the crowd, but I doubt it. The captain had succeeded in driving them too far and too hard, in frightening them too much. He had won, I thought despairingly; he would get his mutiny. For it was now the elemental instinct of self-preservation that swayed the men and determined their actions. Oh, there was plenty of sympathy for me, and for Holy Joe and Newman; there was rage on our account; but underlying the sympathy and rage was a very terrible fear. It was a fear of death, a fear that each man felt for himself. Self-preservation, that's it! My shipmates, sailors and stiffs, had reached a point where they were afraid not to take some violent and illegal action against the men in command of the ship. Their long misuse, the wrongs and indignities each man had suffered, the fate of Nils, the events of the afternoon, had all culminated in the belief these men now had--good men and bad men both, remember!--that they must revolt, that they must kill the men aft before the men aft killed them! There were other factors at work, of course, greed for gold and lust of revenge, but this simple, primal fear for their own skins was the determining factor in the situation. "By God, I never go on deck but I'm scared o' my life!" swore one of the stiffs, named Green. And he voiced the common feeling. I was, of course, much concerned for the parson. I went into the port foc'sle to look at him--and he looked bad, lying there unconscious. The squareheads had washed his face, but had not ventured to touch his arm. His face was in a shocking state, and I feared his body might be broken, as was Nils' body. He was much worse off than I; for he had not my iron muscles, to withstand hard knocks, nor my skill in rough-and-tumble fighting, which had enabled me to protect the vital parts of my body. "We'll have to get him aft, where the lady can attend to him--or else get her for'ard," I declared. "No chance," answered Boston. "If we take him aft dey ban kill him," asserted one of the squareheads. "She can't come for'ard; she's locked in her room," said another. "How do you know that?" I cried. "Cockney says so. He was there when the skipper locked her in," said Boston. For an instant I forgot Holy Joe, and his evil plight. "What yarn did that Cockney bring for'ard with him?" I demanded. "Why, he was there when they got the Big 'Un," answered Blackie. "He was helpin' the steward break out a cask o' beef from the lazaret, when they brought Big 'Un into the cabin, cuffed up, and with the drop on him. He says the hen squawked, and the Old Man shut her in her room. Then they kicked him out on deck, so he wouldn't see too much o' what was goin' on. He says they put the Big 'Un down in the lazaret, and they're goin' to croak him sure, and if we got any guts we'll go aft tonight and turn him loose. That's what Cockney says." Well, I let myself go, verbally. I said things about that Cockney, and I was only sorry Cockney was not there to hear them. I knew most of the hard words of three languages, and I used them all. Oh, it was a relief to give even verbal release to the ocean of hate and rage in my soul! I told the crowd what I thought of Cockney. Then I told them why. I told them what had really happened in the cabin, what Cockney really was. They believed me. They knew me; they knew I would not lie in such a case, they could not help but sense the sincerity of my loathing. They knew Cockney, also. They knew he was the sort to spy and perjure--a good many of them were that sort themselves!--and as soon as I paused for breath, this man and that began to recall certain suspicious acts of Cockney he had noticed. Aye, they believed me, and the curses heaped on Cockney's head were awful to the ear. They had good reason to curse. My disclosure gave them a fresh fear. Consternation was in their faces and voices, especially in the faces and voices of the stiffs. I knew very well what frightened them. Cockney had been most violent and outspoken among those advocating mutiny, far more outspoken than the cautious Blackie or Boston, and the disaffected had naturally confided in him. I knew that every man in the crew who had expressed a willingness to revolt was known by name to Cockney (and without doubt to Yankee Swope) and these men now could not escape the feeling that they were marked men. If anything had been needed to settle the conviction of the foc'sle that mutiny was necessary, this unmasking of Cockney supplied the need. I felt this, rather than thought it out. It was in the air, so to speak. At the moment, I was too much concerned for the little parson to reason coolly. Oh, I reasoned about it a little while later, not coolly perhaps, but certainly quickly, and leaped helter-skelter to a momentous decision. But just then I thought about Holy Joe. I wanted to get his arm set, and his body examined. I, myself, was not competent to do either. The squarehead had spoken truth--it would be madness to carry the man aft for treatment; and I judged Cockney had spoken truly, too, when he said the lady was locked up. That agreed with what I, myself, had heard, I appealed to the crowd. "We've got to get Holy Joe fixed up. Any of you know anything about bone setting? Who'll lend a hand?" To my surprise, Boston volunteered. "I worked in a hospital once," he said. He set to work immediately in an efficient, businesslike manner. I was astonished. His fingers were as deft--though not as gentle--as Newman's. I thought, as I tore a blanket into strips, under his direction, how characteristic it was of the fellow to let a hurt shipmate lie unattended when he possessed the skill to help him. Aye, that was the sort of scut Boston was! "A clean break; no trick to set it," he announced, after examining the arm. Nor was it. We cut up a bunkboard for splints, used the blanket for bandages, and triced the injured member in short order. Boston was deft, but he didn't try to spare his patient any pain; when he snapped the ends of the bone together, Holy Joe came out of his swoon with a cry of agony. He half raised himself, and looked at us. "Let there be no trouble, boys--for God's sake, no fighting!" he said. Then he fainted away again. We undressed him, and Boston pronounced his ribs sound. Then we carried him into the starboard foc'sle, and placed him in my bunk, which had a comfortable mattress. "Now you see what he got?" said Boston, wiping his hands on his greasy pants. "And you see what you got. And you know what happened to Big 'Un. Well, how about it, Shreve? Do you stand with us?" "With the crowd, sink or swim--that's what we want to know?" added Blackie. I sized them up. Sailors and stiffs, they stood shoulder to shoulder. There was no longer a division in that crowd. And they looked to me to lead them. I was thinking, desperately trying to discover a course that would help Newman. So I tried to put the crowd off. "You heard what Holy Joe said?" I asked. "He's balmy--and besides what d'ye think a Holy Joe would say?" retorted Boston. "Now, here's the lay, Shreve--we got to put a stop to this sort o' work." He pointed to the bunk that held Holy Joe. "That means we got to take charge of this hooker," he went on. "All hands are agreed to it. But where do you stand--with us, or against us?" I made my plea for peace, knowing beforehand it was useless. "How about Newman?" I said. "You know as well as I that the skipper is out to kill him. And I have Newman's word for it that the Old Man wants to kill the lady, too. He's just waiting for an excuse. That's why he's dressing us down this way, and hazing us raw--so we'll mutiny, and give him the excuse he needs. Can't you see that?" "He'll croak 'em anyway--and maybe we can save them," retorted Boston. "No, Lynch won't allow it," said I. "He's for Newman and the lady. The Old Man will not dare do it unless we give him the chance by attacking the cabin, because Lynch would testify against him at the Inquiry. The Old Man has logged Newman as a mutineer, and our going aft would make him out one. As it is, Lynch is standing up for him--and for us." But this was too much for the crowd to swallow. Too many of them had felt the weight of the second mate's fist. "Lynch for us? By God, when I have my knife in his gullet--then he'll be for us!" swore Blackie, and the chorus of approval which followed this statement showed what the rest thought. "The last thing Newman said to me, when I relieved him," I went on, "was a command to prevent this trouble. He said his life, and hers, depended on our keeping quiet." "And how about us, how about our lives?" demanded Boston. "That damned murderer aft is out to croak us, too, ain't he--all of us he can spare? Look what he's done already! No, by God, we're going to put a stop to it--and we want to know if you are with us?" I tried sarcasm. "I suppose you'll end it by walking aft and letting them empty their shotguns into you! I suppose you'll chase them overboard, guns and all, with your cute little knives, and your belaying-pins! Good Lor', men, have you gone crazy? If I hadn't overheard Cockney, I suppose he'd have led you aft, and got half of you filled with shot. As it is, they know you are talking mutiny, and they will be expecting you. You can't surprise them--and what can you do against their guns?" Blackie cursed Cockney in a way to curdle the blood. Then he made plain the fear that was driving the men. "They know we are talking mutiny--yes, and what's more, they know _who's_ talking mutiny." "We got to do it now, guns or no guns--ain't that right, mates?" said the man, Green. "And the money, too!" added Blackie, artfully. "Enough of it aft there to set us all up for gents." Boston plucked me by the sleeve. "Me and Jack are goin' to have a few words private," says he to the rest. "He's with us--no fear--a feller like Jack Shreve stands by his mates. Come on, Jack." I went with him willingly. I was anxious to hear what he had to say "private." I was even more anxious to get away from the crowd for a few moments, and think out some scheme whereby I could avert the impending catastrophe. Boston led me up on the foc'sle head, and we sat down upon an anchor stock. "We ain't such fools as you think, Blackie and me," he commenced abruptly. "We ain't goin' to face guns with knives--not us. But guns to guns--well, that's different now, ain't it?" "What do you mean?" I demanded. "Have you got a gun?" In answer, he lifted my hand and placed it over his dungaree jacket, I felt something hard, of irregular shape, beneath the thin cloth, the outline of a revolver. "It ain't the only one," he assured me. "Two brace we came on board with--and we weren't drunk, you bet. We hid them safe before them fellers aft went through the dunnage. And Cockney didn't find out about them, either. They don't know aft that we're heeled. The rest o' the gang ain't acquainted with the fact yet, either. We'll let them know when the time comes." He paused, and looked at me inquiringly. "Well?" I asked. "Well!" he echoed. "Well, just this--a gang that has guts enough to face shotguns with sheath-knives is a pretty tough gang, ain't it? And it'll be a lot tougher when it finds out it has four guns of its own, and plenty o' shells. And it kind of evens up the chances, doesn't it?" I was thinking fast. All chance to keep the peace was gone, I realized. Unless---- "We ain't goin' to let them fellers slaughter us; don't you worry none about that," went on Boston. "This ain't the first gun-play me and Blackie has took part in, you bet! He's a dead shot, and I'm a good one. We got it all planned out, Blackie and me. We never intended going aft like the Cockney wanted us to. We're goin' to lay low, behind cover, and pick 'em off--the mates, and old Swope, too, if he shows his blasted head. Then, where will them sailmakers and carpenters be, with their boss gone? They'll be rattled, they'll be up Battle Creek, that's where they'll be. We can rush 'em then. And if a few of our fellers swaller lead--why, there'll be the fewer to share the swag." "Newman--" I began. "We'll do the best we can for Big 'Un," says Boston. "We need him. We'll try and get the Old Man first pop--and if we have decent luck plunkin' the mates, it'll be over so quick nobody can hurt Big 'Un." I thought, and was silent. "What's holdin' you back?" demanded Boston. "I know you ain't afraid. Look here, Shreve, you know you can't hold the crowd back. You and Blackie and me could all be against it, and still they'd go aft. They're goin' to get Swope before Swope gets more o' them. And if it's Big 'Un you're worryin' about--why, we got to do this to save him. Look here--let me give you a tip, if the Big 'Un hasn't: When Big 'Un come on board this ship he found out somethin' from the skipper's Moll that he wanted to find out, and now, if he gets ashore alive with what he found out, there'll be a sheriff's necktie party for Yankee Swope. That's what all this bloody business has been about. You can lay your last cent that Swope will get Big 'Un, if we don't get Swope." "Boston, give me that gun," I said. He took a look at my face, and smiled, satisfied. He drew the weapon from under his clothes, a long-barreled, heavy caliber service Colt's, and passed it to me. I thrust it out of sight, beneath my own waist-band. "Now, I'm boss," I said. "I'll give the word." His smile widened. This was what he wanted, as I well knew. Boston and Blackie could plan and instigate. But they could not lead that crowd. The sailors despised them, the stiffs hated and feared them second only to the afterguard. They needed me as leader. They flattered themselves, I dare say, that they could control me--or extinguish me when the time came. For my part, I had made my decision. It was a desperate, a terrible decision. It was necessary that I pretend to fall in with Boston's plans if I were to execute my decision. "When it gets dark, I am going aft--alone," I told him. "You and Blackie keep the crowd quiet, and forward of the house, until I return." "What you goin' to do?" he asked. "Make sure that Newman will be safe when we make the attack," I explained. "We must make sure of that--he's our navigator." "That's so," he agreed. "But how'll you do it?" "I'll kill Captain Swope," I said. CHAPTER XIX I was in earnest. I meant to do the murder. Aye, murder is what the law of man would call it, and murder is the right term. I planned the deed, not in cold blood perhaps, but certainly with coolness and foresight. I intended to creep aft in the night and shoot down the captain. But you must understand my motive before you judge. More than that, you must bear in mind my environment, my character and its background, and the dilemma which faced me. I intended to become an assassin--but not for hate, or greed, or, indeed, any personal satisfaction or gain. I was, remember, a nineteen-year-old barbarian, The impressionable, formative years of my youth had been spent in deepwater foc'sles, among men who obeyed but one law--fear. The watch, the gang, was my social unit; loyalty to a shipmate was the one virtue I thoroughly understood and respected. And it was loyalty to Newman that determined me to kill. Newman was my friend--aye, more than that, he was in my youthful eyes a demi-god, a man to revere and worship above all others. He was prisoner, helpless. The crew were bent on mutiny; I could not stop them. The mutiny was planned and expected by the captain; and its outbreak would be the needed excuse for the slaying of Newman, and, Newman said, of the lady. How could I save Newman? That was my problem. How indeed? The evil choice was inevitably mine; and I considered it the lesser evil. If I killed Swope, Newman would be safe. Perhaps the mutiny would collapse, would never come off. This last was something Boston and Blackie, blinded by their greed, quite overlooked. But I knew it was hate and fear of Swope, rather than greed, that impelled the squareheads to revolt. If Swope were killed, they might not go on with it, and what the sailors decided, the stiffs must agree to. And in any case, Newman would be safe. I did not approach my task in a spirit of revulsion and horror. Indeed, no. Why should I have felt thus? In my experience I had not yet gathered the idea that human life was sacred. Certainly, my experience in the _Golden Bough_ had not taught me that. I confess, the job I planned was distasteful, extremely so--but, I thought, necessary. I planned Yankee Swope's murder in spite of self-sacrifice. Aye, truly I did! I dare say few acts in my life have had a finer, cleaner, less selfish motive. I did not expect to escape after firing the shot. I expected the mates or the tradesmen would kill me. True, I thought of hiding on the dark deck, and picking off the captain when he appeared on the poop. That is what Boston and Blackie expected me to do. But I dismissed this thought without serious consideration. It was uncertain, and I meant to make sure of the brute. Besides, it was, I felt, cowardly, and I would not be a coward. I intended to get into the cabin and shoot Swope in his own arm-chair, so to speak. Afterwards--well, they could do what they pleased with me. My friend would be safe. So I lived through a few very exalted hours before the first night watch came. Unhappy? Not I. In moments I touched the skies in exaltation. For I was the sacrifice. I was the center of the drama. I was Fate. I was a romantic-minded young ass, and the situation flattered my generous conceit. I was tossing away my life, you see, with a grand gesture, to help my friend. I was dying for my friend's sake. My imagination gave my death nobility. I imagined Newman and the lady remembering me sadly all their lives long, thinking of me always as their saviour. I imagined my name on sailors' lips, in ships not yet launched; they would talk of me, of Jack Shreve, the lad who killed Yankee Swope so his shipmate might live. My resolution did not weaken; rather, it grew firmer with the passage of the hours. Of course, I did not take the crew into my confidence (there might be, I thought, another Cockney among them), but I laid down the law to Boston and Blackie, and they promised faithfully to obey my injunctions. They promised they would keep the men in check until I had completed my task. They promised also to mislead the spy, and see that no man laid violent hands upon him. This last I considered important. The crowd was eager for vengeance upon Cockney. He had committed the unpardonable sin, he had betrayed his mates. Blackie wanted to slit his throat, and drop him over the side; and the men voted an emphatic aye to the suggestion. Sentence would have been executed as soon as Cockney came forward from the wheel had I not interposed my veto and given my reasons. It was not solicitude for the spy's life that influenced me. I, too, considered he had forfeited his right to life by his act. But I pointed out that offering immediate violence to Cockney might alarm the afterguard, and change their plan of action; moreover, we might use the spy to carry false tales of our intentions to the enemy. So when Cockney breezed into the foc'sle, at four bells, his reception in no way aroused his suspicions. Everything seemed going his way. He sympathized volubly with me, and would have awakened Holy Joe (who had dropped into a healing sleep, after regaining consciousness) to sympathize with him, had I permitted. Aye, he was a good dissembler, was Cockney--but we matched him. His mouth dripped curses on Swope and his minions, he exhorted us to "'arve guts" and rush the poop at muster time. He was willing to risk his own skin by leading the rush. "Wot did we think abaht it?" Boston told him we thought early evening a bad time for the adventure. We were going to wait until morning, until the beginning of the "gravvy-eye" watch, just before dawn. That was the hour in which to strike. Men slept soundest just before dawn; those who were awake were less alert. The mutiny was timed for four A. M. "Hi cawn't 'ardly wyte that long, Hi'm that eager to get my knife 'twixt that myte's bleedin' ribs," said Cockney. The Nigger had come in during the discussion. He seated himself, and recommenced his favorite task of stropping his knife upon a whetstone. At the Cockney's last words he lifted his head. "Don' yoh touch de mate," he said to Cockney. "Dat man's mah meat, yes, suh, mah meat!" Cockney disputed this. He raved, and swore, and even threatened Nigger. Aye, he made a fine bluster. "'E wasn't goin' to give hup 'is chawnce at the bleedin' myte, not 'im! 'E 'ad a score to settle with that blighter, so 'e 'ad. The Nigger could 'arve the bloomin' second myte, that's wot." Nigger was so incensed he got up and left the foc'sle, leaving the last word to the spy. Nigger had brooded so much over his wrongs he was a bit cracked; he took no part in the councils of the crew, and did not know, I am sure, that Cockney had been unmasked as a traitor. Else he would never have acted as he later did. It came down night. It was a good night for my purpose, dark and shadowless, with a mere sliver of a new moon in the sky. I had little difficulty in gaining entrance to the cabin. After the eight o'clock muster, when my watch was sent below, I slipped around the corner of the roundhouse, where the tradesmen lived (it was on the maindeck, between the mainmast and the after-hatch) and crouched there in the darkness while my mates trooped forward. This roundhouse (which was really square, of course, like most roundhouses on board ship) was very plentifully supplied with ports. Designedly so, no doubt, for it was the cabin's outpost. There were two portholes in its forward wall, commanding the foredeck, and three portholes in either of the side walls. The door to the house was in the after wall. It was built like a fortress, and used as one. As I lay there on the deck, pressed against the forward wall, I saw the muzzles of shotguns sticking out of the portholes above my head. There was no light showing in the roundhouse, but the tradesmen were in there just the same. Aye, and prepared and alert. They were covering the deck with guns; and I knew they would continue to cover the deck throughout that night. Oh, Swope was canny, as canny as he was cruel. He would provoke mutiny, but he would run no chance of losing his ship or his life. He was prepared. What could a few revolvers do against these entrenched men? My shipmates' revolt could have but one end--mass murder and defeat! So I thought, as I lay there on the deck, watching my chance to slip aft. Swope's plan, Swope's mutiny, I thought. Swope was the soul of the whole vile business. His plan--and I was going to spoil it! I was going to put a bullet in his black heart. I might have picked him off at that very moment, if I aimed carefully. For, as my mates' footsteps died away forward, I edged around the corner of the roundhouse, and saw the enemy standing on the poop. The three of them were there, both mates, with the skipper standing between them. I picked him out of the group easily, even in the darkness, for he was of much slighter build than either of his officers, and besides I heard his voice. "The rats have discovered some courage--but they'll lose it soon enough, when they face our reception," I heard him say. "But--no nodding to-night, Misters! Keep your eyes and ears open!" Fitzgibbon mumbled something. The captain laughed his soft, tinkling laugh. "I'm going down to take a look at him now," he said, and the three of them moved aft, out of sight. Aye, I might have picked him off then. But I didn't even entertain the thought. It was no part of my plan to slay from concealment. I was the hero, the avenger, the saviour! I meant to face him in his own lighted cabin. The door of the roundhouse was closed, so I did not fear the inmates would observe me entering the cabin. The break of the poop seemed clear of life. I scuttled on my hands and knees until I was past the booby-hatch; then I arose to my feet and flitted noiselessly to the cabin door. I opened it just wide enough to admit my body, and stepped into the lighted cabin alleyway. My bare feet made no noise as I crept toward the saloon. This was the first time I had set foot within the sacred precincts of the quarterdeck. From the gossip of those who had been aft to sick-call, or to break out stores, I had some notion of the lay of the land, but not a very clear one. There were three doors opening upon the alley-way; the one on the port side was the inner door of the sail-locker, the two on the starboard side let into the mates' rooms. That much I knew. I also knew that I need not fear these doors, since both mates were on deck. But at the end of the alleyway was the saloon, the great common room of the cabin. I paused uncertainly upon the threshold; I didn't know which way to turn for concealment, and I had to get out of the alleyway quickly, for any moment a tradesman might come in behind me. There were several doors on each side of the saloon. To starboard, I knew, lay the captain's quarters, and, from the sounds, the pantry. To port, I knew, lay the lady's quarters, and the steward's room. But which door was which, I did not know. I decided I had best duck into the captain's room. But before I could act upon this decision the forward door on the port side slowly opened, and Wong, the steward, stepped out. I shrank back into the alleyway as the door opened, and the Chinaman did not glance in my direction. His whole attention was riveted upon the companion stairs; Swope's voice sounded up there in the entrance to the hatch. Wong softly closed the door behind him, and ran on tiptoe across the saloon, disappearing into the pantry. I did not hesitate an instant. Wong had not locked the door behind him, and his room would be handy enough for my purpose. From it I could command the interior of the big room, and step forth when the moment arrived. I crossed the corner of the saloon in a bound, and turned the doorknob as silently as had Wong. I opened the door and stepped in backwards. My eyes assured me I was unseen. I closed the door, all save a crack, through which I meant to watch for the coming of my victim. I heard a gasp behind me. I shut the door tight and wheeled about--and found myself staring into the wide-open eyes of the lady. CHAPTER XX She was on her knees, at the other end of the room. Aye, and it was a room, a spacious cabin, not a cubbyhole berth I had blundered into; the lady's own quarters, no less. There was a lamp burning in gimbals, and its light disclosed to my first startled glance that it was a woman's room. Aye, to my foc'sle-bred senses the quarters were palatial. The lady crouched on her knees, with her skirts spread wide, and her hands hidden behind her back. When first her eyes met mine, I saw she was fear-stricken. But immediately she recognized me the fear gave way to relief. "Oh, I thought it was--" she began. Then she saw the revolver in my hand, and the fear leaped into her eyes again. Aye, fear, and comprehension. "That--oh, Boy, what do you mean to do?" I had been gaping, open-mouthed, too surprised to utter a sound. But her swift recognition, and her words, brought me to myself. Also, just then we heard Captain Swope's voice. He was in the saloon, calling out an order to the steward. We listened with strained attention, both of us. He told the steward to open the lazaret hatch, and be sharp about it. I jerked my thumb over my shoulder, and nodded significantly to the lady. "Don't be afraid, ma'am," I whispered. "He isn't going to hurt Newman. He isn't going to hurt anyone--not any more." Oh, the dread that showed in her face when we heard Swope's voice! She brought her hands into view, when I spoke. Something she had been holding behind her back dropped on the deck with a metallic clink, and she pressed her hands against her bosom. "You--you mean--" she began. I nodded again. I really thought I was reassuring her, lifting a load of care from her heart. "I'm going out there and get him. Don't be afraid, ma'am. I won't make a miss of it. He isn't going to hurt Newman, or you, or anyone, after I've finished. And ma'am, please--will you try and slip for'ard and tell the men not to mutiny. They'll listen to you, especially when you tell them the Old Man is dead. They don't want to mutiny, ma'am--anyway, the squareheads don't--but they're afraid not to. If you tell them I've killed him, and appeal to them, the sailors will keep quiet, I know; and they'll make the stiffs keep quiet, too. It will save some lives, ma'am--for the crowd is coming aft to-night, like the Old Man plans, and the tradesmen are in the roundhouse, with guns, waiting for them." There was anguish in her whispered reply. "Coming aft? No, no, they must not! It would mean--his death----" She stopped. We listened. We heard Swope again, out in the saloon. He was damning Wong for a sluggard, and demanding a lighted lantern that instant or sooner, or "I'll take a strip off your yellow hide, you heathen!" "No, not Newman's death," I answered the lady. I turned, and laid my hand upon the door knob. My weapon was ready. This was the moment I must act. Before I could open the door, I felt the lady's cool fingers upon my wrist. "No, no, not that! Not murder!" she exclaimed. "Oh, Boy, you would not take life--you would not do that!" I turned and faced her, astonished. Her eyes were but a few inches distant from mine, now, and to my amazement I read in their expression not approbation but startled horror. And I could not mistake the meaning in her voice. She disapproved of my killing Captain Swope. I was as shocked as she. Here I had been happy in the consciousness I was playing the hero, I had believed myself cutting a very pretty figure indeed in the lady's eyes, and, instead--well, my bubble was pricked. As I looked into the lady's eyes, I could feel my grand dimensions dwindling in my own eyes. More than that, I began to feel ashamed. Just why that look in her eyes should shame me, I didn't know. My education had not progressed to the self-analytic stage. But shame me it did. I felt mean, vile. I felt, without consciously reasoning about it, that murdering Yankee Swope would, perhaps, be not such a noble deed after all. I confronted something that was superior to the barbarous moral code of my brutal world. I discovered it in the lady's wide open eyes. It vanquished me. It took from me the feeling I was doing right. But I could not surrender thus tamely. Indeed, the need for the deed remained as urgent. "But, ma'am, you know I must!" I said. "You know--he will kill him!" Her little fingers were plucking at mine, which were stubbornly gripped about the revolver's stock. "I know you must not!" she answered. "You must not take human life!" It was a commandment she uttered, and I took it as such. Especially, when she added, "Do you think he would kill in that fashion?" That finished me. Aye, she knew how to beat down my defense; her woman's insight had supplied her with an invincible argument. I averted my eyes from hers, and hung my head; I allowed her to take the revolver from my grasp. For I knew the answer to her question. "He" would not creep into the cabin and shoot Captain Swope. She meant Newman, and I knew that Newman would scorn to do the thing I planned to do. Kill Swope in fair fight, with chances equal? Newman might do that. But shoot him down like a mad dog, when he was unprepared and perhaps unarmed--no, Newman would not do that. Nor would any decent man. I passed another milestone in my evolution into manhood, as I stood there, hangdog and ashamed. I added another "don't" to my list. She brushed back the hair from my forehead. Oh, there was magic in her fingers. That gentle stroke restored my pride, my self-respect. It was a gesture of understanding. I felt now as I felt the first time I saw the lady, like a little boy before a wise and merciful mother. I knew the lady understood. She knew my heart was clean, my motive good. She held up the weapon she had taken from me. "This--is not the way," she said. "It is never the way. You must not!" "I must not," I echoed. "Yes, ma'am; I won't do it now. But--what--how----" I floundered and stopped. "What--how," aye, that was it. If I did not kill Captain Swope what would happen to Newman? That was the question that hammered against my mind, that sent a wave of sick fear through me. If I did not kill Swope--then Newman was lost. "But--I must do something," I added, miserably. "You know what will happen when the hands come aft. It will be the skipper's excuse; Newman told me it would. I can't see him butchered without doing something to prevent it. Why, ma'am, Newman is my friend!" "He is my life," said she. Her voice was so low I barely caught the words. "But I would not buy his life with murder; it would lower him to their level." She swayed, and clutched at my shoulder; I thought she was falling, and gripped her arm to steady her. But she was not the swooning kind. Not the lady. She recovered herself instantly. She clutched my lapels, and laid down the law to me. "There must be no fighting. The men must not come aft," said she. "If they do, it will ruin everything. Boy, you must stop them. Deakin will help you. You must hold them back." I shook my head. "It's too late," I informed her. "They will not listen to the parson, or me; they are too afraid." "But they must be stopped!" she cried. "Only one man can stop them--and that's Newman, himself," I replied. "What time have they set?" she asked, quickly. "Next eight bells," I told her. "We gave the skipper's spy to understand it was timed for four o'clock in the morning; but the lads really mean to make the rush at midnight." "Then we have time," was her verdict. "And you must help me." She pointed to the deck. My eyes followed her gesture, and for the first time I examined the floor of the room. The first thing my gaze encountered was a large carpenter's auger, or brace and bit; the next thing I saw, was a pattern of holes in the floor. There were two rows of them, parallel, each about eighteen inches long, and the same distance apart. The holes overlapped each other, and made a continuous cut in the deck. The lady thrust out her hands, palms up, for my inspection. Upon each palm was a great red blister. "I was nearly despairing," said she, "I could longer press down hard enough. But now----" She did not need to explain. The sight of the holes and the auger told me enough to set me to work instantly. Aye, I grabbed up the tool and turned to with a song in my heart and the strength of Hercules in my arms. There was after all a chance to save my friend, and it depended in part upon my haste and strength. A chance to save him without murder. The lady locked the door, and came and sat down beside me. While I worked she explained the plot behind the task. She talked eagerly, without reserve; it helped her, eased her mind, I think, to unload into my ears. I was boring my way to Newman. My task was to connect the two rows of holes already bored through the deck with two other rows; when I was finished there would be an opening in the deck some eighteen inches square. A manhole to the lazaret below, where lay Newman. But this was not all. She told me there was a scheme to free her and him completely from the captain and the ship. Well, I had guessed something like that was in the wind; but I did not tell her so. She said that Mister Lynch was in the plot; aye, this hard bucko, this "square-shooter," as I had heard him called, was the instigator and prime mover in the affair. One of the tradesmen was also friendly, and had brought the lady the tool I was using to cut through the deck. Wong, the steward, who was the lady's devoted slave, played a very important part. The plot was this. We were to get Newman out of the lazaret (she always called him "Roy" when she spoke of him or to him; and when she mentioned Swope, it was always with a little hesitating catch in her voice) through this hole we were making. She had the key that would release him from irons. Wong had stolen it from the skipper's desk. When he was out of the lazaret, the situation would be managed by Mister Lynch. The ship's longboat, in the port skids, was ready for the water. They planned, said the lady, to launch this boat at night, in the second mate's watch, and she and Newman were to sail away together. For it was no haphazard plan born of desperation after Newman's arrest. Newman knew all about it. It had kept him occupied this past week; it was responsible in large measure for the mysterious happenings of the past week, for Newman's absences, and for the lady's masquerade in Nils' clothes. She had access to Nils' chest through Wong, who had charge of it, and she first dressed up in Nils' clothes so that she might, as she thought, move about at night on deck unobserved. When she was observed, and taken for a ghost, both Newman and Lynch told her to continue the masquerade; it helped their business with the longboat, because it kept spying eyes away from that part of the ship. They had been provisioning and preparing this boat for a week, working thus in the night, and by stealth. Another day or two, and they would have been away. But the captain's blow this afternoon had jeopardized the entire scheme. Indeed, it was on the verge of utter ruin. For Newman was in the black hole in irons, and the crew were preparing to mutiny. It was this last, the threatened uprising, that terrified the lady. It would finally ruin their chances of escape, she told me. At all hazards, we must get Newman out of the lazaret before the sailors' attack occurred. We must get him forward, she said, so that he might squelch the mutiny before it began. Oh, Newman could tame Boston and Blackie, he could tame the stiffs and compose the squareheads; she had no doubt he could do all that, and instantly. I was not so sure. I didn't think that anything or anybody could stop the crew--unless it was killing Swope, which she forbade. But I didn't say so. And in any event, the immediate thing to do was to release Newman. It would at least give him a fighting chance. She urged haste, and I worked like a fiend. It was hard work. The deck planking was three inches thick, and the number of holes I must bore seemed endless. I was surprised at the amount of work already accomplished; it did not seem possible that this slender woman had done the two long rows of holes. Nor had she, I learned. Wong had bored most of them, during the odd moments he could slip away unobserved from his work. The tradesman who furnished the tool had even driven a few. The lady had done some of the work, as the condition of her hands proved. But my coming was really providential. She could never have finished the job on time, and now she knew of the crew's intention, she recognized the need of haste. I longed mightily for a saw. Yet I knew I could not have used a saw had I possessed one. A saw makes a carrying noise. The tool I had was nearly noiseless. I sweated and wondered, and now and then asked a question. I wondered what Lynch would do when the lads came aft. Aye, and I discovered that this was one reason the lady was so terrified at the prospect of mutiny. For Lynch, she was certain, would make common cause with the rest of the afterguard against any uprising forward. He was helping her and Newman. But he had no interest in helping the hands. The hands were just hands to him, so much beef to work and beat. He would never side with the foc'sle against the cabin. "I have sailed three voyages with Lynch," said she. "He is a hard man, a cruel man; I have seen him do terrible things to sailors. But he is also, according to his lights, a just man. His brutality is always for what he considers the ship's welfare, never for any personal reason. You know how he has treated you, and Roy, and other men who know and do their work." "Fair enough," I admitted. "When my--my husband tried to kill Roy, that night you and he were aloft together, he violated James Lynch's very strict code. He considered that attempt a serious blot upon his honor. He told him--Angus--as much. He told him he would not have that sort of thing in his watch. It wasn't regard for Roy that made him say that; it was just that he thinks it is not right to kill or even hurt a man for personal reasons, but only when the welfare of the ship is at stake. And also, I think--well, he--likes me. He is willing to help me. That is why, a week ago, he came to me and offered his help. He had discovered what my--my husband really intended doing; I think he overheard a conversation between my--between Angus and the mate. He said we were both in danger, I as well as Roy, and that we must leave the ship. "Roy suggested the longboat, and he agreed. Roy can navigate, of course, and there are islands not distant from our present position. So we have been preparing the boat, and Mr. Lynch planned to launch it some midwatch when the mate and--and Captain Swope were in their berths. He hoped to get us away so quietly they would know nothing about it until hours later." "But surely Lynch didn't intend staying by the ship? Why, when the Old Man found out he'd skin him alive!" I exclaimed. "He said not, and I think not," she said. "He has sailed under my--my husband for years. He is not like Mr. Fitzgibbon, and the others. He does not fear my husband. I think Angus fears him. He knows things that have happened in this ship that my--my husband dare not have told on shore. He refused when we urged him to come with us; he declared he would be in no danger, that he could guard himself. I think he can." The lady clenched her hands, and her voice broke a little, as she disclosed the anxiety that was wrenching her soul. "But now--I don't know what he will do. If we can free Roy in time; if we can stop trouble forward! Then I know Mr. Lynch will keep his promise; he will lock up Angus and the mate, get them out of the way somehow, until Roy and I have left the ship. But if the men rise before we have gone--then he will think his duty is to the ship. He will not think of us, and my--my husband will do what he wishes. Do you understand?" "Yes, ma'am. But we have until midnight, or after, and it's just a little past two bells, now. Ten minutes more, ma'am, and I'll have this hole open." But it took a little longer than ten minutes. Three bells struck while I was still whittling and digging at the caulking in the seams with my sheath knife. But the echo of the big ship's bell forward had hardly died away when I carefully, ever so carefully, lifted up and laid back the cut-away section of the deck. I had left the caulking at one end nearly intact, so the solid piece laid back like a trap-door. The lady and I knelt by the side of the hole and peered down into the littered darkness. We could make out, dimly, heaps of barrels and boxes. A damp, chill air rushed up into our faces, carrying with it the sound of a scurrying rat, and another sound which made the lady gasp and tremble, and caused me to grind my teeth with rage. It was a long, drawn-out sigh, the moan of a man in agony of flesh or spirit. It was Newman's voice. Mingling with it, and following it, came the low, demoniac chuckle of Captain Swope. Lying flat and craning my neck into the hole, I saw, far over on the other side of the ship, the flicker of a lantern upon boxes. I immediately drew back, got to my feet, and extinguished the lamp in the gimbals. Then I snatched a blanket from the steward's bunk, and spread it across the hole. That done, there was no danger of light or draught betraying us to the man below. I asked orders of the lady, and discussed ways and means with her. It was decided at once that I should go below and effect Newman's release--and she gave me the small key that the Chinaman had filched. I was the stronger and more active, and could more easily make my way about in the dark, cluttered lazaret; besides, her work lay above. Swope was evidently pleasuring himself by viewing and taunting his helpless prisoner; he must be drawn away from this amusement. She could not go on deck herself, she said; Fitzgibbon was up there, and would see her--and she was supposed to be locked in her room. But she would send Wong on deck with a message to Mister Lynch; she would have Lynch sing out for the captain's presence on the poop. When the captain responded to the hail, I was to accomplish my task. I was to bring Newman to this room. What happened then depended upon chance--and Lynch. Newman and I must get forward, some way, and quiet the men; Lynch would take care of Swope. She had a fine faith in the second mate, had the lady. I had never been in the lazaret, the task of breaking out stores having usually fallen to the stiffs. But from foc'sle gossip I knew it was a big storeroom, comprising the whole 'tweendeck beneath the cabin space. The _Golden Bough_, like most clippers of her day, sometimes carried emigrant passengers, and had need of a spacious lazaret. The lady sketched the lay of the land for me. The hatch to the lazaret was in the saloon floor, well aft, on the starboard side. Wong was more familiar than any man with the lazaret's interior, and he had decided the deck should be cut through from this room, rather than at any other point. This, said the lady, was because farther aft, on this side of the ship, a strong room occupied the lazaret space (aye, the same strong room which so tickled the fancy of some of my shipmates!). The Chinaman had planned with foresight; he had even disposed stores below to convenience and shield the man who played rescuer. When I dropped through the hole, the lady told me, I would find myself in a narrow alleyway, walled with tiers of beef casks and other stores; if I followed this alleyway I would come to the lazaret hatch, near where Newman was secured. She thought I should wait until I heard the captain leave the lazaret. But to this I demurred. The success of the scheme might well depend upon the leeway of a moment's time. The ship's noises, always present in a ship's hold, would cover any slight noise I might make. Truth to tell, that sound of Newman in pain had thrown me into a fever of impatience to get to his side; and I suspect it rendered the lady less cautious, too. "God bless you, Boy--and, oh, be careful," she whispered. I drew back the blanket, and lowered my body into the opening. I hung by my hands an instant, and felt her draw the blanket over my head as she covered the hole again. Then I let go, and dropped. CHAPTER XXI I crouched behind a row of flour barrels, which stood on end handy to the hatch, and peered through the chinks. The captain had hung his lantern on a beam overhead, and its rays limned like a stage-setting an open space some six feet square. Aye, a stage-setting, and the scene a torture chamber. I bit my lips to restrain a cry of horror and rage when I looked through the chinks between the barrels, and it was with difficulty I kept myself from rushing forth and falling upon the fiend who had contrived and was enjoying the scene. Captain Swope was seated upon an upturned keg. He had placed the lantern so its light fell full upon Newman (it illumined himself, for my eyes, as well) and he was talking to the prisoner, mocking him. And Newman! It was the sight of him that made me choke, that made me finger my knife hilt. Newman--my friend! He was at the far end of that open space, trussed up to the starboard limbers. Trussed up--and in what way! You will remember, when they placed him under arrest, the captain ordered his hands ironed behind his back. The reason was now apparent. His hands were still behind his back; aye, when they trussed him up, they drew up his hands until they were on a level with his head, and secured him in that position. His feet were also ironed, and the chain lashed to a limber. So he stood, or rather hung--for he could not stand properly with his arms wrenched back in that position--and the whole weight of his body dragged upon his wrists and shoulder blades. So he had stood during the hours that had passed since afternoon. Torture, agony--that is what it meant to be trussed up in that position. I thought I recognized Fitzgibbon's handiwork in this torture; though I dare say it was originally Swope's invention. But we had seen Fitzgibbon use this same method of inflicting pain and terror, we men forward. One day, for an imagined insolence, he had trussed up Nigger to the mainmast in this very fashion, and left him there for a short half-hour. After five minutes Nigger was wild with pain. When he was cut down, his arms seemed paralyzed, and it was a full day ere the ache passed from them. And Newman had been enduring this pain for hours. But now, I thought, he must be mercifully unconscious, for his head hung upon his breast, and he made no sign that he heard the captain's gibes. It was sport to Swope's liking, and he was enjoying himself right royally. Aye, I could tell. The words that slid between his full lips were laden with the sensuous delight their utterance gave the speaker. I lay in my retreat waiting for the hail that would draw the beast on deck, and while I waited I listened to him, and observed his manner. Oh, Swope was having a fine time, a happy time. If the lady had not taken the revolver from me, I fear I should have shot the man despite my promise. As it was my sheath knife lay bared in my hand, and I had to fight myself to keep from leaping the barrier and confronting him. Aye, to face him, and make him eat the steel out of my hand! Yes, Swope was in a happy mood. A rollicking, loquacious mood. He talked. Unconsciously he made me witness to his confession of black treacheries, and deeds more loathsome than I could have imagined myself. When I reached my position behind the barrels, and was able to distinguish his words--he was boasting of and baring his secrets in a voice not meant to carry beyond Newman's ears--he was taunting Newman. "Well, why don't you call upon God to help you?" says he. "He has helped you a lot in the past, hasn't he, Roy? And He has helped her a lot, hasn't he? Helped her to stand me. Oh, that's a joke! The just and merciful One--d'you remember how old Baintree used to rant? You approved, didn't you. You agreed with old Baintree. So did I, Roy, to his face. "But you--why you were a damned Puritan, Roy. You wouldn't do this, you wouldn't do that, you would be clean of vice--your very words, Roy!--and you would be honest and just with men. That's the sort of thing that paid, says you. "And didn't it pay you, though! Ho, ho; it's too rich, Roy! You would make yourself as good a man as old Baintree; you would make yourself worthy of his daughter. Remember telling me that? And didn't you, though--with my help! My help, Roy--not God's! It was Black Angus and the Devil did it! "Well, well, I thought I would surprise you with my little tale of how I used the Twigg girl to spoil your chance with Mary. But Beasley surprised you instead. Didn't he, now? A neat trick, eh, Roy? You never guessed? "You never guessed, either, all that I had planned for you that time. If you hadn't been in such a hurry to leave town! But then--I was just as well pleased. With Beulah out of the way as well as you--it was plain sailing with Mary, Roy. "No, I never wanted Mary. Not for herself. She's not my kind, Roy; a damned, sniveling saint isn't my idea of a woman. But I wanted her money. Old Baintree's money. And I got it. "I got Baintree, too. It was necessary; I had to kill the old fool. He knew too much about me, and if he told Mary--well, I was playing the saint with her, just then. He would never have consented to her marrying me; and also--the money, you know. So I eliminated him, Roy. And God let you suffer for what I did! Ho, ho, that's rich, isn't it? Come to think of it, it's sound theology--vicarious atonement, eh? You got stripes, and I got Mary--and her money, which I have spent most pleasurably. "But you were always a fool, Roy--a stupid, trusting fool. You trusted me, didn't you? I was your bosom friend, your boyhood chum, whose wild ways grieved you. Fool, fool, if you had possessed the wit of a jackass you would have known I hated you! Hate, hate, hate! I have hated you all my life, Roy! I hated you when we were boys and you made me take second place. I have hated you ever since; I hate you now--so much it is almost love, Roy! Eh, but I never love. I hate. And when I hate--I hurt!" To all this tirade Newman returned no answer. He did not seem to hear. He hung silent in his bonds, his head on his breast and his face hidden. He might have been unconscious. I thought he was, for he did not even look up when the captain was excitedly chanting his hate. Swope was plainly piqued at this indifference; he got up from his keg and stepped close to Newman. "But you are not thinking of yourself, are you, Roy?" he says. "You are thinking of her, I know. How sweet! Sentiment was always your strong point. Well, think hard about her, Roy, think your fill; for she is almost as near her end as you are near yours. But not quite so near. I intend to break that haughty spirit before I--er--eliminate her. Oh, yes, it will break. Trust me to know the sure way. Roy, don't you want to know what I am going to do to Mary?" He paused a moment, and, chuckling and smacking his lips, stood looking at Newman's bowed figure. Then he said slowly and deliberately, actually lingering over the words. "I am going to make a strumpet of the wench for Fitzgibbon's pleasure!" Newman stirred. "Ah, that wakes you up!" cried Swope. It did, indeed. Newman was not unconscious. I could have wished he was, so he might not have heard those words. He lifted his face to the light, and I could see the sweat of agony upon it. He did not speak. He just looked at the man in front of him. It was a look of unutterable loathing; his expression was as though he were regarding something indescribably obscene and revolting. And then he pursed his lips and spat in Captain Swope's face. The skipper stepped back, and swabbed his cheek with his sleeve. I thought he would strike Newman, kick him, practice some devilish cruelty upon him in payment. Aye, I was crouched for the spring, with my sheath knife ready; if he had laid finger upon Newman I should have had his life in an instant. I was all the barbarian that moment, my new-found scruples forgotten. I was in a killing mood. What man would not have been. But Captain Swope did not attempt to repay the insult with any physical cruelty. He knew he was already racking his enemy's body to the limit of endurance, and his aim, I discovered, was to supplement this bodily suffering with mental torture. Indeed, Swope seemed pleased at Newman's act. He laughed as he wiped his face. "That stings--eh, Roy? It's true--be certain of that, you soft-hearted fool. I tell the truth sometimes, Roy--when it serves my purpose. And I want you to imagine the details of what is going to happen to her. Think of it, Roy--the Lady of the _Golden Bough_, the saintly Mrs. Swope, the sweet Mary Baintree that was--lying in Fitzgibbon's arms! Pretty thought!" Chuckling, Swope resumed his seat. He leaned forward, and watched Newman with hawklike intensity. But Newman gave him little cause to chortle; his head dropped again upon his breast, and he gave no sound, no movement. "Why don't you call on God?" asked Swope. "Why don't you call on me?" Newman lifted his head. "You degenerate beast!" he said. He said it evenly, without passion, and immediately withdrew his features from the other's scrutiny. But the captain was satisfied. He slapped his thigh with delight. "It stings, eh, Roy? It burns! It runs through your veins like fire! Doesn't it? It's a hot thought. And here's another one to keep it company-- You can do nothing to prevent it! To hairy old Fitz she'll go--and you can't prevent it! Think of that, Roy!" Newman gave no sign he heard, but the black-hearted villain on the keg knew that the big fellow's ears were open and that his words were like stabs in a raw wound. He talked on, and described villainies to come and villainies accomplished; the tale of his misdeeds seemed to possess him. He gloried in them, gloated over them. And as I listened, I realized, ignorant young whelp though I was, that this man was different from any man I had ever met or imagined. He wasn't human; he was a freak, a human-looking thing with a tiger's nature. Always he reminded me of a cat, from the very first moment I clapped eyes upon him; never did he remind me more of a cat--or tiger--than when he sat upon the keg and teased Newman. He seemed to purr his content with the situation. "I know what you are thinking, Roy," says he. "You are thinking that my brave and upright second mate will prevent it happening to our dear little Mary? Am I right, eh? Vain thought. Our friend, Lynch, will not be here to interfere. I have seen to that. He grows dangerous, does Jim Lynch, so--elimination. Ah, I could write a treatise upon the Art of Elimination--couldn't I? Angus Swope, the great eliminator! It is my specialty, Roy. "Neatness, thoroughness, dispatch, everything shipshape, no loose ends flying--that's my style, Roy. Now there was neatness and dispatch about my running you out of Freeport when I found your presence there inconvenient. Don't you think there was? Eh, you great fool? You pulled my chestnuts out of the fire very nicely indeed. But I was not as thorough as I should have been in that affair. A loose end, or two, eh, Roy? Beasley--and yourself. Ah--but I improved with practice. I left no loose end that night in Bellingham, did I? Unless the fact that your neck didn't stretch, as I intended, could be called a loose end. But then--you'll be tucked out of sight again very soon, and this time for good and all. I never did believe in imprisonment for life, Roy; it is such a cruel punishment. I'm a tender-hearted man, Roy--ho, ho, that's rich, eh? I told that judge, after he sentenced you, that he would have been acting more kindly had he disregarded the jury's recommendation and hanged you out of hand. And do you know what he told me, Roy? He said I was right, that you deserved hanging. Ho, ho, deserved hanging! And he was a godly man, Roy. "Oh, what a great fool you were! How easily I made you play my game! That night you had me to dinner on board your ship, in Bellingham--you never guessed why I fished for that invitation? Why I persuaded you to send your mates ashore that night? Just another of Angus' scrapes, thought you; he wants to confide in me, and ask my advice. Angus wants my help, thought you. So I did, Roy, so I did. "I needed your help badly. But not the kind or help you would have offered; no, I needed your help in a different way. I needed a catspaw, Roy. "I was skating on pretty thin ice just about then, Roy, I needed old Baintree's money. I needed Mary to get the money. But Mary was only willing to take me because her father wished her to; and I was heartily sick of playing the saint to stand well with him. Oh, well, I'll tell you--why not? The old hypocrite had a Puritan's sharp eyes, and he had caught me in a slip-up or two, and I knew he was about to tell Mary to break the betrothal. And there was another thing, a little investment I handled for him. He was bound to discover about it shortly, when the payments were due, and--well, you know, Roy, what an absurd attitude he had towards a little slip like that. I was in a rather desperate fix, you see; yes, I really needed your help, Roy. "Besides there was you, yourself, to be taken care of. You were one of my worries, not a big worry, but still a worry. What if you forgot your pride? What if Mary forgot her pride? Of course, you were in Bellingham, and outward bound; and she was home in Freeport--but who can tell what a woman will do where her heart is concerned? Besides, I hated you, damn you! I was not going to overlook the luck that brought the three of us into the same port at the same time. You had been my catspaw once; why not again? "So I had you invite me off to dinner. That cozy little dinner, in your own cabin, just you and I, and Stord to wait on us. I bet you never guessed until your trial that your steward was my man, if you guessed it then. Aye, body and soul my man. When I crooked my finger, Stord bent his body. "Do you remember that dinner, Roy? I bet you do! I crucified you, damn you! You would be brave, you would be gallant, eh? You would congratulate me upon the coming marriage, toast the best man, who had won the race. Oh, I enjoyed your hospitality that night! How you wrenched out the words! You didn't want to talk about Mary, did you? But I made you talk, I made you squirm, eh? And then, when I was sick of your platitudes--just a nod to Stord, and three little drops of chloral in your glass! "Do you want to know what happened next? I'll lay that you've wondered many a time just what happened after you had so strangely dropped asleep, with your head in your plate. Well, I'll tell you what happened. I sent Stord on the run to Baintree's hotel. He bore a message from you. He told the dear captain that you were ill, on your ship, and that you wished very much to see him. You can guess how the old fool would act in a case like that. A chance to do a good deed, store up treasures in heaven, all that, eh? You might have been a bad man in Freeport, but, you were sick and needed him. "He came in a hurry, all a-flutter like an old hen. Just as I knew he would come. And as he leaned over you, in your own cabin, I--er--separated him from his temporal worries with an iron belaying pin from your own rail. Then I gave you the clout for luck (it has left a fine scar, I note) and placed the pin on the table. And thus your chief mate discovered you when he came on board, you and your victim, and the weapon you used, just as I planned. And your steward's testimony, and my reluctant admissions, finished you. You see, Roy--neatness and thoroughness! "I took Stord to sea with me, as my steward. But, unfortunately, he went over the side one dark night, off the Horn. A loose end tucked in, eh, Roy? "And I'll tuck in other loose ends between now and dawn--you, for instance, and our brave Mister Lynch. I have it already written down for Fitz to copy into the logbook. 'During the fighting, James Lynch, second mate, was stabbed by one of the mutineers; but owing to the darkness and confusion his assailant was not recognized.' That's how the log will read when we bowse into port. And--'During the fighting, the sailor, Newman, attempted to escape from custody, and was shot by the captain.' You see, Roy, everything shipshape! A line for each in the log--and two loose ends tucked in--eliminated! "You will have some time in which to think it over, before it happens, Roy. You should thank me for that--for giving you something to think about. It will take your mind off your pain, eh? Yes, you need something to think about, for you'll hang there for four or five hours yet. No danger of your sleeping, eh, Roy? Well, keep your ears open and you'll be forewarned. There'll be some shooting on deck. I've gone to a great deal of trouble to bring it about; your shipmates are a gutless crew, Roy, and I had begun to think I could not get a fight out of them. But the swabs are coming aft at the end of the mid-watch. Eight bells in the mid-watch--count the bells, Roy. Eight bells--elimination! "Then there will be just one loose end left--and you know what I have planned for her! Think about it, Roy--think about our darling little Mary! At the mercy of the wolves, Roy! At the mercy of our dear, gentle Fitzgibbon! At the mercy--yes, I do believe at the mercy, also, of my new second mate. "Oh, yes, he is already nominated for the office. Of course, he must first remove the incumbent--but that, as I explained, is arranged for. He is a greasy cockney, gutter-snipe--but useful. I wouldn't think of having him at table with me, Roy--but I think I'll let him amuse himself with Mary--after Fitz! Ah, that stings, eh, Roy!" It did, indeed. Newman lifted the face of a madman to his torturer. Aye, the creature's vile words, and viler threat, had stung him beyond his power of self-control. All the pent-up fury in his soul burst forth in one explosive oath. "God blast you forever, Angus!" he cried. Just that, and no more. Newman had his grip again. He was no man to indulge in impotent ravings. But the outburst was sufficient to delight Captain Swope. He threw back his head and laughed that chuckling, demon's laugh of his. Delighted--why, he could hardly control himself to keep his seat on the keg, and as he laughed his feet beat a jig upon the deck. "I told you to call upon God!" was his gleeful answer to Newman. "And you have! Now, we'll see who wins--you and God, or Angus and the Devil! Eh, Roy--who wins? "We'll see, Roy--we'll see if God takes your advice. We'll see if He helps you, or Lynch. Or Mary. Ah, the saintly Mary, the pure, the unapproachable! We'll see if He protects her from Fitz's dirty arms, or the greasy kisses of the Cockney! Eh, Roy? We'll see if He keeps her from--eliminating herself! "That's the way of it, Roy. Clever--yes? Neatness and thoroughness, and everything shipshape and Bristol fashion--that's my style, Roy. I know Mary (who should know her better than her legal spouse, eh, Roy?) and I have arranged matters so she will tuck in her own end. Listen, Roy, I have another item for the logbook which Fitzgibbon will copy. It needs but a date-line to be complete. It will read like this: 'To-day, while suffering from an attack of temporary insanity, the captain's wife destroyed herself. The captain is broken-hearted.' With details added, Roy. And the yarn cabled home when we make port. Suicide at sea--and I am broken-hearted! Artistic, eh? And she'll do it--you know she'll do it!" He sat there watching Newman, waiting. I suppose he expected and desired a fresh outburst from the prisoner. But in this he was disappointed; Newman gave no sign. "Ah, well, I fear I've overstayed my welcome this visit," he said, finally. He got to his feet, and stood before Newman with legs spraddled and arms akimbo; drinking in lustfully the picture of the other man's utter misery. "Interesting chat we've had--old times, future, and all that--eh, Roy? But a sailor's work, you know--like a woman's--never done. I have duties to attend to, Roy. But I will return--ah, yes, you know I will return. You'll wait here for me, eh, Roy? Anxiously awaiting my return, counting the bells against my coming. Well--remember--eight bells in the middle watch." He turned and stepped towards the ladder. With his foot raised to the bottom step, he stopped, and stared aloft, mouth agape. I stared too, and listened. We heard a shot, a single pistol shot. The captain wheeled upon Newman. His hand flew to his pistol pocket. But he did not draw. He would have died then and there, if he had, for I was tensed for the leap. But he was uncertain. This was not the hour--and the other shots, the volley, we both expected did not come. Instead, came the second mate's voice bellowing orders, "Connolly--the wheel! Hard alee! Weather main brace!" Then, clearer, as he shouted through the cabin skylights, "Captain--on deck, quick!" It was the hail for which I had waited so long and anxiously. But the news that came with it was strange and startling. "The man at the wheel," shouted Lynch, "has jumped overboard with the mate!" Then his cry went forward, "Man overboard!" Swope leaped for the ladder. I saw consternation in his face as he scurried aloft. So I knew that this was something he hadn't arranged. CHAPTER XXII I was at Newman's side before Captain Swope's feet vanished from the ladder. If he had paused to close the lazaret hatch behind him, he must surely have seen me. But he did not pause; I heard his steps racing up the companion stairs to the poop, and his voice shouting his command: "Watch the main deck, Mister! Light a flare!" I threw my arms about Newman, and babbled in his ear. "Oh, the beast!--it's I--Jack--the devil, I heard what he said!--come to free you!" Truth to tell, the things I had overheard unnerved me somewhat, and I was incoherent, almost, from rage and horror. But Newman brought me to myself in short order. "I know--but not so loud--they'll hear you!" Aye, his first words, and he smiled into my face. This man on the rack smiled, and thought clearly, whilst I babbled. "Be quick," he bade me. "Cut the lashings." I obeyed in jig time. The chains of both the hand and foot irons were secured to the limbers by rope lashings. With two strokes of my knife I severed them. Before I could catch him, Newman fell forward upon his face. His misused limbs could not support him. I knelt by his side, sobbing and spluttering, and fishing in my pocket for the key the lady had given me. It was the sight of his raw, bleeding wrists and ankles that maddened me; aye, the sight of them would have maddened a saint. You will recall that the Old Man had commanded that Newman's wrists be tightly cuffed; and he had seen to it that the leg cuffs were equally tight. Tight ironing was a favorite sport of Swope's; he was notorious for it among sailormen. I saw the results upon Newman. The flesh above the irons was puffed and inflamed; the constriction and chafing had broken the skin, and the cuffs upon both arms and legs were buried in the raw wounds. Exquisite agony--aye, trust Swope to produce that! I had to push back the swollen, bruised mass before I could insert the little flat key, and effect the release. When I had them off, I turned Newman over on his back, and, with my arm about him, prepared to lift him erect. Before I could do so, assistance arrived. Light feet pattered down the lazaret ladder; there was a swish of skirts, a gasp, and the lady was on her knees by Newman's side. "Roy--Roy--I was in time--" she cried. Her arms went around his neck. I released him to her for the instant, and straightened up and listened. There was noise on deck, and confusion. The ship was in stays; she hung there, aback. I could hear Lynch, somewhere forward, bawling orders; and overhead, Swope sang out to the wheel, and then hailed the roundhouse. "Roundhouse, there--on deck and lend a hand! Man the lifeboat--lifeboat falls, there! For God's sake, Mister--what's the matter there on deck?" Oh, he was worried, was Swope. It showed in his voice; for once his tone was not full and musical, it was shrill and screechy. He was sorely shaken, madly anxious to save his faithful jackal; the Eliminator had not planned Fitzgibbon's removal. Thoughts, questions, rushed through my mind. I listened for other sounds, for shots and shouts and sounds of strife. For there was confusion up there on the dark decks, and the captain had forgotten his caution and withdrawn his ambush. I knew that Boston and Blackie would not overlook this chance; promise or no promise they would profit by this occasion. It was this thought that spurred me to action. We must get out of this hole we were in; the lazaret was a trap. The die was cast; the mutiny was on--or would be in a moment. I said as much to my companions. Newman attempted to get to his feet. "A hand, Jack--it must be stopped," he said. I gave him the hand. More than that, I took him upon my back and tottered up the ladder with him, the lady assisting as well as she was able. She knew what had happened on deck, and she told us in a word or two. She had not been able to find Wong (we afterwards discovered that Wong had gone forward to the galley, and surprised the crew at a conference, and had been detained prisoner by them), so she crawled up the companion ladder herself, and lurked in the cuddy, waiting for a chance to speak with Lynch. The Nigger was at the wheel, she said. Fitzgibbon walked up to him and struck him--as he had struck him many, many times before. But this time Nigger did not submit--he whipped out his knife and stabbed the mate. More than that, he grasped the mate in his powerful arms, dragged him to the taffrail, and flung him overboard. It happened so quickly that neither Connolly, the tradesman, nor Lynch, both of whom were on the poop, could interfere. But Lynch took a shot at Nigger, and perhaps struck him, for Nigger went over the rail and into the sea with his victim. It was Nigger, despised, half-lunatic Nigger, who was not in my reckoning, nor in Swope's, who put the match to the tinder and upset such carefully laid plans. As I feared, the revolt of the crew blazed up immediately. My shipmates were eager, too eager. As it turned out, their precipitancy was to cost them their chance of victory, for they began to riot while the three tradesmen were still handy to the roundhouse door, though, indeed, they had no knowledge, as had I, of the captain's ambuscade. I staggered into the saloon, and set Newman down upon the divan which ran around the half-round, and which was but a step from the hatch. He got to his feet at once, and, though the lady and I stretched out our arms to catch him, this time he did not fall. He swayed drunkenly, and hobbled when he took a step, but such was his vitality and so strong the urge of his will, that life was already returning to his misused limbs. It was just then that pandemonium broke out on deck--a shot, a string of shots and a bedlam of howls and yells. Overhead was bedlam, too. The skipper's tune changed instanter. He had been singing out to Mister Lynch to "topsail haul," and to the tradesmen to man the boat falls--but now he was screaming to the latter in a voice shaken with excitement--or panic--to regain their posts, to get into the roundhouse and "turn loose on 'em--pepper 'em! And, for God's sake, throw out the flares!" Oh, the Great Eliminator was shocked most unpleasantly In that moment, I think--to discover, when his trusty mate was overboard, that his mutinous crew had firearms! I looked to Newman for orders, for he was now in command of our forlorn hope. But he had his arm about the lady's shoulders, and was speaking urgently into her ear. My thought was of a place to hide. I ran towards the cabin alleyway. I had no intention of going out on that dangerous deck, my object was to see if the inner door to the sail-locker was unlocked. In the sail-locker, I thought, we could hide, the three of us, until the fight died down. But my design was frustrated. Before I reached the sail-locker, the door to the deck, at the end of the alleyway, burst open, and the tradesman, Morton, pitched headlong over the base-board. He scrambled to his hands and knees and scuttled towards me. There was a whistling thud near my head. I leaped back into the cabin, out of range, so quickly I tripped and sat down hard upon the deck. For a shot fired after the fleeting Morton had just missed my skull. Morton crawled into the saloon, and looked at me with a stupid wonder in his face. He was wounded; he nursed his shoulder, and there was a spreading stain upon his white shirt. "They have guns--in the rigging," says he. Then he grunted, and collapsed, unconscious. The heavy roar of shotguns, for which my ear was cocked, did not come. There were two pistols in action overhead, and pistol shots rattled forward, and I could tell from the sounds that a free fight was raging somewhere on the main deck. But the heavier discharges did not come. For an instant I thought--aye, and hoped!--that the tradesmen had been cut off from the roundhouse. Suddenly the saloon grew bright with a reflected glare. I was on my feet again, and I peered into the alleyway, looking out through the door Morton had opened. The roundhouse cut off any view of the main deck, but I could see that the whole deck, aye, the whole ship, was alight with a growing glare, a dazzling greenish-white light. Then I knew what Captain Swope meant when he screamed for "flares." Distress flares, signal flares, such as a ship in trouble might use. He had stocked the roundhouse with them. Cunning, aye, deadly cunning. This was something Boston and Blackie had not dreamed of. A flare thrown on deck when the men came aft--and slaughter made easy for the defenders of the roundhouse! Something of this I spoke aloud to Newman. There was no answer, and I became conscious he was not behind me. I wheeled about. Newman, with the lady's assistance, was hobbling up the ladder to the deck above. I swore my amazement and dismay at what seemed to me madness, but I hurried after them, and emerged on the poop at their heels. The night was banished by the strong light flaring forward. That was my impression when I leaped out on deck. When I turned forward, I saw the whole ship, clear to the foc'sle, bathed in that light. Not one, but a half dozen flares were burning at once; they had been thrown upon the deck both to port and starboard. Everything on the decks was brightly revealed, every ringbolt, the pins in the rails, deadeyes, sails, gear, aye, every rope in the rigging was boldly etched against the glowing background. With that one sweeping glance I took in the scene. High up in the main rigging, almost to the futtock shrouds, the figure of a man was revealed: he was blazing away in the direction of the poop with a revolver. On the deck, near the mainmast, the second mate was laying about him with a capstan bar, and a dozen men seemed boiling over each other in efforts to close with him. Other figures lay motionless upon the deck. So much for what I saw forward; what concerned me that instant was what was right before my eyes. Captain Swope was leaning against the mizzen fife rail, screened by the mast from those forward, returning the fire of the man in the rigging--but no, even as I clapped eyes upon him, he shot, and I saw he aimed, not at the man in the rigging, but at the group fighting on the deck. At his second officer, no less! Aye, and I understood in a flash why I had not beard the shotguns; the tradesmen had not Swope's murderous intent towards Mister Lynch. and they held their fire because they could not rake the gang without hitting Lynch. The tradesman, Connolly, was crouched against the companion hatch; he was staring after Newman and the lady, mouth agape. He saw them directly they appeared on deck, which Swope did not. He raised his gun uncertainly, then lowered it, then raised it again, covering Newman's broad back--and by that time I was upon him, my clutch was upon his wrist, and my right fist impacted violently against his head. It was a knockout blow, at the base of the brain, and he slumped down, unconscious. I straightened up, with the gun in my hand. It was at this instant that Captain Swope became aware of our presence. It was Newman, himself, who attracted his attention--aye, and the attention of the whole ship, as well. For Newman had marched into the light. He stood now almost at the forward poop rail, with his arms raised above his head; and he sent his voice forward in a stentorian hail, a cry that was like a thunderclap. "Stop fighting, lads! Stop it, I say! It is I--Newman! Stop fighting and go for'ard!" If ever a human face showed amazement and discomfiture, Swope's did. He had been so busy at his game of potting his officer he did not see Newman until the latter walked into his range of vision and sent forth his hail. He could have shot Newman then, and I could not have prevented, for he had his weapon leveled. But this sudden apparition seemed to paralyze him; he just lowered his arm, and stared. It startled and paralyzed all hands. The struggle on the main deck ceased abruptly. It was the strangest thing I ever beheld, the way Newman's thunderous command seemed to turn to graven images the men on deck. They were frozen into grotesque attitudes, arms drawn back to strike, boots lifted to kick. Mister Lynch stood with his capstan bar poised, as though he were at bat in a baseball game. Every face was lifted to the giant figure standing there on the poop. I even saw in the brilliant light a white face framed in one of the portholes in the roundhouse. Newman repeated his command. He did not beg or entreat; he commanded, and I don't think there was a sailor or stiff on the main deck who, after his first word, dreamed of disobeying him. Such was the big man's character superiority, such was the dominance his personality had acquired over our minds. I tell you, we of the foc'sle looked upon Newman as of different clay; it was not alone my hero-worship that magnified his stature, in all our eyes he was one of the great, a being apart from and above us. And not only foc'sle eyes regarded him in this light. There were the tradesmen peering out of the roundhouse ports, with never a thought in their minds of disobeying his injunction. I had it from their own lips afterwards; it was not just surprise at the big fellow's sudden appearance that stayed their hands, it was the power of his personality. There was Mister Lynch, arrested by Newman's voice in mid-stroke, as it were. There was Swope, standing palsied and impotent, with a growing terror in his face. "Go for'ard, lads! Go below! Come up here, Lynch! Not another blow, men--for'ard with you!" The frozen figures on the deck came to life. There was a murmur, a shuffling of feet, and Lynch lowered his great club. But it was an obedient noise. From one quarter came the single note of dissent. The man in the main rigging sang out. It was Boston's voice. "Go aft, mates!" he shouted. "We've got them--we've won--don't listen to him!" Then he threw his voice at Newman. "Damn you, Big 'Un, you've spoiled the game!" A flash followed the oath, and a splinter flew from the deck at Newman's feet. There was a flash from my gun as well. I fired without taking conscious aim; I swear, an invisible hand seemed to lift my arm, a finger not mine seemed to press the trigger--and that greedy, murderous rascal in the rigging screamed, and loosed his hold. He struck the sheer pole in his descent, and bounced into the sea. The shots seemed to awaken Captain Swope from his surprise and terror. He had suddenly moved with catlike swiftness; when I lowered my eyes from the rigging, I saw he had left his refuge behind the mizzenmast and was standing in the open deck. Aye, there he stood in that light, which had reached its maximum, revealed to all eyes--and stamped upon his face was an expression of insane fury so terrible and deadly he seemed not a human being at all, but a mad beast crouched to spring. His lips were drawn back from his teeth, and a froth appeared upon his black beard. The crowd forward saw the demon unmasked in his face, even as I saw it, and from them arose a gasping "_a-ah_!" of horror. The sound caused the lady, who was standing at Newman's elbow, to turn around; or perhaps it was the feel of Swope's burning eyes that spun her about so quickly. He was raising his arm, the arm that held the gun, not quickly but slowly and carefully. With a stab of horror I saw him aim, not at the man, but at the woman. No outside power this time seemed to aid me. I shot. I should have hit the beast, he was not ten paces distant--but only a click answered when my hammer fell. My gun was empty. I threw up my arm, intending to hurl the weapon, and I think I cried out. Swope shot--and the lady threw up her hands and fell. You must understand, this all happened in a brief instant of time. Aye, it was but a short moment since we stepped out on deck. What happened after that shot must be measured by seconds. For the lady was still falling, and my hand was still reaching behind me to gather energy for a throw, when Newman bore down upon his enemy. I had not seen him turn around even, and there he was at arm's grips with the captain. There was another flash from Swope's revolver, in Newman's very face. It was a miss, for Newman's hands--helpless lumps of flesh but a few moments before--closed upon Swope's neck. I saw Newman's face. It was a terrible face, the face of an enraged and smiting god. The great scar stood out like a dark line painted upon his forehead. He lifted Swope from his feet with that throat grip. He whirled him like a flail, and smashed him down upon the deck, and let him go. And there Yankee Swope lay, sprawled, and still, his head bent back at a fatal angle. A broken neck, as a glance at the lolling head would inform; and, as we discovered later, a broken back as well. It was death that Newman's bare hands dealt in that furious second. Newman did not waste so much as a glance at the work of his hands. He had turned to the lady, with a cry in his throat, a low cry of pain and grief--which changed at once to a shout of gladness. For the lady was stirring, getting to her feet, or trying to. Newman gathered her slight form into his great arms. I heard him exclaim, "Where, Mary? Did it--" And she answered, dazedly, "I am all right--not hit." He took a step towards me, towards the companion. The swelling murmur from the deck arrested him. He walked to the break of the poop, with the woman in his arms. She seemed like a child held to his breast. He spoke to the men below in a hushed, solemn voice. "It is ended," he said. "Swope is dead." As he stood there, the flares commenced to go out. One by one they guttered and extinguished, and the black night swept down like a falling curtain. Five bells chimed in the cabin. CHAPTER XXIII It was the end, even as Newman said. The end of the mutiny, the end of hate and dissension in that ship, the end, for us, of Newman, himself, and the lady. Peace came to the _Golden Bough_ that night, for the first time, I suppose, in her bitter, blood-stained history. A peace that was bought with suffering and death, as we discovered when we reckoned the cost of the night's work. Swope was dead--for which there was a prayer of thanks in every man's heart. Fitzgibbon was gone, and the Nigger. Boston was dead at my hand; his partner, Blackie, lay stark in the scuppers, as did also the stiff named Green, each with a bashed in skull, the handiwork of Mister Lynch. Such was the death list for that night's work. It was no heavier I think--though of much different complexion--than the list Captain Swope had planned. As for wounded--God's truth, the _Golden Bough_ was manned by a crew of cripples for weeks after. Lynch had wrought terribly, there on the main deck--broken pates, broken fingers, a cracked wrist, a broken foot, and three men wounded, though not seriously, by Swope's and Connolly's shots. Such were the foc'sle's lighter casualties. Aft, the list was shorter. Morton had a bullet wound in the shoulder; it would lay him up for the rest of the passage, but was not dangerous. Connolly had a lump behind his ear. Lynch was bruised a bit, and his clothes were slashed to ribbons, otherwise he had escaped scathless. The lady was not really hurt at all. Swope's bullet plowed through her mass of hair, creasing her so lightly the skin was unbroken, though the impact knocked her down. I was almost the only man on the ship who bore no marks of that fight, though I was a sight from the beating, and Lynch--or perhaps it was Newman--made me bo'sun of the deck in the labor of bringing order out of chaos. I rallied the unhurt and lightly hurt, and we carried the worse injured into the cabin, where the lady and Newman attended them. I opened the barricaded galley, and freed the frightened Chinamen, Wong and the cook and the cabin boy, and Holy Joe, the parson. As I learned afterwards, Holy Joe, when he learned of the intended mutiny, threatened, in vain attempt to stop it, to go aft and blow the plot. Blackie and Boston wanted to kill him for the threat, but the squareheads would not have it so, and he was shut up in the galley with the Chinamen. By Lynch's order, we launched the dinghy, and, with me at the tiller and two lordly tradesmen at the oars, set out in humane but hopeless quest for the mate and the Nigger. I cruised about for nigh an hour, and came back empty-handed. We had not really expected to find them, or trace of them. Fitzgibbon had been stabbed, and it was known, also, that he did not know how to swim; and as for the Nigger, "I plugged him as he jumped," said Lynch. When we got back, Lynch had me muster the available hands, and we launched the longboat. All the rest of the night, Wong and his two under-servants cargoed that craft with stores of every kind. One other man had lost his mess number in that ship, we discovered, as the night wore on. The traitor. We found not hide or hair of Cockney; he was gone from the ship, leaving no trace. At least, no trace I could discover. But when I looked for him, I became conscious of a new attitude towards me on the part of my shipmates. I had been their mate, in a way their leader and champion. Now, by virtue of Lynch's word--and Newman's--I was their boss. I was no longer one of them. Aye, and sailorlike they showed it by their reserve. They said truthfully enough they did not know what had become of Cockney--and they kept their guesses to themselves. But my own guess was as good, and as true. Boston and Blackie had attended to Cockney. I could imagine how. A knife across the windpipe and a boost over the side; without doubt some such fate was Cockney's. Mister Lynch made no effort to put the ship on her course. We left the yards as they were, and drifted all the rest of the night. I, and the unwounded tradesmen, kept the deck; in the cabin, the lady and Newman labored, and conferred with Lynch and Holy Joe. Aye, Holy Joe, as well as myself, was lifted to higher estate by that night's happenings. He lived aft, even as I, the rest of the voyage, and was doctor of bodies as well as souls. Near dawn, they called me into the cabin, and put dead man's shoes upon my feet, so to speak. "Shreve, it is my duty to take the ship into port," says Lynch. "What will be the outcome of tonight's work, I do not know. But I do not fear. My testimony, and that of the sailmakers and carpenters, to say nothing of your story, and the stories of the other men forward, will be more than sufficient to convince any court of justice. There will be no jailing because of to-night's trouble--you may tell the men that." "Yes, sir," I replied. Aye, it was good news to take forward to the poor shaking wretches in the foc'sle. "You understand, I am captain for the remainder of the passage," Lynch went on. "And I have decided to appoint you chief mate. Connolly will be second mate." Aye, that was it. Jack Shreve, chief mate of the _Golden Bough_! "I have decided," says Lynch--but I knew the decision belonged to Newman and the lady, who were smiling at me across the table. "And you understand--they are leaving in the longboat," added Lynch. I looked at my friend, and the lady, and my new honor was bitter and worthless in my mouth. "Take me with you," I urged. "To share an outlaw's career? No, lad--we must go alone," said Newman. I remember he added to Lynch, "If this boy proves the friend to you he was to me, you will be a lucky man, Captain." The sky was just graying with the coming day when the two left the ship. But before they went over the side, there took place in the growing light on the deck before the cabin a scene as strange and solemn as any I have seen since. Holy Joe married them, there on the deck--and in the scuppers, behind the lady's back, covered up with a spare sail, lay the ship's dead, Yankee Swope among them. Aye, the parson tied the knot, for this life and next, as he said, and I was best man, and Captain Lynch gave away the bride. "Roy Waldon, do you take this woman--" that was the way the parson put it, standing there before them, with his one good hand holding the Book, peering up into Newman's face through his puffed, blackened eyes. A minister in dungaree! "Mary Swope, do you take this man--" that was how he put it. And though the lady's face was wan and haggard, yet there was a glory in it beyond power to describe. And then they cast off from the ship, those two who were now one. Newman stepped the mast, and drew aft the sheet, and the little craft caught the breeze and scudded away from us. We lined the rail, lame men and well men, and cheered our farewell. I wept. A long time we watched them. The sun leaped up from the sea, and the longboat seemed to sail into its golden heart; and after the sun had risen above it, the boat was visible for a long time as a dwindling, ever dwindling speck. I moved up onto the poop, the longer to see. So did Lynch. Side by side, we watched the speck dip over the rim of the sea. Lynch sighed, and walked away. I heard him exclaim, and turned to observe him picking up something from the deck. He held it out to me, in the palm of his hand. It was a little wisp of hair, the lady's hair, a relic of the battle. Lynch stared at it--then he looked out over the sea, into the path of the sun. Aye, and there was that in his eyes which opened mine. I began at last to understand Bucko Lynch--"Captain" Lynch as he was to remain to the end of his days. I knew from that look in his eyes why no parson would now ever say to him, "Do you take this woman?" Slowly, Lynch put the little wisp of hair into his waistcoat pocket. He drew a deep breath, and shrugged his shoulders; then he hailed me with seamanly brusqueness. "Lively, now, Mister--we'll put the ship on her course!" "Yes, Captain," I answered. And the "Mister" roared his first command along those decks. 
32615	----	The HELL SHIP By Ray Palmer [Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from If Worlds of Science Fiction March 1952. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] [Sidenote: _The passengers rocketed through space in luxury. But they never went below decks because rumor had it that Satan himself manned the controls of The Hell Ship._] The giant space liner swung down in a long arc, hung for an instant on columns of flame, then settled slowly into the blast-pit. But no hatch opened; no air lock swung out; no person left the ship. It lay there, its voyage over, waiting. The thing at the controls had great corded man-like arms. Its skin was black with stiff fur. It had fingers ending in heavy talons and eyes bulging from the base of a massive skull. Its body was ponderous, heavy, inhuman. [Illustration] After twenty minutes, a single air lock swung clear and a dozen armed men in Company uniforms went aboard. Still later, a truck lumbered up, the cargo hatch creaked aside, and a crane reached its long neck in for the cargo. Still no creature from the ship was seen to emerge. The truck driver, idly smoking near the hull, knew this was the _Prescott_, in from the Jupiter run--that this was the White Sands Space Port. But he didn't know what was inside the _Prescott_ and he'd been told it wasn't healthy to ask. Gene O'Neil stood outside the electrified wire that surrounded the White Sands port and thought of many things. He thought of the eternal secrecy surrounding space travel; of the reinforced hush-hush enshrouding Company ships. No one ever visited the engine rooms. No one in all the nation had ever talked with a spaceman. Gene thought of the glimpse he'd gotten of the thing in the pilot's window. Then his thoughts drifted back to the newsrooms of Galactic Press Service; to Carter in his plush office. "Want to be a hero, son?" "Who, me? Not today. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe the next day." "Don't be cute. It's an assignment. Get into White Sands." "Who tried last?" "Jim Whiting." "Where is Whiting now?" "Frankly we don't know. But--" "And the four guys who tried before Whiting?" "We don't know. But we'd like to find out." "Try real hard. Maybe you will." "Cut it out. You're a newspaperman aren't you?" "God help me, yes. But there's no way." "There's a way. There's always a way. Like Whiting and the others. Your pals." Back at the port looking through the hot wire. _Sure there was a way. Ask questions out loud. Then sit back and let them throw a noose around you. And there was a place where you could do the sitting in complete comfort. Where Whiting had done it--but only to vanish off the face of the earth. Damn Carter to all hell!_ Gene turned and walked up the sandy road toward the place where the gaudy neons of the Blue Moon told hard working men where they could spend their money. The Blue Moon. It was quite a place. Outside, beneath the big crescent sign, Gene stopped to watch the crowds eddying in and out. Then he went in, to watch them cluster around the slot machines and bend in eager rows over the view slots of the peep shows. He moved into the bar, dropped on one of the low stools. He ordered a beer and let his eyes drift around. A man sat down beside him. He was husky, tough looking. "Ain't you the guy who's been asking questions about the crews down at the Port?" Gene felt it coming. He looked the man over. His heavy face was flushed with good living, eyes peculiarly direct of stare as if he was trying to keep them from roving suspiciously by force of will. He was well dressed, and his heavy hands twinkled with several rather large diamonds. The man went on: "I can give you the information you want--for a price, of course." He nodded toward an exit. "Too public in here, though." Gene grinned without mirth as he thought, _move over Whiting--here I come_, and followed the man toward the door. Outside the man waited, and Gene moved up close. "You see, it's this way...." Something exploded against Gene's skull. Even as fiery darkness closed down he knew he'd found _the way_. But only a stupid newspaperman would take it. Damn Carter! Gene went out. He seemed to be dreaming. Over him bent a repulsive, man-like face. But the man had fingernails growing on his chin where his whiskers should have been. And his eyes were funny--walled, as though he bordered on idiocy. In the dream, Gene felt himself strapped into a hammock. Then something pulled at him and made a terrible racket for a long time. Then it got very quiet except for a throbbing in his head. He went back to sleep. * * * * * She had on a starched white outfit, but it wasn't a nurse's uniform. There wasn't much skirt, and what there was of it was only the back part. The neckline plunged to the waist and stopped there. It was a peculiar outfit for a nurse to be wearing. But it looked familiar. Her soft hands fixed something over his eyes, something cold and wet. He felt grateful, but kept on trying to remember. Ah, he had it; the girls wore that kind of outfit in the Blue Moon in one of the skits they did, burlesquing a hospital. He took off the wet cloth and looked again. She was a dream. Even with her lips rouge-scarlet, her cheeks pink with makeup, her eyes heavy with artifice. "What gives, beautiful?" He was surprised at the weakness of his voice. Her voice was hard, but nice, and it was bitter, as though she wanted hard people to know she knew the score, could be just a little harder. "You're a spaceman now! Didn't you know?" Gene grinned weakly. "I don't know a star from a street light. Nobody gets on the space crews these days--it's a closed union." Her laugh was full of a knowledge denied him. "That's what I used to think!" She began to unstrap him from the hammock. Then she pushed back his hair, prodded at the purple knob on his head with careful fingertips. "How come you're on this ship?" asked Gene, wincing but letting her fingers explore. "Shanghaied, same as you. I'm from the Blue Moon. I stepped out between acts for a breath of fresh air, and wham, a sack over the head and here I am. They thought you might have a cracked skull. One of the monsters told me to check you. No doctor on the ship." Gene groaned. "Then I didn't dream it--there is a guy on this ship with fingernails instead of a beard on his chin!" She nodded. "You haven't seen anything yet!" "Why are we here?" "You've been shanghaied to work the ship, I'm here for a different purpose--these men can't get off the ship and they've got to be kept contented. We've got ourselves pleasant jobs, with monsters for playmates, and we can't get fired. It'll be the rottenest time of our lives, and the _rest_ of our lives, as far as I can see." Gene sank down, put the compress back on his bump. "I don't get it." "You will. I'm not absolutely sure I'm right, but I know a little more about it than you." "What's your name?" "They call me Queenie Brant. A name that fits this business. My real name is Ann O'Donnell." "Queenie's a horse's name--I'll call you Ann. Me, I'm Gene O'Neil." "That makes us both Irish," she said. He lifted the compress and saw the first really natural smile on her face. It was a sweet smile, introspective, dewy, young. "You were only a dancer." He said it flatly. For a long instant she looked at him, "Thanks. You got inside the gate on that one." "It's in your eyes. I'm glad to know you, Ann. And I'd like to know you better." "You will. There'll be plenty of time; we're bound for Io." "Where's Io?" "One of Jupiter's moons, you Irish ignoramus. It has quite a colony around the mines. Also it has a strange race of people. But Ann O'Donnell is going to live there if she can get off this ship. I don't want fingernails growing on _my_ chin." O'Neil sat up. "I get it now! It's something about the atomic drive that changes the crew!" "What else?" Gene looked at Ann, let his eyes rove over her figure. "Take a good look," she said bitterly. "Maybe it won't stay like this very long!" "We've _got_ to get off this ship!" said Gene hoarsely. * * * * * The door of the stateroom opened. A sharp-nosed face peered in, followed by a misshapen body of a man in a dirty blue uniform. Hair grew thick all around his neck and clear up to his ears. It also covered the skin from chin to shirt opening. The hair bristled, coarse as an animal's. His voice was thick, his words hissing as though his tongue was too heavy to move properly. "Captain wants you, O'Neil." Gene got up, took a step. He went clear across the room, banged against the wall. The little man laughed. "We're in space," Ann said. "We have a simulated gravity about a quarter normal. Here, let me put on your metal-soled slippers. They're magnetized to hold you to the floor." She bent and slipped the things on his feet, while Gene held his throbbing head. The little man opened the door and went out. Gene followed, his feet slipping along awkwardly. After a minute his nausea lessened. At the end of the long steel corridor the little man knocked, then opened the door to a low rumble of command. He didn't enter, just stood aside for Gene. Gene walked in, stood staring. The eyes in the face he saw were black pools of nothingness, without emotion, yet behind them an active mind was apparent. Gene realized this hairy thing was the Captain--even though he didn't even wear a shirt! "You've shanghaied me," said Gene. "I don't like it." The voice was huge and cold, like wind from an ice field. "None of us like it, chum. But the ships have got to sail. You're one of us now, because we're on our way and by the time you get there, there'll be no place left for you to work, unless it's in a circus as a freak." "I didn't ask for it," said Gene. "You did. You wanted to know too much about the crew--and if you found out, you'd spread it. You see, the drives are not what they were cooked up to be--the atomics leak, and it wasn't found out until too late. After they learned, they hid the truth, because the cargo we bring is worth millions. All the shielding they've used so far only seems to make it worse. But that won't stop the ships--they'll get crews the way they got you, and nosey people will find out more than they bargain for." "I won't take it sitting down!" said Gene angrily. The Captain ignored him. "Start saying sir. It's etiquette aboard ship to say sir to the Captain." "I'll never say sir to anyone who got me into this...." The Captain knocked him down. Gene had plenty of time to block the blow. He had put up his arms, but the big fist went right through and crashed against his chin. Gene sat down hard, staring up at the hairy thing that had once been a man. He suddenly realized the Captain was standing there waiting for an excuse to kill him. Through split and bleeding lips, while his stomach turned over and his head seemed on the point of bursting, Gene said: "Yes, sir!" The Captain turned his back, sat down again. He shoved aside a mass of worn charts, battered instruments, cigar butts, ashtrays with statuettes of naked girls in a half-dozen startling poses, comic books, illustrated magazines with sexy pictures, and made a space on the top. He thrust forward a sheet of paper. He picked up a fountain pen, flirted it so that ink spattered the tangle of junk on his desk, then handed it to Gene. "Sign on the dotted line." Gene picked up the document. It was an ordinary kind of form, an application for employment as a spacehand, third class. The ship was not named, but merely called a cargo boat. This was the paper the Company needed to keep the investigators satisfied that no one was forced to work on the ships against their will. Anger blinded him. He didn't take the pen. He just stood looking at the Captain and wondering how to keep himself from being beaten to death. After a long moment of silence the Captain laid the pen down, grinned horribly. He gave a snort. "It's just a formality. I'm supposed to turn these things over to the authorities, but they never bother us anymore. Sign it later, after you've learned. You'll be _glad_ to sign, then." "What's my job, Captain?" "Captain Jorgens, and don't forget the sir!" "Captain Jorgens, sir." "I'll put you with the Chief Engineer. He'll find work for you down in the pile room." The Captain laughed a nasty laugh, repeating the last phrase with relish. "The pile room! There's a place for you, Mr. O'Neil. When you decide to sign your papers, we'll get you a job in some other part of this can!" Gene found his way back to the cabin he had just left. The little guy with the hairy neck was there, leering at the girl. "Put you in the pile gang didn't he?" Gene nodded, sat down wearily. "I want to sleep," he said. "Nuts," said the little man. "I'm here to take you to the Chief Engineer. You go on duty in half an hour. Come on!" Gene got up. He was too sick to argue. Ann looked at him sympathetically, noting his split lips. He managed a grin at her, "If I never see you again, Ann, it's been nice knowing you, very nice." "I'll see you, Gene. They'll find us tougher than they bargained for." * * * * * The engine room looked like some of the atomic power stations he'd seen. Only smaller. There was no heavy concrete shielding, no lead walls. There was shielding around the central pile, and Gene knew that inside it was the hell of atomic chain reaction under the control of the big levers that moved the cadmium bars. There was a steam turbine at one end, and a huge boiler at the other. Gene didn't even try to guess how the pile activated the jets that drove the space ship. Somehow it "burned" the water. This pile had been illegal from the first. Obviously some official had been bribed to permit the first use of it on a spaceship. Certainly no one who knew anything about the subject would have allowed human beings to work around a thing like this. Gene's skin crawled and prickled with the energies that saturated the room. Little sparks leaped here and there, off his fingertips, off his nose. The Chief Engineer was on a metal platform above the machinery level. The face had hair all over it, even on the eyelids. The eyes, popping weirdly, were double. They looked as if second eyes had started growing inside the original ones. They weren't reasonable; they weren't even sane. The look of them made Gene sick. The Engineer shook his head back and forth to focus the awful, mutilated eyes. His voice was infinitely weary, strangely muffled. "Another sacrifice to Moloch, an's the pity! So they put you down here, as if there was anything to be done? Well, it'll be nice to work with someone who still has his buttons--as long as they last. Sit down." Gene sat down and the metal chair gave him a shock that made him jump. "I don't know anything about this kind of work." The man shrugged, "Who does? The pile runs itself. Ain't enough of it moves to need much greasing. You ought to be able to find the grease cups--they're painted red. Fill them, wipe off the dust, and wait. Then do it over again." "What's the score on this bucket?" "We're all signed on with a billy to the knob. And _kept_ aboard by a guard system that's pretty near perfect. After awhile the emanations get to our brains and we don't care anymore. Then we're trusted employees. Only reason I don't blow her loose, it wouldn't do any good." He got up, a fragile old body clad in dirty overalls. He beckoned Gene to follow him. He led the way to a periscope arrangement over the shielded pile. Gene peered in. It was like a look into boiling Hell. As Gene stared, the old man talked in his ear. "Supposed to be perfectly shielded, and maybe they are. But _something_ gets out. I think it happens in the jet assembly. A tiny trickle of high pressure steam crosses the atomic beam just above a pinhole that leads into the jet tube. It's exploded by the beam, exploded into God knows what, and the result is your jet. It's a wonderful drive, with plenty of power for the purpose. But I think it forms a strong field of static over the whole shell of the ship, a kind of sphere of reflection that throws the emanations back into the ship from every point. Just my theory, but it explains why you get these physical changes, because that process of reflection gives a different ray than was observed in the ordinary shielded jet." Gene nodded, asked: "Can I look at the jet assembly?" "Ain't no way to look at it! It's sealed up to hold in the expanding gases from that exploded steam. Looking in this periscope is what changed my eyes. Only other place the unshielded emanations could escape is from the jet chamber. Only way they can get back into the ship is by reflection from some ionized layer around the ship. If I could talk to some of those big-brained birds that developed this drive, I'd sure have things to say." Gene was convinced the old man knew what he was talking about. "Why don't you try to put your information where it'll do some good? How about the Captain?" "He's coocoo." The old man slapped the cover back on the periscope, tottered back to his perch on the platform. "He sure has changed the last two years. Won't listen to reason." Gene squatted on the steps, just beneath the old engineer's chair. The old man seemed glad to have someone to talk to. "It's got us trapped. And it's so well covered up from the people. Old spacers are changed physically, changed mentally. They know they can't go back to normal life, because it's gone too far. They'd be freaks. No woman would want a monstrosity around. Besides, it don't stop, even after you leave the ships. God knows what we'll look like in the end." Gene shivered. "But you're all grown men! A fight with no chance of winning is better than this! Why do you take it?" "Because the mind changes along with the body. It goes dead in some ways, gets more active in others. The personality shifts inside, until you're not sure of yourself, and can't make decisions any more. That's why nobody does anything. Something about those rays destroys the will. Nobody leaves the ships." "I will!" Gene said confidently. "When the time comes, I'll go. All Hell can't stop me." The old man yawned. "Hope you do, son. Hope you do. I'm going to take me a nap." He propped his feet up on the platform rail and in seconds was snoring. Gene clenched his fists, growing despair in his thoughts. "Tain't no worse than dying in a war," muttered the old man in his sleep. * * * * * The days went by and Gene learned. He understood why these men didn't actively resent the deal they were getting. No wonder the secrecy was so effective! The radiations deadened the mind, gave one the feeling of numbness, so that nothing mattered but the next meal, the next movie in the recreation lounge, the next drink of water. Values changed and shifted, and none of them seemed important. The chains that began to bind him were far stronger than steel. The chains were mental deterioration, degeneration, mutation within the very cells of the mind. He knew that now he must tend this monster forever, grease and wipe the ugly metal of it, and sit and talk idly to MacNamara, its keeper. He realized it, and didn't know how to care! The anger and hate came later. The real, abiding anger, and the living hate. At first the numbness, the sudden incomprehensible enormity of what had happened to him, then the anger. Hate churned and ground away inside him, getting stronger by the hour. It all revolved around the Captain who tramped eternally around the corridors bellowing orders, punching with his huge fists. He knew there was more to it; the lying owners of the Company, the bribe-taking officials, the health officers who failed to examine the ships and the men and the ships' papers. But somehow it all boiled down to the Captain. Sometimes he was sure he must be crazy already. Sometimes he would wake up screaming from a nightmare only to find reality more horrible. Then he would go to Ann. Ann was not the only woman aboard ship. There were three others, and to the crew of twenty imprisoned, enslaved men they represented all beauty, all womanhood. They lived with the men--as the men--and nobody cared. Here, so close to the raging elementals of the pile, life itself was elemental. As one of them expressed it to Gene: "Why worry? We're all sterile from the radioactivity anyway. Or didn't you know?" She had been on the ship for years, and was covered with a fine fur, like a cat's. Her eyes were wide, placid, empty; an animal's unthinking eyes. Gene prayed Ann would never turn monster before his eyes; hoped desperately they could get away in time. "We've got to fight, Ann," he said to her one day. "We must find a way to get off at the end of the trip, or it will be too late for us to live normal lives. It's then or never. Besides that, we've got to warn people of what's going on. They think space travel is safe. In time this could effect the whole race. The world must be told, so something can be done." Ann's young face showed signs of the strain. The fear of turning into some hideous thing was preying on her mind. She spoke rapidly, her voice breaking a little. "I've been talking to several of the crew, the old-timers, trying to get an understanding of why nothing is done. It's this way: when the ships land, guards come aboard. They're posted at the cargo locks and the passenger entrances. The only door aboard the ship that leads to the passenger compartment is in the Captain's cabin, and it's locked from both sides. Even our Captain never meets the passengers. There's only one chance, a mutiny. Then we could open the door, show the passengers." "It wouldn't do any good. When we landed, they'd find a way to shut us all up before we got to anybody. They've had a lot of practice keeping this quiet. They know the answers." She stamped a foot angrily. "It was you who said we had to fight! Now you say it's hopeless!" Gene leaned against the wall and passed a hand across his eyes. He looked at Ann's flushed beauty and managed a grin. "Guess I'm getting as bad as the rest of them, baby. We'll fight. Sure we'll fight." * * * * * It started with Schwenky. Schwenky was a gigantic Swede. He was the boss freight handler. It was his job to sort the cargo for the next port of call. He would get it into the cargo lock, then seal the doors so nobody would try to smuggle themselves out with the freight. Schwenky was intensely loyal and stupid enough not to understand the real reason behind their imprisonment--which was why he held his job. No one got by Schwenky. But this time, in Marsport, something was missing. They'd driven the trucks up to the cargo port, unloaded everything, and then compared invoices with the material. They swore some claimed machinery parts were due them. Schwenky swore he'd placed them in the cargo lock, and that the truckers were trying to hold up the Company. The Captain allowed the truckers claim and after the ship had blasted off into space, called Schwenky in to bawl him out. They must have gotten really steamed up, because Gene and Frank Maher heard the racket clear down on the next deck where they were cleaning freight out of a sealed compartment for the next stop. Gene and Frank raced up the ladders to the top deck, and Gene found the break he had prayed for. Schwenky holding the Captain against the wall; beating the monstrosity that had once been a man with terrible fists. Gene felt a sudden thrill. In a situation like this you used any weapon you could find. Schwenky was a deadly weapon. Gene laid a hand on Schwenky's massive shoulder. "Hold it man! You'll kill him!" Schwenky turned a face, red and popeyed, to Gene. "The Captain make a mistake. He try to knock Schwenky down. No man do that to Schwenky." "When he comes to, he'll lock you in the brig, put you on bread and water...." Suddenly Schwenky realized the enormity of his offense. It was obvious from his face that he considered himself already dead. "Nah, my friend Gene! Now they kill Schwenky. Bad! But what I do?" Gene eyed him carefully. "Put the Captain in the brig, of course. What else? Then he _can't_ kill you." "Lock him up, eh? Good idea! Then we think, you and I, what we do next. Maybe something come to us, eh?" Gene bent over the Captain's body, found the pistol in his hip pocket, put it in his own. He took the ring of keys from the belt. "Bring him along, Schwenky. If we meet anyone, I'll use this." Gene patted the gun. "I won't let them hurt my friend, Schwenky." "Damn! let them come! I fix them! Don't have to shoot them. I got fists!" "I'd rather be shot, myself," said Gene, watching the ease with which the giant freight handler lifted the huge body of the Captain, tossing it over his shoulder like a sack of straw. "I'll go ahead," said Frank Maher. "If I run into Perkins, the First, I'll whistle once. If I run into Symonds, the Second, I'll whistle twice. I don't think there's another soul aboard we need worry about. All we got to do is slap the Cap in the brig, round up Perkins and Symonds, and the ship is ours. What worries me, Gene, then what do we do?" "It's Schwenky's mutiny," grinned Gene. "Ask him." "Nah!" said Schwenky hastily. "I don' know. Maybe we just sail on till we find good place, leave ship, go look for job." Maher said, "Me with my lumpy face? And the Chief with hair on his cheekbones and double eyeballs? And Heinie with fingernails growing where his collar button should be? I wonder what we _can_ do, if we get free?" * * * * * They got down the first stairwell, but passing along the rather lengthy companionway to the next stairhead, they heard Maher whistle twice. Schwenky put the Captain down, conked him with one massive fist to make sure he stayed out, then stood there, waiting. The Second came up out of the stairwell, turned and started toward them. Gene put his hand on the gun butt, waiting until he had to pull it. Schwenky said: "Come here, Mr. Perkins, sir. Look see what has happened!" The Englishman peered at the shapeless, hairy mass of the unconscious Captain. His face went white. Gene knew he was wondering if he could keep the crew from mutiny without the Captain present to cow them. Perkins straightened, his face a pallid mask in the dimness. "What happened, Schwenky?" "This, Mr. Perkins, sir--" said Schwenky. He slapped an open palm against the side of Perkins' head. Perkins sprawled full length on the steel deck, but he wasn't out, which surprised Gene. He lay there, staring up at the gigantic Swede, his face half red from the terrible blow, the other half white with the fear in him. His hand was tugging at his side and Gene realized he was after his gun. Gene pulled out his own weapon even as he leaped upon the slim body of the man on the floor. His feet missed the moving arm, the hand came out with a snub-nosed automatic in it. Gene grabbed it, bore down. But the gun went off, the bullet ricocheting off the wall-plates with a scream. Gene slugged the man across the head with the barrel of the Captain's gun. Perkins went limp. Maher came up now and grabbed Perkins' gun. "Lead on," said Gene. He picked Perkins up and put him over his shoulder. Schwenky retrieved the slumbering Captain and they proceeded on their way to the cell on the bottom deck. But the shot had been heard, and from above came the sound of running feet. Gene began to trot, almost fell down the last flight of stairs, went along the companionway at a run. At the cell door he dropped Perkins, tried four or five keys frantically. One fit. He pulled open the door and Schwenky drove in, kicking the body of Perkins over the sill. The Captain dropped heavily to the deck and Schwenky was out again. Gene was locking the door when he heard the shout from Symonds, running toward them. "What's going on there, men?" Schwenky started to amble toward the dark, wiry Second, his big face smiling like that of a simpleton. "We haf little trouble, Mr. Symonds, sir. Maybe we should call you, but we did not haf time. Everything is all right now. You come see, we explain everything...." He made a grab for the little Second Mate's neck with one big paw. But the Second was wary, ducked quickly, was off. Gene and Maher sprang after him. Gene shouted: "Stop or I'll fire, Symonds! You're all alone now!" Gene let one shot angle off the wall, close beside the fleeing form, but the man didn't stop. Instead he headed for the bridge. Gene realized he could lock himself in, keep them from the ship controls. He could hold out there the rest of the voyage. "We've got to stop him!" Maher close behind, they ran up the stairs on the Second's heels. Up the companionway they pounded, the Second increasing his lead. A door opened ahead of him and Ann O'Donnell appeared. Symonds cursed and tried to pass her. Ann deftly slid out one pretty leg and the officer turned a somersault, and brought up against the wall at the foot of the stairs to the upper deck and the bridge. But the Second was too frightened to let a little thing like a fall stop him. He went scrambling up the stairs on all fours. Gene was still too far away, and Ann moved like a streak of light. She sailed through the air in a long dancer's leap and with two bounds was up the stair, ahead of the scrambling, fear-stricken officer. "Out of my way, bitch," and Symonds hurled himself toward Ann. Gene leaped forward, but he needn't have bothered. Ann lifted one of her educated feet, caught the Second under the chin and he came down the stair like a sack of meal. Gene caught his full weight. The two men fell in a scramble of flailing arms and legs, knocking the props out from under Maher, who had started out after them. Just how the mixup might have turned out they were not to know, for just then the vast weight of Schwenky descended upon the three and Maher let out a scream of anguish. But Gene and Symonds were on the bottom, too crushed by this tactic to make a sound. * * * * * It was minutes later when Gene came back to consciousness, finding his head resting in Ann O'Donnell's lap while her swift hands prodded him here and there, looking for broken bones. "I'm dead for sure," groaned Gene. "You've just had the wind knocked out of you. You'll be all right," and Ann let his head fall from her grasp with a thump. She stood up, a little abashed at the going over she'd been giving him. "Where're my mutineers?" Gene asked. "Went to lock Symonds with the others. What is going to happen now? I'm not sure I like this development, now it's happened." "You should have thought of that before you tripped Symonds," said Gene. "But I'll admit there are problems. For instance, with all the officers in the brig, how can we be sure we can keep this atomic junk heap headed in the right direction?" "What _is_ the correct direction?" asked Ann, squatting down beside him. "I don't know. We'll have to figure it out, then see if we can point her that way." "Let's get up to the bridge," she said. Schwenky and Maher found them brooding over the series of levers and buttons which comprised the control board. Schwenky noted their baffled frowns. His big face took on a worried look. "You fix!" he said. "You good fellow, Gene. We run ship, let officers go to hell. Yah!" Maher scratched one patch of greying hair over his left eye. The rest of his skull was covered with brown bumps like fungus growths. "It's just possible we'll wreck the ship, let the air out of her or something, if we experiment," he warned. "Go get MacNamara," said Gene. "He's been on the ship longer than any of us. Maybe he'll know." He didn't. "All I know is grease cups," he reminded Gene. Hours later eighteen men and four women gathered together in the recreation room to discuss a plan of action. Everyone had his or her ideas, but after an hour of wrangling, they got nowhere. Finally Gene held up a hand and shouted for silence. "Let's decide who's boss, then follow orders," he said. "If I may be so bold, how about me?" "Yah!" said Schwenky. "I do what you say. I like you!" Old MacNamara grumbled to himself. "Do nothing, I say. We ought to stick to our duty, and save the lives of those who would have to take our places...." The unguarded pile had given MacNamara a martyr complex. Maher looked over at him. "Your idea of sacrifice is all very fine, MacNamara. But we're not all anxious to die. You know what would happen now if we gave up!" Gene spoke up again. "Let me summarize the position we're in--maybe then we can make a better decision." "Go ahead," said Ann. The others nodded and fell silent, waiting. Gene cleared his throat. "The way it looks to me, we've had a lucky accident in getting control of the ship. So far, we've not contacted the passengers. They know nothing of the change that's taken place. As it is, I see no point in contacting them. It might force us to face another mutiny, that of the passengers, who would regard us as what we are, mutineers, and when they found we weren't going to our destination, they'd certainly not all take it lying down. Point number one, then, is to ignore the passengers, keep the knowledge of a mutiny from them. "Now, our real purpose in this mutiny is to expose this whole vicious secret slavery, tell Earth of the danger of the unshielded piles in space ships, destroy the Company's monopoly, and bring about new research which I'm sure would eventually overcome the difficulty. Just how are we going to do that? The answer is simple--we must get back to Earth, and we must get back in a way the Company will not be able to intercept us. As I understand it, this won't be easy. The Company is in complete control of space travel, and they have the ships to knock us out of space before we can get near Earth. Somehow we've got to win through. Can we do it by a direct return to Earth? I doubt it. However, say we do it. Then where do we go? The government might look upon us as mutineers and thus give the Company a chance to quash the whole affair. "So we've got to go directly to the people, who, once they _see_ us, and realize what space travel with these piles means, will demand an explanation with such public feeling even the government can't avoid a showdown. It's the secrecy we must break. Thus, we must land on Earth with the biggest possible splurge of publicity. We've got to do it so no Company ship can prevent it. "Then there's this to consider. Most of you would find it a difficult thing to take up a life on Earth. I know that many of you want to take off for some remote world, and try to live out your lives by yourselves. I say that would be a cowardly thing to do. So, before we decide anything else, I say let's decide here and now that the _only_ thing we will do is go back to Earth." One of the most grotesquely deformed of the crew spoke up. "No woman would ever look at me," he said defiantly. "Children would stare at me and scream in terror. I've suffered enough. Why should I suffer more?" The woman in the fine fur got to her feet and walked over to him. She sat down beside him and took his hand in hers. "I will look at you," she said. "When we get back to Earth, I will marry you and live with you--if you are brave enough to take me there." For an instant the crewman stared at her out of his horribly bulging popeyes, then he swallowed hard and clutched her hand fiercely. "The Devil himself will not keep me from it!" he said hoarsely. Gene, staring at the man, felt a warm hand slip into his, and he turned to find Ann. "I think that answers for all of us," she said. The room rang with the shouts of approval. Once more Gene began talking. "All right, then, I've a plan. First, we'll try to find out how to maneuver this craft. I believe we can persuade one of the Mates to show us the controls without much trouble." "Yah!" interrupted Schwenky. "They show!" "We'll set a course for Earth by the sun. We'll come in with the sun at our back, which means we'll have to make a wide circle off the traveled spacelanes, through unknown space, and come in from the direction of the inner planets, which are uninhabited and unvisited. Also, with the sun behind us, we won't be observed from Earth. Then, with all our speed, we'll come in, land at high noon in Chicago, right in front of the offices of the _Sentinel_, the newspaper for which I work." There was a chorus of exclamations. Ann looked at him in amazement. "You, a newspaperman!" she gasped. "Yes. I was sent out by my boss to find out what was behind the secrecy of the space ships. I got shanghaied as a crew member. Now, with your help, maybe I can complete my assignment. Once we get to my boss, the show will be over. He'll blast the story wide open." "Wonderful!" shouted Maher. "Come, Schwenky! We will get Perkins and make him show us how to run the ship!" Schwenky chortled in glee. "Yah! We get. By golly, I know that Gene O'Neill is good man! Maybe I get my picture in newspaper?" Maher stared at him. "God forbid!" he said. "Unless it's in the comic section!" "Yah!" agreed Schwenky. "In comic section!" * * * * * Two weeks later, as the ship crossed Earth's orbit and headed in behind the planet in the plane of the sun, the meteorite hit. It tore a great hole in the passenger side of the ship, and knocked out the port jets. The ship veered crazily under the influence of its lopsided blast, and the crew was hurled against the wall and pinned there as the continuing involuntary maneuver built up acceleration. Gene, who had been in his bunk, was pressed against the wall by a giant hand. Savagely he fought to adjust himself into a more bearable position, then tried to figure out what had happened. Obviously the ship was veering about, out of control. "Meteorite!" he gasped. "We've been hit." He pulled himself from the bunk, slid along the wall to the door. It was all he could do to open it, but once in the companionway outside, he found that he could crawl along one wall, off the floor, in an inching progress. He made it finally to the control room, and forced his body around the door jamb and inside. Against the far wall Maher was plastered, dazed, but conscious. At his feet lay Heinie, his head crushed, obviously dead. "Cut off the rest of the jets!" gasped Maher. "I can't make it!" Gene crawled slowly around the room, following the wall, until he could reach the controls, then he pulled the lever that controlled the jet blast. The ship's unnatural veering stopped instantly and both Maher and Gene dropped heavily to the floor. Gene was up first and helped Maher to his feet. Together they turned to the indicators. "Passenger deck's out!" said Maher. "Except for a few compartments. The automatic seals have operated. But there must be somebody left alive in them." "We've got to get them," said Gene. "But first, we've got to check up on what damage has been done here, and how many casualties we have." "Heinie's dead," said Maher. "He hit the wall with his head." Gene shuddered, and deep in his stomach nausea churned. He thought of Ann and his blood froze in his veins. "You take below decks, I'll go up," he said. Ann's cabin was on the deck above. Maher nodded and staggered away. Gene scrambled up the stairwell as fast as he could, and ran down the corridor. At Ann's door he stopped, turned the knob. The door opened. The room was empty. Suddenly he heard running footsteps, and Ann threw herself into his arms, sobbing. "Where were you?" he asked, almost savagely. "I went to your cabin, to see if you were hurt. What happened to the ship?" "Meteorite hit us. Knocked out the passenger deck. Most of the passengers will be dead, but we've got to go in and rescue the survivors." Doors were opening here and there and the crew members able to make it were congregating around them. They went to the recreation room. There Gene counted noses. Five crewmen were missing. Of those present, six men were injured, and one woman exhibited a black eye, accentuating her other abnormalities. The three prisoners were reported unharmed. "What about the missing men?" Gene asked. "Three dead," Maher replied, "two badly hurt. We'll need somebody to look after them." "I'll go," volunteered Ann. The woman in fur stepped forward also, and they left the room behind Maher and Schwenky. Gene faced the rest. "We've got a real problem now. With a reduced crew, we'll have to finish a trip that would have been tough with an uninjured ship. But first, we've got to search the passenger deck and remove the survivors. All of you who are able, put on pressure suits and come with me." He led the way to the locker containing the pressure suits. Seven men, those who were not too deformed to don the suits, made up the party. Gene led the way to the Captain's stateroom, ordered the door sealed behind them, then opened the only door to the damaged deck. The air rushed out as the door swung open, and suddenly complete silence descended upon them. There would be no more communication between them except for signs. [Illustration] In an hour they had determined the truth. All passengers but one, a woman, had been killed instantly. The woman was unconscious, but suffering only from bruises. It had been necessary, after discovering her unpierced cabin, to return to the deck above and cut through with a torch. When she regained consciousness and saw her rescuers, she screamed. "That'll give us some idea of how the people back on Earth will receive us," said Gene. "If we get there, that is." Later, in the control room, Maher and MacNamara gave their report. "We can make it," said MacNamara, "but we'll come in limping like a wounded moose. If any of the Company ships sight us, we'll be a sitting duck. But maybe it will be better that way. This is like war, and some of us must die...." His voice trailed off in a mumble. "Some of us _are_ dying," said Maher. "But he's right, Gene; we can make it, with luck. We'll not be able to come in fast, nor land in the city, but we'll make it to Earth." "That's enough," decided Gene. "If we can land near Chicago, I think I can manage the rest." They turned to the controls, and MacNamara went back to his pile room. Once more the ship limped on, this time directly toward the ball of Earth, looming a scant twenty million miles away. * * * * * It took eight days to come within a million miles of their goal. Then tragedy struck again. The cabin on the passenger deck from which they had removed the sole survivor blew its door, and the air on the deck above rushed out through the hole they had burned into the cabin. It had been forgotten, and it meant the lives of three more crew members. Then, as they prepared to bring the ship into the atmosphere, Maher, peering through the telescope, let out a shout. "Company ship, coming up fast! They're after us!" Gene leaped to the telescope and peered through. Far to the left, a glowing silver streak in the sky, was the familiar shape of a space ship, growing larger by the minute. Studying it, Gene saw that it was an armed cruiser. "They've got wise," said Maher. "I thought they would, when we didn't check in at Io. Probably radioed back to be on the lookout for us." "Call MacNamara," said Gene. "We've got to see if he can set us down faster. Maybe there's some way to step up that pile." Maher rushed off, and Ann came in. "What's up?" she asked. "Cruiser after us," said Gene, his face grim. "Looks like we won't get to Chicago unless MacNamara has something up that old sleeve of his." Ann went white, and together they waited for the old Engineer. When he came in, Gene gestured to the telescope. "Take a look." MacNamara squinted through the eyepiece with his double popeyes. "Don't see a thing," he grumbled. "Well, it's a Company Cruiser, gunned to the limit. She's going to be near enough to shoot us down in about three hours." "Three hours, you say?" MacNamara scratched his head. "How near we to Earth?" "Half a million miles." "You could make it in the lifeboat." Gene snorted. "That Cruiser'd shoot down the lifeboat as easy as it will the ship--a lot easier." "If they can catch you," said MacNamara. "Some of us must die, that the rest may live." "Don't start that again, Mac," said Maher impatiently. "What we want to know is whether you can soup up that pile so we can beat that Cruiser down to Earth?" "Not a thing I can do," said the Chief Engineer. "We've only one set of tubes. Full power would shoot us all over the sky. But I _can_ do something as good." "What?" The old Engineer considered them through his double eyes. "The rest of you'll take the lifeboat and make for Earth. I'll remain here on the ship and shield your flight. I'm sure I can hide the little boat for awhile, and then, even with one jet, I think I can delay the cruiser until you get away. Someone's got to make a sacrifice. I'm old, and I didn't want any of this to begin with." Maher gasped. "Mac, you old fool. D'ya mind if I apologize for what I just said? But you're right, that's a possible answer. Only I'll be the one to stay." "Do you know how to adjust the pile and the jets to make a weapon out of them?" asked MacNamara. "No ..." began Maher. MacNamara grinned, "Nor am I going to tell you! So, you see, you can't be the one to stay." Maher gripped the old man's hand and pumped it. "You win," he said. "You old ... crackpot!" There was real affection in his voice. "Then be off with you," said the Chief Engineer. "You've not a minute to lose. Every man jack of you into the boat, including the Captain and the Mates. I'll not have _my_ ship cluttered up with extra hands that might cramp my style...." And turning, the old man made his way back to the pile room, mumbling to himself. Eyes wet, Gene gave the orders to abandon ship, and within thirty minutes every living soul was aboard the lifeboat. MacNamara had finished his work with the pile and was back in the control room, waiting for the lifeboat to cast off. As it did so, he waved, then turned to the controls. As the lifeboat darted away on its chemical jet engines, they could see the old man maneuvering the big ship so as to keep it ever between them and the Cruiser. An hour later when they were within a hundred thousand miles of Earth, MacNamara sent up a flare denoting surrender. Tensely they watched the distant speck of light that was the ship with MacNamara on it. Then, around its side came the Company Cruiser, steering in toward it to make the capture. It was scarcely a thousand miles from the disabled ship. Gradually it drew closer, then edged in. Now it was only a few miles away, and at this distance, both specks seemed to merge. "They got him!" Maher said. "Yah!" Schwenky boomed, disappointment in his voice. "Me, I should have been the one to stay. I would slap them." Suddenly, out in space, a bright flower grew. A flower of incandescent light that blossomed with terrifying rapidity, until it seemed to engulf all space in the area of the two ships. The familiar sphere of brilliance that marked an exploding atom bomb hung there in the heavens an instant, then it was gone. In its place was only a vast cloud of smoke, the dust and scattered atoms that were all that remained of two gigantic space ships. "He detonated the pile!" said Gene, "He turned himself into an atom bomb!" "Yah!" said Schwenky, his voice strangely muted. "Yah!" Awkwardly he turned and patted Ann's head as she began to sob. * * * * * "Is it not handsome?" asked Schwenky proudly, holding the front page of the newspaper up for all to see. "I have my picture in the paper! Is it not nice?" Laughing, Ann kissed the big Swede right on the lips, and hugged him, paper and all. "It's beautiful, you big lug!" she said. "The handsomest picture I've ever seen in any paper." "Nah!" denied Schwenky. "It is not the handsomest. All of us have our pictures in the paper. We are all very good looking! Not only Schwenky. Is it not so, Gene, my friend?" Gene grinned at him, and at the others. Maher pounded him on the back, and over the uproar came the voice of the editor of the _Sentinel_. "Telephone for Mr. Schwenky!" Schwenky looked dazed, cocked his big ears at the editor. "For Schwenky?" he asked stupidly. "Telephone? Who would call Schwenky on the telephone?" "How do I know?" said the editor. "It's some lady...." He thrust the phone into the big Swede's hand. "Lady?" said Schwenky wonderingly. "Hello ... lady ..." he spoke into the receiver, his booming voice making it rattle. "The other ..." began Gene, then desisted. "Never mind, she'll hear you...." "What? You want to marry me? Lady...." Schwenky's eyes bulged even more, and he roared into the transmitter. "Lady! You wait! I come!" He thrust the phone into the editor's hands and made for the door like a lumbering bull. "Where you going?" yelled Gene. Schwenky halted, turned with a big grin, "I go to marry lady. She asked me to become my wife!" "Where is she?" asked Gene. "Where are you going to meet her?" Schwenky looked stupidly at the now silent phone. "By golly! I forget to ask her!" There was tragedy in his voice. "Now I never find her!" The editor laughed. "Never mind--you'll get a hundred more proposals before the day's over. You can take your pick!" Schwenky's eyes opened wide. Then he grinned again. "Yah!" he roared. "I take my pick! She will be so beautiful! Yah!" The chatter of the teletype interrupted him, and the editor turned to watch the tape as it came from the machine. Then he began to read: "Washington. April 23. President Walworth has grounded all spaceships and ordered all those enroute to proceed to the nearest port. A Congressional committee has been picked, including top members of the cabinet, to investigate the ships, the atomic drives, and the system of secret slavery among crews. In a statement to the Press, President Walworth said that space travel will not be resumed until proper shields are developed. But he added that he had been informed by leading physicists that the problem can be solved within a year if sufficient funds were available. Said the President: 'I will see that the funds are made available!'" The editor dropped the tape and turned to Gene. "I have one more bit of information, this one direct from the President by phone. He has asked me to inform you that he has appointed you new head of FAST." "FAST?" asked Gene. "What's that?" "Federal Agency for Space Travel," grinned the editor. "And congratulations. I hate to lose a good reporter, but maybe you'll be back after you finish in Washington--at a substantial increase in salary." Gene grinned back. "Maybe I will," he said. "And I'll need the money." He put an arm around Ann and drew her to him. "Two can't live as cheap as one, you know." 
21710	----	THE CREW OF THE WATER WAGTAIL, BY R.M. BALLANTYNE CHAPTER ONE. A ROUGH BEGINNING. It is well that mankind cannot pry into the secrets of futurity. At all events, it is certain that if the crew of the _Water Wagtail_ had known what was in store for them when they set sail from Bristol, one fine spring morning at the beginning of the sixteenth century, most of them would have remained at home--though it is not improbable that, even with full knowledge of coming events, some of the romantic among them, and a few of the reckless, might have decided to go on. Undoubtedly Paul Burns would have scorned to draw back, for he was a "hero of romance;" an enthusiast of the deepest dye, with an inquiring mind, a sanguine disposition, and a fervent belief in all things great and good and grand. He was also a six-footer in his socks, a horse in constitution, a Hercules in frame, with a hook nose and a hawk eye and a strong jaw--and all the rest of it. Paul had a good brain, too, and was well educated--as education went in those days. Yes, there can be little doubt that even though Paul Burns had been able to see into the future, he would have deliberately chosen to go on that voyage. So would Oliver Trench, for Oliver worshipped Paul! He loved him as if he had been an elder brother. He admired him, afar off, as a rare specimen of human perfection. He looked up to him, physically as well as mentally, for Oliver was at that time little more than a boy of medium size, but bold as a bull-dog and active as a weasel. Yes, we are safe to say that a revelation of the disasters, dangers, sufferings, etcetera, in store, would not have deterred Oliver Trench. He would have gone on that voyage simply because Paul Burns went. That was reason enough for him. The devotion of Ruth to Naomi was mild compared with that of Oliver to Paul--if words are a test of feelings--for Ruth's beautiful language could not compare with the forcible expressions with which Oliver assured his friend that he would stick to him, neck or nothing, through thick and thin, to the latest hour of life! As for the rest of the crew--Big Swinton, Little Stubbs, George Blazer, Squill, and the like--it was well, as we have said, that they could not see into the future. There were forty of them, all told, including the cook and the cabin-boy. We do not include Paul Burns or Oliver Trench, because the former was naturalist to the expedition--a sort of semi-scientific freelance; and the latter, besides being the master's, or skipper's, son, was a free-and-easy lance, so to speak, whose duties were too numerous to mention, and too indefinite to understand. Most of the men were what is expressed by the phrase "no better than they should be." Some of them, indeed, were even worse than that. The wars of the period had rendered it difficult to obtain good seamen at that particular time, so that merchant skippers had to content themselves with whatever they could get. The crew of the _Water Wagtail_ was unusually bad, including, as it did, several burglars and a few pickpockets, besides loafers and idlers; so that, before leaving Bristol, a friend of the skipper, whose imagination was lively, styled it a crew of forty thieves. The coast of Norway was the destination of the _Water Wagtail_. She never reached the coast of--but we must not anticipate. What her object was in reference to Norway we cannot tell. Ancient records are silent on the point. The object of Paul Burns was to gather general information. At that period the world was not rich in general information. To discover, to dare, to do--if need were, to die--was the intention of our big hero. To be similarly circumstanced in a small way was our little hero's ambition. "Goin' to blow," remarked Skipper Trench, on the evening of the day on which he sailed, as he paced the deck with his hands in his pockets, and, as his son Oliver said, his "weather-eye" open. It seemed as though the weather, having overheard the prophecy, was eager to fulfil it, for a squall could be seen bearing down on the ship even while the words were being uttered. "Close reef to-o-o-p-s'ls!" roared Master Trench, with the energy of a man who means what he says. We are not sure of the precise nautical terms used, but the result was a sudden and extensive reduction of canvas; and not a moment too soon, for the operation had scarcely been completed when the squall struck the ship, almost capsized her, and sent her careering over the billows "like a thing of life." This was the first of a succession of squalls, or gales, which blew the _Water Wagtail_ far out upon the Atlantic Ocean, stove in her bulwarks, carried away her bowsprit and foretopmast, damaged her skylights, strained her rudder, and cleared her decks of loose hamper. After many days the weather moderated a little and cleared up, enabling Master Trench to repair damages and shape his course for Norway. But the easterly gales returned with increased violence, undid all the repairs, carried away the compass, and compelled these ancient mariners to run westward under bare poles--little better than a wreck for winds and waves to play with. In these adverse circumstances the skipper did what too many men are apt to do in their day of sorrow--he sought comfort in the bottle. Love of strong drink was Master Trench's weakest point. It was one of the few points on which he and his friend Burns disagreed. "Now, my dear man," said Paul, seating himself one evening at the cabin table and laying his hand impressively on his friend's arm, "do let me lock up this bottle. You can't navigate the ship, you know, when you've got so much of that stuff under your belt." "O yes, I can," said the skipper, with an imbecile smile, for his friend had a winning way with him that conciliated even while he rebuked. "Don't you fear, Paul, I--I'm all right!" The half-offended idiotic expression of the man's face was intensely ludicrous, but Paul could not see the ludicrous at that time. He only saw his usually sedate, manly, generous friend reduced to a state of imbecility. "Come, now, Master Trench," he said persuasively, taking hold of the case-bottle, "let me put it away." "N-no, I won't" said the captain sharply, for he was short of temper. The persuasive look on Paul's face suddenly vanished. He rose, grasped the bottle firmly, went to the open hatch, and sent it whizzing up into the air with such force that it went far over the stern of the ship and dropped into the sea, to the unutterable amazement of the man at the helm, who observed the bottle's unaccountable flight with an expression of visage all his own. There is no accounting for the rapid transitions of thought and feeling in drunken men. The skipper sprang up, clenched his right hand, and gazed in fierce astonishment at his friend, who advanced towards him with a benignant smile, quite regardless of consequences. Even in the act of striking, the captain restrained his arm and opened his hand. Paul met it with a friendly grasp, while the faces of both men expanded in smiling goodwill. "Y-you're a trump, P-Paul," said the captain. "I--I--won't drink a-another d'op!" And Master Trench kept his word. From that day forth, till circumstances rendered drinking impossible, he drank nothing stronger than water. Soon after this event the weather improved, damages were again repaired, and the skipper--in whom there was much of the spirit of the old vikings--once more laid his course for Norway, resolving to steer, as the said vikings were wont to do, by the stars. But a spirit of mutiny was abroad in the forecastle by that time. If hard work, hard fare, and hard fortune are trying even to good men and true, what must they be to bad men and false? "Here's how it lays, men," said Big Swinton, in a subdued voice, to a knot of friends around him. "Blowin' hard as it has bin ever since we left England, it stands to reason that we must have pretty nigh got across the western sea to that noo land discovered by that man wi' the queer name--I can't remember rightly--" "Columbus, you mean," cried George Blazer. "Why, my father sailed with Columbus on his first voyage." "No, it wasn't Columbus," returned Swinton, in a sharp tone, "an' you needn't speak as if we was all deaf, Blazer. It was John Cabot I was thinkin' of, who, with his son Sebastian, discovered land a long way to the nor'ard o' Columbus's track. They called it Newfoundland. Well, as I was sayin', we must be a long way nearer to that land than to Norway, an' it will be far easier to reach it. Moreover, the Cabots said that the natives there are friendly and peaceable, so it's my opinion that we should carry on as we go till we reach Newfoundland, an' see whether we can't lead a jollier life there than we did in Old England." "But it's _my_ opinion," suggested Little Stubbs, "that the skipper's opinion on that point will have to be found out first, Swinton, for it's of more importance than yours. You ain't skipper _yet_, you know." "That's so, Stubbs," said Squill, with a nod. "Let your tongues lie still," retorted Swinton, in an undertoned growl. "Of course I know I'm not skipper yet, but if you men have the courage of rabbits I'll be skipper before another sun rises--or whoever you choose to appoint." A sudden silence ensued for a few moments, for, although there had been mutinous whisperings before, no one had, up to that time, ventured to make a distinct proposal that action should be taken. "What! steal the ship?" exclaimed a huge black-bearded fellow named Grummidge. "Nay--I'll have no hand in that." "Of course not; we have no intention to _steal_ the ship," retorted Swinton, before any one else had time to express an opinion; "we are all upright honourable men here. We only mean to take the _loan_ of her. After all we have suffered we are entitled surely to a pleasure-trip, and when that's over we can return the ship to the owners--if so disposed. You'll join us in that, Grummidge, won't you? And we'll make you skipper--or first mate, if you're too modest to take command." This sally was received with a subdued laugh, and with marks of such decided approval, that Grummidge was carried with the current--at all events, he held his tongue after that. An earnest undertoned discussion followed, and it was finally arranged that Big Swinton should sound Master Trench about the propriety of running to Newfoundland instead of returning on their track to Norway. The seaman was not slow to act. That afternoon, while at the helm, he made the suggestion to the skipper, but met with a sharp rebuke and an order to attend to his duty. No word did Big Swinton reply, but that very night he entered the cabin with a dozen men and seized the skipper, his son, and Paul Burns, while they slept. Of course, being greatly outnumbered, they were overcome and bound. The two officers of the vessel were also seized by another party on deck, and all the five were imprisoned in the hold. Next morning they were brought on deck, and made to stand in a row before Big Swinton, who had, in the meantime, been appointed by the mutineers to the command of the ship. "Now, Master Trench," said Swinton, "we are no pirates. We have no desire to kill you, so that whether you are killed or not will depend on yourself. If you agree to navigate this ship to Newfoundland--good; if not we will heave you overboard." "Heave away then," growled the skipper, his nature being such that the more he was defied the more defiant he became. "Well, Master Trench, you shall have your way. Get the plank ready, boys," said Swinton, turning to the men. "Now stand aside and let the first mate choose." The same question being put to the two mates, they returned similar answers, and were ordered to prepare to walk the plank. "You don't understand navigation, I fancy, Master Burns," said Swinton to Paul, "but as you can set broken bones, and things of that sort, we will spare you if you agree to serve us." "Thank you," replied Paul, with quiet urbanity. "I prefer to accompany Master Trench, if you have no objection." There was a slight laugh at the coolness of this reply, which enraged the new skipper. "Say you so?" he exclaimed, jumping up. "Come, then, shove out the plank, lads, and bring them on one at a time." "Stop!" cried little Oliver, at this point. "You've forgot _me_." "No, my little man, I haven't," returned Swinton, with a cynical smile. "You shall accompany your amiable father; but first I'll give you a fair chance," he added, in a bantering tone: "will _you_ navigate the ship?" "Yes, I will," answered Oliver promptly. "Indeed!" exclaimed the new skipper, taken aback by the boy's boldness, and at a loss for a reply. "Yes, indeed," retorted Oliver, "only put me in command, with an auger, and I'll navigate the ship to the bottom of the sea, with you and all your cowardly crew on board of her!" "Well said, little master," cried Grummidge, while a general laugh of approval went round. Seeing that there was a symptom of better feeling among some of the men, Master Trench was about to make an appeal to them, when-- "Land ho!" was shouted by the look-out in stentorian tones. CHAPTER TWO. THE ADVENTURERS LAND ON THE ISLAND. The excitement caused by the sight of land was tremendous. Nearly every one ran to the bow or leaped on the bulwarks, and the prisoners were left unguarded. Seeing this, Grummidge quietly cut their bonds unobserved, and then hurried forward to gaze with the rest. Even the man at the tiller left his post for a moment to get a better view of the land. On returning, he found Master Trench occupying his place, and Paul Burns standing beside him with a handspike in his grasp. Oliver had also armed himself with a marlinespike in default of a better weapon. "Go for'ard, my man," said the skipper, in a quiet voice, "an' tell your mates to get ready the anchor and stand by the cable. Haste ye, if you value life." The man slunk away without a word. "We seem far from land yet, Master Trench; why such haste?" asked Paul. "Look over the stern," was the skipper's curt reply. Paul and Oliver both did so, and saw that another squall was bearing down on them. "Is it Newfoundland?" asked Paul. "Ay, and an ugly coast to make in a squall. Hallo! there--if ye would not be food for fishes lay aloft and take in all sail!" The skipper, as his wont was, gave the order in a stern tone of command, and resigned the tiller to Grummidge, who came aft at the moment. The men saw with surprise that a heavy squall was bearing down on them from the eastward. Mutiny flew, as it were, out at the hawseholes, while discipline re-entered by the cabin windows. Even Big Swinton was cowed for the moment. It may be that the peculiar way in which Paul Burns eyed him and toyed with the handspike had some effect on him. Possibly he was keenly alive to the danger which threatened them. At all events, he went to work like the rest! And there was occasion for haste. Before the sails were properly secured, the squall struck them; the foremast was snapped off close to the deck; for a time the ship became unmanageable and drifted rapidly towards the land. "Is that a small island that I see on the weather bow, Olly?" said the skipper to his son. "Look, your eyes are better than mine." "Yes, father. It looks like a small one." "Steer for that, Grummidge. We'll take shelter in its lee." The sails were braced, and the direction of the vessel was changed, while the wreck of the foremast was being cleared away; but, just as they were drawing near to the island, the wind chopped round, and the hoped-for shelter they were approaching became suddenly a lee shore. "Nothing can save us now," muttered Grummidge, "the _Water Wagtail_ is going to her doom." "You're right, my man. Before another hour goes by, she will have wagged her tail for the last time," said Master Trench, somewhat bitterly. They were both right. In less than an hour after that the ship was hurled upon the outlying rocks of a low island. Shaken and strained as she had been during her disastrous voyage, it took but a short time to break her up, but the bow had been thrust high between two rocks and remained fast. Circumstances do not change character, but they often bring it to the front. Heroes and poltroons may remain unknown until a sudden incident or change of condition reveals them. As the crew of the wrecked ship clustered on the fragment of the bow, and gazed on the tumultuous flood of foaming water that seethed between them and the shore, their hearts failed them for fear. Some sternly compressed their lips, and looked like men who had made up their minds to "die game." A few even looked defiant, as if daring Fate to do her worst, though the pallor of their countenances gave the lie to the expression of their features; but many of them, in the terror of the moment, cried aloud for mercy, and wildly promised amendment if their lives should be spared. A few were composed and grave. Brave men, though bad. Possibly some of these prayed. If so, they had the sense to do it silently to Him who knows the secrets of all hearts. "No man can cross that and live," said the skipper, in a low, sad tone. "It is my intention to try, Master Trench," said Paul Burns, grasping the end of a light line and tying it round his waist. Little Oliver looked quickly and anxiously at his friend. His heart sank, for he saw at a glance that it was not possible to follow him. The deed, if done at all, must be done by his friend alone. Great, therefore, was the rebound of joy in the boy's heart when Paul said-- "Now, Olly, attend to me. My life, under God, may depend on close attention to my signals and the management of the line. I can trust your father and the men to haul me back to the ship if need be, but I will trust only you to pay out and read my signals. Observe, now, let there be no _slack_ to the line; keep it just taut but without any pull on it, so that you may _feel_ the signals at once. One pull means _pay out faster_, two pulls mean _haul me aboard_, three pulls is _all right and fix the big hawser to the line so that I may haul it ashore_. Now, Olly, I trust to you to read my signals and act promptly." Oliver's heart was too full to speak. He looked at his friend with swimming eyes and nodded his head. "Men," said Paul to the crew, "let me beg you to obey the boy's orders smartly. If God wills it so, we shall all be saved." He leaped over the side as he concluded. Another moment and he was seen to rise and buffet the plunging waters manfully. Great as was the muscular strength of the young man, it seemed absolute feebleness to those who looked on; nevertheless he made headway towards the shore, which was strewn with great boulders with a low cliff behind them. It was among these boulders that his chief danger and difficulty lay, for his strong frame would have been as nothing if dashed against them. Quickly he was lost to view in the hurly-burly of foam and spray. With the utmost care did Oliver Trench perform his duty. It required both vigour of hand and delicacy of touch to keep the line right, but it was manipulated by hands whose vigour and touch were intensified by love. "Ease off!" he cried, looking back impatiently at the strong fellows who held the slack of the line. The men obeyed so readily that the line ran out too fast and the boy had much ado to check it. Just as he got it sufficiently taut, he felt what seemed to him like _two_ pulls--"haul me in!" Could it be? He was not certain. In an agony of anxiety he held on, and was about to give the signal to haul in, when his father, who watched his every movement, instantly said, "Give him another second or two, Olly." Just then there was a strong single pull at the line. "Pay out!--faster!" shouted Oliver, and, at the same moment he eased off his own feelings in a tremendous sigh of relief. After that the line ran steadily for a few seconds, and no signals came. Then it ceased to run, and poor Oliver's fears began to rush in upon him again, but he was speedily relieved by feeling three distinct and vigorous pulls. "Thank God, he's safe," cried the boy. "Now then, pass along the hawser--quick!" This was done, the light line was attached to a three-inch rope, and the party on the wreck waited anxiously. "Give it a pull, Olly, by way of signal," suggested Master Trench. "He did not tell me to do that, father," returned the boy, hesitating. "No doubt he forgot it in the hurry--try it, anyhow." A hearty pull on the line was accordingly given, and they soon had the satisfaction of seeing the hawser move over the side and run towards the shore. When it ceased to run out they knew that Paul must have got hold of the end of it, so, making their end fast to the heel of the bowsprit, they waited, for as yet the rope lay deep in the heaving waters, and quite useless as a means of escape. Presently the rope began to jerk, then it tightened, soon the bight of it rose out of the sea and remained there--rigid. "Well done, Paul," exclaimed the skipper, when this was accomplished. "Now, Olly, you go first, you're light." But the boy hesitated. "No, father, you first," he said. "Obey orders, Olly," returned the skipper sternly. Without another word Oliver got upon the rope and proceeded to clamber along it. The operation was by no means easy, but the boy was strong and active, and the water not very cold. It leaped up and drenched him, however, as he passed the lowest point of the bight, and thereafter the weight of his wet garments delayed him, so that on nearing the shore he was pretty well exhausted. There, however, he found Paul up to the waist in the sea waiting for him, and the last few yards of the journey were traversed in his friend's arms. By means of this rope was every man of the _Water Wagtail's_ crew saved from a watery grave. They found that the island on which they had been cast was sufficiently large to afford them shelter, and a brief survey of it proved that there was both wood and water enough to serve them, but nothing of animal or vegetable life was to be found. This was serious, because all their provisions were lost with the wrecked portion of the ship, so that starvation stared them in the face. "If only the rum-kegs had been saved," said one of the men, when they assembled, after searching the island, to discuss their prospects, "we might, at least, have led a merry life while it lasted." "Humph! Much good that would do you when you came to think over it in the next world," said Grummidge contemptuously. "I don't believe in the next world," returned the first speaker gruffly. "A blind man says he doesn't see the sun, and don't believe in it," rejoined Grummidge: "does that prove that there's no sun?" Here Master Trench interposed. "My lads," he said, "don't you think that instead of talking rubbish it would be wise to scatter yourselves along the coast and see what you can pick up from the wreck? Depend on't some of the provisions have been stranded among the rocks, and, as they will be smashed to pieces before long, the sooner we go about it the better. The truth is, that while you have been wastin' your time running about the island, Master Burns and I have been doin' this, an' we've saved some things already--among them a barrel of pork. Come, rouse up and go to work--some to the shore, others to make a camp in the bush." This advice seemed so good that the men acted on it at once, with the result that before dark they had rescued two more barrels of pork and a barrel of flour from the grasp of the sea, besides some cases of goods which they had not taken time to examine. Returning from the shore together, laden with various rescued articles, Paul and Oliver halted and sat down on a rock to rest for a few minutes. "Olly," said the former, "what was that I saw you wrapping up in a bit of tarred canvas, and stuffing so carefully under the breast of your coat, soon after the ship struck?" "Mother's last letter to me," said the boy, with a flush of pleasure as he tapped his breast. "I have it safe here, and scarcely damaged at all." "Strange," remarked Paul, as he pulled a well-covered packet from his own breast-pocket; "strange that your mind and mine should have been running on the same subject. See here, this is _my_ mother's last gift to me before she died--a letter, too, but it is God's letter to fallen man." With great care the young man unrolled the packet and displayed a well-worn manuscript copy of a portion of the Gospel of John. "This is copied," he said, "from the translation of God's Word by the great Wycliffe. It was given to my mother by an old friend, and was, as I have said, her parting gift to me." The friends were interrupted in their examination of this interesting M.S. by the arrival of one of the sailors, with whom they returned to the encampment in the bush. CHAPTER THREE. FIRST EXPERIENCES ON THE ISLAND. A wonderfully picturesque appearance did these shipwrecked mariners present that night when, under the shelter of the shrubbery that crowned their small island, they kindled several camp-fires, and busied themselves in preparing supper. As there was no law in the island--and our skipper, having lost his ship, forbore to assert any right to command--every one naturally did what seemed right in his own eyes. As yet there had arisen no bone of contention among them. Of food they had secured enough for at least a few days. Fire they had procured by means of flint, steel, and tinder. A clear spring furnished them with water, and ships' buckets washed ashore enabled them to convey the same to their encampment. Fortunately, no rum-kegs had been found, so that evil passions were not stirred up, and, on the whole, the first night on the island was spent in a fair degree of harmony--considering the character of the men. Those who had been kindred souls on board ship naturally drew together on shore, and kindled their several fires apart. Thus it came to pass that the skipper and his son, the two mates, and Paul Burns found themselves assembled round the same fire. But the two mates, it is right to add, were only sympathetic in a small degree, because of their former position as officers, and their recent imprisonment together. In reality they were men of no principle and of weak character, whose tendency was always to throw in their lot with the winning side. Being a little uncertain as to which was the winning side that night, they had the wisdom to keep their own counsel. Oliver presided over the culinary department. "You see, I'm rather fond of cookin'," he said, apologetically, "that's why I take it in hand." "Ah, that comes of his bein' a good boy to his mother," said Master Trench in explanation, and with a nod of approval. "Olly was always ready to lend her a helpin' hand in the house at anything that had to be done, which has made him a Jack-of-all-trades--cookin' among the rest, as you see." "A pity that the means of displaying his powers are so limited," said Paul, who busied himself in levelling the ground beside the fire for their beds. "Limited!" exclaimed Trench, "you are hard to please, Master Paul; I have lived on worse food than salt pork and pancakes." "If so, father," said Oliver, as he deftly tossed one of the cakes into the air and neatly caught it on its other side in the pan, "you must either have had the pork without the pancakes or the pancakes without the pork." "Nay, Master Shallowpate, I had neither." "What! did you live on nothing?" "On nothing better than boiled sheepskin--and it was uncommon tough as well as tasteless; but it is wonderful what men will eat when they're starving." "I think, father," returned the boy, as he tossed and deftly caught the cake again, "that it is more wonderful what men will eat when they're _not_ starving! Of all the abominations that mortal man ever put between his grinders, I think the worst is that vile stuff--" He was interrupted by a sudden outbreak of wrath at the fire next to theirs, where Big Swinton, Grummidge, and several others were engaged, like themselves, in preparing supper. "There will be trouble in the camp before long, I see plainly enough," remarked Paul, looking in the direction of the disputants. "These two men, Swinton and Grummidge, are too well-matched in body and mind and self-will to live at peace, and I foresee that they will dispute your right to command." "They won't do that, Paul," returned Trench quietly, "for I have already given up a right which I no longer possess. When the _Water Wagtail_ went on the rocks, my reign came to an end. For the future we have no need to concern ourselves. The man with the most powerful will and the strongest mind will naturally come to the top--and that's how it _should_ be. I think that all the troubles of mankind arise from our interfering with the laws of Nature." "Agreed, heartily," replied Paul, "only I would prefer to call them the laws of God. By the way, Master Trench, I have not yet told you that I have in my possession some of these same laws in a book." "Have you, indeed?--in a book! That's a rare and not altogether a safe possession now-a-days." "You speak the sober truth, Master Trench," returned Paul, putting his hand into a breast-pocket and drawing forth the packet which contained the fragment of the Gospel of John. "Persecution because of our beliefs is waxing hotter and hotter just now in unfortunate England. However, we run no risk of being roasted alive in Newfoundland for reading God's blessed Word--see, there it is. A portion of the Gospel of John in manuscript, copied from the English translation of good Master Wycliffe." "A good and true man, I've heard say," responded the skipper, as he turned over the leaves of the precious document with a species of solemn wonder, for it was the first time he had either seen or handled a portion of the Bible. "Pity that such a friend of the people should not have lived to the age o' that ancient fellow--what's his name--Thoosle, something or other?" "Methuselah," said Paul; "you're right there, Master Trench. What might not a good man like Wycliffe have accomplished if he had been permitted to live and teach and fight for the truth for nine hundred and sixty-nine years?" "You don't mean to say he lived as long as that?" exclaimed the boy, looking up from his pots and pans. "Indeed I do." "Well, well! he must have been little better than a live mummy by the end of that time!" replied Oliver, resuming his interest in his pots and pans. "But how came you to know about all that Master Paul, if this is all the Scripture you've had?" asked Trench. "My mother was deeply learned in the Scriptures," answered Paul, "and she taught me diligently from my boyhood. The way she came to be so learned is curious. I will tell you how it came about, while we are doing justice to Oliver's cookery." "You must know, Master Trench," continued Paul, after the first demands of appetite had been appeased, "that my dear mother was a true Christian from her youth. Her father was converted to Christ by one of that noble band of missionaries who were trained by the great Wycliffe, and whom he sent throughout England to preach the Gospel to the poor, carrying in their hands manuscript portions of that Gospel, translated by Wycliffe into plain English. You see, that curious invention of the German, John Gutenberg--I mean printing by movable types--was not known at that time, and even now, although half a century has passed since the Bible was printed abroad in Latin, no one with means and the power to do it has yet arisen to print an English Bible, but the day is not far distant when that work shall be done, I venture to prophesy, though I make no pretence to be among the prophets! "Well, as I was going to say, the missionary was a hoary old man when he preached the sermon that turned my grandfather from darkness to light. My grandfather was just fifteen years old at that time. Ten years later the same missionary came to grandfather's house, worn out with years and labours, and died there, leaving all his treasure to his host. That treasure was a small portion of the New Testament in English, copied from Wycliffe's own translation. You may be sure that my grandfather valued the legacy very highly. When he died he left it to my mother. About that time my mother married and went to live on the banks of the Severn. Not far from our farm there dwelt a family of the name of Hutchins. The father had changed his name and taken refuge there during the recent civil wars. This family possessed a Latin Bible, and the head of it was well acquainted with its contents. It was through him that my mother became well acquainted with the Old as well as the New Testament, and thus it was that I also came in course of time to know about Methuselah, and a good many more characters about whom I may perhaps tell you one of these days." "So, then, this is the manuscript the old missionary carried about, is it?" said Trench, fingering the fragment tenderly. "Ay, and a good translation it is, I have been told by one whom most people would think too young to be a judge. You must know that this Mr Hutchins has a son named William, who is considerably younger than I am, but he is such a clever, precocious fellow, that before he left home for college I used to find him a most interesting companion. Indeed, I owe to him much of what little I have learned, for he is a wonderful linguist, being able to read Hebrew and Greek about as easily as Latin or English. He is at Oxford now--at least he was there when I last heard of him. Moreover, it was through the Hutchins' family, in a roundabout way, that _your_ mother, Olly, came to learn to write such letters as you have got so carefully stowed away there in your breast-pocket." "Good luck to the Hutchins' family then, say I," returned Olly, "for I'm glad to be able to read, though, on account of the scarcity and dearness of manuscripts, I don't have the chance of makin' much use of my knowledge. But you puzzle me, Paul. It was poor Lucy Wentworth who used to live with us, and who died only last year, that taught me to read, and I never heard her mention the name of Hutchins. Did you, father?" "No, I never did, Olly. She said she had lived with a family named Tyndale before she came to us, poor thing! She was an amazin' clever girl to teach, and made your mother good at it in a wonderful short time. She tried me too, but it was of no use, I was too tough an' old!" "Just so, Master Trench," rejoined Paul. "Hutchins' real name was Tyndale, and he had resumed the name before Lucy Wentworth went to live with the family. So, you see, Olly, you are indebted, in a roundabout way, as I said, to the Tyndales for your mother's letter. William will make his mark pretty deeply on the generation, I think, if God spares him." Little did Paul Burns think, when he made this prophetic speech by the camp-fire on that distant isle of the sea, that, even while he spoke William Tyndale was laying the foundation of that minute knowledge of the Greek and Hebrew languages, which afterwards enabled him to give the Bible to England in her own tongue, and that so ably translated, that, after numerous revisions by the most capable of scholars, large portions of his work remain unaltered at the present day. The night was far spent, and the other members of the camp had been long buried in slumber before Paul and Trench and Oliver could tear themselves away from the manuscript Gospel of John. The latter two, who knew comparatively little of its contents, were at first impressed chiefly with the fact that they were examining that rare and costly article--a book, and a forbidden book, too, for the reading of which many a man and woman had been burned to death in times past--but they became still more deeply impressed as Paul went on reading and commenting and pointing out the value of the Book as God's own "Word" to fallen man. "Here is a promise to rest upon," said Paul, as he finally closed the book and repeated the verse from memory, "Jesus said, If ye continue in my word, then are ye my disciples indeed; and ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free." "Ay, that's it, Paul--_free_! We're all slaves, more or less, to something or other. What we all want is to be _free_," said Master Trench, as he drew his blanket round him, pillowed his head on his cloak, and went to sleep. Silently Paul and Oliver followed his example, the fires died out, and in a few minutes the slumbering camp was shrouded in the mantle of night. Energetic action was the order of the next day, for those shipwrecked mariners knew well enough that nothing but hard and steady labour could enable them to live on an apparently desolate island. By daybreak most of the crew had scattered themselves along the shores, or over the interior, to spy out the land. About two hours later they began to drop into camp as hungry as hawks, each carrying the result of his researches in his arms or on his shoulders. "Well done, Squill!" said Paul, who chanced to be first back in camp, with a huge sail bundled up on his shoulder, and who, just then, was busy blowing up his fire; "got another barrel of pork, eh?" "It's myself as doesn't know, sur," answered Squill, "and it wasn't me as found it, but Jim Heron there. I only helped to sling it on the pole, and shoulder an end. It's aither pork or gunpowther, so if it ain't good for a blow out it'll be good for a blow up, anyhow." "Did you see little Oliver anywhere?" asked Paul. "Ay, sur, I saw him on the shore, bringing up what seemed to me the ship's bowsprit--anyhow, a spar o' some sort, about as big as he could haul along." "Just so," returned Paul, with a laugh, "a ridge-pole for our tent. He's a smart boy, little Olly." "Sure he's all that, sur, and more. Here he comes, blowin' like a porpoise." Sure enough, Oliver appeared at the moment, dragging a heavy spar behind him. Several of the men appeared at the same time, staggering through the bushes, with various loads of wreckage, which they flung down, and noisily began discussing their experiences as they lighted the fires and prepared breakfast. "Here comes Little Stubbs," cried Jim Heron. "What fortune, comrade?" "Good fortune, though my load is the lightest yet brought in." He flung down a small piece of wood with an air of satisfaction. "Why, it's only a boat's rudder!" said Oliver. "Ay, so it is, and the boat lies where I picked it up, but it was too heavy to bring into camp without your assistance, boy. And the best of it is that it's not much damaged. Very little repair will make her fit for sea again." This was indeed a find of immense importance, and the assembled party discussed the event in all its bearings till their mouths were partially stopped by pork and pancakes. In the midst of this they were interrupted by the arrival of Big Swinton, George Blazer, and Grummidge with another find, which afterwards cost them much trouble and regret--namely, a couple of young lads, natives, whom they led into camp with their wrists tightly bound behind their backs. CHAPTER FOUR. STRANGE VISITORS--DARK PLOTS--AND EVIL PURPOSES. The youths who had been captured were simple savages, with very little clothing, and with an expression of considerable alarm on their faces. As was afterwards learned, they had been coasting along the shore of the large neighbouring island in a canoe; had observed the strange fires in the night-time, and had crossed over the channel to see what could be the cause thereof. On reaching the highest part of the island they discovered some of the sailors, and turned to fly to their canoe, but Blazer had observed them, their retreat was cut off, and they were captured--not without a severe struggle, however, in which they were very roughly handled. Big Swinton, still smarting under the bruises and bites he had received in the scuffle, dragged them forward, and demanded angrily what was to be done to them. "What have they done?" asked Trench. "Done!--why, they have kicked and bitten like wildcats, and I doubt not have come over here to see what they can steal. In my opinion a thief deserves keel-hauling at the very least." Master Trench's mouth expanded into a very broad smile as he looked round the group of men. "D'ye hear that, lads, what _Master_ Swinton thinks ought to be done to _thieves_?" The men broke into a loud laugh, for even the most obtuse among them could not fail to perceive the humour of the skipper's look and question. "You have nothing more to do wi' the matter, Trench, than any one else has," returned Swinton. "I claim these lads as my prisoners, and I'll do with them what I please. No man is master now. Might is right on this island!" The words had scarcely been uttered when Big Swinton felt his right shoulder grasped as if in a vice, and next moment he was flung violently to the ground, while Paul Burns stood over him with a huge piece of wood in his hand, and a half-stern, half-smiling look on his countenance. The men were taken completely by surprise, for Paul had, up to this time, shown such a gentle unwarlike spirit that the crew had come to regard him as "a soft lump of a fellow." "Big Swinton," he said, in the mildest of voices, "as you have laid down the law that `might is right,' you cannot, of course, object to my acting on it. In virtue of that law, I claim these prisoners as mine, so you may get up and go about your business. You see, lads," he added, turning to the men, while Swinton rose and retired, "though I have no wish to domineer over you or to usurp authority. I have a right to claim that my voice shall be heard and my reasons weighed. As Swinton truly remarked, no man is master now, but as he followed this remark by making _himself_ master, and laying down a law for us, I thought it might be complimentary to him just to act, for once, under his law, and show him how well it works! Now, let me have a word with you. "It is evident that the land over there is peopled with savages who, probably, never saw white men before. If we treat these young fellows kindly, and send them away with gifts in their hands, we shall, no doubt, make friends of the savages. If we treat them ill, or kill them, their relations will come over, mayhap in swarms, and drive us into the sea. I drop the Swinton law of might being right, and ask you who are now the law-makers--which is it to be--kindness or cruelty?" "Kindness!" shouted by far the greater number of the audience, for even bad men are ready enough to see and admit the beauty of truth and justice when they are not themselves unpleasantly affected by these principles. The decision being thus made, Paul took the arm of one of the young Indians and led him gently towards his fire, while the men scattered to their several camps. Master Trench led the other youth in the same kindly way, and little Oliver, motioning to them to sit down, set before them two platters of pork and pancakes. This he did with such a benignant smile that the poor youths were obviously relieved from the dread of immediate and personal violence. After some glances of timid uncertainty they began to eat. "That's right," said Oliver, patting the bigger of the two on the shoulder, "you'll find the victuals pretty good, though you're not much used to 'em, mayhap." Of course the youths did not understand the words, but they understood and fully appreciated the feeling with which they were expressed. They also appreciated most powerfully the viands. At first they were greatly perplexed by the offer of knives and forks; but, after looking at these implements gravely for a few moments, they laid them gently down, and went to work in the natural way with fingers and teeth. After they had finished the food, and licked the platters clean, they were presented with several bright brass buttons, an old clasp-knife, a comb, and a kerchief or two, with which inestimable gifts they embarked in their canoe, and returned to the opposite shore. That day a most important discovery was made among the wreckage, namely, a case containing fish-hooks of various sizes and a number of lines. With these, and the boat repaired, Master Trench saw his way to prolonged existence on the island. "To tell ye the plain truth," he remarked to Little Stubbs, with whom he fell in while searching on the shore, "before this case of tackle was found, I had no hope at all of surviving here, for a few barrels of pork and flour could not last long among so many, and our end would have bin something awful; but now, with God's blessing, we may do well enough until we have time to think and plan for our escape." "But d'ye think, master," said Stubbs, "that we shall find fish in them waters?" "Find 'em! Ay, I make no doubt o' that, but we shall soon put it to the test, for the boat will be ready by to-morrow or next day at furthest, and then we shall see what the fish hereabouts think o' salt pork. If they take to it as kindly as the Indians did, we shall soon have grub enough and to spare." The natural tendency of man to bow to the best leader was shown immediately after the incident of the capture of the Indians, for Paul Burns was thence-forward quietly appealed to by most of the crew in all circumstances which required much consideration. Paul, being a law-respecting man, naturally turned to the skipper, whose decision was usually final, and thus Master Trench dropped, by general consent, into his old position of commander. But it must not be supposed that all the party acquiesced in this arrangement. There were men among that crew--such as Swinton, Blazer, Garnet, and others--who, either from false training, bad example, or warped spirits, had come to the condition of believing that the world was made for their special behoof; that they possessed that "divine right" to rule which is sometimes claimed by kings, and that whoever chanced to differ from them was guilty of arrogance, and required to be put down! These men were not only bad, like most of the others, but revengeful and resolute. They submitted, in the meantime, to the "might" of Paul Burns, backed as he was by numbers, but they nursed their wrath to keep it warm, and, under the leadership of Big Swinton, plotted the downfall of their rivals. Meanwhile, being unquestionably "in power," Master Trench, Paul, Oliver, Grummidge, Stubbs, and several of the well-affected, took possession of the boat when ready, and, inviting Swinton to join them--as a stroke of policy--pushed off, with hooks and lines, to make the first essay in the way of fishing on the now famous Banks of Newfoundland. Anchoring the boat in what they deemed a suitable spot, they went to work. "I wonder if they'll take to pork," remarked Stubbs, as he baited a large hook. "If they take to it as you do, we shall soon run short o' that article," said Swinton, dropping his hook into the water. "I have brought off some shellfish," remarked Master Trench. "They may prefer that." "So have I, father," said Oliver, whose bait was already at the bottom, "and if--hallo! hold on! hi! Oh! I say!" While the boy was thus ejaculating, in a state of blazing excitement, his arms, and indeed his body, to say nothing of his spirit, were being jerked violently by his line in a way that suggested something awful at the other end! "Have a care, Olly!" "Gently, lad!" "Hold on, boy!" "Let 'im run!" were among the contradictory pieces of advice given in various tones of warning, remonstrance, or simple recommendation; but Oliver heeded them not. Acting on his own judgment he drew his fish, or whatever it might be, gradually and carefully from the deep. "A mermaid it must be, to tug so hard," muttered Stubbs, as he and the others looked on with eager interest. "A mer_man_ if it's anything," said Squill; "sure there was never a maid in the say, or out of it, as would tug like that." "That depends," said Grummidge. "I've had 'em tuggin' at my heart-strings worse than that many a time." "Look out! Here it comes," cried Oliver, as something huge and white was seen to flash wildly in the green depths. "Have the cleek ready." "All ready, my boy," said his father, in a low voice, leaning over the side with a stick, at the end of which was a large iron hook. "Now then, father! Quick! Missed it? No! Hurrah!" For a moment it seemed as if Master Trench had got Neptune himself on his cleek, so severely did his stout frame quiver. Then he gave a tremendous heave--"ya-hoy!" and up came a magnificent cod--the first of a grand hecatomb of cod-fish which have since that day enriched the world, nauseated the sick with "liver oil," and placed Newfoundland among the most important islands of the British Empire. "Well done, Olly!" exclaimed the delighted father; but he had barely time to open his mouth for the next remark, when Squill uttered an Irish yell, and was seen holding on to his line with desperate resolve stamped on every feature. "That's the merman this time," cried Stubbs. "His gran'mother, no less," muttered Squill, in a strongly suppressed voice, while he anxiously hauled in the line. A shout from the other side of the boat here diverted attention. "Attacked front and rear!" cried Paul, with a hilarious laugh, "I shouldn't wonder if--hallo! N-no, it was only a nib--ha! there he is!" And, truly, there he was in a few minutes, another splendid cod in the bottom of the boat. To make a long story short, the boat was nearly filled with cod before the sun set, and that night was spent in general rejoicing and feasting on fish--with a second course of pork and pancakes for those who were insatiable. But the state of contentment did not last long. The very next day there was quarrelling as to who should go in the boat. To allay the contention, Trench and Paul volunteered to stay in camp and help the party that should be left to split and clean the fish, and erect tents and booths. Again the fishing was successful, but dissensions about the use of the boat soon became more violent than ever. Of course, in all this Master Trench and his friend Paul took a prominent part in trying to smooth matters, to the intense jealousy of Big Swinton and his sympathisers. In short, the camp ere long was divided into two hostile bands--the moderately bad and the immoderately wicked, if we may so put it. The first, who were few in number, sided with Trench and his friends; the second declared for Swinton. But the resolute bearing of Paul and the skipper, and the fact that the whole party was destitute of weapons (except clubs cut out of the bush, and a few clasp-knives), kept the larger and more vicious party in check. Swinton and his friends, therefore, had recourse to secret plotting; but, plot as they would, they had not sufficient brain-power among them to devise a method by which to free themselves of the men they envied. At last circumstances favoured them. It was found necessary to send men to the other side of the island to cut and fetch over some small trees that grew there, in order to make stages on which to dry their fish. As the operation would require part of two days, it was proposed to spend the night there. Swinton was to command the party, and Master Trench said, jestingly, that he and Master Burns, with Olly, would stay to guard the camp! The wood-cutting party was to start early the next day. Then a plan of revenge flashed into Big Swinton's mind. That night he revealed it to those of his friends whom he could trust, and who were necessary to his purpose. The night following--while the men around them should be sleeping at the other side of the island, and their enemies were alone in the camp--was fixed on for the execution of their purpose. CHAPTER FIVE. TURNED ADRIFT IN A FOREIGN LAND. It was a calm but very dark night when Swinton, Blazer, Garnet, Heron, Taylor, and several other men of kindred spirit, rose from their couches at the further end of the island, and, stealthily quitting the place, hastened back to their original camp. They reached it about midnight, and, as they had expected, found all quiet, for the so-called "guard" of the camp had been hard at work all day and were at that moment fast asleep. Paul and the captain, with Oliver, lay side by side under a tent which they had constructed out of broken spars and a piece of sailcloth. Their foes drew together not far from the spot. "Now, men," said Swinton, "this is a tough job we have in hand, for they are strong men, and the boy, albeit not big, is a very tiger-cat to fight. You see, if our plan was murder we could easily settle their business while they slept but that's not our plan. We are _not_ murderers--by no means!" "Certainly not," growled Blazer, with virtuous solemnity. "Well, that bein' so, we must take them alive. I will creep into the tent with you, Jim Heron, for you're big and strong enough. You will fall on Trench and hold 'im down. I'll do the same to Burns. Garnet will manage the boy. The moment the rest of you hear the row begin, you will jump in and lend a hand wi' the ropes. After we've got 'em all safe into the boat, we will pull to the big island--land them there, an' bid them a tender farewell!" "But surely you won't land them without a morsel to eat?" said Taylor. "Why not? They're sure to fall in wi' their _dear_ friends the savages, who will, doubtless, be very grateful to 'em, an' supply grub gratis! Now, lads, you understand what you've got to do?" "Ay, ay," was the response, in a low tone, as they moved cautiously away, like evil spirits, to carry out their wicked plans. "Fortune," it is said, "favours the brave," but in this case she did not thus bestow her favours, for the cowardly plan was successfully carried out. Before the sleepers were well awake, they were overwhelmed by numbers, secured and bound. They were not gagged, however, as no one was near to hear even if they shouted their loudest, which they knew it was useless to do. In a few minutes the three prisoners were hurried into the boat and rowed across the wide channel that separated the islet from the opposite shore. At that time it was not supposed, either by the original discoverers or those who immediately followed them, that Newfoundland was one large island--considerably larger than Ireland. Not till many a year afterwards did explorers ascertain that it was an island of about three hundred and seventeen miles in length, by about the same in breadth; but so cut up by deep bays, inlets, and fords as to have much the appearance of a group of islands. During their passage across the channel both Trench and Paul attempted to reason with Swinton, but that hardened villain refused to utter a word till their prisoners were marched up the shingly beach, and told to sit down on a ledge of rock under the steep cliffs, where innumerable sea-birds were screaming a clamorous welcome, or, perchance, a noisy remonstrance. "Now, my friends," said their foe, "as you are fond of commanding, you may take command o' them there sea-birds--they won't object!--and if ye fall in wi' your friends the savages, you may give them my love an' good wishes." "But surely you don't mean to leave us here without food, and with our hands tied behind us?" fiercely exclaimed Master Trench, whose wrath at any thing like injustice was always prone to get the better of his wisdom. "As to grub," answered Swinton, "there's plenty of that around, if you only exert yourself to find it. I won't cut your lashin's, however, till we are fairly in the boat, for we can't trust you. Come along, lads; and, Garnet, you bring the boy with ye." Under the impression that he was to be separated from his father and friend, and taken back again to the islet, poor Oliver, whom they had not thought it worth while to bind, struggled with a ferocity that would have done credit to the wildcats with which he had been compared; but Garnet was a strong man, and held him fast. "Take it easy, my boy," said Paul, who, being helpless, could only look on with intense pity. "Submit to God's will--we will pray for you." But Olly's spirit could by no means reach the submitting point until he was fairly exhausted. While they dragged him towards the boat, Taylor turned back and flung a small canvas bag at the captain's feet. "There, Master Trench," he said, "you'll find a lump o' pork in that bag to keep you goin' till ye get hold o' somethin' else. An' don't take on about the boy. _We_ don't want 'im, bless you. Why, we only want to prevent him settin' you free before we gets fairly away." This was true. When the boat was reached and the men were on board, ready to shove off, Garnet, still holding Olly fast by the arm, said, "Keep still, will you, and hear what Master Swinton has got to say?" "Now, you fiery polecat," said Swinton, "you may go and cut their lashin's, and take _that_ as a parting gift." The gift was a sounding box on the ear; but Olly minded it not, for while Garnet was speaking, as he stood knee-deep in the water close to the boat, he had observed an axe lying on one of the thwarts near to him. The instant he was set free, therefore, he seized the axe, and, flourishing it close past Garnet's nose, with a cheer of defiance he sprang towards the beach. Garnet leaped after him, but he was no match for the agile boy, who in another minute had severed Paul's bonds and placed the weapon in his hands. "Hallo! hi, you've forgot _me_. Cut my--ho!" But there was no occasion for Master Trench to cry out and struggle with the cords that bound him. A furious rush of Paul with the axe caused Garnet to double with the neatness of a hunted hare. He bounded into the boat which was immediately shoved off, and the sailors rowed away, leaving Paul to return and liberate the captain at leisure. Silently the trio stood and watched the receding boat, until it was lost in the darkness of the night. Then they looked at each other solemnly. Their case was certainly a grave one. "Cast away on an unknown shore," murmured the captain, in a low tone; as if he communed with his own spirit rather than with his companions, "without food, without a ship or boat--without hope!" "Nay, Master Trench," said Paul, "not without hope; for `God is our refuge and our strength, a very present help in trouble,' so says His own Word, as my mother has often read to me." "It is well for you, Paul," returned the captain, "that you can find comfort in such words--I can find none. Stern realities and facts are too strong for me. How can I take comfort in unfulfilled promises? Here we are in trouble enough, surely. In what sense is God a `refuge' to us--or `strength,' or a `present help'? Why, we are left absolutely destitute here, without so much as a bite of food to keep our bodies and souls together." He spoke with some bitterness, for he was still chafing under the sense of the wrong which he had suffered at the hands of men to whom he had been invariably kind and forbearing. As he turned from Paul with a gesture of impatience his foot struck against the canvas bag of pork which the man Taylor had flung to him on leaving, and which had been forgotten. He stopped suddenly and gazed at it; so did Paul. "Looks like as if God had already helped us--at least to food--does it not?" said the latter. "It was Taylor helped us to that," objected Trench. "And who put it into Taylor's heart to help us?" asked Paul. "He is one of the worst men of our crew, so we can hardly say it was his own tenderness, and certainly it was not the devil who moved him to it. Am I wrong in holding that it was `Our Father'?" "I believe you are right, Paul. Anyhow, I have neither the capacity nor the inclination to dispute the point now. Pick up the bag, Olly, and come along. We must try to find some sort of shelter in which to spend the rest o' the night and consider our future plans." With a lighter heart and firmer faith, Paul Burns followed his leader, silently thanking God as he went along for thus far, and so opportunely, demonstrating His own faithfulness. They had to wander some time before a suitable camping spot was found, for that part of the Newfoundland coast on which they had been landed was almost inaccessible. The cliffs in many places rose sheer out of the water to a height of full three hundred feet. Only in a few places little strips of shingly beach lay between the base of the cliffs and the sea, so that the finding of an opening in those stupendous ramparts of rock was no easy matter in a dark night. At last they came to a place where the cliffs appeared to rise less precipitously. After careful clambering for some minutes they discovered a sort of gap in the rampart, up which they climbed, amid rugged and broken masses, until they reached a somewhat level plateau, or shelf, covered with small bushes. Here they resolved to encamp. "Whether it's the top o' the cliffs or not, there's no findin' out," remarked Trench, as he tried to survey the ground; "but whether or not don't matter, for it looks level enough to lie on, an' we're as like as not to break our necks if we try to go further." "Agreed," said Paul; "but now it occurs to me that our pork may be raw, and that we shall want fire to cook it. Have you got flint and steel in your pocket, Master Trench?" "Ay--never travel without it; but by ill-luck I've got no tinder. Flint and steel are useless, you know, without that." "If ill-luck troubles _you_," returned Paul, "good luck favours _me_, for I have got a bit of tinder, and--" "The pork's raw," exclaimed Oliver, who had been hastily investigating the contents of the canvas bag; "but, I say, there's more than pork here. There's a lot o' the little flour-cakes our cook was so fond of makin'." "Good. Now then let us have a search for wood," said Paul. "If we find that, we shall get along well enough till morning. But have a care, Olly, keep from the edge of the cliff. The ledge is not broad. Have an eye too, or rather an ear, for water as you go along." Success attended their search, for in a few minutes Paul and the captain returned with loads of dry branches, and Olly came back reporting water close at hand, trickling from a crevice in the cliffs. "Your shirt-front tells the tale, Olly. You've been drinking," said Paul, who was busy striking a light at the time. "Indeed I have; and we shall all be obliged to drink under difficulties, for we have neither cup nor mug with us." "Neither is wanted, boy, as I'll soon show you," said Paul. "Why, a bit of birch-bark, even a piece of paper, forms a good drinking vessel if you only know how to use it. Ha! caught at last," he added, referring to some dry grasses and twigs which burst into flame as he spoke. Another moment and a ruddy glare lit up the spot, giving to things near at hand a cosy, red-hot appearance, and to more distant objects a spectral aspect, while, strangely enough, it seemed to deepen to profounder darkness all else around. Heaping on fresh fuel and pressing it down, for it consisted chiefly of small branches, they soon had a glowing furnace, in front of which the pork ere long sputtered pleasantly, sending up a smell that might have charmed a gourmand. "Now, then, while this is getting ready let us examine our possessions," said the captain, "for we shall greatly need all that we have. It is quite clear that we could not return to our shipmates even if we would--" "No, and I would not even if I could," interrupted Oliver, while busy with the pork chops. "And," continued his father, regardless of the interruption, "it is equally clear that we shall have to earn our own livelihood somehow." Upon careful examination it was found that their entire possessions consisted of two large clasp-knives; a sheath hunting-knife; flint, steel, and tinder; the captain's watch; a small axe; a large note-book, belonging to Paul; three pencils; bit of indiarubber; several fish-hooks; a long piece of twine, and three brass buttons, the property of Oliver, besides the manuscript Gospel of John, and Olly's treasured letter from his mother. These articles, with the garments in which they stood, constituted the small fortune of our wanderers, and it became a matter of profound speculation, during the progress of the supper, as to whether it was possible to exist in an unknown wilderness on such very slender means. Olly thought it was--as a matter of course. Master Trench doubted, and shook his head with an air of much sagacity, a method of expressing an opinion which is eminently unassailable. Paul Burns condescended on reasons for his belief--which, like Olly's, was favourable. "You see," he said, wiping his uncommonly greasy fingers on the grass, "we have enough of pork and cakes here for several days--on short allowance. Then it is likely that we shall find some wild fruits, and manage to kill something or other with stones, and it cannot be long till we fall in with natives, who will be sure to be friendly--if not, we will make them so--and where _they_ can live, _we_ can live. So I am going to turn in and dream about it. Luckily the weather is warm. Good-night." Thus did our three adventurers, turning in on that giddy ledge, spend their first night in Newfoundland. CHAPTER SIX. DIFFICULTIES MET AND OVERCOME. The position in which the trio found themselves next morning, when daylight revealed it, was, we might almost say, tremendously romantic. The ledge on which they had passed the night was much narrower than they had supposed it to be, and their beds, if we may so call them, had been dangerously near to the edge of a frightful precipice which descended sheer down to a strip of sand that looked like a yellow thread two hundred feet below. The cliff behind them rose almost perpendicularly another hundred feet or more, and the narrow path or gully by which they had gained their eyrie was so steep and rugged that their reaching the spot at all in safety seemed little short of a miracle. The sun was brightening with its first beams an absolutely tranquil sea when the sleepers opened their eyes, and beheld what seemed to them a great universe of liquid light. Their ears at the same time drank in the soft sound of murmuring ripples far below, and the occasional cry of sportive sea-birds. "Grand! glorious!" exclaimed Trench, as he sat up and gazed with enthusiasm on the scene. Paul did not speak. His thoughts were too deep for utterance, but his mind reverted irresistibly to some of the verses in that manuscript Gospel which he carried so carefully in his bosom. As for Oliver, his flushed young face and glittering eyes told their own tale. At first he felt inclined to shout for joy, but his feelings choked him; so he, too, remained speechless. The silence was broken at last by a commonplace remark from Paul, as he pointed to the horizon--"The home of our shipmates is further off than I thought it was." "The rascals!" exclaimed the captain, thinking of the shipmates, not of the home; "the place is too good for 'em." "But all of them are not equally bad," suggested Paul gently. "Humph!" replied Trench, for kind and good-natured though he was he always found it difficult to restrain his indignation at anything that savoured of injustice. In occasionally giving way to this temper, he failed to perceive at first that he was himself sometimes guilty of injustice. It is only fair to add, however, that in his cooler moments our captain freely condemned himself. "`Humph!' is a very expressive word," observed Paul, "and in some sense satisfactory to those who utter it, but it is ambiguous. Do you mean to deny, Master Trench, that some of your late crew were very good fellows? and don't you admit that Little Stubbs and Squill and Grummidge were first-rate specimens of--" "I don't admit or deny anything!" said the captain, rising, with a light laugh, "and I have no intention of engaging in a controversy with you before breakfast. Come, Olly, blow up the fire, and go to work with your pork and cakes. I'll fetch some more wood, and Paul will help me, no doubt." With a good grace Paul dropped the discussion and went to work. In a few minutes breakfast was not only ready, but consumed; for a certain measure of anxiety as to the probability of there being an available path to the top of the cliffs tended to hasten their proceedings. The question was soon settled, for after ascending a few yards above their encampment they found an indentation or crevice in the cliff which led into an open spot--a sort of broader shelf--which sloped upwards, and finally conducted them to the summit. Here, to their surprise, they discovered that their new home, instead of being, as they had supposed it, one of a series of large islands, was in truth a territory of vast, apparently boundless, extent, covered with dense forests. Far as the eye could reach, interminable woods presented themselves, merging, in the far distance, into what appeared to be a range of low hills. "Newfoundland is bigger than we have been led to believe," said Paul Burns, surveying the prospect with great satisfaction. "Ay is it," responded Trench. "The fact is that discoverers of new lands, bein' naturally in ships, have not much chance to go far inland. In a country like this, with such a wild seaboard, it's no wonder they have made mistakes. We will find out the truth about it now, however, for we'll undertake a land voyage of discovery." "What! without arms or provisions, father?" asked Oliver. "What d'ye call the two things dangling from your shoulders, boy?" returned the captain, with some severity; "are these not `arms'? and have not woods--generally got lakes in 'em and rivers which usually swarm with provisions?" "That's so, father," returned the lad, somewhat abashed; "but I did not raise the question as a difficulty, only I've heard you sometimes say that a ship is not fit for sea till she is well-armed and provisioned, so I thought that it might be the same with land expeditions." Before the skipper could reply, Paul drew attention to an opening in the woods not far from them, where an animal of some kind was seen to emerge into an open space, gaze for a moment around it, and then trot quietly away. "Some of our provisions--uncooked as yet," remarked Oliver. "More of them," returned his father, pointing to a covey of birds resembling grouse, which flashed past them at the moment on whirring wings. "How we are to get hold of 'em, however, remains, of course, to be seen." "There are many ways of getting hold of them, and with some of these I am familiar," said Paul. "For instance, I can use the long-bow with some skill--at least I could do so when at school. And I have no doubt, captain, that you know how to use the cross-bow?" "That I do," returned Trench, with a broad grin. "I was noted at school as bein' out o' sight the worst shot in the neighbourhood where I lived. Indeed, I've bin known to miss a barn-door at twenty yards!" "Well, well, you must learn to shoot, that's all," said Paul, "and you may, perchance, turn out better with the sling. That weapon did great execution, as no doubt you know, in the hands of King David." "But where are we to get long-bows and cross-bows and slings?" asked Oliver eagerly. "Why, Olly, my boy, excitement seems to have confused your brain, or the air of Newfoundland disagrees with you," said Paul. "We shall make them, of course. But come," he added, in a more serious tone, "we have reached a point--I may say a crisis--in our lives, for we must now decide definitely what we shall do, and I pray God to direct us so that we may do only that which is right and wise. Are you prepared, captain, to give up all hope of returning to our shipmates?" "Of course I am," returned Trench firmly, while a slight frown gathered on his brow. "The few who are on our side could not make the rest friendly. They may now fight it out amongst themselves as best they can, for all that I care. We did not forsake _them_. They sent _us_ away. Besides, we could not return, if we wished it ever so much. No; a grand new country has been opened up to us, and I mean to have a cruise of exploration. What say _you_, Olly?" "I'm with 'ee, father!" answered the boy, with a nod of the head that was even more emphatic than the tone of his voice. With a laugh at Oliver's enthusiasm, Paul declared himself to be of much the same mind, and added that, as they had no boxes to pack or friends to bid farewell to, they should commence the journey there and then. "I don't agree with that," said the captain. "Why not, Master Trench?" "Because we have not yet made our weapons, and it may be that we shall have some good chances of getting supplies at the very beginning of our travels. My opinion is that we should arm ourselves before starting, for the pork and cakes cannot last long." This being at once recognised as sound advice, they entered the forest, which was not so thick at that place as it at first appeared to be. They went just far enough to enable them to obtain a species of hardwood, which the experienced eye of Paul Burns told them was suitable for bow-making. Here they pitched their camp. Paul took the axe and cut down several small trees; the captain gathered firewood, and Oliver set about the fabrication of a hut or booth, with poles, bark, turf, and leaves, which was to shelter them from rain if it should _fall_, though there was little chance of that, the weather being fine and settled at the time. The work which they had undertaken was by no means as easy as they had anticipated. Paul had indeed made bows and arrows in former years, but then all the materials had been furnished "in the rough" to his hands, whereas he had now not only to select the tree best adapted to his purpose, but had to choose the best part of it, and to reduce that portion from a massive trunk to suitably slender proportions. It was much the same with the arrows and cross-bow bolts. However, there was resolution and perseverance in each member of the party far more than sufficient to overcome such little difficulties; only, as we have said, they were slower about it than had been expected, and the work was far from completed when the descent of night obliged them to seek repose. "Not a bad little bower," remarked Paul, as they sat down to supper in the primitive edifice which Oliver had erected. The said bower was about four feet high, eight wide, and five deep, of irregular form, with three sides and a roof; walls and roof being of the same material--branchy, leafy, and turfy. The fourth side was an open space in which the inhabitants sat, facing the fire. The latter, being large enough to roast a sheep whole, was built outside. "Why, Olly, you're a selfish fellow," said the captain, during a pause in the meal; "you've thought only of yourself in building this bower. Just look at Paul's feet. They are sticking out ten or twelve inches beyond our shelter!" "That comes of his being so tall, daddy. But it does not matter much. If it should come on to rain he can draw his feet inside; there's room enough to double up. Don't you think so, Paul?" But Paul replied not, save by a gentle snore, for he was a healthy man, and child-like in many respects, especially in the matter of going off to the land of Nod the moment his head touched his pillow. Possibly the fresh air, the excitement, the energy with which he had wrought, and the relish with which he had supped, intensified this tendency on the present occasion. Oliver very soon followed his friend's example, and so Captain Trench was left to meditate beside the fire. He gazed into its glowing embers, or sometimes glanced beyond it towards an open space where a tiny rivulet glittered in the moonlight, and a little cascade sent its purling music into the still air. Ere long he passed from the meditative to the blinking stage. Then he turned his eyes on the sleepers, smiled meekly once or twice and nodded to them--quite inadvertently! After that he stretched his bulky frame beside them, and resigned himself to repose. Now, it is probable that we should have had nothing more to record in reference to that first night in Newfoundland if Captain Trench had been in the habit of taking his rest like ordinary mortals, but such was not his habit. He bounced in his sleep! Why he did so no one could ever find out. He himself denied the "soft impeachment," and, in his waking moments, was wont to express disbelief as well as profound ignorance in regard to the subject. Several broken beds, however, had, in the course of his career, testified against him; but, like the man who blamed "the salmon," not "the whisky," for his headaches, Trench blamed "the beds," not "the bouncing," for his misfortunes. One might have counted him safe with the solid earth of Newfoundland for his bed, but danger often lurks where least expected. Oliver Trench was not an architect either by nature or training. His bower had been erected on several false principles. The bouncing of a big man inside was too much for its infirm constitution. Its weak points were discovered by the captain. A bounce into one of its salient supports proved fatal, and the structure finally collapsed, burying its family in a compost of earth and herbage. With a roar that would have done credit to a native walrus, the captain struggled to free himself, under the impression that a band of savages had attacked them. All three quickly threw off the comparatively light material that covered them, and stood in warlike attitudes for a few seconds, glancing around for foes who did not exist! Then the roar of alarm was transformed into shouts of laughter, but these were quickly checked by a real foe who crept up insidiously and leaped on them unexpectedly. The half-extinguished fire, having been replenished by the falling structure--much of which was dry and inflammable--caught on the roof and flashed down into the interior. "Save the pork, lad!" shouted the captain, as he sprang out of the kindling mass. "Ay, ay, father," replied the son. Paul meanwhile grasped the half-finished bows and arrows in his arms, and thus their little all was rescued from the flames. Of course, the bower was utterly consumed, but that caused them little grief. Having extinguished the flames, they all lay down to finish off the night under a neighbouring tree, and even its architect became so oblivious of what had occurred that he employed the remainder of his slumbering hours in dreaming of the home in old England, and of that dear mother whose last letter was still carefully guarded in the pocket of the coat that covered his ardent little bosom. CHAPTER SEVEN. THEY BEGIN THEIR TRAVELS IN EARNEST. When their weapons were complete our three travellers started on their journey of exploration in the new-found land. Captain Trench armed himself with a strong, heavily-made cross-bow, and a birch-bark quiver full of bolts. Paul Burns carried a bow as long as himself, with a quiver full of the orthodox "cloth-yard shafts." Oliver provided himself with a bow and arrows more suited to his size, and, being naturally sanguine, he had also made for himself a sling with the cord he chanced to possess and the leathern tongue of one of his shoes. He likewise carried a heavy bludgeon, somewhat like a policeman's baton, which was slung at his side. Not content with this, he sought and obtained permission to carry the axe in his belt. Of course, none of the bolts or arrows had metal points; but that mattered little, as the wood of which they were made was very hard, and could be sharpened to a fine point; and, being feathered, the missiles flew straight to the mark when pointed in the right direction. "Now, captain," said Paul, on the morning they set out, "let's see what you can do with your cross-bow at the first bird you meet. I mean the first eatable bird; for I have no heart to kill the little twitterers around us for the mere sake of practice." "That will I right gladly," said Trench, fixing his bow and string, and inserting a bolt with a confident air. "And there's a chance, daddy! See! a bird that seems to wish to be shot, it sits so quietly on the tree." The seaman raised his weapon slowly to his shoulder, shut the wrong eye, glared at the bird with the other, took a long unsteady aim, and sent his bolt high over the creature's head, as well as very much to one side. "Might have been worse!" said the captain. "Might have been better," returned Paul, with equal truth. "Now it's my turn." The bird, all ignorant of the fate intended for it, sat still, apparently in surprise. Paul drew his cloth-yard shaft to his ear and let fly. It went apparently in search of the captain's bolt. "Now me!" cried the impatient Olly, in a hoarse whisper, as he placed a stone in the sling and whirled it round his head. His companions drew off! There was a "burring" noise as the stone sped on its mission and struck the tree-stem with a sounding crack, three yards from the bird, which, learning wisdom from experience, at last took wing. In anticipation of their chance coming round again, both Paul and the captain had got ready their artillery, and Oliver hastily put another stone in his sling. A look and exclamation of disappointment were given by each as the bird vanished, but just at that moment a large rabbit darted across their path. Whiz! twang! burr! went bolt and bow and stone, and that rabbit, pierced in head and heart, and smitten on flank, fell to rise no more. "Strange!" said Trench, in open-mouthed surprise, "I've often heard of coincidences, but I never did see or hear of the like of that." "All three to hit it at once!" exclaimed Paul. "Ay, and all three of us doin' our best to hit it, too," exclaimed Oliver. "Just so--that's the puzzle, lad," rejoined the captain. "If we had been tryin' to hit something else now, there would have been nothing strange about it! But to hit what we all aimed at--" Apparently the captain failed to find words adequately to express his ideas, for he did not finish the sentence; meanwhile Paul picked up the rabbit and attached it to his belt. After this, advancing through the woods in a north-westerly direction, they made for a somewhat elevated ridge, hoping to obtain from that point a more extended view of the land. Towards noon, feeling hungry, they began to look out for a suitable spot whereon to lunch, or rather to dine; for while travelling on foot in wild countries men usually find it convenient to take a very substantial meal about, or soon after, noon. "To have water handy," remarked Paul, as they stopped to look round, "is essential to comfort as well as cookery." "Look there, away to the nor'-west o' that bunch o' trees," said the captain, pointing to a distant spot, "there's a depression in the ground there; and from the lie o' the land all round I should say we shall find a stream o' some sort near it." "I hope so," said Oliver; "for I shall want water to wash the rabbit with, and I have a strong hope that we may find fish in the rivers of this land, and although my hooks are big, I think the fish may not be particular, seein' that they have never before been tempted in that way." "That's true, Olly; I hope you won't be disappointed. But what makes you want to wash the rabbit, my boy?" asked the captain; "it is not dirty?" "Perhaps not; but I don't quite relish the dirty work of cleaning out a rabbit before cooking it, so I want to try the plan of cutting it open, holding it under water, and scraping out the inside while in that position." "My son, you won't be so particular when you've been a few weeks huntin' in the wild woods. But what about the hair?" "Oh, we can singe that off, daddy." "What! singe off wet hair? And the skin--I doubt we might find that tough?" The young cook--for such he became to the exploring expedition--looked puzzled. "I never skinned a rabbit," he said, "but no doubt it is easy enough. I'll just cut it open at the head--or tail--and pull it off like a glove." "Not quite so easily done as that" remarked Paul, with a laugh; "but I happen to know something about skinning birds and beasts, Olly, so make your mind easy. I will show you how to do it." "You happen to know something about almost everything, I think," said the captain. "Tell me now, d'ye happen to know what sort o' beast it is that I see starin' at us over the bushes yonder?" "No, Master Trench, I do not; but it looks marvellously like a deer of some sort," said Paul, as he hastily fitted an arrow to his bow. But before he could discharge it the animal wisely retired into the shelter of its native wilds. By this time, having walked smartly, they had gained the crest of one of the lower ridges, or plateaus, that rose in gentle slopes from the rocky shore, and there, as had been anticipated, they found a small rivulet, such as Americans would call a creek, and Scotsmen a burn. It flowed in a north-easterly direction, and was broken by several small rapids and cascades. With a little shout of satisfaction, Oliver ran down to its banks, getting his hooks out as he went. Arriving at the margin of a deep pool, he bent over it and gazed earnestly down. The water was as clear as crystal, showing every stone at the bottom as if it had been covered merely with a sheet of glass, and there, apparently undisturbed by the intruder, lay several large fish. What they were he knew not--cared not. Sufficient for him that they seemed large and fat. His first impulse was to turn and shout the discovery to his companions; but seeing that they had already set to work to cut firewood a little higher up the stream, he checked himself. "I'll catch a fish first maybe," he muttered, as he quickly adjusted to his piece of cord one of the smallest cod-hooks he possessed. A few minutes sufficed for this; but when he was ready, it occurred to him that he had no bait. He looked around him, but nothing suitable was to be seen, and he was about to attempt the all but hopeless task of tearing up the soil with his fingers in search of a worm, when his eyes fell on a small bright feather that had been dropped by some passing bird. "Happy thoughts" occurred to people in the days of which we write, even as now, though they were not recognised or classified as such. Fly-fishing was instantly suggested to the eager boy. He had often tried it in Old England; why not try it in Newfoundland? A very brief period sufficed to unwind a thread from the cord, and therewith to attach the feather to the hook. He had no rod, and neither time nor patience to make one. Gathering the cord into a coil, such as wharfmen form when casting ropes to steamers; he swung it round his head, and hove his hook half-way across the glassy pool. The fish looked up at him, apparently in calm surprise--certainly without alarm. Then Olly began to haul in the hook. It was a fearful fly to look at, such as had never desecrated those waters since the days of Adam, yet those covetous fish rushed at it in a body. The biggest caught it, and found himself caught! The boy held on tenderly, while the fish in wild amazement darted from side to side, or sprang high into the air. Oliver was far too experienced a fisher not to know that the captive might be but slightly hooked, so he played it skilfully, casting a sidelong glance now and then at his busy comrades in the hope that they had not observed him. At last the fish became tired, and the fisher drew it slowly to the bank--a four- or five-pound trout at the very least! Unfortunately the bank was steep, and the boy found, to his distress, that the hook had only caught hold slightly of the fish's lip. To lift out the heavy creature with the line was therefore impossible, to catch hold of it with the hand was almost equally so; for when he lay down and stretched out his arm as far as possible, he could scarcely touch it with the end of his finger. "If it makes another dash it'll escape," muttered the anxious boy, as he slid further and further down the bank--a hairbreadth at a time. Just then the fish showed symptoms of revival. Olly could stand this no longer. He made a desperate grasp and caught it by the gills just as the hook came away. The act destroyed what little balance he had retained, and he went with a sharp short yell into the pool. Paul looked up in time to see his friend's legs disappear. He ran to the spot in considerable alarm, supposing that the boy might have taken a fit, and not knowing whether he could swim. He was relieved, however, to find that Olly, on reappearing, struck out manfully with one hand for a shallow place at the lower end of the pool, while with the other he pressed some object tightly to his bosom. "You don't mean to say," exclaimed Paul, as he assisted his friend out of the water, "that you went in for that splendid trout and caught it with your hands!" "You saw me dive," replied the boy, throwing the fish down with affected indifference, and stooping to wring the water from his garments as well as to hide his face; "and you don't suppose, surely, that I caught it with my feet. Come, look at the depth I had to go down to catch him!" Seizing his prize, Olly led his friend to the spot where he had fallen in, and pointed with a look of triumph to the clear, deep pool. At the moment a smile of intelligence lit up Paul's features, and he pointed to the extemporised fly-hook which still dangled from the bank. Bursting into a hearty fit of laughter, the successful fisher ran up to the encampment, swinging the trout round his head, to the surprise and great satisfaction of his father, who had already got the fire alight and the rabbit skinned. Need it be said that the meal which followed was a hearty one, though there was no variety save roast rabbit, roast trout, and roast pork, with the last of the cakes as pudding? "A first-rate dinner!" exclaimed Paul, after swallowing a draft of sparkling water from the stream. "Not bad," admitted Captain Trench, "if we only had something stronger than water to wash it down." Paul made no reply to this remark, but he secretly rejoiced in the necessity which delivered his friend from the only foe that had power to overcome him. "Now," remarked Paul, when he had finished dinner, "I will strengthen my bow before starting, for it does not send the arrows with sufficient force, and the only way to do that, that I can think of, is to shorten it." "And I will feather the last arrow I made," said Oliver, drawing the shaft in question out of his quiver. "Well, as my bow and bolts are all ship-shape and in perfect order, I will ramble to the top of the ridge before us and take a look out ahead." So saying the captain departed, and the other two were soon so deeply absorbed in their work and in conversation about future plans that they had almost forgotten him when a loud shout caused them to start up. On looking towards the ridge they beheld Captain Trench tossing his arms wildly in the air, and shouting and gesticulating violently. "Sees savages, I think," said Paul. "Or gone mad!" cried Olly. Catching up their arms, the two ran hastily to the top of the ridge, where they arrived perspiring and panting, to find that their excitable comrade had only gone into ecstasies about the magnificent scenery that had burst upon his sight. CHAPTER EIGHT. BEAUTIFUL SCENES AND STRANGE EXPERIENCES. And, truly, the scene which met their gaze was of a nature calculated to arouse enthusiasm in a much less ardent bosom than that of Captain Trench. A wide undulating country, studded with lakelets and rich with verdure, stretched away from their feet to the horizon, where a range of purple hills seemed to melt and mingle with cloudland, so that the eye was carried, as it were, by imperceptible gradations from the rugged earth up into the soft blue sky; indeed, it was difficult to distinguish where the former ended and the latter began. The lakes and ponds were gay with yellow water-lilies, and the air was musical with the sweet cries of wildfowl; while the noon-tide sun bathed the whole in a golden glory. The effect of such a sight on our wanderers was at first too powerful for words, and when words did burst forth they served to show how wonderfully diverse are the spirits of men. Captain Trench, as we have seen, was moved by this vision of beauty to shout, almost to dance, with delight, while in thought he bounded over the length and breadth of the new land, taking bearings, and making notes and charts with the view of extending the geographical knowledge of mankind! His son Oliver, on the other hand, allowed his imagination to revel freely through the forests and over the hills and across lakes and savannahs in powerful sympathy with the aspirations which must have animated Nimrod; while to Paul Burns, whose temperament was sedate and earnest, as well as cheerful and hearty, the glorious vision at once suggested thoughts of that tranquil home in which man's lot was originally cast by the loving heart of God. "Now it is quite plain," said Trench, as they slowly descended into this beautiful scene, "that this land is no collection of small islands, as we have been led to suppose, but a great land full of all that is needful to make it the happy abode of man." "Just so, daddy!" exclaimed the enthusiastic Oliver, "and _we_ have been sent to explore it and carry home the news--perhaps to bring out the first settlers and show them the way!" "Why, Olly, you carry too much sail for so small a craft; you look out rather too far ahead. And what mean ye by saying we are sent? Nobody sent us on this journey that I know of, unless you mean that Swinton-- the big scoundrel!--sent us." "Whatever Olly meant by the expression," interposed Paul, "I think he is right; for all men are sent by the Almighty, no matter where they go." "What! d'ye mean that men are sent by the Almighty whether they go to do good or evil?" "Ay, Master Trench, that is what I mean; they _are_ sent by Him, though not sent to _do evil_. Look here, don't you admit that God created all men and _sent_ them into this world?" "Of course I do." "And that He made you an Englishman, and so _sent_ you to England; and that He made you a sea-captain, and among other places _sent_ you to Newfoundland." "Well--I--I suppose He did," returned the captain, with that puzzled expression of countenance which was wont to indicate that his mind was grappling difficulties. "Well, then," continued Paul, "_being_ good, of course the Almighty sent us to _do_ good; but He also gave us free wills, which just means permission to do as we please; so it remains to be seen whether we will use our free wills in working with Him, or in _trying_ to work against Him, for, strange to say, we cannot really work against God, we can only _try_ to do it, and in so trying we establish the fact of our own wickedness; but His grand and good purposes shall be carried out in spite of us notwithstanding, for he can bring good out of evil." "Now, Paul, I've lost soundings altogether, and it's my opinion that you are foolishly talking about things that you, don't understand." "I never heard, Master Trench, that it was foolish to talk about what one does not understand! On the contrary, it is by talking of things that we don't understand that we manage at last to understand them. You had a deal of talking about navigation, had you not, before you understood it?" "Look 'ee here, lad," said Trench, stopping suddenly, with his legs planted firmly apart as though on the quarter-deck of his ship in a cross sea, while he drove his right fist into the palm of his left hand argumentatively. "Look 'ee here. How can it be possible that--that-- pooh! Come along, we'll never get on with our survey of the land if we dispute at this rate." The stout mariner turned away with an air of exasperation, and resumed his walk at a rapid pace, closely followed by his amused friend and son. This irreverent mode of dismissing a grave and difficult subject was not peculiar to Captain Trench. It has probably been adopted by those who shrink from mental effort ever since the days of Adam and Eve. Minds great and small have exercised themselves since the beginning of time on this perplexing subject--God's sovereignty and man's free will--with benefit, probably, to themselves. We recommend it in passing, good reader, to your attention, and we will claim to be guiltless of presumption in thus advising, so long as the writing stands, "Prove all things, and hold fast that which is good." Before the sun went down that night our explorers had plunged into the very heart of the beautiful country which we have described--now pushing through tangled underwood, or following the innumerable deer-tracks with which the country was seamed, or breasting the hill-sides, or making detours to get round small lakes, being guided, in a westerly direction, by a small pocket-compass which Captain Trench was fortunately in the habit of carrying with him wherever he went. No large lakes or broad rivers had yet been met with, so that up to this point the divergencies from the direct line had not been great. Thus they advanced for several days, subsisting on game and fish, chiefly the last, however; for their shooting powers were very defective, and Oliver was an ardent--too ardent--fisher. Their inability to shoot became at last a serious matter, for many arrows and bolts were lost, as well as much game. "Look, now, there's _another_ chance," whispered Paul, pointing to a plump willow-grouse that sat in a bush in front of them. "You try first, Master Trench." "An' _don't_ miss, daddy," said Oliver entreatingly; "there's only the bones of a rabbit left from this morning's breakfast." The captain took a fervently careful aim, but went far wide of the mark, to his intense chagrin. Paul then bent his bow, but without success, though his arrows stuck in a branch close under the bird, which, being very tame, only glanced down inquiringly. Oliver's arrow went over it, and the stone which he afterwards slang made such a rattling in the bush that the puzzled creature finally retired. "This is becoming serious," remarked the captain, with a face so solemn that Paul burst into a fit of laughter. "Ha! you may laugh, lad," continued Trench, "but if you were as hungry as I am you'd be more inclined to cry. D'ye think a stout man like me can sup heartily on rabbit bones?" "You've forgot, daddy, the four big trout I caught to-day." "So I have, Olly; well, come and let's have 'em cooked at once." The fish, which were really more than sufficient without the rabbit bones, were soon grilling over a huge fire under the canopy of a spreading birch-tree. When the skipper had disposed of enough to allay the pangs of hunger, he turned and said to his comrades, in a tone of marked decision-- "Now, mess-mates, I've been rummagin' my brains a bit, and the outcome of it is as follows:--`Whatever is worth doin' is worth doin' well,' as the old proverb puts it. If we are to explore this country, we must set about learning to shoot, for if we don't, we are likely to starve in the midst of plenty, and leave our bones to bleach in this beautiful wilderness." "True, Master Trench," remarked Paul, for the seaman had paused at this point; "thus far you and I think alike. What more have you to say?" "This I have to say, that I am resolved not to explore another fathom o' this land until I can make sure of hittin' the crown o' my cap with a cross-bow bolt at a reasonable distance; and I would advise you both to make the same resolution, for if you don't you will have to do your exploring without me." "Just so, captain," said Paul, putting the last morsel of fish into his mouth, with a sigh of contentment; "you are commander of this expedition. I will obey orders." "But what do you call a `reasonable' distance, daddy?" asked Oliver, with that pert cock of the head peculiar to insolent youths; "a yard, or a fathom?" "Well, now," continued Trench, ignoring the question, "we will set about it to-morrow morning, first thing after breakfast; stick up a target, retire to a _reasonable_ distance, and work away from morning till night, and every day till we become perfect." "Agreed, captain," said Paul; "but what about food?" "We will give Olly leave of absence for an hour or two daily to go and fish," said the captain; "that will keep us alive, coupled with what birds or beasts may come accidentally in front of our arrows." This plan, although proposed at first half in jest, was carried into operation next day, during the whole of which they practised shooting at a mark most diligently. At supper-time, over a couple of fine trout, it was admitted sadly by each that the progress made was very slight-- indeed, scarcely perceptible. Next night, however, the report was more favourable, and the third night it was felt that the prospect ahead was becoming hopeful; for, besides the improvement in shooting, two rabbits graced their supper, one having been arrested by an almost miraculous bolt when bolting; the other having been caught, unintentionally, by a stone similar to that which brought down the giant of Gath. The fact that skill had nothing to do with the procuring of either did not in the least detract from the enjoyment with which they consumed both. "Nothing is denied," they say, "to well-directed labour, and nothing can be done without it." Like most of the world's maxims, this is a partially erroneous statement; for many things are denied to well-directed labour, and sometimes amazing success is accorded to ill-directed and blundering efforts. Still, what truth does exist in the saying was verified by our three friends; for, after two weeks of unremitting, unwearied, persistent labour, each labourer succeeded in raising enormous blisters on two fingers of his right hand, and in hitting objects the size of a swan six times out of ten, at a "reasonable distance!" Having arrived at this state of proficiency with their weapons, they resumed their journey, fortified with a hearty breakfast, the foundation of which was fish, the superstructure willow-grouse interspersed with rabbit, and the apex plover. Not long after that the first deer was shot. It occurred thus:-- They were walking one beautiful morning slowly along one of the numerous deer-tracks of which we have already made mention, and were approaching the summit of a ridge at the very time that a herd of deer, headed by a noble stag, were ascending the same ridge from the opposite side. The little air that moved was blowing in the right direction--from the deer towards the travellers. As they topped the ridge about the same instant, the two parties stood suddenly face to face, and it would be difficult to determine which party looked most amazed. Facility in fitting arrows, etcetera, had been acquired by that time. The hunters were ready in a couple of seconds. The deer, recovering, wheeled about; but before they could take the first bound, "burr, twang, and whizz," sounded in their ears. The stone struck an antler of the stag, the arrow pierced his flank, the bolt quivered in his heart, and the monarch of the woods, leaping wildly into the air, fell dead upon the ground. "Well done, Master Trench!" shouted Paul, with a hearty cheer. As for Oliver, he uttered a squeal of delight, threw an uncontrollable somersault, and landed, sittingwise, on a bed of soft moss. This was a tremendous triumph and source of jubilation, and it soon became obvious to each that the other two had a hard struggle to keep their expressions of satisfaction within the limits of moderation; for not only had they now obtained the crowning evidence of their skill, but they were provided with a supply of meat which, if properly dried, would furnish them with food for many days to come. It was a striking and picturesque, though perhaps not an agreeable, sight to witness the party that night, in the ruddy light of the camp-fire, with sleeves rolled to the shoulders, and bloody knives in hands, operating on the carcase of the deer, and it was several hours past their usual supper-time before they felt themselves at liberty to sit down on a bed of spruce-fir branches and enjoy the luxury of rest and food. Next day, while proceeding slowly through the woods, chatting merrily over the incidents of the previous day, a sudden silence fell upon them; for out of the thick shrubbery there stalked a tall, noble-looking man of middle age. He was dressed in the garb of a hunter. Long yellow curls hung on his shoulders, and a heavy beard and moustache of the same colour concealed the lower part of a bronzed and handsome countenance. His bright blue eyes seemed to sparkle with good humour as he gazed inquiringly, yet sadly, at the astonished faces of the three travellers. CHAPTER NINE. THEIR NEW ACQUAINTANCE BECOMES INTERESTED AND PRACTICAL. The tall stranger who had thus suddenly presented himself bore so strong a resemblance to the vikings of old that Paul Burns, who was familiar with tales and legends about the ancient sea-rovers, felt stealing over him at the first glance a sensation somewhat akin to awe, for it seemed as if one of the sea-kings had actually risen from his grave to visit them. This feeling was succeeded, however, by one of intense surprise when the stranger addressed them in the English tongue. "I thought, years ago," he said, "that I had seen the last of white faces!" It immediately occurred to Oliver Trench that, as their faces were by that time deeply embrowned by the sun, the stranger must be in a bantering mood, but neither he nor his companions replied. They were too much astonished to speak or even move, and waited for more. "This is not a land where the men whose ruling ideas seem to be war and gold are likely to find what they want," continued the stranger, somewhat sternly. "Whence come ye? Are you alone, or only the advance-guard of the bloodthirsty race?" There was something so commanding as well as courtly in the tone and bearing of this extraordinary man, that Paul half involuntarily removed his cap as he replied: "Forgive me, sir, if astonishment at your sudden appearance has made me appear rude. Will you sit down beside us and share our meal, while I answer your questions?" With a quiet air and slight smile the stranger accepted the invitation, and listened with profound interest to Paul as he gave a brief outline of the wreck of the _Water Wagtail_, the landing of the crew, the mutinous conduct of Big Swinton and his comrades, and the subsequent adventures and wanderings of himself, Master Trench, and Oliver. "Your voices are like the echoes of an old, old song," said the stranger, in a low sad voice, when the narrative was concluded. "It is many years since I heard my native tongue from English lips. I had forgotten it ere now if I had not taken special means to keep it in mind." "And pray, good sir," said Paul, "may I ask how it happens that we should find an Englishman in this almost unheard-of wilderness? To tell you the truth, my first impression on seeing you was that you were the ghost of an ancient sea-king." "I am the ghost of my former self," returned the stranger, "and you are not far wrong about the sea-kings, for I am in very truth a descendant of those rovers who carried death and destruction round the world in ancient times. War and gold--or what gold represents--were their gods in those days." "It seems to me," said Captain Trench, at last joining in the conversation, "that if you were in Old England just now, or any other part of Europe, you'd say that war and gold are as much worshipped now-a-days as they ever were in the days of old." "If you add love and wine to the catalogue," said Paul, "you have pretty much the motive powers that have swayed the world since the fall of man. But tell us, friend, how you came to be here all alone." "Not now--not now," replied the stranger hurriedly, and with a sudden gleam in his blue eyes that told of latent power and passion under his calm exterior. "When we are better acquainted, perhaps you shall know. At present, it is enough to say that I have been a wanderer on the face of the earth for many years. For the last ten years my home has been in this wilderness. My native land is one of those rugged isles which form the advance-guard of Scotland in the Northern Ocean." "But are you quite alone here?" asked Captain Trench, with increasing interest. "Not quite alone. One woman has had pity on me, and shares my solitude. We dwell, with our children, on an island in a great lake, to which I will conduct you if you will accept my hospitality. Red men have often visited me there, but I had thought that the face of a white man would never more grieve my sight." "Is, then, the face of the white man so distasteful to you?" asked Paul. "It _was_; but some change must have come over me, for while I hold converse with you the old hatred seems melting away. If I had met you eight or ten years ago, I verily believe that I would have killed you all in cold blood, but now--" He stopped abruptly, and gazed into the flames of the camp-fire, with a grave, almost tender air that seemed greatly at variance with his last murderous remark. "However, the feeling is past and gone--it is dead," he presently resumed, with a toss of his head which sent the yellow curls back, and appeared at the same time to cast unpleasant memories behind him, "and I am now glad to see and welcome you, though I cannot help grieving that the white race has discovered my lonely island. They might have discovered it long ago if they had only kept their ears open." "Is it a big island, then--not a cluster of islands?" asked Trench eagerly. "Yes, it is a large island, and there is a great continent of unknown extent to the westward of it." "But what do you mean, stranger, by saying that it might have been discovered long ago if people had kept their ears open?" asked Paul. "It is well known that only a few years ago a sea-captain named Columbus discovered the great continent of which you speak, and that so recently as the year 1497 the bold mariner, John Cabot, with his son Sebastian, discovered these islands, which they have named Newfoundland." The stranger listened with evident interest, not unmingled with surprise, to this. "Of Columbus and Cabot I have never heard," he replied, "having had no intercourse with the civilised world for twenty years. I knew of this island and dwelt on it long before the time you say that Cabot came. But that reminds me that once, on returning from a hunting expedition into the interior, it was reported to me by Indians that a giant canoe had been seen off the coast. That may have been Cabot's ship. As to Columbus, my forefathers discovered the great continent lying to the west of this about five hundred years before he could have been born. When I was a boy, my father, whose memory was stored with innumerable scraps of the old viking sagas, or stories, used to tell me about the discovery of Vinland by the Norsemen, which is just the land that seems to have been re-discovered by Columbus and Cabot. My father used to say that many of the written sagas were believed to exist among the colonists of Iceland. I know not. It is long since my thoughts ceased to be troubled by such matters, but what you tell me has opened up the flood-gates of old memories that I had thought were dead and buried for ever." All that day the strange hunter accompanied them, and encamped with them at night. Next morning he resumed with ever-increasing interest the conversation which had been interrupted by the necessity of taking rest. It was evident that his heart was powerfully stirred; not so much by the news which he received, as by the old thoughts and feelings that had been revived. He was very sociable, and, among other things, showed his new friends how to slice and dry their venison, so as to keep it fresh and make it convenient for carriage. "But you won't require to carry much with you," he explained, "for the country swarms with living creatures at all times--especially just now." On this head he gave them so much information, particularly as to the habits and characteristics of birds, beasts, and fishes, that Paul's natural-historic enthusiasm was aroused; and Oliver, who had hitherto concerned himself exclusively with the uses to which wild animals might be applied--in the way of bone-points for arrows, twisted sinews for bowstrings, flesh for the pot, and furs for garments--began to feel considerable curiosity as to what the creatures did when at home, and why they did it. "If we could only find out what they think about," he remarked to the hunter, "we might become quite sociable together." What it was in this not very remarkable speech that interested their new friend we cannot tell, but certain it is that from the time it was uttered he took greater interest in the boy, and addressed many of his remarks and explanations to him. There was a species of dignity about this strange being which prevented undue familiarity either with or by him; hence, he always addressed the boy by his full name, and never condescended to "Olly!" The name by which he himself chose to be called was Hendrick, but whether that was a real or assumed name of course they had no means of knowing. Continuing to advance through a most beautiful country, the party came at last to a river of considerable size and depth, up the banks of which they travelled for several days. Hendrick had by tacit agreement assumed the leadership of the party, because, being intimately acquainted with the land, both as to its character, form, and resources, he was naturally fitted to be their guide. "It seems to me," said Captain Trench, as they sat down to rest one afternoon on a sunny bank by the river side--out of which Olly had just pulled a magnificent trout--"that the climate of this island has been grossly misrepresented. The report was brought to us that it was a wild barren land, always enveloped in thick fogs; whereas, although I am bound to say we found fogs enough on the coast we have found nothing but beauty, sunshine, and fertility in the interior." "Does not this arise from the tendency of mankind to found and form opinions on insufficient knowledge?" said Hendrick. "Even the Indians among whom I dwell are prone to this error. If your discoverer Cabot had dwelt as many years as I have in this great island, he would have told you that it has a splendid climate, and is admirably adapted for the abode of man. Just look around you--the region which extends from your feet to the horizon in all directions is watered as you see by lakes and rivers, which swarm with fish and are alive with wildfowl; the woods, which are largely composed of magnificent and useful trees, give shelter to myriads of animals suitable for food to man; the soil is excellent, and the grazing lands would maintain thousands of cattle-- what more could man desire?" "Nothing more," answered Paul, "save the opportunity to utilise it all, and the blessing of God upon his efforts." "The opportunity to utilise it won't be long of coming, now that the facts about it are known, or soon to be made known, by us," remarked Trench. "I'm not so sure about that" said Paul. "It is wonderful how slow men are to believe, and still more wonderful how slow they are to act." That the captain's hopes were not well founded, and that Paul's doubts were justified, is amply proved by the history of Newfoundland. At first its character was misunderstood; then, when its unparalleled cod-fishing banks were discovered, attention was entirely confined to its rugged shores. After that the trade fell into the hands of selfish and unprincipled monopolists, who wilfully misrepresented the nature of this island, and prevailed on the British Government to enact repressive laws, which effectually prevented colonisation. Then prejudice, privileges, and error perpetuated the evil state of things, so that the true character of the land was not known until the present century; its grand interior was not systematically explored till only a few years ago, and thus it comes to pass that even at the present day one of the finest islands belonging to the British Crown--as regards vast portions of its interior--still remains a beautiful wilderness unused by man. But with this we have nothing at present to do. Our business is, in spirit, to follow Hendrick and his friends through that wilderness, as it was at the beginning of the sixteenth century. Deer-tracks, as we have said, were innumerable, and along one of those tracks a herd of deer were seen trotting one day about two bow-shots from the party. With characteristic eagerness Oliver Trench hastily let fly an arrow at them. He might as well have let it fly at the pole-star. The only effect it had was to startle the deer and send them galloping into the shelter of the woods. "_What_ a pity!" exclaimed Oliver. "Not so, my boy," remarked his father. "Experience, they say, teaches fools; and if experience has now taught you that it is foolish to shoot at game out of range, you are no fool, which is not a pity, but matter for congratulation." "But what about practice, daddy? Did you not say only last night that there is nothing like practice to make perfect?" "True, lad, but I did not recommend practising at deer beyond range. Besides, you can practise at stumps and stones." "But stumps and stones don't afford _running_ shots," objected Olly. "Yes they do, boy. You can run past the stumps while you shoot, and as to stones, you can roll them down hill and let fly at them as they roll. Now clap the hatches on your mouth; you're too fond of argument." "I'm only a chip of the ancient tree, father," retorted the boy, with a quiet laugh. How much further this little skirmish might have proceeded we cannot tell, for it was brought to an abrupt close by the sudden appearance of a black bear. It was on turning a cliff which bordered the edge of a stream that they came upon the monster--so close to it that they had barely time to get ready their weapons when it rose on its hind legs to attack them. "Look out!" yelled Oliver, who, being in advance, was the first to see the bear. A stone from his sling was well though hastily aimed, for it hit the animal fairly on the nose, thereby rendering it particularly angry. Almost at the same moment a bolt and an arrow flew from the weapons of Paul and Trench; but they flew wide of the mark, and there is no saying what the result might have been had not Hendrick bent his short but powerful bow, and sent an arrow to the feather into the creature's breast. The modern bullet is no doubt more deadly than the ancient arrow, nevertheless the latter had some advantages over the former. One of these was that, as it transfixed several muscles, it tended to hamper the movements of the victim shot. It also drew attention in some degree from the assailant. Thus, on the present occasion the bear, with a savage growl, seized the head of the arrow which projected from the wound and wrenched it off. This, although little more than a momentary act, gave the hunter time to fit and discharge a second arrow, which entered the animal's throat, causing it to fall writhing on the ground, while Oliver, who had gone almost mad with excitement, grasped his axe, bounded forward, and brought it down on bruin's skull. Well was it for the reckless boy that Hendrick's arrows had done their work, for, although his young arm was stout and the axe sharp, little impression was made on the hard-headed creature by the blow. Hendrick's knife, however, completed the work and despatched the bear. Then they all sat down to rest while the hunter set to work to skin the animal. CHAPTER TEN. OLLY'S FIRST SALMON AND HENDRICK'S HOME. From this time forward the opportunities for hunting and fishing became so numerous that poor Oliver was kept in a constantly bubbling-over condition of excitement, and his father had to restrain him a good deal in order to prevent the larder from being greatly overstocked. One afternoon they came to a river which their guide told them was one of the largest in the country. "It flows out of the lake, on one of the islands of which I have built my home." "May I ask," said Paul, with some hesitation, "if your wife came with you from the Shetland Isles?" A profoundly sad expression flitted across the hunter's countenance. "No," he replied. "Trueheart, as she is named in the Micmac tongue, is a native of this island--at least her mother was; but her father, I have been told, was a white man--a wanderer like myself--who came in an open boat from no one knows where, and cast his lot among the Indians, one of whom he married. Both parents are dead. I never saw them; but my wife, I think, must resemble her white father in many respects. My children are like her. Look now, Oliver," he said, as if desirous of changing the subject, "yonder is a pool in which it will be worth while to cast your hook. You will find something larger there than you have yet caught in the smaller streams. Get ready. I will find bait for you." Olly needed no urging. His cod-hook and line, being always handy, were arranged in a few minutes, and his friend, turning up the sod with a piece of wood, soon procured several large worms, which were duly impaled, until they formed a bunch on the hook. With this the lad hurried eagerly to the edge of a magnificent pool, where the oily ripples and curling eddies, as well as the great depth, effectually concealed the bottom from view. He was about to whirl the bunch of worms round his head, preparatory to a grand heave, when he was arrested by the guide. "Stay, Oliver; you will need a rod for this river. Without one you will be apt to lose your fish. I will cut one." So saying, he went into the woods that bordered the pool, and soon returned with what seemed to the boy to be a small tree about fourteen feet long. "Why, Hendrick, do you take me for Goliath, who as Paul Burns tells us, was brought down by a stone from the sling of David? I'll never be able to fish with that." "Oliver," returned the hunter gravely, as he continued the peeling of the bark from the rod, "a lad with strong limbs and a stout heart should never use the words `not able' till he has tried. I have seen many promising and goodly young men come to wreck because `I can't' was too often on their lips. You never know what you can do till you try." The boy listened to this reproof with a slight feeling of displeasure, for he felt in his heart that he was not one of those lazy fellows to whom his friend referred. However, he wisely said nothing, but Hendrick observed, with some amusement, that his brow flushed and his lips were firmly compressed. "There now," he said in a cheery tone, being anxious to remove the impression he had made, "you will find the rod is lighter than it looks, and supple, as you see. We will tie your line half-way down and run it through a loop at the end--so!--to prevent its being lost if the point should break. Now, try to cast your hook into the spot yonder where a curl in the water meets and battles with an eddy. Do you see it?" "Yes, I see it," replied Olly, advancing to the pool, with the rod grasped in both hands. "It would be better," continued Hendrick, "if you could cast out into the stream beyond, but the line is too short for that, unless you could jump on to that big rock in the rapid, which is impossible with the river so high." Oliver looked at the rock referred to. It stood up in the midst of foaming water, full twenty feet from the bank. He knew that he might as well try to jump over the moon as attempt to leap upon that rock; nevertheless, without a moment's hesitation, he rushed down the bank, sprang furiously off, cleared considerably more than half the distance, and disappeared in the foaming flood! Hendrick was suddenly changed from a slow and sedate elephant into an agile panther. He sprang along the bank to a point lower down the stream, and was up to the waist in the water before Olly reached the point--struggling to keep his head above the surface, and at the same time to hold on to his rod. Hendrick caught him by the collar, and dragged him, panting, to land. Paul and his father had each, with a shout of surprise or alarm, rushed for the same point, but they would have been too late. "Olly, my son," said Trench, in a remonstrative tone, "have you gone mad?" "No, father; I knew that I could not jump it, but I've been advised never to say so till I have tried!" "Nay, Oliver, be just," said the guide, with a laugh. "I did truly advise you never to say `I can't' till you had tried, but I never told you to try the impossible. However, I am not sorry you did this, for I'd rather see a boy try and fail, than see him fail because of unwillingness to try. Come, now, I will show you something else to try." He took Oliver up the stream a few yards, and pointed to a ledge of rock, more than knee-deep under water, which communicated with the rock he had failed to reach. "The ledge is narrow," he said, "and the current crossing it is strong, but from what I've seen of you I think you will manage to wade out if you go cautiously, and don't lose heart. I will go down stream again, so that if you should slip I'll be ready to rescue." Boldly did Oliver step out upon the ledge; cautiously did he advance each foot, until he was more than leg-deep, and wildly, like an insane semaphore, did he wave his arms, as well as the heavy rod, in his frantic efforts not to lose his balance! At last he planted his feet, with a cheer of triumph, on the rock. "Hush, Olly, you'll frighten the fish," cried Paul, with feigned anxiety. "You'll tumble in again, if you don't mind," said his cautious father. But Olly heard not. The whole of his little soul was centred on the oily pool into which he had just cast the bunch of worms. Another moment, and the stout rod was almost wrenched from his grasp. "Have a care! Hold on! Stand fast!" saluted him in various keys, from the bank. "A cod! or a whale!" was the response from the rock. "More likely a salmon," remarked Hendrick, in an undertone, while a sober smile lit up his features. At the moment a magnificent salmon, not less than twenty pounds weight, leapt like a bar of silver from the flood, and fell back, with a mighty splash. The leap caused a momentary and sudden removal of the strain on the rod. Oliver staggered, slipped, and fell with a yell that told of anxiety more than alarm; but he got up smartly, still holding on by both hands. In fishing with the tapering rods and rattling reels of modern days, fishers never become fully aware of the strength of salmon, unless, indeed, a hitch in their line occurs, and everything snaps! It was otherwise about the beginning of the sixteenth century. It is otherwise still with primitive fishers everywhere. Oliver's line could not run; his rod was rigid, save at the point. The result was that it was all he could do to stand and hold on to his captive. The rod, bent down into the water, sprang up to the perpendicular, flew hither and thither, jerked and quivered, causing the poor boy to jerk and quiver in irresistible sympathy. At last a mighty rush of the fish drew the fisher headlong into the flood. "He'll be drowned or killed on the boulders below," gasped his father, running wildly down the bank of the river. "Don't fear," said Hendrick, as he ran beside him. "There is a shallow just above the boulders. We will stop him there." Paul Burns was already abreast of the shallow in question, and Oliver was stranded on it, but a deep rapid stream ran between it and the bank, so that Paul hesitated and looked eagerly about for the best spot to cross. "Follow me," cried Hendrick, "I know the ford." He led his comrade swiftly to a point where the river widened and became shallow, enabling them to wade to the tail of the bank at the top of which Oliver stood engaged in a double struggle--with the water that hissed and leaped around him, and the fish that still surged wildly about in its vain efforts to escape. As the three men waded nearer to him they got into shallower water, and then perceived that the boy had not lost his self-possession, but was still tightly grasping the butt of his rod. Just as they came up the salmon, in its blind terror, ran straight against the boy's legs. Olly fell upon it, let go the rod, and embraced it! Happily, his friends reached him at the moment, else the water that rushed over his head would have compelled him to let go--or die! Paul lifted him up. The great fish struggled in its captor's arms. It was slippery as an eel, and its strength tremendous. No digging of his ten nails into it was of any use. Slowly but surely it was wriggling out of his tight embrace when Hendrick inserted his great thumbs into its gills, and grasped it round the throat. "Let go, Oliver," he said, "I've got him safe." But Olly would not let go. Indeed, in the state of his mind and body at the moment it is probable that he could _not_ let go. His father, having made some ineffectual attempts to clear the line, with which, and the rod, they had got completely entangled, was obliged to "stand by" and see that the entanglement became no worse. Thus, holding on each to the other and all together, they staggered slowly and safely to land with their beautiful prize. "Are there many fish like that in these rivers?" asked Paul, as they all stood contemplating the salmon, and recovering breath. "Ay, thousands of them in all the rivers, and the rivers are numerous-- some of them large," replied Hendrick. "This will be a great country some day, you take my word for it," said the captain, in a dogmatic manner, which was peculiar to him when he attempted amateur prophecy. That prophecy, however, like many other prophecies, has been only partly fulfilled. It has come true, indeed, that Newfoundland now possesses the most valuable cod-fishery in the world, and that her exports of salmon are considerable, but as to her being a great country--well, that still remains unfulfilled prophecy; for, owing to no fault of her people, but to the evils of monopoly and selfishness, as we have already said, her career has been severely checked. Not many days after the catching of the salmon--which remained a memorable point in the career of Oliver Trench--the explorers were led by Hendrick to the shores of a magnificent lake. It was so large that the captain at first doubted whether it was not the great ocean itself. "It is not the sea," said their guide, as he surveyed the watery expanse with evident enthusiasm. "It is a lake full fifty miles long, yet it is not the largest lake in this island. Taste its waters and you will find them sweet. Here," he added, with a look of gratification, "is my home." "God has given you a wide domain," said Paul, gazing with pleasure on the verdant islets with which the bay before him was studded. "Yet I cannot help thinking that it is a waste of one's life to spend it in a solitude, however beautiful, when the sorrowing and the suffering world around us calls for the active energies of all good men." The hunter seemed to ponder Paul's words. "It appears to me," he said at last, "that our Creator meant us to serve Him by making ourselves and those around us happy. I have to do so here, and in some degree have succeeded." As he spoke he raised both hands to his mouth and gave vent to a prolonged halloo that swept out over the calm waters of the bay. It was quickly replied to by a shrill cry, and in a few minutes a canoe, emerging from one of the islets, was seen paddling swiftly towards them. CHAPTER ELEVEN. THE HUNTER'S HOME. The canoe, which approached the shores of the lake where our explorers stood, was a large one, built after the fashion of the coracle of the ancient Britons, namely, with a frame of wicker-work covered with deerskin. It was propelled with paddles by a woman seated in the stern and a little girl in the bow. "My wife is a woman of forethought," remarked Hendrick, with a pleased expression. "Seeing that we are a large party, she has not only brought our largest canoe, but has made Oscar get out the small one." He pointed to the island, from a creek in which a little canoe of a reddish colour was seen to issue. It was made of birch-bark, and was propelled by a small boy, who seemed from his exertions to be in urgent haste to overtake the other craft. "Your son, I suppose?" said Paul. "Yes, my eldest. His younger brother is but a babe yet. These, with my daughter Goodred, and my wife Trueheart, who are now approaching, constitute the family which God has given to me." A feeling of satisfaction filled the heart of Paul Burns as he listened to the last words, for they proved that their new friend was not among those who deem it weakness or hypocrisy in men to openly acknowledge their Maker as the Giver of all that they possess. This feeling was merged in one of surprise when the canoe touched the shore, and an exceedingly pretty child, with fair complexion, blue eyes, and curling hair, stepped lightly out, and ran to her father, who stooped to kiss her on the cheek. Hendrick was not demonstrative, that was evident; neither was his wife, nor his child. Whatever depth of feeling they possessed, the surface ran smooth. Yet there was an air of quiet gladness about the meeting which enabled Paul to understand what the hunter meant when, in a former conversation, he had said that he "made those around him happy." "Is baby well?" he asked quickly. "Yes, father, quite well, and I very sure wishing much that you come home soon. You been long time away." "Longer than I expected, Goodred. And I have brought friends with me," he added, turning to his wife. "Friends whom I have found in the forest, Trueheart." "You friends be welcome," said Trueheart, with a modest yet self-possessed air. The woman, who advanced and held out a small hand to be shaken in European fashion, was obviously of Indian extraction, yet her brown hair, refined cast of features, and easy manner, showed as obviously the characteristics of her white father. Though not nearly so fair as her child, she was still far removed from the deep colour of her mother's race. Before more could be said on either side the enthusiastic youngster in the bark canoe leaped ashore, burst into the midst of the group with a cheer, and began wildly to embrace one of his father's huge legs, which was about as much of his person as he could conveniently grasp. He was a miniature Hendrick, clad in leather from top to toe. The whole party now entered the canoes, skimmed over the lake, and past the wooded islets, towards the particular island which the hunter called "home." It was as romantic a spot as one could desire for a residence. Though only a quarter of a mile or so in diameter, the island, which was composed of granite, was wonderfully diversified in form and character. There was a little cove which formed a harbour for the hunter's canoes; bordering it was a patch of open ground backed by shrubs, above which rose a miniature precipice. The ground in the centre of the isle was rugged--as the captain remarked, quite mountainous in a small way! Hendrick had taught his children to call it the mountain, and in the midst of its miniature fastnesses he had arranged a sort of citadel, to which he and his family could retire in case of attack from savages. One peak of this mountainette rose in naked grandeur to a height of about fifty feet above the lake. Elsewhere the islet was wooded to the water's edge with spruce and birch-trees, in some places fringed with willows. On a few open patches were multitudes of ripe berries, which here and there seemed literally to cover the ground with a carpet of bright red. On the open ground, or lawn, beside the cove, stood the hunter's hut, a small structure of rounded logs, with a door, on either side of which was a window. From those glassless windows there was a view of lake and isles and distant woods, with purple mountains beyond, which formed a scene of indescribable beauty. Close to the door, forming, as it were, a porch to it, there stood a semi-circular erection of poles covered with birch-bark and deerskins, in front of which blazed the household fire, with a tripod over it, and a bubbling earthen pot hanging therefrom. Around the inner side of the fire, under the semi-circular tent, were spread a number of deerskins to serve as couches. On one of these sat an Indian woman, with the family babe in her arms. It was a wonderful babe! and obviously a wise one, for it knew its own father directly, stretched out its little arms, and shouted for instant recognition. Nor had it to shout long, for Hendrick, being fond of it and regardless of appearances, seized it in his arms and smothered it in his beard, out of which retreat crows and squalls of satisfaction thereafter issued. "Excuse me, friends," said Hendrick at last, delivering the child to its mother. "I have been absent on a visit to my wife's relations, and have not seen little Ian for a long time. Sit down, and we will see what cheer the pot contains. I don't ask you to enter the hut, because while the weather is mild it is pleasanter outside. When winter comes we make more use of the house. My wife, you see, does not like it, having been accustomed to tents all her life." "But me--I--likes it when the snow fall," said Trueheart, looking up with a bright smile from the pot, into which she had previously been making investigations. "True--true. I think you like whatever I like; at least you try to!" returned the hunter, as he sat down and began to tie the feathers on the head of an arrow. "You even try to speak good grammar for my sake!" Trueheart laughed and continued her culinary duties. "You told us when we first met," said Captain Trench, who had made himself comfortable on a deerskin beside the baby, "that you had taken special means not to forget your native tongue. Do I guess rightly in supposing that the teaching of it to your wife and children was the means?" "You are right, captain. Of course, the language of the Micmac Indians is more familiar and agreeable to Trueheart, but she is obstinate, though a good creature on the whole, and insists on speaking English, as you hear." Another little laugh in the vicinity of the earthen pot showed that his wife appreciated the remark. Meanwhile Goodred busied herself in preparing venison steaks over the same fire, and Oscar undertook to roast marrow bones for the whole party, as well as to instruct Oliver Trench in that delicate operation. While they were thus engaged the shades of evening gradually descended on the scene, but that did not interfere with their enjoyment, for by heaping fresh resinous logs on the fire they produced a ruddy light, which seemed scarcely inferior to that of day; a light which glowed on the pretty and pleasant features of the wife and daughter as they moved about placing plates of birch-bark before the guests, and ladling soup and viands into trenchers of the same. Savoury smells floated on the air, and gradually expelled the scent of shrub and flower from the banqueting-hall. Truly, it was a right royal banquet; fit for a king--if not too particular a king--to say nothing of its being spread before one who was monarch of all he surveyed, and served by his queen and princess! There was, first of all, soup of excellent quality. Then followed boiled salmon and roast sea-trout. Next came a course of boiled venison, fat and juicy, with an alternative of steaks and grilled ribs. This was followed by what may be styled a haunch of beaver, accompanied by the animal's tail--a prime delicacy--in regard to which Captain Trench, with his mouth full of it, said-- "This is excellent eatin', Master Hendrick. What may it be--if I may presume to ask?" "Beaver's tail," replied the hunter. "Dear me!" exclaimed Olly, withdrawing a roast rib from his mouth for the purpose of speech; "beavers seem to have wonderfully broad and flat tails." "They have, Oliver, and if you will try a bit you will find that their tails are wonderfully good." Oliver tried, and admitted that it was good; then, observing that little Oscar had just finished his fourth venison steak, he politely handed him the trencher. The greasy-fingered boy gravely helped himself to number five, and assailed it as if he had only just begun to terminate a long fast. There were no vegetables at that feast, and instead of bread they had cakes of hard deer's-fat, with scraps of suet toasted brown intermixed-- a species of plum-cake, which was greatly relished by the visitors. At the last, when repletion seemed imminent, they finished off with marrow bones. With these they trifled far on into the night. Of course as the demands of appetite abated the flow of soul began. "I see neither nets, hooks, nor lines about the camp, Hendrick," said Paul Burns, after the queen and princess had retired into the hut for the night. "How do you manage to catch salmon?" The hunter replied by pointing to a spear somewhat resembling Neptune's trident which stood against a neighbouring tree. "We spear them by torchlight," he said. "Oscar is a pretty good hand at it now." "You live well, Master Hendrick," remarked Trench, raising a bark flagon to his lips and tossing off a pint of venison soup, with the memory of pots of ale strong upon him. "Do you ever have a scarcity of food?" "Never; for the country, as you have seen, swarms with game. We dry the flesh of deer, otter, martens, and musk-rats, and store it for winter, and during that season we have willow-grouse and rabbits for fresh meat. Besides, in autumn we freeze both flesh and fish, and thus keep it fresh till spring, at which time the wildfowl return to us. The skins and furs of these creatures furnish us with plenty of clothing--in fact, more than we can use. The question sometimes comes into my mind, Why did the Great Father provide such abundance for the use of man without sending men to use it?--for the few Micmacs who dwell in the land are but as a drop in the ocean, and they totally neglect some things, while they waste others. I have seen them slaughter thousands of deer merely for the sake of their tongues and other tit-bits." "There is much of mystery connected with that, Master Hendrick, which we cannot clear up," remarked Trench. "Mystery there is, no doubt," said Paul quickly. "Yet there are some things about it that are plain enough to those who choose to look. The Word of God (which, by the way, is beginning to be circulated now among us in England in our mother tongue), that Word tells man plainly to go forth and replenish the earth. Common sense, from the beginning of time, has told us the same thing, but what does man do? He sticks to several small patches of the earth, and there he trades, and works, and builds, and propagates, until these patches swarm like ant-hills, and then he wars, and fights, and kills off the surplus population; in other words, slays the _young_ men of the world and sows misery, debt and desolation broadcast. In fact, man seems to me to be mad. Rather than obey God and the dictates of common sense, he will leave the fairest portions of the world untenanted, and waste his life and energies in toiling for a crust of bread or fighting for a foot of land!" "Some such thoughts have passed through my mind," said Hendrick thoughtfully, "when I have remembered that my ancestors, as I have told you, discovered this land, as well as that which lies to the west and south of it, long before this Columbus you speak of was born. But surely we may now expect that with all our modern appliances and knowledge, the earth will soon be overrun and peopled." "I don't feel very sanguine about it," said Paul, with a prophetic shake of the head. That Paul was justified in his doubts must be obvious to every reader who is aware of the fact that in the present year of grace (1889) there are millions of the world's fair and fertile acres still left untenanted and almost untrodden by the foot of man. "It's my opinion," remarked Captain Trench, with a blink of the eyes, induced possibly by wisdom and partly by sleep, "that you two are talking nonsense on a subject which is quite beyond the reach of man's intellect." "It may be so," replied Paul, with a laugh which merged into a yawn, "and perhaps it would be wiser that we should go to rest. Olly and Oscar have already set us a good example. What say you, Hendrick?" "As you please," answered the polite hunter. "I am ready either to sleep or to converse." "Then I will not tax your good-nature. We will seek repose. But what of our future movements? My sleep will be sounder if I could lie down with the assurance that you will continue to be our guide into the fertile interior of which you have said so much." "I will go with you," returned Hendrick, after a few moments' thought, "but I must ask you to spend a few days in my camp to rest yourselves, while I provide a supply of fresh meat and fish for my family; for, willing and able though Oscar is to provide for them, he is yet too young to have the duty laid upon his little shoulders." This having been satisfactorily settled, the captain and Paul wrapped themselves in deerskin blankets, and lay down with their feet to the fire. Hendrick, having heaped a fresh supply of fuel on the embers, followed their example, and the camp was soon buried in profound silence. CHAPTER TWELVE. A SURPRISE, A FIGHT, AND A WAR PARTY. At this point in our tale we might profitably turn aside for a little to dilate upon the interesting--not to say exciting--proceedings of our explorers and the hunter's family during the few days spent in the island home and its neighbourhood, were it not that incidents of a more stirring and important nature claim our attention. We might, if time and space permitted, tell how they all went fishing in the lake with Oliver's cod-hooks, which were, of course, greatly superior to the bone-hooks which Hendrick had been accustomed to manufacture; how they went salmon-spearing by torchlight in a neighbouring stream, in which operation Oliver soon became as expert as his entertainers, and even more enthusiastic, insomuch that he several times met what seemed to be his ordinary fate--a ducking in the water; how, in consequence, he caught a bad cold, as well as fish, and was compelled to lie up and be nursed for several days, during which time of forced inaction he learned to appreciate the excellent nursing qualities of Trueheart and her daughter Goodred. He also learned to estimate at its true value the yelling power of the family baby, whose will was iron and whose lungs were leather, besides being inflated by the fresh, wholesome air of the grand wilderness. We might tell of the short but thrilling expeditions undertaken by the men and boys in pursuit of bears, otters, beaver, and deer, in which Hendrick displayed the certainty of his deadly aim, and Master Trench the uncertainty of his dreadful shooting, despite all his former "practice." We might relate the interesting stories, anecdotes, and narratives with which the explorers and the hunter sought to beguile the pleasant periods that used to follow supper and precede repose, and describe the tremendous energy of Paul Burns in springing to the rescue of the self-willed baby when it fell into the fire, and the cool courage of Oliver Trench in succouring the same baby when it tumbled into the water. All this we might dilate on, and a great deal more--such as the great friendship struck up between Oscar and Oliver, and the intense interest expressed by Hendrick on finding that his friend Paul possessed a manuscript copy of the Gospel of John, and the frequent perusals of that Gospel over the camp-fire, and the discussions that followed on the great subjects of man's duty, the soul's destiny, and the love of God, as shown in and by Jesus Christ--but over all this we must unwillingly draw a curtain and leave it to the courteous reader's imagination, while we pass on to subjects which bear more directly on the issues of our tale. One day, some time after leaving Hendrick's camp on the great lake, Captain Trench and his son, with Paul Burns and the hunter, halted to rest on the summit of a cliff from which they could obtain a magnificent view of the country lying beyond. They had by that time passed over the rich grassland with its park-like plains, its lakes and streams and belts of woodland, and had entered upon that mountainous region which lies towards the southwesterly portion of the island. "Hendrick," said Paul, as he gazed with admiration on the wild scene before him, "I have now seen enough to know that this land is most suitable for the abode of man. The soil is admirable; the woods contain magnificent timber; fish, flesh, and fowl are plentiful; coal exists in, I should think, extensive fields, while there are indications in many places of great mineral wealth, especially copper. Besides this, the land, you tell me, is pierced by innumerable bays, inlets, fords, and natural harbours; and, to crown all, the climate, except on some parts of the coast, is exceedingly good. Now it seems to me that these facts ought to be made known in England, and that our King should not only take possession, but should send out colonists to settle all over this island and develop its resources. If permitted, it will be my part to finish this exploration and carry home the news." Hendrick did not reply for a few minutes, then a faint sigh escaped him as he replied-- "No doubt what you say is just, and I doubt not that these plains and hills will one day resound with the activities of civilised life: the plough will obliterate the deer-tracks, the axe will lay low the forests, and the lowing of cattle and the bark of dogs will replace the trumpeting of the wild-goose and the cry of plover; but when the change begins to come, I will strike my tent and go to the great unknown lands of the west, for I cannot bear the clatter and the strife of men." Paul was about to reply, when an arrow whizzed through the air, pierced the sleeve of his coat, scratched his left arm slightly as it passed, and quivered in a tree behind them. Leaping up, each member of the party sprang for shelter behind a neighbouring tree. At the same moment there arose a terrible cry, as of men rushing to attack each other. The form of the ground prevented our travellers from seeing the combatants, though the sound of their strife proved them to be close at hand. Suddenly Hendrick left the tree behind which he had taken shelter, and, running towards a precipitous bank or cliff, called to his companions to follow. They obeyed at once. "I fear," he said, as Paul ran up alongside of him, "that I know the meaning of this. Some of the voices sound familiar to me. That arrow was not, I think, discharged at us. We shall be wanted here. May I count on you?" "You may," said Paul. "I cannot doubt that your cause must be a just one." "I'm with you!" exclaimed Master Trench, plucking the hatchet from his son's belt--a weapon that the youngster could well spare, as the bludgeon and the bow were still left to him. Hendrick had spoken in quick, sharp tones, for he was evidently much excited. On reaching the crest of a rising ground he looked cautiously over it. "As I thought!" he said; "my wife's relations are attacked by savages from Labrador. Come, follow me!" He ran swiftly round the base of the rising ground, not giving his comrades time even to see the combatants to whom he referred. Suddenly they came in full sight of perhaps the most terrible sight that our fallen world can present--two bands of armed men, mad with rage, engaged in the fiendish work of butchering each other. In the immediate foreground two powerful Indians were struggling each to plant a short spear in the other's heart. One, who was shorter than the other but equally powerful, was making a desperate effort to wrench his right hand from his foe's grasp, and another foe was on the point of stabbing the short man in the back, when the white men appeared on the scene. Paul, the captain, and Oliver, although ready with arrow and bolt hesitated, for they knew not which to regard as foes, and which as friends. No such difficulty, however, interfered with Hendrick, who sent an arrow into the brain of the savage who meant to strike from behind. At the same instant the short warrior succeeded in his effort; his spear flashed upwards, and the next moment his tall enemy fell to rise no more. Hendrick, who seemed to have been transformed into a human tiger, rushed to the attack with a shout and a display of fury that for a moment arrested the fight. The short Indian, whose life he had just saved, bestowed on him and his companions one look of surprise, and joined him in the rush. Captain Trench, whose combative tendencies were easily aroused, joined them with a roar which was somewhat intensified by the fact that he was still a little uncertain as to which was "the enemy." Oliver relieved his overcharged bosom by an involuntary shriek or howl, that rose high and shrill above the tumult, as he followed suit, whirling his bludgeon with some difficulty round his head. The combined effect of all this was to strike terror into the enemy who, turning short round, fled precipitately, and were followed for a considerable distance by some of the victorious Indians. On returning from the pursuit, Hendrick introduced the short Indian as his wife's cousin, who, with a party of hunters, had been out for a supply of fresh meat when attacked by the Labrador savages. "It is an old feud," remarked Hendrick, as he and Paul sat a little apart that evening, while their comrades assisted the Indians to prepare supper; "an old feud. Oh! war--war! There is no place of rest from it, I fear, in this world." The hunter's tone was so sad that Paul looked at him inquiringly. "You are surprised," said his companion, "that I should long thus for escape from the warring passions of men, but if you knew what reason I have for hating war, you would not wonder. Listen! Many years ago I went with my wife and child to visit a kinsman in the Scottish Highlands. I need scarcely tell you that it was not my present wife and child. She was young, fair, faultless in person and disposition. Our little daughter resembled her in all respects. There chanced to be a miserable feud existing between my relative and a neighbouring chief. It originated in some disputed boundary, and always smouldered, like a subdued volcano, but occasionally broke forth in open warfare. At the time of my visit my kinsman, who was a bachelor, had gone to transact some business at a town not far distant, leaving a message for me to follow him as he required my assistance in some family arrangements, and meant to return home the same night. I went, leaving my wife and child in the castle. That very night my kinsman's foe--knowing nothing of my arrival--came to the castle, took the small body of defenders by surprise, overcame them, and set the place on fire. Fiendish and revengeful though the marauders were, I believe they would not wantonly have murdered the helpless ones, had they known of their being in the place, but they knew it not until too late. "When we returned that night the castle was a black smoking ruin, and my wife and little one had perished! Can you wonder that I fled from the horrible spot; that I left my native land for ever; and that I shudder at the very thought of strife?" "Nay, brother, I wonder not," said Paul, in a sympathetic tone; "but I fear there is no region on the face of this earth where the terrible war-spirit, or, rather, war-fiend, is not alive." "Why, the man whose life I took this very day," resumed Hendrick, clenching his right hand almost fiercely, "has doubtless left a woman at home who is now a widow, and it may be children, whom I have rendered fatherless! No rest--no rest anywhere from this constant slaying of our fellow-men; yet I was forced to do it to save the life of my wife's kinsman! Oh! is there no deliverance, no hope for this poor world?" "Hendrick," said Paul, laying his hand impressively on his friend's arm, "there _is_ deliverance--there _is_ hope. See here." He pulled out the manuscript Gospel as he spoke, and turning over the well-thumbed leaves, read the words-- "`Jesus saith... A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another... Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me. In My Father's house are many mansions.' Hendrick, this same Jesus, who is Immanuel, God with us, has said, `Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you _rest_.' `Him that cometh unto me I will in no wise cast out.' These latter words are not here, but they are in other scriptures which I have often heard read." "But how shall I know," said the hunter earnestly, "that these words are true--that they are the words of God?" For some time Paul made no reply, then suddenly, to the surprise of his friend, he looked upwards, and, in a low voice, said-- "O Holy Spirit of God, convince my friend that these words are Thine,-- in Jesus' name!" Then, turning to the hunter, he continued: "Come, let us examine this writing together." "Something of this have I heard before," said Hendrick, "and, as I thirst for light and truth, I will gladly examine it with you." Need we say that those two earnest men were soon engrossed in the study of the Word, and that the interruption of the evening meal did not prevent them from afterwards poring over the manuscript far into the night by the light of the camp-fire. Hendrick was well able to do so, for, like Paul, he had received a better education than fell to the lot of most men in those days. At first Captain Trench and his son had listened to the conversation and discussion of the students with much interest and the sturdy matter-of-fact mariner even ventured to put one or two puzzling questions to them; but by degrees their interest flagged, and at last taking example by the Indians, they rolled themselves in deerskin robes and sought repose. Continuing their journey next day, they were about to part from their Indian friends on the mountain ridge, from which a view of the Western ocean could be obtained, when they observed a band of Indians in the far distance travelling eastward. "On the war-path!" suggested Hendrick. After a prolonged gaze the kinsman of Trueheart came to the same conclusion, and said he felt sure that they were not from Labrador, but were evidently men of the Island. "Can you guess what they are going to do?" asked Hendrick. The Indian shook his head solemnly. "No, he did not know--he could not guess, and as they were separated by some miles of valleys, precipices, and mountain gorges, there was no possibility of finding out." After some time spent in speculation and guessing as to the intention of the war party, our explorers, bidding farewell to their red friends, proceeded on their journey, while the latter diverged to the southward, and continued their hunt after fresh meat. If Paul Burns and his friends had known the purpose of the warriors whom they had just seen, it is probable that they might not have slept quite as soundly as they did that night under the greenwood trees. CHAPTER THIRTEEN. UNLOOKED-FOR INTERRUPTIONS AND DIFFICULTIES. No elaborate dissertation is needed to prove that we are ignorant of what the morrow may bring forth, and that the best-laid plans of men are at all times subject to dislocation. It is sufficient here to state that immediately after parting from the Indians, Paul Burns and Captain Trench had their plans and hopes, in regard to exploration, overturned in a sudden and effective, though exceedingly simple, manner. On the evening of the day on which their travels were resumed they halted sooner than usual in order to have time to form their camp with some care, for the weather had suddenly become cold, and that night seemed particularly threatening. Accordingly they selected a spot surrounded by dense bushes, canopied by the branches of a wide-spreading fir-tree, and backed by a precipitous cliff, which afforded complete shelter from a sharp nor'-west gale that was blowing at the time. In this calm retreat they erected a rough-and-ready wall of birch-bark and branches, which enclosed them on all sides except one, where a glorious fire was kindled--a fire that would have roasted anything from a tom-tit to an ox, and the roaring flames of which had to be occasionally subdued, lest they should roast the whole encampment. There, saturated, so to speak, with ruddy light and warmth, they revelled in the enjoyment of a hearty meal and social intercourse until the claims of tired Nature subdued Captain Trench and Oliver, leaving Paul and Hendrick to resume their eager and sometimes argumentative perusal of the Gospel according to John. At last, they also succumbed to the irresistible influences of Nature, and lay down beside their fellows. Then it was that Nature--as if she had only waited for the opportunity--began to unfold her "little game" for overturning the sleepers' plans. She quietly opened her storehouse of northern clouds, and silently dropped upon them a heavy shower of snow. It was early in the season for such a shower, consequently the flakes were large. Had the cold been excessive the flakes would have been small. As it was, they covered the landscape by imperceptible but rapid degrees until everything turned from ghostly grey to ghastly white, which had the effect of lighting, somehow, the darkness of the night. But in the midst of the effective though silent transformation the camp of our explorers remained unchanged; and the dying embers of the slowly sinking fire continued to cast their dull red glow on the recumbent forms which were thoroughly protected by the spreading fir-tree. By degrees the morning light began to flow over the dreary scene, and at length it had the effect of rousing Oliver Trench from slumber. With the innate laziness of youth the lad turned on his other side, and was about to settle down to a further spell of sleep when he chanced to wink. That wink sufficed to reveal something that induced another wink, then a stare, then a start into a sitting posture, a rubbing of the eyes, an opening of the mouth, and a succession of exclamations, of which "Oh! hallo! I say!" and "Hi-i-i-i!" were among the least impressive. Of course every one started up and made a sudden grasp at weapons, for the memory of the recent fight was still fresh. "Winter!" exclaimed Paul and the captain, in the same breath. "Not quite so bad as that," remarked Hendrick, as he stepped out into the snow and began to look round him with an anxious expression; "but it may, nevertheless, put an end to your explorations if the snow continues." "Never a bit on't, man!" exclaimed the captain promptly. "What! d'ye think we are to be frightened by a sprinkling of snow?" To this Hendrick replied only with a gentle smile, as he returned and set about blowing up the embers of the fire which were still smouldering. "There is more than a sprinkling, Master Trench," observed Paul, as he began to overhaul the remnants of last night's supper; "but I confess it would be greatly against the grain were we to be beaten at this point in our travels. Let us hope that the storm won't last." "Anyhow we can go on till we can't, daddy," said Oliver, with a tremendous yawn and stretch. "Well said, my son; as you once truly remarked, you are a chip of the ancient log." "Just so, daddy. Don't quite finish that marrow bone; I want some of it." "There, you young rascal, I leave you the lion's share," returned the captain, throwing the bone in question to his son. "But now, Hendrick, what d'ye really think o' this state of things? Shall we be forced to give in an' 'bout ship?" "No one can tell," answered the hunter. "If the snow stops and the weather gets warm, all will be well. If not, it will be useless to continue our journeying till winter fairly sets in, and the snow becomes deep, and the rivers and lakes are frozen. In which case you must come and stay with me in my island home." "You are very good, Hendrick; but don't let us talk of givin' up till the masts go by the board. We will carry all sail till then," said the captain, rather gloomily, for he felt that the hunter knew best. This first snowfall occurred about the middle of October; there was, therefore, some reasonable prospect that it might melt under an improved state of the weather, and there was also the possibility of the fall ceasing, and still permitting them to advance. Under the impulse of hope derived from these considerations, they set forth once more to the westward. The prospect in that direction, however, was not cheering. Mountain succeeded mountain in irregular succession, rugged and bleak--the dark precipices and sombre pine-woods looking blacker by contrast with the newly-fallen snow. Some of the hills were wooded to their summits; others, bristling and castellated in outline, afforded no hold to the roots of trees, and stood out in naked sterility. Everywhere the land seemed to have put on its winter garb, and all day, as they advanced, snow continued to fall at intervals, so that wading through it became an exhausting labour, and Oliver's immature frame began to suffer, though his brave spirit forbade him to complain. That night there came another heavy fall, and when they awoke next morning it was found that the country was buried under a carpet of snow full three feet deep. "Do you admit now, Master Trench, that the masts have gone by the board," asked Paul, "and that it is impossible to carry sail any longer?" "I admit nothing," returned the captain grumpily. "That's right, daddy, never give in!" cried Oliver; "but what has Master Hendrick got to say to it?" "We must turn in our tracks!" said the hunter gravely, "and make for home." "Home, indeed!" murmured the captain, whose mind naturally flew back to old England. "If we are to get to any sort of home at all, the sooner we set about making sail for it the better." There was something in the captain's remark, as well as in his tone, which caused a slight flush on Hendrick's brow, but he let no expression of feeling escape him. He only said-- "You are right, Captain Trench. We must set off with the least possible delay. Will you and your son start off in advance to get something fresh for breakfast while Master Paul and I remain to pack up and bring on our camp equipage? Hunters, you know, should travel light--we will do the heavy work for you." The captain was surprised, but replied at once-- "Most gladly, Master Hendrick, will I do your bidding; but as we don't know what course to steer, won't we be apt to go astray?" "There is no fear of that, captain. See you yonder bluff with the bush on the top of it?" "Where away, Master Hendrick? D'ye mean the one lyin' to wind'ard o' that cliff shaped like the side of a Dutch galliot?" "The same. It is not more than a quarter of a mile off--make straight for that. You'll be sure to fall in with game of some sort between this and that. Wait there till we come up, for we shall breakfast there. You can keep yourself warm by cutting wood and kindling a fire." Rather pleased than otherwise with this little bit of pioneer work that had been given him to do, Trench stepped boldly into the snow, carrying his cross-bow in one hand, and the hatchet over his shoulder with the other. He was surprised, indeed, to find that at the first step beyond the encampment he sank considerably above the knees, but, being wonderfully strong, he dashed the snow aside and was soon hid from view by intervening bushes. Oliver, bearing his bow and bludgeon, followed smartly in his track. When they were gone Paul turned a look of inquiry on his companion. Hendrick returned the look with profound gravity, but there was a faint twinkle in his eyes which induced Paul to laugh. "What mean you by this?" he asked. "I mean that Master Trench will be the better of a lesson from experience. He will soon return--sooner, perhaps, than you expect." "Why so--how? I don't understand." "Because," returned the hunter, "it is next to impossible to travel over such ground in deep snow without snow-shoes. We must make these, whether we advance or retreat. Meanwhile you had better blow up the fire, and I will prepare breakfast." "Did you not tell the captain we were to breakfast on the bluff?" "I did; but the captain will never reach the bluff. Methinks I hear him returning even now!" The hunter was right. A quarter of an hour had barely elapsed when our sturdy mariner re-entered the encampment, blowing like a grampus and perspiring at every pore! Oliver was close at his heels, but not nearly so much exhausted, for he had not been obliged to "beat the track." "Master Hendrick," gasped the captain, when he had recovered breath, "it's my opinion that we have only come here to lay down our bones and give up the ghost--ay, and it's no laughing business; Master Paul, as you'll find when you try to haul your long legs out of a hole three futt deep at every step." "Three futt deep!" echoed Oliver, "why, it's _four_ futt if it's an inch--look at me. I've been wadin' up to the waist all the time!" It need scarcely be said that their minds were much relieved when they were made acquainted with the true state of matters, and that by means of shoes that could be made by Hendrick, they would be enabled to traverse with comparative ease the snow-clad wilderness--which else were impassable. But this work involved several days' delay in camp. Hendrick fashioned the large though light wooden framework of the shoes--five feet long by eighteen inches broad--and Oliver cut several deerskins into fine threads, with which, and deer sinews, Paul and the captain, under direction, filled in the net-work of the frames when ready. "Can you go after deer on such things?" asked the captain one night while they were all busy over this work. "Ay, we can walk thirty or forty miles a day over deep snow with these shoes," answered Hendrick. "Where do the deer all come from?" asked Oliver, pausing in his work to sharpen his knife on a stone. "If you mean where did the reindeer come from at first, I cannot tell," said Hendrick. "Perhaps they came from the great unknown lands lying to the westward. But those in this island have settled down here for life, apparently like myself. I have hunted them in every part of the island, and know their habits well. Their movements are as regular as the seasons. The winter months they pass in the south, where the snow is not so deep as to prevent their scraping it away and getting at the lichens on which they feed. In spring--about March--they turn their faces northward, for then the snow begins to be softened by the increased power of the sun, so that they can get at the herbage beneath. They migrate to the north-west of the island in innumerable herds of from twenty to two hundred each--the animals following one another in single file, and each herd being led by a noble stag. Thus they move in thousands towards the hills of the west and nor'-west, where they arrive in April. Here, on the plains and mountains, they browse on their favourite mossy food and mountain herbage; and here they bring forth their young in May or June. In October, when the frosty nights set in, they again turn southward and march back to winter-quarters over the same tracks, with which, as you have seen, the whole country is seamed. Thus they proceed from year to year. They move over the land in parallel lines, save where mountain passes oblige them to converge, and at these points, I regret to say, my kinsmen! the Bethuck Indians, lie in wait and slaughter them in great numbers, merely for the sake of their tongues and other tit-bits." "There is no call for regret, Master Hendrick," said Captain Trench. "Surely where the deer are in such numbers, the killing of a few more or less don't matter much." "I think it wrong, captain, to slay God's creatures wantonly," returned the hunter. "Besides, if it is continued, I fear that the descendants of the present race of men will suffer from scarcity of food." That Hendrick's fears were not groundless has been proved in many regions of the earth, where wanton destruction of game in former days has resulted in great scarcity or extinction at the present time. In a few days a pair of snowshoes for each traveller was completed, and the party was prepared to set out with renewed vigour on their return to the hunter's home. CHAPTER FOURTEEN. TELLS OF A TREMENDOUS STORM AND A STRANGE SHELTER, ETCETERA. Proverbial philosophy teaches us that misfortunes seldom come singly. Newfoundland, at the beginning of the sixteenth century, does not seem to have been a place of refuge from the operation of that law. On the morning of the day in which the explorers meant to commence the return journey, a storm of unwonted rigour burst upon them, and swept over the land with devastating violence--overturning trees, snapping off mighty limbs, uplifting the new-fallen snow in great masses, and hurling it in wild confusion into space, so that earth and sky seemed to commingle in a horrid chaos. The first intimation the travellers had of the impending storm was the rending of a limb of the tree under which they reposed. The way in which Oliver Trench received the rude awakening might, in other circumstances, have raised a laugh, for he leaped up like a harlequin, with a glare of sudden amazement, and, plunging headlong away from the threatened danger, buried himself in the snow. From this he instantly emerged with an aspect similar to that of "Father Christmas," minus the good-natured serenity of that liberal-hearted personage. "Daddy!" he gasped, "are you there?" The question was not uncalled for, the captain having made a plunge like that of his son, but unlike his son, having found it difficult to extricate himself quickly. Paul and Hendrick had also sprung up, but the latter, remaining close to the stem of the tree, kept his eye watchfully on the branches. "Come here--quick!" he cried--"the stem is our safeguard. Look out!" As he spoke his voice was drowned in a crash which mingled with the shrieking blast, and a great branch fell to the ground. Fortunately the wind blew it sufficiently to one side to clear the camp. The air was so charged with snow particles that the captain and his son seemed to stagger out of a white mist as they returned to their comrades who were clinging to the weather-side of the tree. "D'ye think it will go by the board?" asked the captain, as he observed Hendrick's anxious gaze fixed on the swaying tree. "It is a good stout stick," replied his friend, "but the blast is powerful." The captain looked up at the thick stem with a doubtful expression, and then turned to Hendrick with a nautical shake of the head. "I never saw a stick," he said, "that would stand the like o' that without fore an' back stays, but it may be that shoregoin' sticks are--" He stopped abruptly, for a terrific crash almost stunned him, as the tree by which they stood went down, tearing its way through the adjacent branches in its fall, and causing the whole party to stagger. "Keep still!" shouted Hendrick in a voice of stern command, as he glanced critically at the fallen tree. "Yes," he added, "it will do. Come here." He scrambled quickly among the crushed branches until he stood directly under the prostrate stem, which was supported by its roots and stouter branches. "Here," said he, "we are safe." His comrades glanced upwards with uneasy expressions that showed they did not quite share his feelings of safety. "Seems to me, Master Hendrick," roared the captain, for the noise of the hurly-burly around was tremendous, "that it was safer where we were. What if the stem should sink further and flatten us?" "As long as we stood to windward of it" replied Hendrick, "we were safe from the tree itself, though in danger from surrounding trees, but now, with this great trunk above us, other trees can do us no harm. As for the stem sinking lower, it can't do that until this solid branch that supports it becomes rotten. Come now," he added, "we will encamp here. Give me the axe, Oliver, and the three of you help to carry away the branches as I chop them off." In little more than an hour a circular space was cleared of snow and branches, and a hut was thus formed, with the great tree-stem for a ridge-pole, and innumerable branches, great and small, serving at once for walls and supports. Having rescued their newly made snow-shoes and brought them, with their other property, into this place of refuge, they sat or reclined on their deerskins to await the end of the storm. This event did not, however, seem to be near. Hour after hour they sat, scarcely able to converse because of the noise, and quite unable to kindle a fire. Towards evening, however, the wind veered round a little, and a hill close to their camp sheltered them from its direct force. At the same time, an eddy in the gale piled up the snow on the fallen tree, till it almost buried them; converting their refuge into a sort of snow-hut, with a branchy framework inside. This change also permitted them to light a small fire and cook some venison, so that they made a sudden bound from a state of great discomfort and depression, to one of considerable comfort and hilarity. "A wonderful change," observed Trench, looking round the now ruddy walls of their curious dwelling with great satisfaction. "About the quickest built house on record, I should think--and the strongest." "Yes, daddy, and built under the worst of circumstances too. What puzzles me is that such a tree should have given way at all." "Don't you see, Olly," said Paul, "that some of its roots are hollow, rotten at the core?" "Ah! boy--same with men as trees," remarked the captain, moralising. "Rotten at the core--sure to come down, sooner or later. Lay that to heart, Olly." "If ever I do come down, daddy, I hope it won't be with so much noise. Why, it went off like a cannon." "A cannon!" echoed the captain. "More like as if the main-mast o' the world had gone by the board!" "What if the gale should last a week?" asked Olly. "Then we shall have to stay here a week," returned Hendrick; "but there's no fear of that. The fiercer the gale the sooner the calm. It won't delay us long." The hunter was right. The day following found the party _en route_, with a clear sky, bright sun, and sharp calm air. But the art of snow-shoe walking, though easy enough, is not learned in an hour. "They're clumsy things to look at--more like small boats flattened than anything else," remarked the captain, when Hendrick had fastened the strange but indispensable instruments on his feet--as he had already fastened those of the other two. "Now look at me," said Hendrick. "I'll take a turn round of a few hundred yards to show you how. The chief thing you have to guard against is treading with one shoe on the edge of the other, at the same time you must not straddle. Just pass the inner edge of one shoe over the inner edge of the other, and walk very much as if you had no snow-shoes on at all--so." He stepped off at a round pace, the broad and long shoes keeping him so well on the surface of the snow that he sank only a few inches. "Why, it seems quite easy," observed the captain. "Remarkably so," said Paul. "Anybody can do that," cried Oliver. "Now then, up anchor--here goes!" said the captain. He stepped out valiantly; took the first five paces like a trained walker; tripped at the sixth step, and went headlong down at the seventh, with such a wild plunge that his anxious son, running hastily to his aid, summarily shared his fate. Paul burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, lost his balance, and went down--as the captain said--stern foremost! It was a perplexing commencement, but the ice having been broken, they managed in the course of a few hours to advance with only an occasional fall, and, before the next day had closed, walked almost as easily as their guide. This was so far satisfactory. Our three travellers were quite charmed with their proficiency in the new mode of progression, when a sudden thaw set in and damped not only their spirits but their shoes. The netting and lines became flabby. The moccasins, with which Hendrick had supplied them from the bundle he carried for his own use, were reduced to something of the nature of tripe. The damp snow, which when rendered powdery by frost had fallen through the net-work of the shoes, now fell upon it in soft heaps and remained there, increasing the weight so much as to wrench joints and strain muscles, while the higher temperature rendered exertion fatiguing and clothing unbearable. "I wonder how long I can stand this without my legs coming off," said poor Oliver, giving way at last to a feeling of despair. "Seems to me to get hotter and hotter," growled his father, as he wiped the perspiration from his face with the tail of his coat--having lost the solitary handkerchief with which he had landed. "I'm glad the thaw is so complete," said Hendrick, "for it may perhaps clear away the snow altogether. It is too early for winter to begin in earnest. I would suggest now that we encamp again for a few days, to see whether the weather is really going to change; hunt a little, and rest a while. What say you?" With a sigh of contentment the captain answered, "Amen!" Paul said, "Agreed!" and Oliver cried, "Hurrah!" at the same time throwing his cap in the air. Two days after that they were enabled to continue the journey on snowless ground, with the unwieldy shoes slung at their backs. The change, although decidedly an improvement was not perfect, for the ground had been made soft, the rivers and rills had been swollen, and the conditions altogether were rendered much less agreeable than they had been on the outward journey. The travellers enjoyed themselves greatly, notwithstanding, and the captain added many important jottings in what he styled the log-book of his memory as to bearings of salient points, distances, etcetera, while Paul took notes of the fauna and flora, soils, products, and geological features of the country, on the same convenient tablets. "There can be no doubt about it," said the latter one morning, as he surveyed the country around him. "No doubt about what?" asked the captain. "About the suitableness of this great island for the abode of man," answered Paul; and then, continuing to speak with enthusiasm, "the indication of minerals is undoubted. See you that serpentine deposit mingled with a variety of other rocks, varying in colour from darkest green to yellow, and from the translucent to the almost transparent? Wherever that is seen, there we have good reason to believe that copper ore will be found." "If so," observed Hendrick, "much copper ore will be found on the sea-coast, on the north side of the island, for I have seen the same rocks in many places there." "But there are indications of other metals," continued Paul, "which I perceive; though my acquaintance with geological science is unfortunately not sufficient to make me certain, still, I think I can see that, besides copper, nickel, lead, and iron may be dug from the mines of Newfoundland; indeed, I should not wonder if silver and gold were also to be found. Of the existence of coal-beds there can be no doubt, though what their extent may be I cannot guess; but of this I am certain, that the day cannot be far distant when the mineral and forest wealth of this land shall be developed by a large and thriving population." "It may be as you say, Paul," remarked Captain Trench, with a dubious shake of the head; "but if you had lived as long as I have, and seen as much of the world and its ways, you wouldn't be quite so sanguine about the thriving population or the speedy development. You see, hitches are apt to occur in the affairs of men which cause wonderful delays, and tanglements come about that take years to unravel." If Captain Trench had been a professional prophet he could hardly have hit the nail more fairly on the head, for he indicated exactly what bad government has actually done for Newfoundland--only he might have said centuries instead of years--for its internal resources, even at the present time, remain to a very great extent undeveloped. However, not being a professional prophet, but merely an ancient mariner, the captain wound up his remark with a recommendation to hoist all sail and lay their course, as there was no saying how long the mild weather would last. For several days after this they plodded steadily onward, sometimes over the mountains or across the grassy plains, where migrating reindeer supplied them with abundant venison; at other times among lakelets and streams, whose excellent fish and innumerable wildfowl provided them with variety for the table and music for the ear. Now and then they saw the great moose-deer, which rivals the horse in size, and once Hendrick shot one, at a time when they chanced to have consumed their last caribou steak, and happened to enter a great forest without anything for supper in their wallets. For, occasionally, circumstances may render men supperless even when surrounded by plenty. At last they reached the great lake, with its beautiful islands, where Hendrick had set up his home. The hunter became very silent as they drew near to its shores. "You seem anxious," remarked Paul, as they approached the lake. "Have you reason to fear aught?" "None--none," replied his friend quickly; "but I never return after a long absence without feeling anxious." A loud halloo soon brought the echoing answer in the shrill voice of little Oscar, whose canoe quickly shot out from the creek. It was speedily followed by the deerskin boat, and, when near enough to be heard, the reply to Hendrick's anxious inquiry was the gratifying assurance--"All's well!" CHAPTER FIFTEEN. GRUMMIDGE ASSERTS HIMSELF--GREAT DISCOVERIES ARE MADE AND THE CREW FLITS. We must turn aside now for a time to inquire into the doings of the crew of the _Water Wagtail_, whom we left on the little island off the eastern seaboard of Newfoundland. At first, when the discovery was made that the captain, Paul, and Oliver had been put ashore and left to take care of themselves without weapons or supplies, there was a disposition on the part of the better men of the crew to apply what we now style Lynch law to Big Swinton, David Garnet, and Fred Taylor. "Let's hang 'em," suggested Grummidge, at a meeting of the men when the culprits were not present. "Sure an' I'll howld the rope wid pleasure," said Squill. "An' I'll help ye," cried Little Stubbs. But Jim Heron shook his head, and did not quite see his way to that, while George Blazer protested against such violent proceedings altogether. As he was backed up by the majority of the crew, the proposal was negatived. "But what are we to do, boys?" cried Grummidge vehemently. "Are we goin' to be domineered over by Swinton? Why, every man he takes a dislike to, he'll sneak into his tent when he's asleep, make him fast, heave him into the boat, pull to the big island, land him there, and bid him good-bye. There won't be one of us safe while he prowls about an' gits help from three or four rascals as bad as himself." "Ay, that's it, boys," said Little Stubbs; "it won't be safe to trust him. Hang him, say I." Stubbs was a very emphatic little man, but his emphasis only roused the idea of drollery in the minds of those whom he addressed, and rather influenced them towards leniency. "No, no," cried the first mate of the _Water Wagtail_ who, since the wreck, had seldom ventured to raise his voice in council; "I would advise rather that we should give him a thrashing, and teach him that we refuse to obey or recognise a self-constituted commander." "Ah, sure now, that's a raisonable plan," said Squill with something of sarcasm in his tone; "an' if I might make so bowld I'd suggist that yoursilf, sor, shud give him the thrashin'." "Nay, I am far from being the strongest man of the crew. The one that is best able should do the job." The mate looked pointedly at Grummidge as he spoke; but Grummidge, being a modest man, pretended not to see him. "Yes, yes, you're right, sir, Grummidge is the very man," cried Stubbs. "Hear, hear," chorused several of the others. "Come, old boy, you'll do it, won't you? and we'll all promise to back you up." "Well, look 'ee here, lads," said Grummidge, who seemed to have suddenly made up his mind, "this man has bin quarrellin' wi' me, off an' on, since the beginning of the voyage, whether I would or not, so it may be as well to settle the matter now as at another time. I'll do the job on one consideration." "What's that?" cried several men. "That you promises, on your honour (though none o' you's got much o' _that_), that when I've done the job you agree to make me captain of the crew. It's a moral impossibility, d'ee see, for people to git along without a leader, so if I agree to lead you in this, you must agree to follow me in everything--is it so?" "Agreed, agreed!" chorused his friends, only too glad that one of the physically strongest among them--also one of the best-humoured--should stand up to stem the tide of anarchy which they all clearly saw was rising among them. "Well, then," resumed Grummidge, "I see Swinton with his three friends a-comin'. I'll expect you to stand by an' see fair play, for he's rather too ready wi' his knife." While he spoke the comrade in question was seen approaching, with Fred Taylor and David Garnet, carrying a quantity of cod-fish that had just been caught. "You've been holding a meeting, comrades, I think," said Swinton, looking somewhat suspiciously at the group of men, as he came up and flung down his load. "Yes, we have," said Grummidge, advancing, hands in pockets, and with a peculiar nautical roll which distinguished him. "You're right, Big Swinton, we _have_ bin havin' a meetin', a sort of trial, so to speak, an' as you are the man what's bin tried, it may interest you to know what sentence has bin passed upon you." "Oh indeed!" returned Swinton, with a look of cool insolence which he knew well how to assume, no matter what he felt. "Well, yes, it _would_ interest me greatly to hear the sentence of the learned judge--whoever he is." The fingers of the man fumbled as he spoke at his waist-belt, near the handle of his knife. Observing this, Grummidge kept a watchful eye on him, but did not abate his _nonchalant_ free-and-easy air, as he stepped close up to him. "The sentence is," he said firmly but quietly, "that you no longer presume to give orders as if you was the captain o' this here crew; that from this hour you fall to the rear and undertake second fiddle--or fourth fiddle, for the matter o' that; and that you head a party to guide them in a sarch which is just a-goin' to begin for the two men and the boy you have so sneakingly betrayed and put on shore--an' all this you'll have to do with a ready goodwill, on pain o' havin' your brains knocked out if you don't. Moreover, you may be thankful that the sentence is so light, for some o' your comrades would have had you hanged right off, if others hadn't seen fit to be marciful." While this sentence was being pronounced, Swinton's expression underwent various changes, and his face became visibly paler under the steady gaze of Grummidge. At the last word he grasped his knife and drew it, but his foe was prepared. Like a flash of light he planted his hard knuckles between Swinton's eyes, and followed up the blow with another on the chest, which felled him to the ground. There was no need for more. The big bully was rendered insensible, besides being effectually subdued, and from that time forward he quietly consented to play any fiddle--chiefly, however, the bass one. But he harboured in his heart a bitter hatred of Grummidge, and resolved secretly to take a fearful revenge at the first favourable opportunity. Soon after that the boat was manned by as many of the crew as it could contain, and an exploring party went to the spot where Captain Trench and his companions had been landed, guided thereto by Swinton, and led by his foe Grummidge, whose bearing indicated, without swagger or threat, that the braining part of the sentence would be carried out on the slightest symptom of insubordination on the part of the former. While this party was away; those who remained on the islet continued to fish, and to preserve the fish for winter use by drying them in the sun. We need scarcely add that the exploring party did not discover those for whom they sought, but they discovered the true nature of the main island, which, up to that time, they had supposed to be a group of isles. When the search was finally given up as hopeless, an examination of the coast was made, with a view to a change of abode. "You see, lads," observed Grummidge, when discussing this subject, "it's quite plain that we shall have to spend the winter here, an' as I was a short bit to the south of these seas in the late autumn one voyage, I have reason to believe that we had better house ourselves, an' lay in a stock o' provisions if we would escape bein' froze an' starved." "Troth, it's well to escape that, boys," remarked Squills, "for it's froze I was mesilf wance--all but--on a voyage to the Baltic, an' it's starved to death was me owld grandmother--almost--so I can spake from experience." "An' we couldn't find a better place for winter-quarters than what we see before us," said Garnet. "It looks like a sort o' paradise." We cannot say what sort of idea Garnet meant to convey by this comparison, but there could be no question that the scene before them was exceedingly beautiful. The party had held their consultation on the crest of a bluff, and just beyond it lay a magnificent bay, the shores of which were clothed with luxuriant forests, and the waters studded with many islets. At the distant head of the bay the formation or dip of the land clearly indicated the mouth of a large river, while small streams and ponds were seen gleaming amid the foliage nearer at hand. At the time the sun was blazing in a cloudless sky, and those thick fogs which so frequently enshroud the coasts of Newfoundland had not yet descended from the icy north. "I say, look yonder. What's Blazer about?" whispered Jim Heron, pointing to his comrade, who had separated from the party, and was seen with a large stone in each hand creeping cautiously round a rocky point below them. Conjecture was useless and needless, for, while they watched him, Blazer rose up, made a wild rush forward, hurled the stones in advance, and disappeared round the point. A few moments later he reappeared, carrying a large bird in his arms. The creature which he had thus killed with man's most primitive weapon was a specimen of the great auk--a bird which is now extinct. It was the size of a large goose, with a coal-black head and back, short wings, resembling the flippers of a seal, which assisted it wonderfully in the water, but were useless for flight, broad webbed feet, and legs set so far back that on land it sat erect like the penguins of the southern seas. At the time of which we write, the great auk was found in myriads on the low rocky islets on the eastern shores of Newfoundland. Now-a-days there is not a single bird to be found anywhere, and only a few specimens and skeletons remain in the museums of the world to tell that such creatures once existed. Their extermination was the result of man's reckless slaughter of them when the Newfoundland banks became the resort of the world's fishermen. Not only was the great auk slain in vast numbers, for the sake of fresh food, but it was salted by tons for future use and sale. The valuable feathers, or down, also proved a source of temptation, and as the birds could not fly to other breeding-places, they gradually diminished in numbers and finally disappeared. "Why, Blazer," exclaimed Heron, "that's one o' the sodger-like birds we frightened away from our little island when we first landed." "Ay, an' there's plenty more where this one came from," said Blazer, throwing the bird down; "an' they are so tame on the rocks round the point that I do believe we could knock 'em on the head with sticks, if we took 'em unawares. What d'ee say to try, lads?" "Agreed--for I'm gettin' tired o' fish now," said Grummidge. "How should we set about it, think 'ee?" "Cut cudgels for ourselves, then take to the boat creep round to one o' the little islands in the bay, and go at 'em!" answered Blazer. This plan was carried out with as little delay as possible. An islet was boarded, as Squill said, and the clumsy, astonished creatures lost numbers of their companions before making their escape into the sea. A further treasure was found in a large supply of their eggs. Laden almost to the gunwale with fresh provisions, the search-party returned to their camp--some of them, indeed, distressed at having failed to find their banished friends, but most of them elated by their success with the great auks, and the prospect of soon going into pleasant winter-quarters. So eager were they all to flit into this new region--this paradise of Garnet--that operations were commenced on the very next day at early morn. The boat was launched and manned, and as much of their property as it would hold was put on board. "You call it paradise, Garnet," said Grummidge, as the two carried a bundle of dried cod slung on a pole between them, "but if you, and the like of ye, don't give up swearin', an' try to mend your manners, the place we pitch on will be more like hell than paradise, no matter how comfortable and pretty it may be." Garnet was not in a humour either to discuss this point or to accept a rebuke, so he only replied to the remark with a surly "Humph!" Landing on the main island to the northward of the large bay, so as to secure a southern exposure, the boat-party proceeded to pitch their camp on a lovely spot, where cliff and coppice formed a luxuriant background. Ramparts of rock protected them from the nor'-west gales, and purling rivulets hummed their lullaby. Here they pitched their tents, and in a short space of time ran up several log huts, the material for which was supplied in abundance by the surrounding forest. When the little settlement was sufficiently established, and all the goods and stores were removed from what now was known as Wreck Island, they once more launched the boat, and turned their attention to fishing--not on the Great Bank, about which at the time they were ignorant, but on the smaller banks nearer shore, where cod-fish were found in incredible numbers. Some of the party, however, had more of the hunter's than the fisher's spirit in them, and prepared to make raids on the homes of the great auk, or to ramble in the forests. Squill was among the latter. One day, while rambling on the sea-shore looking for shellfish, he discovered a creature which not only caused him to fire off all the exclamations of his rich Irish vocabulary, but induced him to run back to camp with heaving chest and distended eyes-- almost bursting from excitement. "What is it, boy?" chorused his comrades. "Och! musha! I've found it at long last!--the great say--sur--no, not exactly that, but the--the great, sprawlin', long-legged--och! what shall I say? The great-grandfather of all the--the--words is wantin', boys. Come an' see for yourselves!" CHAPTER SIXTEEN. A GIANT DISCOVERED--NEW HOME AT WAGTAIL BAY--A STRANGE ADDITION TO THE SETTLEMENT. The creature which had so powerfully affected the feelings of the Irishman was dead; but dead and harmless though it was, it drew forth from his comrades a shout of intense surprise when they saw it, for it was no less than a cuttlefish of proportions so gigantic that they felt themselves in the presence of one of those terrible monsters of the deep, about which fabulous tales have been told, and exaggerated descriptions given since the beginning of historical time. "Av he's not the say-sarpint himself, boys," panted Squill, as he pointed to him with looks of unmitigated admiration, "sure he must be his first cousin." And Squill was not far wrong, for it was found that the monstrous fish measured fifty-two feet between the extremities of its outspread arms. Its body was about eight feet long and four feet broad. Its great arms, of which it had ten radiating from its body, varied in length and thickness--the longest being about twenty-four feet, and the shortest about eight. The under sides of these arms were supplied with innumerable suckers, while from the body there projected a horny beak, like the beak of a parrot. "It's wishin', I am, that I might see wan o' yer family alive," said Squill, as he turned over the dead arms; "but I'd rather not be embraced by ye. Och! what a hug ye could give--an' as to howldin' on--a thousand limpets would be nothin' to ye." "A miser grippin' his gold would be more like it," suggested Grummidge. "I don't expect ever to see one alive," said Little Stubbs, "an' yet there must surely be more where that came from." The very next day Squill had his wish gratified, and Stubbs his unbelief rebuked, for, while they were out in the boat rowing towards one of the fishing-banks with several of their comrades, they discovered a living giant-cuttlefish. "What's that, boys?" cried the Irishman, pointing to the object which was floating in the water not far ahead of them. "Seaweed," growled Blazer. Blazer always growled. His voice was naturally low and harsh--so was his spirit. Sometimes a grunt supplanted the growl, suggesting that he was porcine in nature--as not a few men are. But it was not seaweed. The thing showed signs of life as the boat drew near. "Starboard! starboard hard!" shouted Little Stubbs, starting up. But the warning came too late. Next moment the boat ran with a thud into a monster cuttlefish. Grummidge seized a boat-hook, shouted, "Stern all!" and hit the creature with all his might, while Stubbs made a wild grasp at a hatchet which lay under one of the thwarts. Instantly the horny parrot-like beak, the size of a man's fist, reared itself from among the folds of the body and struck the boat a violent blow, while a pair of saucer-like eyes, fully four inches in diameter, opened and glared ferociously. This was terrifying enough, but when, a moment later, two tremendous arms shot out from the body near the eyes, flung themselves around the boat and held on tight, a yell of fear escaped from several of the men, and with good reason, for if the innumerable suckers on those slimy arms once fairly attached themselves to the boat there seemed to be no chance of escape from the deadly embrace. In that moment of danger Little Stubbs proved himself equal to the occasion. With the hatchet he deftly severed the two limbs as they lay over the gunwale of the boat, and the monster, without cry or sign of pain, fell back into the sea, and moved off, ejecting such a quantity of inky fluid, as it went, that the water was darkened for two or three hundred yards around. "Well done, Little Stubbs!" cried Grummidge, as he watched the creature disappearing. "You've often worried our lives in time past, but this time you've saved 'em. Coil away the limbs, boys. We'll measure 'em and enter 'em in the log when we go ashore." It may interest the reader to know that the measurements were as follows:-- The longer and thinner arm was nineteen feet in length; about three and a half inches in circumference; of a pale pinkish colour, and exceedingly strong and tough. As all the men agreed that more than ten feet of the arm were left attached to the monster's body, the total length must have been little short of thirty feet. Towards the extremity it broadened out like an oar, and then tapered to a fine tongue-like point. This part was covered with about two hundred suckers, having horny-toothed edges, the largest of the suckers being more than an inch in diameter, the smallest about the size of a pea. The short arm was eleven feet long, and ten inches in circumference. It was covered on the under side throughout its entire length with a double row of suckers. Grummidge, who was prone to observe closely, counted them that night with minute care, and came to the conclusion that the creature must have possessed about eleven hundred suckers altogether. There was also a tail to the fish--which Squill called a "divil-fish"-- shaped like a fin. It was two feet in width. Lest any reader should imagine that we are romancing here, we turn aside to refer him to a volume entitled _Newfoundland, the oldest British Colony_, written by Joseph Hatton and the Reverend M. Harvey, in which (pages 238 to 242) he will find an account of a giant-cuttlefish, devil-fish, or squid, very similar to that which we have now described, and in which it is also stated that Mr Harvey, in 1873, obtained possession of one cuttlefish arm nineteen feet long, which he measured and photographed, and described in various newspapers and periodicals, and, finally, sent to the Geological Museum in St. John's, where it now lies. The same gentleman afterwards obtained an uninjured specimen of the fish, and it is well known that complete specimens, as well as fragments, of the giant cephalopod now exist in several other museums. Can any one wonder that marvellous tales of the sea were told that night round the fires at supper-time? that Little Stubbs became eloquently fabulous, and that Squill, drawing on his imagination, described with graphic power a monster before whose bristling horrors the great sea-serpent himself would hide his diminished head, and went into particulars so minute and complex that his comrades set him down as "one o' the biggest liars" that ever lived, until he explained that the monster in question had only appeared to him "wance in wan of his owld grandmother's dreams!" In fishing, and hunting with bows and arrows made by themselves, as well as with ingenious traps and weirs and snares of their own invention, the crew spent their time pleasantly, and the summer passed rapidly away. During this period the rude tents of spars and sailcloth were supplanted by ruder huts of round logs, caulked with hay and plastered with mud. Holes in the walls thereof did service as windows during the day, and bits of old sails or bundles of hay stuffed into them formed shutters at night. Sheds were also put up to guard provisions and stores from the weather, and stages were erected on which to dry the cod-fish after being split and cleaned; so that our shipwrecked crew, in their new home, which they named Wagtail Bay, had thus unwittingly begun that great industry for which Newfoundland has since become celebrated all the world over. It is not to be supposed that among such men in such circumstances everything went harmoniously. At first, indeed, what with having plenty to do in fishing, hunting, building, splitting and drying fish, etcetera, all day, and being pretty well tired out at nights, the peace was kept pretty easily; all the more that Big Swinton had been quelled and apparently quite subdued. But as the stores became full of food and the days shortened, while the nights proportionately lengthened, time began to hang heavy on their hands, and gradually the camp became resolved into the two classes which are to be found everywhere--the energetically industrious and the lazily idle. Perhaps we should say that those two extreme phases of human nature began to show themselves, for between them there existed all shades and degrees, so that it was difficult to tell, in some cases, to which class the men belonged. The proverbial mischief, of course, was soon found, for the latter class to do, and Grummidge began to discover that the ruling of his subjects, which sat lightly enough on his shoulders during the summer, became a matter of some trouble and anxiety in autumn. He also found, somewhat to his surprise, that legislation was by no means the easy--we might say free-and-easy--business which he had supposed it to be. In short, the camp presented the interesting spectacle of a human society undergoing the process of mushroom growth from a condition of chaotic irresponsibility to that of civilised order. The chaotic condition had been growing worse and worse for some time before Grummidge was forced to take action, for Grummidge was a man of long-suffering patience. One night, however, he lost all patience, and, like most patient people when forced out of their natural groove, he exploded with surprising violence and vigour. It happened thus:-- The crew had built for themselves a hut of specially large dimensions, in which they nightly assembled all together round the fires, of which there were two--one at either end. Some of the men told stories, some sang songs, others played at draughts of amateur construction, and a good many played the easy but essential part of audience. The noise, of course, was tremendous, but they were used to that, and minded it not. When, however, two of the men began to quarrel over their game, with so much anger as to interrupt all the others, and draw general attention to themselves, the thing became unbearable, and when one called the other "a liar," and the other shouted with an oath, "You're another," the matter reached a climax. "Come, come, Dick Swan and Bob Crow," cried Grummidge, in a stern voice; "you stop that. Two liars are too much in this here ship. One is one too many. If you can't keep civil tongues in your heads, we'll pitch you overboard." "You mind your own business," gruffly replied Dick Swan, who was an irascible man and the aggressor. "That's just what I'll do," returned Grummidge, striding up to Swan, seizing him by the collar, and hurling him to the other end of the room, where he lay still, under the impression, apparently, that he had had enough. "My business," said Grummidge, "is to keep order, and I mean to attend to it. Isn't that so, boys?" "No--yes--no," replied several voices. "Who said `No'?" demanded Grummidge. Every one expected to see Big Swinton step forward, but he did not. His revenge was not to be gratified by mere insubordination. The man who did at last step forward was an insignificant fellow, who had been nicknamed Spitfire, and whose chief characteristics were self-will and ill-nature. He did not lack courage, however, for he boldly faced the angry ruler and defied him. Every one expected to see Spitfire follow Dick Swan, and in similar fashion, but they were mistaken. They did not yet understand Grummidge. "Well, Spitfire, what's your objection to my keeping order?" he said, in a voice so gentle that the other took heart. "My objection," he said, "is that when you was appinted capting there was no vote taken. You was stuck up by your own friends, an' that ain't fair, an' I, for one, refuse to knuckle under to 'ee. You may knock me down if you like, for I ain't your match by a long way, but you'll not prove wrong to be right by doin' that." "Well spoken, Master Spitfire!" exclaimed a voice from the midst of the crowd that encircled the speakers. "Well spoken, indeed," echoed Grummidge, "and I thank _you_, Master Spitfire, for bringin' this here matter to a head. Now, lads," he added, turning to the crowd, "you have bin wrong an' informal, so to speak, in your proceedin's when you appinted me governor o' this here colony. There's a right and a wrong in everything, an' I do believe, from the bottom of my soul, that it's--that it's--that--well, I ain't much of a dab at preaching as _you_ know, but what I would say is this-- it's right to do right, an' it ain't right for to do wrong, so we'll krect this little mistake at once, for I have no wish to rule, bless you! Now then, all what's in favour o' my bein' gov'nor, walk to the end o' the room on my right hand, an' all who wants somebody else to be--Spitfire, for instance--walk over to where Dick Swan is a-sittin' enjo'in' of hisself." Immediately three-fourths of the crew stepped with alacrity to the right. The remainder went rather slowly to the left. "The Grummidges has won!" cried Squill, amid hearty laughter. The ruler himself made no remark whatever, but, seating himself in a corner of the hut, resumed the game which had been interrupted, quite assured that the game of insubordination was finally finished. The day following that on which the reign of King Grummidge was established, a new member of considerable interest was added to the colony. Blaze, Stubbs, and Squill chanced to be out that day along the shore. Squill, being in a meditative mood, had fallen behind his comrades. They had travelled further than usual, when the attention of the two in front was attracted by what seemed to them the melancholy howling of a wolf. Getting their bows ready, they advanced with caution, and soon came upon a sad sight--the dead body of a native, beside which crouched a large black dog. At first they thought the dog had killed the man, and were about to shoot it, when Stubbs exclaimed, "Hold on! don't you see he must have tumbled over the cliff?" A brief examination satisfied them that the Indian, in passing along the top of the cliffs, had fallen over, and that the accident must have been recent, for the body was still fresh. The dog, which appeared to be starving, showed all its formidable teeth when they attempted to go near its dead master. Presently Squill came up. "Ah, boys," he said, "ye don't onderstand the natur' o' the baste--see here." Taking a piece of dried fish from his pocket, he went boldly forward and presented it. The dog snapped it greedily and gulped it down. Squill gave him another and another piece; as the fourth offering was presented he patted the animal quietly on its head. The victory was gained. The dog suffered them to bury its master, but for four days it refused to leave his grave. During that time Squill fed it regularly. Then he coaxed it to follow him, and at last it became, under the name of Blackboy, a general favourite, and a loving member of the community. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. HAS REFERENCE TO FOOD AND A GREAT FIGHT. There is always a certain amount of pleasure to be derived from the tracing of any subject of interest back to its origin. We have already seen how--like a noble river, which has its fountain-head in some mountain lakelet that would scarcely serve as a washing-basin for a Cyclops--the grand cod-fishing industry, which has enriched the world, and found employment for thousands of men for centuries, had its commencement in the crew of the _Water Wagtail_! we shall now show that another great industry, namely, the Newfoundland seal-fishery, had its origin in the same insignificant source. King Grummidge was walking one morning along the shore of Wagtail Bay, with hands in pockets, hat on back of head, and that easy roll of gait so characteristic of nautical men and royalty. He was evidently troubled in mind, for a frown rested on his brow, and his lips were compressed. It might have been supposed that the cares of state were beginning to tell upon him, but such was not the case: food was the cause of his trouble. "Fish, fish, fish," he growled, to Little Stubbs, who was his companion in the walk. "I'm sick tired o' fish. It's my opinion that if we go on eatin' fish like we've bin doin' since we was cast away here, we will turn into fish, or mermaids, if not somethin' worse. What are ye laughin' at?" "At the notion o' you turnin' into a _maid_ of any sort," replied Stubbs. "That's got nothin' to do wi' the argiment," returned Grummidge sternly, for his anxieties were too serious to permit of his indulging in levity at the time. "What we've got to do is to find meat, for them auks are nigh as dry as the fish. _Meat_, lad, meat, wi' plenty o' fat, that's the question o' the hour." "Yes, it's _our_ question, no doubt," rejoined Stubbs. He might as well have bestowed his bad pun on a rabbit, for Grummidge was essentially dense and sober-minded. "But we've had a few rabbits of late, an' ducks an' partridges," he added. "Rabbits! ducks! partridges!" repeated his companion, with contempt. "How many of them delicacies have we had? That's what I wants to know." "Not many, I admit for there's none of us got much to boast of as shots." "Shots!" echoed Grummidge. "You're right, Stubbs. Of all the blind bats and helpless boys with the bow, there's not I believe, in the whole world such a lot as the popilation of Wagtail Bay. Why, there's not two of ye who could hit the big shed at sixty paces, an' all the fresh meat as you've brought in yet has bin the result o' chance. Now look 'ee here, Stubbs, a notion has entered my head, an' when a notion does that, I usually grab that notion an' hold 'im a fast prisoner until I've made somethin' useful an' ship-shape of 'im. If it works properly we'll soon have somethin' better to eat than fish, an' more substantial than rabbits, ducks, partridges, or auks." We may remark in passing that the animals which those wrecked sailors called rabbits were in reality hares. Moreover, the men took an easy, perhaps unscientific, method of classifying feathered game. Nearly everything with wings that dwelt chiefly on lake, river, or sea they called ducks, and all the feathered creatures of the forest they styled partridges. From this simple classification, however, were excepted swans, geese, eagles, and hawks. "Well, Grummidge, what may be your notion?" asked Stubbs. "My notion is--seals! For all our hard rowin' and wastin' of arrows we've failed to catch or kill a single seal, though there's such swarms of 'em all about. Now this is a great misfortin', for it's well known that seals make first-rate beef--leastwise to them as ain't partic'lar-- so we'll set about catchin' of 'em at once." "But how?" asked Stubbs, becoming interested under the influence of his comrade's earnest enthusiasm. "This is how. Look there, d'ye see that small island lyin' close to the shore with several seals' heads appearin' in the channel between?" "Yes--what then?" "Well, then, what I mean to do is to have nets made with big meshes, an' set 'em between that island an' the shore, and see what comes of it." "But where's the twine to come from?" objected Stubbs. "Twine! Ain't there no end o' cordage swashin' about the _Water Wagtail_ ever since she went ashore? An' haven't we got fingers? Can't we undo the strands an' make small cord? Surely some of ye have picked oakum enough to understand what that means!" Stubbs was convinced. Moreover, the rest of the men were so convinced that the plan promised well, when it was explained to them, that they set to work with alacrity, and, in a brief space of time, made a strong net several fathoms in length, and with meshes large enough to permit of a seal's head squeezing through. No sooner was it ready than the whole community went down to see it set. Then, with difficulty, they were prevented from waiting on the shore to watch the result. In the afternoon, when Grummidge gave permission, they ran down again with all the eagerness of children, and were rewarded by finding six fat seals entangled in the net and inflated almost to bursting with the water that had drowned them. Thus they were supplied with "beef," and, what was of almost equal importance, with oil, which enabled them to fry the leanest food, besides affording them the means of making a steadier and stronger light than that of the log fires to which they had hitherto been accustomed. It may be here remarked by captious readers, if such there be, that this cannot appropriately be styled the beginning of that grand sealing, or, as it is now styled, "swile huntin'," industry, which calls into action every year hundreds of steam and other vessels, and thousands of men, who slaughter hundreds of thousands of seals; which produces mints of money, and in the prosecutions of which men dare the terrible dangers of ice-drift and pack, in order that they may bludgeon the young seals upon the floes. As well might it be objected that a tiny rivulet on the mountain-top is not the fountain-head of a mighty river, because its course is not marked by broad expanses and thundering cataracts. Grummidge's net was undoubtedly the beginning, the tiny rill, of the Newfoundland seal-fishery, and even the bludgeoning was initiated by one of his party. It happened thus:-- Big Swinton went out one morning to try his fortune with the bow and arrow in the neighbourhood of a range of cliffs that extended far away to the northward. Swinton usually chose to hunt in solitude. Having few sympathies with the crew he shut up his feelings within his own breast and brooded in silence on the revenge he was still resolved to take when a safe opportunity offered, for the man's nature was singularly resolute and, at the same time, unforgiving. Now it chanced that Grummidge, in utter ignorance of where his foe had gone, took the same direction that morning, but started some time later, intending to explore the neighbourhood of the cliffs in search of sea-fowls' eggs. On reaching the locality, Swinton found that a large ice-floe had come down from the Arctic regions, and stranded on the shore of the island. On the ice lay a black object which he rightly judged to be a seal. At first, he supposed it to be a dead one, but just as he was about to advance to examine it the animal raised its head and moved its tail. Love of the chase was powerful in Swinton's breast. He instantly crouched behind a boulder, and waited patiently till the seal again laid its head on the ice as if to continue its nap. While the seaman crouched there, perfectly motionless, his brain was active. Arrows, he feared, would be of little use, even if he were capable of shooting well, which he was not. Other weapon he had none, with the exception of a clasp-knife. What was he to do? The only answer to that question was--try a club. But how was he to get at the seal with a club? While pondering this question he observed that there was another seal on the same mass of ice, apparently sleeping, behind a hummock. He also noticed that both seals were separated from the water by a considerable breadth of ice--especially the one behind the hummock, and that there was a tongue of ice extending from the floe to the shore by which it seemed possible to reach the floe by patient stalking without disturbing the game. Instantly Swinton decided on a plan, and commenced by crawling into the bushes. There, with his clasp-knife, he carefully cut and peeled a club which even Hercules might have deigned to wield. With this weapon he crawled on hands and knees slowly out to the floe, and soon discovered that the seals were much larger than he had at first supposed, and were probably a male and a female. Being ignorant of the nature of seals, and only acquainted with the fact that the tender nose of the animal is its most vulnerable part, he crept like a cat after a mouse towards the smaller seal, which he judged to be the female, until near enough to make a rush and cut off its retreat to the sea. He then closed with it, brought his great club down upon its snout, and laid it dead upon the ice. Turning quickly round, he observed, to his surprise, that the male seal instead of making for the water, as he had expected, was making towards himself in floundering and violent bounds! It may be necessary here to state that there are several kinds of seals in the northern seas, and that the "hood seal"--or, as hunters call it the "dog-hood"--is among the largest and fiercest of them all. The male of this species is distinguished from the female by a singular hood, or fleshy bag, on his nose, which he has the power to inflate with air, so that it covers his eyes and face--thus forming a powerful protection to his sensitive nose, for, besides being elastic, the hood is uncommonly tough. It is said that this guard will even resist shot and that the only sure way of killing the dog-hood seal is to hit him on the neck at the base of the skull. Besides possessing this safeguard, or natural buffer, the dog-hood is full of courage, which becomes absolute ferocity when he is defending the female. This is now so well known that hunters always try to kill the male first, if possible, when the female becomes an easy victim. Swinton saw at a single glance that he had to deal with a gigantic and furious foe, for the creature had inflated its hood and dilated its nostrils into two huge bladders, as with glaring eyes it bounced rather than rushed at him in terrific rage. Feeling that his arrows would be useless, the man flung them and the bow down, resolving to depend entirely on his mighty club. Being possessed of a good share of brute courage, and feeling confident in his great physical strength, Swinton did not await the attack, but ran to meet his foe, swung his ponderous weapon on high, and brought it down with tremendous force on the seal's head, but the hood received it and caused it to rebound--as if from indiarubber--with such violence that it swung the man to one side. So far this was well, as it saved him from a blow of the dog-hood's flipper that would probably have stunned him. As it was, it grazed his shoulder, tore a great hole in his strong canvas jacket and wounded his arm. Experience usually teaches caution. When the seal turned with increased fury to renew the assault Swinton stood on the defensive, and as soon as it came within reach brought his club down a second time on its head with, if possible, greater force than before; but again the blow was broken by the hood, though not again was the man struck by the flipper, for he was agile as a panther and evaded the expected blow. His foot slipped on the ice, however, and he fell so close to the seal that it tumbled over him and almost crushed him with its weight. At the same time the club flew from his hand. Though much shaken by the fall, the seaman scrambled to his feet in time to escape another onslaught, but, do what he would, he could make no impression on the creature's head, because of that marvellous hood, and body blows were, of course, useless. Still Big Swinton was not the man to give in easily to a seal! Although he slipped on the ice and fell several times, he returned again and again to the encounter until he began to feel his strength going. As muscular power was his sole dependence, a sensation of fear now tended to make matters worse; at last he tripped over a piece of ice, and the seal fell upon him. It was at this critical point that Grummidge came in sight of the combatants, and ran at full speed to the rescue. But he was still at a considerable distance, and had to cross the tongue of ice before he could reach the floe. Meanwhile the seal opened its well-armed jaws to seize its victim by the throat. Swinton felt that death stared him in the face. Desperation sharpened his ingenuity. He thrust his left hand as far as possible down the throat of his adversary, and, seizing it with the other arm round the neck, held on in a tight though not loving embrace! The struggle that ensued was brief. The seal shook off the man as if he had been but a child, and was on the point of renewing the attack when it caught sight of Grummidge, and reared itself to meet this new enemy. Grummidge possessed a fair-sized clasp-knife. Armed with this, he rushed boldly in and made a powerful stab at the creature's heart. Alas! for the poor man, even though his stabbing powers had been good instead of bad, for he would only have imbedded the short weapon in a mass of fat without touching the heart. But Grummidge was a bad stabber. He missed his aim so badly as to plunge his weapon into the hood! Nothing could have been more fortunate. The air escaped and the hood collapsed. At the same moment Grummidge received an ugly scratch on the cheek which sent him sprawling. As he rose quickly he observed Swinton's club, which he grasped and brought vigorously down on the seal's now unprotected nose, and felled it. Another effective blow terminated its career for ever, and then the victor turned to find that Big Swinton lay on the ice, quite conscious of what was going on though utterly unable to move hand or foot. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. TELLS OF DEATH AND DISASTER. To bind up Swinton's wounds, some of which were ugly ones, was the first business of Grummidge, after he had hastily staunched the blood which was flowing copiously from his own cheek. The stout seaman was well able to play the part of amateur surgeon, being a handy fellow, and he usually carried about with him two or three odd pieces of spun-yarn for emergencies--also a lump of cotton-waste as a handkerchief, while the tail of his shirt served at all times as a convenient rag. Having finished the job he looked earnestly at the pale face and closed eyes of his old enemy, and said--"You've bin pretty much banged about old chap--eh?" As the wounded man made no reply, Grummidge rose quickly, intending to run to the settlement for help, knowing that no time should be lost. He was hastening away when Swinton stopped him. "Hallo! hold on!" he shouted. Grummidge turned back. "You--you're not goin' to leave me, are you?" demanded his enemy, somewhat sternly, "I--I shall die if you leave me here on the cold ice." An involuntary shudder here bore testimony to the probability of his fear being well grounded. "Swinton," replied Grummidge, going down on one knee, the more conveniently to grasp the unwounded hand of his foe, "you mistake my c'rackter entirely. Though I'm not much to boast on as a man, I ain't quite a devil. I was only goin' to run to Wagtail Bay to start some o' the boys with a stretcher to fetch ye--an' it's my belief that there's no time to be lost." "Right you are, Grummidge," replied the poor man in a faint voice, "so little time that if you leave me here the boys will only find some human beef to carry back, an' that won't be worth the trouble." "Don't say that, old chap," returned the other, in a low, gruff voice which was the result of tender feeling. "Keep up heart--bless you, I'll be back in no time." "All right," said Swinton, with a resigned look, "go an' fetch the boys. But I say, Grummidge, shake hands before you go, I don't want to carry a grudge agin you into the next world if I can help it. Goodbye." "No, no, mate, if that's to be the way of it I'll stick to 'ee. D'ye think you could manage to git on my back?" "I'll try." With much heaving, and many half-suppressed groans from the one, and "heave-ho's" from the other, Big Swinton was at last mounted on his comrade's broad shoulders, and the two started for home. It was a long and weary journey, for Grummidge found the road rough and the load heavy, but before night he deposited his old enemy in a bunk in the large room of the settlement and then himself sank fainting on the floor--not, we need scarcely add, from the effect of sentimental feeling, but because of prolonged severe exertion, coupled with loss of blood. Two days later Grummidge sat by the side of Swinton's bunk. It was early forenoon, and they were alone--all the other men being out on various avocations. Blackboy, the large dog, lay asleep on the floor beside them. Suddenly the dog jumped up, ran to the door, and began to whine restlessly. "Wolves about, I suppose," said Grummidge, rising and opening the door. Blackboy bounded away in wild haste. "H'm! he seems in a hurry. Perhaps it's a bear this time. Well, mate, how d'ye feel now?" he added, closing the door and returning to his seat. "Grummidge," said the sick man, in a low voice, "I'll never git over this. That seal have done for me. There's injury somewheres inside o' me, I feel sure on it. But that's not what I was going to speak about. I want to make a clean breast of it afore I goes. I've been a bad man, Grummidge, there's no question about that in my own mind, whatever may be in the mind of others. I had even gone the length of making up my mind to murder _you_, the first safe chance I got, for which, and all else I've done and thought agin ye, I ax your pardon." "You have it" said his friend earnestly. "Thank 'ee. That's just what I expected, Grummidge. Now what I want to know is, d'ye think God will forgive _me_?" The seaman was perplexed. Such a question had never been put to him before, and he knew not what to answer. After a few moments' consideration, he replied-- "What you say is true, Swinton. You've bin a bad lot ever since I've know'd ye. I won't go for to deny that. As to what the Almighty will do or won't do, how can I tell? I wish I knew more about such things myself, for I'd like to help you, but I can't." Suddenly an idea flashed into his mind and he continued:-- "But it do seem to me, Swinton, that if a poor sinner like me is willin' to forgive ye, ain't the Almighty likely to be _much more_ willin'?" "There's somethin' in _that_, Grummidge--somethin' in that," said the sick man eagerly. Then the hopeful look disappeared as he added slowly, "but I fear, Grummidge, that what you say don't quite fit my case, for I've got a notion that the Almighty must have been willin' all my life to save me from myself, and that all my life I've bin refusin' to listen to Him." "How d'ye make that out, boy?" "This way. There's bin somethin' or other inside o' me, as far back as I can remember, that somehow didn't seem to be me, that has been always sayin' `Don't' to me, whenever I was a-goin' to do a mean thing. Now, I can't help thinkin' that it must have bin God that spoke, for a man would never say `Don't' to himself, an' then go right off an' do it, would he?" "That's more than I can tell," answered Grummidge. "I remember hearin' Master Burns a-talkin' on that point wi' the cappen, an' he thought it was conscience or the voice of God." "Well, conscience or no conscience, I've resisted it all my life," returned the sick man, "an' it do seem a mean, sneakin' sort o' thing to come to the Almighty at the very last moment, when I can't help myself, an' say, `I'm sorry.'" "It would be meaner to say `I'm _not_ sorry,' wouldn't it?" returned Grummidge. "But, now I think of it, Master Burns did read one or two things out o' that writin' that he's so fond of, which he says is the Word of God. If it's true what he says, he may well be fond of it, but I wonder how he has found that out. Anyway, I remember that one o' the things he read out of it was that the Lamb of God takes away the sins of the world; an' he explained that Jesus is the Lamb of God, an' that he stands in our place--takes our punishment instead of us, an' fulfils the law instead of us." The sick man listened attentively, even eagerly, but shook his head. "How can any _man_ stand in my place, or take my punishments?" he said, in a tone savouring almost of contempt. "As far as I can see, every man will have enough to do to answer for himself." "That's just what come into my mind too, when I heard Master Burns speak," returned the other; "but he cleared that up by explainin' that Jesus is God as well as man--`God with us,' he said." "That do seem strange," rejoined the sick man, "and if true," he added thoughtfully, "there's somethin' in it, Grummidge, somethin' in it to give a man comfort." "Well, mate, I'm of your mind about that, for if God himself be for us, surely nobody can be agin us," said the seaman, unconsciously paraphrasing the word of Scripture itself. "Blow high or blow low, that seems to me an anchor that you an' me's safe to hang on to." The conversation was interrupted at this point by the sudden entrance of Jim Heron with an arrow sticking in the fleshy part of his back. "Attacked by savages!" he gasped. "Here, Grummidge, lend a hand to haul out this--I can't well reach it. They came on us behind the big store, t'other side o' the settlement, and, after lettin' fly at us took to their heels. The lads are after them. I got separated from the boys, and was shot, as you see, so I came--hah! pull gently, Grummidge--came back here that you might haul it out, for it's hard to run an' fight with an arrow in your back." "Stay here, Jim," said Grummidge, after hastily extracting the shaft. "You couldn't do much with a wound like that. I'll take your place and follow up the men, and you'll take mine here, as nurse to Swinton. We mustn't leave him alone, you know." Eager though Jim Heron was at first for the fray, the loss of blood had reduced his ardour and made him willing to fall in with this proposal. "Good-bye, Grummidge," cried Swinton, as the former, having snatched up his knife and bow, was hastening to the door. "Good-bye--good-bye, mate," he responded, turning back and grasping the proffered hand. "You'll be all right soon, old chap--and Jim's a better nurse than I am." "I like what you said about that anchor, mate, I'll not forget it" said Swinton, sinking back on his pillow as Grummidge sallied forth to join in the pursuit of the savages. The stout seaman's movements were watched by some hundreds of glittering black eyes, the owners of which were concealed amid the brushwood of the adjoining forest. Meanwhile, at the other end of the settlement, the greater number of the shipwrecked mariners were engaged in hot pursuit of the party of Indians who had attacked them. They were very indignant, several of their mates having been wounded, and a considerable quantity of their stores carried off. It quickly became apparent, however, that the seamen were no match for savage, at a race through the woods, therefore Grummidge, who soon overtook his comrades, called a halt, and gathered as many of his men as possible around him. "Now, lads," he said, "it's plain that some of you can't run much further. You ain't used to this sort o' work. Besides, we have left our settlement undefended. Most of you must therefore return, an' a few of the smartest among you will follow me, for we must give these rascals a fright by followin' 'em till we catch 'em--if we can--or by drivin' 'em back to their own place, wherever that may be." Many of the men were more than willing to agree to this arrangement, while others were quite ready to follow their leader. The party, therefore, that finally continued in pursuit of the Indians was composed of Grummidge, George Blazer, Fred Taylor, Little Stubbs, Garnet Squill, and several others. Armed with bows, arrows, short spears, and clubs, these set off without delay into the forest, trusting to the sun and stars for guidance. The remainder of the men returned to the settlement, where they discovered that they had been the victims of a ruse on the part of the savages. The assault at the further end of the settlement proved to be a mere feint, made by a comparatively small party, for the purpose of drawing the seamen away, and leaving the main part of the settlement undefended, and open to pillage. While the small detachment of Indians, therefore, was doing its part, the main body descended swiftly but quietly on Wagtail Bay, and possessed themselves of all that was valuable there, and carried it off. Of course, Swinton and Jim Heron were found there. Both had been beheaded, and their bodies stripped and left on the floor. Heron seemed to have offered a stout resistance, until overpowered by numbers and slain. Poor Swinton, who could not have had much more life remaining than enabled him to understand what was occurring, had been stabbed to death where he lay. Fortunately, it was not possible for the Indians to carry off all the dried fish and other provisions, so that the men were not reduced to absolute starvation. All ignorant of what was going on at the settlement, the avengers were pushing their way through the woods in pursuit of the smaller body of savages. Nothing could have been more satisfactory to these latter. From every eminence and knoll unseen eyes watched the movements of the white men, who remained under the delusion that they were striking terror into the hearts of a flying foe. "Sure, we'll have to take a rest soon," said Squill, as they halted on the top of a mound, about sunset to breathe and wipe their heated brows. "True, a short sleep we _must_ have, but we'll have to take our rest without kindling a fire," said Grummidge. "Ay, an' go supperless to bed, too," remarked Little Stubbs; "for we've brought nothing to eat with us." This fact had not struck any of the party till that moment. They had been so eager in pursuit of the foe that all prudential considerations had been thrown to the winds. They now lay down, therefore, to the very brief rest that was absolutely needful, not only without supper, but with the prospect of starting again without breakfast. However, each man felt bound in honour not to damp his fellows by complaining. "Now, boys," said Grummidge, "you lie down, an' I'll mount guard. Sleep as fast as you can, for I'll route ye out in an hour or so." But Grummidge did not fulfil his promise. Seating himself with his back to a tree, his bows and arrows ready to hand, and actuated by a firm resolve to watch with intense care, he fell fast asleep, and the whole party snored in concert. About fifty Indians, who had joined the original attacking party, had waited patiently for this state of affairs. When quite certain that the seamen were all sleeping soundly, they crept silently forward, and pounced upon them. The struggle was sharp, but short. Courage and strength are futile when opposed to overwhelming numbers. A few minutes later, and the white men were led, with hands bound behind them, into the depth of the unknown wilderness. CHAPTER NINETEEN. A NEW FRIEND WITH STARTLING NEWS. Turn we now to the island in the great lake where Hendrick, the hunter, had set up his romantic home. The premature touch of winter, which had put so sudden a stop to the work of our explorers, gave way to a burst of warmth and sunshine almost as sudden. It was that brief period of calm repose in which nature indulges in some parts of the world as if to brace herself for the rough work of approaching winter. There was a softness in the air which induced one to court its embrace. Absolute stillness characterised the inanimate world. Clouds floated in the heavenly blue in rotund masses, which seemed, to the careless glance, as unchangeable as the hills, and the glassy water reflected them with perfect fidelity. It also reflected gulls, ducks, plover, and other wildfowl, as they sailed, whirred, or waded about, absorbed in the activities of their domestic economy, or in the hilarious enjoyment of the sweet influences around them. Colours most resplendent dyed the forest trees; gentle sounds from bird and beast told of joyous life everywhere, and the blessed sun threw a golden haze over wood and lake and hill. It was as though Paradise had been restored to man, and our loving Creator had swept away every trace of evil and misery from the beautiful earth. But although the day is surely coming when, through Jesus Christ, "sorrow and sighing shall flee away," Paradise had certainly not returned to earth at the date we write of. Doubtless, however, something which seemed marvellously like it had reappeared round the hunter's home, for, while all nature was peaceful as well as beautiful, love was the grand motive power which actuated the hearts of those who dwelt there, and that love had been greatly intensified, as well as purified, since the advent of Paul Burns with the manuscript Gospel of John in his bosom, and the Spirit of God in his heart. Besides being naturally sympathetic, Paul and Hendrick were thus drawn still more strongly together, as they communed with each other-- sometimes while walking through the forest engaged in the chase; often beside the camp-fire after supper while others slept; and, not unfrequently, while paddling in their canoe over the sleeping lake. One evening they were in the latter position--returning from a successful day's hunt in the canoe--when Hendrick became more communicative than usual about the Indian tribe to which his wife belonged, and in regard to which subject he had hitherto been reticent. The sun was setting; the island home was not far distant. The total absence of wind and consequent stillness of the lake rendered it unnecessary to do more than make an occasional dip of the paddles, with which the light craft was propelled--Paul using his in the bow, while Hendrick sat in the stern and steered. No one was with them--indeed the canoe was too small to carry more than two when loaded with the proceeds of the chase. "I have often thought" said the hunter, dipping his paddle lazily, "that you must wonder why one whose position in the world warranted his looking forward to a bright and prosperous career should inflict on himself voluntary banishment, and wed an Indian woman." "Hendrick," returned Paul, "I wonder at few things in this life, for I know something of the working of the human mind and heart and have ceased to judge other men's feelings by my own. Besides, I criticise not the actions of my friend. The motives of his acts are known only to himself and his God. The Gospel tells me to `judge not according to the appearance.' Moreover, the longer I live with you, the more have I learned to know that there are qualities in Trueheart which would do honour to dames of the highest station." A gleam of satisfaction lightened the hunter's face for a moment as he exclaimed, with unwonted energy, "You do her no more than justice, my friend. I have lived to learn that love, truth, and every virtue are to be found in every station--alike with the high-born and the lowly; also that the lack of these qualities is common to both, and, to say truth, I had rather mate with a gentle savage than with a civilised female tiger!" "But Trueheart is not a gentle savage," returned Paul, scarcely able to repress a smile at the tone in which his friend uttered his sentiments; "she is a gentle _woman_." "Of course, I know that" rejoined Hendrick; "moreover she is a half-caste! I only used the word to designate the class of humanity to which she belongs, and to contrast her with that other class which deems itself at the top of the civilised tree." "But it seems to me, Master Hendrick, that you are inclined to be too severe on the high-born. There are those among them whose lives conform to the teachings of the Gospel of Jesus." "Do I not know it?" replied the hunter abruptly. "Have I not told you that my murdered wife was high-born and endowed with every grace?" "True, but what of this civilised female tiger whom you would scorn to wed. Did not Christ die for _her_? May she not be saved by the same Power that drags the tiger of the lower ranks--both male and female-- from the pit?" "I doubt it not," answered Hendrick thoughtfully, as he relapsed into his usual quiet manner, "and I am glad you appreciate Trueheart, for she is worthy of your regard. Her name was bestowed on her by her Indian relations. My children I have named after some of my kindred in the old country. The tribe to which my wife belongs are called Bethucks. They are well-disposed and kindly in disposition, and do not quarrel among themselves more than other human beings--indeed not so much as men in our own land; probably because they have not so much to quarrel about and have more elbow-room. They are good kinsmen, as I know; good hunters also, and inclined for peace, but the natives of Labrador render peace impossible, for they make frequent raids on our island, and of course we have to drive them away. If white men now come to Newfoundland, I fear that the poor Bethucks will be exterminated." [The Bethucks are now extinct.] "I trust not," said Paul. "So do I," returned Hendrick, "and if the Gospel you have brought here only takes good root in our own land all will be well, for if men acted on the command `let us love one another,' war and robbery, murder and strife, would be at an end." "Can we expect all men to act upon that precept?" asked Paul. "Apparently not; but we might at least expect Christians to do so; those who accept the Gospel as their book of law. I had expected to escape from war and bloodshed when I left civilised lands and settled here, but I have been disappointed. The necessity for fighting still exists!" "And will exist until the reign of Jesus extends to every human heart," returned Paul. "It seems to me that what we have some right and ground to expect is, not the stoppage of _all_ war, but the abolition of war between nations calling themselves Christian." It is a curious circumstance that, only a few days after the above conversation, an incident occurred which induced both Paul and Hendrick to buckle on their armour, and sally forth with a clear perception that it was their bounden duty to engage in war! That incident was the arrival of an Indian hunter who was slightly known to Hendrick's wife. He came in a canoe just as the family on the Island were about to sit down to supper. It was dark when his tall figure was seen to stalk out of the surrounding gloom into the circle of firelight. Trueheart recognised him at once, and a word from her sufficed to inform her husband that the stranger was a friend. He was welcomed of course cordially, and made to sit down in the place of honour. Every attention he accepted with the grave solemnity of an owl, and without any other recognition than a mild grunt, which was by no means meant as a surly return of thanks, but as a quiet mode of intimating that the attention was agreeable to his feelings. It may, perhaps, be not unknown to the reader that grave reticence is one of the characteristics of the Red men of the west. They are never in a hurry to communicate their news, whether important or otherwise, but usually, on arriving at any hospitable abode, sit down with calm dignity and smoke a pipe, or make slight reference to unimportant matters before coming to the main point of their visit--if it have a main point at all. As it is with the Red men now, so was it with the Bethucks at the time we write of. True, the pernicious practice of smoking tobacco had not yet been introduced among them, so that the social pipe was neither offered, desired, nor missed! but the Indian accepted a birch-bark basket of soup with placid satisfaction, and consumed it with slow felicity. Then, being offered a formidable venison steak, he looked calmly at his host, blinked his thanks--or whatever he felt--and devoured it. "Has he got nothing to say for himself?" asked Captain Trench, surprised at the man's silence. "Plenty to say, I doubt not," answered Hendrick, who then explained to the Captain the Indian characteristic just referred to. "What a power of suction he has got" said Olly, referring not to the Indian, but to the family baby which he had got on his knee, and was feeding with a dangerously large lump of bear's fat. "What does he say?" asked Paul, referring to their visitor, who, having come to a temporary pause, with a sigh of contentment had said something in his native tongue to Hendrick. "He asked me if the singing-birds will gladden his ears and cause his heart to thrill." "What means he by that?" "He only refers to a fact well known among the Indians," replied the hunter, with a quiet smile, "that Trueheart and Goodred have such sweet voices that they are known everywhere by the name of the singing-birds. Happening to have some knowledge of music, I have trained them to sing in parts one or two hymns taught to me by my mother, and composed, I believe, by a good monk of the olden time. Some things in the hymns puzzled me, I confess, until I had the good fortune to meet with you. I understand them better now. You shall hear one of them." So saying, he turned and nodded to Trueheart who of course understood the conversation. With a slight inclination of the head denoting acquiescence she began to sing. At the same moment Goodred parted her pretty lips and joined her. The result was to fill the air with harmony so sweet that the captain and his comrade were struck dumb with delight and surprise, the Indian's jaw was arrested with an unchewed morsel in the mouth, and the family baby gazing upward in wonder, ceased the effort to choke itself on bear's fat. It need scarcely be said that the grunt of the Indian was very emphatic when the sounds died away like fairy-music, and that the hunter's white guests entreated for more. Trueheart and her daughter were quite willing, and, for a considerable time, kept their audience enthralled. At last, having washed down his meal with a final basketful of soup, the Indian began to unbosom himself of his news--a few words at a time. It was soon found, however, that he had no news of importance to tell. He was a hunter; he had been out with a party of his tribe, but having differed with them as to the best district to be visited, he had left them and continued the hunt alone. Being not far distant from the home of the white hunter who had mated with the Bethuck singing-bird, he had turned aside for no other purpose than to have his ears gladdened and his heart thrilled! "We are happy," said Hendrick, "that our Bethuck brother should have his ears gladdened and his heart thrilled, and we trust that the spirit of the wolf within him is subdued, now that his stomach is also filled." A polite grunt was the reply. "Will our Bethuck brother tell us more news?" "There is no more," he answered, "Strongbow is now an empty vessel." "Considering that Strongbow has just filled himself with venison, he can hardly call himself an empty vessel," responded the hunter, with intense gravity. Strongbow turned his head quickly and gazed at the speaker. His solemnity deepened. Could his white brother be jesting? The white brother's gravity forbade the idea. In order to convey more strongly the fact that he had no news to give the Indian touched his forehead--"Strongbow is empty _here_." "That may well be," remarked Hendrick quietly. Again the Indian glared. Solemnity is but a feeble word after all! He said nothing, but was evidently puzzled. "Has our Bethuck brother seen no enemies from the setting sun? Is all quiet and peaceful among his friends?" asked the hunter. "All is peaceful--all is quiet. But we have news of a war party that left us many days past. They had gone, about the time that the deer begin to move, to punish some white men who were cast on shore by the sea where the sun rises." "What say you?" cried Hendrick, starting. "Have the Red warriors been successful?" "They have. Some of the white men have been killed, others caught and taken to our wigwams to be made slaves or to die." The consternation of Paul and his friends, on this being translated to them, may be imagined. Past injuries were forgotten, and instant preparations were made to set off to the rescue at the earliest dawn of the following day. CHAPTER TWENTY. THE RESCUE PARTY--A RENCONTRE AND BAD NEWS. Hot haste now marked the proceedings of the rescue party, for Paul and his friends felt that they had no time to lose. Fortunately the weather favoured them. That very night a sharp frost set in, hardening the moist and swampy grounds over which they had to pass. Strongbow, on being made acquainted with the state of matters, willingly agreed to lead the party to the place to which he thought it likely the captives had been taken, or where, at least, information about them might be obtained from members of his own tribe. Little Oscar, at his own urgent request, was allowed to accompany them, and Trueheart, Goodred, and the family baby and nurse, were left in charge of an old Indian whose life had once been saved by Hendrick, and who, although too old to go on the war-path, was still well able to keep the family in provisions. Although the party was small--numbering only six, two of whom were boys--it was nevertheless formidable, each man being more than usually powerful, as well as valiant, whilst the boys, although comparatively small, possessed so much of the unconquerable spirit of their sires as to render them quite equal to average men. The frost, which seemed to have fairly set in, kept them cool during the day while walking, and rendered their bivouac-fires agreeable at nights. Little time, however, was allowed for rest or food. They pressed on each day with unflagging energy, and felt little disposition to waste time in conversation during the brief halts for needed rest and food. Occasionally, however, some of the party felt less disposed than usual for sleep, and sought to drive away anxiety regarding their old shipmates by talking of things and scenes around them. "Does Strongbow think that the frost will hold?" asked Hendrick, one evening after supper, as he reclined in front of the fire on a pile of brushwood. "Strongbow cannot tell," returned the Indian. "It looks like thaw, but the Great Spirit sometimes changes his mind, and sends what we do not expect." Having uttered this cautious reply with sententious gravity he continued his supper in silence. "The Great Spirit never changes his mind," said Paul. "Perfection cannot change, because it need not." "Waugh!" replied the Indian. It was evident that he did not agree with Paul, but was too polite to say so. "I like this sort o' thing," remarked Captain Trench, looking up from the rib on which he was engaged, and gazing round at the magnificent sweep of hill and dale of which they had a bird's-eye view from their camp. "So do I, daddy; with lots to eat an' a roarin' fire a fellow feels as happy as a king," said Oliver. "Happier than most kings, I doubt not," returned Hendrick. "But, Olly, you have mentioned only two of the things that go to produce felicity," said Paul. "Food and fire are certainly important elements, but these would be of little avail if we had not health, strength, and appetite." "To say nothin' of the fresh air o' the mountains, and the excitement o' the wilderness, and the enthusiasm of youth," added the captain. "Are _you_ not as happy as _me_, daddy?" asked the boy, with a sudden glance of intelligence. "Happier a great deal, I should say," replied the father, "for I'm not so much of a goose." "Why then, daddy, if you are happier than we, what you call the enthusiasm of youth can have nothing to do with it, you know!" "You young rascal, the enthusiasm of middle age is much more powerful than that of youth! You let your tongue wag too freely." "D'ye hear that, Osky?" said Oliver to his little companion in an audible whisper. "There's comfort for you an' me. We'll be more enthusiastic and far happier when we come to middle age! What d'ye think o' that?" Oscar--who, although much inclined to fun and humour, did not always understand the curious phases of them presented to him by his civilised friend--looked innocently in his face and said, "Me no tink about it at all!" Whereupon Olly burst into a short laugh, and expressed his belief that, on the whole, that state of mind was about the happiest he could come to. "How long, think you, will it take us to reach the wigwams of your kindred from this point?" asked Hendrick of their guide, as he prepared to lie down for the night. "Two days," answered the Indian. "God grant that we may be in time," murmured Paul, "I fear a thaw, for it would delay us greatly." That which was feared came upon them the next day. They were yet asleep when those balmy influences, which alone have power to disrupt and destroy the ice-king's reign, began to work, and when the travellers awoke, the surface of the land was moist. It was not soft, however, for time is required to draw frost out of the earth, so that progress was not much impeded. Still, the effect of the thaw depressed their spirits a good deal, for they were well aware that a continuance of it would render the low grounds, into which they had frequently to descend, almost impassable. It was, therefore, with anxious forebodings that they lay down to rest that night, and Paul's prayer for strength and guidance was more fervent than usual. About this period of the year changes of temperature are sometimes very abrupt, and their consequences curious. During the night frost had again set in with great intensity. Fatigue had compelled the party to sleep longer than usual, despite their anxiety to press forward, and when they awoke the rays of the rising sun were sweeping over the whole landscape, and revealing, as well as helping to create, a scene of beauty which is seldom, if ever, witnessed elsewhere. When rain falls with a low thermometer near the earth it becomes frozen the moment it reaches the ground, and thus a regular deposit of pure glassy ice takes place on every branch and twig of the leafless shrubs and trees. The layer of ice goes on increasing, sometimes, till it attains the thickness of half an inch or more. Thus, in a few hours, a magical transformation is brought about. The trees seem to be hung with glittering jewels; the larger limbs are edged with dazzling ice-ropes; the minutest twigs with threads of gleaming crystal, and all this, with the sun shooting on and through it, presents a scene of splendour before which even our most vivid conceptions of fairy-land must sink into comparative insignificance. Such, then, was the vision presented to the gaze of the rescue party on awaking that morning. To some of them it was a new revelation of the wonderful works of God. To Hendrick and the Indian it was familiar enough. The Newfoundlanders of modern times know it well by the name of a "silver thaw." After the first gaze of surprise and admiration, our travellers made hasty preparation to resume the journey, and the frost told beneficially on them in more ways than one, for, while it hardened the ground, it rendered the atmosphere clear and exhilarating, thus raising their spirits and their hopes, which tended greatly to increase their power of action and endurance. That night they encamped again on a commanding height, and prepared supper with the hopeful feelings of men who expect to gain the end of their journey on the morrow. As if to cheer them still more, the aurora borealis played in the heavens that night with unwonted magnificence. It is said that the northern lights are grander in Newfoundland even than in the Arctic regions. At all events they were finer than anything of the kind that had ever before been seen by Paul Burns or Captain Trench and his son, insomuch that the sight filled them with feelings of awe. The entire heavens seemed to be ablaze from horizon to zenith, not as with the lurid fires of a great conflagration, which might suggest only the idea of universal devastation, but with the tender sheen of varied half-tints, playfully shooting athwart and intermingling with brighter curtains of light of every conceivable hue. The repose of the party was somewhat interfered with by the wonders that surrounded them that night, and more than once they were startled from slumber by the loud report of great limbs of trees, which, strong though they seemed to be, were torn off by the load of ice that had accumulated on them. Daybreak found the party again passing swiftly over the land. It really seemed as if even the boys had received special strength for the occasion, for they neither lagged behind nor murmured, but kept well up during the whole forced march. No doubt that youthful enthusiasm to which Captain Trench had referred kept Olly up to the mark, while Osky-- as his friend called him--had been inured to hard labour of every kind from infancy. At last, about noon that day, their leader came to a sudden halt, and pointed to something on the ground before him. "What does he see?" asked Paul, in a low voice. "Footprints," said Hendrick. "What of--deer?" asked the captain, in a hoarse whisper. "No--natives. Perhaps his friends." While they were whispering, the Indian was on his knees examining the footprints in question. Rising after a few minutes' survey, with a grave look he said-- "Strongbow is not sure. The prints look like those of his tribe, but-- he is not sure!" "At all events we can follow them," said Hendrick. "The land is open; we cannot easily be surprised, and we have our weapons handy." As he spoke he drew an arrow from his quiver, and, affixing the notch to the bow-string, carried the weapon in his left hand. The others followed his example. Oliver felt his belt behind, to make sure that the axe was there, and glanced at the mighty club that hung from his shoulder. Oscar, regarding with a slight degree of wonder the warlike arrangements of his friend, also fitted an arrow to his little bow, and then, with cautious steps and inquiring glances, the party continued to advance. But Hendrick was wrong in supposing that a surprise was not probable, for suddenly from behind a frowning rock or cliff there appeared a band of armed men who confronted them, and instantly raised their bows to shoot. Quick as lightning the white men did the same. Evidently both parties were taken by surprise, for if the Indians had been a party in ambush they would have shot at the others without showing themselves. This or some such idea seemed to flash into the minds of both parties, for there was a slight hesitation on the part of each. Just at that moment a large black dog which accompanied the Indians, and had displayed all its formidable teeth and gums on seeing the strangers, was observed to cover its teeth and wag its tail interrogatively. Hendrick gave a low whistle. Instantly the dog bounded towards him, and began to fawn and leap upon and around him with every demonstration of excessive joy, at sight of which both parties lowered their weapons. "The dog is an old friend," explained Hendrick to Paul. "Good dog," he added, addressing the animal in the Indian tongue, "you are a faithful friend--faithful in time of need." Then, dropping his bow and advancing unarmed to the Indians, he said-- "This dog belongs to the Bethucks of Grand Lake. Did you obtain him from them?" "No, we did not," replied one of the Indians, who seemed from his bearing to be a chief, "but we are kinsmen of the men of Grand Lake. One of their braves, Little Beaver, took one of our girls, Rising Sun, for his wife. We come from yonder (pointing northward). Some moons have passed since Little Beaver, who came to revisit us with his wife, left us to return to his wigwam on Grand Lake." "I know Little Beaver well," said Hendrick, as the chief paused at this point; "the dog belongs to him." Without noticing the remark the chief continued-- "When Little Beaver and Rising Sun left us they went on alone by the shores of the great salt lake. We never saw our brave in life again. Some time after, a party of our warriors came upon a grave. They examined it, and found the dead body of Little Beaver. It was bruised, and many bones were broken. A party of white men had built lodges near to the place. It was they who had murdered Little Beaver, we knew, for there was no sign of others near, and his dog was with them. So our braves went to the kinsmen of Rising Sun, and we returned and attacked the palefaces." "Did you slay all the palefaces?" asked Hendrick anxiously. "No, some we slew, others we took prisoners." Hendrick thought it best to reserve in the meantime his communication of all this to Paul and his friends. "I am your kinsman also," he said to the chief, "for Trueheart is my wife. I have much to say to you, but our business is pressing. Will you walk with me while we talk?" The chief bowed his head, and ordered his party to fall to the rear and follow, while he walked in advance with the pale-faced hunter. Hendrick then explained to the Indian as much about the wreck of the _Water Wagtail_ and the dismissal of Captain Trench and his comrades as he thought necessary, and then said that although his three friends were indignant at the treatment they had received from their comrades, they would be grieved to hear that any of them were to be killed, and he greatly wished to prevent that. "Would the chief guide him to the place where the prisoners were?" "I will guide you," said the chief, "but you will find it hard to save them. Palefaces have slain Little Beaver and stolen Rising Sun, and palefaces must die." CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. OLD FRIENDS IN A SAD PLIGHT. Anxious though Paul Burns naturally was for the fate of the crew of the _Water Wagtail_, he could not help being interested in, and impressed by, the fine country which he was thus unexpectedly obliged to traverse. His mind being of a practical and utilitarian cast, as well as religious, he not only admired the grand and richly diversified land as being part of the works of God, but as being eminently suitable for the use and enjoyment of man. "Look there," he said to Captain Trench, as they plodded steadily along, at the same time pointing to a break in a neighbouring cliff which revealed the geological features of the land. "Do you see yonder beds of rock of almost every colour in the rainbow? These are marble-beds, and from the look of the parts that crop out I should say they are extensive." "But not of much use," returned the captain, "so long as men are content to house themselves in huts of bark and skins." "So might some short-sighted mortal among our own savage forefathers have said long ago if the mineral wealth of Britain had been pointed out to him," returned Paul. "Yet we have lived to see the Abbey of Westminster and many other notable edifices arise in our land." "Then you look forward to such-like rising in this land?" said the captain, with something of a cynical smile. "Well, not exactly, Master Trench; but our grandchildren may see them, if men will only colonise the land and strive to develop its resources on Christian principles." "Such as--?" asked Trench. "Such as the doing to others as one would have others do to one's-self, and the enacting of equal laws for rich and poor." "Then will Newfoundland _never_ be developed," said the captain emphatically; "for history tells us that the bulk of men have never been guided by such principles since the days of Adam." "Since when were you enrolled among the prophets, Master Trench?" "Since you uttered the previous sentence, Master Paul. I appeal to your own knowledge of history." "Nay, I question not your historical views, but your prophetical statements, as to the fate of this island. Have you not heard of this writing--that `the knowledge of the Lord shall cover the earth as the waters cover the sea?' Does not that signify completeness in the spread of knowledge? And when that comes to pass, will it bear no good fruit? If not, why is it recorded as a blessed state of things to which we may look forward, and towards which we may strive? I admit that the wickedness of man may delay the desired end. Unjust laws, interference with freedom of action, hatred of truth, may check progress here as it has done elsewhere; but who can tell how soon the truth, as it is in Jesus, may begin to operate, or how rapidly it may culminate?" "You may be right, Master Paul; I know not. Anyhow I withdraw my claim to be numbered with the prophets--all the more that I see Strongbow making signals which I don't rightly understand." The Indian guide, who had been walking somewhat in advance of the party, was seen standing on the summit of a knoll making signals, not to his friends behind him, but apparently to some one in front. Hastening forward they soon found that he had discovered friends,--a body of Indians, who were hurrying to meet him; while down in the valley beyond, which suddenly burst upon their view, stood an extensive Indian village. It was of that evanescent and movable kind, which consists of cone-like tents made of skins and bark spread upon poles. "They are friends," said Strongbow, when Hendrick and the others reached him; "kinsmen of the murdered Little Beaver." "Friends of Hendrick also, I see," said the captain to Paul, as the hunter hastened forward to meet the Indians and salute them. He was right, and a few minutes' conversation with his friends sufficed to put the guide in possession of all he wished to know. Returning to his companions, he at once relieved their minds, to some extent at least, by telling them that it was indeed the tribe into whose hands their old shipmates had fallen, and that the sailors were still alive and well, though prisoners, and lying under sentence of death. "Come, that at all events is good news," said Paul. "I thank God we are not too late, and I make no doubt that we will persuade the Indians to delay execution of the sentence till we find out whether or not they have been guilty of this murder. Some of our old shipmates I know are capable of it, but others are certainly innocent." Hendrick did not at once reply. It was evident from his looks that he had not much hope in the merciful disposition of the Indians. "I know some men of this tribe," he said, "but not all of them--though they all know me by report. You may at least depend on my influence being used to the utmost in behalf of your friends. Come, we will descend." A few minutes' walk brought them to the foot of the hill where the Indian tents were pitched. Here they found a multitude of men, women, and children watching them as they descended the hill, and, from the looks of many of the former, it seemed not at all improbable that a rough reception awaited them. "You see," said Paul, in a low voice to the captain, "they probably class us with the murderers, because of our white skins. Our only hope, under God, rests in Hendrick." That Paul's hope was not ill-founded became apparent the moment the hunter made himself known. For the scowling brows cleared at once, and one or two men, who had formerly met with the white hunter, came forward and saluted him in the European manner which he had already taught to many of the red men, namely, with a shake of the hand. A great palaver followed in the wigwam of the chief, Bearpaw, in the course of which many things were talked about; but we confine our record to that part of the talk which bears specially on our tale. "The men must die," said Bearpaw sternly. "What you tell me about their harsh treatment of their chief and his son and friend only proves them to be the more deserving of death. My two young braves who visited them on the island were treated like dogs by some of them, and Little Beaver they have slain. It is just that they should die." "But my three friends here," returned Hendrick, "treated your braves well, and they had no knowledge or part in the killing of Little Beaver. Perhaps the palefaces did _not_ kill him. Do they admit that they did?" "How can we tell what they admit? We know not their language, nor they ours. But there is no need to palaver. Did not Strongbow and his braves find the dead body of Little Beaver bruised and broken? Did they not see his black dog in the paleface camp, and has not Rising Sun disappeared like the early frost before the sun? Doubtless she is now in the camp with those palefaces who have escaped us, but whom we will yet hunt down and kill." "Bearpaw is right," said Hendrick, "murderers deserve to die. But Bearpaw is also just; he will let the men of the sea speak in their own defence now that I am here to interpret?" "Bearpaw is just," returned the chief. "He will hear what the palefaces have got to say. One of the young men will take you to their prison." He signed as he spoke to a young Indian, who instantly left the tent, followed by Hendrick and his friends. Passing right through the village the party reached a precipice, on the face of which was what appeared to be the entrance to a cavern. Two Indians stood in front of it on guard. A voice was heard within, which struck familiarly, yet strangely, on Paul and the captain's ears. And little wonder, for it was the voice of Grummidge engaged in the unaccustomed act of prayer! The young Indian paused, and, with a solemn look, pointed upwards, as if to intimate that he understood the situation, and would not interrupt. Those whom he led also paused and listened--as did the sentinels, though they understood no word of what was said. Poor Grummidge had evidently been brought very low, for his once manly voice was weak and his tones were desponding. Never before, perhaps, was prayer offered in a more familiar or less perfunctory manner. "O Lord," he said, "_do_ get us out o' this here scrape somehow! We don't deserve it, though we _are_ awful sinners, for we've done nothin' as I knows on to hurt them savages. We can't speak to them an' they can't speak to us, an' there's nobody to help us. Won't _you_ do it, Lord?" "Sure it's no manner o' use goin' on like that, Grummidge," said another voice. "You've done it more than wance a'ready, an' there's no answer. Very likely we've bin too wicked intirely to deserve an answer at all." "Speak for yourself Squill," growled a voice that was evidently that of Little Stubbs. "I don't think I've been as wicked as you would make out, nor half as wicked as yourself! Anyhow, I'm goin' to die game, if it comes to that. We can only die once, an' it'll soon be over." "Ochone!" groaned Squill, "av it wasn't for the short allowance they've putt us on, an' the bad walkin' every day, an' all day, I wouldn't mind so much, but I've scarce got strength enough left to sneeze, an' as to my legs, och! quills they are instid of Squill's." "For shame, man," remonstrated Grummidge, "to be makin' your bad jokes at a time like this." The tone of the conversation now led the young Indian to infer that interruption might not be inappropriate, so he turned round the corner of rock that hid the interior from view, and led his party in front of the captives. They were seated on the ground with their backs against the wall, and their arms tied behind them. The aspect of the unfortunate prisoners was indeed forlorn. It would have been ludicrous had it not been intensely pitiful. So woe-begone and worn were their faces that their friends might have been excused had they failed to recognise them, but, even in the depths of his misery and state of semi-starvation, it was impossible to mistake the expressive visage of poor Squill, whose legs were indeed reduced to something not unsuggestive of "quills," to say nothing of the rest of his body. But all the other prisoners, Grummidge, Stubbs, Blazer, Taylor, and Garnet, were equally reduced and miserable, for the harsh treatment and prolonged journeying through forest and swamp, over hill and dale, on insufficient food, had not only brought them to the verge of the grave, but had killed outright one or two others of the crew who had started with them. The visitors, owing to their position with their backs to the light of the cave's mouth, could not be recognised by the prisoners, who regarded them with listless apathy, until Captain Trench spoke, swallowing with difficulty a lump of some sort that nearly choked him. "Hallo! shipmates! how goes it? Glad to have found ye, lads." "Och!" exclaimed Squill, starting up, as did all his companions; but no other sound was uttered for a few seconds. Then a deep "thank God" escaped from Grummidge, and Little Stubbs tried to cheer, but with small success; while one or two, sitting down again, laid their thin faces in their hands and wept. Reader, it were vain to attempt a description of the scene that followed, for the prisoners were not only overwhelmed with joy at a meeting so unexpected, but were raised suddenly from the depths of despair to the heights of confident hope, for they did not doubt that the appearance of their mates as friends of the Indians was equivalent to their deliverance. Even when told that their deliverance was by no means a certainty, their joy was only moderated, and their hope but slightly reduced. "But tell me," said Paul, as they all sat down together in the cave, while the Indians stood by and looked silently on, "what is the truth about this Indian who was murdered, and the dog and the woman?" "The Indian was never murdered," said Grummidge stoutly. "He had evidently fallen over the precipice. We found him dead and we buried him. His dog came to us at last and made friends with us, though it ran away the day the settlement was attacked. As to the woman, we never saw or heard of any woman at all till this hour!" When Bearpaw was told how the matter actually stood, he frowned and said sternly-- "The palefaces lie. If they never saw Rising Sun, why did she not come back to us and tell what had happened? She was not a little child. She was strong and active, like the young deer. She could spear fish and snare rabbits as well as our young men. Why did she not return? Where is she? Either she is dead and the palefaces have killed her, or they have her still among them. Not only shall the palefaces answer for her with their lives, but the Bethucks will go on the war-path to the coast and sweep the paleface settlement into the sea!" It was of no avail that Hendrick pleaded the cause of the prisoners earnestly, and set forth eloquently all that could be said in their favour, especially urging that some of them had been kind to the two Indians who first visited the white men. Rising Sun had been a favourite with the chief; she was dead--and so the palefaces must die! CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. TELLS OF TERRIBLE SUSPENSE--VIOLENT INTENTIONS AND RELIGIOUS DISCUSSION. "Now I tell you what it is, Master Hendrick," said Captain Trench, the day after their arrival at the Indian camp. "I see this is goin' to be an ugly business, an' I give you fair warning that I'm goin' to git surly. I won't stand by quietly and see Grummidge and my men slaughtered before my eyes without movin' a finger. I'll keep quiet as long as there's any chance of all your palaverin' resulting in anything, but if the worst comes to the worst I'll show fight, even if I should have to stand alone with all the red devils in Newfoundland arrayed against me." "I honour your feelings, Captain Trench, but doubt your judgment. How do you propose to proceed?" "Will you join me? Answer me that question first." "I will join you in any scheme that is reasonable," returned Hendrick, after a pause, "but not in a useless attempt to fight against a whole colony of Indians." "Then I'll keep my plans of procedure in my own noddle," said the captain, turning away with an indignant fling, and taking the path that led to the cave or prison-house of his shipmates, for as yet they were allowed free intercourse with their friends. "Grummidge," said he, in a stern voice, as he squatted down on the floor beside the unfortunate seaman, "things look bad, there's no doubt about that, an' it would be unkind deception to say otherwise, for that villain Bearpaw seems to git harder and harder the more they try to soften him. Now what I want to know is, are you an' the others prepared to join me, if I manage to cut your cords an' give you weapons, an'--" "Shush! clap a stopper on your mouth, cappen," said Grummidge in an undertone, "the redskins are listening." "An' what then? They know no more about English than I know about Timbuctoosh," returned the captain irascibly. "Let 'em listen! What I was a-goin' to say is, are you an' the other lads ready to follow me into the woods an' bolt if we can, or fight to the death if we can't?" "Sure an' _I'm_ ready to fight," interposed Squill, "or to follow ye to the end o' the world, an' further; but if I do I'll have to leave my legs behind me, for they're fit for nothin'. True it is, I feel a little stronger since your friend Hendrick got the bastes to increase our allowance o' grub, but I'm not up to much yet. Howsiver, I'm strong enough p'r'aps to die fightin'. Anyhow, I'll try." "So will I," said Little Stubbs. "I feel twice the man I was since you found us." "Putt me down on the list too, cap'n," said Fred Taylor, who was perhaps the least reduced in strength of any of the prisoners. "I'm game for anything short o' murder." Similar sentiments having been expressed by his other friends, the captain's spirit was somewhat calmed. Leaving them he went into the woods to ponder and work out his plans. There he met Paul and Hendrick. "We are going to visit the prisoners," said the former. "You'll find 'em in a more hopeful frame of mind," observed the captain. "I wish they had better ground for their hopes," returned his friend, "but Bearpaw is inexorable. We are to have a final meeting with him to-morrow. I go now to have a talk with our poor friends. It may be that something in their favour shall be suggested." Nothing, however, was suggested during the interview that followed, which gave the remotest hope that anything they could say or do would influence the savage chief in favour of his prisoners. Indeed, even if he had been mercifully disposed, the anger of his people against the seamen--especially the relatives of Little Beaver and those who had been wounded during the attack on Wagtail settlement--would have constrained him to follow out what he believed to be the course of justice. When the final meeting between the visitors and the chief took place, the latter was surrounded by his principal warriors. "Hendrick," he said, in reply to a proposal that execution should be at least delayed, "the name of the white hunter who has mated with the Bethuck girl is respected everywhere, and his wishes alone would move Bearpaw to pardon his paleface foes, but blood has been shed, and the price of blood must be paid. Hendrick knows our laws--they cannot be changed. The relations of Little Beaver cry aloud for it. Tell your paleface friends that Bearpaw has spoken." When this was interpreted to Paul Burns a sudden thought flashed into his mind, and standing forth with flushed countenance and raised arm, he said-- "Hendrick, tell the chief of the Bethucks that when the Great Spirit formed man He made him without sin and gave him a just and holy law to obey; but man broke the law, and the Great Spirit had said that the price of the broken law is death. So there seemed no hope for man, because he could not undo the past, and the Great Spirit would not change His law. But he found a way of deliverance. The Great Spirit himself came down to earth, and, as the man Jesus Christ, paid the price of the broken law with His own blood, so that guilty, but forgiven, man might go free. Now, if the Great Spirit could pardon the guilty and set them free, would it be wrong in Bearpaw to follow His example?" This was such a new idea to the Indian that he did not at first reply. He stood, with folded arms and knitted brow, pondering the question. At last he spoke slowly-- "Bearpaw knows not the thing about which his paleface brother speaks. It may be true. It seems very strange. He will inquire into the matter hereafter. But the laws that guide the Great Spirit are not the laws that guide men. What may be fit in Him, may not be fit in them." "My dark-skinned brother is wrong," said Hendrick. "The law that guides the Great Spirit, and that _should_ guide all His creatures, is one and the same. It is the law of love." "Was it love that induced the palefaces to kill Little Beaver and steal Rising Sun?" demanded the chief fiercely. "It was not," replied Hendrick; "it was sin; and Bearpaw has now an opportunity to act like the Great Spirit by forgiving those who, he thinks, have sinned against him." "Never!" returned the chief vehemently. "The palefaces shall die; but they shall live one day longer while this matter is considered in council, for it is only children who act in haste. Go! Bearpaw has spoken." To have secured even the delay of a single day was almost more than the prisoners' friends had hoped for, and they resolved to make the most of it. "Now, Hendrick," said Paul, when they were in the tent that had been set aside for their use, "we must be prepared, you and I, to give the chief a full account of our religion; for, depend on it, his mind has been awakened, and he won't rest satisfied with merely discussing the subject with his men of war." "True, Paul; what do you propose to do?" "The first thing I shall do is to pray for guidance. After that I will talk with you." "For my part," said Captain Trench, as Paul rose and left the tent, "I see no chance of moving that savage by religion or anything else, so I'll go an' make arrangements for the carryin' out o' _my_ plans. Come along to the woods with me, Olly, I shall want your help." "Father," said the boy, in a serious tone, as they entered the forest, "surely you don't mean to carry out in earnest the plan you spoke of to Grummidge and the others yesterday?" "Why not, my son?" "Because we are sure to be all killed if you do. As well might we try to stop the rising tide as to subdue a whole tribe of savages." "And would you, Olly," said the seaman, stopping and looking sternly at the boy, "would you advise me to be so mean as to look on at the slaughter of my shipmates without making one effort to save them?" "I would never advise you to do anything mean, father; an' if I did so advise you, you wouldn't do it; but the effort you think of makin' would not save the men. It would only end in all of us bein' killed." "Well, and what o' that? Would it be the first time that men have been killed in a good cause?" "But a cause can't be a good one unless some good comes of it! If there was a chance at all, I would say go at 'em, daddy, an' bowl 'em down like skittles, but you know there's no chance in your plan. Boltin' into the woods an' gittin' lost would be little use in the face o' savages that can track a deer by invisible footprints. An' fighting them would be like fighting moskitoes--one thousand down, another thousand come on! Besides, when you an' I are killed--which we're sure to be--what would come o' mother, sittin' there all alone, day after day, wonderin' why we never come back, though we promised to do so? Think how anxious it'll make her for years to come, an' how broken-hearted at last; an' think how careful she always was of you. Don't you remember in that blessed letter she sent me, just before we sailed, how she tells me to look well after you, an' sew the frogs on your sea-coat when they git loose, for she knows you'll never do it yourself, but will be fixin' it up with a wooden skewer or a bit o' rope-yarn. An' how I was to see an' make you keep your feet dry by changin' your hose for you when you were asleep, for you'd never change them yourself till all your toes an' heels came through 'em. Ah! daddy, it will be a bad job for mother if they kill you and me!" "But what can I do, Olly?" said the mariner, in a somewhat husky voice, when this pathetic picture was presented to his view. "Your mother would be the last to advise me to stand by and look on without moving a finger to save 'em. What can I do, Olly? What can I do?" This question was more easily put than answered. Poor Oliver looked as perplexed as his sire. "Pr'aps," he said, "we might do as Paul said he'd do, an' pray about it." "Well, we might do worse, my son. If I only could believe that the Almighty listens to us an' troubles Himself about our small affairs, I--" "Don't you think it likely, father," interrupted the boy, "that if the Almighty took the trouble to make us, He will take the trouble to think about and look after us?" "There's somethin' in that, Olly. Common sense points out that there's somethin' in that." Whether or not the captain acted on his son's suggestion, there is no record to tell. All we can say is that he spent the remainder of that day in a very disturbed, almost distracted, state of mind, now paying short visits to the prisoners, anon making sudden rushes towards the chief's tent with a view to plead their cause, and checking himself on remembering that he knew no word of the Indian tongue; now and then arguing hotly with Paul and Hendrick, that all had not been done which might or ought to have been done, and sometimes hurrying into the woods alone. Meanwhile, as had been anticipated, the chief sent for Hendrick and Paul to demand an explanation of the strange words which they had used about forgiveness and the broken law of the Great Spirit and Jesus Christ. It would be out of place here to enter into the details of all that was said on both sides, but it may not be uninteresting to state that, during the discussion, both the palefaces and the red men became so intensely absorbed in contemplation of the vast region of comparatively new thought into which they were insensibly led, that they forgot for the time being the main object of the meeting, namely, the ultimate fate of the captives. That the chief and his warriors were deeply impressed with the Gospel message was evident, but it was equally evident that the former was not to be moved from his decision, and in this the warriors sympathised with him. His strong convictions in regard to retributive justice were not to be shaken. "No," he said, at the end of the palaver, "the blood of a Bethuck has been shed; the blood of the palefaces must flow." "But tell him that that is not just even according to his own views," said Paul. "The blood of one paleface ought to suffice for the blood of one Bethuck." This was received in silence. Evidently it had some weight with the chief. "The paleface is right," he said, after a minute's thought. "Only one shall die. Let the prisoners decide among themselves who shall be killed. Go, Bearpaw has spoken--waugh!" A few minutes later, and the prisoners, with their friends, were assembled in the cave discussing this new phase of their case. "It's horrible!" said Grummidge. "D'ye think the chief is really in earnest?" "There can be no doubt of it," said Hendrick. "Then, my lads, I'll soon bid ye all farewell, for as I was your leader when the so-called murder was done, I'm bound in honour to take the consequences." "Not at all," cried Squill, whose susceptible heart was touched with this readiness to self-sacrifice. "You can't be spared yet, Grummidge; if any man shud die it's the Irishman. Shure it's used we are to bein' kilt, anyhow!" "There'll be none o' you killed at all," cried Captain Trench, starting up with looks of indignation. "I'll go and carry out _my_ plans--ah! you needn't look like that, Olly, wi' your poor mother's reproachful eyes, for I'm determined to do it, right or wrong!" CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. DELIVERANCE. Fortunately for Captain Trench, and indeed for the whole party, the execution of his plan was rendered unnecessary by an incident the full significance of which requires that we should transport the reader to another, but not far distant, part of the beautiful wilderness of Newfoundland. Under the boughs of a spreading larch, on the summit of a mound which commanded a wide prospect of plain and morass, sat an Indian woman. She might have been taken for an old woman, so worn and thin was she, and so hollow were her cheeks; but the glossy blackness of her hair, the smoothness of her brow, and the glitter of her dark eyes told that she was yet in her youthful years. She sat perfectly listless, with a vacant yet steadfast expression on her thin features, as if she were dreaming with her eyes open. The view before her was such as might indeed arouse the admiration of the most stolid; but it was evident that she took no notice of it, for her eyes were fixed on the clouds above the horizon. Long she sat, almost motionless, thus gazing into space. Then she began to sing in a low sweet voice a plaintive air, which rose and fell for some time more like a tuneful wail than a song. Suddenly, and in the very midst of her song, she burst into a wild laugh, which increased in vehemence until it rang through the forest in a scream so terrible that it could be accounted for by nothing but insanity. That the poor creature's reason was indeed dethroned became evident from her subsequent movements, for after falling backwards from the exhaustion produced by her effort, or, it might be, from the sheer weakness resulting from partial starvation, she got up and began quietly to cut up and devour raw a small bird which she had killed with a stone. Strengthened a little by this food, she rose and made a futile effort to draw more closely around her a little shawl, or rather kerchief of deerskin, which covered her shoulders, shuddering with cold as she did so. Her short leathern gown and leggings were so soiled and torn that the ornamental work with which they had been originally decorated was almost invisible, and the moccasins she had worn hung in mere shreds upon her little feet. Rising slowly, and with a weary sigh, the poor creature descended the side of the hill and entered the forest at the foot of it. Lying concealed in a neighbouring thicket an Indian youth had watched the motions of the girl. It was evident, from his gaze of surprise, that he had just discovered her. It was equally evident, from his expression of perplexity, that he hesitated to intrude upon one who, he could not help seeing, was mad; but when she moved forward he followed her with the soft wary tread of a panther. At first the girl's step was slow and listless. Then it became rapid. A fit of excitement seemed to come on, and she began to run. Presently the excitement seemed to have passed, for she fell again into the listless walk. After a time she sat down, and recommenced her low wailing song. At this point, taking advantage of a neighbouring thicket, the young Indian drew as near to the girl as possible, and, in a low voice, uttered the Indian word for--"Rising Sun!" Starting violently, the girl turned round, stretched out both arms, and, with intense hope expressed in every feature, took a step forward. In an instant the expression vanished. Another terrible scream resounded in the air, and, turning quickly away, she fled like a hunted deer. The young man pursued, but he evidently did not try to overtake her-- only to keep her in sight. The maniac did not choose her course, but ran straight before her, leaping over fallen trees and obstructions with a degree of agility and power that seemed marvellous. Sometimes she shrieked as she ran, sometimes she laughed fiercely, but she never looked back. At last she came to a small lake--about a quarter of a mile wide. She did not attempt to skirt it, but went straight in with a wild rush, and, being well able to swim, struck out for the opposite shore. The young man followed without hesitation, but could not overtake her, and when he landed she had disappeared in the woods beyond. Skilled to follow a trail, however, the youth soon recovered sight of her, but still did not try to overtake her--only to keep her in view. At length the fire which had sustained the poor creature seemed to have burned itself out. In attempting to leap over a low bush Rising Sun stumbled, fell, and lay as if dead. The Indian youth came up and, raising her in his arms, looked very sadly into her face. She still breathed, but gave no other sign of life. The youth, therefore, lifted her from the ground. He was tall and strong. She was small in person, and reduced almost to skin and bone. He carried her in his arms as though she had been but a little child, and, an hour later, bore her into the Indian camp, for which for many days past she had been making--straight as the arrow flies from the bow. He carried her at once to the chief's tent and laid his burden softly down, at the same time explaining how and where he had found her. Bearpaw sprang up with an air of excitement which an Indian seldom displays. Evidently his feelings were deeply touched, as he knelt and raised the girl's head. Then he ordered his chief squaw to supply Rising Sun with some warm food. It was evening when this occurred. Most of the people were supping in their tents. No one was with the chief save his own family and two of his braves. When the poor maniac revived under the influence of the warm food, she started up with wild looks and sought again to fly, but was forcibly detained by one of the braves. "Oh, let me go--let me go!--to his mother!" she wailed piteously, for she felt herself to be helpless in the youth's strong grasp. "Has Rising Sun forgotten Bearpaw?" said the chief tenderly, as he stood before her. "Yes--yes--no. I have not forgotten," she said, passing her hand over her brow; "but, oh! let me go to her before I die!" "Rising Sun shall not die. She is among friends now. The pale-faced enemies who killed Little Beaver can do her no harm." "Killed him--enemies!" murmured the poor girl, as if perplexed; then, quickly, "Yes--yes--he is dead. Does not Rising Sun know it? Did she not see it with her own eyes? He was killed--killed!" The poor girl's voice rose as she spoke until it was almost a shriek. "Rising Sun," said the chief, in a tone which the girl could not choose but obey, "tell us who killed him?" "Killed him? No one killed him!" she answered, with a return of the perplexed look. "He missed his footing and fell over the cliff, and the Great Spirit took him." "Then the palefaces had nothing to do with it?" asked the chief eagerly. "Oh! yes; the palefaces had to do with it. They were there, and Rising Sun saw all that they did; but they did not see her, for when she saw them coming she hid herself, being in great fear. And she knew that Little Beaver was dead. No man could fall from such a cliff and live. Dead--dead! Yes, he is dead. Oh! let me go." "Not yet, Rising Sun. What did the palefaces do? Did they take his scalp?" "No; oh! no. The palefaces were kind. They lifted him tenderly. They dug his grave. They seemed as if they loved him like myself. Then they went away, and then--Rising Sun forgets! She remembers running and bounding like the deer. She cannot--she forgets!" The poor girl stopped speaking, and put her hand to her brow as if to restrain the tumult of her thoughts. Then, suddenly, she looked up with a wild yet intelligent smile. "Yes, she remembers now. Her heart was broken, and she longed to lay it on the breast of Little Beaver's mother--who loved him so well. She knew where the wigwams of Bearpaw stood, and she ran for them as the bee flies when laden with honey to its home. She forgets much. Her mind is confused. She slept, she fell, she swam, she was cold--cold and hungry--but--but now she has come home. Oh, let me go!" "Let her go," said the chief, in a low voice. The young brave loosed his hold, and Rising Sun bounded from the tent. It was dark by that time, but several camp-fires threw a lurid glare over the village, so that she had no difficulty in finding the hut of her dead husband's mother, for, during the interchange of several visits between members of the two tribes, she had become very familiar with the camp. All ignorant of the poor maniac's arrival, for the news had not yet spread, the mother of Little Beaver sat embroidering a moccasin with dyed quill-work. The traces of profound grief were on her worn face, and her meek eyes were dim as she raised them to see who lifted the curtain of the tent so violently. Only one word was uttered by Rising Sun as she sprang in and fell on her knees before the old woman:--"Mother!" No cry was uttered, not even an expression of surprise moved the old woman's face; but her ready arms were extended, and the girl laid her head, with a long-drawn sigh, upon the old bosom. Long did she lie there that night, while a tender hand smoothed her coal-black hair, and pressed the thin cheek to a warm throbbing heart, which feared to move lest the girl's rest should be disturbed; but there was no need to fear that. Even the loving old heart could no longer warm the cheek that was slowly but surely growing cold. When the face was at last turned anxiously towards the firelight it was seen that a rest which could not be disturbed had been found at last--for Rising Sun was dead. While this solemn scene was enacting in the old mother's tent, a very different one was taking place in the cave prison, where the captives still sat, bound hand and foot leaning against the wall. Captain Trench and his son sat in front of them. A small fire burned in the cave, the smoke of which found an exit among the crevices of the high roof. It cast a lurid light on the faces of the men and on projections of the wall, but left the roof in profound darkness. The captain was still much excited, for the moment for his desperate venture was rapidly approaching. "Now, Grummidge," he said, in a low but earnest voice, "it's of no use your objectin' any more, for I've made up my mind to do it." "Which means," returned the seaman, "that for the sake of savin' my life, you're a-goin' to risk your own and the lives of all consarned. Now it's my opinion that as the sayin' goes, of two evils a man should choose the least. It's better that I should die quietly than that the whole of us should die fightin', and, maybe, killin' savages as well, which would be of no manner of use, d'ye see. I can only die once, you know, so I advise ye to give it up, an' leave the whole matter in the hands of Providence." "Not at all," said Squill stoutly. "It's my opinion that when they've kilt you, Grummidge, they'll be like tigers when they've tasted blood: they'll want to kill the rest of us. No; I've made up me mind to bolt, and, if need be, fight, an' so has all the rest on us--so heave ahead, cappen, an' tell us what we've got to do." "Well, boys, here it is," said the captain. "You see this weapon." He took up the heavy bludgeon that Oliver had made for himself on commencing his travels in Newfoundland. "Well, I've brought this here every time I've come just to get the two sentries accustomed to see me with it. This is your last night on earth, Grummidge, so I'm goin' to pay you an extra visit about midnight, by way of sayin' farewell. As I pass the sentries--who are quite used to me now--I'll fetch the first one I come to such a crack with this here that he will give no alarm. Before the other has time to wink I'll treat him to the same. It's a mean sort o' thing to do, but necessity has no law, so I've made up my mind to go through with it." "It'll be a bad look-out if you do," said Grummidge. "It'll be a worse look-out if I don't," replied the captain. "Then, when that's done," he continued, "I'll cut your lashin's, an' we'll crowd all sail for the woods, where I have already concealed some arms an' dried deer's-meat, an' if we can't get fair off and make for the east coast, we'll get on the top o' some mound or rock an' show these Redskins what English seamen can do when they're hard pressed." "Not to mintion Irish wans!" said Squill. "An' have Master Paul an' Hendrick agreed to fall in wi' this mad plan?" asked Grummidge. "No, I can't say they have. To say truth, considerin' that Hendrick's a relation o' the Redskins an' that Master Paul is his friend, I thought it best to say nothing to them about it. So I'll--" He was interrupted here by the sudden entrance of Hendrick and Paul themselves, accompanied by Bearpaw and the sentries. To one of the latter the chief gave an order, and the man, drawing his knife, advanced to Grummidge. The seaman instinctively shrank from him, but was agreeably surprised on having his bonds cut. The others having also been liberated, the chief said:-- "My pale-faced brothers are free." "Yes, lads," said Paul, heartily grasping Grummidge by the hand. "God has sent deliverance at the eleventh hour--you are all free." CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. THE LAST. The joy with which the news was received by our seamen and their friends was somewhat marred by the death of the poor girl who had unconsciously been the means of their deliverance. During several days there was profound grief in the Indian village, for Rising Sun had been a favourite with every one. About this time one or two scattered bands of the party, which had gone to attack the paleface settlement, returned to the village, and when they found what had occurred in their absence, their enmity was turned into friendship, and general goodwill prevailed among all. From the men just arrived Paul and his friends heard of the fate of poor Swinton and Jim Heron, but at the same time were relieved to find that none of the other seamen had been slain. A grand council and palaver was held in front of Bearpaw's tent not long afterwards. It was a very grave and orderly council--one which would contrast favourably with many of our nineteenth century councils, for those savages had not at that time acquired the civilised capacity for open offhand misrepresentation, calumny, and personal abuse which is so conspicuous in these days, and which must be so gratifying to those who maintain that civilisation is the grand panacea for all the moral ills that flesh is heir to. Whether the Bethucks ever improved in this matter is not known, for history is silent on the point; but it is, perhaps, of little consequence, the Bethuck race having become extinct. "It is now a matter for our consideration, my friends and warriors," said Bearpaw, in opening the palaver, "whether the palefaces are to spend the winter here and hunt with us, or to return to the Crooked Lake to stay with our kinsman, the white hunter, and his wife, the sweet singer. Of course, my warriors know well that we could keep the palefaces by force just as easily as we could take their scalps, if we were so disposed; but Bearpaw is not a tyrant. He will not inflict kindness on his friends. His heart is great. It swells within him. Something inside of him whispers, `Let them do as they please.' That must be right, for if circumstances were reversed, it would be right to let Bearpaw do as he pleases." The chief paused and looked sternly round, as if to say, "Contradict that if you dare!" Possibly he felt that the "something inside of him" might have stated the golden rule more simply. Returning to the point, he continued-- "Bearpaw is glad that Rising Sun came home before he killed the palefaces, for her words have saved their lives. He is also glad that the friends of the palefaces came, for they have taught him wisdom. They have shown him that he was going to act in haste; they have told him that the Great Spirit orders all events here, and the Great Spirit himself has proved the truth of what they said; for, when Bearpaw refused to believe the palefaces, He sent Rising Sun to confirm their words, and to convince Bearpaw that he was wrong." Again the chief paused, and looked round upon his men, some of whom appeared to dissent from what he said in condemnation of himself by slightly shaking their heads. "Bethuck warriors," continued the chief, "have often told Bearpaw that he is wise. Bearpaw now tells his warriors that they are fools--fools for telling their chief that he is wise! If he had been wise he would not have come so near to shedding the blood of innocent men; but the Great Spirit prevented him. If the Great Spirit had not prevented him, still that would have been right, for the Great Spirit cannot do wrong, and He is not bound to give explanations to his creatures; though, doubtless, we will do it in the end. The heart of Bearpaw is grateful to his paleface brothers, and he would be glad if they will stay to hunt over his lands and palaver in his wigwam during the winter; but if they prefer to go, they may do as they please. Waugh! Bearpaw has spoken." The chief sat down with emphasis, as if he felt that he had done his duty, and his men uttered a decided "Ho!" of approval. Then Hendrick rose, and, looking round the circle with that grave dignity of countenance and manner which was not less natural to himself than characteristic of his Indian friends, delivered himself as follows:-- "I and my friends are glad that Bearpaw recognises the hand of the Great Spirit in all that has occurred, for we rejoice to believe that He is the great First Cause of all things, and that men are only second causes, gifted, however, with the mysterious power to do evil. "In thanking my Bethuck brother and his warriors for their kind invitation--I speak for all my party--we are all grateful, and we would greatly like to spend the winter here, and enjoy the hospitality of our red brothers. Especially would my friend Paul Burns rejoice to read more to you from his wonderful writing, and explain it; but we cannot stay. My paleface brothers wish to return with me to Crooked Lake, where the sweet singer and her little ones await the return of the hands that feed and protect them." Hendrick, pausing, looked round and received some nods of approval at this point. "The winter is long, however," he continued, "and when the snow is deep over all the land we can put on our snow-shoes and revisit Bearpaw; or, better still, Bearpaw and his warriors may come to Crooked Lake, when the sweet singer and her daughter will give them hearty welcome, supply them with more food than they can consume, and cause their ears and hearts to thrill with music." Hendrick paused again, and decided marks of approval greeted his last words. "But, my friends and kinsmen," he resumed, "when winter draws to a close, the palefaces will go to the coast to see how it fares with their comrades, and to try whether it is not possible for them to make a big canoe in which to cross the great Salt Lake, for some of them have wives and mothers, sisters, fathers, and other relations whom they love, in the mighty land that lies far away where the sun rises--the land of my own fathers, about which I have often talked to you. If they cannot make a big enough canoe, they will wait and hope till another great canoe, like the one they lost, comes to this island--as come it surely will, bringing many palefaces to settle in the land." "When they come they shall be welcome," said Bearpaw, as Hendrick sat down, "and we will hunt for them till they learn to hunt for themselves; we will teach them how to capture the big fish with the red flesh, and show them how to track the deer through the wilderness--waugh! But will our guests not stay with us till the hard frosts set in?" "No; we must leave before the deep snow falls," said Hendrick. "Much of that which fell lately has melted away; so we will start for Crooked Lake without further delay." The Indian chief bowed his head in acquiescence with this decision, and the very next day Paul and the captain and Oliver, with their rescued comrades and Strongbow, set out for Hendrick's home, which they reached not long after, to find that all was well, that the old Indian servant had kept the family fully supplied with fish, flesh, and fowl; that no one had visited the islet since they left, that the sweet singers were in good voice; and that the family baby was as bright as ever, as great an anxiety to its mother, and as terrible a torment to its idolising nurse! Among others who took up their abode at that time on the hunter's islet was the large dog Blackboy. That faithful creature, having always had a liking for Hendrick, and finding that the old master and mistress never came back, had attached itself to the party of palefaces, and quietly accepted the English name of Blackboy. Now, it is impossible, with the space at our command, to recount all the sayings and doings of this section of the _Water Wagtail's_ crew during that winter: how they built a hut for themselves close to that of their host; how they learned to walk on snowshoes when the deep snow came; how, when the lake set fast and the thick ice formed a highway to the shore, little Oscar taught Oliver Trench how to cut holes through to the water and fish under the ice; how hunting, sledging, football, and firewood-cutting became the order of the day; supping, story-telling, singing, and reading the manuscript Gospel according to John, the order of the evening, and sleeping like tops, with occasional snoring, the order of the night, when the waters were thus arrested by the power of frost, and the land was smothered in snow. All this and a great deal more must be left untold, for, as we have said, or hinted, or implied before, matters of greater moment claim our attention. One night, towards the close of that winter, Paul Burns suggested that it was about time to go down to the coast and visit their comrades there. "So say I," remarked Grummidge, who at the time was feeding the baby, to the grave satisfaction of Blackboy. "Sure, an' I'm agreeable," said Squills, who was too busy feeding himself to say more. As Little Stubbs, George Blazer, Fred Taylor, and David Garnet were of the same opinion, and Hendrick had no objection, except that Trueheart, Goodred, and Oscar would be very sorry to part with them, and the family baby would be inconsolable, it was decided that a start should be made without delay. They set out accordingly, Hendrick and Strongbow alternately leading, and, as it is styled, beating the track, while the rest followed in single file. It was a long, hard journey, but our travellers were by that time inured to roughing it in the cold. Every night they made their camp by digging a hole in the snow under the canopy of a tree, and kindling a huge fire at one end thereof. Every morning at dawn they resumed the march over the snow-clad wilderness, and continued till sun-down. Thus, day by day they advanced, living on the dried meat they carried on their backs, and the fresh meat and ptarmigan they procured with bolt and arrow. At last they reached the coast. It was a clear, sharp, starry night when they arrived at Wagtail Bay, with an unusually splendid aurora lighting them on their way. Anxious forebodings filled the breasts of most of the party, lest they should find that their comrades had perished; but on coming in sight of the principal hut, Oliver exclaimed, "There's a light in the window, and smoke coming from--hurr--!" He would have cheered, but Grummidge checked him. "Shut up your hatchway, lad! Let us see what they are about before goin' in." They all advanced noiselessly, Grummidge leading, Strongbow bringing up the rear. The hut had two windows of parchment, which glowed with the light inside, but through which they could not see, except by means of one or two very small holes, to which eager eyes were instantly applied. A most comfortable scene was presented, and jovial sounds smote the ears of those who listened. As far as they could make out every man of the crew was there, except, of course, Big Swinton and Jim Heron. Some were playing draughts, some were mending nets or fashioning bows, and others were telling stories or discussing the events of the past day. But a great change for the better was perceptible both in words and manners, for some of the seed which Paul Burns had let fall by the wayside, had, all unexpectedly, found good ground in several hearts, and was already bearing fruit. Dick Swan and Spitfire no longer quarrelled as they played together, and Bob Crow no longer swore. "Heigho!" exclaimed the latter at the end of a game, as he stretched his arms above his head, "I wonder if we'll ever play draughts in Old England or see our friends again!" "You'll see some of 'em to-night, anyhow, God bless ye, Bob Crow," cried Grummidge, as he flung open the door and sprang in, while his snow-sprinkled comrades came tramp, tramp, in a line behind him! Who can describe that meeting as they shook hands, gasped, exclaimed, laughed--almost cried; while Blackboy leaped around wildly joyful at the sight of so many old friends? We will not attempt it; but, leaving them there, we will conduct the reader down to a small creek hard by, where a curious sight may be seen--a small ship on the stocks nearly finished, which will clearly be ready to launch on the first open water. From the wreck of the old ship, tools, and timber, and cordage had been recovered. The forests of Newfoundland had supplied what was lacking. Ingenuity and perseverance did the rest. Need we add that the work went on merrily now that the wanderers had returned? Hendrick stayed with them till the little ship was launched. With a pleased yet sorrowful expression he watched as the eager men tested her stability and her sailing powers, and rejoiced with them on finding that she worked well and answered to her helm smartly. "Good-bye, friends, and God watch over you and me till that day after which there shall be no more partings," he said, as they all shook hands for the last time. He was left standing beside his Indian friend on the rocks when the _Morning Star_ finally set sail. The tall forms of the two men were still visible when the little vessel rounded the neighbouring headland and turned its prow towards England. They stood there sadly watching the lessening sails till the ship became a mere speck on the horizon and finally disappeared. Then Hendrick slowly re-entered the forest, and, followed by Strongbow, returned to his own home in the beautiful wilderness of Newfoundland. THE END. 
60568	----	THE FISHDOLLAR AFFAIR BY R. M. McKENNA _With more courage than prudence, the ensign followed his star to the final (and delectably feminine) test of a young officer's honor.... A tender, ironic and funny story, by a new name you'll be seeing again._ [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, October 1958. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Subspace cruising never bored Ensign Stephen Welnicki. The ship's computer rotated skew-quadro fields, inscrutably altering by threes the twenty-seven positional variables--leaving the watch officer idle. Thoughts were to be had for the thinking. Thoughts came unbidden to watch officer Welnicki. What if the never-found alien intelligence, feared so absurdly in official policy, was _subspatial_? Weird things, eating mathematics, fighting with music. They'd attack ... Captain Kravitz and the others nerve-frozen somehow ... command of Galactic Patrol Ship _Carlyle_ devolving upon Ensign Welnicki ... triumph ... muster at Prime Reference ... medal of honor.... [Illustration: A. D. 2170: _Thoughts came unbidden to watch officer Welnicki._] His pale blue eyes gleamed and his short blond hair bristled even more at the thought. His quartermaster broke in. "That emigrant ship is a minute late calling in, sir. Shall I buzz it?" "No. We are senior. I will reprimand her at five after." That ship in synchro with _Carlyle_ was S.S. _Rubberjack_, carrying twelve hundred colonists and equipment to found a settlement on a yet nameless planet of Kappa-9 Carinae. From some democratic planet in Vela sector, to be settled athwart an autocratic trend coming down from Columba. Ensign Welnicki, aged twenty-four, was already helping make galactic history. G.P.S. _Carlyle_ would stand by until the settlement was viable. Adventure ... a flyer forced down among nameless mountains ... hardships ... mineral deposits ... tremendous cliffs and chasms ... forever after, on the maps, the Welnicki Mountains.... "Five past, sir." "Very well." Ensign Welnicki brought his slight form erect and strode across to the subspace voder, hardening his lips. Forestalling him, the light blinked on and the neutral machine-voice said, "... _Carlyle_. S.S. _Rubberjack_ calling G.P.S. _Carlyle_...." The ensign pressed his transmitter bar and snapped, "_Carlyle_ here. Go ahead, _Rubberjack_." Too bad there was no visual transmission in subspace, to carry his hawklike stare to that sloppy merchant officer. Too bad his crisp voice would be wasted in the neutrality of _Rubberjack's_ voder. "This is Wendrew Fishdollar, President of the Republic of Fishdollar Five," the voder said. "Our forces now control S.S. _Rubberjack_. We wish to negotiate a standard treaty with the Galactic Patrol." Welnicki's long, thin nose twitched in dismay. "What ... where is Fishdollar Five?" he gasped. _Are they human?_ his thoughts ran. "Our present seat of government is in S.S. _Rubberjack's_ tender," the neutral voice replied. "We have seceded from the main body of settlers. We wish to arrange for settlement on a different planet." "Oh! Oh. Mutinous settlers?" Welnicki's eyes narrowed. He smiled grimly. He glanced down at his blue and gold tunic and punched on the photo-recorder. Best have a record for the historians. "Fishdollar, this is mutiny in subspace. In the name of the Galactic Patrol, I command you to surrender yourself and your accomplices to Captain Glover at once!" "I am chief of state of a sovereign nation and I will not be spoken to like that," the voder said. "If necessary, we will cast loose the tender and enter space to find our own planet. We are holding the tender crew at their stations, even as I speak." "I forbid it absolutely!" the ensign barked. "If you inspace at random, you will likely be far beyond the sphere of permitted exploration. You may betray humanity to an unknown enemy. Moreover, you will all be pirates and slavers. President Fishdollar, consider what you do!" "National survival is at stake. My first loyalty is to my nation." Ensign Welnicki arched his neck. "I warn you, President Fishdollar," he said vibrantly, "if you take those _Rubberjack_ crewmen into space, I will follow and free them if I must pursue you to the uttermost ends of the galaxy!" "We will defend our sovereignty to our last drop of blood," the voder replied pleasantly. "We had hoped for Patrol cooperation, but we are prepared to carry on in the teeth of Patrol hostility. Our determination, Captain Kravitz, is unshakable. Goodbye, sir!" The light blinked off. That parting speech must have been sonorous and magnificent in old Fishdollar's natural voice, the ensign thought. Then an echo of it nagged at him and he jumped. "Oh my," he said, and punched the captain's emergency signal. * * * * * Captain Kravitz played back the photo-record and cocked a grizzled eyebrow at Welnicki. He sounded the general alarm and snapped orders: ready Scout Vessel Two and boarding party. Sleepy men manned battle stations. Captain Glover came on the voder to report his tender gone and trouble with lost-mass aberration. He was almost inaudible at full gain. "Prepare to regress," Captain Kravitz ordered. "Proceed to destination and wait in orbit for me," he shouted into the voder. "I will regress and send a party after your tender. Give me the break coordinates." Whispered data passed until Kravitz said abruptly, "That's enough, captain. I want a short regress. Good luck." Welnicki thought about regression. The nine canonical threes vary independently in subspace; when a ship inspaces between the initial and terminal points set up in her computer, she may be anywhere. To find the Fishdollars, _Carlyle_ would have to regress to the tender's breakaway point without changing computer settings. It is a mode of living backwards, and indescribably unpleasant. "Stand by to regress!" Howls of dismay arose. Ensign Welnicki stood at attention and raised his chin. * * * * * Pale with nausea, Ensign Welnicki faced Captain Kravitz after _Carlyle_ inspaced. The tall, graying captain looked shaken also, but his eyes burned. His voice was ironically gentle. "Given the chance, I might have persuaded Fishdollar to take another Carina planet, avoided all this ... four thousand parsecs beyond the frontier of exploration ... dangerous security breach ... you command the search party, Ensign Welnicki ... field-search each system in turn, buoy each as you leave ... I know I can count on you for the last full measure of devotion, Ensign Welnicki...." Welnicki opened his eyes wide. "I shall not fail you, sir," he said as firmly as he could. The captain stroked his clipped gray mustache with two fingers. "I expect you to pursue the Fishdollars to the uttermost ends of the galaxy, Ensign Welnicki," he said solemnly. * * * * * G.P.S. _Carlyle_ had ghosted back into subspace. Welnicki in blue and gold faced his subordinates across a green table in the tiny wardroom of Scout Vessel Two. They wore gray coveralls. Sergeant Chong, dark, stocky, impassive. Chief Quartermaster Rutledge, plump, florid, voluble. Chief Drive Tech Kihara, small, dark, reserved. The ensign cleared his throat. "This is a council of war, gentlemen. Here is our situation...." Five Sol-type stars lay within the tender's range. They would visit and field-search each system in turn, regain control of the tender and its crew when found, then wait for _Carlyle_. Under the treaty they were agents of the settlers' parent system, Sigma-3 Velorum, and bound by its constitution. "So, gentlemen, it is really intersystemic war. Now the enemy population is about fifty--Captain Glover's estimate, he hadn't time to muster the settlers before we regressed. We have twenty marines and nine spacers. We are outnumbered and must attack prepared positions, but courage and imagination--" "Won't some settlers be women?" Chong broke in gruffly. "We may not be so overmatched. How are they armed?" "Body weapons only, sergeant. Nothing heavy. We mustn't hurt women, of course." Chong coughed and subsided. "One thing more. Our inspace separation from _Carlyle_ is great enough so that, under article fourteen of Patrol Regulations, our scout is an independent ship. I now declare this ship in full commission." He took glasses and a bottle of Earth whisky from a bag at his feet and poured drinks all around. "Stand, gentlemen," he bade them. "To our ship and her christening: gentlemen, I give you G.P.S. _Fishdollar's Bane_." The men choked a little on the fiery liquor. Ensign Welnicki wiped moisture from his eyes and looked on them with kindly gravity. "Hereafter you may address me as Captain Welnicki," he said. "And now stand by to outspace." * * * * * Arrowing through the fourth system like a hundred-foot rapier probing enemy vitals, G.P.S. _Fishdollar's Bane_ finally sniffed out the tender's ID pattern on an inner planet. "Pinpoint the enemy and orbit his horizon. Compute physical data and report," Captain Welnicki ordered Rutledge. Next ship-day he briefed his subordinates. A single continent lay athwart the planet's equator, with major volcanic activity in its galactic north. The enemy base was on the southwest coast. Gravity was point nine, the day twenty-six standard hours, and the season spring in the southern hemisphere. They would achieve surprise by landing in the north and staging the landing party south in the atmospheric flyer. What did they think? "It's a laugh, the way we outgun them Fishdollars, Mr.--I mean Captain Welnicki," Chong growled. "Why not take--this ship--right over 'em and call on 'em to surrender?" "They'd defy us, sergeant. They're ready to die to the last man--oh, you should have heard old Wendrew Fishdollar's parting speech! And remember, they have hostages." "Oughta be some way we could use the ship's armament." "You're a tough fighter, sergeant, but you lack creative imagination. No, my decision stands. Have your marines roll field packs." * * * * * Spiralling in, Captain Welnicki thought the continent spectacular. Volcanoes and fissure flows welled forth seas of molten rock. Seas of rain slashed into them and roared skyward again as atmospheres of steam. The shrewdest enemy would never expect attack from this quarter. G.P.S. _Fishdollar's Bane_ grounded at dusk in a wooded region of low hills. The air was sulfurous but good, the sky a smoking glory. Occasionally the ground trembled. Singing birds in the strap-leaf foliage and furry ground rats were curious and unafraid. Captain Welnicki walked apart and listened to the shouts of his marines getting groundworthy. Kihara and the spacers were assembling the flyer. The marines were playing grabtail, except two armed sentries. Keen fighting men all, spoiling for a fight or a footrace. The captain winced when he heard one refer to his ship as G.P.S. _Fishbait_. But then, enlisted men were that way, hiding their nobler sentiments under such rough endearments. Underneath, however, hearts of oak.... Early in the flaming dawn Kihara flew the marines south. He returned in midafternoon from the four-thousand-mile round trip. Then Captain Welnicki and the spacers flew south with equipment to complete the camp. There seemed to be no large animal life, so he left the ship closed but unguarded. Chong's position lay behind a hill fifty miles north of the enemy. Great strap-leaf trees concealed tents and sentries. The captain, wearing the gray working uniform for the first time, called a council of war in his command tent. Eve of battle, gentlemen. Stout hearts, now. Chong, Crespi and Swenson would be landed in darkness to scout for the attack. They would plant a guide beacon and hide until the full party joined them the next night. Tomorrow the flyer would move reserve rations and the heavy blaster ammo down from the ship. Sgt. Chong, in accordance with Patrol Regulations, would direct the actual fighting. He, Captain Welnicki, would resume command when the diplomatic phase opened, that is, when President Fishdollar offered to surrender. Questions? No questions. When Kihara returned from dropping Chong, he came again to the dark command tent and brushed past the orderly. "Captain, wake up. The ship's guide beam don't register on the flyer's screen. Noticed it coming back just now. Something's wrong." "Do you suppose the Fishdollars--" Captain Welnicki came full awake. Never betray doubt to a subordinate ... the lonely leader.... "Locate it visually tomorrow, then," he said calmly. "Take Rutledge to help. But you can't miss that big T-shaped lake." "Oh, I guess we'll find it, if--" "Of course you will. Turn in now, Kihara. Get some rest." The captain did not sleep. He paced uneasily next day until the flyer returned, then almost forgot himself and ran to meet it. "Gone forever," Rutledge said excitedly. "One of them fissure flows, must've been ... miles of boiling rock right where we was ... updrafts like to tore us apart and fried us too ... now what, captain?" Captain Welnicki stood very erect and lifted his chin. * * * * * Darkness under the two small moons. Captain Welnicki stood apart and thought. Nothing but hand weapons and pack rations for two days. A fanatic enemy sitting with enormous reserves in a prepared position. So ... attack, of course ... always the audacity ... out of this nettle danger I pluck this flower.... Kihara landed the party, minus the useless blasters, by Chong's beacon. Chong, sulfurous in disgust, drew his corporals aside to improvise a new plan. Captain Welnicki hovered near, saying nothing. He heard Chong tell Swenson to use the spacers for support fire. "Soon's it's light enough I'll pass the word," Chong finished. "Scatter now." "Come on, you spacers," Corporal Swenson growled. He moved off, followed by the spacers. After a moment Captain Welnicki trailed along. The enemy base lay on high ground across a small stream. One large unfinished building of slagged earth stood near the tender. The land was uneven and wooded. The roar of the sea came faintly through night air as Swenson briefed his spacers. "Sleep if you can," he ended. "I'll watch." "I want to scout in closer, corporal," the captain said. "Not past the stream, if you please, captain. We spotted infra-pickups over there. That's why Chong wants daylight and cover fire." Minutes after he crossed the stream the captain's throat communicator prickled. It was Chong. "Swenson tells me you're prowling, captain. Don't tell me where you are cause I'm scared to know. But freeze there. That's a military order in the field." "Aye aye, sergeant," the captain said glumly. He slept fitfully on the hard ground. Long time until dawn like thunder ... Corporal Swenson stunned, command of the spacers devolving upon Captain Welnicki ... ask no quarter, give none ... red dawn streaks now, an omen ... LISTEN: _footsteps in the brush!_ Over his flame pistol Captain Welnicki saw a tall man appear. He wore a merchant spacer's leather jumper and carried a small shovel. At the captain's terse command he dropped the shovel and faced the leveled pistol, hands at shoulder height. "Quiet now! Who are you?" Welnicki whispered. Eyes squinted above the loose mouth. "I'm Jonas Cobb, that was third officer in _Rubberjack_. Are you a Patroler?" "Captain Stephen Welnicki, commanding G.P.S. _Fishdollar's Bane_. I have come to liberate you." "Well now, cap'n, that's right good of you. I'd be pleased to help." The hands dropped. "You can, Cobb. I can use help. I've lost my ship, you see. I have only twenty-eight men with nothing but body weapons and two days' rations. I _must_ win on my first assault." "Here's an idea, cap'n. Them Fishdollars are still sleeping aboard. Suppose I sneak back, close the bunkroom collision doors and pull the fuses? I'll jam the hull doors too, so the guards can't close 'em." "_Good_ man, Cobb! Would you dare try?" "I would, cap'n. Suppose they closed up the tender on you? All the chow's still aboard, and you can't eat native protein here without it's bio-fielded. Them Fishdollars could just sit and guzzle while you poor Patrolers all starved, and then who'd liberate us? Handguns won't noways touch that plating." Chong came on the communicator. "Military order, captain. Stay put and keep your head down. We attack in one minute." "No! Oh _no_, sergeant," the captain protested. "I've taken a _Rubberjack_ prisoner ... he'll jam the hull doors for us--" "Don't trust him nor you neither. The both of you stay put. Here goes--" "_No_, Sergeant Chong! I relieve you of command. Article thirty-seven, Patrol Regulations. Stand fast, now!" He smiled apologetically. "My field commander is impatient. But hurry, Cobb. My marines are straining at the leash." Cobb moved off hastily. Moments later came a subdued clamor of voices, scurrying feet, grating noises. Captain Welnicki peeped through the screening shrubbery just in time to see the ramp pull in and the ponderous cargo doors swing shut. He called Chong: "Enemy alerted ... fortunes of war ... stiff upper lip ... resume command, Sgt. Chong." Chong exploded. "Situation militarily hopeless ... stop playacting and surrender ... your baby, captain, and look to its napkin." Captain Welnicki stood stiffly erect and raised his chin. * * * * * That darkest hour ... inexorable hunger on this star-lost planet ... guile now ... keen intelligence of the spaceways.... Captain Welnicki called his subordinates to a council of war. They had one idea--to surrender. "Somebody, you, captain, go bang on that personnel port," Rutledge urged. "Never! Death before dishonor!" "Hey! They're sending out a flag," Chong said. The tender's personnel valves were ajar and between them a white cloth dangled. "I'll go in and parley," Captain Welnicki said crisply. "Deploy and cover me, sergeant. If they try to overpower me, blast us all down." Sgt. Chong snorted nervously. The captain walked toward the ship ... lonely, gallant ... ashes of defeat ... guile now.... The ramp poked out and a lanky figure, bearing the flag, descended. It was Cobb. "Cobb! What happened? Did they--" "General Cobb to you, cap'n. General of the Army of Fishdollar Five. I come out to take your surrender." The captain stared. "President Fishdollar says tell you we'll treat you real good if the marines'll help with the settlement. If so be you've a mind to, the foreign minister will work out a Patrol treaty." The hangdog features gloated in mean triumph. Degrading ... proud wings drooping ... unless ... yes ... restructure the gestalit.... "I come not in war but in peace, general. Commanding a Patrol vessel empowers me to act as Patrol ambassador. My men will aid you, in accordance with standard Patrol policy. Tell President Fishdollar I will make my official entry shortly after noon." "I'll do that, cap'n. Say, you're a slippery one too, ain't you?" the general asked admiringly. He turned away. Ambassador Welnicki rejoined his aides in stately dignity. Rutledge was secretary, Kihara chauffeur and Chong commander of the honor guard, he told them. Then he ordered a retreat to the flyer. In the flyer he donned his blue and gold uniform. He had meant to wear it when he took President Fishdollar's surrender. Oh well, he had not disgraced that ancient, mystic bird-and-anchor symbol ... diplomatic triumphs, now.... * * * * * Kihara landed the flyer before the large single building. No one was about. Eight marines got out and lined up. Ambassador Welnicki watched while a pretty young woman came out of the building and looked doubtfully at the flyer. She was small, dark haired and wore a high-girded chlamys of clinging white cloth. Squinting, he saw above her left breast an emblem worked in red. It was an outlined fish with the ancient, mystic dollar symbol inscribed. She approached the marines hesitantly. "Here now, young woman, those men are on duty," the ambassador warned. "You mustn't molest them. Please inform the foreign minister--" She smiled. "I am the foreign minister," she said, bobbing a curtsy. "Lindrew Fishdollar, at your service, Mr. Ambassador, and welcome to Fishdollar Five. The president is waiting in the state reception hall." "Thank you, Madame Minister." He stepped down with dignity, saluting, and followed her into the building. She danced ahead with vivacity unbecoming a foreign minister. The hall was large, with bare slag walls and rough wooden furniture. Coming to meet him was another pretty young woman in another white chlamys that molded itself to her walking. He stopped short. She was smiling ... milk white skin and jet black hair ... thick eyebrows, black eyes ... small, sweetly curvesome ... holding out a hand.... "Oh my God!" he said shakily. "You! You are Wendrew Fishdollar!" "Wendy to my friends, Captain Wennocky, and I hope you will be one. We do so want a Patrol treaty. Won't you sit down?" The ambassador sat down, head whirling. "How many of your officers of state are women, may I ask, Madame President?" "All of us," she said brightly. "Our charter population, fifty-two in all, is entirely feminine. Since our founding we have naturalized eleven men." "Well, Madame President ... you must realize ... most unusual...." "I understand, Captain Wennocky. Perhaps you're tired. Quarters are ready for you upstairs and the minister of the interior will show you to them if you wish. General Cobb will berth your men in the tender." "My name is Welnicki," the ambassador said, rising. "Captain Stephen Wel-nicki." "Oh, forgive me, Captain Welnicki. General Cobb--but there, poor man, you're tired and I won't keep you. Will you and your aides attend an informal dinner tonight with my cabinet officers?" "Yes ... delighted...." The minister of the interior skipped along apologizing prettily for the crude furniture. She was Wandrew Fishdollar, call her Wanda, and she would see him again at dinner. His bedroom was also the Fishdollar National Library. The ambassador called a council of state. His aides were equally overcome. Who'da thought it? ... all women, all named Fishdollar ... cute as crystals, too ... always liked them Sigma Velorum planets ... hey, Chong, you old goat?... * * * * * Dinner ... elfin faces with white skin and black eyes ... short, kilted skirts, sleeveless blouses ... Cindrew, Rondrew, Sandrew, Dundrew ... minister of this, minister of that ... the ambassador was still dazed. His aides did well. Kihara talked slaggers and nuclear furnaces to the minister of public works--Cindy, was she? Rutledge, expansive, held a group bright eyed and breathless with his account of the volcanic north. Chong was saying, "No offense, General Cobb, but in a fight the marines...." Defense Minister Bondrew listened admiringly. The ambassador felt better. Born diplomats, these men. That came of roaming the starways ... a cosmoplanetary polish ... charm no provincial could resist--"What did you say, Madame President? My mind wandered." "Let's take our teacups into the next room where it's quiet. I want to tell you the story of the Fishdollars." "Of course." The ambassador rose with courtly, cosmoplanetary grace. She sat beside him on the single cloth draped bench, and smoothed her short red skirt. "In the second century After Space, Stephen--may I call you Stephen?" she began. He nodded indulgently. The eighty-fourth planet colonized from Earth, she told him, was Fishdollar One, so named for Andrew Fishdollar, who founded the settlement and brought along many kinsmen. The settlement prospered but the planet had a strong Rho effect. Did he understand? "Yes, Madame President. An excess of female over male births until a certain population density is reached." "It may take _centuries_. It's terrible. Stevie, I've actually heard the Patrol sometimes sends ships...." She blushed prettily and looked down at the teacup on her rounded knee. "Yes. Yes, Wendrew. There is a special clause--oh, most delicately worded--in the standard Patrol treaty with Rho effect planets. Spacers call them good liberty planets." He felt warm, tugged at his tight collar and kept his gaze on the president's teacup. She took up her story. Genetic strains varied in susceptibility to the Rho effect, of course he knew, and it was terribly severe on Fishdollars. The clan became immensely wealthy through pioneer land holdings, but the name was dying out. Male Fishdollars were recruited from Earth and the other planets until the name was extinct elsewhere, but it was no use. Sex control was no good--bad psychic effects in the resultant males. Finally, in the fourth century, the Fishdollars settled a new planet, seeking a reduced Rho effect. "But Wendy, why not adopt boys, change names and so on?" "Against the laws, Stevie. People with low-Rho names believed the effect worked through the name and not the gene pattern. Silly superstition of course, but they had the votes." It was the same story on Planets Fishdollar Two and Three. Fishdollar wealth grew and Fishdollar males dwindled in inverse ratio. On Fishdollar Four, in the Sigma-3 Velorum system, they vanished altogether. A few hundred women still bore the name. "It's pitiful, Stevie, when a name dies after thousands of years," she said softly. She put down her teacup and smoothed nervously at her brief skirt. "I can imagine. Ten generations of Welnickis have served the Patrol." "We tried hard to keep the name alive," she went on, vainly tugging the pleated skirt lower on the smooth white legs. "Stevie, some of us here are haploid and some are illegitimate." Her head drooped. Wordless, he watched her hands. She raised a rosy face to him impulsively. "You mustn't think I'm one," she said rapidly. "My father was the last Andrew Fishdollar, the last man. He died two years ago." The younger Fishdollars, she continued, planned one last effort to settle a new planet, to be named Fishdollar Five. They recruited a group meeting Patrol standards and got sponsorship. It cost them a great deal of money. Their constitution and legal codes were those of the parent system, with minor changes correcting the unfair laws against high-Rho names. "And then--oh Stevie, those superstitious, ungrateful, low-Rho settlers! While we were still in subspace they began amending the laws and the constitution. They even changed our planet's name to Rewbobbin, the ugliest, lowest-Rho name among them!" "Rewbobbin!" He shuddered. "We were just frantic, Stevie. We wanted to scratch their eyes out and we wanted to die. Then we thought about seceding. We learned that _Rubberjack's_ tender was preloaded to care for an advance party of two hundred. We talked to General Cobb--you know the rest." "Yes, Wendy. How imaginative ... a random inspacing into unexplored vastness.... Wendy, I salute your courage!" "We weren't really so brave. The tender was a last resort, to force Captain Kravitz to settle us on another Carina planet. But when he reacted so violently--oh, Stevie, you should have _heard_ the language he used to me--we knew we must go. We really had no choice, now did we?" The ambassador coughed and licked his lips. "No, I suppose not, Wendy. Captain Kravitz is unimaginative ... aging...." "Stevie, did we do wrong? Do you think we did?" "No, Wendy. Not you, whoever else may have. You were magnificent. I will use all my influence to see that your settlement lives." "I'm so happy, Stevie. I feel safe now. Tomorrow Linda can work out a treaty with you. Shall we join the others?" The smooth white legs stood up. * * * * * The ambassador could not sleep. His own copy of Patrol Regulations was lost, but providentially he found a copy in the Fishdollar National Library beside his bed. He thumbed it. He was, indeed, still captain and therefore ambassador while his crew was intact. But that other article ... here it was: "In exceptional circumstances involving galactic security the commander of a ship or squadron may assume plenipotentiary status and execute finally rather than provisionally binding agreements ... as soon thereafter as practicable he shall report to Prime Reference for plenary court martial." So. If he dared.... He remembered old Borthwick's lectures in Patrol Jurisprudence at the academy. Only two men, both squadron commanders, had ever used that article. One had been shot, one cashiered.... The ambassador slept. * * * * * Over coffee next morning the foreign minister produced copies of the Patrol treaty with Sigma-3 Velorum, with appropriate name changes, and proposed they sign them. "These won't do, Madame Minister," he protested. "Why not, Stephen? We have almost the same constitution." "Your planet, Lindrew. Almost four thousand parsecs beyond the sphere of settlement. Do you know why we _have_ a frontier?" "Oh, Patrol policy ... no, why?" "Other intelligent beings may be settling the galaxy just like we are. We're afraid to meet them too soon." "Why?" "Maybe hostile. Lindrew, just because the Patrol prevents inter-planetary wars, it's the only deep space fighting force humanity has. But with no wars, and support of the Patrol voluntary, it isn't very big. Not big enough for galactic war." "Will it ever be?" "We hope so. We add a new ship for each new planet. We increase as the cube of the radius and our frontier only as the square, as long as we enforce the sphere of settlement concept." "The Patrol enforces it?" "Yes, by denying sponsorship and protection to non-treaty settlements. We can't actually use force against a sovereign planet, except blockade under certain conditions." "Do settlements ever defy you?" "Not for long. They give up and we move them to a settled planet that wants them, wiping out all traces of their stay." "Oh. Stephen, do you approve of that policy?" "No, Lindrew, I never have. It's--it's unimaginative. But they'll tear their beards at Prime Reference about your planet." "But you'll help us, won't you Stephen? How must we change the standard treaty?" "This is an outpost planet and the aliens, if they exist, will surely find it first. We'll need a Class I base. You must in time support extra-planetary defenses." "You make the changes, Stephen. Whatever you say. Then we'll sign." He shuffled his feet. "I'm afraid I can only initial it, Madame Minister. Prime Reference must ratify. I will urge most strongly--" "Oh Stephen," she interrupted, pretty face stricken, "might we lose our treaty after all?" "There's a chance, I can't deny it." "Oh dear! I haven't the heart to tell Wendy." "I need to think," the ambassador said. He excused himself unhappily. * * * * * Days passed and the settlement grew. The ambassador put away his blue and gold and worked with his hands. The native strap-leaf vegetation flowered riotously through long, warm days, and so did Earth plants in the test plots. The shapely Fishdollars became golden-tan and more charming than ever. The Patrolers worked like fiends erecting buildings and plants, striving to outdo the merchant spacers. The girls helped where they could and bubbled admiringly at the prodigies of labor. The minister of public works told Chong privately that one marine equalled two merchant spacers. The latter, as if unaware of their lesser worth, worked like fiends too. Kihara and his two petty officers were the engineers. Corporal Crespi, with a gang of marines and Fishdollars, milled fragrant lumber from native hardwoods. Houses went up and were filled with furniture rough-styled by General Cobb. The ambassador worked on the power plant, the materials converter, and then the air conditioning. The men became hard, deeply bronzed, strongly alive as the native trees. With his aides, the ambassador worked out treaty revisions. "PR will never ratify," Rutledge said. "Look. Maybe the aliens don't exist," the ambassador argued. "If they do exist, they may respect boundaries. Then Fishdollar Five stakes a huge claim for humanity. If it's war, we make our fight around an outpost planet, far from settled regions." "We ain't Prime Reference," Chong growled. "Who you trying to convince?" * * * * * Fishdollar Five ratified the treaty. Ambassador Welnicki looked unhappily at his initials and told the foreign minister, "I'm sorry, Linda." "We understand, Stephen. We know you're doing all you dare for us." * * * * * Resting one day from pipefitting, the ambassador asked Kihara, "You know math, chief. Isn't it true this damned, sacred 'sphere of settlement' really takes in the whole galaxy in subspace?" "Yes, in a way." "It's fossilized, Einsteinian thinking. Damn the admirals!" "The admirals think Einstein is God. You better think the admirals are God," Kihara warned. The ambassador thought. The outpost planet ... last, loneliest, loveliest, exquisite, apart ... one man with imagination ... serve humanity and be damned for it now, canonized later.... * * * * * One afternoon he walked with Wendy to their favorite spot on a headland above the sea. She climbed before him up the steep, narrow way, and the sea wind fluttered her skirt. The outpost planet ... democracy ... daughter planets teeming with pretty girls like Wendy and stalwart young men like ... really imaginative galactic ecology.... Sunset neared and half the sky, as usual, flamed gorgeously. The sea sent back the color and beat hypnotically against the cliff base. Wendy stood on tiptoe, arms raised, skirt wind-molded, sweetly rounded form outlined against the sky. "Stevie, Stevie," she whispered, "isn't our planet beautiful? I would rather die than leave it. I feel ... fulfilled, somehow." "Wendy, I haven't told you, but--" She came to him in quick concern, her hand on his arm. Then it came out of him in a rush. "Regulations permit me to assume plenipotentiary status. If I do and then sign that treaty, it will bind the Patrol absolutely. Wendy, I'm going to do it!" "Can you really, Stephen? Won't they find a way...." Her face was grave. "I can, for sure. I'll undergo court martial after. But the treaty will stand. The pledged word of the Galactic Patrol is sacred. Only the Patrol binds humanity into any kind of unity, and its very existence depends upon planetary trust in Patrol good faith." "It's so much power for one man." "Not every man is made a Patrol captain. Believe me, Wendy, your planet will live. And I'm glad." Then she was in his arms and they were kissing, and Captain-Ambassador Welnicki trod on air back to the settlement feeling that the game was worth the candle if they took his head for it. He signed with a flourish, Stephen Welnicki, Captain, GP, subscribed Ambassador Plenipotentiary. Then he called his aides into council and assumed the status formally, just for the record. * * * * * Days passed, shorter and warmer, fruits forming on the native plants. Basic installations were complete. Exploring and mapping teams brought in mineral and biotic specimens for testing. It was midsummer of the four-hundred-two-day year. President Fishdollar brought up a delicate subject with the ambassador plenipotentiary. Four of her citizens were, well, you know, and they wanted to marry four of his marines. Could he authorize it? "Of course, Wendy. Enlisted men may marry on any treaty planet." He spoke to Chong. "I told 'em hell no," the sergeant said. "Us marines depend on higher authority to protect us from that. You're gonna back me up, ain't you, captain?" "No I'm not! What's so terrible about marriage?" "Ask Corporal Hodges that, captain. He's married and the Fishdollars _know_ it." * * * * * Chief Justice Sandrew married the four couples in a mass ceremony. President Fishdollar wept and the ambassador plenipotentiary comforted her. She was distrait and melancholy in the days that followed, and the ambassador plenipotentiary was himself obscurely troubled. Eight more couples married. Then one evening they were again on the headland in a flaming sunset and she began crying softly. She didn't know why, unless it was because the sunset was so beautiful. So he held her and they talked in low voices until, as the sun's red disk touched the sea rim, he had to tell her that no Galactic Patrol officer could marry until he reached the rank of commander. "But you're a captain already, Stevie." "Only in a special, temporary way--" "But your heroism, finding us, losing your ship--surely they'll make it permanent." "Wendy, they'll want my head for all that. I ... I've tried to think that way myself, but I can't. I do believe, in the far future the name Welnicki will be honored by what I have done, but now--when Captain Kravitz comes--I have no right--" "Every man has a right to happiness, Stevie. What if you married anyway?" "Cashiered, automatically. Ten generations of Welnickis have given their lives to the Patrol with not one dishonorable action--" "Stevie, you make me furious! How can marriage be dishonorable? We'll keep it secret and you can command the base here until you make commander. It's all so simple, really." "I need to think," he said sadly. She laid her dark head on his shoulder and cried. He thought: make her happy ... secret ... impassioned speech before the admirals ... galaxy to fill ... creative imagination confirms me now, gentlemen, time will vindicate me ... so tearfully anxious ... in for a copper, in for a solar ... make her happy.... "Wendy," he said in a low, halting voice, "let's do get married." "Oh _yes_, Stevie! Yes, yes, yes!" She melted into his arms. The crimson sun dropped below the sea rim and the sky faded to somber red. They walked back hand in hand, the president chattering gaily, the ambassador plenipotentiary oppressed under the cumulative enormity of his command decisions. The wedding was beautiful. The bride wore her chlamys of state and the groom stood very erect in blue and gold. Chief Justice Sandrew wept but managed to get the words out clearly enough through tears and sniffs. All the Fishdollars wept. Even hard, unsentimental Sgt. Chong snorted nervously. Married life was wonderful. The president melted with affection and the ambassador plenipotentiary loved it. Never had diplomatic relations between the Patrol and any planetary government been so cordial. Even the weather reflected it. The days, cold and rainy as winter came on, turned clear and warm again. The native trees were deciduous and their long strap-leaves became a blaze of color carrying the dawn glory through softly bright days, carpeting the ground with sunset. Thinking and worry were fantastically unnecessary. Then one beautiful morning after an intimate breakfast, the ambassador plenipotentiary learned that maybe, just maybe now, darling, he was going to be a father. A few tearful moments later an excited quartermaster called him to his door. G.P.S. _Carlyle_ was in orbit and would ground next day. Captain Kravitz instructed Ensign Welnicki to report aboard as soon as grounding was secured. * * * * * All along her six-hundred-foot length, ground shores probed out to equalize tensions as G.P.S. _Carlyle_ eased her lift. The shriek died with the slowing generators, and the starboard personnel port swung open. Beyond the zone markers Ensign Welnicki looked into his wife's face, then marched toward the ship. He wore his blue and gold. _Carlyle's_ passageways seemed more cramped than he remembered. He felt foolish in his dress uniform, exchanging greetings with coverall-clad shipmates. He ducked past the saluting orderly into the captain's office almost with relief. Captain Kravitz, behind his gray desk, had never looked more austerely forbidding. As the ensign made his report, the grizzled eyebrows raised, then two fingers stroked the gray mustache. When the ensign reported his binding signature of the treaty, the captain raised his hand. "Very well, Ensign Welnicki. Remain in your room incommunicado until further notice." Ensign Welnicki stood very erect and raised his chin. Then he walked directly to his stateroom in the bow, ignoring greetings from former shipmates. He clanged the door shut, and never before had the tiny room seemed so microscopic. * * * * * A long week's pacing, three steps each way. Thoughts ... defense at Prime Reference ... first the grave statement of facts, for the record and for unborn historians ... for some future Welnicki burning to vindicate his triple-great grandfather ... then the exhortation to courage and imagination, powerfully restrained emotion almost breaking through ... deep, ringing sincerity ... then the gray courtyard and the firing squad ... I die without resentment ... my short life justified, its meaning found in action.... Thoughts about his planet ... _his_ planet?... Wendy, the child ... a boy, of course, the Welnickis were quite low-Rho ... never to see his son ... knowing that in the gray courtyard.... He wanted to cry. * * * * * Ensign Sotero, armed and brassarded, came to conduct him to the captain on the eighth day. "Damn orders, Steve," Sotero said, standing in the door. "We know most of the story and we're all for you. Your wife and the skipper have been going round and round for days, beating each other over the head with that treaty, Patrol Regulations and the constitution of Sigma-3 Velorum. Somebody heard him say she's the smartest space lawyer this side of Earth. Don't let him stampede you, Steve!" "Thanks, Juan, I won't." Ensign Welnicki's own voice sounded strange to him after the silence. The captain was disconcertingly un-fierce. He looked tired and sad behind the gray desk. "Sit down, Stephen," he said dully. "Let's talk about this mess we're in." Ensign Welnicki sat down gingerly, his back stiff. "My head falls too, of course," the captain went on. "You're too little a goat. They may even chop down Sector Admiral Carruthers." He sighed and looked at the overhead. The ensign opened his mouth. "I see my error now," the captain forestalled him. "You are not mature enough for command. But I was ensign under your grandfather Welnicki in the old _Ashburton_ before you were born. I thought I sensed in you the same intangible that made him great. Well, spilt milk, Stephen. What can we do?" Ensign Welnicki suggested unsteadily that the Fishdollars might consent to removal to an approved planet. "First offer I made, Stephen. They voted it down unanimously. Bluster was no good, pleading no good. With that treaty they've got us cold and they know it." Ensign Welnicki wished he were dead but did not see how that would help. After a long silence the captain spoke again. "I have one last hope, Stephen. Something you've overlooked. I got it from Rutledge." The ensign looked his question. "You didn't formally assume plenipotentiary status until _after_ you signed, so technically your signature is not binding. Now if it was a forced subterfuge to counter logistic pressure, your ship being lost and all, we can repudiate the treaty without breaching faith. Only you can really know." Ensign Welnicki breathed deeply "The Fishdollars with no treaty, how they can survive, I don't know, captain...." "We'll leave message capsules. When they call for help we'll dump 'em on Rewbobbin." "I ... I don't know, captain." "We can fix everything else, save your career." "No, sir. The treaty stands." "You signed falsely and you know it." "I can say--I hereby do say that I signed second copies afterward. The treaty stands, sir!" Ensign Welnicki stood up, suddenly feeling good. Captain Kravitz stood up too, face tautly impersonal. "All right," he said, shuffling papers on his desk. "I want to lift out as soon as possible." He pulled out a paper and looked coldly at the ensign. "As you may or may not know, your marriage makes you a citizen of Fishdollar Five," he went on. "As you may or may not know, your precious treaty forbids removal of a citizen to another planet without governmental consent. I doubt the admirals at Prime Reference would choose to come all the way out here just to court-martial one small ensign. But as you _certainly_ know, your marriage means the automatic revocation of your commission. You will save me trouble and delay by signing this resignation." He shoved the paper across the desk. Ensign Welnicki looked at it stupidly. His inner song was muted. "Sgt. Chong will stay to command the temporary base force," the captain was saying. "Within a year you may expect a Patrol construction fleet to open your communications and start work on the base. Your pay accounts can be settled then. There! Sign it!" Ensign Welnicki bent and signed. The captain looked at the paper and handed it back. "Use your right name," he said. Ensign Welnicki looked blank. "Stephen _Fishdollar_!" the captain roared. The ensign looked blanker still. "Ensign Fishdollar, some day you really must read through the legal codes of your adopted planet," the captain said mock-earnestly. "One of the changes made by the Fishdollars in the Sigma-3 Velorum codes was to make marriage and descent matrilineal. That way their name escapes Rho-death." Ensign Fishdollar sagged. His inner song faded to a whisper. "Very, very clever of the Fishdollars," the captain said musingly. "To link their name with the X-chromosome rather than with the Y. So it becomes as low-Rho as it was high before. Very clever indeed. "Ensign Fishdollar, you utter lamb, did you honestly not _know_ that?" he finished with roar. Ensign Fishdollar swung his head dumbly. "You know, Ensign Fishdollar, that the Patrol regards as null any marriage with a citizen of a non-treaty planet," the captain said softly. The savage self-biting of his autonomic nervous system almost made him grimace as he bent wordlessly to the paper and signed "Stephen Fishdollar." The inner song was dead. "You may go home now, Mr. Fishdollar," the captain said. "I will send your personal effects, less uniforms, ashore before I lift out." Mr. Fishdollar turned away. Captain Kravitz came around the desk and laid an arm across his shoulders. "Sit down again, Stephen," he said soberly. "I had to play it out to the end, but I don't want you leaving on that note, lad." They sat down, on the same side of the desk. "Stephen," the captain said gently, "all youngsters worth their salt chafe at the policy of restricted settlement and exploration. I did and I still do, but I never had the courage to act directly." He paused and closed his eyes, then continued. "Graybeards in conclave never make the important decisions for our species. They are always afraid. The decisions well up from the four-dimensional life-continuum that _is_ our species, and the graybeards accept, with what grace they can muster." He tilted back his head, eyes still closed. "The decisions always come through crooked, unmapped channels, through poets and prophets and dreamers, to enter the consciousness of man. Dreamers drove man to be free when he feared freedom. A few centuries later they drove him into space, shrinking and trembling. Now this. Dreamers, giving vent to that will of our species which no graybeard can gainsay." The captain opened his eyes and looked again at his companion. "There is an old saying, Stephen: 'Beware of the dreamer who dreams concretely.' Perhaps the Patrol version should be 'Never put a dreamer in the way of dreaming concretely.' I will never know for certain how much I have really had to do with this. I will be in grave trouble before it ends. But I know, as you have just learned, that dreams can be merciless." Mr. Fishdollar smiled weakly. Captain Kravitz stood up and so did Mr. Fishdollar. The captain held out his hand. "Goodbye, Stephen," he said. "Good luck, lad, and I'm proud of you." They shook hands and Mr. Fishdollar turned to the door. He rather thought that, just as he turned, the captain snapped him a salute. * * * * * Mr. Fishdollar stumbled toward the settlement. People passed and he did not see them. He was not thinking. Someone ran squealing. Then Wendy was running toward him, crying. "Stevie, Stevie, I'm so glad!" she sobbed against his shoulder. "They tried to browbeat us into taking another planet, but we remembered and fought for your dream of an outpost planet. We've won, haven't we won, Stevie?" "Yes, Wendy, we've won," Mr. Fishdollar said slowly. She pressed closer and he hugged her convulsively. "Let's celebrate tonight," she cried. "A Thanksgiving--" "All right, but let me go now, sweetheart. I need to think." He hugged her convulsively again and released himself. Alone on the headland, he looked out over the sea for a long time. He took off his blue and gold tunic, folded it neatly, and thrust it deep into a crevice of the rock. The day was gray-chilly and he shivered in his undershirt. Evening drew on, red-gray over the water. He stood very erect with his chin up. He heard the signal gun and then the roar as _Carlyle_ lifted out, and his chin rose higher. Finally thoughts began coming through the hurt. Thoughts were still to be had for the thinking. President-consort Fishdollar walked through ghostly, tentative snowflakes toward the settlement on the lonely outpost planet ... standing like a great rock in the way of the aliens ... or in the way of the sickly pale cast of conscious thinking ... aliens both, to the unsearchable mind of the species ... aliens, then, war or negotiation ... President Fishdollar down with nervous strain ... the First Gentleman in _de facto_ control ... triumph ... reception at Prime Reference ... medal of honor.... With a spring in his step and warmth inside him, Stephen Fishdollar came home. 
61717	----	THE SPACE FLAME By ALEXANDER M. PHILLIPS A rocketless hulk spinning helplessly through uncharted heavens.... A derelict space-ship. But within that Eternity-bound shell was even greater peril. Fire--living, writhing, horrible! Flame that hissed and coiled and struck with jeweled tongues of Death. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Spring 1940. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Cargyle wiped away the blood from a flesh wound over one eye. The body of a mutineer lay half across the threshold of the small cabin. They'd gotten that close to him. They were out there in the corridors, the mutineers, searching out the officers ... killing them. Far off in the rocket ship a burst of firing broke out. A chorus of wild yelling began, muted by distance and the intervening walls. Cargyle listened intently; perhaps a stand was being made against the crew! The sounds seemed to come from the control room. He hesitated, staring through the heavy port in the hull at the still stars in the blackness beyond. If there were officers still defending the pilot room, his place was with them. But if the mutineers were in possession, he'd be going to his death. With a shrug, he pressed a concealed button set in the wall. A panel of the inner wall of the hull slid quietly open. Tucking his blastor pistol into his belt, Cargyle crawled into the space revealed. All space cruisers were equipped with passages like this, known only to the officers: in the long monotonous months in space tension between men would sometimes sweep up to murderous frenzy, and mutinies were not uncommon. Mutiny on the _Denebola_ had been long coming. They were returning from a three-year surveying and specimen-collecting expedition among the asteroids. Sent out by the Cranford Foundation, they had outfitted in the Martian colony of Tracolatown. Loneliness and monotony change men queerly, undermine character and sanity. And three years is a long time. Quarrels flared up and became feuds. Between two members of the crew, Kalson and Wrymore, a particularly bitter hatred developed. The crew were permitted no weapons, but Kalson was found shot to death. The crew and their quarters were searched by the officers. No weapons were found. There are many places small side arms can be hidden in the length of a ship. Captain Wallace didn't confine Wrymore, for there was no definite proof of his guilt. But he informed him he would be turned over for trial at the first port reached. Then there was the starboard-dorsal rocket jet, forever threatening disintegration, which no amount of tinkering ever made right. At any unusual sound the crew would freeze, their expressions set. Had that jet gone at last? But with all this Wallace could cope. A stern man, old in the service, he was fully capable of controlling a crew unnerved by the ceaseless watching of infinity. He strode through the ship, as stern and calm as though in his office on Earth, holding the men to their duty, their sanity. But when the "flame of all colors" appeared.... * * * * * The _Denebola_ pointed her sharp nose homeward; the frozen, dead lumps of the asteroids dropped behind. A new and clearer expression found its way to the faces of the crew. And then Wrymore flung himself out of a storage compartment, where he'd been sent for a replacement part during one of the interminable repair jobs on the rocket jet. He dashed into the engine room, and the astonished engineers dragged him from behind a convertor, a trembling wreck of a man, near to madness. He told them Kalson's ghost was in the storage cabin--he'd seen it, a crawling flame-like thing, in which all the colors of the spectrum flickered and twined. They put him in sick bay--and the next "day" an electrician calmly reported to the officer on watch the presence of "a funny-colored thing something like a slow flame" in the forward thermal chamber. Investigation revealed nothing but the inexplicable presence of an amount of hydrogen gas. The ship seemed haunted. Men saw, or thought they saw, queer flames in every corner. Captain Wallace wondered if they were all going mad. Only he and Cargyle had yet to see the things. What was worse, things were disappearing--tools, supplies, replacement parts. More hydrogen made its appearance. The effect of all this on the already teetering crew can be imagined. Captain Wallace left the problem of the mysterious flames to Calvin Markoe, the astrophysicist appointed by the Cranford people, and devoted himself to keeping the crew in hand. But for the first time Wallace found himself helpless to stem the tide. The crew were too far gone, too fear-harried and space-crazy to know reason or fear punishment. And when corroded-looking holes began appearing in the walls of the ship, the mutiny burst out with all the savageness and fury of madness long suppressed. Cargyle, the second officer, charged by a yelling, wild-eyed mob of crazy murderers, fought them coldly, shooting with deadly precision. His slow retreat brought him to the little cabin, where his position was almost impregnable, and which he knew connected through the secret passage with the control cabin. He grinned as he crawled along the passage. What would the mutineers think when they charged the cabin and found it empty? They'd be sure the ship was haunted. It was black as the Coal-Sack in the low-ceilinged tunnel. When a dim, elusive light began forming ahead of him, he first thought it a trick of his eyes, but as the thing brightened Cargyle halted and stared in amazement. At last he, too, was seeing one of the haunting flames. In shape the thing did somewhat suggest a flame, but such a flame as never seen before. It was a writhing mozaic of colors that twined and faded one into the other. It curled as he watched, and the gleaming tip bowed slowly until it touched the floor. The thing lay flat, pulsing slowly with a gorgeous display of color. Cargyle forgot the mutineers, the beleagured officers. In sheer bewilderment he watched the deliberate, enigmatic movements of the thing before him. In all his wandering through the system he had never seen anything like this. What was it? A phenomenon of space, heretofore unknown, or was it--alive? The tip of the thing, bent to the floor, was moving delicately in small circles, touching and retreating, almost in the manner of a caterpillar on a leaf. Cargyle was crouched on one knee. Abruptly his foot slipped, the heel coming down hard on the metal floor. The resultant clangor in that narrow tube was deafening. The flame-like entity sprang vibrantly erect. A huge red bubble, swelling, emerged from somewhere within its body and wound upward through vellicating strands of color. The thing paused there, its inner wonder of radiant light in flickering, nervous agitation. The tip, aloft again, twisted and writhed, once forming a superb, faultless spiral of brilliant scarlet. * * * * * The next moment it was moving toward him, and Cargyle, who had faced undaunted the thousand dangers, the unearthly foes of the spaceman, found himself shaking with a resistless horror. Furious at himself, he took deliberate aim, and fired. If the slip of his foot had been thunderous, the sound that followed the discharge of the blastor pistol was as that of worlds coming together. The walls of the passage shivered to the detonation, so terrific that an entrance door to the passage burst from its hinges, and fell into the cabin on which it opened. Deafened, and blinded by the sudden flash, Cargyle waited helplessly. When his vision cleared he stared eagerly down the corridor. The flame-thing was where he had seen it last, motionless, unharmed! As he stared in astonishment a roll of emerald smoke seemed to eddy under its surface, and it moved toward him. A recurrent wave of that strange horror surged through Cargyle. What _was_ this thing? Was it sentient--did it perceive and threaten him? He thrust his pistol back in his belt--apparently it was useless against whatever stood before him--and started grimly forward. The thing waited, pale colors flowing fluidly through it. Suddenly it seemed to thin and tower and in its middle a ring appeared--a ring of dead black--and from that ring burst a blast of light; an intolerable, blinding beam that flamed in the very core of Cargyle's brain. Agony seared through him, rose to a piercing crescendo. Then a merciful blackness engulfed him, and the second officer crumpled to the floor. The flame-thing took up its incessant tapping and probing. * * * * * "Well," said Wallace. "We thought you were dead. What did they do to you? There's no wound; apparently no injury. But you were as close to death as a man can get, and still come back. What happened?" Cargyle choked and coughed. His brain and chest were burning agony. Dimly he struggled, and the flow of raw oxygen that was making him gasp ceased. The pain in his head was going. As the space-helmet was pulled off, he found himself regarding Captain Wallace and the astrophysicist, Markoe. They helped him to his feet, held him while he wavered back and forth unsteadily. "The light--the light from the flame-thing," stammered Cargyle. "It attacked you?" Markoe caught his arm. "How?" "A light--a ray of some kind. Shot it into me. I was coming through the starboard passage ... heard firing ... the mutineers ... where are they? Where's the crew?" "They've gone mad completely," said Wallace. "We held them off at the pilot cabin--all the officers and a few loyal men are with me--and after an hour or so they went away. Half hour later we saw them through a port. They deserted in the two scouting rockets. What's left of the crew must have crowded into the two small ships; we didn't find a living man when we explored the ship. Except you. Where they expect to go, God knows. With a normal crew of four the air in a scout rocket is good for only about five days. Crowded they won't last two, and Mars is it least a week away." "How did you know that oxygen would bring me back?" asked Cargyle. They had started back toward the pilot room. "Didn't," replied Wallace. "Markoe and I were inspecting the ship--we had to wear space-suits aft of the main air renewer. The whole stern of the ship's riddled. These flame-things doing it, Markoe says. We've got all the compartments closed off, but if he's right, the _Denebola's_ through. We found you on our way back. Looked as though you were dead. But we tried the oxygen from one of the helmets on you, and it eventually brought you around. "What are they?" Cargyle asked. "These flames? Are they alive?" "If they are," said Markoe, "they're like no kind of life ever known before. They set up a powerful field of some kind. I've been studying them back there in the stern. Trying to find out what they are." He held up some equipment--coils, and a detector. "I turned a blastor pistol on one," said Cargyle. "It was only ten feet away--I couldn't have missed. And the thing never moved!" A thunder of running feet brought the three men to a sudden halt. The next instant a man charged out of a side passage. At sight of them he halted and one glance at his face told them he was hopelessly insane. His eyes blazed with madness, and a line of foam ringed his mouth. In one hand he held a gun. "Kalson!" he screamed at them. "He's following me! He's dead! I killed him once! But he's here! I'm going to open the port and let the air out! Then Kalson won't follow me. I'll kill him again! Then I won't see him crawling ... and crawling...." He wheeled and ran down the corridor. "It's Wrymore!" gasped Captain Wallace. "I thought he'd gone with the rest. Come on! We've got to stop him!" The three raced down the corridor after the madman, who had disappeared into the main passage leading to the 'midships airlock. They reached the corridor together and wheeled into it. There at their feet lay Wrymore--they almost fell over him. Markoe turned the man over. "He's dead!" he exclaimed. "What could have--" "Fright, I suppose," said Wallace. "Look." * * * * * They followed his gaze along the corridor. There, on the deck in the center of the passage, slender, mobile tip questing and probing, lay one of the flame-things. Markoe and the captain drew their pistols, but Cargyle, who had already one experience with these glowing enigmas, seized their arms. "It's no good," he whispered. "Come away. It's no good. You can't hurt them." "Well, by the Star of Saffta, I'm going to try," retorted Wallace, and he swung up his gun. The next moment the cavernous passage-way roared and trembled to the blaster's discharge, and the hissing uproar was intensified as Markoe fired in turn. The flame-thing sprang upright--grew longer--towered high above them. "Run!" snapped Cargyle, diving into the side passage. But the other two, struck with astonishment, stood where they were. Cargyle, peering cautiously around the corner, saw that ominous, dead-black ring in the flame-thing's middle. Before he could draw back the intense and brilliant beam sprang out of the black ring, but this time it struck at Wallace and Markoe, and Cargyle, although momentarily blinded, was not subjected to the tearing pain that had snuffed out his consciousness. When he could see again, he perceived his companions sprawled on the deck--to all appearances, dead. Their attacker was again pursuing its endless testing of the floor. Would the thing strike at him if he went to his companions' assistance? Cargyle shrugged. He'd have to take that chance. Cautiously he moved out into the passage. Except for a noticeable increase in the rapidity of the pulsation of its shifting colors, the flame-thing ignored him. As quietly as possible he dragged first Captain Wallace and then the astrophysicist back into the shelter of the side passage. What in God's Name were these flame-things, Cargyle wondered. They appeared to recognize and resent attack. They _must_ be alive! Where had they come from, and was Markoe right? Were they slowly destroying the _Denebola_? But he had no time for such questions now. He ran back to the space-suit, dropped when Wrymore had appeared, and got the helmet and its oxygen tank. Captain Wallace looked lifeless; he was waxen-white and unbreathing. But there was a faint heart-action. Cargyle thrust the helmet over his head, and turned the flow-control. He sat there an hour or more, and he thought the oxygen tank would have emptied before Markoe showed signs of life. Both men were still dazed when they entered the pilot room. While Cargyle explained what had happened to them, and the manner of his own survival, his glance noted the signs of battle. Blackened pits, marks of blastor discharges, spattered the walls and furniture. Equipment had been shattered by chance shots. The inner lens of one of the ports had been drilled through the center, long cracks radiating from the spot. It had been hastily repaired, fused together with _thurlite_. Most of the men wore bloody bandages, and one lay unconscious. Chapman, the chief pilot, was pacing nervously back and forth before the dead control board; the other men were now dropping back into attitudes of listless dejection. "Why are we drifting?" Cargyle asked. The ship was silent, vibrationless. All rockets were inoperative--they were sweeping helplessly through space, undirected. "Why?" growled Simms. "Because those crazy devils took as much fuel as they could and then drained the tanks. We're falling into an orbit--" "Speed?" "Roughly ten per second. We were trying to contact Tracolatown, but the mutineers smashed the hull plates. Parker and Swift are out on the hull now, working on the plates." "Then we're--" "We're sunk, unless we can fix those plates and get a patrol ship out to us." * * * * * A red light over the viso-set winked, and then glowed steadily. Barfield, the viso operator, sprang to his control board and swiftly manipulated switches and dials. The viso-screen remained blank, but from the speaker came the familiar uproar produced by the vibrations that flood space. Barfield swung the controls, seeking the wave-length of the station at Tracolatown. "Calling the _Denebola_," said the speaker, hollowly, a moment later. "Calling the _Denebola_ ... where are you, _Denebola_? 3TRA45 calling. Tracolatown calling the _Denebola_." "They've got those hull plates working, Captain," cried Barfield. "That's the Martian operator, Nunglon! This is the _Denebola_, Nunglon!" he continued, speaking into the phone. "The _Denebola_ calling Tracolatown! A mutiny ... the crew deserted. They drained our tanks and we're drifting. Here's our position--" He turned to Chapman. "What is the position?" The pilot began reading off the ship's co-ordinates. "Send him those. They're some hours old, but they can start on them, and correct course as soon as our present position is determined." "Stop!" interrupted Markoe. "Wait a minute. We can't call a ship out here. What about the flames?" They looked at him. In the silence two men in space-suits entered the cabin; stood still, surprised. "What's the matter?" asked one, crawling from his suit. "The plates are working, ain't they? What's wrong?" "What's the flames got to do with it?" demanded Simms. "To hell with the flames! We can transfer to the patrol ship if the _Denebola's_ completely destroyed. We could even navigate her back in space-suits, if she'll still move. Go on, Barfield, send our position." "Mr. Simms," said Wallace, quietly, "I'll give the orders. We'll hear Mr. Markoe's objection. What about the flames, sir?" "Just this, Captain," said Markoe. "If we call a ship out here and transfer to it, what's to stop these things from transfering, too? Any ship that comes near us is done for, the same as the _Denebola_, unless we find some way to destroy them." "So you tell us," growled Simms. "And ask us to sacrifice our lives on your guesses. I won't do it, I tell you! You don't know what these things are, or where they came from. You know nothing about them." "They came from the asteroids, I believe," replied Markoe. "Give me a day or two more. There must be some way of destroying them. And have you forgotten the oath you took? The oath of the spaceman, never to return to port with an unknown disease that might become a plague? These flames are included ... in the spirit of that oath, at least I tell you we can't call a ship's crew out here, possibly to their death!" "That's the answer," said Wallace, firmly. "We call no other ship until these things are gone. Operator, tell Tracolatown we'll call them later. Markoe, it's up to you now." "I can't tell Nunglon the ship's full of funny-colored flames," protested Barfield. "He'll think we're all space-crazy!" "Tell him we haven't our position--that we're working it out," instructed Wallace. "Tell him we're away off the ecliptic, and that it will take time." For the next three days they saw little of Markoe. He spent hours in the airless stern of the ship, where he had set up a rough laboratory. Occasionally he appeared to renew the oxygen tank of his helmet. A glance at his face was sufficient. They asked him nothing. Cargyle joined him frequently, and tried to be of assistance, but the astrophysicist's experiments meant little to the second officer. Once Markoe turned to him and said, tensely, "There's a wave-length, or a modulation, that will break down their field. I know it! But how to find it? How to find it in time!" "Markoe," said Cargyle, "why haven't they attacked the control cabin? It's the one compartment of the ship where you never see them. There must be some reason." Markoe looked at him a moment, then shook his head. "Chance, that's all. They started in the tail of the ship, and they're working forward. There's nothing in the pilot cabin to stop them. I've tried the viso-set's wave-lengths. Doesn't bother them." But, unreasonably, Cargyle clung to the belief that there was something about the control cabin.... * * * * * In the high vacuum of those airless cabins there was no diffusion of light--the shadows were deep, ink-black. Through the jagged holes in the hull--where holes in the inner and outer skin coincided--entered faint star-light; on Markoe's table dim lights gleamed; and everywhere the gorgeous colors of the flame-things flickered. It was a weird and eerie setting: a suitable background for the incredible beings that moved against it. Danger was there also, which was the principle reason Cargyle spent so much time there. Should Markoe be struck down by one of the flame-things he might suffocate, if his oxygen tank was nearly empty, or turned off by the fall, before anyone came to him. But the flame-things paid them little attention. The men moved little, and then slowly. They watched them reproduce. A tiny branch flame would appear. At first it would be ochre-colored, but as it lengthened it acquired the prismatic character of its parent. Then, abruptly, it broke off, and was a separate individual. It was upon these "infant" flames that most of Markoe's experiments were made--they were unable to discharge the paralyzing ray of their parents, and they could be moved about by persuading them to mount a loose piece of metal. One cabin in the stern Cargyle avoided. It held the dead--a half dozen bodies laid side by side, each under a white sheet. In the sharp mosaic of pale light and deep shadow, these six glimmering shapes, austere and rigid in the final stillness of death, struck a cold foreboding into the beholder. Preserved in the airless cold of space, there was something prophetic in their fixity. On the third day the men closed off the last compartment. They were confined now to the control room, unless they wished to visit Markoe's laboratory, or roam the ship in space-suits. The control cabin contained a separate plant for light, heat and air-renewal. Batteries, and a small generator operated by its own motor and tank of fuel, were banked beneath the floor. It constituted another defense against mutineers. Periodically Wallace took sights and computed their position. Simms made no effort to relieve him. The chief officer had discarded coat and cap; dark hair, uncombed, hung across his forehead. From beneath it his shadowed eyes watched the captain sullenly. Strain marked them all. Some sat in hopeless silence; others restlessly paced the slow hours away. Parker, alone among those aboard the dying _Denebola_, seemed unaffected. He busied himself repairing the damaged equipment, devoting most of his time to the starboard dorsal rocket timer, which resisted all his efforts. Although it sparked each time a terminal was contacted, something inside the timer was out of order, for it boiled and hissed. Once Simms snarled at him: "Parker, you fool! Let it alone! What the hell's the use of that now?" Each compartment was separated from the adjoining one by an airlock, left open when both compartments contained an atmosphere. As Markoe and Cargyle emerged from the airlock they heard Simms' voice. "--and we're desperate, Captain," he was saying. "You're got to call Tracolatown and give them our position. Do you want us to die like rats? How much longer will these batteries last? Perhaps it's too late now. Let Markoe stay here and play with these things if he wants. I'm not!" "Mr. Simms, I've warned you once," said Wallace, sternly. "If you forget yourself again, I shall place you under arrest." "How do you know they will attack another ship, Captain Wallace?" joined in Chapman. "I agree with Simms. We're sacrificing our lives for a trifle. Even if they should transfer with us, the patrol ship that picked us up could get back to Mars before they'd done much damage. Are you going to kill us all to save a few holes in a patrol rocket's hull?" Only one feeble light burned in the pilot cabin; the others were extinguished to conserve power. Cargyle noticed the air had a thick, dry taste to it. * * * * * "I can answer some of those questions, with your permission, sir," said Markoe, stepping forward. Wallace nodded. "Do you realize, Mr. Chapman," continued Markoe, "what it would mean if we led these things back to Mars? They reproduce; multiply where their food supply is greatest. Can't you picture it? From Mars to Earth to Venus. And what would they leave behind?" "You know they're living things, and what their food supply is?" demanded Chapman. "They're not protoplasmic, but what's life? They're alive in the sense we mean. They reproduce. Cargyle and I both have seen them. And as for their food supply--yes, I can tell you definitely what it is. "These things are not matter--they're pure energy. I've seen nothing like it before. They're energy concentrated and undissipating--held together somehow. And that energy behaves in a life-like manner. It feeds on energy, and it grows. "Call them earthworms of space. They break up matter--do something to the big, complex atoms of the heavy elements to break them down. And when they are done, the light, simple atoms are left--hydrogen, and helium. That's what's happening to the _Denebola_--the earthworms of space feed on the energy in the heavy atoms of her metal hull, and we find traces of hydrogen. The rest of it drifts out into space. And that will go on till there's no metal left. They haven't attacked living things. Maybe they can't. But they'll never leave the _Denebola_ while a shred of metal remains. Unless they can be destroyed or driven away there's no hope for us." "You mean--" began Chapman. "I mean, sir, that we dare not call any ship to our assistance while these things exist. I have found no way of destroying them. If we lead them back to Mars, and they prove indestructible, we would doom the system. They would be carried to every planet. And the planets themselves are food for them." "Mightn't other physicists succeed where you fail, Markoe?" asked Chapman, with a sneer. "Maybe you're not as good as you think! We have plenty of brilliant men in the labs and universities. They'd probably lick these spaceworms in no time." "There are many men more brilliant than myself," replied Markoe, ignoring the sneer. "And if they can be destroyed those men would find the way. But it would take time. Time! I am not in error about that, Mr. Chapman. Barring a lucky accident it would take months of experiment. Think of the loss of life that would precede their success! And it's fully possible that they are indestructible. Lord, man! Will you gamble the fate of our whole civilization just to save your own skin? These flames are of disease of metal--maybe a disease of planets. By our oath, we must find the cure--or not return!" "Damned nonsense!" broke in Simms. "To hell with that stuff! Why haven't these flames attacked the planets before, if they're all you say? And if they've just come into the system we can't stop them. They're probably on the planets already. What good will our death do? I don't have to be a physicist to see that these things can live in space. They don't need heat or air. They can go where they like--" "That's where you're wrong, Mr. Simms," interrupted Markoe. "They can't go where they like. It's true they need no atmosphere. But they do need _food_! They can move through empty space only relatively short distances; the force which holds them together consumes tremendous quantities of energy. When the _Denebola_ is gone they will break up, die, if you want to call it that, unless an asteroid or meteor is within their reach. And they aren't new to the system, in my opinion. I suppose they're as old on the asteroids as life is on Earth; older, maybe, but they can't cross the enormous gulf between the asteroid belt and the nearest planets, Mars and Jupiter." "You're space crazy!" retorted Simms. "Why, in that length of time they'd have reduced a quarter of matter a thousand times as great as all the asteroids--" "You forget the distances between the asteroids themselves. The normal 'death-rate' of the earthworms of space on the asteroids must be very high. And their consumption of stone and ore is much slower; I've timed them on samples we collected." * * * * * Simms shook his head, as though to clear it. His eyes were blood-shot and wild, his face sullen. "I don't give a damn for all that! That's just guessing. Maybe he's right and maybe he ain't. I say he's space-crazy, and drunk on bad air. Earthworms of space! Hell! Talk and talk and talk, while we're all dying! Barfield, get Tracolatown! We're calling a patrol ship out to us. Go on, start your set!" "Barfield, sit still!" Wallace's quiet voice was like the sharp edge of a knife. "Mr. Simms, you are under arrest. Mr. Chapman, I remind you that you are an officer. It should not be necessary. I have seen raw apprentices who behaved better--" Chapman made a move toward the captain, belligerently. But Simms was before him. "Do you see that?" he cried, pointing wildly at a port beyond which the cold stars gleamed. "Do you know what that is, out there? It's death! Death, do you understand, you fool? And it's coming in here--it's closing on us, while you stand bleating about--" "He's right, and I'm with Simms," shouted Chapman, suddenly. "Captain or no captain, we're calling Tracolatown, and the rest of you interfere with us at your peril!" A cold stillness, an awful sense of impending disaster grew in that shadowy cabin. Only the captain moved, stepping a pace or two away. His gray eyes under the thick, white brows, were gleaming coldly, and his right hand hung suggestively near the holster at his hip. When he spoke his voice rang with scorn. "Drop your weapons, both of you! You disgrace the service! You are cowards!" "Coward, am I? I'll show you, you old fool!" With the glint of madness burning in his eyes, Simms swung his hand down to his holster, brought it up holding a blastor pistol. Chapman's hand moved. The spell holding Cargyle snapped and he sprang into action. Chapman was nearest him. Cargyle swung from the hip--smashed his fist into the pilot's jaw. The man went over backward; crashed on the floor; lay still. At the same instant two brilliant flashes blazed almost as one in the gloom--two thunderous detonations roared and echoed in the narrow cabin. Cargyle's eyes sought the two principals in the swift drama. For an incredibly protracted moment Simms and the captain stood staring at each other, each bent slightly forward. Cargyle noticed abstractedly that the force of the explosions of their guns had thrown their hands up slightly. Then Simms slowly straightened, stretched, stood tall as he could, muscles straining. Abruptly he collapsed and fell in a limp and lifeless heap upon the floor. Slow blood welled through the back of his shirt. "For Mr. Simms' death I shall take full responsibility, should I ever be in a position to make a report of the occurrence," said Wallace, and thrust his blastor pistol back in its holster. "Parker, Swift--remove his body. And relieve Mr. Chapman of his pistol." * * * * * The slow hours crept by. Men no longer spoke. They sat apart, unmoving, in the shadowed cabin. Markoe alone was absent--at work in his laboratory in the stern; hopeless, but fighting to the last. Parker lay sleeping peacefully. The air was still, and faintly musty. Beyond the ports the stars blazed. The ship was rolling slightly, and at long intervals the sun, small with distance, rose sluggishly in the starboard ports, shot shafts of brighter light into the cabin. In the silence a clock's tick was loud, portentous--a funeral drum attending the passing seconds. With a curse, one of the men got up and stopped its ticking. Cargyle was lost in a deep reverie, remembering Earth, his home, his parents, green fields bright with spring foliage, the great cities he had known, the mountains, seas. In his imagination he heard the music of Earth, and saw the sunrise. It was very far away now, and lost forever. But he had known the price the spaceman paid. He had no regrets. Into his line of vision crept a pale blur of light and his eyes focused on it. It was a flame-thing--one of the earthworms of space. They had at last invaded the pilot cabin. Idly he watched it. It was no more than a foot in length--an "infant." It made a feeble glow against the wall as it came slowly toward them, its tip moving like the tongue of a snake. Parker awoke, and made a small disturbance as he groaned, yawned, and got up and helped himself to water and food. When he gathered his tools and started for the recalcitrant rocket timer one of the anonymous shapes in the shadow growled: "For Lord's sake!" "Go to hell," said Parker, and crouched down over the timer. Cargyle grinned. With so little time left--and to spend it on a broken piece of machinery! But after all, maybe Parker's way was the sanest. He was moving the manual control, and the timer crackled, and spat fat, blue sparks. The flame-thing suddenly recoiled, drew back as though stung. Cautiously it advanced again; again sprang back. It rose upright, stood weaving and swaying. "You fool! Don't you know we're--" "Sure I know!" Parker shut off the timer to turn and answer. "We're going out! To hell with it! Sit there and cry about it, if you want! But before I go I'll know what's wrong with this damned thing!" The "infant" flame was advancing again. Parker switched on the timer, and began his rhythmic movement of the control. The instant the timer began its hissing little beat, the "spaceworm" stopped, sprang erect, began twisting, winding. It had approached quite close. A tiny sound came from it--a thin, high squealing--the first sound Cargyle had ever heard them make. Something strange was happening to the spaceworm. It had lost its unity; its upper end was splitting up into fine threads of twisting color that spread out, separated. The squealing ceased; there was a final faint _pop!_ a brighter flash of color, then the thing was gone! Cargyle at first watched curiously, then with a growing intentness. When the spaceworm vanished he sat staring. Slowly his eyes swung around to the timer, mumbling feebly as Parker moved its control. It spat its brisk, blue sparks. And suddenly Cargyle got it! The timer ... Parker working on it hour after hour ... and no spaceworms in the control cabin--no spaceworms in the cabin till Parker slept, and the timer was still! "Barfield!" he yelled, in a voice that brought the men to their feet. "Send our position! We've won! We're going in!" Lord, was there time? He grabbed up a space-helmet, switched on its tiny set, and shouted into the speaker: "Come back, Markoe! I've found it--the wave-length! Come back!" * * * * * It was simple, the way Markoe explained it later. The lucky accident, the chance in a million, had happened. The field which the broken timer built up when operated neutralized whatever force held the flame-things together. The spaceworms could only retreat before that field; if they were caught in it their cohesion vanished, and their energy fled--they "died." It was only necessary, Markoe said, to analyze and then amplify that field; send it pulsing out into space. Most of the spaceworms would be caught in it instantly, gathered, as they were, upon the _Denebola_. If any were further out in space they would be driven back before the field, or overtaken and destroyed. The heavy hopelessness that had filled the control cabin vanished. Lights went on. Barfield snapped on his set. "The _Denebola_ ... calling Tracolatown. Calling 3TRA45 ... this is the _Denebola_...." Strongly, urgently, the call went out. "Can we last?" Cargyle asked. "If we contact them quickly," replied Wallace. "At the worst, we can hold out a while in space-suits. But we've got to pick up the Tracolatown station soon." Markoe and Parker set to work on the timer; Captain Wallace and Cargyle checked and rechecked their position; everyone seemed to find something to do. But all activity stopped, men stood motionless to listen, as they heard it--faint at first, but swiftly stronger, clearer, even to the tinge of anxiety in the voice. "... where are you, _Denebola_? Report your position at once. We have been calling you. What is your position, _Denebola_? Patrol rocket ready to take off. Tracolatown calling the _Denebola_...." The musty air seemed fresher as that voice echoed in the small control room. 
61845	----	SPACE-LINER X-87 By RAY CUMMINGS The X-87 was a red shambles. It roared the starways, a renegade Venusian at the controls, a swaggering Martian plotting the space-course. And in an alumite cage, deep below-decks, lay Penelle, crack Shadow Squadman--holding the fate of three worlds in his manacled hands. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Summer 1940. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] I am sure that none of you have had the real details of the tragic voyage of last year, which was officially designated as Earth-Moon Flight 9. The diplomacy of Interplanetary relations is ticklish at best. Earth diplomats especially seem afraid of their own shadows if there is any chance of annoying the governments of Venus or Mars, so that by Earth censorship most of the details of that ill-fated voyage of the _X-87_ were either distorted, or wholly suppressed. But the revolution at Grebhar is over now. If those Venus Revolutionists--helped perhaps by Martian money and supplies--had been successful, they would have been patriots. They lost, so they are traitors, and I can say what I like. My name is Fred Penelle. I'm a Shadow Squadman, working in Great-New York and vicinity. Ordinarily I deal with the tracking of comparatively petty criminals. Being plunged into this affair of Interplanetary piracy which threatened to involve three worlds, Heaven knows was startling to me. I had never before even been on any flight into the starways. But I did my best. My part in the thing began that August evening when an audiphoned call came to my home. It was my superior, Peter Jamison, summoning me to City Night-Desk 6. "I've a job for you," he said. "Get here in a hurry, Fred." The audiphone grid showed his televised face; I had never seen it so grim. I live at the outskirts of Great-New York, in northern Westchester. I caught an overhead monorail; then one of the high-speed, sixth level rolling sidewalks and in half an hour was at the S.S. Building, in mid-Manhattan. We S.S. men work in pairs. My partner, as it happened, was ill. "You'll have to go in on this alone," Jamison told me. "And you haven't much time, Fred. The _X-87_ sails at Trinight." "_X-87?_" I murmured. "What's that got to do with me?" Jamison's fat little figure was slumped at his desk, almost hidden by the banks of instruments before him. Then he sat up abruptly, pushed a lever and the insulating screens slid along the doors and windows to protect us from any possible electric eavesdropping. "I can't tell you much," he said with lowered voice. "This comes from the Department of Interplanetary Affairs. The _X-87_ launches at Trinight tonight, for the Moon. They want me to have a man on it. An observer." Jamison's face went even grimmer, and he lowered his voice still further. "Just what they know, or suspect, they didn't tell even me. But there's something queer going on--something we ought to know about. Quite evidently there's some plot brewing against the Blake Irite Corporation. They even hinted that it concerned perhaps both Venus and Mars--" * * * * * You all know the general history of the Moon, of course; but still it will do no harm to sketch it here. It was scarcely twenty years ago when Georg Blake established the first permanent Moon Colony, erecting the first practical glassite air-domes under which one might live and work on the airless, barren surface of our satellite. Two years later, it was the same Georg Blake who discovered the rich irite deposits on the towering slopes of Mt. Archimedes. The Blake Irite Corporation employs twenty thousand workers now. "Mars and Venus have no irite," Jamison was saying. "They import it from us, for their inferior imitations of our gravity plates. And, combined with the T-catalyst, it runs our modern atomic engines and charges our newest long-range atomic guns. The Governments of Mars and Venus are building imitations of those engines. You know about that, Fred?" I nodded. I had heard quite a bit, of course, about the mysterious T-catalyst. It is made only here on Earth--a guarded secret of the Anglo-American Federation, developed by our Government chemists in Great-London. Our War Department uses it for guns, of course. But its use is forbidden elsewhere, save for commercial purposes. Venus and Mars have been under strict guarantee, regarding its use. We have supplied them from time to time with limited quantities, for commercial purposes only. "Do not misunderstand me. I have no possible desire to anger the present legal Governments of the Martian Union, nor the Venus Free State, and thus project myself--just one unimportant Earth-citizen--into a storm of Interplanetary complications. I am not even hinting that Mars or Venus have ever broken, or ever would break, their guarantees by using the T-catalyst for weapons of war. But in Grebhar, a very sizable revolution against the Venus Free State had broken out. That is something very different. A bandit Government. Bandit army--under guarantees to no one." "What's all this got to do with me, and the _X-87_?" I suggested. Jamison flung a swift look around his shadowed, dimly tube-lit office, as though he feared that someone might be lurking here. "The Blake Irite Corporation, on the Moon, needs the T-catalyst for a thousand things," he said slowly. "The engines of their air-renewers throughout that huge network of domes. The engines of their mining equipment--" "You mean it's being stolen from them?" Jamison shrugged. "Maybe." He paused, and then he drew me toward him. "Anyway, the _X-87_, on this Voyage 9 tonight, is taking the largest supply of T-catalyst to the Moon which has ever been transported." Jamison smiled wryly. "You and I, Fred, are among the very few people who know of it. The _X-87_ is not being unduly guarded. That in itself would look suspicious. Every possible precaution has been taken to keep the thing a secret. But there have been queer things happen. Perhaps only coincidences--" "Such as what?" "Well, Georg Blake died, quite mysteriously, a few days ago--" "Murdered?" Again Jamison shrugged. "The whole thing was censored. I don't know any more about it than you do. He has a son and daughter--young Blake, still under twenty--and Nina, his young daughter, who is only sixteen. The management of the entire Moon industry devolves now upon them." I could envisage Interplanetary spies on the Moon--and with the forceful Georg Blake now out of the way, a raid upon that supply of the T-catalyst-- "Little Nina is going back to the Moon this voyage to take control of the company," Jamison was adding. "Her father died--was murdered if you like--here in Great-New York. And to make it still more mysterious, young Blake--the girl's brother--seems to have vanished. There is only Nina--" Queer indeed. And even worse, Jamison now told me that several members of the _X-87's_ crew were ill, and one or two had recently died, so that she was starting on her flight tonight with at least five new men.... * * * * * The little space-ship was to sail at 3 a.m. I had my luggage aboard an hour ahead; and at quarter of three I was loitering on the tube-lit stage watching the passengers bidding good-bye to their friends and then going up the long incline to where the _X-87_ was cradled forty feet overhead. An S.S. Man, without too much equipment, can hide it all pretty comfortably. Most of my small apparatus was tucked into capacious pockets. And with my square-cut jacket buttoned over my weapon belt, I imagine I looked like any ordinary citizen. I was booked as a mathematics clerk, going to the Moon to take a position in the bookkeeping department of the Blake Company. I'm smallish, and dark--and not too handsome, my friends tell me. Just an unobtrusive fellow whom nobody would particularly notice. I certainly hoped now that that would prove to be so. "How many passengers this voyage?" I asked young Len Smith, who was standing here on the landing shed beside me. He was a slim, handsome fellow, the _X-87's_ radio-helio operator, ornate and exceedingly dapper in his stiff white-and-gold uniform. "Damned if I know. Fifteen or twenty maybe. Usually are about that many." A big seven-foot Martian stopped near us, directing the attendants who were carrying his luggage. "Who's that?" I murmured to Len Smith. Dr. Frye, the _X-87's_ surgeon--a weazened little fellow with a grim, saturnine face and scraggly iron-gray hair--had joined us. He answered me. "Set Mokk, he calls himself." "Going to the Moon, for what?" I persisted. Dr. Frye shrugged. "Passengers aren't required to give their family history. Set Mokk is a wealthy man in Ferrok-Shahn, I understand. An enthusiastic Interplanetary traveler--" Len, the young helio operator, diverted my attention. "Have a look," he murmured. "There comes Nina Blake. If she isn't a little beauty I'm a sub-cellar track-sweeper." Now I'm not much for girls, but I don't mind stating thus publicly that Nina Blake struck me then as the most strikingly beautiful girl of any world whom I had ever seen. As she came past, I saw that four stalwart attendants of the _X-87_ were carrying a long oblong box; one of her pieces of luggage. Quite obviously she was particularly concerned over it; she followed it closely, and signaled the men to precede her with it up the incline. I got away from Len Smith and Dr. Frye and was up the incline close after Nina Blake. I saw the squat, square-rigged figure of Capt. Mackensie come forward to greet the girl, his most distinguished passenger. Instantly she spoke to the men carrying the oblong box, and they set it on end beside her on the desk; and at her gesture, they moved away. * * * * * Nobody noticed me as I got up to that box and stood in its shadow. I had no particular motive, save perhaps my instinct as an S.S. Man to probe anything that puzzles me. And suddenly I heard Nina say softly: "No. I'm not--too frightened, Captain. I'll be quite all right." That stiffened me. But a far greater shock came almost instantly afterward. The girl was whispering now to Mackensie, their voices too low for me to hear. She was leaning partly against the upright box, and I saw her slim white hand furtively roving it, one of her fingers pressing what might have been a hidden lever. The sleek, polished side of the box was close to my head--and abruptly, from within it, I seemed to hear a faint muffled, ticking sound! A mechanism in the huge box which the girl's furtive hand had started! It was a slow, rhythmic tick, and a faint swishing. "Oh, you, Penelle. Come here--I want you to meet Miss Blake." Captain Mackensie had noticed me, and his gesture brought me to join them. For a moment we stood in a group as I was introduced. Nina's hand had darted to the box again, perhaps to stop the ticking. "Your first flight, Penelle?" Mackensie was saying. His voice was booming, hearty, loud enough to carry to any of the passengers and crew who were near us here on the dim side-deck. Jamison had told me that of everyone on the _X-87_, only Captain Mackensie would be aware of my true identity and purpose. I caught his significant glance now as he shot it at me from under his heavy gray-black brows. And then abruptly he stepped nearer to me. "Never talk secretly to me," he murmured. "No insulation here. You take care of Miss Blake. Say nothing--keep your eyes wide. When we get to the Moon--" I stiffened, went cold, with my heart suddenly pounding. My hand darted out, gripped the captain's arm. "Wait!" I murmured. On my chest, underneath my shirt, a flat, round little detector-grid was abruptly glowing warm against my flesh. An interference current was overcharging its low-pressure wires so that they were heating and burning me. An eavesdropping current! No one save a Government criminal-tracker may legally use an eavesdropping ray. But there was one here, listening to us now! I murmured it to Mackensie; turned and darted away. A dim door oval was nearby. I went through it, into a narrow, tube-lit corridor of the ship's superstructure. Momentarily no one was here; there was just the dim, vaulted little arcade, gleaming pallidly silver from its fittings and trim of alumite with rows of cabin doorways on each side. The name-plates glowed with the names of the occupants for this voyage. All the doors were closed; a few faint voices from passengers in the cabins were vaguely audible. * * * * * At a cross-corridor I stopped. Was someone here able to watch me? From my shirt I drew out the little detector-grid. It was cooling now, but still its direction needle was swaying. The source of the current seemed ahead of me in this cross corridor. How far, I could not say--the distance gauge-point was swiftly dropping to zero. The eavesdropping current had been snapped off. Wherever he was, this listener knew now that we were aware of him. On my padded, felt-soled shoes I dashed ahead to where the corridor widened into a tiny smoking lounge. "Oh, you Penelle? What's the matter? Can't you find your cubby?" It was Dr. Frye, the ship's surgeon. Fortunately, he did not see the Banning heat-flash gun in my hand. He was sprawled here in a chair, smoking. His thin face grinned up at me. "Ask the purser your location," he added. His gesture waved me toward the purser's tiny office-cubby down the opposite corridor. "Thanks," I agreed. The purser's cubby was unoccupied. I passed it, came to the stern end where the superstructure stopped and the side decks converged into a triangle of open deck under the dome at the pointed stern. There were a few passengers lounging around and deckhands moving at their tasks of uncradling the vessel which now was ready to take off. Over at a glassite bull's-eye window in the side pressure-wall, the big Martian, Set Mokk, was standing, gazing at the people on the lower stage. And suddenly, from the shadow of a cargo-shifter near at hand, a blob of figure detached itself and moved away. In a moment the deck-light gleamed on it; a member of the crew--squat, bent, misshapen gargoyle shape; a hideous Earth-man hunchback, with dangling gorilla-like arms that swayed as he walked. Then I saw his face; ghastly countenance, lumped with disease, a mouth that seemed to leer and eyes with puckered rims--eyes that seemed to glare at me with impish malevolence as he shambled past me and vanished around the other side deck. In a few minutes more, with a blast of sirens, the little _X-87_ trembled, lifted nose first from its cradle and was away, slanting up into the night. The lights of the giant city dropped beneath us. I stood at one of the side bull's-eyes watching them as they dwindled into a blob, merged with other lights of other cities along the coast. I had been up into the stratosphere many times, of course, but this was to be my first flight into Interplanetary Space. I could envisage our gleaming silver vessel now, tiny little cylinder with pointed ends, alumite keel-bottom and the great rounded glassite dome on top, as we slid so swiftly up out of the atmosphere. A little world now to ourselves. The little vessel pounded and quivered with the vibrations of its disintegrating atomic rocket-streams at the stern. Then as we slid into the upper reaches of the stratosphere, the rocket engines were silenced; the gravity-plates were de-insulated, set with Earth-repulsion as we swung toward the gleaming half-moon ahead and over our bow. The ship was vibrationless now. All movement seemed detached from us. Alone in Space we seemed hovering, poised. The voyage of doom had begun. * * * * * "Apparently you have not suffered from the miserable pressure sickness," Ollog Torio said. "Or have you, Set Mokk?" "I have not. We Martians are made of sterner stuff. Is that not so, Dr. Frye?" "Well," the saturnine little surgeon said, "well, for you, yes, Set Mokk. But Martians are humans, like anybody else. I have seen them in distress, upon occasion, when the pressure changes too fast, coming out of the atmosphere." Four of us were sitting on the triangle of the _X-87's_ bow deck--the towering, swaggering Martian Set Mokk, slumped in his chair, wrapped in his great cloak with his hairy brown legs like huge pillars of strength crossed beneath it, revealed by its flair; the weazened, morose-looking Dr. Frye, and Ollog Torio. I had just met this Venusian. Like most of them from our sister planet, Torio was slender, graceful, with the characteristic finely chiseled features, grayish skin and heavy black brows. He seemed a man of perhaps forty. Romantic in dress and bearing. His hair was sleek and black, with gray streaks in it. His pointed face, accentuated by a pointed, waxed beard, was pallid. His robe was white and purple, with a white ruff at his slender throat. He was, I understood, a wealthy man, a retired capitalist from Grebhar. It was now, by the established ship-time, what might be termed mid-evening. The passengers had had two meals, and a normal time of sleep. They were dispersed about the little vessel, gathered in groups, gazing with a natural awe through the side bull's-eyes at the wonders of the great dome of the Heavens, spread now around us. My first trip into Space. It would be out of place here for me to describe that queer, awed, detached feeling everyone gets, especially at his first view of the vast blackness of Interstellar Space with its blazing white stars. Behind us, the Earth hung, a great dull red ball, blurred and mottled with cloud-banks. The stern deck triangle gleamed dull-red. But up here in the bow the Moon hung round and white. We were still in the cone of the Earth's shadow. The moonlight here drenched the deck like liquid silver. In romance, moonlight shimmers and sparkles to inspire a lover's smile. But the reality of the Moon is cold, bleak and desolate. Even without a telescope now, I could see the etched heights of the great lunar mountains. Archimedes, Copernicus and Kepler lay in full sunlight. The heights glared; the depths of the barren, empty seas were black pools of inky shadow. The great Mare Imbrium was solid, mysterious darkness. I had been awed by the wonders of Space. But the feeling was past now, engulfed by the sense of disaster which more than ever was upon me. The Earth-light on our rear deck seemed to symbolize it. Red--as though already that deck were bathed in blood. I found myself shuddering. Somewhere on board--I had no idea where--a treasure of the precious T-catalyst was hidden. Had that fact leaked out? Why was the beautiful little Nina Blake so flooded with secret terror? What was the huge coffin-like trunk, which sounded like a time-bomb? The box, I knew, had been placed in her sleeping cubby.... And back in the S.S. Building my superior, Jamison, had said something which damnably now hung in my memory: "You keep your eyes and ears open, Fred. Things are not likely to be what they seem, on that voyage." Accursed ineptitude of Earth's Interplanetary Relations Board, that would let a condition such as this come to pass! I felt wholly alone here, coping with God knows what. "Things are not likely to be what they seem." I found myself tensely suspicious of everything, of everybody. This swaggering Martian, Set Mokk--he was sitting now, gazing at me as though appraisingly, his lips twitching in a half-smile of sardonic humour. This Ollog Torio--was he what he seemed, just a wealthy traveler? Even little Dr. Frye, the Ship's Surgeon--I could not forget that when I had tried to nab that eavesdropper, it was Dr. Frye, gazing at me from his seat alone in the ship's smoking lounge, whom I had encountered. * * * * * "So you are going to the Moon to work for the Blake Company?" the Venus man was saying. He spoke English with only a trace of the prim, precise Venus accent. "Yes," I agreed. "Mathematics clerk. It will be a novel experience for me, on the moon--" "Quite," Set Mokk said out of his reverie. "Quite novel." Did they really think I was a mathematics clerk? Someone here on board suspected me; that eavesdropper had turned his ray upon me quickly enough when I had stood talking to Captain Mackensie.... "You're having bad times in Grebhar," little Dr. Frye said presently to Torio. "How is the revolution going? We hear so little by helio--and most of it censored by your Venus Free State." The slim Torio shrugged. "The fighting was in the mountains only, when I was there. I think those rebels will not make out too well." "Rebels," I said. "If they lose, they will be traitors, worthy of death. But if they win, I expect you'll call them patriots?" That made the hulking Martian laugh. "Human behavior is practical, never idealistic. The original right or wrong will be forgotten. It is only results that count." "I pay little attention to it," Torio said blandly. "Venus should be for love, for romance. I have no stomach for killing." "Speaking of romance," Dr. Frye interjected. "Here comes our Earth version of it." We were all on our feet as the small, black and white clad, trousered figure of Nina Blake emerged from the end corridor of the superstructure. She hesitated; then took a seat among us. Her cloak was off; the moonlight and starlight bathed her with its silver. Was the terror still upon her? I could not at first tell. She was quiet, composed. We men were all smoking little white arrant cylinders. She told us smilingly to continue. But as she stretched herself in the cushioned chair, between me and Torio, it seemed that the flash of her gaze upon me carried relief--as though in me she had her only protector here on the ship. "The little Earth-lady is very gracious," Torio commented with Venus smoothness as he lighted one of the cylinders. "I have always maintained that in the lush forests of Venus are the only really beautiful women in the Universe. I shall have to revise that now, Miss Blake." She flushed a little under the boldness of his gaze. And he laughed. "That makes you even more beautiful. 'Flinging back a million starglints, the depths of Space remind me of Thine eyes,'" he quoted. I am only an S.S. Man. Far be it from me now, so publicly to write what might cause Miss Nina Blake any offense. I try to state only what happened. There is no one, I feel sure, who could sit beside her and not be stirred by her beauty in that drenching moonlight. But to Torio, pretty speeches came with a laugh. Instinctive. It annoyed me. I might as well admit it. For a time our little group chatted. Then, one by one, the men wandered away. Was it that one of them wanted to observe Nina and me alone? I could not help the thought as I leaned toward her. "Easy now. Quiet!" And then I said aloud, "That Venus man makes very pretty speeches, Miss Blake. To us of Earth, they do not come so naturally." Her startled gaze at my warning relaxed into a laugh--a laugh like silver glints of moonlight on a mountain stream. "No woman can pretend that she dislikes them." "No. I suppose not." I guess I was really pretty earnest; unsmiling; breathless. I was making conversation with the feeling that someone was watching us trying to lip-read perhaps, not daring to use a ray. But my talk was more than acting; I really meant it. "A Venus man needn't think he has a monopoly on pretty speeches," I added. "Inspired by the moonlight?" "And you," I replied, smiling at her. Adorable little dimples showed in her cheeks as she grinned at me. "Thank you, sir." Then she leaned closer. "You tell the Captain--Torio and Mokk--in the corridor a while ago--" "Easy! Cover your mouth. You heard them?" "Yes. Whispering. Eight men--five in the crew--" "I'm only a mathematics clerk," I said. "But beauty like yours, Miss Blake--it makes me wish I were King. King of the Universe." "That would be very nice," she laughed. "Yes. Wouldn't it? 'If I were King, ah love, if I were King, the stars would be your pearls upon a string; the world a ruby for your finger ring; and you could have the sun and moon to wear--if I were King.'" And I meant it. Surely no man ever made love under such a handicap as this! I bent closer over her, with the perfume of her intoxicating me; and she whispered, "You tell him I'm afraid--tonight--at the next time of sleep--" * * * * * She suddenly checked herself, with a sharp sucking intake of her breath as she stared down the deck. My gaze followed hers. From the gloom beside the superstructure some twenty feet from us, a shadow had detached itself--misshapen shadow; that hunchback, malevolent looking member of the crew. He went shambling past us, with a coil of rope from a cargo shifter in his hand. Did his sudden appearance strike terror into Nina? She was holding herself tense; not speaking, nor glancing at me, but staring seemingly fascinated by the man's gargoyle aspect. He perhaps did not notice us, and yet I had the feeling that his little eyes under the lumpy forehead had flung us a peering glance. When he had gone past and vanished, back toward the stem on the other side deck, it seemed to me that the girl was shuddering. "What is it?" I whispered. "N-nothing." "You're afraid of that fellow, Nina?" "No! Oh no!" Her unnecessary vehemence seemed to belie her words. The thing had so startled me that I had relaxed my caution. I realized it, as abruptly, from the ladder-steps which led up to the control turret on the roof of the superstructure almost over us, a long, lanky, white-uniformed figure was disclosed coming down. It was the ship's First Officer, young William Wilson. He was a handsome young giant. He smiled at us--mostly at Nina, and lounged into the chair beside her. I had no further chance to be with the girl alone. A light meal was served us by one of the stewards, there on deck. The radio-helio operator, young Len Smith, had joined us. The squat, heavy-faced James Polter, ship's Purser, added himself to us; and then the fat, jolly, moon-faced little Peter Green, Second Officer, came puffing down from the chart room behind the control turret and drew up a chair. It was as though the girl were a magnet. I left them presently. From back along the side-deck where I stood apparently gazing through a bull's-eye at the vast wonders of the glittering Heavens in which the little _X-87_ was hanging, I could see the group of men around Nina on the fore-deck, a gay little party in the moonlight. Why was Nina so terrified of that ugly hunchback? I had inquired about him casually from young Len Smith. His name was Durk; a new member of the crew, engaged to replace one of those so mysteriously sick. This was his first voyage.... Five of the crew, Nina had said. I was to tell the Captain about it. Vehemently now I wanted a talk with Mackensie. We'd have to chance an eavesdropper; if I was alert, my detector should warn me; and the promptness with which we had discovered the eavesdropping ray before, I figured would warn the fellow not to use it again. It would have been, by Earth-routine, perhaps eleven p.m. The passengers were retiring to their sleeping cubbies. The decks now were almost deserted. I went up one of the side ladders to the superstructure roof. It glittered with starlight that came down through the glassite pressure dome which arched close overhead here. The superstructure roof was a rectangular deck space, a hundred feet long perhaps, by thirty wide. A low railing surrounded it at which one might look down upon the lower side decks. Chairs were scattered about up here, all of them unoccupied. Amidships was the little kiosk which housed the radio-helio equipment, with young Smith's sleeping cubby adjacent to it. The place was closed and locked now. Aft of it there was open deck space to where the roof-deck ended, with the stern deck-triangle a level below, where the earth-light still was red like blood. I turned forward. The chart room backed against the control turret. The chart room was dark. In the control turret I could see Capt. Mackensie at the controls, his squat, square figure etched by moonlight. Would this be a good time to try and talk with him? I started forward. The party down on the forward deck was just dispersing; I saw the boyish figure of Nina, starting for the superstructure corridor, with the giant handsome William Wilson escorting her. And then Dr. Frye came up the front ladder, went into the control turret and joined Mackensie. I turned aft; it was no time to see Mackensie now. * * * * * Suddenly I stopped, melted down into a black shadow near the helio kiosk and flattened myself on the deck. An S.S. Man, so they say, developes a sixth sense. Maybe so. Certainly I didn't see anything, nor hear anything. But I was aware that someone, or something, was up here on the silent deck with me. Perhaps it was a sense of smell; my nostrils dilated with the impression that the faint drift of artificial air up here had somehow changed its quality. Was there something artificially invisible stalking here? The Groff magnetic cloaks, so recently perfected, are closely held by Governmental orders. Even we S.S. Men seldom use them. But it is a queer thing--no matter what devices you use in crime-tracking, you may be pretty sure the criminal has them to use against you. I tried my infra-red glasses. They disclosed nothing save the glowing heat of the ventilators where the warm air was coming up. The nearest I had to an eavesdropper was a pair of low-scale phones. In a second or two I adjusted them; tuned them. The myriad blended tiny sounds of the ship's interior gave me nothing that I could identify. And then it seemed that there was a very faint hissing--something, quite near me, which should not have been here. Banning heat-gun in hand, I prowled around to the other side of the helio kiosk. How that lurking intruder got away, I don't know. To this day I have no idea. Doubtless he heard or saw me, and slid along the line of deck-shadows in a magnetic cloak, getting away so swiftly that my infra-red glasses could not pick up the heat of his body or his mechanism. At all events he was gone. There was nothing but a faint chemical smell. And then, on the metal of the helio-room door, I saw a burned spot near the lock where his heat-torch just for a second had started its hissing; and then he had become aware of me and had taken flight. Someone trying to break into Smith's helio room! That would have taken me to Captain Mackensie whether Dr. Frye was there or not. But abruptly, again I went tense, so suddenly startled that the blood seemed to chill in my veins. The low-scale magnifiers were still in my ears, murmuring with a chaos of tiny, meaningless sounds. My metal heel-tip by chance must have struck a metal cross-beam of the deck. Abruptly I heard a voice, which at that second must have been raised louder than it had been an instant before. "Oh please! Oh my God, no!" A girl's voice, gasping that fragment in an anguish of terror. Nina's voice! * * * * * I frantically tuned the magnifiers, to clarify it; but I lost it and could not get it back. Nina's voice, seemingly from her sleeping-cubby, which I knew was just about under me in the superstructure. I went down the side companion ladder with a rush; ducked into a nearby cross corridor. It was dim, silent and empty. The name-plates glowed on the doors. I came to hers, with its glowing greenish letters, _Nina Blake_. Without the earphones there was only silence here now. For a second I stood, gun in hand, undecided. The door probably was locked; I did not dare try it to see. With my heat-torch, or even with a flash of the Banning gun, I could melt away the flimsy lock in a few seconds. But would that be quick enough? If one of the villains were in there with her now, and I blasted the door and startled him, his first move might be to kill her.... Tick-tick ... tick-tick.... With naked ears I suddenly realized that I was hearing the ticking from the big coffin-shaped box in her room.... Tick-tick ... tick-tick.... Rhythmic ... gruesome.... I own that my fingers were trembling as I crouched there by the door and adjusted my headphone.... The ticking rose to hammering thuds. Or was it my own pounding heart?... The hammering seemed to drown a tiny whisper of voices. Someone was in there with her, unquestionably. I have no apologies for what an S.S. Man must do under stress. High over the top of the door there was a small transom-like opening, covered by a metal grillework. I could see faint tubelight glowing up there from within her room. I backed across the corridor, adjusting with hurried fingers my miniature projector of the Benson curve-ray. In another second its faint violet stream leaped from my hand in a crescent up to the grille. Curved light-rays, an arc through the grille and down into her room, bringing me along its curved path a faint distorted vista of the scene inside. And then I heard her low voice quivering with terror: "No! No, Jim--don't--" James Polter, the Purser? In that confused second I stared along the Benson curve-light. Just an edge of the coffin-shaped box, which was lying flat on the floor against one wall, was visible to me. In the center of the dim room, Nina was standing--beautiful, slim little figure in a pale-rose, filmy negligee, with her dark hair streaming down over her pink-white shoulders. Her back was to me as she gazed at the deck window. It was a dark oval, with the shadows of the side-deck outside. And in that second the blob of a man was visible in the window. I could only glimpse the hunched outline of him as he scrambled through, dropped to the deck and fled. * * * * * There was a cross corridor here which led directly to the forward end of that starboard side deck. I dashed its length; reached the deck. It was empty. That was my first confused impression; then as I whirled aft, I saw a blob on it, near the other end of the superstructure. A blob which rhythmically moved, sidewise and back again. And in the silence, there was the squish of water. It was the hunchback deckhand. He was swabbing the deck, with a mop and a pail of water. I slowed my pace as I approached him, and dropped the Banning gun into my pocket. Could he by any wild chance, have been the figure I saw climb out of Nina's window? It seemed impossible. "Evening, Durk," I said. I stopped beside him. His lumpy, disease-ridden face came up as he shot me a glance. "Even-sir," he muttered. His bulbous lips were parted, as though perhaps with a panting breath. The idea turned me cold. What ghastly hold could this fellow have upon Nina? I can't pretend to describe my emotions at that moment. Nina wasn't screaming now to tell that a man had forced himself into her room. She was willing to keep it secret. Or perhaps too terrorized to do anything else. "What's your name?" I said pleasantly. I had stopped beside him; was lighting an arrant cylinder. "You said my name, sir. It's Durk." His muttered voice was thick. The sort of voice one might use to disguise its natural tone? Was it that? "Oh, yes. Durk," I agreed. "Jim Durk? You're a new man, aren't you?" "First voyage, yes sir. But my name's Pete Durk." Surely he was breathing too hard for a man scrubbing a deck--much more like a man who had been running. "My first voyage too," I said. I started on; then turned back. "By the way, have you seen Mr. Polter? I was looking for him." "The Purser, sir? I'm thinkin' he should be in his office." I nodded; turned the superstructure corner; went into the main corridor. Polter's little office cubby had a light in it. He was sitting there casting up his accounts. Jim Polter. I had heard half a dozen people call him that. Nina's voice came echoing back into my mind.... "No--no Jim, don't--" Was this the fellow who had climbed out of her window just a few moments ago? His desk light illumined his squat, thick-set figure. He was a man of perhaps forty. He glanced up at my step. "Hello, Mr. Penelle. You're up late." "Just going in," I said. Polter was smoking. The fragile ash on the little white paper cylinder was nearly an inch long. I passed on. At Nina's door I briefly paused. There was no sound. The ventilator grille overhead was dark now. Upon impulse I pressed her buzzer. "Yes? Who is it?" "It's I. Fred Penelle." Her door opened an inch; the sheen of light in the corridor showed her white face framed by the flowing black hair. A wave of her perfume came out to me. "What--what is it?" she murmured. "Are you all right?" I whispered lamely. "Yes. Yes--of course." And she added still more softly, "You're taking too much chance--here like this. The Captain--did you tell the Captain--what I told you--" "I'm going there now." She closed the door. I stood with the sudden realization that I might be going beyond my job as an S.S. Man; my personal interest in this girl leading me to pry into her private affairs. But the feeling was brief. The terror was still in her eyes; I could not miss it. I decided then to go to Mackensie in the control turret. Someone had tried to melt into the helio room. Mackensie must be told it. Heaven knows, there never had been an S.S. Man who felt as helpless as I did at that moment. I could not determine whether I should tell the Captain what I had seen and heard in Nina's room, or not. How much Mackensie himself knew of what might be going on, I could not guess. And there was not another person on the _X-87_ whom I could trust! It was as though I were wholly alone here, with lurking murderers in every shadow, watching their chance--waiting perhaps for a predetermined time when they would come into the open and strike. * * * * * I was part way along the corridor when without warning my body rose in the air. Like a balloon I went to the low vaulted ceiling, struck it gently, rebounded, and floated diagonally back to the floor, where I landed in a heap! Heaven knows, it was startling. For those seconds I had been weightless, the impulse of my last step wafting me up, and my thud against the ceiling knocking me back again. The weird loss of weight was gone at once; I was close to the floor when I felt myself drop down to it. And I scrambled to my feet. My heart was thumping; I knew what had happened. In the base of the ship, artificial gravity controls gave us Earth's normal gravity on board. Without them, the slight mass of the _X-87_ would give a gravity pull so negligible that everything in its interior would be almost without weight. Len Smith, the young helio operator, had taken me around the little vessel just before the voyage began, explaining me its mechanisms. I remembered the room of magnetic controls, where the _X-87's_ artificial gravity was regulated. A young technician named Bentley had been there. I had spoken to him a moment. He and his partner alternated on duty there throughout all the voyage. And the artificial gravity controls now were being tampered with! For just a second or two, this particular area of the corridor here had been cut off, so that as I came to the de-magnetized area my step had tossed me to the ceiling. The floor section was normal now; I stepped out on it gingerly to test it. Why was Bentley experimenting with his controls? Surely that never went wrong by accident. If I could catch Bentley at it--force him to explain--Or was it someone else tampering with the complex gravitational mechanisms down there?... I remembered the location of the little magnetic control room; rushed to the nearest descending ladder. The lower level, down in the hull, was a metal catwalk, with side aisles leading into suspended tiny rooms. Freight storage compartments bow and stern; air renewal systems; pressure mechanisms; heating and ventilating systems. Beneath me, at the bottom of the hull, were the rooms of gravity plate-shifting mechanisms--compressed air shifters of the huge hull gravity plates by which the course of the ship through Space was controlled. I was not concerned with them--merely with the magnetic artificial gravity of the vessel's interior. The little magnet room was near it hand; its door was open, with its blue tubelight streaming out. No one was in sight to see me, apparently, as I padded swiftly along the catwalk. From the distant bow and stern mess-rooms I could hear the faint blended murmuring voices of some of the crew who were off duty. I came to the magnetic room doorway. The room seemingly was empty. The banks of dials, switches and levers which governed the different areas of the ship were ranged up one wall. They all seemed in normal operation; none of the tiny warning trouble-lights were illumined. Bentley's little table, with his pack of arrant cylinders and a scroll book he had evidently been reading, was here with its empty chair before it. * * * * * And then I saw him! He was lying sprawled, face down, over in a corner, with a monstrous shadow from the table upon him, and just the faint glow of the electronic flourescent tubes painting his dark worksuit so that I noticed him. He was dead; I turned him over, stooping beside him. His chest was drilled with a pencilray of heat, presumably from a low-caliber Banning gun.... "Don't move, Penelle! I've got you!" I stiffened at the sound of the low, menacing voice in the dimness behind me. "Leave that gun where it is. Put your hands up and turn around. By God if you try anything funny, I'll drill you through. I've got you covered." I was kneeling by the body of Bentley, with my gun on the floor-grid beside me. With hands up, I slowly turned. The tall figure of William Wilson, the ship's First Officer loomed over me with the tubelight gleaming on his white and gold uniform. He was staring down grimly; he held a small heat-gun at his hip, leveled at me. Out in the open at last. So this was one of the criminals; the fellow who had tried to melt into the helio room? The eavesdropper? The man who had been in Nina's room? Heaven knows, of all on board, I had least suspected him. He thought, of course, he had me trapped. But you can't capture an S.S. Man just by holding a gun on him and telling him to put up his hands. Even with my hands up, and the Banning gun on the floor beside me,--I could have pointed my left shoulder at him, drilled him with a stab of heat from the heat-ray embedded in the padded shoulder of my jacket. My right elbow was pressing my side to fire it, with all my body tensed to try and drop under what might have been his answering shot. But I didn't fire. His next words checked me. "So you're not just a mathematics clerk--a damned murderer here on board! Get up! We're going up to Mackensie." I stared as his foot kicked at my gun, and he swiftly stooped and picked it up. "Come on," he added with a rasp. "Climb to your feet, Penelle. We'll see what the Captain has to say about this--" "That suits me," I murmured. I said nothing more. Docilly I let him shove me in advance of him, up the ladder, along the dim main corridor, up the companionway from the starlit bow deck triangle to the little catwalk bridge in front of the turret. * * * * * Fortunately we encountered no one. At his telescope in the peak of the bow, the forward lookout turned and gazed at us curiously. The dim control turret was empty, eerie with the spots of fluorescent light from its banks of instruments. The controls were locked for the vessel's present course. The door oval to the adjacent chart room was open. Mackensie was alone in there, plotting the _X-87's_ future course on a chart. He stared blankly as the grim young Wilson shoved me in upon him. "Caught this damned fellow in the magnet-room, Captain. He's killed Bentley. By God--something queer's in the air this voyage. Bentley murdered--" Mackensie's first stare of startled amusement as I was shoved captive before him, faded into horror. His heavy, square jaw dropped. "Bentley murdered? Good Lord--why--what ..." "Somebody was tampering with the ship's gravity," I murmured swiftly. "I felt it go off in a section of the main corridor--went down to the magnet-room. Bentley's there dead--drilled through the chest--" "Bentley killed? Murder, here on my ship! Why, by the Gods of the starways--" Big Mackensie was momentarily stupified, his eyes widened, his heavy face mottled an apoplectic red with his rush of anger. "I caught this fellow Penelle--" young Wilson began. "Don't be an ass," Mackensie roared. "He's a Government crime-tracker--stationed here on board this voyage--" My gesture tried to stop him. "Easy Captain. Listeners might be on us--" The chart room door, here beside us, which opened onto the superstructure roof, was closed. But the small oval window beside it, also facing sternward, was open. I dashed to it. The dim roof deck seemed empty. I noticed a light in Len Smith's helio cubby. I drew down the metal shade of our window. Whirled back. The astonished young Wilson stared at me in numbed amazement. "They're coming into the open," I murmured. "Look here, Captain, we've got to plan--" "Why--why, good Lord--I thought we were guarding against a plot on the Moon--" "Well, we're not. It's here--now--" I told him what Nina had said; five of the crew. The new men, placed here on board. And how many of the officers might be in it-- "Why--why good Lord--" Mackensie was completely stricken. For an instant that floored me. I saw him now as a Captain of the old school--bluff, roaring; the sort of fellow who on a surface vessel would deal grimly and ruthlessly with mutineers. But he was frightened now; frightened and confused. "Why--why Penelle--you mean to think that here on my ship--" "Ready to strike--now," I murmured. I told him about the burned place on the helio room door. He could only stare, numbed. And now the murder of Bentley--the first tangible attack our adversaries had made. Who were they? Five of the crew--that would include the hunchback Durk ... Mokk, the Martian? Ollog Torio, the pallid Venus man? Some of the other passengers maybe? And of the ship's officers, whom could we trust? "Why--why all of them, by God," Mackensie murmured, as I voiced it. "I wouldn't have traitors on my staff--" But this treasure of the T-catalyst--it might be worth a million decimars to the Venus revolutionists. And money can buy men--even men who have long been in honest service. The Second Officer--fat, jolly little Peter Green--he perhaps could be trusted. James Polter, the Purser? Of him I could not guess. Dr. Fyre, the Surgeon? Even with a plugged, counterfeit thousandth part of a decimar, I wouldn't take my eyes off him. * * * * * The handsome young giant, Wilson, stood gazing at us now in blank horror. He was hardly more than a boy. Quite evidently he knew completely nothing of what was going on. "But what are we going to do?" Mackensie was stammering. Then he spluttered, "By the God's I won't have this sort of thing on my ship. I'll muster them all up here--find out who this damned murderer is--" I seized him. "Easy Captain." Then I bent closer to him. "Captain Mackensie--things I don't understand yet about this. That big box in Miss Blake's room--" And on impulse I whispered: "Someone was climbing out her window a while ago. She called him Jim. She's in terror of him. Captain, see here, you've got to tell me everything about this." For an instant, his spluttering ineptitude left him. "I can't," he murmured. "That--that isn't mine to tell. Don't ask it, Penelle." Then he swung back to his own troubles. "What do you think we ought to do? By heaven--I'll turn back to Earth. Turn the whole damn ship's company over to the authorities." We were now some forty thousand miles from Earth--just about a sixth of the way to the Moon. "And have them see us swing?" I murmured. "Wouldn't that precipitate whatever it is they're planning to do?" Three of us here, in the control turret and chart room--and except for Nina, down there alone in her cabin, so far as I really knew, everyone else on the ship might be against us. Swiftly I questioned Mackensie. The _X-87_ was not equipped with any long-range guns, and very few side arms. What there were, we had now with us here in the chart room. Mackensie gestured to the little arsenal-locker, here in one of the walls beside us. "Are the crew members allowed to be armed?" I demanded. "Good Heavens, no!" "But they will be," young Wilson put in. "Mutineers will be armed--" There was no argument on that. And each of the officers normally carried one small heat gun. Here in the chart room we had perhaps a half dozen of the heat ray projectors; a few old-fashioned weapons of explosion; powder rifles and automatic revolvers; a small collection of miscellaneous glass bombs--loaded with gas; darkness bombs; a few of the "fainting bombs," as they are popularly called--detonators, with tiny shrapnel impregnated with acetylcholine, which, when introduced into the blood stream by a fragment of shrapnel, instantly lowers the blood pressure so that the victim faints but is not otherwise damaged. And we had two or three small hand projectors of the Benson curve-light, with a device by which we could project the heat ray in a curve as well. "Well, if I don't turn back, then I'll helio my owners for instructions," Mackensie was saying. It sounded futile. What could financiers back at their desks in Great-New York have to do with us, embattled out here in Space, barricaded in our little chart room? "Send a helio for the Interplanetary Patrol," I suggested. "A call for help. If we could contact one of the roving police vessels--" "Not a one in telescopic sight," Mackensie murmured. "I had a routine report on that a few hours ago." "Well, we might as well try anyway." Would the pirates be aware of our efforts? Would it bring an attack from them? My only idea was to stall the situation here, whatever it might be. That, and summon help. Then I had another thought: young Len Smith, the helio man--could he be trusted? "Why--I suppose so," Mackensie stammered. And then he jerked himself out of his terror; his huge hamlike fist banged down on the chart room table, making his calipers and compasses jump. "Damnation, I'll find out quick enough which of my men are loyal. We'll fight this thing through. Penelle, you go tell Smith to get off a distress call. Blast the ether with it--call Interplanetary police. Tell Smith to keep at it till he raises one. You stay with him and see, by God, that he does it. You, Wilson, open up that cupboard--get out the weapons. I'll have my damned officers up here." * * * * * As I started for the door I gripped him, whispered: "Captain--where have you got the T-catalyst hidden?" It startled him. For a second I saw that he was wondering if he could even trust me with the knowledge. Then he gestured. "Over there," he murmured with his lips against my ear. "Little safe hidden in that wall-panel. You press a spring at the left molding. The catalyst is in a small lead cylinder--Gamma-ray insulated." I nodded. "Only one other man on board knows that," he whispered. "If anything happens to me--or him--" Him? Who? I had no time to ask. Mackensie had flung open the door; shoved me out onto the deck. It still seemed deserted; dim with starlight from the glassite dome overhead. Amidships, some forty feet from me, the light in Smith's little helio cubby showed faintly eerie in one of his windows. I ran there. "Smith. Len Smith...." I called it softly. "Len Smith--" There was only the faint echo of my voice, coming back at me from the steel cubby wall. The door was ajar. I shoved at it, burst in and stood stricken, transfixed, with so great a horror flooding me that the eerie scene in the helio cubby swam before my gaze. At his instrument table the white-uniformed figure of young Smith lay sprawled, a white figure crimsoned ghastly with blood. A knife handle protruded from his back. Horribly his head dangled sidewise, with grisly severed neck. And as I rushed forward, my movement jostled the body. It slumped, fell from the stool, hitting the floor with a thud. The blow broke the neck vertebrae; the head--ghastly little ball--rolled across the room and stopped at the wall, gruesomely right side up, with Smith's dead eyes staring at me--eyes with the agony of death frozen in them. Then I saw the wreckage of the instrument table. All our communications smashed, wrecked beyond repair! For another second I numbly stared. Then, from some distant point of the ship's interior, a strident little electric whistle sounded. A signal! From another section I heard it answered. And then a shot! The barking explosion of a powder-gun ... the hiss of a stabbing heat-ray ... a commotion in the lower corridors--shouts of startled passengers ... a turmoil everywhere.... The attack had begun! * * * * * The turmoil that all in those seconds was spreading about the ship like fire in prairie grass released me from my numbness. I whirled; dashed back through the helio cubby door to the roof deck. It was still unoccupied. Back on the stern deck triangle, where just the stern tip of it showed from here, with the dull-red Earth-light upon it, there was the sizzling flash of a heat-gun. I saw the stern lookout collapse back from his telescope; fall to the deck. Toward the bow, through the chart-room window where the shade now was up, Wilson was staring out. "Penelle!" His voice reached me. Beyond the kiosk of chart room and control turret, a figure appeared coming up the little catwalk ladder from the bow deck. It seemed to be the bow lookout, but whether friend or foe I had no way of guessing. "Watch yourself, Wilson," I shouted. "Watch the turret--" I was dashing for the side companionway. Whatever transpired up here, there was only one thing in my mind in the chaos of that moment. Nina.... She was alone down in her cabin. I must get her up here.... I leaped down the last half of that little side ladder. On the dim side deck ten feet away, two men were fighting, one in white gold uniform, the other a deckhand. They rolled on the deck. A knife flashed.... Another man came suddenly from the smoking lounge doorway. He plunged at me, whirling an iron bar. My Banning flash met him head on; I jumped aside as his dead body catapulted to the deck. There was another flash. One of the rolling, fighting men on the deck went limp. The other rose. It was the fat little Peter Green, Second Officer. He was panting; his face streaked with blood. "Get to your room," he gasped as he saw me. "All passengers stay in your cubbies. Piracy!" The passengers were shouting now; from a nearby corridor entrance women were screaming. Then from up at the turret, Mackensie turned on the vessel's distress siren. Its shrill, dismal electrical whine sounded above the turmoil. "Go up to the control turret," I shouted at Green. I dashed into the corridor. Passengers scattered to right and left before me. "Get into your rooms," I shouted. "Everybody stay in. Barricade--" An Earth-woman screamed; somebody shouted, "That big Martian--murderer--I saw him killing--" Two little Lunites, mine workers, a young man and a girl, stood with arms around each other in one of the doorways. Pallid little people, confused, helpless, cringing. I shoved them back into their room and banged their door. Then I turned into the main corridor, ran aft along it, came to the next cross passage. Nina! I saw her, ahead of me in the corridor, close by her smashed door. She was struggling, fighting with the snaky Venus man Ollog Torio; his arms lifted her up as he tried to carry her. I shouted an oath; I did not dare fire. And at the sound of my voice he dropped her, made off through the end door so quickly that I had no time to drill him. "Nina! Nina!" I gathered her up, frail little thing in her negligee with her luxuriant black hair streaming down. "Nina, did he hurt you?" "No! No, I'm all right." She was breathless; pallid; her dark eyes were pools of terror. "Oh, dear God!" she gasped. "It's come." She clutched at me. "That hunchback--that fellow Durk--have you seen him?" "No, I haven't." Her question sent a shudder through me. I set her on her feet. "We've got to get up to the control turret. The captain--his loyal officers up there." "Oh--Oh, Lord!" With a new anguish of terror upon her face she jerked away from me, ran for her doorway. I saw where Torio had melted through its lock with a heat blast. I dashed through it after her, and caught her in the center of her room. "Nina, what's the matter?" * * * * * The oblong coffin box! It lay flat on the floor, over by the wall of the dim room. In a sudden lull of the ship's chaos the rhythmic ticking was audible. And now there were other sounds from within the box! A thumping! A low, mumbling man's voice! A rasping voice in the cabin doorway sounded behind me. Gun in hand, I whirled. One of the huge deckhands stood there, murder on his face, a blood-stained knife between his teeth so that he looked like an ancient picture of a surface vessel pirate. He lunged in at us. My flash caught him full in the face; horribly his features blackened as he went down. "Oh--Oh, I had no chance to let you out!" Nina was half sobbing it as she flung herself down over the box. The ship's alarm siren had suddenly died. Did that mean that the captain and the others in the control turret had been killed? The thought stabbed at me. Distant shots were still sounding. The oaths of fighting men were audible--the loyal members of the crew, fighting those traitors who had so suddenly set upon them. Footsteps were thudding on the roof-deck overhead. "No chance to let you out!" The pallid girl with trembling fingers was fumbling at the box. Its lid rose up, with the head and shoulders of a man appearing beneath; a man entombed, hiding in there, breathing with the air-renewers of the ticking mechanism. A stalwart man of iron-gray hair. Georg Blake! Nina's father. I recognized him from the many pictures I had seen. He leaped out of the box, stared at me. "A Government man," Nina gasped. "Here to help us." The report of Blake's death--his possible murder--all that had been Blake's own doing. He gripped me now; murmured it swiftly. A giant, dominant fellow, he towered over me. Nina was unpacking his weapons from the box as he told me. He had believed there was a plot on the Moon against him; was smuggling himself to the Moon, where in secret, with the villains thinking him dead and only his young daughter to cope with, he expected to expose them. And most of the voyage he had been hidden in the box, afraid of eavesdroppers or some prying Benson curve-ray. "Give me those guns, Nina. These damnable murderers--" Then he swung at me; lowered his voice: "Mackensie has the catalyst?" "Yes," I murmured. "Good! I know where. By Heaven, they can kill us both and still they won't find it." He was buckling his weapons to his huge belt. "The captain's in the control turret," I said. "Making a stand up there. We should go to him." "Yes. You're right. Come on." We ran. I put my arm around the girl as she sagged like a terrified child against me. Bow and stern, the sounds of the fighting seemed somewhat to have slackened. The passengers still were screaming; I shoved them back in their doorways as we dashed past. And suddenly, reaching the side deck, I realized that the towering Blake was not with us. The deck here was wet with blood. Three or four bodies lay nearby. An Earth-woman lay writhing, her white throat slashed with crimson. There was nothing I could do to help her. My gun ranged the deck; there was nothing to shoot at. Off at the stern, I saw a running man leap high in the air and go down. Then the red Earth-light back there momentarily darkened. Someone had thrown a darkness bomb; its light-absorbing gas came spreading along the deck toward us. "This way, Nina--climb. I'll follow." We went up the little ladder. Near the top I held her back, poking my head cautiously up, in advance of her. The dimly starlit deck was blurred with gas and heat fumes. We were mid-forward, perhaps halfway between the helio cubby and the chart room. In a patch here on the deck, darkness gas hung in a layer, a black shroud nearly waist deep. Light still showed in the window of the helio room, where the grewsome body of Len Smith lay sprawled. The chart room was dark, its door closed; but the steel shutter of its window, facing this way, was up a few inches. I thought I saw the muzzle of a gun protruding. Good enough. Mackensie, Wilson and perhaps others were in there--barricaded, still holding out. I shouted, "I'm Penelle. Don't fire!" "Come ahead," Mackensie's great voice roared. * * * * * Life, or death, can hang upon such a little thing. Directly across the thirty-foot roof deck from me the top of the other side-ladder was visible above the layer of darkness. A man's head and shoulders suddenly appeared there. My weapon leveled; but then I saw that it was Nina's father. He saw me at the same instant, waved at me and jumped from the ladder, wading through the waist-high darkness toward the chart room. I do feel that there was nothing I could have done. Heaven knows I would give anything now if only I had had some flash of intuition. But I was thinking only of Nina. I turned to gaze down at her, where she stood a step or two below me on the ladder. "Come on, it's all safe." Safe? I turned back just in time to see a hand and arm come up out of the layer of darkness. Weird, as though detached from its body, it swung; the fingers loosed a little globe. It was only a few feet behind Blake. The globe hurtled at his head, struck it--an explosive bomb. It burst with a sharp report and a little puff of yellow-red light. Perhaps I caught a glimpse of the ghastly scattered fragments of what had been a human head. There was only a grewsome gory neck-stump as the giant body of Blake toppled down into the layer of darkness. I fired into the darkness gas. The stab of heat dispelled it a little. I hit nothing. Then, as I jumped from the ladder, forgetful of Nina, from the chart-room window Mackensie was wildly firing from two weapons. One of the sizzling heat-rays barely missed me. And then someone behind him, Wilson perhaps, tossed a light-bomb. Its blinding actinic glare momentarily dispelled the gloom. At the other side companion-ladder we caught a vague glimpse of the massive head and shoulders of Mokk as he leaped down to the lower deck. His triumphant laugh floated up after him. "You, Penelle, bring the girl in here," Mackensie was roaring. "Hurry now." I all but carried the half-fainting Nina. The darkness gas was floating away; but I thanked God that enough remained to shroud the fallen headless body of her father as we passed it. The door of the chart room opened; I dashed in with her; hands banged the steel door closed and bolted it. "I guess we're all here," Mackensie said. The _X-87_ captain was grim, his thick face puffed with the choleric blood swelling it. His left arm hung almost limp at his side; I saw where his white uniform was burned with the scorching edge of a heat-stab. Young Wilson was here, disheveled, wild-eyed. The little oval to the control turret was open; I could see the fat little Peter Green and James Polter, the purser, in there, crouched at a slit of the forward visor window, weapons in hand. I went in to them. "Just us," I murmured. "Where's Dr. Frye?" Polter grimly gestured. "Down there--see him? Damned traitor. I drilled him. See him?" The _X-87_ was still on her course. The forward deck triangle was still bathed in moonlight, save that gases blurred it. The forward lookout's telescope lay in a wreck, with his body upon it. Other motionless forms were strewn about; chairs were overturned--those same chairs where Nina and the rest of us had gathered in the moonlight so short a time ago. Dr. Frye's thin body lay huddled down there. I was aware now that all the fighting had ceased; there was only the distant murmurs of the terrified passengers, in their cabins beneath us. The mutineers everywhere had won; I could not doubt it. The thing was a swift massacre. Those crew members who had tried to be loyal were all dead. I stared, from the tiny hatch-opening in the bow, which led down to the forward messroom, a hand cautiously appeared. There was a stab of flame; a report; an old-fashioned leaden slug thudded harmlessly against a corner of the catwalk bridge, only a few feet from the slit at which we were peering. And in the silence, the sniper's chuckle sounded. At my elbow, suddenly there was a buzzing. Green turned his head slightly. "Call--coming from the main gravity plate room," he murmured. "Answer it, Penelle." I moved toward the little mouthpiece. But Mackensie had heard it and came running in from the adjacent chart room. "I'll take it. Keep at your lookouts, everybody--this may be a ruse to catch us off guard." I could hear the tiny voice coming from the receiver as Mackensie clapped it to his ear. "This is Torio," the voice said suavely. "Have you had enough, Captain?" "You go to hell," Mackensie roared. "That would be very nice, Captain, but it's more likely to be your own destination." I could picture the sleek, ironically smiling Venus man down there at the speaking tube. "We demand your surrender now--if you do not wish to die." "To hell with you--" "All you have to do is come out of the turret, with your hands up. You'll be treated--like the passengers. Fair treatment, I do assure you." "I'll have all you pirates in the detention pen before this is ended," Mackensie roared. "All we want is your surrender. And to have you tell us where you've hidden that little leaden cylinder." "By Heaven, you'll never find it. Dead or alive." "Dead, if you say so," Torio's voice snapped. And then his irony returned. "We'll give you five minutes to decide." "I want nothing from you. By the gods, I'm still Master here!" "Empty title, Captain." "I'm steering us back to Earth," the captain rasped. "The Interplanetary Patrol is coming for us." That made the Venus man chuckle. "If only it were. But it isn't." "We'll be back on Earth in eighteen hours," the choleric Mackensie asserted. "You can all go to hell--you murderers--bandits--" "Back to Earth?" Torio sneered. "Watch us turn, Captain. Not back to Earth. It's Venus we're going to head for. Venus--where the new triumphant Government will be needing that treasure you've hidden. Up there with you in the turret, isn't it?" "To hell with you--" "Watch us turn, Captain." * * * * * I was aware of the glittering Heavens up through the glassite pressure dome as they made a dizzying swoop. The little _X-87_, with her gravity plates abruptly shifted by the manual controls in the hull room, was turning over. "See it, Captain?" "You damned fools," Mackensie roared. "Disconnect my controls if you like. What the hell of it? You can't chart a course down there. You haven't the instruments or the skill." "Quite true, Captain. That's why we want you to surrender. We'd really rather not kill you. And if we go falling through Space this way, unguided, we might eventually hit something. Your five minutes are almost up. What do you say?" My nostrils abruptly were dilating. What was this? Suddenly I was aware of a queer acrid smell here. And my head gave a swoop. Here in the turret Green and Polter were at the forward window. I saw them fling me a startled glance. Both of them staggered to their feet. And Mackensie, still gripping the receiver, was swaying. "What's the matter, Captain?" Torio's suave ironic voice was demanding. "Do you smell it already? You're so silent." William Wilson, with Nina, was alone on guard in the adjacent chart room. He gave a sudden startled cry. "Come quick! Something's the matter with me." Poisonous gas here! We realized it abruptly; gas pouring in through the ventilators from below. "Close those vents!" Mackensie gasped. "Poisoned air--" His hand was clutching at his throat. With his thick neck, full-blooded body, he felt it worse than any of us. His face was purpling; his eyes abruptly bulging. In that second he staggered and fell, ripping the receiver connection out as he went down, where still the ironic voice of Torio was jibing at us. The rest of us sprang to the grid vents. There was no way of shutting the poisoned air off! The hinges of the multiple little visors were melted away! "That--that damned Dr. Frye," Polter gasped. "He was up here a while ago. I wondered--" A scream from Nina, mingled with a sizzling flash in the other room, transfixed us. With all the weird scene swaying before me, I dashed through the oval. Young Wilson was lying sprawling, dead from a bolt, with his head and shoulders on the window ledge. Nina was crouching in a corner, gasping, staring in terror. I started toward her. My ears were roaring as though with a thousand Niagaras. A titan hand seemed compressing my chest with a band of steel as I gasped for breath. "Nina--Nina--" My own voice, so futile, sounded far away. Then I heard the steel shutter of the chart room window snap up to the top. Into the opening, a man came climbing. Mokk, with a patch of chemical fabric binding his nose and mouth like a mask. My gun sizzled at him, but the stab went wild as I staggered. Then he came leaping at me. From the turret I was aware of other shots; a scream of agony from Polter as he was struck; thudding blows as the visor pane was crashed. And then a scream from little Green. The end! On the chart room floor grid I found myself wildly grappling the hulking Martian. My gun had clattered away as his three hundred-pound weight crashed me down. Dimly I realized that this sudden wild attack upon us was because the bandits, for their own sakes, had no desire to have any great amount of the poisoned air circulating about the little ship. "You damned little Earth-fool," Mokk was growling. "Don't you see I'd rather not kill you?" My puny little blows into his face only made him rasp with anger. I was trying to twist from under him. I almost made it. But abruptly he seized me around the middle, rose up and hurled me. Like a child I hurtled across the room, crashing against the alumite inner wall. The world went up into a blinding roar of light as my head struck. Dimly I was aware of dropping back to the floor. There was only blinding, roaring light, and Nina's choked scream of terror as my senses faded and I slid into the soundless abyss of unconsciousness. * * * * * I was at last aware that I was not dead, by the dim feeling that my head was throbbing. I was lying on something soft. Voices were here; the muffled, blended murmur of men's voices. At first they seemed very faint and far away. Then, as my returning senses clarified a little more, I knew that the voices were close to me. I opened my eyes at last to find myself lying on a blanket on the chart room floor. In a chair Nina was huddled, mutely staring with wide, terrified eyes to where at his chart-table Captain Mackensie was slumped, sullenly staring at the celestial diagrams spread before him. The sleek, ironic figure of Torio was beside him, his slim gray hand gesturing at the charts. "We are now just about here, Captain?" "Yes," Mackensie growled. "Then we want a computation of the swiftest course, from here to Venus. You will figure it out. Tell us the gravity plate combination." I could feel that blood was stiffly matting the hair at the back of my head, a ragged scalp wound there. I was bathed in cold sweat; weak, so dizzy still that the eerie chart room swam before me. But my strength slowly was returning. How much time had passed? Considerable, I judged, from that blood so stiffly dry in my hair. With a fumbling hand I felt of my clothes. All my instruments and weapons had been taken. Then I saw, in another chair, the huge slumped figure of Mokk, his massive legs crossed at ease. On his knees his hand held a gun alert. The room light fell on his heavy face. It bore an expression of grim irony, as his dark eyes, watchful, roved the room. "The segment of a parabola, Captain," the soft voice of Torio was saying. "Would that be most swift? Remember, as we turn in past the Earth, we go no closer than forty thousand miles." "You're fools," Mackensie muttered. "This voyage will take a month or more." "Why not?" "The alarm will be out for us. The Interplanetary Patrol will pick us up." "Let us hope not, Captain. You and Miss Nina would be the first to die. But there is not too much danger, I think. The modern electro-telescopes are very wonderful, but there is none, at forty thousand miles, powerful enough to pick up so small a speck of floating dust as the _X-87_. Or at least, not to identify it." "I wouldn't be too sure, Torio. And at best, your food will give out." "We will hope not," Torio smiled. His voice turned brisk. "Chart your course, Captain. Remember, we kept you alive just for this duty." Nina said suddenly, "This silence everywhere about the ship--where are the passengers?" Torio turned smilingly to her. "Why, little lady, didn't you know? We gave them pressure suits and put them out the keel porte. Have no fear, they'll drift down safely. Some of the suits are powered. If they're clever they'll get back to Earth." As though this were an old-fashioned surface vessel--giving the passengers life preservers and tossing them into the middle of an ocean. "Penelle seems to have recovered his wits," Mokk said suddenly. "See what he knows, Torio." It turned all their gazes upon me. I was up on one elbow. "What I know about what?" I said. * * * * * Torio leaped to his feet and stood bending over me. "Now then, you damned crime-tracker. Where is the T-catalyst? It's hidden around here somewhere. Where is it?" "Catalyst," I mumbled. "I don't know what you mean." Torio's foot kicked savagely at me. I tensed; the giant Mokk shifted his weapon to level down at me. I saw Mackensie flash me a glance. "So you're going to try that too?" Torio rasped. I stared. "He doesn't know any more about it than I do," Mackensie growled. "Nobody knew except Georg Blake, and you killed him. Find it for yourself. My guess it that Blake cast it adrift when the attack came." "You talk without sense," Mokk put in. "Maybe the girl knows." He chuckled. "If you leave me alone with her, Torio, I can think of ways to make her tell." "I know nothing about it," Nina gasped. "Well, some one of you does," Torio said grimly. "We'll start with this damn crime-tracker." He leaped across the room, came back with a length of wire. My gaze strayed to the opposite wall; the treasure was there, back of a secret panel. "Bare your chest, Penelle." Torio stooped to where I was backed against the wall, on the floor. He tore at my shirt, exposing the flesh of my chest. "Are you going to tell?" "I can't. I don't know." Beyond his slim shoulder I saw Nina's face, pallid, her dark eyes glistening with horror, her lips compressed as though to stifle a scream. Torio had a small cylinder in his hand, with the naked length of wire connected to it. The wire was glowing now--red, orange, white, then violet hot. "A few lashes with this," Torio hissed at me. "Whatever you know will come out then." His pale face was blazing. "He will talk even more quickly if you try that on the girl," Mokk growled. "No!" I burst out. "No, damn you! We don't know where it is! I can't tell what I don't know." "We'll see," Torio muttered. He dangled the wire at my face. The violet light of it was blinding; the heat scorched my skin. "Stop! Oh, stop it! I'll tell you!" Nina's anguished cry rang out. The light and heat receded from my face. "Oh, so you're the one who's willing to tell?" Torio swung on her; snapped off the current in his wire and flung it away. "All right, where is it? But remember, by the gods, if we don't find it where you say--" "It's there." She gestured to the wall. "My father told me it's there." "I hope so," the giant Mokk growled. "For your sake, I hope so, little lady." I held my breath. If by some mischance it should not be there-- Then Torio found the pressure-clip and slid the panel. With a cry of triumph as he saw the hidden little safe; he did not wait to question us on how to open it, but seized a heat-torch; melted its lock in a moment. The foot-long leaden cylinder was disclosed. There could be no question of the authenticity of its contents--its contents-dial glowed with the Gamma rays bombarding it from within. The pointer trembled at the figures indicating the strength and character of the bombardment. "All goes well," Mokk chuckled. "We have no problems now, friend Torio. You and I can trust each other, eh? Put it back in the safe. That is as good a place as any." The giant Martian stood up, yawning. "You work out our course with the captain. For me, I shall go down and take some rest." He grinned. "The little Earth-girl fascinates you, eh, Torio? I must leave her up here with you. Very well. I would not be one to quarrel over so small a thing. The girls of Mars please me better." Torio, too, was smiling. They were highly pleased with themselves, these triumphant villains. "Take Penelle with you," Torio said contemptuously. "Lock him up in one of the cubbies. Have one of the men feed him." I caught Torio's flashing, significant look, and one of grinning irony with which the Martian answered it. And Nina saw it also. A cry burst from her and she leaped up. "You--you don't mean that! You're going to kill him, now that you haven't anything more to get out of him! Oh--Oh, please--" Her slim little hands gripped Torio by the shoulders. I saw him tense; he stared; and then he laughed softly. "Well, my dear--when you ask me in such a way as this--" "Oh, I do. I do." "Then I will keep him alive." "Don't--don't take him down there." "You do not trust me?" His voice sounded hurt. He swung on Mokk. "Bind him and lock him up. Do not harm him. If you do, you will answer to me for it. I mean it now." "Quite correct," Mokk agreed with a grin. "If that is your form of love-making, it is your own affair. Let us hope she will give you her favor, since you do this for her." "Take him away," Torio commanded. "Come, Captain--let us get this course charted." * * * * * I stood up as Mokk prodded me with his weapon and he shoved me from the room. Was he going to kill me now out of hand? I had that feeling, and it wasn't pleasant. But he only shoved me along the starlit and moonlit roof deck. We had turned partly over. The huge ball of Earth was directly under us now; the Moon was high overhead, blurred through the glassite pressure dome. I saw, distantly, a man or two of the crew, watching us as we came down the side ladder. How many of the mutineers were there? I had no way of guessing. As Mokk shoved me from the side deck into the cross corridor, down the deck near the stern triangle, I caught a glimpse of the hunchback, Durk, staring silently at us. Part way along the corridor the Martian shoved me into one of the passenger sleeping-cubbies. He lighted one of its tiny hooded wall lights. Then he produced lengths of wire; bound my ankles; lashed my wrists, crossed behind me. "I'll put you into the bunk for greater comfort," he chuckled. "Thanks." "Oh, I do it for friend Torio, and his little lady, not for you. Are you hungry?" "No." "Well, I'll send you food later." He left me, closing the door softly after him. I lay in the shadowed bunk, listening to the silence of the vibrationless little vessel. Across the small sleeping room, the window oval was visible, its alumite shutter halfway down. The open segment was very faintly starlit. Perhaps I had been dozing; my head throbbed; the dank sweat of weakness was still upon me. Then suddenly I was snapped into alertness; it seemed that I had heard a sound on the side deck outside my window. And abruptly there was a shadow there in the half-oval window opening. Someone looking in? My heart pounded as I stared; and in a second the soundless shadow withdrew. A minute passed. Again I tensed at the sound of a faint creak. My door was opening! Beyond the bunk bottom I could see the door as very slowly, quietly it swung inward. Then the sheen of light from the corridor darkened; a blob slipped into the room; the door softly closed. The blob, hunched, stealthy, came slowly toward me. Whatever outcry I might have made froze on my lips with my sudden rush of horror. Twitching, I strained at my bonds, but the damnable wire held and merely dug into my flesh from the effort. The hunchback! He came shambling. In one of his dangling hands he held a knife; the hooded light here in the cubby glinted on its naked blade. And in that second the light-sheen caught his face--ghastly, lumped, twisted countenance, with bulbous parted lips as he sucked in his breath. "Penelle--" "Get away from me," I rasped. "You'll answer to Torio for this. By Heaven, he'll flay you alive." "Not so loud! Easy there, I'm not here to hurt you." What was this? Not a guttural, illiterate voice. I recalled my fleeting impression before that this Durk had the sort of voice one uses for disguise. He was beside me now; and as the light, its hood here within a foot or two, brightly illumined his face, realization came to me. Wax, embedded under the skin, by the Glotz-process of disguise. We of the Shadow Squad sometimes use it, though I must confess I had never seen it so cleverly done as here. "Who are you?" I muttered. He whispered, "I'm Jim--Jim Blake." * * * * * Nina's brother! My S.S. boss had mentioned him; mysteriously he had disappeared. He was loosening the wires which bound me; and his swift whispers told me: Like his father, he had wanted to get secretly to the Moon. Throughout all the mutiny he had had no opportunity of doing anything which seemed better than posing as one of the villains. Only once had he had any chance to communicate with Nina--that time when he had gone to her room, telling her that he was going to try and kill Mokk and Torio before the attack started, and thus ward it off. And that he had not been able to do. He was only a boy really, barely twenty; he was trembling with eagerness and excitement now as he cast me loose and I rose up out of the bunk and stood beside him. "You armed?" I whispered. "No; only this knife. I've tried to get something else but can't." "Any of the crew with weapons?" "No, I don't think so. Knives, machinery bars and things like that. Mokk and Torio seemed to have everything." "How many in the crew?" "Five, and me. One got killed in the fight. Another wounded. There were two or three others planted among the passengers. Maybe more. They got killed, too. Oh, what shall we do? All I could think of was to get here and release you." "And I damn well thank you, Jim." I clapped him on the back. "Look here, you keep the knife. Heaven knows you may need it." "What are we going to do?" he whispered eagerly. "Is--is Nina all right?" "Yes, I guess so. Up in the turret. Have you seen Mokk?" "That Martian? No. What can we do?" Certainly I had no very clear idea. Five men, and Mokk and Torio. They were not very many to be dispersed about the ship, and we had a fair chance of cautiously moving around without encountering any of them. Torio, I figured, was still in the chart room, with Nina and Mackensie. Mokk, perhaps, was asleep somewhere. Young Blake had no very clear idea of where the other five might be. "Come on," I whispered. "Let's take a look at the chart room." If by any wild chance we could overcome Torio and get the electric weapons-- We got up to the roof deck without encounter. From one of the midships ladders I stared forward to the chart room. I could see Torio and Mackensie still in there, at the table with the charts. And now, beside the chart room, where he could command its door and also the control turret, a huge blob was lurking. Was it Mokk? It wasn't. I made the figure out more clearly as he moved a trifle. "That's one of the crew," Blake whispered. "Look--he's got a ray-gun." I could see it. I turned back. "Got to try something else. The midships keel pressure porte," I whispered. "Ever been down there, Jim?" He stared. "No. What's your idea? Pressure porte?" "There's also a pressure porte in the dome, just over the control turret. If we can get some Erentz pressure suits down in the keel--" Whether he understood me or not, I didn't stop to find out. I had still only a very vague idea myself, just the glimmer of a desperate plan which might work out. "You better lead," I suggested. "I'll direct you. Len Smith showed me down there. If we run into anybody you can fool them long enough for me to jump them." Unless it might be the Martian, with his belt bristling with electronic guns. Vehemently I prayed we could keep clear of him. Silently, furtively, we padded into the lower corridor. No sound. With young Blake close ahead of me, we went down onto the mid-level catwalk. Still there was nothing save eerie lights and deserted rooms. Nothing? A ghastly reek came through a doorway at me. I glanced in. "The dead," Blake whispered with a shudder. "Said they were going to cast them out a porte, but they didn't yet." * * * * * The dead. That catwalk room was a reeking, ghastly charnel house. A good thirty bodies--men, women and children of three worlds, piled in a horrible litter. I gasped. All the passengers were here. There had been no disembarking of passengers, as Torio had ironically described to Nina. We went on. Descended another level. We were in the keel now. Suddenly footsteps sounded on the catwalk above us. One of the crew passed along it. Fortunately he did not look down through the grid. "Got by that by a margin," I whispered. "Straight ahead, Jim. Then half a flight down." From one of the storehouse rooms just ahead of us a man suddenly emerged. I shrank against the dark corridor wall. "Oh, you, Durk," the man said softly. "Lookit what I found in here--cask of alcoholite. Good drinkin', Durk." Jim Blake is only a boy, but he didn't shrink from his job. I was tensed to leap past him upon the man in the doorway. The fellow abruptly saw me. He squealed, "Look, behind you--" That's all he ever did say. Blake went at him like a little springing leopard. The knife flashed; the man went down with only a choked gurgle of blood in his throat. "Got him," Blake murmured. "Good enough. Come on." The emergency pressure porte was to one side of the corridor, an oblong compartment, with one tiny segment of the tubelight up in its ceiling sending down a faint pallid sheen. The inner door here was open so that normal air pressure was in the porte. "Luck better be with us now," I murmured. "Let's see what they've left in the emergency equipment room." It was here on the other side the corridor. My heart pounded with triumph. There were plenty of Erentz suits and helmets here. Both young Blake and I had used the familiar Carpley suit and helmet for outer stratosphere flying. These were not so very different, save that the electronic current in the double shell of the fabric circulated faster, for the more speedy absorption of the interior pressure within the suit, when worn in the vacuum of Space. We had them on in a moment, with the huge goggling helmets buckled at the throat. Through my glassite bull's-eye I could see young Blake's weirdly disguised face. He was trying to smile; but he was probably pretty fairly frightened. For which I don't blame him; I was myself. The baggy, still deflated suits hung on us in great grotesque folds. I touched my metal-tipped glove to the metal plate on his shoulder for audiphone contact. "Think you can work it all right?" I murmured. "Yes. Yes, sure." "Keep with me when we get outside," I cautioned. "Yes. I'll--I'll try." I was in an agony of apprehension that someone would come and catch us here before we could get the porte closed. But no one did. Our pressure suits caused no trouble. The Erentz mechanism controls, renewal of the interior air, and the pressure-absorbing current, are simple enough to work. Within a minute our suits were bloated, huge. And then as we stepped into the pressure room, I saw what clarified and altered all my vague plans. A complete get-away! It was possible now, for here on a rack of the pressure room floor lay a little volplane--emergency Space-sled, its canoe-like hull some twenty feet long, its wings for air gliding folded against its sides. It was provisioned with emergency food and water. I bent over it with hurried, triumphant examination. The stern had a tiny outboard rocket engine; and in the bow were small manually controlled gravity plates. It was ready; the descent to Earth in it could be made, with fair safety, and perhaps in a week. * * * * * We slid the inner pressure door closed. An exit out of a pressure room can be swiftly made. We opened the small vents of the outer panels. The air of the room started hissing out into the vacuum outside. "Easy," I murmured. "Not too fast. We don't want to get blown out." Within a minute we could open the outer door; the last escaping air went with a thin hissing rush. At the threshold before us yawned the vast abyss of Space. I stood for a second gazing down at the great mottled reddish ball of Earth. Forty thousand miles down to it. There was a little launching rack out here to hold the volplane. We slid it out; locked it into position. I had told Blake now what I was going to try and do. He demurred at waiting here in the volplane, but I forced him. "You can see up from here," I murmured. "Somebody has to launch it. When I give you the signal, shove it off. You can pick us up." "If we have luck," I murmured it to myself. He nodded comprehension. Then, cautiously, I stepped from the threshold, out into Space. An empty abyss of forty thousand miles, down to the Earth's surface beneath me. Though I knew very well what would happen to me, of course, I must say that I had to steel myself grimly, to step off from the brink of that threshold. It made my senses momentarily reel. But the weird sensation was gone in a moment. It was like a diver taking a step under water. I did not fall. I had let myself off the brink gingerly; and I felt my body sluggishly moving out a foot or two, with all the universe slowly, dizzily turning over. I am no skilled mathematician. Given the gross tonnage of the little _X-87_, doubtless astronomers could figure the relation of its gravity pull upon me, so close, compared to the giant bulk of the Earth, so far away. Perhaps even at forty thousand miles, and against the pull of the Moon, some two hundred thousand miles above me, and the _X-87_ only a foot or two--the Earth would slowly have drawn me down. But I knew that there was an aura of the vessel's artificial interior gravity out here. Len Smith had told me of many tests which had been made between the Earth and the Moon. At all events, I drifted downward a few feet, like a waterlogged chunk of wood slowly turning over. Then slowly I came back; landed in a clumsy, struggling heap against the ship's glistening alumite side. To each of us, himself is the center of the Universe. Cautiously I stood up. At once the vessel seemed my little world, lying flat on its side under me, with the reddish giant Earth to my right, the round white Moon to the left; and over my head, the great glittering vault of the Heavens, star-strewn upon a background of black velvet. I seemed to weigh perhaps a pound or two. Like a fly, gingerly I crawled along the vessel's bulging side. Then I came to the dome. The roof deck within was grotesquely tilted on end. The vision of it was blurred by the glassite pressure plates, but it seemed unoccupied, slowly righting itself as I crawled up the bulge, cautiously clinging to avoid having my own efforts cast me off. Then at last I came to the top, with the little _X-87_ right side up under my feet and the Moon above me. I knew that from the roof deck I could be seen up here as a distorted, shadowy blob. My heart was pounding with the fear that an alarm would come, but none did. I reached, at last, the little pressure porte in the dome over the control turret and chart room. I had two deflated Erentz suits and helmets lashed to me. The emergency panel was here, like a trap door under me. Through its transparent bull's-eye I could see into the small, dim compartment under me. The lower panel was open, but there was a lever out here by which I could slide it closed. Would it make any sound and alarm Torio in the chart room under it? I held my breath as it slid. There was no commotion. * * * * * It took only a minute to let the air out of the little scaled pressure room. Then cautiously I dropped down into it, with the interior gravity gripping me so that suddenly I was my normal weight once more. Breathless, tense, I lay flat, with my suit deflating as I stared down into the chart room. Nina and Torio were there. I could see them, but not hear them. She was in a chair, with him standing before her. And then I caught my breath. What was this? An angle of the control turret also was within my line of vision. A crimsoned figure lay there; the body of Captain Mackensie. He had finished his work; charted the course--and this was his reward. A little of the outside of the turret also was visible. It did not seem that the guard was out there now. Had he been sent away, so that Torio now might be alone with Nina? Fervently I hoped so. There was no alarm as I cautiously slid the trap in the chart room ceiling. "Oh--Oh, please--let me alone!" "But, my dear little lady, do you want me to kill Penelle? Surely you--" The snaky Torio got no further than that. I was some fifteen feet directly above him. Perhaps he was aware of my hurtling body but he had no chance to avoid it as I crashed down upon him. The work-knife in my gloved, metal-fingered hand stabbed. He went limp under me, with blood gushing from his chest where the knife had gone to its hilt. My helmet was up in the pressure room. "Nina, climb up!" I slid the little wall ladder into position for her. "Quick, now! Get into the pressure suit up there. Inflate it, and wait for me." White and grim, she obeyed wordlessly. I started her up the ladder, swung for the hidden wall safe. Would the leaden cylinder of the catalyst still be here? It was. I strapped it quickly to my belt. Then I dashed for the instrument cubby. A little explosive time-bomb.... I found one; and hurried with it into the control turret, where I placed it against the mechanisms of the Erentz current--that huge electronic stream which circulated throughout all the double-shelled plates of the vessel to absorb the inner pressure. Ten minutes? Would that give us time enough? Nina was in the pressure suit when in a minute more I reached the upper room. "Good enough, Nina. Now, the helmet! Your brother Jim is outside--safe." My heart leaped with triumph at her gasp of joy. "Oh, Fred--" "Come on, hurry." We were garbed, ready and through the outer porte in another minute or two. My hand clung to Nina's metal shoulder. "Careful, there's no gravity. Don't shove yourself off." We were like two crawling flies on the smooth outer surface of the pressure dome. Still there was no alarm. We got part way down the side. Young Blake, in the poised little volplane farther down, saw us. I waved my arm, and he shoved his tiny craft off. Like a log in water it floated out twenty feet or so, turned and came drifting diagonally back. "We'll dive for it," I murmured. "He'll pick us up." * * * * * I did not see the emerging figure, here beside us in the starlight; I did not even know that there was a tiny pressure porte here on the side deck at one of the bull's-eyes. But suddenly a panel slid wide. Upon a rush of air, a huge bloated figure came out; struck against me, with its arms gripping me. Mokk! I could see his heavy, snarling face through the visor pane. His body and mine, as we gripped each other, toppled off into emptiness. Amazing, weightless combat. The whole Universe was turning over as we floated out, kicking, flailing, floundering. He was trying to reach the knife at his belt. He got it, but somehow my mailed fist was able to strike it away. It went floating off. The thing to me was a weird chaos. I tried to kick away, but he clung, his great hands with metal fingers gouging at the fabric of my suit to rip it. Once, his hand clapped to my shoulder. With sudden audiphone contact I heard his rasping voice: "The end of you, Earth-man." But, thank God, it wasn't. Abruptly, by some fortunate chance I was able to snatch my knife from its belt-sheath. It ripped into Mokk's fabric. I was aware of a little flash of deranged electricity; his suit deflated. Ghastly human explosion--every tiny cell of his body bursting with its inner pressure. The rush of released, dissipating expanding air from his suit sprayed bursting gore upon me. Gore, and the noisome pink-white foam which had been his flesh. I shoved the ghastly thing away; saw myself now seemingly upon my back, grotesquely struggling to turn erect with the _X-87_ hanging diagonally some twenty feet away. Nina was still clinging to its side, with the volplane gliding near her. She dove, and Blake hauled her aboard. And then he shoved to me; gripped me at last. "All right," I gasped. "Good enough, Jim--you sit here with Nina--" At the bow of our fragile little craft, I set the gravity plates for an intensification of Earth's attraction. I set them to the fullest of their power. For a moment we slowly turned over, with all the Heavens, the Moon, Earth and the little _X-87_ in a dizzying swing. Then we steadied, with the Earth ahead of us. Clinging, I shoved myself back in the canoe-like volplane, to Nina and Blake. Touched them. "We're starting. See the ship?" The little vessel, close behind and above us, was slowly receding. "But they'll discover us!" young Blake murmured. "They have telescopes--they'll discover us--and the _X-87_ can catch us easily." "Maybe," I muttered. "Maybe not--" * * * * * Then it came! It was a weird, soundless explosion. We saw a jagged little series of flashes as the Erentz current burst out. Then, with a puff of light, soundlessly the vessel flew apart ... a million fragments of bursting ship and bursting human bodies. All about us was the glistening, starlit shimmer of them, like a fountain spray of pyrotechnic beauty. Then there was just emptiness of Interplanetary Space where the ship had been. But a cloud of shimmering particles hung there, like myriad specks of stardust to mark where a tiny world had exploded. After a time their little gravity drew them together into a loose ball of shattered Matter hanging balanced by the myriad Celestial forces. Some of the larger pieces were starting around it, little satellites with the inertia of their velocity balancing the gravity of the central mass. A new tiny System, here in the vast Heavens. It drifted off, finding its new orbit--drifted as we dropped away from it until at last it was only a shining speck among the billions of giant worlds. And then we could no longer see it. * * * * * I have little to add. You all know the details of our long but safe descent, with the Interplanetary patrol picking us up before we reached the stratosphere. And now, as a postscript, I may say that Miss Nina Blake has allowed me to announce that very presently she will be applying for the publication of her marriage. And she will name Frederick Penelle, of the Great-New York Shadow Squad. Earth-Moon Flight 9 certainly was not star-crossed, for me. 
61958	----	SARGASSO OF THE STARS By FREDERICK A. KUMMER, Jr. The Spot was the curse of the Universe--a drifting Sargasso of vanished spaceships and soul-lost men. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Summer 1941. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Haller watched silently as they crowded into the control room. His eyes were slivers of gray granite, but he didn't speak. There was a long moment of silence as the five men, scum of the space-ports, shifted uneasily, their faces strained, tense. Haller frowned; he'd been expecting something like this for the past few days. From now on it would be his nerve against their strength. "Well?" he snapped, whip-like. "What is it?" Carlson, the big engineer, shouldered to the fore. His massive frame and sloping skull betrayed his Jovian blood, even as the scars and purple ray burns on his bulging forearm betrayed a checkered, violent past. "We want to know where you're taking us!" he rumbled. "Seltzsky here, says it's off the regular lanes. If we're not heading for Jupiter, where're we going? We got a right to know." Icy as outer space, Haller surveyed them. The pilots at Mercis had likened him, since the _Cosmic_ affair, to a living robot, devoid of all feeling, all emotion. Now, as he stared at the sullen crew, this simile was especially apt. His lean, set face held a curious hardness, as if it had been hammered from steel, and one sensed about him a terrible determination, an unswerving singleness of purpose, found in men who pursue a self-imposed duty rather than the call of adventure. Haller's eyes made one think that he had gazed upon all the worlds, all things that lived, and found them dull, futile. "So you think you've a right to know where we're bound?" he said deliberately. "You'll recall that I chartered this ship, that you all signed on for three months, no questions asked. However," ... he smiled unhumorously ... "since you're so interested, I'll tell you." Haller turned to the big chart upon the control room's wall, pointed. "Our present position is about here ... ten days out of Mars and rather off the regular lanes. Our destination is this." He indicated a shaded area forming the apex of a vague triangle of which Mars and Jupiter were the other angles. "This area is known, for want of a better name, as the Magnetic Spot. Ships passing near it report radio disturbances, variations in their instruments. And that's where we're going! Any more questions?" "The ... the Magnetic Spot?" Seltzsky, the wizened little navigator, cried. "But.... Good God! Every ship that goes near it disappears! Dozens, hundreds of 'em! The _Valerian_, the _Explorer_, the _Io_! Warships, liners, freighters! You're mad! Only two months ago, the _Cosmic_...." At mention of the _Cosmic_ a bitter flame leaped in Haller's eyes. His hand shot to the atomite gun at his waist. "That's enough!" he barked. "You wanted to find out where you were going, and now you know! Get back to your quarters!" Carlson and Seltzsky leaned forward, their savage faces intent, fists knotted. Haller's cold gaze did not flicker. For a long moment the tension was like a dark bubble, growing, growing, as it approached the breaking point. Suddenly old Barger, the quartermaster, laughed. "You're licked!" he grated. "Just as I said you'd be! I'll take one _man_, like Cap'n Haller, to a dozen blustering bullies like you!" He touched his cap, submissively. "To the Magnetic Spot or to hell, sir, if you say so! Come along, you lily-livered space-rats! Back to your stations!" And then Carlson leaped, his face contorted with rage. Haller's hand gripped the atomite gun, jerked it from its holster, but before he could fire, the engineer's huge fist crashed against his jaw. One moment's glimpse, he had, of Barger going down under the assault of the other spacehands, and then the world went black. * * * * * Steve Haller came to, to find himself in the closet-like chart room. His hands were bound, and his jaw ached. Barger lay opposite him; the grizzled old quartermaster appeared to be still unconscious. Haller struggled to his knees, peered out of the small observation port. Space ... silent, intangible, unknown! Stars crawling painfully across the black void, and no one knew what mysteries lurking in the vast reaches between worlds. Like the Magnetic Spot.... Haller turned from the port, his face more like steel than ever. No chance of helping Barger as long as his hands were tied. The ship was silent, and without apparent motion in spite of the speed she was making; it gave one the impression of falling through a dark bottomless pit. Impossible to tell how long he'd been out, but they should be nearing the Magnetic Spot. He swore helplessly. Might have known that crew of space-rats would turn yellow, mutiny. Not that he blamed them so much, after the tales that were told about the Spot. Hundreds of ships, in the course of the past two centuries, had entered it, some fleeing meteor storms or enemy ships in time of war, others deliberately, in hopes of learning its secret. And none had ever returned. The whispered yarns told in spacemen's dives were lurid in their speculations about that strange unknown area. Haller's thoughts turned to the _Cosmic_, and his eyes grew tortured. Fay Carroll had been aboard the liner. Fay of the sleek, bronze hair, the laughing blue eyes, the curved red lips that were scarlet scimiters, stabbing at men's hearts. Reckless, madcap, with just enough of the devil in her to add piquancy to her charm. And now she was gone. He, Haller, had been to blame. He'd radioed her from Jupiter to meet him there, and she'd taken the first out-going ship, the _Cosmic_. And the _Cosmic_, driven off her course by a meteor storm, had last been reported on the outskirts of the Spot. Haller moved restlessly, straining against his bonds. The lines about his mouth deepened as the old self-accusation returned to plague him. If he hadn't sent Fay that radiogram, urging her to come to Jupiter, she'd be alive today. For months that one thought had beat like a rocket-blast through his mind. It had changed him from a gay, happy-go-lucky space-pilot to a living robot, had driven him to resign from Trans-Jovian, sink his savings, the money he'd hoped to spend on a home for Fay, in chartering this old tub, the _Lodestar_, and setting out on this vain hope. He'd recruited his crew from the space-dives of Mars, loaded the ramshackle tramp with fuel, and headed for the Magnetic Spot. Not that he'd believed there was any chance of finding Fay, but he'd felt that if he could discover the secret of the Spot, he'd have done his bit toward atoning. Now, thanks to the mutinous crew, even that poor consolation was denied him. Yellow scum of space, without enough guts to venture into the unknown area! A click of the chart room door drew Haller's gaze. Carlson appeared in the entrance, his great hands gripping an atomite gun, a broad grin on his brutish countenance. "All right, you two," he grunted. "Come on out! We're going to have a little bull session! Up, you _molat_!" He prodded Barger not too quietly with the toe of his boot. The quartermaster groaned, swayed to his feet. Dazed, he followed Haller out into the control room. Seltzsky, Wallace, and Kindt stood grouped about the navigator's table, their faces flushed with triumph. A bottle of fiery Martian _tong_, half-empty, stood before them. "Okay," Carlson barked. "Now you listen to us! If you think we're going into the Magnetic Spot, you're nuts! But long's you're so anxious to see what it's like, you and Barger can go, in one of the life rockets! We'll take this packet to Jupiter, sell it, and whack up the dough! And you can run around the Spot in the life rocket to your heart's content, while your fuel holds out!" "Life rocket!" Barger growled. "You dirty dogs! They don't carry enough fuel to get us a quarter of the way back to Mars! You can't...." Carlson laughed, deep in his hairy chest. "Right!" he said. "We'll be rid of both of you! An unfortunate accident, o' course. We'll be so sorry when we reach Jupiter! We'll think of you cruising around the Spot until you run out of tri-oxine!" He motioned to the companionway. "We got the life rocket all ready! Get going!" Haller glanced through a port at the bitter darkness of space. Sent out in a life rocket! No chance of even reaching the ship-lanes in one of the little cylinders! Doomed to drift without control in the void until lack of food, oxygen, brought death! "Come on!" Seltzsky dug a gun into his back. "Step on it!" "Wait a minute!" Haller's gaze shifted to the control panel. Suddenly he laughed. "So you're heading for Mars after you get rid of us? Going to try it without instruments?" "Without instruments?" Seltzsky's beady eyes swung to the illuminated board, and his face went white. The gravity compass and spaceometer were swinging back and forth crazily until they seemed like metronomes! "The controls! They've gone haywire!" Carlson dropped the bottle of _tong_, made a dive for the radio. "We'll call Mars, pick up a beam." His voice trailed away. The screen of the televisor was a haze of fantastically dancing dots, the speaker gave off a fierce and uninterrupted crackle of static! "Beginning to enjoy yourselves?" Haller queried lazily. "That's how it got the name of the Magnetic Spot! You waited just a trifle too long before putting the ship about!" "Huh!" Carlson sprang to the controls. "The forward rockets'll throw us in reverse! Once we're out of the field, the radio and dials'll come back to normal!" He tugged at levers and the stuttering roar of the forward rockets shook the ship, while through the observation port they could see red flame enveloping her nose. * * * * * Slowly Carlson drew back on the lever, to ease the shock of deceleration. The cabin was silent, tomb-like, the pressure of braking squeezed the breath from them. Long minutes passed, as notch by notch, the big half-breed drew back the lever. Speed dropped from the _Lodestar_ until it merely crept across the heavens. Now the forward rockets were open full, and in another moment the ship should have lost all forward momentum, commenced gathering speed in reverse. Minute after minute passed, but the _Lodestar_ continued on ahead at approximately landing speed. Sweat broke out on Carlson's sloping brow. "Rockets on full!" he muttered. "And she's still going forward! We ... we're caught in some sort of current, being drawn along." "Into the Spot!" Haller cried. "Might as well take these ropes off Barger and me, we're all in this together! And if you hadn't slugged me, you might not be in this mess right now!" The four mutineers were thoroughly cowed, sober, now, their coarse faces drawn with fear. Suddenly Seltzsky gasped. The pocket of his coat was bulging out as though a live thing were in it! He reached down, drew out a pocket knife ... and the knife showed an amazing inclination to move toward the front of the ship! Seltzsky had all he could do to hang onto it; invisible strings seemed to be trying to tug it from his hand! The others, too, were finding key-rings, metal buckles, drawing toward the front of the ship. A cloud of instruments from the navigator's desk flew forward and plastered themselves against the front wall of the cabin! Carlson's gun popped from its holster, crashed against the wall, stuck there! "It.... It's screwy!" Kindt whimpered. "It ain't human!" "Simple!" Haller laughed unhumorously. "Magnetism! Magnetism stronger than any ever imagined! It's got the ship in its grip!" He twisted his bound hands. "Let us loose, you fools! We're all in the same boat!" With an effort Seltzsky cut the two men's bonds. A moment later as he relaxed his grip, the knife clanged against the forward wall of the cabin. At that instant, Carlson, peering through the glassex port, gave a fierce, terrified cry. Ahead and below them, weird in the light of the flaring red rockets, was a rocky rubble-strewn plain! Only an instant's glimpse of it, Haller had, before the loud, grinding crash, throwing him heavily to the floor! * * * * * It was some minutes before the stunned Haller picked himself up. The _Lodestar_ was bumping about, tossing, like a ship at sea. A scraping, crashing sound filled her hull, and the roar of the exhausts sounded like continuous thunder. Barger got unsteadily to his feet and staggered to the controls. "It ... it's a planetoid of some sort!" he muttered. "The magnetism holds us down, but the force of the rockets is grinding us forward over the rocks! It'll rip open our plates!" He made a grab for the rocket-control, but the rolling, tossing motion of the _Lodestar_ balked him, throwing him against the wall. Suddenly Haller, peering through the port, gave a cry of wonder. The blinding glare of the forward rockets, driving them in reverse across the rubbled plain, prevented him from seeing anything nearby, while further off, the darkness hung like a pall. In the distance, however, a line of light had become suddenly visible ... pale, orange light, stretching across the close horizon! Brighter and brighter it grew, as the shuddering, bumping vessel ground over the little planetoid's strangely rough surface. "What ... what is it?" Seltzsky muttered. "It's like a great fire across half of this crazy world!" His face showed fear. Haller stared, then realization gripped him. They were on the unknown world's darkside, and the line of light indicated its sunside. His face cleared. "Sunlight!" he exclaimed. "That's the day side of this chunk of rock! Leave the rockets on, 'til we reach it, Barger! Another mile won't make much difference now, and if we can see where we are, we may be able to do something about it!" Barger nodded doubtfully and the _Lodestar_ continued to grind ahead toward the line of sunlight. The four mutineers had lost all their bluster; cringing against the wall, they gazed at Haller as though expecting him to find some way out of this mad place. They had been brave, out in open space, but now, face to face with the unknown, they instinctively sought his leadership. Onward the _Lodestar_ ploughed, held down by the strange magnetism, driven forward by her rockets. At the edge of the dawn-like light, however, there came a staggering shock, as the vessel glanced against a mammoth boulder, and one of the stout glassex ports starred, and then shattered. "God!" Carlson gave a rising, bubbling cry of terror. "Broken! Our air...." But there was no hiss of escaping air, no awful suffocation. Haller, who had torn off his coat to stuff into the gap, paused, eyes narrowed. A strange sharp odor had permeated the control room, and he felt an odd exhilaration. "Air!" Kindt muttered. "Air! Thin, but with a high oxygen content! It's safe out there! Safe!" "Right!" Old Barger cried exultantly. "We can go out, have a look around!" He snapped shut the flaring exhausts, sprang quickly toward an airlock. "Come on! Let's go!" "Wait a minute!" Haller turned to the wall against which the atomite gun had been held. Now that the magnetic center was beneath them, the collection of iron and steel objects had fallen to the floor. With an effort Haller wrenched the gun free, thanking his stars that only the trigger and recoil mechanism were of steel. Even so, the weapon, drawn groundward, seemed to weigh pounds. Gripping it, Haller opened the massive doors of the airlock, swung through. The sight that greeted his gaze defied comparison. The entire surface of the little world was deep with uneven, jagged rocks, roughly spherical in shape. Some of vast size, larger than a spaceship, some no bigger than marbles, they appeared to have fallen like hailstones upon the asteroid's surface, covering it to an unknown depth. Peering between two of the larger stones, Haller could see a crevasse of appalling deepness, and below it, more of the loose rounded rocks. How large the original planetoid was, he could not imagine, but it was evident that for millenniums its magnetic attraction had been collecting about it meteors, most of which have a high ferrous content, drawing them to it and increasing its size. The little world was like a spider ... a spider of space ... catching all ferrous objects in its magnetic field, sucking them to it, fattening on them! Meteors, spaceships, iron-permeated cosmic dust ... all were drawn inexorably to it! Queer as was this great top-layer of meteoric stone, it received only a passing glance from the crew of the _Lodestar_. Their gaze was fixed on the gleaming, cylindrical shapes that lay scattered over the rocky, gray plain. In the weird half-light dozens of them could be seen, large and small. Spaceships! Spaceships of every size, sort, and description! The surface of the tiny world was littered with them, some half-buried beneath meteoric stone, some hopelessly wrecked, some, like the _Lodestar_ intact. Haller and his companions stared in awed wonder at the scene. Space-craft of every type, every era. Great liners, all burnished chrome and glass; sleek cruisers, heavily armored, their big ray-guns peeping through open ports; rusty, battered freighters; old vessels of the design of a century, two centuries before, with their archaic wind-vanes and detachable rockets. The names inlaid upon their sides were keys to countless mysteries of the void. Here was the long-lost _Tycho_, vanished off Jupiter with a billion dollars' worth of polonium in her holds; here, the ancient _Explorer_ which had headed for the outer planets two hundred years before, and never returned; here, the battle-cruiser _Valiant_, long since given up for lost, and upon which the last remains of Commander Lane, hero of the Venusian wars, must lie. Ship after ship, venturing too near the Spot, caught in its magnetic field, drawn to the tremendously magnetized surface of this grasping, spider-like little world. "The Isle of Lost Spaceships!" Barger gasped. "Great Cosmos! Must be hundreds of 'em, scattered over the surface, caught by the chunk of lodestone that's at the center of these ferrous meteors!" Haller nodded. "Steel ships and magnetic field," he said somberly. "The asteroid proper, within this layer of steel and iron it's attracted, must have tremendous power. Still, even back in the 20th century they had alloys which, when permanently magnetized, could do fancy tricks. A piece the size of your thumbnail would support two hundred pounds. Plenty powerful. And this planetoid must be of similar stuff." He grinned crookedly. "Seems as if the secret of the Magnetic Spot's solved. Not that we'll ever get back to tell it. We're caught like the others." Haller glanced at the battered, dust-covered ships strewing the rubbled plain, and then suddenly the set, robot-like look faded from his face. Pale, tense, he stared at a big liner that bulked against the horizon. Wheeling, Haller sprang into the ship, returned with a pair of powerful field-glasses. For a long moment he focused them upon the vessel when he spoke, his voice shook. "It's the ... the _Cosmic_! And Fay...." Abruptly he spun about, barking orders. "I'm going to find out if anyone's left alive aboard her. Barger, you and Kindt'll come with me! You others stay here and keep watch over the ship! No telling what dangers we're liable to run into in this screwy world! All set? Let's go!" Followed by Barger and Kindt, he set out toward the wrecked liner. The going was rough, uncertain, over the great jagged meteors. They were forced to leap from rock to rock, skirt huge meteorites. Small stones rolled and slipped under their feet and once Barger fell through a space between two of the dark ferrous rocks, was saved only by gripping a projecting ledge, hanging on with torn hands until the others dragged him up to safety. * * * * * Sliding, stumbling over the rubble, Haller kept his gaze on the _Cosmic_. The liner was badly battered, her nose crumpled as if she had crashed on landing. Haller forged ahead grimly through the gray half-light of the twilight zone that lay between darkside and sunside of the mad little world. Past ship after ship they toiled, rusty freighters, queer century-old exploring craft, gaunt skeletons of vessels half-buried in the débris. No signs of life were visible aboard the _Cosmic_ as they drew near. Haller's face was a strained mask. "Cap'n!" Barger paused, his gray-stubbled face drawn. "Look! Out there!" Haller turned, staring, but there was nothing to be seen except the shattered rocks, the desolate, silent ships. "Well?" he said sharply. "What was it?" "Thought I saw something moving over yonder," Barger muttered. "Queer-looking figure that was human and still wasn't. Nerves, I guess, or this damned shadowy light." "Sure. Nerves." Haller moved ahead impatiently. What would he find aboard the _Cosmic_? What had happened to those on the wrecked vessel? The silent, dust-shrouded liner loomed above them, now. One of her airlocks was curiously fused, blackened, and nearly twisted from its massive hinges. Haller seized the flush-sunk ring bolt and, followed by his companions, drew himself into the ship. The _Cosmic's_ main saloon was a scene of desolation. The crash landing had hurled furniture, bric-a-brac, luxurious decorations into a jumbled heap. Amidst this shattered débris lay several gaunt skeletons, clad in the uniform of the Trans-Jovian line. "Funny!" Kindt muttered. "Look!" He pointed to the atomite guns clutched in the bony hands. "Why guns?" "Mutiny, maybe," Haller said with grim emphasis. "Common failing, it seems! Let's go on!" They moved along the companionway, toward the rear of the ship. Dark, silent, there was something eerie about the deserted vessel. Like a ghost ship, it seemed, a weird metal tomb. Already rust was beginning to flake the walls, and a moldering smell of decomposition filled the air. The footsteps of the three men echoed hollowly along the dank corridors, and in the light of Barger's _astralux_ torch, grotesque shadows slid along the walls. Death, decay, hung like a pall about the _Cosmic_ and Haller, thinking of Fay, was a tight-lipped specter. "Kind of gives me the creeps, this packet," Barger muttered. "We...." He broke off, listening. "Did you hear something just then? Like soft footsteps?" "More nerves," Haller grunted. "Come on!" Onward they went, examining staterooms, engine-rooms, galley. All at once Haller began to realize that things were missing from the ship. Here, a skeleton stripped of its garments; there, a bed minus its mattress and covers; there, sections of wire, lighting equipment, removed. Reaching the ship's storeholds, they found the shelves swept bare of food. "She's been cleaned out," Barger said hoarsely. "Looks like the survivors took everything they might need, lit out for parts unknown." "Maybe," Haller was doubtful. "But from the number of skeletons, there weren't many survivors. And where'd they go?" A picture of Fay crossed his mind as he spoke. Was hers one of these whitened, grinning skulls, or had she been among those who for some reason had abandoned the _Cosmic_? Memory of the girl's slender loveliness tortured him. "Might's well go back," Kindt said uneasily. "I don't like this ship. There's something damned wrong here." * * * * * Kindt's voice trailed off into silence. At one end of the storeroom were several barrels, empty, their contents of wine having apparently been used by the passengers of the _Cosmic_ on the trip out. And from behind these barrels a faint, strange babbling sound came, as of a mad delirious thing, haunted by fear. For just a second the voice rose, shrill, eerie, then ceased abruptly as though choked to silence. Listening, Haller felt the hair at the back of his neck stiffen. Then he leaped forward, tugged the barrels aside. Deep in the shadows was a small door. Muscles standing out in ridges, Haller ripped it open. The space thus revealed was a small airlock, perhaps four feet square, through which refuse was expelled. In its chamber two indistinct forms were huddled. One was a girl, and the other a gray-bearded man, his hand over his companion's mouth. As the door opened, the man plunged forward, his face contorted in desperation, in frenzy, as if he had determined to go down fighting. Catching sight of the spaceman, however, a look of stunned disbelief crossed his countenance, his arms dropped to his sides. "Earthmen!" he croaked. "Earthmen!" Then something seemed to snap within him and he began to sob like a weary child. Haller paid scant heed to the man. Pale as a ghost, he stared at the girl. Emaciated, she seemed feverish, but in spite of her changed appearance, there was no mistaking that bronze hair, blue eyes, and slender form. Haller felt as though he had swallowed a lump of lead. "Fay!" he whispered. "Fay!" The girl swayed to her feet, gazed at him a moment, then gave a queer high laugh. "But it's a dream," she said slowly. "I know it's another dream. Because Steve is on Jupiter where there're houses, people." Abruptly the girl's voice broke; her knees buckled and she collapsed in a heap on the store-hold floor. Haller picked the girl up, turned to Barger. "Got to get her to the _Lodestar_," he snapped. "Needs food and water. Here, you," rather abruptly he shook the bearded man, "what's this all about?" "About?" the man repeated dully. "We were hiding from Them. All the other men went down fighting, and the women were taken prisoner. I was unarmed and there wasn't any use fighting so many. This girl and I ran down here to the hold, hid in the airlock. For weeks and weeks. At first we could slip out and get food from the shelves but every day They came and carried some away and now there isn't any more." His voice trailed off into a senseless, tuneless crooning. "They?" Haller shook him again. "Who're They?" "Beasts, ghosts, devils." The man shuddered. "I don't know. They come shining, shining through the darkness and their eyes...." "Nuts," Barger said succinctly. "Help him, Kindt. I'll carry the girl, Cap'n, long as you've got the gun. May need it if this guy's anywhere near the truth." "Right." With the heavy magnetized flashlight in one hand, the gun in the other, Haller led the way from the hold, followed by Barger, carrying Fay, and Kindt, aiding the bearded man. At the base of the ladder leading to the main deck, Haller froze in his tracks. Above them, in the cabin, the sound of running footsteps was audible along with queer, inhuman voices. Others had boarded the wrecked _Cosmic_, were rushing down the companionway! "Quick!" Barger roared. "Get that door!" Hardly had Barger's voice died away when there came a series of wild howls, a thud of racing feet. The door leading from the upper deck burst open and a score of nightmare figures leaped into the room. Human, they were, yet at the same time, grim travesties on human beings. Clad in rags, hair long and matted, beards streaked with filth, they seemed the most degenerate, revolting dregs of mankind. More beasts than men, they rushed forward with hoarse shouts of triumph. What shook Haller more than anything else was the queer aura of light that appeared to emanate from their bodies! The attackers were vaguely phosphorescent! With an effort Haller swung up the magnetized atomite gun, fired. The blue bolt of energy tore through the ranks of the insane attackers and three of them slumped to the floor, charred, blackened corpses. Smoke and a stench of burnt flesh filled the storeroom. The maddened figures also had ray guns; the bearded man who had been in hiding with Fay toppled backward, torn by an atomite blast. Like hideous, human wolves, the phosphorescent figures swept on, bearing Kindt and Barger to the floor. As Haller's flash fell to the floor, shattered, the greenish light from their bodies lit up the hold with a queer, eerie luminescence. Two of the wild-eyed specters plunged at Haller. The atomite gun blasted one of them to bits, but the other's clutching, taloned hands locked about his knees in mad fury, sent him reeling to the floor. Haller's head banged against the steel plates, the gun fell from his grip, and the gnarled, steely hands shifted from his knees to his throat. Dazed, he tried to fight back, but found he was no match for the other's inhuman strength. The distorted eldritch face, with reddened eyes peering through a tangle of hair, began to blur before his gaze, fire-flecked darkness slowly engulfed him. Faintly he could hear Kindt and Barger making strangled, choking sounds, realized that he was doing the same. No escape now, he realized. In another minute.... * * * * * A million miles away Steve Haller heard the deep guttural voice, and miraculously the pressure on his windpipe ceased. As vision returned, he could see a huge, scarred man with an embryonic degenerate face, standing on the bottom step of the ladder. Vaguely glowing like the others, he made a ghostly figure in the darkness. "Let them live," he grunted. "We got things to find out." He bent, dragged the dazed Kindt to his feet. "Which ship is yours?" "The ... _Lodestar_," Kindt whispered through bruised lips. "She lies over that way about a mile. The magnetism caught us." "So." The big man's sub-human face expressed satisfaction. "More food and fuel. This has been a good time, eh, Doul? First this liner with food and women, now another ship and" ... he glanced at Fay's inert form ... "another woman. Take six men with guns and see how strongly this new arrival is held." Watching the six repulsive figures depart, Haller felt suddenly sick. The liner, the big man said, had furnished them with food and women. Fay.... Weakly he swayed to his feet. "What's this all about?" he demanded. "Who are you?" "Castaways, or their children's children." The huge figure looked spectral in the weird light that emanated from his skin. "No one leaves the Island of Lost Spaceships. I'm Orth. My people were wrecked many lifetimes ago, mated with the female passengers of the refugee ship, _Transvalia_. We rule here." He motioned his savage followers forward. "We will go now." Half-strangled, throat aching, Haller felt himself seized by two of the savage beings, dragged along with Kindt and Barger to the upper deck. One of the phosphorescent figures had thrown Fay over his shoulder, was carrying her like a sack of meal. Through the airlock they were forced and out onto the rough, meteor-heaped surface of the planetoid. "Haller! Look!" Barger turned toward the distant _Lodestar_; three figures, hands raised, were emerging from the metal hull. "The yellow rats! Not even putting up a scrap! They might have held the ship indefinitely against these brutes!" Orth, the semi-simian leader of these denizens of the asteroid, was waving toward the band which had taken the _Lodestar_. These returned across the rubbled plain shouting jubilantly, with their captives. Carlson, Seltzsky, and Wallace were pale phantoms, cringing under the blows that urged them forward. Joining forces, the two parties set out across the rocky surface, led by the giant Orth. Stumbling along between his captors, Haller found it hard to believe that this was not some mad dream. A magnetic asteroid, an Isle of Lost Spaceships, and humans who had degenerated into beasts. Covertly he studied their guards. Most of them were unnaturally squat, bow-legged, and were a startling example of how swiftly evolution can retrogress. Millenniums of progress, all the civilization so painfully acquired by man, had dropped from them. Faces crude and unintelligent, they spoke in hoarse gutturals, hardly intelligible. And even here, in the half-light of the plain, the uncanny green glow, like fox-fire, hung about their forms. Living ghosts, they seemed, walking through a twilight zone of death and desolation. Over the rough terrain they led their captives, skirting crevasses, craters, leaping sure-footedly from rock to rock. And on all sides lay the battered hulks, looted of their food and cargoes by these strange beings, left to rust away or be buried by new rains of meteors. The barren melancholy of the scene pressed like leaden weights upon the captured earthmen. At a mound of huge meteors rising above the plain, Orth, the herculean leader, turned. A narrow gap was visible between two great stones. Into this he plunged, his faintly glowing body giving wan light. "Caves," Kindt muttered, glancing about. "Some job, too. Wonder why they didn't just live in the spaceships outside?" Haller studied the passages. They had been made by removing loose fragments of the meteors, and were clumsily shored up by plates and girders from the wrecked ships. Enormous effort must have been required to drag the steel supports across the surface of this magnetized world, though perhaps by heating them it might have been possible. But why, when the ships offered luxurious accommodations, was it necessary to dig this rabbit-warren into the layer of meteors that covered the surface? Downward they went, the bodies of their captors lighting up the rocky galleries. Now voices were audible ahead, the corridor was widening. Rounding a bend in the passage, Haller drew a sudden sharp breath. * * * * * Before them lay a vast cavern, crowded with bizarre figures. There were at least half a hundred of the bearded savage men, their skin giving off the greenish luminescence. Among them were four or five less uncouth looking individuals, wearing the uniform of Trans-Jovian. Some of the _Cosmic's_ crew, apparently, had joined the renegades. What struck Haller, however, was the difference among the women. Some were ragged, dirty creatures, almost as neanderthal in appearance as the men, clutching ugly children to their breasts. But the other women huddled in the cavern brought harsh lines to Haller's face. Earthwomen, these, and of pure blood, some young, some approaching middle age, but all with horror stamped upon their features. As Orth and his men swaggered into the cavern, an admiring throng ran to greet them. "Another freighter caught in the field," he grunted. "More food aboard her! No shortage, now! And a new woman for one of us!" He motioned toward Fay, a wan, pale figure in the sickly glow that issued from her captors' fetid bodies. "For one of you!" Haller hardly recognized his own voice. For months he had been a living robot, condemning himself for the girl's death, and now that miraculously he had found her, she was to be claimed by one of these degenerate sub-men! Suddenly all the pent-up emotion of those long months burst its bonds; he felt himself surging forward, a red mist before his eyes. Lean and muscular as he was, Haller was no match for the mighty Orth. A glowing hand shot out, gripped him, held him as helpless as a child. And Barger, who had followed blindly at his heels, was seized by another of the sub-men. The other four men of the _Lodestar's_ crew made no move to join in the hopeless struggle and Haller, berserk, cursed them in the worst language of six planets. "Fools, these two," Orth grunted. "Take them away!" Helpless in the grip of the green-glowing creatures, Haller and Barger were dragged from the big cavern, along passages that wound deep into the heap of meteoric stone. Here and there, in the weird light, they could see other caves, apparently sleeping, living quarters, furnished with equipment taken from stranded ships. Once again Haller found himself wondering why these people buried themselves deep in the ground when they might have lived aboard one of the big luxury liners. Then thoughts of Fay crossed his mind again and he struggled vainly to be free. At the end of one of the passages a large tank, perhaps ten feet in diameter, was sunk flush in the loose rubble. A circular iron plate in its top, sucked down by the inexorable magnetism, required the combined efforts of four of the sub-men to remove. The plate at last dragged aside, they motioned their two captives forward. For just a moment Haller hesitated, but with an atomite gun digging into his back, there was no choice. Gripping the edge of the opening he lowered himself into the tank. The drop of about six feet was jarring and he had just time to move aside as Barger landed beside him. A moment later the glowing sub-men had dragged the magnetized iron plate over the opening. * * * * * The interior of the metal tank that served as their prison was dark, except for a faint greenish fluorescence, like that which emanated from the renegade earthmen, visible in one corner. Moving toward it, Haller saw a copper vessel filled with water, apparently for the use of prisoners. "Barger!" he exclaimed. "That's why they give off that green light! It's the water! Phosphorescent water! We've seen it on earth often, caused by microscopic animal life! Only this is so full of the stuff that by drinking it, a living person becomes phosphorescent also! Like the deep-sea fish on earth! The human body's over eighty per cent water, remember!" "Interesting," the old quartermaster grunted, biting off a quid of blue Jovian _tole_. "But hardly helpful." He spat noisily. "What next?" Haller disregarded the question. "I'm beginning to get a clear picture of this," he announced. "For millenniums this little asteroid drew about it ferrous meteors. Then, two hundred years ago, man perfected the spaceship. Since then, this has become the Isle of Lost Spaceships. Hundreds of vessels, venturing too near, were caught in the field, drawn down. I can imagine the men on the first ship, half-mad, starved, before another was drawn down by the field, plundering the new arrivals of their food and supplies, killing their crews. Orth mentioned the _Transvalia_. She was the ship chartered by some fanatical religious sect who were going to found a new world. Also, she had women aboard. That was the start of this degenerate race. Two centuries of savagery, piracy, and we've seen the result." He paused grimly. "They're strong but stupid. That's our only chance. Also we haven't drunk any of this water and aren't fluorescent. That means we've a good chance of getting by unseen in these caves, once we get out of this tank." "And then, I suppose," Barger grinned, "we build an aluminum spaceship that isn't affected by magnetism and take off. Or do we thumb a ride on a comet?" By way of answer Haller commenced to examine their prison. A large cylinder, of a bronze-like alloy, it had no openings except the one at the top, covered by the steel plate. "Thought this had a familiar look to it," he announced. "It's the fuel tank of an old-style rocket-ship. Here! Climb up on my shoulders and have a look at the top. Might be an intake valve or loose plate up there. Can't see in this light." "The optimist," Barger grunted. "Steady now! Ah! Wait'll I light a match." A match flared in the darkness above and Barger shook his head. "Not a sign of an out up here," he muttered. "Looks like we're in storage for keeps. We.... Look out!" Barger leaped, and Haller fell in a heap upon the floor. Something small, flaring white-hot, had dropped from the top of the tank, was sputtering on the floor plates. A moment later it winked out, but where it had lain, a small hole, the size of a man's finger, was visible. "A hole!" Barger exclaimed. "Burnt right through the metal! What in hell...." "Don't you see?" A tight-lipped grin crossed Haller's face. "This was, as I said, a fuel tank. Little drops of tri-oxine have dried on the top, years ago when it was drained, and your match ignited one! When you think how the toughest steel rocket tube linings burn through in a year or less, it's no wonder this bronze alloy melts!" He snatched up the jar of phosphorescent water, held it near the wall of the tank. Here and there tiny brown globules were visible, dried rocket-fuel, like sap on a tree's bark. "Okay," said Barger, unimpressed. "But how are you going to hold it against the top while it's burning through? Soon as it's lit, it falls ... and I don't want to be beneath, thanks." "What's wrong with the floor?" Haller was already scraping the bits of dried fuel from the walls. "The whole top strata of this asteroid is like a heap of stones. The small fragments we can lug into this tank through the hole, and the big ones don't fit so close that we can't squeeze between them! Get busy!" Slowly from walls and roof they collected the bits of long-dried fuel. A globule here, a flake there, it was painfully slow work. At the end of an hour they had a double handful of the brown crystals. "Enough for a try, anyhow," Haller muttered. "Let's see!" He arranged the brown grains in a circle perhaps two feet in diameter. "Stand clear! Here goes!" A match flickered in the darkness, described a short arc as Haller tossed it toward the circle. At once a ring of lurid fire flared up and a searing gust of heat swept through the metal tank. For only a moment it burned, then died away, leaving the floor plates around it a cherry red. Barger, staring, gave a cry of triumph. "Worked!" he exclaimed. "Burned through!" He poured a portion of the phosphorescent water on the bronze, watched clouds of steam arise. "Now the work starts!" Haller's grin was fierce. Kicking aside the metal disc that had been melted from the floor, he peered into the opening. Small stones, chunks of meteoric rock, lay beneath. * * * * * Largely ferrous, the stones were caught in the grip of the asteroid's magnetic core. It required the combined efforts of both men to lift them through the opening into their prison. At the end of half an hour they were drenched with sweat, and the hole beneath was only four feet deep. "No ... no use!" Old Barger panted. "We can go on like this indefinitely. And if we try to tunnel sidewise it'll fall on us." "But we ought to reach the big meteorites soon," Haller muttered. "They'd have settled lower and will have open spaces between them. And the sub-men have this place honeycombed with passages. If we hit one...." "About as much chance as a snowball on Mercury," the quartermaster wheezed. "Hold the water jar near. I'm going to have a look." Haller held the jar close to the opening so that its green glow faintly illuminated the pit they had dug. Barger, his face red from exertion, jumped into the excavation. "Stones and more stones," he grunted. "Might dig the rest of our lives before we struck anything. I...." A rumble of rock, a smothered cry, and the grizzled quartermaster disappeared from view! "Barger!" Steve shouted. "What happened? Are you hurt?" "Bruised up a bit." The answer echoed hollowly. "And I can't see where I am!" "Okay, sit tight." Haller knotted his belt to his leather jacket, lowered the half-empty jug of phosphorescent water into the opening. When Barger announced its safe arrival, he made one end of the improvised rope fast, climbed down it. In the faint green glow a hollow, between two immense meteorites, was visible. Barger, dirty, disheveled, glanced about. "The opening seems to run back aways," he announced. "Want to try it?" "Right." Haller led the way, testing each step carefully. As they moved on, the tunnel narrowed, and they were forced to crawl. Haller, creeping under the overhang of a huge stone, felt like an ant moving through the spaces in a mound of cannon-balls. Now they were forced to dig again, dragging aside the magnetized rocks, holding their breaths for fear of a cave-in. They had made their way perhaps a hundred feet when Haller pulled up short. His hands had encountered something smooth, cold! "Metal!" he exclaimed. "Wait!" Quickly he raised the vessel of luminous water. Before them, buried beneath massive rocks, was a rusty, ancient spaceship! "Lord!" Barger stared at the archaic forward rocket tubes. "The great grand-daddy of all spaceships!" He pointed to a gaping crack in the battered hull. "Let's see what's inside!" Squeezing through the crack, they found themselves in a dusty, old-fashioned cabin. Two skeletons lay sprawled upon the floor, moldering clothes hanging on their bones. Haller picked up a yellowed book, studied the all but illegible writing. "... caught on the barren sargasso-like world. Magnetism holding us here. Radio blanketed, last food eaten three days ago. No hope. Jameson died today. Too weak to write more. Donovan closing this log. July 17, 1994." "Poor devils!" Haller muttered. "But," ... he thought of their savage captors, of Fay, and his face hardened ... "maybe they were lucky! Nineteen-ninety-four! That'd be before Orth's forefathers, before the _Transvalia_! No wonder it's been completely covered by meteors!" Barger, poking about the cabin, suddenly gave a grunt, came up with two L-shaped black objects. "Guns!" he exclaimed. "Old-time lead-throwers! But they'd be better than nothing!" Rather curiously Haller examined the weapons. Scraping dried oil from the mechanism, he thrust one into his belt. "May help," he murmured. "If we ever get out of here. Maybe if there's any fuel left, we may blast our way through to one of the caves." Haller moved to the rear of the ship, studied the rusty engines. The fuel tanks were empty, every drop apparently having been used in a vain effort to break the magnetic grip. "Nothing here," he muttered. "Dead end. Might as well go back and try these lead throwers on our guards when ... and if ... they open the top of that tank. Unless ..." Suddenly Haller broke off, leaning forward, face intent. Very dimly, far away, the sound of hoarse, shouting voices was audible! "Orth and his gang!" Barger muttered. "But it's not coming from the passage we made! Seems to be in that direction!" He motioned toward the rubble behind the ancient ship. "We're near one of their caves!" Haller leaped toward the rear rocket tubes, forced open a massive breech-block. "Come on!" Into the big exhaust tube he dove, crawling through it as though it had been a drain pipe. "Take the rocks as I pass them back," he ordered. Then, chuckling grimly, "Makes you feel like Dante's tunneling under the Chateau D'If. Here comes a big one!" He shoved a chunk of meteor back along the tube. The heap of stones in the old engine room had grown large when Haller saw the light ahead. A pale trickle of illumination, it filtered through the loose rocks. Haller wormed his way nearer, peered through the opening ... and his face went gray. * * * * * A cave, its brilliant lights dimming the glow of luminous bodies, lay before them. Well furnished from looted ships, auxiliary engines from some plundered liner, run by rocket fuel, supplied electricity to power the great arc lights that hung from the ceiling. One entire end of the room was an Aladdin's cave of treasures. Bars of gold, from the mines of Saturn, stacked in towering heaps ... leaden chests of radium, uranium, polonium, a nation's ransom of the stuff for which men died in the great fields of Venus ... and jewels, huge Martian rubies, big as pigeon's eggs, flame-colored _karnites_ of Io, even the rare _crystolex_ that collects, absorbs, light, until it gives off a diffused pink aura. Loot of a hundred vessels that had met their doom on this Island of Lost Spaceships, utterly worthless on the barren asteroid, yet hoarded because of the legend that they were prized on other worlds, because lure of treasure lingered in the savage minds of the sub-men. Incalculable as was this treasure, Haller gave it but a passing glance. His gaze was fixed on the glowing, hideous figures grouped about the cave. With them were Carlson, Seltzsky, Wallace, and Kindt ... renegades, joining these inhuman brutes, fearing the consequences of refusal. In the center of the cave stood Orth, a gigantic, semi-simian figure, his herculean body shining like a cat's eye, and beside him stood Fay. All the joyousness, the gayety, the beauty, that had bedeviled Haller's memories, were gone from the girl. Pale, emaciated, worn by constant fear, she seemed scarcely aware of her surroundings, stood there like a sleepwalker. "I claim the new woman!" Orth boomed, his guttural voice echoing through the cavern. "Does anyone dispute it?" For a long moment there was silence, then a repulsive, embryonic creature, nearly as big as the leader, stepped forward. "You have another woman!" he growled. "I claim this one!" A roar went up from the sub-men. "Let strength decide! Fight!" Orth grinned, advanced toward the center of the cave to meet his opponent. Unarmed, barehanded, they circled one another, uttering strange animal-like sounds. All at once the second claimant hurtled forward, taloned fingers clutching for Orth's eyes. He risked all in that one frenzied charge but the leader of the sub-men saw it coming, moved his head. The claw-like fingers raked his cheek, drawing blood, but missed his eyes. In that instant Orth sprang to the attack. Seizing his opponent about the waist, he lifted him high with one titanic burst of energy, slammed him to the rocky floor. There was a sharp, sickening crack, and the man lay still. "So!" Orth roared. "Do any others claim the new woman? I, Orth...." Which was as far as he got. An ancient pistol roared, filling the cave with noise and the glowing giant spun about twice, toppled to the floor. Before the stunned sub-men could recover from their surprise, there was a rumbling of dirt and stone, and a section of the cavern's wall gave way in a cloud of dust. Two wild-eyed figures, torn, ragged, furious, their archaic weapons gleaming in the phosphorescent light, sprang through the opening! * * * * * The first thirty seconds of the attack on the sub-men was sheer delirium. Above the roar of the old pistols came howls of rage, of pain, and a momentary panic sent the phosphorescent beings back in confusion. Powder smoke mingled with the clouds of dust, the stench of unclean bodies tainted the air. "Fay!" Steve seized the stunned girl, half-carried her to a corridor leading from the cave. "Keep 'em busy, Barger!" The old quartermaster was firing steadily into the packed mass of howling brutes. By the time he and Haller had reached the corridor, however, both automatics were empty. Barger hurled his empty weapon at a hulking, ungainly figure, leaped for the passage. "Got to run for it!" he choked. "They won't use their atomite guns! They want Fay alive! Come on!" Then they were racing through the shadowy corridors, invisible in the darkness. Their pursuers, however, shining shapes in the gloom, were easily seen. "If only we had a gun!" Barger groaned. "What targets they make!" Carrying Fay, Haller hadn't the breath to reply. Onward they stumbled, through a maze of corridors, with no notion of direction. The green forms were gaining rapidly, their feet thudding on the stone floor. Onward the fugitives plunged, through great caves, winding passages. Once they swept through a grotto in which a dozen of the ugly sub-women were gathered, but before the shrill-voiced creatures could attack them, they had reached a rocky gallery beyond. Haller forced himself on, heart pounding. In spite of the dank chill of the caverns he was bathed in sweat; beside him old Barger was wheezing noisily, gasping. With all their effort, however, the glowing monstrosities were gaining rapidly. Haller cast a furtive glance over his shoulder, saw a squat figure only a step behind him, and beside the sub-man raced Kindt. Kindt, turned renegade! Carlson and the others didn't surprise him; scum of the space-ports, they were hardly above the inhabitants of the asteroid. But Kindt had seemed different. The squat green figure, face set in a savage grin, increased his speed. In another moment his clutching hand must seize Steve, drag him down. Suddenly Haller heard the strangled shout: "Cap'n! Go on! Quick!" One backward glance Steve had, of Kindt throwing his weight against the foremost pursuer. Down they went in a tangled heap, blocking the narrow passage, and the others fell over them. Then an atomite gun flared blue in the darkness and Kindt's shouts abruptly ceased. "A right guy," Barger panted. "Plenty right. And I thought he was yellow! We.... Look! Light!" Far ahead feeble sunlight gleamed, and the passage slanted upward. The sub-men had resumed the pursuit, but it was evident that they couldn't make up the lost distance before their prey reached the surface of the little world. But even though free of the caverns, the three fugitives could never hope to reach the _Lodestar_ without being overtaken. Even if they did reach it, the ship could not break the magnetic grip. "No ... no use, Steve!" Fay whispered. "They're bound to get us in the end! Join them, let me go! It's your only chance!" "Forget it!" he gasped. "Food and water on _Lodestar_! Can stand seige for months once we reach it! Come on!" The mouth of the passage was only a few feet away, now. Behind them the howling phosphorescent figures were closing in swiftly. All at once Barger, in the lead, gave a cry, pointed through the passage entrance. In the dark sky high above, something huge, glowing, was exploding into a rain of white-hot dots. "Meteors!" he shouted. "A big one's broken up, and the magnetism is pulling the pieces this way! There'll be hell out there in a moment!" "Got to risk it!" Steve took one glance at the onrushing sub-men, leaped through the opening. "Come on!" Hardly a dozen steps had they taken when the storm broke. Easy to understand now, why the pirates of the asteroid had burrowed underground for their dwellings. The meteor storm was a rain of death. * * * * * Screaming through the thin atmosphere, white-hot from the explosion, the first great stone struck the asteroid. The ground shook as if from an earthquake, a shower of shattered rock rose in a deadly spray. Now another, and another, in a terrifying cosmic bombardment. Fiery missiles, hurtling from the heavens, tearing great gaps in the rough terrain. Staggering over the heaving, shifting bed of stone, Haller felt as though he were in an inferno. The heat was overpowering, on all sides the ground was churned like a twentieth-century battlefield. Blinding light, the shriek of descending meteors, the earth-shaking roar and rumble as they struck. Barger glanced back; the sub-men were huddled in the entrance of their caverns, shouting with rage, yet not daring to go out. "Free of them for the time being!" Barger shouted to make himself heard above the roar. "But if one of these chunks of rock hits us...." Haller, supporting the girl, nodded grimly, plodded on. The rain of meteors was at its height now, and the entire plain seemed to be exploding. A great liner, lying ahead, disappeared in a shower of débris as a great stone struck it; another, beside it, was completely buried under the rubble and wreckage. A scene of sheer horror, the plain, shrouded in dust, lit by incessant flashes of light, the loose stones of its surface sliding and rumbling with each new shock. As the three fugitives reeled onward, one of the missiles landed nearby in a blinding flash, a gust of heat. Hurled to the ground, Haller was half-buried by a hail of splintered stone. Blindly, groggily, he picked himself up, pulled Fay to her feet, and, aided by the bruised and bloody Barger, pushed on. [Illustration: _Staggering over the heaving, shifting bed of stone, Haller felt as though he were in an inferno. The heat was overpowering._] With startling suddenness the storm of meteors ceased. Two or three belated thuds, and there was only the pall of dust, the wrecked spaceships, the great craters, to mark its path. "Short and sweet," Barger grunted. "You don't carry a rabbit's foot, do you, Cap'n? How we ever got through that barrage alive!" He glanced back. Luminous figures were streaming from the caverns. "Here come our boy-friends, hell-bent!" Haller peered through the swirling dust. The stumpy, battered shape of the _Lodestar_ was visible not a hundred yards ahead. "You see, Fay?" he laughed jubilantly. "She's not much of a ship but her hull's tough enough to hold off atomite guns and we've food enough for months. Maybe by that time we can figure out a way to break the magnetic grip!" She nodded, the color returning to her cheeks, quickened her pace. Behind them faint shouts of rage were audible, and a few blue bolts of energy tore up the rocks nearby. The distance was too great for accurate shooting; and a moment later the three fugitives had swung into the freighter's airlock. "So!" Haller wiped a paste of sweat and dust from his forehead. "Barger, see that all ports are secure. Replace that smashed one in the control room with a spare from the stores. We're in for a seige!" As Barger made fast the heavy glassex ports, Haller and the girl closed the massive lock. Howls of rage from outside announced the presence of their pursuers. A moment later several spots on the steel hull glowed red under atomite blasts. "Let 'em have their fun," Haller grinned. "There's not enough juice in their guns to melt the steel, and as long as we keep away from the outer walls, we don't get burned! Right now the one thing that interests me is a sandwich and...." "Cap'n!" Old Barger rattled down the companionway steps, his face gray. "Big guns! Look!" Steve whirled, glanced through one of the ports. From a wrecked space-cruiser about half a mile away the sub-men were laboriously dragging a gleaming mass of copper and glass tubes. A heavy heat-gun, designed to destroy armored warships. The little _Lodestar_ could have no chance of withstanding its blast. Bestial ape-like figures were setting it up to cover the vessel's bow, while another group were dragging a second heavy projector around to play upon the stern. "Sixteen-power projectors!" Fay whispered. "Oh, Steve, isn't there anything we can do? To have come through so much ... and now...." * * * * * Haller was silent, and his face took on the old living robot look. No escape! If only the dragging magnetism didn't hold them down! It would have been so simple to open the rockets, leap skyward. But the invisible field held them like a vise, as it had held so many helpless vessels on this Island of Lost Spaceships, never to leave! A roar from the sub-men sounded outside. Beams of dazzling blue light had burst from the two projectors, had caught the ship in their focus, until it was like a bit of steel in the middle of a spark-gap. Heat ... searing, unbearable heat, swept the cabin. "They're turning on the juice slowly," Barger muttered through clenched teeth. "Full power would blast the ship to atoms, but they're trying to force us to surrender! They don't want to destroy the food we got aboard!" Haller nodded grimly. The heat within the cabin was becoming unbearable now, and the walls were beginning to turn a dull red. He shot a glance at Fay; paper-white, face drawn, the girl was gasping for breath. The veins in old Barger's neck were beginning to stand out apoplectically. "Lie down!" Haller whispered. "Cooler ... on floor!" "What's use!" the quartermaster gasped. Moment by moment the heat increased. The dull red of the hull was beginning to creep along the floorplates, until they were searing to the touch. Outside the howling of the sub-men was vulpine, frenzied, in mad triumph. Barger groaned, writhing in agony. "Can't stand it!" he choked. "Being roasted alive!" Fay turned tortured eyes toward Haller, touched his hand. "Good fight, Steve!" she whispered. "Shame it has to end like this! Pray that ... fuel tanks blow up, end it quickly! I ... I...." She fell back, unconscious. "Fuel tanks...." Haller repeated dully. There was something in his mind but he couldn't think. So hot. Hell--living hell. That something in his mind! Heat ... magnetism ... no escape. "Magnetism ... heat...." Drunkenly Haller lurched to his feet. "Barger! Barger!" He dragged the groaning spaceman erect. "Heat destroys magnetism! You see? The bulk of the ship's interior bulkheads are aluminum alloy for lightness! It was the steel hull that dragged us down! And now it's hot ... red hot! No magnetism! Get down to those motors!" Half-conscious Barger stumbled down to the engine-room. Haller reeled toward the controls. Everything was spinning before his gaze, the red glare from the searing hull plates dazzled him. Heat! Unbelievable heat ... killing heat! An ant in an oven! Hair singed, hands blistered, he tugged at the rocket switch. Every movement was torture, the hot air tore at his lungs. Frantically he jerked the switch. Why didn't they start? * * * * * The sudden roar of the rockets was like a roar of triumph. But though the red-hot hull of the _Lodestar_ was now non-magnetic, the engines were still in the grip of the field. The ship ground forward, but did not rise. Desperately Haller opened the jets wide, and slowly the vessel began to climb, gathering speed with each second. Suddenly, as though breaking invisible bonds that had held her, the little ship, glowing like a furnace, leaped toward open space. With a weary sigh Haller slumped over the controls, out, but anything but cold. They were heading in the general direction of Vega when Barger staggered into the control room, swung the _Lodestar_ back toward Mars. Fay bent over Haller, pressed a damp cloth to his face. "O ... okay!" he muttered. "Are we clear?" "Away clean as a whistle," the quartermaster grinned, caressing blistered hands. "And here's hoping I never see the Isle o' Lost Spaceships again!" Haller lurched to his feet, one arm about the girl's shoulders. "Aren't you coming along, then?" he laughed. "I haven't forgotten that crack you made about an aluminum, non-magnetic spaceship, and as soon as we reach Mars I'm going to organize a company, have one built! We'll take a well-armed expedition and have a go at that treasure the sub-men had in their caves. After all, a man needs money when" ... he glanced at the girl beside him ... "when he's going to get married! I'll need you on an expedition like that, Barger. Think of the fortune in that cave! Millions and millions! How about it?" The old quartermaster shifted his quid to the other cheek, grinned. "You could talk the devil into installing air-conditioning," he chuckled. "I'll go!" 
62350	----	Mutiny in the Void By CHARLES R. TANNER Manool's plan for breaking the mutiny on the _Berenice_ was simplicity itself. He utterly destroyed the plants that furnished oxygen for the entire ship. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Fall 1943. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] The tank-room of the rocket-ship _Berenice_, where the big tanks of water-weed were kept, was so spick and span that a man needed little psychology to realize that its manager was a dapper, finicky, careful little man. The room's lights were bright and efficient, the water in the tanks fresh and clean, and there were no decaying fronds of vegetation among the thousands of stems of water-weed which, floating about in the tank, absorbed the carbon dioxide which was pumped through the water, and gave back a constant stream of tiny bubbles of oxygen. For this "farm," as the tank-room was called, was the oxygen-producer for the rocket, and under the expert care of Manool Sarouk, the "farmer," it kept the air as fresh and wholesome as the air of Earth. Manool was proud of his work, and of the way he handled it, just as he was proud of his appearance, and the way he kept _that_. But at the moment thoughts of pride and satisfaction were furthest from Manool Sarouk's mind. He had just opened the door of the tank-room and entered, and on his face were written terror and anxiety, and written in unmistakable characters. For Manool had just been an unconscious eavesdropper on a conversation--a conversation between Gilligan, the tall, cadaverous "mate" of the ship, and one of the fuel-wrestlers. Manool didn't know the name of the wrestler, for most of the crew were new men, picked by Gilligan on this, his second trip with the _Berenice_. But his name was of no moment--it was the gist of the conversation that mattered. It was that which made the dapper little "farmer" tremble with anxiety and, yes--terror. For they had spoken of mutiny--and of mutiny imminent and likely to break out at any minute. Manool was neat, and Manool was proud, but no one would call him brave. He was frightened now--frightened almost out of his wits, and uncertain as to what he should do. He mechanically reached into the breast of his jacket and drew out a tobaccolette. He stuck it in his mouth and inhaled it, wishing it was a cigarette he was smoking. Ninety-nine "farmers" out of a hundred wasted oxygen by smoking tobacco, but not Manool. The rules said "no cigarettes," so it was "no cigarettes" for him. He tossed the tobaccolette away before it was half empty and began to pace the floor nervously. He went to the washstand and brushed the stain of the tobaccolette from his teeth. He made a test of the air, and smiled a little as he noted that the oxygen content was well above par. He examined the weeds, and removed a sickly looking frond or two. But his mind was not on his work, and he soon resumed his uneasy pacing. And then there was a knock on the door. His heart flew into his mouth; he glanced around to see if there was any place to flee, and then called out weakly: "Who's there?" "It's me--Gilligan," came the sharp voice of the mate, and Manool's panic became, if possible, greater. "What--what do you want?" he stammered. Gilligan's voice grew even sharper. "What's the matter with you, Manool?" he snapped. "Lemme in. I want to have a talk with you." Manool was trembling violently, but he moved forward and unlatched the door. The tall abnormally-thin mate strode in, a sort of ingratiating smile hovering over his face. "Nice little place you got here, Manool," he said with a forced smile. "Too bad I never had a chance to visit you here before." He strode over to Manool's stool, the only seat in the "farm," and took possession of it. He looked about him, glanced at Manool once or twice and gradually his smile became more natural. "Manool," he said, "you're an officer of sorts, maybe only a warrant officer, but still--you eat with them, so I've been considering you as an officer. But--well, I like you, Manool, and--you've heard more than you should, I believe, so I've come to have a little _talk_ with you." * * * * * He lowered his voice and looked around warily before he continued. Then, "Manool," he said. "I'm going to make things plain. You heard me talkin' to Larry, a while ago, and you must be suspicious. Well, your suspicion is right. There's going to be mutiny aboard this hunk of fireworks and Cap Tarrant is going to lose his job. Know why? 'Cause I'm one of Huddersfield's men, and I've been working to seize this ship for eight months." Manool shuddered. "Huddersfield, the Cerean?" he asked. "The very same! Huddersfield has seized an asteroid and intends to start a fleet of rockets. He's got a couple already and this'll be his third. When we get enough, things'll pop, I'll tell you. "Now listen, Manool--you can throw in with us and go in for Huddersfield, or you can run and tell Cap Tarrant--and get your bloody knob knocked off when we take the ship. 'Cause the men are all with me, Manool, all of 'em, and there ain't a chance of Tarrant winning if it comes to battle." He stopped, evidently waiting for Manool to speak. The little farmer looked up miserably. "But--what can I do?" he cried, plaintively. "Me, I ain't no fighter, Gilligan. You don't want me for a fighter in your crew." Gilligan stood up, smiling broadly. Manool's obvious terror of him seemed to have reassured him considerably. He winked confidently. "Manool," he said. "Your business is to keep the air clean, and that's all you have to do. Except to keep your mouth shut, too. 'Cause if you peep to the Captain, or to Navigator Rogers, you'll be the first to die when we cut loose. _But_--" He winked again and his smile broadened. "You keep the wind fair and the trap closed, and you won't be forgotten." * * * * * He gave one final wink and stepped out, closing the door behind him. And he left Manool in a turmoil of uncertainty. The little farmer knew well where his duty lay. If he did the right thing, he'd go at once to Captain Tarrant and inform him of the impending rebellion. But, if he did, Gilligan would surely get him. He knew well that the threat the thin mate had made had been no idle one. But if he didn't inform the captain--if he didn't, he'd be a mutineer, too. And he'd have to take his share, and leave the earth, a fugitive, and probably cast his lot with the infamous Huddersfield. He certainly didn't want to do that, either. He strode back and forth in the tank-room, a victim of uncertainty. He didn't know _what_ to do, he told himself, plaintively.... He still didn't know, when dinner time came. Manool's abstraction at the dinner table was so noticeable that young Captain Tarrant was forced to speak of it. "Where's your appetite, Sarouk?" he asked. "You haven't even finished your soup. Aren't you feeling well?" Manool's face reddened as he answered, but old Doc Slade looked up and eyed Manool keenly. "You better come in and see me after dinner, Sarouk," he suggested. "Maybe you got something wrong and I'll have some work to do. You stop in and see me." Manool was about to insist that he had nothing wrong with him, when he caught Doc's eye, and realized that the old man knew something. And then he realized that here was opportunity knocking. He could go in and see Doc Slade, and Gilligan would never suspect anything. He rose from the table murmuring: "I'll be in and see you in a few minutes, Doc." Then hurried back to the farm. He entered the tank-room and checked everything again. He put on a clean shirt, and brushed his teeth and combed his straight black hair. Then, after a moment's consideration, he brushed his teeth again. Doc might take a notion to examine him, and he certainly didn't want his teeth to be soiled, if Doc looked at his mouth and throat. He was about to leave the tank-room when he heard a cry from somewhere down the passage. It was a startled cry, and it was followed by a sharp command that ended in an oath. His heart leaped into his mouth. Not an officer on the ship ever used profanity to the men. Besides, he'd have recognized the voice of any of the four officers. That command had been shouted by one of the men, and the cry that had preceded it had been one of surprise. Had the mutiny started already? As if in answer to his question, the sharp report of an automatic rang out suddenly through the passageway. Manool swung the door shut and ducked back as suddenly as if the bullet had been fired at him. He was beginning to tremble; he felt a smothering constriction of his throat, and yet, at the same time, an unreasoning thrill of excitement was rising within him. He felt an overpowering desire to see what was going on outside. For many minutes his caution overcame his curiosity, but at last the continual silence convinced him that, in all probability, the mutiny was over. So, ever so slowly, he stepped out into the corridor and started down. The hall where he had heard the shot proved to be quite empty, and he wondered where everybody was. This was certainly a queer mutiny, nothing like any he had ever read about. He trod more and more cautiously, and it dawned on him that this silence was more fearsome than tumult would have been. He was passing a store-room just then, and when he was just abreast of the door, it was flung suddenly open and there was one of the fuel-wrestlers, with a loaded automatic leveled at Manool's chest, and a spiteful look in his eyes. Manool's reaction was almost automatic. He threw up his hands and shouted, "Don't shoot." And from behind the fuel-wrestler, another voice--Gilligan's--said, "Let him alone, it's the farmer." Then it grew sharper as the mate snapped, "Get in here, Manool. What are you doin' wanderin' around in the halls? You want to get shot?" Manool was almost too scared to speak. "I was looking for you," he answered. "I think the fight is all over, so I look for you." "It ain't all over, by a dam' sight," Gilligan snarled. "You seen Doc Slade?" "I ain't seen nobody," Sarouk answered, truthfully. "I just came out of the farm and walked down here. I hear a shot, while ago." "That was when we took a pop at Slade. I think he must have had some suspicions, the way he acted. Now, look, Manool," the mate went on, "this stuff ain't exactly in your line. You better go back to the farm and lay low till I call you." Manool was still a little trembly from the scare he'd got when he saw the pistol pointed at his breast. He nodded enthusiastically at Gilligan's suggestion, darted to the door and, running down the corridor, he crept into the tank-room without another word. * * * * * He was in the tank-room, alone, for hours, it seemed. It was almost time for supper when there was a knock on the door, and when he hesitatingly opened it, Gilligan came in with a big smile on his face. "Well, it's all over but the shoutin', Manool," he boasted. "We've got Tarrant and Navigator Rogers cooped up in the dining room. They've got food and water, and they've locked themselves in, but we got a guard posted at the door, and we'll get 'em if they make a break. We got Doc Slade, too--alive. He fought like a tiger, hurt two of the boys before we nailed him, but we took him, alive, and we're holding him, up in the weighin' room. Cookie's stirred up some supper, so come on up and eat. You needn't be afraid," he added as an afterthought. "The fighting's all over." Manool followed him out of the door and down the passageway. They went up the stairs to the loading room near the central axis of the rocket; Manool feeling again the dizziness that he always felt when he lost weight. He had never really become a spaceman, in spite of all his years in space. He walked a little uncertainly and giddily into the room, a pace or two behind Gilligan. The entire crew was there. Doc Slade was there, too. He had a black eye and a long, deep scratch down one side of his face. His hands were tied, and he was seated on a stool with his legs tied to the stool's. Doc's eyes widened when he saw Manool walk in with Gilligan; then a look of scorn came into them and he turned his head away. Manool squirmed uncomfortably under his gaze--he liked Doc Slade, and Doc had always liked him, up to now. He hoped these fellows wouldn't hurt the old Doc. The table was set and the crew were about to sit down to eat. Manool was seated beside Gilligan, and they untied Doc's hands and sat him down, too, at the opposite end of the table. The meal was sheer torture to the little farmer. The crew ignored him, Gilligan ignored him, and Doc Slade--Doc wouldn't ignore him, and Manool wished he would. Before the meal was over, Manool was in an agony of anxiety. He wondered what would become of Tarrant and Rogers; he wondered what they'd do to Doc Slade; he wondered also what they were going to do to _him_. The crew was uproariously jovial. They had broken out a case of gin that one of them had probably smuggled aboard, and they lit cigarettes and split a bottle and were having a glorious time. It grew more glorious after the third bottle, and one of them brought up the suggestion that they divide the cargo among them right then, to "see what they were going to get." Gilligan frowned and tried to wave the suggestion down, but a half dozen voices snarled angrily at his refusal, and the slim mate was forced to acquiesce with as good grace as possible. A loader was delegated to guard Doc Slade, then the entire remainder of the crew started aft to the "hold." In those days, ships usually carried things that were mighty hard to get or make on Mars, and were not too scarce on Earth. In this case, there was a ton of U235, a lot of organic chemicals that still couldn't be synthesized from their elements, and an assortment of odds and ends that were prized by the Martian natives in spite of their cheapness. Into the bins where this stuff was stored, the shouting pirates who had lately been a well-behaved crew swarmed, shouting and pushing, and laying claim to this and that and the other; and in less than five minutes, three separate fights started. Gilligan stormed, threatened, and at last resorted to violence. "This stuff'll never be divided fair if you lugs try to settle it by fightin' for it," he roared after he had clipped a couple of them. "What do you think you are, a bunch of pirates? You fools kill each other off, and who brings the ship into port, eh? How long do you think you'd go on livin', if we go short-handed and damage this can on landin'? Huddersfield would kill you off like flies for that. Now calm down and let's get this thing settled." They stood meekly enough after that, while Gilligan looked the cargo over and assigned this portion to this fellow, that portion to that. He had apportioned a large part of the spoils to them when he came to a dozen or so large corrugated boxes. He read one of the labels and broke out into laughter. "Look at this, you lugs," he chuckled. "Who's going to get this for his share?" The others looked and grins began to spread over their faces. The labels said: "_Dentogleme Tooth Powd. 1/2 Gr. 4 oz._" The grins became laughs, and a dozen eyes turned to Manool. The little farmer felt his face begin to redden; it dawned on him that his habit of dental fastidiousness was not unknown to the crew. Gilligan's next remark made it obvious that this was the truth. "Manool," he said. "This stuff was probably goin' to Mars to polish the teeth of them shark-jawed natives. But it would have been wasted there, Manool, wasted. But now, Manool, it shall be awarded to you, who'll value it, in appreciation of all you done for us, durin' the mutiny." His eyes hardened for a moment as if in anticipation of a complaint; then, seeing nothing in Manool's eyes but plaintive acquiescence, he went on: "Take it, Manool, and get out o' here. Take it down to the farm and gloat over it, farmer. There's enough there to last even you for twenty years." The crew looked at him, looked at the dazed Manool, and burst into spasms of laughter. They poked jibes at him, made obscene puns at his expense, and Manool stood there, taking it all in and getting redder and redder. He wished futilely that he had had time to do something before the mutiny. He wished that it wasn't too late to do something, now. Then he realized that there was something for him to do now. Gilligan was ordering him again, in no uncertain terms, to get that tooth-powder down to his tank-room. He smiled weakly at the ring-leader and picked up one box. * * * * * For the next half hour he was busy carrying his "fortune" down to his quarters. And it is doubtful if, in all his life, Manool Sarouk had ever been so miserable. He upbraided himself at every step for his cowardice and vacillation. He racked his brain, striving to devise some brilliant plan to circumvent the mutineers; and even as he did so, another part of his mind was scoffing at the futility of daring to oppose that group of ruffians. By the time he came back for the last box, he had admitted the absurdity of even trying it. They had emptied the gin bottles by that time. Some of them were singing, and some were shooting craps, gambling with their share of the cargo. Gilligan and a couple of others were gathered around Doc Slade. They had removed his bonds and had evidently been talking to him. "You'll take a chance with us or you'll take a chance with them two in the officer's mess," Gilligan was saying, menacingly, as Manool entered. It was evident that he had shared in the gin since Manool had started his work. He was looking ugly and seemed to be feeling the same way. Doc Slade's lip was curling with contempt before Gilligan had finished his sentence. "There's no choice," the doctor spat. "You give me passage to the mess-room and I'll go, right now. What have I got in common with a pack of space-rats like these? I don't like the smell of you, even." "Okeh!" Gilligan snarled, with an air of finality that showed that he was ending what had been an attempt to persuade Slade to join them. "I'll give you passage. Git out o' here and git down to the dinin' room." He flung the door open and gestured out into the passageway. Doc Slade looked at him, with a look in his eyes that Manool couldn't fathom. "Git!" repeated Gilligan, and drew his weapon. "Git out o' here before I forget myself and let you have a dose o' this." Doc hesitated the briefest second, then he shrugged and stepped out of the door. He started down the passageway swiftly, and Manool noticed that he neither slackened his pace nor looked backward. He was some sixty feet away when Gilligan muttered to the two or three who had crowded to the door, "All right. Let him have it!" And to Manool's horror, a half dozen shots cracked and echoed in the narrow confines of the hall. Doc staggered, put out a hand to the bulkhead, coughed and slumped to the floor. Gilligan ran forward and put another bullet in him. * * * * * Manool didn't even wait until Gilligan came back into the room. He grabbed up his last box mechanically and ran to the steps. His mind was a chaos of horror; he was choking, his eyes were filling with tears and he was aware of only one thought--to get to the steps before a bullet smacked into _his_ back, too. He stumbled down the steps and along the corridor, sobbing as he went. They had killed Doc Slade. Killed him in cold blood. They'd kill the other officers, too, if they got the chance. There was no good in them, there was no hope in trying to placate them and appeal to their good nature. At any moment, they'd be likely to take a notion to kill him, too; just for the fun of the thing! He hardly knew what he was doing by the time he entered the tank-room and dropped the box of tooth-powder onto the others and then slammed the door shut and locked it. For a while he was a little hysterical. He sobbed; he walked the floor; he beat his temples with his fists, and wondered if he could kill himself. He could see before him, with awful clarity, the form of Doc Slade, lying as he had lain in the passageway, with a gradually spreading pool of blood beneath his head. He covered his face with his hands and wept anew. He kicked savagely at the boxes that were the price of his neutrality in this little war. He felt that he was the lowest, the most despicable coward in history. He wrung his hands and wept again. And at last, in time, his eyes dried and he took a deep breath. There was a new look in his eyes. The thought had come to him suddenly, that he held the lives of these madmen in his own hand. Of course, he did! He had been worrying so much about the safety of his own paltry life that this thought had been entirely overlooked. He was the farmer on this ship! What was he weeping and wailing for, when every one of them depended for their air on his continued attention to the tanks? Why, they were a good twenty million miles from the nearest space-port. If he wanted to die, if he was willing to give his life, he could destroy those tanks of vegetation, and not a man on this rocket would live to land on a planet again. He stood up and threw out his chest. He inhaled deeply--and smothered an involuntary sob. He went to the wash-bowl and washed his face and eyes and combed his lank, black hair. He absently reached for his tooth-brush, then he shuddered. But habit was too great; in spite of the feeling of revulsion that the very thought of tooth-powder brought to him, he wound up by carefully brushing his teeth. Then he felt better. He started to turn away from the wash-bowl and suddenly stopped. He turned back quickly and seized the can of tooth-powder standing there. He picked it up, poured some of the powder into his hand and let a drop or two of water fall on it. A sinister grin began to spread over his face--if he handled this thing right, the joke they had made in giving him the tooth-powder was going to back-fire with a vengeance. He sat down and began to think. He sat there for almost half an hour. Once he got up and went over and examined the openings to the ventilator pipes. He removed the screen from one of them, a pipe about two feet in diameter, and looked into the blackness of the pipe's interior. What he saw evidently satisfied him, for he smiled again and went back to resume his pensive pose. At last, he rose and with the grim smile playing on his face he went to work. He climbed up into the ventilator pipe he had examined, and started to worm his way into its dark maw. His legs kicked futilely for a moment, then he was hunching his way along through the tube. He worked his way along for a dozen yards or so, then he came to a place where the tube divided in two. He unhesitatingly chose the path to the right--he knew these tubes well enough to traverse them with his eyes shut, even though he had never seen them from the inside before. After a few yards of further crawling, he saw a light ahead and increased his speed. Before long, he was lying in front of a grating and looking out into the officer's mess-room. He could see Tarrant and Rogers. They were seated disconsolately at the table, speaking little, apparently, for Manool watched them for five minutes before he tried to attract their attention, and in all that time, Tarrant only spoke once. When Manool tapped on the grating, they looked up startled, and reached for their weapons. Rogers was unable to locate the rapping and swung about a little wildly until Tarrant pointed out the ventilator opening. Then he recognized Manool before Tarrant did. "It's the farmer," he exclaimed, in surprise. "What are you doing up there, Sarouk?" Manool beckoned them over to the ventilator. "Don't talk too loud," he cautioned in a hoarse whisper. "I can't say much. Somebody is guarding outside the door, maybe they hear me. They kill Doc Slade and the chemist. I got a scheme. You take this grating off, while I go back to the farm and get something." * * * * * He backed away without waiting for an answer and made his way slowly back to the farm. He picked up one of his boxes of tooth-powder and hoisted it up to the ventilator shaft, shoving it back as far as he could. Then he climbed in after it and began his journey back to the mess-room, pushing the box ahead of him. It was slow work, but he made it at last, and called softly to Tarrant to come and get the box. "What's this all about, Manool?" demanded the captain, but Manool refused to answer. "Can't talk too much, Captain," he whispered. "Got to hurry. If someone tries to come in farm before I get these boxes over here, this whole plan be shot. Don't you talk now, please." Tarrant nodded his understanding and Manool started back for another box of tooth-powder. As he hunched his way along, he heard Tarrant say to Rogers, quite plainly: "Think he knows what he's doing, Ike?" He smiled bitterly. It seemed impossible for anyone to expect anything important could be accomplished by little Manool Sarouk. Well, if things went right, he was certainly going to show them, this time. In spite of his haste, and in spite of the fact that Rogers helped him after the third trip, it was some little time before Manool dropped down in the tank-room after that last box. He heaved a huge sigh of relief as he put it into the ventilator shaft, and turned to do the one thing left to do. This was the one job he hated, but it was the most important job of all. He went to his locker and got out a big bottle and poured liquid from it into every one of the tanks. He turned off a valve under each tank and took a hammer and beat the valve-handle into uselessness. Then, after checking to make sure he hadn't overlooked anything, he climbed into the tube and started pushing that last box of tooth-powder ahead of him. At last he reached the mess-room again and handed down his box. He climbed down, himself, and had no more than landed when Tarrant was on him with a whispered, "Come on now, Manool, tell us what this is all about." "Just a couple minutes more, Captain," Manool pleaded. "You think they can get through that door?" "Not a chance," Rogers spoke up. "That's fine. Maybe, then, you help me fix that ventilator, too." They put the grill back on the ventilator, and covered it by nailing boards from the table over it. "By-'n'by, we make that air-tight," said Manool, and gave his next order. Yes, he was giving orders to the captain and the navigator now, and he was quite conscious that he was doing so. "You get all the bowls and pans and pots in here and fill 'em with water. No telling when those fellows decide to cut our water lines." It took them half an hour to do that, and it wasn't until it was done that Manool felt satisfied. Then he began to break open one of the cartons of tooth-powder, explaining his plans as he did so, in the same whisper he had used all along. "Those fellows out there got the whole ship to themselves," he said. "They got lots of food and lots of water and lots of air. They got fuel, too, and somebody who can lay an orbit for contact with Ceres. But I don't think they ever get there. "There's a whole lot of fellows, too," said Manool, dubiously. "I think maybe the air they got won't last 'em." "Their _air_!" ejaculated Tarrant. "Manool, you haven't monkeyed with the tanks, have you?" "I just kill the water-weed, that's all." "Are you nuts, little man?" asked Tarrant at last. "How in thunder are _we_ going to breathe, when this air gets stale. You may smother those pirates, but we're all in the same boat here, you know." Manool smacked his fist into his hand to emphasize his remark. "We may be in same boat, but we three, we're in different part of this boat. Maybe them rats outside quit breathing, all right, but not us! Look here." He seized them both by the shoulder and hauled them across the room. He broke open one of the corrugated boxes as they watched, and pulled out a gaily colored can. He opened the can and dumped the contents into a pan of water, while they looked on. He stirred the paste in the bottom of the pan for a moment and then let out a cry of triumph. "Aha! See there! What you think of that, by gum!" * * * * * A series of bubbles was rising from the paste, rising and breaking, bringing fragments of the tooth-powder with them, giving the water a cloudy and dusty quality as they grew and joined each other, faster and faster. Manool winked. "Maybe Manool isn't as big fool as these hoodlums think," he said proudly. "I don't know much, maybe. But, by gum, I know my business. I know about tooth-powders and I know about providing oxygen for rocket ships. "You know what, Captain. Most tooth-powders got sodium perborate in 'em. They put it in because that perborate give off pure oxygen when you put it in water, and pure oxygen is pretty good antiseptic. Only this time, we're going to use that oxygen to keep us alive instead of killing germs." He leaned over and took a sniff of the life-giving gas. "In a day or two," he said, happily, "the air out in the rest of the rocket is going to get pretty stale. Then they try to get in here. We hold 'em out all right, then afterwhile they come, offering to surrender, begging for a breath of fresh air. Ain't it nice to think that there's only enough for the three of us? If we get soft and let 'em breathe any of our air, nobody will reach port alive. So we have to be hard and let that mob of cut-throats smother to death." He sat down and leaned back and smiled. Manool Sarouk felt pretty good. He felt satisfied with himself for the first time in a long while. 
21747	----	THE LONELY ISLAND; OR, THE REFUGE OF THE MUTINEERS, BY R.M. BALLANTYNE. CHAPTER ONE. THE REFUGE OF THE MUTINEERS. THE MUTINY. On a profoundly calm and most beautiful evening towards the end of the last century, a ship lay becalmed on the fair bosom of the Pacific Ocean. Although there was nothing piratical in the aspect of the ship--if we except her guns--a few of the men who formed her crew might have been easily mistaken for roving buccaneers. There was a certain swagger in the gait of some, and a sulky defiance on the brow of others, which told powerfully of discontent from some cause or other, and suggested the idea that the peaceful aspect of the sleeping sea was by no means reflected in the breasts of the men. They were all British seamen, but displayed at that time none of the well-known hearty off-hand rollicking characteristics of the Jack-tar. It is natural for man to rejoice in sunshine. His sympathy with cats in this respect is profound and universal. Not less deep and wide is his discord with the moles and bats. Nevertheless, there was scarcely a man on board of that ship on the evening in question who vouchsafed even a passing glance at a sunset which was marked by unwonted splendour. The vessel slowly rose and sank on a scarce perceptible ocean-swell in the centre of a great circular field of liquid glass, on whose undulations the sun gleamed in dazzling flashes, and in whose depths were reflected the fantastic forms, snowy lights, and pearly shadows of cloudland. In ordinary circumstances such an evening might have raised the thoughts of ordinary men to their Creator, but the circumstances of the men on board of that vessel were not ordinary--very much the reverse. "No, Bill McCoy," muttered one of the sailors, who sat on the breach of a gun near the forecastle, "I've bin flogged twice for merely growlin', which is an Englishman's birthright, an' I won't stand it no longer. A pretty pass things has come to when a man mayn't growl without tastin' the cat; but if Captain Bligh won't let me growl, I'll treat him to a roar that'll make him cock his ears an' wink six times without speakin'." The sailor who said this, Matthew Quintal by name, was a short, thick-set young man of twenty-one or thereabouts, with a forbidding aspect and a savage expression of face, which was intensified at the moment by thoughts of recent wrongs. Bill McCoy, to whom he said it, was much the same in size and appearance, but a few years older, and with a cynical expression of countenance. "Whether you growl or roar, Matt," said McCoy, with a low-toned laugh, "I'd advise you to do it in the minor key, else the Captain will give you another taste of the cat. He's awful savage just now. You should have heard him abusin' the officers this afternoon about his cocoa-nuts." "So I should," returned Quintal. "As ill luck would have it, I was below at the time. They say he was pretty hard on Mr Christian." "Hard on him! I should think he was," rejoined McCoy. "Why, if Mr Christian had been one of the worst men in the ship instead of the best officer, the Cap'n could not have abused him worse. I heard and saw 'im with my own ears and eyes. The cocoa-nuts was lyin', as it might be here, between the guns, and the Cap'n he came on deck an' said he missed some of his nuts. He went into a towerin' rage right off--in the old style--and sent for all the officers. When they came aft he says to them, says he, `Who stole my cocoa-nuts?' Of course they all said they didn't know, and hadn't seen any of the people take 'em. `Then,' says the Cap'n, fiercer than ever, `you must have stole 'em yourselves, for they couldn't have been taken away without your knowledge.' So he questioned each officer separately. Mr Christian, when he came to him, answered, `I don't know, sir, who took the nuts, but I hope you do not think me so mean as to be guilty of stealing yours.' Whereupon the Cap'n he flared up like gunpowder. `Yes, you hungry hound, I do,' says he; `you must have stolen them from me, or you would have been able to give a better account of them.'" "That was pitchin' into 'im pretty stiff," said Quintal, with a grim smile. "What said Mr Christian?" "He said nothin', but he looked thunder. I saw him git as red as a turkey cock, an' bite his lips till the blood came. It's my opinion, messmate," added McCoy, in a lower tone, "that if Cap'n Bligh don't change his tone there'll be--" "Come, come, mate," interrupted a voice behind him; "if you talk mutiny like that you'll swing at the end o' the yard-arm some fine mornin'." The sailor who joined the others and thus spoke was a short, sturdy specimen of his class, and much more like a hearty hare-brained tar than his two comrades. He was about twenty-two years of age, deeply pitted with small-pox, and with a jovial carelessness of manner that had won for him the sobriquet of Reckless Jack. "I'm not the only one that talks mutiny in this ship," growled McCoy. "There's a lot of us whose backs have bin made to smart, and whose grog has been stopped for nothin' but spite, John Adams, and you know it." "Yes, I do know it," returned Adams, sharply; "and I also know that there's justice to be had in England. We've got a good case against the Captain, so we'd better wait till we get home rather than take the law into our own hands." "I don't agree with you, Jack," said Quintal, with much decision, "and I wonder to see you, of all men, show the white feather." Adams turned away with a light laugh of contempt, and the other two joined a group of their mates, who were talking in low tones near the windlass. Matthew Quintal was not the only man on board who did not agree with the more moderate counsels of Reckless Jack, _alias_ John Adams, _alias_ John Smith, for by each of those names was he known. On the quarter-deck as well as on the forecastle mutterings of deep indignation were heard. The vessel was the celebrated _Bounty_, which had been fitted up for the express purpose of proceeding to the island of Otaheite, (now named Tahiti), in the Pacific for plants of the breadfruit tree, it being thought desirable to introduce that tree into the West India Islands. We may remark in passing, that the transplantation was afterwards accomplished, though it failed at this time. The _Bounty_ had been placed under the command of Lieutenant Bligh of the Royal Navy. Her burden was about 215 tons. She had been fitted with every appliance and convenience for her special mission, and had sailed from Spithead on the 23rd December 1787. Lieutenant Bligh, although an able and energetic seaman, was of an angry tyrannical disposition. On the voyage out, and afterwards at Otaheite, he had behaved so shamefully, and with such unjustifiable severity, both to officers and men, that he was regarded by a large proportion of them with bitter hatred. It is painful to be obliged to write thus of one who rose to positions of honour in the service; but the evidence led in open court, coupled with Bligh's own writings, and testimony from other quarters, proves beyond a doubt that his conduct on board the _Bounty_ was not only dishonourable but absolutely brutal. When the islanders were asked at first the name of the island, they replied, "O-Tahiti," which means, "It is Tahiti", hence the earlier form of the name--_Otaheite_. It was after the _Bounty_ had taken in the breadfruit trees at Otaheite, and was advanced a short distance on the homeward voyage, that the events we are about to narrate occurred. We have said that mutterings of deep discontent were heard on the quarter-deck. Fletcher Christian, acting lieutenant, or master's mate, leaned over the bulwarks on that lovely evening, and with compressed lips and frowning brows gazed down into the sea. The gorgeous clouds and their grand reflections had no beauty for him, but a shark, which swam lazily alongside, showing a fin now and then above water, seemed to afford him a species of savage satisfaction. "Yes," he muttered, "if one of his legs were once within your ugly jaws, we'd have something like peace again after these months of torment." Fletcher Christian, although what is called a high-spirited youth, was not quick to resent injury or insult. On the contrary, he had borne with much forbearance the oft-repeated and coarse insolence of his superior. His natural expression was bright and his temperament sunny. He possessed a powerful frame and commanding stature, was agile and athletic, and a favourite with officers and men. But Bligh's conduct had soured him. His countenance was now changed. The last insult about the cocoa-nuts, delivered openly, was more than he could bear. "When Greek meets Greek, then comes the tug of war." In this case the tug was tremendous, the immediate results were disastrous, and the ultimate issues amazing, as will be seen in the sequel of our tale. "To whom does your amiable wish refer?" asked a brother-officer named Stewart, who came up just then and leaned over the bulwarks beside him. "Can you not guess?" said the other, sternly. "Yes, I can guess," returned the midshipman, gazing contemplatively at the shark's fin. "But, I say, surely you don't really mean to carry out your mad intention of deserting." "Yes, I do," said Christian with emphasis. "I've been to the fore-cockpit several times to-day, and seen the boatswain and carpenter, both of whom have agreed to help me. I've had a plank rigged up with staves into a sort of raft, on which I mean to take my chance. There's a bag all ready with some victuals in it, and another with a few nails, beads, etcetera, to propitiate the natives. Young Hayward is the only other officer besides yourself to whom I have revealed my intention. Like you, he attempts to dissuade me, but in vain. I shall go to-night." "But where will you go to?" asked Stewart. Christian pointed to Tofoa, one of the Friendly Islands, which was then in sight like a little black speck on the glowing sky where the sun had just disappeared. "And how do you propose to escape _him_?" said the midshipman, pointing significantly to the shark, which at the moment gave a wriggle with its tail as if it understood the allusion and enjoyed it. "I'll take my chance of that," said Christian, bitterly, and with a countenance so haggard yet so fierce that his young companion felt alarmed. "See here," he added, tearing open his vest and revealing within it a deep sea-lead suspended round his neck; "I had rather die than live in the torments of the last three weeks. If I fail to escape, you see, there will be no chance of taking me alive." "_Better try to take the ship_!" whispered a voice behind him. Christian started and grew paler, but did not turn his head to see who had spoken. The midshipman at his side had evidently not heard the whisper. "I cannot help thinking you are wrong," said Stewart. "We have only to bear it a little longer, and then we shall have justice done to us in England." Well would it have been for Fletcher Christian, and well for all on board the _Bounty_, if he had taken the advice of his young friend, but his spirit had been tried beyond its powers of endurance--at least so he thought--and his mind was made up. What moral suasion failed to effect, however, the weather accomplished. It prevented his first intention from being carried out. While the shades of evening fell and deepened into a night of unusual magnificence, the profound calm continued, and the ship lay motionless on the sea. The people, too, kept moving quietly about the deck, either induced thereto by the sweet influences around them, or by some indefinable impression that a storm sometimes succeeds a calm as well in the moral as the material world. As the ship had no way through the water, it was impossible for the rash youth to carry out his plan either during the first or middle watches. He was therefore compelled to give it up, at least for that night, and about half-past three in the morning he lay down to rest a few minutes, as he was to be called by Stewart to relieve the watch at four o'clock. He had barely fallen into a troubled slumber when he was awakened by Stewart, and rose at once to go on deck. He observed in passing that young Hayward, the mate of his watch, had lain down to take a nap on the arm-chest. Mr Hallet, the other midshipman of the watch, had also gone to sleep somewhere, for he was not to be seen. Whether the seriously reprehensible conduct of these two officers roused his already excited spirit to an ungovernable pitch, or their absence afforded a favourable opportunity, we cannot tell, but certain it is that Fletcher Christian opened his ear at that time to the voice of the tempter. "_Better try to take the ship_," seemed burning in words of fire into his brain. Quick to act as well as to conceive, he looked lustily and earnestly at the men of his watch. The one who stood nearest him, looking vacantly out upon the sea, was Matthew Quintal. To him Christian revealed his hastily adopted plan of seizing the ship, and asked if he would join him. Quintal was what men call a deep villain. He was quite ripe for mutiny, but from some motive known only to himself he held back, and expressed doubt as to the possibility of carrying out the plan. "I did not expect to find cowardice in _you_," said Christian, with a look of scornful indignation. "It is not cowardice, sir," retorted Quintal. "I will join if others do. Try some one else. Try Martin there, for instance." Isaac Martin was a raw-boned, sallow, six-foot man of about thirty, who had been undeservedly flogged by Bligh. Christian went to him at once, and put the question, "Will you join me in taking the ship?" "The very thing, Mr Christian. I'm with you," answered Martin, promptly. The eager readiness of this man at once decided Quintal. Christian then went to every man in his watch, all of whom had received more or less harsh treatment from the Captain, and most of whom were more than willing to join the conspirators. Those who hesitated, whatever might have been their motives, had not sufficient regard for their commander to warn him of his danger. Perhaps the very suddenness of the proposal, as well as fear of the mutineers, induced them to remain silent. In passing along the deck Christian encountered a man named William Brown. He was assistant-botanist, or gardener, to the expedition, and having been very intimate with Christian, at once agreed to join him. Although a slenderly made young man, Brown was full of vigour and resolution. "We must look sharp," said Christian to him, in that low eager whisper in which the conversation among the mutineers had hitherto been carried on. "It will soon be daylight. You know the men as well as I do. Go below and gain over those whom you feel sure of influencing. Don't waste your time on the lukewarm or cowardly. Away with you. Here, Williams," he added, turning to another man who was already in the plot, "go below and send up the gunner's mate, I want him; then call John Adams,--I feel sure that Reckless Jack will join; but do it softly. No noise or excitement." In a few seconds John Mills, the gunner's mate, a strongly-built middle-aged man, came on deck, and agreeing at once to join, was sent to fetch the keys of the arm-chest from the armourer, under pretence of getting out a musket to shoot a shark which was alongside. Meanwhile John Williams went to the hammock of John Adams and roused him. "I don't half like it," said Adams, when he was sufficiently awake to understand the message of his mate. "It's all very true what you say, Williams; the ship _has_ been little better than a hell since we left Spithead, and Captain Bligh don't deserve much mercy, but mutiny is wrong any way you look at it, and I've got my doubts whether any circumstances can make it right." The reasoning of Adams was good, but his doubts were cleared away, if not solved, by the abrupt entrance of Christian, who went to the arm-chest just opposite Adams's hammock and began to distribute arms to all the men who came for them. Seeing this, and fearing to be left on the weaker side, Adams rose, armed himself with a cutlass, and went on deck. The morning of the 28th of April was now beginning to dawn. Before that the greater part of the ship's company had been gained over and armed; yet all this was done so quietly and with such firmness that the remainder of the crew were ignorant of what was going on. No doubt a few who might have given the alarm were afraid to do so. Among those who were asleep was one deserving of special notice, namely, Peter Heywood, a midshipman who was true as steel at heart, but whose extreme youth and inexperience, coupled with the surprise and alarm of being awakened to witness scenes of violence, produced a condition of inaction which resulted in his being left, and afterwards classed, with the mutineers. Shortly after five o'clock the armed men streamed quietly up the fore-hatch and took possession of the deck. Sentinels were placed below at the doors of the officers' berths, and above at the hatchways. Then Fletcher Christian, John Adams, Matthew Quintal, William McCoy, Isaac Martin, and several others went aft, armed with muskets, bayonets, and cutlasses. Leaving Martin in charge of the quarter-deck, they descended to Captain Bligh's cabin. The commander of the _Bounty_, all ignorant of the coming storm which his ungentlemanly and cruel conduct had raised, was sleeping calmly in his berth. He was roughly awakened and bidden to rise. "What is the reason of such violence?" he demanded, addressing Christian, as they half forced him out of bed. "Silence, sir," said Christian, sternly; "you know the reason well enough. Tie his hands, lads." Disregarding the order to be silent, Bligh shouted "murder!" at the top of his voice. "Hold your tongue, sir, else you're a dead man," said Christian, seizing him by the tied hands with a powerful grasp, and holding a bayonet to his breast. Of course no one responded to the Captain's cry, the hatchways, etcetera, being guarded. They gave him no time to dress, but hurried him on deck, where, amid much confusion and many abusive cries, preparations were being made for getting out a boat, for it was resolved to set Bligh and his friends adrift. At first there was some disputing among the mutineers as to which boat should be given to them. Eventually the launch was decided on. "Hoist her out, bo's'n. Do it smartly and instantly, or look-out for yourself." The order was given sternly, for the boatswain was known to be friendly to Bligh. He obeyed at once, with the assistance of willing men who were only too glad to get rid of their tyrannical commander. "Now, Mr Hayward and Mr Hallet, get into the boat," said Christian, who seemed to be torn with conflicting emotions. His tone and look were sufficient for those young midshipmen. They obeyed promptly. Mr Samuel the clerk and several more of the crew were then ordered into the boat. At this point Captain Bligh attempted to interfere. He demanded the intentions of the mutineers, but was told to hold his tongue, with threats of instant death if he did not obey. Particular persons were then called on to go into the boat, and some of these were allowed to collect twine, canvas, lines, sails, cordage, and other things to take with them. They were also allowed an eight-and-twenty gallon cask of water, fifty pounds of bread, a small quantity of rum and wine, a quadrant, and a compass. When all the men obnoxious to the mutineers were in the boat, Captain Bligh was ordered into it. Isaac Martin had been placed as a guard over the Captain, and appeared to favour him, as he enabled him to moisten his parched lips with a shaddock. For this he was removed, and Adams took his place. Bligh looked round, but no friendly eye met his. He had forfeited the regard of all on board, though there were undoubtedly men there whose detestation of mutiny and whose sense of honour would have inclined them to aid him if they had not been overawed by the numbers and resolution of the mutineers. The master, indeed, had already made an attempt to rally some of the men round him, but had failed, and been sent to his cabin. He, with the others, was now in the boat. Poor young Peter Heywood the middy looked on bewildered as if in a dream. He could not be said in any sense, either by look or act, to have taken part with the mutineers. At last he went below for some things, intending to go in the boat, but was ordered to remain below. So also, it is thought, was Edward Young, another midshipman, who did not make his appearance on deck at all during the progress of the mutiny. It was afterwards said that the leading seamen among the mutineers had purposely ordered these officers below, and detained them with a view to their working the ship in the event of anything happening to Christian. Bligh now made a last appeal. "I'll give you my honour, Mr Christian," he said, "never to think of what has passed this day if you will desist. To cast us adrift here in an open boat is to consign us to destruction. Think of my wife and family!" "No, Captain Bligh," replied Christian, sternly; "if you had any honour things had not come to this; and if you had any regard for your wife and family, you should have thought of them before and not behaved so much like a villain. It is too late. You have treated me like a dog all the voyage. Come, sir, your officers and men are now in the boat, and you must go with them. If you attempt resistance you shall be put to death." Seeing that further appeal would be useless, Bligh allowed himself to be forced over the side. When in the boat his hands were untied. "You will at least allow us arms, to defend ourselves from the savages," he said. Fire-arms were refused, but four cutlasses were ultimately allowed him. At this point Isaac Martin quietly descended into the boat, but Quintal, pointing a musket at him, threatened to shoot him if he did not return to the ship. He obeyed the order with reluctance, and soon after the boat was cast adrift. The crew of the _Bounty_ at the time consisted of forty-four souls, all told. Eighteen of these went adrift with the Captain. The remaining twenty-five steered back to the sunny isles of the Pacific. CHAPTER TWO. RECORDS THE DUTIES AND TROUBLES OF THE MUTINEERS. It is not our purpose to follow the fortunes of Captain Bligh. The mutineers in the _Bounty_ claim our undivided attention. As regards Bligh, it is sufficient to say that he performed one of the most remarkable boat-voyages on record. In an overloaded and open boat, on the shortest allowance of provision compatible with existence, through calm and tempest, heat and cold, exposed to the attacks of cannibals and to the reproaches of worn-out and mutinous men, he traversed 3618 miles of ocean in forty-one days, and brought himself and his followers to land, with the exception of one man who was killed by the natives. In this achievement he displayed those qualities of indomitable resolution and unflagging courage which ultimately raised him to high rank in the navy. But we leave him now to trace those incidents which result from the display of his other qualities-- ungovernable passion, overbearing impetuosity, and incomprehensible meanness. The first act of Fletcher Christian, after taking command of the ship, was to serve out a glass of grog all round. He then called a council of war, in which the mutineers discussed the question what they should do. "You see, lads," said Christian, "it is absolutely certain that we shan't be left among these islands in peace. Whether Bligh manages to get home or not, the British Government is sure to send out to see what has become of us. My notion is that we should bear away to the south'ard, far out of the usual track of ships, find out some uninhabited and suitable island, and establish ourselves thereon?" "What! without wives, or sisters, or mothers, or grandmothers, to say nothin' o' mothers-in-law, to cook our victuals an' look after our shirt-buttons?" said Isaac Martin, who, having been detained against his will, had become lugubriously, or recklessly, facetious, and was stimulated to a sort of fierce hilarity by his glass of rum. "You're right, Martin," said Brown, the assistant botanist, "we couldn't get along without wives, so I vote that we go back to Otaheite, get married, every man of us, an' ho! for the South Pole. The British cruisers would never find us there." There was a general laugh at this sally, but gravity returned almost instantly to every face, for they were in no humour just then for jesting. It is probable that each man began to realise the dreadful nature of his position as an outlaw whose life was forfeited to his country, and who could never more hope to tread the shores of Old England, or look upon the faces of kindred or friends. In such circumstances men sometimes try to hide their true feelings under a veil of recklessness or forced mirth, but seldom succeed in the attempt. "No man in his senses would go back to Otaheite--at least not to stay there," said John Adams, gravely; "it's the first place they will send to look for us." "What's the odds?" growled one of the seamen. "They won't look there for us for a long time to come, unless Cap'n Bligh borrows a pair of wings from an albatross, an' goes home as the crow flies." At this point John Mills, the gunner's mate, a man of about forty, cleared his throat and gave it as his opinion that they should not go back to Otaheite, but should leave the matter of their future destination in the hands of Mr Christian, who was well able to guide them. This proposal was heartily backed by Edward Young, midshipman, a stout young fellow of twenty-two, who was fond of Christian; but there were one or two dissentient voices, among which were the little middy Peter Heywood, his brother-officer George Stewart, and James Morrison the boatswain's mate. These wished to return to Otaheite, but the counsel of the majority prevailed, and Christian ultimately steered for the island of Toubouai, which lay some five hundred miles to the south of Otaheite. There he expected to be safe from pursuit, and there it was resolved that the mutineers should take up their abode if the natives proved friendly. That night, while the _Bounty_ was skimming gently over the starlit sea before a light breeze, the three officers, Heywood, Stewart, and Young, leaned over the weather side of the quarter-deck, and held a whispered conversation. "Why did you vote for going back to Otaheite, Heywood?" asked Young. "Because it is to Otaheite that they will send to look after us, and I should like to be there to give myself up, the instant a man-of-war arrives, and declare my innocence of the crime of mutiny." "You are right, Heywood," said Stewart; "I, too, would like to give myself up the moment I get the chance. Captain Bligh knows that you and I had no hand in the mutiny, and if he reaches England will clear us of so foul a stain. It's a pity that those who voted for Otaheite were not in the majority." "That's all very well for you, who were seen to go below to fetch your clothes, and were detained against your will," said Young, "but it was not so with me. I was forcibly detained below. They would not allow me to go on deck at all until the launch had left, so that it would go hard with me before a court-martial. But the die is now cast, and there's no help for it. Although I took no part in the mutiny, I won't risk falling into the hands of justice, with such an unprincipled scoundrel as Bligh to witness against me. My future fortunes now lie with Fletcher Christian. I cannot avoid my fate." Young spoke sadly, yet with some bitterness of tone, like one who has made up his mind to face and endure the worst. On reaching the remote island of Toubouai the mutineers were much impressed with its beauty. It seemed exceedingly fertile, was wooded to the water's edge, and surrounded by a coral reef, with one opening through which a ship might enter. Altogether it seemed a most suitable refuge, but here they met with an insurmountable difficulty. On drawing near to the shore they saw hundreds of natives, who, armed with clubs and spears, lined the beach, blew their shell-horns, and resolutely opposed the landing of the strangers. As all efforts to conciliate them were fruitless, resort was had to cannon and musketry. Of course the terrible thunder of the white man's artillery had its usual effect on the savages. They fled inland, and the mutineers gained a footing on the island. But the natives continued their opposition so vigorously, that this refuge proved to be the reverse of a place of rest. Christian therefore changed his plan, and, re-embarking in the _Bounty_, set sail for Otaheite. On the way thither the mutineers disagreed among themselves. Some of those who had been forcibly detained even began to plot the retaking of the ship, but their intentions were discovered and prevented. On the 6th of June they reached their former anchorage in Otaheite, where the natives received them with much joy and some surprise, but a story was trumped up to account for this sudden re-appearance of the mutineers. Christian, however, had not yet given up his intention of settling on the island of Toubouai. He foresaw the doom that awaited him if he should remain at Otaheite, and resolved to return to the former island with a quantity of livestock. He began to barter with the friendly Otaheitans, and soon had as many hogs, goats, fowls, cats, and dogs as he required, besides a bull and a cow which had been left there by Captain Cook. With these and several natives he sailed again for Toubouai. Arriving there in nine days, he found that a change had come over the spirit of the natives. They were decidedly and unaccountably amiable. They not only permitted the white men to land, but assisted them in warping the ship into a place of shelter, as well as in landing provisions and stores. Fletcher Christian, whatever his faults may have been, seems to have had peaceful tendencies. He had not only secured the friendship of the Otaheitans by his just and considerate treatment of them while engaged in barter, but he now managed to conciliate some of the chiefs of Toubouai. As a precaution, however, he set about building an entrenched fortress, in the labours connected with which he took his full share of work with the men. While the building was in progress the natives, despite the friendly chiefs, threw off the mask of good-will, which had doubtless been put on for the purpose of getting the white men into their power. Strong in overwhelming numbers, they made frequent attacks on the mutineers, which these latter, being strong in arms, successfully repelled. It soon became evident that warfare, not peace, was to be the lot of the residents on Toubouai, and, finally, it was agreed that the _Bounty_ should be got ready for sea, and the whole party should return to Otaheite. The resolution was soon carried into effect, and the mutineers ere long found themselves once again drawing near to the island. As they approached it under full sail, for the wind was light, the men stood looking at it, commenting on its beauty and the amiableness of its people, but Fletcher Christian stood apart by himself, with his back to the shore, gazing in the opposite direction. Edward Young went up to him. "If this breeze holds, sir, we shall soon be at anchor in our old quarters." The midshipman spoke in the respectful tone of one addressing his superior officer. Indeed, although Christian had, by his rash and desperate act of mutiny, forfeited his position, and lowered himself to a level with the worst of his associates, he never lost their respect. It is recorded that they styled him _Mister_ Christian to the end. "At anchor!" said Christian, in a tone of deepest despondency. "Ah, Edward Young, there is no anchorage for us now in this world! We may anchor in Matavai Bay to-night, but it will only be to up anchor and off again in a few days." "Come, come, sir," said Young, heartily, "don't give way to despondency. You know we were driven to act as we did, and it can't be helped now." "_We_ were driven! My poor fellow," returned Christian, laying a hand on the midshipman's shoulder, "_you_ had no part in this miserable business. It is I who have drawn you all into it, but--well, well, as you say, it can't be helped now. We must make the best of it,--God help us!" He spoke in a low, soft tone of profound sadness, and continued his wistful gaze over the stern of the _Bounty_. Presently he looked quickly round, and, taking Young's arm, began to pace the deck while he spoke to him. "As you say, Edward, we shall anchor once more in Matavai Bay, but I am firmly resolved not to remain there." "I'm sorry to hear it, sir," said Young, "for most of the men are as firmly resolved to stay, and you know several of them are resolute, not to say desperate, characters." "I am quite aware of that, but I shall make a proposal to them, which I think they will accept. I will first of all propose to leave Otaheite for some safer place of refuge, and when they object to that, I will propose to divide the whole of the ship's stores and property among us all, landing that portion which belongs to those who elect to remain on the island, and sailing away with the rest, and with those who choose to follow my fortunes, to seek a more distant and a safer home." "That may perhaps suit them," said Young. "Suit _them_," rejoined Christian, with a quick glance; "then _you_ don't count yourself one of them?" "No," returned the midshipman with a frank look, "I will follow you now, sir, to the end. How far I am guilty is a question that does not concern me at present. If the British Government gets hold of me, my fate is sealed. I am in the same boat with yourself, Mr Christian, and I mean to stick by it." There was a strange spasm on Christian's countenance, as if of conflicting emotions, while he grasped the youth's hand and squeezed it. "Thank you, Edward, thank you. Go now and see the anchor cleared to let go." He descended quickly to the cabin, while the unfortunate midshipman went forward to give the order. When the proposal just referred to was made the following day, after landing at Otaheite, it was at once agreed to. Peter Heywood, Stewart, Morrison, and others who had taken no active part in the mutiny, were glad to have the prospect of being enabled, sooner or later, to make a voluntary surrender of themselves, while the thoughtless and reckless among the men were well pleased to have done with uncertain wanderings, and to be allowed to settle among their amiable native friends. Preparations for instant departure were made by Christian and those who chose to follow his lead. The contents of the _Bounty_ were landed and fairly divided; then the vessel was got ready for her final voyage. Those who resolved to sail in her were as follows:-- Fletcher Christian, formerly acting lieutenant--age 24. Edward Young, midshipman--age 22. John Adams, seaman--age 22. William McCoy, seaman--age 25. Matthew Quintal, seaman--age 21. John Williams, seaman--age 25. Isaac Martin, seaman--age 30. John Mills, gunner's mate--age 40. William Brown, botanist's assistant--age 27. All these had married native women of Otaheite, who agreed to forsake home and kindred and follow the fortunes of their white husbands. There were also six native men who consented to accompany them. Their names were Talaloo, Ohoo, Timoa, Nehow, Tetaheite, and Menalee. Three of these had wives, and one of the wives had a baby girl by a former husband. The European sailors named the infant Sally. She was a round light-brown embodiment of gleeful impudence, and had barely reached the staggering age of infancy when taken on board the _Bounty_ to begin her strange career. Thus the party consisted of twenty-eight souls--namely, nine mutineers, six native men, twelve native women, and the light-brown baby. It was a pleasant bright morning in September 1790 when Fletcher Christian and his followers bade farewell to Otaheite. For some time the breeze was light, and the _Bounty_ hovered round the Island as if loath to leave it. In the dusk of evening a boat put off from her, pulled to the shore, and Christian landed, alone, near the house of a chief who had become the special friend of Peter Heywood and Stewart. With the two midshipmen he spent some time in earnest conversation. "I could not leave you," he said in conclusion, "without relieving my mind of all that I have just said about the mutiny, because you are sure to be sent for and taken to England as soon as the intelligence of this sad affair reaches. I advise you to go off at once to the first ship that may appear, and give yourselves up to the commander." "Such is our intention," said Heywood. "Right," rejoined Christian; "you are both innocent. No harm can come to you, for you took no part in the mutiny. For me, my fate is fixed. I go to search for some remote and uninhabited island, where I hope to spend the remainder of my days without seeing the face of any Europeans except those who accompany me. It is a dreary thought, lads, to lose country and kindred and friends for _ever_ by the act of one dark hour. Now, remember, Heywood, what I have told you to tell my friends. God knows I do not plead guiltless; I am alone responsible for the mutiny, and I exonerate all, even my adherents, from so much as suggesting it to me; nevertheless, there are some who love me in England, to whom I would beg of you to relate the circumstances that I have told you. These may extenuate though they cannot justify the crime I have committed. I assure you, most solemnly, that almost up to the last I had no intention of doing more than making my own escape from the ship which the injustice and brutality of Bligh had made a place of torment to me. When you called me, Stewart, to relieve the watch, my brain seemed on fire, and it was when I found the two officers both asleep, who should have been on duty, that I suddenly made up my mind to take the ship. Now," concluded Christian, grasping the hands of the youths, "I must say farewell. I have done you grievous wrong. God forgive me, and bless you. Good-bye, Peter; good-bye, Stewart, good-bye." He turned abruptly, stepped into his boat, and was rowed out to sea. The young midshipmen, with moistened eyes, stood silently watching the boat until it reached the ship. Then they saw the _Bounty_ steering away to the northward. Before daylight was quite gone she had disappeared on the distant horizon. Thus did Fletcher Christian and his comrades pass from the sight and ken of man, and they were not heard of after that for more than twenty years! But you and I, reader, have a special privilege to follow up these mutineers. Before doing so, however, let us note briefly what became of their comrades left on Otaheite. These, to the number of sixteen, soon distributed themselves among the houses of their various friends, and proceeded to make themselves quite at home. Some of them, however, were not disposed to take up a permanent abode there. Among these was the boatswain's mate, James Morrison, a man of superior mental power and energy, who kept an interesting and graphic journal of events. [See note.] He, with the armourer, cooper, carpenter's mate, and others, set to work to construct a small vessel, in which they meant to sail to Batavia, whence they hoped to procure a passage to England. The natives opposed this at first, but on being told that the vessel was only meant for pleasure trips round the island, they ceased their opposition, and watched with great wonder at the process of ship-building, which was carried on industriously from day to day. During the progress of the work there was witnessed an interesting ceremony, which, according to custom, was annually performed by the chief of the district and a vast concourse of natives. It shows how deeply the celebrated Captain Cook had gained the reverence and love of the people of Otaheite. A picture of the circumnavigator, which had been presented to the islanders by the captain of a merchant vessel, was brought out with great ceremony and held up before the people, who, including their queen, Eddea, paid homage to it. A ceremonial dance was also performed in its honour, and a long oration was pronounced by a leading chief, after which the portrait was returned to the care of an old man, who was its appointed custodian. Long and earnestly did the white men labour at their little ship, and with equal, if not superior, earnestness did the natives flock from all parts of the island to see the wonderful work advance, bringing supplies of provisions to the whites as a sort of payment for admission to the show. The vessel was completed and launched after months of toil, but its sails of matting were found to be so untrustworthy that the plan of proceeding in it to Batavia had to be given up. Meanwhile, two of the worst of the mutineers, named Thompson and Churchill, came to a tragical end. The former insulted a member of the family with whom he resided, and was knocked down. He left them in high dudgeon, and went to that part of the island where the vessel above referred to was being built. One day a canoe from a distant district touched there, and the owner landed with his wife and family, carrying his youngest child in his arms. Thompson angrily ordered him to go away, but the man did not obey the order, whereupon Thompson seized his musket and shot father and child with the same bullet. For this murder he was shunned with abhorrence by his comrades, and obliged to go off to another part of the island, accompanied by Churchill. These two took up their abode with a chief who was a _tayo_, or sworn friend, of the latter. This chief died shortly afterwards, leaving no children behind him; and Churchill, being his _tayo_, succeeded to his possessions and dignity, according to the custom of the country. He did not, however, enjoy his new position long, for Thompson, from jealousy or some other cause, shot him. The natives were so incensed at this that they arose _en masse_ and stoned Thompson to death. While these events were occurring, a messenger of retribution was speeding over the sea to Otaheite. On the morning of 23rd March 1791, exactly sixteen months after the landing of the mutineers, H.M.S. _Pandora_, Captain Edwards, sailed into Matavai Bay. Before she had anchored, Coleman the armourer swam off to her, and Peter Heywood and Stewart immediately followed and surrendered themselves. These, and all the mutineers, were immediately put in irons, and thrown into a specially prepared prison on the quarter-deck, named the "Pandora's Box," in which they were conveyed to England. We have not space to recount the stirring incidents of this remarkable and disastrous voyage, and the subsequent trial of the mutineers. Let it suffice to say, that the _Pandora_, after spending three months in a fruitless search for the _Bounty_, was wrecked on the homeward voyage, and a large number of the crew and some of the prisoners were drowned, among whom was poor Stewart the midshipman. The remainder of the crew were saved in the ship's boats, after performing a voyage which, as to its length and the sufferings endured, rivals that previously made by Bligh. Thereafter, on reaching England, the mutineers were tried by court-martial; some were honourably acquitted, others were condemned to death but afterwards pardoned, and ultimately only three were executed. Among those who were condemned, but afterwards pardoned as being unquestionably innocent, was Peter Heywood, whose admirable defence and correspondence with his family, especially that between himself and his charming sister Nessy, form a most interesting feature in the records of the trial; but all this must be passed over in silence, while we resume the thread of our story. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note. Part of this journal is quoted in an excellent account of the _Mutineers of the Bounty_, by Lady Belcher. CHAPTER THREE. THE LONELY ISLAND SIGHTED. It is pleasant to turn for a time from the dark doings of evil men to the contemplation of innocent infancy. We return to the _Bounty_, and solicit the reader's attention to a plump brown ball which rolls about that vessel's deck, exhibiting a marked tendency to gravitate towards the lee scuppers. This brown ball is Sally, the Otaheitan infant. Although brown, Sally's face is extremely pretty, by reason of the regularity of her little features, the beauty of her little white teeth, and the brilliancy of her large black eyes, to say nothing of her luxuriant hair and the gleeful insolence of her sweet expression. We cannot say how many, or rather how few, months old the child is, but, as we have already remarked, she is a staggerer. That is to say, she has begun to assert the independence of her little brown legs, and progresses, even when on shore, with all the uncertainty of a drunken woman. Of course, the ship's motion does not tend to remedy this defect. Sally's chief delight is wallowing. No matter what part of the ship's deck she may select for her operations--whether the scuppers, the quarter-deck, or the forecastle--she lays her down straightway for a luxurious wallow. If the spot be dirty, she wallows it clean; if it be clean, she wallows it dirty. This might seem an awkward habit to an English mother; but it is a matter of supreme indifference to Sally's mother, who sits on a gun-carriage plaiting a mat of cocoa-nut fibre, for Sally, being naked, requires little washing. A shower of rain or a dash of spray suffices to cleanse her when at sea. On shore she lives, if we may say so, more in the water than on the land. The day is fine, and the breeze so light that it scarce ruffles the face of the great ocean, though it manages to fill the topsails of the _Bounty_, causing her to glide quietly on. Some of the mutineers are seated on the deck or bulwarks, patching a canvas jacket or plaiting a grass hat. Others are smoking contemplatively. John Adams is winding up the log-line with McCoy. Edward Young stands gazing through a telescope at something which he fancies is visible on the horizon, and Fletcher Christian is down in the cabin poring over Carteret's account of his voyage in the Pacific. There were goats on board. One of these, having become a pet with the crew, was allowed to walk at liberty, and became a grand playmate for Sally. Besides the goats, Christian had taken care to procure a number of hogs and poultry from Otaheite; also a supply of young breadfruit-trees and other vegetable products of the island, wherewith to enrich his new home when he should find it. All the animals were confined in cribs and pens with the exception of Sally's playmate. "Take care!" exclaimed John Adams as he left the quarter-deck with his hands in his pockets; "your mate'll butt you overboard, Sal, if you don't look-out." There was, indeed, some fear of such a catastrophe, for the precocious infant had a tendency to scramble on any object which enabled her to look over the low bulwarks, and the goat had a propensity to advance on its hind legs with a playful toss of its head and take its playmate by surprise, in truth, what between the fore-hatch, the companion-hatch, and the low bulwarks, it may be said that Sally led a life of constant and imminent danger. She was frequently plucked by the men out of the very jaws of death, and seemed to enjoy the fun. While attempting to avoid one of the goat's playful assaults, Sally stumbled up against Matthew Quintal, deranged the work on which he was engaged, and caused him to prick his hand with a sail-needle, at which William McCoy, who was beside him, laughed. "Get out o' that, you little nigger!" exclaimed Quintal, angrily, giving the child a push with his foot which sent her rolling to the side of the ship, where her head came in contact with an iron bolt. Sally opened her mouth, shut her eyes, and howled. Quintal had probably not intended to hurt the child, but he expressed no regret. On the contrary, seeing that she was not much injured, he laughed in concert with McCoy. These two, Quintal and McCoy, were emphatically the bad men of the party. They did not sympathise much, if at all, with human suffering-- certainly not with those whom they styled "niggers;" but there was one witness of the act whose heart was as tender towards the natives as Quintal's was hard. "If you ever dare to touch her so again," said Young, striding up to Quintal, "I'll kick you into the pig-sty." The midshipman seemed to be the last man on board whose natural disposition would lead him to utter such a threat, and Quintal was quite taken aback; but as Young was a powerful fellow, perfectly capable of carrying his threat into execution, and seemed, moreover, thoroughly roused, the former thought it best to hold his tongue, even though lugubrious Isaac Martin chuckled audibly, and Ohoo, one of the natives, who stood near, displayed his fine teeth from ear to ear. Lifting up Sally with much tenderness, Young carried her to her mother, who, after a not very careful examination of the bruised head, set her down on the deck, where she immediately began to wallow as before. Rising on her brown little feet, she staggered forward a few paces, and then seated herself without bending her knees. From this position she rolled towards the starboard side of the ship and squeezed herself between a gun-carriage and the bulwarks, until she got into the porthole. Thrusting her head over the edge of this, she gazed at the ripples that rolled pleasantly from the side. This was paradise! The sun glittered on these ripples, and Sally's eyes glittered in sympathy. A very gentle lurch of the ship soon after sent Sally head foremost into the midst of the ripples. This event was nothing new to Sally. In her Otaheitan home her mother had been wont to take her out for a swim as British mothers take their offspring for a walk. Frequently had that mother pitched Sally off her shoulders and left her to wabble in the water, as eagles are said to toss their eaglets into the air, and leave them to flutter until failing strength renders aid advisable. No doubt when Sally, falling from such a height, and turning so as to come flat on her back, experienced a tingling slap upon her skin, she felt disposed to shed a salt tear or two into the mighty ocean; but when the smart passed away, she took to wallowing in the water, by way of making the most of her opportunities. Both Christian and Young heard the plunge. The former leaped up the companion ladder, the latter ran to the stern of the ship, but before either could gain the side one of the Otaheitan men, who had witnessed the accident, plunged into the sea and was soon close to Sally. The playful creature, after giving him a kick in the face, consented to be placed on his shoulders. The ship of course was brought up to the wind and her topsails backed as quickly as possible, but the swimmers were left a considerable distance astern before this was accomplished. "No need to lower a boat," remarked Christian, as he drew out the tubes of his telescope; "that fellow swims like a fish." "So do all his countrymen," said Young. "And the women and children too," added John Adams, who was at the helm. "She's tugging at the man's woolly head as if it were a door mat," said Christian, laughing; "and I do believe--yes--the little thing is now reaching round--and pulling his nose. Look at them, Young." Handing the glass to the midshipman, he turned to inquire for the child's mother, and to his astonishment found that brown lady sitting on the deck busy with her mat-making, as unconcerned as if nothing unusual were going on. The fact was, that Sally's mother thought no more of Sally falling into the sea than a white mother might of her child falling on its nose--not so much, perhaps. She knew that the ship would wait to pick her up. She also knew that Sally was an expert swimmer for her age, and that the man who had gone to her rescue was thoroughly able for the duty, having, like all the South Sea Islanders, been accustomed from infancy to spend hours at a time in the water. In a few minutes he came alongside, with Sally sitting astride his neck, holding on to both sides of his head, and lifting her large eyes with a gaze of ecstasy to those who looked over the vessel's side. She evidently regarded the adventure as one of the most charming that had up to that time gladdened her brief career. Not only so, but, no sooner had she been hauled on board with her deliverer, than she made straight for the porthole from which she had fallen, and attempted to repeat the manoeuvre, amid shouts of laughter from all who saw her. After that the various portholes had to be closed up, and the precocious baby to be more carefully watched. "I have come to the conclusion," said Christian to Young, as they paced the deck by moonlight that same night, "that it is better to settle on Pitcairn's Island than on any of the Marquesas group. It is farther out of the track of ships than any known island of the Pacific, and if Carteret's account of it be correct, its precipitous sides will induce passers-by to continue their voyage without stopping." "If we find it, and it should turn out to be suitable, what then!" asked Young. "We shall land, form a settlement, and live and die there," answered Christian. "A sad end to all our bright hopes and ambitions," said Young, as if speaking to himself, while he gazed far away on the rippling pathway made by the sun upon the sea. Christian made no rejoinder. The subject was not a pleasant one to contemplate. He thought it best to confront the inevitable in silence. Captain Carteret, the navigator who discovered the island and named it Pitcairn, after the young officer of his ship who was the first to see and report it, had placed it on his chart no less than three degrees out of its true longitude. Hence Christian cruised about unsuccessfully in search of it for several weeks. At last, when he was on the point of giving up the search in despair, a solitary rock was descried in the far distance rising out of the ocean. "There it is at last!" said Christian, with a sigh that seemed to indicate the removal of a great weight from his spirit. Immediately every man in the ship hurried to the bow of the vessel, and gazed with strangely mingled feelings on what was to be his future home. Even the natives, men and women, were roused to a feeling of interest by the evident excitement of the Europeans, and hastened to parts of the ship whence they could obtain a clear view. By degrees tongues began to loosen. "It's like a fortress, with its high perpendicular cliffs," remarked John Adams. "All the better for us," said Quintal; "we'll need some place that's difficult to get at and easy to defend, if one o' the King's ships should find us out." "So we will," laughed McCoy in gruff tones, "and it's my notion that there's a natural barrier round that island which will go further to defend us agin the King's ships than anything that we could do. Isn't that white line at the foot o' the cliffs like a heavy surf, boys?" "It looks like it," answered John Mills, the gunner's mate; "an' wherever you find cliffs rising like high walls out o' the sea, you may be pretty sure the water's too deep for good anchorage." "That's in our favour too," returned Quintal; "nothin' like a heavy surf and bad anchorage to indooce ships to give us a wide berth." "I hope," said William Brown the botanist, "that there's some vegetation on it. I don't see much as yet." "Ain't it a strange thing," remarked long-legged Isaac Martin, in a more than usually sepulchral tone, "that land-lubbers invariably shows a fund of ignorance when at sea, even in regard to things they might be supposed to know somethin' about?" "How have I shown ignorance just now?" asked Brown, with a smile, for he was a good-humoured man, and could stand a great deal of chaffing. "Why, how can you, bein' a gardener," returned Martin, "expect to see wegitation on the face of a perpindikler cliff?" "You're right, Martin; but then, you know, there is generally an interior as well as a face to a cliffy island, and one might expect to find vegetation there, don't you see." "That's true--to _find_ it," retorted Martin, "but not to _see_ it through tons of solid rock, and from five or six miles out at sea." "But what if there's niggers on it?" suggested Adams, who joined the party at this point. "Fight 'em, of coorse," said John Williams. "An' drive 'em into the sea," added Quintal. "Ay, the place ain't big enough for more than one lot," said McCoy. "It don't seem more than four miles long, or thereabouts." An order to shorten sail stopped the conversation at this point. "It is too late to attempt a landing to-night," said Christian to Young. "We'll dodge off and on till morning." The _Bounty_ was accordingly put about, and her crew spent the remainder of the night in chatting or dreaming about their future home. CHAPTER FOUR. THE ISLAND EXPLORED. A bright and pleasant morning forms a powerful antidote to the evils of a cheerless night. Few of the mutineers slept soundly on the night of their arrival off Pitcairn, and their dreams of that island were more or less unpleasantly mingled with manacles and barred windows, and men dangling from yard-arms. The blessed sunshine dissipated all this, rousing, in the hearts of some, feelings of hope and forgiveness, in the breasts of others, only those sensations of animal enjoyment which man shares in common with the brutes. "Lower away the boat there," said Fletcher Christian, coming on deck with a more cheerful air than he had worn since the day of the mutiny; "we shall row round the island and search for a landing-place. You will take charge, Mr Young, during my absence. Put muskets and ammunition into the boat, John Adams; the place may be inhabited--there's no saying--and South Sea savages are not a hospitable race as a rule. Now then, look sharp, lads." In a few minutes, Adams, Martin, McCoy, Brown, and Quintal were in the boat, with two of the Otaheitan men. "Won't you take cutlasses?" asked Young, looking over the side. "Well, yes, hand down half-a-dozen; and don't go far from this end of the island, Mr Young. Just keep dodging off and on." "Ay, ay, sir," said the middy, touching his cap from the mere force of habit. "Shove off," said Christian, seating himself at the helm. In a few minutes the boat was skimming over the calm water towards the shore, while the _Bounty_, wearing round, went slowly out to sea. As the boat neared the shore it soon became evident that it would be extremely difficult to effect a landing. Nothing could be seen but high precipitous cliffs without any sign of a harbour or creek sufficiently large or safe to afford anchorage for the ship. Worst of all, the only spot that seemed to offer any prospect of a landing-place, even for a boat, was guarded by tremendous breakers that seemed to bid defiance to man's feeble powers. These great waves, or rollers, were not the result of storm or wind, but of the mere ocean-swell of the great Pacific, which undulates over her broad breast even when becalmed. No signs of the coming waves were visible more than a few hundred yards from the shore. There, each roller gradually and silently arose when the undulating motion of the sea caught the bottom. A little farther in it assumed the form of a magnificent green wall of liquid glass, which became more and more vast and perpendicular as it rolled on, until it curled over and rushed with a mighty roar and a snowy crest towards the beach. There it dashed itself in tumultuous foam among the rocks. "Give way, lads," said Christian, sitting down after a prolonged gaze at this scene; "we may find a better spot farther on." As they proceeded they were received with wild and plaintive cries by innumerable sea-birds, whose homes were on the cliffs, and who evidently resented this intrusion of strangers. "Shall we give 'em a shot, sir?" asked McCoy, laying his hand on a musket. "No, time enough for that," replied Christian, shortly. They pulled right round the island without seeing a single spot more available for a landing than the place they had first approached. It was a very little bay, with a small clump of six cocoa-nut trees near the water's edge on the right, and a single cocoa-nut tree on the left, about two hundred yards from the others. Above these, on a hill a little to the westward, there was a grove of the same species. "We'll have to try it, sir," said John Adams, looking at his leader inquiringly. "We're sure to capsize," observed McCoy. "No matter," said Christian; "we have at last reached _home_, and I'm bound not to be baffled at the door. Come, Ohoo, you know something about beaching canoes in a surf; there can't be much difference with a boat. Get up in the bow and direct me how to steer." He spoke to one of the native in the imperfect jumble of Otaheitan and English with which the white men had learned to communicate with the natives. Ohoo understood, and at once went to the bow of the boat, the head of which was now directed towards a place in the cliffs where there seemed to be a small bay or creek. The native gave directions with his arms right or left, and did not require to speak. Christian steered with one of the oars instead of the rudder, to give him more power over the boat. Soon they began to feel the influence of the in-going wave. It was a moment of intense anxiety. Christian ordered the men to cease rowing. Ohoo made a sudden and violent indication with his left arm. Christian obeyed. "Give a gentle pull, boys," he said. They rose as he spoke on the top of a wave so high that they could look down for a moment on the seething foam that raged between them and the beach, and Christian was about to order the men to pull hard, when the native looked back and shook his head excitedly. They had not got sufficiently into the grasp of that wave; they must wait for the next. "Back all!" shouted the steersman. The boat slid back into the trough of the sea, while the wave went roaring inward. The succeeding wave was soon close astern. It seemed to curl over them, threatening destruction, but it lifted them, instead, on its high shoulders. There was a slight appearance of boiling on the surface of the moving billow as it caught them. It was about to break, and the boat was fairly in its grasp. "Give way!" shouted Christian, in a sharp, loud voice. A moment more, and they were rushing grandly in on a mountain of snow, with black rocks rising on either side. It was nervous work. A little to the right or a little to the left, and their frail bark would have been dashed to pieces. As it was, they were launched upon a strip of sand and gravel that lay at the foot of the towering cliffs. "Hurrah!" cried Martin and Brown, in wild excitement, as they leaped over the bow after the natives, while Christian, Adams, Quintal, and McCoy went over the stern to prevent the boat being dragged back by the recoiling foam, and pushed it high and dry on the beach. "Well done! Here we are at last in Bounty Bay!" exclaimed Christian, with a look of satisfaction, giving to the spot, for the first time, that name which it ever afterwards retained. "Make fast the painter-- there; get your arms now, boys, and follow me." At the head of the bay there was a hill, almost a cliff, up which there wound something that had the appearance of a path, or the almost dry bed of a water-course. It was exceedingly steep, but seemed the only route by which the interior of the island could be reached. Up the tangled pass for about three hundred yards the explorers advanced in single file, all except Quintal, who was left in charge of the boat. "It looks very like a path that has been made by men," said Christian, pausing to breathe, and turning round when half-way up the height; "don't you think so, Brown?" Thus appealed to, the botanist, whose eyes had been enchained by the luxuriant and lovely herbage of the place, stooped to inspect the path. "It does look a little like it, sir," he replied, with some caution, "but it also looks not unlike a water-course. You see it is a little wet just hereabouts. Isn't it? What think you, Isaac Martin?" "I don't think nothin' about it," returned Martin, solemnly, turning over the quid of tobacco that bulged his cheek; "but if I might ventur' for to give an opinion, I should say it don't much matter what it is, one way or another." "That's true, Isaac," said Christian, with a short laugh, as he resumed his march up the cliff. On the way they were shaded and kept pleasantly cool by the neighbouring precipices but on gaining the top they came into a blaze of sunshine, and then became suddenly aware that they had discovered a perfect paradise. They stood on a table-land which was thickly covered with cocoa-nut trees. A quarter of a mile farther on lay a beautiful valley, the slopes and mounds of which were clothed with trees and beautiful flowering herbage of various kinds, in clumps and groves of picturesque form, with open glades and little meadows between, the whole being backed by a grand mountain-range which traversed the island, and rose to a height of more than a thousand feet. "It is heaven upon earth!" exclaimed Brown, as they began to push into the heart of the lovely scene. "Humph! It's not all gold that glitters," growled McCoy, with a sarcastic smile. "It's pretty real, nevertheless," observed Isaac Martin; "I only hope there ain't none o' the rascally niggers livin' here." Christian said nothing, but wandered on, looking about him like one in a dream. Besides cocoa-nut palms and other trees and shrubs, there were banyan-trees, the branches of which dropped downwards to the earth and there took root, and other large timber-trees, and plantains, bananas, yams, taro-roots, mulberry, tee-plant, and other fruit-bearing plants in great profusion. Over this richly varied scene the eyes of William Brown wandered in rapture. "Magnificent!" he exclaimed; "a perfect garden!" "Rich enough soil, eh?" said Martin, turning some of it up with the point of his shoe. "Rich enough, ay; couldn't be finer," said Brown. "I should think, from its deep red colour, that it is chiefly decomposed lava. The island is evidently volcanic in its origin. I hope we shall find fresh water. We've not seen much yet, but it's sure to be found somewhere, for such magnificent vegetation could not exist without it." "What have we here?" said Christian, stooping to pick up something. "A stone implement of some kind, like a spear-head, I think. It seems to me that the island must have been inhabited once, although it does not appear to be so now." After they had wandered about for some time, examining the land, and passing many a commentary, both grave and humorous, they turned to retrace their steps, when Brown, who had gone on in advance, was heard to cheer as he waved his hat above his head. He had discovered a spring. They all hastened towards the spot. It lay like a clear gem in the hollow of a rock a considerable distance up the mountain. It was unanimously named "Brown's Pool," but it did not contain much water at the time. "Can we do better than dine here?" said Isaac Martin. "There's lots o' food around us." This was true, for of the various fruits which grew wild in the island, the cocoa-nut, plantain, and banana were to be had all the year round. Brown had brought a small hatchet with him, which enabled them to break open several cocoa-nuts, whose hard outer husks would not have yielded easily to a clasp-knife. While they sat thus enjoying themselves beside Brown's Pool, a small lizard was observed to run over a rock near to them. It stopped for a moment to raise its little head and look at the visitors, apparently with great surprise. A rat was also seen, and chased without success, by Isaac Martin. A small species of fly-catcher, of a whitey-brown colour, was likewise observed, and those creatures, it was afterwards ascertained, were the only living things to be found on the island, with the exception of a variety of insects and the innumerable gulls already mentioned. "Here, then," said Christian, raising a piece of the cocoa-nut shell filled with water to his lips, "I drink to our health and happiness in our island home." There was a strange mingling of pathos with heartiness in his tone, which did not fail to impress his companions, who cheerfully responded to the toast. "I only wish we had something stronger than water to drink it in," said McCoy. "Better without strong drink," remarked John Adams, who was naturally a temperate man. "Worse without it, _I_ think," growled McCoy, who was naturally contentious and quarrelsome; "don't it warm the heart and raise the spirits and strengthen the frame, and--" "Ay, and clear the brain," interrupted Martin, with one of his most lugubrious looks, "an' steady the gait, specially w'en one's pretty far gone, an' beautify the expression, an'--an'--clear the int'leck, an' (hic) an' gen'r'ly in--in--tenshify sh' powers (hic) of c-converzashun, eh?" Martin was a pretty fair mimic, and illustrated his meaning so well, not only with his tongue but with his solemn countenance, that the whole party burst into a laugh, with the exception of McCoy, who replied with the single word, "Bosh!" To which Martin returned, "Bam!" "Just so," said Christian, as he stooped to refill the cocoa-nut shell; "you may be said to have reduced that spirited question to an essence, which is much beyond proof, and closed it; we will therefore return to the shore, get on board as quickly as possible, and make arrangements for anchoring in the bay." "I doubt it's too deep for anchoring," remarked Adams, as they walked down the hill. "Well, then, we shall run the ship on shore," said Christian, curtly, "for here we must remain. There is no other island that I know of in these regions. Besides, this one seems the very thing we want. It has wood and water in abundance; fruits and roots of many kinds; a splendid soil, if we may believe our eyes, to say nothing of Brown's opinion; bad anchorage for ships, great difficulty and some danger in landing even in fine weather, and impossible to land at all, I should think, in bad; beautiful little valleys and hills; rugged mountains with passes so difficult that a few resolute men might defy a host, and caves to which we might retreat and sell our lives dearly if hard pushed. What more could we wish for?" In a short time they reached the little narrow strip of shingly beach where the boat had been left in charge of Quintal. Here they had to encounter the great difficulty of forcing their way through the surf which had borne them shoreward in such grand style. The chief danger lay in the liability of the boat to be caught by the bow, turned broadside to the great tumbling billows, and overturned. Safety and success lay in keeping the boat's bow straight "end-on" to the seas, and pulling hard. To accomplish this, Fletcher Christian again took an oar to steer with, in preference to the rudder. Besides being the most powerful man of the party, he was the best boatman, and the most agile in his movements. "Steady, now!" he said, as the boat lay in the seething foam partially sheltered by a rock, while the men sat with oars out, ready for instant action. A bigger wave than usual had just hurled itself with a thunderous roar on the reverberating cliffs, and the great sheet of foaming water had just reached that momentary pause which indicated the turning-point previous to the backward rush, when Christian shouted-- "Give way!" The boat leaped out, was kept end-on by a powerful stroke of the steersman, rushed on the back-draught as if down a cataract, and met the succeeding billow fairly. The bow was thrown up so high that it seemed as if the boat were standing on end, and must inevitably be thrown right over, but the impetus given by the willing men forced her half through and half over the crest of the watery mountain. "With a will, boys, with a will!" cried Christian. Another moment and they slid down the billow's back into the trough between the seas. A few more energetic strokes carried them over the next wave. After that the danger was past, and in less than half-an-hour they were once more on board the _Bounty_. CHAPTER FIVE. THE LANDING OF THE LIVESTOCK IN BOUNTY BAY. Preparations were now made for landing. The bay which they had discovered, and was the only one on the island, lay on its northern side. Into it they succeeded in running the _Bounty_, and cast anchor. Soon the women, with little Sally, were landed and sent up to the table-land above, to make some sort of encampment, under the charge of midshipman Young. The ship was warped close up to the cliffs, so close that she ran the end of her bowsprit against them and broke it off. Here there was a narrow ledge that seemed suitable for a landing-place. Night put a stop to their labours on board. While some lighted fires and encamped on the shore, others remained in the ship to guard her and to be ready for the debarkation that was to take place in the morning. And a strange debarkation it was. It had been found that there was a rise of eight feet in the tide. This enabled Christian to lay the ship in such a position that it was possible to extend several long planks from the bow to the beach. Fortunately the weather was fine, otherwise the landing would have been difficult if not disastrous. When all was complete, the goats were collected and driven over the bow to the shore. The procession was headed by an old billy-goat, who looked supremely philosophical as he went slowly along the rough gangway. "It minds one o' pirates makin' the crew of a merchantman walk the plank," remarked John Williams, as he assisted to urge the unwilling flock along. "Quite like a menadgeree," suggested Mills. "More like old Noah comin' out o' the ark," said Williams, "on the top o' Mount--Mount--what was its name? I forget." "Mount Sy-nee," suggested Quintal. "Not at all; it was Mount Arrowroot," said Isaac Martin, with the air of an oracle. "Clear the way, lads, for the poultry," shouted midshipman Young. A tremendous cackling in rear rendered further orders inaudible as well as unnecessary, while the men stood aside from the opening to the gangway of planks. A considerable number of fowls had been taken on board at Otaheite, and these, besides being bewildered and uncertain as to the point to which they were being driven, and the precise duty that was required of them, were infected with the general obstinacy of the rest of the animal kingdom. At last, however, a splendid cock was persuaded to enter the gangway, down which he ran, and flew shrieking to the shore, followed by the rest of his kindred. "Now for the hogs," said Quintal, to whose domineering spirit the work was congenial. But the hogs were not to be managed as easily as the goats and fowls had been. With native obstinacy and amazing energy they refused to do what they were bid, and shrieked defiance when force was attempted. The noise was further increased by the butting of a few goats and the cackling of some poultry, which had got mixed up with them. First of all they declined to leave the enclosures, out of which they had tried pertinaciously to escape all the voyage. By way of overcoming this difficulty, Christian ordered the enclosures to be torn down, and the planks with which they had been formed were used as persuaders to urge the refractory creatures on. As each poke or slap produced a series of horrible yells, it may be understood that the operation was accompanied with noise. At last some of the men, losing patience, rushed at the hogs, seized them by ears and tails, and forcibly dragged them to the gangway. McCoy and Quintal distinguished themselves in this service, hurling their animals on the planks with such violence that several of them fell over into the sea, and swam towards the shore in the surf from which they were rescued by the Otaheitan men, who danced about in the water, highly enjoying this part of their labour. A profound calm seemed to succeed a wild storm when the last of the unruly pigs had left the ship. "We've got 'em all out at last," said one of the men, with a sigh, wiping the perspiration from his forehead with his sleeve. "Bad luck to them," growled another, tying up a slight wound received in the conflict. "We've done with the live stock, anyhow, and that's a comfort," said a third. "Done with the live stock!" exclaimed Martin. "Why, the worst lot has yet to come." "That must be yourself, then, Martin, my boy," said Brown. "I wish it was, Brown," retorted Martin; "but you've forgotten the cats." "So we have!" exclaimed everybody. "And you may be sure they'll give us some trouble," said Christian. "Come, let's go at 'em at once." This estimate of the cats was fully justified by what followed. A considerable number of these useful creatures, black, white, and grey, had been brought from Otaheite for the purpose of keeping down the rats, with which many of the South Sea Islands are afflicted. During the voyage most of them had retired to the privacy of the hold, where they found holes and corners about the cargo, and came out only at night, like evil spirits, to pick up a precarious livelihood. During the recent conflict a few had found insecure refuge in holes and corners about the deck, where yelling and fugitive pigs had convulsed them with horror; and one, a huge grey cat, having taken madly to the rigging, rushed out to the end of the foresail-yard, where it was immediately roused to frenzy by a flock of astonished gulls. Now, these cats had to be rummaged out of their retreats by violence, in which work all the white men in the ship had to take part amid a chorus of awful skirling, serpentlike fuffing, ominous and deadly growling, and, generally, hideous caterwauling, that no pen, however gifted, could adequately describe. "_I_ see 'im," cried Mills, with his head thrust down between a nail-cask and a bundle of Otaheitan roots. "Where?" from John Adams, who, with heels and legs in the air, and head and shoulders down somewhere about the keel, was poking a long stick into total darkness. "There, right under you, with a pair of eyes blazing like green lamps." A poke in the right direction caused a convulsion in the bowels of the cargo like a miniature earthquake. It was accompanied by a fearful yell. "I've touched him at last," said Adams, quietly. "Look-out there, Brown, he's goin' to scramble up the bulkhead." "There goes another," shouted Martin, whose head was so far down among the cargo that his voice had a muffled sound. There was no occasion to ask where this time, for, with a wild shriek, a large black fellow left its retreat, sprang up the hatchway, and sought refuge in the rigging. At the same moment there came a sepulchral moan from a cat whose place of refuge was invaded by Quintal. The moan was followed by a cry, loud and deep, that would have done credit to a mad baby. "Isn't it appalling to see creeturs so furious?" said Adams, solemnly, as he drew his head and shoulders out of the depths. "They're fiendishly inclined, no doubt," said Christian, who stood hard by with a stick, ready to expedite the process of ejection when a cat ventured to show itself. At last, with infinite trouble the whole body of the enemy were routed from the hold, and the hatches fastened down to prevent a return. But the end was not yet gained, for the creatures had found various refuges on deck, and some had taken to the rigging. "Come out o' that," cried Martin, making a poke at the big grey cat, like a small tiger, which had fled to the foretop. With a ferocious caterwaul and fuff the creature sprang down the shrouds on the opposite side as if it had been born and bred a sailor. Unfortunately it made a wild leap at a pendant rope in passing, missed it, and came down on the deck with a prodigious flop. Only one of its nine lives, apparently, was damaged. With the other eight it rushed to the opening in the bow, and soon gained the shore, where it immediately sprang to the leafy head of a cocoa-nut palm. At the same moment a black-and-white cat was sent flying in the same direction by Young. Quintal, indulging his savage nature, caught one of the cats by the neck and tried to strangle it into subjection, but received such punishment with teeth and claws that he was fain to fling it into the sea. It swam ashore, emerged a melancholy "drookit" spectacle, and dashed into the nearest underwood. Thus, one by one, the cats were hunted out of the _Bounty_, and introduced to their future home. The last to give in was, appropriately, an enormous black Tom, which, with deadly yellow eyes, erect hair, bristling tail, curved back, extended claws, and flattened ears, rushed fuffing and squealing from one refuge to another, until at last, giving way to the concentrated attack of the assembled crew, it burst through the opening, scurried down the gangway, and went like a shot into the bushes, a confirmed maniac,--if not worse. CHAPTER SIX. SETTLING DOWN AND EXPLORATION. The first few days were devoted by the mutineers to conveying ashore every article that was likely to prove useful. Not only were chests, boxes, tools, bedding, culinary implements, etcetera, removed from the vessel, but the planks that formed the bulkheads, much of the cordage, and all the loose spars and removable iron-work were carried ashore. In short, the vessel was completely gutted. When this was finished, a council was called to decide what should be done with the _Bounty_ herself, for although Christian was the acknowledged leader of the party, he took no important step without consulting his comrades. "You see it is useless," he said, "to think of venturing again to sea in the _Bounty_; we are too short-handed for that. Besides, we could not find a more suitable island than this. I therefore propose that we should burn the ship, to prevent her being seen by any chance vessel that may pass this way. If she were observed, men might be tempted to land, and of course they would tell that we were here, and His Majesty would soon have a cruiser out in search of us. What say you?" "I say wait a bit and consider," replied Young. "Ditto," said Adams. Some of the others thought with Christian. Quintal, in particular, who seemed to live in a chronic state of objection to being hanged, was strong for destroying the vessel. Eventually, after a good deal of delay and much discussion, the good ship _Bounty_ finished her career by being burned to the water's edge in Bounty Bay. This occurred on the 23rd January 1790. The lower part of the vessel, which would not burn, was towed out into deep water and sunk, so that not a vestige of her remained. And now all was bustling activity. A spot some few hundred yards farther inland than that selected as their camping-ground on the day of arrival, was fixed on as suitable for their permanent location. It was beautifully situated, and pleasantly sheltered by trees, through between the stems of which the sea was visible. To this spot everything was conveyed, and several of the most powerful of the men began to clear the ground, and fell the trees with axes. One morning, soon after landing, a party was organised to traverse the island and investigate its character and resources. As they were not yet quite sure that it was uninhabited, this party was a strong one and well armed. It consisted of Christian, Adams, Brown, Martin, and four of the Otaheitans. Edward Young stayed at the encampment with the remaining men and the women. "In which direction shall we go?" asked Christian, appealing to Brown. The botanist hesitated, and glanced round him. "If I might make so bold, sir," said Isaac Martin, "I would suggest that we go right up to the top o' the mountains. There's nothin' like a bird's-eye view for fillin' the mind wi' right notions o' form, an' size, an' character." Following this advice, they traversed the lower ground, which was found very prolific everywhere. Then they ascended the undulating slopes of the mountain-sides until they reached the rugged and bare rocks of the higher ground. On the way they found further and indisputable evidence of the island having been inhabited at some previous and probably long past era. Among these evidences were spear-heads, and axes of stone, and several warlike weapons. "Hallo! here's a circumstance," exclaimed Martin, stopping in front of an object which lay on the ground. On closer examination the "circumstance" turned out to be an image made of a hard and coarse red stone. "It is evidently an idol," said Christian; "and here are some smooth round stones, resembling those used by the Otaheitans in war." Not far from the spot, and in other places as they advanced, the exploring party found heaps of stone chips, as well as more images and tools. "I've been thinking," said Brown, turning for a moment to look down at the sea, which now lay spread out far below them like a blue plain, "I've been thinking that the proof of people having been here long ago lies not only in these stones, axes, spears, and images, but also in the fact that we find the cocoa-nut trees, bananas, plantains, breadfruit-trees, as well as yams and sweet potatoes, grow chiefly in the sunny and sheltered parts of the island, and gathered together as if they had been planted there." "Here's the best proof of all," exclaimed Martin, who had a tendency to poke about, with his long nose advanced, as if scenting out things. They looked at the spot to which Martin pointed, and there saw a human skeleton in the last stage of decay, with a large pearl shell under the skull. Not far-off more human bones were discovered. "That's proof positive," said Brown. "Now, I wonder why these natives came here, and why they went away." "P'r'aps they didn't come, but was born'd here," suggested Martin; "an' mayhap they didn't go away at all, but died here." "True, Martin," said Adams; "and that shell reminds me of what Captain Bligh once told me, that the natives o' the Gambier Islands, which must lie to wind'ard o' this, have a custom of puttin' a shell under the heads of the dead in this fashion. Moreover, he told me that these same Gambier chaps, long ago, used to put the people they vanquished in war on rafts, and turn 'em adrift to sink or swim, or fetch what land they might. No doubt some of these people got drifted here." As he spoke the party emerged from a somewhat rugged pass, close to the highest peak of the mountain-ranges. A few minutes' scramble brought them to the summit, whence they obtained a magnificent view of the entire circuit of the island. We have said that the peak is just over a thousand feet high. From this commanding position the Pacific was seen with a boundless horizon all round. Not a speck of land visible save the rocky isle on which they stood. Not a sail to mark the vast expanse of water, which, from that height, seemed perfectly flat and smooth, though a steady breeze was blowing, and the islet was fringed with a pure white ring of foam. Not a cloud even to break the monotony of the clear sky, and no sound to disturb the stillness of nature save the plaintive cries, mellowed by distance, of the myriads of sea-fowl which sailed round the cliffs, or dipped into the water far below. "Solitude profound," said Christian, in a low voice, breaking the silence which had fallen on the party as they gazed slowly round them. Just then a loud and hideous yell issued from, apparently; the bowels of the earth, and rudely put to flight the feeling of profound solitude. The cry, although very loud, had a strangely muffled sound, and was repeated as if by an echo. The explorers looked in each other's faces inquiringly, and not without an expression of awe. "Strange," said Adams; "an' it sounded very like some one in distress." It was observed suddenly that Isaac Martin was absent. "But the voice was not like his," said Brown. The mysterious cry was repeated at the moment, and Christian ran quickly in the direction whence it seemed to come. As they neared a rugged mass of rocks which lay close to the peak on which they had been standing, the cry lost much of its mystery, and finally assumed the tones of Martin's voice. "Hallo! hi! murder! help! O my leg! Mr Christian, Adams, Brown, this way. Help! ho! hi!" What between the muffled sound and the echo, Martin created a noise that would have set his friends into fits of laughter if they had not been greatly alarmed. In a few seconds the party reached what seemed to be a dark hole, out of which the poor man's left leg was seen protruding. Christian and Adams grasped it. Brown and one of the Otaheitans lent a hand, and Martin was quickly dragged out of danger and set on his legs. "I say, Martin," said Brown, anxiously, "sit down or you'll bu'st. Every drop o' blood in your body has gone to your head." "No wonder," gasped Isaac, "if you'd bin hangin' by one fut half as long, your blood would have blowed your head off altogether." "There now, sit down a minute, and you'll be all right," said Christian. "How did it happen?" To this Martin replied that it was simple enough. He had fallen a few yards behind, and, taking a wrong turn, had come on a hole, into which he looked. Seeing something like a light at the bottom of it, he stooped down to look further, slipped on the rocks, and went in head foremost, but was arrested by his foot catching between two rocks and getting jammed. In this position he would soon have perished had not his comrades come to the rescue. With some curiosity they now proceeded to examine the hole. It turned out to be the entrance to a cave which opened towards the northern side of the island, and from which a splendid sweep of the sea could be seen, while in the immediate neighbourhood, far down the precipices, innumerable sea-birds were seen like flakes of snow circling round the cliffs. A few of the inquisitive among these mounted to the giddy height of the cave's seaward-mouth, and seemed to gaze in surprise at the unwonted sight of man. "A most suitable cavern for a hermit or a monk," said Brown. "More fit for a monkey," said Martin. "Not a bad place of refuge in case our retreat should be discovered," observed Christian. "H'm! the Mutineers' Retreat," muttered John Adams, in a slightly bitter tone. "A few resolute men," continued Christian, taking no notice of the last remark, "could hold out here against a hundred--at least while their ammunition lasted." He returned as he spoke to the cave's landward entrance, and clambered out with some difficulty, followed by his companions. Proceeding with their investigations, they found that, while a large part of the island was covered with rich soil, bearing fruit-trees and shrubs in abundance, the remainder of it was mountainous, rugged, and barren. They also ascertained that, although the place had been inhabited in times long past, there seemed to be no inhabitants at that time to dispute their taking possession. Satisfied with the result of their investigations, they descended to their encampment on the table-land close to the heights above Bounty Bay. On drawing near to the clearing they heard the sound of voices raised as if in anger. "It's Quintal and McCoy," said Adams; "I know the sound o' their ill-natured voices." Presently the two men could be seen through the trees. Quintal was sitting on a felled tree, looking fiercely at McCoy, who stood beside him. "I tell you the baccy is mine," said Quintal. "It's nothin' o' the sort, it's mine," answered McCoy, snatching the coveted weed out of the other's hand. Quintal jumped up, hit McCoy on the forehead, and knocked him down. McCoy instantly rose, hit Quintal on the nose, and tumbled him over the log on which he had been sitting. Not much the worse, Quintal sprang to his feet, and a furious set-to would have immediately followed if the arrival of Christian and his party had not prevented it. It was no easy matter to calm the ruffled spirits of the men who had treated each other so unceremoniously, and there is no doubt the bad feeling would have been kept up about the tobacco in dispute if Christian had not intervened. McCoy reiterated stoutly that the tobacco was his. "You are wrong," said Christian, quietly; "it belongs to Quintal. I gave it to him this morning." As there was no getting over this, McCoy returned the tobacco with a bad grace, and Christian was about to give the assembled party some good advice about not quarrelling, when the mother of little Sally appeared suddenly, wringing her hands, and exclaiming in her native tongue, "My child is lost! my child is lost!" As every one of the party, even the roughest, was fond of Sally, there was an eager and anxious chorus of questioning. "Where away did 'ee lose her?" asked McCoy; but the poor mother could only wring her hands and cry, "Lost! lost!" "Has she gone over the cliffs?" asked Edward Young, who came up at the moment; but the woman would say nothing but "Lost! lost!" amid floods of tears. Fortunately some of the other women, who had been away collecting cocoa-nuts, arrived just then, and somewhat relieved the men by prevailing on the mother to explain that, although she could not say positively her child had fallen over the cliffs, or come by any other mishap, Sally had nevertheless disappeared early in the forenoon, and that she had been searching for her ever since without success. The process of interrogation was conducted chiefly by Isabella, _alias_ Mainmast, the wife of Fletcher Christian, and Susannah, the wife of Edward Young; and it was interesting to note how anxious were the native men, Talaloo, Timoa, Ohoo, Nehow, Tetaheite, and Menalee. They were evidently as concerned about the safety of the child as were the white men. "Now, lads," said Christian, after it was ascertained that the poor woman could give no information whatever, "we must search at once, but we must go about it according to a fixed plan. I remember once reading of a General having got lost in a great swamp one evening with his staff. It was near the sea, I think, and the tide was making. He collected his officers and bade them radiate out from him in all directions, each one in a straight line, so as to make sure of at least one of them finding the right road out of the danger. We will do likewise." Following out this plan, the entire party scattered themselves into the bush, each keeping in a straight line, searching as he went, and widening the field of search as his distance from the centre increased. There was no time to lose, for the shades of night had already begun to fall. Anxiously did the poor mother and one or two of the other women sit in the clearing, listening for the expected shout which should indicate success. For a long time no shout of any kind was heard, though there was considerable noise when the searching party came upon the lairs of members of the livestock that had taken up their quarters in the bush. We will follow only the line of search which ended in success. It was pursued by Christian himself. At first he came on spots where domestic fowls had taken up their abode. Then, while tramping through a mass of luxuriant ferns, he trod on the toes of a slumbering hog, which immediately set up a shriek comparable only to the brake of an ill-used locomotive. This uncalled-for disturbance roused and routed a considerable number of the same family which had taken refuge in the same locality. After that he came on a bevy of cats, seated at respectful distances from each other, in glaring and armed neutrality. His sudden and evidently unexpected appearance scattered these to the four points of the compass. Presently he came upon a pretty open spot of small size, which was surrounded by shrubs and trees, through the leafy branches of which the setting sun streamed in a thousand rays. One of these rays dazzled the eyes, and another kissed the lips of a Nanny-goat. It was Sally's pet, lying down and dozing. Beside it lay Sally herself, sound asleep, with her pretty little face resting on its side, and one of her little fat hands holding on to a lock of its white hair. With a loud shout Christian proclaimed his success to the Pitcairn world, and, picking up the still slumbering child, carried her home in triumph to her mother. CHAPTER SEVEN. ROASTING, FORAGING, AND FABRICATING. One morning John Adams awoke from a pleasant dream and lay for some time on his back, in that lazy, half-conscious fashion in which some men love to lie on first awaking. The canopy above him was a leafy structure through which he could see the deep azure of the sky with its few clouds of fleecy white. Around him were the rude huts of leaves and boughs which his comrades had constructed for themselves more or less tastefully, and the lairs under bush and tree with which the Otaheitan natives were content. Just in front of his own hut was that of Fletcher Christian. It was more thoroughly built than the others, being partly formed of planks and other woodwork saved from the _Bounty_, and was well thatched with the broad leaves of tropical plants. In front of the hut Christian's wife, Isabella, was busily engaged digging a hole in the ground. She was the only member of the party astir that morning. "I wonder why Mainmast is up so early," murmured Adams, rousing himself and using his elbow as a prop while he observed her. Mainmast, who was better known by that sobriquet than by the name which Christian had given to her on his wedding-day at Otaheite, was a very comely and naturally amiable creature, graceful in form, and although a so-called savage, possessing an air of simple dignity and refinement which might almost be termed lady-like. Indeed, several of the other native wives of the mutineers were similar to Mrs Christian in these respects, and, despite their brown complexions, were remarkably good-looking. One or two, however, were commonplace enough, especially the wives of the three married Otaheitan men, who seemed to be, as no doubt they were, of a lower social class than the others who had mingled with the best Otaheitan society, Edward Young's wife, for instance, being a sort of native princess--at least she was the daughter of a great chief. The dress of these women was simple, like themselves, and not ungraceful. It consisted of a short petticoat of tapa, or native cloth, reaching below the knees, and a loose shawl or scarf of the same material thrown over the shoulders. After gazing a short time, Adams perceived what Mainmast was about. She was preparing breakfast, which consisted of a hog. It had been shot by Christian the night before, partly because it annoyed him with pertinacious grunting in the neighbourhood of his hut, and partly because several families of hoglets having been born soon after their arrival on the island, he could not be charged with extravagance in giving the people a treat of flesh once in a way. The process of cooking the hog was slow, hence the early move. It was also peculiar, therefore we shall describe it in detail, in order that the enterprising housewives of England may try the plan if convenient. Mainmast's first act was to kindle a large fire, into which she put a number of goodly-sized and rounded stones. While these were heating, she dug a large hole in the ground with a broken shovel, which was the only implement of husbandry possessed at that time by the community. This hole was the oven. The bottom of it she covered with fresh plantain leaves. The stones having been heated, were spread over the bottom of the hole and then covered with leaves. On this hotbed the carcass of the pig was placed, and another layer of leaves spread over it. Some more hot stones were placed above that, over which green leaves were strewn in bunches, and, finally, the whole was covered up with earth and rubbish piled up so as to keep in the heat. Just as she had accomplished this, Mainmast was joined by Mrs Young (Susannah) and Mrs McCoy. "Good-morning," said Mrs Christian, using the words of salutation which she had learned from the Europeans. "The hog will not be ready for a long time; will you help me with the cakes?" The women at once assented, and set to work. They spoke to each other in the Otaheitan tongue. To their husbands they spoke in a jumble of that tongue and English. For convenience we shall, throughout our tale, give their conversations in ordinary English. While Mrs McCoy prepared some yams and sweet potatoes for baking, Mrs Young compounded a cake of yams and plantains, beaten up, to be baked in leaves. Mainmast also roasted some breadfruit. This celebrated fruit--but for which the _Bounty_, would never have been sent forth, and the mutiny with its wonderful consequences would never have occurred--grows on a tree the size of a large apple-tree, the leaves of which are of a very deep green. The fruit, larger than an orange, has a thick rind, and if gathered before becoming ripe, and baked in an oven, the inside resembles the crumb of wheaten bread, and is very palatable. It lasts in season about eight months of the year. While the culinary operations were going on, the precocious Sally, awaking from her slumbers, rose and staggered forth to survey the face of the newborn day. Her little body was clothed in an admirably fitting garment of light-brown skin, the gift of Nature. Having yawned and rubbed her eyes, she strayed towards the fire. Mrs Christian received her with an affable smile, and presented her with a pannikin of cocoa-nut milk to keep her quiet. Quaffing this beverage with evident delight, she dropped the pannikin, smacked her rosy lips, and toddled off to seek adventures. Her first act was to stand in front of Isaac Martin's hut, and gaze with a look not unmixed with awe at the long nose pointing to the sky, from which sonorous sounds were issuing. It is said that familiarity breeds contempt. It was obvious that the awesome feeling passed from the infant's mind as she gazed. Under the impulse of a sudden inspiration she entered the hut, went up to the nose, and tweaked it. "Hallo!" shouted Martin, springing up and tumbling Sally head over heels in the act. "Oh, poor thing, I haven't hurt you, have I?" He caught the child in his arms and kissed her; but Sally seemed to care neither for the tumble nor the kisses. Having been released, she sallied from the hut in search of more adventures. Martin, meanwhile, having been thoroughly aroused, got up and went towards the fire. "You're bright and early, Mainmast," he said, slowly filling his pipe. "Yes, hog takes time to cook." "Hog is it, eh? That'll be first-rate. Got sauce for it?" "Hog needs no sauce," said Mrs Christian, with a laugh. To say truth, it required very little to arouse her merriment, or that of her amiable sisterhood. When Martin had lighted his pipe, he stood gazing at the fire profoundly, as if absorbed in meditation. Presently he seized a frying-pan which lay on the ground, and descended therewith by way of the steep cliffs to the sea. While he was gone, one and another of the party came to the fire and began to chat or smoke, or both, according to fancy. Ere long Martin was seen slowly ascending the cliffs, holding the frying-pan with great care. "What have you got there?" asked one. "Oysters, eh?" said another, scrutinising the pan. "More like jelly-fish," said Young. "What in all the world is it?" asked Adams, as the pan was put on the fire. "You'll see when it boils," said Martin. "There's nothin' in it at all but water," said Quintal, somewhat contemptuously. "Well, I've heerd of many a thing, but never fried water," remarked McCoy. "I should think it indigestible," said Christian, coming up at the moment. Whether the natives understood the jest or not we cannot say, but certain it is that all of them, men and women, burst into a fit of laughter at this, in which they were joined by Otaheitan Sally from mere sympathy. "Well, what is to be the order of the day?" asked Christian, turning to Young. "Shall we proceed with our dwellings, or divide the island into locations?" "I think," answered the midshipman, "that some of us at least should set up the forge. I know that Williams's fingers are tingling to grasp the sledge-hammer, and the sooner he goes at it, too, the better, for we're badly off for tools." "If you don't require my services," said Brown, "I'll go plant some breadfruits and other things at that sheltered spot we fell upon yesterday." "I intend to finish the thatching of my hut," said Quintal, in that off-hand tone of independence and disregard of the wishes of others which was one of his characteristics. "Well, there are plenty of us to do all the work," said Christian. "Let every man do what pleases himself. I would only ask for one or two volunteers to cut the water-tanks I spoke of yesterday. The water we have discovered, although a plentiful supply for present needs, may run short or cease altogether if drought comes. So we must provide against a dry instead of a rainy day, by cutting a tank or two in the solid rock to hold a reserve." Adams and Mills at once volunteered for this duty. Other arrangements were soon made, and they sat down to breakfast, some using plates saved from the _Bounty_, others flat stones as substitutes, while empty cocoa-nut shells served for drinking-cups. "Your water pancake should be done brown by this time," said Young, as he sat down on the turf tailor-wise. "Not quite, but nearly," returned Martin, as he stirred the furiously-boiling contents of the frying-pan. In a few minutes more the sea water had boiled quite away, leaving a white residuum, which Martin scraped carefully off into a cocoa-nut cup. "You see, boys," he said, setting down the salt thus procured, "I never could abide fresh meat without a pick o' salt to give it a relish. It may be weakness perhaps, but--" "Being the weakness of an old salt," interrupted Christian, "it's excusable. Now, boys, fall-to with a will. We've got plenty of work before us, an' can't afford to waste time." This exhortation was needless. The savoury smell of the roast pig, when it had been carefully disentombed, might have given appetite to a seasick man. They ate heartily, and for some time in silence. The women, however, did not join in the feast at that time. It was the custom among the Otaheitans that the men should eat first, the women afterwards; and the mutineers, having become habituated to the custom, did not see fit to change it. When the men had finished and discussed the day's proceedings, the remainder of the pig, fruits, and vegetables, were consumed by the females, among whom, we are bound to state, Sally was the greatest gourmand. When pipes were finished, and the digestion of healthy young men had been thus impaired as far as was possible in the circumstances, the party went off in several groups about their various avocations. Among other things removed from the _Bounty_ were a smith's anvil and bellows, with various hammers, files, etcetera, and a large quantity of iron-work and copper. One party, therefore, under Young and Williams the armourer, busied themselves in setting up a forge near their settlement, and preparing charcoal for the forge fire. Another party, under Christian, proceeded to some neighbouring rocks, and there, with sledge-hammer and crowbars, which they used as jumpers, began the laborious task of boring the solid rock, intending afterwards to blast, and partly to cut it, into large water-tanks. Quintal continued the thatching of his hut, in which work his humble wife aided him effectively. Brown proceeded with the planting operations which he had begun almost immediately after landing; and the women busied themselves variously, some in preparing the mid-day meal, some in gathering fruits and roots for future use, and others in improving the internal arrangements of their various huts, or in clearing away the debris of the late feast. As for little Sally, she superintended generally the work of the home department, and when she tired of that, went further afield in search of adventures. CHAPTER EIGHT. DIVISION OF THE ISLAND--MORALISINGS, MISGIVINGS, AND A GREAT EVENT. There was no difficulty in apportioning the new possessions to which the mutineers had served themselves heirs. In that free-and-easy mode in which men in power sometimes arrange matters for their own special behoof, they divided the island into nine equal parts, of which each appropriated one part. The six native men were not only ignored in this arrangement, but they were soon given to understand, by at least several of their captors, that they were to be regarded as slaves and treated as such. It is, however, but just to Edward Young to say that he invariably treated the natives well and was much liked by them, from which it is to be supposed that he did not quite fall in with the views of his associates, although he made no objection to the unjust distribution of the land. John Adams, being an amiable and kindly man, also treated the natives well, and so did Fletcher Christian; but the others were more or less tyrannical, and those kindred spirits, Matthew Quintal and William McCoy, treated them with great severity, sometimes with excessive cruelty. At first, however, things went well. The novelty and romance of their situation kept them all in good spirits. The necessity for constant activity in laying out their gardens, clearing the land around the place of settlement, and erecting good log-houses,--all this, with fresh air and abundance of good food, kept them in excellent health and spirits, so that even the worst among them were for a time amiably disposed; and it seemed as if those nine men had, by their act of mutiny, really introduced themselves into a terrestrial paradise. And so they had, as far as nature was concerned, but the seeds of evil in themselves began ere long to grow and bear fruit. The fear of the avenger in the form of a man-of-war was constantly before their minds. We have said that the _Bounty_ had been burnt, and her charred remnants sunk to remove all traces of their presence on the island. For the same end a fringe of trees was left standing on the seaward side of their clearing, and no erection of any kind was allowed upon the seaward cliffs or inland heights. One afternoon, Christian, who had been labouring in his garden, threw down his tools, and taking up the musket which he seldom left far from his hand, betook himself to the hills. He was fond of going there, and often spent many hours in solitary watching in the cave near the precipitous mountain-peak. On his way up he had to pass the hut of William McCoy. The others, conforming to the natural tendency of mankind to congregate together, had built their houses round the cleared space on the table-land above Bounty Bay, from which central point they were wont to sally forth each morning to their farms or gardens, which were scattered wide apart in separate valleys. McCoy, however, aspired to higher heights and grander solitudes. His dwelling, a substantial log-hut, was perched upon a knoll overlooking the particular valley which he cultivated with the aid of his Otaheitan wife and one of the native men. "You are getting on well," said Christian to McCoy, who was felling a tree when he came up to him. "Ay, slowly, but I'd get on a deal faster if that lazy brown-skin Ohoo would work harder. Just look at him. He digs up that bit o' ground as if he was paid by the number o' minutes he took to do it. I had to give him a taste of a rope's end this morning, but it don't seem to have done him much good." "It didn't seem to do much good to you when you got it on board the _Bounty_," said Christian, gravely. "P'r'aps not; but we're not on board the _Bounty_, now," returned McCoy, somewhat angrily. "Depend on it, McCoy," said Christian, softening his tone, "that the cat never made any man work well. It can only force a scoundrel to obedience, nothing more." "H'm, I b'lieve you're not far wrong, sir," returned the other, resuming his work. Giving a friendly nod to Ohoo as he passed, and a cheerful "good-morning" to Mrs McCoy, who was busy inside the hut, Christian passed slowly on through the luxuriant herbage with which that part of the hillside was covered. At first he walked in the shade of many-stemmed banyans and feathery-topped palms, while the leaves of tall and graceful ferns brushed his cheeks, and numerous luxuriant flowering plants perfumed the air. Then he came to a clump of bushes, into which darted one of the goats that had by this time become almost wild. The goat's rush disturbed a huge sow with a litter of quite new pigs, the gruntings and squeakings of which gave liveliness to an otherwise quiet and peaceful scene. Coming out on the shoulder of the mountain just above the woods, he turned round to look back. It was a splendid panorama of tropical vegetation, rounded knolls, picturesque mounds, green patches, and rugged cliffs, extending downwards to Bounty Bay with its fringe of surf, and beyond--all round--the sleeping sea. Two or three little brown, sparrow-like birds twittered in the bushes near, and looked askance, as if they would question the man's right to walk there. One or two active lizards ran across his path, pausing now and then, and glancing upwards as if in great surprise. Christian smiled sadly as he looked at them, then turned to breast the hill. It was a rugged climb. Towards the top, where he diverged to the cave, every step became more difficult. Reaching the hole where Isaac Martin had come by his misadventure, Christian descended by means of a rude ladder which he had constructed and let down into it. Entering the cave, he rested his musket against the wall of rock, and sat down on a ledge near the opening towards the sea. It was a giddy height. As he sat there with hands clasped over one knee and eyes fixed wistfully on the horizon, his right foot, thrust a little beyond the edge of the rock, overhung a tremendous precipice, many hundred feet deep. For a long time he gazed so steadfastly and remained so motionless as to seem a portion of the rock itself. Then he heaved a sigh that relieved the pent-up feelings of an overburdened soul. "So early!" he muttered, in a scarcely audible voice. "At the very beginning of life, just when hope, health, manhood, and opportunity were at the flood." He stopped, and again remained motionless for a long time. Then, continuing in the same low, sad tone, but without altering his position or his wistful gaze. "And _now_, an outlaw, an outcast, doomed, if taken, to a felon's death! Comrades seduced to their ruin! The brand of Cain not more terrible than mine! Self-exiled for life! Never, _never_ more to see friends, country, kindred, sisters--mother! God help me!" He laid his face in his hands and groaned aloud. Again he was silent, and remained without motion for nearly an hour. "_Can_ it be true?" he cried in a voice of suppressed agony, looking up as if expecting an answer from heaven. "Shall I never, never, _never_ awake from this hideous dream!" The conscience-smitten young man laid strong constraint upon himself and became calmer. When the sun began to approach the horizon he rose, and with an air of stern resolution, set about making various arrangements in the cave. From the first Fletcher Christian had fixed on this cavern as a retreat, in case his place of refuge should be discovered. His hope was that, if a man-of-war should come at last and search the island, he and his comrades might escape detection in such a sequestered and well-concealed cavern. If not, they could hold out to the last and sell their lives dearly. Already he had conveyed to it, by degrees, a considerable supply of ammunition, some of the arms and a quantity of such provisions as would not readily spoil with time. Among other things, he carried to that elevated outlook Carteret's book of voyages and some other works, which had formed the very small library of the _Bounty_, including a Bible and a Church of England Prayer-book. When not gazing on the horizon, expecting yet fearing the appearance of a sail, he passed much of his time in reading. On the evening of which we write he had beguiled some time with Carteret, when a slight sound was heard outside the cavern. Starting up with the nervous susceptibility induced by a guilty conscience, he seized his musket and cocked it. As quickly he set it down again, and smiled at his weakness. Next moment he heard a voice shouting. It drew nearer. "Hallo, sir! Mr Christian!" cried John Adams, stooping down at the entrance. "Come down, Adams, come down; there's no occasion to keep shouting up there." "True, sir; but do you come up. You're wanted immediately." There was something in the man's voice which alarmed Christian. Grasping his musket, he sprang up the ladder and stood beside his comrade. "Well?" "It's--it's all right, sir," said Adams, panting with his exertions in climbing the hill; "it's--it's a _boy_!" Without a word of reply Christian shouldered his weapon, and hurried down the mountain-side in the direction of home. CHAPTER NINE. SALLY'S CHIEF JOYS--DARK CLOUDS OVERSPREAD THE PITCAIRN SKY, AND DARKER DEEDS ARE DONE. Just before John Adams left the settlement for the purpose of calling Christian, whose retreat at the mountain-top was by that time well-known to every one, little Sally had gone, as was her wont, to enjoy herself in her favourite playground. This was a spot close to the house of Edward Young, where the debris of material saved from the _Bounty_ had been deposited. It formed a bristling pile of masts, spars, planks, cross-trees, oars, anchors, nails, copper-bolts, sails, and cordage. No material compound could have been more dangerous to childhood, and nothing conceivable more attractive to Sally. The way in which that pretty little nude infant disported herself on that pile was absolutely tremendous. She sprang over things as if she had been made expressly to fly. She tumbled off things as if she had been created to fall. She insinuated herself among anchor-flukes and chains as if she had been born an eel. She rolled out from among the folds of sails as if she were a live dumpling. She seemed to dance upon upturned nails, and to spike herself on bristling bolts; but she never hurt herself,--at least if she did she never cried, except in exuberant glee. Now, it was while thus engaged one day that Sally became suddenly conscious of a new sound. Young as she was, she was fully alive to the influence of a new sensation. She paused in an attitude of eager attention. The strange sound came from Christian's hut. Sally waddled thither and looked in. The first thing that met her gaze was her own mother with a live creature in her hands, which she was carefully wrapping up in a piece of cloth. It was a pitifully thin whitey-brown creature, with a puckered face, resembling that of a monkey; but Sally had never seen a monkey, and probably did not think of the comparison. Presently the creature opened its mouth, shut its eyes, and uttered a painfully weak squall. Cause and effect are not infrequently involved in mystery. We cannot tell why Sally, who never cried, either when hurt or scolded, should, on beholding this sight, set up a tremendous howl; but she did, and she kept up the howl with such vigour that John Adams was attracted to the spot in some alarm. Stopping only long enough to look at the infant and see that the mother was all right, Adams ran off at full speed to the mountain-top, as we have seen, to be the first to announce the joyful news to the father. Thus came into the world the first "descendant" of the mutineers of the _Bounty_. It was with unwonted animation that the men sat down to supper that evening, each having congratulated Christian and inquired at the hut for the baby and mother, as he came in from work. "What will you call him?" inquired Young, after pledging the new arrival in a cup of cocoa-nut milk. "What day is it?" asked Christian. "Thursday," answered Martin. "Then I'll call him Thursday," said Christian; "it will commemorate the day." "You'd better add `October,' and commemorate the month," said Adams. "So I will," said Christian. "An' stick on `Seventeen-ninety' to commemorate the year," suggested Mills. "No, there are limits to everything," returned Christian; "three names are enough. Come, fill up your cups, lads, and drink to Thursday October Christian!" With enthusiasm and a shout of laughter, the toast was pledged in cocoa-nut milk, and once again Christian's hand was shaken by his comrades all round. The advent of TOC, as Adams called him, (or Toc, as he afterwards came to be styled), was, as it were, the breaking of the ice. It was followed ere long by quite a crop of babies. In a few months more a Matthew Quintal was added to the roll. Then a Daniel McCoy furnished another voice in the chorus, and Sally ceased to disquiet herself because of that which had ceased to be a novelty. This all occurred in 1791. After that there was a pause for a brief period; then, in 1792, Elizabeth Mills burst upon the astonished gaze of her father, and was followed immediately by another Christian, whom Fletcher, discarding his eccentric taste for days and months, named Charles. By this time Sally had developed such a degree of matronly solicitude, that she was absolutely intrusted at times with the care of the other children. In a special manner she devoted herself to little Charlie Christian, who was a particularly sedate infant. Indeed, solemnity was stamped upon that child's visage from his birth. This seemed to harmonise intensely with Sally's sense of fun. She was wont to take Charlie away from his mother, and set him up on a log, or the rusty shank of the _Bounty's_ "best bower," prop him up with sticks or bushes--any rubbish that came to hand--and sit down in front of him to gaze. Charlie, after the first few months of precarious infancy, became extremely fat. He used to open his solemn eyes as wide as was possible in the circumstances, and return the gaze with interest. Unable to restrain herself, Sally would then open her pretty mouth, shut her gorgeous eyes, and give vent to the richest peals of laughter. "Oh, you's so good, Charlie!" She had learned by that time to speak broken English in an infantine fashion, and her assertion was absolutely true, for Charlie Christian was preternaturally good. The same cannot be said of all the members of this little community. Ere long, a period approached when the harmony which had hitherto prevailed was about to be broken. Increasing life had marked their course hitherto. Death now stepped in to claim his share. The wife of John Williams went out one day to gather gulls' eggs among the cliffs. The women were all in the habit of doing this at times, and they had become expert climbers, as were also the men, both white and brown. When day began to close, they wondered why Mrs Williams was so late of returning. Soon her husband became uneasy; then, taking alarm, he went off to search for her, accompanied by all the men. The unfortunate woman was found dead at the base of the cliffs. She had missed her footing and fallen while searching for eggs. This accident had at first a deeply solemnising effect on the whole community. Accustomed though these men were to the sight of death in some of its worst forms in war, they were awed by this sudden and unexpected assault of the great enemy. The poor mangled body lying so quietly among the rocks at the foot of the awful precipice, the sight of the husband's grief, the sad and silent procession with the ghastly burden in the deepening gloom of evening, the wailing of the women, and the awestruck gaze of such of the children as were old enough to know that something terrible had occurred, though unable to understand it,-- all conspired to deepen the impression, even on those among the men who were least easily impressed; and it was with softened feelings of pity that Quintal and McCoy, volunteering their services on the occasion, dug the first grave at Pitcairn. Time, however, soon wore away these feelings. Williams not only got over his bereavement easily, but soon began to wish for another wife. It was, of course, impossible to obtain one righteously in the circumstances; he therefore resolved to take the wife of Talaloo the Otaheitan. It must not be supposed that all Williams', comrades supported him in this wicked design. Christian, Young, and Adams remonstrated with him strongly; but he was obstinate, and threatened to take the boat and leave the island if they interfered with him. As he was an expert blacksmith, his comrades could not afford to lose him, and ceased remonstrating. Eventually he carried out his intention. This was, as might have been expected, the beginning of trouble. The coloured men made common cause of it, and from that time forward began to plot the destruction of their white masters. What made matters worse was that Talaloo's wife was not averse to the change, and from that time became a bitter enemy of her Otaheitan husband. It was owing to this wicked woman's preference for Williams that the plot was afterwards revealed. One evening, while sitting in Christian's house, Talaloo's wife began to sing a sort of extempore song, the chorus to which was:-- "Why does black man sharpen axe? To kill white man." Hearing this, Christian, who was close at hand, entered the hut and demanded an explanation. On being informed of the plot of the Otaheitan men to murder all the whites, a dark frown overspread his face. Hastily seizing his musket, he loaded it, but it was observed that he put no bullet in. The Otaheitans were assembled at the time in a neighbouring house. Christian went straight to the house, charged the men with their guilty intentions, pointed his gun at them, and pulled the trigger. The piece missed fire. Before he could re-cock, Talaloo leaped through the doorway, followed by his friend Timoa, and took shelter in the woods. The other four men begged for mercy, said that the two who had just left were the instigators as well as ringleaders in the plot, and promised to hunt them down and murder them if their own lives should be spared. As Christian had probably no fixed intention to kill any of the men, and his sudden anger soon abated, he accepted their excuses and left them. It was impossible, however, for the mutineers to feel confidence in the natives after that. The two men who had fled for refuge to the bush did not return to the settlement, but remained in hiding. One day Talaloo's wife went, with some of the other women, to the southern side of the island to fish from the rocks. They were soon busily at work. The lines used had been made by themselves from the fibrous husk of the cocoa-nut. The hooks had been brought on shore from the _Bounty_. Chattering and laughing with the free-and-easy gaiety of savages, they plied their work--it seemed more like play--with varying success. Suddenly the wife of Talaloo heard a faint hiss behind her. Turning her head, she saw her former husband in the bushes. He beckoned to her, and disappeared. None of the other women appeared to have heard or observed the man. Presently, Talaloo's wife rose, and going into the woods, joined her husband. She found him in company with Timoa. "Is Talaloo become a dog that he should be driven to live in the bush?" demanded the man, with a stern air. "The white men are strong," answered his wife, with a subdued look; "the women can do nothing." "You can stay with me here in the bush if you will," said Talaloo. "The white men are strong, but we are stronger. We will kill the white men." He turned with an air of offended dignity, and strode away. His wife meekly followed, and Timoa went with them. Now, there was one woman among the fishers whose eyes were sharp and her hearing was keen. This was Susannah, the wife of the midshipman Edward Young. She had followed Talaloo's wife, saw what occurred, and carried back a report to the settlement. A council of war was at once held. "If we leave these men at liberty," said Williams, "we shall never again be able to go to rest in security." "Something must be done," said Christian, with the air of a man whose mind wanders far away from the subject in hand. "Kill them," suggested McCoy. "Yes," said Quintal; "I vote that we get up a grand hunt, run them to earth, and shoot them like dogs, as they are." "Not so easy as you think to hunt down such men among these wild and wooded hills," said Young. "Besides, it is only Talaloo who has threatened us; Timoa is guiltless, I think." "I'll tell you what we'll do, lads; we'll poison 'em," said Williams. "I've heard of such a thing bein' done at Otaheite by one of the women. She knows how to get the poison from some sort of plant, I believe, and I'm pretty sure that Menalee will help us." The plan thus suggested was finally adopted. One of the women made three puddings, two of which were good, the third was poisoned. Menalee at once agreed to go to the fugitives, say he had stolen the puddings, and would be willing to share them. The two good puddings were to be given to Talaloo's wife and Timoa, the poisoned one to Talaloo himself. For further security Menalee was to carry a pistol with him, and use it if necessary. The assassin was not long in tracking out his countrymen. "You bring us food?" said Talaloo. "Yes, I have stolen it. Will you have some?" They all accepted the puddings, and Timoa and the woman began to eat; but Talaloo was quick witted. He observed something unusual in Menalee's manner, suspected poison, and would not eat his pudding. Laying it aside, he ate that of his wife along with her. Menalee pretended not to notice this. After the others had done eating, he proposed that they should all go a little farther up into the bushes, where, he said, he had left his own wife among some breadfruit trees. Talaloo agreeing to this, they rose and walked away. The footpath being narrow, they were obliged to go in single file. Menalee walked behind Talaloo. After having gone a few paces, the former drew his pistol, pointed it at the back of his countryman's head, and pulled the trigger, but it missed fire. Talaloo hearing the click, turned round, saw the pistol, and immediately fled; but his enemy was swift of foot, soon overtook him, and the two grappled. A severe struggle ensued, Timoa and the woman standing by and looking on, but rendering help to neither party. The two combatants were pretty well matched. The pistol had fallen at the first onset, and for a few minutes it seemed doubtful which should prove the victor, as they swayed to and fro, straining their dark and sinewy forms in deadly conflict. At last the strength of Talaloo seemed to give way, but still he retained a vice-like grasp of his antagonist's right wrist. "Won't you help me?" gasped Talaloo, turning an appealing glance on his wife. "No," cried Menalee, "but she will help me to kill Talaloo." The hardened woman picked up the pistol, and going towards her husband struck him on the head. Menalee quickly finished with his knife what the murderess had begun. For a few minutes the three stood looking at the murdered man in silence, when they returned to the settlement and told what they had done. But the assassin's work was not yet over. Another of the natives, named Ohoo, had fled to the woods, threatening vengeance against the white men. It was deemed necessary that he too should be killed, and Menalee was again found to be a willing instrument. Timoa, who had exhibited such callous indifference at the murder of Talaloo, was his fitting companion. They soon found Ohoo, and succeeded in killing him. Strange to say, the mutineers, after these foul deeds, dwelt for a long time in comparative peace and harmony. It seemed as if their worst feelings had found full vent and been expended in the double murder. No doubt this state of hollow peace was partly owing to the fact that the native men, now being reduced to four in number, felt themselves to be unable to cope with their masters, and quietly submitted to the inevitable. But by degrees the evil spirits in some of the party began to reassert their power. McCoy and Quintal in particular became very savage and cruel. They never hesitated to flog or knock down a native on the slightest pretext, insomuch that these unhappy men were again driven to plot the destruction of their masters. Adams, Christian, and Young were free from the stain of wanton cruelty. Young in particular was kind to the natives, and a favourite both with men and women. CHAPTER TEN. DANGERS, JOYS, TRIALS, AND MULTIPLICATION. "I'm going to the cliffs to-day, Williams," said Young one morning. "Will you come?" Williams was busy at the forge under the pleasant shade of the great banyan-tree. Resting his hammer on the anvil, he looked up. "No," he answered. "I can't go till I've finished this spade. It's the last bit of iron we have left that'll serve for such a purpose." "That's no reason why you should not let it lie till the afternoon or to-morrow." "True, but I've got another reason for pushing through with it. Isaac Martin says the want of a spade keeps him idle, and you know it's a pity to encourage idleness in a lazy fellow." "You are right. What is Martin about just now?" "Working at the big water-tank. It suits him, a heavy quiet sort of job with the pick, requiring no energy or thought,--only a sleepy sort o' perseverance, of which long-legged Isaac has plenty." "Come, now," returned Young, with a laugh. "I see you are getting jealous of Martin's superior intellect. But where are Quintal and McCoy?" "Diggin' in their gardens, I suppose. Leastwise, I heerd Mr Christian say to Mainmast he'd seen 'em go off in that direction. Mr Christian himself has gone to his old outlook aloft on the mountains. If he don't see a sail at last it won't be for want o' keepin' a bright look-out." The armourer smiled grimly as he thrust the edge of the half-formed spade into the fire, and began to blow his bellows. "You've got them to work again," said Young, referring to the bellows which had belonged to the _Bounty_. "Ay, patched 'em up after a fashion, though there's a good deal o' windage somewheres. If them rats git hold of 'em again, the blacksmith's occupation'll be gone. Here comes Bill Brown; p'r'aps _he_ won't object to go bird-nestin' with 'ee." The armourer drew the glowing metal from the fire as he spoke, and sent the bright sparks flying up into the leaves of the banyan-tree while the botanist approached. "I'll go, with all my heart," said Brown, on being invited by Young to accompany him. "We'd better take Nehow with us. He is the best cliff-man among the natives." "That's just what I thought of doing," said Young, "and--ah! here comes some one else who will be glad to go." The midshipman's tone and manner changed suddenly as he held out both hands by way of invitation to Sally, who came skipping forward, and ran gleefully towards him. Sally was no longer the nude cherub which had landed on the island. She had not only attained to maturer years, but was precocious both in body and mind,--had, as we have shown, become matronly in her ideas and actions, and was clothed in a short petticoat of native cloth, and a little scarf of the same, her pretty little head being decorated with a wreath of flowers culled and constructed by herself. "No, I can't go," answered Sally to Young's invitation, with a solemn shake of her head. "Why not?" "'Cause I's got to look arter babby." Up to this period Sally had shown a decided preference for the ungrammatical language of the seamen, though she associated freely with Young and Christian. Perhaps her particular fondness for John Adams may have had something to do with this. "Which baby, Sall? You know your family is a pretty large one." "Yes, there's a stunnin' lot of 'em--a'most too many for me; but I said _the_ babby." "Oh, I suppose you mean Charlie Christian?" "In coorse I means Challie," replied the child, with a smile that displayed a dazzling set of teeth, the sparkle of which was only equalled by that of her eyes. "Well, but you can bring Charlie along with you," said Young, "and I'll engage to carry him and you too if you get tired. There, run away; find him, and fetch him quick." Little Sall went off like the wind, and soon returned with the redoubtable Charles in her arms. It was all she could do to stagger under the load; but Charlie Christian had not yet attained to facility in walking. He was still in the nude stage of childhood, and his faithful nurse, being afraid lest he should get badly scratched if dragged at a rapid pace through the bushes, had carried him. Submitting, according to custom, in solemn and resigned surprise, Charlie was soon seated on the shoulders of our midshipman, who led the way to the cliffs. William Brown followed, leading Sally by the hand, for she refused to be carried, and Nehow brought up the rear. The cliffs to which their steps were directed were not more than an hour's walk from the settlement at Bounty Bay, though, for Sally's sake, the time occupied in going was about half-an-hour longer. It was a wild spot which had been selected. The towering walls of rock were rugged with ledges, spurs, and indentations, where sea-birds in myriads gave life to the scene, and awakened millions of echoes to their plaintive cries. There was a pleasant appearance of sociability about the birds which was powerfully attractive. Even Nehow, accustomed as he was to such scenes, appeared to be impressed. The middy and the botanist were excited. As for Sally, she was in ecstasies, and the baby seemed lost in the profoundest fit of wonder he had experienced since the day of his birth. "Oh, Challie," exclaimed his nurse in a burst of laughter, "what a face you's got! Jis' like de fig'r'ead o' the _Bounty_." (Sall quoted here!) "Ain't they bootiful birds?" She effectually prevented reply, even if such had been intended, by suddenly seizing her little charge round the neck and kissing his right eye passionately. Master Charlie cared nothing for that. He gazed past her at the gulls with the unobliterated eye. When she kissed him on the left cheek, he gazed past her at the gulls with the other eye. When she let him go, he continued to gaze at the gulls with both eyes. He had often seen the same gulls at a distance, from the lower level of Bounty Bay, but he had never before stood on their own giddy cliffs, and watched them from their own favourite bird's-eye-view point; for there were thousands of them sloping, diving, and wheeling in the airy abyss, pictured against the dark blue sea below, as well as thousands more circling upwards, floating and gyrating in the bright blue sky above. It seemed as if giant snowflakes were trembling in the air in all directions. Some of the gulls came so near to those who watched them that their black inquiring eyes became distinctly visible; others swept towards them with rustling wings, as if intending to strike, and then glanced sharply off, or upwards, with wild cries. "Wouldn't it be fun to have wings?" asked Brown of Sally, as she stood there open-mouthed and eyed. "Oh, _wouldn't_ it?" "If I had wings," said Young, with a touch of sadness in his tone, "I'd steer a straight course through the air for Old England." "I didn't know you had such a strong desire to be hanged," said Brown. "They'd never hang me," returned Young. "I'm innocent of the crime of mutiny, and Captain Bligh knows it." "Bligh would be but a broken reed to lean on," rejoined Brown, with a shrug of contempt. "If he liked you, he'd favour you; if he didn't, he'd go dead against you. I wouldn't trust myself in _his_ hands whether innocent or guilty. Depend upon it, Mr Young, Fletcher Christian would have been an honour to the service if he had not been driven all but mad by Bligh. I don't justify Mr Christian's act--it cannot be defended,--but I have great sympathy with him. The only man who deserves to be hanged for the mutiny of the _Bounty_, in my opinion, is Mr Bligh himself; but men seldom get their due in this world, either one way or another." "That's a powerfully radical sentiment," said Young, laughing; "it's to be hoped that men will at all events get their due in the next world, and it is well for you that Pitcairn is a free republic. But come, we must go to work if we would have a kettle of fresh eggs. I see a ledge which seems accessible, and where there must be plenty of eggs, to judge from the row the gulls are making round it. I'll try. See, now, that you don't get yourself into a fix that you can't get out of. You know that the heads of you landsmen are not so steady as those of seamen." "I know that the heads of landsmen are not stuffed with such conceit as the heads of you sailors," retorted Brown, as he went off to gather eggs. "Now, Sally, do you stop here and take care of Charlie," said Young, leading the little girl to a soft grassy mound, as far back from the edge of the cliff as possible. "Mind that you don't leave this spot till I return. I know I can trust you, and as for Charlie--" "Oh, he never moves a'most, 'xcept w'en I lifts 'im. He's _so_ good!" interrupted Sally. "Well, just keep a sharp eye on him, and we'll soon be back with lots of eggs." While Edward Young was thus cautioning the child, William Brown was busy making his way down the cliffs to some promising ledges below, and Nehow, the Otaheitan, clambered up the almost perpendicular face of the part that rose above them. [See frontispiece.] It was interesting to watch the movements of the three men. Each was, in his own way, venturesome, fearless, and more or less practised in cliff climbing. The midshipman ascended the perpendicular face with something of a nautical swagger, but inasmuch as the ledges, crevices, and projections were neither so well adapted to the hands nor so sure as ratlines and ropes, there was a wholesome degree of caution mingled with his confidence. When the wished-for ledge was gained, he gave relief to his feelings in a hearty British cheer that reverberated from cliff to cliff, causing the startled sea-gulls to drive the very echoes mad with their clangour. The botanist, on the other hand, proceeded with the extreme care of a man who knew that a false step or uncertain grip might send him into the seething mass of foam and rocks below. But he did not hesitate or betray want of courage in attempting any difficulty which he had made up his mind to face. The proceedings of Nehow, however, seemed little short of miraculous. He appeared to run up perpendicular places like a cat; to leap where the others crept, to scramble where his companions did not dare to venture, and, loosely speaking, to hang on occasionally to nothing by the point of his nose, his eyelids, or his finger-nails! We say that he appeared to do all this, but the gulls who watched and followed him in noisy indignation could have told you, if they had chosen, that his eye was quick, that his feet and hands were sure, and that he never trusted foot or hand for one moment on a doubtful projection or crevice. For some time all went well. The three men soon returned, each with a few eggs which they laid on the grass in three little heaps, to be watched and guarded by Sally, and to be stared at in grave surprise by Charlie. They carried their eggs in three round baskets without lids, and with handles which folded over on one side, so that the baskets could be fitted into each other when not in use, or slung round the necks of the egg-collectors while they were climbing. The last to return to the children was William Brown. He brought his basket nearly half full of fine eggs, and set it down beside the two heaps already brought in. "Ain't they lovely, Sall?" asked Brown, wiping the perspiration from his brow with the sleeve of his coat. That same coat, by the way, was very disreputable--threadbare and worn,--being four years old on the lowest calculation, and having seen much rough service, for Brown had an objection to the tapa cloth, and said he would stick to the old coat as long as it would stick to him. The truth is he felt it, with his worn canvas trousers and Guernsey shirt, to be in some sense a last link to "home," and he was loath to part with them. "Lovely!" exclaimed Sally, "they's jus' bootiful." Nothing could exceed "bootiful" in Sally's mind--she had paid the eggs the highest possible compliment. Charlie did them, at the same moment, the greatest possible damage, by sitting down in the basket, unintentionally, with an awful crash. From the gaze of horror that he cast upwards, it was evident that he was impressed with a strong belief that he had done something wrong, though the result did not seem to him unpleasant. The gaze of horror quickly changed into one of alarm when he observed the shocked countenance of Sally, and he burst into uncontrollable tears. "Poor thing," said Brown, lifting him out of the mess and setting him on his legs. "Never mind, old man, I'll fetch you a better basketful soon. You clean him up, Sall, and I'll be back in a jiffy." So saying, Brown took up his basket, emptied out the mess, wiped it with a bunch of grass, and descended the short slope to the cliff edge, laughing as he went. Poor Sally's shocked expression had not yet passed off when Charlie came to a sudden stop, shut his mouth tightly and opened his eyes, as though to say, "Well, how do you take it now?" "Oh, Challie, but you _is_ bad to-day." This was enough. The shades of darkest night settled down on Charlie's miserable soul. Re-shutting his eyes and reopening his mouth, he poured forth the woe of his inconsolable heart in prolonged and passionate howling. "No, no; O _don't_!" cried the repentant Sally, her arms round his neck and fondling him. "I didn't mean it. I'm _so_ sorry. It's me that's bad--badder than you ever was." But Charlie refused to be comforted. He flung himself on the grass in agony of spirit, to the alarm and grief of his poor nurse. "Me's dood?" he cried, pausing suddenly, with a blaze of inquiry in his wet visage. "Yes, yes, good as gold--gooder, far gooder!" Sally did not possess an enlightened conscience at that time. She would have said anything to quiet him, but he would not be quieted. "Me's dood--O _dood_! ah-o-ee-aw-ee!" The noise was bad enough, but the way he flung himself about was worse. There was no occasion for Sally to clean him up. Rolling thus on the green turf made him as pure, if not bright, as a new pin; but it had another effect, which gave Sally a fright such as she had never up to that time conceived of, and never afterwards forgot. In his rollings Charlie came to the edge of the knoll where a thick but soft bush concealed a ledge, or drop, of about two feet. Through this bush he passed in a moment. Sally leaped up and sprang to the spot, just in time to see her charge rolling helplessly down the slope to what appeared to be certain death. There was but a short slope between the bush and the cliff. Rotund little Charlie "fetched way" as he advanced, despite one or two feeble clutches at the rocks. If Sally had been a few years older she would have bounded after him like a goat, but she had only reached that period of life which rendered petrifaction possible. She stood ridged for a few moments with heart, head, and eyes apparently about to burst. At last her voice found vent in a shriek so awful that it made the heart of Young, high on the cliffs above, stand still. It had quite the contrary effect on the legs of Brown. That cautious man chanced to be climbing the cliff slowly with a fresh basketful of eggs. Hearing the shriek, and knowing full well that it meant imminent danger, he leaped up the last few steps of the precipice with a degree of heedless agility that equalled that of Nehow himself. He was just in time to see Charlie coming straight at him like a cannon shot. It was really an awful situation. To have received the shock while his footing was still precarious would have insured his own destruction as well as that of the child. Feeling this, he made a kangaroo-like bound over the edge of the cliff, and succeeded in planting both feet and knees firmly on a grassy foundation, just in time. Letting go his burden, he spread out both arms. Charlie came into his bosom with extreme violence, but he remained firm, while the basket of eggs went wildly downward to destruction. Meanwhile, Sally stood there with clasped hands and glazed eyes, sending up shriek after shriek, which sent successive stabs to the heart of Edward Young, as he scurried and tumbled, rather than ran, down from the upper cliffs towards her. In a few minutes he came in pale and panting. A minute later and Nehow ran round a neighbouring point like a greyhound. "All right?" gasped Young. "All right," replied Brown. "Wheeaow-ho!" exclaimed Nehow, expanding his cavernous mouth with a grin of satisfaction. It is worthy of record that little Sally did not revisit these particular cliffs for several years after that exciting and eventful day, and that she returned to the settlement with a beating and grateful heart. It must not be supposed that Charlie Christian remained for any great length of time "the babby" of that infant colony. By no means. In a short time after the event which we have just described, there came to Pitcairn a little sister to Charlie. She was named Mary, despite the earnest suggestion of Isaac Martin, that as she was "born of a Wednesday," she ought to be called by that name. Of course Otaheitan Sally at once devoted herself to the newcomer, but she did not on that account forsake her first love. No; her little brown heart remained true to Charlie, though she necessarily gave him less of her society than before. Then Mrs Quintal gave her husband the additional burden, as he styled it, of a daughter, whom he named Sarah, for no other reason, that any one could make out, than the fact that his wife did not like it, and his friend McCoy had advised him on no account to adopt it. Thus was little Matthew Quintal also provided with a sister. Shortly after that, John Adams became a moderately happy father, and called the child Dinah, because he had never had a female relation of that name; indeed, he had never possessed a relation of any kind whatever that he knew of, having been a London street-boy, a mere waif, when he first became aware, so to speak, of his own existence. About the same time that little Dinah was born, John Mills rushed one day into the yam-field of Edward Young, where the midshipman was at work, seized his hand, and exclaimed--"I wish you joy, sir, it's a _girl_!" Not to be out-done in civility, Young carefully watched his opportunity, and, only four days later, rushed into the yam-garden of John Mills, where he was smoking, seized his hand, and exclaimed--"I congratulate you, Mills, it's a _boy_!" So, Young called his daughter Folly, because he had an old aunt of that name who had been kind to him; and Mills called his son John, after himself, who, he said, was the kindest friend he ever had. By this time poor Otaheitan Sally became overburdened with care. It became evident that she could not manage to look after so large a family of helpless infants, even though her services should only be required when the mothers were busy in the gardens. Mrs Isabella Christian, _alias_ Mainmast, was therefore relieved of part of her field duties, and set apart for infantry drill. Thus the rising generation multiplied and grew apace; and merry innocent laughter and gleeful childlike shouts began to resound among the cliffs and groves of the lonely refuge of the mutineers. CHAPTER ELEVEN. SPORTING, SCHOOLING AND MORALISING. Time flew by with rapid wing, and the infant colony prospered in many ways, though not in all. One day John Adams took down his gun from the pegs on which it rested above the door of his hut. Saying to his wife that he was going to shoot a few cats and bring home a pig for supper, he sallied forth, and took the footpath that led to one of the darkest recesses of the lonely island. Lest the reader should imagine that Adams was a cruel man, we must explain that, several years having elapsed since the landing of the mutineers on Pitcairn, the cats had by that time multiplied excessively, and instead of killing the rats, which was their duty, had taken to hunting and devouring the chickens. For this crime the race of cats was condemned to death, and the sentence was put in force whenever opportunity offered. Fortunately, the poultry had also multiplied quickly, and the hogs had increased to such a degree that many of them had been allowed to take to a wild life in the woods, where they were hunted and shot when required for food. Sporting, however, was not often practised, because the gunpowder which had been saved from the _Bounty_ had by this time sensibly diminished. Strange to say, it did not seem to occur to any of the men that the bow and arrow might become of use when guns became useless. Probably they looked upon such weapons with contempt, for they only made little bows, as playthings for the children, with harmless, blunt-headed arrows. On turning from the clearing into the bush, Adams came on a sight which amused him not a little. In an open place, partially screened from the sun by the graceful leaves of palms and bananas, through which was obtained a glimpse of the sea, Otaheitan Sally was busily engaged in playing at "school." Seated on the end of a felled tree was Thursday October Christian, who had become, as Isaac Martin expressed it, a great lout of a boy for his age. Thursday was at the head of the class, not in virtue of his superior knowledge, but his size. He was a strong-made fellow, with a bright, intelligent, good-humoured face, like that of his father. Next to him sat little Matt Quintal, rather heavy and stupid in expression, but quiet and peaceable in temperament, like his mother. Next came Daniel McCoy, whose sharp sparkling countenance seemed the very embodiment of mischief, in which quality he resembled his father. Fortunately for little Dan, his mother was the gentlest and most unselfish of all the native women, and these qualities, transmitted to her son, were the means of neutralising the evil which he inherited from his father. After him came Elizabeth Mills, whose pretty little whitey-brown face was the counterpart of her mother's in expression. Indeed, all of these little ones inherited in a great degree that sweet pliability of character for which the Otaheitan women were, and we believe still are, famous. Last, but not least, sat Charlie Christian at the bottom of the class. "Now, hol' up your heads an' pay 'tention," said the teacher, with the air of authority suitable to her position. It may be observed here, that Sally's knowledge of schooling and class-work was derived from Edward Young, who sometimes amused himself and the children by playing at "school," and even imparted a little instruction in this way. "Don't wink, Dan'l McCoy," said Sally, in a voice which was meant to be very stern, but was laughably sweet. "P'ease, Missis, Toc's vinkin' too." Thus had Dan learned to express Thursday's name by his initials. There was a touch of McCoy senior in this barefaced attempt to divert attention from himself by criminating another. "I know that Toc is winking," replied Sally, holding up a finger of reproof; "but he winks with _both_ eyes, an' you does it with only _one_, which is naughty. An' when you speaks to me, sir, don't say vink--say wink." "Yis, mum," replied little Dan, casting down his eyes with a look of humility so intense that there was a sudden irruption of dazzling teeth along the whole class. "Now, Toc, how much does two and three make?" "Six," replied Thursday, without a moment's hesitation. "Oh, you booby!" said Sally. "P'ease, mum, he ain't booby, him's dux," said Dan. "But he's a booby for all that, sir. You hold you tongue, Dan'l, an' tell me what three and two makes." "P'ease, mum, I can't," answered Dan, folding his hands meekly; "but p'r'aps Charlie can; he's clebber you know. Won't you ax 'im?" "Yes, I will ask 'im. Challie, what's three an' two?" If Charlie had been asked how to square the circle, he could not have looked more innocently blank, but the desire to please Sally was in him a sort of passion. Gazing at her intently with reddening face, he made a desperate guess, and by the merest chance said, "Five." Sally gave a little shriek of delight, and looked in triumph at Dan. That little creature, who seemed scarce old enough to receive a joke, much less to make one, looked first at Charlie and winked with his left eye, then at Thursday and winked with his right one. "You're winkin' again, sir," cried Sally, sharply. "Yis, mum, but with _bof_ eyes this time, vich isn't naughty, you know." "But it _is_ naughty, sir, unless you do it with both eyes at _once_." "Oh, with bof at vunce!" exclaimed Dan, who thereupon shut both eyes very tight indeed, and then opened them in the widest possible condition of surprise. This was too much for Sally. She burst into a hearty fit of laughter. Her class, being ever ready to imitate such an example, followed suit. Charlie tumbled forward and rolled on the grass with delight, little Dan kicked up his heels and tumbled back over the log in ecstasy, and Thursday October swayed himself to and fro, while the other two got up and danced with glee. It was while the school was in this disorganised state that John Adams came upon them. "That's right, Sall," he said, heartily, as he patted the child's head. "You keep 'em at it. Nothin' like havin' their noses held to the grindstone when they're young. You didn't see anybody pass this way, did you?" "No," replied the child, looking earnestly up into the seaman's countenance. It was a peculiarity of these children that they could change from gay to grave with wonderful facility. The mere putting of the question had changed the current of their minds as they earnestly and gravely strove to recollect whether any one had been seen to pass during the morning. "No," repeated Sally, "don't think nobody have pass this mornin'." "Yis, there vas vun," said little Dan, who had become more profoundly thoughtful than the others. "Ay, who was that, my little man?" said Adams. "Isaac Martin's big sow," replied Dan, gravely. The shout of laughter that followed this was not in proportion to the depth but the unexpectedness of the joke, and John Adams went on his way, chuckling at the impudence of what he called the precocious snipe. In a short time the seaman found himself in a thicket, so dense that it was with difficulty he could make his way through the luxuriant underwood. On his left hand he could see the sky through the leaves, on his right the steep sides of the mountain ridge that divided the island. Coming to a partially open space, he thought he saw the yellow side of a hog. He raised his gun to fire, when a squeaky grunt told him that this was a mother reposing with her family. He contented himself, therefore, with a look at them, and gave vent to a shout that sent them scampering down the hill. Soon after that he came upon a solitary animal and shot it. The report of the musket and the accompanying yell brought the Otaheitan man Tetaheite to his side. "Well met, Tighty," (so he styled him); "I want you to carry that pig to Mrs Adams. You didn't see any cats about, did you?" "No, sar." "Have you seen Mr Christian at the tanks this morning?" "Yis, sar; but him's no dere now. Him's go to de mountain-top." "Ha! I thought so. Well, take the pig to my wife, Tighty, and say I'll be back before dark." The native threw the animal over his broad shoulders, and Adams directed his steps to the well-known cave on the mountain-top, where the chief of the mutineers spent so much of his leisure time. After the murder of the two natives, Talaloo and Ohoo, Fletcher Christian had become very morose. It seemed as if a fit of deep melancholy had taken entire possession of him. His temper had become greatly soured. He would scarcely condescend to hold intercourse with any one, and sought the retirement of his outlook in the cave on the mountain-top, where few of his comrades ventured to disturb him, save when matters of importance claimed his immediate attention. Latterly, however, a change had been observed in his demeanour. He had become gentle, almost amiable, and much more like his former self before the blighting influence of Bligh had fallen on him. Though he seldom laughed, he would chat pleasantly with his companions, as in days gone by, and frequently took pains to amuse the children. In particular, he began to go frequently for long walks in the woods with his own sons-- little Charlie on his back, and Thursday October gambolling by his side; also Otaheitan Sally, for that careful nurse refused to acknowledge any claim to the guardianship of Charlie as being superior to her own, not even that of a father. But Fletcher Christian, although thus changed for the better in many respects, did not change in his desire for solitude. His visits to the outlook became not less but rather more frequent and prolonged than before. He took no one into his confidence. The only man of the party who ever ventured to visit him in his "outlook" was Edward Young; but his visits were not frequent, though they were usually protracted when they did take place, and the midshipman always returned from them with an expression of seriousness, which, it was observed, never passed quickly away. But Young was not more disposed to be communicative as to these visits than Christian himself, and his comrades soon ceased to think or care about the matter. With his mind, meditating on these things, John Adams slowly wended his way up the mountain-side, until he drew near to the elevated hermitage of his once superior officer, now his comrade in disgrace and exile. Stout John Adams felt his blunt, straightforward, seafaring spirit slightly abashed as he thus ventured to intrude on the privacy of one for whom, despite his sins and their terrible consequences, he had never lost respect. It felt like going into the captain's cabin without orders. The seaman's purpose was to remonstrate with Christian for thus daily giving himself up, as he expressed it, "to such a long spell o' the blues." Drawing near to the entrance of the cavern, he was surprised to hear the sound of voices within. "Humph, somebody here before me," he muttered, coming to an abrupt pause, and turning, as if with the intention of retracing his steps,-- but the peculiarity of the sounds that issued from the cave held him as if spellbound. CHAPTER TWELVE. CONVERSE IN THE CAVE--CRUELTY, PUNISHMENT, AND REVELRY. It was Fletcher Christian's voice,--there could be no doubt about that; but it was raised in very unfamiliar tones, and it went on steadily, with inflections, as if in pathos and entreaty. "Can he be praying?" thought Adams, in surprise, for the tones, though audible, were not articulate. Suddenly they waxed louder, and "God be merciful to me, a sinner!" broke on the listener's ear. "Oh bless and deliver the men whom I have led astray--poor Edward Young, John Adams, Isaac Martin--" The tones here sank and again became inarticulate, but Adams could not doubt that Christian was praying, by name, for the rest of his companions. Presently the name of Jesus was heard distinctly, and then the voice ceased. Ashamed to have been thus unintentionally led into eavesdropping, Adams coughed, and made as much noise as possible while stooping to pass under the low entrance to the cave. There was no door of any kind, but a turn in the short passage concealed the cave itself from view. Before entering, Adams stopped. "May I come in, sir?" he called out. "Is that you, Adams? By all means come in." Christian was seated, partly in the shadow, partly in the light that streamed in from the seaward opening. A quiet smile was on his lips, and his hand rested on an open book. It was the old Bible of the _Bounty_. "Beg pardon, sir," said Adams, touching his hat. "Hope I don't intrude. I heard you was--was--" "Praying," said Christian. "Yes, Adams, I have been praying." "Well, sir," said Adams, feeling rather awkward, but assuming an air of encouragement, "you've got no reason to be ashamed of that." "Quite true, Adams, and I'm _not_ ashamed of it. I've not only got no reason to be ashamed of praying, but I have strong reason to be thankful that I'm inclined to pray. Sit down, Adams, on the ledge opposite. You've got something on your mind, I see, that you want to get rid of. Come, let's have it." There was nothing but good-natured encouragement in Christian's look and tone; nevertheless, John Adams felt it extremely difficult to speak, and wished with all his heart that he had not come to the cave. But he was too bold and outspoken a man to be long oppressed with such feelings. Clearing his voice, he said, "Well, Mr Christian, here's what I've got to say. I've bin thinkin' for a long time past that it's of no manner of use your comin' up here day after day an' mopin' away about what can't be mended, an' goin' into the blues. You'll excuse me, sir, for bein' so free, but you shouldn't do it, sir. You can't alter what's bin done by cryin' over spilt milk, an' it comes heavy on the rest of us, like. Indeed it do. So I've made so bold as to come an' say you'd better drop it and come along with me for a day's shootin' of the cats an' pigs, and then we'll go home an' have a royal supper an' a song or two, or maybe a game at blind-man's-buff with the child'n. That's what'll do you good, sir, an' make you forget what's past, take my word for it, Mister Christian." While Adams was speaking, Christian's expression varied, passing from the kindly smile with which he had received his friend to a look of profound gravity. "You are both right and wrong, Adams, like the rest of us," he said, grasping the sailor's extended hand; "thank you all the same for your advice and good feeling. You are wrong in supposing that anything short of death can make me forget the past or lessen my feeling of self-condemnation; but you are right in urging me to cease moping here in solitude. I have been told that already much more strongly than you have put it." "Have you, sir?" said Adams, with a look of surprise. "Yes," said Christian, touching the open Bible, "God's book has told me. It has told me more than that. It has told me there is forgiveness for the chief of sinners." "You say the truth, sir," returned Adams, with an approving nod. "Repenting as you do, sir, an' as I may say we all do, of what is past and can't be helped, a merciful God will no doubt forgive us all." "That's not it, that's not it," said Christian, quickly. "Repentance is not enough. Why, man, do you think if I went to England just now, and said ever so earnestly or so truly, `I repent,' that I'd escape swinging at the yard-arm?" "Well, I can't say you would," replied the sailor, somewhat puzzled; "but then man's ways ain't the same as God's ways; are they, sir?" "That's true, Adams; but justice is always the same, whether with God or man. Besides, if repentance alone would do, where is the need of a Saviour?" Adams's puzzled look increased, and finally settled on the horizon. The matter had evidently never occurred to him before in that light. After a short silence he turned again to Christian. "Well, sir, to be frank with you, I must say that I don't rightly understand it." "But I do," said Christian, again laying his hand on the Bible, "at least I think I do. God has forgiven me for Jesus Christ's sake, and His Spirit has made me repent and accept the forgiveness, and now I feel that there is work, serious work, for me to do. I have just been praying that God would help me to do it. I'll explain more about this hereafter. Meanwhile, I will go with you to the settlement, and try at least some parts of your plan. Come." There was a quiet yet cheerful air of alacrity about Fletcher Christian that day, so strongly in contrast with his previous sad and even moody deportment, that John Adams could only note it in silent surprise. "Have you been readin' much o' that book up here, sir?" he asked, as they began to descend the hill. "Do you mean God's book?" "Yes." "Well, yes, I've been reading it, off and on, for a considerable time past; but I didn't quite see the way of salvation until recently." "Ha! that's it; that's what must have turned your head." "What!" exclaimed Christian, with a smiling glance at his perplexed comrade. "Do you mean turned in the right or the wrong direction?" "Well, whether right or wrong, it's not for me to say but for you to prove, Mr Christian." This reply seemed to set the mind of the other wandering, for he continued to lead his companion down the hill in silence after that. At last he said-- "John Adams, whatever turn my head may have got, I shall have reason to thank God for it all the days of my life--ay, and afterwards throughout eternity." The silence which ensued after this remark was broken soon after by a series of yells, which came from the direction of Matthew Quintal's house, and caused both Christian and Adams to frown as they hastened forward. "There's one man that needs forgiveness," said Adams, sternly. "Whether he'll get it or not is a question." Christian made no reply. He knew full well that both McCoy and Quintal were in the habit of flogging their slaves, Nehow and Timoa, and otherwise treating them with great cruelty. Indeed, there had reached him a report of treatment so shocking that he could scarcely credit it, and thought it best at the time to take no notice of the rumour; but afterwards he was told of a repetition of the cruelty, and now he seemed about to witness it with his own eyes. Burning indignation at first fired his soul, and he resolved to punish Quintal. Then came the thought, "Who was it that tempted Quintal to mutiny, and placed him in his present circumstances?" The continued cries of agony, however, drove all connected thought from his brain as he ran with Adams towards the house. They found poor Nehow tied to a cocoa-nut tree, and Quintal beside him. He had just finished giving him a cruel flogging, and was now engaged in rubbing salt into the wounds on his lacerated back. With a furious shout Christian rushed forward. Quintal faced round quickly. He was livid with passion, and raised a heavy stick to strike the intruders; but Christian guarded the blow with his left arm, and with his right fist knocked the monster down. At the same time Adams cut the lashings that fastened Nehow, who instantly fled to the bush. Quintal, although partially stunned, rose at once and faced his adversary, but although possessed of bulldog courage, he could not withstand the towering wrath of Christian. He shrank backward a step, with a growl like a cowed but not conquered tiger. "The slave is _mine_!" he hissed between his teeth. "He is _not_; he belongs to God," said Christian. "And hark 'ee, Matthew Quintal, if ever again you do such a dastardly, cowardly, brutal act, I'll take on myself the office of your executioner, and will beat out your brains. _You_ know me, Quintal; I never threaten twice." Christian's tone was calm, though firm, but there was something so deadly in the glare of his clear blue eyes, that Quintal retreated another step. In doing so he tripped over a root and fell prone upon the ground. "Ha!" exclaimed Adams, with a bitter laugh, "you'd better lie still. It's your suitable position, you blackguard." Without another word he and Christian turned on their heels and walked away. "This is a bad beginning to my new resolves," said Christian, with a sigh, as they descended the hill. "A bad beginning," echoed Adams, "to give a well-deserved blow to as great a rascal as ever walked?" "No, not exactly that; but--Well, no matter, we'll dismiss the subject, and go have a lark with the children." Christian said this with something like a return to his previous good-humour. A few minutes later they passed under the banyan-tree at the side of Adams's house, and entered the square of the village, where children, kittens, fowls, and pigs were disporting themselves in joyous revelry. CHAPTER THIRTEEN. TYRANTS AND PLOTTERS. Leaving Christian and Adams to carry out their philanthropic intentions, we return to Matthew Quintal, whom we left sprawling on the ground in his garden. This garden was situated in one of the little valleys not far from Bounty Bay. Higher up in the same valley stood the hut of McCoy. Towards this hut Quintal, after gathering himself up, wended his way in a state of unenviable sulkiness. His friend McCoy was engaged at the time in smoking his evening pipe, but that pipe did not now seem to render him much comfort, for he growled and puffed in a way that showed he was not soothed by it, the reason being that there was no tobacco in the pipe. That weed,--which many people deem so needful and so precious that one sometimes wonders how the world managed to exist before Sir Walter Raleigh put it to its unnatural use--had at last been exhausted on Pitcairn Island, and the mutineers had to learn to do without it. Some of them said they didn't care, and submitted with a good grace to the inevitable. Others growled and swore and fretted, saying that they knew they couldn't live without it. To their astonishment, and no doubt to their disgust, they did manage to live quite as healthily as before, and with obvious advantage to health and teeth. Two there were, however, namely, Quintal and McCoy, who would not give in, but vowed with their usual violence of language that they would smoke seaweed rather than want their pipes. Like most men of powerful tongue and weak will, they did not fulfil their vows. Seaweed was left to the gulls, but they tried almost every leaf and flower on the island without success. Then they scraped and dried various kinds of bark, and smoked that. Then they tried the fibrous husk of the cocoa-nut, and then the dried and pounded kernel, but all in vain. Smoke, indeed, they produced in huge volumes, but of satisfaction they had none. It was a sad case. "If we could only taste the flavour o' baccy ever so mild," they were wont to say to their comrades, "the craving would be satisfied." To which Isaac Martin, who had no mercy on them, would reply, "If ye hadn't created the cravin' boys, ye wouldn't have bin growlin' and hankerin' after satisfaction." As we have said, McCoy was smoking, perhaps we should say agonising, over his evening pipe. His man, or slave, Timoa, was seated on the opposite side of the hut, playing an accompaniment on the flute to McCoy's wife and two other native women, who were singing. The flute was one of those rough-and-ready yellow things, like the leg of a chair, which might serve equally well as a policeman's baton or a musical instrument. It had been given by one of the sailors to Timoa, who developed a wonderful capacity for drawing unmusical sounds out of it. The singing was now low and plaintive, anon loud and harsh--always wild, like the song of the savages. The two combined assisted the pipe in soothing William McCoy--at least so we may assume, because he had commanded the music, and lay in his bunk in the attitude of one enjoying it. He sometimes even added to the harmony by uttering a bass growl at the pipe. During a brief pause in the accompaniment Timoa became aware of a low hiss outside, as if of a serpent. With glistening eyes and head turned to one side he listened intently. The hiss was repeated, and Timoa became aware that one of his kinsmen wished to speak with him in secret. He did not dare, however, to move. McCoy was so much taken up with his pipe that he failed to notice the hiss, but he observed the stoppage of the flute's wail. "Why don't you go on, you brute!" he cried, angrily, at the same time throwing one of his shoes at the musician, which hit him on the shin and caused him a moment's sharp pain. Timoa would not suffer his countenance to betray his feelings. He merely raised the flute to his lips, exchanged a glance with the women, and continued his dismal strain. His mind, however, was so engrossed with his comrade outside that the harmony became worse than ever. Even McCoy, who professed himself to be no judge of music, could not stand it, and he was contemplating the application of the other shoe, when a step was heard outside. Next moment his friend Quintal strode in and sat down on a stool beside the door. "Oh, I say, Matt," cried McCoy, "who put that cocoa-nut on the bridge of your nose?" "Who?" grow led Quintal, with an oath. "Who on the island would dare to do it but that domineerin' upstart, Christian?" "Humph!" answered McCoy, with a slight sneer. He followed this up with a curse on domineerers in general, and on Fletcher Christian in particular. It is right to observe here that though we have spoken of these two men as friends, it must not be understood that they were friendly. They had no personal regard for each other, and no tastes in common, save the taste for tobacco and drink; but finding that they disliked each other less than they disliked their comrades, they were thus drawn into a hollow friendship, as it were, under protest. "How did it happen?" asked McCoy. "Give us a whiff an' I'll tell 'ee. What sort o' stuff are you tryin' now?" "Cocoa-nut chips ground small. The best o' baccy, Matt, for lunatics, which we was when we cast anchor on this island. Here, fill your pipe an' fire away. You won't notice the difference if you don't think about it. My! what a cropper you must have come down when you got that dab on your proboscis!" "Stop your howlin'," shouted Quintal to the musicians, in order to vent some of the spleen which his friend's remark had stirred up. Timoa, not feeling sure whether the command was meant for the women or himself, or, perhaps, regarding McCoy as the proper authority from whom such an order should come, continued his dismal blowing. Quintal could not stand this in his roused condition. Leaping up, he sprang towards Timoa, snatched the flute from his hand, broke it over his head, and kicked him out of the hut. Excepting the blow and the kick, this was just what the Otaheitan wanted. He ran straight into the bush, which was by that time growing dark under the shades of evening, and found Nehow leaning against a tree and groaning heavily, though in a suppressed tone. "Quick, come with me to the spring and wash my back," he cried, starting up. They did not converse in broken English now, of course, but in their native tongue. "What has happened?" asked Timoa, anxiously. While Nehow explained the nature of the cruel treatment he had just received, they ran together to the nearest water-course. It chanced to be pretty full at the time, heavy rain having fallen the day before. "There; oh! ha-a! not so hard," groaned the unfortunate man, as his friend laved the water on his lacerated back. In a few minutes the salt was washed out of the wounds, and Nehow began to feel easier. "Where is Menalee?" he asked, abruptly, as he sat down under the deep shadow of a banyan-tree. "In his master's hut, I suppose," answered Timoa. "Go find him and Tetaheite; fetch them both here," he said, with an expression of ferocity on his dark face. Timoa looked at him with an intelligent grin. "The white men must die," he said. "Yes," Nehow replied, "the white men shall die." Timoa pointed to the lump which had been raised on his shin, grinned again, and turning quickly round, glided into the underwood like an evil spirit of the night. At that time Menalee was engaged in some menial work in the hut of John Mills. Managing to attract his attention, Timoa sent him into the woods to join Nehow. When Timoa crept forward, Tetaheite was standing near to a large bush, watching with intense interest the ongoings of Christian, Adams, and Young. These three, in pursuance of the philanthropic principle which had begun to operate, were playing an uproarious game with the children round a huge bonfire; but there was no "method in their madness;" the children, excepting Thursday October Christian and Sally, were still too young for concerted play. They were still staggerers, and the game was simply one of romps. Tetaheite's good-humoured visage was glistening in the firelight, the mouth expanded from ear to ear, and the eyes almost closed. Suddenly he became aware of a low hissing sound. The mouth closed, and the eyes opened so abruptly, that there seemed some necessary connection between the two acts. Moving quietly round the bush until he got into its shadow, his dark form melted from the scene without any one observing his disappearance. Soon the four conspirators were seated in a dark group under shade of the trees. "The time has come when the black man must be revenged," said Nehow. "Look my back. Salt was rubbed into these wounds. It is not the first time. It shall be the last! Some of you have suffered in the same way." It scarcely needed this remark to call forth looks of deadly hate on the Otaheitan faces around him. "The white men must die," he continued. "They have no mercy. We will show none." Even in the darkness of that secluded spot the glistening of the eyes of these ill-treated men might have been seen as they gave ready assent to this proposal in low guttural tones. "How is it to be done?" asked Menalee, after a short pause. "That is what we have met to talk about," returned Nehow. "I would hear what my brothers have to say. When they have spoken I will open my mouth." The group now drew closer together, and speaking in still lower tones, as if they feared that the very bushes might overhear and betray them, they secretly plotted the murder of the mutineers. CHAPTER FOURTEEN. THE INFLUENCE OF INFANCY, ALSO OF VILLAINY. While the dark plots referred to in the last chapter were being hatched, another life was introduced into the little community in the form of a third child to Fletcher Christian,--a little girl. Much though this man loved his two boys, a tenderer, though not, perhaps, a deeper region of his heart was touched by his daughter. He at once named her Mary. Who can tell the multitude of old memories and affections which were revived by this name? Might it not have been that a mother, a sister, some lost though not forgotten one, came forcibly to mind, and accounted, in some degree at least, for the wealth of affection which he lavished on the infant from the day of her birth? We cannot tell, but certain it is that there never was a more devoted father than this man, who in England had been branded with all that was ferocious, mean, desperate,--this hardened outlaw, this chief of the mutineers. Otaheitan mothers are not particular in the matter of infant costume. Little Mary's dress may be described in one word--nothing. Neither are such mothers much troubled with maternal anxieties. Long before a European baby would have been let out of the hands of mother or nurse, even for a moment, little Molly Christian was committed to the care of her delighted father, who daily bore her off to a favourite resort among the cliffs, and there played with her. One day, on reaching his place of retirement, he was surprised to find a man in possession before him. Drawing nearer, he observed that the man also had a baby in his arms. "Why, I declare, it's Edward Young!" he exclaimed, on going up. "Of course it is," said the midshipman, smiling, as he held his own little daughter Jane aloft. "Do you think you are to have it all to yourself? And do you imagine that yours is the only baby in the world worth looking at?" "You are right, Young," returned Christian, with the nearest approach to a laugh he had made for years. "Come now," he added, sitting down on a rock, and placing little Moll tenderly in the hollow of his left arm, so as to make her face his friend, "let's set them up, and compare notes; isn't she a beauty?" "No doubt of it whatever; and isn't mine ditto?" asked the midshipman, sitting down, and placing little Poll in a similar position on his right arm. "But, I say, if you and I are to get on amicably, we mustn't praise our own babies. Let it be an agreement that you praise my Poll, and I'll praise your Moll. Don't they make lovely _pendants_! Come, let us change them for a bit." Christian agreeing to this, the infants were exchanged, and thereupon these two fathers lay down on the soft grass, and perpetrated practical jokes upon, and talked as much ineffable nonsense to, those two whitey-brown balls, as if they had been splendid specimens of orthodox pink and white. It was observed, however, by the more sagacious of the wondering gulls that circled round them, that a state of perfect satisfaction was not attained until the babies were again exchanged, and each father had become exclusively engrossed with his own particular ball. "Now, I say, Fletcher," remarked Young, rising, and placing himself nearer his friend, "it's all very well for you and me to waste our time and make fools of ourselves here; but I didn't merely come to show off my Polly. I came to ask what you think of that rumour we heard last night, that there has been some sort of plotting going on among the Otaheitan men." "I don't think anything of it at all," replied Christian, whose countenance at once assumed that look of gravity which had become habitual to him since the day of the mutiny. "They have had too good reason to plot, poor fellows, but I have such faith in their native amiability of disposition, that I don't believe they will ever think of anything beyond a brief show of rebellion." "I also have had faith in their amiability," rejoined Young; "but some of us, I fear, have tried them too severely. I don't like the looks they sometimes give us now. We did wrong at the first in treating them as servants." "No doubt we did, but it would have been difficult to do otherwise," said Christian; "they fell so naturally into the position of servants of their own accord, regarding us, as they did, as superior beings. We should have considered their interests when we divided the land, no doubt. However, that can't well be remedied now." "Perhaps not," remarked Young, in an absent tone. "It would be well, however, to take some precautions." "Come, we can discuss this matter as we go home," said Christian, rising. "I have to work in my yam-plot to-day, and must deliver Molly to her mother." They both rose and descended the slope that led to the village, chatting as they went. Now, although the native men were of one mind as to the slaying of the Englishmen, they seemed to have some difference of opinion as to the best method of putting their bloody design in execution. Menalee, especially, had many objections to make to the various proposals of his countrymen. In fact, this wily savage was deceitful. Like Quintal and McCoy among the whites, he was among the blacks a bad specimen of humanity. The consequence was that Timoa and Nehow, being resolved to submit no longer to the harsh treatment they had hitherto received, ran away from their persecutors, and took refuge in the bush. To those who have travelled much about this world, it may sound absurd to talk of hiding away in an island of such small size; but it must be borne in mind that the miniature valleys and hills of the interior were, in many places, very rugged and densely clothed with jungle, so that it was, in reality, about as difficult to catch an agile native among them as to catch a rabbit in a whin-field. Moreover, the two desperate men carried off two muskets and ammunition, so that it was certain to be a work of danger to attempt their recapture. In these circumstances, Christian and Young thought it best to leave them alone for a time. "You may be sure," said the former, as they joined their comrades, "that they'll soon tire of rambling, especially when their ammunition is spent." Quintal, who stood with all the other men by the forge watching John Williams as he wrought at a piece of red-hot iron, and overheard the remark, did not, he said, feel so sure of that. Them niggers was fond o' their liberty, and it was his opinion they should get up a grand hunt, and shoot 'em down off-hand. There would be no peace till that was done. "There would be no peace even after that was done," said Isaac Martin, with a leer, "unless we shot you along wi' them." "It's impossible either to shoot or drown Matt Quintal, for he's born to be hanged," said McCoy, sucking viciously at his cocoa-nut-loaded pipe, which did not seem to draw well. "That's true," cried Mills, with a laugh, in which all the party except Christian joined more or less sarcastically according to humour. "Oh, mother," exclaimed Otaheitan Sally, going into her hut on tiptoe a few minutes later, with her great eyes dilated in horror, "the white mens is talkin' of shootin' Timoa and Nehow!" "Never mind, dear," replied her mother in her own language, "it's only talk. They'll never do such a thing. I'm sure Mr Young did not agree to help in such a deed, did he?" "O no, mother," answered Sally, with tremendous emphasis; "he said it would be very _very_, wicked to do such tings." "So it would, dear. No fear. It's only talk." Satisfied with this assurance, Sally went off with a cleared visage to superintend some operation in connection with her ever-increasing infantry charge, probably to pay some special attention to her favourite Charlie, or to chaff "that booby" Thursday October, though, to say truth, Thursday was no booby, but a smart intelligent fellow. The very next day after that, Timoa and Nehow came down to Edward Young as he was at work alone in his yam-field. This field was at a considerable distance from the settlement, high up on the mountain-side. The two men had left their weapons behind them. "We's comed for give you a helpin' hand, Missr Yong, if you no lay hands on us," said Nehow. "I have no wish to lay hands on you," replied Young; "besides, I have no right to do so. You know I never regarded you as slaves, nor did I approve of your bad treatment. But let me advise you to rejoin us peaceably, and I promise to do what I can to make things go easier." "Nebber!" exclaimed Nehow, fiercely. "Well, it will be the worse for yourselves in the long-run," said Young, "for Quintal and McCoy will be sure to go after you at last and shoot you." The two men looked at each other when he said that, and smiled intelligently. "However, if you choose to help me now," continued Young, "I'll be obliged to you, and will pay you for what you do." The men set to work with a will, for they were fond of the kindly midshipman; but they kept a bright look-out all the time, lest any of the other Englishmen should come up and find them there. For two or three evenings in succession Timoa and Nehow came to Young's field and acted in this way. Young made no secret of the fact, and Quintal, on hearing of it, at once suggested that he and McCoy should go up and lie in ambush for them. "If you do," said Young, with indignation, "I'll shoot you both. I don't jest. You may depend on it, if I find either of you fellows skulking near my field when these men are at work there, your lives won't be worth a sixpence." At this Quintal and McCoy both laughed, and said they were jesting. Nevertheless, while walking home together after that conversation, they planned the carrying out of their murderous intention. Thus, with plot and counterplot, did the mutineers and Otaheitans render their lives wretched. What with the bitter enmity existing between the whites and blacks, and the mutual jealousies among themselves, both parties were kept in a state of perpetual anxiety, and the beautiful isle, which was fitted by its Maker to become a paradise, was turned into a place of torment. Sometimes the other native men, Tetaheite and Menalee, joined Nehow and Timoa in working in Young's garden, and afterwards went with them into the bush, where they planned the attack which was afterwards made. At last the lowering cloud was fully charged, and the thunderbolt fell. CHAPTER FIFTEEN. MURDER! The planting time came round at Pitcairn, and all was busy activity in the little settlement at Bounty Bay. The women, engaged in household work and in the preparation of food, scarcely troubled themselves to cast an anxious eye on the numerous children who, according to age and capacity, rolled, tumbled, staggered, and jumped about in noisy play. The sun, streaming through the leaves of the woods, studded shady places with balls of quivering light, and blazed in fierce heat in the open where the men were at work, each in his respective garden. We have said that those gardens lay apart, at some distance from each other, and were partially concealed by shrubs or undulating knolls. The garden of John Williams was farthest off from the settlement. He wrought in it alone on the day of which we write. Next to it was that of Fletcher Christian. He also worked alone that day. About two hundred yards from his garden, and screened from it by a wooded rising ground, was a piece of plantation, in which John Mills, William McCoy, and Menalee were at work together. John Adams, William Brown, and Isaac Martin were working in their own gardens near their respective houses, and Quintal was resting in his hut. So was Edward Young, who, having been at work since early morning, had lain down and fallen into a deep slumber. The three native men, Timoa, Nehow, and Tetaheite, were still away in the woods. If the unfortunate Englishmen had known what these men were about, they would not have toiled so quietly on that peaceful morning! The Otaheitans met in a cocoa-nut grove at some distance to the eastward of the settlement. Each had a musket, which he loaded with ball. They did not speak much, and what they did say was uttered in a suppressed tone of voice. "Come," said Timoa, leading the way through the woods. The others followed in single file, until they reached the garden where Williams was at work. Here their movements were more cautious. As they advanced, they crept along on their knees with the motion of cats, and with as little noise. They could hear the sound of the armourer's spade, as he turned up the soil. Presently they came to an opening in the bushes, through which they could see him, not thirty yards off. Timoa drew himself together, and in a crouching attitude levelled his musket. During their absence in the woods, these men had practised shooting at a mark, doubtless in preparation for the occasion which had now arrived. The woods and cliffs rang to the loud report, and Williams fell forward without a cry or groan, shot through the heart. The murderers rose and looked at each other, but uttered not a word, while Timoa recharged his gun. The report had, of course, been heard by every one in the settlement, but it was a familiar sound, and caused neither surprise nor alarm. McCoy merely raised himself for a moment, remarked to Mills that some one must have taken a fancy for a bit of pork to supper, and then resumed his work. Christian also heard the shot, but seemed to pay no regard to it. Ceasing his labour in a few minutes, he raised himself, wiped his forehead, and resting both hands on his spade, looked upwards at the bright blue sky. Fleecy clouds passed across it now and then, intensifying its depth, and apparently riveting Christian's gaze, for he continued motionless for several minutes, with his clear eye fixed on the blue vault, and a sad, wistful expression on his handsome face, as if memory, busy with the past and future, had forgotten the present. It was his last look. A bullet from the bushes struck him at that moment on the breast. Uttering one short, sharp cry, he threw both hands high above his head, and fell backwards. The spasm of pain was but momentary. The sad, wistful look was replaced by a quiet smile. He never knew who had released his spirit from the prison-house of clay, for the eyes remained fixed on the bright blue sky, clear and steadfast, until death descended. Then the light went out, just as his murderers came forward, but the quiet smile remained, and his spirit returned to God who gave it. It seemed as if the murderers were, for a few moments, awestruck and horrified by what they had done; but they quickly recovered. What they had set their faces to accomplish must now be done at all hazards. "Did you hear that cry?" said McCoy, raising himself from his work in the neighbouring garden. "Yes; what then?" demanded Quintal. "It sounded to me uncommon like the cry of a wounded man," said McCoy. "Didn't sound like that to me," returned Quintal; "more like Mainmast callin' her husband to dinner." As he spoke, Tetaheite appeared at the edge of the garden with a musket in his hand, the other two natives remaining concealed in the bushes. "Ho, Missr Mills," he called out, in his broken English, "me have just shoot a large pig. Will you let Menalee help carry him home?" "Yes;--you may go," said Mills, turning to Menalee. The Otaheitan threw down his tools, and joined his comrades in the bush, where he was at once told what had been done. Menalee did not at first seem as much pleased as his comrades had expected, nevertheless, he agreed to go with them. "How shall we kill Mills and McCoy?" asked Timoa, in a low whisper. "Shoot them," answered Menalee; "you have three muskets." "But they also have muskets," objected Tetaheite, "and are good shots. If we miss them, some of us shall be dead men at once." "I'll tell you what we'll do," said Nehow, who thereupon hastily detailed a plan, which they proceeded at once to carry out. Creeping round through the woods, they managed to get into McCoy's house by a back window, unobserved. Menalee then ran down to the garden, as if in a state of great excitement. "Oh, Missr McCoy, Timoa and Nehow hab come down from mountain, an' is robbin' you house!" The bait took. McCoy ran up to his house. As soon as he reached the door there was a volley from within, but McCoy remained untouched. Seeing this, and, no doubt, supposing that he must be badly wounded, Menalee, who had followed him, seized him from behind. But McCoy, being the stronger man, twisted himself suddenly round, grasped Menalee by the waist with both hands, and flung him headlong into a neighbouring pig-sty. He then turned and ran back to his garden to warn Mills. "Run for it, Mills," he cried; "run and take to the bush. All the black scoundrels have united to murder us." He set the example by at once disappearing in the thick bush. But Mills did not believe him. He and Menalee had always been good friends, and he seemed to think it impossible that they would kill him. He hesitated, and the hesitation cost him his life, for next moment a bullet laid him low. Meanwhile McCoy ran to warn Christian. Reaching his garden, he found him there, dead, with the tranquil smile still on his cold lips, and the now glazed eyes still gazing upwards. One glance sufficed. He turned and ran back to Christian's house to tell his wife what he had seen, but the poor woman was sick in bed at the time and could not move. Running then to Quintal's garden, he found him alive, but quite ignorant of what was going on. "They seem to be wastin' a deal of powder to-day," he growled, without raising himself, as McCoy came up; "but--hallo! you're blowing hard. What's wrong?" As soon as he heard the terrible story he ran to his wife, who chanced to be sitting near the edge of his garden. "Up, old girl," he cried, "your nigger countrymen are murderin' us all. If you want to see any of us escape you'd better go and warn 'em. I shall look after number one." Accordingly, with his friend of kindred spirit, he sought refuge in the bush. Mrs Quintal had no desire to see all the white men slaughtered by her countrymen. She therefore started off at once, and in passing the garden of John Adams, called to him to take to the bush without delay, and ran on. Unfortunately Adams did not understand what she meant. He, like the others, had heard the firing, but had only thought of it as a foolish waste of ammunition. Nothing was further from his thoughts on that peaceful day and hour than deeds of violence and bloodshed. He therefore continued at work. The four murderers, meanwhile, ran down to Isaac Martin's house, found him in the garden, and pointing their muskets at him, pulled the triggers. The pieces missed fire, and poor Martin, thinking probably that it was a practical joke, laughed at them. They cocked again, however, and fired. Martin, although he fell mortally wounded, had strength to rise again and fly towards his house. The natives followed him into it. There was one of the sledge-hammers of the _Bounty_ there. One of them seized it, and with one blow beat in the poor man's skull. Roused, apparently, to madness by their bloody work, the Otaheitans now rushed in a body to Brown's garden. The botanist had been somewhat surprised at the frequent firing, but like his unfortunate fellow-countrymen, appeared to have not the remotest suspicion of what was going on. The sight of the natives, however, quickly opened his eyes. He turned as if to fly, but before he could gain the bushes, a well-aimed volley killed him. Thus in little more than an hour were five of the Englishmen murdered. It now seemed as if the revenge of the Otaheitans had been sated, for after the last tragic act they remained for some time in front of Brown's house talking, and resting their hands on the muzzles of their guns. All this time Edward Young was lying asleep in ignorance of what was being done, and purposely kept in ignorance by the women. Having been told by Quintal's wife, they knew part of the terrible details of the massacre, but they had no power to check the murderers. They, however, adopted what means they could to shield Young, who, as we have said, was a favourite with all the natives, and closed the door of the hut in which he lay to prevent his being awakened. The suspicions of Adams having at length been aroused, he went down to Brown's house to see what all the firing could be about. The children, meanwhile, having some vague fears that danger threatened, had run into their mother's huts. Everything passed so quickly, in fact, that few of the people had time to understand or think, or take action in any way. Reaching the edge of Brown's garden, and seeing the four Otaheitans standing as we have described, Adams stopped and called out to know what was the matter. "Silence," shouted one of them, pointing his gun. Being unarmed, and observing the body of Brown on the ground, Adams at once leaped into the bush and ran. He was hotly pursued by the four men, but being strong and swift of foot, he soon left them behind. In passing Williams's house, he went towards it, intending to snatch up some thick garments, and, if possible, a musket and ammunition, for he had no doubt now that some of his countrymen must have been killed, and that he would have to take to the bush along with them. An exclamation of horror escaped him when he came upon the armourer's body. It needed no second glance to tell that his comrade was dead. Passing into the house, he caught up an old blanket and a coat, but there was no musket. He knew that without arms he would be at the mercy of the savages. Being a cool and courageous man, he therefore made a long detour through the bush until he reached his own house, and entered by a back window. His sick wife received him with a look of glad surprise. "Is it true they have killed some of the white men?" she asked. "Ay, too true," he replied, quickly; "and I must take to the bush for a while. Where can I find a bag to hold some yams? Ah, here you are. There's no fear o' them hurting you, lass." As he spoke a shot was heard. The natives had seen and followed him. A ball, coming through the window, entered the back of his neck and came out at the front. He fell, but instantly sprang up and leaped through the doorway, where he was met by the four natives. Besides being a powerful man, Adams was very active, and the wound in his neck was only a flesh one. He knocked down Timoa, the foremost of the band, with one blow of his fist, and grappling with Nehow, threw him violently over his prostrate comrade; but Menalee, coming up at the moment, clubbed his musket and made a furious blow at Adams's head. He guarded it with one hand, and in so doing had one of his fingers broken. Tetaheite and Menalee then both sprang upon him, but he nearly throttled the one, tripped up the other, and, succeeding by a violent wrench in breaking loose, once more took to his heels. In running, the Otaheitans were no match for him. He gradually left them behind. Then Timoa called out to him to stop. "No, you scoundrels," he shouted back in reply, "you want to kill me; but you'll find it a harder job than you think." "No, no," cried Nehow, vehemently, "we don't want to kill you. Stop, and we won't hurt you." Adams felt that loss of blood from his wound was quickly reducing his strength. His case was desperate. He formed a quick resolve and acted promptly. Stopping, he turned about and walked slowly but steadily back towards the natives, with his hands in his pockets and his eyes fixed sternly upon them. "Well, I have stopped, you see," he said, on coming up. "I will take you at your word." "We will do you no harm if you will follow us," said Timoa. They then went together to the house of Young. Here they found its owner, just roused by the noise of the scuffle with Adams, listening to the explanations of the women, who were purposely trying to lead him astray lest he should go out and be shot. The entrance of the four natives, armed and covered with blood, and Adams unarmed and wounded, at once showed him how matters stood. "This is a terrible business," he said in a low tone to Adams, while the murderers were disputing noisily about going into the woods to hunt down McCoy and Quintal. "Have they killed many of our comrades?" "God knows," said Adams, while Quintal's wife bound up the wound in his neck. "There has been firin' enough to have killed us all twice over. I thought some of you were spending the ammunition foolishly on hogs or gulls. Williams is dead, I know, and poor Brown, for I saw their bodies, but I can't say--" "Fletcher Christian is killed," said Quintal's wife, interrupting. "Fletcher Christian!" exclaimed Adams and Young in the same breath. "Ay, and Isaac Martin and John Mills," continued the woman. While she was speaking, the four Otaheitans, having apparently come to an agreement as to their future proceedings, loaded their muskets hastily, and rushing from the house soon disappeared in the woods. We shall not harrow the reader's feelings by following farther the bloody details of this massacre. Let it suffice to add, briefly, that after retiring from a fruitless search for the white men in the bush, Menalee quarrelled with Timoa and shot him. This roused the anger of the other two against Menalee, who fled to the bush and tried to make friends with McCoy and Quintal. This he appeared to succeed in doing, but when he was induced by them to give up his musket, he found out his mistake, for they soon turned it on himself and killed him. Then Young's wife, Susannah, was induced to kill Tetaheite with an axe, and Young himself immediately after shot Nehow. When McCoy and Quintal were told that all the Otaheitan men were dead they returned to the settlement. It was a terrible scene of desolation and woe. Even these two rough and heartless men were awed for a time into something like solemnity. The men now left alive on the island were Young, Adams, Quintal, and McCoy. In the households of these four the widows and children of the slain were distributed. The evidences of the bloody tragedy were removed, the murdered men were buried, and thus came to a close the first great epoch in the chequered history of Pitcairn Island. CHAPTER SIXTEEN. MATT QUINTAL MAKES A TREMENDOUS DISCOVERY. Upwards of four years had now elapsed since the mutiny of the _Bounty_, and of the nine mutineers who escaped to Pitcairn Island, only four remained, with eleven women and a number of children. These latter had now become an important and remarkably noisy element in the colony. They and time together did much to efface the saddening effects of the gloomy epoch which had just come to a close. Time, however, did more than merely relieve the feelings of the surviving mutineers and widows. It increased the infantry force on the island considerably, so that in the course of a few years there were added to it a Robert, William, and Edward Young, with a little sister named Dolly Young, to keep them in countenance. There also came a Jane Quintal and an Arthur Quintal, who were closely followed by a Rebecca Adams and a James Young. So that the self-imposed cares and burdens of that pretty, active, and self-denying little creature, Otaheitan Sally, increased with her years and stature. Before the most of these made their appearance, however, the poor Otaheitan wives and widows became downcast and discontented. One cannot wonder at this. Accustomed though they no doubt had been to war and bloodshed on their native island, they must have been shocked beyond measure by the scenes of brutality and murder through which they had passed. The most of them being now without husbands, and the men who remained being not on very amicable terms among themselves, these poor creatures seem to have been driven to a state of desperation, for they began to pine for their old home, and actually made up their minds to quit the island in one of the _Bounty's_ old boats, and leave the white men and even the children behind them. See Note 1. The old boat turned out to be so leaky, however, that they were compelled to return. But they did not cease to repine and to desire deliverance. Gentle-spirited and tractable though they undoubtedly were, they had evidently been tried beyond their powers of endurance. They were roused, and when meek people are roused they not unfrequently give their friends and acquaintances, (to say nothing of those nearer), a considerable surprise. Matthew Quintal, who had a good deal of sly humour about him, eventually hit on a plan to quiet them, at least for a time. "What makes you so grumpy, old girl?" he said one day to his wife, while eating his dinner under the shade of a palm-tree. "We wiss to go home," she replied, in a plaintive tone. "Well, well, you _shall_ go home, so don't let your spirits go down. If you've got tired of me, lass, you're not worth keeping. We'll set to work and build you a new boat out o' the old un. We'll begin this very day, and when it's finished, you may up anchor and away to Otaheite, or Timbuctoo for all that I care." The poor woman seemed pleased to hear this, and true to his word, Quintal set to work that very day, with McCoy, whom he persuaded to assist him. His friend thought that Quintal was only jesting about the women, and that in reality he meant to build a serviceable boat for fishing purposes. Young and Adams took little notice of what the other two were about; but one day when the former came down to the beach on Bounty Bay, he could not help remarking on the strange shape of the boat. "It'll never float," he remarked, with a look of surprise. "It's not wanted to float," replied Quintal, "at least not just yet. We can make it float well enough with a few improvements afterwards." Young looked still more surprised, but when Quintal whispered something in his ear, he laughed and went away. The boat was soon ready, for it was to some extent merely a modification of the old boat. Then all the women were desired to get into it and push off, to see how it did. "Get in carefully now, old girls," said Quintal, with a leer. "Lay hold of the oars and we'll shove you through the first o' the surf. Lend a hand, McCoy. Now then, give way all--hi!" With a vigorous shove the two men sent the boat shooting through the surf, which was unusually low that day. Young and Adams, with some of the children, stood on the rocks and looked on. The women lay to their oars like men, and the boat leaped like a flying-fish through the surf into deep water. Forgetting, in the excitement of the moment, the object they had in view, the poor things shouted and laughed with glee; but they dipped their oars with sad irregularity, and the boat began to rock in a violent manner. Then Young's wife, Susannah, caught what in nautical parlance is called "a crab;" that is, she missed her stroke and fell backwards into the bottom of the boat. With that readiness to render help which was a characteristic of these women, Christian's widow, Mainmast, leaped up to assist the fallen Susannah. It only wanted this to destroy the equilibrium of the boat altogether. It turned bottom up in a moment, and left the female crew floundering in the sea. To women of civilised lands this might have been a serious accident, but to these Otaheitan ladies it was a mere trifle. Each had been able to swim like a duck from earliest childhood. Indeed, it was evident that some of their own little ones were equally gifted, for several of them, led by Sally, plunged into the surf and went out to meet their parents as they swam ashore. The men laughed heartily, and, after securing the boat and hauling it up on the beach, returned to the settlement, whither the women had gone before them to change their garments. This incident effectually cured the native women of any intention to escape from the island, at least by boat, but it did not tend to calm their feelings. On the contrary, it seemed to have the effect of filling them with a thirst for vengeance, and they spent part of that day in whispered plottings against the men. They determined to take their lives that very night. While they were thus engaged, their innocent offspring were playing about the settlement at different games, screaming at times with vehement delight, and making the palm-groves ring with laughter. The bright sun shone equally upon the heads that whirled with merriment and those that throbbed with dark despair. Suddenly, in the midst of her play, little Sally came to an abrupt pause. She missed little Matt Quintal from the group. "Where's he gone, Charlie?" she demanded of her favourite playmate, whose name she had by that time learned to pronounce. "I dunno," answered Charlie, whose language partook more of the nautical tone of Quintal than of his late father. "D'you know, Dan'l?" she asked of little McCoy. "I dunno nuffin'," replied Dan, "'xcep' he's not here." "Well, I must go an' seek 'im. You stop an' play here. I leave 'em in your care, Toc. See you be good." It would have amused you, reader, if you had seen with your bodily eyes the little creatures who were thus warned to be good. Even Dan McCoy, who was considered out and out the worst of them, might have sat to Rubens for a cherub; and as for the others, they were, we might almost say, appallingly good. Thursday October, in particular, was the very personification of innocence. It would have been much more appropriate to have named him Sunday July, because in his meek countenance goodness and beauty sat enthroned. Of course we do not mean to say that these children were good from principle. They had no principle at that time. No, their actuating motive was selfishness; but it was not concentrated, regardless selfishness, and it was beautifully counteracted by natural amiability of temperament. But they were quite capable of sin. For instance, when Sally had left them to search for her lost sheep, little Dan McCoy, moved by a desire for fun, went up behind little Charlie Christian and gave him an unmerited kick. It chanced to be a painful kick, and Charlie, without a thought of resentment or revenge, immediately opened his mouth, shut his eyes, and roared. Horrified by this unexpected result, little Dan also shut his eyes, opened his mouth, and roared. The face that Charlie made in these circumstances was so ineffably funny, that Toc burst into uncontrollable laughter. Hearing this, the roarers opened their eyes, slid quickly into the same key, and tumbled head over heels on the grass, in which evolutions they were imitated by the whole party, except such as had not at that time passed beyond the staggering age. Meanwhile Sally searched the neighbouring bush in vain; then bethinking her that Matt Quintal, who was fond of dangerous places, might have clambered down to the rocks to bathe, she made the best of her way to the beach, at a place which, being somewhat difficult of access from above, was seldom visited by any save the wild and venturesome. She had only descended a few yards when she met the lost one clambering up in frantic haste, panting violently, his fat cheeks on fire, and his large eyes blazing. "Oh, Matt, what is it?" she exclaimed, awestruck at the sight of him. "Sip!--sip!" he cried, with labouring breath, as he pointed with one hand eagerly to the sea and with the other to the shore; "bin men down dare!--look, got suffin'! Oh!" A prolonged groan of despair escaped the child as he fumbled in a trousers-pocket and pushed three fingers through a hole in the bottom of it. "It's hoed through!" "What's hoed through?" asked Sally, with quick sympathy, trying to console the urchin for some loss he had sustained. "De knife!" exclaimed little Dan, with a face of blank woe. "The knife! what knife? But don't cry, dear; if you lost it through that hole it must be lying on the track, you know, somewhere between us and the beach." This happy thought did not seem to have occurred to Matt, whose cheeks at once resumed their flush and his eyes their blaze. Taking his hand, Sally led him down the track. They looked carefully as they went, and had not gone far when Matt sprang forward with a scream of delight and picked up a clasp-knife. It was by no means a valuable one. It had a buckhorn handle, and its solitary blade, besides being broken at the point, was affected with rust and tobacco in about equal proportions. "Oh, Matt, where did you find it?" "Come down and you see," he exclaimed, pointing with greater excitement than ever to the beach below. They were soon down, and there, on the margin of the woods, they found a heap of cocoa-nut shells scattered about. "Found de knife dere," said Matt, pointing to the midst of the shells, and speaking in a low earnest voice, as if the subject were a solemn one. "Oh!" exclaimed Sally, under her breath. "An' look here," said Matt, leading the girl to a sandy spot close by. They both stood transfixed and silent, for there were _strange foot-prints_ on the sand. They could not be mistaken. Sally and Matt knew every foot and every shoe, white or black, in Pitcairn. The marks before them had been made by unknown shoes. Just in proportion as youth is more susceptible of astonishment than age, so was the surprise of those little ones immeasurably greater than that of Robinson Crusoe in similar circumstances. With awestruck faces they traced the foot-prints down to the water's edge. Then, for the first time, it struck Matt that he had forgotten something. "Oh, me forget de sip--de sip!" he cried, and pointed out to sea. Sally raised her eyes and uttered an exclamation of fresh astonishment, as well she might, for there, like a seagull on the blue wave, was a ship under full sail. It was far-off, nearly on the horizon, but quite distinct, and large enough to be recognised. Of course the gazers were spellbound again. It was the first real ship they had ever seen, but they easily recognised it, being familiar with man's floating prisons from the frequent descriptions given to them by John Adams, and especially from a drawing made by him, years ago, on the back of an old letter, representing a full-rigged man-of-war. This masterpiece of fine art had been nailed up on the walls of John Adams's hut, and had been fully expounded to each child in succession, as soon after its birth as was consistent with common-sense--sometimes sooner. Suddenly Otaheitan Sally recovered herself. "Come, Matt, we must run home an' tell what we've seen." Away they went like two goats up the cliffs. Panting and blazing, they charged down on their amazed playmates, shouting, "A sip! a sip!" but never turning aside nor slacking their pace until they burst with the news on the astonished mutineers. Something more than astonishment, however, mingled with the feelings of the seamen, and it was not until they had handled the knife, and visited the sandy cove, and seen the foot-prints, and beheld the vessel herself, that they became fully convinced that she had really been close to the island, that men had apparently landed to gather cocoa-nuts, and had gone away without having discovered the settlement, which was hid from their view by the high cliffs to the eastward of Bounty Bay. The vessel had increased her distance so much by the time the men reached the cove, that it was impossible to make out what she was. "A man-o'-war, mayhap, sent to search for us," suggested Quintal. "Not likely," said Adams. "If she'd bin sent to search for us, she wouldn't have contented herself with only pickin' a few nuts." "I should say she is a trader that has got out of her course," said Young; "but whatever she is, we've seen the last of her. I'm not sure that I wouldn't have run the risk of having our hiding-place found out, and of being hung, for the sake of seeing once more the fresh face of a white man." He spoke with a touch of sadness in his tone, which contrasted forcibly with the remark that followed. "It's little _I_ would care about the risk o' bein' scragged," said Quintal, "if I could only once more have a stiff glass o' grog an' a pipe o' good, strong, genuine baccy!" "You'll maybe have the first sooner than you think," observed McCoy, with a look of intelligence. "What d'ye mean?" asked Quintal. "Ax no questions an' you'll be told no lies," was McCoy's polite rejoinder, to which Quintal returned a not less complimentary remark, and followed Young and Adams, who had already begun to reascend the cliffs. This little glimpse of the great outer world was obtained by the mutineers in 1795, and was the only break of the kind that occurred during a residence of many years on the lonely island. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note 1. We are led to this conclusion in regard to the children by the fact that in the various records which tell us of these women attempting their flight, no mention is made of the children being with them. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. THE CLOUDS GROW THICKER AND BLACKER. This glimpse of a stray vessel left a deep impression on the minds of the exiles for many days, and it so far influenced the women that they postponed their scheme of vengeance for some time. It must not be supposed, however, that all of those women, whom we have described as being so gentle in character, were suddenly transformed into demons. It was only two or three of the more energetic and passionate among them who stirred up the rest, and forced them to fall in with their views. These passionate ones were the widows of the men who had been slain. They not only felt their loss most bitterly, but became almost mad with the despair caused by their forlorn condition, and the apparent hopelessness of deliverance. The sight of the passing ship had diverted their thoughts for a time, perhaps had infused a little hope; but when the excitement died down they renewed their plots against the men and at last made a desperate attempt to carry them out. It was on a dark and stormy night. Thunder was rolling in the sky. Lightning flashed among the mountain-peaks. Rain, the first that had descended for many days, fell in fitful showers. It must have seemed to the women either that the elements sympathised with them, or that the extreme darkness was favourable to the execution of their plan, for about midnight one of them rose from her bed, and crept noiselessly to the corner of her hut, where she had seen Quintal deposit a loaded musket the previous day. Possessing herself of the weapon, she went straight to the widow of Fletcher Christian, and wakened her. She rose, somewhat reluctantly, and followed the woman, whose face was concealed in a kerchief of native cloth. The two then went cautiously to another hat, where two of the wives of the murdered Otaheitans awaited them, the one with a long knife, the other with an axe in her hand. They whispered together for a few seconds. As they did so there came a tremendous crash of thunder, followed by a flash which revealed the dark heads and glistening eyeballs drawn together in a group. "We had better not try to-night," said one voice, timidly. "Faint heart, you may stay behind," replied another voice, firmly. "Come, let us not delay. They were cruel; we will be cruel too." They all crouched down, and seemed to melt into the dark earth. When the next lightning-flash rent the heavens they were gone. Lying in his bunk, opposite the door of his house, that night, John Adams lay half asleep and half-conscious of the storm outside. As he lay with closed eyes there came a glaring flash of light. It revealed in the open doorway several pallid faces and glistening eyeballs. "A strange dream," thought Adams; "stranger still to dream of dreaming." The thunder-clap that followed was mingled with a crash, a burst of smoke, and a shriek that caused Adams to leap from his couch as a bullet whistled past his ear. In the succeeding lightning-flash he beheld a woman near him with an uplifted axe, another with a gleaming knife, and Edward Young, who slept in his house that night, in the act of leaping upon her. Adams was prompt to act on all occasions. He caught the uplifted axe, and wrenching it from her grasp, thrust the woman out of the door. "There," he said, quietly, "go thy way, lass. I don't care to know which of 'ee's done it. Let the other one go too, Mr Young. It's not worth while making a work about it." The midshipman obeyed, and going to a shelf in a corner, took down a torch made of small nuts strung on a palm-spine, struck a light, and kindled it. "Poor things," he said, "I'm sorry for them. They've had hard times here." "They won't try it again," remarked Adams, as he closed the door, and quietly turned again into his sleeping-bunk. But John Adams was wrong. Foiled though they were on this occasion, and glad though some of them must have been at their failure, there were one or two who could not rest, and who afterwards made another attempt on the lives of the men. This also failed. The first offence had been freely forgiven, but this time it was intimated that if another attempt were made, they should all be put to death. Fortunately, the courage of even the most violent of the women had been exhausted. To the relief of the others they gave up their murderous designs, and settled down into that state of submission which was natural to them. One might have thought that now, at last, the little colony of Pitcairn had passed its worst days, most of the disturbing elements having been removed; but there was yet one other cloud, the blackest of all, to burst over them. One of the world's greatest curses was about to be introduced among them. It happened thus:-- One night William McCoy went to his house up on the mountain-side, entered it, and shut and bolted the door. This was an unusual proceeding on his part, and had no connection with the recent attempts at murder made by the women, because he was quite fearless in regard to that, and scoffed at the possibility of being killed by women. He also carefully fastened the window-shutters. He appeared to be somewhat excited, and went about his operations with an air at once of slyness and of mystery. A small torch or nut-candle which he lighted and set on a bracket on the wall gave out a faint flickering light, which barely rendered darkness visible, and from its position threw parts of the chamber into deepest gloom. It looked not unlike what we suppose would be the laboratory of an alchemist of the olden time, and McCoy himself, with his eager yet frowning visage, a native-made hat slouched over his brows, and a piece of native cloth thrown over his shoulders like a plaid, was no bad representative of an old doctor toiling for the secrets that turn base metal into gold, and old age into youth--secrets, by the way, which have been lying open to man's hand for centuries in the Word of God. Taking down from a shelf a large kettle which had formed part of the furniture of the _Bounty_, and a twisted metal pipe derived from the same source, he fitted them up on a species of stove or oven made of clay. The darkness of the place rendered his movements not very obvious; but he appeared to put something into the kettle, and fill it with water. Then he put charcoal into the oven, kindled it, and blew it laboriously with his mouth until it became red-hot. This flameless fire did not tend much to enlighten surrounding objects; it merely added to them a lurid tinge of red. The operator's face, being close in front of the fire as he blew, seemed almost as hot as the glowing coals. With patient watchfulness he sat there crouching over the fire for several hours, occasionally blowing it up or adding more fuel. As the experiment went on, McCoy's eyes seemed to dilate with expectation, and his breathing quickened. After a time he rose and lifted a bottle out of a tub of water near the stove. The bottle was attached to one end of the twisted tube, which was connected with the kettle on the fire. Detaching it therefrom, he raised it quickly to the light. Then he put it to his nose and smelt it. As he did so his face lit up with an expression of delight. Taking down from a shelf a cocoa-nut cup, he poured into it some sparkling liquid from the bottle. It is a question which at that moment sparkled most, McCoy's eyes or the liquid. He sipped a little, and his rough visage broke into a beaming smile. He drank it all, and then he smacked his lips and laughed--not quite a joyous laugh, but a wild, fierce, triumphant laugh, such as one might imagine would issue from the panting lips of some stout victor of the olden time as he clutched a much-coveted prize, after slaying some half-dozen enemies. "Ha ha! I've got it at last!" he cried aloud, smacking his lips again. And so he had. Long and earnestly had he laboured to make use of a fatal piece of knowledge which he possessed. Among the hills of Scotland McCoy had learned the art of making ardent spirits. After many failures, he had on this night made a successful attempt with the ti-root, which grew in abundance on Pitcairn. The spirit was at last produced. As the liquid ran burning down his throat, the memory of a passion which he had not felt for years came back upon him with overwhelming force. In his new-born ecstasy he uttered a wild cheer, and filling more spirit into the cup, quaffed it again. "Splendid!" he cried, "first-rate. Hurrah!" A tremendous knocking at the door checked him, and arrested his hand as he was about to fill another cup. "Who's that?" he demanded, angrily. "Open the door an' you'll see." The voice was that of Matthew Quintal. McCoy let him in at once. "See here," he cried, eagerly, holding up the bottle with a leer, "I've got it at last!" "So any deaf man might have found out by the way you've bin shoutin' it. Why didn't you open sooner?" "Never heard you, Matt. Was too much engaged with my new friend, I suppose. Come, I'll introdooce him to you." "Look alive, then," growled Quintal, impatiently, for he seemed to have smelt the spirit, as the warhorse is said to smell the battle from afar. "Give us hold o' the cup and fill up; fill up, I say, to the brim. None o' your half measures for me." He took a mouthful, rolled it round and round with his tongue once or twice, and swallowed it. "Heh, that's _it_ once more! Come, here's your health, McCoy! We'll be better friends than ever now; good luck to 'ee." McCoy thought that there was room for improvement in their friendship, but said nothing, as he watched his comrade pour the fiery liquid slowly down his throat, as if he wished to prolong the sensation. "Another," he said, holding out the cup. "No, no; drink fair, Matt Quintal; wotever you do, drink fair. It's my turn now." "Your turn?" retorted Quintal, fiercely; "why, you've bin swillin' away for half-an-hour before I came." "No, Matt, no; honour bright. I'd only just begun. But come, we won't quarrel over it. Here's the other half o' the nut, so we'll drink together. Now, hold steady." "More need for me to give you that advice; you shake the bottle as if you'd got the ague. If you spill a drop, now, I'll--I'll flatten your big nose on your ugly face." Not in the least hurt by such uncomplimentary threats, McCoy smiled as he filled the cup held by his comrade. The spirit was beginning to tell on him, and the smile was of that imbecile character which denotes perfect self-satisfaction and good-will. Having poured the remainder into his own cup, he refixed the bottle to the tube of the "still," and while more of the liquid was being extracted, the cronies sat down on low stools before the stove, to spend a pleasant evening in poisoning themselves! It may be interesting and instructive, though somewhat sad, to trace the steps by which those two men, formed originally in God's image, reduced themselves, of their own free will, to a level much lower than that of the brutes. "Doesn't the taste of it bring back old times?" said McCoy, holding his cup to the light as he might have held up a transparent glass. "Ay," assented Quintal, gradually becoming amiable, "the good old times before that fool Fletcher Christian indooced us to jine him. Here's to 'ee, lad, once more." "Why, when I think o' the jolly times I've had at the Blue Boar of Plymouth," said McCoy, "or at the Swan wi' the two throttles, in--in--I forget where, I feel--I feel--like--like--here's your health again, Matt Quintal. Give us your flipper, man. You're not a bad feller, if you wasn't given to grumpin' so much." Quintal's amiability, even when roused to excess by drink, was easily dissipated. The free remarks of his comrade did not tend to increase it, but he said nothing, and refreshed himself with another sip. "I really do think," continued McCoy, looking at his companion with an intensity of feeling which is not describable, "I really do think that-- that--when I think o' that Blue Boar, I could a'most become poetical." "If you did," growled Quintal, "you would not be the first that had become a big fool on a worse subjec'." "I shay, Matt Quintal," returned the other, who was beginning to talk rather thickly, so powerful was the effect of the liquor on his unaccustomed nerves; "I shay, ole feller, you used to sing well once. Come g-give us a stave now." "Bah!" was Quintal's reply, with a look of undisguised contempt. "Jus-so. 'Xactly my opinion about it. Well, as you won't sing, I'll give you a ditty myself." Hereupon McCoy struck up a song, which, being deficient in taste, while its execution was defective as well as tuneless, did not seem to produce much effect on Quintal. He bore it with equanimity, until McCoy came to a note so far beyond his powers that he broke into a shriek. "Come, get some more drink," growled his comrade, pointing to the still; "it must be ready by this time." "Shum more drink!" exclaimed McCoy, with a look of indignant surprise. Then, sliding into a smile of imbecile good-humour, "You shl-'ave-it, my boy, you shl-'ave-it." He unfixed the bottle with an unsteady hand, and winking with dreadful solemnity, filled up his companion's cup. Then he filled his own, and sat down to resume his song. But Quintal could stand no more of it; he ordered his comrade to "stop his noise." "Shtop my noise!" exclaimed McCoy, with a look of lofty disdain. "Yes, stop it, an' let's talk." "Well, I'm w-willin' t' talk," returned McCoy, after a grave and thoughtful pause. They chose politics as a light, agreeable subject of conversation. "Now, you see, 's my 'pinion, Matt, that them coves up't th' Admiralty don't know no more how to guv'n this country than they knows how to work a Turk's head on a man-rope." "P'r'aps not," replied Quintal, with a look of wise solemnity. "Nor'-a-bit--on it," continued McCoy, becoming earnest. "An' wot on earth's the use o' the Lords an' Commons an' War Office? W'y don't they slump 'em all together into one 'ouse, an' get the Archbishop o' Cantingbury to bless 'em all, right off, same as the Pope does. That's w'ere it is. D'ye see? That's w'ere the shoe pinches." "Ah, an' what would you make o' the King?" demanded Quintal, with an argumentative frown. "The King, eh?" said McCoy, bringing his fuddled mind to bear on this royal difficulty; "the King, eh? Why, I'd--I'd make lop-scouse o' the King." "Come, that's treason. You shan't speak treason in _my_ company, Bill McCoy. I'm a man-o'-war's man. It won't do to shove treason in the face of a mar-o'-wa-a-r. If I _am_ a mutineer, w'at o' that? I'll let no other man haul down my colours. So don't go shovin' treason at me, Bill McCoy." "I'll shove treason w'erever I please," said McCoy, fiercely. "No you shan't." "Yes I shall." From this point the conversation became very contradictory in tone, then recriminative, and after that personally abusive. At last Quintal, losing temper, threw the remains of his last cup of spirits in his friend's face. McCoy at once hit Quintal on the nose. He returned wildly on the eye, and jumping up, the two grappled in fierce anger. They were both powerful men, whose natural tendency to personal violence towards each other had, up to this time, been restrained by prudence; but now that the great destroyer of sense and sanity was once again coursing through their veins, there was nothing to check them. All the grudges and bitternesses of the past few years seemed to have been revived and concentrated on that night, and they struggled about the little room with the fury of madmen, striking out savagely, but with comparatively little effect, because of excessive passion, coupled with intoxication, clutching and tugging at each other's whiskers and hair, and cursing with dreadful sincerity. There was little furniture in the room, but what there was they smashed in pieces. Quintal flung McCoy on the table, and jumping on the top of him, broke it down. The other managed to get on his legs again, clutched Quintal by the throat, and thrust him backward with such violence that he went crashing against the little window-shutters, split them up, and drove them out. In one of their wildest bursts they both fell into the fireplace, overturned the still, and scattered the fire. Fortunately, the embers were nearly out by this time. Tumbling over the stools and wreck, these men--who had begun the evening as friends, continued it as fools, and ended it as fiends--fell side by side into one of the sleeping-bunks, the bottom of which was driven down by the shock as they sank exhausted amid the wreck, foaming with passion, and covered with blood. This was the climax; they fell into a state of partial insensibility, which degenerated at last into a deep lethargic slumber. Hitherto the quarrels and fights that had so disturbed the peace of Pitcairn, and darkened her moral sky, had been at least intelligently founded on hatred or revenge, with a definite object and murderous end in view. Now, for the first time, a furious battle had been fought for nothing, with no object to be gained, and no end in view; with besotted idiots for the champions, and with strong drink for the cause. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. AQUATIC AMUSEMENTS. Now, it must not be supposed that the wives and widows of these mutineers gave themselves up to moping or sadness after the failure of their wild attempt to make their condition worse by slaying all the men. By no means. By degrees they recovered the natural tone of their mild yet hearty dispositions, and at last, we presume, came to wonder that they had ever been so mad or so bad. Neither must it be imagined that these women were condemned to be the laborious drudges who are fitly described as "hewers of wood and drawers of water." They did indeed draw a good deal of water in the course of each day, but they spent much time also in making the tapa cloth with which they repaired the worn-out clothes of their husbands, or fabricated petticoats for themselves and such of the children as had grown old enough to require such garments. But besides these occupations, they spent a portion of their time in prattling gossip, which, whatever the subject might be, was always accompanied with a great deal of merriment and hearty laughter. They also spent no small portion of their time in the sea, for bathing was one of the favourite amusements of the Pitcairners, young and old. Coming up one day to Susannah, the wife of Edward Young, Thursday October Christian begged that she would go with him and bathe. Susannah was engaged in making the native cloth at the time, and laid down her mallet with a look of indecision. It may be remarked here that a mallet is used in the making of this cloth, which is not woven, but beaten out from a state of pulp; it is, in fact, rather a species of tough paper than cloth, and is produced from the bark of the paper mulberry. "I's got to finish dis bit of cloth to-day, Toc," said Susannah, in broken English, for she knew that Master Thursday October preferred that tongue to Otaheitan, though he could speak both, "an' it's gettin' late." "Oh, _what_ a pity!" said TOC, with a look of mild disappointment. Now Susannah was by far the youngest and most girlish among the Otaheitan women, and could not resist an appeal to her feelings even when uttered only by the eyes. Besides, little Toc was a great favourite with her. She therefore burst into a merry laugh, gently pulled Thursday's nose, and said, "Well, come along; but we'll git some o' the others for go too, an' have some fun. You go klect de jumpers. Me git de womans." Susannah referred to the older children by the term "Jumpers." Highly pleased, the urchin started off at once. He found one of the jumpers, namely, Otaheitan Sally, nursing Polly Young, while she delivered an oracular discourse to Charlie Christian, who sat at her feet, meekly receiving and believing the most outrageous nonsense that ever was heard. It is but just to Sally, however, to say that she gave her information in all good faith, having been previously instructed by John Adams, whose desire for the good of the young people was at that period stronger than his love of truth. Wishing to keep their minds as long as possible ignorant of the outer world, he had told them that ships came out of a hole in the clouds on the horizon. "Yes, Charlie, it's quite true; father Adams says so. They comes out of a hole on the horizon." Charlie's huge eyes gazed in perplexity from his instructor's face to the horizon, as if he expected to behold a ship emerging from a hole then and there. Then, turning to Sally again with a simple look, he asked-- "But why does sips come out of holes on de 'rizon?" Sally was silenced. She was not the first knowing one who had been silenced by a child. Little Daniel McCoy came up at the moment. Having passed the "staggering" period of life, he no longer walked the earth in a state of nudity, but was decorated with a pair of very short tapa trousers, cut in imitation of seafaring ducks, but reaching only to the knees. He also wore a little shirt. "Me kin tell why ships come out ob de hole in de horizon," he said, with a twinkle in his eyes; "just for notin' else dan to turn about an' go back into de hole again." "Nonsense, Dan'l!" cried Sally, with a laugh. "Nonsense!" repeated Dan, with an injured look. "Didn't you saw'd it happen jus' t'other day?" "Well, I did saw the ship go farer an' farer away, an' vanish," admitted Sall; "but he didn't go into a hole that time." "Pooh!" ejaculated little Dan, "dat's 'cause de hole was too far away to be seen." Further discussion of the subject was prevented by the arrival of Thursday. "Well, Toc, you's in a hurry to-day," said little Dan, with a look of innocent insolence. "We're all to go an' bathe, child'n," cried Thursday, with a look of delight; "Susannah's goin', an' all the 'oomans, an' she send me for you." "Hurrah!" shouted Dan and Sally. "Goin' to bave," cried Charlie Christian to Lizzie Mills, who was attracted by the cheering, which also brought up Matt Quintal, who led his little sister Sarah by the hand. Sarah was yet a staggerer, and so was Dinah Adams, also Mary Christian; Polly Young and John Mills had not yet attained even to the staggering period--they were only what little Dan McCoy called sprawlers. Before many minutes had elapsed, the whole colony of women, jumpers, staggerers, and sprawlers, were assembled on the beach at Bounty Bay. It could scarcely be said that the women undressed--they merely threw off the light scarf or bodice that covered their shoulders, but kept on the short skirts, which were no impediment to their graceful movements in the water. The jumpers, of course, were only too glad of the excuse to get out of their very meagre allowance of clothing, and the rest were, so to speak, naturally ready for the plunge. It was a splendid forenoon. There was not a zephyr to ruffle the calm breast of the Pacific, nevertheless the gentle undulation of that mighty bosom sent wave after wave like green liquid walls into the bay in ceaseless regularity. These, toppling over, and breaking, and coming in with a succession of magnificent roars, finally hissed in harmless foam on the shingly beach. "Now, T'ursday," said Mrs Adams, "you stop here an' take care o' de sprawlers." Adams's helpmate was the oldest of the women, and defective in vision. Her commands were law. Thursday October would as soon have thought of disobeying Adams himself as his wife. It was not in his nature, despite its goodness, to help feeling disappointed at being left in charge of the little ones. However, he made up his mind at once to the sacrifice. "Never mind, Toc," said Young's wife, with a bright smile, "I'll stay an' keep you company." This was ample compensation to Thursday. He immediately flung himself into the shallow surf, and turning his face to the land, held out his arms and dared the little ones to come to him. Two of them instantly accepted the challenge, crept down to the water, and were beaten back by the next rush of foam. But they were caught up and held aloft with a shout of glee by Susannah. Meanwhile, the women advanced into the deep surf with the small children on their shoulders, while the others, being able to look after themselves, followed, panting with excitement for although able to swim like corks they found it extremely difficult to do battle with the rushing water. Deeper and deeper the foremost women went, until they neared the unbroken glassy billows. "I'll go at de nixt," muttered Mrs Adams to Mary Christian, who was on her back, clutching tight round her neck. The "nixt" was a liquid wall that came rolling grandly in with ever-increasing force and volume, until it hovered to its fall almost over the heads of the daring women. Mrs Adams, Mainmast, and Mills's widow, who were the foremost of the group, bent their heads forward, and with a graceful but vigorous plunge, sprang straight into the wall of water and went right through it. The others, though a moment later, were quite in time. The children also, uttering wild screams in varied keys, faced the billow gallantly, and pierced it like needles. Another moment, and they were all safe in deep water on the seaward side, while the wave went thundering to the shore in a tumultuous wilderness of foam, and spent its weakened force among the babies. The moment the women were safe beyond the rolling influence of these great waves, in the calm sea beyond, they threw the staggerers from their shoulders and let them try their own unaided powers, while the jumpers swam and floated around to watch the result. These wonderful infants disported themselves variously in the sea. Mary Christian wobbled about easily, as if too fat to sink, and Bessy Mills supported herself bravely, being much encouraged by the presence and the cheering remarks of that humorous imp Dan McCoy. But Charlie Christian showed symptoms of alarm, and losing heart after a few moments, threw up his fat little arms and sank. Like the swooping eagle, his mother plunged forward, placed a hand under him, and lifted him on her shoulders, where he recovered equanimity in a few minutes, and soon wanted to be again sent afloat. When this had gone on for a little time, the women reshouldered their babies and swam boldly out to sea, followed at various distances by the youngsters. Of these latter, Sall of Otaheite was by far the best. She easily outstripped the other children, and could almost keep pace with the women. Meanwhile Thursday October Christian and Susannah Young performed amazing feats with the infants in the shallow water on the beach. Sarah Quintal and Johnny Mills gave them some trouble, having a strong disposition to explore places beyond their depth; but Dinah Adams and Polly Young were as good as gold, spluttering towards their guardians when called, and showing no tendency to do anything of their own immediate free will, except sit on the sand and let the foam rush round and over them like soap-suds. Now, it is well-known that every now and then there are waves of the sea which seem to have been born on a gigantic scale, and which, emerging somewhere from the great deep, come to shore with a grander roar and a higher rush than ordinary waves. One such roller came in while no one was on the look-out for it. Its deep-toned roar first apprised Susannah of its approach, but before she could run to the rescue its white crest was careering up the beach in magnificent style. It caught the infants, each sitting with a look of innocent surprise on the sand. It turned them head over heels, and swept them up the shingly shore. It tumbled Susannah herself over in its might, and swept Thursday October fairly off his legs. Having terminated its career thus playfully, the big wave retired, carrying four babies in its embrace. But Susannah and Thursday had regained their footing and their presence of mind. With a brave and, for him, a rapid spring, Thursday caught little Sarah and Dinah as they were rolling helpless down the strand, the one by an arm, the other by a leg, and held on. At the same instant Susannah sprang forward and grasped Jack Mills by the hair of the head, but poor Polly Young was beyond her reach. Little Polly was the smallest, the neatest, and the dearest of the sprawling band. She was rolling to her doom. The case was desperate. In this emergency Susannah suddenly hurled Jack Mills at Thursday. The poor boy had to drop the other two in order to catch the flying Jack, but the other two, sliding down his body, held each to a Thursday October leg like limpets. The result was that the four remained firm and safe, while Susannah leaped into the surf and rescued little Poll. It all happened so quickly that the actors had scarcely time to think. Having reached the dry land, they looked seaward, and there saw their more practised companions about to come in on the top of a wave. For a few seconds their heads were seen bobbing now on the top, now between the hollows of the waves. Then they were seen on a towering snowy crest which was just about to fall. On the summit of the roaring wave, as if on a snowy mountain, they came rushing on with railway speed. To an unpractised eye destruction among the rocks was their doom. But they had taken good aim, and came careering to the sandy patch where the little ones sprawled. In another moment they stood safe and sound upon the land. This was but an everyday feat of the Pitcairners, who went up to their village chatting merrily, and thinking nothing more about the adventure than that it was capital fun. CHAPTER NINETEEN. THE DARKEST HOUR. A long time after the events narrated in the last chapter, John Adams and Edward Young sat together one evening in the cave at the top of the mountain, where poor Fletcher Christian had been wont to hold his lonely vigils. "I've bin thinkin' of late," said Young, "that it is very foolish of us to content ourselves with merely fishing from the rocks, when there are better fish to be had in deep water, and plenty of material at hand for making canoes." "You're right, sir; we ought to try our hands at a canoe. Pity we didn't do so before the native men was all killed. They knew what sort o' trees to use, and how to split 'em up into planks, an' all that sort o' thing." "But McCoy used to study that subject, and talk much about it, when we were in Otaheite," returned Young. "I've no doubt that with his aid we could build a good enough canoe, and the women would be as able as the men, no doubt, to direct us what to do if we were in a difficulty. McCoy is a handy fellow, you know, with tools, as he has proved more than once since the death of poor Williams." Adams shook his head. "No doubt, Mr Young, he's handy enough with the tools; but ever since he discovered how to make spirits, neither he nor Quintal, as you know, sir, are fit for anything." "True," said Young, with a perplexed look; "it never occurred to me before that strong drink was such a curse. I begin now to understand why some men that I have known have been so enthusiastic in their outcry against it. Perhaps it would be right for you and me to refuse to drink with Quintal and McCoy, seeing that they are evidently killing themselves with it." "I don't quite see that, sir," objected Adams. "A glass of grog don't do me no harm that I knows of, an' it wouldn't do them no good if we was to stop our allowance." "It might; who can tell?" said Young. "I've not thought much about the matter, however, so we won't discuss it. But what would you say if we were to hide the kettle that McCoy makes it in, and refuse to give it up till the canoe is finished?" Again Adams shook his head. "They'd both go mad with DT," said he, by which letters he referred to the drunkard's awful disease, _delirium tremens_. "Well, at all events, we will try to persuade him to go to work, and the sooner the better," said Young, rising and leaving the cave. In pursuance of this plan, Young spoke to McCoy in one of his few sober moments, and got him persuaded to begin the work, and to drink less while engaged in it. Under the impulse of this novelty in his occupation, the unhappy man did make an attempt to curb himself, and succeeded so far that he worked pretty steadily for several days, and made considerable progress with the canoe. The wood was chosen, the tree felled, the trunk cut to the proper length and split up into very fair planks, which were further smoothed by means of a stone adze, brought by the natives from Otaheite, and it seemed as if the job would be quickly finished, when the terrible demon by whom McCoy had been enslaved suddenly asserted his tyrannical power. Quintal, who rendered no assistance in canoe-building, had employed himself in making a "new brew," as he expressed it, and McCoy went up to his hut in the mountain one evening to taste. The result, of course, was that he was absolutely incapable of work next day; and then, giving way to the maddening desire, he and his comrade-in-debauchery went in, as they said, for a regular spree. It lasted for more than a week, and when it came to an end, the two men, with cracked lips, bloodshot eyes, and haggard faces, looked as if they had just escaped from a madhouse. Edward Young now positively refused to drink any more of the spirits, and Adams, although he would not go quite to that length, restricted himself to one glass in the day. This at first enraged both Quintal and McCoy. The former cursed his comrades in unmeasured terms, and drank more deeply just to spite them. The latter refused to work at the canoe, and both men became so uproarious, that Young and Adams were obliged to turn them out of the house where they were wont occasionally to meet for a social evening. Thus things went on for many a day from bad to worse. Bad as things had been in former years, it seemed as if the profoundest depth of sin and misery had not yet been fathomed by these unhappy mutineers. In all these doings, it would have gone hard with the poor women and children if Adams and Young had not increased in their kindness and consideration for them, as the other two men became more savage and tyrannical. At last matters came to such a crisis that it became once more a matter of discussion with Young and Adams whether they should not destroy the machinery by which the spirits were made, and it is probable that they might have done this, if events had not occurred which rendered the act unnecessary. One day William McCoy was proceeding with a very uncertain step along the winding footpath that led to his house up in the mountain. The man's face worked convulsively, and it seemed as if terrible thoughts filled his brain. Muttering to himself as he staggered along, he suddenly met his own son, who had grown apace by that time, being nearly seven years of age. Both father and son stopped abruptly, and looked intently at each other. "What brings you here?" demanded the father, with a look of as much dignity as it was in his power to assume. The poor boy hesitated, and looked frightened. His natural spirit of fun and frolic seemed of late to have forsaken him. "What are 'ee afraid of?" roared McCoy, who had not quite recovered from his last fit of _delirium tremens_. "Why don't 'ee speak?" "Mother's not well," said Daniel, softly; "she bid me come and tell you." "What's that to me?" cried McCoy, savagely. "Come here, Dan." He lowered his tone, and held out his hand, but the poor boy was afraid to approach. Uttering a low growl, the father made a rush at him, stumbled over a tree-root, and fell heavily to the earth. Little Dan darted into the bush, and fled home. Rising slowly, McCoy looked half-stunned at first, but speedily recovering himself, staggered on till he reached the hut, when he wildly seized the bottle from its shelf, and put it to his lips, which were bleeding from the fall, and covered with dust. "Ha ha!" he shouted, while the light of delirium rekindled in his eyes, "this is the grand cure for everything. My own son's afraid o' me now, but who cares? What's that to Bill McCoy! an' his mother's ill too-- ha!--" He checked himself in the middle of a fierce laugh, and stared before him as if horror-stricken. "No, no!" he gasped. "I--I didn't. Oh! God be merciful to me!" Again he stopped, raised both hands high above his head, uttered a wild laugh which terminated in a prolonged yell, as he dashed the bottle on the floor, and darted from the hut. All the strength and vigour which the wretched man had squandered seemed to come back to him in that hour. The swiftness of youth returned to his limbs. He ran down the path by which he had just come, and passed Quintal on the way. "Hallo, Bill! you're pretty bad to-night," said his comrade, looking after him. He then followed at a smart run, as if some new idea had suddenly occurred to him. Two of the women met McCoy further down, but as if to evade them, he darted away to the right along the track leading to the eastward cliffs. The women joined Quintal in pursuit, but before they came near him, they saw him rush to the highest part of the cliffs and leap up into the air, turning completely over as he vanished from their sight. At that spot the cliff appeared to overhang its base, and was several hundred feet high. Far down there was a projecting rock, where sea-gulls clustered in great numbers. McCoy, like the lightning-flash, came in contact with the rock, and was dashed violently out into space, while the affrighted sea-birds fled shrieking from the spot. Next moment the man's mangled body cleft the dark water like an arrow, leaving only a little spot of foam behind to mark for a few seconds his watery grave. It might have been thought that this terrible event would have had a sobering effect upon Matthew Quintal, but instead of that it made him worse. The death of his wife, too, by a fall from the cliffs about the same time, seemed only to have the effect of rendering him more savage; insomuch that he became a terror to the whole community, and frequently threatened to take the lives of his remaining comrades. In short, the man seemed to have gone mad, and Young and Adams resolved, in self-defence, to put him to death. We spare the reader the sickening details. They accomplished the terrible deed with an axe, and thus the number of the male refugees on Pitcairn was reduced to two. The darkest hour of the lonely island had been reached--the hour before the dawn. CHAPTER TWENTY. THE DAWN OF A BETTER DAY. The eighteenth century passed away, and as the nineteenth began its course, a great and marvellous change came over the dwellers on the lonely island in that almost unknown region of the Southern Seas. It was a change both spiritual and physical, the latter resulting from the former, and both having their roots, as all things good must have, in the blessed laws of God. The change did not come instantaneously. It rose upon Pitcairn with the sure but gradual influence of the morning dawn, and its progress, like its advent, was unique in the history of the Church of God. No preacher went forth to the ignorant people, armed with the powers of a more or less correct theology. No prejudices had to be overcome, or pre-existing forms of idolatry uprooted, and the people who had to be changed were what might have been deemed most unlikely soil--mutineers, murderers, and their descendants. The one hopeful characteristic among them was the natural amiability of the women, for Young and Adams did not display more than the average good-humour of men, yet these amiable women, as we have seen, twice plotted and attempted the destruction of the men, and two of them murdered in cold blood two of their own kinsmen. It may, perhaps, have already been seen that Young and Adams were of a grave and earnest turn of mind. The terrible scenes which they had passed through naturally deepened this characteristic, especially when they thought of the dreadful necessity which had been forced on them-- the deliberate slaying of Matthew Quintal, an act which caused them to _feel_ like murderers, however justifiable it may have seemed to them. Like most men who are under deep and serious impressions, they kept their thoughts to themselves. Indeed, John Adams, with his grave matter-of-fact tendencies and undemonstrative disposition, would probably never have opened his lips on spiritual things to his companion if Young had not broken the ice; and even when the latter did venture to do so, Adams resisted at first with the dogged resolution of an unbelieving man. "We've been awful sinners, John Adams," said Young one afternoon as they were sauntering home from their plantations to dinner. "Well, sir, no doubt there's some truth in what you say," replied Adams, slowly, "but then, d'ye see, we've bin placed in what you may call awful circumstances." "That's true, that's true," returned Young, with a perplexed look, "and I've said the same thing, or something like it, to myself many a time; but, man, the Bible doesn't seem to harmonise with that idea somehow. It seems to make no difference between big and little sinners, so to speak, at least as far as the matter of salvation is concerned; and yet I can't help feeling somehow that men who have sinned much ought to repent much." "Just so, sir," said John Adams, with a self-satisfied air, "you're right, sir. We have been awful sinners, as you say, an' now we've got to repent as hard as we can and lead better lives, though, of course, we can't make much difference in our style o' livin', seein' that our circumstances don't allow o' much change, an' neither of us has bin much given to drink or swearin'." "Strange!" rejoined Young. "You almost echo what I've been saying to myself over and over again, yet I can't feel quite easy, for if we have only got to repent and try to lead better lives, what's the use of our talking about `Our Saviour?' and what does the Bible mean in such words as these: `Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be saved.' `Only believe.' `By grace are ye saved, through faith, and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God.' `By the works of the law shall no flesh living be justified.'" "Do you mean to say, sir, that them words are all out of the Bible?" asked Adams. "Yes, I know they are, for I read them all this morning. I had a long hunt after the Bible before I found it, for poor Christian never told me where he kept it. I turned it up at last under a bit of tarpaulin in the cave, and I've been reading it a good deal since, and I confess that I've been much puzzled. Hold on a bit here," he added, stopping and seating himself on a flowering bank beside the path; "that old complaint of mine has been troubling me a good deal of late. Let's rest a bit." Young referred here to an asthmatic affection to which he was subject, and which had begun to give him more annoyance since the catching of a severe cold while out shooting among the hills a year before. "From what you say, sir," said Adams, thoughtfully, after they had sat down, "it seems to me that if we can do _nothing_ in the matter o' workin' out our salvation, and have nothin' to do but sit still an' receive it, we can't be to blame if we don't get it." "But we may be to blame for refusing it when it's offered," returned Young. "Besides, the Bible says, `Ask and ye shall receive,' so that knocks away the ground from under your notion of sitting still." "P'r'aps you're right, sir," continued Adams, after a few minutes' thought, during which he shook his head slowly as if not convinced; "but I can't help thinkin' that if a man only does his best to do his dooty, it'll be all right with him. That's all that's required in His Majesty's service, you know, of any man." "True, but if a man _doesn't_ do his best, what then? Or if he is so careless about learning his duty that he scarce knows what it is, and in consequence falls into sundry gross mistakes, what then? Moreover, suppose that you and I, having both done our duty perfectly up to the time of the mutiny, were now to go back to England and say, like the bad boys, `We will never do it again,' what would come of it, think you?" "We'd both be hanged for certain," answered Adams, with emphasis. "Well, then, the matter isn't as simple an you thought it, at least according to _your_ view." "It is more puzzlin' than I thought it," returned Adams; "but then that's no great wonder, for if it puzzles you it's no wonder that it should puzzle me, who has had no edication whatever 'xcep what I've picked up in the streets. But it surprises me--you'll excuse me, Mr Young--that you who's bin at school shouldn't have your mind more clear about religion. Don't they teach it at school?" "They used to read a few verses of the Bible where I was at school," said Young, "and the master, who didn't seem to have any religion in himself, read over a formal prayer; but I fear that that didn't do us much good, for we never listened to it. Anyhow, it could not be called religious teaching. But were you never at school, Adams?" "No, sir, not I," answered the seaman, with a quiet laugh; "leastwise not at a reg'lar true-blue school. I was brought up chiefly in the streets of London, though that's a pretty good school too of its kind. It teaches lads to be uncommon smart, I tell you, and up to a thing or two, but it don't do much for us in the book-larnin' way. I can scarcely read even now, an' what I have of it was got through spellin' out the playbills in the public-house windows. But what d'ye say, sir, now that we both seem inclined to turn over a new leaf, if you was to turn schoolmaster an' teach me to read and write a bit better than I can do at present? I'd promise to be a willin' scholar an' a good boy." "Not a bad idea," said Young, with a laugh, as he rose and continued the descent of the track leading to the settlement. The village had by this time improved very much in appearance, good substantial cottages, made of the tafano or flower wood, and the aruni, having taken the place of the original huts run up at the period of landing. Some of the cottages were from forty to fifty feet long, by fifteen wide and thirteen high. It was evident that ships were, partly at least, the model on which they had been constructed; for the sleeping-places were a row of berths opposite the door, each with its separate little window or porthole. There were no fireplaces, the range of the thermometer on the island being from 55 degrees to 85 degrees, and all cooking operations were performed in detached outhouses and ovens. In the chief of these cottages might have been found, among the many miscellaneous objects of use and ornament, two articles which lay apart on a shelf, and were guarded by Young and Adams with almost reverential care. These were the chronometer and the azimuth compass of the _Bounty_. The cottages, some of which had two stories, were arranged so as to enclose a large grassy square, which was guarded by a strong palisade from the encroachments of errant hogs, goats, and fowls. This spot, among other uses, served as a convenient day-nursery for the babies, and also a place of occasional frolic and recreation to the elder children. To the first of these was added, not long after the death of their respective fathers, Edward Quintal and Catherine McCoy. To John Adams, also, a daughter was born, whom he named Hannah, after a poor girl who had been in the habit of chucking him under the chin, and giving him sugar-plums when he was an arab in the streets of London--at least so he jestingly remarked to his spouse on the day she presented the new baby to his notice. On the day of which we write, Young and Adams found the square above-mentioned in possession of the infantry, under command of their self-elected captain, Otaheitan Sally, who was now, according to John Adams, "no longer a chicken." Being in her eleventh year, and, like her country-women generally at that age, far advanced towards big girlhood, she presented a tall, slight, graceful, and beautifully moulded figure, with a sweet sprightly face, and a smile that was ever disclosing her fine white teeth. Her profusion of black hair was gathered into a knot which hung low on the back of her pretty round head. She was crowned with a wreath of wild-flowers, made and presented by her troops. It is needless to say that every one of these, big and little, was passionately attached to Sally. Chief among her admirers now, as of old, was Charlie Christian, who, being about eight years of age, well grown and stalwart like his father, was now almost as tall as his former nurse. Charlie had not with years lost one jot of that intensely innocent and guileless look of childhood, which inclined one to laugh while he merely cast earnest gaze into one's face; but years had given to him a certain gravity and air of self-possession which commanded respect, even from that volatile imp, his contemporary, Dan McCoy. Thursday October Christian, who was less than a year younger than Sally, had also shot up into a long-legged boy, and bade fair to become a tall and sturdy man. He, like his brother, was naturally grave and earnest, but was easily roused to action, and if he did not himself originate fun, was ever ready to appreciate the antics and mild wickedness of Dan McCoy, or to burst into sudden and uproarious laughter at the tumbles or ludicrous doings of the sprawlers, who rolled their plump-made forms on the soft grass. Not one of the band, however, had yet attained to the age which renders young people ashamed of childish play. When Young and Adams appeared on the scene, Sally, her hair broken loose and the wreath confusedly mingled with it, was flying round the square with Dolly Young on her shoulder, and chased by Charlie Christian, who pretended, in the most obvious manner, that he could not catch her. Toc was sitting on the fence watching them, and perceiving his brother's transparent hypocrisy, was chuckling to himself with great delight. Matt Quintal and Dan McCoy, at the head of two opposing groups, were engaged in playing French and English, each group endeavouring to pull the other over a rope laid on the grass between them. Several of the others, being too little, were not allowed to join in the game, and contented themselves with general scrimmaging and skylarking, while Edward Quintal, Catherine McCoy, and Hannah Adams, the most recent additions to the community, rolled about in meaningless felicity. "Hold on hard," shouted Dan McCoy, whose flushed face and blue eyes beamed and flashed under a mass of curling yellow hair, and who was the foremost boy of the French band. "I'm holdin' on," cried Matt Quintal, who was intellectually rather obtuse. "Tight," cried Dan. "Tight," repeated Matt. "There, don't let go--oh! hup!" The grasp of Dan suddenly relaxed when Matt and his Englishmen were straining their utmost. Of course they went back on the top of each other in a wild jumble, while Dan, having put a foot well back, was prepared, and stood comparatively firm. "You did that a-purpose," cried Matt, springing up and glaring. "I know you did it a-purpose," retorted Dan. "But--but I said that--that _you_ did it a-purpose," stammered Matt. "Well, an' didn't I say that you said that I said _you_ did it a-purpose?" A yell of delight followed this reply, in which, however, Matt did not join. Like his father, Matt Quintal was short in the temper--at least, short for a Pitcairn boy. He suddenly gave Dan McCoy a dab on the nose with his fist. Now, as every one must know, a dab on the nose is painful; moreover, it sometimes produces blood. Dan McCoy, who also inherited a shortish temper from his father, feeling the pain, and seeing the blood, suddenly flushed to the temples, and administered to Matt a sounding slap on the side of the head, which sent him tumbling on the grass. But Matt was not conquered, though overturned. Jumping up, he made a rush at Dan, who stood on the defensive. The other children, being more gentle in their natures, stood by, and anticipated with feelings of awe the threatened encounter; but Thursday October Christian, who had listened with eager ears, ever since his intelligence dawned, to the conversations of the mutineers, here stepped between the combatants. "Come, come," said he, authoritatively, in virtue of his greater age and superior size, "let's have fair play. If you must fight, do it ship-shape, an', accordin' to the articles of war. We must form a ring first, you know, an' get a bottle an' a sponge and--" An appalling yell at this point nearly froze the marrow in everybody's bones. It was caused by a huge pig, which, observing that the gate had been left open, had entered the square, and gone up to snuff at one of the nude babies, who, seated like a whitey-brown petrifaction, gazed with a look of horror in the pig's placid face. If ever a pig in this sublunary sphere regretted a foolish act, that Pitcairn pig must have been steeped in repentance to the latest day of its life. With one howl in unison, the entire field, _minus_ the infants, ran at that pig like a human tornado. It was of no avail that the pig made straight for the gate by which it had entered. That gate had either removed or shut itself. In frantic haste, the unhappy creature coursed round the square, followed by its pursuers, who soon caught it by the tail, then by an ear, then by the nose and the other ear, and a fore leg and two hind ones, and finally hurled it over the fence, amid a torrent of shrieks which only a Pitcairn pig could utter or a Pitcairn mind conceive. It fell with a bursting squeak, and retired in grumpy silence to ruminate over the dire consequences of a too earnest gaze in the face of a child. "Well done, child'n!" cried John Adams. "Sarves him right. Come, now, to grub, all of you." Even though the Pitcairn children had been disobedient by nature, they would have obeyed that order with alacrity. In a few brief minutes a profound silence proclaimed, more clearly than could a trumpet-tongue, that the inhabitants of the lonely island were at dinner. CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. THE LAST MAN. One morning John Adams, instead of going to work in his garden, as was his wont, took down his musket from its accustomed pegs above the door, and sallied forth into the woods behind the village. He had not gone far when he heard a rustling of the leaves, and looking back, beheld the graceful form of Sally bounding towards him. "Are you going to shoot, father?" she said, on coming up. The young people of the village had by this time got into the habit of calling Adams "father," and regarded him as the head of the community; not because of his age, for at this time he was only between thirty and forty years, but because of his sedate, quiet character, and a certain air of elderly wisdom which distinguished him. Even Edward Young, who was about the same age, but more juvenile both in feeling and appearance, felt the influence of his solid, unpretending temperament, and laughingly acknowledged him King of Pitcairn. "No, dear, I'm not goin' to shoot," said Adams, in reply, "I'm only going up to Christian's outlook to try if I can find somethin' there, an' I always like to have the old blunderbuss with me. It feels sort of company, you know, an' minds me of old times; but you'll not understand what I mean, Sall." "No, because I've no old times to mind about," said Sally, with a peculiar smile. "May I go with you, father?" "Of course you may. Come along, lass." Adams held out his strong hand. Sally put her peculiarly small one into it, and the two went slowly up the mountain-track together. On reaching the top of a little knoll or plateau, they stopped, and turned to look back. They could see over the tops of the palm-groves from that place. The track by which they had ascended was visible here and there, winding among the flowering shrubs and trees. The village lay far below, like a gem in a setting of bright green, which contrasted pleasantly with the warm clouds and the blue sea beyond. The sun was bright and the air was calm--so calm that the voices of the children at play came up to them distinctly in silvery ripples. "How comes it, Sall, that you've deserted your post to-day?" "Because the guard has been relieved; same as you say they do on board a man-of-war. I left the sprawlers in charge of Bessy Mills, and the staggerers are shut into the green. You see, I'm feeling a little tired to-day, and thought I would like to have a quiet walk in the woods." She finished this explanation with a little sigh. "Dear, dear me!" exclaimed Adams, with a look of amused surprise, "you're not becomin' sentimental are you, Sally?" "What is sentimental, father!" "Why, it's a--it's a sort of a feelin'--a sensation, you know, a kind of all-overishness, that--d'ye see--" He stopped short and stared with a perplexed air at the girl, who burst into a merry laugh. "That's one of your puzzlers, I think," she said, looking up slyly from the corners of her eyes. "Well, Sall, that _is_ a puzzler," returned Adams, with a self-condemning shake of the head. "I never before felt so powerfully the want o' dictionary knowledge. I'll be shot if I can tell you what sentimental is, though I _know_ what it is as well as I know what six-water grog or plum-duff is. We must ask Mr Young to explain it. He's bin to school, you know, an' that's more than I have--more's the pity." "Well," said Sally, as they proceeded on their way, "whatever senti-- senti--" "Mental," said Adams. "Whatever sentimental is, I'm not that, because I'm just the same as ever I was, for I often want to be quiet and alone, and I often am quiet and alone in the bush." "And what do you think about, Sall, when you're alone in the bush?" said the seaman, looking down with more interest than usual at the innocent face beside him. "Oh, about heaps and heaps of things. I couldn't tell you in a month all I think about; but one thing I think most about is a man-of-war." "A man-of-war, Sall?" "Yes; I would give anything to see a man-of-war, what you've so often told us about, with all its masts and sails, and bunks and guns and anchors, and officers and men. I often wonder _so_ much what new faces would be like. You see I'm so used to the faces of yourself and Mr Young, and Mainmast and Susannah, and Toc and Matt and Dan and--" "Just say the rest o' the youngsters, dear," interrupted Adams. "There's no use in goin' over 'em all by name." "Well, I'm so used to them that I can't fancy how any other faces can be different, and yet I heard Mr Young say the other day that there's no two faces in the world exactly alike, and you know there must be hundreds and hundreds of faces in the world." "Ay, there's thousands and thousands--for the matter o' that, there's millions and millions of 'em--an it's quite true that you can't ever pick out two that would fit into the same mould. Of course," continued Adams, in an argumentative tone, "I'm not goin' for to say but that you could find a dozen men any day with hook noses an' black eyes an' lanky hair, just as you can find another dozen with turn-up noses an' grey eyes an' carroty hair; but what I mean to say is, that you won't find no two of 'em that han't got a difference of some sort somewheres. It's very odd, but it's a fact." "Another puzzler," said Sally, with a laugh. "_Just_ so. But what else do you think about, Sall?" "Sometimes I think about those fine ladies you've told us of, who drive about in grand carriages with horses. Oh, these horses; what I would give to see horses! Have they got tails, father?" "Tails!" cried Adams, with a laugh, "of course they have; long hairy ones, and manes too; that's hair down the back o' their necks, dear. See here, fetch me that bit of red stone and I'll draw you a horse." Sally brought the piece of red stone, and her companion, sitting down beside a smooth rock, from which he wiped the dust with the sleeve of his shirt, began, slowly and with compressed lips, frowning eyebrows, and many a hard-drawn sigh, to draw the portrait of a horse. Adams was not an artist. The drawing might have served almost equally well for an ass, or even for a cow, but Sally watched it with intense interest. "You see, dear," said the artist, commenting as the work proceeded, "this is his head, with a turn-up--there--like that, for his nose. A little too bluff, no doubt, but no matter. Then comes the ears, two of 'em, somewhat longish--so, not exactly fore an' aft, as I've made 'em, but ath'ort ships, so to speak, only I never could understand how painters manage to make one thing look as if it was behind another. I can't get behind the one ear to put on the other one nohow." "A puzzler!" ejaculated Sally. "Just so. Well, you have them both, anyhow, only fore an' aft, as I said before. Well, then comes his back with a hollow--so, for people to sit in when they go cruisin' about on shore; then here's his legs-- somethin' like that, the fore ones straight an' the aft ones crooked." "Has he only two legs," asked Sally, in surprise, "one before an' one behind?" "No, dear, he's got four, but I've the same difficulty wi' them that I had wi' the ears--one behind the other, you know. However, there you have 'em--so, in the fore-an'-aft style. Then he's got hoofs at the end o' the legs, like the goats, you know, only not split up the middle, though why they're not split is more than I can tell; an' there's a sort o' curl behind, a little above it--the fetlock I think they call it, but that's far beyond my powers o' drawin'." "But you've forgot the tail," said Sally. "So I have; think o' that now, to forget his tail! He'd never do that himself if he was alive. It sticks out from hereabouts. There you have it, flowin' quite graceful down a'most to his heels. Now, Sally, that's a horse, an' not much to boast of after all in the way of a likeness, though I say it that shouldn't." "How I _should_ like to see a real one!" said the girl, gazing intently at the wild caricature, while her instructor looked on with a benignant smile. "Then I often think of the poor people Mr Young is so fond of telling us stories about," continued Sally, as they resumed their upward path, "though I'm much puzzled about them. Why are they poor? Why are they not rich like other people?" "There's a many reasons why, dear," continued Adams, whose knowledge of political economy was limited; "some of 'em don't work, an' some of 'em won't work, and some of 'em can't work, an' what between one thing an' another, there's a powerful lot of 'em everywhere." Sally, whose thirst for knowledge was great, continued to ply poor John Adams with questions regarding the poor, until he became so involved in "puzzlers" that he was fain to change the subject, and for a time they talked pleasantly on many themes. Then they came to the steep parts of the mountains, and relapsed into silence. On reaching another plateau or flat knoll, where they turned to survey the magnificent panorama spread out before them, Sally said, slowly-- "Sometimes when I'm alone in the bush I think of God. Mr Young has been talking to me about Him lately, and I am wondering and wanting to know more about Him. Do you know anything about Him, father?" John Adams had looked at his simple interrogator with surprise and not a little perplexity. "Well, to tell you the honest truth," said he, "I can't say that I do know much about Him, more shame to me; an' some talks I've had lately with Mr Young have made me see that I know even less than I thought I did. But we'll ask Mr Young to explain these matters to us when we return home. As it happens. I've come up here to search for the very book that tells us about God--His own book, the Bible. Mr Christian used to read it, an' kept it in his cave." Soon afterwards the man and child reached the cave referred to. On entering, they were surprised to find Young himself there before them. He was reading the Bible, and Adams could not help recalling his previous visit, when he had found poor Fletcher Christian similarly occupied. "I didn't know you was here, Mr Young, else I wouldn't have disturbed you," said Adams. "I just came up to see if I could find the book, for it seems to me that if you agree to carry out your notion of turnin' schoolmaster, it would be as well to have the school-book down beside us." "_My_ notion of turning schoolmaster," said Young, with a faint smile; "it was _your_ notion, Adams. However, I've no objection to fall in with it, and I quite agree about carrying the Bible home with us, for, to say truth, I don't feel the climbing of the mountain as easy as I used to." Again the faint smile played on the midshipman's lips for a moment or two. "I'm sorry to hear you say that, sir," said Adams, with a look of concern. "And it can't be age, you know," continued Young, in a tone of pleasantry, "for I'm not much above thirty. I suspect it's that asthmatic affection that has troubled me of late. However," he added, in a heartier tone, "it won't do to get downhearted about that. Come, what say you to begin school at once? We'll put you at the bottom of the class, being so stupid, and we'll put Sally at the top. Will you join, Sall?" We need scarcely say that Sally, who was always ready for anything, whether agreeable to her or otherwise, assented heartily to the proposition, and then and there began to learn to read out of the Bible, with John Adams for a class-fellow. Of course it was uphill work at first. It was found that Adams could blunder on pretty well with the small words, but made sad havoc among the long ones. Still his condition was pronounced hopeful. As to Sally, she seemed to take up the letters at the first sitting, and even began to form some correct notion of the power of syllables. After a short trial, Young said that that was quite enough for the first day, and then went on to read a passage or two from the Bible himself. And now, for the first time, Otaheitan Sally heard the old, old story of the love of God to man in the gift of Jesus Christ. The name of Jesus was, indeed, not quite unfamiliar to her; but it was chiefly as an oath that her associations presented it to her. Now she learned that it was the name of Immanuel, God with us, the Just One, who died that sinful man might be justified and saved from the power of sin. She did not, indeed, learn all this at that time; but she had her receptive mind opened to the first lessons of the glorious truth on than summer evening on the mountain-top. From this date forward, Edward Young became a real schoolmaster; for he not only taught Adams to read better than he had ever yet read, but he daily assembled all the children, except the very little ones, and gave them instruction in reading out of the Word of God. In all this John Adams gave him hearty assistance, and, when not acting as a pupil, did good service in teaching the smaller children their letters. But Young went a step further. "John Adams," said he, one morning, "it has been much on my mind of late that God has spared you and me in order that we may teach these women and children the way of salvation through Jesus Christ." "It may be as you say, sir," returned Adams, "but I can't exactly feel that I'm fit to say much to 'em about that. I can only give the little uns their A B C, an' p'r'aps a little figurin'. But I'll go in with you, Mr Young, an' do my best." "Thank you, Adams, thank you. I feel sure that you will do well, and that God will bless our efforts. Do you know, John, I think my difficulties about the _way_ are somewhat cleared up. It's simpler than I thought. The whole work of our salvation is already accomplished by our blessed Lord Jesus. All we have got to _do_ is, _not to refuse it_. You see, whatever I know about it is got from the Bible, an' you can judge of that as well as I. Besides the passages that I have already shown you about believing, I find this, `Come unto me all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest;' and this, `Whosoever will, let him come;' and this, `Turn ye, turn ye, for why will ye die.' So you see there's no doubt the _offer_ is made to every one who will; and then it is written that the Holy Spirit is able to make us willing. If God entreats us to `come,' and provides the `way,' what is it that hinders but unwillingness? Indeed, the Word says as much, for I find it written, `Ye _will_ not come to me, that ye might have life.'" "What you say seems very true, sir," replied Adams, knitting his brows and shaking his head dubiously; "but then, sir, do you mean to say a man's good behaviour has nothin' to do with his salvation at all?" "Nothing whatever, John, as far as I can make out from the Bible--at least, not in the matter of _procuring_ his salvation. As a consequence of salvation, yes. Why, is it not said by the Lord, `If ye love me, keep my commandments?' What could be plainer or stronger than that? If I won't behave myself because of love to my Lord, I'll not do it on any lower ground." Still John Adams shook his head. He admitted that the arguments of his friend did seem unanswerable, but,--in short, he became an illustration of the truth of the proverb, `A man convinced against his will is of the same opinion still.' He had promised, however, to render all the aid in his power, and he was not the man to draw back from his word. When, therefore, Edward Young proposed to read daily prayers out of the Church of England Prayer-book, which had been taken from the _Bounty_ with the Bible and Carteret's _Voyages_, he made no objection; and he was similarly `agreeable,' as he expressed it, when Young further proposed to have service forenoon and afternoon on Sundays. For some months these various occupations and duties were carried on with great vigour, much to the interest of all concerned, the native women being quite as tractable scholars as the children. We cannot tell now whether it was the extra labour thus undertaken by Young, or some other cause, that threw him into bad health; but certain it is, that a very few months later, he began to feel his strength give way, and a severe attack of his old complaint, asthma, at last obliged him to give up the work for a time. It is equally certain that at this important period in the history of the lonely island, the `good seed' was sown in `good ground,' for Young had laboured in the name of the Lord Jesus, and the promise regarding such work is sure: "Your labour is not in vain in the Lord." "I must knock under for a time, John," he said, with a wearied look, on the occasion of his ceasing to work. He had of late taken to calling Adams by his Christian name, and the latter had been made unaccountably uneasy thereby. "Never mind, sir," said the bluff seaman, in an encouraging tone. "You just rest yourself for a bit, an' I'll carry on the school business, Sunday services an' all. I ain't much of a parson, no doubt, but I'll do my best, and a man can't do no more." "All right, John, I hand it over to you. A short time of loafing about and taking it easy will set me all to rights again, and I'll resume office as fresh as ever." Alas! poor Edward Young's day of labour was ended. He never more resumed office on earth. Shortly after the above conversation he had another and extremely violent attack of asthma. It prostrated him completely, so that for several days he could not speak. Afterwards he became a little better, but it was evident to every one that he was dying, and it was touching to see the earnest way in which the tearful women, who were so fond of him, vied with each other in seeking to relieve his sufferings. John Adams sat by his bedside almost continually at last. He seemed to require neither food nor rest, but kept watching on hour after hour, sometimes moistening the patient's lips with water, sometimes reading a few verses out of the Bible to him. "John," said the poor invalid one afternoon, faintly, "your hand. I'm going--John--to be--for ever with the Lord--the dear Lord!" There was a long pause, then-- "You'll--carry on--the work, John; not in your own strength, John--in His?" Adams promised earnestly in a choking voice, and the sick man seemed to sink to rest with a smile on his lips. He never spoke again. Next day he was buried under the palm-trees, far from the home of his childhood, from the land which had condemned him as a heartless mutineer. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. JOHN ADAMS LONGS FOR A CHUM AND BECOMES A STORY-TELLER. Faithful to his promise, John Adams, after the death of Young, did his best to carry on the good work that had been begun. But at first his spirit was very heavy. It had not before occurred to him that there was a solitude far more profound and overwhelming than anything he had hitherto experienced. The difference between ten companions and one companion is not very great, but the difference between one and none is immeasurable. Of course we refer to that companionship which is capable of intelligent sympathy. The solitary seaman still had his Otaheitan wife and the bright children of the mutineers around him, and the death of Young had drawn out his heart more powerfully than ever towards these, but they could not in any degree fill the place of one who could talk intelligently of home, of Old England, of British battles fought and won, of ships and men, and things that might have belonged, as far as the women and children were concerned, to another world. They could only in a slight degree appreciate the nautical phraseology in which he had been wont to convey some of his strongest sentiments, and they could not in any degree enter into his feelings when, forgetting for a moment his circumstances, he came out with a pithy forecastle allusion to the politics or the Government of his native land. "Oh, you meek-faced brute, if you could only speak!" he exclaimed one day, dropping his eyes from the sea, on which he had been gazing, to the eyes of a pet goat that had been looking up in his face. "What's the use of having a tongue in your head if you can't use it!" As may be imagined, the goat made no reply to this remark, but continued its gaze with somewhat of the solemnity of the man himself. For want of a companion, poor Adams at this time took to talking frequently in a quiet undertone to himself. He also fell a good deal into Fletcher Christian's habit of retiring to the cave on the mountain-top, but he did not read the Bible while there. He merely communed with his own spirit, meditated sadly on the past, and wondered a good deal as to the probable future. "It's not that I ain't happy enough here," he muttered softly to himself one evening, while he gazed wistfully at the horizon as Christian had been wont to gaze. "I'm happy enough--more so than what I deserve to be, God knows--with them good--natured women an' jolly bit things of child'n, but--but I'm awful hard up for a chum! I do believe that if Bill McCoy, or even Matt Quintal, was here, I'd get along pretty well with either of 'em. Ah, poor Quintal! I feel as if I'd never git over that. If it wasn't murder, it feels awful like it; an' yet I can't see that they could call it murder. If we hadn't done it he would certainly have killed both me an' Mr Young, for Matt never threatened without performin', and then he'd have gone mad an' done for the women an' child'n as well. No, it wasn't murder. It was necessity." He remained silent for some time, and then his thoughts appeared to revert to the former channel. "If only a ship would come an' be wrecked here, now, we could start fresh once more with a new lot maybe, but I'm not so sure about that either. P'r'aps we'd quarrel an' fight an' go through the bloody business all over again. No, it's better as it is. But a ship might touch in passin', an' we could prevail on two or three of the crew, or even one, to stop with us. What would I not give to hear a man's voice once more, a good growlin' bass. I wouldn't be partickler as to sentiments or grammar, not I, if it was only gruff, an' well spiced with sea-lingo an' smelt o' baccy. Not that I cares for baccy myself now, or grog either. Humph! it do make me a'most laugh to think o' the times I've said, ay, and thought, that I couldn't git along nohow without my pipe an' my glass. Why, I wouldn't give a chip of a brass farden for a pipe now, an' as to grog, after what I've seen of its cursed natur', I wouldn't taste a drop even if they was to offer to make me Lord High Admiral o' the British fleet for so doin'. But I _would_ like once more to see a bearded man; even an unbearded one would be better than nothin'. Ah, well, it's no manner o' use sighin', any more than cryin', over spilt milk. Here I am, an' I suppose here I shall be to the end o' the chapter." Again he was silent for a long time, while his eyes remained fixed, as usual, on the horizon. Suddenly the gaze became intent, and, leaning forward with an eager expression, he shaded his eyes with his hand. "It's not creditable," he murmured, as he fell back again into his former listless attitude, "it's not creditable for an old salt like me to go mistakin' sea-gulls for sails, as I've bin doin' so often of late. I'm out o' practice, that's where it is." "Come, John Adams," he added, after another pause, and jumping up smartly, "this will never do. Rouse yourself, John, an' give up this mumble-bumble style o' thing. Why, it'll kill you in the long-run if you don't. Besides, you promised Mr Young to carry on the work, and you must keep your promise, old boy." "Yes," rang out a clear sweet voice from the inner end of the cave, "and you promised to give up coming here to mope; so you must keep your promise to me as well, father." Otaheitan Sally tripped into the cave, and seating herself on the stone ledge opposite, beamed up in the sailor's face. "You're a good girl, Sall, an' I'll keep my promise to you from this day forth; see if I don't. I'll make a note of it in the log." The log to which Adams here referred was a journal or register, which Edward Young had begun to keep, and in which were inserted the incidents of chief interest, including the births and deaths, that took place on the island from the day of landing. After Young's death, John Adams continued to post it up from time to time. The promise to Sally was faithfully kept. From that time forward, Adams gave up going to the outlook, except now and then when anything unusual appeared on the sea, but never again to mope. He also devoted himself with increased assiduity to the instruction of the women and children in Bible truths, although still himself not very clear in his own mind as to the great central truth of all. In this work he was ably assisted by Sally, and also by Young's widow, Susannah. We have mentioned this woman as being one of the youngest of the Otaheitans. She was also one of the most graceful, and, strange to say, though it was she who killed Tetaheite, she was by nature one of the gentlest of them all. The school never became a prison-house to these islanders, either women or children. Adams had wisdom enough at first to start it as a sort of play, and never fell into the civilised error of giving the pupils too much to do at a time. All the children answered the daily summons to school with equal alacrity, though it cannot be said that their performances there were equally creditable. Some were quick and intelligent, others were slow and stupid, while a few were slow but by no means stupid. Charlie Christian was among these last. "Oh, Charlie, you _are_ such a booby!" one day exclaimed Otaheitan Sally, who, being advanced to the dignity of monitor, devoted much of her time to the instruction of her old favourite. "What _can_ be the matter with your brains?" The innocent gaze of blank wonder with which the "Challie" of infancy had been wont to receive his companion's laughing questions, had not quite departed; but it was chastened by this time with a slight puckering of the mouth and a faint twinkle of the eyes that were suggestive. Sitting modestly on the low bench, with his hands clasped before him, this strapping pupil looked at his teacher, and said that really he did not know what was wrong with his brains. "Perhaps," he added, looking thoughtfully into the girl's upturned orbs, "perhaps I haven't got any brains at all." "O yes, you have," cried Sall, with a laugh; "you have got plenty, if you'd only use them." "Ah!" sighed Charlie, stretching out one of his strong muscular arms and hands, "if brains were only things that one could lay hold of like an oar, or an axe, or a sledge-hammer, I'd soon let you see me use them; but bein' only a soft kind o' stuff in one's skull, you know--" A burst of laughter from Sally not only cut short the sentence, but stopped the general hum of the school, and drew the attention of the master. "Hallo, Sall, I say, you know," said Adams, in remonstrative tone, "you forget that you're a monitor. If you go on like that we'll have to make a school-girl of you again." "Please, father, I couldn't help it," said Sally, while her cheeks flushed crimson, "Charlie is such a--" She stopped short, covered her face with both hands, and bending forward till she hid her confusion on her knees, went into an uncontrollable giggle, the only evidences of which, however, were the convulsive movements of her shoulders and an occasional squeak in the region of her little nose. "Come now, child'n," cried Adams, seating himself on an inverted tea-box, which formed his official chair, "time's up, so we'll have a slap at Carteret before dismissing. Thursday October Christian will bring the book." There was a general hum of satisfaction when this was said, for Carteret's Voyages, which, with the Bible and Prayer-book, formed the only class-books of that singular school, were highly appreciated by young and old alike, especially as read to them by Adams, who accompanied his reading with a free running commentary of explanation, which infused great additional interest into that old writer's book. TOC rose with alacrity, displaying in the act the immense relative difference between his very long legs and his ordinary body, in regard to which Adams used to console him by saying, "Never mind, Toc, your legs'll stop growin' at last, and when they do, your body will come out like a telescope. You'll be a six-footer yet. Why, you're taller than I am already by two inches." In process of time Carteret was finished; it was then begun a second time, and once more read through. After that Adams felt a chill feeling of helplessness steal over him, for Carteret could not be read over and over again like the Bible, and he could not quite see his way to reading the Church of England prayers by way of recreation. In his extremity he had recourse to Sally for advice. Indeed, now that Sall was approaching young womanhood, not only the children but all the grown people of the island, including their chief or "father," found themselves when in trouble gravitating, as if by instinct, to the sympathetic heart and the ready hand. "I'll tell you what to do," said Sally, when appealed to, as she took the seaman's rough hand and fondled it; "just try to invent stories, and tell them to us as if you was readin' a book. You might even turn Carteret upside down and pretend that you was readin'." Adams shook his head. "I never could invent anything, Sall, 'xcept w'en I was tellin' lies, an' that's a long while ago now--a long, long while. No; I doubt that I couldn't invent, but I'll tell 'ee what; I'll try to remember some old yarns, and spin them off as well as I can." The new idea broke on Adams's mind so suddenly that his eyes sparkled, and he bestowed a nautical slap on his thigh. "The very thing!" cried Sally, whose eyes sparkled fully more than those of the sailor, while she clapped her hands; "nothing could be better. What will you begin with?" "Let me see," said Adams, seating himself on a tree-stump, and knitting his brows with a severe strain of memory. "There's Cinderella; an' there's Ally Babby or the fifty thieves--if it wasn't forty--I'm not rightly sure which, but it don't much matter; an' there's Jack the Giant-killer, an' Jack and the Pea-stalk--no; let me see; it was a beanstalk, I think--anyhow, it was the stalk of a vegetable o' some sort. Why, I wonder it never struck me before to tell you all about them tales." Reader, if you had seen the joy depicted on Sally's face, and the rich flush of her cheek, and her half-open mouth with its double row of pearls, while Adams ran over this familiar list, you would have thought it well worth that seaman's while to tax his memory even more severely than he did. "And then," he continued, knitting his brows still more severely, "there's Gulliver an' the Lillycups or putts, an' the Pilgrim's Progress--though, of course, I don't mean for to say I knows 'em all right off by heart, but that's no odds. An' there's Robinson Crusoe-- ha! _that's_ the story for you, Sall; that's the tale that'll make your hair stand on end, an' a'most split your sides open, an' cause the very marrow in your spine to wriggle. Yes; we'll begin with Robinson Crusoe." Having settled this point to their mutual and entire satisfaction, the two went off for a short walk before supper. On the way, they met Elizabeth Mills and Mary Christian, both of whom were now no longer staggerers, but far advanced as jumpers. They led between them Adams's little daughter Dinah, who, being still very small, could not take long walks without assistance and an occasional carry. "Di, my pet," cried her father, seizing the willing child, and hoisting her on his shoulder. "Come, you shall go along with us. And you too, lassies, if you have no other business in hand." "Yes, we'll go with you," cried Bessy Mills. "May was just saying it was too soon to go home to supper." "Come along, then," cried Adams, tossing his child in the air as he went. "My beauty, you'll beat your mammy in looks yet, eh? an' when you're old enough we'll tell you all about Rob--" He checked himself abruptly, cleared his voice, and looked at Sally. "Well, father," said May Christian, quickly, "about Rob who?" "Ahem! eh? well, yes, about Rob--ha, but we won't talk about him just now, dear. Sally and I were havin' some private conversation just now about Rob, though that isn't the whole of his name neither, but we won't make it public at present. You'll hear about him time enough--eh, Sall?" The girls were so little accustomed to anything approaching to mystery or secrecy in John Adams, that they looked at him in silent wonder. Then they glanced at Sally, whose suppressed smile and downcast eyes told eloquently that there was, as Adams would have said, "something in the wind," and they tried to get her to reveal the secret, but Sall was immovable. She would not add a single syllable to the information given inadvertently by Adams, but she and he laughed a good deal in a quiet way, and made frequent references to Rob in the course of the walk. Of course, when the mysterious word was pronounced in the village in the evening, and what had been said and hinted about it was repeated, curiosity was kindled into a violent flame; and when the entire colony was invited to a feast that night, the excitement was intense. From the oldest to the youngest, excluding the more recently arrived sprawlers, every eye was fixed on John Adams during the whole course of supper, except at the commencement, when the customary blessing was asked, at which point every eye was tightly closed. Adams, conscious of increased importance, spoke little during the meal, and maintained an air of profounder gravity than usual until the dishes were cleared away. Then he looked round the assembled circle, and said, "Women an' child'n, I'm goin' to tell 'ee a story." CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. THE PITCAIRNERS HAVE A NIGHT OF IT. Although John Adams had often, in the course of his residence on Pitcairn, jested and chatted and taken his share in relating many an anecdote, he had never up till that time resolved to "go in," as he said, "for a regular story, like a book." "Women an' child'n," he began, "it may be that I'm goin' to attempt more than I'm fit to carry out in this business, for my memory's none o' the best. However, that won't matter much, for I tell 'ee, fair an' aboveboard at the beginnin', that when I come to gaps that I can't fill up from memory, I'll just bridge 'em over from imagination, d'ye see?" "What's imagination?" demanded Dan McCoy, whose tendency to pert interruption and reply nothing yet discovered could restrain. "It's a puzzler," said Otaheitan Sally, in a low tone, which called forth a laugh from the others. It did not take much to make these people laugh, as the observant reader will have perceived. "Well, it _is_ a puzzler," said Adams, with a quiet smile and a perplexed look. "I may say, Dan McCoy, in an off-hand rough-an'-ready sort o' way, that imagination is that power o' the mind which enables a man to tell lies." There was a general opening of juvenile eyes at this, as if recent biblical instruction had led them to believe that the use of such a power must be naughty. "You see," explained Adams, "when a man, usin' his imagination, tells what's not true, just to deceive people an' mislead 'em, we call it lyin', but when his imagination invents what's not true merely for the fun o' the thing, an' tells it as a joke, never pretendin' that it's true, he ain't lyin', he's only tellin' a story, or a anecdote, or a parable. Now, Dan, put that in your pipe an' smoke it. Likewise shut your potato-trap, and let me go on wi' my story, which is, (he looked impressively round, while every eye gazed, and ear listened, and mouth opened in breathless attention), the Adventure of Robinson Crusoe an' his man Friday!" All eyes were turned, as if by magic, on Thursday,--as if there must be some strange connection here. Toc suddenly shut his mouth and hung his head in confusion at this unexpected concentration of attention on himself. "You've no need to be ashamed, Thursday," said Adams, with a laugh. "You've got the advantage of Friday, anyhow, bein' a day in advance of him. Well, as I was about to say, boys an' girls, this Robinson Crusoe was a seafarin' man, just like myself; an' he went to sea, an' was shipwrecked on a desolate island just like this, but there was nobody whatever on that island, not even a woman or a babby. Poor Robinson was all alone, an' it wasn't till a consid'rable time after he had gone ashore that he discovered Friday, (who was a black savage), through seein' his footprint in the sand." Adams having burst thus suddenly into the very marrow of his story, had no reason thereafter to complain either of interruption or inattention. Neither had he reason to find fault with the wealth of his prolific imagination. It would have done the soul of a painter good to have watched the faces of that rapt, eager, breathless audience, and it would have afforded much material for reflection to a student of mind, had he, knowing the original story of Robinson Crusoe, been permitted to trace the ingenious sinuosities and astounding creations by which Adams wove his meagre amount of original matter into a magnificent tale, which not only thrilled his audience, but amazed himself. In short, he quite justified the assurance formerly given to Sally, that the story of Robinson Crusoe would make the hair of his hearers stand on end, their sides almost split open, and the very marrow in their spines wriggle. Indeed, his version of the tale might have caused similar results in Robinson Crusoe himself, had he been there to hear it, besides causing his eyebrows to rise and vanish evermore among the hair of his head with astonishment. It was the same with the Pilgrim's Progress, which he often told to them afterwards. Simple justice to Adams, however, requires us to state that he was particularly careful to impress on his hearers that the Pilgrim's Progress was a religious tale. "It's a allegory, you must know," he said, on first introducing it, "which means a story intended to teach some good lesson--a story which says one thing and means another." He looked pointedly at Dan McCoy here, as if to say, "That's an exhaustive explanation, which takes the wind out o' _your_ sails, young man," but Dan was not to be so easily silenced. "What's the use, father," he asked, with an air of affected simplicity, "of a story sayin' one thing an' meanin' another? Wouldn't it be more honest like if it said what it meant at once, straight off?" "P'r'aps it would," returned Adams, who secretly enjoyed Dan's irrepressible impudence; "but, then, if it did, Dan, it would take away your chance of askin' questions, d'ye see? Anyhow, _this_ story don't say what it means straight off, an' that gives me a chance to expound it." Now, it was in the expounding of the Pilgrim's Progress that John Adams's peculiar talents shone out brilliantly, for not only did he "misremember," jumble, and confuse the whole allegory, but he so misapprehended its meaning in many points, that the lessons taught and the morals drawn were very wide of the mark indeed. In regard to some particular points, too, he felt himself at liberty to let his genius have free untrammelled scope, as, for instance, in the celebrated battle between Christian and Apollyon. Arguing with himself that it was not possible for any man to overdo a fight with the devil, Adams made up his mind to "go well in" for that incident, and spent a whole evening over it, keeping his audience glaring and on the rack of expectation the whole time. Taking, perhaps, an unfair advantage of his minute knowledge as a man-of-war's-man of cutlass-drill and of fighting in general, from pugilistic encounters to great-gun exercise, including all the intermediate performances with rapiers, swords, muskets, pistols, blunderbusses, and other weapons for "general scrimmaging," he so wrought upon the nerves of his hearers that they quivered with emotion, and when at last he drove Apollyon discomfited from the field, like chaff before the wind, there burst forth a united cheer of triumph and relief, Dan McCoy, in particular, jumping up with tumbled yellow locks and glittering eyes in a perfect yell of exultation. But, to return from this digression to the story of Robinson Crusoe. It must not be supposed that Adams exhausted that tale in one night. No; soon discovering that he had struck an intellectual vein, so to speak, he resolved to work it out economically, and with that end in view, devoted the first evening to a minute dissection of Crusoe's character as a man and a seaman, to the supposed fitting out and provisioning of his ship, to the imaginary cause of the disaster to the ship, which, (with Bligh, no doubt, in memory), he referred to the incompetence and wickedness of the skipper, and to the terrible incidents of the wreck, winding up with the landing of his hero, half-dead and alone, on the uninhabited island. "Now, child'n," he concluded, "that'll do for one night; and as it's of no manner of use sending you all to bed to dream of bein' shipwrecked and drownded, we'll finish off with a game of blind-man's-buff." Need we say that the disappointment at the cutting short of the story was fully compensated by the game? Leaping up with another cheer, taught them by the best authorities, and given with true British fervour, they scattered about the room. Otaheitan Sally was, as a matter of course, the first to be blindfolded. And really, reader, it was wonderful how like that game, as played at Pitcairn, was to the same as performed in England. To justify this remark, let us describe it, and see whether there were any points of material difference. The apartment, let it be understood, was a pretty large one, lighted by two nut-candles in brackets on the walls. There was little furniture in it, only a few stools and two small tables, which were quickly thrust into a corner. Then Sally was taken to the centre of the room by Adams, and there blindfolded with a snuff-coloured silken bandana handkerchief, which had seen much service on board of the _Bounty_. "Now, Sall, can you see?" asks Adams. "No, not one bit." "Oh, yes you can," from Charlie Christian, who hovers round her like the moth round the candle. "No, really, I can't." "Yes you can," from Dan McCoy, who is on the alert; "I see your piercin' black eyes comin' right through the hankitchif." "Get along, then," cries Adams, twirling Sally round, and skipping out of the way. It is not the first time the women have played at that game, and their short garments, reaching little below the knees, seem admirably adapted to it, while they glide about with motions little less easy and agile than those of the children, and cause the roof to ring with laughter at the various misadventures that occur. Mrs Adams, however, does not join. Besides being considerably older than her husband, that good woman has become prematurely short-sighted and deaf. This being so, she sits in a corner, not inappropriately, to act the part of grandmother to the players, and to serve as an occasional buffer to such of the children as are hurled against her. Now, Otaheitan Sally, having gone rather cautiously about without catching any one except Charlie--whom she pretends not to know, examines from head to foot, and then guesses wrong on purpose--becomes suddenly wild, makes a desperate lunge, as she thinks, at Dan McCoy, and tumbles into Mrs Adams's lap, amid shouts of delight. Of course Dan brought about this incident by wise forethought. His next success is unpremeditated. Making a pull at Sally's skirt, he glides quickly out of her way as she wheels round, and hits Mainmast an unintentional backhander on the nose. This is received by Mainmast with a little scream, and by the children with an "Oh! o-o" of consternation, while Sally, pulling down the handkerchief, hastens to give needless assurance that she is "_so_ vexed," etcetera. Susannah joins her in condoling, and so does widow Martin; but Mainmast, with tears in her eyes, (drawn by the blow), and a smile on her lips, declares that she "don't care a button." Sally is therefore blindfolded again. She catches Charlie Christian immediately, and feeling that there is no other way of escaping from him, names him. Then Charlie, being blindfolded, sets to work with one solitary end in view, namely, to capture Sally. The injustice to the others of this proceeding never enters his innocent mind. He hears no voice but Sally's; he clutches at nobody but Sally. When he is compelled to lay hold of any one else, he guesses wrong, not on purpose, but because he is thinking of Sally. Perceiving this, Sally retires quietly behind Mrs Adams's chair, and Charlie, growing desperate, makes wild dashes, tumbling into the corner among the tables and stools, sending the staggerers spinning in all directions, and finally pitching headlong into Mrs Adams's lap. At last he catches John Adams himself and as there is no possibility of mistaking him, the handkerchief is changed, and the game becomes more sedate, at the same time more nervous, for the stride of the seaman is awful, and the sweep of his outstretched arms comprehensive. Besides, he has a way of listening and making sudden darts in unexpected directions, which is very perplexing. After a few failures, Adams makes what he calls a wild roll to starboard, followed instantly by a heavy lurch to port, and pins Dan McCoy into a corner. "Ha! I've grabbed you at last, have I?" says he. "Who is it?" shout half-a-dozen voices. "Who but Dan'l? There's impudence in the very feel of his hair." So Dan is blindfolded. And now comes the tug of war. If it was fast and furious before, it is maniacal madness now. The noise is indescribable, yet it fails to waken two infants, who, with expressions of perfect peace on their innocent faces, repose in two bunks at one side of the room. At last Thursday October tumbles into one of these bunks, and all but immolates an infant. Mrs Adams is fairly overturned; one table comes by a damaged leg, the other is split lengthwise, and one of the candles is blown out. These symptoms are as good as a weather-glass to Adams. "Now, then, one and all, it's time for bed," he says. Instantly the rioting comes to a close, and still panting from their exertions, the elder children carry out the tables and rectify their damages as well as may be, while the younger range the stools round the wall and sit down on them or on the floor. "Fetch the Bible and Prayer-book, Matt Quintal," says Adams. They are about to close the evening with worship. It has become habitual now, and there is no difficulty in calming the spirits of the children to the proper tone, for they have been trained by a man who is unaffected and sincere. They slide easily, because naturally, from gay to grave; and they would as soon think of going to work without breakfast, as of going to rest without worship. A chapter is read with comparative ease by John Adams, for he has applied himself heartily to his task, and overcome most of his old difficulties. Then he reads a short prayer, selected from the Prayer-book. The Lord's Prayer follows, in which they all join, and the evening comes to a close. Trooping from Adams's house, they dispersed to their respective homes. The lights are extinguished. Only the quiet stars remain to shed a soft radiance over the pleasant scene; and in a few minutes more the people of Pitcairn are wrapped in deep, healthy, sound repose. CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. REFERS TO THINGS SPIRITUAL AND PHYSICAL. It was not until some years had elapsed after the death of Edward Young, that John Adams became _seriously_ impressed with the great responsibility of his position. In the year 1804 a son was born to him, whom he named George, whether after the King of England or a relative of his own we are not prepared to state. After the King very likely, for Adams, although a mutineer, was a loyal subject at heart, and never ceased to condemn and deplore the act of mutiny into which, after all, he had been surprised rather than willingly led. This infant, George, was the last of this first generation, and his father was extremely proud and fond of him. Having already three daughters, he seemed to have peculiar satisfaction in the advent of a son; and having latterly acquired the habit of mingling a dash of Scriptural language with his usual phraseology, he went about the first day or two after the child's birth, murmuring, "I've gotten a man-child from the Lord--a man-child, let's be thankful; an' a regular ship-shape, trim little craft he is too." There can be no doubt that the seaman's naturally serious mind became more profoundly impressed with religion shortly after this event. A dream which he appears to have had deepened his impressions. Like most dreams, it was not in itself very definite or noteworthy, but we have no doubt it was used as a means towards perfecting the good work which had been already begun. At all events, it is certain that about this time Adams began to understand the way of life more clearly, and to teach it more zealously to the little community which was fast growing up around him. The duties which he had undertaken to fulfil were now no longer carried on merely because of his promise to Edward Young and a sense of honour. While these motives did indeed continue to operate with all their original force, he was now attracted to his labour out of regard to the commands of God, and a strong desire for the welfare of the souls committed to his charge. Naturally he fell into one or two errors of judgment. Among other things, he at first imagined that it was his duty to attempt the keeping of all the Jewish festivals, and to institute a fast twice in the week. These errors were, however, corrected by increased knowledge in the course of time. But it must not be supposed that this earnest searcher after truth became ascetic or morose. Despite his mistakes, and the somewhat severe discipline which he was thereby led to impose on himself and the community, the effect on him and his large family of the Scriptures-- pure, unadulterated, and without note or comment--was to create love to God, to intensify their love for each other, to render them anxious to imitate the example and walk in the footsteps of Jesus, and to cause them to _rejoice_ at all times. It was quite evident, ere long, that the whole community had drunk deeply into the spirit of such passages in the Word as these:--"Delight thyself in the Lord,"--"By love serve one another,"--"Rejoice in the Lord alway: and again I say, rejoice,"--"Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might, as unto the Lord and not unto men,"--"Ask and ye shall receive, seek and ye shall find, knock and it shall be opened unto you,"--"Let each esteem other better than himself."--"Whatsoever ye would that men should do unto you, do ye even so to them."--"Love is the fulfilling of the law,"--"Let not the sun go down upon your wrath." The last text was a favourite one with Adams, who occasionally found that even among the tractable and kindly troop he had to deal with, sin was by no means extinct. Do not suppose, good reader, that we are now attempting to depict a species of exceptional innocence which never existed, an Arcadia which never really had a local habitation. On the contrary, we are taking pains to analyse the cause of a state of human goodness and felicity, springing up in the midst of exceptionally unpromising circumstances, which has no parallel, we think, in the history of mankind; which not only did exist, but which, with modifications, does still exist, and has been borne witness to through more than half a century by men of varied and unquestionable authority, including merchant-skippers, discoverers, travellers, captains and admirals in the Royal Navy. The point that we wish to press is, not that the enviable condition of things we have described is essentially true, but that this condition has been brought about by the unaided Word of God; that Word which so many now-a-days would fain underrate, but which for those who are taught by the Holy Spirit is still the power of God unto salvation. The hilarity of the Pitcairners increased rather than diminished as their love for the Bible deepened. Fun and solemnity are not necessarily, and never need be, antagonistic. Hand in hand these two have walked the earth together since Adam and Eve bid each other good-morning in the peaceful groves of Paradise. They are subject, no doubt, to the universal laws which make it impossible for two things to fill the same place at the same time, and they sometimes do get, as it were, out of step, and jostle each other slightly, which calls forth a gentle shake of the head from the one and a deprecatory smile from the other; but they seldom disagree, and never fight. Thus it came to pass that though John Adams, as time went on, read more than ever of the Bible to his audiences, and dilated much on the parables, he did not dismiss Robinson Crusoe, or expel Gulliver, or put a stop to blind-man's-buff. On the contrary, waxing courageous under the influence of success, he cast off his moorings from the skeletons of the stories to which he had at first timidly attached himself, and crowding all sail alow and aloft, swept out into the unexplored seas of pure, unadulterated, and outrageous fiction of his own invention. "Them's the stories for me," Daniel McCoy was wont to say, when commenting on this subject. "Truth is all very well in its way, you know, but it's a great bother when you've got to stick to it; of course I mean when story-tellin'." Neither John Adams nor his pupils knew at that time, though doubtless their descendants have learned long ere now, that after all truth is in very deed stranger than fiction. As time passed changes more or less momentous occurred in the lonely island. True, none of those convulsions which rack and overturn the larger communities of men on earth visited that favoured spot; but forces of Nature were being slowly yet surely developed, which began to tell with considerable effect on the people of Pitcairn. They were not, however, much troubled by the ills that flesh is heir to. Leading, as they did, natural and healthy lives, eating simple and to a large extent vegetable fare, and knowing nothing of the abominations of tobacco or strong drink, their maladies were few and seldom fatal. John Adams himself had the constitution of a horse. Nevertheless, he was troubled now and then with a bad tooth, and once had a regular attack of raging toothache. As none of the people had ever even heard of this malady, they were much alarmed and not a little solemnised by its effects on their chief. Walking up and down the floor of his house, holding his afflicted jaw with both hands, the poor man endeavoured to endure it with fortitude; but when the quivering nerve began, as it were, to dance a hornpipe inside of his tooth, irrepressible groans burst from him and awed the community. "Is it _very_ bad, John?" asked his sympathetic wife, who was cleaning up the house at the time. "Ho-o-o-rible!" answered John. "I'm _very_ sorry, John," said the wife. "Oh-o-o-o-oh!" groaned the husband. When it became known in the village that Adams was suffering from some mysterious complaint that nearly drove him mad, two or three of the children, unable to restrain their curiosity, ran to his house and peeped in at the open door and windows. The sufferer either disregarded or did not see them. In a few minutes the poor man's steps became more frantic, and another groan burst from him. Then he stopped in the middle of the room, uttered a deep growl, and stamped. At this the heads of the peeping children disappeared. They gazed at each other in solemn wonder. They had never seen the like of this before. To stamp on the floor without an apparent reason, and without being done in fun, was beyond their comprehension. "Where's the tool-box, lass?" gasped Adams suddenly. His helpmate brought to him an old hand-box for nails and small tools, which had once done service in the _Bounty_. With eager haste Adams selected a pair of pincers, and, seizing his tooth therewith, he began to twist. At the same time his features began to screw up into an expression of agony. "Howgh!" he exclaimed, between a gasp and a short roar, as the pincers slipped. And no wonder, for it was a three-fanged grinder of the largest size, situate in the remote backwoods of the under jaw. He tried again, and again failed. Then a third time, and then discovered that, up to a certain point, his will was free to act, but that beyond that point, the agony was so intense that the muscles of the hand and arm refused to act responsive to the will. In other circumstances he might have moralised on this curious fact. As it was he only moaned aloud. Two of the children, of peculiarly sympathetic natures, echoed the moan unintentionally. They immediately vanished, but soon peeped up again in irresistible curiosity. "Old 'ooman," said Adams, "this is out o' sight the worst fit as ever I had. Just fetch me a bit of that small strong cord out o' the cupboard there." Mrs Adams did as she was bid, and her husband, making a sailor-like loop on it, fastened the same round his tooth, which was not difficult, for the evil grinder stood unsupported and isolated in the jaw. "Now," said her husband, "you take hold o' the end o' this and haul; haul hard,--don't be afraid." Mrs Adams felt nervous, and remonstrated, but being persuaded after a time to try again, she gave a vigorous pull, which drew from the unhappy man a terrible yell, but did not draw the tooth. "This'll never do," groaned John, feeling the rebellious molar with his finger; "it's as firm as a copper bolt yet. Come, wife, I'll try another plan. You go outside that door an' do what I bid you. Mind, never you heed what it means; you just obey orders exactly." It was not necessary thus to caution poor tractable Mrs Adams. She went outside the door as bid. "Now, then," said her husband, "when I cry, `Pull,' you shut the door with all your might--with a bang. D'ye hear?" "Yes," replied the wife, faintly. Fastening the cord once more round the tooth, the wretched sailor attached the other end to the handle of the door, and retiring till there was only about eight inches or a foot of "slack" cord left, stood up and drew a long breath. The glaring children also drew long breaths. One very small one, who had been lifted on to the window-sill by an amiable companion, lay there on his breast visibly affected by alarm. "Shut the door!" cried Adams. There was a tremendous bang, followed by an instantaneous yell. The children jumped nearly out of their own skins, and the little one on the window-sill fell flat on the ground in speechless horror; but the tooth was not yet out. The cord had slipped again. "This is becomin' terrible," said Adams, with a solemn look. "I'll tell 'ee what, lass; you run round to the smiddy an' tell Thursday that I want him d'rectly, an' look alive, old girl." Mrs Adams hastened out, and scattering the children, soon returned with the desired youth. And a most respectable youth had Thursday October Christian become at that time. He was over six feet high, though not quite sixteen years of age, with a breadth of shoulder and depth of chest that would have befitted a man of six-and-twenty. He had no beard, but he possessed a deep bass voice, which more than satisfied John Adams's oft-expressed wish of earlier days to hear the "sound of a man." "Toc," said Adams, holding his jaw with one hand and the pincers in the other, "I've got a most astoundin' fit o' the toothache, and _must_ git rid o' this grinder; but it's an awful one to hold on. I've tried it three times myself wi' them pincers, an' my old 'ooman has tried it wi' this here cable--once with her fist an' once wi' the door as a sort o' capstan; but it's still hard an' fast, like the sheet-anchor of a seventy-four. Now, Toc, my lad, you're a stout young chap for your age. Just you take them pincers, lay hold o' the rascally thing, an' haul him out. Don't be afeared. He _must_ come if you only heave with a will." "What, father, do you mean that I'm to lay hold o' that tooth wi' them pincers an' wrench it bodily out of your head?" "That's just about what I do mean, Toc," returned Adams, with a grim smile. "Moreover, I want you to make no bungle of it. Don't let your narves come into play. Just take a grip like a brave man, heave away wi' the force of a windlass, an' don't stop for my yellin'." Thus adjured, Thursday October took the pincers, and gazed with a look of great anxiety into the cavernous mouth that Adams opened to his view. "Which one is it, father, asked Toc," rolling up his shirt sleeves to the shoulder and displaying arms worthy of Vulcan. "Man alive! don't you see it? The one furthest aft, with a black hole in it big enough a'most to stuff my George into." Thursday applied the pincers gently. Adams, unable to use clear speech in the circumstances, said chokingly, "'At's 'e un--'ool away!" which, interpreted, is, "That's the one--pull away." Toc pulled, Adams roared, the children quaked, and the pincers slipped. "Oh, Toc, Toc!" cried Adams, with a remonstrative look, such as martyrs are said to give when their heads are not properly cut off; "is that all you can do with your big strong arms? Fie, man, fie!" This disparaging reference to his strength put poor Thursday on his mettle. "I'll try again, father," he said. "Well, do; an' see you make a better job of it this time." The powerful youth got hold of the tooth a second time, and gave it a terrible wrench. Adams roared like a bull of Bashan, but Toc's heart was hardened now; he wrenched again--a long, strong, and steady pull. The martyr howled as if his spinal marrow were being extracted. Toc suddenly staggered back; his arm flew up, displaying a bloody tooth with three enormous fangs. The "old 'ooman" shrieked, the child on the window-sill fell again therefrom in convulsions, and the others fled panic-struck into the woods, where they displayed their imitative tendencies and relieved their feelings by tearing up wild shrubs by the roots, amid yells and roars of agony, during the remainder of the day. CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. TELLS OF AN IMPORTANT MATTER. Not very long after this, Thursday October Christian experienced at the hands of John Adams treatment which bore some slight resemblance to a species of tooth-drawing. In fact, Adams may be said to have had his revenge. It happened thus:-- Adams was seated, one afternoon, in front of his house on a low stool, where he was wont to sun himself and smoke an imaginary pipe, while the children were at play in the grassy square. He was absorbed, apparently, in what he used to term a brown study. Thursday October, making his appearance from among the bushes on the opposite side of the square, leaped the four-foot fence like a greyhound, without a run, and crossed over. Whether it was the leap or the rate at which he had walked home through the woods, we cannot say; but his handsome face was unusually flushed, and he stopped once or twice on nearing Adams, as if undecided what to do. At last he seemed to make up his mind, walked straight up to the seaman, and stood before him with folded arms. "Hallo, Toc," said Adams, rousing himself; "you've caught me napping. The truth is, I've bin inventin' a lot of awful whackers to spin a yarn out o' for the child'n. This is Friday, you know, an' as they've bin fastin', poor things, I want to give 'em what you may call mental food, to keep their bread-baskets quiet, d'ye see? But you've got somethin' to tell me, Toc; what is it?" "Father," said Thursday,--and then followed a long pause, during which the youth shifted from one leg to the other. "Well, now, Toc," said Adams, eyeing the lad with a twinkling expression, "d'ye know, I _have_ heard it said or writ somewhere, that brevity is the soul of wit. If that sayin's true, an' I've no reason for to suppose that it isn't, I should say that that observation of yours was wit without either soul or body, it's so uncommon short; too witty, in short. Couldn't you manage to add something more to it?" "Yes, father," said Thursday, with a deprecating smile, "I have come to ask--to ask you for leave to--to--to--" "Well, Toc, you have my cheerful leave to--to--to, and tootle too, as much as you please," replied Adams, with a bland smile. "In short," said Thursday, with a desperate air, "I--I--want leave to marry." "Whew!" whistled Adams, with a larger display of eyeball than he had made since he settled on the island. "You've come to the point _now_, and no mistake. You--want--leave--to--marry, Thursday October Christian, eh?" "Yes, father, if you've no objection." "Hem! no objection, marry--eh?" said Adams, while his eyebrows began to return slowly to their wonted position. "Ha! well, now, let's hear; _who_ do you want to marry?" Having fairly broken the ice, the bashful youth said quickly, "Susannah." Again John Adams uttered a prolonged whistle, while his eyebrows sprang once more to the roots of his hair. "What! the widdy?" "Yes, Mr Young's widow," replied Thursday, covered with confusion. "Well, I never! But this _does_ beat cock-fightin'." He gave his thigh a sounding slap, and seemed about to give way to irrepressible laughter, when he suddenly checked himself and became grave. "I say, Toc," said he, earnestly, "hand me down the Prayer-book." Somewhat surprised, the lad took the book from its shelf, and placed it on the sailor's knees. "Look 'ee here, Toc; there's somethin' here that touches on your case, if I don't misremember where. Let me see. Ah, here it is, `A man may not marry his grandmother,' much less a boy," he added, looking up. "But, father, Susannah ain't my grandmother," said Toc, stoutly feeling that he had got an advantage here. "True, lad, but she might be your mother. She's to the full sixteen years older than yourself. But seriously, boy, do you mean it, and is she willin'?" "Yes, father, I do mean it, an' she is quite willin'. Susannah has bin kinder to me than any one else I ever knew, and I love her better than everybody else put together. She did laugh a bit at first when I spoke to her about it, an' told me not to talk so foolishly, an' said, just as you did, that she might be my mother; but that made no odds to me, for she's not one bit like my mother, you know." "No, she's not," said Adams, with an assenting nod. "She's not like Mainmast by any means, bein' a deal younger an' better lookin'. Well, now, Toc, you've given me matter to put in my pipe, (if I had one), an' smoke it for some time to come--food for reflection, so to speak. Just you go to work, my lad, as if there was nothin' in the wind, an' when I've turned it over, looked at it on all sides, gone right round the compass with it, worked at it, so to speak, like a cooper round a cask, I'll send for you an' let you know how the land lies." When Adams had anything perplexing on his mind, he generally retired to the outlook cave at the mountain-top. Thither he went upon this occasion. The result was, that on the following day he sent for Thursday, and made him the following oration:-- "Thursday, my lad, it's not for the likes o' me to fly in the face o' Providence. If you still remain in earnest about this little matter, an' Susannah's mind ain't changed, I'll throw no difficulty in your way. I've bin searchin' the Book in reference to it, an' I see nothin' particular there regardin' age one way or another. It's usual in Old England, Toc, for the man to be a deal older than the wife, but there's no law against its bein' the other way, as I knows on. All I can find on the subject is, that a man must leave his father and mother, an' cleave to his wife. You han't got no father to leave, my boy, more's the pity, an' as for Mainmast, you can leave her when you like, though, in the circumstances, you can't go very far away from her, your tether bein' somewhat limited. As to the ceremony, I can't find nothin' about that in the Bible, but there's full directions in the Prayer-book; so I'll marry you off all ship-shape, fair an' above board, when the time comes. But there's one point. Toc, that I feel bound to settle, and it's this: That you can't be married till you've got a good bit of ground under cultivation, so that you may be able to keep your wife comfortably without callin' on her to work too hard. You've bin a busy enough fellow, I admit, since ever you was able to do a hand's turn, but you haven't got a garden of your own yet. Now, I'll go up with you to-morrow, an' mark off a bit o' your father's property, which you can go to work on, an' when you've got it into something of a for'ard state, I'll marry you. So--that's a good job settled." When Adams finished, he turned away with a profound sigh of relief, as if he felt that he had not only disposed of a particular and knotty case, but had laid down a great general principle by which he should steer his course in all time to come. It need scarcely be said that Thursday October was quite prepared to undertake this probationary work; that the new garden was quickly got into a sufficiently "for'ard state;" and that, ere long, the first wedding on Pitcairn was celebrated under circumstances of jubilant rejoicing. CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. TREATS OF A BIRTH AND OF DEVASTATION. More than eighteen years had now elapsed without the dwellers on that little isle of the Southern Sea having beheld a visitant from the great world around them. That world, meanwhile, had been convulsed with useless wars. The great Napoleon had run through a considerable portion of his withering career, drenching the earth with blood, and heaping heavy burdens of debt on the unfortunate nations of Europe. Nelson had shattered his fleets, and Wellington was on the eve of commencing that victorious career which was destined, ere long, to scatter his armies; but no echo of the turmoil in which all this was being accomplished had reached the peaceful dwellers on Pitcairn, who went on the even tenor of their way, proving, in the most convincing and interesting manner, that after all "love is the fulfilling of the law." But the year 1808 had now arrived, a year fraught with novelty, interest, and importance to the Pitcairners. The first great event of that year was the birth of a son to Thursday October Christian, and if ever there was a juvenile papa who opened his eyes to the uttermost, stared in sceptical wonder, pinched himself to see if he were awake, and went away into the bush to laugh and rejoice in secret, that man was TOC. "Boys and girls," said Thursday, about a month after the birth, "we'll celebrate this event with a picnic to Martin's Cove, if you would like it." There was an assumption of fine paternal dignity about Toc when he said this, which was quite beautiful to behold. His making the proposal, too, without any reference to John Adams, was noted as being unusual. "Don't you think we'd better ask father first?" suggested Otaheitan Sally. "Of course I do," said Toc, on whose ear the word "father" fell pleasantly. "You don't suppose, do you, that I'd propose to do anything of importance without his consent?" It may strike the supercilious reader here that a picnic, even on Pitcairn, was not a matter of profound importance, but he must remember that that particular picnic was to be held in honour of Thursday's baby. It may be that this remark is thrown away on those who are not in the position of Thursday. If so, let it pass. "We will invite Father Adams to go with us," continued Toc, ingeniously referring to Adams in a manner suggestive of the idea that there were other fathers on the island as well as he. When Father Adams was invited, he accepted the invitation heartily, and, slapping Toc on his huge broad back, wished him joy of the "noo babby," and hoped he might live to see it grow up to have "a babby of its own similar to itself, d'ye see?" at which remark Toc laughed with evident delight. Well, the whole thing was arranged, and they proceeded to carry the picnic into effect. It was settled that some were to go by land, though the descent from the cliffs to the cove was not an easy or safe one. Others were to go by water, and the water-party was sub-divided into two bands. One band, which included Susannah and the amazing baby, was to go in canoes; the other was to swim. The distance by water might be about eight miles, but that was a mere trifle to the Pitcairners, some of whom could swim right round their island. It turned out, however, that that charming island was not altogether exempt from those vicissitudes of weather which play such a prominent part in the picnicry of other and less favoured lands, for while they were yet discussing the arrangements of the day, a typhoon stepped in unexpectedly to arrest them. It may be that there are some persons in Britain who do not know precisely what a typhoon is. If they saw or felt one, they would not be apt to forget it. Roughly speaking, a typhoon is a terrific storm. Cyclopaedias, which are supposed to tell us about everything, say that the Chinese name such a storm "Tei-fun," or "hot-wind." No-fun would seem to be a more appropriate term, if one were to name it from results. One writer says of typhoons, "They are storms which rage with such intensity and fury that those who have never seen them can form no conception of them; you would say that heaven and earth wished to return to their original chaos." Obviously, if this writer be correct, there would be no use in our attempting to enlighten those "who can form no conception" of the thing. Nevertheless, in the hope that the writer referred to may be as ignorant on this point as he is in regard to the "wishes" of "heaven and earth," we will attempt a brief description of the event which put such a sudden stop to what may be called the Toc-baby-picnic. For several days previously the weather had been rather cloudy, and there had been a few showers; but this would not have checked the proceedings if the wind had not risen so as to render it dangerous to launch the canoes into the surf on the beach of Bounty Bay. As the day advanced it blew a gale, and Toc congratulated himself on having resisted the urgent advice of the volatile Dan McCoy to stick at nothing. About sunset the gale increased to a hurricane. John Adams, with several of the older youths, went to the edge of the precipice, near the eastern part of the village, where a deep ravine ran up into the mountains. There, under the shelter of a rock, they discussed the situation. "Lucky that you didn't go, Toc," said Adams, pointing at the sea, whose waves were lashed and churned into seething foam. "Yes, thanks be to God," replied Thursday. "It will blow harder yet, I think," said Charlie Christian, who had grown into a tall stripling of about seventeen. He resembled his father in the bright expression of his handsome face and in the vigour of his lithe frame. "Looks like it, Charlie. It minds me o' a regular typhoon we had when you was quite a babby, that blew down a lot o' trees, an' almost took the roofs off our huts." As he spoke it seemed as if the wind grew savage at having been recognised, for it came round the corner of the rock with a tremendous roar, and nearly swept Adams's old seafaring hat into the rising sea. "I'd ha' bin sorry to lose 'ee," muttered John, as he thrust the glazed and battered covering well down on his brows. "I wore you in the _Bounty_, and I expect, with care, to make you last out my time, an' leave you as a legacy to my son George." "Look-out, father!" shouted Matt Quintal and Jack Mills in the same breath. The whole party crouched close in beside the rock, and looked anxiously upwards, where a loud rending sound was going on. Another moment and a large cocoa-nut palm, growing in an exposed situation, was wrenched from its hold and hurled like a feather over the cliffs, carrying a mass of earth and stones along with it. "It's well the rock overhangs a bit, or we'd have got the benefit o' that shower," said Adams. "Come, boys, it's clear that we're goin' to have a dirty night of it, an' I think we'd better look to our roofs an' make all snug. If our ground-tackle ain't better than that o' the tree which has just gone by the board, we shall have a poor look-out." There was much cause for the anxiety which the seaman expressed regarding the roofs of the houses. Already, before they got back to the village, part of the roof of one of the oldest huts had been stripped off, and the women were beginning to look anxiously upwards as they heard the clattering overhead. "Now, lads, all hands to work. Not a moment too soon either. Out wi' the old tacklin' o' the _Bounty_. Get the tarpaulins up. Lash one over Toc's hut. Clap some big stones on Quintal's. Fetch the ladders, some o' you youngsters. Out o' the way, boys. Here, Mainmast; you get the little 'uns off to their bunks. Fetch me the big sledge-hammer, Charlie. Look alive, lads!" While he shouted these directions, John Adams went to work as actively as the youngest among them. Every one wrought with a will. In a few minutes all moveables were carried under shelter, heavy stones were placed where they were required, tarpaulins and stout ropes were lashed over roofs and pegged to the ground, shutters and doors were made fast, and, in short, the whole village was "made snug" for a "dirty night" with almost as much celerity as if it had been a fully-manned and well-disciplined ship of the line. As John Adams had said, it was not begun a moment too soon. They had barely finished, indeed, when the heavens appeared to rend with a blinding flash of lightning. Then came a thunder crash, or, rather, a series of crashes and flashes, that seemed to imply the final crack of doom. This was followed by rain in sheets so heavy that it seemed as if the ocean had been lifted and poured upon the island. To render the confusion worse confounded, the wind came in what may be called swirls, overturning trees as if they were straws, and mixing up rain, mud, stones, and branches in the great hurly-burly, until ancient chaos seemed to reign on land and sea. "It's an awful night," said John Adams, as he sat beside his wife and listened, while the children, unable to sleep, peeped in awe and wonder from their several bunks round the room. "God save them that's at sea this night." "Amen!" said Mrs Adams. By midnight the typhoon had reached its height. The timbers of the houses appeared to groan under the strain to which they were subjected. The whole heavens seemed in a continual blaze, and the thunder came, not in bursts, but in one incessant roar, with intermittent cracks now and then. Occasionally there were louder crashes than usual, which were supposed to be only more violent thunder, but they were afterwards found to be the results of very different causes. "Now, old 'ooman, you turn in," said Adams, when the small hours of morning had advanced a little. "You'll only be unfit for work to-morrow if you sit up bobbin' about on your stool like that." Mrs Adams obediently and literally tumbled into her bunk without taking the trouble to undress, while her anxious husband trimmed the lamp, took down the _Bounty's_ Bible, and made up his mind to spend the remainder of the night in study. Away at the other end of the village, near the margin of the ravine before referred to, there stood a cottage, in which there was evidently a watcher, for the rays of his light could be seen through the chinks of the shutters. This was the house occupied by Thursday October Christian and his wife and baby. Thursday, like Adams, felt the anxieties of fatherhood strong upon him, and was unable to sleep. He therefore, also like Adams, made up his mind to sit up and read. Carteret's Voyages claimed his attention, and he was soon deep in this old book, while his wife lay sound asleep, with the baby in her arms in the same condition. Both were quite deaf to the elemental turmoil going on around them. The watchful husband and father was still poring over his book, when there came a noise so deafening that it caused him to start to his feet, and awoke his wife. "_That_ can't be thunder," he exclaimed, and sprang to the door. The sight that met his gale when he looked out was sufficiently terrible. Day had begun to dawn, and the grey light showed him a large mass of earth and trees moving down the ravine. The latter were crashing and overturning. As he gazed they went bodily over the cliffs, a mighty avalanche, into the sea. The whole had evidently been loosened from the rocks by the action of the wind on the trees, coupled with the deluges of rain. But this was not the worst of it. While Thursday was gazing at this sight, another crash was heard higher up the ravine. Turning quickly in that direction, he saw the land moving slowly towards him. Immense masses of rock were borne along with slow but irresistible violence. Many cocoa-nut trees were torn up by the roots and carried bodily along with the tough stream of mud and stones and general debris. Some of these trees advanced several yards in an upright position, and then fell in dire confusion. Suddenly Toc observed to his horror that the mass was slowly bearing down straight towards his hut. Indeed, so much had his mind been impressed with the general wreck, that he had failed to observe a few tons of stones and rubbish which even then appeared on the point of overwhelming him. Without uttering a word he sprang into the hut. "What's wrong, Thursday?" asked his wife, in some alarm. "Never mind. Hold your tongue, an' hold tight to Dumplin'." The baby had been named Charles, after Toc's young brother, and the inelegant name of "Dumplin'" had been given him to prevent his being confounded with Charlie, senior. Susannah did as she was bid, and the young giant, rolling her and the baby and the bedclothes into one bundle, lifted them in his wide-spreading arms and rushed out of the house. He had to pass a neighbour's house on the way, which also stood dangerously near the ravine. Kicking its door open, he shouted, "All hands, ahoy! Turn out! turn out!" and passed on. A few seconds later John Adams, who had gone to sleep with his nose flattened on the Bible, was startled by the bursting in of his door. "Hallo, Toc!" he cried, starting up; "what's wrong, eh?" "All right, father, but the ravine is bearin' down on us." Thrusting his living bundle into an empty bunk, the stout youth left it to look after itself, and rushed out with Adams to the scene of devastation. The avalanche was still advancing when they reached the spot, but a fortunate obstruction had turned it away from the houses. It moved slowly but steadily downwards like genuine lava, and in the course of a few hours swept some hundreds of cocoa-nut trees, a yam ground, containing nearly a thousand yams, one of the canoes, and a great mass of heterogeneous material, over the cliffs into the sea. Then the stream ceased to flow, the consternation of the people began to abate, and they commenced to repair, as far as possible, the damage caused by that memorable typhoon. CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN. A PICNIC AND A SURPRISE. But the cyclone, terrible though it was, did not altogether put an end to the Dumplin' picnic, if we may be allowed the phrase. It only delayed it. As soon as the weather cleared up, that interesting event came off. "Who'll go by land and who'll go by water?" asked Thursday, when the heads of houses were assembled in consultation on the morning of the great day, for great it was in more ways than one in the annals of Pitcairn. "I'll go by water," said Charlie Christian, who was one of the "heads," inasmuch as he had been appointed to take charge of the hut which had been nearly carried away. "Does any one know how the girls are going?" asked Matt Quintal. "I'm not sure," said John Adams, with one of those significant glances for which he was noted. "I did hear say that Sally meant to go by land, but, of course, I can't tell. Girls will be girls, you know, an' there's no knowing when you have them." "Well, perhaps the land road will be pleasanter," said Charlie. "Yes, now I think of it, I'll go by land." "I think, also," continued Adams, without noticing Charlie's remark, "that some one said Bessy Mills was going by water." "You're all wrong, Charlie, about the land road," said Matt Quintal; "the water is far better. _I_ shall go by water." "Dan'l, my lad," said Adams, addressing young McCoy, "which way did _you_ say you'd go?" "I didn't say I'd go any way, father," answered Dan. "That may be so, lad, but you'll have to go one way or other." "Not of necessity, father. Mightn't I stay at home and take care of the pigs?" "You might," said Adams, with a smile, "if you think they would be suitable company for you. Well, now, the sooner we start the better. I mean to go by water myself, for I'm gettin' rather stiff in the legs for cliff-work. Besides, I promised to give Sarah Quintal a lesson in deep-sea fishing, so she's goin' with me." "Perhaps," observed Dan McCoy, after a pause, "I might as well go by water too, and if you've no objection to take me in your canoe, I would lend you a hand wi' the paddle. I would be suitable company for you, father, you know, and I'm very anxious to improve in deep-sea fishin'." "It don't take much fishin' to find out how the wind blows, you blessed innocents," thought John Adams, with a quiet chuckle, which somewhat disconcerted Dan; but he only said aloud, "Well, yes, you may come, but only on condition that you swim alongside, for I mean to carry a cargo of staggerers and sprawlers." "There's only one staggerer and one sprawler now," said Dan, with a laugh; "your own George and Toc's Dumplin'." "Just so, but ain't these a host in themselves? You keep your tongue under hatches, Dan, or I'll have to lash it to your jaw with a bit o' rope-yarn." "Oh, _what_ a yarn I'd spin with it if you did!" retorted the incorrigible Dan. "But how are the jumpers to go, and where are they?" "They may go as they please," returned Adams, as he led the way to the footpath down the cliffs; "they went to help the women wi' the victuals, an' I've no doubt are at their favourite game of slidin' on the waves." He was right in this conjecture. While the younger women and girls of the village were busy carrying the provisions to the beach, those active little members of the community who were styled jumpers, and of whom there were still half-a-dozen, were engaged in their favourite game. It was conducted amid shouts and screams of delight, which rose above the thunder of the mighty waves that rolled in grand procession into the bay. Ned Quintal, the stoutest and most daring, as well as the oldest of these jumpers, being over eight years, was the best slider. He was on the point of dashing into the sea when Adams and the others arrived on the scene. Clothed only with a little piece of tapa cloth formed into breeches reaching to about the knees, his muscular little frame was shown to full advantage, as he stood with streaming curly hair, having a thin board under his arm, about three feet long, and shaped like a canoe. He watched a mighty wave which was coming majestically towards him. Just as it was on the point of falling, little Ned held up the board in front of him, and with one vigorous leap dived right through the wave, and came out at the other side. Thus he escaped being carried by it to the shore, and swam over the rolling backs of the waves that followed it until he got out to sea. Then, turning his face landward, he laid his board on the water, and pushing it under himself, came slowly in, watching for a larger wave than usual. As he moved along, little Billy Young ranged alongside. "Here's a big un, Billy," cried Ned, panting with excitement and exertion, as he looked eagerly over his shoulder at a billow which seemed big enough to have wrecked an East Indiaman. Billy did not reply, for, having a spice of Dan McCoy's fun-loving spirit in him, he was intent on giving Ned's board a tip and turning it over. As the wave came up under them, it began as it were to boil on the surface, a sure sign that it was about to break. With a shout Ned thrust his board along, and actually mounted it in a sitting posture. Billy made a violent kick, missed his aim, lost hold of his own board, and was left ignominiously behind. Ned, caught on the wave's crest, was carried with a terrific rush towards the shore. He retained his position for a few seconds, then tumbled over in the tumult of water, but got the board under him again as he was swept along. How that boy escaped being dashed to pieces on the rocks which studded Bounty Bay is more than we can comprehend, much more, therefore, than we can describe. Suffice it to say, that he arrived, somehow, on his legs, and was turning to repeat the manoeuvre, when Adams called to him and all the others to come ashore an' get their sailin' orders. Things having been finally arranged, Adams said, "By the way, who's stopping to take charge of poor Jimmy Young?" A sympathetic look from every one and a sudden cessation of merriment followed the question, for poor little James Young, the only invalid on Pitcairn, was afflicted with a complaint somewhat resembling that which carried off his father. "Of course," continued Adams, "I know that my old 'ooman an' Mainmast are with him, but I mean who of the young folk?" "May Christian," said Sally, who had come down to see the water-party start. "Two or three of us offered also to stay, father, but Jim wouldn't hear of it, an' said he would cry all the time if we stayed. He said that May was all he wanted." "Dear little Jim," said Adams, "I do believe he's got more o' God's book into him, small though he is, than all the rest of us put together. An' he's not far wrong, neither, about May. She's worth a dozen or'nary girls. Now then, lend a hand wi' the canoe. Are you ready, Mistress Toc?" "Quite," replied the heroine of the day, with a pleased glance in Thursday's somewhat sheepish face. "An' Dumplin', is _he_ ready?" said the seaman. The hero of the day was held up in the arms of his proud father. "Now then, lads, shove off!" In a few minutes the canoe, with its precious freight and Thursday at the steering-paddle, was thrust through the wild surf, and went skimming over the smooth sea beyond. Immediately thereafter another canoe was launched, with John Adams and a miscellaneous cargo of children, women, and girls, including graceful Bessy Mills and pretty Sarah Quintal. "Now then, here goes," cried Matt Quintal, wading deep into the surf. "Are you coming, Dan?" "I'm your man," said Dan, following. Both youths raised their hands and leaped together. They went through the first wave like two stalwart eels, and were soon speeding after the canoes, spurning the water behind them, and conversing as comfortably on the voyage as though the sea were their native element. Close on their heels went two of the most athletic among the smaller boys, while one bold infant was arrested in a reckless attempt to follow by Otaheitan Sally, who had to rush into the surf after him. Descended though he was of an amiable race, it is highly probable that this infant would have displayed the presence of white blood in his veins had his detainer been any other than Sally; but she possessed a power to charm the wildest spirit on the island. So the child consented to "be good," and go along with her overland. "Now, are you ready to go?" said Sally to Charlie, who was the only other one of the band left on the beach besides herself. Poor Charlie stood looking innocently into the sparkling face of the brunette. He did not know what was the matter with him, still less did he care. He knew that he was supremely happy. That was enough. Sally, who knew quite well what was the matter--quite as well, almost, as if she had gone through a regular civilised education--laughed heartily, grasped the infant's fat paw, and led him up the hill. Truly it was a pleasant picnic these people had that day. Healthy and hearty, they probably came as near to the realisation of heaven upon earth as it is ever given to poor sinful man to know, for they had love in their hearts, and their religion, drawn direct from the pure fountain-head, was neither dimmed by false sentimentality on the one hand, nor by hypocrisy on the other. Perhaps John Adams was the only one of the band who wondered at the sight, and thanked God for undeserved and unexpected mercy, for he alone fully understood the polluted stock from which they had all sprung, and the terrible pit of heathenish wickedness from which they had been rescued, not by _him_ (the humbled mutineer had long since escaped from that delusion), but by the Word of God. After proceeding a considerable distance along the rocky coast of their little isle, John Adams ordered the canoes to lie-to, while he made an attempt to catch a fresh cod for dinner. Of course, Matt Quintal and Dan McCoy ranged up alongside, and were speedily joined by some of the adventurous small boys. Adams took these latter into the canoe, but the former he ordered away. "No, no," he said, while Sarah Quintal assisted to get out the bait and Bessy Mills to arrange the line. "No, no, we don't want no idlers here. You be off to the rocks, Matt and Dan, an' see what you can catch. Remember, he who won't work shall not eat. There should be lots o' crawfish about, or you might try for a red-snapper. Now, be off, both of you." "Ay, ay, father," replied the youths, pushing off and swimming shoreward rather unwillingly. "I don't feel much inclined to go after crawfish or red-snappers to-day, Matt, do you?" asked Dan, brushing the curls out of his eyes with his right hand. "No, not I; but we're bound to do something towards the dinner, you know." At that moment there was a loud shouting and screaming from the canoe. They looked quickly back. Adams was evidently struggling with something in the water. "He has hooked something big," cried Matt; "let's go see." Dan said nothing, but turned and made for the canoe with the speed of a porpoise. His companion followed. Adams had indeed hooked a large cod, or something like it, and had hauled it near to the surface when the youths came up. "Have a care. He bolts about like a mad cracker," cried Adams. "There, I have him now. Stand clear all!" Gently did the seaman raise the big fish to the surface, and very tenderly did he play him, on observing that he was not well hooked. "Come along, my beauty! What a wopper! Won't he go down without sauce? Pity I've got no kleek to gaff him. Not quite so close, Dan, he'll get--Hah!" The weight of the fish tore it from the hook at that moment, and it dropped. Dropped, ay, but not exactly into its native element. It dropped into Dan's bosom! With a convulsive grasp Dan embraced it in his strong arms and sank. Matt Quintal dived, also caught hold of the fish with both hands and worked his two thumbs deep into its gills. By the process called treading water, the two soon regained the surface. Sarah Quintal seized Dan McCoy by the hair, Bessy Mills made a grasp at Matt and caught him by the ear, while John Adams made a grab at the fish, got him by the nose, thrust a hand into his mouth, which was wide open with surprise or something else, as well it might be, and caught it by the tongue. Another moment, and a wild cheer from the boys announced that the fish was safe in the canoe. "We're entitled to dinner now, father," said Dan, laughing. "Not a bit of it, you lazy boys; that fish is only big enough for the girls. We want something for the men and child'n. Be off again." With much more readiness the youths, now gratified by their success, turned to the outlying rocks of a low promontory which jutted from the inaccessible cliffs at that part. Effecting a landing with some difficulty, they proceeded to look for crawfish, a species of lobster which abounds there. Leaning over a ledge of rock, and peering keenly down into a clear pool which was sheltered from the surf, Dan suddenly exclaimed, "There's one, Matt; I see his feelers." As he spoke he dived into the water and disappeared. Even a pearl diver might have wondered at the length of time he remained below. Presently he reappeared, puffing like a grampus, and holding a huge lobster-like creature in his hands. "That'll stop the mouths of two or three of us, Matt!" he exclaimed, looking round. But Matt Quintal was nowhere to be seen. He, too, had seen a fish, and gone to beard the lobster in his den. In a few seconds he reappeared with another crawfish. Thus, in the course of a short time, these youths captured four fine fish, and returned to the canoe, swimming on their backs, with one in each hand. While things were progressing thus favourably at sea, matters were being conducted not less admirably, though with less noise, on land. The canoe containing Mrs Toc and the celebrated baby went direct to the landing-place at Martin's Cove, which was a mere spot of sand in a narrow creek, where landing was by no means easy even for these expert canoemen. Here the women kindled a fire and heated the culinary stones, while Toc and some of the others clambered up the cliffs to obtain gulls' eggs and cocoa-nuts. Meanwhile Charlie Christian and Otaheitan Sally and the staggerer wended their way overland to the same rendezvous slowly--remarkably slowly. They had so much to talk about; not of politics, you may be sure, nor yet of love, for they were somewhat shy of that, being, so to speak, new to it. "I wonder," said Charlie, sitting down for the fiftieth time, on a bank "whereon time grew" to such an extent that he seemed to take no account of it whatever; "I wonder if the people in the big world we've heard so much of from father lead as pleasant lives as we do." "Some of 'em do, of course," said Sally. "You know there are plenty of busy people among them who go about working, read their Bible, an' try to make other people happy, so of course they must be happy themselves." "That's true, Sall; but then they have many things to worry them, an' you know _we_ haven't." "Yes, they've many things to worry them, I suppose," rejoined Sall, with a pensive look at the ground. "I wonder what sort of things worry them most? It can't be dressin' up grand, an' goin' out to great parties, an' drivin' in lovely carriages. Nobody could be worried by that, you know." Charlie nodded his head, and agreed with her entirely. "Neither can it be money," resumed Sall, "for money buys everything you want, as father says, and that can be nothin' but pleasure. If their yam-fields went wrong, I could understand that, because even you and I know somethin' about such worries; but, you see, they haven't got no yam-fields. Then father says the rich ones among 'em eat an' drink whatever they like, and as much as they like, and sleep as long as they like, an' _we_ know that eatin' an' drinkin' an' sleepin' don't worry us, do they, Charlie?" Again Charlie accorded unmeasured assent to Sall's propositions. "I can understand better," continued Sall, "how the poor ones among 'em are worried. It must worry 'em a good deal, I should think, to see some people with far more than they want, when they haven't got half as much as they want; an' father says some of 'em are sometimes well-nigh starvin'. Now, it must be a dreadful worry to starve. Just think how funny it would feel to have nothin' to eat at all, not even a yam! Then it must be a dreadful thing for the poor to see their child'n without enough to eat. Yes, the poor child'n of the poor must be a worry to 'em, though the child'n of the rich never are." At this point a wild shriek from the little child caused Sally's heart to bound. She looked up, and beheld the fat legs of her charge fly up as he went headlong over a precipice. Fortunately the precipice was only three feet high, so that when Sally and Charlie ran panting to the spot, he was already on his feet, looking much surprised, but none the worse for his tumble. This incident sobered the inquisitive friends, and brought them back from fanciful to actual life. They hurried over the remainder of the journey, and arrived at Martin's Cove just as the picnic party were beginning dinner. Feasting is a commonplace and rather gross subject, having many points of similitude in all lands. We shall therefore pass over this part of the day's enjoyment, merely remarking that, what with fish and lobster, and yams and cocoa-nuts, and bananas and plantains, and sundry compounds of the same made into cakes, and clear water from the mountain-side, there was ample provision for the wants of nature. There was no lack, either, of that feast which is said to flow from "reason" and "soul" There was incident, also, to enliven the proceedings; for the child who had come by the overland route with Sally fell into something resembling a yam-pie, and the hero of the day managed to roll into the oven which had cooked the victuals. Fortunately, it had cooled somewhat by that time, and seemed to tickle his fancy rather than otherwise. Dinner was concluded; and as it had been preceded by asking a blessing, it was now closed with thanksgiving. Then Dinah Adams began to show a tendency to clear up the debris, when Dan McCoy, who had wandered away with Sarah Quintal in search of shells to a neighbouring promontory, suddenly uttered a tremendous and altogether new cry. "What _is_ he up to now?" said John Adams, rising hastily and shading his eyes with his hand. Dan was seen to be gesticulating frantically on the rocks, and pointing wildly out to sea. The whole party ran towards him, and soon became as wildly excited as himself, for there, at long last, was a _ship_, far away on the horizon! To launch the canoes and make for home was the work of a very few minutes. No one thought of swimming now. Those who did not go in the canoes went by the land road as fast as they could run and clamber. In a short time the gulls were left in undisturbed possession of Martin's Cove. CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT. THE FIRST SHIP, AND NEWS OF HOME. No wonder that there was wild excitement on the lonely island at the sight of this sail, for, with the exception of the ship that had been seen years before, and only for a few minutes, by Sally and Matt Quintal, no vessel of any kind had visited them during the space of nineteen years. "I've longed for it, old 'ooman, as nobody but myself can understand," said Adams, in a low, earnest voice to his wife, who stood on the cliffs beside him. Although nearly blind, Mrs Adams was straining her eyes in the direction of the strange sail. "And now that it's come," continued her husband, "I confess to you, lass, I'm somewhat afeared to face it. It's not that I fear to die more than other men, but I'd feel it awful hard to be took away from you an' all them dear child'n. But God's will be done." "They'd never take you from us, father," exclaimed Dinah Adams, who overheard this speech. "There's no sayin', Di. I've forfeited my life to the laws of England. I tell 'ee what it is, Thursday," said Adams, going up to the youth, who was gazing wistfully like the others at the rapidly approaching vessel, "it may be a man-o'-war, an' they may p'r'aps want to ship me off to England on rather short notice. If so, I must go; but I'd rather not. So I'll retire into the bushes, Toc, while you go aboard in the canoe. I'll have time to think over matters before you come back with word who they are, an' where they hail from." While Thursday went down to the beach, accompanied by Charlie, to prepare a canoe for this mission, the ship drew rapidly near the island, and soon after hove to, just outside of Bounty Bay. As she showed no colours, and did not look like a man-of-war, Adams began to feel easier in his mind, and again going out on the cliffs, watched the canoe as it dashed through the surf. Under the vigorous strokes of Thursday and Charlie Christian, it was soon alongside the strange ship. To judge from the extent to which the men opened their eyes, there is reason to believe that those on board of that strange ship were filled with unusual surprise; and well they might be, for the appearance of our two heroes was not that which voyagers in the South Pacific were accustomed to expect. The remarks of two of the surprised ones, as the canoe approached, will explain their state of mind better than any commentary. "I say, Jack, it ain't a boat; I guess it's a canoe." "Yes, Bill, it's a canoe." "What d'ye make 'em out to be, Jack?" "Men, I think; leastwise they're not much like monkeys; though, of coorse, a feller can't be sure till they stand up an' show their tails,--or the want of 'em." "Well, now," remarked Bill, as the canoe drew nearer, "that's the most puzzlin' lot I've seen since I was raised. They ain't niggers, that's plain; they're too light-coloured for that, an' has none o' the nigger brick-dust in their faces. One on 'em, moreover, seems to have fair curly hair, an' they wears jackets an' hats with something of a sailor-cut about 'em. Why, I do b'lieve they're shipwrecked sailors." "No," returned Jack, with a critical frown, "they're not just the colour o' white men. Mayhap, they're a noo style o' savage, this bein' raither an out-o'-the-way quarter." "Stand by with a rope there," cried the captain of the vessel, cutting short the discussion, while the canoe ranged longside. "Ship ahoy!" shouted Thursday, in the true nautical style which he had learned from Adams. If the eyes of the men who looked over the side of the ship were wide open with surprise before, they seemed to blaze with amazement at the next remark by Thursday. "Where d'ye hail from, an' what's your name?" he asked, as Charlie made fast to the rope which was thrown to them. "The _Topaz_, from America, Captain Folger," answered the captain, with a smile. With an agility worthy of monkeys, and that might have justified Jack and Bill looking for tails, the brothers immediately stood on the deck, and holding out their hands, offered with affable smiles to shake hands. We need scarcely say the offer was heartily accepted by every one of the crew. "And who may _you_ be, my good fellows?" asked Captain Folger, with an amused expression. "I am Thursday October Christian," answered the youth, drawing himself up as if he were announcing himself the king of the Cannibal Islands. "I'm the oldest son of Fletcher Christian, one of the mutineers of the _Bounty_, an' this is my brother Charlie." The sailors glanced at each other and then at the stalwart youths, as if they doubted the truth of the assertion. "I've heard of that mutiny," said Captain Folger. "It was celebrated enough to make a noise even on our side of the Atlantic. If I remember rightly, most of the mutineers were caught on Otaheite and taken to England, being wrecked and some drowned on the way; the rest were tried, and some acquitted, some pardoned, and some hanged." "I know nothin' about all that," said Thursday, with an interested but perplexed look. "But I do, sir," said the man whom we have styled Jack, touching his hat to the captain. "I'm an Englishman, as you knows, an' chanced to be in England at the very time when the mutineers was tried. There was nine o' the mutineers, sir, as went off wi' the _Bounty_ from Otaheite, an' they've never bin heard on from that day to this." "Yes, yes!" exclaimed Thursday, with sudden animation, "that's _us_. The nine mutineers came to our island here, Pitcairn, an' remained here ever since, an' we've all bin born here; there's lots more of us,--boys and girls." "You _don't_ say so!" exclaimed the captain, whose interest was now thoroughly aroused. "Are the nine mutineers all on Pitcairn still?" Thursday's mobile countenance at once became profoundly sad, and he shook his head slowly. "No," said he, "they're all dead but one. John Adams is his name." "Don't remember that name among the nine said to be lost," remarked the Englishman. "I've heard father say he was sometimes called John Smith," said Thursday. "Ah, yes! I remember the name of Smith," said Jack. "_He_ was one of 'em." "And is he the only man left on the island?" asked the captain. "Yes, the only man," replied Thursday, who had never yet thought of himself in any other light than a boy; "an' if you'll come ashore in our canoe, father'll take you to his house an' treat you to the best he's got. He'll be right glad to see you too, for he's not seen a soul except ourselves for nigh twenty years." "Not seen a soul! D'ye mean to say no ship has touched here for that length of time?" asked the captain in surprise. "No, except one that only touched an' went off without discovering that we were here, an' none of us found out she had bin here till we chanced to see her sailin' away far out to sea. That was five years ago." "That's very strange and interestin'. I'd like well to visit old Adams, lad, an' I thank 'ee for the invitation; but I won't run my ship through such a surf as that, an' don't like to risk leavin' her to go ashore in your canoe." "If you please, sir, I'd be very glad to go, an' bring off what news there is," said Jack, the English sailor, whose surname was Brace. At first Captain Folger refused this offer, but on consideration he allowed Jack to go, promising at the same time to keep as near to the shore as possible, so that if there was anything like treachery he might have a chance of swimming off. "So your father is dead?" asked the captain, as he walked with Thursday to the side. "Yes, long, long ago." "But you called Adams `father' just now. How's that?" "Oh, we all calls 'im that. It's only a way we've got into." "What made your father call you Thursday?" "'Cause I was born on a Thursday." "H'm I an' I suppose if you'd bin born on a Tuesday or Saturday, he'd have called you by one or other of these days?" "S'pose so," said Thursday, with much simplicity. "Are you married, Thursday?" "Yes, I'm married to Susannah," said Thursday, with a pleased smile; "she's a dear girl, though she's a deal older than me--old enough to be my mother. And I've got a babby too--a _splendid_ babby!" Thursday passed ever the side as he said this, and fortunately did not see the merriment which him remarks created. Jack Brace followed him into the canoe, and in less than half-an-hour he found himself among the wondering, admiring, almost awestruck, islanders of Pitcairn. "It's a _man_!" whispered poor Mainmast to Susannah, with the memory of Fletcher Christian strong upon her. "What a lovely beard he has!" murmured Sally to Bessy Mills. Charlie Christian and Matt Quintal chancing, curiously enough, to be near Sally and Bessy, overheard the whisper, and for the first time each received a painful stab from the green-eyed demon, jealousy. But the children did not whisper their comments. They crowded round the seaman eagerly. "You've come to live with us?" asked Dolly Young, looking up in his face with an innocent smile, and taking his rough hand. "To tell us stories?" said little Arthur Quintal, with an equally innocent smile. "Well, no, my dears, not exactly," answered the seaman, looking in a dazed manner at the pretty faces and graceful forms around him; "but if I only had the chance to remain here, it's my belief that I would." Further remark was stopped by the appearance of John Adams coming towards the group. He walked slowly, and kept his eyes steadily, yet wistfully, fastened on the seaman. Holding out his hand, he said in a low tone, as if he were soliloquising, "At last! It's like a dream!" Then, as the sailor grasped his hand and shook it warmly, he added aloud a hearty "Welcome, welcome to Pitcairn." "Thank 'ee, thank 'ee," said Jack Brace, not less heartily; "an' may I ax if you _are_ one o' the _Bounty_ mutineers, an' no mistake?" "The old tone," murmured Adams, "and the old lingo, an' the old cut o' the jib, an'--an'--the old toggery." He took hold of a flap of Jack's pea-jacket, and almost fondled it. "Oh, man, but it does my heart good to see you! Come, come away up to my house an' have some grub. Yes, yes--axin' your pardon for not answerin' right off--I _am_ one o' the _Bounty_ mutineers; the last one--John Smith once, better known now as John Adams. But where do you hail from, friend?" Jack at once gave him the desired information, told him on the way up all he knew about the fate of the mutineers who had remained at Otaheite, and received in exchange a brief outline of the history of the nine mutineers who had landed on Pitcairn. The excitement of the two men and their interest in each other increased every moment; the one being full of the idea of having made a wonderful discovery of, as it were, a lost community, the other being equally full of the delight of once more talking to a man--a seaman--a messmate, he might soon say, for he meant to feed him like a prince. "Get a pig cooked, Molly," he said, during a brief interval in the conversation, "an' do it as fast as you can." "There's one a'most ready-baked now," replied Mrs Adams. "All right, send the girls for fruit, and make a glorious spread-- outside; he'll like it better than in the house--under the banyan-tree. Sit down, sit down, messmate." Turning to the sailor, "Man, _what_ a time it is since I've used that blessed word! Sit down and have a glass." Jack Brace smacked his lips in anticipation, thanked Adams in advance, and drew his sleeve across his mouth in preparation, while his host set a cocoa-nut-cup filled with a whitish substance before him. "That's a noo sort of a glass, John Adams," remarked the man, as he raised and smelt it; "also a strange kind o' tipple." He sipped, and seemed disappointed. Then he sipped again, and seemed pleased. "What is it, may I ax?" "It's milk of the cocoa-nut," answered Adams. "Milk o' the ko-ko-nut, eh? Well, now, that is queer. If you'd 'a called it the milk o' the cow-cow-nut, I could have believed it. Hows'ever, it ain't bad, tho' raither wishy-washy. Got no stronger tipple than that?" "Nothin' stronger than that, 'xcept water," said John, with one of his sly glances; "but it's a toss up which is the strongest." "Well, it'll be a toss down with me whichever is the strongest," said the accommodating tar, as he once more raised the cup to his lips, and drained it. "But, I say, you unhung mutineer, do you mean for to tell me that all them good-lookin' boys an' girls are yours?" He looked round on the crowd of open-mouthed young people, who, from six-foot Toc down to the youngest staggerer, gazed at him solemnly, all eyes and ears. "No, they ain't," answered Adams, with a laugh. "What makes you ask?" "'Cause they all calls you father." "Oh!" replied his host, "that's only a way they have; but there's only four of 'em mine, three girls an' a boy. The rest are the descendants of my eight comrades, who are now dead and gone." "Well, now, d'ye know, John Adams, _alias_ Smith, mutineer, as ought to have bin hung but wasn't, an' as nobody would have the heart to hang now, even if they had the chance, this here adventur is out o' sight one o' the most extraor'nar circumstances as ever did happen to me since I was the length of a marlinspike." As Mainmast here entered to announce that the pig was ready for consumption, the amazed mariner was led to a rich repast under the neighbouring banyan-tree. Here he was bereft of speech for a considerable time, whether owing to the application of his jaws to food, or increased astonishment, it is difficult to say. Before the repast began, Adams, according to custom, stood up, removed his hat, and briefly asked a blessing. To which all assembled, with clasped hands and closed eyes, responded Amen. This, no doubt, was another source of profound wonder to Jack Brace, but he made no remark at the time. Neither did he remark on the fact that the women did not sit down to eat with the males of the party, but stood behind and served them, conversing pleasantly the while. After dinner was concluded, and thanks had been returned, Jack Brace leaned his back against one of the descending branches of the banyan-tree, and with a look of supreme satisfaction drew forth a short black pipe. At sight of this the countenance of Adams flushed, and his eyes almost sparkled. "There it is again," he murmured; "the old pipe once more! Let me look at it, Jack Brace; it's not the first by a long way that I've handled." Jack handed over the pipe, a good deal amused at the manner of his host, who took the implement of fumigation and examined it carefully, handling it with tender care, as if it were a living and delicate creature. Then he smelt it, then put it in his mouth and gave it a gentle draw, while an expression of pathetic satisfaction passed over his somewhat care-worn countenance. "The old taste, not a bit changed," he murmured, shutting his eyes. "Brings back the old ships, and the old messmates, and the old times, and Old England." "Come, old feller," said Jack Brace, "if it's so powerful, why not light it and have a real good pull, for old acquaintance sake?" He drew from his pocket flint and tinder, matches being unknown in those days, and began to strike a light, when Adams took the pipe hastily from his mouth and handed it back. "No, no," he said, with decision, "it's only the old associations that it calls up, that's all. As for baccy, I've bin so long without it now, that I don't want it; and it would only be foolish in me to rouse up the old cravin'. There, you light it, Jack. I'll content myself wi' the smell of it." "Well, John Adams, have your way. You are king here, you know; nobody to contradict you. So I'll smoke instead of you, if these young ladies won't object." The young ladies referred to were so far from objecting, that they were burning with impatience to see a real smoker go to work, for the tobacco of the mutineers had been exhausted, and all the pipes broken or lost, before most of them were born. "And let me tell you, John Adams," continued the sailor, when the pipe was fairly alight, "I've not smoked a pipe in such koorious circumstances since I lit one, an' had my right fore-finger shot off when I was stuffin' down the baccy, in the main-top o' the _Victory_ at the battle o' Trafalgar. But it was against all rules to smoke in action, an' served me right. Hows'ever, it got me my discharge, and that's how I come to be in a Yankee merchantman this good day." At the mention of battle and being wounded in action, the old professional sympathies of John Adams were awakened. "What battle might that have been?" he asked. "Which?" said Jack. "Traflegar," said the other. Jack Brace took the pipe out of his mouth and looked at Adams, as though he had asked where Adam and Eve had been born. For some time he could not make up his mind how to reply. "You don't mean to tell me," he said at length, "that you've never heard of the--battle--of--Trafalgar?" "Never," answered Adams, with a faint smile. "Nor of the great Lord Nelson?" "Never heard his name till to-day. You forget, Jack, that I've not seen a mortal man from Old England, or any other part o' the civilised world, since the 28th day of April 1789, and that's full nineteen years ago." "That's true, John; that's true," said the seaman, slowly, as if endeavouring to obtain some comprehension of what depths of ignorance the fact implied. "So, I suppose you've never heerd tell of--hold on; let me rake up my brain-pan a bit." He tilted his straw hat, and scratched his head for a few minutes, puffing the while immense clouds of smoke, to the inexpressible delight of the open-mouthed youngsters around him. "You--you've never heerd tell of Lord Howe, who licked the French off Ushant, somewheres about sixteen years gone by?" "Never." "Nor of the great victories gained in the '95 by Sir Edward Pellew, an' Admiral Hotham, an' Admiral Cornwallis, an' Lord Bridgeport?" "No, of coorse ye couldn't; nor yet of Admiral Duncan, who, in the '97, (I think it was), beat the Dutch fleet near Camperdown all to sticks. Nor yet of that tremendous fight off Cape Saint Vincent in the same year, when Sir John Jervis, with nothin' more than fifteen sail o' the Mediterranean fleet, attacked the Spaniards wi' their twenty-seven ships o' the line--line-o'-battle ships, you'll observe, John Adams--an' took four of 'em, knocked half of the remainder into universal smash, an' sunk all the rest?" "That was splendid!" exclaimed Adams, his martial spirit rising, while the eyes of the young listeners around kept pace with their mouths in dilating. "Splendid? Pooh!" said Jack Brace, delivering puffs between sentences that resembled the shots of miniature seventy-fours, "that was nothin' to what followed. Nelson was in that fight, he was, an' Nelson began to shove out his horns a bit soon after that, _I_ tell you. Well, well," continued the British tar with a resigned look, "to think of meetin' a man out of Bedlam who hasn't heerd of Nelson and the Nile, w'ich, of coorse, ye haven't. It's worth while comin' all this way to see you." Adams smiled and said, "Let's hear all about it." "All about it, John? Why, it would take me all night to tell you all about it," (there was an audible gasp of delight among the listeners), "and I haven't time for that; but you must know that Lord Nelson, bein' Sir Horatio Nelson at that time, chased the French fleet, under Admiral Brueys, into Aboukir Bay, (that's on the coast of Egypt), sailed in after 'em, anchored alongside of 'em, opened on 'em wi' both broadsides at once, an' blew them all to bits." "You don't say that, Jack Brace!" "Yes, I do, John Adams; an' nine French line-o'-battle ships was took, two was burnt, two escaped, and the biggest o' the lot, the great three-decker, the _Orient_, was blowed up, an' sent to the bottom. It was a thorough-goin' piece o' business that, _I_ tell you, an' Nelson meant it to be, for w'en he gave the signal to go into close action, he shouted, `Victory or Westminster Abbey.'" "What did he mean by that?" asked Adams. "Why, don't you see, Westminster Abbey is the old church in London where they bury the great nobs o' the nation in; there's none but _great_ nobs there, you know--snobs not allowed on no account whatever. So he meant, of coorse, victory or death, d'ye see? After which he'd be put into Westminster Abbey. An' death it was to many a good man that day. Why, if you take even the _Orient_ alone, w'en she was blowed up, Admiral Brueys himself an' a thousand men went up along with her, an' never came down again, so far as _we_ know." "It must have bin bloody work," said Adams. "I believe you, my boy," continued the sailor, "it _was_ bloody work. There was some of our chaps that was always for reasonin' about things, an' would never take anything on trust, 'xcept their own inventions, who used to argufy that it was an awful waste o' human life, to say nothin' o' treasure, (as they called it), all for _nothin'_. I used to wonder sometimes why them _reasoners_ jined the sarvice at all, but to be sure most of 'em had been pressed. To my thinkin', war wouldn't be worth a brass farthin' if there wasn't a deal o' blood and thunder about it; an', of coorse, if we're goin' to have that sort o' thing we must pay for it. Then, we didn't do it for _nothin'_. Is it nothin' to have the honour an' glory of lickin' the Mounseers an' bein' able to sing `Britannia rules the waves?'" John Adams, who was not fond of argument, and did not agree with some of Jack's reasoning, said, "P'r'aps;" and then, drawing closer to his new friend with deepening interest, said, "Well, Jack, what more has happened?" "What more? Why, I'll have to start a fresh pipe before I can answer that." Having started a fresh pipe he proceeded, and the group settled down again to devour his words, and watch and smell the smoke. "Well, then, there was--but you know I ain't a diction'ry, or a cyclopodia, or a gazinteer--let me see. After the battle o' the Nile there came the Irish Rebellion." "Did that do 'em much good, Jack?" "O yes, John; it united 'em immediately after to Old England, so that we're now Great Britain an' Ireland. Then Sir Ralph Abercromby, he gave the French an awful lickin' on land in Egypt at Aboukir, where Nelson had wopped 'em on the sea, and, last of all came the glorious battle of Trafalgar. But it wasn't all glory, for we lost Lord Nelson there. He was killed." "That was a bad business," said Adams, with a look of sympathy. "And you was in that battle, was you?" "In it! I should just think so," replied Jack Brace, looking contemplatively at his mutilated finger. "Why, I was in Lord Nelson's own ship, the _Victory_. Come, I'll give you an outline of it. This is how it began." The ex-man-of-war's-man puffed vigorously for a few seconds, to get the pipe well alight, he remarked, and collect his thoughts. CHAPTER TWENTY NINE. JACK BRACE STIRS UP THE WAR SPIRIT OF ADAMS. "You must know, John Adams," said Jack Brace, with a look and a clearing of the throat that raised great expectations in the breasts of the listeners, "you must know that for a long while before the battle Lord Nelson had bin scourin' the seas, far and near, in search o' the French and Spanish fleets, but do what he would, he could never fall in with 'em. At last he got wind of 'em in Cadiz Harbour, and made all sail to catch 'em. It was on the 19th of October 1805 that Villeneuve, that was the French admiral, put to sea with the combined fleets o' France and Spain. It wasn't till daybreak of the 21st that we got sight of 'em, right ahead, formed in close line, about twelve miles to lee'ard, standin' to the s'uth'ard, off Cape Trafalgar. "Ha, John Adams, an' boys an' girls all, you should have seen that sight; it would have done you good. An' you should have felt our buzzums; they was fit to bust, _I_ tell you! You see, we'd bin chasin' of 'em so long, that we could scarce believe our eyes when we saw 'em at long last. They wor bigger ships and more of 'em than ours; but what cared Nelson for that? not the shank of a brass button! he rather liked that sort o' thing; for, you know, one Englishman is equal to three Frenchmen any day." "No, no, Jack Brace," said John Adams, with a quiet smile and shake of the head; "'snot quite so many as that." "Not _quite_!" repeated Brace, vehemently; "why, it's my opinion that I could lick any six o' the Mounseers myself. Thursday November Christian there--" "He ain't November yet," interrupted Adams, quietly, "he's only October." "No matter, it's all the same. I tell 'ee, John, that he could wallop twenty of 'em, easy. There ain't no go in 'em at all." "Didn't you tell me, Jack Brace, that Trafalgar was a glorious battle?" "In coorse I did, for so it was." "Didn't the Frenchmen stick to their guns like men?" "No doubt of it." "An' they didn't haul down their colours, I suppose, till they was about blown to shivers?" "You're about right there, John Adams." "Well, then, you can't say they've got no go in 'em. Don't underrate your enemy, whatever you do, for it's not fair; besides, in so doin' you underrate your own deeds. Moreover, we don't allow boastin' aboard of this island; so go ahead, Jack Brace, and tell us what you did do, without referrin' to what you think you could do. Mind, I'm king here, and I'll have to clap you in irons if you let your tongue wag too freely." "All right, your majesty," replied Brace, with a bow of graceful humility, which deeply impressed his juvenile audience; "I'll behave better in futur' if you'll forgive me this time. Well, as I was about to say, when you sent that round shot across my bows and brought me up, Nelson he would have fought 'em if they'd had ten times the number o' ships that we had. As it was, the enemy had thirty-three sail of the line and seven frigates. We had only twenty-seven sail of the line and four frigates, so we was outnumbered by nine vessels. Moreover the enemy had 4000 lobsters on board--" "Lobsters bein' land sodgers, my dears," remarked Adams, in explanation, "so-called 'cause of their bein' all red-coated; but the French sodgers are only red-trousered, coats bein' blue. Axin' your pardon, Brace, go on." The seaman, who had availed himself of the interruption to stir up and stuff down his pipe, resumed. "Likewise one of their line-o'-battle ships was a huge four-decker, called the _Santissima Trinidad_, and they had some of the best Tyrolese riflemen that could be got scattered throughout the fleet, as we afterwards came to find out to our cost. "Soon after daylight Nelson came on deck. I see him as plain as if he was before me at this moment, for, bein' stationed in the mizzen-top o' the _Victory_--that was Nelson's ship, you know--I could see everything quite plain. He stood there for a minute or so, with his admiral's frock-coat covered with orders on the left breast, and his empty right sleeve fastened up to it; for you must know he had lost his right arm in action before that, and also his right eye, but the arm and eye that were left were quite enough for him to work with. After a word or two with the officers, he signalled to bear down on the enemy in two lines. "Then it seemed to have occurred to him that the smoke of battle might render the signals difficult or impossible to make out, for he immediately made one that would serve for everything. It was this: `if signals can't be seen, no captain can do wrong if he places his ship alongside an enemy.' Of coorse we all knew that he meant to win that battle; but, for the matter of that, every soul in the fleet, from the admiral to the smallest powder-monkey, meant--" "Boasting not allowed," said Dan McCoy, displaying his fine teeth from ear to ear. The seaman looked at him with a heavy frown. "You young slip of a pump-handle, what d'ye mean?" "The king's orders," said Dan, pointing to Adams, while the rest of the Pitcairners seemed awestruck by his presumption. The frown slowly left the visage of Jack Brace. He shut his eyes, smiled benignly, and delivered a series of heavy puffs from the starboard side of his mouth. Then a little squeak that had been bottled up in the nose of Otaheitan Sally forced a vent, and the whole party burst into hilarious laughter. "Just so," resumed Brace, when they had recovered, "that is exactly what we did in the mizzen-top o' the _Victory_ when we made out the signal, only we stuck a cheer on to the end o' the laugh. After that came another signal, just as we were about to go into action, `England expects that every man will this day do his duty.' The effect of that signal was just treemendious, _I_ tell you. "I noticed at this time that some of Nelson's officers were botherin' him,--tryin' to persuade him, so to speak, to do somethin' he didn't want to. I afterwards found out that they were tryin' to persuade him not to wear his orders, but he wouldn't listen to 'em. Then they tried to convince him it would be wise for him to keep out of action as long as possible. He seemed to give in to this, for he immediately signalled the _Temeraire_ and _Leviathan_, which were abreast of us, to pass ahead; but in _my_ opinion this was nothin' more than a sly joke of the Admiral, for he kept carrying on all sail on the _Victory_, so that it wasn't possible for these ships to obey the order. "We made the attack in two lines. The _Victory_ led the weather-line of fourteen ships, and Collingwood, in the _Royal Sovereign_, led the lee-line of thirteen ships. "As we bore down, the enemy opened the ball. We held our breath, for, as no doubt you know, messmate, just before the beginnin' of a fight, when a man is standin' still an' doin' nothin', he's got time to think; an' he _does_ think, too, in a way, mayhap, that he's not much used to think." "That's true, Jack Brace," responded Adams, with a grave nod; "an', d'ye know, it strikes me that it would be better for all of us if we'd think oftener in that fashion when we've got time to do it." "You're right, John Adams; you're right. Hows'ever, we hadn't much time to think that morning, for the shot soon began to tell. One round shot came, as it seemed, straight for my head, but it missed me by a shave, an' only took off the hat of a man beside me that was about a fut shorter than myself. "`You see the advantage,' says he, `o' bein' a little feller.' `That's so,' says I, but I didn't say or think no more that I knows on after that, for we had got within musket range, and the small bullets went whistling about our heads, pickin' off or woundin' a man here an' there. "It was just then that I thought it time to put my pipe in my pocket, for, you see, I had been havin' a puff on the sly as we was bearin' down; an' I put up my fore-finger to shove the baccy down, when one o' them stingin' little things comes along, whips my best cutty out o' my mouth, an' carries the finger along with it. Of coorse I warn't goin' below for such a small matter, so I pulls out my hankerchief, an' says I to the little man that lost his hat, `Just take a round turn here, Jim,' says I, `an' I'll be ready for action again in two minutes.' Jim, he tied it up, but before he quite done it, the round shot was pitchin' into us like hail, cuttin' up the sails and riggin' most awful. "They told me afterwards that Nelson gave orders to steer straight for the bow of the great _Santissima Trinidad_, and remarked, `It's too warm work to last long,' but he did not return a single shot, though about fifty of our men had been killed and wounded. You see, he never was fond of wastin' powder an' shot. He generally reserved his fire till it could be delivered with stunnin' effect. "Just then a round shot carried away our main-topmast with all her stun-s'ls an' booms. By good luck, however, we were close alongside o' the enemy's ship _Redoubtable_ by that time. Our tiller ropes were shot away too, but it didn't matter much now. The word was given, and we opened with both broadsides at once. You should have felt the _Victory_ tremble, John Adams. We tackled the _Redoubtable_ with the starboard guns, and the _Bucentaur_ and _Santissima Trinidad_ with the port guns. Of course they gave it us hot and strong in reply. At the same time Captain Hardy, in the _Temeraire_, fell on board the _Redoubtable_ on her other side, and the _Fougueux_, another o' the enemy, fell on board the _Temeraire_; so there we were four ships abreast--a compact tier-- blazin' into each other like mad, with the muzzles of the guns touchin' the sides when they were run out, an' men stationed with buckets at the ports, to throw water into the shot-holes to prevent their takin' fire. "It was awful work, I tell you, with the never-stopping roar of great guns and rattle of small arms, an' the smoke, an' the decks slippery with blood. The order was given to depress our guns and load with light charges of powder, to prevent the shot going right through the enemy into our own ship on the other side. "The _Redoubtable_ flew no colours, so we couldn't tell when she struck, and twice the Admiral, wishing to spare life, gave orders to cease firing, thinking she had given in. But she had not done so, and soon after a ball from her mizzen-top struck Nelson on the left shoulder, and he fell. They took him below at once. "Of course we in the mizzen-top knew nothing of this, for we couldn't see almost anything for the smoke, only here and there a bit of a mast, or a yard-arm, or a bowsprit, while the very air trembled with the tremendous and continuous roar. "We were most of us wounded by that time, more or less, but kept blazing away as long as we could stand. Then there came cheers of triumph mingling with the shouts and cries of battle. The ships of the enemy were beginning to strike. One after another the flags went down. Before long the cry was, `Five have struck!' then `Ten, hurrah!' then fifteen, then twenty, hurrah!" "Hurrah! Old England for ever!" cried Adams, starting to his feet and waving his hat in a burst of irrepressible excitement, which roused the spirits of the youths around, who, leaping up with flushed faces and glittering eyes, sent up from the groves of Pitcairn a vigorous British cheer in honour of the great victory of Trafalgar. "But," continued Jack Brace, when the excitement had abated, "there was great sorrow mingled with our triumph that day, for Nelson, the hero of a hundred fights, was dead. The ball had entered his spine. He lived just long enough to know that our victory was complete, and died thanking God that he had done his duty." "That was truly a great battle," said Adams, while Brace, having concluded, was refilling his pipe. "Right you are, John," said the other; "about the greatest victory we ever gained. It has settled the fleets of France and Spain, I guess, for the next fifty years." "But what was it all for?" asked Bessy Mills, looking up in the sailor's face with much simplicity. "What was it for?" repeated Brace, with a perplexed look. "Why, my dear, it was--it was for the honour and glory of Old England, to be sure." "No, no, Jack, not quite that," interposed Adams, with a laugh, "it was to clap a stopper on the ambition of the French, as far as I can make out; or rather to snub that rascal Napoleon Bonnypart, an' keep him within bounds." "But he ain't easy to keep within bounds," said Brace, putting his pipe in his pocket and rising; "for he's been knockin' the lobsters of Europe over like ninepins of late years. Hows'ever, we'll lick him yet on land, as we've licked him already on the sea, or my name's not--" He stopped abruptly, having caught sight of Dan McCoy's twinkling eye. "Now, John Adams, I must go, else the Cap'n'll think I've deserted altogether." "Oh, _don't_ go yet; please don't!" pleaded Dolly Young, as she grasped and fondled the seaman's huge hand. Dolly was at that time about nine years of age, and full of enthusiasm. She was seconded in her entreaties by Dinah Adams, who seized the other hand, while several of the older girls sought to influence him by words and smiles; but Jack Brace was not to be overcome. "I'll be ashore again to-morrow, p'r'aps, with the Captain, if he lands," said Brace, "and spin you some more yarns about the wars." With this promise they were obliged to rest content. In a few minutes the visitor was carried over the surf by Toc and Charlie in their canoe, and soon put on board the _Topaz_, which stood inshore to receive him. CHAPTER THIRTY. ADAMS AND THE GIRLS. Great was the interest aroused on board the _Topaz_ when Jack Brace narrated his experiences among the islanders, and Captain Folger resolved to pay them a visit. He did so next day, accompanied by the Englishman and some of the other men, the sight of whom gladdened the eyes and hearts of Adams and his large family. Besides assuring himself of the truth of Brace's statements, the Captain obtained additional proof of the truth of Adams's account of himself and his community in the form of the chronometer and azimuth compass of the _Bounty_. "How many did you say your colony consists of?" asked Folger. "Thirty-five all told, sir," answered Adams; "but I fear we shall be only thirty-four soon." "How so?" "One of our lads, a dear boy of about eight years of age, is dying, I fear," returned Adams, sadly. "I'm sorry to hear it, and still more sorry that I have no doctor in my ship," said Folger, "but I have a smatterin' of doctors' work myself. Let me see him." Adams led the way to the hut where poor James Young lay, tenderly nursed by Mary Christian. The boy was lying on his bed as they entered, gazing wistfully out at the little window which opened from the side of it like the port-lights or bull's-eyes of a ship's berth. His young nurse sat beside him with the _Bounty_ Bible open on her knees. She shut it and rose as the strangers entered. The poor invalid was too weak to take much interest in them. He was extremely thin, and breathed with great difficulty. Nevertheless his face flushed, and a gleam of surprise shot from his eyes as he turned languidly towards the Captain. "My poor boy," said Folger, taking his hand and gently feeling his pulse, "do you suffer much?" "Yes,--very much," said little James, with a sickly smile. "Can you rest at all?" asked the Captain. "I am--always--resting," he replied, with a pause between each word; "resting--on Jesus." The Captain was evidently surprised by the answer. "Who told you about Jesus?" he asked. "God's book--and--the Holy--Spirit." It was obvious that the exertion of thinking and talking was not good for poor little James. Captain Folger therefore, after smoothing the hair on his forehead once or twice very tenderly, bade him good-bye, and went out. "Doctors could do nothing for the child," he said, while returning with Adams to his house; "but he is rather to be envied than pitied. I would give much for the _rest_ which he apparently has found." "_Give_ much!" exclaimed Adams, with an earnest look. "Rest in the Lord is not to be purchased by gifts. Itself is the grand free gift of God to man, to be had for the asking." "I know it," was the Captain's curt reply, as he entered Adams's house. "Where got you the chronometer and azimuth compass?" he said, on observing these instruments. "They belonged to the _Bounty_. You are heartily welcome to both of them if you choose; they are of no use to me." [See Note.] Folger accepted the gift, and promised to write to England and acquaint the Government with his discovery of the colony. "You see, sir," said Adams, with a grave look, while hospitably entertaining his visitor that afternoon, "we are increasing at a great rate, and although they may perhaps take me home and swing me up to the yard-arm, I think it better to run the risk o' that than to leave all these poor young things here unprotected. Why, just think what might happen if one o' them traders which are little better than pirates were to come an' find us here." He looked at the Captain earnestly. "Now, if we were under the protection o' the British flag--only just recognised, as it were,--that would go a long way to help us, and prevent mischief." At this point the importunities of some of the young people to hear about the outside world prevailed, and Folger began, as Jack Brace had done the day before, to tell them some of the most stirring events in the history of his own land. But he soon found out that the mental capacity of the Pitcairners was like a bottomless pit. However much they got, they wanted more. Anecdote after anecdote, story after story, fact after fact, was thrown into the gulf, and still the cry was, "More! more!" At last he tore himself away. "Good-bye, and God bless you all," he said, while stepping into the canoe which was to carry him off. "I won't forget my promise." "And tell 'em to send us story-books," shouted Daniel McCoy, as the canoe rose on the back of the breakers. The Captain waved his hand. Most of the women and children wiped their eyes, and then they all ran to the heights to watch the _Topaz_ as she sailed away. They watched her till she vanished over that mysterious horizon which seemed to the Pitcairners the utmost boundary of the world, and some of them continued to gaze until the stars came out, and the gulls retired to bed, and the soft black mantle of night descended like a blessing of tranquillity on land and sea. Before bidding the _Topaz_ farewell, we may remark that Captain Folger faithfully fulfilled his promise. He wrote a letter to England giving a full account of his discovery of the retreat of the mutineers, which aroused much interest all over the land; but at that time the stirring events of warfare filled the minds of men in Europe so exclusively, that the lonely island and its inhabitants were soon forgotten--at least no action was taken by the Government--and six years elapsed before another vessel sailed out of the great world into the circle of vision around Pitcairn. Meanwhile the Pitcairners, knowing that, even at the shortest, a long, long time must pass before Folger could communicate with the "old country," continued the even tenor of their innocent lives. The school prospered and became a vigorous institution. The church not less so. More children were born to Thursday October, insomuch that he at last had one for every working-day in the week; more yam-fields were cultivated, and more marriages took place--but hold, this is anticipating. We have said that the school prospered. The entire community went to it, male and female, old and young. John Adams not only taught his pupils all he knew, but set himself laboriously to acquire all the knowledge that was to be obtained by severe study of the Bible, the Prayer-book. Carteret's Voyages, and by original meditation. From the first mine he gathered and taught the grand, plain, and blessed truths about salvation through Jesus, together with a few tares of error resulting from misconception and imperfect reasoning. From the second he adopted the forms of worship of the Church of England. From the third he gleaned and amplified a modicum of nautical, geographical, and general information; and from the fourth he extracted a flood of miscellaneous, incomplete, and disjointed facts, fancies, and fallacies, which at all events served the good purpose of interesting his pupils and exercising their mental powers. But into the midst of all this life death stepped and claimed a victim. The great destroyer came not, however, as an enemy but as a friend, to raise little James Young to that perfect rest of which he had already had a foretaste on the island. It was the first death among the second generation, and naturally had a deeply solemnising effect on the young people. This occurred soon after the departure of the _Topaz_. The little grave was made under the shade of a palm-grove, where wild-flowers grew in abundance, and openings in the leafy canopy let in the glance of heaven's blue eye. One evening, about six months after this event, Adams went up the hill to an eminence to which he was fond of retiring when a knotty problem in arithmetic had to be tackled. Arithmetic was his chief difficulty. The soliloquy which he uttered on reaching his place of meditation will explain his perplexities. "That 'rithmetic do bother me, an' no mistake," he said, with a grave shake of the head at a lively lizard which was looking up in his face. "You see, history is easy. What I knows I knows an' can teach, an' what I don't know I let alone, an there's an end on't. There's no makin' a better o' _that_. Then, as to writin', though my hand is crabbed enough, and my pot-hooks are shaky and sprawly, still I know the shapes o' things, an' the youngsters are so quick that they can most of 'em write better than myself; but in regard to that 'rithmetic, it's a heartbreak altogether, for I've only just got enough of it to puzzle me. Wi' the use o' my fingers I can do simple addition pretty well, an' I can screw round subtraction, but multiplication's a terrible business. Unfort'nitely my edication has carried me only the length o' the fourth line, an' that ain't enough." He paused, and the lively lizard, ready to fly at a moment's notice, put its head on one side as if interested in the man's difficulty. "Seven times eight, now," continued Adams. "I've no more notion what that is than the man in the moon. An' I've no table to tell me, an' no way o' findin' it out--eh? Why, yes I have. I'll mark 'em down one at a time an' count 'em up." He gave his thigh a slap, which sent the lively lizard into his hole, horrified. "Poor thing, I didn't mean that," he said to the absent animal. "Hows'ever, I'll try it. Why, I'll make a multiplication-table for myself. Strange that that way never struck me before." As he went on muttering he busied himself in rubbing clean a flat surface of rock, on which, with a piece of reddish stone, he made a row of eight marks, one below another. Alongside of that he made another row of eight marks, and so on till he had put down seven rows, when he counted them up, and found the result to be fifty-six. This piece of acquired knowledge he jotted down in a little notebook, which, with a quantity of other stationery, had originally belonged to that great fountain of wealth, the _Bounty_. "Why, I'll make out the whole table in this way," he said, quite heartily, as he sat down again on the flat rock and went to work. Of course he found the process laborious, especially when he got among the higher numbers; but Adams was not a man to be turned from his purpose by trifles. He persevered until his efforts were crowned with success. While he was engaged with the multiplication problem on that day, he was interrupted by the sound of merry voices, and soon Otaheitan Sally, Bessy Mills, May Christian, Sarah Quintal, and his own daughter Dinah, came tripping up the hill towards him. These five, ranging from fifteen to nineteen, were fond of rambling through the woods in company, being not only the older members of the young flock, but like-minded in many things. Sally was looked up to by the other four as being the eldest and wisest, as well as the most beautiful; and truly, the fine clear complexion of the pretty brunette contrasted well with their fairer skins and golden or light-brown locks. "We came up to have a chat with you, father," said Sally, as they drew near. "Are you too busy to be bothered with us?" "Never too busy to chat with such dear girls," said the gallant seaman, throwing down his piece of red chalk, and taking one of Sally's hands in his. "Sit down, Sall; sit down, May, on the other side--there. Now, what have you come to chat about?" "About that dear _Topaz_, of course, and that darling Captain Folger, and Jack Brace, and all the rest of them," answered Sarah Quintal, with sparkling eyes. "Hallo, Sarah! you've sent your heart away with them, I fear," said Adams. "Not quite, but nearly," returned Sarah. "I would give anything if the whole crew would only have stayed with us altogether." "Oh! how charming! delightful! _so_ nice!" exclaimed three of the others. Sally said nothing, but gave a little smile, which sent a sparkle from her pearly teeth that harmonised well with the gleam of her laughter-loving eyes. "No doubt," said Adams, with a peculiar laugh; "but, I say, girls, you must not go on thinking for ever about that ship. Why, it is six months or more since it left us, and you are all as full of it as if it had sailed but yesterday." "How can we help it, father?" said Sally. "It is about the most wonderful thing that has happened since we were born, and you can't expect us to get it out of our heads easily." "And how can we help thinking, and talking too," said Bessy Mills, "about all the new and strange things that Jack Brace related to us?" "Besides, father," said Dinah, "you are quite as bad as we are, for you talk about nothing else now, almost, except Lord Nelson and the battles of the Nile and Trafalgar." "Come, come, Di; don't be hard on me. I don't say much about them battles now." "Indeed you do," cried May Christian, "and it is only last night that I heard you muttering something about Trafalgar in your sleep, and you suddenly broke out with a half-muttered shout like this: `Englan' 'specs every man'll do's dooty!'" May was not a bad mimic. This was received with a shout of laughter by the other girls. While they were conversing thus two tall and slim but broad-shouldered youths were seen climbing the hill towards them, engaged in very earnest conversation. And this reference to conversation reminds us of the curious fact that the language of the young Pitcairners had greatly improved of late. As they had no other living model to improve upon than John Adams, this must have been entirely the result of reading. Although the books they had were few, they proved to be sufficient not only to fill their minds with higher thoughts, but their mouths with purer English than that nautical type which had been peculiar to the mutineers. The tall striplings who now approached were Daniel McCoy and Charlie Christian. These two were great friends and confidants. We will not reveal the subject of their remarkably earnest conversation, but merely give the concluding sentences. "Well, Charlie," said Dan, as they came in view of the knoll on which Adams and the girls were seated, "we will pluck up courage and make a dash at it together." "Ye-es," said Charlie, with hesitation. "And shall we break the ice by referring to Toc's condition, eh?" said Dan. "Well, it seems to me the easiest plan; perhaps I should say the least difficult," returned Charlie, with a faint smile. "Come, don't lose heart, Charlie," said Dan, with an attempt to look humorous, which signally failed. "Hallo, lads! where away?" said Adams, as they came up. "Just bin havin' a walk and a talk, father," answered Dan. "We saw you up here, and came to walk back with you." "I'm not so sure that we'll let you. The girls and I have been having a pleasant confab, an' p'r'aps they don't want to be interrupted." "Oh, we don't mind; they may come," said Di Adams, with a laugh. So the youths joined the party, and they all descended the mountain in company. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ A footnote in Lady Belcher's book tells us that this chronometer had been twice carried out by Captain Cook on his voyages of discovery. It was afterwards supplied to the _Bounty_ when she was fitted out for what was to be her last voyage, and carried by the mutineers to Pitcairn Island. Captain Folger brought it away, but it was taken from him the same year by the governor of Juan Fernandez, and sold in Chili to A Caldeleugh, Esquire, of Valparaiso, from whom it was purchased by Captain, (afterwards Admiral), Sir T. Herbert for fifty guineas. That officer took it to China, and in 1843 brought it to England and transmitted it to the Admiralty, by which department it was presented to the United Service Museum, in Great Scotland Yard, where the writer saw it only a few days ago, and was told that it keeps excellent time still. CHAPTER THIRTY ONE. TREATS OF INTERESTING MATTERS. Of course Charlie Christian gravitated towards Sally, and these two, falling slowly behind the rest, soon turned aside, and descended by another of the numerous paths which traversed that part of the mountain. Of course, also, Daniel McCoy drew near to Sarah Quintal, and these two, falling slowly behind, sought another of the mountain-paths. It will be seen that these young people were charmingly unsophisticated. For a considerable time Charlie walked beside Sally without uttering a word, and Sally, seeing that there was something on his mind, kept silence. At last Charlie lifted his eyes from the ground, and with the same innocent gaze with which, as an infant, he had been wont to look up to his guardian, he now looked down at her, and said, "Sally." "Well, Charlie?" There was a little smile lurking about the corners of the girl's mouth, which seemed to play hide-and-seek with the twinkle in her downcast eyes. "Well, Charlie, what are you going to tell me?" "Isn't Toc--very--happy?" He blushed to the roots of his hair when he said this, and dropped his eyes again on the ground. "Of course he is," replied Sally, with a touch of surprise. "But--but--I mean, as--" "Well, why don't you go on, Charlie?" "I mean as a--a married man." "Every one sees and knows that, Charlie." There was another silence, during which the timid youth cleared his throat several times. At last he became desperate. "And--and--Sally, don't you think that _other_ people might be happy too if they were married?" "To be sure they might," said the girl, with provoking coolness. "There's Dan McCoy, now, and Sarah Quintal, they will be very happy when--" "Why, how do _you_ know?"--Charlie spoke with a look of surprise and stopped short. The girl laughed in a low tone, but did not reply, and the youth, becoming still more desperate, said-- "But I--I didn't mean Dan and Sarah, when I--Oh, Sally, don't you _know_ that I love you?" "Yes, I know that," replied the girl, with a blush and a little tremulous smile. "I couldn't help knowing that." "Have I made it so plain, then?" he asked, in surprise. "Haven't you followed me ever since you were a staggerer?" asked Sally, with a simple look. "O yes, of course--but--but I love you far _far_ more now. In short, I want to marry you, Sally." He had reached the culminating point at last. "Well, Charlie, why don't you ask father's leave?" said the maiden. "And you agree?" he exclaimed, timidly taking her hand. "Oh, Charlie," returned Sally, looking up in his face, with an arch smile, "how stupid you are! Nothing goes into your dear head without such a deal of hammering. Will you never become wise, and--" Charlie became wise at last, and stopped her impudent mouth effectively; but she broke from him and ran into the woods, while he went down to the village to tell Adams. Meanwhile Daniel McCoy led Sarah Quintal by a round-about path to the cliffs above Pitcairn. Pretty little Sarah was timid, and had a vague suspicion of something that caused her heart to flutter. "I say, Sarah," said the bold and stalwart Dan, "did you ever see such a jolly couple as Toc and his wife before?" "I never saw any couple before, you know," replied the girl, simply, "except father Adams and his wife." "Well, they are an oldish couple," returned Dan, with a laugh; "but it's my opinion that before long you'll see a good many more couples--young ones, too." "Indeed," said Sarah, becoming much interested, for this was the first time that any young man had ventured to refer to such a subject, though she and her female companions had often canvassed the possibilities that surrounded them. "Yes, indeed," returned Dan. "Let me see, now. There's Charlie Christian and Otaheitan Sally--" "Why, how did you come to know _that_?" asked Sarah, in genuine surprise. Dan laughed heartily. "Come to know what?" he asked. "That--that he is fond of Sally," stammered Sarah. "Why, everybody knows that," returned Dan; "the very gulls must be aware of it by this time, unless they are geese." "Yes, of course," said the poor girl, blushing crimson at the thought of having been led almost to betray her friend's confidences. "Well, then," continued Dan, "Charlie and Sall bein' so fond o' one another--" "I did not say that Sally was fond of Charlie," interrupted Sarah, quickly. "Oh _dear_ no!" said Dan, with deep solemnity; "of _course_ you didn't; nevertheless I know it, and it wouldn't surprise me much if something came of it--a wedding, for instance." Sarah, being afraid to commit herself in some way if she opened her lips, said nothing, but gazed intently at the ground as they walked slowly among the sweet-scented shrubs. "But there's one o' the boys that wants to marry _you_, Sarah Quintal, and it is for him I want to put in a good word to-day." A flutter of surprise, mingled with dismay at her heart, tended still further to confuse the poor girl. Not knowing what to say, she stammered, "Indeed! Who can it--it--" and stopped short. "They sometimes call him Dan," said the youth, suddenly grasping Sarah's hand and passing an arm round her waist, "but his full name is Daniel McCoy." Sarah Quintal became as suddenly pale now as she had formerly become red, and struggled to get free. "Oh, Dan, Dan, don't!" she cried, earnestly; "_do_ let me go, if you love me!" "Well, I will, if you say I may speak to Father Adams about it." Sarah's answer was quite inaudible to ordinary ears, but it caused Dan to loosen his hold; and the girl, bounding away like a frightened gazelle, disappeared among the palm-groves. "Well," exclaimed Dan, thrusting both hands into his trousers-pockets as he walked smartly down the hill, "you _are_ the dearest girl in all the world. There can't be two opinions on that point." Dan's world was a remarkably small one, as worlds go, but it was quite large enough to fill his heart to overflowing at that time. In turning into another path he almost ran against Charlie Christian. "Well?" exclaimed Charlie, with a brilliant smile. "Well?" repeated Dan, with a beaming countenance. "All right," said Charlie. "Ditto," said Dan, as he took his friend's arm, and hastened to the abode of John Adams, the great referee in all important matters. They found him seated at his table, with the big Bible open before him. "Well, my lads," he said, with a kindly smile as they entered, "you find me meditatin' over a verse that seems to me full o' suggestive thoughts." "Yes, father, what is it?" asked Dan. "`A prudent wife is from the Lord.' You'll find it in the nineteenth chapter o' Proverbs." The youths looked at each other in great surprise. "It is very strange," said Charlie, "that you should hit upon that text to-day." "Why so, Charlie?" "Because--because--we came to--that is to say, we want to--" "Get spliced, Charlie; out with it, man. You keep shuffling about the edge like a timid boy goin' to dive into deep water for the first time." "Well, and so it _is_ deep water," replied Charlie; "so deep that we can't fathom it easily; and this _is_ the first time too." "The fact is, you've come to tell me," said Adams, looking at Charlie, "that you want to marry Otaheitan Sally, and that Dan there wants to marry Sarah Quintal. Is it not so?" "I think, father, you must be a wizard," said Dan, with a surprised look. "How did you come to guess it?" "I didn't guess it, lad; I saw it as plain as the nose on your own face. Anybody could see it with half an eye. Why, I've seen it for years past; but that's not the point. The first question is, Are you able to feed your wives without requirin' them to work too hard in the fields?" "Yes, father," answered Dan, promptly. "Charlie helped me, and I helped him, and so we've both got enough of land enclosed and stocked to keep our--our--wives comfortably," (even Dan looked modest here!) "without requiring them to work at all, for a long time at least." "Well. I don't want 'em not to work at all--that's good for neither man, nor woman, nor beast. Even child'n work hard, poor things, while playin' at pretendin' to work. However, I'm glad to hear you are ready. Of course I knew what you were up to all along. Now, you'll want to borrow a few odds an' ends from the general stock, therefore go an' make out lists of what you require, and I'll see about it. Is it long since you arranged it wi' the girls?" "About half-an-hour," returned Dan. "H'm! sharp practice. You'll be the better of meditation for a week or two. Now, get along with you, lads, and think of the word I have given you from God's book about marriage. I'll not keep you waitin' longer than I think right." So Dan and Charlie left the presence-chamber of their nautical ruler, quite content to wait for a couple of weeks, having plenty to keep them employed, body and mind, in labouring in their gardens, perfecting the arrangements of their respective cottages, and making out lists of the various things they required to borrow. In all of which operations they were lovingly assisted by their intended wives, with a matter-of-fact gravity that would have been quite touching if it had not been half ridiculous. The list of things to be borrowed was made out in accordance with a system of barter, exchange, and loan, which had begun in necessity, and was afterwards conducted on regular principles by Adams, who kept a systematic journal and record of accounts, in which he entered the nature and quantity of work performed by each family, what each had received, and what each was due on account. The exchanges also were made in a systematic manner. Thus, when one family had too many salt fish, and another had too much fruit or vegetables, a fair exchange restored the equilibrium to the satisfaction of both parties; and when the stores of one family were exhausted, a fresh supply was raised for it from the general possessions of all the rest, to be repaid, however, in exact measure when the suffering family should be again in affluence, through good harvests and hard work. All details were minutely noted down by Adams, so that injustice to individuals or to the community at large was avoided. It is interesting to trace, in this well-conducted colony, the great root-principles on which the colossal system of the world's commerce and trade has been reared, and to recognise in John Adams the germs of those principles of equity and method which have raised England to her high commercial position. But still more interesting is it to recognise in him that good seed, the love of God and His truth, spiritual, intellectual, and material, which, originated by the Holy Spirit, and founded in Jesus Christ, produces the "righteousness that exalteth a nation." When the short period of probation was past, Charlie Christian became the happy husband of the girl whom he had all but worshipped from the earliest rememberable days of infancy, and Dan McCoy was united to Sarah Quintal. As in the first case of marriage, Otaheitan Sall was older than her husband; but in her case the difference was so slight as scarcely to be worth mentioning. As to appearance, tall, serious, strapping Charlie _looked_ old enough to have been Sally's father. The wedding-day was a day of great rejoicing, considerable solemnity, and not a little fun; for the religion of the Pitcairners, being drawn direct from the inspired Word, was the reverse of dolorous. Indeed, the simplicity of their faith was extreme, for it consisted in merely asking the question, "What does God wish me to do?" and _doing it_. Of course the simplicity of this rule was, in Pitcairn as elsewhere, unrecognised by ignorance, or rendered hazy and involved by stupidity. Adams had his own difficulties in combating the effects of evil in the hearts of his children, for, as we have said before, they were by no means perfect, though unusually good. For instance, one day one of those boys who was passing into the hobbledehoy stage of life, came with a perplexed air, and said-- "Didn't you tell us in school yesterday, father, that if we were good Jesus would save us?" "No, Jack Mills, I told you just the reverse. I told you that if Jesus saved you you would be good." "Then why doesn't He save me and make me good?" asked Jack, anxious to cast the blame of his indecision about his salvation off his own shoulders. "Because you refuse to be saved," said Adams, pointedly. Jack Mills felt and looked somewhat hurt at this. He was one of the steadiest boys at the school, always learned his tasks well, and was generally pretty well behaved; but there was in him an ugly, half-hidden root of selfishness, which he did not himself perceive. "Do you remember going to the shore yesterday?" asked Adams, replying to the look,--for the boy did not speak. "Yes, father." "And you remember that two little boys had just got into a canoe, and were pushing off to enjoy themselves, when you ran down, turned them out, and took the canoe to yourself?" Jack did not reply; but his flushed face told that he had not forgotten the incident. "That's right, dear boy," continued Adam, "Your blood tells the truth for you, and your tongue don't contradict it. So long's you keep the unruly member straight you'll get along. Well, now, Jack, that was a sin of unkindness, and a sort of robbery, too, for the canoe belonged to the boys while they had possession. Did you want to be saved from that sin, my boy?" Jack was still silent. He knew that he had not wished to be saved at the time, because, if he had, he would have at once returned to the shore and restored the canoe, with an apology for having taken it by force. "But I was sorry afterwards, father," pleaded the boy. "I know you were, Jack, and your guilty conscience longed for forgiveness. But Jesus did not come to this world to forgive us. He came to save us--to save this people from their sins; _His_ people,--_forgiven_ people, my boy,--from their sins. If you had looked to Jesus, He would have sent His Spirit into you, and brought His Word to your mind, `Be ye kind one to another,' or, `Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them:' or in some way or other He would have turned you back and saved you from sin, but you did not look to Jesus; in short, you refused to be saved just then, and thought to make up for it by being sorry afterwards. Isn't that the way of it, Jack?" "Yes, father," said Jack, with downcast but no longer hurt looks, for Adams's tone and manner were very kind. "Then you know now, Jack Mills, why you're not yet saved, and you can't be good till you _are_ saved, any more than you can fly till you've got wings. But don't be cast down, my lad; He will save you yet. All you've got to do is to _cease your opposition_, and let Him take you in hand." Thus, or in some such way, did this God-appointed pastor lead his little flock from day to day and year to year. But to return from this digression. We have said that the double wedding-day was one of mingled rejoicing, solemnity, and fun. If you insist on further explanation, good reader, and want to know something more about the rejoicing, we can only direct you to yonder clump of blossoming plants in the shade of the palm-grove. There you will find Charlie Christian looking timidly down into the gorgeous orbs of Otaheitan Sally as they hold sweet converse of things past, present, and to come. They have been so trained in ways of righteousness, that the omission of the world-to-come from their love-making, (not flirtation, observe), would be as ridiculous as the absence of reference to the wedding-day. On the other side of the same knoll Daniel McCoy sits by the side of modest Sarah Quintal, his only half-tamed spirit torn by the conflicting emotions aroused by a compound of jollity, love, joy, thankfulness, and fun, which render his words too incoherent to be worthy of record. In regard to solemnity, reader, we refer you to the little school-room, which also serves for a chapel, where John Adams, in tones befitting a bishop and with feelings worthy of an apostle, reads the marriage service in the midst of the assembled population of the island. He has a brass curtain-ring which did duty at the marriage of Thursday October Christian, and which is destined to do duty in similar circumstances in many coming years. The knots are soon tied. There are no sad tears, for at Pitcairn there are no partings of parents and children, but there are many tears of joy, for Adams's words are telling though few, and his prayers are brief but deeply impressive, while the people, young and middle-aged, are powerfully sympathetic. The most of the girls break down when Adams draws to an abrupt close, and most of the youths find it hard to behave like men. They succeed, however, and then the wedding party goes off to have a spell of fun. If you had been there, reader, to behold things for yourself, it is not improbable that some of the solemnity of the wedding would have been scattered, (for you, at least), and some of the fun introduced too soon, for the costumes of the chief actors were not perfect; indeed, not quite appropriate, according to our ideas of the fitness of things. It is not that we could object to the bare feet of nearly all the party, for to such we are accustomed among our own poor. Neither could we find the slightest fault with the brides. Their simple loose robes, flowing hair, and wreaths of natural flowers, were in perfect keeping with the beauty of their faces. But the garb of guileless Charlie Christian was incongruous, to say the least of it. During the visit of the _Topaz_ a few old clothes had been given by the seamen to the islanders, and Charlie had become the proud possessor of a huge black beaver hat, which had to be put on sidewise to prevent its settling down on the back of his neck; also, of a blue dress-coat with brass buttons, the waist and sleeves of which were much too short, and the tails unaccountably long; likewise, of a pair of Wellington boots, the tops of which did not, by four inches, reach the legs of his native trousers, and therefore displayed that amount of brawny, well-made limbs, while the absence of a vest and the impossibility of buttoning the coat left a broad, sunburnt expanse of manly chest exposed to view. But such is the difference of opinion resulting from difference of custom, that not a muscle of any face moved when he appeared, save in open admiration, though there was just the shade of a twinkle for one moment in the eye of John Adams, for he had seen other, though not better, days. Even Dan's excitable sense of the ridiculous was not touched. Himself, indeed, was a greater guy than Charlie, for he wore a richly-flowered vest, so tight that it would hardly button, and had been split up the back while being put on. As he wore a shell-jacket, much too short for him, this accident to the vest and a portion of his powerful back were clearly revealed. But these things were trifles on that great day, and when the fun did begin, it was kept up with spirit. First, the greater part of the population went to the beach for a little surf-sliding. It is not necessary to repeat our description of that exercise. The waves were in splendid order. It seemed as if the great Pacific itself were pulsating with unwonted joy. The billows were bigger grander, almost slower and more sedate than usual. Outside it was dead calm. The fall of each liquid wall was more thunderous, its roar more deep-toned, and the confusion of the surf more riotous than ever. For average rejoicers this exercise might in itself have sufficed for one day, but they were used to it, and wanted variety; so the youths took to racing on the sands, and the maidens to applauding, while the elderly looked on and criticised. The small children went, loosely speaking, mad. Some there were who went off on their own accounts, and cast a few of those shadows which are said to precede "coming events." Others, less poetically inclined just then, remained in the village to prepare roast pig, yam-pie, and those various delicacies compounded of fruits and vegetables, which they knew from experience would be in great demand ere long. As evening descended they all returned to the village, and at sunset hauled down their flag. This flag, by the way, was another souvenir of the _Topaz_. It was an old Union Jack, for which Adams had set up a flagstaff, having by that time ceased to dread the approach of a ship. By Jack Brace he had been reminded of the date of the king's birthday, and by a strange coincidence that happened to be the very day on which the two couples were united. Hence there was a double, (perhaps we should say a treble), reason for rejoicing. As John Adams was now endeavouring to undo the evils of his former life, he naturally became an enthusiastic loyalist. On passing the flagstaff he called for three cheers for the British king, and with his own voice led off the first verse of the national anthem before hauling down the colours. Thereafter, assembling round the festive board in the school-room, they proceeded to take physical nourishment, with the memory of mental food strong upon them. Before the meal a profound hush fell on all the scene, and the deep voice of Adams was heard asking a blessing on the food they were about to receive. Thanks were returned with equal solemnity after meat. Then the tables were cleared, and games became the order of the evening. When a point of semi-exhaustion was reached, a story was called for, and the nautical pastor at once launched into oceans of imagination and fancy, in which he bid fair to be wrecked and drowned. During the recital of this the falling of a pin would have been heard, if there had been such a thing as a pin at Pitcairn to fall. Last, but not least, came blind-man's-buff. This exhausted the last spark of physical energy left even in the strongest. But the mental and spiritual powers were still vigorous, so that when they all sat down in quiescence round the room, and Toc took down the family Bible from its accustomed shelf and set it before Adams, they were all, young and old, in a suitable state of mind to join in the worship of Him who had given them the capacity, as well as the opportunity, to enjoy that glorious and ever memorable day. CHAPTER THIRTY TWO. ANOTHER VISIT FROM THE GREAT WORLD. If ever there had been a doubt of the truth of the proverb that example is better than precept, the behaviour of the young men and maidens of Pitcairn, after the wedding just described, would have cleared that doubt away for ever. The demands upon poor Adams's services became ridiculous, insomuch that he began to make laws somewhat in the spirit of the Medo-Persic lawmakers, and sternly refused to allow any man to marry under the age of twenty years, or any woman under eighteen. Even with this drag on the wheels, the evil--if evil it were--did not abate, but as time went on, steadily increased. It seemed as if, the ice having been broken, the entire population kept on tumbling into the water. Among others, our once little friend Matthew Quintal married Bessy Mills. The cares of the little colony now began to tell heavily on John Adams, for he was what is termed a willing horse, and would not turn over to another the duties which he could perform with his own hands. Besides acting the part of pastor, schoolmaster, law-maker, and law-enforcer, he had to become the sympathetic counsellor of all who chose to call upon him; also public registrar of events, baptiser of infants, and medical practitioner. It is a question whether there ever was a man placed in so difficult and arduous a position as this last mutineer of the _Bounty_, and it is not a question at all, but an amazing and memorable fact, that he filled his unique post with statesmanlike ability. As time went on, he, of course, obtained help, sympathy, and counsel from the men and women whom he had been training for God around him; but he seems to have been loath formally to hand over the helm, either wholly or in part, to any one else as long as he had strength to steer the ship. We have said that England was too much engaged with her European wars to give much thought to this gem in her crown, which was thus gradually being polished to such a dazzling brightness. She knew it was but a little gem, if gem at all, and at such a distance did not see its brilliant sheen. Amid the smoke and turmoil of war she forgot it; yet the God of Battles and the Prince of Peace were winning a grand, moral, bloodless victory in that lonely little island. It was not till the year 1814, six years after the visit of the _Topaz_, that the solitude of Pitcairn was again broken in upon by visitors from the outside world. In that year two frigates, H.M.S. _Britain_ and _Tagus_, commanded respectively by Captain Sir F. Staines and Captain Pipon, came unexpectedly on Pitcairn Island while in pursuit of an American ship, the _Essex_, which had been doing mischief among the British whalers. It was evening when the ships sighted Pitcairn, and were observed by one of the almost innumerable youngsters with which the island had by that time been peopled. With blazing eyes and labouring breath, the boy rushed down the cliffs, bounded over the level ground, and burst into the village, shouting, "Ships!" No warwhoop of Red Indians ever created greater excitement. Pitcairn swarmed at once to the cliffs with flushed faces, glittering eyes, and hopeful looks. Yes, there they were, and no mistake,--two ships! "They're men-o'-war, father," said Thursday October Christian, a little anxiously. "So I see, lad; but I won't hide _this_ time. I don't believe they'd think it worth while hangin' me now. Anyhow, I'll risk it." Many of the people spent the whole of that night on the cliffs, for, as it was too late to attempt a landing, Captain Staines did not venture to approach till the following morning. Soon after daybreak the ships were seen to stand inshore, and a canoe was launched through the surf to meet them. As on the occasion of the visit of the _Topaz_, Thursday was deputed to represent the islanders. He was accompanied by Edward Young, now a handsome youth of eighteen years of age. As on the previous boarding of a ship, Toc amazed the sailors by shouting in English to "throw him a rope." Being now possessed of a wardrobe, he had in his heart resolved to appear in a costume worthy of the great occasion. For this end he had put on a vest without sleeves, trousers that had done duty in the _Topaz_, and were much too short, and a beaver hat which he had jauntily ornamented with cock-tail feathers, and wore very much on the back of his head. Thursday met the eager inquiries of Sir F. Staines with his usual good-humoured off-hand urbanity, and gave his name in full; but a sudden change came over his face while he spoke--a look of amazement, mingled with alarm. "Look! look there, Ned," he said, in a low tone, laying his hand on his comrade's shoulder and pointing towards a certain part of the ship. "What is that?" Ned looked with an expression of awe in the direction indicated. "What is it that puzzles you?" asked the Captain, not a little amused by their looks. "The beast! the beast!" said Toc. "What, d'you mean the cow?" "Is it a cow?" asked Toc in wonder. "Of course it is. Did you never see a cow before?" "No, never. I thought it was a big goat, or a horned sow," returned the young man, as he approached the quiet animal cautiously. "I say, Ned, it's a _cow_! It don't look much like the things that father Adams used to draw, do it?" Ned agreed that Adams's representation fell far short of the original, and for some time they stood cautiously examining the strange creature, and gently touching its sides. Just then a little black terrier came bounding forward and frisked round the Captain. "Ha!" exclaimed Edward Young, with an intelligent look, "I know that beast, Toc; it's a dog! I'm sure it is, for I have read of such things in Carteret, and father has described 'em often, so have the women. They have dogs, you know, on some islands." But the surprise and interest raised in them by two animals were nothing to what they felt on being conducted over the ship and shown all the details of stores and armament in a man-of-war. The surprise changed sides, however, when, on being asked to partake of luncheon, these men stood up, clasped their hands, shut their eyes, and asked a blessing before commencing to eat, in the familiar phrase, "For what we are about to receive," etcetera. Of course Captains Staines and Pipon went on shore, where they were received by Adams, hat in hand, and by the rest of the population down to the minutest infant, for no one would consent to miss the sight, and there was no sick person to be looked after. Up at the village the pigs and poultry had it all their own way, and made the most of their opportunity. It was curious to mark the air of respect with which Adams regarded the naval uniform which had once been so familiar. As he stood conversing with the officers, he occasionally, in sailor-like fashion, smoothed down his scanty locks, for although little more than fifty at that time, care, sorrow, and anxiety had given his countenance an aged and worn look, though his frame was still robust and healthy. In the course of the interview, Captain Pipon offered to give him a passage to England, with any of his family who chose to accompany him. To his surprise Adams at once expressed a desire to go. We know not whether this was a piece of pleasantry on Adams's part, but when he sent for his old wife and daughters to tell them of it, the scene of distress that ensued baffles description. The old woman was in despair. Dinah Adams burst into tears, and entreated the officers not to take her dear father away. Her sister Rachel flung her arms round her father's neck and held on. Hannah Adams clasped her hands and wept in silent despair, and even George, at that time about ten years of age, and not at all given to the melting mood, felt a tear of sympathy trickling down his nose. Of course, when the cause of the ebullition became known, the whole Pitcairn colony was dissolved in tears or lamentations, insomuch that Adams gave up all idea of leaving them. We firmly believe that he never had any intention of doing so, but had merely thrown out the hint to see what effect it would have. Like Captain Folger of the _Topaz_, the captains of the _Britain_ and _Tagus_ wrote eloquent and enthusiastic letters to the Admiralty about their discovery, but the dogs of war were still loose in Europe. Their Lordships at Whitehall had no time to devote to such matters, and once again the lonely island was forgotten. It is a curious coincidence that death came close on the heels of this visit, as it had come on that of the _Topaz_. Scarcely had the two frigates left when Matthew Quintal took a fit while out fishing in his canoe and was drowned. About the same time Jack Mills was killed by falling from the rocks when out after gulls' eggs. Thus poor Bessy Quintal lost her husband and brother in the same year, but she was not without comfort. She had been early taught to carry her cares to Jesus, and found Him now a very present help. Besides, she had now two little sons, John and Matthew, who were old enough to fondle her and sympathise with her to some extent, though they scarce understood her sorrow; and her fast friend and comforter, Sally Christian, did not fail her in the hour of need. Indeed, that warm-hearted Otaheitan would have taken poor Bessy into her house to live with her and Charlie, but for the difficulty that six riotous little creatures of her own, named Fletcher, Edward, Charles, Isaac, Sarah, and Maria, already filled it to overflowing. A little more than six years after this, there came a visitant of a rare and heart-gladdening kind, namely, a parcel of _books_. Although the Government of England was too busy to think of the far-off isle, there were Englishmen who did not forget her. The _Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge_, happening, in 1819, to hear of an opportunity of communicating with Pitcairn, made up and despatched to it a parcel of books, containing, besides Bibles and Prayer-books, "works of instruction fitted for all ages." Who can imagine the delight produced by this gift to minds which had been well educated and were thirsting for more knowledge? It must have been as food to the starving; as water to the dry ground. Four years after that, a whale-ship from London, named the _Cyrus_, touched in passing. As this visit was a noteworthy epoch in the lonely island, we shall devote a new chapter to it. CHAPTER THIRTY THREE. NEW ARRIVALS AND STRANGE ADVENTURES. "My dear," said Adams one morning to his spouse, as he was about to go forth to superintend the working of his busy hive, "I'm beginnin' to feel as if I was gettin' old, and would soon have to lay up like an old hulk." "You've done good service for the Master, John; perhaps He thinks you should rest now," answered his wife. "You've got plenty able helpers to take the heavy work off your hands." "True, old woman, able, willin', and good helpers, thank God, but they want a headpiece still. However, there's a deal of life in the old dog yet. If that dear angel, Otaheitan Sally, were only a man, now, I could resign the command of the ship without a thought. But I've committed the matter to the Lord. He will provide in His own good time. Good-day, old girl. If any one wants me, you know where to send 'em." Not many days after that in which these remarks were made a sail was seen on the horizon. So few and far between had these visitants been that the excitement of the people was as wild as when the first ship appeared, and much more noisy, seeing that the juveniles had now become so very numerous. The ship soon drew near. Canoes were sent off to board her. Thursday October, as of old, introduced himself, and soon the captain and several men were brought on shore, to the intense joy of the inhabitants. One of the sailors who landed attracted Adams's attention in a special manner, not so much because of his appearance, which was nothing uncommon, as because of a certain grave, kindly, serious air which distinguished him. This man's name was John Buffett. Another of the men, named John Evans, less serious in manner, but not less hearty and open, made himself very agreeable to the women, especially to old Mrs Adams, to whom he told a number of nautical anecdotes in an undertone while the captain was chatting with Adams himself. Buffett spoke little. After spending an agreeable day on shore, the sailors walked down to the beach towards evening to return to their ship. "You lead a happy life here, Mr Adams," said Buffett, in an earnest tone. "Would you object to a stranger staying among you!" "Object!" said Adams, with a quick, pleasant glance. "I only wish the Lord would send us one; one at least who is a follower of Himself." John Buffett said no more, but that same evening he expressed to his captain so strong a desire to remain behind that he obtained leave, and next day was sent on shore. The sailor named John Evans accompanied him to see him all right and bring off the latest news; but Evans himself had become so delighted with the appearance of the place and people, that he deserted into the mountains, and the ship had to sail without him. Thus were two new names added to the muster-roll of Pitcairn. John Buffett in particular turned out to be an invaluable acquisition. He was a man of earnest piety, and had obtained a fairly good education. Adams and he drew together at once. "You'll not object, p'r'aps," said the former on the occasion of their first talk over future plans, "to give me a lift wi' the school?" "Nothing would please me better," answered Buffett. "I'm rather fond o' teachin', to say truth, and am ready to begin work at once." Not only did Buffett thereafter become to Adams as a right arm in the school, but he assisted in the church services on Sundays, and eventually came to read sermons, which, for the fixing of them more effectually on the minds of the people, he was wont to deliver three times over. But Buffett could tell stories as well as read sermons. One afternoon some of the youngsters caught him meditating under a cocoa-nut tree, and insisted on his telling the story of his life. "It ain't a long story, boys an' girls," said he, "for I've only lived some six-and-twenty years yet. I was born in 1797, near Bristol, and was apprenticed to a cabinet-maker. Not takin' kindly to that sort o' work, I gave it up an' went to sea. However, I'm bound to say, that the experience I had with the saw and plane has been of the greatest service to me ever since; and it's my opinion, that what ever a man is, or whoever he may be, he should learn a trade; ay, even though he should be a king." The Pitcairn juveniles did not see the full force of this remark, but nevertheless they believed it heartily. "It was the American merchant service I entered," continued Buffett, "an' my first voyage was to the Gulf of Saint Lawrence. I was wrecked there, and most o' the crew perished; but I swam ashore and was saved, through God's mercy. Mark that, child'n. It wasn't by good luck, or good swimmin', or chance, or fate, or anything else in the shape of a second cause, but it was the good God himself that saved, or rather spared me. Now, I say that because there's plenty of people who don't like to give their Maker credit for anything, 'cept when they do it in a humdrum, matter-of-course way at church." These last remarks were quite thrown away upon the children, whose training from birth had been to acknowledge the goodness of God in everything, and who could not, of course, comprehend the allusions to formalism. "Well," he continued, "after suffering a good deal, I was picked up by some Canadian fishermen, and again went to sea, to be once again wrecked and saved. That was in the year 1821. Then I went to England, and entered on board a ship bound for China, from which we proceeded to Manilla, and afterwards to California, where I stayed some time. Then I entered an English whaler homeward bound, intendin' to go home, and the Lord _did_ bring me home, for he brought me here, and here I mean to stay." "And we're all _so_ glad!" exclaimed Dolly Young, who had now become an enthusiastic, warm-hearted, pretty young woman of twenty-three summers. Dolly blushed as she spoke, but not with consciousness. It was but innocent truthfulness. John Buffett paused, and looked at her steadily. What John Buffett thought we are not prepared to say, but it may be guessed, when we state that within two months of that date, he and Dolly Young were united in marriage by old Adams, with all the usual ceremonial, including the curtain-ring which did duty on all such occasions, and the unfailing game of blind-man's-buff. John Evans was encouraged, a few months later, to take heart and do likewise. He was even bolder than Buffett, for he wooed and won a princess; at least, if John Adams was in any sense a king, his second daughter Rachel must have been a princess! Be this as it may, Evans married her, and became a respected member of the little community. And now another of these angel-like visits was looming in the distance. About twelve years after the departure of the _Britain_ and _Tagus_, one of H.M. cruisers, the _Blossom_, Captain Beechy, sailed out of the Great Unknown into the circlet of Pitcairn, and threw the islanders into a more intense flutter than ever, for there were now upwards of fifty souls there, many of whom had not only never seen a man-of-war, but had had their imaginations excited by the glowing descriptions of those who had. This was in 1825. The _Blossom_ had been fitted out for discovery. When Buffett first recognised her pennant he was in great trepidation lest they had come to carry off Adams, but such was not the case. It was merely a passing visit. Three weeks the _Blossom_ stayed, during which the captain and officers were entertained in turn at the different houses; and it seems to have been to both parties like a brief foretaste of the land of Beulah. Naturally, Captain Beechy was anxious to test the truth of the glowing testimony of former visitors. He had ample opportunity, and afterwards sent home letters quite as enthusiastic as those of his predecessors in regard to the simplicity, truthfulness, and genuine piety alike of old and young. If a few hours' visit had on former occasions given the community food for talk and reflection, you may be sure that the three weeks' of the _Blossom's_ sojourn gave them a large supply for future years. It seemed to Otaheitan Sally, and Dinah Adams, and Dolly and Polly Young, and the rest of them, that the island was not large enough now to contain all their new ideas, and they said so to John Adams one evening. "My dears," said John, in reply, laying his hand on that of Sally, who sat beside him on their favourite confabulation-knoll, which overlooked Bounty Bay, "ideas don't take up much room, and if they did, we could send 'em out on the sea, for they won't drown. Ah! Sall, Sall--" "What are you thinking of, dear father?" asked Sally, with a sympathetic look, as the old man stopped. "That my time can't be long now. I feel as if I was about worn-out." "Oh, _don't_ say that, father!" cried his daughter Hannah, laying her cheek on his arm, and hugging it. "There's ever so much life in you yet." "It may be so. It _shall_ be so if the Lord will," said Adams, with a little smile; "but I'm not the man I was." Poor John Adams spoke truly. He had landed on Pitcairn a slim young fellow with broad shoulders, powerful frame, and curling brown hair. He was now growing feeble and rather corpulent; his brow was bald, his scanty locks were grey, and his countenance deeply care-worn. No wonder, considering all he had gone through, and the severe wound he had received upwards of thirty years before. Nevertheless, Hannah was right when she said there was a good deal of life in the old man yet. He lived after that day to tie the wedding-knot between his own youngest child George, and Polly Young. More than that, he lived to dandle George's eldest son, Johnny, on his knees, and to dismiss him in favour of his little brother Jonathan when that child made his appearance. But before this latter event the crowning joy of John Adams's life was vouchsafed to him, in the shape of a worthy successor to his Pitcairn throne. The successor's name was neither pretty nor suggestive of romance, yet was closely allied with both. It was George Nobbs. He arrived at the island in very peculiar circumstances, on the 15th of November 1828, and told his story one afternoon under the banyan-tree to Adams and Buffett, and as many of the young generation as could conveniently get near him, as follows:-- "Entering the navy at an early period of life, I went through many vicissitudes and experiences in various quarters of the globe. But circumstances induced me to quit the navy, and for a short time I remained inactive, until my old commander offered to procure me a berth on board a ship of eighteen guns, designed for the use of the patriots in South America. "Accepting the offer, I left England early in 1816 for Valparaiso, and cruised there for sixteen months, taking many prizes. While on board of one of our prizes I was taken prisoner, and carried into Callao, where I and my comrades were exposed to the gaze and insults of the people. Here, for many months, I walked about the streets with fifty pounds weight of iron attached to me, on a spare diet of beans and Chili peppers, with a stone at night for a pillow. We were made to carry stones to repair the forts of the place. There were seventeen of us. Five or six of our party died of fever and exposure to the sun, after which our guardians became careless about us. We managed to get rid of our irons by degrees, and at length were left to shift for ourselves. Soon after, with some of my comrades, I escaped on board a vessel in the bay, and succeeded in getting put on board our own vessel again, which was still cruising in these seas. "Entering Valparaiso in the latter part of 1817, I had now an opportunity of forwarding about 140 pounds to my poor mother in England, who was sorely in need of help at the time. Some time after that I went with a number of men in a launch to attempt the cutting out of a large merchant ship from Cadiz. We were successful, and my share of the prize-money came to about 200 pounds, one hundred of which I also sent to my mother. After this I took a situation as prize-master on board a vessel commanded by a Frenchman. Deserting from it, I sought to discover a road to Guayaquil through the woods, where I suffered great hardships, and failed in the attempt." The adventurer paused a few seconds, and looked earnestly in Adams's countenance. "I am not justifying my conduct," he said, "still less boasting." "Right you are, Nobbs," said Adams, with an approving nod. "Your line of life won't stand justification according to the rule of God's book." "I know it, Adams; I am merely telling you a few of the facts of my life, which you have a right to know from one who seeks an asylum among your people. Well, returning to the coast, I went on board an English whaler, by the captain of which I was kindly treated and landed at Talcahuans. I had not been long there, when, at midnight, on the 7th May, in the year 1819, the Chilian garrison, fifteen in number, was attacked by Benevades and his Indian troops. A number of the inhabitants were killed, the town was sacked, and a large number of prisoners, myself included, carried off. Next morning troops from Concepcion came in pursuit, and rescued us as we were crossing a river. "Soon after this affair I returned to Valparaiso, and engaged as first officer of a ship named the _Minerva_, which had been hired by the Chilian Government as a transport to carry out troops to Peru. Having landed the troops, I took part, on 5th November, in cutting out a Spanish frigate named the _Esmeraldas_ from under the Callao batteries. This affair was planned and headed by Lord Cochrane. Owing to my being in this affair I was appointed to a Chilian sloop of war, and received a lieutenant's commission. "I will not take up your time at present with an account of the various cuttings-out and other warlike expeditions I was engaged in while in the Chilian service. It is enough to refer to the last, which ended my connection with that service. Having been sent in charge of a boat up a river, to recover a quantity of property belonging to British and American merchants, which had been seized by the miscreant Benevades, we set off and pulled up unmolested, but finding nothing of consequence, turned to pull back again, when volleys of musketry were poured into us from both banks. We saw no one, and could do nothing but pull down as fast as possible, losing many men as we went. At last a few horsemen showed themselves. We had a carronade in the bow, which we instantly turned on them and discharged. This was just what they wanted. At the signal, a large boat filled with soldiers shoved out and boarded us. We fought, of course; but with so many wounded, and assailed by superior numbers, we had no chance, and were soon beaten. I received a tremendous blow on the back of the neck, which nearly killed me. Fortunately I did not fall. Those who did, or were too badly wounded to walk, were at once thrown into the river. The rest of us had our clothes stripped off, and some rags given us in exchange. A pair of trousers cut off at the knees, a ragged poncho, and a sombrero fell to my share. We were marched off to prison, where we lay three weeks. Every Chilian of our party was shot, while I and three other Europeans were exchanged for four of Benevades's officers. "Soon after this event, while at Valparaiso, I received a letter from my dear mother telling me that she was ill. I quitted the Chilian navy at once, and went home, alas! to see her die. "In 1822 I went to Naples, and was wrecked while on my way to Messina. In the following year I went to Sierra Leone as chief mate of a ship called the _Gambia_. Of nineteen persons who went out in that ship, only the captain, two coloured men, and myself lived to return." "Why, Mr Nobbs," interrupted John Buffett at this point, "I used to think I'd seen a deal o' rough service, but I couldn't hold a candle to you, sir." "It is an unenviable advantage to have of you," returned the other, with a sad smile. "However, I'm getting near the end now. In all that I have said I have not told you what the Lord has done for my soul. Another time I will tell that to you. At present it is enough to say, that I had heard of your little island here, and of the wonderful accounts of it brought home at various times. I had an intense longing to reach it and devote my life to the service of Jesus. I sold all my little possessions, resolving to quit England for ever. But I could find no means of getting to Pitcairn. Leaving England, however, in November 1825, I reached Calcutta in May 1826, sailed thence for Valparaiso in 1827, and proceeded on to Callao. Here I fell in with Bunker, to whom you have all been so kind. Finding no vessel going in this direction, and my finances being nearly exhausted, I agreed on a plan with him. He had a launch of eighteen tons, a mere boat, as you know, but, being in bad health and without means, could not fit her out. I agreed to spend my all in fitting this launch for sea, on the understanding that I should become part proprietor, and that Bunker should accompany me to Pitcairn. "Well, you see, friends, we have managed it. Through the mercy of God we have, by our two selves, made this voyage of 3500 miles, and now I hope that my days of wandering are over, and that I shall begin here to do the work of the Prince of Peace; but, alas! I fear that my poor friend Bunker's days are numbered." He was right. This bold adventurer, about whose history we know nothing, died a few weeks after his arrival at Pitcairn. CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR. FAREWELL! And now, at last, approached a crisis in the Life of Pitcairn, which had indeed been long foreseen, long dreaded, and often thought of, but seldom hinted at by the islanders. Good, patient, long-enduring John Adams began to draw towards the end of his strange, unique, and glorious career. For him to live had been Christ, to die was gain. And he knew it. "George Nobbs," said he, about four months after the arrival of the former, "the Lord's ways are wonderful, past finding out, but always sure and _safe_. Nothing puzzles me so much as my own want of faith, when there's such good ground for confidence. But God's book tells me to expect even that," he added, after a pause, with a faint smile. "Does it not tell of the _desperately_ wicked and deceitful heart?" "True, Mr Adams," replied his friend, with the term of respect which he felt constrained to use, "but it also tells of salvation to the _uttermost_." "Ay. I know that too," returned Adams, with a cheery smile. "_Well_ do I know that. But don't mister me, George. There are times when the little titles of this world are ridiculous. Such a time is now. I am going to leave you, George. The hour of my departure is at hand. Strange, how anxious I used to feel! I used to think, what if I am killed by a fall from the cliffs, or by sickness, and these poor helpless children should be left fatherless! The dear Lord sent me a rebuke. He sent John Buffett to help me. But John Buffett has not the experience, or the education that's needful. Not that I had education myself, but, somehow, my experience, beginnin' as it did from the _very_ beginnin', went a long way to counterbalance that. Then, anxious thoughts _would_ rise up again. Want of faith, nothing else, George, nothing else. So the Lord rebuked me again, for he sent _you_." "Ah, father, I hope it is as you say. I dare hardly believe it, yet I earnestly hope so." "_I_ have no doubt, now," resumed Adams. "You have got just the qualities that are wanted. Regularly stored and victualled for the cruise. They'll be far better off than ever they were before. If I had only trusted more I should have suffered less. But I was always thinking of John Adams. Ah! that has been the great curse of my life--_John Adams_!--as if everything depended on him. Why," continued the old man, kindling with a sudden burst of indignation, "could _I_ have saved these souls by merely teaching 'em readin' and writin', or even by readin' God's book to 'em? Isn't it read every day by thousands to millions, against whom it falls like the sea on a great rock? Can the absence of temptation be pleaded, when here, in full force, there have been the most powerful temptations to disobedience continually? If that would have done, why were not all my brother mutineers saved from sin? It was not even when we read the Bible that deliverance came. I read it for ten years as a sealed book. No, George, no; it was when God's Holy Spirit opened the eyes and the heart, that I an' the dear women an' child'n became nothin', and fell in with His ways." He stopped suddenly, as if exhausted, and his new friend led him gently to his house. Many loving eyes watched him as he went along, and many tender hearts beat for him, but better still, many true hearts prayed for him. That night he became weaker, and next day he did not rise. When this became known, all the settlement crowded to his house, while from his bed there was a constant coming and going of those who had the right to be nearest to him. Nursed by the loving women whom he had led--and whose children's children he had led--to Jesus, and surrounded by men whom he had dandled, played with, reared, and counselled, he passed into the presence of God, to behold "the King in his beauty," to be "for ever with the Lord." May we join him, reader, you and I, when our time comes! On a tombstone over a grave under the banyan-tree near his house, is the simple record, "John Adams, died 5th March 1829, aged 65." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ And here our tale must end, for the good work which we have sought to describe has no end. Yet, for the sake of those who have a regard for higher things than a mere tale, we would add a few words before making our farewell bow. The colony of Pitcairn still exists and flourishes. But many changes have occurred since Adams left the scene, though the simple, guileless spirit of the people remains unchanged. Here is a brief summary of its history since 1829. George Nobbs had gained the affections of the people before Adams's death, and he at once filled the vacant place as well as it was possible for a stranger to do so. In 1830 the colony consisted of nearly ninety souls, and it had for some time been a matter of grave consideration that the failure of water by drought might perhaps prove a terrible calamity. It was therefore proposed by Government that the people of Pitcairn should remove to Otaheite, or, to give the island its modern name, Tahiti. There was much division of opinion among the islanders, and Mr Nobbs objected. However, the experiment was tried, and it failed signally. The whole community was transported in a ship to Tahiti in March 1831. But the loose manners and evil habits of many of the people there had such an effect on the Pitcairners that they took the first opportunity of returning to their much-loved island. John Buffett and a few families went first. The remainder soon followed in an American brig. Thereafter, life on the Lonely Island flowed as happily as ever for many years, with the exception of a brief but dark interval, when a scoundrel, named Joshua Hill, went to the island, passed himself off as an agent of the British Government, misled the trusting inhabitants, and established a reign of terror, ill-treating Nobbs, Buffett, and Evans, whom for a time he compelled to quit the place. Fortunately this impostor was soon found out and removed. The banished men returned, and all went well again. Rear-Admiral Moresby visited Pitcairn in 1851, and experienced a warm reception. Finding that the people wished Mr Nobbs to be ordained, he took him to England for this purpose. The faithful pastor did not fail to interest the English public in the romantic isle of which God had given him the oversight. During his visit he was presented to the Queen, who gave him portraits of herself and the Royal family. The Society for the Propagation of the Gospel placed Mr Nobbs on their missionary list, with a salary of 50 pounds per annum. Soon after this the increasing population of Pitcairn Island rendered it necessary that the islanders should find a wider home. Government, therefore, offered them houses and land in Norfolk Island, a penal settlement from which the convicts had been removed. Of course the people shrank from the idea of leaving Pitcairn when it was first proposed, but ultimately assented, and were landed on Norfolk Island, hundreds of miles from their old home, in June 1856. On this lovely spot the descendants of the mutineers of the _Bounty_ have lived ever since, under the care of that loved pastor on whom John Adams had dropped his mantle. We believe that the Reverend George H. Nobbs is still alive. At all events he was so last year, (1879), having written a letter in June to the Secretary of the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel, in which, among other things, he speaks of the "rapidly increasing community, now numbering 370 persons." He adds--"I am becoming very feeble from age, and my memory fails me in consequence of an operation at the back of my neck for carbuncle two years since;" and goes on to tell of the flourishing condition of his flock. In regard to the other personages who have figured in our little tale, very few, perhaps none, now survive. So late as the year 1872 we read in a pamphlet of the "Melanesian Mission," that George Adams and his sister, Rachel Evans, (both over seventy years of age), were present at an evening service in Norfolk Island, and that Arthur Quintal was still alive, though quite imbecile. But dear Otaheitan Sally and her loving Charlie and all the rest had long before joined the Church above. There was, however, a home-sick party of the Pitcairners who could by no means reconcile themselves to the new home. These left it not very long after landing in 1856, and returned to their beloved Pitcairn. Multiplying by degrees, as the first settlers had done, they gradually became an organised community; and now, while we write, the palm-groves of Pitcairn resound with the shouts of children's merriment and with the hymn of praise as in days of yore. A.J.R. McCoy is chief magistrate, and a Simon Young acts as minister, doctor, and schoolmaster, while his daughter, Rosalind Amelia, assists in the school. In a report from the chief magistrate, we learn that, although still out of the beaten track of commerce, the Pitcairners are more frequently visited by whalers than they used to be. Their simplicity of life, manners, and piety appears to be unchanged. He says, among other things:-- "No work is done on the Sabbath-day. We have a Bible-class every Wednesday, and a prayer-meeting the first Friday of each month. Every family has morning and evening prayers without intermission. We have a public or church library, at which all may read. Clothing we generally get from whalers who call in for refreshments. No alcoholic liquors of any kind are used on the island, except for medical purposes. A drunkard is unknown here." So the good seed sown under such peculiar circumstances at the beginning of the century continues to grow and spread and flourish, bringing forth fruit to the glory of God. Thus He causes light to spring out of darkness, good to arise out of evil; and the Lonely Island, once an almost unknown rock in the Pacific Ocean, was made a centre of blessed Christian influence soon after the time when it became--the refuge of the mutineers. 
21714	----	THE RED ERIC, BY R.M. BALLANTYNE. CHAPTER ONE. THE TALE BEGINS WITH THE ENGAGING OF A "TAIL"--AND THE CAPTAIN DELIVERS HIS OPINIONS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. Captain Dunning stood with his back to the fireplace in the back-parlour of a temperance coffee-house in a certain town on the eastern seaboard of America. The name of that town is unimportant, and, for reasons with which the reader has nothing to do, we do not mean to disclose it. Captain Dunning, besides being the owner and commander of a South Sea whale-ship, was the owner of a large burly body, a pair of broad shoulders, a pair of immense red whiskers that met under his chin, a short, red little nose, a large firm mouth, and a pair of light-blue eyes, which, according to their owner's mood, could flash like those of a tiger or twinkle sweetly like the eyes of a laughing child. But his eyes seldom flashed; they more frequently twinkled, for the captain was the very soul of kindliness and good-humour. Yet he was abrupt and sharp in his manner, so that superficial observers sometimes said he was hasty. Captain Dunning was, so to speak, a sample of three primary colours-- red, blue, and yellow--a walking fragment, as it were, of the rainbow. His hair and face, especially the nose, were red; his eyes, coat, and pantaloons were blue, and his waistcoat was yellow. At the time we introduce him to the reader he was standing, as we have said, with his back to the fireplace, although there was no fire, the weather being mild, and with his hands in his breeches pockets. Having worked with the said hands for many long years before the mast, until he had at last worked himself _behind_ the mast, in other words, on to the quarterdeck and into possession of his own ship, the worthy captain conceived that he had earned the right to give his hands a long rest; accordingly he stowed them away in his pockets and kept them there at all times, save when necessity compelled him to draw them forth. "Very odd," remarked Captain Dunning, looking at his black straw hat which lay on the table before him, as if the remark were addressed to it--"very odd if, having swallowed the cow, I should now be compelled to worry at the tail." As the black straw hat made no reply, the captain looked up at the ceiling, but not meeting with any response from that quarter, he looked out at the window and encountered the gaze of a seaman flattening his nose on a pane of glass, and looking in. The captain smiled. "Ah! here's a tail at last," he said, as the seaman disappeared, and in another moment reappeared at the door with his hat in his hand. It may be necessary, perhaps, to explain that Captain Dunning had just succeeded in engaging a first-rate crew for his next whaling voyage (which was the "cow" he professed to have swallowed), with the exception of a cook (which was the "tail," at which he feared he might be compelled to worry). "You're a cook, are you?" he asked, as the man entered and nodded. "Yes, sir," answered the "tail," pulling his forelock. "And an uncommonly ill-favoured rascally-looking cook you are," thought the captain; but he did not say so, for he was not utterly regardless of men's feelings. He merely said, "Ah!" and then followed it up with the abrupt question-- "Do you drink?" "Yes, sir, and smoke too," replied the "tail," in some surprise. "Very good; then you can go," said the captain, shortly. "Eh!" exclaimed the man: "You can go," repeated the captain. "You won't suit. My ship is a temperance ship, and all the hands are teetotalers. I have found from experience that men work better, and speak better, and in every way act better, on tea and coffee than on spirits. I don't object to their smoking; but I don't allow drinkin' aboard my ship; so you won't do, my man. Good-morning." The "tail" gazed at the captain in mute amazement. "Ah! you may look," observed the captain, replying to the gaze; "but you may also mark my words, if you will. I've not sailed the ocean for thirty years for nothing. I've seen men in hot seas and in cold--on grog, and on tea--and _I_ know that coffee and tea carry men through the hardest work better than grog. I also know that there's a set o' men in this world who look upon teetotalers as very soft chaps--old wives, in fact. Very good," (here the captain waxed emphatic, and struck his fist on the table.) "Now look here, young man, _I'm_ an old wife, and my ship's manned by similar old ladies; so you won't suit." To this the seaman made no reply, but feeling doubtless, as he regarded the masculine specimen before him, that he would be quite out of his element among such a crew of females, he thrust a quid of tobacco into his cheek, put on his hat, turned on his heel and left the room, shutting the door after him with a bang. He had scarcely left when a tap at the door announced a second visitor. "Hum! Another `tail,' I suppose. Come in." If the new-comer _was_ a "tail," he was decidedly a long one, being six feet three in his stockings at the very least. "You wants a cook, I b'lieve?" said the man, pulling off his hat. "I do. Are you one?" "Yes, I jist guess I am. Bin a cook for fifteen year." "Been to sea as a cook?" inquired the captain. "I jist have. Once to the South Seas, twice to the North, an' once round the world. Cook all the time. I've roasted, and stewed, and grilled, and fried, and biled, right round the 'arth, I have." Being apparently satisfied with the man's account of himself, Captain Dunning put to him the question--"Do you drink?" "Ay, like a fish; for I drinks nothin' but water, I don't. Bin born and raised in the State of Maine, d'ye see, an' never tasted a drop all my life." "Very good," said the captain, who plumed himself on being a clever physiognomist, and had already formed a good opinion of the man. "Do you ever swear?" "Never, but when I can't help it." "And when's that?" "When I'm fit to bu'st." "Then," replied the captain, "you must learn to bu'st without swearin', 'cause I don't allow it aboard my ship." The man evidently regarded his questioner as a very extraordinary and eccentric individual; but he merely replied, "I'll try;" and after a little further conversation an agreement was come to; the man was sent away with orders to repair on board immediately, as everything was in readiness to "up anchor and away next morning." Having thus satisfactorily and effectually disposed of the "tail," Captain Dunning put on his hat very much on the back of his head, knit his brows, and pursed his lips firmly, as if he had still some important duty to perform; then, quitting the hotel, he traversed the streets of the town with rapid strides. CHAPTER TWO. IMPORTANT PERSONAGES ARE INTRODUCED TO THE READER--THE CAPTAIN MAKES INSANE RESOLUTIONS, FIGHTS A BATTLE, AND CONQUERS. In the centre of the town whose name we have declined to communicate, there stood a house--a small house--so small that it might have been more appropriately, perhaps, styled a cottage. This house had a yellow-painted face, with a green door in the middle, which might have been regarded as its nose, and a window on each side thereof, which might have been considered its eyes. Its nose was, as we have said, painted green, and its eyes had green Venetian eyelids, which were half shut at the moment Captain Dunning walked up to it as if it were calmly contemplating that seaman's general appearance. There was a small garden in front of the house, surrounded on three sides by a low fence. Captain Dunning pushed open the little gate, walked up to the nose of the house, and hit it several severe blows with his knuckles. The result was that the nose opened, and a servant-girl appeared in the gap. "Is your mistress at home?" inquired the captain. "Guess she is--both of 'em!" replied the girl. "Tell both of 'em I'm here, then," said the captain, stepping into the little parlour without further ceremony; "and is my little girl in?" "Yes, she's in." "Then send her here too, an' look alive, lass." So saying, Captain Dunning sat down on the sofa, and began to beat the floor with his right foot somewhat impatiently. In another second a merry little voice was heard in the passage, the door burst open, a fair-haired girl of about ten years of age sprang into the room, and immediately commenced to strangle her father in a series of violent embraces. "Why, Ailie, my darling, one would think you had not seen me for fifty years at least," said the captain, holding his daughter at arm's-length, in order the more satisfactorily to see her. "It's a whole week, papa, since you last came to see me," replied the little one, striving to get at her father's neck again, "and I'm sure it seems to me like a hundred years at least." As the child said this she threw her little arms round her father, and kissed his large, weather-beaten visage all over--eyes, mouth, nose, chin, whiskers, and, in fact, every attainable spot. She did it so vigorously, too, that an observer would have been justified in expecting that her soft, delicate cheeks would be lacerated by the rough contact; but they were not. The result was a heightening of the colour, nothing more. Having concluded this operation, she laid her cheek on the captain's and endeavoured to clasp her hands at the back of his neck, but this was no easy matter. The captain's neck was a remarkably thick one, and the garments about that region were voluminous; however, by dint of determination, she got the small fingers intertwined, and then gave him a squeeze that ought to have choked him, but it didn't: many a strong man had tried that in his day, and had failed signally. "You'll stay a long time with me before you go away to sea again, won't you, dear papa?" asked the child earnestly, after she had given up the futile effort to strangle him. "How like!" murmured the captain, as if to himself, and totally unmindful of the question, while he parted the fair curls and kissed Ailie's forehead. "Like what, papa?" "Like your mother--your beloved mother," replied the captain, in a low, sad voice. The child became instantly grave, and she looked up in her father's face with an expression of awe, while he dropped his eyes on the floor. Poor Alice had never known a mother's love. Her mother died when she was a few weeks old, and she had been confided to the care of two maiden aunts--excellent ladies, both of them; good beyond expression; correct almost to a fault; but prim, starched, and extremely self-possessed and judicious, so much so that they were injudicious enough to repress some of the best impulses of their natures, under the impression that a certain amount of dignified formality was essential to good breeding and good morals in every relation of life. Dear, good, starched Misses Dunning! if they had had their way, boys would have played cricket and football with polite urbanity, and girls would have kissed their playmates with gentle solemnity. They did their best to subdue little Alice, but that was impossible. The child _would_ rush about the house at all unexpected and often inopportune seasons, like a furiously insane kitten and she _would_ disarrange their collars too violently every evening when she bade them good-night. Alice was intensely sympathetic. It was quite enough for her to see any one in tears, to cause her to open up the flood-gates of her eyes and weep--she knew not and she cared not why. She threw her arms round her father's neck again, and hugged him, while bright tears trickled like diamonds from her eyes. No diamonds are half so precious or so difficult to obtain as tears of genuine sympathy! "How would you like to go with me to the whale-fishery?" inquired Captain Dunning, somewhat abruptly as he disengaged the child's arms and set her on his knee. The tears stopped in an instant, as Alice leaped, with the happy facility of childhood, totally out of one idea and thoroughly into another. "Oh, I should like it _so_ much!" "And how much is `so' much, Ailie?" inquired the captain. Ailie pursed her mouth, and looked at her father earnestly, while she seemed to struggle to give utterance to some fleeting idea. "Think," she said quickly, "think something good _as much as ever you can_. Have you thought?" "Yes," answered the captain, smiling. "Then," continued Ailie, "its twenty thousand million times as much as that, and a great deal more!" The laugh with which Captain Dunning received this curious explanation of how much his little daughter wished to go with him to the whale-fishery, was interrupted by the entrance of his sisters, whose sense of propriety induced them to keep all visitors waiting at least a quarter of an hour before they appeared, lest they should be charged with unbecoming precipitancy. "Here you are, lassies; how are ye?" cried the captain as he rose and kissed each lady on the cheek heartily. The sisters did not remonstrate. They knew that their brother was past hope in this respect, and they loved him, so they suffered it meekly. Having admitted that they were well--as well, at least, as could be expected, considering the cataract of "trials" that perpetually descended upon their devoted heads--they sat down as primly as if their visitor were a perfect stranger, and entered into a somewhat lengthened conversation as to the intended voyage, commencing, of course, with the weather. "And now," said the captain, rubbing the crown of his straw hat in a circular manner, as if it were a beaver, "I'm coming to the point." Both ladies exclaimed, "What point, George?" simultaneously, and regarded the captain with a look of anxious surprise. "_The_ point," replied the captain, "about which I've come here to-day. It ain't a point o' the compass; nevertheless, I've been steerin' it in my mind's eye for a considerable time past. The fact is" (here the captain hesitated), "I--I've made up my mind to take my little Alice along with me this voyage." The Misses Dunning wore unusually tall caps, and their countenances were by nature uncommonly long, but the length to which they grew on hearing this announcement was something preternaturally awful. "Take Ailie to sea!" exclaimed Miss Martha Dunning, in horror. "To fish for whales!" added Miss Jane Dunning, in consternation. "Brother, you're mad!" they exclaimed together, after a breathless pause; "and you'll do nothing of the kind," they added firmly. Now, the manner in which the Misses Dunning received this intelligence greatly relieved their eccentric brother. He had fully anticipated, and very much dreaded, that they would at once burst into tears, and being a tender-hearted man he knew that he could not resist that without a hard struggle. A flood of woman's tears, he was wont to say, was the only sort of salt water storm he hadn't the heart to face. But abrupt opposition was a species of challenge which the captain always accepted at once--off-hand. No human power could force him to any course of action. In this latter quality Captain Dunning was neither eccentric nor singular. "I'm sorry you don't like my proposal, my dear sisters," said he; "but I'm resolved." "You won't!" said Martha. "You shan't!" cried Jane. "I _will_!" replied the captain. There was a pause here of considerable length, during which the captain observed that Martha's nostrils began to twitch nervously. Jane, observing the fact, became similarly affected. To the captain's practised eye these symptoms were as good as a barometer. He knew that the storm was coming, and took in all sail at once (mentally) to be ready for it. It came! Martha and Jane Dunning were for once driven from the shelter of their wonted propriety--they burst simultaneously into tears, and buried their respective faces in their respective pocket-handkerchiefs, which were immaculately clean and had to be hastily unfolded for the purpose. "Now, now, my dear girls," cried the captain, starting up and patting their shoulders, while poor little Ailie clasped her hands, sat down on a footstool, looked up in their faces--or, rather, at the backs of the hands which covered their faces--and wept quietly. "It's very cruel, George--indeed it is," sobbed Martha; "you know how we love her." "Very true," remarked the obdurate captain; "but you _don't_ know how _I_ love her, and how sad it makes me to see so little of her, and to think that she may be learning to forget me--or, at least," added the captain, correcting himself as Ailie looked at him reproachfully through her tears--"at least to do without me. I can't bear the thought. She's all I have left to me, and--" "Brother," interrupted Martha, looking hastily up, "did you ever before hear of such a thing as taking a little girl on a voyage to the whale-fishing?" "No, never," replied the captain; "what has that got to do with it?" Both ladies held up their hands and looked aghast. The idea of any man venturing to do what no one ever thought of doing before was so utterly subversive of all their ideas of propriety--such a desperate piece of profane originality--that they remained speechless. "George," said Martha, drying her eyes, and speaking in tones of deep solemnity, "did you ever read _Robinson Crusoe_?" "Yes, I did, when I was a boy; an' that wasn't yesterday." "And did you," continued the lady in the same sepulchral tone, "did you note how that man--that beacon, if I may use the expression, set up as a warning to deter all wilful boys and men from reckless, and wicked, and wandering, and obstreperous courses--did you note, I say, how that man, that beacon, was shipwrecked, and spent a dreary existence on an uninhabited and dreadful island, in company with a low, dissolute, black, unclothed companion called Friday?" "Yes," answered the captain, seeing that she paused for a reply. "And all," continued Martha, "in consequence of his resolutely and obstinately, and wilfully and wickedly going to sea?" "Well, it couldn't have happened if he hadn't gone to sea, no doubt." "Then," argued Martha, "will you, can you, George, contemplate the possibility of your only daughter coming to the same dreadful end?" George, not exactly seeing the connection, rubbed his nose with his forefinger, and replied--"Certainly not." "Then you are bound," continued Martha, in triumph, "by all that is upright and honourable, by all the laws of humanity and _propriety_, to give up this wild intention--and you _must_!" "There!" cried Miss Jane emphatically, as if the argument were unanswerable--as indeed it was, being incomprehensible. The last words were unfortunate. They merely riveted the captain's determination. "You talk a great deal of nonsense, Martha," he said, rising to depart. "I've fixed to take her, so the sooner you make up your minds to it the better." The sisters knew their brother's character too well to waste more time in vain efforts; but Martha took him by the arm, and said earnestly--"Will you promise me, my dear George, that when she comes back from this voyage, you will never take her on another?" "Yes, dear sister," replied the captain, somewhat melted, "I promise that." Without another word Martha sat down and held out her arms to Ailie, who incontinently rushed into them. Propriety fled for the nonce, discomfited. Miss Martha's curls were disarranged beyond repair, and Miss Martha's collar was crushed to such an extent that the very laundress who had washed and starched and ironed it would have utterly failed to recognise it. Miss Jane looked on at these improprieties in perfect indifference--nay, when, after her sister had had enough, the child was handed over to her, she submitted to the same violent treatment without a murmur. For once Nature was allowed to have her way, and all three had a good hearty satisfactory cry; in the midst of which Captain Dunning left them, and, proceeding on board his ship, hastened the preparations for his voyage to the Southern Seas. CHAPTER THREE. THE TEA-PARTY--ACCIDENTS AND INCIDENTS OF A MINOR KIND--GLYNN PROCTOR GETS INTO TROUBLE. On the evening of the day in which the foregoing scenes were enacted, the Misses Dunning prepared a repast for their brother and one or two of his officers, who were to spend the last evening in port there, and discuss various important and unimportant matters in a sort of semi-convivio-business way. An event of this kind was always of the deepest interest and productive of the most intense anxiety to the amiable though starched sisters; first, because it was of rare occurrence; and second, because they were never quite certain that it would pass without some unhappy accident, such as the upsetting of a tea-cup or a kettle, or the scalding of the cat, not to mention visitors' legs. They seemed to regard a tea-party in the light of a firearm--a species of blunderbuss--a thing which, it was to be hoped, would "go off well"; and, certainly, if loading the table until it groaned had anything to do with the manner of its "going off," there was every prospect of its doing so with pre-eminent success upon that occasion. But besides the anxieties inseparable from the details of the pending festivities, the Misses Dunning were overwhelmed and weighed down with additional duties consequent upon their brother's sudden and unexpected determination. Little Ailie had to be got ready for sea by the following morning! It was absolute and utter insanity! No one save a madman or a sea-captain could have conceived such a thing, much less have carried it into effect tyrannically. The Misses Dunning could not attempt any piece of duty or work separately. They always acted together, when possible; and might, in fact, without much inconvenience, have been born Siamese twins. Whatever Martha did, Jane attempted to do or to mend; wherever Jane went, Martha followed. Not, by any means, that one thought she could improve upon the work of the other; their conduct was simply the result of a desire to assist each other mutually. When Martha spoke, Jane echoed or corroborated; and when Jane spoke, Martha repeated her sentences word for word in a scarcely audible whisper--not after the other had finished, but during the course of the remarks. With such dispositions and propensities, it is not a matter to be wondered at that the good ladies, while arranging the tea-table, should suddenly remember some forgotten article of Ailie's wardrobe, and rush simultaneously into the child's bedroom to rectify the omission; or, when thus engaged, be filled with horror at the thought of having left the buttered toast too near the fire in the parlour. "It is really quite perplexing," said Martha, sitting down with a sigh, and regarding the tea-table with a critical gaze; "quite perplexing. I'm sure I don't know how I shall bear it. It is too bad of George-- darling Ailie--(dear me, Jane, how crookedly you have placed the urn)-- it is really too bad." "Too bad, indeed; yes, isn't it?" echoed Jane, in reference to the captain's conduct, while she assisted Martha, who had risen to readjust the urn. "Oh!" exclaimed Martha, with a look of horror. "What?" cried Jane, who looked and felt equally horrified, although she knew not yet the cause. "The eggs!" "The eggs?" "Yes, the eggs. You know every one of the last dozen we got was bad, and we've forgot to send for more," said Martha. "For more; so we have!" cried Jane; and both ladies rushed into the kitchen, gave simultaneous and hurried orders to the servant-girl, and sent her out of the house impressed with an undefined feeling that life or death depended on the instant procuring of two dozen fresh eggs. It may be as well to remark here, that the Misses Dunning, although stiff, and starched, and formal, had the power of speeding nimbly from room to room, when alone and when occasion required, without in the least degree losing any of their stiffness or formality, so that we do not use the terms "rush," "rushed," or "rushing" inappropriately. Nevertheless, it may also be remarked that they never acted in a rapid or impulsive way in company, however small in numbers or unceremonious in character the company might be--always excepting the servant-girl and the cat, to whose company, from long habit, they had become used, and therefore indifferent. The sisters were on their knees, stuffing various articles into a large trunk, and Ailie was looking on, by way of helping, with very red and swollen eyes, and the girl was still absent in quest of eggs, when a succession of sounding blows were administered to the green door, and a number of gruff voices were heard conversing without. "_There_!" cried Martha and Jane, with bitter emphasis, looking in each other's faces as if to say, "We knew it. Before that girl was sent away for these eggs, we each separately and privately prophesied that they would arrive, and that we should have to open the door. And you see, so it has happened, and we are not ready!" But there was no time for remark. The case was desperate. Both sisters felt it to be so, and acted accordingly, while Ailie, having been forbidden to open the door, sat down on her trunk, and looked on in surprise. They sprang up, washed their hands simultaneously in the same basin, with the same piece of soap broken in two; dried them with the same towel, darted to the mirror, put on two identically similar clean tall caps, leaped down-stairs, opened the door with slow dignity of demeanour, and received their visitors in the hall with a calmness and urbanity of manner that contrasted rather strangely with their flushed countenances and heaving bosoms. "Hallo! Ailie!" exclaimed the captain, as his daughter pulled down his head to be kissed. "Why, you take a fellow all aback, like a white squall. Are you ready, my pet? Kit stowed and anchor tripped? Come this way, and let us talk about it. Dear me, Martha, you and Jane--look as if you had been running a race, eh? Here are my messmates come to talk a bit with you. My sisters, Martha and Jane--Dr Hopley." (Dr Hopley bowed politely.) "My first mate, Mr Millons" (Mr Millons also bowed, somewhat loosely); "and Rokens--Tim Rokens, my chief harpooner." (Mr Rokens pulled his forelock, and threw back his left leg, apparently to counterbalance the bend in his body.) "He didn't want to come; said he warn't accustomed to ladies' society; but I told him you warn't ladies--a--I don't mean that--not ladies o' the high-flyin' fashionable sort, that give themselves airs, you know. Come along, Ailie." While the captain ran on in this strain, hung up his hat, kissed Ailie, and ran his fingers through his shaggy locks, the Misses Dunning performed a mingled bow and courtsey to each guest as his name was mentioned, and shook hands with him, after which the whole party entered the parlour, where the cat was discovered enjoying a preliminary meal of its own at one of the pats of butter. A united shriek from Martha and Jane, a nautical howl from the guests, and a rolled-up pocket-handkerchief from Rokens sent that animal from the table as if it had received a galvanic shock. "I ax yer parding, ladies," said Mr Rokens, whose aim had been so perfect that his handkerchief not only accelerated the flight of the cat, but carried away the violated pat of butter along with it. "I ax yer parding, but them brutes is sich thieves--I could roast 'em alive, so I could." The harpooner unrolled his handkerchief, and picking the pat of butter from its folds with his fingers, threw it into the fire. Thereafter he smoothed down his hair, and seated himself on the extreme edge of a chair, as near the door as possible. Not that he had any intention whatever of taking to flight, but he deemed that position to be more suited to his condition than any other. In a few minutes the servant-girl returned with the eggs. While she is engaged in boiling them, we shall introduce Captain Dunning's friends and messmates to the reader. Dr Hopley was a surgeon, and a particular friend of the captain's. He was an American by birth, but had travelled so much about the world that he had ceased to "guess" and "calculate," and to speak through his nose. He was a man about forty, tall, big-boned, and muscular, though not fat; and besides being a gentlemanly man, was a good-natured, quiet creature, and a clever enough fellow besides, but he preferred to laugh at and enjoy the jokes and witticisms of others rather than to perpetrate any himself. Dr Hopley was intensely fond of travelling, and being possessed of a small independence, he indulged his passion to the utmost. He had agreed to go with Captain Dunning as the ship's doctor, simply for the sake of seeing the whale-fishery of the South Seas, having already, in a similar capacity, encountered the dangers of the North. Dr Hopley had few weaknesses. His chief one was an extravagant belief in phrenology. We would not be understood to imply that phrenology is extravagant; but we assert that the doctor's belief in it was extravagant, assigning, as he did, to every real and ideal facility of the human mind "a local habitation and a name" in the cranium, with a corresponding depression or elevation of the surface to mark its whereabouts. In other respects he was a commonplace sort of a man. Mr Millons, the first mate, was a short, hale, thick-set man, without any particularly strong points of character. He was about thirty-five, and possessed a superabundance of fair hair and whiskers, with a large, broad chin, a firm mouth, rather fierce-looking eyes, and a hasty, but by no means a bad temper. He was a trustworthy, matter-of-fact seaman, and a good officer, but not bright intellectually. Like most men of his class, his look implied that he did not under-estimate his own importance, and his tones were those of a man accustomed to command. Tim Rokens was an old salt; a bluff, strong, cast-iron man, of about forty-five years of age, who had been at sea since he was a little boy, and would not have consented to live on dry land, though he had been "offered command of a seaport town all to himself," as he was wont to affirm emphatically. His visage was scarred and knotty, as if it had been long used to being pelted by storms--as indeed it had. There was a scar over his left eye and down his cheek, which had been caused by a slash from the cutlass of a pirate in the China Seas; but although it added to the rugged effect of his countenance, it did not detract from the frank, kindly expression that invariably rested there. Tim Rokens had never been caught out of temper in his life. Men were wont say he had no temper to lose. Whether this was true or no, we cannot presume to say, but certainly he never lost it. He was the best and boldest harpooner in Captain Dunning's ship, and a sententious deliverer of his private opinion on all occasions whatsoever. When we say that he wore a rough blue pilot-cloth suit, and had a large black beard, with a sprinkling of silver hairs in it, we have completed his portrait. "What's come of Glynn?" inquired Captain Dunning, as he accepted a large cup of smoking tea with one hand, and with the other handed a plate of buttered toast to Dr Hopley, who sat next him. "I really cannot imagine," replied Miss Martha. "No, cannot imagine," whispered Miss Jane. "He promised to come, and to be punctual," continued Miss Martha ("Punctual," whispered Miss J), "but something seems to have detained him. Perhaps--" Here Miss Martha was brought to an abrupt pause by observing that Mr Rokens was about to commence to eat his egg with a teaspoon. "Allow me, Mr Rokens," she said, handing that individual an ivory eggspoon. "Oh, cer'nly, ma'am. By all means," replied Rokens, taking the spoon and handing it to Miss Jane, under the impression that it was intended for her. "I beg pardon, it is for yourself, Mr Rokens," said Martha and Jane together. "Thank'ee, ma'am," replied Rokens, growing red, as he began to perceive he was a little "off his course" somehow. "I've no occasion for _two_, an' this one suits me oncommon." "Ah! you prefer big spoons to little ones, my man, don't you?" said Captain Dunning, coming to the rescue. "Let him alone, Martha, he's used to take care of himself. Doctor, can you tell me now, which is the easiest of digestion--a hard egg or a soft one?" Thus appealed to, Dr Hopley paused a moment and frowned at the teapot, as though he were about to tax his brain to the utmost in the solution of an abstruse question in medical science. "Well now," he replied, stirring his tea gently, and speaking with much deliberation, "that depends very much upon circumstances. Some digestions can manage a hard egg best, others find a soft one more tractable. And then the state of the stomach at the time of eating has to be taken into account. I should say now, that my little friend Ailie, here, to judge from the rosy colour of her cheeks, could manage hard or soft eggs equally well; couldn't you, eh?" Ailie laughed, as she replied, "I'm sure I don't know, Doctor Hopley; but I _like_ soft ones best." To this, Captain Dunning said, "Of course you do, my sensible little pet;" although it would be difficult to show wherein lay the sensibility of the preference, and then added--"There's Rokens, now; wouldn't you, doctor--judging from his rosy, not to say purple cheeks--conclude that he wasn't able to manage even two eggs of any kind?" "Wot, _me_!" exclaimed Mr Rokens, looking up in surprise, as indeed he well might, having just concluded his fourth, and being about to commence his fifth egg, to the no small anxiety of Martha and Jane, into whose limited and innocent minds the possibility of such a feat had never entered. "Wot, _me_! Why, capting, if they was biled as hard as the head of a marline-spike--" The expanding grin on the captain's face, and a sudden laugh from the mate, apprised the bold harpooner at this point of his reply that the captain was jesting, so he felt a little confused, and sought relief by devoting himself assiduously to egg Number 5. It fared ill with Tim Rokens that evening that he had rashly entered into ladies' society, for he was a nervous man in refined company, though cool and firm as a grounded iceberg when in the society of his messmates, or when towing with the speed of a steamboat in the wake of a sperm-whale. Egg Number 5 proved to be a bad one. Worse than that, egg Number 5 happened to belong to that peculiar class of bad eggs which "go off" with a little crack when hit with a spoon, and sputter their unsavoury contents around them. Thus it happened, that when Mr Rokens, feeling confused, and seeking relief in attention to the business then in hand, hit egg Number 5 a smart blow on the top, a large portion of its contents spurted over the fair white tablecloth, a small portion fell on Mr Rokens' vest, and a minute yellow globule thereof alighted on the fair Martha's hand, eliciting from that lady a scream, and as a matter of course, an echo from Jane in the shape of a screamlet. Mr Rokens flushed a deep Indian-red, and his nose assumed a warm blue colour instantly. "Oh! ma'am, I ax yer parding." "Pray don't mention it--a mere accident. I'm so sorry you have got a bad--Oh!" The little scream with which Miss Martha interrupted her remark was caused by Mr Rokens (who had just observed the little yellow globule above referred to) seizing her hand, and wiping away the speck with the identical handkerchief that had floored the cat and swept away the pat of butter. Immediately thereafter, feeling heated, he wiped the perspiration from his forehead, and unwittingly transferred the spot thereto in the form of a yellow streak, whereat Ailie and the first mate burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. Even Miss Martha smiled, although she rather objected to jesting, as being a dangerous amusement, and never laughed at the weaknesses or misfortunes of others, however ludicrous they might be, when she could help it. "How can you, brother?" she said, reproachfully, shaking her head at the captain, who was winking at the doctor with one eye in a most obstreperous manner. "Do try another egg, Mr Rokens; the others, I am sure, are fresh. I cannot imagine how a bad one came to be amongst them." "Ah, try another, my lad," echoed the captain. "Pass 'em up this way, Mr Millons." "By no manner o' means; I'll eat this 'un!" replied the harpooner, commencing to eat the bad egg with apparent relish. "I like 'em this way--better than nothin', anyhow. Bless ye, marm, ye've no notion wot sort o' things I've lived on aboard ship--" Rokens came to an abrupt pause in consequence of the servant-girl, at a sign from her mistresses (for she always received duplicate orders), seizing his plate and carrying it off bodily. It was immediately replaced by a clean one and a fresh egg. While Rokens somewhat nervously tapped the head of Number 6, Miss Martha, in order to divert attention from him, asked Mr Millons if sea-fare was always salt junk and hard biscuit? "Oh, no, madam," answered the first mate. "We've sometimes salt pork, and vegetables now and agin; and pea-soup, and plum-duff--" "Plum-duff, Ailie," interrupted the captain, in order to explain, "is just a puddin' with few plums and fewer spices in it. Something like a white-painted cannon-shot, with brown spots on it here and there." "Is it good?" inquired Ailie. "Oh, ain't it!" remarked Mr Rokens, who had just concluded Number 6, and felt his self-possession somewhat restored. "Yes, miss, it is; but it ain't equal to whale's-brain fritters, it ain't; them's first-chop." "Have whales got brains?" inquired Miss Martha, in surprise. "Brains!" echoed Miss Jane, in amazement. "Yes, madam, they 'ave," answered the first mate, who had hitherto maintained silence, but having finished tea was now ready for any amount of talk; "and what's more remarkable still, they've got several barrels of oil in their skulls besides." "Dear me!" exclaimed the sisters. "Yes, ladies, capital oil it is, too; fetches a 'igher price hin the markit than the other sort." "By the bye, Millons, didn't you once fall into a whale's skull, and get nearly drowned in oil?" inquired the doctor. "I did," answered the first mate, with the air of a man who regarded such an event as a mere trifle, that, upon consideration, might almost be considered as rather a pleasant incident than otherwise in one's history. "Nearly drowned in oil!" exclaimed the sisters, while Ailie opened her eyes in amazement, and Mr Rokens became alarmingly purple in the face with suppressed chuckling. "It's true," remarked Rokens, in a hoarse whisper to Miss Martha, putting his hand up to his mouth, the better to convey the sound to her ears; "I seed him tumble in, and helped to haul him out." "Let's have the story, Millons," cried the captain, pushing forward his cup to be replenished; "It's so long since I heard it, that I've almost forgotten it. Another cup o' tea, Martha, my dear--not quite so strong as the last, and three times as sweet. I'll drink `Success to the cup that cheers, but don't inebriate.' Go ahead, Millons." Nothing rejoiced the heart of Mr Millons more than being asked to tell a story. Like most men who are excessively addicted to the habit, his stories were usually very long and very dry; but he had a bluff good-natured way of telling them, that rendered his yarns endurable on shore, and positively desirable at sea. Fortunately for the reader, the story he was now requested to relate was not a long one. "It ain't quite a _story_," he began--and in beginning he cleared his throat with emphasis, thrust his thumbs into the arm-holes of his vest, and tilted his chair on its hind-legs--"it ain't quite a story; it's a hanecdote, a sort of hincident, so to speak, and this is 'ow it 'appened:-- "Many years ago, w'en I was a very young man, or a big boy, I was on a voyage to the South Seas after whales. Tim Rokens was my messmate then, and has bin so almost ever since, off, and on." (Mr Rokens nodded assent to this statement.) "Well, we came up with a big whale, and fixed an iron cleverly in him at the first throw--" "An iron?" inquired Miss Martha, to whose mind flat and Italian irons naturally occurred. "Yes, madam, an iron; we call the 'arpoons irons. Well, away went the fish, like all alive! not down, but straight for'ard, takin' out the line at a rate that nearly set the boat on fire, and away we went along with it. It _was_ a chase, that. For six hours, off and on, we stuck to that whale, and pitched into 'im with 'arpoons and lances; but he seemed to have the lives of a cat--nothin' would kill 'im. At last the 'arpooner gave him a thrust in the life, an' up went the blood and water, and the fish went into the flurries, and came nigh capsizin' the boat with its tail as it lashed the water into foam. At last it gave in, and we had a four hours' pull after that, to tow the carcase to the ship, for there wasn't a cat's-paw of wind on the water. "W'en we came alongside, we got out the tackles, and before beginning to flense (that means, ma'am, to strip off the blubber), we cut a hole in the top o' the skull to get out the oil that was there; for you must know that the sperm-whale has got a sort of 'ollow or big cavern in its 'ead, w'ich is full o' the best oil, quite pure, that don't need to be cleared, but is all ready to be baled out and stowed away in casks. Well, w'en the 'ole was cut in its skull I went down on my knees on the edge of it to peep in, when my knees they slipped on the blubber, and in I went 'ead-foremost, souse into the whale's skull, and began to swim for life in the oil. "Of course I began to roar for 'elp like a bull, and Rokens there, 'oo 'appened to be near, 'e let down the hend of a rope, but my 'ands was so slippy with oil I couldn't ketch 'old of it; so 'e 'auls it up agin, and lets down a rope with a 'ook at the hend, and I got 'old of this and stuck it into the waistband o' my trousers, and gave the word, `'Eave away, my 'earties;' and sure enough so they did, and pulled me out in a trice. And that's 'ow it was; and I lost a suit o' clo's, for nothing on 'arth would take the oil out, and I didn't need to use pomatum for six months after." "No more you did," cried Rokens, who had listened to the narrative with suppressed delight; "no more you did. I never see sich a glazed rat as you wos when you comed out o' that hole, in all my life; an' he wos jist like a eel; it wos all we could do to keep 'old on 'im, marm, he was so slippery." While the captain was laughing at the incident, and Rokens was narrating some of the minute details in the half-unwilling yet half-willing ears of the sisters, the door opened, and a young man entered hastily and apologised for being late. "The fact is, Miss Dunning, had I not promised faithfully to come, I should not have made my appearance at all to-night." "Why, Glynn, what has kept you, lad?" interrupted the captain. "I thought you were a man of your word." "Ay, that's the question, capting," said Rokens, who evidently regarded the new arrival with no favourable feelings; "it's always the way with them _gentlemen_ sailors till they're got into blue water and brought to their bearin's." Mr Rokens had wisdom enough to give forth the last part of his speech in a muttered tone, for the youth was evidently a favourite with the captain, as was shown by the hearty manner in which he shook him by the hand. "Messmates, this is Glynn Proctor, a friend o' mine," said Captain Dunning, in explanation: "he is going with us this voyage _before_ the mast, so you'll have to make the most of him as an equal to-night, for I intend to keep him in his proper place when afloat. He chooses to go as an ordinary seaman, against my advice, the scamp; so I'll make him keep his head as low as the rest when aboard. You'll to keep your time better, too, than you have done to-night, lad," continued the captain, giving his young friend a slap on the shoulder. "What has detained you, eh?" "Necessity, captain," replied the youth, with a smile, as he sat down to table with an off-hand easy air that savoured of recklessness; "and I am prepared to state, upon oath if need be, that necessity is not `the mother of invention.' If she had been, she would have enabled me to invent a way of escape from my persecutors in time to keep my promise to Miss Dunning." "Persecutors, Glynn!" exclaimed Martha; "to whom do you refer?" "To the police of this good city." "Police!" echoed the captain, regarding his young friend seriously, while the doctor and the first mate and Tim Rokens listened in some surprise. "Why, the fact is," said Glynn, "that I have just escaped from the hands of the police, and if it had not been that I was obliged to make a very wide detour, in order to reach this house without being observed, I should have been here long ago." "Boy, boy, your hasty disposition will bring you into serious trouble one of these days," said the captain, shaking his head. "What mischief have you been about?" "Ay, there you go--it's my usual fate," cried Glynn, laughing. "If I chance to get into a scrape, you never think of inquiring whether it was my fault or my misfortune. This time, however, it _was_ my misfortune, and if Miss Dunning will oblige me with a cup of tea, I'll explain how it happened. "Little more than two hours ago I left the ship to come here to tea, as I had promised to do. Nikel Sling, the long-legged cook you engaged this morning, went ashore with me. As we walked up the street together, I observed a big porter passing along with a heavy deal plank on his shoulder. The street was somewhat narrow and crowded at that part, and Sling had turned to look in at a shop-window just as the big fellow came up. The man shouted to my shipmate to get out o' the way, but the noise in the street prevented him from hearing. Before I could turn to touch the cook's arm, the fellow uttered an oath and ran the end of the plank against his head. Poor Sling was down in an instant. Before I well knew what I was about, I hit the porter between the eyes and down he went with a clatter, and the plank above him. In a moment three policemen had me by the collar. I tried to explain, but they wouldn't listen. As I was being hurried away to the lock-up, it flashed across me that I should not only lose my tea and your pleasant society this evening, but be prevented from sailing to-morrow, so I gave a sudden twist, tripped up the man on my left, overturned the one on my right, and bolted." "They ran well, the rascals, and shouted like maniacs, but I got the start of 'em, dived down one street, up another, into a by-lane, over a back-garden wall, in at the back-door of a house and out at the front, took a round of two or three miles, and came in here from the west; and whatever other objections there may be to the whole proceeding, I cannot say that it has spoiled my appetite." "And so, sir," said Captain Dunning, "you call this your `misfortune?'" "Surely, captain," said Glynn, putting down his cup and looking up in some surprise--"surely, you cannot blame me for punishing the rascal who behaved so brutally, without the slightest provocation, to my shipmate!" "Hear, hear!" cried Rokens involuntarily. "I do blame you, lad," replied the captain seriously. "In the first place, you had no right to take the law into your own hands. In the second place, your knocking down the man did no good whatever to your shipmate; and in the third place, you've got yourself and me and the ship into a very unsatisfactory scrape." Rokens' face, which had hitherto expressed approval of Glynn's conduct, began to elongate as the captain went on in this strain; and the youth's recklessness of manner altogether disappeared as inquired, "How so, captain? I have escaped, as you see; and poor Sling, of course, was not to blame, so he'll be all safe aboard, and well, I hope, by this time." "There you're mistaken, boy. They will have secured Sling and made him tell the name of his ship, and also the name of his pugnacious comrade." "And do you think he'd be so mean as to tell?" asked Glynn indignantly. "You forget that the _first_ act in this nice little melodrama was the knocking down of Sling, so that he could not know what happened after, and the police would not be so soft as to tell him _why_ they wanted such information until after they had got it." Poor Glynn looked aghast, and Rokens was overwhelmed. "It seems to me, I'd better go and see about this," said Millons, rising and buttoning his coat with the air of a man who had business to transact and meant to transact it. "Right, Millons," answered the captain. "I'm sorry to break up our evening so soon, but we must get this man aboard by hook or crook as speedily as possible. You had better go too, doctor. Rokens and I will take care of this young scamp, who must be made a nigger of in order to be got on board, for his face, once seen by these sharp limbs of justice, is not likely soon to be forgotten." Glynn Proctor was indeed a youth whose personal appearance was calculated to make a lasting impression on most people. He was about eighteen years of age, but a strong, well-developed muscular frame, a firm mouth, a large chin, and an eagle eye, gave him the appearance of being much older. He was above the middle height, but not tall, and the great breadth of his shoulders and depth of his chest made him appear shorter than he really was. His hair was of that beautiful hue called nut-brown, and curled close round his well-shaped head. He was a model of strength and activity. Glynn Proctor had many faults. He was hasty and reckless. He was unsteady, too, and preferred a roving idle life to a busy one; but he had redeeming qualities. He was bold and generous. Above all, he was unselfish, and therefore speedily became a favourite with all who knew him. Glynn's history is briefly told. He was an Englishman. His father and mother had died when he was a child, and left him in charge of an uncle, who emigrated to America shortly after his brother's death. The uncle was a good man, after a fashion, but he was austere and unlovable. Glynn didn't like him; so when he attained the age of thirteen, he quietly told him that he meant to bid him good-bye, and go seek his fortune in the world. The uncle as quietly told Glynn that he was quite right, and the sooner he went the better. So Glynn went, and never saw his uncle again, for the old man died while he was abroad. Glynn travelled far and encountered many vicissitudes of fortune in his early wanderings; but he was never long without occupation, because men liked his looks, and took him on trial without much persuasion. To say truth, Glynn never took the trouble to persuade them. When his services were declined, he was wont to turn on his heel and walk away without a word of reply; and not unfrequently he was called back and employed. He could turn his hand to almost anything, but when he tired of it, he threw it up and sought other work elsewhere. In the course of his peregrinations, he came to reside in the city in which our story finds him. Here he had become a compositor in the office of a daily newspaper, and, happening to be introduced to the Misses Dunning, soon became a favourite with them, and a constant visitor at their house. Thus he became acquainted with their brother. Becoming disgusted with the constant work and late hours of the printing-office, he resolved to join Captain Dunning's ship, and take a voyage to southern seas as an ordinary seaman. Glynn and little Alice Dunning were great friends, and it was a matter of extreme delight to both of them that they were to sail together on this their first voyage. Having been made a nigger of--that is, having had his face and hands blackened in order to avoid detection--Glynn sallied forth with the captain and Rokens to return to their ship, the _Red Eric_, which lay in the harbour, not ten minutes' walk from the house. They passed the police on the wharf without creating suspicion, and reached the vessel. CHAPTER FOUR. THE ESCAPE. "Well, Millons, what news?" inquired the captain, as he stepped on deck. "Bad news, sir, I fear" replied the first mate. "I found, on coming aboard, that no one knew anything about Sling, so I went ashore at once and 'urried up to the hospital, w'ere, sure enough, I found 'im lyin' with his 'ead bandaged, and lookin' as if 'e were about gone. They asked me if I knew what ship 'e belonged to, as the police wanted to know. So I told 'em I knew well enough, but I wasn't going to tell if it would get the poor fellow into a scrape. "`Why don't you ask himself?' says I. "They told me 'e was past speaking, so I tried to make 'im understand, but 'e only mumbled in reply. W'en I was about to go 'e seemed to mumble very 'ard, so I put down my ear to listen, and 'e w'ispered quite distinct tho' very low--`All right, my 'eartie. I'm too cute for 'em by a long way; go aboard an' say nothin'.' So I came away, and I've scarce been five minutes aboard before you arrived. My own opinion is, that 'e's crazed, and don't know what 'e's sayin'." "Oh!" ejaculated Captain Dunning. "He said that, did he? Then _my_ opinion is, that he's not so crazed as you think. Tell the watch, Mr Millons, to keep a sharp look-out." So saying, Captain Dunning descended to the cabin, and Rokens to the forecastle (in sea phraseology the "fok-sail"), while Glynn Proctor procured a basin and a piece of soap, and proceeded to rub the coat of charcoal off his face and hands. Half-an-hour had not elapsed when the watch on deck heard a loud splash near the wharf, as if some one had fallen into the water. Immediately after, a confused sound of voices and rapid footsteps was heard in the street that opened out upon the quay, and in a few seconds the end of the wharf was crowded with men who shouted to each other, and were seen in the dim starlight to move rapidly about as if in search of something. "Wot can it be?" said Tim Rokens in a low voice, to a seaman who leaned on the ship's bulwarks close to him. "Deserter, mayhap," suggested the man. While Rokens pondered the suggestion, a light plash was heard close to the ship's side, and a voice said, in a hoarse whisper, "Heave us a rope, will ye. Look alive, now. Guess I'll go under in two minits if ye don't." "Oho!" exclaimed Rokens, in a low, impressive voice, as he threw over the end of a rope, and, with the aid of the other members of the watch, hauled Nikel Sling up the side, and landed him dripping and panting on the deck. "W'y--Sling! what on airth--?" exclaimed one of the men. "It's lucky--I am--on airth--" panted the tall cook, seating himself on the breech of one of the main-deck carronades, and wringing the water from his garments. "An' it's well I'm not at the bottom o' this 'ere 'arbour." "But where did ye come from, an' why are they arter ye, lad?" inquired Rokens. "W'y? 'cause they don't want to part with me, and I've gi'n them the slip, I guess." When Nikel Sling had recovered himself so as to talk connectedly, he explained to his wondering shipmates how that, after being floored in the street, he had been carried up to the hospital, and on recovering his senses, found Mr Millons standing by the bedside, conversing with the young surgeons. The first words of their conversation showed him that something was wrong, so, with remarkable self-possession, he resolved to counterfeit partial delirium, by which means he contrived to give the first mate a hint that all was right, and declined, without creating suspicion, to give any intelligible answers as to who he was or where he had come from. The blow on his head caused him considerable pain, but his mind was relieved by one of the young surgeons, who remarked to another, in going round the wards, that the "skull of that long chap wasn't fractured after all, and he had no doubt he would be dismissed cured in a day or two." So the cook lay quiet until it was dark. When the house-surgeon had paid his last visit, and the nurses had gone their rounds in the accident-ward, and no sound disturbed the quiet of the dimly-lighted apartment save the heavy fitful breathing and occasional moans and restless motions of the sufferers, Nikel Sling raised himself on his elbow, and glanced stealthily round on the rows of pain-worn and haggard countenances around him. It was a solemn sight to look upon, especially at that silent hour of the night. There were men there with almost every species of painful wound and fracture. Some had been long there, wasting away from day to day, and now lay quiet, though suffering, from sheer exhaustion. Others there were who had been carried in that day, and fidgeted impatiently in their unreduced strength, yet nervously in their agony; or, in some cases, where the fear of death was on them, clasped their hands and prayed in whispers for mercy to Him whose name perhaps they had almost never used before except for the purpose of taking it in vain. But such sights had little or no effect on the cook, who had rubbed hard against the world's roughest sides too long to be easily affected by the sight of human suffering, especially when exhibited in men. He paused long enough to note that the nurses were out of the way or dozing, and then slipping out of bed, he stalked across the room like a ghost, and made for the outer gateway of the hospital. He knew the way, having once before been a temporary inmate of the place. He reached the gate undiscovered, tripped up the porter's heels, opened the wicket, and fled towards the harbour, followed by the porter and a knot of chance passers-by. The pursuers swelled into a crowd as he neared the harbour. Besides being long-limbed, Nikel Sling was nimble. He distanced his pursuers easily, and, as we have seen, swam off and reached his ship almost as soon as they gained the end of the wharf. The above narration was made much more abruptly and shortly than we have presented it, for oars were soon heard in the water, and it behoved the poor hunted cook to secrete himself in case they should take a fancy to search the vessel. Just as the boat came within a few yards of the ship he hastily went below. "Boat ahoy!" shouted Tim Rokens; "wot boat's that?" The men lay on their oars. "Have you a madman on board your ship?" inquired the gatekeeper of the hospital, whose wrath at the unceremonious treatment he had received had not yet cooled down. "No," answered Rokens, laying his arms on the bulwarks, and looking down at his questioner with a sly leer; "no, we ha'n't, but you've got a madman aboord that boat." "Who's that?" inquired the warder, who did not at first understand the sarcasm. "Why, yourself, to be sure," replied Rokens, "an' the sooner you takes yourself off, an' comes to an anchor in a loo-natick asylum, the better for all parties consarned." "No, but I'm in earnest, my man--" "_As_ far as that goes," interrupted the imperturbable Rokens, "so am I." "The man," continued the gatekeeper, "has run out of the hospital with a smashed head, I calc'late, stark starin' mad, and gone off the end o' the w'arf into the water--" "You don't mean it!" shouted Rokens, starting with affected surprise. "Now you _are_ a fine fellow, ain't you, to be talkin' here an' wastin' time while a poor feller-mortal is bein' drownded, or has gone and swummed off to sea--p'r'aps without chart, compass, or rudder! Hallo, lads! tumble up there! Man overboard! tumble up, tumble up!" In less than three minutes half-a-dozen men sprang up the hatchway, hauled up the gig which swung astern, tumbled into it, and began to pull wildly about the harbour in search of the drowning man. The shouts and commotion roused the crews of the nearest vessels, and ere long quite a fleet of boats joined in the search. "Wos he a big or a little feller?" inquired Rokens, panting from his exertions, as he swept up to the boat containing the hospital warder, round which several of the other boats began to congregate. "A big fellow, I guess, with legs like steeples. He was sloping when they floored him. A thief, I expect he must ha' bin." "A thief!" echoed Rokens, in disgust; "why didn't ye say, so at first? If he's a thief, he's born to be hanged, so he's safe and snug aboard his ship long ago, I'll be bound. Good-night t'ye, friend, and better luck next time." A loud laugh greeted the ears of the discomfited warder as the crews of the boats dipped their oars in the water and pulled towards, their respective ships. Next morning, about daybreak, little Alice Dunning came on board her father's ship, accompanied by her two aunts, who, for once, became utterly and publicly regardless of appearances and contemptuous of all propriety, as they sobbed on the child's neck and positively refused to be comforted. Just as the sun rose, and edged the horizon with a gleam of liquid fire, the _Red Eric_ spread her sails and stood out to sea. CHAPTER FIVE. DAY DREAMS AND ADVENTURES AMONG THE CLOUDS--A CHASE, A BATTLE, AND A VICTORY. Early morning on the ocean! There is poetry in the idea; there is music in the very sound. As there is nothing new under the sun, probably a song exists with this or a similar title; if not, we now recommend it earnestly to musicians. Ailie Dunning sat on the bulwarks of the _Red Eric_, holding on tightly by the mizzen-shrouds, and gazing in open-eyed, open-mouthed, inexpressible delight upon the bright calm sea. She was far, far out upon the bosom of the Atlantic now. Sea-sickness--which during the first part of the voyage, had changed the warm pink of her pretty face into every imaginable shade of green--was gone, and the hue of health could not now be banished even by the rudest storm. In short, she had become a thorough sailor, and took special delight in turning her face to windward during the wild storm, and drinking-in the howling blast as she held on by the rigid shrouds, and laughed at the dashing spray--for little Ailie was not easily frightened. Martha and Jane Dunning had made it their first care to implant in the heart of their charge a knowledge of our Saviour's love, and especially of His tenderness towards, and watchful care over, the lambs of His flock. Besides this, little Ailie was naturally of a trustful disposition. She had implicit confidence in the strength and wisdom of her father, and it never entered into her imagination to dream that it was possible for any evil to befall the ship which _he_ commanded. But, although Ailie delighted in the storm, she infinitely preferred the tranquil beauty and rest of a "great calm," especially at the hour just before sunrise, when the freshness, brightness, and lightness of the young day harmonised peculiarly with her elastic spirit. It was at this hour that we find her alone upon the bulwarks of the _Red Eric_. There was a deep, solemn stillness around, that irresistibly and powerfully conveyed to her mind the idea of rest. The long, gentle undulation of the deep did not in the least detract from this idea. So perfect was the calm, that several masses of clouds in the sky, which shone with the richest saffron light, were mirrored in all their rich details as if in a glass. The faintest possible idea of a line alone indicated, in one direction, where the water terminated and the sky began. A warm golden haze suffused the whole atmosphere, and softened the intensity of the deep-blue vault above. There was, indeed, little variety of object to gaze upon--only the water and the sky. But what a world of delight did not Ailie find in that vast sky and that pure ocean, that reminded her of the sea of glass before the great white throne, of which she had so often read in Revelation. The towering masses of clouds were so rich and thick, that she almost fancied them to be mountains and valleys, rocks and plains of golden snow. Nay, she looked so long and so ardently at the rolling mountain heights in the sky above, and their magical counterparts in the sky below, that she soon, as it were, _thought herself into_ Fairyland, and began a regular journey of adventures therein. Such a scene at such an hour is a source of gladsome, peaceful delight to the breast of man in every stage of life; but it is a source of unalloyed, bounding, exhilarating, romantic, unspeakable joy only in the years of childhood, when the mind looks hopefully forward, and before it has begun--as, alas! it must begin, sooner or later--to gaze regretfully back. How long Ailie would have sat in motionless delight it is difficult to say. The man at the wheel having nothing to do, had forsaken his post, and was leaning over the stern, either lost in reverie, or in a vain effort to penetrate with his vision the blue abyss to the bottom. The members of the watch on deck were either similarly engaged or had stowed themselves away to sleep in quiet corners among blocks and cordage. No one seemed inclined to move or speak, and she would probably have sat there immovable for hours to come, had not a hand fallen gently on her shoulder, and by the magic of its simple contact scattered the bright dreams of Fairyland as the finger-touch destroys the splendour of the soap-bubble. "Oh! Glynn," exclaimed Ailie, looking round and heaving a deep sigh; "I've been away--far, far away--you can't believe how far." "Away, Ailie! Where have you been?" asked Glynn, patting the child's head as he leaned over the gunwale beside her. "In Fairyland. Up in the clouds yonder. Out and in, and up and down. Oh, you've no idea. Just look." She pointed eagerly to an immense towering cloud that rose like a conspicuous landmark in the centre of the landscape of the airy world above. "Do you see that mountain?" "Yes, Ailie; the one in the middle, you mean, don't you? Yes, well?" "Well," continued the child, eagerly and hurriedly, as if she feared to lose the thread of memory that formed the warp and woof of the delicate fabric she had been engaged in weaving; "well, I began there; I went in behind it, and I met a fairy--not really, you know, but I tried to think I met one, so I began to speak to her, and then I made her speak to me, and her voice was so small and soft and sweet. She had on silver wings, and a star--a bright star in her forehead--and she carried a wand with a star on the top of it too. So I asked her to take me to see her kingdom, and I made her say she would--and, do you know, Glynn, I really felt at last as if she didn't wait for me to tell her what to say, but just went straight on, answering my questions, and putting questions to me in return. Wasn't it funny? "Well, we went on, and on, and on--the fairy and me--up one beautiful mountain of snow and down another, talking all the time so pleasantly, until we came to a great dark cave; so I made up my mind to make a lion come out of it; but the fairy said, `No, let it be a bear;' and immediately a great bear came out. Wasn't it strange? It really seemed as if the fairy had become real, and could do things of her own accord." The child paused at this point, and looking with an expression of awe into her companion's face, said--"Do you think, Glynn, that people can _think_ so hard that fairies _really_ come to them?" Glynn looked perplexed. "No, Ailie, I suspect they can't--not because we can't think hard enough, but because there are no fairies to come." "Oh, I'm _so_ sorry!" replied the child sadly. "Why?" inquired Glynn. "Because I love them _so_ much--of course, I mean the good ones. I don't like the bad ones--though they're very useful, because they're nice to kill, and punish, and make examples of, and all that, when the good ones catch them." "So they are," said the youth, smiling. "I never thought of that before. But go on with your ramble in the clouds." "Well," began Ailie; "but where was I?" "Just going to be introduced to a bear." "Oh yes; well--the bear walked slowly away, and then the fairy called out an elephant, and after that a 'noceros--" "A 'noceros!" interrupted Glynn; "what's that?" "Oh, you know very well. A beast with a thick skin hanging in folds, and a horn on its nose--" "Ah, a _rhi_noceros--I see. Well, go on, Ailie." "Then the fairy told a camel to appear, and after that a monkey, and then a hippopotamus, and they all came out one after another, and some of them went away, and others began to fight. But the strangest thing of all was, that every one of them was _so_ like the pictures of wild beasts that are hanging in my room at home! The elephant, too, I noticed, had his trunk broken exactly the same way as my toy elephant's one was. Wasn't it odd?" "It was rather odd," replied Glynn; "but where did you go after that?" "Oh, then we went on, and on again, until we came to--" "It's your turn at the wheel, lad, ain't it?" inquired Mr Millons, coming up at that moment, and putting an abrupt termination to the walk in Fairyland. "It is, sir," answered Glynn, springing quickly to the wheel, and relieving the man who had been engaged in penetrating the ocean's depths. The mate walked forward; the released sailor went below, and Ailie was again left to her solitary meditations;--for she was enough of a sailor now, in heart, to know that she ought not to talk too much to the steersman, even though the weather should be calm and there was no call for his undivided attention to the duties of his post. While Nature was thus, as it were, asleep, and the watch on deck were more than half in the same condition, there was one individual in the ship whose faculties were in active play, whose "steam," as he himself would have remarked, "was up." This was the worthy cook, Nikel Sling, whose duties called him to his post at the galley-fire at an early hour each day. We have often thought that a cook's life must be one of constant self-denial and exasperation of spirit. Besides the innumerable anxieties in reference to such important matters as boiling over and over-boiling, being done to a turn, or over-done, or singed or burned, or capsized, he has the diurnal misery of being the first human being in his little circle of life, to turn out of a morning, and must therefore experience the discomfort--the peculiar discomfort--of finding things as _they were left_ the night before. Any one who does not know what that discomfort is, has only to rise an hour before the servants of a household, whether at sea or on shore, to find out. Cook, too, has generally, if not always, to light the fire; and that, especially in frosty weather, is not agreeable. Moreover, cook roasts _himself_ to such an extent, and at meal-times, in nine cases out of ten, gets into such physical and mental perturbation, that he cannot possibly appreciate the luxuries he has been occupied all the day in concocting. Add to this, that he spends all the morning in preparing breakfast; all the forenoon in preparing dinner; all the afternoon in preparing tea and supper, and all the evening in clearing up, and perhaps all the night in dreaming of the meals of the following day, and mentally preparing breakfast, and we think that we have clearly proved the truth of the proposition with which we started--namely, that a cook's life must be one of constant self-denial and exasperation of spirit. But this is by the way, and was merely suggested by the fact that, while all other creatures were enjoying either partial or complete repose, Nikel Sling was washing out pots and pans and kettles, and handling murderous-looking knives and two-pronged tormentors with a demoniacal activity that was quite appalling. Beside him, on a little stool close to the galley-fire, sat Tim Rokens-- not that Mr Rokens was cold--far from it. He was, to judge from appearances, much hotter than was agreeable. But Tim had come there and sat down to light his pipe, and being rather phlegmatic when not actively employed, he preferred to be partially roasted for a few minutes to getting up again. "We ought," remarked Tim Rokens, puffing at a little black pipe which seemed inclined to be obstinate, "we ought to be gittin' among the fish by this time. Many's the one I've seed in them 'ere seas." "I rather guess we should," replied the cook, pausing the midst of his toils and wiping the perspiration from his forehead with an immense bundle of greasy oakum. "But I've seed us keep dodgin' about for weeks, I have, later in the year than this, without clappin' eyes on a fin. What sort o' baccy d'ye smoke, Rokens?" "Dun know. Got it from a Spanish smuggler for an old clasp-knife. Why?" "Cause it smells like rotten straw, an' won't improve the victuals. Guess you'd better take yourself off, old chap." "Wot a cross-grained crittur ye are," said Rokens, as he rose to depart. At that moment there was heard a cry that sent the blood tingling to the extremities of every one on board the _Red Eric_. "Thar she blows! thar she blows!" shouted the man in the crow's-nest. The crow's-nest is a sort of cask, or nest, fixed at the top of the mainmast of whale-ships, in which a man is stationed all day during the time the ships are on the fishing-ground, to look out for whales; and the cry, "Thar she blows," announced the fact that the look-out had observed a whale rise to the surface and blow a spout of steamy water into the air. No conceivable event--unless perhaps the blowing-up of the ship itself-- could have more effectually and instantaneously dissipated the deep tranquillity to which we have more than once referred. Had an electric shock been communicated through the ship to each individual, the crew could not have been made to leap more vigorously and simultaneously. Many days before, they had begun to expect to see whales. Every one was therefore on the _qui vive_, so that when the well-known signal rang out like a startling peal in the midst of the universal stillness, every heart in the ship leaped in unison. Had an observant man been seated at the time in the forecastle, he would have noticed that from out of the ten or fifteen hammocks that swung from the beams, there suddenly darted ten or fifteen pairs of legs which rose to the perpendicular position in order to obtain leverage to "fetch way." Instantly thereafter the said legs descended, and where the feet had been, ten or fifteen heads appeared. Next moment the men were "tumbling up" the fore-hatch to the deck, where the watch had already sprung to the boat-tackles. "Where away?" sang out Captain Dunning who was among the first on deck. "Off the weather bow, sir, three points." "How far?" "About two miles. Thar she blows!" "Call all hands," shouted the captain. "Starboard watch, ahoy!" roared the mate, in that curious hoarse voice peculiar to boatswains of men-of-war. "Tumble up, lads, tumble up! Whale in sight! Bear a hand, my hearties!" The summons was almost unnecessary. The "starboard watch" was--with the exception of one or two uncommonly heavy sleepers--already on deck pulling on its ducks and buckling its belts. "Thar she breaches, thar she blows!" again came from the crow's-nest in the voice of a Stentor. "Well done, Dick Barnes, you're the first to raise the oil," remarked one of the men, implying by the remark that the said Dick was fortunate enough to be the first to sight a whale. "Where away now?" roared the captain, who was in a state of intense excitement. "A mile an' a half to leeward, sir." "Clear away the boats," shouted the captain. "Masthead, ahoy! D'ye see that whale now?" "Ay, ay, sir. Thar she blows!" "Bear a hand, my hearties," cried the captain, as the men sprang to the boats which were swinging at the davits. "Get your tubs in! Clear your falls! Look alive, lads! Stand-by to lower! All ready?" "All ready, sir." "Thar she blows!" came again from the masthead with redoubled energy. "Sperm-whales, sir; there's a school of 'em." "A _school_ of them!" whispered Ailie, who had left her post at the mizzen-shrouds, and now stood by her father's side, looking on at the sudden hubbub in unspeakable amazement. "Do whales go to school?" she said, laughing. "Out of the road, Ailie, my pet," cried her father hastily. "You'll get knocked over. Lower away, lads, lower away!" Down went the starboard, larboard, and waist-boats as if the falls had been cut, and almost before you could wink the men literally tumbled over the side into them, took their places, and seized their oars. "Here, Glynn, come with me, and I'll show you a thing or two," said the captain. "Jump in, lad; look sharp." Glynn instantly followed his commander into the starboard boat, and took the aft oar. Tim Rokens, being the harpooner of that boat, sat at the bow oar with his harpoons and lances beside him, and the whale-line coiled in a tub in the boat's head. The captain steered. And now commenced a race that taxed the boats' crews to the utmost; for it is always a matter keenly contested by the different crews, who shall fix the first harpoon in the whale. The larboard boat was steered by Mr Millons, the first mate; the waist-boat by Mr Markham, the second mate--the latter an active man of about five-and-twenty, whose size and physical strength were herculean, and whose disposition was somewhat morose and gloomy. "Now, lads, give way! That's it! that's the way. Bend your backs, now! _do_ bend your backs," cried the captain, as the three boats sprang from the ship's side and made towards the nearest whale, with the white foam curling at their bow. Several more whales appeared in sight spouting in all directions, and the men were wild with excitement. "That's it! Go it lads!" shouted Mr Millons, as the waist-boat began to creep ahead. "Lay it on! give way! What d'ye say, boys; shall we beat 'em?" Captain Dunning stood in the stern-sheets of the starboard boat, almost dancing with excitement as he heard these words of encouragement. "Give way, boys!" he cried. "They can't do it! That whale's ours--so it is. Only bend your backs! A steady pull! Pull like steam-tugs! That's it! Bend the oars! Double 'em up! Smash 'em in bits, _do_!" Without quite going the length of the captain's last piece of advice, the men did their work nobly. They bent their strong backs with a will, and strained their sinewy arms to the utmost. Glynn, in particular, to whom the work was new, and therefore peculiarly exciting and interesting, almost tore the rowlocks out of the boat in his efforts to urge it on, and had the oar not been made of the toughest ash, there is no doubt that he would have obeyed the captain's orders literally and have smashed it in bits. On they flew like racehorses. Now one boat gained an inch on the others, then it lost ground again as the crew of another put forth additional energy, and the three danced over the glassy sea as if the inanimate planks had been suddenly endued with life, and inspired with the spirit that stirred the men. A large sperm-whale lay about a quarter of a mile ahead, rolling lazily in the trough of the sea. Towards this the starboard boat now pulled with incredible speed, leaving the other two gradually astern. A number of whales rose in various directions. They had got into the midst of a shoal, or school of them, as the whale-men term it; and as several of these were nearer the other boats than the first whale was, they diverged towards them. "There go flukes," cried Rokens, as the whale raised its huge tail in the air and "sounded"--in other words, dived. For a few minutes the men lay on their oars, uncertain in what direction the whale would come up again; but their doubts were speedily removed by its rising within a few yards of the boat. "Now, Rokens," cried the captain; "now for it; give him the iron. Give way, lads; spring, boys. Softly now, softly." In another instant the boat's bow was on the whale's head, and Rokens buried a harpoon deep in its side. "Stern all!" thundered the captain. The men obeyed, and the boat was backed off the whale just in time to escape the blow of its tremendous flukes as it dived into the sea, the blue depths of which were instantly dyed red with the blood that flowed in torrents from the wound. Down it went, carrying out the line at a rate that caused the chocks through which it passed to smoke. In a few minutes the line ceased to run out, and the whale returned to the surface. It had scarcely showed its nose, when the slack of the line was hauled in, and a second harpoon was fixed in its body. Infuriated with pain, the mighty fish gave vent to a roar like a bull, rolled half over, and lashed the sea with his flukes, till, all round for many yards, it was churned into red slimy foam. Then he turned round, and dashed off with the speed of a locomotive engine, tearing the boat through the waves behind it, the water curling up like a white wall round the bows. "She won't stand that long," muttered Glynn Proctor, as he rested on his oar, and looked over his shoulder at the straining line. "That she will, boy," said the captain; "and more than that, if need be. You'll not be long of havin' a chance of greasin' your fingers, I'll warrant." In a few minutes the speed began to slacken, and after a time they were able to haul in on the line. When the whale again came to the surface, a third harpoon was cleverly struck into it, and a spout of blood from its blow-hole showed that it was mortally wounded. In throwing the harpoon, Tim Rokens slipped his foot, and went down like a stone head-foremost into the sea. He came up again like a cork, and just as the boat flew past fortunately caught hold of Glynn Proctor's hand. It was well that the grasp was a firm one, for the strain on their two arms was awful. In another minute Tim was in his place, ready with his lance to finish off the whale at its next rise. Up it came again, foaming, breaching, and plunging from wave to wave, flinging torrents of blood and spray into the air. At one moment he reared his blunt gigantic head high above the sea; the next he buried his vast and quivering carcase deep in the gory brine, carrying down with him a perfect whirlpool of red foam. Then he rose again and made straight for the boat. Had he known his own power, he might have soon terminated the battle, and come off the victor, but fortunately he did not. Tim Rokens received his blunt nose on the point of his lance, and drove him back with mingled fury and terror. Another advance was made, and a successful lance-thrust delivered. "That's into his life," cried the captain. "So it is," replied Rokens. And so it was. A vital part had been struck. For some minutes the huge leviathan lashed and rolled and tossed in the trembling waves in his agony, while he spouted up gallons of blood with every throe; then he rolled over on his back, and lay extended a lifeless mass upon the waters. "Now, lads; three cheers for our first whale. Hip! hip! hip!--" The cheer that followed was given with all the energy and gusto inspired by a first victory, and it was repeated again and again, and over again, before the men felt themselves sufficiently relieved to commence the somewhat severe and tedious labour of towing the carcase to the ship. It was a hard pull, for the whale had led them a long chase, and as the calm continued, those left aboard could not approach to meet the boats. The exhausted men were cheered, however, on getting aboard late that night, to find that the other boats had been equally successful, each of them having captured a sperm-whale. CHAPTER SIX. DISAGREEABLE CHANGES--SAGACIOUS CONVERSATIONS, AND A TERRIBLE ACCIDENT. A striking and by no means a pleasant change took place in the general appearance of the _Red Eric_ immediately after the successful chase detailed in the last chapter. Before the arrival of the whales the decks had been beautifully clean and white, for Captain Dunning was proud of his ship, and fond of cleanliness and order. A few hours after the said arrival the decks were smeared with grease, oil, and blood, and everything from stem to stern became from that day filthy and dirty. This was a sad change to poor Ailie, who had not imagined it possible that so sudden and disagreeable an alteration could take place. But there was no help for it; the duties of the fishery in which they were engaged required that the whales should not only be caught, but cut up, boiled down to oil, and stowed away in the hold in casks. If the scene was changed for the worse a few hours after the cutting-up operations were begun, it became infinitely more so when the _try-works_ were set going, and the melting-fires were lighted, and huge volumes of smoke begrimed the masts, and sails, and rigging. It was vain to think of clearing up; had they attempted that, the men would have been over-tasked without any good being accomplished. There was only one course open to those who didn't like it, and that was--to "grin and bear it." "Cutting out" and "trying in" are the terms used by whale-men to denote the processes of cutting off the flesh or "blubber" from the whale's carcase, and reducing it to oil. At an early hour on the following morning the first of these operations was commenced. Ailie went about the decks, looking on with mingled wonder, interest, and disgust. She stepped about gingerly, as if afraid of coming in contact with slimy objects, and with her nose and mouth screwed up after the fashion of those who are obliged to endure bad smells. The expression of her face under the circumstances was amusing. As for the men, they went about their work with relish, and total indifference as to consequences. When the largest whale had been hauled alongside, ropes were attached to his head and tail, and the former was secured near the stern of the ship, while the latter was lashed to the bow; the cutting-tackle was then attached. This consisted of an arrangement of pulleys depending from the main-top, with a large blubber-hook at the end thereof. The cutting was commenced at the neck, and the hook attached; then the men hove on the windlass, and while the cutting was continued in a spiral direction round the whale's body, the tackle raised the mass of flesh until it reached the fixed blocks above. This mass, when it could be hauled up no higher, was then cut off, and stowed away under the name of a "blanket-piece." It weighed upwards of a ton. The hook being lowered and again attached, the process was continued until the whole was cut off. Afterwards, the head was severed from the body and hoisted on board, in order that the oil contained in the hollow of it might be baled out. From the head of the first whale ten barrels of oil were obtained. The blubber yielded about eighty barrels. When the "cutting out" was completed, and the remnants of bone and flesh were left to the sharks which swarmed round the vessel, revelling in their unusually rich banquet, the process of "trying in" commenced. "Trying in" is the term applied to the melting of the fat and the stowing of it away in barrels in the form of oil; and an uncommonly dirty process it is. The large "blanket-pieces" were cut into smaller portions, and put into the try-pots, which were kept in constant operation. At night the ship had all the appearance of a vessel on fire, and the scene on deck was particularly striking and unearthly. One night several of the men were grouped on and around the windlass, chatting, singing, and "spinning yarns." Ailie Dunning stood near them, lost in wonder and admiration; for the ears and eyes of the child were assailed in a manner never before experienced or dreamed of even in the most romantic mood of cloud-wandering. It was a very dark night, darker than usual, and not a breath of wind ruffled the sea, which was like a sheet of undulating glass--for, be it remembered, there is no such thing at any time as absolute stillness in the ocean. At all times, even in the profoundest calm, the long, slow, gentle swell rises and sinks with unceasing regularity, like the bosom of a man in deep slumber. Dense clouds of black smoke and occasional lurid sheets of flame rose from the try-works, which were situated between the foremast and the main-hatch. The tops of the masts were lost in the curling smoke, and the black waves of the sea gleamed and flashed in the red light all round the ship. One man stood in front of the melting-pot, pitching in pieces of blubber with a two-pronged pitchfork. Two comrades stood by the pots, stirring up their contents, and throwing their figures into wild uncouth attitudes, while the fire glared in their greasy faces, and converted the front of their entire persons into deep vermilion. The oil was hissing in the try-pots; the rough weather-beaten faces of the men on the windlass were smeared, and their dirty-white ducks saturated, with oil. The decks were blood-stained; huge masses of flesh and blubber lay scattered about; sparks flew upwards in splendid showers as the men raked up the fires; the decks, bulwarks, railings, try-works, and windlass were covered with oil and slime, and glistening in the red glare. It was a terrible, murderous-looking scene, and filled Ailie's mind with mingled feelings of wonder, disgust, and awe, as she leaned on a comparatively clean spot near the foremast, listening to the men and gazing at the rolling smoke and flames. "Ain't it beautiful?" said a short, fat little seaman named Gurney, who sat swinging his legs on the end of the windlass, and pointed, as he spoke, with the head of his pipe to a more than usually brilliant burst of sparks and flame that issued that moment from the works. "Beautiful!" exclaimed a long-limbed, shambling fellow named Jim Scroggles, "why, that ain't the word at all. Now, I calls it splendiferous." Scroggles looked round at his comrades, as if to appeal to their judgment as to the fitness of the word, but not receiving any encouragement, he thrust down the glowing tobacco in his pipe with the end of his little finger, and reiterated the word "splendiferous" with marked emphasis. "Did ye ever see that word in Johnson?" inquired Gurney. "Who's Johnson?" said Scroggles, contemptuously. "Wot, don't ye know who Johnson is?" cried Gurney, in surprise. "In course I don't; how should I?" retorted Scroggles. "There's ever so many Johnsons in the world; which on 'em all do you mean?" "Why, I mean Johnson wot wrote the diksh'nary--the great lexikragofer." "Oh, it's _him_ you mean, is it? In course I've knowed him ever since I wos at school." A general laugh interrupted the speaker. "At school!" cried Nickel Sling, who approached the group at that moment with a carving knife in his hand--he seldom went anywhere without an instrument of office in his hand--"At school! Wal now, that beats creation. If ye wos, I'm sartin ye only larned to forgit all ye orter to have remembered. I'd take a bet now, ye wosn't at school as long as I've been settin' on this here windlass." "Yer about right, Sling, it 'ud be unpossible for me to be as _long_ as you anywhere, 'cause everybody knows I'm only five fut two, whereas you're six fut four!" "Hear, hear!" shouted Dick Barnes--a man with a huge black beard, who the reader may perhaps remember was the first to "raise the oil." "It'll be long before you make another joke like that, Gurney. Come, now, give us a song, Gurney, do; there's the cap'n's darter standin' by the foremast, a-waitin' to hear ye. Give us `Long, long ago.'" "Ah! that's it, give us a song," cried the men. "Come, there's a good fellow." "Well, it's so long ago since I sung that song, shipmates," replied Gurney, "that I've bin and forgot it; but Tim Rokens knows it; where's Rokens?" "He's in the watch below." In sea parlance, the men whose turn it is to take rest after their long watch on deck are somewhat facetiously said to belong to the "watch below." "Ah! that's a pity; so we can't have that 'ere partickler song. But I'll give ye another, if ye don't object." "No, no. All right; go ahead, Gurney! Is there a chorus to it?" "Ay, in course there is. Wot's a song without a chorus? Wot's plum-duff without the plums? Wot's a ship without a 'elm? It's my opinion, shipmates, that a song without a chorus is no better than it should be. It's wus nor nothin'. It puts them wot listens in the blues an' the man wot sings into the stews--an' sarve him right. I wouldn't, no, I wouldn't give the fag-end o' nothin' mixed in bucket o' salt water for a song without a chorus--that's flat; so here goes." Having delivered himself of these opinions in an extremely vigorous manner, and announced the fact that he was about to begin, Gurney cleared his throat and drew a number of violent puffs from his pipe in quick succession, in order to kindle that instrument into a glow which would last through the first verse and the commencement of the chorus. This he knew was sufficient, for the men, when once fairly started on the chorus, would infallibly go on to the end with or without his assistance, and would therefore afford him time for a few restorative whiffs. "It hain't got no name, lads." "Never mind, Gurney--all right--fire away." "Oh, I once know'd a man as hadn't got a nose, An' this is how he come to hadn't-- One cold winter night he went and got it froze-- By the pain he was well-nigh madden'd. (_Chorus_.) Well-nigh madden'd, By the pain he was well-nigh madden'd. "Next day it swoll up as big as my head, An' it turn'd like a piece of putty; It kivered up his mouth, oh, yes, so it did, So he could not smoke his cutty. (_Chorus_.) Smoke his cutty, So he could not smoke his cutty. "Next day it grew black, and the next day blue, An' tough as a junk of leather; (Oh! he yelled, so he did, fit to pierce ye through)-- An' then it fell off altogether! (_Chorus_.) Fell off altogether, An' then it fell off altogether! "But the morial is wot you've now got to hear, An' it's good--as sure as a gun; An' you'll never forget it, my messmates dear, For this song it hain't got none! (_Chorus_.) Hain't got none, For this song it hain't got none!" The applause that followed this song was most enthusiastic, and evidently gratifying to Gurney, who assumed a modest deprecatory air as he proceeded to light his pipe, which had been allowed to go out at the third verse, the performer having become so engrossed in his subject as to have forgotten the interlude of puffs at that point. "Well sung, Gurney. Who made it?" inquired Phil Briant, an Irishman, who, besides being a jack-of-all-trades and an able-bodied seaman, was at that time acting-assistant to the cook and steward, the latter--a half Spaniard and half negro, of Californian extraction--being unwell. "I'm bound not to tell," replied Gurney, with a conscious air. "Ah, then, yer right, my boy, for it's below the average entirely." "Come, Phil, none o' yer chaff," cried Dick Barnes, "that song desarves somethin' arter it. Suppose now, Phil, that you wos to go below and fetch the bread-kid." "Couldn't do it," replied Phil, looking solemn, "on no account wotiver." "Oh, nonsense, why not?" "'Cause its unpossible. Why, if I did, sure that surly compound o' all sorts o' human blood would pitch into me with the carvin'-knife." "Who? Tarquin?" cried Dick Barnes, naming the steward. "Ay, sure enough that same--Tarquin's his name, an it's kuriously befittin' the haythen, for of all the cross-grained mixtures o' buffalo, bear, bandicoot, and crackadile I iver seed, he's out o' sight--" "Did I hear any one mention my name?" inquired the steward himself who came aft at that moment. He was a wild Spanish-like fellow, with a handsome-enough figure, and a swart countenance that might have been good-looking but for the thickish lips and nose and the bad temper that marked it. Since getting into the tropics, the sailors had modified their costumes considerably, and as each man had in some particular allowed himself a slight play of fancy, their appearance, when grouped together, was varied and picturesque. Most of them wore no shoes, and the caps of some were, to say the least, peculiar. Tarquin wore a broad-brimmed straw hat, with a conical crown, and a red silk sash tied round his waist. "Yes, Tarquin," replied Barnes, "we _wos_ engaged in makin' free-an'-easy remarks on you; and Phil Briant there gave us to understand that you wouldn't let us have the bread--kid up. Now, it's my opinion you ain't goin' to be so hard on us as that; you will let us have it up to comfort our hearts on this fine night, won't you?" The steward, whose green visage showed that he was too ill to enter into a dispute at that time, turned on his heel and walked aft, remarking that they might eat the bottom out o' the ship, for all he cared. "There now, you misbemannered Patlander, go and get it, or we'll throw you overboard," cried Scroggles, twisting his long limbs awkwardly as he shifted his position on the windlass. "Now, then, shipmates, don't go for to ax it," said Briant, remaining immovable. "Don't I know wot's best for ye? Let me spaake to ye now. Did any of ye iver study midsin?" "No!" cried several with a laugh. "Sure I thought not," continued Phil, with a patronising air, "or ye'd niver ask for the bread--kid out o' saisin. Now I was in the medical way meself wance--ay, ye may laugh, but it's thrue--I wos 'prentice to a 'pothecary, an' I've mixed up more midsins than would pisen the whole popilation of owld Ireland--barrin' the praists, av coorse. And didn't I hear the convarse o' all the doctors in the place? And wasn't the word always--`Be rigglar with yer mails--don't ait, avic, more nor three times a day, and not too much, now. Be sparin'.'" "Hah! ye long-winded grampus," interrupted Dick Barnes, impatiently. "An' warn't the doctors right? Three times a day for sick folk, and six times--or more--for them wot's well." "Hear, hear!" cried the others, while two of them seized Briant by the neck, and thrust him forcibly towards the after-hatch. "Bring up the kid, now; an' if ye come without it, look out for squalls." "Och! worse luck," sighed the misused assistant, as he disappeared. In a few minutes Phil returned with the kid, which was a species of tray filled with broken sea-biscuit, which, when afloat, goes by the name of "bread." This was eagerly seized, for the appetites of sailors are always sharp, except immediately after meals. A quantity of the broken biscuit was put into a strainer, and fried in whale-oil, and the men sat round the kid to enjoy their luxurious feast, and relate their adventures--all of which were more or less marvellous, and many of them undoubtedly true. The more one travels in this world of ours, and the more one reads of the adventures of travellers upon whose narratives we can place implicit confidence, the more we find that men do not now require, as they did of old, to draw upon their imaginations for marvellous tales of wild, romantic adventure, in days gone by, travellers were few; foreign lands were almost unknown. Not many books were written; and of the few that were, very few were believed. In the present day men of undoubted truthfulness have roamed far and wide over the whole world, their books are numbered by hundreds, and much that was related by ancient travellers, but not believed, has now been fully corroborated. More than that, it is now known that men have every where received, as true, statements which modern discovery has proved to be false, and on the other hand they have often refused to believe what is now ascertained to be literally true. We would suggest, in passing, that a lesson might be learned from this fact--namely, that we ought to receive a statement in regard to a foreign land, not according to the probability or the improbability of the statement itself, but according to the credibility of him who makes it. Ailie Dunning had a trustful disposition; she acted on neither of the above principles. She believed all she heard, poor thing, and therefore had a head pretty well stored with mingled fact and nonsense. While the men were engaged with their meal, Dr Hopley came on deck and found her leaning over the stern, looking down at the waves which shone with sparkling phosphorescent light. An almost imperceptible breeze had sprung up, and the way made by the vessel as she passed through the water was indicated by a stream of what appeared lambent blue flame. "Looking at the fish, Ailie, as usual?" said the doctor as he came up. "What are they saying to you to-night?" "I'm not looking at the fish," answered Ailie; "I'm looking at the fire--no, not the fire; papa said it wasn't fire, but it's so like it, I can scarcely call it anything else. What _is_ it, doctor?" "It is called phosphorescence," replied the doctor, leaning over the bulwarks, and looking down at the fiery serpent that seemed as if it clung to the ship's rudder. "But I dare say you don't know what that means. You know what fire-flies and glow-worms are?" "Oh! yes; I've often caught them." "Well, there are immense numbers of very small and very thin jelly-like creatures in the sea, so thin and so transparent that they can scarcely be observed in the water. These Medusae, as they are called, possess the power of emitting light similar to that of the fire-fly. In short, Ailie, they are the fire-flies and glow-worms of the ocean." The child listened with wonder, and for some minutes remained silent. Before she could again speak, there occurred one of those incidents which are generally spoken of as "most unexpected" and sudden, but which, nevertheless, are the result of natural causes, and might have been prevented by means of a little care. The wind, as we have said, was light, so light that it did not distend the sails; the boom of the spanker-sail hung over the stern, and the spanker-braces lay slack along the seat on which Ailie and the doctor knelt. A little gust of wind came: it was not strong--a mere puff; but the man at the wheel was not attending to his duty: the puff, light as it was, caused the spanker to jibe--that is to fly over from one side of the ship to the other--the heavy boom passed close over the steersman's head as he cried, "Look out!" The braces tautened, and in so doing they hurled Dr Hopley violently to the deck, and tossed Ailie Dunning over the bulwarks into the sea. It happened at that moment that Glynn Proctor chanced to step on deck. "Hallo! what's wrong?" cried the youth, springing forward, catching the doctor by the coat, as he was about to spring overboard, and pulling him violently back, under the impression that he was deranged. The doctor pointed to the sea, and, with a look of horror, gasped the word "Ailie." In an instant Glynn released his hold, plunged over the stern of the ship, and disappeared in the waves. CHAPTER SEVEN. THE RESCUE--PREPARATIONS FOR A STORM. It is impossible to convey by means of words an adequate idea of the terrible excitement and uproar that ensued on board the _Red Eric_ after the events narrated in the last chapter. From those on deck who witnessed the accident there arose a cry so sharp, that it brought the whole crew from below in an instant. But there was no confusion. The men were well trained. Each individual knew his post, and whale-men are accustomed to a sudden and hasty summons. The peculiarity of the present one, it is true, told every man in an instant that something was wrong, but each mechanically sprang to his post, while one or two shouted to ascertain what had happened, or to explain. But the moment Captain Dunning's voice was heard there was perfect silence. "Clear away the starboard-quarter-boat," he cried, in a deep, firm tone. "Ay, ay, sir." "Stand-by the falls--lower away!" There was no occasion to urge the sailors; they sprang to the work with the fervid celerity of men who knew that life or death depended on their speed. In less time than it takes to relate, the boat was leaping over the long ocean swell, as it had never yet done in chase of the whale, and, in a few seconds, passed out of the little circle of light caused by the fires and into the gloom that surrounded the ship. The wind had been gradually increasing during all these proceedings, and although no time had been lost, and the vessel had been immediately brought up into the wind, Ailie and Glynn were left struggling in the dark sea a long way behind ere the quarter-boat could be lowered; and now that it was fairly afloat, there was still the danger of its failing to hit the right direction of the objects of which it was in search. After leaping over the stern, Glynn Proctor, the moment he rose to the surface, gave a quick glance at the ship, to make sure of her exact position, and then struck out in a straight line astern, for he knew that wherever Ailie fell, there she would remain struggling until she sank. Glynn was a fast and powerful swimmer. He struck out with desperate energy, and in a few minutes the ship was out of sight behind him. Then he paused suddenly, and letting his feet sink until he attained an upright position, trod the water and raised himself breast-high above the surface, at the same time listening intently, for he began to fear that he might have overshot his mark. No sound met his straining ear save the sighing of the breeze and the ripple of the water as it lapped against his chest. It was too dark to see more than a few yards in any direction. Glynn knew that each moment lost rendered his chance of saving the child terribly slight. He shouted "Ailie!" in a loud, agonising cry, and swam forward again with redoubled energy, continuing the cry from time to time, and raising himself occasionally to look round him. The excitement of his mind, and the intensity with which it was bent on the one great object, rendered him at first almost unobservant of the flight of time. But suddenly the thought burst upon him that fully ten minutes or a quarter of an hour had elapsed since Ailie fell overboard, and that no one who could not swim could exist for half that time in deep water. He shrieked with agony at the thought, and, fancying that he must have passed the child, he turned round and swam desperately towards the point where he supposed the ship lay. Then he thought, "What if I have turned just as I was coming up with her?" So he turned about again, but as the hopelessness of his efforts once more occurred to him, he lost all presence of mind, and began to shout furiously, and to strike out wildly in all directions. In the midst of his mad struggles his hand struck an object floating near him. Instantly he felt his arm convulsively grasped, and the next moment he was seized round the neck in a gripe so violent that it almost choked him. He sank at once, and the instinct of self-preservation restored his presence of mind. With a powerful effort he tore Ailie from her grasp, and quickly raised himself to the surface, where he swam gently with his left hand, and held the struggling child at arm's-length with his right. The joy caused by the knowledge that she had still life to struggle infused new energy into Glynn's well-nigh exhausted frame, and he assumed as calm and cheerful a tone as was possible under the circumstances when he exclaimed--"Ailie, Ailie, don't struggle, dear, I'll save you _if you keep quiet_." Ailie was quiet in a moment. She felt in the terror of her young heart an almost irresistible desire to clutch at Glynn's neck; but the well-known voice reassured her, and her natural tendency to place blind, implicit confidence in others, served her in this hour of need, for she obeyed his injunctions at once. "Now, dear," said Glynn, with nervous rapidity, "don't grasp me, else we shall sink. Trust me. _I'll never let you go_. Will you trust me?" Ailie gazed wildly at her deliverer through her wet and tangled tresses, and with great difficulty gasped the word "Yes," while she clenched the garments on her labouring bosom with her little hands, as if to show her determination to do as she was bid. Glynn at once drew her towards him and rested her head on his shoulder. The child gave vent to a deep, broken sigh of relief, and threw her right arm round his neck, but the single word "Ailie," uttered in a remonstrative tone, caused her to draw it quickly back and again grasp her breast. All this time Glynn had been supporting himself by that process well-known to swimmers as "treading water," and had been so intent upon his purpose of securing the child, that he failed to observe the light of a lantern gleaming in the far distance on the sea, as the boat went ploughing hither and thither, the men almost breaking the oars in their desperate haste, and the captain standing in the stern-sheets, pale as death, holding the light high over his head, and gazing with a look of unutterable agony into the surrounding gloom. Glynn now saw the distant light, and exerting his voice to the utmost, gave vent to a prolonged cry. Ailie looked up in her companion's face while he listened intently. The moving light became stationary for a moment, and a faint reply floated back to them over the waves. Again Glynn raised his voice to the utmost, and the cheer that came back told him that he had been heard. But the very feeling of relief at the prospect of immediate deliverance had well-nigh proved fatal to them both; for Glynn experienced a sudden relaxation of his whole system, and he felt as if he could not support himself and his burden a minute longer. "Ailie," he said faintly but quickly, "we shall be saved if you obey at _once_; if not, we shall be drowned. Lay your two hands on my breast, and let yourself sink _down to the very lips_." Glynn turned on his back as he spoke, spread out his arms and legs to their full extent, let his head fall back, until it sank, leaving only his lips, nose, and chin above water, and lay as motionless as if he had been dead. And now came poor Ailie's severest trial. When she allowed herself to sink, and felt the water rising about her ears, and lipping round her mouth, terror again seized upon her; but she felt Glynn's breast heaving under her hands, so she raised her eyes to heaven and prayed silently to Him who is the only true deliverer from dangers. Her self-possession was restored, and soon she observed the boat bearing down on the spot, and heard the men as they shouted to attract attention. Ailie tried to reply, but her tiny voice was gone, and her soul was filled with horror as she saw the boat about to pass on. In her agony she began to struggle. This roused Glynn, who had rested sufficiently to have recovered a slight degree of strength. He immediately raised his head, and uttered a wild cry as he grasped Ailie again with his arm. The rowers paused; the light of the lantern gleamed over the sea, and fell upon the spray tossed up by Glynn. Next moment the boat swept up to them--and they were saved. The scene that followed baffles all description. Captain Dunning fell on his knees beside Ailie, who was too much exhausted to speak, and thanked God, in the name of Jesus Christ, again and again for her deliverance. A few of the men shouted; others laughed hysterically; and some wept freely as they crowded round their shipmate, who, although able to sit up, could not speak except in disjointed sentences. Glynn, however, recovered quickly, and even tried to warm himself by pulling an oar before they regained the ship, but Ailie remained in a state of partial stupor, and was finally carried on board and down into the cabin, and put between warm blankets by her father and Dr Hopley. Meanwhile, Glynn was hurried forward, and dragged down into the forecastle by the whole crew, who seemed unable to contain themselves for joy, and expressed their feelings in ways that would have been deemed rather absurd on ordinary occasions. "Change yer clo's, avic, at wance," cried Phil Briant, who was the most officious and violent in his offers of assistance to Glynn. "Och! but it's wet ye are, darlin'. Give me a howld." This last request had reference to the right leg of Glynn's trousers, which happened to be blue cloth of a rather thin quality, and which therefore clung to his limbs with such tenacity that it was a matter of the utmost difficulty to get them off. "That's your sort, Phil--a long pull, and a strong pull, and a pull all together," cried Dick Barnes, hurrying forward, with a bundle of garments in his arms. "Here's dry clo's for him." "Have a care, Phil," shouted Gurney, who stood behind Glynn and held him by the shoulders; "it'll give way." "Niver a taste," replied the reckless Irishman. But the result proved that Gurney was right, for the words had scarce escaped his lips when the garment parted at the knee, and Phil Briant went crashing back among a heap of tin pannikins, pewter plates, blocks, and cordage. A burst of laughter followed, of course, but the men's spirits were too much roused to be satisfied with this, so they converted the laugh into a howl, and prolonged it into a cheer; as if their comrade had successfully performed a difficult and praiseworthy deed. "Hold on, lads," cried Glynn. "I'm used up, I can't stand it." "Here you are," shouted Nickel Sling, pushing the men violently aside, and holding a steaming tumbler of hot brandy-and-water under Glynn's nose. "Down with it; that's the stuff to get up the steam fit to bust yer biler, I calc'late." The men looked on for a moment in silence, while Glynn drank, as if they expected some remarkable chemical change to take place in his constitution. "Och! ain't it swate?" inquired Phil Briant, who, having gathered himself up, now stood rubbing his shoulder with the fragment of the riven garment. "Av I wasn't a taytotaler, it's meself would like some of that same." In a few minutes our hero was divested of his wet garments, rubbed perfectly dry by his kind messmates, and clad in dry costume, after which he felt almost as well as if nothing unusual had happened to him. The men meanwhile cut their jokes at him or at each other as they stood round and watched, assisted, or retarded the process. As for Tim Rokens, who had been in the boat and witnessed the rescue, he stood gazing steadfastly at Glynn without uttering a word, keeping his thumbs the while hooked in the arm-holes of his vest, and his legs very much apart. By degrees--as he thought on what had passed, and the narrow escape poor little Ailie had had, and the captain's tears, things he had never seen the captain shed before and had not believed the captain to have possessed--as he pondered these things, we say, his knotty visage began to work, and his cast-iron chin began to quiver, and his shaggy brows contracted, and his nose, besides becoming purple, began to twist, as if it were an independent member of his face, and he came, in short, to that climax which is familiarly expressed by the words "bursting into tears." But if anybody thinks the act, on the part of Tim Rokens, bore the smallest resemblance to the generally received idea of that sorrowful affection, "anybody," we take leave to tell him, is very much mistaken. The bold harpooner did it thus--he suddenly unhooked his right hand from the arm-hole of his vest, and gave his right thigh a slap which produced a crack that would have made a small pistol envious; then he uttered a succession of ferocious roars, that might have quite well indicated pain, or grief, or madness, or a drunken cheer, and, un-hooking the left hand, he doubled himself up, and thrust both knuckles into his eyes. The knuckles were wet when he pulled them out of his eyes, but he dried them on his pantaloons, bolted up the hatchway, and rushing up to the man at the wheel, demanded in a voice of thunder--"How's 'er head?" "Sou'-sou'-east-and-by-east," replied the man, in some surprise. "Sou'-sou'-east-and-by-east!" repeated Mr Rokens, in a savage growl of authority, as if he were nothing less than the admiral of the Channel Fleet. "That's two points and a half off yer course, sir. Luff, luff, you--you--" At this point Tim Rokens turned on his heel, and began to walk up and down the deck as calmly as if nothing whatever had occurred to disturb his equanimity. "The captain wants Glynn Proctor," said the second mate, looking down the fore-hatch. "Ay, ay, sir," answered Glynn, ascending, and going aft. "Ailie wants to see you, Glynn, my boy," said Captain Dunning, as the former entered the cabin; "and I want to speak to you myself--to thank you Glynn. Ah, lad! you can't know what a father's heart feels when--Go to her, boy." He grasped the youth's hand, and gave it a squeeze that revealed infinitely more of his feelings than could have been done by words. Glynn returned the squeeze, and opening the door of Ailie's private cabin, entered and sat down beside her crib. "Oh, Glynn, I want to speak to you; I want to thank you. I love you so much for jumping into the sea after me," began the child, eagerly, and raising herself on one elbow while she held out her hand. "Ailie," interrupted Glynn, taking her hand, and holding up his finger to impose silence, "you obeyed me _in_ the water, and now I insist on your obedience _out_ of the water. If you don't, I'll leave you. You're still too weak to toss about and speak loud in this way. Lie down, my pet." Glynn kissed her forehead, and forced her gently back on the pillow. "Well, I'll be good, but don't leave me yet, Glynn. I'm much better. Indeed, I feel quite strong. Oh! it was good of you--" "There you go again." "I love you," said Ailie. "I've no objection to that," replied Glynn, "but don't excite yourself. But tell me, Ailie, how was it that you managed to keep afloat so long? The more I think of it the more I am filled with amazement, and, in fact, I'm half inclined to think that God worked a miracle in order to save you." "I don't know," said Ailie, looking very grave and earnest, as she always did when our Maker's name happened to be mentioned. "Does God work miracles still?" "Men say not," replied Glynn. "I'm sure I don't quite understand what a miracle is," continued Ailie, "although Aunt Martha and Aunt Jane have often tried to explain it to me. Is floating on your back a miracle?" "No," said Glynn, laughing; "it isn't." "Well, that's the way I was saved. You know, ever since I can remember, I have bathed with Aunt Martha and Aunt Jane, and they taught me how to float--and it's so nice, you can't think how nice it is--and I can do it so easily now, that I never get frightened. But, oh!--when I was tossed over the side of the ship into the sea I _was_ frightened just. I don't think I _ever_ got such a fright. And I splashed about for some time, and swallowed some water, but I got upon my back somehow. I can't tell how it was, for I was too frightened to try to do anything. But when I found myself floating as I used to do long ago, I felt my fear go away a little, and I shut my eyes and prayed, and then it went away altogether; and I felt quite sure you would come to save me, and you _did_ come, Glynn, and I know it was God who sent you. But I became a good deal frightened again when I thought of the sharks, and--" "Now, Ailie, stop!" said Glynn. "You're forgetting your promise, and exciting yourself again." "So she is, and I must order you out, Master Glynn," said the doctor, opening the door, and entering at that moment. Glynn rose, patted the child's head, and nodded cheerfully as he left the little cabin. The captain caught him as he passed, and began to reiterate his thanks, when their conversation was interrupted by the voice of Mr Millons, who put his head in at the skylight and said--"Squall coming, sir, I think." "So, so," cried the captain, running upon deck. "I've been looking for it. Call all hands, Mr Millons, and take in sail--every rag, except the storm-trysails." Glynn hurried forward, and in a few minutes every man was at his post. The sails were furled, and every preparation made for a severe squall; for Captain Dunning knew that that part of the coast of Africa off which the _Red Eric_ was then sailing was subject to sudden squalls, which, though usually of short duration, were sometimes terrific in their violence. "Is everything snug, Mr Millons?" "All snug, sir." "Then let the men stand-by till it's over." The night had grown intensely dark, but away on the starboard-quarter the heavens appeared of an ebony blackness that was quite appalling. This appearance, that rose on the sky like a shroud of crape, quickly spread upwards until it reached the zenith. Then a few gleams of light seemed to illuminate it very faintly, and a distant hissing noise was heard. A dead calm surrounded the ship, which lay like a log on the water, and the crew, knowing that nothing more could be done in the way of preparation, awaited the bursting of the storm with uneasy feelings. In a few minutes its distant roar was heard,--like muttered thunder. On it came, with a steady continuous roar, as if chaos were about to be restored, and the crashing wreck of elements were being hurled in mad fury against the yet unshattered portions of creation. Another second, and the ship was on her beam-ends, and the sea and sky were white as milk as the wind tore up the waves and beat them flat, and whirled away broad sheets of driving foam. CHAPTER EIGHT. THE STORM, AND ITS RESULTS. Although the _Red Eric_ was thrown on her beam-ends, or nearly so, by the excessive violence of the squall, the preparations to meet it had been so well made that she righted again almost immediately, and now flew before the wind under bare poles with a velocity that was absolutely terrific. Ailie had been nearly thrown out of her berth when the ship lay over, and now when she listened to the water hissing and gurgling past the little port that lighted her cabin, and felt the staggering of the vessel, as burst after burst of the hurricane almost tore the masts out of her, she lay trembling with anxiety and debating with herself whether or not she ought to rise and go on deck. Captain Dunning well knew that his child would be naturally filled with fear, for this was the first severe squall she had ever experienced, so, as he could not quit the deck himself, he called Glynn Proctor to him and sent him down with a message. "Well, Ailie," said Glynn, cheerfully, as he opened the door and peeped in; "how d'ye get on, dear? The captain has sent me to say that the worst o' this blast is over, and you've nothing to fear." "I am glad to hear that, Glynn," replied the child, holding out her hand, while a smile lighted up her face and smoothed out the lines of anxiety from her brow. "Come and sit by me, Glynn, and tell me what like it is. I wish so much that I had been on deck. Was it grand, Glynn?" "It was uncommonly grand; it was even terrible--but I cannot sit with you more than a minute, else my shipmates will say that I'm skulking." "Skulking, Glynn! What is that?" "Why, it's--it's shirking work, you know," said Glynn, somewhat puzzled. Ailie laughed. "But you forget that I don't know what `shirking' means. You must explain that too." "How terribly green you are, Ailie." "No! am I?" exclaimed the child in some surprise. "What _can_ have done it? I'm not sick." Glynn laughed outright at this, and then proceeded to explain the meaning of the slang phraseology he had used. "Green, you must know, means ignorant," he began. "How funny! I wonder why." "Well, I don't know exactly. Perhaps it's because when a fellow's asked to answer questions he don't understand, he's apt to turn either blue with rage or yellow with fear--or both; and that, you know, would make him green. I've heard it said that it implies a comparison of men to plants--very young ones, you know, that are just up, just born, as it were, and have not had much experience of life, are green of course--but I like my own definition best." It may perhaps be scarcely necessary to remark that our hero was by no means singular in this little preference of his own definition to that of any one else! "Well, and what does skulking mean, and shirking work?" persisted Ailie. "It means hiding so as to escape duty, my little catechist; but--" "Hallo! Glynn, Glynn Proctor," roared the first mate from the deck--"where's that fellow? Skulking, I'll be bound. Lay aloft there and shake out the foretopsail. Look alive." "Ay, ay, sir," was the ready response as the men sprang to obey. "There, you have it now, Ailie, explained and illustrated," cried Glynn, starting up. "Here I am, at this minute in a snug, dry berth chatting to you, and in half a minute more I'll be out on the end o' the foreyard holding on for bare life, with the wind fit to tear off my jacket and blow my ducks into ribbons, and the rain and spray dashing all over me fit to blot me out altogether. There's a pretty little idea to turn over in your mind, Ailie, while I'm away." Glynn closed the door at the last word, and, as he had prophesied, was, within half a minute, in the unenviable position above referred to. The force of the squall was already broken, and the men were busy setting close-reefed topsails, but the rain that followed the squall bid fair to "blot them out," as Glynn said, altogether. It came down, not in drops, but in masses, which were caught up by the fierce gale and mingled with the spray, and hurled about and on with such violent confusion, that it seemed as though the whole creation were converted into wind and water, and had engaged in a war of extermination, the central turmoil of which was the _Red Eric_. But the good ship held on nobly. Although not a fast sailer she was an excellent sea-boat, and danced on the billows like a sea-mew. The squall, however, was not over. Before the topsails had been set many minutes it burst on them again with redoubled fury, and the main-topsail was instantly blown into ribbons. Glynn and his comrades were once more ordered aloft to furl the remaining sails, but before this could be done the foretopmast was carried away, and in falling it tore away the jib-boom also. At the same moment a tremendous sea came rolling on astern; in the uncertain light it looked like a dark moving mountain that was about to fall on them. "Luff, luff a little--steady!" roared the captain, who saw the summit of the wave toppling over the stern, and who fully appreciated the danger of being "pooped," which means having a wave launched upon the quarterdeck. "Steady it is," replied the steersman. "Look out!" shouted the captain and several of the men, simultaneously. Every one seized hold of whatever firm object chanced to be within reach; next moment the black billow fell like an avalanche on the poop, and rushing along the decks, swept the waist-boat and all the loose spars into the sea. The ship staggered under the shock, and it seemed to every one on deck that she must inevitably founder; but in a few seconds she recovered, the water gushed from the scuppers and sides in cataracts, and once more they drove swiftly before the gale. In about twenty minutes the wind moderated, and while some of the men went aloft to clear away the wreck of the topsails and make all snug, others went below to put on dry garments. "That was a narrow escape, Mr Millons," remarked the captain, as he stood by the starboard-rails. "It was, sir," replied the mate. "It's a good job too, sir, that none o' the 'ands were washed overboard." "It is, indeed, Mr Millons; we've reason to be thankful for that; but I'm sorry to see that we've lost our waist-boat." "We've lost our spare sticks, sir," said the mate, with a lugubrious face, while he wrung the brine out of his hair; "and I fear we've nothink left fit to make a noo foretopmast or a jib-boom." "True, Mr Millons; we shall have to run to the nearest port on the African coast to refit; luckily we are not very far from it. Meanwhile, tell Mr Markham to try the well; it is possible that we may have sprung a leak in all this straining, and see that the wreck of the foretopmast is cleared away. I shall go below and consult the chart; if any change in the weather takes place, call me at once." "Yes, sir," answered the mate, as he placed his hand to windward of his mouth, in order to give full force to the terrific tones in which he proceeded to issue his captain's commands. Captain Dunning went below, and looking into Ailie's berth, nodded his wet head several times, and smiled with his damp visage benignly--which acts, however well meant and kindly they might be, were, under the circumstances, quite unnecessary, seeing that the child was sound asleep. The captain then dried his head and face with a towel about as rough as the mainsail of a seventy-four, and with a violence that would have rubbed the paint off the figurehead of the _Red Eric_. Then he sat down to his chart, and having pondered over it for some minutes, he went to the foot of the companion-ladder and roared up--"Lay the course nor'-nor'-east-and-by-nor'-half-nor', Mr Millons." To which Mr Millons replied in an ordinary tone, "Ay, ay, sir," and then roared--"Lay her head nor'-nor'-east-and-by-nor'-half-nor'," in an unnecessarily loud and terribly fierce tone of voice to the steersman, as if that individual were in the habit of neglecting to obey orders, and required to be perpetually threatened in what may be called a tone of implication. The steersman answered in what, to a landsman, would have sounded as a rather amiable and forgiving tone of voice--"Nor'-nor'-east-and-by-nor'-half-nor' it is, sir;" and thereupon the direction of the ship's head was changed, and the _Red Eric_, according to Tim Rokens, "bowled along" with a stiff breeze on the quarter, at the rate of ten knots, for the west coast of Africa. CHAPTER NINE. RAMBLES ON SHORE, AND STRANGE THINGS AND CEREMONIES WITNESSED THERE. Variety is charming. No one laying claim to the smallest amount of that very uncommon attribute, common-sense, will venture to question the truth of that statement. Variety is so charming that men and women, boys and girls, are always, all of them, hunting after it. To speak still more emphatically on this subject, we venture to affirm that it is an absolute necessity of animal nature. Were any positive and short-sighted individual to deny this position, and sit down during the remainder of his life in a chair and look straight before him, in order to prove that he could live without variety, he would seek it in change of position. If he did not do that, he would seek it in change of thought. If he did not do _that_, he would die! Fully appreciating this great principle of our nature, and desiring to be charmed with a little variety, Tim Rokens and Phil Briant presented themselves before Captain Dunning one morning about a week after the storm, and asked leave to go ashore. The reader may at first think the men were mad, but he will change his opinion when we tell him that four days after the storm in question the _Red Eric_ had anchored in the harbour formed by the mouth of one of the rivers on the African coast, where white men trade with the natives for bar-wood and ivory, and where they also carry on that horrible traffic in negroes, the existence of which is a foul disgrace to humanity. "Go ashore!" echoed Captain Dunning. "Why, if you all go on at this rate, we'll never get ready for sea. However, you may go, but don't wander too far into the interior, and look out for elephants and wild men o' the woods, boys--keep about the settlements." "Ay, ay, sir, and thank'ee," replied the two men, touching their caps as they retired. "Please, sir, I want to go too," said Glynn Proctor, approaching the captain. "What! more wanting to go ashore?" "Yes, and so do I," cried Ailie, running forward and clasping her father's rough hand; "I did enjoy myself _so_ much yesterday, that I must go on shore again to-day, and I must go with Glynn. He'll take such famous care of me; now _won't_ you let me go, papa?" "Upon my word, this looks like preconcerted mutiny. However, I don't mind if I do let you go, but have a care, Glynn, that you don't lose sight of her for a moment, and keep to the shore and the settlements. I've no notion of allowing her to be swallowed by an alligator, or trampled on by an elephant, or run away with by a gorilla." "Never fear, sir. You may trust me; I'll take good care of her." With a shout of delight the child ran down to the cabin to put on her bonnet, and quickly reappeared, carrying in her hand a basket which she purposed to fill with a valuable collection of plants, minerals and insects. These she meant to preserve and carry home as a surprise to aunts Martha and Jane, both of whom were passionately fond of mineralogy, delighted in botany, luxuriated in entomology, doted on conchology, and raved about geology--all of which sciences they studied superficially, and specimens of which they collected and labelled beautifully, and stowed away carefully in a little cabinet, which they termed (not jocularly, but seriously) their "Bureau of Omnology." It was a magnificent tropical morning when the boat left the side of the _Red Eric_ and landed Glynn and Ailie, Tim Rokens and Phil Briant on the wharf that ran out from the yellow beach of the harbour in which their vessel lay. The sun had just risen. The air was cool (comparatively) and motionless, so that the ocean lay spread out like a pure mirror, and revealed its treasures and mysteries to a depth of many fathoms. The sky was intensely blue and the sun intensely bright, while the atmosphere was laden with the delightful perfume of the woods--a perfume that is sweet and pleasant to those long used to it, how much more enchanting to nostrils rendered delicately sensitive by long exposure to the scentless gales of ocean? One of the sailors who had shown symptoms of weakness in the chest during the voyage, had begged to be discharged and left ashore at this place. He could ill be spared, but as he was fit for nothing, the captain agreed to his request, and resolved to procure a negro to act as cook's assistant in the place of Phil Briant, who was too useful a man to remain in so subordinate a capacity. The sick man was therefore sent on shore in charge of Tim Rokens. On landing they were met by a Portuguese slave-dealer, an American trader, a dozen or two partially-clothed negroes, and a large concourse of utterly naked little negro children, who proved to demonstration that they were of the same nature and spirit with white children, despite the colour of their skins, by taking intense delight in all the amusements practised by the fair-skinned juveniles of more northern lands--namely scampering after each other, running and yelling, indulging in mischief, spluttering in the waters, rolling on the sand, staring at the strangers, making impudent remarks, and punching each other's heads. If the youth of America ever wish to prove that they are of a distinct race from the sable sons of Africa, their only chance is to become paragons of perfection, and give up _all_ their wicked ways. "Oh!" exclaimed Ailie, half amused, half frightened, as Glynn lifted her out of the boat; "oh! how funny! Don't they look so _very_ like as if they were all painted black?" "Good-day to you, gentlemen," cried the trader, as he approached the landing. "Got your foretop damaged, I see. Plenty of sticks here to mend it. Be glad to assist you in any way I can. Was away in the woods when you arrived, else I'd have come to offer sooner." The trader, who was a tall, sallow man in a blue cotton shirt, sailor's trousers, and a broad-brimmed straw hat, addressed himself to Glynn, whose gentlemanly manner led him to believe he was in command of the party. "Thank you," replied Glynn, "we've got a little damage--lost a good boat, too; but we'll soon repair the mast. We have come ashore just now, however, mainly for a stroll." "Ay," put in Phil Briant, who was amusing the black children--and greatly delighting himself by nodding and smiling ferociously at them, with a view to making a favourable impression on the natives of this new country. "Ay, sir, an' sure we've comed to land a sick shipmate who wants to see the doctor uncommon. Have ye sich an article in these parts?" "No, not exactly," replied the trader, "but I do a little in that way myself; perhaps I may manage to cure him if he comes up to my house." "We wants a nigger too," said Rokens, who, while the others were talking, was extremely busy filling his pipe. At this remark the trader looked knowing. "Oh!" he said, "that's your game, is it? There's your man there; I've nothing to do with such wares." He pointed to the Portuguese slave-dealer as he spoke. Seeing himself thus referred to, the slave-dealer came forward, hat in hand, and made a polite bow. He was a man of extremely forbidding aspect. A long dark visage, which terminated in a black peaked beard, and was surmounted by a tall-crowned broad-brimmed straw hat, stood on the top of a long, raw-boned, thin, sinewy, shrivelled, but powerful frame, that had battled with and defeated all the fevers and other diseases peculiar to the equatorial regions of Africa. He wore a short light-coloured cotton jacket and pantaloons--the latter much too short for his limbs, but the deficiency was more than made up by a pair of Wellington boots. His natural look was a scowl. His assumed smile of politeness was so unnatural, that Tim Rokens thought, as he gazed at him, he would have preferred greatly to have been frowned at by him. Even Ailie, who did not naturally think ill of any one, shrank back as he approached and grasped Glynn's hand more firmly than usual. "Goot morning, gentl'm'n. You was vish for git nigger, I suppose." "Well, we wos," replied Tim, with a faint touch of sarcasm in his tone. "Can _you_ get un for us?" "Yees, sare, as many you please," replied the slave-dealer, with a wink that an ogre might have envied. "Have great many ob 'em stay vid me always." "Ah! then, they must be fond o' bad company," remarked Briant, in an undertone, "to live along wid such a alligator." "Well, then," said Tim Rokens, who had completed the filling of his pipe, and was now in the full enjoyment of it; "let's see the feller, an' I'll strike a bargain with him, if he seems a likely chap." "You will have strike de bargin vid _me_," said the dealer. "I vill charge you ver' leetle, suppose you take full cargo." The whole party, who were ignorant of the man's profession, started at this remark, and looked at the dealer in surprise. "Wot!" exclaimed Tim Rokens, withdrawing his pipe from his lips; "do you _sell_ niggers?" "Yees, to be surely," replied the man, with a peculiarly saturnine smile. "A slave-dealer?" exclaimed Briant, clenching his fists. "Even so, sare." At this Briant uttered a shout, and throwing forward his clenched fists in a defiant attitude, exclaimed between his set teeth-- "Arrah! come on!" Most men have peculiarities. Phil Briant had many; but his most striking peculiarity, and that which led him frequently into extremely awkward positions, was a firm belief that his special calling--in an amateur point of view--was the redressing of wrongs--not wrongs of a particular class, or wrongs of an excessively glaring and offensive nature, but _all_ wrongs whatsoever. It mattered not to Phil whether the wrong had to be righted by force of argument or force of arms. He considered himself an accomplished practitioner in both lines of business--and in regard to the latter his estimate of his powers was not very much too high, for he was a broad-shouldered, deep-chested, long-armed fellow, and had acquired a scientific knowledge of boxing under a celebrated bruiser at the expense of a few hard-earned shillings, an occasional bottle of poteen, and many a severe thrashing. Justice to Phil's amiability of character requires, however, that we should state that he never sought to terminate an argument with his fists unless he was invited to do so, and even then he invariably gave his rash challenger fair warning, and offered to let him retreat if so disposed. But when injustice met his eye, or when he happened to see cruelty practised by the strong against the weak, his blood fired at once, and he only deigned the short emphatic remark--"Come on," sometimes preceded by "Arrah!" sometimes not. Generally speaking, he accepted his own challenge, and _went_ on forthwith. Of all the iniquities that draw forth the groans of humanity on this sad earth, slavery, in the opinion of Phil Briant, was the worst. He had never come in contact with it, not having been in the Southern States of America. He knew from hearsay that the coast of Africa was its fountain, but he had forgotten the fact, and in the novelty of the scene before him, it did not at first occur to him that he was actually face to face with a "live slave-dealer." "Let me go!" roared the Irishman, as he struggled in the iron grip of Tim Rokens; and the not less powerful grasp of Glynn Proctor. "Och! let me go! _Doo_, darlints. I'll only give him wan--jist _wan_! Let me go, will ye?" "Not if I can help it," said Glynn, tightening his grasp. "Wot a cross helephant it is," muttered Rokens, as he thrust his hand into his comrade's neckcloth and quietly began to choke him as he dragged him away towards the residence of the trader, who was an amused as well as surprised spectator of this unexpected ebullition of passion. At length Phil Briant allowed himself to be forced away from the beach where the slave-dealer stood with his arms crossed on his breast, and a sarcastic smile playing on his thin lips. Had that Portuguese trafficker in human flesh known how quickly Briant could have doubled the size of his long nose and shut up both his eyes, he would probably have modified the expression of his countenance; but he didn't know it, so he looked after the party until they had entered the dwelling of the trader, and then sauntered up towards the woods, which in this place came down to within a few yards of the beach. The settlement was a mere collection of rudely-constructed native huts, built of bamboos and roofed with a thatch of palm-leaves. In the midst of it stood a pretty white-painted cottage with green-edged windows and doors, and a verandah in front. This was the dwelling of the trader; and alongside of it, under the same roof, was the store, in which were kept the guns, beads, powder and shot, etcetera, etcetera, which he exchanged with the natives of the interior for elephants' tusks and bar-wood, from which latter a beautiful dye is obtained; also ebony, indiarubber, and other products of the country. Here the trader entertained Tim Rokens and Phil Briant with stories of the slave-trade; and here we shall leave them while we follow Glynn and Ailie, who went off together to ramble along the shore of the calm sea. They had not gone far when specimens of the strange creatures that dwell in these lands presented themselves to their astonished gaze. There were birds innumerable on the shore, on the surface of the ocean, and in the woods. The air was alive with them; many being similar to the birds they had been familiar with from infancy, while others were new and strange. To her immense delight Ailie saw many living specimens of the bird-of-paradise, the graceful plumes of which she had frequently beheld on very high and important festal occasions, nodding on the heads of Aunt Martha and Aunt Jane. But the prettiest of all the birds she saw there was a small creature with a breast so red and bright, that it seemed, as it flew about, like a little ball of fire. There were many of them flying about near a steep bank, in holes of which they built their nests. She observed that they fed upon flies which they caught while skimming through the air, and afterwards learned that they were called bee-eaters. "Oh! look!" exclaimed Ailie in that tone of voice which indicated that a surprising discovery had been made. Ailie was impulsive, and the _tones_ in which she exclaimed "Oh!" were so varied, emphatic, and distinct, that those who knew her well could tell exactly the state of her mind on hearing the exclamation. At present, her "Oh!" indicated surprise mingled with alarm. "Eh! what, where?" cried Glynn, throwing forward his musket--for he had taken the precaution to carry one with him, not knowing what he might meet with on such a coast. "The snake! look--oh!" At that moment a huge black snake, about ten feet long, showed itself in the grass. Glynn took aim at once, but the piece, being an old flint-lock, missed fire. Before he could again take aim the loathsome-looking reptile had glided into the underwood, which in most places was so overgrown with the rank and gigantic vegetation of the tropics as to be quite impenetrable. "Ha! he's gone, Ailie!" cried Glynn, in a tone of disappointment, as he put fresh priming into the pan of his piece. "We must be careful in walking here, it seems. This wretched old musket! Lucky for us that our lives did not depend on it. I wonder if it was a poisonous serpent?" "Perhaps it was," said Ailie, with a look of deep solemnity, as she took her companion's left hand, and trotted along by his side. "Are not all serpents poisonous?" "Oh dear, no. Why, there are some kinds that are quite harmless. But as I don't know which are and which are not, we must look upon all as enemies until we become more knowing." Presently they came to the mouth of a river--one of those sluggish streams on the African coast, which suggest the idea of malaria and the whole family of low fevers. It glided through a mangrove swamp, where the tree seemed to be standing on their roots, which served the purpose of stilts to keep them out of the mud. The river was oily, and sluggish, and hot-looking, and its mud-banks were slimy and liquid, so that it was not easy to say whether the water of the river was mud, or the mud on the bank was water. It was a place that made one involuntarily think of creeping monsters, and crawling objects, and slimy things! "Look! oh! oh! such a darling pet!" exclaimed Ailie, as they stood near the banks of this river wondering what monster would first cleave the muddy waters, and raise its hideous head. She pointed to the bough of a dead tree near which they stood, and on which sat the "darling pet" referred to. It was a very small monkey with white whiskers; a dumpy little thing, that looked at them with an expression of surprise quite equal in intensity to their own. Seeing that it was discovered, the "darling pet" opened its little mouth, and uttered a succession of "Ohs!" that rendered Ailie's exclamations quite insignificant by comparison. They were sharp and short, and rapidly uttered, while, at the same time, two rows of most formidable teeth were bared, along with the gums that held them. At this Ailie and her companion burst into a fit of irrepressible laughter, whereupon the "darling pet" put itself into such a passion-- grinned, and coughed, and gasped, and shook the tree, and writhed, and glared, to such an extent that Glynn said he thought it would burst, and Ailie agreed that it was very likely. Finding that this terrible display of fury had no effect on the strangers, the "darling pet" gave utterance to a farewell shriek of passion, and, bounding nimbly into the woods, disappeared. "Oh, _what_ a funny beast," said Ailie, sitting down on a stone, and drying her eyes, which had filled with tears from excessive laughter. "Indeed it was," said Glynn. "It's my opinion that a monkey is the funniest beast in the world." "No, Glynn; a kitten's funnier," said Ailie, with a degree of emphasis that showed she had considered the subject well, and had fully made up her mind in regard to it long ago. "I think a kitten's the _very_ funniest beast in all the whole world." "Well, perhaps it is," said Glynn thoughtfully. "Did you ever see _three_ kittens together?" asked Ailie. "No; I don't think I ever did. I doubt if I have seen even two together. Why?" "Oh! because they are so very, very funny. Sit down beside me, and I'll tell you about three kittens I once had. They were very little--at least they were little before they got big." Glynn laughed. "Oh, you know what I mean. They were able to play when they were very little, you know." "Yes, yes, I understand. Go on." "Well, two were grey, and one was white and grey, but most of it was white; and when they went to play, one always hid itself to watch, and then the other two began, and came up to each other with little jumps, and their backs up and tails curved, and hair all on end, glaring at each other, and pretending that they were so angry. Do you know, Glynn, I really believe they sometimes forgot it was pretence, and actually became angry. But the fun was, that, when the two were just going to fly at each other, the third one, who had been watching, used to dart out and give them _such_ a fright--a _real_ fright, you know--which made them jump, oh! three times their own height up into the air, and they came down again with a _fuff_ that put the third one in a fright too; so that they all scattered away from each other as if they had gone quite mad. What's that?" "It's a fish, I think," said Glynn, rising and going towards the river, to look at the object that had attracted his companion's attention. "It's a shark, I do believe." In a few seconds the creature came so close that they could see it quite distinctly; and on a more careful inspection, they observed that the mouth of the river was full of these ravenous monsters. Soon after they saw monsters of a still more ferocious aspect; for while they were watching the sharks, two crocodiles put up their snouts, and crawled sluggishly out of the water upon a mud-bank, where they lay down, apparently with the intention of taking a nap in the sunshine. They were too far off, however, to be well seen. "Isn't it strange, Glynn, that there are such ugly beasts in the world?" said Ailie. "I wonder why God made them?" "So do I," said Glynn, looking at the child's thoughtful face in some surprise. "I suppose they must be of some sort of use." "Oh! yes, _of course_ they are," rejoined Ailie quickly. "Aunt Martha and Aunt Jane used to tell me that every creature was made by God for some good purpose; and when I came to the crocodile in my book, they said it was certainly of use too, though they did not know what. I remember it very well, because I was _so_ surprised to hear that Aunt Martha and Aunt Jane did not know _everything_." "No doubt Aunt Martha and Aunt Jane were right," said Glynn, with a smile. "I confess, however, that crocodiles seem to me to be of no other use than to kill and eat up everything that comes within the reach of their terrible jaws. But, indeed, now I think of it, the very same may be said of man, for _he_ kills and eats up at least everything that he _wants_ to put into his jaws." "So he does," said Ailie; "isn't it funny?" "Isn't what funny?" asked Glynn. "That we should be no better than crocodiles--at least, I mean about eating." "You forget, Ailie, we cook our food." "Oh! so we do. I did not remember to think of that. That's a great difference, indeed." Leaving Glynn and his little charge to philosophise on the resemblance between men and crocodiles, we shall now return to Tim Rokens and Phil Briant, whom we left in the trader's cottage. The irate Irishman had been calmed down by reason and expostulation, and had again been roused to great indignation several times since we left him, by the account of things connected with the slave-trade, given him by the trader, who, although he had no interest in it himself, did not feel very much aggrieved by the sufferings he witnessed around him. "You don't mane to tell me, now, that _whalers_ comes in here for slaves, do ye?" said Briant, placing his two fists on his two knees, and thrusting his head towards the trader, who admitted that he meant to say that; and that he meant, moreover, to add, that the thing was by no means of rare occurrence--that whaling ships occasionally ran into that very port on their way south, shipped a cargo of negroes, sold them at the nearest slave-buying port they could make on the American coast, and then proceeded on their voyage, no one being a whit the wiser. "You don't mean it?" remarked Tim Rokens, crossing his legs and devoting himself to his pipe, with the air of a man who mourned the depravity of his species, but did not feel called upon to disturb his equanimity very much because of it. Phil Briant clenched his teeth, and glared. "Indeed I do mean it," reiterated the trader. "Would you believe it, there was one whaler put in here, and what does he do but go and invite a lot o' free blacks aboard to have a blow-out; and no sooner did he get them down into the hold then he shut down the hatches, sailed away, and sold 'em every one." "Ah! morther, couldn't I burst?" groaned Phil; "an' ov coorse they left a lot o' fatherless children and widders behind 'em." "They did; but all the widders are married again, and most of the children are grown up." Briant looked as if he did not feel quite sure whether he ought to regard this as a comforting piece of information or the reverse, and wisely remained silent. "And now you must excuse me if I leave you to ramble about alone for some time, as I have business to transact; meanwhile I'll introduce you to a nigger who will show you about the place, and one who, if I mistake not, will gladly accompany you to sea as steward's assistant." The trader opened a door which led to the back part of his premises, and shouted to a stout negro who was sawing wood there, and who came forward with alacrity. "Ho! Neepeelootambo, go take these gentlemen round about the village, and let them see all that is to be seen." "Yes, massa." "And they've got something to say to you about going to sea--would you like to go?" The negro grinned, and as his mouth was of the largest possible size, it is not exaggeration to say that the grin extended from ear to ear, but he made no other reply. "Well, please yourself. You're a free man--you may do as you choose." Neepeelootambo, who was almost naked, having only a small piece of cloth wrapped round his waist and loins, grinned again, displaying a double row of teeth worthy of a shark in so doing, and led his new friends from the house. "Now," said Tim Rokens, turning to the negro, and pointing along the shore, "we'll go along this way and jaw the matter over. Business first, and pleasure, if ye can get it, arterwards--them's my notions, Nip--Nip--Nippi--what's your name?" "Coo Tumble, I think," suggested Briant. "Ay, Nippiloo Bumble--wot a jaw-breaker! so git along, old boy." The negro, who was by no means an "old boy," but a stalwart man in the prime of life, stepped out, and as they walked along, both Rokens and Briant did their best to persuade him to ship on board the _Red Eric_, but without success. They were somewhat surprised as well as chagrined, having been led to expect that the man would consent at once. But no alluring pictures of the delights of seafaring life, or the pleasures and excitements of the whale-fishery, had the least effect on their sable companion. Even sundry shrewd hints, thrown out by Phil Briant, that "the steward had always command o' the wittles, and that his assistant would only have to help himself when convanient," failed to move him. "Well, Nippi-Boo-Tumble," cried Tim Rokens, who in his disappointment unceremoniously contracted his name, "it's my opinion--private opinion, mark'ee--that you're a ass, an' you'll come for to repent of it." "Troth, Nippi-Bumble, he's about right," added Briant coaxingly. "Come now, avic, wot's the raisin ye won't go? Sure we ain't blackguards enough to ax ye to come for to be sold; it's all fair and above board. Why won't ye, now?" The negro stopped, and turning towards them, drew himself proudly up; then, as if a sudden thought had occurred to him, he advanced a step and held up his forefinger to impose silence. "You no tell what I go to say? at least, not for one, two day." "Niver a word, honour bright," said Phil, in a confidential tone, while Rokens expressed the same sentiment by means of an emphatic wink and nod. "You mus' know," said the negro, earnestly, "me expec's to be made a king!" "A wot?" exclaimed both his companions in the same breath, and very much in the same tone. "A king." "Wot?" said Rokens; "d'ye mean, a ruler of this here country?" Neepeelootambo nodded his head so violently that it was a marvel it remained on his shoulders. "Yis. Ho! ho! ho! 'xpec's to be a king." "And when are ye to be crowned, Bumble?" inquired Briant, rather sceptically, as they resumed their walk. "Oh, me no say me _goin'_ to be king; me only _'xpec's_ dat." "Werry good," returned Rokens; "but wot makes ye for to expect it?" "Aha! Me berry clebber fellow--know most ebbery ting. Me hab doo'd good service to dis here country. Me can fight like one leopard, and me hab kill great few elephant and gorilla. Not much mans here hab shoot de gorilla, him sich terriferick beast; 'bove five foot six tall, and bigger round de breast dan you or me--dat is a great true fact. Also, me can spok Englis'." "An' so you expec's they're goin' to make you a king for all that?" "Yis, dat is fat me 'xpec's, for our old king be just dead; but dey nebber tell who dey going to make king till dey do it. I not more sure ob it dan the nigger dat walk dare before you." Neepeelootambo pointed as he spoke to a negro who certainly had a more kingly aspect than any native they had yet seen. He was a perfect giant, considerably above six feet high, and broad in proportion. He wore no clothing on the upper part of his person, but his legs were encased in a pair of old canvas trousers, which had been made for a man of ordinary stature, so that his huge bony ankles were largely exposed to view. Just as Phil and Rokens stopped to take a good look at him before passing on, a terrific yell issued from the bushes, and instantly after, a negro ran towards the black giant and administered to him a severe kick on the thigh, following it up with a cuff on the side of the head, at the same time howling something in the native tongue, which our friends of course did not understand. This man was immediately followed by three other blacks, one of whom pulled the giant's hair, the other pulled his nose, and the third spat in his face! It is needless to remark that the sailors witnessed this unprovoked assault with unutterable amazement. But the most remarkable part of it was, that the fellow, instead of knocking all his assailants down, as he might have done without much trouble, quietly submitted to the indignities heaped upon him; nay, he even smiled upon his tormentors, who increased in numbers every minute, running out from among the bushes and surrounding the unoffending man, and uttering wild shouts as they maltreated him. "Wot's he bin doin'?" inquired Rokens, turning to his black companion. But Rokens received no answer, for Neepeelootambo was looking on at the scene with an expression so utterly woe-begone and miserable that one would imagine he was himself suffering the rough usage he witnessed. "Arrah! ye don't appear to be chairful," said Briant, laughing, as he looked in the negro's face. "This is a quare counthrie, an' no mistake;--it seems to be always blowin' a gale o' surprises. Wot's wrong wid ye, Bumble?" The negro groaned. "Sure that may be a civil answer, but it's not o' much use. Hallo! what air they doin' wid the poor cratur now?" As he spoke the crowd seized the black giant by the arms and neck and hair, and dragged him away towards the village, leaving our friends in solitude. "A very purty little scene," remarked Phil Briant when they were out of sight; "very purty indade, av we only knowed wot it's all about." If the surprise of the two sailors was great at what they had just witnessed, it was increased tenfold by the subsequent behaviour of their negro companion. That eccentric individual suddenly checked his groans, gave vent to a long, deep sigh, and assuming a resigned expression of countenance, rose up and said--"Ho! It all ober now, massa." "I do believe," remarked Rokens, looking gravely at his shipmate, "that the feller's had an attack of the mollygrumbles, an's got better all of a suddint." "No, massa, dat not it. But me willin' to go wid you now to de sea." "Eh? willin' to go? Why, Nippi-Too-Cumble, wot a rum customer you are, to be sure!" "Yis, massa," rejoined the negro. "Me not goin' to be king now, anyhow; so it ob no use stoppin' here. Me go to sea." "Not goin' to be king? How d'ye know that?" "'Cause dat oder nigger, him be made king in a berry short time. You mus' know, dat w'en dey make wan king in dis here place, de peeple choose de man; but dey not let him know. He may guess if him please-- like me--but p'raps him guess wrong--like me! Ho! ho! Den arter dey fix on de man, dey run at him and kick him, as you hab seen dem do, and spit on him, and trow mud ober him, tellin' him all de time, `You no king yet, you black rascal; you soon be king, and den you may put your foots on our necks and do w'at you like, but not yit; take dat, you tief!' An' so dey 'buse him for a littel time. Den dey take him straight away to de palace and crown him, an', oh! arter dat dey become very purlite to him. Him know dat well 'nuff, and so him not be angry just now. Ah! me did 'xpec, to hab bin kick and spitted on dis berry day!" Poor Neepeelootambo uttered the last words in such a deeply touching tone, and seemed to be so much cast down at the thought that his chance of being "kicked and spitted upon" had passed away for ever, that Phil Briant burst into a hearty fit of laughter, and Tim Rokens exhibited symptoms of internal risibility, though his outward physiognomy remained unchanged. "Och! Bumble, you'll be the death o' me," cried Briant. "An' are they a-crownin' of him now?" "Yis, massa. Dat what dey go for to do jist now." "Troth, then, I'll go an' inspict the coronation. Come along, Bumble, me darlint, and show us the way." In a few minutes Neepeelootambo conducted his new friends into a large rudely-constructed hut, which was open on three sides and thatched with palm-leaves. This was the palace before referred to by him. Here they found a large concourse of negroes, whose main object at that time seemed to be the creation of noise; for besides yelling and hooting, they beat a variety of native drums, some of which consisted of bits of board, and others of old tin and copper kettles. Forcing their way through the noisy throng they reached the inside of the hut, into which they found that Ailie Dunning and Glynn Proctor had pushed their way before them. Giving them a nod of recognition, they sat down on a mat by their side to watch the proceedings, which by this time were nearly concluded. The new king--who was about to fill the throne rendered vacant by the recent death of the old king of that region--was seated on an elevated stool looking very dignified, despite the rough ordeal through which he had just passed. When the noise above referred to had calmed down, an old grey-headed negro rose and made a speech in the language of the country, after which he advanced and crowned the new king, who had already been invested in a long scarlet coat covered with tarnished gold lace, and cut in the form peculiar to the last century. The crown consisted of an ordinary black silk hat, considerably the worse for wear. It looked familiar and commonplace enough in the eyes of their white visitors; but, being the only specimen of the article in the district, it was regarded by the negroes with peculiar admiration, and deemed worthy to decorate the brows of royalty. Having had this novel crown placed on the top of his woolly pate, which was much too large for it, the new king hit it an emphatic blow on the top, partly with a view to force it on, and partly, no doubt, with the design of impressing his new subjects with the fact that he was now their rightful sovereign, and that he meant thenceforth to exercise all the authority, and avail himself of all the privileges that his high position conferred on him. He then rose and made a pretty long speech, which was frequently applauded, and which terminated amid a most uproarious demonstration of loyalty on the part of the people. If you wish to gladden the heart of a black man, reader, get him into the midst of an appalling noise. The negro's delight is to shout, and laugh, and yell, and beat tin kettles with iron spoons. The greater the noise, the more he enjoys himself. Great guns and musketry, gongs and brass bands, kettledrums and smashing crockery, crashing railway-engines, blending their utmost whistles with the shrieks of a thousand pigs being killed, all going at once, full blast, and as near to him as possible, is a species of Elysium to the sable son of Africa. On their occasions of rejoicing, negroes procure and produce as much noise as is possible, so that the white visitors were soon glad to seek shelter, and find relief to their ears, on board ship. But even there the sounds of rejoicing reached them, and long after the curtain of night had enshrouded land and sea, the hideous din of royal festivities came swelling out with the soft warm breeze that fanned Ailie's cheek as she stood on the quarterdeck of the _Red Eric_, watching the wild antics of the naked savages as they danced round their bright fires, and holding her father's hand tightly as she related the day's adventures, and told of the monkeys, crocodiles, and other strange creatures she had seen in the mangrove-swamps and on the mud-banks of the slimy river. CHAPTER TEN. AN INLAND JOURNEY--SLEEPING IN THE WOODS--WILD BEASTS EVERYWHERE--SAD FATE OF A GAZELLE. The damage sustained by the _Red Eric_ during the storm was found to be more severe than was at first supposed. Part of her false keel had been torn away by a sunken rock, over which the vessel had passed, and scraped so lightly that no one on board was aware of the fact, yet with sufficient force to cause the damage to which we have referred. A slight leak was also discovered, and the injury to the top of the foremast was neither so easily nor so quickly repaired as had been anticipated. It thus happened that the vessel was detained on this part of the African coast for nearly a couple of weeks, during which time Ailie had frequent opportunities of going on shore, sometimes in charge of Glynn, sometimes with Tim Rokens, and occasionally with her father. During these little excursions the child lived in a world of romance. Not only were the animals, and plants, and objects of every kind with which she came in contact, entirely new to her, except in so far as she had made their acquaintance in pictures, but she invested everything in the roseate hue peculiar to her own romantic mind. True, she saw many things that caused her a good deal of pain, and she heard a few stories about the terrible cruelty of the negroes to each other, which made her shudder, but unpleasant thoughts did not dwell long on her mind; she soon forgot the little annoyances or frights she experienced, and revelled in the enjoyment of the beautiful sights and sweet perfumes which more than counterbalanced the bad odours and ugly things that came across her path. Ailie's mind was a very inquiring one, and often and long did she ponder the things she saw, and wonder why God made some so very ugly and some so very pretty, and to what use He intended them to be put. Of course, in such speculative inquiries, she was frequently very much puzzled, as also were the companions to whom she propounded the questions from time to time, but she had been trained to _believe_ that everything that was made by God was good, whether she understood it or not, and she noticed particularly, and made an involuntary memorandum of the fact in her own mind, that ugly things were very few in number, while beautiful objects were absolutely innumerable. The trader, who rendered good assistance to Captain Dunning in the repair of his ship, frequently overheard Ailie wishing "so much" that she might be allowed to go far into the wild woods, and one day suggested to the captain that, as the ship would have to remain a week or more in port, he would be glad to take a party an excursion up the river in his canoe, and show them a little of forest life, saying at the same time that the little girl might go too, for they were not likely to encounter any danger which might not be easily guarded against. At first the captain shook his head, remembering the stories that were afloat regarding the wild beasts of those regions. But, on second thoughts, he agreed to allow a well-armed party to accompany the trader; the more so that he was urged thereto very strongly by Dr Hopley, who, being a naturalist, was anxious to procure specimens of the creatures and plants in the interior, and being a phrenologist, was desirous of examining what Glynn termed the "bumpological developments of the negro skull." On still further considering the matter, Captain Dunning determined to leave the first mate in charge of the ship, head the exploring party himself, and take Ailie along with him. To say that Ailie was delighted, would be to understate the fact very much. She was wild with joy, and went about all the day, after her father's decision was announced, making every species of insane preparation for the canoe voyage, clasping her hands, and exclaiming, "Oh! _what_ fun!" while her bright eyes sparkled to such an extent that the sailors fairly laughed in her face when they looked at her. Preparations were soon made. The party consisted of the captain and his little child, Glynn Proctor (of course), Dr Hopley, Tim Rokens, Phil Briant, Jim Scroggles, the trader, and Neepeelootambo, which last had been by that time regularly domesticated on board, and was now known by the name of King Bumble, which name, being as good as his own, and more pronounceable, we shall adopt from this time forward. The very morning after the proposal was made, the above party embarked in the trader's canoe; and plying their paddles with the energy of men bent on what is vulgarly termed "going the whole hog," they quickly found themselves out of sight of their natural element, the ocean, and surrounded by the wild, rich, luxuriant vegetation of equatorial Africa. "Now," remarked Tim Rokens, as they ceased paddling, and ran the canoe under the shade of a broad palm-tree that overhung the river, in order to take a short rest and a smoke after a steady paddle of some miles--"Now this is wot I calls glorious, so it is! Ain't it? Pass the 'baccy this way." This double remark was made to King Bumble, who passed the tobacco-pouch to his friend, after helping himself, and admitted that it was "mugnifercent." "Here have I bin a-sittin' in this here canoe," continued Rokens, "for more nor two hours, an' to my sartin knowledge I've seed with my two eyes twelve sharks (for I counted 'em every one) at the mouth of the river, and two crocodiles, and the snout of a hopplepittimus; is that wot ye calls it?" Rokens addressed his question to the captain, but Phil Briant, who had just succeeded in getting his pipe to draw beautifully, answered instead. "Och! no," said he; "that's not the way to pronounce it at all, at all. It's a huppi-puppi-puttimus." "I dun know," said Rokens, shaking his head gravely; "it appears to me there's too many huppi puppies in that word." This debate caused Ailie infinite amusement, for she experienced considerable difficulty herself in pronouncing that name, and had a very truthful picture of the hippopotamus hanging at that moment in her room at home. "Isn't Tim Rokens very funny, papa?" she remarked in a whisper, looking up in her father's face. "Hush! my pet, and look yonder. There is something funnier, if I mistake not." He pointed, as he spoke, to a ripple in the water on the opposite side of the river, close under a bank which was clothed with rank, broad-leaved, and sedgy vegetation. In a few seconds a large crocodile put up its head, not farther off than twenty yards from the canoe, which apparently it did not see, and opening its tremendous jaws, afforded the travellers a splendid view of its teeth and throat. Briant afterwards asserted that he could see down its throat, and could _almost_ tell what it had had for dinner! "Plaze, sir, may I shoot him?" cried Briant, seizing his loaded musket, and looking towards the captain for permission. "It's of no use while in that position," remarked the trader, who regarded the hideous-looking monster with the calm unconcern of a man accustomed to such sights. "You may try;" said the captain with a grin. Almost before the words had left his lips, Phil took a rapid aim and fired. At the same identical moment the crocodile shut his jaws with a snap, as if he had an intuitive perception that something uneatable was coming. The bullet consequently hit his forehead, off which it glanced as if it had struck a plate of cast-iron. The reptile gave a wabble, expressive of lazy surprise, and sank slowly back into the slimy water. The shot startled more than one huge creature, for immediately afterwards they heard several flops in the water near them, but the tall sedges prevented their seeing what animals they were. A whole troop of monkeys, too, went shrieking away into the woods, showing that those nimble creatures had been watching all their movements, although, until that moment, they had taken good care to keep themselves out of sight. "Never fire at a crocodile's head," said the trader, as the party resumed their paddles, and continued their ascent of the stream; "you might as well fire at a stone wall. It's as hard as iron. The only place that's sure to kill it just behind the foreleg. The niggers always spear them there." "What do they spear them for?" asked Dr Hopley. "They eat 'em," replied the trader; "and the meat's not so bad after you get used to it." "Ha!" exclaimed Glynn Proctor; "I should fancy the great difficulty is to get used to it." "If you ever chance to go for a week without tasting fresh meat," replied the trader quietly, "you'll not find it so difficult as you think." That night the travellers encamped in the woods, and a wild charmingly romantic scene their night bivouac was--so thought Ailie, and so, too, would you have thought, reader, had you been there. King Bumble managed to kindle three enormous fires, for the triple purpose of keeping the party warm--for it was cold at night--of scaring away wild beasts, and of cooking their supper. These fires he fed at intervals during the whole night with huge logs, and the way in which he made the sparks fly up in among the strange big leaves of the tropical trees and parasitical plants overhead, was quite equal, if not superior, to a display of regular fireworks. Then Bumble and Glynn built a little platform of logs, on which they strewed leaves and grass, and over which they spread a curtain or canopy of broad leaves and boughs. This was Ailie's couch. It stood in the full blaze of the centre fire, and commanded a view of all that was going on in every part of the little camp; and when Ailie lay down on it after a good supper, and was covered up with a blanket, and further covered over with a sort of gauze netting to protect her from the mosquitoes, which were very numerous--when all this was done, we say, and when, in addition to this, she lay and witnessed the jovial laughter and enjoyment of His Majesty King Bumble, as he sat at the big fire smoking his pipe, and the supreme happiness of Phil Briant, and the placid joy of Tim Rokens, and the exuberant delight of Glynn, and the semi-scientific enjoyment of Dr Hopley as he examined a collection of rare plants; and the quiet comfort of the trader, and the awkward, shambling, loose-jointed pleasure of long Jim Scroggles; and the beaming felicity of her own dear father; who sat not far from her, and turned occasionally in the midst of the conversation to give her a nod--she felt in her heart that then and there she had fairly reached the very happiest moment in all her life. Ailie gazed in dreamy delight until she suddenly and unaccountably saw at least six fires, and fully half-a-dozen Bumbles, and eight or nine Glynns, and no end of fathers, and thousands of trees, and millions of sparks, all jumbled together in one vast complicated and magnificent pyrotechnic display; and then she fell asleep. It is a curious fact, and one for which it is not easy to account, that however happy you may be when you go to sleep out in the wild woods, you invariably awake in the morning in possession of a very small amount of happiness indeed. Probably it is because one in such circumstances is usually called upon to turn out before he has had enough sleep; perhaps it may be that the fires have burnt low or gone out altogether, and the gloom of a forest before sunrise is not calculated to elevate the spirits. Be this as it may, it is a fact that when Ailie was awakened on the following morning about daybreak, and told to get up, she felt sulky--positively and unmistakably sulky. We do not say that she looked sulky or acted sulkily--far from it; but she felt sulky, and that was a very uncomfortable state of things. We dwell a little on this point because we do not wish to mislead our young readers into the belief that life in the wild woods is _all_ delightful together. There are shadows as well as lights there--some of them, alas! so deep that we would not like even to refer to them while writing in a sportive vein. But it is also a fact, that when Ailie was fairly up and once more in the canoe, and when the sun began to flood the landscape with his golden light and turn the water into liquid fire, her temporary feelings of discomfort passed away, and her sensation of intense enjoyment returned. The scenery through which they passed on the second day was somewhat varied. They emerged early in the day upon the bosom of a large lake which looked almost like the ocean. Here there were immense flocks of water-fowl, and among them that strange, ungainly bird, the pelican. Here, too, there were actually hundreds of crocodiles. The lake was full of little mud islands, and on all of them these hideous and gigantic reptiles were seen basking lazily in the sun. Several shots were fired at them, but although the balls hit, they did not penetrate their thick hides, until at last one took effect in the soft part close behind the foreleg. The shot was fired by the trader, and it killed the animal instantly. It could not have been less than twenty feet long, but before they could secure it the carcass sank in deep water. "What a pity!" remarked Glynn, as the eddies circled round the spot where it had gone down. "Ah, so it is!" replied the doctor; "but he would have been rather large to preserve and carry home as a specimen." "I ax yer parding, sir," said Tim Rokens, addressing Dr Hopley; "but I'm curious to know if crocodiles has got phrenoligy?" "No doubt of it," replied the doctor, laughing. "Crocodiles have brains, and brains when exercised must be enlarged and developed, especially in the organs that are most used, hence corresponding development must take place in the skull." "I should think, doctor," remarked the captain, who was somewhat sceptical, "that their bumps of combativeness must be very large." "Probably they are," continued the doctor; "something like my friend Phil Briant here. I would venture to guess, now, that his organ of combativeness is well-developed--let me see." The doctor, who sat close beside the Irishman, caused him to pull in his paddle and submit his head for inspection. "Ah! then, don't operate on me, doctor dear! I've a mortial fear o' operations iver since me owld grandmother's pig got its foreleg took off at the hip-jint." "Hold your tongue, Paddy. Now the bump lies here--just under--eh! why, you haven't got so much as--what!" "Plaize, I think it's lost in fat, sur," remarked Briant, in a plaintive tone, as if he expected to be reprimanded for not having brought his bump of combativeness along with him. "Well," resumed the doctor, passing his fingers through Briant's matted locks, "I suppose you're not so combative as we had fancied--" "Thrue for you," interrupted Phil. "But, strange enough, I find your organ of veneration is very large, _very_ large indeed; singularly so for a man of your character; but I cannot feel it easily, you have such a quantity of hair." "Which is it, doctor dear?" inquired Phil. "This one I am pressing now." "Arrah! don't press so hard, plaze, it's hurtin' me ye are. Shure that's the place where I run me head slap up agin the spanker-boom four days ago. Av _that's_ me bump o' vineration, it wos three times as big an' twice as hard yisterday--it wos, indade." Interruptions in this world of uncertainty are not uncommon, and in the African wilds they are peculiarly frequent. The interruption which occurred on the present occasion to Dr Hopley's reply was, we need scarcely remark, exceedingly opportune. It came in the form of a hippopotamus, which rose so close to the boat that Ailie got a severe start, and Tim Rokens made a blow at its head with his paddle. It did not seem to notice the boat, but after blowing a quantity of water from its nostrils, and opening its horrible mouth as if it were yawning, it slowly sank again into the flood. "Wot an 'orrible crittur!" exclaimed Jim Scroggles, in amazement at the sight. "The howdacious willain!" remarked Rokens. "Is that another on ahead?" said Glynn, pointing to an object floating on the water about a hundred yards up the river: for they had passed the lake, and were now ascending another stream. "D'ye see it, Ailie? Look!" The object sank as he spoke, and Ailie looked round just in time to see the tail of a crocodile flop the water and follow its owner to the depths below. "Oh! oh!" exclaimed Ailie, with one of those peculiar intonations that told Glynn she saw something very beautiful, and that induced the remainder of the crew to rest on their paddles, and turn their eyes in the direction indicated. They did not require to ask what she saw, for the child's finger directed their eyes to a spot on the bank of the river, where, under the shadow of a spreading bush with gigantic leaves, stood a lovely little gazelle. The graceful creature had trotted down to the stream to drink, and did not observe the canoe, which had been on the point of rounding a bank that jutted out into the river where its progress was checked. The gazelle paused a moment, looked round to satisfy itself that no enemy was near, and then put its lips to the water. Alas! for the timid little thing! There were enemies near it and round it in all directions. There were leopards and serpents of the largest size in the woods, and man upon the river--although on this occasion it chanced that most of the men who gazed in admiration at its pretty form were friends. But its worst enemy, a crocodile, was lurking close under the mud-bank at its feet. Scarcely had its parched lips reached the stream when a black snout darted from the water, and the next instant the gazelle was struggling in the crocodile's jaws. A cry of horror burst from the men in the boat, and every man seized a musket; but before an aim could be taken the struggle was over; the monster had dived with its prey, and nothing but a few streaks of red foam floated on the troubled water. Ailie did not move. She stood with her hands tightly clasped and her eyes starting almost out of their sockets. At last her feelings found vent. She threw her arms round her father's neck, and burying her face in his bosom, burst into a passionate flood of tears. CHAPTER ELEVEN. NATIVE DOINGS, AND A CRUEL MURDER--JIM SCROGGLES SEES WONDERS, AND HAS A TERRIBLE ADVENTURE. It took two whole days and nights to restore Ailie to her wonted cheerful state of mind, after she had witnessed the death of the gazelle. But although she sang and laughed, and enjoyed herself as much as ever, she experienced the presence of a new and strange feeling, that ever after that day, tinged her thoughts and influenced her words and actions. The child had for the first time in her life experienced one of those rude shocks--one of those rough contacts with the stern realities of life which tend to deepen and intensify our feelings. The mind does not always grow by slow, imperceptible degrees, although it usually does so. There are periods in the career of every one when the mind takes, as it were, a sharp run and makes a sudden and stupendous jump out of one region of thought into another in which there are things new as well as old. The present was such an occasion to little Ailie Dunning. She had indeed seen bloody work before, in the cutting-up of a whale. But although she had been told it often enough, she did not _realise_ that whales have feelings and affections like other creatures. Besides, she had not witnessed the actual killing of the whale; and if she had, it would probably have made little impression on her beyond that of temporary excitement--not even that, perhaps, had her father been by her side. But she _sympathised_ with the gazelle. It was small, and beautiful, and lovable. Her heart had swelled the moment she saw it, and she had felt a longing desire to run up to it and throw her arms round its soft neck, so that, when she saw it suddenly struggling and crushed in the tremendous jaws of the horrible crocodile, every tender feeling in her breast was lacerated; every fibre of her heart trembled with a conflicting gush of the tenderest pity and the fiercest rage. From that day forward new thoughts began to occupy her mind, and old ideas presented themselves in different aspects. We would not have the reader suppose, for a moment, that Ailie became an utterly changed creature. To an unobservant eye--such as that of Jim Scroggles, for instance--she was the same in all respects a few days after as she had been a few hours before the event. But new elements had been implanted in her breast, or rather, seeds which had hitherto lain dormant were now caused to burst forth into plants by the All-wise Author of her being. She now _felt_ for the first time--she could not tell why--that enjoyment was _not_ the chief good in life. Of course she did not argue or think out all this clearly and methodically to herself. Her mind, on most things, material as well as immaterial, was very much what may be termed a jumble; but undoubtedly the above processes of reasoning and feeling, or something like them, were the result to Ailie of the violent death of that little gazelle. The very next day after this sad event the travellers came to a native village, at which they stayed a night, in order to rest and procure fresh provisions. The trader was well-known at this village, but the natives, all of whom were black, of course, and nearly naked, had never seen a little white girl before, so that their interest in and wonder at Ailie were quite amusing to witness. They crowded round her, laughing and exclaiming and gesticulating in a most remarkable manner, and taking special notice of her light-brown glossy hair, which seemed to fill them with unbounded astonishment and admiration; as well it might, for they had never before seen any other hair except the coarse curly wool on their own pates, and the long lank hair of the trader, which happened to be coarse and black. The child was at first annoyed by the attentions paid her, but at last she became interested in the sooty little naked children that thronged round her, and allowed them to handle her as much as they pleased, until her father led her to the residence of the chief or king of the tribe. Here she was well treated, and she began quite to like the people who were so kind to her and her friends. But she chanced to overhear a conversation between the doctor and Tim Rokens, which caused her afterwards to shrink from the negroes with horror. She was sitting on a bank picking wild-flowers some hours after the arrival of her party, and teaching several black children how to make necklaces of them, when the doctor and Rokens happened to sit down together at the other side of a bush which concealed her from their view. Tim was evidently excited, for the tones of his voice were loud and emphatic. "Yes," he said, in reply to some questions put to him by the doctor; "yes, I seed 'em do it, not ten minutes agone, with my own two eyes. Oh! but I would like to have 'em up in a row--every black villain in the place--an' a cutlass in my hand, an'--an' wouldn't I whip off their heads? No, I wouldn't; oh, no, by no means wotiver." There was something unusually fierce in Rokens' voice that alarmed Ailie. "I was jist takin' a turn," continued the sailor, "down by the creek yonder, when I heerd a great yellin' goin' on, and saw the trader in the middle of a crowd o' black fellows, a-shakin' his fists; so I made sail, of course, to lend a hand if he'd got into trouble. He was scoldin' away in the native lingo, as if he'd bin a born nigger. "`Wot's all to do?' says I. "`They're goin' to kill a little boy,' says he, quite fierce like, `'cause they took it into their heads he's bewitched.' "An' sayin' that, he sot to agin in the other lingo, but the king came up an' told him that the boy had to be killed 'cause he had a devil in him, and had gone and betwitched a number o' other people; an' before he had done speakin', up comes two fellers, draggin' the poor little boy between them. The king axed him if he wos betwitched, and the little chap--from sheer fright, I do believe--said he wos. Of coorse I couldn't understand 'em, but the trader explained it all arter. Well, no sooner had he said that, than they all gave a yell, and rushed upon the poor boy with their knives, and cut him to pieces. It's as sure as I'm sittin' here," cried Rokens, savagely, as his wrath rose again at the bare recital of the terrible deed he had witnessed. "I would ha' knocked out the king's brains there and then, but the trader caught my hand, and said, in a great fright, that if I did, it would not only cost me my life, but likely the whole party; so that cooled me, and I come away; an' I'm goin' to ax the captin wot we shud do." "We can do nothing," said the doctor sadly. "Even suppose we were strong enough to punish them, what good would it do? We can't change their natures. They are superstitious, and are firmly persuaded they did right in killing that poor boy." The doctor pondered for a few seconds, and then added, in a low voice, as if he were weighing the meaning of what he said: "Clergymen would tell us that nothing can deliver them from this bondage save a knowledge of the true God and of His Son Jesus Christ; that the Bible might be the means of curing them, if Bibles were only sent, and ministers to preach the gospel." "Then why ain't Bibles sent to 'em at once?" asked Rokens, in a tone of great indignation, supposing that the doctor was expressing his own opinion on the subject. "Is there nobody to look arter these matters in Christian lands?" "Oh, yes, there are many Bible Societies, and both Bibles and missionaries have been sent to this country; but it's a large one, and the societies tell us their funds are limited." "Then why don't they git more funds?" continued Rokens, in the same indignant tone, as his mind still dwelt upon the miseries and wickedness that he had seen, and that _might_ be prevented; "why don't they git more funds, and send out heaps o' Bibles, an' no end o' missionaries?" "Tim Rokens," said the doctor, looking earnestly into his companion's face, "if I were one of the missionaries, I might ask you how much money _you_ ever gave to enable societies to send Bibles and missionaries to foreign lands?" Tim Rokens was for once in his life completely taken aback. He was by nature a stolid man, and not easily put out. He was a shrewd man, too, and did not often commit himself. When he did, he was wont to laugh at himself, and so neutralise the laugh raised against him. But here was a question that was too serious for laughter, and yet one which he could not answer without being self-condemned. He looked gravely in the doctor's face for two minutes without speaking; then he heaved a deep sigh, and said slowly, and with a pause between each word-- "Doctor Hopley--I--never--gave--a--rap--in--all--my--life." "So then, my man," said the doctor, smiling, "you're scarcely entitled to be indignant with others." "Wot you remark, doctor, is true; I--am--not." Having thus fully and emphatically condemned himself, and along with himself all mankind who are in a similar category, Tim Rokens relapsed into silence, deliberately drew forth his pipe, filled it, lit it, and began to smoke. None of the party of travellers slept well that night, except perhaps the trader, who was accustomed to the ways of the negroes, and King Bumble, who had been born and bred in the midst of cruelties. Most of them dreamed of savage orgies, and massacres of innocent children, so that when daybreak summoned them to resume their journey, they arose and embarked with alacrity, glad to get away from the spot. During that day and the next they saw a great number of crocodiles and hippopotami, besides strange birds and plants innumerable. The doctor filled his botanical-box to bursting. Ailie filled her flower-basket to overflowing. Glynn hit a crocodile on the back with a bullet, and received a lazy stare from the ugly creature in return, as it waddled slowly down the bank on which it had been lying, and plumped into the river. The captain assisted Ailie to pluck flowers when they landed, which they did from time to time, and helped to arrange and pack them when they returned to the canoe. Tim Rokens did nothing particularly worthy of record; but he gave utterance to an immense number of sententious and wise remarks, which were listened to by Bumble with deep respect, for that sable gentleman had taken a great fancy for the bold harpooner, and treasured up all his sayings in his heart. Phil Briant distinguished himself by shooting an immense serpent, which the doctor, who cut off and retained its head, pronounced to be an anaconda. It was full twenty feet long; and part of the body was cut up, roasted, and eaten by Bumble and the trader, though the others turned from it with loathing. "It be more cleaner dan one pig, anyhow," remarked Bumble, on observing the disgust of his white friends; "an' you no objic' to eat dat." "Clainer than a pig, ye spalpeen!" cried Phil Briant; "that only shows yer benighted haithen ignerance. Sure I lived in the same cabin wid a pig for many a year--not not to mintion a large family o' cocks and hens--an' a clainer baste than that pig didn't stop in that cabin." "That doesn't say much for your own cleanliness, or that of your family," remarked Glynn. "Och! ye've bin to school, no doubt, haven't ye?" retorted Phil. "I have," replied Glynn. "Shure I thought so. It's there ye must have larned to be so oncommon cliver. Don't you iver be persuaded for to go to school, Bumble, if ye iver git the chance. It's a mighty lot o' taichin' they'd give ye, but niver a taste o' edication. Tin to wan, they'd cram ye till ye turned white i' the face, an' that wouldn't suit yer complexion, ye know, King Bumble, be no manes." As for the trader, he acted interpreter when the party fell in with negroes, and explained everything that puzzled them, and told them anecdotes without end about the natives and the wild creatures, and the traffic of the regions through which they passed. In short, he made himself generally useful and agreeable. But the man who distinguished himself most on that trip was Jim Scroggles. That lanky individual one day took it into his wise head to go off on a short ramble into the woods alone. He had been warned by the trader, along with the rest of the party, not to venture on such a dangerous thing; but being an absent man the warning had not reached his intellect although it had fallen on his ear. The party were on shore cooking dinner when he went off, without arms of any kind, and without telling whither he was bound. Indeed, he had no defined intentions in his own mind. He merely felt inclined for a ramble, and so went away, intending to be back in half-an-hour or less. But Jim Scroggles had long legs and loved locomotion. Moreover, the woods were exceedingly beautiful and fragrant, and comparatively cool: for it happened to be the coolest season of the year in that sultry region, else the party of Europeans could not have ventured to travel there at all. Wandering along beneath the shade of palm-trees and large-leaved shrubs and other tropical productions, with his hands in his breeches pockets, and whistling a variety of popular airs, which must have not a little astonished the monkeys and birds and other creatures--such of them, at least, as had any taste for or knowledge of music--Jim Scroggles penetrated much farther into the wilds than he had any intention of doing. There is no saying how far, in his absence of mind, he might have wandered, had he not been caught and very uncomfortably entangled in a mesh-work of wild vines and thorny plants that barred his further progress. Jim had encountered several such before in his walk, but had forced his way through without more serious damage than a rent or two in his shirt and pantaloons, and several severe scratches to his hands and face; but Scroggles had lived a hard life from infancy, and did not mind scratches. Now, however, he could not advance a step, and it was only by much patient labour and by the free use of his clasp-knife, that he succeeded at length in releasing himself. He left a large portion of one of the legs of his trousers and several bits of skin on the bushes, as a memorial of his visit to that spot. Jim's mind was awoken to the perception of three facts--namely, that he had made himself late for dinner; that he would be the means of detaining his party; and that he had lost himself. Here was a pretty business! Being a man of slow thought and much deliberation, he sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree, and looking up, as men usually do when soliloquising, exclaimed-- "My eye, here's a go! Wot is to be done?" A very small monkey, with an uncommonly wrinkled and melancholy cast of visage, which chanced to be seated on a branch hard by, peering down at the lost mariner, replied-- "O! o-o-o, O! o-o!" as much as to say, "Ah, my boy, that's just the question." Jim Scroggles shook his head, partly as a rebuke to the impertinent little monkey and partly as an indication of the hopelessness of his being able to return a satisfactory answer to his own question. At last he started up, exclaiming, "Wotever comes on it, there's no use o' sitting here," and walked straight forward at a brisk pace. Then he suddenly stopped, shook his head again, and said, "If I goes on like this, an' it shud turn out to be the wrong course arter all--wot'll come on't?" Being as unable to answer this question as the former, he thrust both hands into his pockets, looked at the ground and began to whistle. When he looked up again he ceased whistling very abruptly, and turned deadly pale--perhaps we should say yellow. And no wonder, for there, straight before him, not more than twenty yards off, stood a creature which, to his ignorant eyes, appeared to be a fiend incarnate, but which was in reality a large-sized and very ancient sheego monkey. It stood in an upright position like a man, and was above four feet high. It had a bald head, grey whiskers, and an intensely black wrinkled face, and, at the moment Jim Scroggles' eyes encountered it, that face was working itself into such a variety of remarkable and hideous contortions that no description, however graphic, could convey a correct notion of it to the reader's mind. Seen behind the bars of an iron cage it might, perhaps, have been laughable; but witnessed as it was, in the depths of a lonely forest, it was appalling. Jim Scroggles' knees began to shake. He was fascinated with horror. The huge ape was equally fascinated with terror. It worked its wrinkled visage more violently than ever. Jim trembled all over. In another second the sheego displayed not only all its teeth--and they were tremendous--but all its gums, and they were fearful to behold, besides being scarlet. Roused to the utmost pitch of fear, the sheego uttered a shriek that rang through the forest like a death-yell. This was the culminating point. Jim Scroggles turned and fled as fast as his long and trembling legs could carry him. The sheego, at the same instant, was smitten with an identically similar impulse. It turned, uttered another yell, and fled in the opposite direction; and thus the two ran until they were both out of breath. What became of the monkey we cannot tell; but Jim Scroggles ran at headlong speed straight before him, crashing through brake and bush, in the full belief that the sheego was in hot pursuit, until he came to a mangrove swamp; here his speed was checked somewhat, for the trees grew in a curious fashion that merits special notice. Instead of rising out of the ground, the mangroves rose out of a sea of mud, and the roots stood up in a somewhat arched form, supporting their stem, as it were, on the top of a bridge. Thus, had the ground beneath been solid, a man might have walked _under_ the roots. In order to cross the swamp, Jim Scroggles had to leap from root to root--a feat which, although difficult, he would have attempted without hesitation. But Jim was agitated at that particular moment. His step was uncertain at a time when the utmost coolness was necessary. At one point the leap from one root to the next was too great for him. He turned his eye quickly to one side to seek a nearer stem; in doing so he encountered the gaze of a serpent. It was not a large one, probably about ten feet long, but he knew it to be one whose bite was deadly. In the surprise and fear of the moment he took the long leap, came short of the root by about six inches, and alighted up to the waist in the soft mud. Almost involuntarily he cast his eyes behind him, and saw neither sheego nor serpent. He breathed more freely, and essayed to extricate himself from his unpleasant position. Stretching out his hands to the root above his head, he found that it was beyond his reach. The sudden fear that this produced caused him to make a violent struggle, and in his next effort he succeeded in catching a twig; it supported him, for a moment, then broke, and he fell back again into the mud. Each successive struggle only sank him deeper. As the thick adhesive semi-liquid clung to his lower limbs and rose slowly on his chest, the wretched man uttered a loud cry of despair. He felt that he was brought suddenly face to face with death in its most awful form. The mud was soon up to his arm-pits. As the hopelessness of his condition forced itself upon him, he began to shout for help until the dark woods resounded with his cries; but no help came, and the cold drops of sweat stood upon his brow as he shrieked aloud in agony, and prayed for mercy. CHAPTER TWELVE. JIM SCROGGLES RESCUED, AND GLYNN AND AILIE LOST--A CAPTURE, UPSET, CHASE, ESCAPE, AND HAPPY RETURN. The merciful manner in which God sends deliverance at the eleventh hour has been so often experienced and recognised, that it has originated the well-known proverb, "Man's extremity is God's opportunity;" and this proverb is true not only in reference to man's soul, but often, also, in regard to his temporal affairs. While the wretched sailor was uttering cries for help, which grew feebler every moment as he sank deeper and deeper into what now he believed should be his grave, his comrades were hastening forward to his rescue. Alarmed at his prolonged absence, they had armed themselves, and set out in search of him, headed by the trader and led by the negro, who tracked his steps with that unerring certainty which seems peculiar to all savages. The shrieks uttered by their poor comrade soon reached their ears, and after some little difficulty, owing to the cries becoming faint, and at last inaudible, they discovered the swamp where he lay, and revived his hope and energy by their shouts. They found him nearly up to the neck in mud, and the little of him that still remained above ground was scarcely recognisable. It cost them nearly an hour, with the aid of poles, and ropes extemporised out of their garments, to drag Jim from his perilous position and place him on solid ground; and after they had accomplished this, it took more than an hour longer to clean him and get him recruited sufficiently to accompany them to the spot where they had left the canoe. The poor man was deeply moved; and when he fully realised the fact that he was saved, he wept like a child, and then thanked God fervently for his deliverance. As the night was approaching, and the canoe, with Ailie in it, had been left in charge only of Glynn Proctor, Jim's recovery was expedited as much as possible, and as soon as he could walk they turned to retrace their steps. Man knows not what a day or an hour will bring forth. For many years one may be permitted to move on "the even tenor of his way," without anything of momentous import occurring to mark the passage of his little span of time as it sweeps him onward to eternity. At another period of life, events, it may be of the most startling and abidingly impressive nature, are crowded into a few months or weeks, or even days. So it was now with our travellers on the African river. When they reached the spot where they had dined, no one replied to their shouts. The canoe, Glynn, and the child were gone. On making this terrible discovery the whole party were filled with indescribable consternation, and ran wildly hither and thither, up and down the banks of the river, shouting the names of Glynn Proctor and Ailie, until the woods rang again. Captain Dunning was almost mad with anxiety and horror. His imagination pictured his child in every conceivable danger. He thought of her as drowned in the river and devoured by crocodiles; as carried away by the natives into hopeless captivity; or, perhaps, killed by wild beasts in the forest. When several hours had elapsed, and still no sign of the missing ones could be discovered, he fell down exhausted on the river's bank, and groaned aloud in his despair. But Ailie was not lost. The Heavenly Father in whom she trusted still watched over and cared for her, and Glynn Proctor's stout right arm was still by her side to protect her. About half-an-hour after the party had gone off in search of their lost companion, a large canoe, full of negroes, came sweeping down the river. Glynn and Ailie hid themselves in the bushes, and lay perfectly still, hoping they might be passed by. But they forgot that the blue smoke of their fire curled up through the foliage and revealed their presence at once. On observing the smoke, the savages gave a shout, and, running their canoe close in to the bank, leaped ashore and began to scamper through the wood like baboons. Only a few minutes passed before they discovered the two hiders, whom they surrounded and gazed upon in the utmost possible amazement, shouting the while with delight, as if they had discovered a couple of new species of monkey. Glynn was by nature a reckless and hasty youth. He felt the power of a young giant within him, and his first impulse was to leap upon the newcomers, and knock them down right and left. Fortunately, for Ailie's sake as well as his own, he had wisdom enough to know that though he had possessed the power of ten giants, he could not hope, singly, to overcome twenty negroes, all of whom were strong, active, and lithe as panthers. He therefore assumed a good-humoured free-and-easy air, and allowed himself and Ailie to be looked at and handled without ceremony. The savages were evidently not ill-disposed towards the wanderers. They laughed a great deal, and spoke to each other rapidly in what, to Glynn, was of course an unknown tongue. One who appeared to be the chief of the party passed his long black fingers through Ailie's glossy curls with evident surprise and delight. He then advanced to Glynn, and said something like-- "Holli--boobo--gaddle--bump--um--peepi--daddle--dumps." To which Glynn replied very naturally, "I don't understand you." Of course he did not. And he might have known well enough that the negro could not understand _him_. But he deemed it wiser to make a reply of some kind, however unintelligible, than to stand like a post and say nothing. Again the negro spoke, and again Glynn made the same reply; whereupon the black fellow turned round to his comrades and looked at them, and they, in reply to the look, burst again into an immoderate fit of laughter, and cut a variety of capers, the very simplest of which would have made the fortune of any merry-andrew in the civilised world, had he been able to execute it. This was all very well, no doubt, and exceedingly amusing, not to say surprising; but it became quite a different matter when, after satisfying their curiosity, these dark gentlemen coolly collected the property of the white men, stowed it away in the small canoe, and made signs to Glynn and Ailie to enter. Glynn showed a decided objection to obey, on which two stout fellows seized him by the shoulders, and pointed sternly to the canoe, as much as to say, "Hobbi-doddle-hoogum-toly-whack," which, being interpreted (no doubt) meant, "If you don't go quietly, we'll force you." Again the young sailor's spirit leaped up. He clenched his fists, his brow flushed crimson, and, in another instant, whatever might have been the consequence, the two negroes would certainly have lain recumbent on the sward, had it not suddenly occurred to Glynn that he might, by appearing to submit, win the confidence of his captors, and, at the first night-encampment, quietly make his escape with Ailie in his arms! Glynn was at that romantic age when young men have a tendency to think themselves capable of doing almost anything, with or without ordinary facilities, and in the face of any amount of adverse circumstance. He therefore stepped willingly and even cheerfully into the canoe, in which his and his comrades' baggage had been already stowed, and, seating himself in the stern, took up the steering-paddle. He was ordered to quit that post, however, in favour of a powerful negro, and made to sit in the bow and paddle there. Ailie was placed with great care in the centre of the canoe among a heap of soft leopard-skins; for the savages evidently regarded her as something worth preserving--a rare and beautiful specimen, perhaps, of the white monkey! This done, they leaped into their large canoe, and, attaching the smaller one to it by means of a rope, paddled out from the bank, and descended the stream. "Oh! Glynn," exclaimed Ailie, in a whisper--for she felt that things were beginning to look serious--"what _are_ we to do?" "Indeed, my pet, I don't know," replied Glynn, looking round and encountering the gaze of the negro in the stern, at whom he frowned darkly, and received a savage grin by way of reply. "I would like _so_ much to say something to you," continued Ailie, "but I'm afraid _he_ will know what I say." "Never fear, Ailie; he's as deaf as a post to our language. Out with it." "Could you not," she said, in a half-whisper, "cut the rope, and then paddle away back while _they_ are paddling down the river?" Glynn laughed in spite of himself at this proposal. "And what, my pretty one," he said, "what should we do with the fellow in the stern? Besides, the rascals in front might take it into their heads to paddle after us, you know, and what then?" "I'm sure I don't know," said Ailie, beginning to cry. "Now, don't cry, my darling," said Glynn, looking over his shoulder with much concern. "I'll manage to get you out of this scrape somehow--now see if I don't." The youth spoke so confidently, that the child felt somehow comforted, so drying her eyes she lay back among the leopard-skins, where, giving vent to an occasional sob, she speedily fell fast asleep. They continued to advance thus in silence for nearly an hour, crossed a small lake, and again entered the river. After descending this some time, the attention of the whole party was attracted to a group of hippopotami, gambolling in the mud-banks and in the river a short distance ahead. At any other time Glynn would have been interested in the sight of these uncouth monsters, but he had seen so many within the last few days that he was becoming comparatively indifferent to them, and at that moment he was too much filled with anxiety to take any notice of them. The creatures themselves, however, did not seem to be so utterly indifferent to the strangers. They continued their gambols until the canoes were quite near, and then they dived. Now, hippopotami, as we have before hinted, are clumsy and stupid creatures, so much so that they occasionally run against and upset boats and canoes, quite unintentionally. Knowing this, the natives in the large canoe kept a sharp look-out in order to steer clear of them. They had almost succeeded in passing the place, when a huge fellow, like a sugar-punchean, rose close to the small canoe, and grazed it with his tail. Apparently he considered this an attack made upon him by the boat, for he wheeled round in a rage, and swam violently towards it. The negro and Glynn sprang to their feet on the instant, and the former raised his paddle to deal the creature a blow on the head. Before he could do so, Glynn leaped lightly over Ailie, who had just awakened, caught the savage by the ankles, and tossed him overboard. He fell with a heavy splash just in front of the cavernous jaws of the hippopotamus! In fact, he had narrowly escaped falling head-first into the creature's open throat. The nearness of the animal at the time was probably the means of saving the negro's life, for it did not observe where he had vanished to, as he sank under its chin, and was pushed by its forelegs right under its body. In its effort to lay hold of the negro, the hippopotamus made a partial dive, and thus passed the small canoe. When it again rose to the surface the large canoe met its eye. At this it rushed, drove its hammer-like skull through the light material of which it was made, and then seizing the broken ends in its strong jaws upset the canoe, and began to rend it to pieces in its fury. Before this occurred, the crew had leaped into the water, and were now swimming madly to the shore. At the same moment Glynn cut the line that fastened the two canoes together, and seizing his paddle, urged his craft up the river as fast as possible. But his single arm could not drive it with much speed against the stream, and before he had advanced a dozen yards, one of the natives overtook him and several more followed close behind. Glynn allowed the first one to come near, and then gave him a tremendous blow on the head with the edge of the paddle. The young sailor was not in a gentle frame of mind at that time, by any means. The blow was given with a will, and would probably have fractured the skull of a white man; but that of a negro is proverbially thick. The fellow was only stunned, and fell back among his comrades, who judiciously considering that such treatment was not agreeable and ought not to be courted, put about, and made for the shore. Glynn now kept his canoe well over to the left side of the stream while the savages ran along the right bank, yelling ferociously and occasionally attempting to swim towards him, but without success. He was somewhat relieved, and sent them a shout of defiance, which was returned, of course with interest. Still he felt that his chance of escape was poor. He was becoming exhausted by the constant and violent exertion that was necessary in order to make head against the stream. The savages knew this, and bided their time. As he continued to labour slowly up, Glynn came to the mouth of a small stream which joined the river. He knew not where it might lead to, but feeling that he could not hold out much longer, he turned into it, without any very definite idea as to what he would attempt next. The stream was sluggish. He advanced more easily, and after a few strokes of the paddle doubled round a point and was hid from the eyes of the negroes, who immediately set up a yell and plunged into the river, intending to swim over; but fortunately it was much too rapid in the middle, and they were compelled to return. We say fortunately, because, had they succeeded in crossing, they would have found Glynn in the bushes of the point behind which he had disappeared, in a very exhausted state, though prepared to fight to the last with all the energy of despair. As it was, he had the extreme satisfaction of seeing his enemies, after regaining the right bank, set off at a quick run down the river. He now remembered having seen a place about two miles further down that looked like a ford, and he at once concluded his pursuers had set off to that point, and would speedily return and easily recapture him in the narrow little stream into which he had pushed. To cross the large river was impossible--the canoe would have been swamped in the rapid. But what was to hinder him from paddling close in along the side, and perhaps reach the lake while the negroes were looking for him up the small stream? He put this plan into execution at once; and Ailie took a paddle in her small hands and did her utmost to help him. It wasn't much, poor thing; but to hear the way in which Glynn encouraged her and spoke of her efforts, one would have supposed she had been as useful as a full-grown man! After a couple of hours' hard work, they emerged upon the lake, and here Glynn felt that he was pretty safe, because, in the still water, no man could swim nearly as fast as he could paddle. Besides, it was now getting dark, so he pushed out towards a rocky islet on which there were only a few small bushes, resolved to take a short rest there, and then continue his flight under cover of the darkness. While Glynn carried ashore some biscuit, which was the only thing in the boat they could eat without cooking, Ailie broke off some branches from the low bushes that covered the little rocky islet, and spread them out on a flat rock for a couch; this done, she stood on the top of a large stone and gazed round upon the calm surface of the beautiful lake, in the dark depths of which the stars twinkled as if there were another sky down there. "Now, Ailie," said Glynn, "come along and have supper. It's not a very tempting one, but we must content ourselves with hard fare and a hard bed to-night, as I dare not light a fire lest the negroes should observe it and catch us." "I'm sorry for that," replied the child; "for a fire is _so_ nice and cheery; and it helps to keep off the wild beasts, too, doesn't it?" "Well, it does; but there are no wild beasts on such a small rock as this, and the sides are luckily too steep for crocodiles to crawl up." "Shall we sleep here till morning?" asked Ailie, munching her hard biscuit and drinking her tin pannikinful of cold water with great relish, for she was very hungry. "Oh, no!" replied Glynn. "We must be up and away in an hour at farthest. So, as I see you're about done with your luxurious supper, I propose that you lie down to rest." Ailie was only too glad to accede to this proposal. She lay down on the branches, and after Glynn had covered her with a blanket, he stretched himself on a leopard-skin beside her, and both of them fell asleep in five minutes. The mosquitoes were very savage that night, but the sleepers were too much fatigued to mind their vicious attacks. Glynn slept two hours, and then he wakened with a start, as most persons do when they have arranged, before going to sleep, to rise at a certain hour. He rose softly, carried the provisions back to the canoe, and in his sleepy condition almost stepped upon the head of a huge crocodile, which, ignorant of their presence, had landed its head on the islet in order to have a snooze. Then he roused Ailie, and led her, more than half asleep, down to the beach, and lifted her into the canoe, after which he pushed off, and paddled briskly over the still waters of the star-lit lake. Ailie merely yawned during all these proceedings; said, "Dear me! is it time to--yeaow! oh, I'm _so_ sleepy;" mumbled something about papa wondering what had become of Jim Scroggles, and about her being convinced that--"yeaow!--the ship must have lost itself among the whales and monkeys;" and then, dropping her head on the leopard-skins with a deep sigh of comfort, she returned to the land of Nod. Glynn Proctor worked so well that it was still early in the morning and quite dark when he arrived at the encampment where they had been made prisoners. His heart beat audibly as he approached the dark landing-place, and observed no sign of his comrades. The moment the bow of the canoe touched the shore, he sprang over the side, and, without disturbing the little sleeper, drew it gently up the bank, and fastened the bow-rope to a tree; then he hurried to the spot where they had slept and found all the fires out except one, of which a few dull embers still remained; but no comrade was visible. It is a felicitous arrangement of our organs of sense, that where one organ fails to convey to our inward man information regarding the outward world, another often steps in to supply its place, and perform the needful duty. We have said that Glynn Proctor saw nothing of his comrades,--although he gazed earnestly all round the camp--for the very good reason that it was almost pitch-dark; but although his eyes were useless, his ears were uncommonly acute, and through their instrumentality he became cognisant of a sound. It might have been distant thunder, but was too continuous and regular for that. It might have been the distant rumbling of heavy wagons or artillery over a paved road; but there were neither wagons nor roads in those African wilds. It might have been the prolonged choking of an alligator--it might, in fact, have been _anything_ in a region like that, where _everything_, almost, was curious, and new, and strange, and wild, and unaccountable; and the listener was beginning to entertain the most uncomfortable ideas of what it probably was, when a gasp and a peculiar snort apprised him that it was a human snore!--at least, if not a human snore, it was that of some living creature which indulged to a very extravagant degree in that curious and altogether objectionable practice. Stepping cautiously forward on tip-toe, Glynn searched among the leaves all round the fire, following the direction of the sounds, but nothing was to be found; and he experienced a slight feeling of supernatural dread creeping over him, when a peculiarly loud metallic snore sounded clear above his head. Looking up, he beheld by the dull red light of the almost extinct fire, the form of Phil Briant, half-seated, half-reclining, on the branch of a tree not ten feet from the ground, and clasping another branch tightly with both arms. At that moment, Ailie, who had awakened, ran up, and caught Glynn by the hand. "Hallo! Briant!" exclaimed Glynn. A very loud snore was the reply. "Briant! Phil Briant, I say; hallo! Phil!" shouted Glynn. "Arrah! howld yer noise will ye," muttered the still sleeping man--"sno--o--o--o--re!" "A fall! a fall!--all hands ahoy! tumble up there, tumble up!" shouted Glynn, in the nautical tones which he well knew would have their effect upon his comrade. He was right. They had more than their usual effect on him. The instant he heard them, Phil Briant shouted--"Ay, ay, sir!" and, throwing his legs over the side of what he supposed to be his hammock, he came down bodily on what he supposed to be the deck with a whack that caused him to utter an involuntary but tremendous howl. "Oh! och! oh! murther! oh whirra!" he cried, as he lay half-stunned. "Oh, it's kilt I am entirely--dead as mutton at last, an' no mistake. Sure I might have knowd it--och! worse luck! Didn't yer poor owld mother tell ye, Phil, that ye'd come to a bad end--she did--" "Are ye badly hurt?" said Glynn, stooping over his friend in real alarm. At the sound of his voice Briant ceased his wails, rose into a sitting posture, shaded his eyes with his hand (a most unnecessary proceeding under the circumstances), and stared at him. "It's me, Phil; all right, and Ailie. We've escaped, and got safe back again." "It's jokin' ye are," said Briant, with the imbecile smile of a man who only half believes what he actually sees. "I'm draimin', that's it. Go away, avic, an' don't be botherin' me." "It's quite true, though, I assure you, my boy. I've managed to give the niggers the slip; and here's Ailie, too, all safe, and ready to convince you of the fact." Phil Briant looked at one and then at the other in unbounded amazement for a few seconds, after which he gave a short laugh as if of pity for his own weakness, and his face assumed a mild aspect as he said softly, "It's all a draim, av coorse it is!" He even turned away his eyes for a moment in order to give the vision time to dissipate. But on looking round again, there it was, as palpable as ever. Faith in the fidelity of his own eyesight returned in a moment, and Phil Briant, forgetting his bodily pains, sprang to his feet with a roar of joy, seized Ailie in his arms and kissed her, embraced Glynn Proctor with a squeeze like that of a loving bear, and then began to dance an Irish jig, quite regardless of the fact that the greater part of it was performed in the fire, the embers of which he sent flying in all directions like a display of fireworks. He cheered, too, now and then like a maniac--"Oh, happy day! I've found ye, have I? after all me trouble, too! Hooray! an' wan chair more for luck. Av me sowl only don't lape clane out o' me body, it's meself'll be thankful! But, sure--I'm forgittin'--" Briant paused suddenly in the midst of his uproarious dance, and seized a burning stick, which he attempted to blow into a flame with intense vehemence of action. Having succeeded, he darted towards an open space a few yards off, in the centre of which lay a large pile of dry sticks. To these he applied the lighted brand, and the next instant a glare of ruddy flame leaped upwards, and sent a shower of sparks high above the forest trees into the sky. He then returned, panting a good deal, but much composed, and said--"Now, darlints, come an' help me to gather the bits o' stick; somebody's bin scatterin' them all over the place, they have, bad luck to them! an' then ye'll sit down and talk a bit, an' tell me all about it." "But what's the fire for?" asked Ailie. "Ay, ye may say that," added Glynn; "we don't need such a huge bonfire as that to cook our supper with." "Och! be aisy, do. It'll do its work; small doubt o' that. The cap'n, poor man, ye know, is a'most deranged, an' they're every one o' them off at this good minute scourin' the woods lookin' for ye. O, then, it's sore hearts we've had this day! An' wan was sent wan way, an' wan another, an' the cap'n his-self he wint up the river, and, before he goes, he says to me, says he, `Briant, you'll stop here and watch the camp, for maybe they'll come wanderin' back to it, av they've bin and lost theirselves; an' mind ye don't lave it or go to slape. An' if they do come, or ye hear any news o' them, jist you light up a great fire, an' I'll be on the look-out, an' we'll all on us come back as fast as we can.' Now, that's the truth, an' the whole truth, an' nothin' but the truth, as the judge said to the witness when he swore at him." This was a comforting piece of information to Glynn and Ailie, so, without further delay, they assisted their overjoyed comrade to collect the scattered embers of the fire and boil the kettle. In this work they were all the more energetic that the pangs of hunger were beginning to remind them of the frugal and scanty nature of their last meal. The bonfire did its work effectually. From all parts of the forest to which they had wandered, the party came, dropping in one by one to congratulate the lost and found pair. Last of all came Captain Dunning and Tim Rokens, for the harpooner had vowed he would "stick to the cap'n through thick and thin." Tim kept his word faithfully. Through thick tangled brakes and thin mud-swamps did he follow his wretched commander that night until he could scarcely stand for fatigue, or keep his eyes open for sleep; and when the captain rushed into the camp at last, and clasped his sobbing child to his heart, Tim Rokens rushed in along with him, halted beside him, thrust his hands into his pockets, and looked on, while his eyes blinked with irresistible drowsiness, and his mud-bespattered visage beamed with excessive joy. CHAPTER THIRTEEN. PHILOSOPHICAL REMARKS ON "LIFE"--A MONKEY SHOT AND A MONKEY FOUND--JACKO DESCRIBED. "Such is life!" There is deep meaning in that expression, though it is generally applied in a bantering manner to life in all its phases, under all its peculiar and diversified circumstances. Taking a particular view of things in general, we may say of life that it is composed of diverse and miscellaneous materials--the grave and the gay; the sad and the comic; the extraordinary and the commonplace; the flat and the piquant; the heavy and the light; the religious and the profane; the bright and the dark; the shadow and the sunshine. All these, and a great deal more, similar as well as dissimilar, enter into the composition of what we familiarly term life. These elements, too, are not arranged according to order, at least, order that is perceptible to our feeble human understandings. That there does exist both order and harmony is undeniable; but we cannot see it. The elements appear to be miscellaneously intermingled--to be accidentally thrown together; yet, while looking at them in detail there seems to us a good deal of unreasonable and chaotic jumble, in regarding them as a whole, or as a series of wholes, it becomes apparent that there is a certain harmony of arrangement that may be termed kaleidoscopically beautiful; and when, in the course of events, we are called to the contemplation of something grand or lovely, followed rather abruptly by something curiously contemptible or absurd, we are tempted to give utterance to the thoughts that are too complicated and deep for rapid analysis, in the curt expression "Such is life." The physician invites his friends to a social _reunion_. He chats and laughs at the passing jest, or takes part in the music--the glee, or the comic song. A servant whispers in his ear. Ten minutes elapse, and he is standing by the bed of death. He watches the flickering flame; he endeavours to relieve the agonised frame; he wipes the cold sweat from the pale brow, and moistens the dry lips, or pours words of true, earnest, tender comfort into the ears of the bereaved. The contrast here is very violent and sudden. We have chosen, perhaps, the most striking instance of the kind that is afforded in the experience of men; yet such, in a greater or less degree, is life, in the case of every one born into this wonderful world of ours, and such, undoubtedly, it was intended to be. "There is a time for all things." We were made capable of laughing and crying; therefore, these being sinless indulgences in the abstract, we _ought_ to laugh and cry. And one of our great aims in life should be to get our hearts and affections so trained that we shall laugh and cry at the right time. It may be well to remark, in passing, that we should avoid, if possible, doing both at once. Now, such being life, we consider that we shall be doing no violence to the harmonies of life if we suddenly, and without further preface, transport the reader into the middle of next day, and a considerable distance down the river up which we have for some time been travelling. Here he (or she) will find Ailie and her father, and the whole party in fact, floating calmly and pleasantly down the stream in their canoe. "Now, this is wot I do enjoy," said Rokens, laying down his paddle and wiping the perspiration from his brow; "it's the pleasantest sort o' thing I've known since I went to sea." To judge from the profuse perspiration that flowed from his brow, and from the excessive redness of his face, one would suppose that Rokens' experience of "pleasant sort o' things" had not hitherto been either extensive or deep. But the man meant what he said, and a well-known proverb clears up the mystery--"What's one man's meat is another's poison!" Hard work, violent physical exertion, and excessive heat were Rokens' delight, and, whatever may be the opinion of flabby-muscled, flat individuals, there can be no reasonable doubt that Rokens meant it, when he added, emphatically, "It's fuss-rate; tip-top; A1 on Lloyd's, that's a fact!" Phil Briant, on hearing this, laid down his paddle, also wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his coat, and exclaimed--"Ditto, says I." Whereupon Glynn laughed, and Jim Scroggles grunted (this being _his_ method of laughing), and the captain shook his head, and said-- "P'r'aps it is, my lads, a pleasant sort o' thing, but the sooner we're out of it the better. I've no notion of a country where the natives murder poor little boys in cold blood, and carry off your goods and chattels at a moment's notice." The captain looked at Ailie as he spoke, thereby implying that she was part of the "goods and chattels" referred to. "Shure it's a fact; an' without sayin' by yer lave, too," added Briant, who had a happy facility of changing his opinion on the shortest notice to accommodate himself to circumstances. "Oh, the monkey!" screamed Ailie. Now as Ailie screamed this just as Briant ceased to speak, and, moreover, pointed, or appeared to point, straight into that individual's face, it was natural to suppose that the child was becoming somewhat personal--the more so that Briant's visage, when wrinkled up and tanned by the glare of a tropical sun, was not unlike to that of a large baboon. But every one knew that Ailie was a gentle, well-behaved creature--except, perhaps, when she was seized with one of her gleeful fits that bordered sometimes upon mischief--so that instead of supposing that she had made a personal attack on the unoffending Irishman, the boat's crew instantly directed their eyes close past Briant's face and into the recesses of the wood beyond, where they saw a sight that filled them with surprise. A large-leaved tree of the palm species overhung the banks of the river and formed a support to a wild vine and several bright-flowering parasitical plants that drooped in graceful luxuriance from its branches and swept the stream, which at that place was dark, smooth, and deep. On the top of this tree, in among the branches, sat a monkey--at least so Ailie called it; but the term ape or baboon would have been more appropriate, for the creature was a very large one, and, if the expression of its countenance indicated in any degree the feelings of its heart, also a very fierce one--an exceedingly ferocious one indeed. This monkey's face was as black as coal, and its two deep-seated eyes were, if possible, blacker than coal. Its head was bald, but the rest of its body was plentifully covered with hair. Now this monkey was evidently caught--taken by surprise--for instead of trying to escape as the canoe approached, it sat there chattering and exhibiting its teeth to a degree that was quite fiendish, not to say-- under the circumstances--unnecessary. As the canoe dropped slowly down the river, it became obvious that this monkey had a baby, for a very small and delicate creature was seen clinging round the big one's waist with its little hands grasping tightly the long hair on the mother's sides, its arms being much too short to encircle her body. Ailie's heart leapt with an emotion of tender delight as she observed that the baby monkey's face was white and sweet-looking; yes, we might even go the length of saying that, for a monkey, it was actually pretty. But it had a subdued, sorrowful look that was really touching to behold. It seemed as though that infantine monkey had, in the course of its brief career, been subjected to every species of affliction, to every imaginable kind of heart-crushing sorrow, and had remained deeply meek and humble under it all. Only for one brief instant did a different expression cross its melancholy face. That was when it first caught sight of the canoe. Then it exposed its very small teeth and gums after the fashion of its mother; but repentance seemed to follow instantly, for the sad look, mixed with a dash of timidity, resumed its place, and it buried its face in its mother's bosom. At that moment there was a loud report. A bullet whistled through the air and struck the old monkey in the breast. We are glad to say, for the credit of our sailors, that a howl of indignation immediately followed, and more than one fist was raised to smite the trader who had fired the shot. But Captain Dunning called the men to order in a peremptory voice, while every eye was turned towards the tree to observe the effect of the shot. As for Ailie, she sat breathless with horror at the cruelty of the act. The old monkey gave vent to a loud yell, clutched her breast with her hands, sprang wildly into the air, and fell to the ground. Her leap was so violent that the young one was shaken off and fell some distance from its poor mother, which groaned once or twice and then died. The baby seemed unhurt. Gathering itself nimbly up, it ran away from the men who had now landed, but who stood still, by the captain's orders, to watch its motions. Looking round, it observed its mother's form lying on the ground, and at once ran towards it and buried its little face in her breast, at which sight Ailie began to cry quietly. In a few seconds the little monkey got up and gently pawed the old one; then, on receiving no sign of recognition, it uttered a faint wail, something like "Wee-wee-wee-wee-oo!" and again hid its face in the breast of its dead parent. "Ah! the poor cratur," said Briant, in a tone of voice that betrayed his emotion. "O, why did ye kill her?" "Me ketch 'im?" said Bumble, looking inquiringly at the captain. "Oh, do!" answered Ailie, with a sob. The negro deemed this permission sufficient, for he instantly sprang forward, and throwing a piece of net over the little monkey, secured it. Now the way in which that baby monkey struggled and kicked and shrieked, when it found itself a prisoner, was perfectly wonderful to see! It seemed as if the strength of fifty little monkeys had been compressed into its diminutive body, and King Bumble had to exert all his strength in order to hold the creature while he carried it into the canoe. Once safely there and in the middle of the stream, it was let loose. The first thing it did on being set free was to give a shriek of triumph, for monkeys, like men, when at last _allowed_ to do that which they have long struggled in vain to accomplish, usually take credit for the achievement of their own success. Its next impulse was to look round at the faces of the men in search of its mother; but the poor mother was now lying dead covered with a cloth in the bottom of the canoe, so the little monkey turned from one to another with disappointment in its glance and then uttered a low wail of sorrow. Glynn Proctor affirmed positively that it looked twice at Phil Briant and even made a motion towards him; but we rather suspect that Glynn was jesting. Certain it is, however, that it looked long and earnestly at Ailie, and there is little doubt that, young though it was, it was able to distinguish something in her tender gaze of affection and pity that proved attractive. It did not, however, accept her invitation to go to her, although given in the most persuasive tones of her silver voice, and when any of the men tried to pat its head, it displayed such a row of sharp little teeth and made such a fierce demonstration of its intention to bite, that they felt constrained to leave it alone. At last Ailie held her hand towards it and said-- "Won't it come to me, dear, sweet pet? _Do_ come; I'll be as kind to you almost as your poor mother." The monkey looked at the child, but said nothing. "Come, monkey, dear puggy, _do_ come," repeated Ailie, in a still more insinuating voice. The monkey still declined to "come," but it looked very earnestly at the child, and trembled a good deal, and said, "Oo-oo-wee; oo-oo-wee!" As Ailie did not quite understand this, she said, "Poor thing!" and again held out her hand. "Try it with a small taste o' mate," suggested Briant. "Right," said the captain. "Hand me the biscuit-bag, Glynn. There, now, Ailie, try it with that." Ailie took the piece of biscuit offered to her by her father, and held it out to the monkey, who advanced with nervous caution, and very slowly, scratching its side the while. Putting out its very small hand, it touched the biscuit, then drew back the hand suddenly, and made a variety of sounds, accompanied by several peculiar contortions of visage, all of which seemed to say, "Don't hurt me, now; _don't_ deceive me, pray." Again it put forth its hand, and took the biscuit, and ate it in a very great hurry indeed; that is to say, it stuffed it into the bags in its cheeks. Ailie gave it a bit more biscuit, which it received graciously, and devoured voraciously; whereupon she put forth her hand, and sought to pat the little creature on the head. The attempt was successful. With many slight grins, as though to say, "Take care, now, else I'll bite," the small monkey allowed Ailie to pat its head and stroke its back. Then it permitted her to take hold of its hand, and draw it towards her. In a few minutes it showed evident symptoms of a desire to be patted again, and at length it drew timidly towards the child, and took hold of her hand in both of its delicate pink paws. Ailie felt quite tenderly towards the creature, and stroked its head again, whereupon it seemed suddenly to cast aside all fear. It leaped upon her knee, put its slender arms as far round her neck as possible, said "Oo-oo-wee!" several times in a very sad tone of voice, and laid its head upon her bosom. This was too much for poor Ailie; she thought of the dead mother of this infant monkey, and wept as she stroked its hairy little head and shoulders. From that time forward the monkey adopted Ailie as its mother, and Ailie adopted the monkey as her child. Now the behaviour of that monkey during the remainder of that voyage was wonderful. Oh, you know, it was altogether preposterous, to say the very least of it. Affection, which displayed itself in a desire to conciliate the favour of every one, was ingrained in its bones; while deception, which was evinced in a constant effort to appear to be intent upon one thing, when it was really bent upon another, was incorporated with its marrow! At first it was at war with every one, excepting, of course, Ailie, its adopted mother; but soon it became accustomed to the men, and in the course of a few days would go to any one who called it. Phil Briant was a particular favourite; so was Rokens, with whose black beard it played in evident delight, running its slender fingers through it, disentangling the knots and the matted portions which the owner of the beard had never yet been able to disentangle in a satisfactory way for himself; and otherwise acting the part of a barber and hairdresser to that bold mariner, much to his amusement, and greatly to the delight and admiration of the whole party. To say that that small monkey had a face, would be to assert what was unquestionably true, but what, also, was very far short of the whole truth. No one ever could make up his mind exactly as to how many faces it had. If you looked at it at any particular time, and then shut your eyes and opened them a moment after, that monkey, as far as expression went, had another and a totally different face. Repeat the operation, and it had a third face; continue the process, and it had a fourth face; and so on, until you lost count altogether of its multitudinous faces. Now it was grave and pensive; anon it was blazing with amazement; again it bristled with indignation; then it glared with anger, and presently it was all serene--blended love and wrinkles. Of all these varied expressions, that of commingled surprise and indignation was the most amusing, because these emotions had the effect of not only opening its eyes and its mouth to the form of three excessively round O's, but also raised a small tuft of hair just above its forehead into a bristling position, and threw its brow into an innumerable series of wrinkles. This complex expression was of frequent occurrence, for its feelings were tender and sensitive, so that it lived in the firm belief that its new friends (always excepting Ailie) constantly wished to insult it; and was afflicted with a chronic state of surprise at the cruelty, and of indignation at the injustice, of men who could wantonly injure the feelings of so young, and especially so small a monkey. When the men called it, it used to walk up to them with calm, deliberate condescension in its air; when Ailie held out her hand, it ran on its two legs, and being eager in its affections, it held out its arms in order to be caught up. As to food, that monkey was not particular. It seemed to be omnivorous. Certain it is that it never refused anything, but more than once it was observed quietly to throw away things that it did not relish. Once, in an unguarded moment, it accepted and chewed a small piece of tobacco; after which it made a variety of entirely new faces, and became very sick indeed--so sick that its adopted mother began to fear she was about to lose her child; but after vomiting a good deal, and moaning piteously for several days, it gradually recovered, and from that time entertained an unquenchable hatred for tobacco, and for the man who had given it to him, who happened to be Jim Scroggles. Ailie, being of a romantic temperament, named her monkey Albertino, but the sailors called him Jacko, and their name ultimately became the well-known one of the little foundling, for Ailie was not obstinate; so, seeing that the sailors did not or could not remember Albertino, she soon gave in, and styled her pet Jacko to the end of the chapter, with which piece of information we shall conclude _this_ chapter. CHAPTER FOURTEEN. RENCONTRE WITH SLAVE-TRADERS--ON BOARD AGAIN--A START, A MISFORTUNE, A GHOST STORY, A MISTAKE, AND AN INVITATION TO DINNER. On the evening of the second day after the capture of Jacko, as the canoe was descending the river and drawing near to the sea-coast, much to the delight of everyone--for the heat of the interior had begun to grow unbearable--a ship's boat was observed moored to the wharf near the slave-station which they had passed on the way up. At first it was supposed to be one of the boats of the _Red Eric_, but on a nearer approach this proved to be an erroneous opinion. "Wot can it be a-doin' of here?" inquired Tim Rokens, in an abstracted tone of voice, as if he put the question to himself, and therefore did not expect an answer. "No doubt it's a slaver's boat," replied the trader; "they often come up here for cargoes of niggers." "Och! the blackguards!" exclaimed Phil Briant, all his blood rising at the mere mention of the horrible traffic; "couldn't we land, capting, and give them a lickin'? I'll engage meself to put six at laste o' the spalpeens on their beam-ends." "No, Phil, we shan't land for that purpose; but we'll land for some gunpowder an' a barrel or two of plantains; so give way, lads." In another moment the bow of the canoe slid upon the mud-bank of the river close to the slaver's boat, which was watched by a couple of the most villainous-looking men that ever took part in that disgraceful traffic. They were evidently Portuguese sailors, and the scowl of their bronzed faces, when they saw the canoe approach the landing-place, showed that they had no desire to enter into amicable converse with the strangers. At this moment the attention of the travellers was drawn to a gang of slaves who approached the wharf, chained together by the neck, and guarded by the crew of the Portuguese boat. Ailie looked on with a feeling of dread that induced her to cling to her father's hand, while the men stood with folded arms, compressed lips, and knitted brows. On the voyage up they had landed at this station, and had seen the slaves in their places of confinement. The poor creatures were apparently happy at that time, and seemed totally indifferent to their sad fate; but their aspect was very different now. They were being hurried away, they knew not whither, by strangers whom they had been taught to believe were monsters of cruelty besides being cannibals, and who had purchased them for the purpose of killing them and eating their bodies. The wild, terrified looks of the men, and the subdued looks and trembling gait of the women showed that they expected no mercy at the hands of their captors. They hung back a little as they drew near to the boat, whereupon one of their conductors, who seemed to be in command of the party, uttered a fierce exclamation in Portuguese, and struck several of the men and women indiscriminately severe blows with his fists. In a few minutes they were all placed in the boat, and the crew had partly embarked, when Phil Briant, unable to restrain himself, muttered between his teeth to the Portuguese commander as he passed-- "Ye imp o' darkness, av I only had ye in the ring for tshwo minits--jist tshwo--ah thin, wouldn't I polish ye off." "Fat you say, sare?" cried the man, turning fiercely towards Briant, and swearing at him in bad English. "Say, is it? Oh, then _there's_ a translation for ye, that's understood in all lingos." Phil shook his clenched fist as close as possible to the nose of the Portuguese commander without actually coming into contact with that hooked and prominent organ. The man started back and drew his knife, at the same time calling to several of his men, who advanced with their drawn knives. "Ho!" cried Briant, and a jovial smile overspread his rough countenance as he sprang to a clear spot of ground and rolled up both sleeves of his shirt to the shoulders, thereby displaying a pair of arms that might, at a rapid glance, have been mistaken for a pair of legs--"that's yer game, is it? won't I stave in yer planks! won't I shiver yer timbers, and knock out yer daylights, bless yer purty faces! I didn't think ye had it in ye; come on darlints--toothpicks and all--as many as ye like; the more the better--wan at a time, or all at wance, it don't matter, not the laste, be no manes!" While Briant gave utterance to these liberal invitations, he performed a species of revolving dance, and flourished his enormous fists in so ludicrous a manner, that despite the serious nature of the fray the two parties were likely to be speedily engaged in, his comrades could not restrain their laughter. "Go it, Pat!" cried one. "True blue!" shouted another. "Silence!" cried Captain Dunning, in a voice that enforced obedience. "Get into the canoe, Briant." "Och! capting," exclaimed the wrathful Irishman, reproachfully, "sure ye wouldn't spile the fun?" "Go to the canoe, sir." "Ah! capting dear, jist wan round!" "Go to the canoe, I say." "I'll do it all in four minits an' wan quarter, av ye'll only shut yer eyes," pleaded Phil. "Obey orders, will you?" cried the captain, in a voice there was no mistaking. Briant indignantly thrust his fists into his breeches pockets, and rolled slowly down towards the canoe, as--to use one of his own favourite expressions--sulky as a bear with a broken head. Meanwhile the captain stepped up to the Portuguese sailors and told them to mind their own business, and let _honest_ men alone; adding, that if they did not take his advice, he would first give them a licking and then pitch them all into the river. This last remark caused Briant to prick up his ears and withdraw his fists from their inglorious retirement, in the fond hope that there might still be work for them to do; but on observing that the Portuguese, acting on the principle that discretion is the better part of valour, had taken the advice and were returning to their own boat, he relapsed into the sulks, and seated himself doggedly in his place in the canoe. During all this little scene, which was enacted much more rapidly than it had been described, master Jacko, having escaped from the canoe, had been seated near the edge of the wharf, looking on, apparently, with deep interest. Just as the Portuguese turned away to embark in their boat, Ailie's eye alighted on her pet; at the same moment the foot of the Portuguese commander alighted on her pet's tail. Now the tails of all animals seem to be peculiarly sensitive. Jacko's certainly was so, for he instantly uttered a shriek of agony, which was as quickly responded to by its adopted mother in a scream of alarm as she sprang forward to the rescue. When one unintentionally treads on the tail of any animal and thereby evokes a yell, he is apt to start and trip--in nine cases out of ten he does trip. The Portuguese commander tripped upon this occasion. In staggering out of the monkey's way he well-nigh tumbled over Ailie, and in seeking to avoid her, he tumbled over the edge of the wharf into the river. The difference between the appearance of this redoubtable slave-buying hero before and after his involuntary immersion was so remarkable and great that his most intimate friend would have failed to recognise him. He went down into the slimy liquid an ill-favoured Portuguese, clad in white duck; he came up a worse-favoured monstrosity, clothed in mud! Even his own rascally comrades grinned at him for a moment, but their grins changed into a scowl of anger when they heard the peals of laughter that burst from the throats of their enemies. As for Briant, he absolutely hugged himself with delight. "Och! ye've got it, ye have," he exclaimed, at intervals. "Happy day! who'd ha' thought it? to see him tumbled in the mud after all by purty little Ailie and Jacko. Come here to me Jacko, owld coon. Oh, ye swate cratur!" Briant seized the monkey, and squeezed it to his breast, and kissed it-- yes, he actually kissed its nose in the height of his glee, and continued to utter incoherent exclamations, and to perpetrate incongruous absurdities, until long after they had descended the river and left the muddy Portuguese and his comrades far behind them. Towards evening the party were once more safe and sound on board the _Red Eric_, where they found everything repaired, and the ship in a fit state to proceed to sea immediately. His Majesty King Bumble was introduced to the steward, then to the cook, and then to the caboose. Master Jacko was introduced to the ship's crew and to his quarters, which consisted of a small box filled with straw, and was lashed near the foot of the mizzen-mast. These introductions having been made, the men who had accompanied their commander on his late excursion into the interior, went forward and regaled their messmates for hours with anecdotes of their travels in the wilds of Africa. It is well-known, and generally acknowledged, that all sublunary things, pleasant as well as unpleasant, must come to an end. In the course of two days more the sojourn of the crew of the _Red Eric_ on the coast of Africa came to a termination. Having taken in supplies of fresh provisions, the anchor was weighed, and the ship stood out to sea with the first of the ebb tide. It was near sunset when the sails were hoisted and filled by a gentle land breeze, and the captain had just promised Ailie that he would show her blue water again by breakfast-time next morning, when a slight tremor passed through the vessel's hull, causing the captain to shout, with a degree of vigour that startled everyone on board, "All hands ahoy! lower away the boats, Mr Millons, we're hard and fast aground on a mud-bank!" The boats were lowered away with all speed, and the sails dewed up instantly, but the _Red Eric_ remained as immovable as the bank on which she had run aground; there was, therefore, no recourse but to wait patiently for the rising tide to float her off again. Fortunately the bank was soft and the wind light, else it might have gone ill with the good ship. There is scarcely any conceivable condition so favourable to quiet confidential conversation and story-telling as the one in which the men of the whale-ship now found themselves. The night was calm and dark, but beautiful, for a host of stars sparkled in the sable sky, and twinkled up from the depths of the dark ocean. The land breeze had fallen, and there was scarcely any sound to break the surrounding stillness except the lipping water as it kissed the black hull of the ship. A dim, scarce perceptible light rendered every object on board mysterious and unaccountably large. "Wot a night for a ghost story," observed Jim Scroggles, who stood with a group of the men, who were seated on and around the windlass. "I don't b'lieve in ghosts," said Dick Barnes stoutly, in a tone of voice that rendered the veracity of his assertion, to say the least of it, doubtful. "Nother do I," remarked Nikel Sling, who had just concluded his culinary operations for the day, and sought to employ his brief interval of relaxation in social intercourse with his fellows. Being engaged in ministering to the animal wants of his comrades all day, he felt himself entitled to enjoy a little of the "feast of reason and the flow of soul" at night: "No more duv I," added Phil Briant firmly, at the same time hitting his thigh a slap with his open hand that caused all round him to start. "You don't, don't you?" said Tim Rokens, addressing the company generally, and looking round gravely, while he pushed the glowing tobacco into his pipe with the point of a marline-spike. To this there was a chorus of "Noes," but a close observer would have noticed that nearly the whole conversation was carried on in low tones, and that many a glance was cast behind, as if these bold sceptics more than half expected all the ghosts that did happen to exist to seize them then and there and carry them off as a punishment for their unbelief. Tim Rokens drew a few whiffs of his pipe, and looked round gravely before he again spoke; then he put the following momentous question, with the air of a man who knew he could overturn his adversary whatever his reply should be-- "An' why don't ye b'lieve in 'em?" We cannot say positively that Tim Rokens put the question to Jim Scroggles, but it is certain that Jim Scroggles accepted the question as addressed to him, and answered in reply-- "'Cause why? I never seed a ghost, an' nobody never seed a ghost, an' I don't b'lieve in what I can't see." Jim said this as if he thought the position incontestable. Tim regarded him with a prolonged stare, but for some time said nothing. At last he emitted several strong puffs of smoke, and said-- "Young man, did you ever _see_ your own mind?" "No, in course not." "Did anybody else ever see it?" "Cer'nly not." "Then of course you don't believe in it!" added Rokens, while a slight smile curled his upper lip. The men chuckled a good deal at Jim's confusion, while he in vain attempted to explain that the two ideas were not parallel by any means. At this juncture, Phil Briant came to the rescue. "Ah now, git out," said he. "I agree with Jim intirely; an' Tim Rokens isn't quite so cliver as he thinks. Now look here, lads, here's how it stands, 'xactly. Jim says he never seed his own mind--very good; and he says as how nobody else niver seed it nother; well, and wot then? Don't you observe it's 'cause he han't got none at all to see? He han't got even the ghost of one, so how could ye expect anybody to see it?" "Oh, hold yer noise, Paddy," exclaimed Dick Barnes, "an' let's have a ghost story from Tim Rokens. He b'lieves in ghosts, anyhow, an' could give us a yarn about 'em, I knows, if he likes. Come along now, Tim, like a good fellow." "Ay, that's it," cried Briant; "give us a stiff 'un now. Don't be afeard to skear us, old boy." "Oh, I can give ye a yarn about ghosts, cer'nly," said Tim Rokens, looking into the bowl of his pipe in order to make sure that it was sufficiently charged to last out the story. "I'll tell ye of a ghost I once seed and knocked down." "Knocked down!" cried Nikel Sling in surprise; "why, I allers thought as how ghosts was spirits, an' couldn't be knocked down or cotched neither." "Not at all," replied Rokens; "ghosts is made of all sorts o' things-- brass, and iron, and linen, and buntin', and timber; it wos a brass ghost the feller that I'm goin' to tell ye about--" "I say, Sling," interrupted Briant, "av ghosts wos spirits, as you thought they wos, would they be allowed into the State of Maine?" "Oh, Phil, shut up, do! Now then, Tim, fire away." "Well, then," began Rokens, with great deliberation, "it was on a Vednesday night as it happened. I had bin out at supper with a friend that night, and we'd had a glass or two o' grog; for ye see, lads, it was some years ago, afore I tuk to temp'rance. I had a long way to go over a great dark moor afore I could git to the place where I lodged, so I clapped on all sail to git over the moor, seein' the moon would go down soon; but it wouldn't do: the moon set when I wos in the very middle of the moor, and as the road wasn't over good, I wos in a state o' confumble lest I should lose it altogether. I looks round in all directions, but I couldn't see nothin'--cause why? there wasn't nothin' to be seen. It was 'orrid dark, I can tell ye. Jist one or two stars a-shinin', like half-a-dozen farden dips in a great church; they only made darkness wisible. I began to feel all over a cur'ous sort o' peculiar unaccountableness, which it ain't easy to explain, but is most oncommon disagreeable to feel. It wos very still, too--desperate still. The beatin' o' my own heart sounded quite loud, and I heer'd the tickin' o' my watch goin' like the click of a church clock. Oh, it was awful!" At this point in the story the men crept closer together, and listened with intense earnestness. "Suddently," continued Rokens--"for things in sich circumstances always comes suddently--suddently I seed somethin' black jump up right ahead o' me." Here Rokens paused. "Wot was it?" inquired Gurney, in a solemn whisper. "It was," resumed Rokens slowly, "the stump of a old tree." "Oh, I thought it had been the ghost," said Gurney, somewhat relieved, for that fat little Jack-tar fully believed in apparitions, and always listened to a ghost story in fear and trembling. "No it wasn't the ghost; it was the stump of a tree. Well, I set sail again, an' presently I sees a great white thing risin' up ahead o' me." "Hah! _that_ was it," whispered Gurney. "No, that wasn't it," retorted Rokens; "that was a hinn, a white-painted hinn, as stood by the roadside, and right glad wos I to see it, I can tell ye, shipmates, for I wos gittin' tired as well as frightened. I soon roused the landlord by kickin' at the door till it nearly comed off its hinges; and arter gettin' another glass o' grog, I axed the landlord to show me my bunk, as I wanted to turn in. "It was a queer old house that hinn wos. A great ramblin' place, with no end o' staircases and passages. A dreadful gloomy sort o' place. No one lived in it except the landlord, a dark-faced surly fellow as one would like to kick out of his own door, and his wife, who wos little better than his-self. They also had a hostler, but he slept with the cattle in a hout-house. "`Ye won't be fear'd,' says the landlord, as he hove ahead through the long passages holdin' the candle high above his head to show the way, `to sleep in the far end o' the house. It's the old bit; the new bit's undergoin' repairs. You'll find it comfortable enough, though it's raither gusty, bein' old, ye see; but the weather ain't cold, so ye won't mind it.' "`Oh! niver a bit,' says I, quite bold like; `I don't care a rap for nothin'. There ain't no ghosts, is there?' "`Well, I'm not sure; many travellers wot has stayed here has said to me they've seed 'em, particklerly in the old part o' the buildin', but they seems to be quite harmless, and never hurts any one as lets 'em alone. I never seed 'em myself, an' there's cer'nly not more nor half-a-dozen on 'em--hallo!--' "At that moment, shipmates, a strong gust o' cold air came rushin' down the passage we was in, and blow'd out the candle. `Ah! it's gone out,' said the landlord; `just wait here a moment, and I'll light it;' and with that he shuffled off, and left me in the blackest and most thickest darkness I ever wos in in all my life. I didn't dare to move, for I didn't know the channels, d'ye see, and might ha' run myself aground or against the rocks in no time. The wind came moanin' down the passage; as if all the six ghosts the landlord mentioned, and a dozen or two o' their friends besides, was a-dyin' of stommick-complaint. I'm not easy frightened, lads, but my knees did feel as if the bones in 'em had turned to water, and my hair began to git up on end, for I felt it risin'. Suddenly I saw somethin' comin' along the passage towards me--" "That's the ghost, _now_," interrupted Gurney, in a tremulous whisper. Rokens paused, and regarded his fat shipmate with a look of contemptuous pity; then turning to the others, he said-- "It wos _the landlord_, a-comin' back with the candle. He begged pardon for leavin' me in the dark so long, and led the way to a room at the far end o' the passage. It was a big, old-fashioned room, with a treemendius high ceiling, and no furniture, 'cept one chair, one small table, and a low camp-bed in a corner. `Here's your room,' says the landlord; `it's well-aired. I may as well mention that the latch of the door ain't just the thing. It sometimes blows open with a bang, but when you know it may happen, you can be on the look-out for it, you know, and so you'll not be taken by surprise. Good-night.' With that the fellow set the candle down on the small table at the bedside, and left me to my cogitations. I heerd his footsteps echoin' as he went clankin' along the passages; then they died away, an' I was alone. "Now, I tell ye wot it is, shipmates; I've bin in miny a fix, but I niver wos in sich a fix as that. The room was empty and big; so big that the candle could only light up about a quarter of it, leavin' the rest in gloom. There was one or two old picturs on the walls; one on 'em a portrait of a old admiral, with a blue coat and brass buttons and white veskit. It hung just opposite the fut o' my bunk, an' I could hardly make it out, but I saw that the admiral kep his eye on me wheriver I turned or moved about the room, an' twice or thrice, if not more, I saw him wink with his weather eye. Yes, he winked as plain as I do myself. Says I to myself, says I, `Tim Rokens, you're a British tar, an' a whaler, an' a harpooner; so, Tim, my boy, don't you go for to be a babby.' "With that I smoked a pipe, and took off my clo's, and tumbled in, and feeling a little bolder by this time, I blew out the candle. In gittin' into bed I knocked over the snuffers, w'ich fell with an awful clatter, and my heart lep' into my mouth as I lep' under the blankets, and kivered up my head. Howsever, I was uncommon tired, so before my head was well on the pillow, I went off to sleep. "How long I slep' I can't go for to say, but w'en I wakened it wos pitch-dark. I could only just make out the winder by the pale starlight that shone through it, but the moment I set my two eyes on it, wot does I see? I seed a sight that made the hair on my head stand on end, and my flesh creep up like a muffin. It was a--" "A ghost!" whispered Gurney, while his eyes almost started out of his head. Before Tim Rokens could reply, something fell with a heavy flop from the yard over their heads right in among the men, and vanished with a shriek. It was Jacko, who, in his nocturnal rambles in the rigging, had been shaken off the yard on which he was perched, by a sudden lurch of the vessel as the tide began to move her about. At any time such an event would have been startling, but at such a time as this it was horrifying. The men recoiled with sharp cries of terror, and then burst into laughter as they observed what it was that had fallen amongst them. But the laughter was subdued, and by no means hearty. "I'll be the death o' that brute yet," said Gurney, wiping the perspiration from his forehead; "but go on, Rokens; what was it you saw?" "It _was_ the ghost," replied Rokens, as the men gathered round him again--"a long, thin ghost, standin' at my bedside. The light was so dim that I couldn't well make it out, but I saw that it was white, or pale-like, and that it had on a pointed cap, like the cap o' an old witch. I thought I should ha' died outright, and I lay for full five minits tremblin' like a leaf and starin' full in its face. At last I started up in despair, not knowin' well wot to do; and the moment I did so the ghost disappeared. "I thought this was very odd, but you may be sure I didn't find fault with it; so after lookin' all round very careful to make quite sure that it was gone, I lay down again on my back. Well, would ye b'lieve it, shipmates, at that same moment up starts the ghost again as bold as iver? And up starts I in a fright; but the moment I was up the ghost was gone. `Now, Tim Rokens,' says I to myself, always keepin' my eye on the spot where I'd last seed the ghost, `this _is_ queer; this is quite remarkable. You're dreamin', my lad, an' the sooner ye put a stop to that 'ere sort o' dreamin' the better.' "Havin' said this, I tried to feel reckless, and lay down again, and up started the ghost again with its long thin white body, an' the pointed cap on its head. I noticed, too, that it wore its cap a little on one side quite jaunty like. So, wheniver I sot up that 'ere ghost disappeared, and wheniver I lay down it bolted up again close beside me. At last I lost my temper, and I shouts out quite loud, `Shiver my timbers,' says I, `ghost or no ghost, I'll knock in your daylights if ye carry on like that any longer;' and with that I up fist and let drive straight out at the spot where its bread-basket should ha' bin. Down it went, that ghost did, with a clatter that made the old room echo like an empty church. I guv it a rap, I did, sich as it hadn't had since it was born--if ghosts be born at all--an' my knuckles paid for it, too, for they was skinned all up; then I lay down tremblin', and then, I dun know how it was, I went to sleep. "Next mornin' I got up to look for the ghost, and, sure enough, I found his _remains_! His pale body lay in a far corner o' the room doubled up and smashed to bits, and his pointed cap lay in another corner almost flat. That ghost," concluded Rokens, with slow emphasis--"that ghost was the _candle_, it wos!" "The candle!" exclaimed several of the men in surprise. "Yes, the candle, and brass candlestick with the stinguisher a-top o't. Ye see, lads, the candle stood close to the side o' my bed on the table, an' when I woke up and I saw it there, it seemed to me like a big thing in the middle o' the room, instead o' a little thing close to my nose; an' when I sot up in my bed, of coorse I looked right over the top of it and saw nothin'; an' when I lay down, of coorse it rose up in the very same place. An', let me tell you, shipmates," added Tim, in conclusion, with the air of a philosopher, "_all_ ghosts is o' the same sort. They're most of 'em made o' wood or brass, or some sich stuff, as I've good cause to remimber, for I had to pay the price o' that 'ere ghost before I left that there hinn on the lonesome moor, and for the washin' of the blankets, too, as wos all kivered with blood nixt mornin' from my smashed knuckles. There's a morial contained in most things, lads, if ye only try for to find it out; an' the morial of my story is this-- don't ye go for to b'lieve that everything ye don't 'xactly understand is a ghost until ye've got to know more about it." While Tim Rokens was thus recounting his ghostly experiences, and moralising thereon, for the benefit of his comrades, the silent tide was stealthily creeping up the sides of the _Red Eric_, and placing her gradually on an even keel. At the same time a British man-of-war was creeping down upon that innocent vessel with the murderous intention of blowing her out of the water, if possible. In order to explain this latter fact, we must remind the reader of the boat and crew of the Portuguese slaver which was encountered by the party of excursionists on their trip down the river. The vessel to which that boat belonged had been for several weeks previous creeping about off the coast, watching her opportunity to ship a cargo of slaves, and at the same time to avoid falling into the hands of a British cruiser which was stationed on the African coast to prevent the villainous traffic. The Portuguese ship, which was very similar in size and shape to the _Red Eric_, had hitherto managed to elude the cruiser, and had succeeded in taking a number of slaves on board ere she was discovered. The cruiser gave chase to her on the same afternoon as that on which the _Red Eric_ grounded on the mud-bank off the mouth of the river. Darkness, however, favoured the slaver, and when the land breeze failed, she was lost sight of in the intricacies of the navigation at that part of the coast. Towards morning, while it was yet dark, the _Red Eric_ floated, and Captain Dunning, who had paced the deck all night with a somewhat impatient tread, called to the mate--"Now, Mr Millons, man the boats, and let some of the hands stand-by to trim the sails to the first puff of wind." "Ay, ay, sir," answered the mate, as he sprang to obey. Now it is a curious fact, that at that identical moment the captain of the cruiser addressed his first lieutenant in precisely the same words, for he had caught a glimpse of the whaler's topmasts against the dark sky, and mistook them, very naturally, for those of the slaver. In a few seconds the man-of-war was in full pursuit. "I say, Dr Hopley," remarked Captain Dunning, as he gazed intently into the gloom astern, "did you not hear voices? and, as I live, there's a large ship bearing right down on us!" "It must be a slaver," replied the doctor; "probably the one that owned the boat we saw up the river." "Ship on the larboard bow!" shouted the look-out on the forecastle. "Hallo! ships ahead and astern!" remarked the captain, in surprise. "There seems to be a `school' of 'em in these waters." At this moment the oars of the boats belonging to the ship astern were heard distinctly, and a light puff of wind at the same time bulged out the sails of the _Red Eric_, which instantly forged ahead. "Ship ahoy!" shouted a voice from the boats astern in a tone of authority; "heave-to, you rascal, or I'll sink you!" Captain Dunning turned to the doctor with a look of intense surprise. "Why, doctor, that's the usual hail of a pirate, or something like it. What it can be doing here is past my comprehension. I would as soon expect to find a whale in a wash-tub as a black flag in these waters! Port, port a little" (turning to the steersman)--"steady--so. We must run for it, anyhow, for we're in no fightin' trim. The best answer to give to such a hail is silence." Contrary to expectation the boats did not again hail, but in a few minutes the dark hull of the British cruiser became indistinctly visible as it slipped swiftly through the water before the freshening breeze, and neared the comparatively slow-going whaler rapidly. Soon it came within easy range, and while Captain Dunning looked over the taffrail with a troubled countenance, trying to make her out, the same voice came hoarsely down on the night breeze issuing the same peremptory command. "Turn up the hands, Mr Millons, and serve out pistols and cutlasses. Get the carronades on the forecastle and quarterdeck loaded, Mr Markham, and look alive; we must show the enemy a bold front, whoever he is." As the captain issued these orders, the darkness was for an instant illuminated by a bright flash; the roar of a cannon reverberated over the sea; a round-shot whistled through the rigging of the _Red Eric_, and the next instant the foretopsail-yard came rattling down upon the deck. Immediately after, the cruiser ranged up alongside, and the order to heave-to was repeated with a threat that was calculated to cause the hair of a man of peace to stand on end. The effect on Captain Dunning was to induce him to give the order-- "Point the guns there, lads, and aim high; I don't like to draw first blood--even of a pirate." "Ship ahoy! Who are you, and where from?" inquired Captain Dunning, through the speaking-trumpet. "Her British Majesty's frigate _Firebrand_. If you don't heave-to, sir, instantly, I'll give you a broadside. Who are you, and where bound?" "Whew!" whistled Captain Dunning, to vent his feelings of surprise ere he replied, "The _Red Eric_, South Sea whaler, outward bound." Having given this piece of information, he ordered the topsails to be backed, and the ship was hove-to. Meanwhile a boat was lowered from the cruiser, and the captain thereof speedily leaped upon the whaler's quarterdeck. The explanation that followed was not by any means calculated to allay the irritation of the British captain. He had made quite sure that the _Red Eric_ was the slaver of which he was in search, and the discovery of his mistake induced him to make several rather severe remarks in reference to the crew of the _Red Eric_ generally and her commander in particular. "Why didn't you heave-to when I ordered you," he said, "and so save all this trouble and worry?" "Because," replied Captain Dunning drily, "I'm not in the habit of obeying orders until I know that he who gives 'em has a right to do so. But 'tis a pity to waste time talking about such trifles when the craft you are in search of is not very far away at this moment." "What mean you, sir?" inquired the captain of the cruiser quickly. "I mean that yonder vessel, scarcely visible now on the lee bow, is the slaver, in all likelihood." The captain gave but one hasty glance in the direction pointed to by Captain Dunning, and next moment he was over the side of the ship, and the boat was flying swiftly towards his vessel. The rapid orders given on board the cruiser soon after, showed that her commander was eagerly in pursuit of the strange vessel ahead, and the flash and report of a couple of guns proved that he was again giving orders in his somewhat peremptory style. When daylight appeared, Captain Dunning was still on deck, and Glynn Proctor stood by the wheel. The post of the latter, however, was a sinecure, as the wind had again fallen. When the sun rose it revealed the three vessels lying becalmed within a short distance of each other and several miles off shore. "So, so," exclaimed the captain, taking the glass and examining the other vessels. "I see it's all up with the slaver. Serves him right; don't it, Glynn?" "It does," replied Glynn emphatically. "I hope they will all be hanged. Isn't that the usual way of serving these fellows out?" "Well, not exactly, lad. They don't go quite that length--more's the pity; if they did, there would be less slave-trading; but the rascals will lose both ship and cargo." "I wonder," said Glynn, "how they can afford to carry on the trade when they lose so many ships as I am told they do every year." "You wouldn't wonder, boy, if you knew the enormous prices got for slaves. Why, the profits on one cargo, safely delivered, will more than cover the loss of several vessels and cargoes. You may depend on't they would not carry it on if it did not pay." "Humph!" ejaculated Glynn, giving the wheel a savage turn, as if to express his thorough disapprobation of the slave-trade, and his extreme disgust at not being able, by the strength of his own right arm, at once to repress it. "And who's to pay for our foretopsail-yard?" he inquired, abruptly, as if desirous of changing the subject. "Ourselves, I fear," replied the captain. "We must take it philosophically, and comfort ourselves with the fact that it _is_ the foretopsail-yard, and not the bowsprit or the mainmast, that was carried away. It's not likely the captain of the cruiser will pay for it, at any rate." Captain Dunning was wrong. That same morning he received a polite note from the commander of the said cruiser, requesting the pleasure of his company to dinner, in the event of the calm continuing, and assuring him that the carpenter and the sail-maker of the man-of-war should be sent on board his ship after breakfast to repair damages. Captain Dunning, therefore, like an honest, straightforward man as he was, admitted that he had been hasty in his judgment, and stated to Glynn Proctor, emphatically, that the commander of the _Firebrand_ was "a trump." CHAPTER FIFTEEN. NEW SCENES--A FIGHT PREVENTED BY A WHALE--A STORM--BLOWN OFF THE YARDARM--WRECK OF THE "RED ERIC". Five weeks passed away, and really, when one comes to consider the matter, it is surprising what a variety of events may be compressed into five weeks; what an amount of space may be passed over, what an immense change of scene and circumstance may be experienced in that comparatively short period of time. Men and women who remain quietly at home do not, perhaps, fully realise this fact. Five weeks to them does not usually seem either very long or very short. But let those quiet ones travel; let them rush away headlong, by the aid of wind and steam, to the distant and wonderful parts of this wonderful world of ours, and, ten to one, they will afterwards tell you that the most wonderful discovery they had made during their travels, is the fact that a miniature lifetime (apparently) can be compressed into five weeks. Five weeks passed away, and in the course of that time the foretopsail-yard of the _Red Eric_ had been repaired; the _Red Eric_ herself had passed from equatorial into southern seas; Alice Dunning had become very sea-sick, which caused her to look uncommonly green in the face, and had got well again, which caused her to become fresh and rosy as the early morning; Jacko had thoroughly established his reputation as the most arrant and accomplished thief that ever went to sea: King Bumble had been maligned and abused again and again, and over again, despite his protestations of innocence, by grim-faced Tarquin, the steward, for having done the deeds which were afterwards discovered to have been committed by Jacko; fat little Gurney had sung innumerable songs of his own composing, in which he was ably supported by Glynn Proctor; Dr Hopley had examined, phrenologically, all the heads on board, with the exception of that of Tarquin, who would not submit to the operation on any account, and had shot, and skinned, and stuffed a variety of curious sea-birds, and caught a number of remarkable sea-fish, and had microscopically examined--to the immense interest of Ailie, and consequently of the captain--a great many surprising animalcules, called _Medusae_, which possessed the most watery and the thinnest possible bodies, yet which had the power of emitting a beautiful phosphoric light at night, so as to cause the whole ocean sometimes to glow as if with liquid fire; Phil Briant had cracked more jokes, good, bad, and indifferent, than would serve to fill a whole volume of closely-printed pages, and had told more stories than would be believed by most people; Tim Rokens and the other harpooners had, with the assistance of the various boats' crews, slain and captured several large whales, and Nikel Sling had prepared, and assisted to consume, as many breakfasts, dinners, and suppers as there are days in the period of time above referred to;--in short, those five weeks, which we thus dismiss in five minutes, might, if enlarged upon, be expanded into material to fill five volumes such as this, which would probably take about five years to write--another reason for cutting this matter short. All this shows how much may be compressed into little space, how much may be done and seen in little time, and, therefore, how much value men ought to attach to little things. Five weeks passed away, as we have already remarked, and at the end of that time the _Red Eric_ found herself, one beautiful sunny afternoon, becalmed on the breast of the wide ocean with a strange vessel, also a whaler, a few miles distant from her, and a couple of sperm-whales sporting playfully about midway between the two ships. Jim Scroggles on that particular afternoon found himself in the crow's-nest at the masthead, roaring "Thar she blows!" with a degree of energy so appalling that one was almost tempted to believe that that long-legged individual had made up his mind to compress his life into one grand but brief minute, and totally exhaust his powers of soul and body in the reiterated vociferation of that one faculty of the sperm-whale. Allowance must be made for Jim, seeing that this was the first time he had been fortunate enough to "raise the oil" since he became a whaler. The usual scene of bustle and excitement immediately ensued. The men sprang to their appointed places in a moment; the tubs, harpoons, etcetera, were got ready, and in a few minutes the three boats were leaping over the smooth swell towards the fish. While this was taking place on board the _Red Eric_, a precisely similar scene occurred on board the other whale-ship, and a race now ensued between the boats of the two ships, for each knew well that the first boat that harpooned either of the whales claimed it. "Give way, my lads," whispered Captain Dunning eagerly, as he watched the other boats; "we shall be first--we shall be first; only bend your backs." The men needed not to be urged; they were quite as anxious as their commander to win the races and bent their backs, as he expressed it, until the oars seemed about to break. Glynn sat on the after thwart, and did good service on this occasion. It soon became evident that the affair would be decided by the boats of the two captains, both of which took the lead of the others, but as they were advancing in opposite directions it was difficult to tell which was the fleeter of the two. When the excitement of the race was at its height the whales went down, and the men lay on their oars to wait until they should rise again. They lay in anxious suspense for about a minute, when the crew of Captain Dunning's boat was startled by the sudden apparition of a waterspout close to them, by which they were completely drenched. It was immediately followed by the appearance of the huge blunt head of one of the whales, which rose like an enormous rock out of the sea close to the starboard-quarter. The sight was received with a loud shout, and Tim Rokens leaped up and grasped a harpoon, but the whale sheered off. A spare harpoon lay on the stern-sheets close to Glynn, who dropped his oar and seized it. Almost without knowing what he was about, he hurled it with tremendous force at the monster's neck, into which it penetrated deeply. The harpoon fortunately happened to be attached to a large buoy, called by whalers a drogue, which was jerked out of the boat like a cannon-shot as the whale went down, carrying harpoon and drogue along with it. "Well done, lad," cried the captain, in great delight, "you've made a noble beginning! Now, lads, pull gently ahead, she won't go far with such an ornament as that dangling at her neck. A capital dart! couldn't have done it half so well myself, even in my young days!" Glynn felt somewhat elated at this unexpected piece of success; to do him justice, however, he took it modestly. In a few minutes the whale rose, but it had changed its course while under water, and now appeared close to the leading boat of the other ship. By the laws of the whale-fishery, no boat of one vessel has a right to touch a whale that has been struck by the boat of another vessel, so long as the harpoon holds fast and the rope remains unbroken, or so long as the float to which the harpoon is connected remains attached. Nevertheless, in defiance of this well-known law, the boat belonging to the captain of the strange ship gave chase, and succeeded in making fast to the whale. To describe the indignation of Captain Dunning and his men on witnessing this act is impossible. The former roared rather than shouted, "Give way, lads!" and the latter bent their backs as if they meant to pull the boat bodily out of the water, and up into the atmosphere. Meanwhile all the other boats were in hot pursuit of the second whale, which had led them a considerable distance away from the first. "What do you mean by striking that fish?" shouted Captain Dunning, when, after a hard pull, he came up with the boat, the crew of which had just succeeded in thrusting a lance deep into a mortal part of the huge animal, which soon after rolled over, and lay extended on the waves. "What right have you to ask?" replied the captain of the strange ship, an ill-favoured, powerful man, whose countenance was sufficient to condemn him in any society, save that of ruffians. "Don't you see your drogue has broke loose?" "I see nothing of the sort. It's fast at this moment; so you'll be good enough to cut loose and take yourself off as fast as you please." To this the other made no reply, but, turning to his men, said: "Make fast there, lads; signal the other boats, and pull away for the ship; look sharp, you lubbers." "Och! captain dear," muttered Phil Briant, baring both arms up to the shoulders, "only give the word; _do_, now!" Captain Dunning, who was already boiling with rage, needed no encouragement to make an immediate attack on the stranger, neither did his men require an order; they plunged their oars into the water, ran right into the other boat, sprang to their feet, seized lances, harpoons, and knives, and in another moment would have been engaged in a deadly struggle had not an unforeseen event occurred to prevent the fray. This was the partial recovery of the whale, which, apparently resolved to make one final struggle for life, turned over and over, lashed the sea into foam, and churned it up with the blood which spouted in thick streams from its numerous wounds. Both boats were in imminent danger, and the men sprang to their oars in order to pull out of the range of the monster's dying struggles. In this effort the strange boat was successful, but that of Captain Dunning fared ill. A heavy blow from the whale's tail broke it in two, and hurled it into the air, whence the crew descended, amid a mass of harpoons, lances, oars, and cordage, into the blood-stained water. The fish sheered away for some distance, dragging the other boat along with it, and then rolled over quite dead. Fortunately not one of the crew of the capsized boat was hurt. All of them succeeded in reaching and clinging to the shattered hull of their boat; but there they were destined to remain a considerable time, as the boat of the stranger, having secured the dead fish, proceeded leisurely to tow it towards their ship, without paying the slightest attention to the shouts of their late enemies. A change had now come over the face of the sky. Clouds began to gather on the horizon, and a few light puffs of air swept over the sea, which enabled the strange vessel to bear down on her boat, and take the whale in tow. It also enabled the _Red Eric_ to beat up, but more slowly, towards the spot where their disabled boat lay, and rescue their comrades from their awkward position. It was some time before the boats were all gathered together. When this was accomplished the night had set in and the stranger had made off with her ill-gotten prize, the other whale having sounded, and the chase being abandoned. "Now, of all the disgustin' things that ever happened to me, this is the worst," remarked Captain Dunning, in a very sulky tone of voice, as he descended to the cabin to change his garments, Ailie having preceded him in order to lay out dry clothes. "Oh! my darling papa, what a fright I got," she exclaimed, running up and hugging him, wet as he was, for the seventh time, despite his efforts to keep her off. "I was looking through the spy-glass at the time it happened, and when I saw you all thrown into the air I cried-- oh! I can't tell you how I cried." "You don't need to tell me, Ailie, my pet, for your red, swelled-up eyes speak for themselves. But go, you puss, and change your own frock. You've made it as wet as my coat, nearly; besides, I can't undress, you know, while you stand there." Ailie said, "I'm so very, very thankful," and then giving her father one concluding hug, which completely saturated the frock, went to her own cabin. Meanwhile the crew of the captain's boat were busy in the forecastle stripping off their wet garments, and relating their adventures to the men of the other boats, who, until they reached the ship, had been utterly ignorant of what had passed. It is curious that Tim Rokens should open the conversation with much the same sentiment, if not exactly the same phrase, as that expressed by the captain. "Now boys," said he, slapping his wet limbs, "I'll tell ye wot it is, of all the aggrawations as has happened to me in my life, this is out o' sight the wust. To think o' losin' that there whale, the very biggest I ever saw--" "Ah! Rokens, man," interrupted Glynn, as he pulled off his jacket, "the loss is greater to me than to you, for that was my _first_ whale!" "True, boy," replied the harpooner, in a tone of evidently genuine sympathy; "I feel for ye. I knows how I should ha' taken on if it had happened to me. But cheer up, lad; you know the old proverb, `There's as good fish in the sea as ever came out o't.' You'll be the death o' many sich yet, I'll bet my best iron." "Sure, the wust of it all is, that we don't know who was the big thief as got that fish away with him," said Phil Briant, with a rueful countenance. "Don't we, though!" cried Gurney, who had been in the mate's boat; "I axed one o' the men o' the stranger's boats--for we run up close alongside durin' the chase--and he told me as how she was the _Termagant_ of New York; so we can be down on 'em yet, if we live long enough." "Humph!" observed Rokens; "and d'ye suppose he'd give ye the right name?" "He'd no reason to do otherwise. He didn't know of the dispute between the other boats." "There's truth in that," remarked Glynn, as he prepared to go on deck; "but it may be a year or more before we foregather. No, I give up all claim to my first fish from this date." "All hands ahoy!" shouted the mate; "tumble up there! Reef topsails! Look alive!" The men ran hastily on deck, completing their buttoning and belting as they went, and found that something very like a storm was brewing. As yet the breeze was moderate, and the sea not very high, but the night was pitchy dark, and a hot oppressive atmosphere boded no improvement in the weather. "Lay out there, some of you, and close reef the topsails," cried the mate, as the men ran to their several posts. The ship was running at the time under a comparatively small amount of canvas; for, as their object was merely to cruise about in those seas in search of whales, and they had no particular course to steer, it was usual to run at night under easy sail, and sometimes to lay-to. It was fortunate that such was the case on the present occasion; for it happened that the storm which was about to burst on them came with appalling suddenness and fury. The wind tore up the sea as if it had been a mass of white feathers, and scattered it high in air. The mizzen-topsail was blown to ribbons, and it seemed as if the other sails were about to share the same fate. The ship flew from billow to billow, after recovering from the first rude shock, as if she were but a dark cloud on the sea, and the spray flew high over her masts, drenching the men on the topsail-yards while they laboured to reef the sails. "We shall have to take down these t'gallant-masts, Mr Millons," said the captain, as he stood by the weather-bulwarks holding on to a belaying-pin to prevent his being washed away. "Shall I give the order, sir?" inquired the first mate. "You may," replied the captain. Just as the mate turned to obey, a shriek was heard high above the whistling of the fierce wind. "Did you hear that?" said the captain anxiously. "I did," replied the mate. "I fear--I trust--" The remainder of the sentence was either suppressed, or the howling of the wind prevented its being heard. Just then a flash of lightning lit up the scene, and a terrific crash of thunder seemed to rend the sky. The flash was momentary, but it served to reveal the men on the yards distinctly. They had succeeded in close-reefing the topsails, and were hurrying down the rigging. The mate came close to the captain's side and said, "Did you see, sir, the way them men on the mainyard were scramblin' down?" The captain had not time to reply ere a shout, "Man overboard!" was heard faintly in the midst of the storm, and in another instant some of the men rushed aft with frantic haste, shouting that one of their number had been blown off the yard into the sea. "Down your helm," roared the captain; "stand-by to lower away the boats." The usual prompt "Ay, ay, sir," was given, but before the men could reach their places a heavy sea struck the vessel amidships, poured several tons of water on the decks, and washed all the loose gear overboard. "Let her away," cried the captain quickly. The steersman obeyed; the ship fell off, and again bounded on her mad course like a wild horse set free. "It's of no use, sir," said the mate, as the captain leaped towards the wheel, which the other had already gained; "no boat could live in that sea for a moment. The poor fellow's gone by this time. He must be more than half-a-mile astern already." "I know it," returned the captain, in a deep sad voice. "Get these masts down, Mr Millons, and see that everything is made fast. Who is it, did you say?" "The men can't tell, sir; one of 'em told me 'e thinks it was young Boswell. It was too dark to see 'is face, but 'is figure was that of a stout young fellow." "A stout young fellow," muttered the captain, as the mate hurried forward. "Can it have been Glynn?" His heart sank within him at the thought, and he would have given worlds at that moment, had he possessed them, to have heard the voice of our hero, whom, almost unwittingly, he had begun to love with all the affection of a father. While he stood gazing up at the rigging, attempting to pierce the thick darkness, he felt his sleeve plucked, and, looking down, observed Ailie at his side. "My child," he cried, grasping her by the arm convulsively, "_you_ here! How came you to leave your cabin, dear? Go down, go down; you don't know the danger you run. Stay--I will help you. If one of those seas comes on board it would carry you overboard like a fleck of foam." "I didn't know there was much danger, papa. Glynn told me there wasn't," she replied, as her father sprang with her to the companion-ladder. "How? when? where, child? Did Glynn speak to you within the last ten minutes?" "Yes; he looked down the hatch just as I was coming up, and told me not to be afraid, and said I must go below, and not think of coming on deck; but I heard a shriek, papa, and feared something had happened, so I came to ask what it was. I hope no one is hurt." "My darling Ailie," replied the captain, in an agitated voice, "go down to your berth, and pray for us just now. There is not _much_ danger; but in all times of danger, whether great or slight, we should pray to Our Father in Heaven, for we never know what a day or an hour may bring forth. I will speak to you about everything to-morrow; to-night I must be on deck." He kissed her forehead, pushed her gently into the cabin, shut the door, and, coming on deck, fastened the companion-hatch firmly down. In a short time the ship was prepared to face the worst. The topsails were close-reefed; the topgallant-masts sent down on deck; the spanker and jib were furled, and, soon after, the mainsail and foresail were also furled. The boats were taken in and secured on deck, and the ship went a little more easily through the raging sea; but as the violence of the gale increased, sail had to be further reduced, and at last everything was taken in except the main spencer and foretopmast-staysail. "I wouldn't mind this much," said the captain, as he and the first mate stood close to the binnacle, "if I only knew our exact position. But we've not had an observation for several days, and I don't feel sure of our whereabouts. There are some nasty coral reefs in these seas. Did you find out who the poor fellow is yet?" "It's young Boswell, I fear, Mr Markham is mustering the men just now, sir." As he spoke, the second mate came aft and confirmed their fears. The man who had thus been summoned in a moment, without warning, into the presence of his Maker, had been a quiet, modest youth, and a favourite with every one on board. At any other time his death would have been deeply felt; but in the midst of that terrible storm the men had no time to think. Indeed, they could not realise the fact that their shipmate was really gone. "Mr Markham," said the captain, as the second mate turned away, "send a hand in to the chains to heave the lead. I don't feel at all easy in my mind, so near these shoals as we must be just now." While the order was being obeyed the storm became fiercer and more furious. Bright gleams of lightning flashed repeatedly across the sky, lighting up the scene as if with brightest moonlight, and revealing the horrid turmoil of the raging sea in which the ship now laboured heavily. The rapidity with which the thunder followed the lightning showed how near to them was the dangerous and subtle fluid; and the crashing, bursting reports that shook the ship from stem to stern gave the impression that mountains were being dashed to atoms against each other in the air. All the sails still exposed to the fury of the gale were blown to shreds; the foretopmast and the jib-boom were carried away along with them and the _Red Eric_ was driven at last before the wind under bare poles. The crew remained firm in the midst of this awful scene; each man stood at his post, holding on by any fixed object that chanced to be within his reach, and held himself ready to spring to obey every order. No voice could be heard in the midst of the howling winds, the lashing sea, and the rending sky. Commands were given by signs as well as possible, during the flashes of lightning; but little or nothing remained to be done. Captain Dunning had done all that a man thoroughly acquainted with his duties could accomplish to put his ship in the best condition to do battle with the storm, and he now felt that the issue remained in the hands of Him who formed the warring elements, and whose will alone could check their angry strife. During one of the vivid flashes of lightning the captain observed Glynn Proctor standing near the starboard gangway, and, waiting for the next flash, he made a signal to him to come to the spot where he stood. Glynn understood it, and in a few seconds was at his commander's side. "Glynn," my boy, said the latter, "you won't be wanted on deck for some time. There's little to be done now. Go down and see what Ailie's about, poor thing. She'll need a little comfort. Say I sent you." Without other reply than a nod of the head, Glynn sprang to the companion-hatch, followed by the captain, who undid the fastenings to let him down and refastened them immediately, for the sea was washing over the stern continually. Glynn found the child on her knees in the cabin with her face buried in the cushions of one of the sofas. He sat down beside her and waited until she should have finished her prayer; but as she did not move for some time he laid his hand gently on her shoulder. She looked up with a happy smile on her face. "Oh, Glynn, is that you? I'm so glad," she said, rising, and sitting down beside him. "Your father sent me down to comfort you, my pet," said Glynn, taking her hand in his and drawing her towards him. "I have got comfort already," replied the child; "I'm so very happy, now." "How so, Ailie? who has been with you?" "God has been with me. You told me, Glynn, that there wasn't much danger, but I felt sure that there was. Oh! I never heard such terrible noises, and this dreadful tossing is worse than ever I felt it--a great deal. So I went down on my knees and prayed that God, for Christ's sake would save us. I felt very frightened, Glynn. You can't think how my heart beat every time the thunder burst over us. But suddenly--I don't know how it was--the words I used to read at home so often with my dear aunts came into my mind; you know them, Glynn, `Call upon Me in the time of trouble, and I will deliver thee, and thou shalt glorify Me.' I don't know where I read them. I forget the place in the Bible now; but when I thought of them I felt much less frightened. Do you think it was the Holy Spirit who put them into my mind? My aunts used to tell me that all my _good_ thoughts were given to me by the Holy Spirit. Then I remembered the words of Jesus, `I will never leave thee nor forsake thee,' and I felt so happy after that. It was just before you came down. I _think_ we shall not be lost. God would not make me feel so happy if we were going to be lost, would He?" "I think not, Ailie," replied Glynn, whose conscience reproached him for his ignorance of the passages in God's word referred to by his companion, and who felt that he was receiving rather than administering comfort. "When I came down I did not very well know how I should comfort you, for this is certainly the most tremendous gale I ever saw, but somehow I feel as if we were in less danger now. I wish I knew more of the Bible, Ailie. I'm ashamed to say I seldom look at it." "Oh, that's a pity, isn't it, Glynn?" said Ailie, with earnest concern expressed in her countenance, for she regarded her companion's ignorance as a great misfortune; it never occurred to her that it was a sin. "But it's very easy to learn it," she added with an eager look. "If you come to me here every day we can read it together. I would like to have you hear me say it off, and then I would hear you." Before he could reply the vessel received a tremendous shock which caused her to quiver from stem to stern. "She must have been struck by lightning," cried Glynn, starting up and hurrying towards the door. Ailie's frightened look returned for a few minutes, but she did not tremble as she had done before. Just as Glynn reached the top of the ladder the hatch was opened and the captain thrust in his head. "Glynn, my boy," said he, in a quick, firm tone, "we are ashore. Perhaps we shall go to pieces in a few minutes. God knows. May He in His mercy spare us. You cannot do much on deck. Ailie must be looked after till I come down for her. Glynn, _I depend upon you_." These words were uttered hurriedly, and the hatch was shut immediately after. It is impossible to describe accurately the conflicting feelings that agitated the breast of the young sailor as he descended again to the cabin. He felt gratified at the trust placed in him by the captain, and his love for the little girl would at any time have made the post of protector to her an agreeable one; but the idea that the ship had struck the rocks, and that his shipmates on deck were struggling perhaps for their lives while he was sitting idly in the cabin, was most trying and distressing to one of his ardent and energetic temperament. He was not, however, kept long in suspense. Scarcely had he regained the cabin when the ship again struck with terrific violence, and he knew by the rending crash overhead that one or more of the masts had gone over the side. The ship at the same moment slewed round and was thrown on her beam-ends. So quickly did this occur that Glynn had barely time to seize Ailie in his arms and save her from being dashed against the bulkhead. The vessel rose again on the next wave, and was hurled on the rocks with such violence that every one on board expected her to go to pieces immediately. At the same time the cabin windows were dashed in, and the cabin itself was flooded with water. Glynn was washed twice across the cabin and thrown violently against the ship's sides, but he succeeded in keeping a firm hold of his little charge and in protecting her from injury. "Hallo, Glynn!" shouted the captain, as he opened the companion-hatch, "come on deck, quick! bring her with you!" Glynn hurried up and placed the child in her father's arms. The scene that presented itself to him on gaining the deck was indeed appalling. The first grey streak of dawn faintly lighted up the sky, just affording sufficient light to exhibit the complete wreck of everything on deck, and the black froth-capped tumult of the surrounding billows. The rocks on which they had struck could not be discerned in the gloom, but the white breakers ahead showed too clearly where they were. The three masts had gone over the side one after another, leaving only the stumps of each standing. Everything above board--boats, binnacle, and part of the bulwarks--had been washed away. The crew were clinging to the belaying-pins and to such parts of the wreck as seemed likely to hold together longest. It seemed to poor Ailie, as she clung to her father's neck that she had been transported to some far-distant and dreadful scene, for scarcely a single familiar object remained by which her ocean home, the _Red Eric_, could be recognised. But Ailie had neither desire nor opportunity to remark on this tremendous change. Every successive billow raised the doomed vessel, and let her fall with heavy violence on the rocks. Her stout frame trembled under each shock, as if she were endued with life, and shrank affrighted from her impending fate; and it was as much as the captain could do to maintain his hold of the weather-bulwarks and of Ailie at the same time. Indeed, he could not have done it at all had not Glynn stood by and assisted him to the best of his ability. "It won't last long, lad," said the captain, as a larger wave than usual lifted the shattered hull and dashed it down on the rocks, washing the deck from stern to stem, and for a few seconds burying the whole crew under water. "May the Almighty have mercy on us; no ship can stand this long." "Perhaps the tide is falling," suggested Glynn, in an encouraging voice, "and I think I see something like a shore ahead. It will be daylight in half-an-hour or less." The captain shook his head. "There's little or no tide here to rise or fall, I fear. Before half-an-hour we shall--" He did not finish the sentence, but looking at Ailie with a gaze of agony, he pressed her more closely to his breast. "I think we shall be saved," whispered the child, twining her arms more closely round her father's neck, and laying her wet cheek against his. Just then Tim Rokens crept aft, and said that he saw a low sandy island ahead, and a rocky point jutting out from it close to the bows of the ship. He suggested that a rope might be got ashore when it became a little lighter. Phil Briant came aft to make the same suggestion, not knowing that Rokens had preceded him. In fact, the men had been consulting as to the possibility of accomplishing this object, but when they looked at the fearful breakers that boiled in white foam between the ship's bow and the rocky point, their hearts failed them, and no one was found to volunteer for the dangerous service. "Is any one inclined to try it?" inquired the captain. "There's niver a wan of us but 'ud try it, cap'en, _if you gives the order_," answered Briant. The captain hesitated. He felt disinclined to order any man to expose himself to such imminent danger; yet the safety of the whole crew might depend on a rope being connected with the shore. Before he could make up his mind, Glynn, who saw what was passing in his mind, exclaimed--"I'll do it, captain;" and instantly quitting his position, hurried forward as fast as circumstances would permit. The task which Glynn had undertaken to perform turned out to be more dangerous and difficult than at first he had anticipated. When he stood at the lee bow, fastening a small cord round his waist, and looking at the turmoil of water into which he was about to plunge, his heart well-nigh failed him, and he felt a sensation of regret that he had undertaken what seemed now an impossibility. He did not wonder that the men had one and all shrunk from the attempt. But he had made up his mind to do it. Moreover, he had _said_ he would do it, and feeling that he imperilled his life in a good cause, he set his face as a flint to the accomplishment of his purpose. Well was it for Glynn Proctor that day that in early boyhood he had learned to swim, and had become so expert in the water as to be able to beat all his young companions! He noticed, on looking narrowly at the foaming surge through which he must pass in order to gain the rocky point, that many of the submerged rocks showed their tops above the flood, like black spots, when each wave retired. To escape these seemed impossible--to strike one of them he knew would be almost certain death. "Don't try it, boy," said several of the men, as they saw Glynn hesitate when about to spring, and turn an anxious gaze in all directions; "it's into death ye'll jump, if ye do." Glynn did not reply; indeed, he did not hear the remark, for at that moment his whole attention was riveted on a ledge of submerged rock, which ever and anon showed itself, like the edge of a knife, extending between the ship and the point. Along the edge of this the retiring waves broke in such a manner as to form what appeared to be dead water-tossed, indeed, and foam-clad, but not apparently in progressive motion. Glynn made up his mind in an instant, and just as the first mate came forward with an order from the captain that he was on no account to make the rash attempt, he sprang with his utmost force off the ship's side and sank in the raging sea. Words cannot describe the intense feeling of suspense with which the men on the lee bow gazed at the noble-hearted boy as he rose and buffeted with the angry billows. Every man held his breath, and those who had charge of the line stood nervously ready to haul him back at a moment's notice. On first rising to the surface he beat the waves as if bewildered, and while some of the men cried, "He's struck a rock," others shouted to haul him in; but in another second he got his eyes cleared of spray, and seeing the ship's hull towering above his head, he turned his back on it and made for the shore. At first he went rapidly through the surge, for his arm was strong and his young heart was brave; but a receding wave caught him and hurled him some distance out of his course--tossing him over and over as if he had been a cork. Again he recovered himself, and gaining the water beside the ledge, he made several powerful and rapid strokes, which carried him within a few yards of the point. "He's safe," said Rokens eagerly. "No; he's missed it!" cried the second mate, who, with Gurney and Dick Barnes, payed out the rope. Glynn had indeed almost caught hold of the farthest-out ledge of the point when he was drawn back into the surge, and this time dashed against a rock and partially stunned. The men had already begun to haul in on the rope when he recovered, and making a last effort, gained the rocks, up which he clambered slowly. When beyond the reach of the waves he fell down as if he had fainted. This, however, was not the case; he was merely exhausted, as well as confused, by the blows he had received on the rocks, and lay for a few seconds quite still in order to recover strength, during which period of inaction he thanked God earnestly for his deliverance, and prayed fervently that he might be made the means of saving his companions in danger. After a minute or two he rose, unfastened the line from his waist, and began to haul it ashore. To the other end of the small line the men in the ship attached a thick cable, the end of which was soon pulled up, and made fast to a large rock. Tim Rokens was now ordered to proceed to the shore by means of the rope in order to test it. After this a sort of swing was constructed, with a noose which was passed round the cable. To this a small line was fastened, and passed to the shore. On this swinging-seat Ailie was seated, and hauled to the rocks, Tim Rokens "shinning" along the cable at the same time to guard her from accident. Then the men began to land, and thus, one by one, the crew of the _Red Eric_ reached the shore in safety; and when all had landed, Captain Dunning, standing in the midst of his men, lifted up his voice in thanksgiving to God for their deliverance. But when daylight came the full extent of their forlorn situation was revealed. The ship was a complete wreck; the boats were all gone, and they found that the island on which they had been cast was only a few square yards in extent--a mere sandbank, utterly destitute of shrub or tree, and raised only a few feet above the level of the ocean. CHAPTER SIXTEEN. THE SANDBANK--THE WRECKED CREW MAKE THE BEST OF BAD CIRCUMSTANCES. It will scarcely surprise the reader to be told that, after the first emotions of thankfulness for deliverance from what had appeared to the shipwrecked mariners to be inevitable death, a feeling amounting almost to despair took possession of the whole party for a time. The sandbank was so low that in stormy weather it was almost submerged. It was a solitary coral reef in the midst of the boundless sea. Not a tree or bush grew upon it, and except at the point where the ship had struck, there was scarcely a rock large enough to afford shelter to a single man. Without provisions, without sufficient shelter, without the means of escape, and _almost_ without the hope of deliverance, it seemed to them that nothing awaited them but the slow, lingering pains and horrors of death by starvation. As those facts forced themselves more and more powerfully home to the apprehension of the crew,--while they cowered for shelter from the storm under the lee of the rocky point, they gave expression to their feelings in different ways. Some sat down in dogged silence to await their fate; others fell on their knees and cried aloud to God for mercy; while a few kept up their own spirits and those of their companions by affecting a cheerfulness which, however, in some cages, was a little forced. Ailie lay shivering in her father's arms, for she was drenched with salt water and very cold. Her eyes were closed, and she was very pale from exposure and exhaustion, but her lips moved as if in prayer. Captain Dunning looked anxiously at Dr Hopley, who crouched beside them, and gazed earnestly in the child's face while he felt her pulse. "It's almost too much for her, I fear," said the captain, in a hesitating, husky voice. The doctor did not answer for a minute or two, then he said, as if muttering to himself rather than replying to the captain's remark, "If we could only get her into dry clothes, or had a fire, or even a little brandy, but--" He did not finish the sentence, and the captain's heart sank within him, and his weather-beaten face grew pale as he thought of the possibility of losing his darling child. Glynn had been watching the doctor with intense eagerness, and with a terrible feeling of dread fluttering about his heart. When he heard the last remark he leaped up and cried--"If brandy is all you want you shall soon have it." And running down to the edge of the water, he plunged in and grasped the cable, intending to clamber into the ship, which had by this time been driven higher on the rocks, and did not suffer so much from the violence of the breakers. At the same instant Phil Briant sprang to his feet, rushed down after him, and before he had got a yard from the shore, seized him by the collar, and dragged him out of the sea high and dry on the land. Glynn was so exasperated at this unceremonious and at the moment unaccountable treatment, that he leaped up, and in the heat of the moment prepared to deal the Irishman a blow that would very probably have brought the experiences of the "ring" to his remembrance; but Briant effectually checked him by putting both his own hands into his pockets, thrusting forward his face as if to invite the blow, and exclaiming-- "Och! now, hit fair, Glynn, darlint; put it right in betwane me two eyes!" Glynn laughed hysterically, in spite of himself. "What mean you by stopping me?" he asked somewhat sternly. "Shure, I mane that I'll go for the grog meself. Ye've done more nor yer share o' the work this mornin', an' it's but fair to give a poor fellow a chance. More be token, ye mustn't think that nobody can't do nothin' but yeself. It's Phil Briant that'll shin up a rope with any white man in the world, or out of it." "You're right, Phil," said Rokens, who had come to separate the combatants. "Go aboord, my lad, an' I'll engage to hold this here young alligator fast till ye come back." "You don't need to hold me, Tim," retorted Glynn, with a smile; "but don't be long about it, Phil. You know where the brandy is kept--look alive." Briant accomplished his mission successfully, and, despite the furious waves, brought the brandy on shore in safety. As he emerged like a caricature of old Neptune dripping from the sea, it was observed that he held a bundle in his powerful grasp. It was also strapped to his shoulders. "Why, what have you got there?" inquired the doctor, as he staggered under the shelter of the rocks. "Arrah! give a dhrop to the child, an' don't be wastin' yer breath," replied Briant, as he undid the bundle. "Sure I've brought a few trifles for her outside as well as her in." And he revealed to the glad father a bundle of warm habiliments which he had collected in Ailie's cabin, and kept dry by wrapping them in several layers of tarpaulin. "God bless you, my man," said the captain, grasping the thoughtful Irishman by the hand. "Now, Ailie, my darling pet, look up, and swallow a drop o' this. Here's a capital rig-out o' dry clothes too." A few sips of brandy soon restored the circulation which had well-nigh been arrested, and when she had been clothed in the dry garments, Ailie felt comparatively comfortable, and expressed her thanks to Phil Briant with tears in her eyes. A calm often succeeds a storm somewhat suddenly, especially in southern latitudes. Soon after daybreak the wind moderated, and before noon it ceased entirely, though the sea kept breaking in huge rolling billows on the sandbank for many hours afterwards. The sun, too, came out hot and brilliant, shedding a warm radiance over the little sea-girt spot as well as over the hearts of the crew. Human nature exhibits wonderful and sudden changes. Men spring from the depths of despair to the very summit, of light-hearted hope, and very frequently, too, without a very obvious cause to account for the violent change. Before the day after the storm was far advanced, every one on the sandbank seemed to be as joyous as though there was no danger of starvation whatever. There was, however, sufficient to produce the change in the altered aspect of affairs. For one thing, the warm sun began to make them feel comfortable--and really it is wonderful how ready men are to shut their eyes to the actual state of existing things if they can only enjoy a little present comfort. Then the ship was driven so high up on the rocks as to be almost beyond the reach of the waves, and she had not been dashed to pieces, as had at first been deemed inevitable, so that the stores and provisions in her might be secured, and the party be thus enabled to subsist on their ocean prison until set free by some passing ship. Under the happy influence of these improved circumstances every one went about the work of rendering their island home more comfortable, in good, almost in gleeful spirits. Phil Briant indulged in jests which a few hours ago would have been deemed profane, and Gurney actually volunteered the song of the "man wot got his nose froze;" but every one declined to listen to it, on the plea that it reminded them too forcibly of the cold of the early morning. Even the saturnine steward, Tarquin, looked less ferocious than usual, and King Bumble became so loquacious that he was ordered more than once to hold his tongue and to "shut up." The work they had to do was indeed of no light nature. They had to travel to and fro between the ship and the rocks on the rope-cable, a somewhat laborious achievement, in order to bring ashore such things as they absolutely required. A quantity of biscuit, tea, coffee, and sugar were landed without receiving much damage, then a line was fastened to a cask of salt beef, and this, with a few more provisions, was drawn ashore the first day, and placed under the shelter of the largest rock on the point. On the following day it was resolved that a raft should be constructed, and everything that could in any way prove useful be brought to the sandbank and secured. For Captain Dunning well knew that another storm might arise as quickly as the former had done, and although the ship at present lay in comparatively quiet water, the huge billows that would be dashed against her in such circumstances would be certain to break her up and scatter her cargo on the breast of the all-devouring sea. In the midst of all this activity and bustle there sat one useless and silent, but exceedingly grave and uncommonly attentive spectator, namely, Jacko the monkey. That sly and sagacious individual, seeing that no one intended to look after him, had during the whole of the recent storm wisely looked after himself. He had ensconced himself in a snug and comparatively sheltered corner under the afterpart of the weather-bulwarks. But when he saw the men one by one leaving the ship, and proceeding to the shore by means of the rope, he began to evince an anxiety as to his own fate which had in it something absolutely human. Jacko was the last man, so to speak, to leave the _Red Eric_. Captain Dunning, resolving, with the true spirit of a brave commander; to reserve that honour to himself, had seen the last man, he thought, out of the ship, and was two-thirds of the distance along the rope on his way to land, when Jim Scroggles, who was _always_ either in or out of the way at the most inopportune moments, came rushing up from below, whither he had gone to secure a favourite brass _finger-ring_, and scrambled over the side. It would be difficult to say whether Jim's head, or feet, or legs, or knees, or arms went over the side first,--they all got over somehow, nobody knew how--and in the getting over his hat flew off and was lost for ever. Seeing this, and feeling, no doubt, the momentous truth of that well-known adage "Now or never," Master Jacko uttered a shriek, bounded from his position of fancied security, and seized Jim Scroggles firmly by the hair, resolved apparently to live or perish along with him. As to simply clambering along that cable to the shore. Jacko would have thought no more of it than of eating his dinner. Had he felt so disposed he could have walked along it, or hopped along it, or thrown somersaults along it. But to proceed along it while it was at one moment thirty feet above the sea, rigid as a bar of iron, and the next moment several feet under the mad turmoil of the raging billows--this it was that filled his little bosom with inexpressible horror, and induced him to cling with a tight embrace to the hair of the head of his bitterest enemy! Having gained the shore, Jacko immediately took up his abode in the warmest spot on that desolate sandbank, which was the centre of the mass of cowering and shivering men who sought shelter under the lee of the rocks, where he was all but squeezed to death, but where he felt comparatively warm, nevertheless. When the sun came out he perched himself in a warm nook of the rock near to Ailie, and dried himself, after which, as we have already hinted, he superintended the discharging of the cargo and the arrangements made for a prolonged residence on the sandbank. "Och! but yer a queer cratur," remarked Briant, as he passed, chucking the monkey under the chin. "Oo-oo-oo-ee-o!" replied Jacko. "Very thrue, no doubt--but I haven't time to spake to ye jist yet, lad," replied Briant, with a laugh, as he ran down to the beach and seized a barrel which had just been hauled to the water's edge. "What are you going to do with the wood, papa?" asked Ailie. The captain had seized an axe at the moment, and began vigorously to cut up a rough plank which had been driven ashore by the waves. "I'm going to make a fire, my pet, to warm your cold toes." "But my toes are not cold, papa; you've no idea how comfortable I am." Ailie did indeed look comfortable at that moment, for she was lying on a bed of dry sand, with a thick blanket spread over her. "Well, then, it will do to warm Jacko's toes, if yours don't want it; and besides, we all want a cup of tea after our exertions. The first step towards that end, you know, is to make a fire." So saying, the captain piled up dry wood in front of the place where Ailie lay, and in a short time had a capital fire blazing, and a large tin kettle full of fresh water boiling thereon. It may be as well to remark here that the water had been brought in a small keg from the ship, for not a single drop of fresh water was found on the sandbank after the most careful search. Fortunately, however, the water-tanks of the _Red Eric_ still contained a large supply. During the course of that evening _a_ sort of shed or tent was constructed out of canvas and a few boards placed against the rock. This formed a comparatively comfortable shelter, and one end of it was partitioned off for Ailie's special use. No one was permitted to pass the curtain that hung before the entrance to this little boudoir, except the captain, who claimed a right to do what he pleased, and Glynn, who was frequently invited to enter in order to assist its fair occupant in her multifarious arrangements, and Jacko, who could not be kept out by any means that had yet been hit upon, except by killing him; but as Ailie objected to this, he was suffered to take up his abode there, and, to do him justice, he behaved very well while domiciled in that place. It is curious to note how speedily little children, and men too, sometimes, contrive to forget the unpleasant or the sad, or, it may be, the dangerous circumstances in which they may chance to be placed, while engaged in the minute details incident to their peculiar position. Ailie went about arranging her little nest under the rock with as much zeal and cheerful interest as if she were "playing at houses" in her own room at home. She decided that one corner was peculiarly suited for her bed, because there was a small rounded rock in it which looked like a pillow; so Glynn was directed to spread the tarpaulin and the blankets there. Another corner exhibited a crevice in the rock, which seemed so suitable for a kennel for Jacko that the arrangement was agreed to on the spot. We say agreed to, because Ailie suggested everything to Glynn, and Glynn always agreed to everything that Ailie suggested, and stood by with a hammer and nails and a few pieces of plank in his hands ready to fulfil her bidding, no matter what it should be. So Jacko was sent for to be introduced to his new abode, but Jacko was not to be found, for the very good reason that he had taken possession of the identical crevice some time before, and at that moment was enjoying a comfortable nap in its inmost recess. Then Ailie caused Glynn to put up a little shelf just over her head, which he did with considerable difficulty, because it turned out that nails could not easily be driven into the solid rock. After that a small cave at the foot of the apartment was cleaned out and Ailie's box placed there. All this and sundry other pieces of work were executed by the young sailor and his little friend with an amount of cheerful pleasantry that showed they had, in the engrossing interest of their pursuit, totally forgotten the fact that they were cast away on a sandbank on which were neither food nor water, nor wood, except what was to be found in the wrecked ship, and around which for thousands of miles rolled the great billows of the restless sea. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. LIFE ON THE SANDBANK--AILIE TAKES POSSESSION OF FAIRYLAND--GLYNN AND BUMBLE ASTONISH THE LITTLE FISHES. In order that the reader may form a just conception of the sandbank on which the crew of the _Red Eric_ had been wrecked, we shall describe it somewhat carefully. It lay in the Southern Ocean, a little to the west of the longitude of the Cape of Good Hope, and somewhere between 2000 and 3000 miles to the south of it. As has been already remarked, the bank at its highest point was little more than a few feet above the level of the ocean, the waves of which in stormy weather almost, and the spray of which altogether, swept over it. In length it was barely fifty yards, and in breadth about forty. Being part of a coral reef, the surface of it was composed of the beautiful white sand that is formed from coral by the dashing waves. At one end of the bank--that on which the ship had struck--the reef rose into a ridge of rock, which stood a few feet higher than the level of the sand, and stretched out into the sea about twenty yards, with its points projecting here and there above water. On the centre of the bank at its highest point one or two very small blades of green substance were afterwards discovered. So few were they, however, and so delicate, that we feel justified in describing the spot as being utterly destitute of verdure. Ailie counted those green blades many a time after they were discovered. There were exactly thirty-five of them; twenty-six were, comparatively speaking, large; seven were of medium size, and two were extremely small--so small and thin that Ailie wondered they did not die of sheer delicacy of constitution on such a barren spot. The greater part of the surface of the bank was covered with the fine sand already referred to, but there were one or two spots which were covered with variously-sized pebbles, and an immense number of beautiful small shells. On such a small and barren spot one would think there was little or nothing to admire. But this was not the case. Those persons whose thoughts are seldom allowed to fix attentively on any subject, are apt to fall into the mistake of supposing that in this world there are a great many absolutely uninteresting things. Many things are, indeed, uninteresting to individuals, but there does not exist a single thing which has not a certain amount of interest to one or another cast of mind, and which will not afford food for contemplation, and matter fitted to call forth our admiration for its great and good Creator. We know a valley so beautiful that it has been for generations past, and will probably be for generations to come, the annual resort of hundreds of admiring travellers. The valley cannot be seen until you are almost in it. The country immediately around it is no way remarkable; it is even tame. Many people would exclaim at first sight in reference to it, "How uninteresting." It requires a close view, a minute inspection, to discover the beauties that lie hidden there. So was it with our sandbank. Ailie's first thoughts were, "Oh! how dreary; how desolate!" and in some respects she was right; but she dwelt there long enough to discover things that charmed her eye and her imagination, and caused her sometimes to feel as if she had been transported to the realms of Fairyland. We do not say, observe, that the crew of the _Red Eric_ were ever blessed with such dreams. Jim Scroggles, for instance, had no eye for the minute beauties or wonders of creation. Jim, according to his own assertion, could see about as far through a millstone as most men. He could apostrophise his eye, on certain occasions, and tell it--as though its own power of vision were an insufficient medium of information--that "that _wos_ a stunnin' iceberg;" or that "that _wos_ a gale and a half, fit to tear the masts out o' the ship a'most." But for any less majestic object in nature, Jim Scroggles had nothing to say either to his eye, or his nose, or his shipmates. As was Jim Scroggles, so were most of the other men. Hence they grumbled a good deal at their luckless condition. But upon the whole they were pretty cheerful--especially at meal-times--and, considering their circumstances, they behaved very well. Glynn Proctor was a notable exception to the prevailing rule of indifference to small things. By nature he was of a superior stamp of mind to his comrades; besides, he had been better educated; and more than all, he was at that time under the influence of Ailie Dunning. She admired what she admired; he liked what she liked; he looked with interest at the things which she examined. Had Ailie sat down beside the stock of an old anchor and looked attentively at it, Glynn would have sat down and stared at it too, in the firm belief that there was something there worth looking at! Glynn laughed aloud sometimes at himself, to think how deeply interested he had become in the child, for up to that time he had rather avoided than courted the society of children; and he used to say to Ailie that the sailors would begin to call her his little sweetheart, if he spent so much of his time with her; to which Ailie would reply by asking what a sweetheart was; whereat Glynn would laugh immoderately; whereupon Ailie would tell him not to be stupid, but to come and play with her! All the sailors, even including the taciturn Tarquin, had a tender feeling of regard for the little girl who shared their fortunes at that time, but with the exception of Glynn, none were capable of sympathising with her in her pursuits. Tim Rokens, her father, and Dr Hopley did to some extent, but these three had their minds too deeply filled with anxiety about their critical position to pay her much attention, beyond the kindest concern for her physical wants. King Bumble, too, we beg his pardon, showed considerable interest in her. The sable assistant of Nikel Sling shone conspicuous at this trying time, for his activity, good-humour, and endurance, and in connection with Phil Briant, Gurney, and Jacko, kept up the spirits of the shipwrecked men wonderfully. Close under the rocks, on the side farthest removed from the spot where the rude tent was pitched, there was a little bay or creek, not more than twenty yards in diameter, which Ailie appropriated and called Fairyland! It was an uncommonly small spot, but it was exceedingly beautiful and interesting. The rocks, although small, were so broken and fantastically formed, that when Ailie crept close in amongst them, and so placed herself that the view of the sandbank was entirely shut out, and nothing was to be seen but little pools of crystal water and rocklets, with their margin of dazzling white sand, and the wreck of the ship in the distance, with the deep blue sea beyond, she quite forgot where she actually was, and began to wander in the most enchanting daydreams. But when, as often happened, there came towering thick masses of snowy clouds, like mountain peaks and battlements in the bright blue sky, her delight was so great that she could find no words to express it. At such times--sometimes with Glynn by her side, sometimes alone--she would sit in a sunny nook, or in a shady nook if she felt too warm, and invite innumerable hosts of fairies to come and conduct her through interminable tracts of pure-white cloud region, and order such unheard-of wild creatures (each usually wanting a tail, or a leg, or an ear) to come out of the dark caves, that had they been all collected in one garden for exhibition to the public, that zoological garden would have been deemed, out of sight, the greatest of all the wonders of the world! When a little wearied with those aerial journeys she would return to "Fairyland," and, leaning over the brinks of the pools, peer down into their beautiful depths for hours at a time. Ailie's property of Fairyland had gardens, too, of the richest possible kind, full of flowers of the most lovely and brilliant hues. But the flowers were scentless, and, alas! she could not pluck them, for those gardens were all under water; they grew at the bottom of the sea! Yes, reader, if the land was barren on that ocean islet, the pools there made up for it by presenting to view the most luxuriant marine vegetation. There were forests of branching coral of varied hues; there were masses of fan-shaped sponges; there were groves of green and red sea-weeds; and beds of red, and white, and orange, and striped creatures that stuck to the rocks, besides little fish with bright coloured backs that played there as if they really enjoyed living always under water-- which is not easy for us, you know, to realise! And above all, the medium of water between Ailie and these things was so pure and pellucid when no breeze fanned the surface, that it was difficult to believe, unless you touched it, there was any water there at all. While Ailie thus spent her time, or at least her leisure time, for she was by no means an idler in that busy little isle, the men were actively engaged each day in transporting provisions from the _Red Eric_ to the sandbank, and in making them as secure as circumstances would admit of. For this purpose a raft had been constructed, and several trips a day were made to and from the wreck, so that in the course of a few days a considerable stock of provisions was accumulated on the bank. This was covered with tarpaulin, and heavy casks of salt junk were placed on the corners and edges to keep it down. "I'll tell ye wot it is, messmates," remarked Gurney, one day, as they sat down round their wood fire to dine in front of their tent, "we're purvisioned for six months at least, an' if the weather only keeps fine I've no objection to remain wotiver." "Maybe," said Briant, "ye'll have to remain that time whether ye object or not." "By no means, Paddy," retorted Gurney; "I could swum off to sea and be drownded if I liked." "No ye couldn't, avic," said Briant. "Why not?" demanded Gurney. "'Cause ye haven't the pluck," replied Phil. "I'll pluck the nose off yer face," said Gurney, in affected anger. "No ye won't," cried Phil, "'cause av ye do I'll spile the soup by heavin' it all over ye." "Oh!" exclaimed Gurney, with a look of horror, "listen to him, messmates, he calls it `_soup_'--the nasty kettle o' dirty water! Well, well, it's lucky we hain't got nothin' better to compare it with." "But, I say, lads," interposed Jim Scroggles, seriously, "wot'll we do if it comes on to blow a gale and blows away all our purvisions?" "Ay, boys," cried Dick Barnes, "that 'ere's the question, as Hamlet remarked to his grandfather's ghost; wot is to come on us supposin' it comes on to blow sich a snorin' gale as'll blow the whole sandbank away, carryin' us and our prog overboard along with it?" "Wot's that there soup made of?" demanded Tim Rokens. "Salt junk and peas," replied Nikel Sling. "Ah! I thought there was somethin' else in it," said Tim, carelessly, "for it seems to perdooce oncommon bad jokes in them wot eats of it." "Now, Tim, don't you go for to be sorcostic, but tell us a story." "Me tell a story? No, no, lads; there's Glynn Proctor, he's the boy for you. Where is he?" "He's aboard the wreck just now. The cap'n sent him for charts and quadrants, and suchlike cooriosities. Come, Gurney, tell you one if Tim won't. How wos it, now, that you so mistook yer trade as to come for to go to sea?" "I can't very well tell ye," answered Gurney, who, having finished dinner, had lit his pipe, and was now extended at full length on the sand, leaning on one arm. "Ye see, lads, I've had more or less to do with the sea, I have, since ever I comed into this remarkable world--not that I ever, to my knowledge, knew one less coorous, for I never was up in the stars; no more, I s'pose, was ever any o' you. I was born at sea, d'ye see? I don't 'xactly know how I comed for to be born there, but I wos told that I wos, and if them as told me spoke truth, I s'pose I wos. I was washed overboard in gales three times before I comed for to know myself at all. When I first came alive, so to speak, to my own certain knowledge, I wos a-sitting on the top of a hen-coop aboard an East Indiaman, roarin' like a mad bull as had lost his senses; 'cause why? the hens wos puttin' their heads through the bars o' the coops, and pickin' at the calves o' my legs as fierce as if they'd suddenly turned cannibals, and rather liked it. From that time I began a life o' misery. My life before that had bin pretty much the same, it seems, but I didn't know it, so it didn't matter. D'ye know, lads, when ye don't know a thing it's all the same as if it didn't exist, an' so, in coorse, it don't matter." "Oh!" exclaimed the first mate, who came up at the moment, "'ave hany o' you fellows got a note-book in which we may record that horacular and truly valuable hobserwation?" No one happening to possess a note-book, Gurney was allowed to proceed with his account of himself. "Ships has bin my houses all along up to this here date. I don't believe, lads as ever I wos above two months ashore at a time all the coorse of my life, an' mostly not as long as that. The smell o' tar and the taste o' salt water wos the fust things I iver comed across--'xcept the Line, I comed across that jist about the time I wos born, so I'm told--and the smell o' tar and taste o' salt water's wot I've bin used to most o' my life, and moreover, wot I likes best. One old gentleman as took a fancy to me w'en I wos a boy, said to me, one fine day, w'en I chanced to be ashore visitin' my mother--says he, `My boy, would ye like to go with me and live in the country, and be a gardner?' `Wot,' says I, `keep a garding, and plant taters, and hoe flowers an' cabidges?' `Yes,' says he, `at least, somethin' o' that sort.' `No, thankee,' says I; `I b'long to the sea, I do; I wouldn't leave that 'ere no more nor I would quit my first love if I had one. I'm a sailor, I am, out and out, through and through--true blue, and no mistake, an' no one need go for to try to cause me for to forsake my purfession, and live on shore like a turnip'--that's wot I says to that old gen'lemen. Yes, lads, I've roamed the wide ocean, as the song says, far an' near. I've bin tattooed by the New Zealanders, and I've danced with the Hottentots, and ate puppy dogs with the Chinese, and fished whales in the North Seas, and run among the ice near the South Pole, and fowt with pirates, and done service on boord of men-o'-war and merchantmen, and junks, and bumboats; but I never," concluded Gurney, looking round with a sigh, "I never came for to be located on a sandbank in the middle of the ocean." "No more did any on us," added Rokens, "Moreover, if we're not picked up soon by a ship o' some sort, we're not likely to be located here long, for we can't live on salt junk for ever; we shall all die o' the scurvy." There was just enough of possible and probable truth in the last remark to induce a feeling of sadness among the men for a few minutes, but this was quickly put to flight by the extraordinary movements of Phil Briant. That worthy had left the group round the fire, and had wandered out to the extreme end of the rocky point, where he sat down to indulge, possibly in sad, or mayhap hopeful reflections. He was observed to start suddenly up, and gaze into the sea eagerly for a few seconds; then he cut a caper, slapped his thigh, and ran hastily towards the tent. "What now? where away, Phil?" cried one of the men. Briant answered not, but speedily reappeared at the opening of the tent door with a fishing-line and hook. Hastening to the point of rock, he opened a small species of shell-fish that he found there, wherewith he baited his hook, and then cast it into the sea. In a few minutes he felt a twitch, which caused him to return a remarkably vigorous twitch, as it were in reply. The fish and the sailor for some minutes acted somewhat the part of electricians in a telegraph office; when the fish twitched, Briant twitched; when the fish pulled and paused, Briant pulled and paused, and when the fish held on hard, Briant pulled hard, and finally pulled him ashore, and a very nice plump rock-codling he was. There were plenty of them, so in a short time there was no lack of fresh fish, and Rokens' fear that they would have to live on salt junk was not realised. Fishing for rock-codlings now became one of the chief recreations of the men while not engaged in bringing various necessaries from the wreck. But for many days at first they found their hands fully occupied in making their new abode habitable, in enlarging and improving the tent, which soon by degrees came to merit the name of a hut, and in inventing various ingenious contrivances for the improvement of their condition. It was not until a couple of weeks had passed that time began to hang heavy on their hands and fishing became a general amusement. They all fished, except Jacko. Even Ailie tried it once or twice, but she did not like it and soon gave it up. As for Jacko, he contented himself with fishing with his hands, in a sly way, among the provision casks, at which occupation he was quite an adept; and many a nice tit-bit did he fish up and secrete in his private apartment for future use. Like many a human thief, Jacko was at last compelled to leave the greater part of his ill-gotten and hoarded gains behind him. One day Glynn and Ailie sat by the margin of a deep pool in Fairyland, gazing down into its clear depths. The sun's rays penetrated to the very bottom, revealing a thousand beauties in form and colour that called forth from Ailie the most extravagant expressions of admiration. She wound up one of those eloquent bursts by saying-- "Oh, Glynn, how very, _very_ much I do wish I could go down there and play with the dear, exquisite, darling little fishes!" "You'd surprise them, I suspect," said Glynn. "It's rather too deep a pool to play in unless you were a mermaid." "How deep is it, Glynn?" "'Bout ten feet, I think." "So much? It does not look like it. What a very pretty bit of coral I see over there, close to the white rock; do you see it? It is bright pink. Oh, I would like _so_ much to have it." "Would you?" cried Glynn, jumping up and throwing off his jacket; "then here goes for it." So saying he clasped his hands above his head, and bending forward, plunged into the pool and went straight at the piece of pink coral, head-foremost, like an arrow! Glynn was lightly clad. His costume consisted simply of a pair of white canvas trousers and a blue striped shirt, with a silk kerchief round his neck, so that his movements in the water were little, if at all, impeded by his clothes. At the instant he plunged into the water King Bumble happened to approach, and while Ailie stood, petrified with fear as she saw Glynn struggling violently at the bottom of the pool, her sable companion stood looking down with a grin from ear to ear that displayed every one of his white teeth. "Don't be 'fraid, Missie Ally," said the negro; "him's know wot him's doin', ho yis!" Before Ailie could reply, Glynn was on the surface spluttering and brushing the hair from his forehead with one hand, while with the other he hugged to his breast the piece of pink coral. "Here--it--ha!--is. My breath--oh--is a'most gone--Ailie--catch hold!" cried he, as he held out the coveted piece of rock to the child, and scrambled out of the pool. "Oh, thank you, Glynn; but why did you go down so quick and stay so long? I got _such_ a fright." "You bin pay your 'spects to de fishes," said Bumble, with a grin. "Yes, I have, Bumble, and they say that if you stare at them any longer with your great goggle eyes they'll all go mad with horror and die right off. Have you caught any codlings, Bumble?" "Yis, me hab, an' me hab come for to make a preeposol to Missie Ally." "A what, Bumble?" "A preeposol--a digestion." "I suppose you mean a suggestion, eh?" "Yis, dat the berry ting." "Well, out with it." "Dis am it. Me ketch rock-coddles; well, me put 'em in bucket ob water an' bring 'em to you, Missie Ally, an' you put 'em into dat pool and tame 'em, an' hab great fun with 'em. Eeh! wot you tink?" "Oh, it will be _so_ nice. How good of you to think about it, Bumble; do get them as quick as you can." Bumble looked grave and hesitated. "Why, what's wrong?" inquired Glynn. "Oh, noting. Me only tink me not take the trouble to put 'em into dat pool where de fishes speak so imperently ob me. Stop, me will go an' ask if dey sorry for wot dey hab say." So saying the negro uttered a shout, sprang straight up into the air, doubled his head down and his heels up, and cleft the water like a knife. Glynn uttered a cry something between a yell and a laugh, and sprang after him, falling flat on the water and dashing the whole pool into foam, and there the two wallowed about like two porpoises, to the unbounded delight of Ailie, who stood on the brink laughing until the tears ran down her cheeks, and to the unutterable horror, no doubt, of the little fish. The rock-codlings were soon caught and transferred to the pool, in which, after that, neither Glynn nor Bumble were suffered to dive or swim, and Ailie succeeded, by means of regularly feeding them, in making the little fish less afraid of her than they were at first. But while Ailie and Glynn were thus amusing themselves and trying to make the time pass as pleasantly as possible, Captain Dunning was oppressed with the most anxious forebodings. They had now been several weeks on the sandbank. The weather had, during that time, been steadily fine and calm, and their provisions were still abundant, but he knew that this could not last. Moreover, he found on consulting his charts that he was far out of the usual course of ships, and that deliverance could only be expected in the shape of a chance vessel. Oppressed with these thoughts, which, however, he carefully concealed from every one except Tim Rokens and the doctor, the captain used to go on the point of rocks every day and sit there for hours, gazing out wistfully over the sea. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. MATTERS GROW WORSE AND WORSE--THE MUTINY--COMMENCEMENT OF BOAT-BUILDING, AND THREATENING STORMS. One afternoon, about three weeks after the _Red Eric_ had been wrecked on the sandbank, Captain Dunning went out on the point of rocks, and took up his accustomed position there. Habit had now caused him to go to the point with as much regularity as a sentinel. But on the present occasion anxiety was more deeply marked on his countenance than usual, for dark, threatening clouds were seen accumulating on the horizon, an unnatural stillness prevailed in the hot atmosphere and on the glassy sea, and everything gave indication of an approaching storm. While he sat on a low rock, with his elbows on his knees, and his chin resting in his hands, he felt a light touch on his shoulder, and looking round, found Ailie standing by his side. Catching her in his arms, he pressed her fervently to his heart, and for the first time spoke to her in discouraging tones. "My own darling," said he, parting the hair from her forehead, and gazing at the child with an expression of the deepest sadness, "I fear we shall _never_ quit this dreary spot." Ailie looked timidly in her father's face, for his agitated manner, more than his words, alarmed her. "Won't we leave it, dear papa," said she, "to go up yonder?" and she pointed to a gathering mass of clouds overhead, which, although heavy with dark shadows, had still a few bright, sunny points of resemblance to the fairy realms in which she delighted to wander in her daydreams. The captain made no reply; but, shutting his eyes, and drawing Ailie close to his side, he uttered a long and fervent prayer to God for deliverance, if He should see fit, or for grace to endure with Christian resignation and fortitude whatever He pleased to send upon them. When he concluded, and again looked up, Dr Hopley was standing beside them, with his head bowed upon his breast. "I fear, doctor," said the captain, "that I have broken my resolution not to alarm my dear Ailie by word or look. Yet why should I conceal from her the danger of our position? Her prayers for help ought to ascend, as well as ours, to Him who alone can deliver us from evil at any time, but who makes us to _feel_, as well as _know_, the fact at such times as these." "But I am not afraid, papa," said Ailie quickly. "I'm never afraid when you are by me; and I've known we were in danger all along, for I've heard everybody talking about it often and often, and I've _always_ prayed for deliverance, and surely it must come; for has not Jesus said if we ask anything in His name He will give it to us?" "True, darling; but He means only such things as will do us good." "Of course, papa, if I asked for a bad thing, I would not expect Him to give me that." "Deliverance from death," said the doctor, "is a good thing, yet we cannot be sure that God will grant our prayer for that." "There are worse things than death, doctor," replied the captain; "it may be sometimes better for men to die than to live. It seems to me that we ought to use the words, `if it please the Lord,' more frequently than we do in prayer. Deliverance from sin needs no such `if,' but deliverance from death does." At this point the conversation was interrupted by Tim Rokens, who came up to the captain, and said respectfully-- "If ye please, sir, it 'ud be as well if ye wos to speak to the men; there's somethin' like mutiny a-goin' on, I fear." "Mutiny! why, what about?" "It's about the spirits. Some on 'em says as how they wants to enjoy theirselves here as much as they can, for they won't have much chance o' doin' so ashore any more. It's my belief that fellow Tarquin's at the bottom o't." "There's not much spirits aboard the wreck to fight about," said the captain, somewhat bitterly, as they all rose, and hurried towards the hut. "I only brought a supply for medicine; but it must not be touched, however little there is." When the captain came up, he found the space in front of their rude dwelling a scene of contention and angry dispute that bade fair to end in a fight. Tarquin was standing before the first mate, with his knife drawn, and using violent language and gesticulations towards him, while the latter stood by the raft, grasping a handspike, with which he threatened to knock the steward down if he set foot on it. The men were grouped round them, some with looks that implied a desire to side with Tarquin, while others muttered "Shame!" "Shame!" cried Tarquin, looking fiercely round on his shipmates, "who cried shame? We're pretty sure all on us to be starved to death on this reef; and it's my opinion, that since we haven't got to live long, we should try to enjoy ourselves as much as we can. There's not much spirits aboard, more's the pity; but what there is I shall have. So again I say, who cried `Shame?'" "I did," said Glynn Proctor, stepping quickly forward; "and I invite all who think with me to back me up." "Here ye are, me boy," said Phil Briant, starting forward, and baring his brawny arms, as was his invariable custom in such circumstances. "It's meself as'll stick by ye, lad, av the whole crew should go with that half-caste crokidile." Gurney and Dick Barnes immediately sided with Glynn also, but Jim Scroggles and Nikel Sling, and, to the surprise of every one, Markham, the second mate, sided with the steward. As the opposing parties glanced at each other, Glynn observed that, although his side was superior in numbers, some of the largest and most powerful men of the crew were among his opponents, and he felt that a conflict between such men must inevitably be serious. Matters had almost come to a crisis when Dr Hopley and the captain approached the scene of action. The latter saw at a glance the state of affairs, and stepping up to the steward, ordered him at once into the hut. Tarquin seemed to waver for a moment under the stern gaze of his commander; but he suddenly swore a terrible oath, and said that he would not obey. "You're no longer in command of us," he said gruffly, "now that you have lost your ship. Every man may do what he pleases." "May he?" replied the captain; "then it pleases me to do that!" and, launching out his clenched right hand with all his might, he hit the steward therewith right between the eyes. Tarquin went down as if he had been shot, and lay stunned and at full length upon the sand. "Now, my lads," cried the captain, turning towards the men, "what he said just now is so far right. Having lost my ship, I am no longer entitled to command you; but my command does not cease unless a majority of you choose that it should. Tarquin has taken upon himself to decide the question, without asking your opinion, which amounts to mutiny, and mutiny, under the circumstances in which we are placed, requires to be promptly dealt with. I feel it right to say this, because I am a man of peace, as you well know, and do not approve of a too ready appeal to the fists for the settlement of a dispute." "Ah, then, more's the pity!" interrupted Briant, "for ye use them oncommon well." A suppressed laugh followed this remark. "Silence, men, this is no time for jesting. One of our shipmates has, not long since, been taken suddenly from us; it may be that we shall all of us be called into the presence of our Maker before many days pass over us. We have much to do that will require to be done promptly and well, if we would hope to be delivered at all, and the question must be decided _now_ whether I am to command you, or every one is to do what he pleases." "I votes for Cap'en Dunning," exclaimed Gurney. "So does I," cried Jim Scroggles; who, being somewhat weather-cockish in his nature, turned always with wonderful facility to the winning side. "Three cheers for the cap'en," cried Dick Barnes, suiting the action to the word. Almost every voice joined in the vociferous cheer with which this proposal was received. "An' wan more for Miss Ailie," shouted Phil Briant. Even Jacko lent his voice to the tremendous cheer that followed, for Briant in his energy chanced to tread on that creature's unfortunate tail, which always seemed to be in his own way as well as in that of every one else, and the shriek that he uttered rang high above the laughter into which the cheer degenerated, as some one cried, "Ah, Pat, trust you, my boy, for rememberin' the ladies!" Order having been thus happily restored, and Captain Dunning having announced that the late attempt at mutiny should thenceforth be buried in total oblivion, a council was called, in order to consider seriously their present circumstances, and to devise, if possible, some means of escape. "My lads," said the captain, when they were all assembled, "I've been ponderin' over matters ever since we were cast away on this bank, an' I've at last come to the conclusion that our only chance of gettin' away is to build a small boat and fit her out for a long voyage. I need not tell you that this chance is a poor one--well-nigh a forlorn hope. Had it been better I would have spoken before now, and began the work sooner; but I have lived from day to day in the hope of a ship heaving in sight. This is a vain hope. We are far out of the usual track of all ships here. None come this way, except such as may chance to be blown out of their course, as we were; and even if one did come within sight, it's ten chances to one that we should fail to attract attention on such a low bank as this. "I've had several reliable observations of late, and I find that we are upwards of two thousand miles from the nearest known land, which is the Cape of Good Hope. I propose, therefore, that we should strip off as much of the planking of the wreck as will suit our purpose, get the carpenter's chest landed, and commence work at once. Now, what say you? If anyone has a better plan to suggest, I'll be only to glad to adopt it, for such a voyage in so slim a craft as we can build here will be one necessarily replete with danger." "I'll tell ye wot it is, cap'en," said Tim Rokens, rising up, taking off his cap, and clearing his throat, as if he were about to make a studied oration. "We've not none on us got no suggestions to make wotsomdiver. You've only got to give the word and we'll go to work; an' the sooner you does so the better, for it's my b'lief we'll have a gale afore long that'll pretty well stop work altogether as long as it lasts." The indications in the sky gave such ample testimony to the justness of Rokens' observations that no more time was wasted in discussion. Dick Barnes, who acted the part of ship's carpenter when not otherwise engaged, went out to the wreck on the raft, with a party of men under command of Mr Millons, to fetch planking and the necessary material for the construction of a boat, while the remainder of the crew, under the captain's superintendence, prepared a place near Fairyland for laying the keel. This spot was selected partly on account of the convenient formation of the shore for the launching of the boat when finished, and partly because that would be the lee side of the rocky point when the coming storm should burst. For the latter reason the hut was removed to Fairyland, and poor Ailie had the mortification in a few hours of seeing her little paradise converted into an unsightly wreck of confusion. Alas! how often this is the case in human affairs of greater moment; showing the folly of setting our hearts on the things of earth. It seems at first sight a hard passage, that, in the Word of God. "What?" the enthusiastic but thoughtless are ready to exclaim, "not love the world! the bright, beautiful world that was made by God to be enjoyed? Not love our fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, wives? not give our warmest affections to all these?" Truly, ye hasty ones, if you would but earnestly consider it, you would find that God not only permits, but requires us to love all that is good and beautiful here, as much as we will, as much as we can; but we ought to love Himself _more_. If this be our happy condition, then our hearts are not "set on the world"; on the contrary, they are set free to love the world and all that is lovable in it--of which there is very, very much--more, probably than the best of men suppose. Else, wherefore does the Father love it and care for it so tenderly? But Ailie had not set her heart on her possessions on the sandbank. She felt deep regret for a time, it is true, and in feeling thus she indulged a right and natural impulse, but that impulse did not lead to the sin of murmuring. Her sorrow soon passed away, and she found herself as cheerful and happy afterwards in preparing for her long, long voyage as ever she had been in watching the gambols of her fish, or in admiring the lovely hues of the weeds and coral rocks in the limpid pools of Fairyland. It was a fortunate circumstance that Captain Dunning set about the preparations for building the boat that afternoon, for the storm burst upon them sooner than had been expected, and long before all the requisite stores and materials had been rafted from the wreck. The most important things, however, had been procured--such as the carpenter's chest, a large quantity of planking, oakum, and cordage, and several pieces of sail cloth, with the requisite thread and needles for making boat sails. Still, much was wanting when the increasing violence of the wind compelled them to leave off work. Some of the men were now ordered to set about securing such materials as had been collected, while others busied themselves in fixing ropes to the hut and rolling huge masses of coral rock against its fragile walls to steady it. "Av ye plaze, sir," said Briant to the Captain, wiping his forehead as he approached with a lump of tarry canvas which he used in default of a better pocket-handkerchief, "av ye plaze, sir, wot'll I do now?" "Do something useful, lad, whatever you do," said the captain, looking up from the hole which he was busily engaged in digging for the reception of a post to steady the hut. "There's lots of work; you can please yourself as to choice." "Then I comed fur to suggist that the purvisions and things a-top o' the sandbank isn't quite so safe as they might be." "True, Briant; I was just thinking of that as you came up. Go and see you make a tight job of it. Get Rokens to help you." Briant hurried off, and calling his friend, walked with him to the top of the sandbank, leaning heavily against the gale, and staggering as they went. The blast now whistled so that they could scarcely hear each other talk. "We'll be blowed right into the sea," shouted Tim, as the two reached a pile of casks and cases. "Sure, that's me own belaif entirely," roared his companion. "What d'ye say to dig a hole and stick the things in it?" yelled Rokens. "We're not fit," screamed Phil. "Let's try," shrieked the other. To this Briant replied by falling on his knees on the lee side of the goods, and digging with his hands in the sand most furiously. Tim Rokens followed his example, and the two worked like a couple of sea-moles (if such creatures exist) until a hole capable of holding several casks was formed. Into this they stowed all the biscuit casks and a few other articles, and covered them up with sand. The remainder they covered with tarpaulin, and threw sand and stones above it until the heap was almost buried out of sight. This accomplished, they staggered back to the hut as fast as they could. Here they found everything snugly secured, and as the rocks effectually sheltered the spot from the gale, with the exception of an occasional eddying blast that drove the sand in their faces, they felt comparatively comfortable. Lighting their pipes, they sat down among their comrades to await the termination of the storm. CHAPTER NINETEEN. THE STORM. A storm in almost all circumstances is a grand and solemnising sight, one that forces man to feel his own weakness and his Maker's might and majesty. But a storm at sea in southern latitudes, where the winds are let loose with a degree of violence that is seldom or never experienced in the temperate zones, is so terrific that no words can be found to convey an adequate idea of its appalling ferocity. The storm that at this time burst upon the little sandbank on which the shipwrecked crew had found shelter, was one of the most furious, perhaps, that ever swept the seas. The wind shrieked as if it were endued with life, tore up the surface of the groaning deep into masses and shreds of foam, which it whirled aloft in mad fury, and then dissipated into a thin blinding mist that filled the whole atmosphere, so that one could scarcely see a couple of yards beyond the spot on which he stood. The hurricane seemed to have reached its highest point soon after sunset that night, and a ray of light from the moon struggled ever and anon through the black hurtling clouds, as if to reveal to the cowering seamen the extreme peril of their situation. The great ocean was lashed into a wide sheet of foam, and the presence of the little isle in the midst of that swirling waste of water was indicated merely by a slight circle of foam that seemed whiter than the rest of the sea. The men sat silently in their frail hut, listening to the howling blast without. A feeling of awe crept over the whole party, and the most careless and the lightest of heart among the crew of the _Red Eric_ ceased to utter his passing jest, and became deeply solemnised as the roar of the breakers filled his ear, and reminded him that a thin ledge of rock alone preserved him from instant destruction. "The wind has shifted a point," said the captain, who had just risen and opened a chink of the rude door of the hut in order to look out. "I see that the keel of the boat is all fast and the planking beside it. The coral rock shelters it just now; but if the wind goes on shifting I fear it will stand a poor chance." "We'd better go out and give it a hextra fastening," suggested Mr Millons. "Not yet. There's no use of exposing any of the men to the risk of being blown away. The wind may keep steady, in which case I've no fear for it." "I dun know," said Rokens, who sat beside Ailie, close to the embers of their fire, with a glowing cinder from which he re-lighted his pipe for at least the twentieth time that night. "You never can tell wot's a-goin' to turn up. I'll go out, cap'en, if ye like, and see that all's fast." "Perhaps you're right, Tim; you may make a bolt across to it, and heave another rock or two on the planking if it seems to require it." The seaman rose, and putting aside his pipe, threw off his coat, partly in order that he might present as small a surface to the wind as possible, and partly that he might have a dry garment to put on when he returned. As he opened the little door of the hut a rude gust of wind burst in, filling the apartment with spray, and scattering the embers of the fire. "I feared as much," said the captain, as he and the men started up to gather together the pieces of glowing charcoal; "that shows the wind's shifted another point; if it goes round two points more it'll smash our boat to pieces. Look sharp, Tim." "Lean well against the wind, me boy," cried Briant, in a warning voice. Thus admonished, Rokens issued forth, and dashed across the open space that separated the hut from the low ledge of coral rock behind which the keel of the intended boat and its planking were sheltered. A very few minutes sufficed to show Tim that all was fast, and to enable him to place a few additional pieces of rock above the heap in order to keep it down. Then he prepared to dart back again to the hut, from the doorway of which his proceedings, were watched by the captain and as many of the men as could crowd round it. Just as the harpooner sprang from the shelter of the rock the blast burst upon the bank with redoubled fury, as if it actually were a sentient being, and wished to catch the sailor in its rude grasp and whirl him away. Rokens bent his stout frame against it with all his might, and stood his ground for a few seconds like a noble tree on some exposed mountain side that has weathered the gales of centuries. Then he staggered, threw his arms wildly in the air, and a moment after was swept from the spot and lost to view in the driving spray that flew over the island. The thing was so instantaneous that the horrified onlookers could scarcely credit the evidence of their eyes, and they stood aghast for a moment or two ere their feelings found vent in a cry of alarm. Next instant Captain Dunning felt himself rudely pushed aside, and Briant leaped through the doorway, shouting, as he dashed out-- "If Tim Rokens goes, it's Phil Briant as'll go along with him." The enthusiastic Irishman was immediately lost to view, and Glynn Proctor was about to follow, when the captain seized him by the collar, dragged him back, and shut the door violently. "Keep back, lads," he cried, "no one must leave the hut. If these two men cannot save themselves by means of their own strong muscles, no human power can save them." Glynn, and indeed all of the men, felt this remark to be true, so they sat down round the fire, and looked in each other's faces with the expression of men who half believed they must be dreaming. Little was said during the next ten or fifteen minutes; indeed, it was difficult to make their voices heard, owing to the noise of the wind and dashing waves. The captain stood at the door, looking out from time to time with feelings of the deepest anxiety, each moment expecting to see the two sailors struggling back towards the hut; but they did not return. Soon the gale increased to such a degree that every one felt, although no one would acknowledge it even to himself, that there was now no hope of their comrades ever returning. The wind shifted another point; and now their lost shipmates were for a time forgotten in the anxieties of their own critical position, for their rocky ledge formed only a partial shelter, and every now and then the hut was shaken with a blast so terrible that it threatened to come down about their ears. "Don't you think our house will fall, dear papa?" inquired Ailie, as a gust more furious than any that had hitherto passed swept round the rocks, and shook the hut as if it had been made of pasteboard. "God knows, my darling; we are in His hands." Ailie tried to comfort herself with the thought that her Heavenly Father was indeed the ruler of the storm, and could prevent it from doing them harm if He pleased; but as gust after gust dashed against the frail building, and almost shook it down, while the loud rattling of the boards which composed it almost stunned her, an irresistible feeling of alarm crept over her, despite her utmost efforts to control herself. The captain now ordered the men to go out and see that the fastenings to windward and the supports to leeward of the hut remained firm, and to add more of them if possible. He set the example by throwing off his coat and leading the way. This duty was by no means so difficult or dangerous as that which had been previously performed by Rokens, for it must be remembered the hut as yet was only exposed to partial gusts of eddying wind, not to the full violence of the storm. It involved a thorough wetting, however, to all who went. In ten minutes the men re-entered, and put on their dry coats, but as no one knew how soon he might again be called upon to expose himself, none thought of changing his other garments. "Now, Ailie, my pet," said Captain Dunning, sitting down beside his child on the sandy floor of the hut, "we've done all we can. If the wind remains as it is our house will stand." "But have you not seen Rokens or Briant?" inquired Ailie with an anxious face, while the tears rolled over her cheeks. The captain shook his head, but made no reply, and the men looked earnestly at each other, as if each sought to gather a ray of hope from the countenance of his friend. While they sat thus, a terrible blast shook the hut to its foundation. Again and again it came with ever-increasing violence, and then it burst on them with a continuous roar like prolonged thunder. "Look out," cried the captain, instinctively clasping Ailie in his arms, while the men sprang to their feet. The stout corner-posts bent over before the immense pressure, and the second mate placed his shoulder against one of those on the windward side of the hut, while Dick Barnes and Nikel Sling did the same to the other. "It's all up with us," cried Tarquin, as part of the roof blew off, and a deluge of water and spray burst in upon them, extinguishing the fire and leaving them in total darkness. At that moment Ailie felt herself seized round the waist by a pair of tiny arms, and putting down her hand, she felt that Jacko was clinging to her with a tight but trembling grasp. Even in that hour of danger, the child experienced a sensation of pleasure at the mere thought that there was one living creature there which looked up to and clung to her for protection; and although she knew full well that if the stout arm of her father which encircled her were removed, her own strength, in their present circumstances, could not have availed to protect herself, yet she felt a gush of renewed strength and courage at her heart when the poor little monkey put its trembling arms around her. "Lay your shoulders to the weather-wall, lads," cried the captain, as another rush of wind bore down in the devoted hut. The men obeyed, but their united strength availed nothing against the mighty power that raged without. The wind, as the captain had feared, went round another point, and they were now exposed to the unbroken force of the hurricane. For a few minutes the stout corner-posts of the hut held up, then they began to rend and crack. "Bear down with the blast to the lee of the rocks, lads," cried the captain; "it's your only chance; don't try to face it." Almost before the words left his lips the posts snapped with a loud crash; the hut was actually lifted off the ground by the wind, and swept completely away, while most of the men were thrown violently to the ground by the wreck as it passed over their heads. The captain fell like the rest, but he retained his grasp of Ailie, and succeeded in rising, and as the gale carried him away with irresistible fury he bore firmly down to his right, and gained the eddy caused by the rocks which until now had sheltered the hut. He was safe; but he did not feel secure until he had staggered towards the most sheltered part, and placed his child in a cleft of the rock. Here he found Gurney and Tarquin before him, and soon after Glynn came staggering in, along with one or two others. In less than three minutes after the hut had been blown away, all the men were collected in the cleft, where they crouched down to avoid the pelting, pitiless spray that dashed over their heads. It is difficult to conceive a more desperate position than that in which they were now placed, yet there and at that moment a thrill of joy passed through the hearts of most, if not all of them, for they heard a shout which was recognised to be the voice of Tim Rokens. It came from the rocks a few yards to their right, and almost ere it had died away, Rokens himself staggered into the sheltering cleft of rock, accompanied by Phil Briant. Some of the men who had faced the dangers to which they had been exposed with firm nerves and unblanched cheeks, now grew pale, and trembled violently, for they actually believed that the spirits of their lost shipmates had come to haunt them. But these superstitious fears were soon put to flight by the hearty voice of the harpooner, who shook himself like a great Newfoundland dog as he came up, and exclaimed-- "Why, wot on airth has brought ye all here?" "I think we may say, what has brought _you_ here?" replied the captain, as he grasped them each by the hand and shook them with as much energy as if he had not met them for ten years past. "It's aisy to tell that," said Briant, as he crouched down in the midst of the group; "Tim and me wos blow'd right across the bank, an' we should no doubt ha' bin blow'd right into the sea, but Tim went full split agin one o' the casks o' salt junk, and I went slap agin _him_, and we lay for a moment all but dead. Then we crep' in the lee o' the cask, an' lay there till a lull came, when we clapped on all sail, an' made for the shelter o' the rocks, an' shure we got there niver a taste too soon, for it came on to blow the next minit, fit to blow the eyelids off yer face, it did." "It's a fact," added Rokens. "Moreover, we tried to git round to the hut, but as we wos twice nearly blowed away w'en we tried for to double the point, we 'greed to stay where we wos till the back o' the gale should be broke. But, now, let's hear wot's happened." "The hut's gone," said Gurney, in reply. "Blowed clean over our heads to--I dun know where." "Blowed away?" cried Rokens and Briant, in consternation. "Not a stick left," replied the captain. "An' the boat?" inquired Briant. "It's gone too, I fancy; but we can't be sure." "Then it's all up, boys," observed Briant; "for nearly every morsel o' the prog that wos on the top o' the bank is washed away." This piece of news fell like a thunderbolt on the men, and no one spoke for some minutes. At last the captain said-- "Well, lads, we must do the best we can. Thank God, we are still alive; so let us see whether we can't make our present quarters more comfortable." Setting his men the example, Captain Dunning began to collect the few boards, and bits of canvas that chanced to have been left on that side of the rocky ledge when the hut was removed to the other side, and with these materials a very partial and insufficient shelter was put up. But the space thus inclosed was so small that they were all obliged to huddle together in a mass. Those farthest from the rock were not altogether protected from the spray that flew over their heads, while those nearest to it were crushed and incommoded by their companions. Thus they passed that eventful night and all the following day, during which the storm raged with such fury that no one dared venture out to ascertain how much, if any, of their provisions and stores were left to them. During the second night, a perceptible decrease in the violence of the gale took place, and before morning it ceased altogether. The sun rose in unclouded splendour, sending its bright and warm beams up into the clear blue sky and down upon the ocean, which glittered vividly as it still swelled and trembled with agitation. All was serene and calm in the sky, while below the only sound that broke upon the ear was the deep and regular dash of the great breakers that fell upon the shores of the islet, and encircled it with a fringe of purest white. On issuing from their confined uneasy nest in the cleft of the rock, part of the shipwrecked crew hastened anxiously to the top of the bank to see how much of their valuable store of food was left, while others ran to the spot in Fairyland where the keel of the new boat had been laid. The latter party found to their joy that all was safe, everything having been well secured; but a terrible sight met the eyes of the other men. Not a vestige of all their store remained! The summit of the sandbank was as smooth as on the day they landed there. Casks, boxes, barrels--all were gone; everything had been swept away into the sea! Almost instinctively the men turned their eyes towards the reef on which the _Red Eric_ had grounded, each man feeling that in the wrecked vessel all his hope now remained. It, too, was gone! The spot on which it had lain was now washed by the waves, and a few broken planks and spars on the beach were all that remained to remind them of their ocean home! The men looked at each other with deep despondency expressed in their countenances. They were haggard and worn from exposure, anxiety, and want of rest; and as they stood there in their wet, torn garments, they looked the very picture of despair. "There's one chance for us yet, lads," exclaimed Tim Rokens, looking carefully round the spot on which they stood. "What's that?" exclaimed several of the men eagerly, catching at their comrade's words as drowning men are said to catch at straws. "Briant an' me buried some o' the things, by good luck, when we were sent to make all snug here, an' I'm of opinion they'll be here yet, if we could only find the place. Let me see." Rokens glanced round at the rocks beside which their hut had found shelter, and at the reef where the ship had been wrecked, in order to find the "bearin's o' the spot," as he expressed it. Then walking a few yards to one side, he struck his foot on the sand and said, "It should be hereabouts." The blow of his heel returned a peculiar hollow sound, very unlike that produced by stamping on the mere sand. "Shure ye've hit the very spot, ye have," cried Briant, falling on his knees beside the place; and scraping up the sand with both hands. "It sounds uncommon like a bread-cask. Here it is. Hurrah! boys, lind a hand, will ye. There now, heave away; but trate it tinderly! Shure it's the only friend we've got in the wide world." "You're all wrong, Phil," cried Gurney, who almost at the same moment began to scrape another hole close by. "It's not our only one; here's another friend o' the same family. Bear a hand, lads!" "And here's another!" cried Ailie, with a little scream of delight, as she observed the rim of a small keg just peeping out above the sand. "Well done, Ailie," cried Glynn, as he ran to the spot and quickly dug up the keg in question, which, however, proved to be full of nails, to Ailie's great disappointment, for she expected it to have turned out a keg of biscuits. "How many casks did you bury?" inquired the captain. "It's meself can't tell," replied Briant; "d'ye know, Tim?" "Three, I think; but we was in sich a hurry that I ain't sartin exactly." "Well, then, boys, look here!" continued the captain, drawing a pretty large circle on the sand, "set to work like a band of moles an' dig up every inch o' that till you come to the water." "That's your sort," cried Rokens, plunging elbow-deep into the sand at once. "Arrah! then, here's at ye; a fair field an' no favour at any price," shouted Briant, baring his arms, straddling his legs, and sending a shower of sand behind him that almost overwhelmed Gurney, before that stout little individual could get out of the way. The spirits of the men were farther rejoiced by the coming up of the other party, bearing the good news that the keel of the boat was safe, as well as all her planking and the carpenter's tools, which fortunately happened to have been secured in a sheltered spot. From the depths of despair they were all suddenly raised to renewed and sanguine hope, so that they wrought with the energy of gold-diggers, and soon their toil was rewarded by the discovery of that which, in their circumstances, they would not have exchanged for all the golden nuggets that ever were or will be dug up from the prolific mines of Australia, California, or British Columbia, namely, three casks of biscuit, a small keg of wine, a cask of fresh water, a roll of tobacco, and a barrel of salt junk. CHAPTER TWENTY. PREPARATIONS FOR A LONG VOYAGE--BRIANT PROVES THAT GHOSTS CAN DRINK-- JACKO ASTONISHES HIS FRIENDS, AND SADDENS HIS ADOPTED MOTHER. "Wot _I_ say is one thing; wot _you_ say is another--so it is. I dun know w'ich is right, or w'ich is wrong--no more do you. P'raps you is, p'raps I is; anywise we can't both on us be right or both on us be wrong--that's a comfort, if it's nothin' else. Wot _you_ say is--that it's morally imposs'ble for a crew sich as us to travel over two thousand miles of ocean on three casks o' biscuit and a barrel o' salt junk. Wot _I_ say is--that we can, an', moreover, that morals has nothin' to do with it wotsomediver. Now, wot then?" Tim Rokens paused and looked at Gurney, to whom his remarks were addressed, as if he expected an answer. That rotund little seaman did not, however, appear to be thoroughly prepared to reply to "wot then," for he remained silent, but looked at his comrade as though to say, "I'll be happy to learn wisdom from your sagacious lips." "Wot then?" repeated Tim Rokens, assaulting his knee with his clenched fist in a peculiarly emphatic manner; "I'll tell ye wot then, as you may be right and I may be right, an' nother on us can be both right or wrong, I say as how that we don't know nothin' about it." Gurney looked as if he did not quite approve of so summary a method of solving such a knotty question, but observing from the expression of Rokens' countenance that, though he had paused, that philosopher had not yet concluded, he remained silent. "An', furthermore," continued Tim, "it's my opinion--seein' that we're both on us in such a state o' cumblebofubulation, an' don't know nothin'--we'd better go an' ax the cap'en, who does." "_You_ may save yourselves the trouble," observed Glynn Proctor, who at that moment came up and sat down on the rocks beside them, with a piece of the salt junk that formed an element in the question at issue, in his hand-- "I've just heard the captain give his opinion on that subject, and he says that the boat can be got ready in a week or less, and that, with strict economy, the provisions we have will last us long enough to enable us to make the Cape, supposing we have good weather and fair winds. That's _his_ opinion." "I told ye so," said Tim Rokens. "You did nothin' o' the sort," retorted Gurney. "Well, if ye come fur to be oncommon strick in the use o' your lingo, I did _not_ 'xactly tell ye so, but I _thought_ so, w'ich is all the same." "It ain't all the same," replied Gurney, whose temper seemed to have been a little soured by the prospects before him, "and you don't need to go for to be talkin' there like a great Solon as you are." "Wot's a Solon?" inquired Tim. "Solon was a man as thought his-self a great feelosopher, but he worn't, he wor an ass." "If I'm like Solon," retorted Rokens, "you're like a Solon-goose, w'ich is an animal as _don't_ think itself an ass, 'cause its too great a one to know it." Having thus floored his adversary, the philosophic mariner turned to Glynn and said-- "In course we can't expect to be on full allowance." "Of course not, old boy; the captain remarked, just as I left him, that we'd have to be content with short allowance--very short allowance indeed." Gurney sighed deeply. "How much?" inquired Tim. "About three ounces of biscuit, one ounce of salt junk, and a quarter of a pint of water per day." Gurney groaned aloud. "You, of all men," said Glynn, "have least reason to complain, Gurney, for you've got fat enough on your own proper person to last you a week at least!" "Ay, a fortnight, or more," added Rokens; "an' even then ye'd scarcely be redooced to a decent size." "Ah, but," pleaded Gurney, "you scarecrow creatures don't know how horrid sore the process o' comin' down is. An' one gets so cold, too. It's just like taking off yer clo's." "Sarves ye right for puttin' on so many," said Rokens, as he rose to resume work, which he and Gurney had left off three-quarters of an hour before, in order to enjoy a quiet, philosophical _tete-a-tete_ during dinner. "It's a bad business, that of the planking not being sufficient to deck or even half-deck the boat," observed Glynn, as they went together towards the place where the new boat was being built. "It is," replied Rokens; "but it's a good thing that we've got plenty of canvas to spare. It won't make an overly strong deck, to be sure; but it's better than nothin'." "A heavy sea would burst it in no time," remarked Gurney. "We must hope to escape heavy seas, then," said Glynn, as they parted, and went to their several occupations. The boat that was now building with the most urgent despatch, had a keel of exactly twenty-three feet long, and her breadth, at the widest part, was seven feet. She was being as well and firmly put together as the materials at their command would admit of, and, as far as the work had yet proceeded, she bid fair to become an excellent boat, capable of containing the whole crew, and their small quantity of provisions. This last was diminishing so rapidly, that Captain Dunning resolved to put all hands at once on short allowance. Notwithstanding this, the men worked hard and hopefully; for, as each plank and nail was added to their little bark, they felt as if they were a step nearer home. The captain and the doctor, however, and one or two of the older men, could not banish from their minds the fact that the voyage they were about to undertake was of the most perilous nature, and one which, in any other than the hopeless circumstances in which they were placed at that time, would have been regarded as the most desperate of forlorn hopes. For fourteen souls to be tossed about on the wide and stormy sea, during many weeks, it might be months, in a small open boat, crowded together and cramped, without sufficient covering, and on short allowance of food, was indeed a dreary prospect, even for the men--how much more so for the delicate child who shared their trials and sufferings? Captain Dunning's heart sank within him when he thought of it; but he knew how great an influence the conduct and bearing of a commander has, in such circumstances, on his men; so he strove to show a smiling, cheerful countenance, though oftentimes he carried a sad and anxious heart in his bosom. To the doctor and Tim Rokens alone did he reveal his inmost thoughts, because he knew that he could trust them, and felt that he needed their advice and sympathy. The work progressed so rapidly, that in a few days more the boat approached completion, and preparations were being made in earnest for finally quitting the little isle on which they had found a home for so many days. It was observed by the captain that as the work of boat-building drew to a close, Glynn Proctor continued to labour long after the others had retired to rest, wearied with the toils of the day--toils which they were not now so well able to bear as heretofore, on account of the slight want of vigour caused by being compelled to live on half allowance. One evening the captain went down to the building yard in Fairyland, and said to Glynn-- "Hallo, my boy! at it yet? Why, what are you making? A dog-kennel, eh?" "No; not exactly that," replied Glynn, laughing. "You'll hardly guess." "I would say it was a house for Jacko, only it seems much too big." "It's just possible that Jacko may have a share in it," said Glynn; "but it's not for him." "Who, then? Not for yourself, surely!" "It's for Ailie," cried Glynn gleefully. "Don't you think it will be required?" he added, looking up, as if he half feared the captain would not permit his contrivance to be used. "Well, I believe it will, my boy. I had intended to get some sort of covering for my dear Ailie put up in the stern-sheets; but I did not think of absolutely making a box for her." "Ah, you'll find it will be a capital thing at nights. I know she could never stand the exposure, and canvas don't keep out the rain well; so I thought of rigging up a large box, into which she can creep. I'll make air-holes in the roof that will let in air, but not water; and I'll caulk the seams with oakum, so as to keep it quite dry inside." "Thank you, my boy, it's very kind of you to take so much thought for my poor child. Yet she deserves it, Glynn, and we can't be too careful of her." The captain patted the youth on the shoulder, and, leaving him to continue his work, went to see Gurney, who had been ailing a little during the last few days. Brandy, in small quantities, had been prescribed by the doctor, and, fortunately, two bottles of that spirit had been swept from the wreck. Being their whole stock, Captain Dunning had stowed it carefully away in what he deemed a secret and secure place; but it turned out that some member of the crew was not so strict in his principles of temperance as could be desired; for, on going to the spot to procure the required medicine, it was found that one of the bottles was gone. This discovery caused the captain much anxiety and sorrow, for, besides inflicting on them the loss of a most valuable medicine, it proved that there was a thief in their little society. What was to be done? To pass it over in silence would have shown weakness, which, especially in the circumstances in which they were at that time placed, might have led at last to open mutiny. To discover the thief was impossible. The captain's mind was soon made up. He summoned every one of the party before him, and, after stating the discovery he had made, he said-- "Now, lads, I'm not going to charge any of you with having done this thing, but I cannot let it pass without warning you that if I discover any of you being guilty of such practices in future, I'll have the man tied up and give him three dozen with a rope's-end. You know I have never resorted, as many captains are in the habit of doing, to corporal punishment. I don't like it. I've sailed in command of ships for many years, and have never found it needful; but now, more than ever, strict discipline must be maintained; and I tell you, once for all, that I mean to maintain it _at any cost_." This speech was received in silence. All perceived the justice of it, yet some felt that, until the thief should be discovered, they themselves would lie under suspicion. A few there were, indeed, whose well-known and long-established characters raised them above suspicion, but there were others who knew that their character had not yet been established on so firm a basis, and they felt that until the matter should be cleared up, their honesty would be, mentally at least, called in question by their companions. With the exception of the disposition to mutiny related in a previous chapter, this was the first cloud that had risen to interrupt the harmony of the shipwrecked sailors, and as they returned to their work, sundry suggestions and remarks were made in reference to the possibility of discovering the delinquent. "I didn't think it wos poss'ble," said Rokens. "I thought as how there wasn't a man in the ship as could ha' done sich a low, mean thing as that." "No more did I," said Dick Barnes. "Wall, boys," observed Nikel Sling emphatically, "I guess as how that I don't believe it yet." "Arrah! D'ye think the bottle o' brandy stole his-self?" inquired Briant. "I ain't a-goin' fur to say that; but a ghost might ha' done it, p'raps, a-purpose to get us into a scrape." There was a slight laugh at this, and from that moment the other men suspected that Sling was the culprit. The mere fact of his being the first to charge the crime upon any one else--even a ghost--caused them, in spite of themselves, to come to this conclusion. They did not, however, by word or look, show what was passing in their minds, for the Yankee was a favourite with his comrades, and each felt unwilling that his suspicion should prove to be correct. "I don't agree with you," said Tarquin, who feared that suspicion might attach to himself, seeing that he had been the ringleader in the recent mutiny; "I don't believe that ghosts drink." "Och! that's all ye know!" cried Phil Briant. "Av ye'd only lived a month or two in Owld Ireland, ye'd have seen raison to change yer mind, ye would. Sure I've seed a ghost the worse o' liquor meself." "Oh! Phil, wot a stunner!" cried Gurney. "It's as true as me name's Phil Briant--more's the pity. Did I niver tell ye o' the Widdy Morgan, as had a ghost come to see her frequently?" "No, never--let's hear it." "Stop that noise with yer hammer, then, Tim Rokens, jist for five minutes, and I'll tell it ye." The men ceased work for a few minutes while their comrade spoke as follows-- "It's not a long story, boys, but it's long enough to prove that ghosts drink. "Ye must know that wance upon a time there wos a widdy as lived in a small town in the county o' Clare, in Owld Ireland, an' oh! but that was the place for drinkin' and fightin'. It wos there that I learned to use me sippers; and it wos there, too, that I learned to give up drinkin', for I comed for to see what a mighty dale o' harm it did to my poor countrymen. The sexton o' the place was the only man as niver wint near the grog-shop, and no wan iver seed him overtook with drink, but it was a quare thing that no wan could rightly understand why he used to _smell_ o' drink very bad sometimes. There wos a young widdy in that town, o' the name o' Morgan, as kep' a cow, an' owned a small cabin, an' a patch o' tater-ground about the size o' the starn sheets of our owld long-boat. She wos a great deal run after, wos this widdy--not that the young lads had an eye to the cow, or the cabin, or the tater-estate, by no manes--but she wos greatly admired, she wos. I admired her meself, and wint to see her pretty fraquent. Well, wan evenin' I wint to see her, an' says I, `Mrs Morgan, did ye iver hear the bit song called the Widdy Machree?' `Sure I niver did,' says she. `Would ye like to hear it, darlint?' says I. So she says she would, an' I gave it to her right off; an' when I'd done, says I, `Now, Widdy Morgan, ochone! will ye take _me_?' But she shook her head, and looked melancholy. `Ye ain't a-goin' to take spasms?' said I, for I got frightened at her looks. `No,' says she; `but there's a sacret about me; an' I like ye too well, Phil, to decaive ye; if ye only know'd the sacret, ye wouldn't have me at any price.' "`Wouldn't I?' says I; `try me, cushla, and see av I won't.' "`Phil Briant,' says she, awful solemn like, `I'm haunted.' "`Haunted!' says I; `'av coorse ye are, bliss yer purty face; don't I know that ivery boy in the parish is after ye?' "`It's not that I mane. It's a ghost as haunts me. It haunts me cabin, and me cow, and me tater-estate; an' it drinks.' "`Now, darlint,' says I, `everybody knows yer aisy frightened about ghosts. I don't belave in one meself, an' I don't mind 'em a farden dip; but av all the ghosts in Ireland haunted ye, I'd niver give ye up.' "`Will ye come an' see it this night?' says she. "`Av coorse I will,' says I. An' that same night I wint to her cabin, and she let me in, and put a candle on the table, an' hid me behind a great clock, in a corner jist close by the cupboard, where the brandy-bottle lived. Then she lay down on her bed with her clo's on, and pulled the coverlid over her, and pretinded to go to slape. In less nor half-an-hour I hears a fut on the doorstep; then a tap at the door, which opened, it seemed to me, of its own accord, and in walks the ghost, sure enough! It was covered all over from head to fut in a white sheet, and I seed by the way it walked that it wos the worse of drink. I wos in a mortal fright, ye may be sure, an' me knees shuk to that extint ye might have heard them rattle. The ghost walks straight up to the cupboard, takes out the brandy-bottle, and fills out a whole tumbler quite full, and drinks it off; it did, the baste, ivery dhrop. I seed it with me two eyes, as sure as I'm a-standin' here. It came into the house drunk, an' it wint out drunker nor it came in." "Is that all?" exclaimed several of Briant's auditors. "All! av coorse it is. Wot more would ye have? Didn't I say that I'd tell ye a story as would prove to ye that ghosts drink, more especially Irish ghosts? To be sure it turned out afterwards that the ghost was the sexton o' the parish as took advantage o' the poor widdy's fears; but I can tell ye, boys, that ghost niver came back after the widdy became Mrs Briant." "Oh! then ye married the widder, did ye?" said Jim Scroggles. "I did; an' she's alive and hearty this day av she's not--" Briant was interrupted by a sudden roar of laughter from the men, who at that moment caught sight of Jacko, the small monkey, in a condition of mind and body that, to say the least of it, did him no credit. We are sorry to be compelled to state that Jacko was evidently and undoubtedly tipsy. Gurney said he was "as drunk as a fiddler." We cannot take upon ourself to say whether he was or was not as drunk as that. We are rather inclined to think that fiddlers, as a class, are maligned, and that they are no worse than their neighbours in this respect, perhaps not so bad. Certainly, if any fiddler really deserves the imputation, it must be a violoncello player, because he is, properly speaking, a base-fiddler. Be this, however, as it may, Jacko was unmistakably drunk--in a maudlin state of intoxication--drunker, probably, than ever a monkey was before or since. He appeared, as he came slowly staggering forward to the place where the men were at work on the boat, to have just wakened out of his first drunken sleep, for his eyes were blinking like the orbs of an owl in the sunshine, and in his walk he placed his right foot where his left should have gone, and his left foot where his right should have gone, occasionally making a little run forward to save himself from tumbling on his nose, and then pulling suddenly up, and throwing up his arms in order to avoid falling on his back. Sometimes he halted altogether,--and swayed to and fro, gazing, meanwhile, pensively at the ground, as if he were wondering why it had taken to rolling and earthquaking in that preposterous manner; or were thinking on the bald-headed mother he had left behind him in the African wilderness. When the loud laugh of the men saluted his ears, Jacko looked up as quickly and steadily as he could, and grinned a ghastly smile--or something like it--as if to say, "What are you laughing at, villains?" It is commonly observed that, among men, the ruling passion comes out strongly when they are under the influence of strong drink. So it is with monkeys. Jacko's ruling passion was thieving; but having, at that time, no particular inducement to steal, he indulged his next ruling passion--that of affection--by holding out both arms, and staggering towards Phil Briant to be taken up. A renewed burst of laughter greeted this movement. "It knows ye, Phil," cried Jim Scroggles. "Ah! then, so it should, for it's meself as is good to it. Come to its uncle, then. O good luck to yer purty little yaller face. So it wos you stole the brandy, wos it? Musha! but ye might have know'd ye belonged to a timp'rance ship, so ye might." Jacko spread his arms on Briant's broad chest--they were too short to go round his neck--laid his head thereon, and sighed. Perhaps he felt penitent on account of his wickedness; but it is more probable that he felt uneasy in body rather than in mind. "I say, Briant," cried Gurney. "That's me," answered the other. "If you are Jacko's self-appointed uncle, and Miss Ailie is his adopted mother, wot relation is Miss Ailie to you?" "You never does nothin' right, Gurney," interposed Nikel Sling; "you can't even preepound a pruposition. Here's how you oughter to ha' put it. If Phil Briant be Jacko's uncle, and Miss Ailie his adopted mother--all three bein' related in a sorter way by bein' shipmates, an' all on us together bein' closely connected in vartue of our bein' messmates--wot relation is Gurney to a donkey?" "That's a puzzler," said Gurney, affecting to consider the question deeply. "Here's a puzzler wot'll beat it, though," observed Tim Rokens; "suppose we all go on talkin' stuff till doomsday, w'en'll the boat be finished?" "That's true," cried Dick Barnes, resuming work with redoubled energy; "take that young thief to his mother, Phil, and tell her to rope's-end him. I'm right glad to find, though, that he _is_ the thief arter all, and not one o' us." On examination being made, it was found that the broken and empty brandy-bottle lay on the floor of the monkey's nest, and it was conjectured, from the position in which it was discovered, that that dissipated little creature, having broken off the neck in order to get at the brandy, had used the body of the bottle as a pillow whereon to lay its drunken little head. Luckily for its own sake, it had spilt the greater part of the liquid, with which everything in its private residence was saturated and perfumed. On having ocular demonstration of the depravity of her pet, Ailie at first wept, then, on beholding its eccentric movements, she laughed in spite of herself. After that, she wept again, and spoke to it reproachfully, but failed to make the slightest impression on its hardened little heart. Then she put it to bed, and wrapped it up carefully in its sailcloth blanket. With this piece of unmerited kindness Jacko seemed touched, for he said, "Oo-oo--oo-oo--ooee-ee!" once or twice in a peculiarly soft and penitential tone, after which he dropped into a calm, untroubled slumber. CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. THE BOAT FINISHED--FAREWELL TO FAIRYLAND--ONCE MORE AT SEA. At last the boat was finished. It had two masts and two lug-sails, and pulled eight oars. There was just sufficient room in it to enable the men to move about freely, but it required a little management to enable them to stow themselves away when they went to sleep, and had they possessed the proper quantity of provisions for their contemplated voyage, there is no doubt that they would have found themselves considerably cramped. The boat was named the _Maid of the Isle_, in memory of the sandbank on which she had been built, and although in her general outline and details she was rather a clumsy craft, she was serviceable and strongly put together. Had she been decked, or even half-decked, the voyage which now began would not have been so desperate an undertaking; but having been only covered in part with a frail tarpaulin, she was not at all fitted to face the terrible storms that sometimes sweep the southern seas. Each man, as he gazed at her, felt that his chance of ultimate escape was very small indeed. Still, the men had now been so long contemplating the voyage and preparing for it, and they had become so accustomed to risk their lives upon the sea, that they set out upon this voyage at last in cheerful spirits, and even jested about the anticipated dangers and trials which they knew full well awaited them. It was a lovely morning, that on which the wrecked crew of the whaler bade adieu to "Fairyland," as the islet had been named by Ailie--a name that was highly, though laughingly, approved of by the men. The ocean and sky presented that mysterious co-mingling of their gorgeous elements that irresistibly call forth the wonder and admiration of even the most unromantic and matter-of-fact men. It was one of Ailie's peculiarly beloved skies. You could not, without much consideration, have decided as to where was the exact line at which the glassy ocean met the clear sky, and it was almost impossible to tell, when gazing at the horizon, which were the real clouds and which the reflections. The bright blue vault above was laden with clouds of the most gorgeous description, in which all the shades of pearly-grey and yellow were mingled and contrasted. They rose up, pile upon pile, in stupendous majesty, like the very battlements of heaven, while their images, clear and distinct almost as themselves, rolled down and down into the watery depths, until the islet--the only well-defined and solid object in the scene--appeared to float in their midst. The rising sun shot throughout the vast immensity of space, and its warm rays were interrupted, and broken, and caught, and absorbed, and reflected in so many magical ways, that it was impossible to trace any of the outlines for more than a few seconds, ere the eye was lost in the confusion of bright lights and deep shadows that were mingled and mellowed together by the softer lights and shades of every degree of depth and tint into splendid harmony. In the midst of this scene Captain Dunning stood, with Ailie by his side, and surrounded by his men, on the shores of the little island. Everything was now in readiness to set sail. The boat was laden, and in the water, and the men stood ready to leap in and push off. "My lads," said the captain, earnestly, "we're about to quit this morsel of sandbank on which it pleased the Almighty to cast our ship, and on which, thanks be to Him, we have found a pretty safe shelter for so long. I feel a sort o' regret almost at leavin' it now. But the time has come for us to begin our voyage towards the Cape, and I need scarcely repeat what you all know well enough--that our undertakin' is no child's play. We shall need all our bodily and our mental powers to carry us through. Our labour must be constant, and our food is not sufficient, so that we must go on shorter allowance from this day. I gave you half rations while ye were buildin' the boat, because we had to get her finished and launched as fast as we could, but now we can't afford to eat so much. I made a careful inspection of our provisions last night, and I find that by allowing every man four ounces a day, we can spin it out. We may fall in with islands, perhaps, but I know of none in these seas--there are none put down on the charts--and we may get hold of a fish now and then, but we must not count on these chances. Now it must be plain to all of you that our only chance of getting on well together in circumstances that will try our tempers, no doubt, and rouse our selfishness, is to resolve firmly before starting--each man for himself--that we will lay restraint on ourselves and try to help each other as much as we can." There was a ready murmur of assent to this proposal; then the captain continued:-- "Now, lads, one word more. Our best efforts, let us exert ourselves ever so much, cannot be crowned with success unless before setting out, we ask the special favour and blessing of Him who, we are told in the Bible, holds the waters of the ocean in the hollow of His hand. If He helps us, we shall be saved; if He does not help us, we shall perish. We will therefore offer up a prayer now, in the name of our blessed Redeemer, that we may be delivered from every danger, and be brought at last in peace and comfort to our homes." Captain Dunning then clasped his hands together, and while the men around him reverently bowed their heads, he offered up a short and simple, but earnest prayer to God. From that day forward they continued the habit of offering up prayer together once a day, and soon afterwards the captain began the practice of reading a chapter aloud daily out of Ailie's Bible. The result of this was that not only were the more violent spirits among them restrained, under frequent and sore privations and temptations, but all the party were often much comforted and filled with hope at times when they were by their sufferings well-nigh driven to despair. "I'm sorry to leave Fairyland, papa," said Ailie sadly, as the men shoved the _Maid of the Isle_ into deep water and pulled out to sea. "So am I, dear," replied the captain sitting down beside his daughter in the stern-sheets of the boat, and taking the tiller; "I had no idea I could have come to like such a barren bit of sand so well." There was a long pause after this remark. Every eye in the boat was turned with a sad expression on the bright-yellow sandbank as they rowed away, and the men dipped their oars lightly into the calm waters, as if they were loth to leave their late home. Any spot of earth that has been for some time the theatre of heart-stirring events, such as rouse men's strong emotions, and on which happy and hopeful as well as wretched days have been spent, will so entwine itself with the affections of men that they will cling to it and love it, more or less powerfully, no matter how barren may be the spot or how dreary its general aspect. The sandbank had been the cause, no doubt, of the wreck of the _Red Eric_, but it had also been the means, under God, of saving the crew and affording them shelter during many succeeding weeks--weeks of deep anxiety, but also of healthful, hopeful, energetic toil, in which, if there were many things to create annoyance or fear, there had also been not a few things to cause thankfulness, delight, and amusement. Unknown to themselves, these rough sailors and the tender child had become attached to the spot, and it was only now that they were about to leave it for ever that they became aware of the fact. The circumscribed and limited range on which their thoughts and vision had been bent for the last few weeks, had rendered each individual as familiar with every inch of the bank as if he had dwelt there for years. Ailie gazed at the low rocks that overhung the crystal pool in Fairyland, until the blinding tears filled her eyes, and she felt all the deep regret that is experienced by the little child when it is forcibly torn from an old and favourite toy--regret that is not in the least degree mitigated by the fact that the said toy is but a sorry affair, a doll, perchance, with a smashed head, eyes thrust out, and nose flattened on its face or rubbed away altogether--it matters not; the long and happy hours and days spent in the companionship of that battered little mass of wood or wax rush on the infant memory like a dear delightful dream, and it weeps on separation as if its heart would break. Each man in the boat's crew experienced more or less of the same feeling, and commented, according to his nature, either silently or audibly, on each familiar object as he gazed upon it for the last time. "There's the spot where we built the hut when we first landed, Ailie," said Glynn, who pulled the aft oar; "d'ye see it?--just coming into view; look! There it will be shut out again in a moment by the rock beside the coral-pool." "I see it!" exclaimed Ailie eagerly, as she brushed away the tears from her eyes. "There's the rock, too, where we used to make our fire," said the captain, pointing it out. "It doesn't look like itself from this point of view." "Ah!" sighed Phil Briant, "an' it wos at the fut o' that, too, where we used to bile the kittle night an' mornin'. Sure it's many a swait bit and pipe I had beside ye." "Is that a bit o' the wreck?" inquired Tim Rokens, pointing to the low rocky point with the eagerness of a man who had made an unexpected discovery. "No," replied Mr Millons, shading his eyes with his hands, and gazing at the object in question, "it's himpossible. I searched every bit o' the bank for a plank before we came hoff, an' couldn't find a morsel as big as my 'and. W'at say you, doctor?" "I think with you," answered Dr Hopley; "but here's the telescope, which will soon settle the question." While the doctor adjusted the glass, Rokens muttered that "He wos sure it wos a bit o' the wreck," and that "there wos a bit o' rock as nobody couldn't easy git a t'other side of to look, and that that wos it, and the bit of wreck was there," and much to the same effect. "So it is," exclaimed the doctor. "Lay on your oars, lads, a moment," said the captain, taking the glass and applying it to his eye. The men obeyed gladly, for they experienced an unaccountable disinclination to row away from the island. Perhaps the feeling was caused in part by the idea that when they took their last look at it, it might possibly be their _last_ sight of land. "It's a small piece of the foretopmast crosstrees," observed the captain, shutting up the telescope and resuming his seat. "Shall we go back an' pick it up, sir?" asked Dick Barnes gravely, giving vent to the desires of his heart, without perceiving at the moment the absurdity of the question. "Why, what would you do with it, Dick?" replied the captain, smiling. "Sure, ye couldn't ait it!" interposed Briant; "but afther all, there's no sayin'. Maybe Nikel Sling could make a tasty dish out of it stewed in oakum and tar." "It wouldn't be purlite to take such a tit-bit from the mermaids," observed Gurney, as the oars were once more dipped reluctantly, in the water. The men smiled at the jest, for in the monotony of sea life every species of pleasantry, however poor, is swallowed with greater or less avidity; but the smile did not last long. They were in no jesting humour at that time, and no one replied to the passing joke. Soon after this a soft gentle breeze sprang up. It came direct from Fairyland, as if the mermaids referred to by Gurney had been touched by the kindly feelings harboured in the sailors' bosoms towards their islet, and had wafted towards them a last farewell. The oars were shipped immediately and the sails hoisted, and, to the satisfaction of all on board, the _Maid of the Isle_ gave indications of being a swift sailer, for, although the puff of wind was scarcely sufficient to ruffle the glassy surface of the sea, she glided through the water under its influence a good deal faster than she had done with the oars. "That's good!" remarked the captain, watching the ripples as they passed astern; "with fair winds, and not too much of 'em, we shall get on bravely; so cheer up, my lassie," he added, patting Ailie on the head, "and let us begin our voyage in good spirits, and with hopeful, trusting hearts." "Look at Fairyland," said Ailie, clasping her father's hand, and pointing towards the horizon. At the moment she spoke, an opening in the great white clouds let a ray of light fall on the sandbank, which had now passed almost beyond the range of vision. The effect was to illumine its yellow shore and cause it to shine out for a few seconds like a golden speck on the horizon. No one had ceased to gaze at it from the time the boat put forth; but this sudden change caused every one to start up, and fix their eyes on it with renewed interest and intensity. "Shall we ever see land again?" passed, in one form or another, through the minds of all. The clouds swept slowly on the golden point melted away, and the shipwrecked mariners felt that their little boat was now all the world to them in the midst of that mighty world of waters. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. REDUCED ALLOWANCE OF FOOD--JACKO TEACHES BRIANT A USEFUL LESSON. The first few days of the voyage of the _Maid of the Isle_ were bright and favourable. The wind, though light, was fair, and so steady that the men were only twice obliged to have recourse to their oars. The boat behaved admirably. Once, during these first days, the wind freshened into a pretty stiff breeze, and a somewhat boisterous sea arose, so that she was tested in another of her sailing qualities, and was found to be an excellent sea-boat. Very little water was shipped, and that little was taken in rather through the awkwardness of King Bumble, who steered, than through the fault of the boat. Captain Dunning had taken care that there should be a large supply of tin and wooden scoops, for baling out the water that might be shipped in rough weather, as he foresaw that on the promptness with which this duty was performed, might sometimes depend the safety of the boat and crew. There was one thing that proved a matter of much regret to the crew, and that was the want of a fowling-piece, or firearm of any kind. Had they possessed a gun, however old and bad, with ammunition for it, they would have been certain, at some period of their voyage, to shoot a few sea-birds, with which they expected to fall in on approaching the land, even although many days distant from it. But having nothing of the kind, their hope of adding to their slender stock of provisions was very small indeed. Fortunately, they had one or two fishing-lines, but in the deep water, over which for many days they had to sail, fishing was out of the question. This matter of the provisions was a source of constant anxiety to Captain Dunning. He had calculated the amount of their stores to an ounce, and ascertained that at a certain rate of distribution they would barely serve for the voyage, and this without making any allowance for interruptions or detentions. He knew the exact distance to be passed over, namely, 2322 miles in a straight line, and he had ascertained the sailing and rowing powers of the boat and crew; thus he was enabled to arrive at a pretty correct idea of the probable duration of the voyage, supposing that all should go well. But in the event of strong contrary winds arising, no fresh supplies of fish or fowl being obtained, or sickness breaking out among the men, he knew either that they must starve altogether, or that he must at once, before it was too late, still farther reduce the scanty allowance of food and drink to each man. The captain sat at the helm one fine evening, about a week after their departure from Fairyland, brooding deeply over this subject. The boat was running before a light breeze, at the rate of about four or five knots, and the men, who had been obliged to row a good part of that day, were sitting or reclining on the thwarts, or leaning over the gunwale, watching the ripples as they glided by, and enjoying the rest from labour; for now that they had been for some time on reduced allowance of food, they felt less able for work than they used to be, and often began to look forward with intense longing to seasons of repose. Ailie was sitting near the entrance of her little sleeping apartment--which the men denominated a kennel--and master Jacko was seated on the top of it, scratching his sides and enjoying the sunshine. "My lads," said the captain, breaking a silence which had lasted a considerable time, "I'm afraid I shall have to reduce our allowance still farther." This remark was received by Gurney and Phil Briant with a suppressed groan--by the other men in silence. "You see," continued the captain, "it won't do to count upon chances, which may or may not turn out to be poor. We can, by fixing our allowance per man at a lower rate, make quite certain of our food lasting us until we reach the Cape, even if we should experience a little detention; but if we go on at the present rate, we are equally certain that it will fail us just at the last." "We're sartain to fall in with birds before we near the land," murmured Gurney, with a rueful expression of countenance. "We are certain of nothing," replied the captain; "but even suppose we were, how are we to get hold of them?" "That's true," observed Briant, who solaced himself with his pipe in the absence of a sufficiency of food. "Sea-birds, no more nor land-birds, ain't given to pluckin' and roastin' themselves, and flyin' down people's throats ready cooked." "Besides," resumed the captain, "the plan I propose, although it will entail a little more present self-denial, will, humanly speaking, ensure our getting through the voyage with life in us even at the worst, and if we _are_ so lucky as to catch fish or procure birds in any way, why we shall fare sumptuously." Here Tim Rokens, to whom the men instinctively looked, upon all matters of perplexity, removed his pipe from his lips, and said-- "Wot Cap'en Dunnin' says is true. If we take his plan, why, we'll starve in a reg'lar way, little by little, and p'raps spin out till we git to the Cape; w'ereas, if we take the other plan, we'll keep a little fatter on the first part of the voyage, mayhap, but we'll arrive at the end of it as dead as mutton, every man on us." This view of the question seemed so just to the men, and so full of incontrovertible wisdom, that it was received with something like a murmur of applause. "You're a true philosopher, Rokens. Now Doctor Hopley, I must beg you to give us your opinion, as a medical man, on this knotty subject," said the captain, smiling. "Do you think that we can continue to exist if our daily allowance is reduced one-fourth?" The doctor replied, "Let me see," and putting his finger on his forehead, frowned portentously, affecting to give the subject the most intense consideration. He happened to look at Jacko when he frowned, and that pugnacious individual, happening at the same instant to look at the doctor, and supposing that the frown was a distinct challenge to fight, first raised his eyebrows to the top of his head in amazement, then pulled them down over his flashing orbs in deep indignation, and displayed all his teeth, as well as an extent of gums that was really frightful to behold! "Oh! Jacko, bad thing," said Ailie, in a reproachful tone, pulling the monkey towards her. Taking no notice of these warlike indications, the doctor, after a few minutes' thought, looked up and said-- "I have no doubt whatever that we can stand it. Most of us are in pretty good condition still, and have some fat to spare. Fat persons can endure reduced allowance of food much better and longer than those who are lean. There's Gurney, now, for instance, he could afford to have his share even still further curtailed." This remark was received with a grin of delighted approval by the men and with a groan by Gurney, who rubbed his stomach gently, as if that region were assailed with pains at the bare thought of such injustice. "Troth, if that's true what ye say, doctor, I hope ye'll see it to be yer duty to give wot ye cut off Gurney's share to me," remarked Briant, "for its nothing but a bag o' bones that I am this minute." "Oh! oh! wot a wopper," cried Jim Scroggles, whose lean and lanky person seemed ill adapted to exist upon light fare. "Well," observed the captain, "the doctor and I shall make a careful calculation and let you know the result by supper-time, when the new system shall be commenced. What think you, Ailie, my pet, will you be able to stand it?" "Oh yes, papa, I don't care how much you reduce my allowance." "What! don't you feel hungry?" "No, not a bit." "Not ready for supper?" "Not anxious for it, at any rate." "Och! I wish I wos you," murmured Briant, with a deep sigh. "I think I could ait the foresail, av it wos only well biled with the laste possible taste o' pig's fat." By supper-time the captain announced the future daily allowance, and served it out. Each man received a piece of salt junk--that is, salt beef--weighing exactly one ounce; also two ounces of broken biscuit; a small piece of tobacco, and a quarter of a pint of water. Although the supply of the latter was small, there was every probability of a fresh supply being obtained when it chanced to rain, so that little anxiety was felt at first in regard to it; but the other portions of each man's allowance were weighed with scrupulous exactness, in a pair of scales which were constructed by Tim Rokens out of a piece of wood--a leaden musket-ball doing service as a weight. Ailie received an equal portion with the others, but Jacko was doomed to drag out his existence on a very minute quantity of biscuit and water. He utterly refused to eat salt junk, and would not have been permitted to use tobacco even had he been so inclined, which he was not. Although they were thus reduced to a small allowance of food--a smaller quantity than was sufficient to sustain life for any lengthened period-- no one in the slightest degree grudged Jacko his small portion. All the men entertained a friendly feeling to the little monkey, partly because it was Ailie's pet, and partly because it afforded them great amusement at times by its odd antics. As for Jacko himself, he seemed to thrive on short allowance, and never exhibited any unseemly haste or anxiety at meal-times. It was observed, however, that he kept an uncommonly sharp eye on all that passed around him, as if he felt that his circumstances were at that time peculiar and worthy of being noted. In particular he knew to a nicety what happened to each atom of food, from the time of its distribution among the men to the moment of its disappearance within their hungry jaws, and if any poor fellow chanced to lay his morsel down and neglect it for the tenth part of an instant, it vanished like a shot, and immediately thereafter Jacko was observed to present an unusually serene and innocent aspect, and to become suddenly afflicted, with a swelling in the pouch under his cheek. One day the men received a lesson in carefulness which they did not soon forget. Breakfast had been served out, and Phil Briant was about to finish his last mouthful of biscuit--he had not had many mouthfuls to try his masticating powers, poor fellow--when he paused suddenly, and gazing at the cherished morsel addressed it thus-- "Shure, it's a purty bit, ye are! Av there wos only wan or two more o' yer family here, it's meself as 'ud like to be made beknown to them. I'll not ait ye yit. I'll look at ye for a little." In pursuance of this luxurious plan, Briant laid the morsel of biscuit on the thwart of the boat before him, and, taking out his pipe, began to fill it leisurely, keeping his eye all the time on the last bite. Just then Mr Markham, who pulled the bow oar, called out-- "I say, Briant, hand me my tobacco-pouch, it's beside you on the th'ort, close under the gun'le." "Is it?" said Briant, stretching out his hand to the place indicated, but keeping his eye fixed all the time on the piece of biscuit. "Ah, here it is; ketch it." For one instant Briant looked at the second mate in order to throw the pouch with precision. That instant was sufficient for the exercise of Jacko's dishonest propensities. The pouch was yet in its passage through the air when a tremendous roar from Tim Rokens apprised the unhappy Irishman of his misfortune. He did not require to be told to "look out!" although more than one voice gave him that piece of advice. An intuitive perception of irreparable loss flashed across his soul, and, with the speed of light, his eye was again on the thwart before him--but not on the morsel of biscuit. At that same instant Jacko sat down beside Ailie with his usual serene aspect and swelled cheek! "Och, ye bottle imp!" yelled the bereaved one, "don't I know ye?" and seizing a tin pannikin, in his wrath, he threw it at the small monkey's head with a force that would, had it been well directed, have smashed that small head effectually. Jacko made a quick and graceful nod, and the pannikin, just missing Ailie, went over the side into the sea, where it sank and was lost for ever, to the regret of all, for they could ill afford to lose it. "Ye've got it, ye have, but ye shan't ait it," growled Briant through his teeth, as he sprang over the seat towards the monkey. Jacko bounded like a piece of indiarubber on to Gurney's head; next moment he was clinging to the edge of the mainsail, and the next he was comfortably seated on the top of the mast, where he proceeded calmly and leisurely to "ait" the biscuit in the face of its exasperated and rightful owner. "Oh,--Briant!" exclaimed Ailie, who was half frightened, half amused at the sudden convulsion caused by her favourite's bad conduct, "don't be vexed; see, here is a little bit of my biscuit; I don't want it--really I don't." Briant, who stood aghast and overwhelmed by his loss and by the consummate impudence of the small monkey, felt rebuked by this offer. Bursting into a loud laugh, he said, as he resumed his seat and the filling of his pipe-- "Sure I'd rather ait me own hat, Miss Ailie, an' it's be no means a good wan--without sarce, too, not even a blot o' mustard--than take the morsel out o' yer purty mouth. I wos more nor half jokin', dear, an' I ax yer parding for puttin' ye in sich a fright." "Expensive jokin'," growled Tarquin, "if ye throw a pannikin overboard every time you take to it." "Kape your tongue quiet," said Briant, reddening, for he felt somewhat humbled at having given way to his anger so easily, and was nettled at the remark, coming as it did, in a sneering spirit, from a man for whom he had no particular liking. "Never mind, Briant," interposed the captain quickly, with a good-humoured laugh; "I feel for you, lad. Had it been myself I fear I should have been even more exasperated. I would not sell a crumb of my portion just now for a guinea." "Neither would I," added the doctor, "for a thousand guineas." "I'll tell ye wot it is, lads," remarked Tim Rokens; "I wish I only had a crumb to sell." "Now, Rokens, don't be greedy," cried Gurney. "Greedy!" echoed Tim. "Ay, greedy; has any o' you lads got a dickshunairy to lend him? Come, Jim Scroggles, you can tell him what it means--you've been to school, I believe, hain't you?" Rokens shook his head gravely. "No, lad, I'm not greedy, but I'm ready for wittles. I won't go fur to deny that. Now, let me ax ye a question. Wot--supposin' ye had the chance--would ye give, at this good min'it, for a biled leg o' mutton?" "With or without capers-sauce?" inquired Gurney. "W'ichever _you_ please." "Och! we wouldn't need capers-sarse," interposed Briant; "av we only had the mutton, I'd cut enough o' capers meself to do for the sarce, I would." "It matters little what you'd give," cried Glynn, "for we can't get it at any price just now. Don't you think, captain, that we might have our breakfast to-night? It would save time in the morning, you know." There was a general laugh at this proposal, yet there was a strong feeling in the minds of some that if it were consistent with their rules to have breakfast served out then and there, they would gladly have consented to go without it next morning. Thus, with laugh and jest, and good-natured repartee, did these men bear the pangs of hunger for many days. They were often silent during long intervals, and sometimes they became talkative and sprightly, but it was observed that, whether they conversed earnestly or jestingly, their converse ran, for the most part, on eating and drinking, and in their uneasy slumbers, during the intervals between the hours of work and watching, they almost invariably dreamed of food. CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. PROGRESS OF THE LONG VOYAGE--STORY-TELLING AND JOURNALISING. Many weeks passed away, but the _Maid of the Isle_ still held on her course over the boundless ocean. Day after day came and went, the sun rose in the east morning after morning, ran its appointed course, and sank, night after night, on the western horizon, but little else occurred to vary the monotony of that long, long voyage. When the sun rose, its bright rays leapt from the bosom of the ocean; when it set, the same bosom of the great deep received its descending beams. No land, no sail appeared to the anxious gazers in that little boat, which seemed to move across, yet never to reach the boundaries of that mighty circle of water and sky, in the midst of which they lay enchained, as if by some wicked enchanter's spell. Breezes blew steadily at times and urged them swiftly on towards the circumference, but it fled as fast as they approached. Then it fell calm, and the weary men resumed their oars, and with heavy hearts and weakened arms tugged at the boat which seemed to have turned into a mass of lead. At such times a dead silence was maintained, for the work, which once would have been to them but child's play, had now become severe and heavy labour. Still they did not murmur. Even the cross-grained Tarquin became subdued in spirit by the influence of the calm endurance and good-humour of his comrades. But the calms seldom lasted long. The winds, which happily continued favourable, again ruffled the surface of the sea, and sometimes blew so briskly as to oblige them to take in a reef or two in their sails. The oars were gladly drawn in, and the spirits of the men rose as the little boat bent over to the blast, lost her leaden qualities, and danced upon the broad-backed billows, like a cork. There was no rain during all this time; little or no stormy weather; and, but for their constant exposure to the hot sun by day and the cold chills by night, the time might have been said to pass even pleasantly, despite the want of a sufficiency of food. Thus day after day and night after night flew by, and week after week came and went, and still the _Maid of the Isle_ held on her course over the boundless ocean. During all that time the one and a quarter ounces of salt junk and biscuit and the eighth of a pint of water were weighed and measured out to each man, three times a day, with scrupulous care and exactness, lest a drop or a crumb of the food that was more precious than diamonds should be lost. The men had all become accustomed to short allowance now, and experienced no greater inconvenience than a feeling of lassitude, which feeling increased daily, but by such imperceptible degrees that they were scarcely conscious of it, and were only occasionally made aware of the great reduction of their strength when they attempted to lift any article which, in the days of their full vigour, they could have tossed into the air, but which they could scarcely move now. When, however, the fair breeze enabled them to glide along under sail, and they lay enjoying complete rest, they experienced no unwonted sensations of weakness; their spirits rose, as the spirits of sailors always will rise when the waves are rippling at the bow and a white track forming in the wake; and they spent the time--when not asleep--in cheerful conversation and in the spinning of long yarns. They did not sing, however, as might have been expected--they were too weak for that--they called the feeling "lazy," some said they "couldn't be bothered" to sing. No one seemed willing to admit that his strength was in reality abated. In story-telling the captain, the doctor, and Glynn shone conspicuous. And when all was going smoothly and well, the anecdotes, histories, and romances related by these three were listened to with such intense interest and delight by the whole crew, that one would have thought they were enjoying a pleasure trip, and had no cause whatever for anxiety. Gurney, too, and Briant, and Nikel Sling came out frequently in the story-telling line, and were the means of causing many and many an hour to pass quickly and pleasantly by, which would otherwise have hung heavily on the hands of all. Ailie Dunning was an engrossed and delighted listener at all times. She drank in every species of story with an avidity that was quite amusing. It seemed also to have been infectious, for even Jacko used to sit hour after hour looking steadily at each successive speaker, with a countenance so full of bright intelligence, and grave surpassing wisdom, as to lead one to the belief that he not only understood all that was said, but turned it over in his mind, and drew from it ideas and conclusions far more bright and philosophical than could have been drawn therefrom by any human being, however wise or ingenious. He grinned, too, did Jacko, with an intensity and frequency that induced the sailors at first to call him a clever dog, in the belief that his perception of the ludicrous was very strong indeed; but as his grins were observed to occur quite as frequently at the pathetic and the grave as at the comical parts of the stories, they changed their minds, and said he was a "codger"--in which remark they were undoubtedly safe, seeing that it committed them to nothing very specific. Captain Dunning's stories were, more properly speaking, histories, and were very much relished, for he possessed a natural power of relating what he knew in an interesting manner and with a peculiarly pleasant tone of voice. Every one who has considered the subject at all must have observed what a powerful influence there lies in the mere manner and tone of a speaker. The captain's voice was so rich, so mellow, and capable of such varied modulation, that the men listened with pleasure to the words which rolled from his lips, as one would listen to a sweet song. He became so deeply interested, too, in the subject about which he happened to be speaking, that his auditors could not help becoming interested also. He had no powers of eloquence, neither was he gifted with an unusually bright fancy. But he was fluent in speech, and his words, though not chosen, were usually appropriate. The captain had no powers of invention whatever. He used to say, when asked to tell a story, that he "might as well try to play the fiddle with a handspike." But this was no misfortune, for he had read much, and his memory was good, and supplied him with an endless flow of small-talk on almost every subject that usually falls under the observation of sea-captains, and on many subjects besides, about which most sea-captains, or land-captains, or any other captains whatsoever, are almost totally ignorant. Captain Dunning could tell of adventures in the whale-fishery, gone through either by himself or by friends, that would have made your two eyes stare out of their two sockets until they looked like saucers (to use a common but not very correct simile). He could tell the exact latitude and longitude of almost every important and prominent part of the globe, and give the distance, pretty nearly, of any one place (on a large scale) from any other place. He could give the heights of all the chief mountains in the world to within a few feet, and could calculate, by merely looking at its current and depth, how many cubic feet of water any river delivered to the sea per minute. Length, breadth, and thickness, height, depth, and density, were subjects in which he revelled, and with which he played as a juggler does with golden balls; and so great were his powers of numerical calculation, that the sailors often declared they believed he could work out any calculation backwards without the use of logarithms! He was constantly instituting comparisons that were by no means what the proverb terms "odious," but which were often very astonishing, and in all his stories so many curious and peculiar facts were introduced, that, as we have already said, they were very much relished indeed. Not less relished, however, were Glynn Proctor's astounding and purely imaginative tales. After the men's minds had been chained intently on one of the captain's semi-philosophical anecdotes, they turned with infinite zest to one of Glynn's outrageous flights. Glynn had not read much in his short life, and his memory was nothing to boast of, but his imagination was quite gigantic. He could invent almost anything; and the curious part of it was, that he could do it out of nothing, if need be. He never took time to consider what he should say. When called on for a story he began at once, and it flowed from him like a flood of sparkling water from a fountain in fairy realms. Up in the clouds; high in the blue ether; down in the coral caves; deep in the ocean waves; out on the mountain heaths; far in the rocky glens, or away in the wild woods green--it was all one to Glynn; he leaped away in an instant, with a long train of adventurers at his heels--male and female, little and big, old and young, pretty and plain, grave and gay. And didn't they go through adventures that would have made the hair of mortals not only stand on end, but fly out by the roots altogether? Didn't he make them talk, as mortals never talked before; and sing as mortals never dreamed of? And, oh! didn't he just make them stew, and roast, and boil joints of savoury meat, and bake pies, and tarts, and puddings, such as Soyer in his wildest culinary dreams never imagined, and such as caused the mouths of the crew of the _Maid of the Isle_ to water, until they were constrained, poor fellows, to tell him to "clap a stopper upon that," and hold his tongue, for they "couldn't stand it!" Phil Briant and Gurney dealt in the purely comic line. They remarked-- generally in an undertone--that they left poetry and prose to Glynn and the captain; and it was as well they did, for their talents certainly did not lie in either of these directions. They came out strong after meals, when the weather was fine, and formed a species of light and agreeable interlude to the more weighty efforts of the captain and the brilliant sallies of Glynn. Gurney dealt in _experiences_ chiefly, and usually endeavoured by asseveration and iteration to impress his hearers with the truth of facts said to have been experienced by himself, which, if true, would certainly have consigned him to a premature grave long ago. Briant, on the other hand, dealt largely in ghost stories, which he did not vouch for the truth of, but permitted his hearers to judge of for themselves-- a permission which they would doubtless have taken for themselves at any rate. But tales and stories occupied, after all, only a small portion of the men's time during that long voyage. Often, very often, they were too much exhausted to talk or even to listen, and when not obliged to labour at the oars they tried to sleep; but "Nature's sweet restorer" did not always come at the first invitation, as was his wont in other days, and too frequently they were obliged to resume work unrefreshed. Their hands became hard and horny in the palms at last, like a man's heel, and their backs and arms ached from constant work. Ailie kept in good health, but she, too, began to grow weak from want of proper nourishment. She slept better than the men, for the comfortable sleeping-box that Glynn had constructed for her sheltered her from the heat, wet, and cold, to which the former were constantly exposed. She amused herself, when not listening to stories or asleep, by playing with her favourite, and she spent a good deal of time in reading her Bible-- sometimes to herself, at other times, in a low tone, to her father as he sat at the helm. And many a time did she see a meaning in passages which, in happier times, had passed meaningless before her eyes, and often did she find sweet comfort in words that she had read with comparative indifference in former days. It is in the time of trial, trouble, and sorrow that the Bible proves to be a friend indeed. Happy the Christian who, when dark clouds overwhelm his soul, has a memory well stored with the comforting passages of the Word of God. But Ailie had another occupation which filled up much of her leisure, and proved to be a source of deep and engrossing interest at the time. This was the keeping of a journal of the voyage. On the last trip made to the wreck of the _Red Eric_, just before the great storm that completed the destruction of that ship, the captain had brought away in his pocket a couple of note-books. One of these he kept to himself to jot down the chief incidents of the intended voyage; the other he gave to Ailie, along with a blacklead pencil. Being fond of trying to write, she amused herself for hours together in jotting down her thoughts about the various incidents of the voyage, great and small; and being a very good drawer for her age, she executed many fanciful and elaborate sketches, among which were innumerable portraits of Jacko and several caricatures of the men. This journal, as it advanced, became a source of much interest and amusement to every one in the boat; and when, in an hour of the utmost peril, it, along with many other things, was lost, the men, after the danger was past, felt the loss severely. Thus they spent their time--now pleasantly, now sadly--sometimes becoming cheerful and hopeful, at other times sinking almost into a state of despair as their little stock of food and water dwindled down, while the _Maid of the Isle_ still held on her apparently endless course over the great wide sea. CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. THE CALM AND THE STORM--A SERIOUS LOSS AND GREAT GAIN--BIRD-CATCHING EXTRAORDINARY--SAVED AT LAST. One day a deep death-like calm settled down upon the ocean. For some days before, the winds had been light and uncertain, and the air had been excessively warm. The captain cast uneasy glances around him from time to time, and looked with a sadder countenance than usual on the haggard faces of the men as they laboured slowly and silently at the oars. "I don't know what this will turn to, doctor," he said, in a low tone; "I don't like the look of it." The doctor, who was perusing Ailie's journal at the moment, looked up and shook his head. "It seems to me, captain, that whatever happens, matters cannot be made much worse." "You are wrong, doctor," replied the captain quietly; "we have still much to be thankful for." "Did you not tell me a few minutes ago that the water was almost done?" The doctor said this in a whisper, for the men had not yet been made aware of the fact. "Yes, I did; but it is not _quite_ done; that is matter for thankfulness." "Oh, according to that principle," observed the doctor, somewhat testily, "you may say we have cause to be thankful for _everything_, bad as well as good." "So we have! so we have! If everything good were taken from us, and nothing left us but our lives, we would have reason to be thankful for that--thankful that we were still above ground, still in the land of hope, with salvation to our immortal souls through Jesus Christ freely offered for our acceptance." The doctor made no reply. He thought the captain a little weak in the matter of religion. If religion is false, his opinion of the captain no doubt, was right, but if true, surely the weakness lay all the other way. That morning the captain's voice in prayer was more earnest, if possible, than usual, and he put up a special petition for _water_, which was observed by the men with feelings of great anxiety, and responded to with a deep amen. After morning worship the scales were brought, and the captain proceeded to weigh out the scanty meal, while the men watched his every motion with an almost wolfish glare, that told eloquently of the prolonged sufferings they had endured. Even poor Ailie's gentle face now wore a sharp, anxious expression when food was being served out, and she accepted her small portion with a nervous haste that was deeply painful and touching to witness. She little knew, poor child, that that portion of bread and meat and water, small though it was, was larger than that issued to the men, being increased by a small quantity deducted from the captain's own allowance and an equal amount from that of Glynn. The latter had noticed the captain's habit of regularly calling off the child's attention during the distribution of each meal, for the purpose of thus increasing her portion at the expense of his own, and in a whispering conversation held soon after he insisted that a little of his allowance should also be transferred to her. At first the captain firmly refused, but Glynn said that if he did not accede to his wish he would hand over the whole of his portion in future to the monkey, let the result be what it might! As Glynn never threatened without a full and firm resolve to carry out his threats, the captain was compelled to give in. When the water came to be served out that morning the captain paused, and looking round at the anxious eyes that were riveted upon him, said-- "My lads, it has pleased the Almighty to lay His hand still heavier on us. May He who has said that He will not suffer men to be tempted above what they are able to bear, give us strength to stand it. Our water is almost done. We must be content with a quarter of our usual allowance." This information was received in deep silence--perhaps it was the silence of despair, for the quantity hitherto served out had been barely sufficient to moisten their parched throats, and they _knew_ that they could not exist long on the reduced allowance. Jacko came with the rest as usual for his share, and held out his little hand for the tin cup in which his few drops of water were wont to be handed to him. The captain hesitated and looked at the men; then he poured out a few drops of the precious liquid. For the first time a murmur of disapproval was heard. "It's only a brute beast; the monkey must die before _us_," said a voice which was so hollow and changed that it could scarcely be recognised as that of Tarquin, the steward. No one else said a word. The captain did not even look up to see who had spoken. He felt the justice as well as the harshness of the remark, and poured the water back into the jar. Jacko seems puzzled at first, and held out his hand again; then he looked round on the men with that expression of unutterable woe which is peculiar to some species of the monkey tribe. He seemed to feel that something serious was about to happen to him. Looking up in the sad face of his young mistress, he uttered a very gentle and plaintive "oo-oo-ee!" Ailie burst into a passionate flood of tears, and in the impulse of the moment handed her own cup, which she had not tasted, to Jacko, who drained it in a twinkling--before the captain could snatch it from his hands. Having emptied it, Jacko went forward as he had been taught to do, and handed back the cup with quite a pleased expression of countenance--for he was easily satisfied, poor thing! "You should not have done that, my darling," said the captain, as he gave Ailie another portion. "Dear papa, I couldn't help it," sobbed the child; "indeed I couldn't-- and you need not give me any. I can do without it to-day." "Can you? But you shan't," exclaimed Glynn, with a degree of energy that would have made every one laugh in happier times. "No, no, my own pet," replied the captain. "You shan't want it. Here, you _must_ drink it, come." From that day Jacko received his allowance regularly as long as a drop of water was left, and no one again murmured against it. When it was finished he had to suffer with the rest. The calm which had set in proved to be of longer duration than usual, and the sufferings of the crew of the little boat became extreme. On the third day after its commencement the last drop of water was served out. It amounted to a couple of teaspoonfuls per man each meal, of which there were three a day. During the continuance of the calm, the sun shone in an almost cloudless sky and beat down upon the heads of the men until it drove them nearly mad. They all looked like living skeletons, and their eyes glared from their sunken sockets with a dry fiery lustre that was absolutely terrible to behold. Had each one in that boat possessed millions of gold he would have given all, gladly, for one drop of fresh water; but, alas! nothing could purchase water there. Ailie thought upon the man who, in the Bible, is described as looking up to heaven from the depths of hell and crying for one drop of water to cool his tongue, and she fancied that she could now realise his agony. The captain looked up into the hot sky, but no blessed cloud appeared there to raise the shadow of a hope. He looked down at the sea, and it seemed to mock him with its clear blue depths, which looked so sweet and pleasant. He realised the full significance of that couplet in Coleridge's _Ancient Mariner_-- "Water, water, everywhere, But not a drop to drink." and, drawing Ailie to his breast, he laid his cheek upon hers and groaned aloud. "We shall soon be taken away, dear papa!" she said--and she tried to weep, but the tears that came unbidden and so easily at other times to her bright blue eyes refused to flow now. The men had one by one ceased to ply their useless oars, and the captain did not take notice of it, for he felt that unless God sent relief in some almost miraculous way, their continuing to row would be of no avail. It would only increase their agony without advancing them more than a few miles on the long, long voyage that he knew still lay before them. "O God, grant us a breeze!" cried Mr Millons, in a deep, tremulous tone breaking a silence that had continued for some hours. "Messmates," said Tim Rokens, who for some time had leaned with both elbows on his oar and his face buried in his hands, "wot d'ye say to a bath? I do believe it 'ud do us good." "P'haps it would," replied King Bumble; but he did not move, and the other men made no reply, while Rokens again sank forward. Gurney and Tarquin had tried to relieve their thirst the day before by drinking sea-water, but their inflamed and swollen throats and lips now showed that the relief sought had not been obtained. "It's time for supper," said the captain, raising his head suddenly, and laying Ailie down, for she had fallen into a lethargic slumber; "fetch me the bread and meat can." Dick Barnes obeyed reluctantly, and the usual small allowance of salt junk was weighed out, but there were no eager glances now. Most of the crew refused to touch food--one or two tried to eat a morsel of biscuit without success. "I'll try a swim," cried Glynn, suddenly starting up with the intention of leaping overboard. But his strength was more exhausted than he had fancied, for he only fell against the side of the boat. It was as well that he failed. Had he succeeded in getting into the water he could not have clambered in again, and it is doubtful whether his comrades had sufficient strength left to have dragged him in. "Try it this way, lad," said Tim Rokens, taking up a bucket, and dipping it over the side. "P'raps it'll do as well." He raised the bucket with some difficulty and poured its contents over Glynn's head. "Thank God!" said Glynn, with a deep, long-drawn sigh. "Do it again, Tim, do it again. That's it,--again, again! No, stop; forgive my selfishness; here, give me the bucket, I'll do it to you now." Tim Rokens was quickly drenched from head to foot, and felt great and instantaneous relief. In a few minutes every one in the boat, Jacko included, was subjected to this species of cold bath, and their spirits rose at once. Some of them even began to eat their food, and Briant actually attempted to perpetrate a joke, which Gurney seconded promptly, but they failed to make one, even a bad one, between them. Although the cold bathing seemed good for them at first, it soon proved to be hurtful. Sitting and lying constantly night and day in saturated clothes had the effect of rendering their skins painfully sensitive, and a feverish feeling was often alternated with cold shivering fits, so they were fain to give it up. Still they had found some slight relief, and they bore their sufferings with calm resignation--a state of mind which was fostered, if not induced, by the blessed words of comfort and hope which the captain read to them from the Bible as frequently as his strength would permit, and to which they listened with intense, all-absorbing interest. It is ever thus with men. When death approaches, in almost all instances, we are ready--ay, anxious--to listen with the deepest interest to God's message of salvation through His Son, and to welcome and long for the influences of the Holy Spirit. Oh! how happy should we be in life and in death, did we only give heartfelt interest to our souls' affairs _before_ the days of sorrow and death arrive. On the fifth morning after the water had been exhausted the sun arose in the midst of dark clouds. The men could scarcely believe their eyes. They shouted and, in their weakness, laughed for joy. The blessing was not long delayed. Thick vapours veiled the red sun soon after it emerged from the sea, then a few drops of rain fell. Blessed drops! How the men caught at them! How they spread out oiled cloths and tarpaulins and garments to gather them! How they grudged to see them falling around the boat into the sea, and being lost to them for ever. But the blessing was soon sent liberally. The heavens above grew black, and the rain came down in thick heavy showers. The tarpaulins were quickly filled, and the men lay with their lips to the sweet pools, drinking-in new life, and dipping their heads and hands in the cool liquid when they could drink no more. Their thirst was slaked at last, and they were happy. All their past sufferings were forgotten in that great hour of relief, and they looked, and laughed, and spoke to each other like men who were saved from death. As they stripped off their garments and washed the encrusted salt from their shrunken limbs, all of them doubtless felt, and some of them audibly expressed, gratitude to the "Giver of every good and perfect gift." So glad were they, and so absorbed in their occupation, that they thought not of and cared not for the fact that a great storm was about to break upon them. It came upon them almost before they were aware, and before the sails could be taken in the boat was almost upset. "Stand-by to lower the sails!" shouted the captain, who was the first to see their danger. The old familiar command issued with something of the old familiar voice and energy caused every one to leap to his post, if not with the agility of former times, at least with all the good will. "Let go!" The halyards were loosed, and the sails came tumbling down; at the same moment the squall burst on them. The _Maid of the Isle_ bent over so quickly that every one expected she would upset; the blue water curled in over the edge of the gunwale, and the foam burst from her bows at the rude shock. Then she hissed through the water as she answered the helm, righted quickly, and went tearing away before the wind at a speed that she had not known for many days. It was a narrow escape. The boat was nearly filled with water, and, worst of all, the provision can, along with Ailie's sleeping-box, were washed overboard and lost. It was of no use attempting to recover them. All the energies of the crew were required to bale out the water and keep the boat afloat, and during the whole storm some of them were constantly employed in baling. For three days it blew a perfect hurricane, and during all that time the men had nothing whatever to eat; but they did not suffer so much as might be supposed. The gnawing pangs of hunger do not usually last beyond a few days when men are starving. After that they merely feel ever-increasing weakness. During the fall of the rain they had taken care to fill their jars, so that they had now a good supply of water. After the first burst of the squall had passed, the tarpaulins were spread over the boat, and under one of these, near the stern, Ailie was placed, and was comparatively sheltered and comfortable. Besides forming a shelter for the men while they slept, these tarpaulins threw off the waves that frequently broke over the boat, and more than once bid fair to sink her altogether. These arose in enormous billows, and the gale was so violent that only the smallest corner of the foresail could be raised--even that was almost sufficient to tear away the mast. At length the gale blew itself out, and gradually decreased to a moderate breeze, before which the sails were shaken out, and on the fourth morning after it broke they found themselves sweeping quickly over the waves on their homeward way, but without a morsel of food, and thoroughly exhausted in body and in mind. On that morning, however, they passed a piece of floating seaweed, a sure indication of their approach to land. Captain Dunning pointed it out to Ailie and the crew with a cheering remark that they would probably soon get to the end of their voyage; but he did not feel much hope; for, without food, they could not exist above a few days more at the furthest--perhaps not so long. That same evening, several small sea-birds came towards the boat, and flew inquiringly round it, as if they wondered what it could be doing there, so far away from the haunts of men. These birds were evidently unaccustomed to man, for they exhibited little fear. They came so near to the boat that one of them was at length caught. It was the negro who succeeded in knocking it on the head with a boat-hook as it flew past. Great was the praise bestowed on King Bumble for this meritorious deed, and loud were the praises bestowed on the bird itself, which was carefully divided into equal portions (and a small portion for Jacko), and eaten raw. Not a morsel of it was lost--claws, beak, blood, bones, and feathers--all were eaten up. In order to prevent dispute or jealousy, the captain made Ailie turn her back on the bird when thus divided, and pointing to the different portions, he said-- "Who shall have this?" Whoever was named by Ailie had to be content with what thus fell to his share. "Ah, but ye wos always an onlucky dog!" exclaimed Briant, to whom fell the head and claws. "Ye've no reason to grumble," replied Gurney; "ye've got all the brains to yerself, and no one needs them more." The catching of this bird was the saving of the crew, and it afforded them a good deal of mirth in the dividing of it. The heart and a small part of the breast fell to Ailie--which every one remarked was singularly appropriate; part of a leg and the tail fell to King Bumble; and the lungs and stomach became the property of Jim Scroggles, whereupon Briant remarked that he would "think as much almost o' _that_ stomach as he had iver done of his own!" But there was much of sadness mingled with their mirth, for they felt that the repast was a peculiarly light one, and they had scarcely strength left to laugh or jest. Next morning they knocked down another bird, and in the evening they got two more. The day after that they captured an albatross, which furnished them at last with an ample supply of fresh food. It was Mr Markham, the second mate, who first saw the great bird looming in the distance, as it sailed over the sea towards them. "Let's try to fish for him," said the doctor. "I've heard of sea-birds being caught in that way before now." "Fish for it!" exclaimed Ailie in surprise. "Ay, with hook and line, Ailie." "I've seen it done often," said the captain. "Hand me the line, Bumble, and a bit o' that bird we got yesterday. Now for it." By the time the hook was baited, the albatross had approached near to the boat, and hovered around it with that curiosity which seems to be a characteristic feature of all sea-birds. It was an enormous creature; but Ailie, when she saw it in the air, could not have believed it possible that it was so large as it was afterwards found to be on being measured. "Here, Glynn, catch hold of the line," said the captain, as he threw the hook overboard, and allowed it to trail astern; "you are the strongest man amongst us now, I think; starvation don't seem to tell so much on your young flesh and bones as on ours!" "No; it seems to agree with his constitution," remarked Gurney. "It's me that wouldn't give much for his flesh," observed Briant; "but his skin and bones would fetch a good price in the leather and rag market." While his messmates were thus freely remarking on his personal appearance--which, to say truth, was dreadfully haggard--Glynn was holding the end of the line, and watching the motions of the albatross with intense interest. "He won't take it," observed the captain. "Me tink him will," said Bumble. "No go," remarked Nikel Sling sadly. "That was near," said the first mate eagerly, as the bird made a bold swoop down towards the bait, which was skipping over the surface of the water. "No, he's off," cried Mr Markham in despair. "Cotched! or I'm a Dutchman!" shouted. Gurney. "No!" cried Jim Scroggles. "Yes!" screamed Ailie. "Hurrah!" shouted Tim Rokens and Tarquin in a breath. Dick Barnes, and the doctor, and the captain, and, in short, everybody, echoed the last sentiment, and repeated it again and again with delight as they saw the gigantic bird once again swoop down upon the bait and seize it. Glynn gave a jerk, the hook caught in its tongue, and the albatross began to tug, and swoop, and whirl madly in its effort to escape. Now, to talk of any ordinary bird swooping, and fluttering, and tugging, does not sound very tremendous; but, reader, had you witnessed the manner in which that enormous albatross conducted itself, you wouldn't have stared with amazement--oh, no! You wouldn't have gone home with your mouth as wide open as your eyes, and have given a gasping account of what you had seen--by no means! You wouldn't have talked of feathered steam-engines, or of fabled rocs, or of winged elephants in the air--certainly not! Glynn's arms jerked as if he were holding on to the sheet of a shifting mainsail of a seventy-four. "Bear a hand," he cried, "else I'll be torn to bits." Several hands grasped the line in a moment. "My! wot a wopper," exclaimed Tim Rokens. "Och! don't he pull? Wot a fortin he'd make av he'd only set his-self up as a tug-boat in the Thames!" "If only we had him at the oar for a week," added Gurney. "Hoich! doctor, have ye strength to set disjointed limbs?" "Have a care, lads," cried the captain, in some anxiety; "give him more play, the line won't stand it. Time enough to jest after we've got him." The bird was now swooping, and waving, and beating its great wings so close to the boat that they began to entertain some apprehension lest any of the crew should be disabled by a stroke from them before the bird could be secured. Glynn, therefore, left the management of the line to others, and, taking up an oar, tried to strike it. But he failed in several attempts. "Wait till we haul him nearer, boy," said the captain. "Now, then!" Glynn struck again, and succeeded in hitting it a slight blow. At the same instant the albatross swept over the boat, and almost knocked the doctor overboard. As it brushed past, King Bumble, who was gifted with the agility of a monkey, leaped up, caught it round the neck, and the next moment the two were rolling together in the bottom of the boat. The creature was soon strangled, and a mighty cheer greeted this momentous victory. We are not aware that albatross flesh is generally considered very desirable food, but we are certain that starving men are particularly glad to get it, and that the supply now obtained by the wrecked mariners was the means of preserving their lives until they reached the land, which they did ten days afterwards, having thus accomplished a voyage of above two thousand miles over the ocean in an open boat in the course of eight weeks, and on an amount of food that was barely sufficient for one or two weeks' ordinary consumption. Great commiseration was expressed for them by the people at the Cape, who vied with each other in providing for their wants, and in showing them kindness. Ailie and her father were carried off bodily by a stout old merchant, with a broad kind face, and a hearty, boisterous manner, and lodged in his elegant villa during their stay in that quarter of the world, which was protracted some time in order that they might recruit the wasted strength of the party ere they commenced their voyage home in a vessel belonging to the same stout, broad-faced, and vociferous merchant. Meanwhile, several other ships departed for America, and by one of these Captain Dunning wrote to his sisters Martha and Jane. The captain never wrote to Martha or to Jane separately--he always wrote to them conjointly as "Martha Jane Dunning." The captain was a peculiar letter-writer. Those who may feel curious to know more about this matter are referred for further information to the next chapter. CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. HOME, SWEET HOME--THE CAPTAIN TAKES HIS SISTERS BY SURPRISE--A MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. It is a fact which we cannot deny, however much we may feel disposed to marvel at it, that laughter and weeping, at one and the same time, are compatible. The most resolute sceptic on this point would have been convinced of the truth of it had he been introduced into the Misses Martha and Jane Dunning's parlour on the beautiful summer morning in which the remarkable events we are about to relate occurred. On the morning in question, a letter-carrier walked up to the cottage with the yellow-painted face, and with the green door, so like a nose in the middle; and the window on each side thereof, so like its eyes; and the green Venetian blinds, that served so admirably for eyelids, attached thereto--all of which stood, and beamed, and luxuriated, and vegetated, and grew old in the centre of the town on the eastern seaboard of America, whose name (for strictly private reasons) we have firmly declined, and do still positively refuse to communicate. Having walked up to the cottage, the letter-carrier hit it a severe smash on its green nose, as good Captain Dunning had done many, many months before. The result now, as then, was the opening thereof by a servant-girl--the servant-girl of old. The letter-carrier was a taciturn man; he said nothing, but handed in the letter, and went his way. The servant-girl was a morose damsel; she said nothing, but took the letter, shut the door, and laid it (the letter, not the door) on the breakfast-table, and went her way--which way was the way of all flesh, fish, and fowl--namely, the kitchen, where breakfast was being prepared. Soon after the arrival of the letter Miss Jane Dunning--having put on an immaculately clean white collar and a spotlessly beautiful white cap with pink ribbons, which looked, if possible, taller than usual-- descended to the breakfast-parlour. Her eye instantly fell on the letter, and she exclaimed--"Oh!" at the full pitch of her voice. Indeed, did not respect for the good lady forbid, we would say that she _yelled_ "Oh!" Instantly, as if by magic, a faint "oh!" came down-stairs like an echo, from the region of Miss Martha Dunning's bedroom, and was followed up by a "What is it?" so loud that the most unimaginative person could not have failed to perceive that the elder sister had opened her door and put her head over the banisters. "What is it?" repeated Miss Martha. "A letter!" answered Miss Jane. "Who from?" (in eager surprise, from above.) "Brother George!" (in eager delight, from below.) Miss Jane had not come to this knowledge because of having read the letter, for it still lay on the table unopened, but because she could not read it at all! One of Captain Dunning's peculiarities was that he wrote an execrably bad and illegible hand. His English was good, his spelling pretty fair, considering the absurd nature of the orthography of his native tongue, and his sense was excellent, but the whole was usually shrouded in hieroglyphical mystery. Miss Jane could only read the opening "My dearest Sisters," and the concluding "George Dunning," nothing more. But Miss Martha could, by the exercise of some rare power, spell out her brother's hand, though not without much difficulty. "I'm coming," shouted Miss Martha. "Be quick!" screamed Miss Jane. In a few seconds Miss Martha entered the room with her cap and collar, though faultlessly clean and stiff, put on very much awry. "Give it me! Where is it?" Miss Jane pointed to the letter, still remaining transfixed to the spot where her eye had first met it, as if it were some dangerous animal which would bite if she touched it. Miss Martha snatched it up, tore it open, and flopped down on the sofa. Miss Jane snatched up an imaginary letter, tore it open (in imagination), and flopping down beside her sister, looked over her shoulder, apparently to make believe to herself that she read it along with her. Thus they read and commented on the captain's letter in concert. "`Table Bay'--dear me! what a funny bay that must be--`My dearest Sisters'--the darling fellow, he always begins that way, don't he, Jane dear?" "Bless him! he does, Martha dear." "`We've been all'--I can't make this word out, can you, dear?" "No, love." "`We've been all-worked!' No, it can't be that. Stay, `We've been all _wrecked_!'" Here Martha laid down the letter with a look of horror, and Jane, with a face of ashy paleness, exclaimed, "Then they're lost!" "But no," cried Martha, "George could not have written to us from Tablecloth Bay had he been lost." "Neither he could!" exclaimed Jane, eagerly. Under the influence of the revulsion of feeling this caused, Martha burst into tears and Jane into laughter. Immediately after, Jane wept and Martha laughed; then they both laughed and cried together, after which they felt for their pocket-handkerchiefs, and discovered that in their haste they had forgotten them; so they had to call the servant-girl and send her up-stairs for them; and when the handkerchiefs were brought, they had to be unfolded before the sisters could dry their eyes. When they had done so, and were somewhat composed, they went on with the reading of the letter. "`We've been all wrecked'--Dreadful--`and the poor _Red Angel_'"--"Oh! it can't be that, Martha dear!" "Indeed, it looks very like it, Jane darling. Oh! I see; it's _Eric_--`and the poor _Red Eric_ has been patched,' or--`pitched on a rock and smashed to sticks and stivers'--Dear me! what can that be? I know what `sticks' are, but I can't imagine what `stivers' mean. Can you, Jane?" "Haven't the remotest idea; perhaps Johnson, or Walker, or Webster may-- yes, Webster is sure to." "Oh! never mind just now, dear Jane, we can look it up afterwards--`stivers--sticks and stivers'--something very dreadful, I fear. `But we're all safe and well now'--I'm _so_ thankful!--`and we've been stumped'--No `starved nearly to death, too. My poor Ailie was thinner than ever I saw her before'--This is horrible, dear Jane." "Dreadful, darling Martha." "`But she's milk and butter'--It can't be that--`milk and'--oh!--`much better now.'" At this point Martha laid down the letter, and the two sisters wept for a few seconds in silence. "Darling Ailie!" said Martha, drying her eyes, "how thin she must have been!" "Ah! yes, and no one to take in her frocks." "`We'll be home in less than no time,'" continued Martha, reading, "`so you may get ready for us. Glynn will have tremendous long yarns to spin to you when we come back, and so will Ailie. She has seen a Lotofun since we left you'--Bless me! what _can_ that be, Jane?" "Very likely some terrible sea monster, Martha; how thankful we ought to be that it did not eat her!--`seen a Lotofun'--strange!--`a Lot--o''-- Oh!--`_lot o' fun_!'--that's it! how stupid of me!--`and my dear pet has been such an ass'--Eh! for shame, brother." "Don't you think, dear, Martha, that there's some more of that word on the next line?" "So there is, I'm _so_ stupid--`istance'--It's not rightly divided though--`as-sistance and a comfort to me.' I knew it couldn't be ass." "So did I. Ailie an ass! precious child!" "`Now, good-bye t'ye, my dear lassies,' "`Ever your affectionate brother,' "(Dear Fellow!) "`GEORGE DUNNING.'" Now it chanced that the ship which conveyed the above letter across the Atlantic was a slow sailer and was much delayed by contrary winds. And it also chanced--for odd coincidences do happen occasionally in human affairs--that the vessel in which Captain Dunning with Ailie and his crew embarked some weeks later was a fast-sailing ship, and was blown across the sea with strong favouring gales. Hence it fell out that the first vessel entered port on Sunday night, and the second cast anchor in the same port on Monday morning. The green-painted door, therefore, of the yellow-faced cottage, had scarcely recovered from the assault of the letter-carrier, when it was again struck violently by the impatient Captain Dunning. Miss Martha, who had just concluded and refolded the letter, screamed "Oh!" and leaped up. Miss Jane did the same, with this difference, that she leaped up before screaming "Oh!" instead of after doing so. Then both ladies, hearing voices outside, rushed towards the door of the parlour with the intention of flying to their rooms and there carefully arranging their tall white caps and clean white collars, and keeping the early visitor, whoever he or she might be, waiting fully a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes, before they should descend, stiffly, starchly, and ceremoniously, to receive him--or her. These intentions were frustrated by the servant-girl, who opened the green-painted door and let in the captain, who rushed into the parlour and rudely kissed his speechless sisters. "Can it be?" gasped Martha. Jane had meant to gasp "Impossible!" but seeing Ailie at that moment bound into Martha's arms, she changed her intention, uttered a loud scream instead, and fell down flat upon the floor under the impression that she had fainted. Finding, however, that this was not the case, she got up again quickly--ignorant of the fact that the tall cap had come off altogether in the fall--and stood before her sister weeping, and laughing, and wringing her hands, and waiting for her turn. But it did not seem likely to come soon, for Martha continued to hug Ailie, whom she had raised entirely from the ground, with passionate fervour. Seeing this, and feeling that to wait was impossible, Jane darted forward, threw her arms round Ailie--including Martha, as an unavoidable consequence--and pressed the child's back to her throbbing bosom. Between the two poor Ailie was nearly suffocated. Indeed, she was compelled to scream, not because she wished to, but because Martha and Jane squeezed a scream out of her. The scream acted on the former as a reproof. She resigned Ailie to Jane, flung herself recklessly on the sofa, and kicked. Meanwhile, Captain Dunning stood looking on, rubbing his hands,-- slapping his thighs, and blowing his nose. The servant-girl also stood looking on doing nothing--her face was a perfect blaze of amazement. "Girl," said the captain, turning suddenly towards her, "is breakfast ready?" "Yes," gasped the girl. "Then fetch it." The girl did not move. "D'ye hear?" cried the captain. "Ye-es." "Then look alive." The captain followed this up with a roar and such an indescribably ferocious demonstration that the girl fled in terror to the culinary regions, where she found the cat breakfasting on a pat of butter. The girl yelled, and flung first a saucepan, and after that the lid of a teapot, at the thief. She failed, of course, in this effort to commit murder, and the cat vanished. Breakfast was brought, but, excepting in the captain's case, breakfast was not eaten. What between questioning, and crying, and hysterical laughing, and replying, and gasping, explaining, misunderstanding, exclaiming, and choking, the other members of the party that breakfasted that morning in the yellow cottage with the much-abused green door, did little else than upset tea-cups and cream-pots, and sputter eggs about, and otherwise make a mess of the once immaculate tablecloth. "Oh, Aunt Martha!" exclaimed Ailie, in the midst of a short pause in the storm, "I'm _so_ very, very, _very_ glad to be home!" The child said this with intense fervour. No one but he who has been long, long away from the home of his childhood, and had come back after having despaired of ever seeing it again, can imagine with what deep fervour she said it, and then burst into tears. Aunt Jane at that moment was venturing to swallow her first mouthful of tea, so she gulped and choked, and Aunt Martha spent the next five minutes in violently beating the poor creature's back, as if she deemed choking a serious offence which merited severe punishment. As for the captain, that unfeeling monster went on grinning from ear to ear, and eating a heavy breakfast, as if nothing had happened. But a close observer might have noticed a curious process going on at the starboard side of his weather-beaten nose. In one of his many desperate encounters with whales, Captain Dunning had had the end of a harpoon thrust accidentally into the prominent member of his face just above the bridge. A permanent little hole was the result, and on the morning of which we write, a drop of water got into that hole continually, and when it rolled out--which it did about once every two minutes--and fell into the captain's tea-cup, it was speedily replaced by another drop, which trickled into the depths of that small cavern on the starboard side of the captain's nose. We don't pretend to account for that curious phenomenon. We merely record the fact. While the breakfast party were yet in this April mood, a knock was heard at the outer door. "Visitors!" said Martha, with a look that would have led a stranger to suppose that she held visitors in much the same estimation as tax-gatherers. "How awkward!" exclaimed Aunt Jane. "Send 'em away, girl," cried the captain. "We're all engaged. Can't see any one to-day." In a moment the servant-girl returned. "He says he _must_ see you." "See who?" cried the captain. "See _you_, sir." "Must he; then he shan't. Tell him that." "Please, sir, he says he won't go away." "Won't he?" As he said this the captain set his teeth, clenched his fists, and darted out of the room. "Oh! George! Stop him! do stop him. He's _so_ violent! He'll do something dreadful!" said Aunt Martha. "Will no one call out murder?" groaned Aunt Jane, with a shudder. As no one, however, ventured to check Captain Dunning, he reached the door, and confronted a rough, big, burly sailor, who stood outside with a free-and-easy expression of countenance, and his hands in his trousers pockets. "Why don't you go away when you're told, eh?" shouted the captain. "'Cause I won't," answered the man coolly. The captain stepped close up, but the sailor stood his ground and grinned. "Now, my lad, if you don't up anchor and make sail right away, I'll knock in your daylights." "No, you won't do nothin' o' the kind, old gen'lem'n; but you'll double-reef your temper, and listen to wot I've got to say; for it's very partikler, an' won't keep long without spilin'." "What have you got to say, then?" said the captain, becoming interested, but still feeling nettled at the interruption. "Can't tell you here." "Why not?" "Never mind; but put on your sky-scraper, and come down with me to the grog-shop wot I frequents, and I'll tell ye." "I'll do nothing of the sort; be off," cried the captain, preparing to slam the door. "Oh! it's all the same to me, in coorse, but I rather think if ye know'd that it's 'bout the _Termagant_, and that 'ere whale wot--but it don't matter. Good-mornin'." "Stay," cried the captain, as the last words fell on his ears. "Have you really anything to say to me about that ship?" "In coorse I has." "Won't you come in and say it here?" "Not by no means. You must come down to the grog-shop with _me_." "Well, I'll go." So saying the captain ran back to the parlour; said, in hurried tones, that he had to go out on matters of importance, but would be back to dine at five, and putting on his hat, left the cottage in company with the strange sailor. CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. CAPTAIN DUNNING ASTONISHES THE STRANGER--SURPRISING NEWS, AND DESPERATE RESOLVES. Still keeping his hands in his pockets and the free-and-easy expression on his countenance, the sailor swaggered through the streets of the town with Captain Dunning at his side, until he arrived at a very dirty little street, near the harbour, the chief characteristics of which were noise, compound smells, and little shops with sea-stores hung out in front. At the farther end of this street the sailor paused before a small public-house. "Here we are," said he; "this is the place w'ere I puts up w'en I'm ashore--w'ich ain't often--that's a fact. After you, sir." The captain hesitated. "You ain't afraid, air you?" asked the sailor, in an incredulous tone. "No, I'm not, my man; but I have an objection to enter a public-house, unless I cannot help it. Have you had a glass this morning?" The sailor looked puzzled, as if he did not see very clearly what the question had to do with the captain's difficulty. "Well, for the matter o' that, I've had three glasses this mornin'." "Then I suppose you have no objection to try a glass of my favourite tipple, have you?" The man smiled, and wiping his mouth with the cuff of his jacket, as if he expected the captain was, then and there, about to hand him a glass of the tipple referred to, said-- "No objection wotsomediver." "Then follow me; I'll take you to the place where _I_ put up sometimes when I'm ashore. It's not far off." Five minutes sufficed to transport them from the dirty little street near the harbour to the back-parlour of the identical coffee-house in which the captain was first introduced to the reader. Here, having whispered something to the waiter, he proceeded to question his companion on the mysterious business for which he had brought him there. "Couldn't we have the tipple first?" suggested the sailor. "It will be here directly. Have you breakfasted?" "'Xceptin' the three glasses I told ye of--no." Well, now, what have you to tell me about the _Termagant_? You have already said that you are one of her crew, and that you were in the boat that day when we had a row about the whale. What more can you tell me? The sailor sat down on a chair, stretched out his legs quite straight, and very wide apart, and thrust his hands, if possible, deeper into his pockets than they even were thrust before--so deep, in fact, as to suggest the idea that there were no pockets there at all--merely holes. Then he looked at Captain Dunning with a peculiarly sly expression of countenance and winked. "Well, that's not much. Anything more?" inquired the captain. "Ho, yes; lots more. The _Termagant's_ in this yere port--at--this-- yere--moment." The latter part of this was said in a hoarse emphatic whisper, and the man raising up both legs to a horizontal position, let them fall so that his heels came with a crash upon the wooden floor. "Is she?" cried the captain, with lively interest; "and her captain?" "He's--yere--too!" Captain Dunning took one or two hasty strides across the floor, as if he were pacing his own quarterdeck--then stopped suddenly and said-- "Can you get hold of any more of that boat's crew?" "I can do nothin' more wotiver, nor say nothin' more wotsomediver, till I've tasted that 'ere tipple of yourn." The captain rang the bell, and the waiter entered with ham and eggs, buttered toast, and hot coffee for two. The sailor opened his eyes to their utmost possible width, and made an effort to thrust his hands still deeper into his unfathomable trousers pockets; then he sat bolt upright, and gathering his legs as close under his chair as possible, clasped his knees with his hands, hugged himself, and grinned from ear to ear. After sitting a second or two in that position, he jumped up, and going forward to the table, took up the plate of ham and eggs, as if to make sure that it was a reality, and smelt it. "Is _this_ your favourite tipple?" he said, on being quite satisfied of the reality of what he saw. "Coffee is my favourite drink," replied the captain, laughing. "I never take anything stronger." "Ho! you're a to-teetler?" "I am. Now, my man, as you have not yet had breakfast, and as you interrupted me in the middle of mine, suppose we sit down and discuss the matter of the whale over this." "Well, this is the rummiest way of offerin' to give a fellow a glass as I ever did come across since I was a tadpole, as sure as my name's Dick Jones," remarked the sailor, sitting down opposite the captain, and turning up the cuffs of his coat. Having filled his mouth to its utmost possible extent, the astonished seaman proceeded, at one and the same time, to masticate and to relate all that he knew in regard to the _Termagant_. He said that not only was that vessel in port at that time, but that the same men were still aboard; that the captain--Dixon by name--was still in command, and that the whale which had been seized from the crew of the _Red Eric_ had been sold along with the rest of the cargo. He related; moreover, how that he and his comrades had been very ill-treated by Captain Dixon during the voyage, and that he (Captain D) was, in the opinion of himself and his shipmates, the greatest blackguard afloat, and had made them so miserable by his brutality and tyranny, that they all hoped they might never meet with his like again-- not to mention the hopes and wishes of a very unfeeling nature which they one and all expressed in regard to that captain's future career. Besides all this, he stated that he (Dick Jones) had recognised Captain Dunning when he landed that morning, and had followed him to the cottage with the yellow face and the green door; after which he had taken a turn of half-an-hour or so up and down the street to think what he ought to do, and had at last resolved to tell all that he knew, and offer to stand witness against his captain, which he was then and there prepared to do, at that time or at any future period, wherever he (Captain Dunning) liked, and whenever he pleased, and that there was an end of the whole matter, and that was a fact. Having unburdened his mind, and eaten all the ham, and eggs, and toast, and drunk all the coffee, and asked for more and got it, Dick Jones proceeded to make himself supremely happy by filling his pipe and lighting it. "I'll take him to law," said Captain Dunning firmly, smiting the table with his fist. "I know'd a feller," said Jones, "wot always said, w'en he heard a feller say that, `You'll come for to wish that ye hadn't;' but I think ye're right, cap'en; for it's a clear case, clear as daylight; an' we'll all swear to a'most anything as'll go fur to prove it." "But are you sure your messmates are as willing as you are to witness against the captain?" "Sure? In coorse I is--sartin sure. Didn't he lamp two on 'em with a rope's-end once till they wos fit to bust, and all for nothin' but skylarkin'? They'll all go in the same boat with me, 'cept perhaps the cook, who is named Baldwin. He's a cross-grained critter, an'll stan' by the cap'en through thick an thin, an' so will the carpenter--Box they call him--he's dead agin us; but that's all." "Then I'll do it at once," cried Captain Dunning, rising and putting on his hat firmly, as a man does when he has made a great resolve, which he more than half suspects will get him into a world of difficulties and trouble. "I s'pose I may set here till ye come back?" inquired Dick Jones, who now wore a dim mysterious aspect, in consequence of the cloud of smoke in which he had enveloped himself. "You may sit there till they turn you out; but come and take breakfast with me at the same hour to-morrow, will ye?" "Won't I?" "Then good-day." So saying, the captain left the coffee-house, and hurried to his sisters' cottage, where he rightly conjectured he should find Glynn Proctor. Without telling his sisters the result of the interview with the "rude seaman," he took Glynn's arm and sallied forth in search of Tim Rokens and Mr Millons, both of whom they discovered enjoying their pipes, after a hearty breakfast, in a small, unpretending, but excellent and comfortable "sailors' home," in the dirty little street before referred to. The greater part of the crew of the late _Red Eric_ (now "sticks and stivers") were found in the same place, engaged in much the same occupation, and to these, in solemn conclave assembled, Captain Dunning announced his intention of opening a law-suit against the captain of the _Termagant_ for the unlawful appropriation of the whale harpooned by Glynn. The men highly approved of what they called a "shore-going scrimmage," and advised the captain to go and have the captain and crew of the _Termagant_ "put in limbo right off." Thus advised and encouraged, Captain Dunning went to a lawyer, who, after hearing the case, stated it as his opinion that it was a good one, and forthwith set about taking the needful preliminary steps to commencing the action. Thereafter Captain Dunning walked rapidly home, wiping his hot brow as he went, and entering the parlour of the cottage--the yellow-faced cottage--flung himself on the sofa with a reckless air, and said, "I've done it!" "Horror!" cried Aunt Martha. "Misery!" gasped Aunt Jane, who happened to be fondling Ailie at the time of her brother's entrance. "Is he dead?" "_Quite_ dead?" added Martha. "Is _who_ dead?" inquired the captain, in surprise. "The man--the rude sailor!" "Dead! No." "You said just now that you had done it." "So I have. I've done the deed. I've gone to law." Had the captain said that he had gone to "sticks and stivers," his sisters could not have been more startled and horrified. They dreaded the law, and hated it with a great and intense hatred, and not without reason; for their father had been ruined in a law-suit, and his father had broken the law, in some political manner they could never clearly understand, and had been condemned by the law to perpetual banishment. "Will it do you much harm, dear, papa?" inquired Ailie, in great concern. "Harm? Of course not. I hope it'll do me, and you too, a great deal of good." "I'm _so_ glad to hear that; for I've heard people say that when you once go into it you never get out of it again." "So have I," said Aunt Martha, with a deep sigh. "And so have I," added Aunt Jane, with a deeper sigh, "and I believe it's true." "It's false!" cried the captain, laughing, "and you are all silly geese; the law is--" "A bright and glorious institution! A desirable investment for the talents of able men! A machine for justice usually--injustice occasionally--and, like all other good things, often misused, abused, and spoken against!" said Glynn Proctor, at that moment entering the room, and throwing his hat on one chair, and himself on another. "I've had enough of the sea, captain, and have come to resign my situation, and beg for dinner." "You shall have it immediately, dear Glynn," said Martha, whose heart warmed at the sight of one who had been so kind to her little niece. "Nay, I'm in no hurry," said Glynn, quickly; "I did but jest, dear madam, as Shakespeare has it. Perhaps it was Milton who said it; one can't be sure; but whenever a truly grand remark escapes you, you're safe to clap it down to Shakespeare." At this point the servant-girl announced dinner. At the same instant a heavy foot was heard in the passage, and Tim Rokens announced himself, saying that he had just seen the captain's lawyer, and had been sent to say that he wished to see Captain Dunning in the course of the evening. "Then let him go on wishing till I'm ready to go to him. Meanwhile do you come and dine with us, Rokens, my lad." Rokens looked awkward, and shuffled a little with his feet, and shook his head. "Why, what's the matter, man?" Rokens looked as if he wished to speak, but hesitated. "If ye please, cap'en, I'd raither not, axin' the ladies' parding. I'd like a word with you in the passage." "By all means," replied the captain, going out of the room with the sailor. "Now, what's wrong?" "My flippers, cap'en," said Rokens, thrusting out his hard, thick, enormous hands, which were stained all over with sundry streaks of tar, and were very red as well as extremely clumsy to look at--"I've bin an' washed 'em with hot water and rubbed 'em with grease till I a'most took the skin off, but they won't come clean, and I'm not fit to sit down with ladies." To this speech the captain replied by seizing Tim Rokens by the collar and dragging him fairly into the parlour. "Here's a man," cried the captain enthusiastically, presenting him to Martha, "who's sailed with me for nigh thirty years, and is the best harpooner I ever had, and has stuck to me through thick and thin, in fair weather and foul, in heat and cold, and was kinder to Ailie during the last voyage than all the other men put together, exceptin' Glynn, and who tells me his hands are covered with tar, and that he can't wash 'em clean nohow, and isn't fit to dine with ladies; so you will oblige me, Martha, by ordering him to leave the house." "I will, brother, with pleasure. I order you, Mr Rokens, to leave this house _at your peril_! And I invite you to partake of our dinner, which is now on the table in the next room." Saying this, Aunt Martha grasped one of the great tar-stained "flippers" in both of her own delicate hands, and shook it with a degree of vigour that Tim Rokens afterwards said he could not have believed possible had he not felt it. Seeing this, Aunt Jane turned aside and blew her nose violently. Tim Rokens attempted to make a bow, failed, and grinned. The captain cried--"Now, then, heave ahead!" Glynn, in the exuberance of his spirits, uttered a miniature cheer. Ailie gave vent to a laugh, that sounded as sweet as a good song; and the whole party adjourned to the dining-room, where the servant-girl was found in the sulks because dinner was getting rapidly cold, and the cat was found:-- "Prowling round the festal board On thievish deeds intent." [See Milton's _Paradise Regained_, latest edition.] CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN. THE LAW-SUIT--THE BATTLE, AND THE VICTORY. The great case of Dunning _versus_ Dixon came on at last. On that day Captain Dunning was in a fever; Glynn Proctor was in a fever; Tim Rokens was in a fever; the Misses Dunning were in two separate fevers--everybody, in fact, on the Dunning side of the case was in a fever of nervous anxiety and mental confusion. As witnesses in the case, they had been precognosced to such an extent by the lawyers that their intellects were almost overturned. On being told that he was to be precognosced. Tim Rokens said stoutly, "He'd like to see the man as 'ud do it"; under the impression that that was the legal term for being kicked, or otherwise maltreated; and on being informed that the word signified merely an examination as to the extent of his knowledge of the facts of the case, he said quietly, "Fire away!" Before they had done firing away, the gallant harpooner was so confused that he began to regard the whole case as already hopeless. The other men were much in the same condition; but in a private meeting held among themselves the day before the trial, Rokens made the following speech, which comforted them not a little. "Messmates and shipmates," said Tim, "I'll tell ye wot it is. I'm no lawyer--that's a fact--but I'm a man; an' wot's a man?--it ain't a bundle o' flesh an' bones on two legs, with a turnip a-top o't, is it?" "Be no manes," murmured Briant, with an approving nod. "Cer'nly not," remarked Dick Barnes. "I second that motion." "Good," continued Rokens. "Then, bein' a man, I've got brains enough to see that, if we don't want to contredick one another, we must stick to the truth." "You don't suppose I'd go fur to tell lies, do you?" said Tarquin quickly. "In coorse not. But what I mean to say is, that we must stick to what we _knows_ to be the truth, and not be goin' for to guess at it, or _think_ that we knows it, and then swear to it as if we wos certain sure." "Hear! hear!" from the assembled company. "In fact," observed Glynn, "let what we say be absolutely true, and say just as little as we can. That's how to manage a good case." "An', be all manes," added Briant, "don't let any of ye try for to improve matters be volunteerin' yer opinion. Volunteerin' opinions is stuff. Volunteerin' is altogether a bad look-out. I know'd a feller, I did--a strappin' young feller he was, too, more betoken--as volunteered himself to death, he did. To be sure, his wos a case o' volunteerin' into the Louth Militia, and he wos shot, he wos, in a pop'lar riot, as the noosepapers said--a scrimmage, I calls it--so don't let any o' us be goin' for to volunteer opinions w'en nobody axes 'em--no, nor wants 'em." Briant looked so pointedly at Gurney while delivering this advice that that obese individual felt constrained to look indignant, and inquire whether "them 'ere imperent remarks wos meant for him." To which Briant replied that "they wos meant for him, as well as for ivery man then present." Whereupon Gurney started up and shook his fist across the table at Briant, and Briant made a face at Gurney, at which the assembled company of mariners laughed, and immediately thereafter the meeting was broken up. Next day the trial came on, and as the case was expected to be more than usually interesting, the house was filled to overflowing long before the hour. The trial lasted all that day, and all the next, and a great part of the third, but we do not purpose going into it in detail. The way in which Mr Rasp (Captain Dunning's counsel) and Mr Tooth (Captain Dixon's counsel) badgered, browbeat, and utterly bamboozled the witnesses on both sides, and totally puzzled the jury, can only be understood by those who have frequented courts of law, but could not be fully or adequately described in less than six hundred pages. In the course of the trial the resolutions come to by the crew of the _Red Eric_, that they would tell _nothing_ but the truth, and carefully refrain from touching on what they were not quite sure of, proved to be of the greatest advantage to the pursuer's case. We feel constrained here to turn aside for one moment to advise the general adoption of that course of conduct in all the serious affairs of life. The evidence of Tim Rokens was clear and to the point. The whale had been first struck by Glynn with a harpoon, to which a drogue was attached; it had been followed up by the crew of the _Red Eric_ and also by the crew of the _Termagant_. The boats of the latter over-took the fish first, fixed a harpoon in it, and lanced it mortally. The drogue and harpoon of the _Red Eric_ were still attached to the whale when this was done, so that, according to the laws of the fishery, the crew of the _Termagant_ had no right to touch the whale--it was a "fast" fish. If the drogue had become detached the fish would have been free, and both crews would have been entitled to chase and capture it if they were able. Angry words and threats had passed between the crews of the opposing boats, but the whale put a stop to that by smashing the boat of the _Red Eric_ with its tail, whereupon the boat of the _Termagant_ made off with the fish (which died almost immediately after), and left the crew of the boat belonging to the _Red Eric_ struggling in the water. Such was the substance of the evidence of the harpooner, and neither cross-examination nor re-cross-examination by Mr Tooth, the counsel for the defendant, could induce Tim Rokens to modify, alter, omit, or contradict one iota of what he had said. It must not be supposed, however, that all of the men gave their evidence so clearly or so well. The captain did, though he was somewhat nervous, and the doctor did, and Glynn did. But that of Nikel Sling was unsatisfactory, in consequence of his being unable to repress his natural tendency to exaggeration. Tarquin also did harm; for, in his spite against the crew of the _Termagant_, he made statements which were not true, and his credit as a witness was therefore totally destroyed. Last of all came Jim Scroggles, who, after being solemnly sworn, deposed that he was between thirty-five and thirty-six years of age, on hearing which Gurney said "Oh!" with peculiar emphasis, and the people laughed, and the judge cried "Silence," and the examination went on. After some time Mr Tooth rose to cross-question Jim Scroggles, who happened to be a nervous man in public, and was gradually getting confused and angry. "Now, my man, please to be particular in your replies," said Mr Tooth, pushing up his spectacles on his forehead, thrusting his hands into his trousers pockets, and staring very hard at Jim. "You said that you pulled the second oar from the bow on the day in which the whale was killed." "Yes." "Are you quite sure of that? Was it not the _third_ oar, now?" "Yes or no," interrupted Mr Tooth. "It's so long since--" "Yes or no," repeated Mr Tooth. "Yes," roared Scroggles, forgetting at the moment, in his confusion and indignation at not being allowed to speak, in what manner the question had been put. "Yes," echoed Mr Tooth, addressing the judge, but looking at the jury. "You will observe, gentlemen. Would your lordship be so good as to note that? This witness, on that very particular occasion, when every point in the circumstances must naturally have been impressed deeply on the memories of all present, appears to have been so confused as not to know which oar of the boat he pulled. So, my man" (turning to the witness), "it appears evident that either you are now mis-stating the facts of the case or were then incapable of judging of them." Jim Scroggles felt inclined to leap out of the witness-box, and knocked the teeth of Mr Tooth down his throat! But he repressed the inclination, and that gentleman went on to say-- "When the boat of the _Red Eric_ came up to the whale was the drogue still attached to it?" "In coorse it was. Didn't ye hear me say that three or--" "Be so good as to answer my questions simply, and do not make unnecessary remarks, sir. Was the drogue attached when the boat came up? Yes or no?" "Yes." "How do you know?" "'Cause I seed it." "You are quite sure that you saw it?" "In coorse!--leastwise, Tim Rokens seed it, and all the men in the boat seed it, and said so to me afterwards--w'ich is the same thing, though I can't 'xactly say I seed it myself, 'cause I was looking hard at the men in the enemy's boat, and considerin' which on 'em I should give a dab in the nose to first w'en we come along side of 'em." "Oh, then you did _not_ see the drogue attached to the whale?" said Mr Tooth, with a glance at the jury; "and you were so taken up with the anticipated fight, I suppose, that you scarcely gave your attention to the whale at all! Were the other men in your boat in a similarly unobservant condition?" "Eh?" exclaimed Scroggles. "Were the other men as eager for the fight as you were?" "I s'pose they wos; you'd better ax 'em. _I_ dun know." "No, I don't suppose you do, considering the state of mind you appear to have been in at the time. Do you know which part of the whale struck your boat? Was it the head?" "No; it was the tail." "Are you quite sure of that?" "Ho, yes, quite sartin, for I've got a knot on my head this day where the tip of its flukes came down on me." "You're quite sure of that? Might it not have been the part of the fish near the tail, now, that struck you, or the fin just under the tail?" "No; I'm quite sartin sure it warn't _that_." "How are you so sure it wasn't that?" "Because whales hain't got no fins just under their tails!" replied Scroggles, with a broad grin. There was another loud laugh at this, and Mr Tooth looked a little put out, and the judge cried "Silence" again, and threatened to clear the court. After a few more questions Jim Scroggles was permitted to retire, which he did oppressed with a feeling that his evidence had done the case little good, if not some harm, yet rather elated than otherwise at the success of his last hit. That evening Captain Dunning supped with Ailie and his sisters in low spirits. Glynn and the doctor and Tim Rokens and the two mates, Millons and Markham, supped with him, also in low spirits; and King Bumble acted the part of waiter, for that sable monarch had expressed an earnest desire to become Captain Dunning's servant, and the captain had agreed to "take him on," at least for a time. King Bumble was also in low spirits; and, as a natural consequence, so were Aunts Martha and Jane and little Ailie. It seemed utterly incomprehensible to the males of the party, how so good a case as this should come to wear such an unpromising aspect. "The fact is," said the captain, at the conclusion of a prolonged discussion, "I don't believe we'll gain it." "Neither do I," said the doctor, helping himself to a large quantity of salad, as if that were the only comfort now left to him, and he meant to make the most of it before giving way to total despair. "I knew it," observed Aunt Martha firmly. "I always said the law was a wicked institution." "It's a great shame!" said Aunt Jane indignantly; "but what could we expect? It treats every one ill." "Won't it treat Captain Dixon well, if he wins, aunt?" inquired Ailie. "Dear child, what can you possibly know about law?" said Aunt Martha. "Would you like a little more tart?" asked Aunt Jane. "Bravo! Ailie," cried Glynn, "that's a fair question. I back it up." "How much do you claim for damages, George?" inquired Aunt Martha, changing the subject. ("Question!" whispered Glynn.) "Two thousand pounds," answered the captain. "What!" exclaimed the aunts, in a simultaneous burst of amazement. "All for _one_ fish?" "Ay, it was a big one, you see, and Dick Jones, one of the men of the _Termagant_, told me it was sold for that. It's a profitable fishing, when one doesn't lose one's ship. What do you say to go with me and Ailie on our next trip, sisters? You might use up all your silk and worsted thread and crooked pins." "What nonsense you talk, George; but I suppose you really do use pretty large hooks and lines when you fish for whales?" Aunt Martha addressed the latter part of her remark to Tim Rokens, who seemed immensely tickled by the captain's pleasantry. "Hooks and lines, ma'am!" cried Rokens, regarding his hostess with a look of puzzled surprise. "To be sure we do," interrupted Glynn; "we use anchors baited with live crocodiles--sometimes elephants, when we can't get crocodiles. But hippopotamuses do best." "Oh! Glynn!" cried Ailie, laughing, "how can you?" "It all depends on the drogue," remarked the doctor. "I'm surprised to find how few of the men can state with absolute certainty that they saw the drogue attached to the whale when the boat came up to it. It all hinges upon that." "Yes," observed Mr Millons, "the 'ole case 'inges on that, because that proves it was a fast fish." "Dear me, Mr Millons," said Aunt Martha, smiling, "I have heard of fast young men, but I never heard of a fast fish before." "Didn't you, ma'am?" exclaimed the first mate, looking up in surprise, for that matter-of-fact seamen seldom recognised a joke at first sight. Aunt Martha, who very rarely ventured on the perpetration of a joke, blushed, and turning somewhat hastily to Mr Markham, asked if he would "take another cup of tea." Seeing that there was no tea on the table, she substituted "another slice of ham," and laughed. Thereupon the whole company laughed, and from that moment their spirits began to rise. They began to discuss the more favourable points of the evidence led that day, and when they retired at a late hour to rest, their hopes had again become sanguine. Next morning the examination of the witnesses for the defendant came on. There were more of them than Dick Jones had expected; for the crew of the _Termagant_ happened to be partly made up of very bad men, who were easily bribed by their captain to give evidence in his favour. But it soon became evident that they had not previously determined, as Captain Dunning's men had done, to stick to the simple truth. They not only contradicted each other but each contradicted himself more than once; and it amazed them all, more than they could tell, to find how easily Mr Rasp turned their thoughts outside in, and caused them to prove conclusively that they were telling falsehoods. After the case had been summed up by the judge, the jury retired to consult, but they only remained five minutes away, and then came back with a verdict in favour of the pursuers. "Who's the `pursooers?'" inquired Gurney, when this was announced to him by Nikel Sling. "Ain't we all pursooers? Wasn't we all pursooing the whale together?" "Oh, you grampus!" cried Nikel, laughing. "Don't ye know that _we_ is the purshooers, 'cause why? We're purshooin' the cap'en and crew of the _Termagant_ at law, and means to purshoo 'em too, I guess, till they stumps up for that air whale. And they is the defendants, 'cause they're s'posed to defend themselves to the last gasp; but it ain't o' no manner o' use." Nikel Sling was right. Captain Dixon _was_ pursued until he paid back the value of his ill-gotten whale, and was forcibly reminded by this episode in his career, that "honesty is the best policy" after all. Thus Captain Dunning found himself suddenly put in possession of a sum of two thousand pounds. CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT. THE CONCLUSION. The trouble, and worry, and annoyance that the sum of 2000 pounds gave to Captain Dunning is past all belief. That worthy man, knowing that Glynn Proctor had scarcely a penny in the world, not even his "kit" (as sailors name their sea-chests), which had been lost in the wreck of the _Red Eric_, and that the boy was about to be cast upon the world again an almost friendless wanderer--knowing all this, we say, Captain Dunning insisted that as Glynn had been the first to strike the whale, and as no one else had had anything to do with its capture, he (Glynn) was justly entitled to the money. Glynn firmly declined to admit the justice of this view of the case; he had been paid his wages; that was all he had any right to claim; so he positively refused to take the money. But the captain was more than his match. He insisted so powerfully, and argued so logically, that Glynn at last consented, on condition that 500 pounds of it should be distributed among his shipmates. This compromise was agreed to, and thus Glynn came into possession of what appeared in his eyes a fortune of 1500 pounds. "Now, what am I to do with it? that is the question." Glynn propounded this knotty question one evening, about three weeks after the trial, to his friends of the yellow cottage with the green-painted door. "Put it in the bank," suggested Aunt Martha. "Yes, and live on the interest," added Aunt Jane. "Or invest in the whale-fishery," said Captain Dunning, emitting a voluminous cloud of tobacco-smoke, as if to suggest the idea that the investment would probably end in something similar to that. (The captain was a peculiarly favoured individual; he was privileged to smoke in the Misses Dunning's parlour.) "Oh! I'll tell you what to do, Glynn," cried Ailie, clapping her hands; "it would be _so_ nice. Buy a cottage with it--a nice, pretty, white-painted cottage, beside a wood, with a little river in front of it, and a small lake with a boat on it not far off, and a far, far view from the windows of fields, and villages, and churches, and cattle, and sheep, and--" "Hurrah! Ailie, go it, my lass!" interrupted Glynn; "and horses, and ponies, and carts, and cats, and blackbirds, and cocks and hens, and ploughmen, and milkmaids, and beggars, all in the foreground; and coaches, and railroads, and steamboats, and palaces, and canals, in the middle distance; with a glorious background of the mighty sea glittering for ever under the blazing beams of a perpetually setting sun, mingled with the pale rays of an eternally rising moon, and laden with small craft, and whale-ships, and seaweed, and fish, and bumboats, and men-of-war!" "Oh, how nice!" cried Ailie, screaming with delight. "Go ahead, lad, never give in!" said the captain; whose pipe during this glowing description had been keeping up what seemed like a miniature sea-fight. "You've forgot the main point." "What's that?" inquired Glynn. "Why, a palace for Jacko close beside it, with a portrait of Jacko over the drawing-room fireplace, and a marble bust of Jacko in the four corners of every room." "So I did; I forgot that," replied Glynn. "Dear Jacko!" said Ailie, laughing heartily, and holding out her hand. The monkey, which had become domesticated in the house, leaped nimbly upon her knee, and looked up in her face. "Oh! Ailie dear, do put it down!" cried Aunt Jane, shuddering. "How can you?" said Aunt Martha; "dirty beast!" Of course Aunt Martha applied the latter part of her remark to the monkey, not to the child. "I'll never be able to bear it," remarked Aunt Jane. "And it will never come to agree with the cat," observed Aunt Martha. Ailie patted her favourite on the cheek and told it to go away, adding, that it was a dear pet--whereupon that small monkey retired modestly to a corner near the sideboard. It chanced to be the corner nearest to the sugar-basin, which had been left out by accident; but Jacko didn't know that, of course--at least, if he did, he did not say so. It is probable, however, that he found it out in course of time; for an hour or two afterwards the distinct marks of ten very minute fingers were visible therein, a discovery which Aunt Martha made with a scream, and Aunt Jane announced with a shriek--which caused Jacko to retire precipitately. "But really," said Glynn, "jesting apart, I must take to something on shore, for although I like the sea very well, I find that I like the land better." "Well, since you wish to be in earnest about it," said Captain Dunning, "I'll tell you what has been passing in my mind of late. I'm getting to be an oldish young man now, you see, and am rather tired of the sea myself, so I also think of giving it up. I have now laid by about five thousand pounds, and with this I think of purchasing a farm. I learnt something of farming before I took to the sea, so that I am not quite so green on such matters as you might suppose, though I confess I'm rather rusty and behind the age; but that won't much matter in a fine country like this, and I can get a good steward to take command and steer the ship until I have brushed up a bit in shore-goin' navigation. There is a farm which is just the very thing for me not more than twenty miles from this town, with a cottage on it and a view _somewhat_ like the one you and Ailie described a few minutes ago, though not _quite_ so grand. But there's one great and insuperable objection to my taking it." "What is that?" inquired Aunt Martha, who, with her sister, expressed in their looks unbounded surprise at the words of their brother, whom they regarded as so thoroughly and indissolubly connected with the sea that they would probably have been less surprised had he announced it to be his intention to become a fish and thenceforward dwell in a coral cave. "I have not enough of money wherewith to buy and stock it." "_What_ a pity!" said Ailie, whose hopes had been rising with extraordinary rapidity, and were thus quenched at once. Glynn leaped up and smote his thigh with his right hand, and exclaimed in a triumphant manner--"That's the very ticket!" "What's the very ticket?" inquired the captain. "I'll lend you _my_ money," said Glynn. "Ay, boy, that's just the point I was comin' to. A thousand pounds will do. Now, if you lend me that sum, I'm willin' to take you into partnership, and we'll buy the place and farm it together. I think we'll pull well in the same boat, for I think you like me well enough, and I'm sure I like you, and I know Ailie don't object to either of us; and after I'm gone, Glynn, you can work the farm for Ailie and give her her share. What say you?" "Done," exclaimed Glynn, springing up and seizing the captain's hand. "I'll be your son and you'll be my father, and Ailie will be my sister-- and _won't_ we be jolly, just!" Ailie laughed, and so did the two aunts, but the captain made no reply. He merely smoked with a violence that was quite appalling, and nodding his head, winked at Glynn, as if to say--"That's it, exactly!" The compact thus half-jestingly entered into was afterwards thoroughly ratified and carried into effect. The cottage was named the Red Eric, and the property was named the Whale Brae, after an ancestral estate which, it was supposed, had, at some remote period, belonged to the Dunning family in Scotland. The title was not inappropriate, for it occupied the side of a rising ground, which, as a feature in the landscape, looked very like a whale, "only," as Glynn said, "not quite so big," which was an outrageous falsehood, for it was a great deal bigger! A small wooden palace was built for Jacko, and many a portrait was taken of him by Glynn, in charcoal, on many an outhouse wall, to the immense delight of Ailie. As to having busts of him placed in the corners of every room, Glynn remarked that that was quite unnecessary, for Jacko _almost_ "bu'st" himself in every possible way, at every conceivable time, in every imaginable place, whenever he could conveniently collect enough of food to do so--which was not often, for Jacko, though small, was of an elastic as well as an amiable disposition. Tim Rokens stuck to his old commander to the last. He said he had sailed with him the better part of his life, in the same ships, had weathered the same storms, and chased the same fish, and now that the captain had made up his mind to lay up in port, he meant to cast anchor beside him. So the bold harpooner became a species of overseer and jack-of-all-trades on the property. Phil Briant set up as a carpenter in the village close by, took to himself a wife (his first wife having died), and became Tim Rokens' boon companion and bosom friend. As for the rest of the crew of the _Red Eric_, they went their several ways, got into separate ships, and were never again re-assembled together; but nearly all of them came at separate times, in the course of years, to visit their old captain and shipmates in the Red Eric at Whale Brae. In course of time Ailie grew up into such a sweet, pretty, modest, loveable woman, that the very sight of her did one's heart good. Love was the ruling power in Ailie's heart--love to her God and Saviour and to all His creatures. She was not perfect. Who is? She had faults, plenty of them. Who has not? But her loving nature covered up everything with a golden veil so beautiful, that no one saw her faults, or, if they did, would not believe them to be faults at all. Glynn, also, grew up and became a _man_. Observe, reader, we don't mean to say that he became a thing with long legs, and broad shoulders, and whiskers. Glynn became a real man; an out-and-out man; a being who realised the fact that he had been made and born into the world for the purpose of doing that world good, and leaving it better than he found it. He did not think that to strut, and smoke cigars, and talk loud or big, and commence most of his sentences with "Aw! 'pon my soul!" was the summit of true greatness. Neither did he, flying in disgust to the opposite extreme, speak like a misanthrope, and look like a bear, or dress like a savage. He came to know the truth of the proverb, that "there is a time for all things," and following up the idea suggested by those words, he came to perceive that there is a place for all things-- that place being the human heart, when in a true and healthy condition in all its parts, out of which, in their proper time, some of those "all things" ought to be ever ready to flow. Hence Glynn could weep with the sorrowful and laugh with the gay. He could wear a red or a blue flannel shirt, and pull an oar (ay, the best oar) at a rowing match, or he could read the Bible and pray with a bedridden old woman. Had Glynn Proctor been a naval commander, he might have sunk, destroyed, or captured fleets. Had he been a soldier, he might have stormed and taken cities; being neither, he was a greater man than either, for he could "_rule his own spirit_." If you are tempted, dear reader, to think that an easy matter, just try it. Make the effort. The first time you chance to be in a towering rage (which I trust, however, may never be), try to keep your tongue silent, and, most difficult of all, try at that moment to pray, and see whether your opinion as to your power over your own spirit be not changed. Such were Glynn and Ailie. "So they married, of course," you remark. Well, reader, and why not? Nothing could be more natural. Glynn felt, and said, too, that nothing was nearer his heart. And Ailie admitted-- after being told by Glynn that she must be his wife, for he wanted to have her, and was determined to have her whether she would or not--that her heart was in similar proximity to the idea of marriage. Captain Dunning did not object--it would have been odd if he had objected to the fulfilment of his chief earthly desire. Tim Rokens did not groan when he heard of the proposal--by no means; on the contrary, he roared, and laughed, and shouted with delight, and went straight off to tell Phil Briant, who roared a duet with him, and they both agreed that it "wos the most gloriously nat'ral thing they ever did know since they wos launched upon the sea of time!" So Glynn Proctor and Ailie Dunning were married, and lived long, and happily, and usefully at Whale Brae. Captain Dunning lived with them until he was so old that Ailie's eldest daughter (also named Ailie) had to lead him from his bedroom each morning to breakfast, and light his pipe for him when he had finished. And Ailie the second performed her duties well, and made the old man happy--happier than he could find words to express--for Ailie the second was like her mother in all things, and greater praise than that could not possibly be awarded to her. The affairs of the cottage with the yellow face and the green door were kept in good order for many years by one of Ailie the second's little sisters--Martha by name; and there was much traffic and intercourse between that ancient building and the Red Eric, as long as the two aunts lived, which was a very long time indeed. Its green door was, during that time, almost battered off its hinges by successive juvenile members of the Proctor family. And truly deep and heartfelt was the mourning at Whale Brae when the amiable sisters were taken away at last. As for Tim Rokens, that ancient mariner became the idol of the young Proctors, as they successively came to be old enough to know his worth. The number of ships and boats he made for the boys among them was absolutely fabulous. Equal, perhaps, to about a twentieth part of the number of pipes of tobacco he smoked during his residence there, and about double the number of stories told them by Phil Briant during the same period. King Bumble lived with the family until his woolly head became as white as his face was black; and Jacko--poor little Jacko--lived so long, that he became big, but he did not become less amiable, or less addicted to thieving. He turned grey at last and became as blind as a bat, and finally crawled about the house, enfeebled by old age, and wrapped in a flannel dressing-gown. Sorrows and joys are the lot of all; they chase each other across the sky of human life like cloud and sunshine on an April day. Captain Dunning and his descendants were not exempt from the pains, and toils, and griefs of life, but they met them in the right spirit, and diffused so sweet an influence around their dwelling that the neighbours used to say--and say truly--of the family at the Red Eric, that they were always good-humoured and happy--as happy as the day was long. THE END. 
28597	----	A MAN TO HIS MATE [Illustration: The sea struck the opposite rail with a roar] A Man to His Mate _by_ J. ALLAN DUNN AUTHOR OF Jim Morse--Adventurer, Turquoise Canyon, Dead Man's Gold, etc. _Illustrated by_ STOCKTON MULFORD INDIANAPOLIS THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY PUBLISHERS COPYRIGHT 1920 THE FRANK A. MUNSEY COMPANY COPYRIGHT 1920 THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY _Printed in the United States of America_ PRESS OF BRAUNWORTH & CO. BOOK MANUFACTURERS BROOKLYN. N. Y. _To_ J. E. DE RUYTER, ESQUIRE this yarn is affectionately and appreciatively dedicated CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I BLIND SAMSON 1 II A DIVIDED COMPANY 25 III TARGET PRACTISE 47 IV THE BOWHEAD 73 V RAINEY SCORES 82 VI SANDY SPEAKS 96 VII RAINEY MAKES DECISION 117 VIII TAMADA TALKS 132 IX THE POT SIMMERS 151 X THE SHOW-DOWN 163 XI HONEST SIMMS 186 XII DEMING BREAKS AN ARM 210 XIII THE RIFLE CARTRIDGES 230 XIV PEGGY SIMMS 241 XV SMOKE 266 XVI THE MIGHT OF NIPPON 277 XVII MY MATE 293 XVIII LUND'S LUCK 332 A Man to His Mate CHAPTER I BLIND SAMSON It was perfect weather along the San Francisco water-front, and Rainey reacted to the brisk touch of the trade-wind upon his cheek, the breeze tempering the sun, bringing with it a tang of the open sea and a hint of Oriental spices from the wharves. He whistled as he went, watching a lumber coaster outward bound. The dull thump of a heavy cane upon the timbered walk and the shuffle of uncertain feet warned him from blundering into a man tapping his way along the Embarcadero, a giant who halted abruptly and faced him, leaning on the heavy stick. "Matey," asked the giant, "could you put a blind man in the way of finding the sealin' schooner _Karluk_?" The voice fitted its owner, Rainey thought--a basso voice tempered to the occasion, a deep-sea voice that could bellow above the roar of a gale if needed. For all his shoregoing clothes and shuffle, the man was certainly a sailor, or had been. All the skin uncovered by cloth or hair was weathered to leather, the great hands curled in as if they clutched an invisible rope. He wore dark glasses with side lenses, over which heavy brows projected in shaggy wisps of red hair. Blind as the man proclaimed himself with voice and action, Rainey sensed something back of those colored glasses that seemed to be appraising him, almost as if the will of the man was peering, or listening, focused through those listless sockets. A kind of magnetism, not at all attractive, Rainey decided, even as he offered help and information. "You're not fifty yards from the _Karluk_," Rainey replied. "But you're bound in the wrong direction. Let me put you right. I'm going that way myself." "That's kind of ye, matey," said the other. "But I picked ye for that sort, hearin' you whistlin' as you came swingin' along. Light-hearted, I thinks, an' young, most likely; he'll help a stranded man. Give me the touch of yore arm, matey, an' I'll stow this spar of mine." He swung about, slinging the curving handle of the stick over his right elbow as the fingers of his left hand placed themselves on Rainey's proffered arm. Strong fingers, almost vibrant with a force manifest through serge and linen. Fingers that could grip like steel upon occasion. Rainey wonderingly sized up his consort. The stranger's bulk was enormous. Rainey was well over the average himself, but he was only a stripling beside this hulk, this stranded hulk, of manhood. And, for all the spectacled eyes and shuffling feet, there was a stamp of coordinated strength about the giant that bespoke the blind Samson. Given eyes, Rainey could imagine him agile as a panther, strong as a bear. His weight was made up of thews and sinews, spare and solid flesh without an ounce of waste, upon a mighty skeleton. His face was heavy-bearded in hair of flaming, curling red, from high cheek-bones down out of sight below the soft loose collar of his shirt. The bridge of his glasses rested on the outcurve of a nose like the beak of an osprey, the ends of the wires looped about ears that lay close to the head, hairy about the inner-curves, lobeless, the tips suggesting the ear-tips of a satyr. Mouth and jaw were hidden, but the beard could not deny the bold projection of the latter. About thirty, Rainey judged him. Buffeted by time and weather, but in the prime of his strength. "Snow-blinded, matey," said the man. "North o' Point Barrow, a year an' more ago. Brought me up all standin'. What are you? Steamer man? Purser, maybe?" "Newspaperman," answered Rainey. "Water-front detail. For the _Times_." "You don't say so, matey? A writer, eh?" Again Rainey felt the tug of that something back of the dark lenses, some speculation going on in the man's mind concerning him. And he felt the firm fingers contract ever so slightly, sinking into the muscles of his forearm for a second with a hint of how they could bruise and paralyze at will. Once more a faint sense of revulsion fought with his natural inclination to aid the handicapped mariner, and he shook it off. "The _Karluk_ sails to-morrow," he said. "Aye, so--so they told me, matey. You've bin aboard?" "I had a short talk with Captain Simms when she docked. Not much of a yarn. She didn't have a good trip, you know." "Why, I didn't know. But--hold hard a minnit, will ye? You see, Simms is an old shipmate of mine. He don't dream I'm within a hundred miles o' here. Aye, or a thousand." He gave a deep-chested chuckle. "Now, then, matey, look here." Rainey was anchored by the compelling grip. They stood next to the slip in which the sealer lay. The _Karluk's_ decks were deserted, though there was smoke coming from the galley stovepipe. "Simms is likely to be aboard," went on the other. "Ye see, I know his ways. An' I've come a long trip to see him. Nigh missed him. Only got in from Seattle this mornin'. He ain't expectin' me, an' it's in my mind to surprise him. By way of a joke. I don't want to be announced, ye see. Just drop in on him. How's the deck? Clear?" "No one in sight," said Rainey. "Fine! Mates an' crew down the Barb'ry Coast, I reckon. Sealers have liberties last shore-day. Like whalers. I've buried a few irons myself, matey, but I'll never sight the vapor of a right whale ag'in. Stranded, I am. So you'll do me a favor, matey, an' pilot me down into the cabin, if so be the skipper's there. If he ain't, I'll wait for him. I've got the right an' run o' the _Karluk's_ cabin. I know ev'ry inch of her. You'll see when we go aboard. Let's go." Rainey led him down the gangway to the deck of the sealer, still cluttered a bit with unstowed gear. Once on board, the blind man seemed to walk with assurance, guiding himself with touches here and there that showed his familiarity with the vessel's rig. And he no longer shuffled, but walked lightly, grinning at Rainey through his beard, with one blunt forefinger set to his mouth as he approached the cabin skylight, lifted on the port side. Through it came the murmur of voices. The blind man nodded in satisfaction and widened his grin with a warning "hush-h" to his guide. "We'll fool 'em proper," he lipped rather than uttered. The companion doors were closed, but they opened noiselessly. The stairs were carpeted with corrugated rubber that muffled all sound. Two men sat at the cabin table, leaning forward, hands and forearms outstretched, fingering something. One Rainey recognized as the captain, Simms--a heavy, square-built man, gray-haired, clean-shaven, his flesh tanned, yet somehow unhealthy, as if the bronze was close to tarnishing. There were deep puffs under the gray tired eyes. The other was younger, tall, nervously active, with dark eyes and a dark mustache and beard, the latter trimmed to a Vandyke. Between them was a long slim sack of leather, a miner's poke. It was half full of something that stuffed its lower extremity solid, without doubt the same substance that glistened in the mouth of the sack and the palms of the two men--gold--coarse dust of gold! Rainey felt himself thrust to one side as the blind man straddled across the bottom of the companionway, towering in the cabin while he thrust his stick with a thump on the floor and thundered, in a bellow that seemed to fill the place and come tumbling back in deafening echo: "_Karluk_ ahoy!" The face of Captain Simms paled, the tan turned to a sickly gray, and his jaw dropped. Rainey saw fear come into his eyes. His companion did not stir a muscle except for the quick shift of his glance, but went on sitting at the table, the gold in one palm, the fingers of his other hand resting on the grains. "Jim Lund!" gasped the captain hoarsely. "That's me, you skulking sculpin? Thought I was bear meat by this, didn't you, blast yore rotten soul to hell! But I'm back, Bill Simms. Back, an' this time you don't slip me!" Jim Lund's face was purple-red with rage, great veins standing out upon it so swollen that it seemed they must surely burst and discharge their congested contents. Out of the purpling flesh his scarlet hair curled in diabolical effect. His teeth gleamed through his beard, strong, yellow, far apart. He looked, Rainey thought, like a blind Berserker, restrained only by his affliction. "You left me blind on the floe, Bill Simms!" he roared. "Blind, in a drivin' blizzard with the ice breakin' up! If I didn't have use for yore carcass I'd twist yore head from yore scaly body like I'd pull up a carrot." Lund's fingers opened and closed convulsively. Before Rainey the vision of the threatened crime rose clear. "I looked for you, Jim," pleaded the captain, and to Rainey his words lacked conviction. "I didn't know you were blind. I heard you shout just before the blizzard broke loose." Lund answered with an inarticulate roar. "And there's others present, Jim. I can explain it to you when we're by ourselves. When you're a mite calmer, Jim." Lund banged his stick down on the table with a smashing blow that made the man with the Vandyke beard, still silent, keenly observant, draw back his arm with a catlike swiftness that only just evaded the stroke. The heavy wood landed fairly on the filled half of the poke and caused some of the gold to leap out of the mouth. [Illustration: "What's that I hit?" asked Lund] "What's that I hit?" asked Lund. "Soft, like a rat." He lunged forward, felt for the poke, and found it, lifted it, hefted it, his forehead puckered with deep seams, discovered the open end, poured out some of the colors on one palm, and used that for a mortar, grinding at the grains with his finger for a pestle, still weighing the stuff with a slight up-and-down movement of his hand. He nodded as he slipped the poke into a side pocket, and the cabin grew very silent. Lund's face was grimly terrible. Rainey could have gone when the blind man reached for the gold and left the ladder clear. He had meant to go at the first opportunity, but now he was held fascinated by what was about to happen, and Lund stepped back across the companionway. "So," said Lund, his deep voice muffled by some swift restraint. "You found it. And yo're going back after more?" His forehead was still creased with puzzlement. "Wal, I'm going with ye, eyes or no eyes, an' I'll keep tabs on ye, Bill Simms, by day and night. You can lay to that, you slimy-hearted swab!" His voice had risen again. Rainey saw the sweat standing out on the captain's forehead as he answered: "Of course you'll come, Jim. No need for you to talk this way." "No need to talk! By the eternal, what I've got to say's bin steamin' in me for fourteen months o' blackness, an' it's comin' out, now it's started! Who's this man, who was talkin' with ye when I come aboard?" He wheeled directly toward the man with the Vandyke, who still sat motionless, apparently calm, looking on as if at a play that might turn out to be either comedy or tragedy. "That's Doctor Carlsen. He's to be surgeon this trip, Jim," said Simms deprecatingly, though he darted a look at Rainey half suspicious, half resentful. Rainey, on the hint, turned toward the ladder quietly enough, but Lund had nipped him by the biceps before Rainey had taken a step. "You'll stay right here," said Lund, "while I tell you an' this Doc Carlsen what kind of a man Simms is, with his poke full of gold and me with the price of my last meal spent two hours ago. I won't spin out the yarn. "I rescued an Aleut off a bit of a berg one time. There warn't much of him left to rescue. Hands an' feet an' nose was frozen so he lost 'em, but the pore devil was grateful, an' he told me something. Told about an island north of Bering Strait, west of Kotzebue Sound, where there was gold on the beach richer and thicker than it ever lay at Nome. I makes for it, gits close enough for my Aleut to recognize it--it ain't an easy place to forget for one who has eyes--an' then we're blown south, an' we git into ice an' trouble. The Aleut dies, an' I lose my ship. But I was close enough to get the reckonin' of that island. "Finally I land at Seattle, broke. I meet up with the man they call Hardluck Simms. Also they called him Honest Simms those days. Some said his honesty accounted for his hard luck. I like him, an' I finally tell him about my island. I put up the reckonin', an' he supplies the _Karluk_, grub, an' crew. "Simms' luck is still ag'in' him. The _Karluk_ gits into ice, gits nipped an' carried north, 'way north, with wind an' current, frozen tight in a floe. It looks like we've got to winter there. Mind ye, I've given Honest Simms the reckonin' of the island. We go out on the ice after bear, though the weather's threatenin', for we're short of meat. An' we kill a Kadiak bear. Me--I'll never stand for the shootin' of another bear if I can stop it. "I've bin havin' trouble with my eyes. Right along. I'm on the floe not eighty yards from Simms. No, not sixty! It was me killed the bear, an' we're goin' back to the schooner for a sled. I stayed behind to bleed the brute. All of a sudden, like it always hits you, snow-blindness gits me, an' I shouts to Honest Simms. I'm blind, with my eyeballs on fire, an' the fire burnin' back inter my brain. "Along comes a Point Arrow blister. That's a gale that breeds an' bursts of a second out of nowhere. It gathers up all the loose snow an' ice crystals an' drives 'em in a whirlwind. Presently the wind starts the ice to buckin' an' tremblin' like a jelly under you, splitting inter lanes. You lose yore direction even when you got eyes. I'm left in it by that bilge-blooded skunk, blind on the rockin', breakin' floe, while he scuds back to the schooner with his men. That's Honest Simms! Jim Lund's left behind but Honest Simms has the position of the island." "I didn't hear you call out you were blind, Lund. The wind blew your words away. I didn't know but what you were as right as the rest of us. The gale shut us all out from each other. We found the schooner by sheer luck before we perished. We looked for you--but the floe was broken up. We looked--" "Shut up!" bellowed Lund. "You sailed inside of twenty-four hours, Honest Simms. The natives told me so later, when I could understand talk ag'in. D'ye know what saved me? The bear! I stumbled over the carcass when I was nigh spent. I ripped it up and clawed some of the warm guts, an' climbed inside the bloody body an' stayed there till it got cold an' clamped down over me. Waitin' for you to come an' git me, Honest Simms! "That bear was bed and board to me until the natives found it, an' me in it, more dead than alive. Never mind the rest. I get here the day before you start back for more gold. "An' I'm goin' with you. But first I'm goin' to have a full an' fair accountin' o' what you got already. I've got this young chap with me, an' he'll give me a hand to'ard a square deal." Lund propelled Rainey forward a few steps and then loosened his grip. The captain of the _Karluk_ appealed to him directly. "You're with the _Times_," he said. All through the talk Rainey was conscious of the gaze of Doctor Carlsen, whose dark eyes appeared to be mocking the whole proceedings, looking on with the air of a man watching card-play with a prevision of how the game will come out. "Mr. Lund is unstrung," said the captain. "He is under the delusion that we deliberately deserted him and, later, found the gold he speaks of. The first charge is nonsense. We did all that was possible in the frightful weather. We barely saved the ship. "As for the gold, we touched on the island, and we did some prospecting, a very little, before we were driven offshore. The dust in the poke is all we secured. We are going back for more, quite naturally. I can prove all this to you by the log. It is manifestly not doctored, for we imagined Mr. Lund dead. If we had been able to work the beach thoroughly, nothing would tempt me into going back again to add to even a moderate fortune." Lund had been standing with his great head thrust forward as if concentrating all his remaining senses in an attempt to judge the captain's talk. The doctor sat with one leg crossed, smoking a cigarette, his expression sardonic, sphinxlike. To Rainey, a little bewildered at being dragged into the affair, and annoyed at it, Captain Simms' words rang true enough. He did not know what to say, whether to speak at all. Lund supplied the gap. "If that ain't the truth, you lie well, Simms," he said. "But I don't trust ye. You lie when you say you didn't hear me call out I was blind. Sixty yards away, I was, an' the wind hadn't started. I was afraid--yes, afraid--an' I yelled at the top of my lungs. An' you sailed off inside of twenty-four hours." "Driven off." "I don't believe ye. You deserted me--left me blind, tucked in the bloody, freezin' carcass of a bear. Left me like the cur you are. Why, you--" The rising frenzy of Lund's voice was suddenly broken by the clear note of a girl's voice. One of two doors in the after-end of the main cabin had opened, and she stood in the gap, slim, yellow-haired, with gray eyes that blazed as they looked on the little tableau. "Who says my father is a cur?" she demanded. "You?" And she faced Lund with such intrepid challenge in her voice, such stinging contempt, that the giant was silenced. "I was dressing," she said, "or I would have come out before. If you say my father deserted you, you lie!" Captain Simms turned to her. Doctor Carlsen had risen and moved toward her. Rainey wished he was on the dock. Here was a story breaking that was a _saga_ of the North. He did not want to use it, somehow. The girl's entrance, her vivid, sudden personality forbade that. He felt an intruder as her eyes regarded him, standing by Lund's side in apparent sympathy with him, arrayed against her father. And yet he was not certain that Lund had not been betrayed. The remembrance of the first look in the captain's face when he had glanced up from handling the gold and seen Lund was too keen. "Go into your cabin, Peggy," said the captain. "This is no place for you. I can handle the matter. Lund has cause for excitement; but I can satisfy him." Lund stood frozen, like a pointer on scent, all his faculties united in attention toward the girl. To Rainey he seemed attempting to visualize her by sheer sense of hearing, by perceptions quickened in the blind. The doctor crossed to the girl and spoke to her in a low voice. Lund spoke, and his voice was suddenly mild. "I didn't know there was a lady present, miss," he said. "Yore father's right. You let us settle this. We'll come to an agreement." But, for all his swift change to placability, there was a sinister undertone to his voice that the girl seemed to recognize. She hesitated until her father led her back into the cabin. "You two'll sit down?" said the doctor, speaking aloud for the first time, his voice amiable, carefully neutral. "And we'll have a drop of something. Mr. Lund, I can understand your attitude. You've suffered a great deal. But you have misunderstood Captain Simms. I have heard about this from him, before. He has no desire to cheat you. He is rejoiced to see you alive, though afflicted. He is still Honest Simms, Mr. Lund. "I haven't your name, sir," he went on pleasantly, to Rainey. "The captain said you were a newspaperman?" "John Rainey, of the _Times_. I knew nothing of this before I came aboard." "And you will understand, of course, what Mr. Lund overlooked in his natural agitation, that this is not a story for your paper. We should have a fleet trailing us. We must ask your confidence, Mr. Rainey." There was a strong personality in the doctor, Rainey realized. Not the blustering, driving force of Lund, but a will that was persistent, powerful. He did not like the man from first appearances. He was too aloof, too sardonic in his attitudes. But his manner was friendly enough, his voice compelling in its suggestion that Rainey was a man to be trusted. Captain Simms came back into the cabin, closing the door of his daughter's room. "We are going to have a little drink together," said the doctor. "I have some Scotch in my cabin. If you'll excuse me for a moment? Captain, will you get some glasses, and a chair for Mr. Lund?" The captain looked at Rainey a little uncertainly, and then at Lund, whose aggressiveness seemed to have entirely departed. It was Rainey who got the chair for the latter and seated himself. He would join in a friendly drink and then be well shut of the matter, he told himself. And he would promise not to print the story, or talk of it. That was rotten newspaper craft, he supposed, but he was not a first-class man, in that sense. He let his own ethics interfere sometimes with his pen and what the paper would deem its best interests. And this was a whale of a yarn. But it was true that its printing would mean interference with the _Karluk's_ expedition. And there was the girl. Rainey was not going to forget the girl. If the _Karluk_ ever came back? But then she would be an heiress. Rainey pulled himself up for a fool at the way his thoughts were racing as the doctor came back with a bottle of Scotch whisky and a siphon. The captain had set out glasses and a pitcher of plain water from a rack. "I imagine you'll be the only one who'll take seltzer, Mr. Rainey," said the doctor pleasantly, passing the bottle. "Captain Simms, I know, uses plain water. Siphons are scarce at sea. I suppose Mr. Lund does the same. And I prefer a still drink." "Plain water for mine," said Lund. "We're all charged," said the doctor. "Here's to a better understanding!" "Glad to see you aboard, Mr. Rainey," said the captain. Lund merely grunted. Rainey took a long pull at his glass. The cabin was hot, and he was thirsty. The seltzer tasted a little flat--or the whisky was of an unusual brand, he fancied. And then inertia suddenly seized him. He lost the use of his limbs, of his tongue, when he tried to call out. He saw the doctor's sardonic eyes watching him as he strove to shake off a lethargy that swiftly merged into dizziness. Dimly he heard the scrape of the captain's chair being pushed back. From far off he heard Lund's big voice booming, "Here, what's this?" and the doctor's cutting in, low and eager; then he collapsed, his head falling forward on his outstretched arms. CHAPTER II A DIVIDED COMPANY It was not the first time that Rainey had been on a ship, a sailing ship, and at sea. Whenever possible his play-hours had been spent on a little knockabout sloop that he owned jointly with another man, both of them members of the Corinthian Club. While the _Curlew_ had made no blue-water voyages, they had sailed her more than once up and down the California coast on offshore regattas and pleasure-trips, and, lacking experience in actual navigation, Rainey was a pretty handy sailorman for an amateur. So, as he came out of the grip of the drug that had been given him, slowly, with a brain-pan that seemed overstuffed with cotton and which throbbed with a dull persistent ache--with a throat that seemed to be coated with ashes, strangely contracted--a nauseated stomach--eyes that saw things through a haze--limbs that ached as if bruised--the sounds that beat their way through his sluggish consciousness were familiar enough to place him almost instantly and aid his memory's flickering film to reel off what had happened. As he lay there in a narrow bunk, watching the play of light that came through a porthole beyond his line of vision, noting in this erratic shuttling of reflected sunlight the roll and pitch of cabin walls, listening to the low boom of waves followed by the swash alongside that told him the _Karluk_ was bucking heavy seas, a slow rage mastered him, centered against the doctor with the sardonic smile and Captain Simms, who Rainey felt sure had tacitly approved of the doctor's actions. He remembered Lund's exclamation of, "Here, what's this?"--the question of a blind man who could not grasp what was happening--and acquitted him. They had deliberately kidnapped him, shanghaied him, because they did not choose to trust him, because they thought he might print the story of the island treasure beach in his paper, or babble of it and start a rush to the new strike of which he had seen proof in the gold dust streaming from the poke. He had been willing to suppress the yarn, Rainey reflected bitterly, his intentions had been fair and square in this situation forced upon him, and they had not trusted him. They were taking no chances, he thought, and suddenly wondered what position the girl would take in the matter. He could not think of her approving it. Yet she would naturally side with her father, as she had done against Lund's accusations. And Rainey suspected that there was something back of Lund's charge of desertion. The girl's face, her graceful figure, the tones of her voice, clung in his still palsied recollection a long time before he could dismiss it and get round to the main factor of his imprisonment--_what were they going to do with him?_ There was a fortune in sight. For gold, men forget the obligations of life and law in civilization; they revert to savage type, and their minds and actions are swayed by the primitive urge of lust. Treachery, selfishness, cruelty, crime breed from the shining particles even before they are in actual sight and touch. Rainey knew that. He had read many true yarns that had come down from the frozen North, in from the deserts and the mountains, tales of the mining records of the West. He mistrusted the doctor. The man had drugged him. He was a man whose profession, where the mind was warped, belittled life. Captain Simms had been charged with leaving a blind man on a broken floe. Lund was the type whose passions left him ruthless. The crew--they would be bound by shares in the enterprise, a rough lot, daring much and caring little for anything beyond their own narrow horizons. The girl was the only redeeming feature of the situation. Was it because of her--it might be because of her special pleading--that they had not gone further? Or were they still fighting through the heads, waiting until they got well out to sea before they disposed of him, so there would be no chance of his telltale body washing up along the coast for recognition and search for clues? He wondered whether any one had seen him go aboard the _Karluk_ with Lund--any one who would remember it and mention the circumstance when he was found to be missing. That might take a day or two. At the office they would wonder why he didn't show up to cover his detail, because he had been steady in his work. But they would not suspect foul play at first. He had no immediate family. His landlady lodged other newspapermen, and was used to their vagaries. And all this time the _Karluk_ would be thrashing north, well out to sea, unsighted, perhaps, for all her trip, along that coast of fogs. Rainey had disappeared, dropped out of sight. He would be a front-page wonder for a day, then drop to paragraphs for a day or so more, and that would be the end of it. But they had made him comfortable. He was not in a smelly forecastle, but in a bunk in a cabin that must open off the main room of the schooner. Why had they treated him with such consideration? He dozed off, for all his wretchedness, exhausted by his efforts to untangle the snarl. When he awoke again his mouth was glued together with thirst. The schooner was still fighting the sea--the wind, too, Rainey fancied--sailing close-hauled, going north against the trade. He fumbled for his watch. It had run down. His head ached intolerably. Each hair seemed set in a nerve center of pain. But he was better. Back of his thirst lay hunger now, and the apathy that had held him to idle thinking had given way to an energy that urged him to action and discovery. As he sat up in his bunk, fully clothed as he had come aboard, the door of his cabin opened and the doctor appeared, nodded coolly as he saw Rainey moving, disappeared for an instant, and brought in a draft of some sort in a long glass. "Take this," said Carlsen. "Pull you together. Then we'll get some food into you." The calm insolence of the doctor's manner, ignoring all that had happened, seemed to send all the blood in Rainey's body fuming to his brain. He took the glass and hurled its contents at Carlsen's face. The doctor dodged, and the stuff splashed against the cabin wall, only a few drops reaching Carlsen's coat, which he wiped off with his handkerchief, unruffled. "Don't be a damned fool," he said to Rainey, his voice irritatingly even. "Are you afraid it's drugged? I would not be so clumsy. I could have given you a hypodermic while you slept, enough to keep you unconscious for as many hours as I choose--or forever. "I'll mix you another dose--one more--take it or leave it. Take it, and you'll soon feel yourself again after Tamada has fed you. Then we'll thrash out the situation. Leave it, and I wash my hands of you. You can go for'ard and bunk with the men and do the dirty work." He spoke with the calm assumption of one controlling the schooner, Rainey noted, rather as skipper than surgeon. But Rainey felt that he had made a fool of himself, and he took the second draft, which almost instantly relieved him, cleansing his mouth and throat and, as his headache died down, clearing his brain. "Why did you drug me?" he demanded. "Pretty high-handed. I can make you pay for this." "Yes? How? When? We're well off Cape Mendocino, heading nor'west or thereabouts. Nothing between us and Unalaska but fog and deep water. Before we get back you'll see the payment in a different light. We're not pirates. This was plain business. A million or more in sight. "Lund nearly spilled things as it was, raving the way he did. It's a wonder some one didn't overhear him with sense enough to tumble. "We didn't take any chances. Rounded up the crew, and got out. The man who's made a gold discovery thinks everybody else is watching him. It's a genuine risk. If they followed us, they'd crowd us off the beach. I don't suppose any one has followed us. If they have, we've lost them in this fog. "But we didn't take any risks after Lund's blowing off. He might have done it ashore before you brought him aboard. I don't think so. But he might. And so might you, later." "I'd have given you my word." "And meant to keep it. But you'd have been an uncertain factor, a weak link. You might have given it away in your sleep. You heard enough to figure the general locality of the island when Lund blurted it out. You knew too much. Suppose the _Karluk_ fought up to Kotzebue Bay and found a dozen power-vessels hanging about, waiting for us to lead them to the beach? And we'd have worried all the way up, with you loose. You're a newspaperman. The suppression of this yarn would have obsessed you, lain on your reportorial conscience. "I don't suppose your salary is much over thirty a week, is it? Now, then, here you are in for a touch of real adventure, better than gleaning dock gossip, to a red-blooded man. If we win--and you saw the gold--_you_ win. We expect to give you a share. We haven't taken it up yet, but it'll be enough. More than you'd earn in ten years, likely, more than you'd be apt to save in a lifetime. We kidnapped you for your own good. You're a prisoner _de luxe_, with the run of the ship." "I can work my passage," said Rainey. He could see the force of the doctor's argument, though he didn't like the man. He didn't trust the doctor, though he thought he'd play fair about the gold. But it was funny, his assuming control. "Yachted a bit?" asked Carlsen. "Yes." "Can you navigate?" Rainey thought he caught a hint of emphasis to this question. "I can learn," he said. "Got a general idea of it." "Ah!" The doctor appeared to dismiss the subject with some relief. "Well," he went on, "are you open to reason--and food? I'm sorry about your friends and folks ashore, but you're not the first prodigal who has come back with the fatted calf instead of hungry for it." "That part of it is all right," said Rainey. There was no help for the situation, save to make the most of it and the best. "But I'd like to ask you a question." "Go ahead. Have a cigarette?" Rainey would rather have taken it from any one else, but the whiff of burning tobacco, as Carlsen lit up, gave him an irresistible craving for a smoke. Besides, it wouldn't do for the doctor to know he mistrusted him. If he was to be a part of the ship's life, there was small sense in acting pettishly. He took the cigarette, accepted the light, and inhaled gratefully. "What's the question?" asked Carlsen. "You weren't on the last trip. You weren't in on the original deal. But I find you doing all the talking, making me offers. You drugged me on your own impulse. Where's the skipper? How does he stand in this matter? Why didn't he come to see me? What is your rating aboard?" "You're asking a good deal for an outsider, it seems to me, Rainey. I came to you partly as your doctor. But I speak for the captain and the crew. Don't worry about that." "And Lund?" Rainey could not resist the shot. He had gathered that the doctor resented Lund. Carlsen's eyes narrowed. "Lund will be taken care of," he said, and, for the life of him, Rainey could not judge the statement for threat or friendly promise. "As for my status, I expect to be Captain Simms' son-in-law as soon as the trip is over." "All right," said Rainey. Carlsen's announcement surprised him. Somehow he could not place the girl as the doctor's fiancée. "I suppose the captain may mention this matter," he queried, "to cement it?" "He may," replied Carlsen enigmatically. "Feel like getting up?" Rainey rose and bathed face and hands. Carlsen left the cabin. The main room was empty when Rainey entered, but there was a place set at the table. Through the skylight he noted, as he glanced at the telltale compass in the ceiling, that the sun was low toward the west. The main cabin was well appointed in hardwood, with red cushions on the transoms and a creeping plant or so hanging here and there. A canary chirped up and broke into rolling song. It was all homy, innocuous. Yet he had been drugged at the same table not so long before. And now he was pledged a share of ungathered gold. It was a far cry back to his desk in the _Times_ office. A Japanese entered, sturdy, of white-clad figure, deft, polite, incurious. He had brought in some ham and eggs, strong coffee, sliced canned peaches, bread and butter. He served as Rainey ate heartily, feeling his old self coming back with the food, especially with the coffee. "Thanks, Tamada," he said as he pushed aside his plate at last. "Everything arright, sir?" purred the Japanese. Rainey nodded. The "sir" was reassuring. He was accepted as a somebody aboard the _Karluk_. Tamada cleared away swiftly, and Rainey felt for his own cigarettes. He hesitated a little to smoke in the cabin, thinking of the girl, wondering whether she was on deck, where he intended to go. Some one was snoring in a stateroom off the cabin, and he fancied by its volume it was Lund. It was a divided ship's company, after all. For he knew that Lund, handicapped with his blindness, would live perpetually suspicious of Simms. And the doctor was against Lund. Rainey's own position was a paradox. He started for the companionway, and a slight sound made him turn, to face the girl. She looked at him casually as Rainey, to his annoyance, flushed. "Good afternoon," said Rainey. "Are you going on deck?" It was not a clever opening, but she seemed to rob him of wit, to an extent. He had yet to know how she stood concerning his presence aboard. Did she countenance the forcible kidnapping of him as a possible tattler? Or--? "My father tells me you have decided to go with us," she said, pleasantly enough, but none too cordially, Rainey thought. "Doctor Carlsen helped me to my decision." She did not seem to regard this as a thrust, but stood lightly swaying to the pitch of the vessel, regarding him with grave eyes of appraisal. "You have not been well," she said. "I hope you are better. Have you eaten?" Rainey began to think that she was ignorant of the facts. And he made up his mind to ignore them. There was nothing to be gained by telling her things against her father--much less against her fiancée, the doctor. "Thank you, I have," he said. "I was going to look up Mr. Lund." The sentence covered a sudden change of mind. He no longer wanted to go on deck with the girl. They were not to be intimates. She was to marry Carlsen. He was an outsider. Carlsen had told him that. So she seemed to regard him, impersonally, without interest. It piqued him. "Mr. Lund is in the first mate's cabin," said the girl, indicating a door. "Mr. Bergstrom, who was mate, died at sea last voyage. Doctor Carlsen acts as navigator with my father, but he has another room." She passed him and went on deck. Carlsen was acting first mate as well as surgeon. That meant he had seamanship. Also that they had taken in no replacements, no other men to swell the little corporation of fortune-hunters who knew the secret, or a part of it. It was unusual, but Rainey shrugged his shoulders and rapped on the door of the cabin. It took loud knocking to waken Lund. At last he roared a "Come in." Rainey found him seated on the edge of his bunk, dressed in his underclothes, his glasses in place. Rainey wondered whether he slept in them. Lund's uncanny intuition seemed to read the thought. He tapped the lenses. "Hate to take them off," he said. "Light hurts my eyes, though the optic nerve is dead. Seems to strike through. How're ye makin' out?" Rainey gave Lund the full benefit of his blindness. The giant could not have known what was in the doctor's mind, but he must have learned something. Lund was not the type to be satisfied with half answers, and undoubtedly felt that he held a proprietary interest in the _Karluk_ by virtue of his being the original owner of the secret. Rainey wondered if he had sensed the doctor's attitude in that direction, an attitude expressed largely by the expression of Carlsen's face, always wearing the faint shadow of a sneer. "You know they drugged me," Rainey ended his recital of the interview he had had with the doctor. "Knockout drops? I guessed it. That doctor's slick. Well, you've not much fault to find, have ye? Carlsen talked sense. Here you are on the road to a fortune. I'll see yore share's a fair one. There's plenty. It ain't a bad billet you've fallen into, my lad. But I'll look out for ye. I'm sort of responsible for yore trip, ye see, matey. And I'll need ye." He lowered his voice mysteriously. "Yo're a writer, Mister Rainey. You've got brains. You can see which way a thing's heading. You've heard enough. I'm blind. I've bin done dirt once aboard the _Karluk_, and I don't aim to stand for it ag'in. And I had my eyes, then. No use livin' in a rumpus. Got to keep watch. Got to keep yore eyes open. "And I ain't got eyes. You have. Use 'em for both of us. I ain't asking ye to take sides, exactly. But I've got cause for bein' suspicious. I don't call the skipper _Honest_ Simms no more. And I ain't stuck on that doctor. He's too bossy. He's got the skipper under his thumb. And there's somethin' funny about the skipper. Notice ennything?" "Why, I don't know him," said Rainey. "He doesn't look extra well, what I've seen of him. Only the once." "He's logey," said Lund confidentially. "He ain't the same man. Mebbe it's his conscience. But that doctor's runnin' him." "He's going to marry the captain's daughter," said Rainey. "Simms' daughter? Carlsen goin' to marry her? Ump! That may account for the milk in the cocoanut. She's a stranger to me. Lived ashore with her uncle and aunt, they tell me. Carlsen was the family doctor. Now she's off with her father." His face became crafty, and he reached out for Rainey's knee, found it as readily as if he had sight, and tapped it for emphasis. "That makes all the more reason for us lookin' out for things, matey," he went on, almost in a whisper. "If they've played me once they may do it ag'in. And they've got the odds, settin' aside my eyes. But I can turn a trick or two. You an' me come aboard together. You give me a hand. Stick to me, an' I'll see you git yore whack. "I'll have yore bunk changed. You'll come in with me. An' we'll put one an' one together. We'll be mates. Treat 'em fair if they treat us fair. But don't forget they fixed yore grog. I had nothin' to do with that. I may be stranded, but, if the tide rises--" He set the clutch of his powerful fingers deep into Rainey's leg above the knee with a grip that left purple bruises there before the day was over. "We two, matey," he said. "Now you an' me'll have a tot of stuff that ain't doped." He moved about the little cabin with an astounding freedom and sureness, chuckling as he handled bottle and glasses and measured out the whisky and water. "W'en yo're blind," he said, ramming his pipe full of black tobacco, "they's other things comes to ye. I know the run of this ship, blindfold, you might say. I c'ud go aloft in a pinch, or steer her. More grog?" But Rainey abstained after the first glass, though Lund went on lowering the bottle without apparent effect. "So yo're a bit of a sailor?" the giant asked presently. "An' a scholar. You can navigate, I make no doubt?" "I hope to get a chance to learn on the trip," answered Rainey. "I know the general principles, but I've never tried to use a sextant. I'm going to get the skipper to help me out. Or Carlsen." "Carlsen! What in hell does a doctor know about navigation?" demanded Lund. Rainey told him what the girl had said, and the giant grunted. "I have my doubts whether they'll ever help ye," he said. "Wish I could. But it 'ud be hard without my eyes. An' I've got no sextant an' no book o' tables. It's too bad." His disappointment seemed keen, and Rainey could not fathom it. Why had both Lund and Carlsen seemed to lay stress on this matter? Why was the doctor relieved and Lund disappointed at his ignorance? As they came out of the stateroom together, later, Lund reeking of the liquor he had absorbed, though remaining perfectly sober, his hand laid on Rainey's shoulder, perhaps for guidance but with a show of familiarity, Rainey saw the girl looking at him with a glance in which contempt showed unveiled. It was plain that his intimacy with Lund was not going to advance him in her favor. CHAPTER III TARGET PRACTISE The _Karluk_ was an eighty-five-ton schooner, Gloster Fisherman type, with a length of ninety and a beam of twenty-five feet. Her enormous stretch of canvas, spread to the limit on all possible occasions by Captain Simms, was offset by the pendulum of lead that made up her keel, and she could slide through the seas at twelve knots on her best point of sailing--reaching--the wind abaft her beam. After Rainey had demonstrated at the wheel that he had the mastery of her and had shown that he possessed sea-legs, a fair amount of seacraft and, what the sailors did not possess, initiative, Captain Simms appointed him second mate. "We don't carry one as a rule," the skipper said. "But it'll give you a rating and the right to eat in the cabin." He had not brought up the subject of Rainey's kidnapping, and Rainey let it go. There was no use arguing about the inevitable. The rating and the cabin fare seemed offered as an apology, and he was willing to accept it. Carlsen acted as first mate, and Rainey had to acknowledge him efficient. He fancied the man must have been a ship's surgeon, and so picked up his seamanship. After a few days Carlsen, save for taking noon observations with the skipper and working out the reckoning, left his duties largely to Rainey, who was glad enough for the experience. A sailor named Hansen was promoted to acting-quartermaster, and relieved Rainey. Carlsen spent most of his time attendant on the girl or chatting with the hunters, with whom he soon appeared on terms of intimacy. The hunters esteemed themselves above the sailors, as they were, in intelligence and earning capacity. The forecastlemen acted, on occasion, as boat-steerers and rowers for the hunters, each of whom had his own boat from which to shoot the cruising seals. There were six hunters and twelve sailors, outside of a general roustabout and butt named "Sandy," who cleaned up the forecastle and the hunters' quarters, where they messed apart, and helped Tamada, the cook, in the galley with his pots and dishes. But now there was no work in prospect for the hunters, and they lounged on deck or in the 'midship quarters, spinning yarns or playing poker. They were after gold this trip, not seals. "'Cordin' to the agreement," Lund said to Rainey, "the gold's to be split into a hundred shares. One for each sailorman, an' they chip in for the boy. Two for the hunters, two for the cook, four for Bergstrom, the first mate, who died at sea. Twenty for 'ship's share.' Fifty shares to be split between Simms an' me." "What's the 'ship's share'?" asked Rainey. "Represents capital investment. Matter of fact, it belongs to the gal," said Lund. "Simms gave her the _Karluk_. It's in her name with the insurance." "Then he and his daughter get forty-five shares, and you only twenty-five?" "You got it right," grinned Lund. "Simms is no philanthropist. It wa'n't so easy for me to git enny one to go in with me, son. I ain't the first man to come trailin' in with news of a strike. An' I had nothin' to show for it. Not even a color of gold. Nothin' but the word of a dead Aleut, my own jedgment, an' my own sight of an island I never landed on. Matter of fact, Honest Simms was the only one who didn't laff at me outright. It was on'y his bad luck made him try a chance at gold 'stead of keepin' after pelts. "An' we had a hard an' tight agreement drawn up on paper, signed, witnessed an' recorded. 'Course it holds him as well as it holds me, but he gits the long end of _that_ stick. W'en I read, or got it read to me, in the Seattle _News-Courier_, that the _Karluk_ was listed as 'Arrived' in San Francisco, it was all I could do to git carfare an' grub money. If I hadn't bin blind, an' some of 'em half-way human to'ards a man with his lights out, I'd never have raised it. I'd have got here someways, matey, if I'd had to walk, but I'd have got here a bit late. Then I'd have had to wait till Simms got back ag'in--an' mebbe starved to death. "But I'm here an' I've got some say-so. One thing, you're goin' to git Bergstrom's share. I don't give a damn where the doctor comes in. If he marries the gal he'll git her twenty shares, ennyway. Though he ain't married her yet. And I ain't through with Simms yet," he added, with an emphasis that was a trifle grim, Rainey thought. "The crew, hunters an' sailors, don't seem over glad to see me back," Lund went on. "Mebbe they figgered their shares 'ud be bigger. Mebbe the doc's queered me. He's pussy-footin' about with 'em a good deal. But I'll talk with you about that later. It's me an' you ag'in' the rest of 'em, seems to me, Rainey. The doc's aimin' to be the Big Boss aboard this schooner. He's got the skipper buffaloed. But not me, not by a jugful." He slammed his big fist against the side of the bunk so viciously that it seemed to jar the cabin. The blow was typical of the man, Rainey decided. He felt for Lund not exactly a liking, but an attraction, a certain compelled admiration. The giant was elemental, with a driving force inside him that was dynamic, magnetic. What a magnificent pirate he would have made, thought Rainey, looking at his magnificent proportions and considering the crude philosophies that cropped out in his talk. "I'm in life for the loot of it, Rainey," Lund declared. "Food an' drink to tickle my tongue an' fill my belly, the woman I happen to want, an' bein' able to buy ennything I set my fancy on. The answer to that is Gold. With it you can buy most enny thing. Not all wimmen, I'll grant you that. Not the kind of woman I'd want for a steady mate. Thet's one thing I've found out can't be bought, my son, the honor of a good woman. An' thet's the sort of woman I'm lookin' for. "I reckon yo're raisin' yore eyebrows at that?" he challenged Rainey. "But the other kind, that'll sell 'emselves, 'll sell you jest as quick--an' quicker. I'd wade through hell-fire hip-deep to git the right kind--an' to hold her. An' I'll buck all hell to git what's comin' to me in the way of luck, or go down all standin' tryin'. This is my gold, an' I'm goin' to handle it. If enny one tries to swizzle me out of it I'm goin' to swizzle back, an' you can lay to that. Not forgettin' them that stands by me." Between Lund and Simms there existed a sort of armed truce. No open reference was made to the desertion of Lund on the floe. But Rainey knew that it rankled in Lund's mind. The five, Peggy Simms, her father, Carlsen, Lund and Rainey, ostensibly messed together, but Rainey's duties generally kept him on deck until Carlsen had sufficiently completed his own meal to relieve him. By that time the girl and the captain had left the table. Lund invariably waited for Rainey. Tamada kept the food hot for them. And served them, Lund making good play with spoon or fork and a piece of bread, the Japanese cutting up his viands conveniently beforehand. To Rainey, Tamada seemed the hardest worked man aboard ship. He had three messes to cook and he was busy from morning until night, efficient, tireless and even-tempered. The crew, though they acknowledged his skill, were Californians, either by birth or adoption, and the racial prejudice against the Japanese was apparent. A week of good wind was followed by dirty weather. The _Karluk_ proved a good fighter, though her headway was materially lessened by contrary wind and sea, and the persistence and increasing opposition of the storm seemed to have a corresponding effect upon Captain Simms. He grew daily more irritable and morose, even to his daughter. Only the doctor appeared able to get along with him on easy terms, and Rainey noticed that, to Carlsen, the skipper seemed conciliatory even to deference. Peggy Simms watched her father with worried eyes. The curious, tarnished look of his tanned skin grew until the flesh seemed continually dry and of an earthy color; his lips peeled, and more than once he shook as if with a chill. On the eleventh day out, Rainey went below in the middle of the afternoon for his sea-boots. The gale had suddenly strengthened and, under reefs, the _Karluk_ heeled far over until the hissing seas flooded the scuppers and creamed even with the lee rail. In the main cabin he found Simms seated in a chair with his daughter leaning over him, speaking to her in a harsh, complaining voice. "No, you can't do a thing for me," he was saying. "It's this sciatica. I've got to get Carlsen." As Rainey passed through to his own little stateroom neither of them noticed him, but he saw that the captain was shivering, his hands picking almost convulsively at the table-cloth. "Where's Carlsen, curse him!" Rainey heard through his cabin partition. "Tell him I can't stand this any longer. He's got to help me. Got to. _Got to._" As Rainey appeared, walking heavily in his boots, the girl looked up. Her father was slumped in his chair, his face buried on his folded arms. The girl glanced at him doubtfully, apparently uncertain whether to go herself to find Carlsen or stay with her father. "Anything I can do, Miss Simms? Your father seems quite ill." The hesitation of the girl even to speak to him was very plain to Rainey. Suddenly she threw up her chin. "Kindly find Doctor Carlsen," she ordered, rather than requested. "Ask him to come as soon as he can. I--" She turned uncertainly to her father. "Can I help you to get him into the cabin?" asked Rainey. She thanked him with lips, not eyes, and he assisted her to shift the almost helpless man into his room and bunk. He was like a stuffed sack between them, save that his body twitched. While Rainey took most of the weight, he marveled at the strength of the slender girl and the way in which she applied it. Simms seemed to have fainted, to be on the verge of unconsciousness or even utter collapse. Rainey felt his wrist, and the pulse was almost imperceptible. "I'll get the doctor immediately," he said. She nodded at him, chafing her father's hands, her own face pale, and a look of anxious fear in her eyes. "Mighty funny sort of sciatica," Rainey told himself as he hurried forward. He knew where Carlsen was, in the hunters' cozy quarters, playing poker. From the chips in front of him he had been winning heavily. "The skipper's ill," said Rainey. "No pulse. Almost unconscious." Carlsen raised his eyebrows. "Didn't know you were a physician," he said. "Just one of his spells. I'll finish this hand. Too good to lay down. The skipper can wait for once." The hunters grinned as Carlsen took his time to draw his cards, make his bets and eventually win the pot on three queens. "I wonder what your real game is?" Rainey asked himself as he affected to watch the play. According to his own announcement Carlsen was deliberately neglecting the father of the girl he was to marry and at the same time slighting the captain to his own men. Carlsen drew in his chips and leisurely made a note of the amount. "Quite a while yet to settling-day," he said to the players. "Luck may swing all round the compass before then, boys. All right, Rainey, you needn't wait." Rainey ignored the omitted "Mister." He held the respect of the sailors, since he had shown his ability, but he knew that the hunters regarded him with an amused tolerance that lacked disrespect by a small margin. To them he was only the amateur sailor. Rainey fancied that the doctor had contributed to this attitude, and it did not lessen his score against Carlsen. The captain did not make his appearance for that day, the next, or the next. The men began to roll eyes at one another when they asked after his health. Carlsen kept his own counsel, and Peggy Simms spent most of her time in the main cabin with her eyes always roving to her father's door. Rainey noticed that Tamada brought no food for the sick man. Carlsen was the apparent controller of the schooner. Lund was quick to sense this. "We got to block that Carlsen's game," he said to Rainey. "There's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere an' you an' me got to uncover him, matey, afore we reach Bering Strait, or you an' me'll finish this trip squattin' on the rocks of one of the Four Mountain Islands makin' faces at the gulls. "I wish you c'ud git under the skin of that Jap. No use tryin' to git in with the crew or the hunters. They're ag'in' both of us--leastwise the hunters are. The hands don't count. They're jest plain hash." Lund spoke with an absolute contempt of the sailors that was characteristic of the man. "You think they'd put a blind man ashore that way?" asked Rainey. "Carlsen would. In a minnit. He'd argy that you c'ud look out for me, seein' as we are chums. As for you, you've bin useful, but you can't navigate, an' you've helped train Hansen to yore work. You were in the way at the start, an' he'd jest as soon git rid of you that road as enny other. He don't intend you to have Bergstrom's share, by a jugful." Lund grinned as he spoke, and Rainey felt a little chill raise gooseflesh all over his body. It was not exactly fear, but-- "They don't look on us two as _mascots_," went on Lund. "But to git back to that Jap. Forewarned is forearmed. He ain't over an' above liked, but they've got used to him goin' back an' forth with their grub, an' they sort of despise him for a yellow-skinned coolie. "Now Tamada ain't no coolie. I know Japs. He's a cut above his job. Cooks well enough for a swell billet ashore if he wanted it. An' there ain't much goin' on that Tamada ain't wise to. See if you can't get next to him. Trubble is he's too damn' neutral. He knows he's safe, becoz he's cook an' a damn' good one. But he's wise to what Carlsen's playin' at. "Carlsen don't care for man, woman, God, or the devil. Neither do I," he concluded. "An' I've got a card or two up my sleeve. But I'd sure like to git a peep at what the doc's holdin'." The storm blew out, and there came a spell of pleasant weather, with the _Karluk_ gliding along, logging a fair rate where a less well-designed vessel would barely have found steerage way, riding on an almost even keel. Simms was still confined to his cabin, though now his daughter took him in an occasional tray. Except for observations and the details of navigation, Carlsen left the schooner to Rainey. They were well off the coast, out of the fogs, apparently alone upon the lonely ocean that ran sparkling to the far horizon. It was warm, there was little to do, the sailors, as well as the hunters, spent most of their time lounging on the deck. Save at meal-times, Carlsen, for one who had announced himself as an accepted lover, neglected the girl, who had devoted herself to her father. Yet she seldom went into her cabin, never remained there long, and time must have hung heavily on her hands. A girl of her spirit must have resented such treatment, Rainey imagined, but reminded himself it was none of his business. Lund hung over the rail, smoking, or paced the deck, always close to Rainey. The manner in which he went about the ship was almost uncanny. Except that his arms were generally ahead of him when he moved, his hands, with their woolly covering of red hair, lightly touching boom or rope or rail, he showed no hesitation, made no mistakes. He no longer shuffled, as he had on shore, but moved with a pantherlike dexterity, here and there at will. When the breeze was steady he would even take the wheel and steer perfectly by the "feel of the wind" on his cheek, the slap of it in the canvas, or the creak of the rigging to tell him if he was holding to the course. And he took an almost childish delight in proclaiming his prowess as helmsman. The booms were stayed out against swinging in flaws and the roll of the sea, and Lund strode back and forth behind Rainey, who had the wheel. The hunters were grouped about Carlsen, who, seated on the skylight, was telling them something at which they guffawed at frequent intervals. "Spinnin' them some of his smutty yarns," growled Lund, halting in his promenade. "Bad for discipline, an' bad for us. He's the sort of fine-feathered bird that wouldn't give those chaps a first look ashore. Gittin' in solid with 'em that way is a bad steer. You can't handle a man you make a pal of, w'en he ain't yore rank." "Carlsen's slack, but he's a good sailorman," said Rainey casually. "Damn' sight better sailorman than he is doctor," retorted Lund. "Hear him the other mornin' w'en I asked him if he c'ud give me somethin' to help my eyes hurtin'? 'I'm no eye specialist,' sez he. 'Try some boracic acid, my man.' I wouldn't put ennything in my eyes _he'd_ give me, you can lay to that. He'd give me vitriol, if he thought I'd use it. I wouldn't let him treat a sick cat o' mine. He's the kind o' doctor that uses his title to give him privileges with the wimmin. I know his sort." Rainey wondered why Lund had asked Carlsen for a lotion if he did not mean to use it, but he did not provoke further argument. Lund was going on. "He don't do the skipper enny good, thet's certain." "Captain Simms seems to believe in him," answered Rainey. He wondered how much of Carlsen's increasing dominance over the skipper Lund had noticed. "Simms is Carlsen's dog!" exploded Lund. "The doc's got somethin' on him, mark me. Carlsen's a bad egg an', w'en he hatches, you'll see a buzzard. An' you wait till he's needed as a doctor on somethin' that takes more'n a few kind words or a lick out a bottle." There was a stir among the hunters. Lund turned his spectacled eyes in their direction. "What are they up to now?" he queried. "Goin' to play poker? Wish I had my eyes. I'd show 'em how to read the pips." Hansen came aft, offering to take the wheel. "They bane goin' to shute at targets," he said. "Meester Carlsen he put up prizes. For rifle an' shotgun. Thought you might like to watch it, sir." Rainey gave over the spokes and went to the starboard rail with Lund, watching the preparations between fore and main masts for the competition, and telling Lund what was happening. Carlsen gave out some shotgun cartridges from cardboard boxes, twelve to each of the six hunters. "Hunters pay for their own shells," said Lund. "But they buy 'em from the ship. Mate's perkisite. They usually have some shells on hand for the rifles, but the paper cases o' the shotgun cartridges suck up the damp an' they keep better in the magazine in the cabin. What they shootin' at? Bottles?" Sandy, the roustabout, had been requisitioned to toss up empty bottles, and those who failed cursed him for a poor thrower. A hunter named Deming made no misses, and secured first prize of ten dollars in gold, with a man named Beale scoring two behind him, and getting half that amount from Carlsen. Then came the test with the rifles. The weapons were all of the same caliber, well oiled, and in perfect condition. As Lund had said, each of the hunters had a few shells in his possession, but they lacked the total of six dozen by a considerable margin. Carlsen went below for the necessary ammunition while the target was completed and set in place. A keg had been rigged with a weight underslung to keep it upright, and a tin can, painted white, set on a short spar in one end of the keg. A light line was attached to a bridle, and the mark lowered over the stern, where it rode, bobbing in the tail of the schooner's wake, thirty fathoms from the taffrail where the crowd gathered. Carlsen, returning, ordered Hansen to steer fine. He gave each competitor a limit of ten seconds for his aim, contributing an element of chance that made the contest a sporting one. Without the counting, each would have deliberately waited for the most favorable moment when the schooner hung in the trough and the white can was backed by green water. As it was, it made a far-from-easy mark, slithering, lurching, dipping as the _Karluk_ slid down a wave or met a fresh one, the can often blurred against the blobs of foam. More bullets hit the keg than the can, and Carlsen was often called upon as umpire. But the tin gradually became ragged and blotched where the steel-jacketed missiles tore through. Beale and Deming both had five clean, undisputed hits, tying for first prize. Beale offered to shoot it off with six more shells apiece, and Deming consented. "Can't be done," declared Carlsen. "Not right now, anyway. I gave out the last shell there was in the magazine. If there are any more the skipper's got them stowed away, and I can't disturb him." "Derned funny," said Deming, "a sealer shy on cartridges! Lucky we ain't worryin' about thet sort of a cargo." "Probably plenty aboard somewhere," said Carlsen, "but I don't know where they are. Sorry to break up the shooting. You boys have got me beaten on rifles and shotguns," he went on, producing from his hip pocket a flat, effective-looking automatic pistol of heavy caliber. "How are you on small arms?" The hunters shook their heads dubiously. "Never use 'em," said Deming. "Never could do much with that kind, ennyhow. Give me a revolver, an' I might make out to hit a whale, if he was close enough, but not with one o' them." "Not much difference," said, Carlsen. "Any of you got revolvers?" No one spoke. It was against the unwritten laws of a vessel for pistols to be owned forward of the main cabin. Beale finally answered for the rest. "Nary a pistol, sir." "Then," said Carlsen, "I'll give you an exhibition myself. Any bottles left? Beale, will you toss them for me?" There were eight shots in the automatic, and Carlsen smashed seven bottles in mid-air. He missed the last, but retrieved himself by breaking it as it dipped in the wake. The hunters shouted their appreciation. "Break all of 'em?" Lund asked Rainey. "Enny bottles left at all?" He walked toward the taffrail, addressing Carlsen. "Kin you shoot by _sound_ as well as by sight, Doc?" he challenged. "I fancy not," said Carlsen. "If I had my eyes I'd snapshoot ye for a hundred bucks," said Lund. "As it is, I might target one or two. Rainey, have some one run a line, head-high, an' fix a bottle on it, will ye? I ain't got a gun o' my own, Doc," he continued, "will you lend me yours?" Carlsen filled his clip and Lund turned toward Rainey, who was rigging the target. "I'll want you to tap it with a stick," he said. "Signal-flag staff'll do fine." Rainey got the slender bamboo and stood by. Lund felt for the cord, passed his fingers over the suspended bottle and stepped off five paces, hefting the automatic to judge its balance. "Ruther have my own gun," he muttered. "All right, tetch her up, Rainey." Rainey tapped the bottle on the neck and it gave out a little tinkle, lost immediately in the crash of splintering glass as the bottle, hit fairly in the torn label, broke in half. "How much left?" asked Lund. "Half? Tetch it up." Again he fired and again the bullet found the mark, leaving only the neck of the bottle still hanging. Lund grinned. "Thet's all," he said. "Jest wanted to show ye what a blind man can do, if he's put to it." There was little applause. Carlsen took his gun in silence and moved forward with the hunters and the onlookers, disappearing below. Rainey took the wheel over from Hansen and ordered him forward again. "Given 'em something to talk about," chuckled Lund. "Carlsen wanted to show off his fancy shootin'. Wal, I've shown 'em I ain't entirely wrecked if I ain't carryin' lights. An' I slipped more'n one over on Carlsen at that." Rainey did not catch his entire meaning and said nothing. "Did you get wise to the play about the shells?" asked Lund. "A smart trick, though Deming almost tumbled. Carlsen got those dumb fools of hunters to fire away every shell they happened to have for'ard. If the magazine's empty, I'll bet Carlsen knows where they's plenty more shells, if we ever needed 'em bad. But now those rifles an' shotguns ain't no more use than so many clubs--_not to the hunters_. An' he's found out they ain't got enny pistols. _He's_ got one, an' shows 'em how straight he shoots, jest in case there should be enny trubble between 'em. Plays both ends to the middle, does Carlsen. Slick! But he ain't won the pot. They's a joker in this game. Mebbe he holds it, mebbe not." He nodded mysteriously, well pleased with himself. "Don't suppose _you_ brought a gun along with ye?" he asked Rainey. "Might come in handy." "I wasn't expecting to stay," Rainey replied dryly, "or I might have." Lund laughed heartily, slapping his leg. "That's a good un," he declared. "It would have bin a good idea, though. It sure pays to go heeled when you travel with strangers." CHAPTER IV THE BOWHEAD Captain Simms appeared again in the cabin and on deck, but he was not the same man. His illness seemed to have robbed him permanently of what was left him of the spring of manhood. It was as if his juices had been sucked from his veins and arteries and tissues, leaving him flabby, irresolute, compared to his former self. Even as Lund shadowed Rainey, so Simms shadowed Carlsen. The fine weather vanished, snuffed out in an hour and, day after day, the _Karluk_ flung herself at mocking seas that pounded her bows with blows that sounded like the noise of a giant's drum. The sun was never seen. Through daylight hours the schooner wrestled with the elements in a ghastly, purplish twilight, lifting under double reefs over great waves that raised spuming crests to overwhelm her, and were ridden down, hissing and roaring, burying one rail and covering the deck to the hatches with yeasty turmoil. The _Karluk_ charged the stubborn fury of the gale, rolling from side to side, lancing the seas, gaining a little headway, losing leeway, fighting, fighting, while every foot of timber, every fathom of rope, groaned and creaked perpetually, but endured. To Rainey, this persistent struggle--as he himself controlled the schooner, legs far astride, his oilskins dripping, his feet awash to the ankles, spume drenching and whipping him, the wind a lash--brought exultation and a sense of mastery and confidence such as he had never before held suggestion of. To guide the ship, constantly to baffle the sea and wind, the turbulence, buffeting bows and run and counter, smashing at the rudder, leaping always like a pack of yapping hounds--this was a thing that left the days of his water-front detail far behind. And then he had thought himself in the whirl of things! Even as Simms seemed to be declining, so Rainey felt that he was coming into the fulness of strength and health. Lund was ever with him. Sometimes the girl would come up on deck in her own waterproofs and stand against the rail to watch the storm, silent as far as the pair were concerned. And presently Carlsen would come from below or forward and stand to talk with her until she was tired of the deck. They did not seem much like lovers, Rainey fancied. They lacked the little intimacies that he, though he made himself somewhat of an automaton at the wheel, could not have failed to see. If the girl slipped, Carlsen's hand would catch and steady her by the arm; never go about her waist. And there was no especial look of welcome in her face when the doctor came to her. Carlsen seldom took over the wheel. Rainey did more than his share from sheer love of feeling the control. But one day, at a word from the girl, Carlsen and she came up to Rainey as he handled the spokes. "I'll take the wheel a while, Rainey," said the doctor. Rainey gave it up and went amidships. Out of the tail of his eye he could see that the girl was pleading to handle the ship, and that Carlsen was going to let her do so. Rainey shrugged his shoulders. It was Carlsen's risk. It was no child's play in that weather to steer properly. The _Karluk_, with her narrow beam, was lithe and active as a great cat in those waves. It took not only strength, but watchfulness and experience to hold the course in the welter of cross-seas. Lund, whose recognition of voices was perfect, moved amidships as soon as Carlsen and Peggy Simms came aft. There was no attempt at disguising the fact that the schooner's afterward was a divided company and, save for the fact of his blindness tempering the action, the manner of Lund's showing them his back and deliberately walking off would have been a deliberate insult. Not to the girl, Rainey thought. At first he had considered Lund's character as comparatively simple--and brutal--but he had qualified this, without seeming consciousness, and he felt that Lund would never deliberately insult a woman--any sort of woman. He was beginning to feel something more than an admiration for Lund's strength; a liking for the man himself had, almost against his will, begun to assert itself. They stood together by the weather-rail. It was still Rainey's deck-watch, and at any moment Carlsen might relinquish the wheel back to him as soon as the girl got tired. Suddenly shouts sounded from forward, a medley of them, indistinct against the quartering wind. Sandy, the roustabout, came dashing aft along the sloping deck, catching clumsily at rail and rope to steady himself, flushed with excitement, almost hysterical with his news. "A bowhead, sir!" he cried when he saw Rainey. "And killers after him! Blowin' dead ahead!" Beyond the bows Rainey could see nothing of the whale, that must have sounded in fear of the killers, but he saw half a dozen scythe-like, black fins cutting the water in streaks of foam, all abreast, their high dorsals waving, wolves of the sea, hunting for the gray bowhead whale, to force its mouth open and feast on the delicacy of its living tongue. So Lund told him in swift sentences while they waited for the whale to broach. "Ha'f the time the bowheads won't even try an' git away," said Lund. "Lie atop, belly up, plain jellied with fear while the killers help 'emselves. Ha'f the bowheads you git have got chunks bitten out of their tongues. If they're nigh shore when the killers show up the whales'll slide way out over the rocks an' strand 'emselves." Rainey glanced aft. Sandy had carried his warning to Carlsen and the girl, and now was craning over the lee rail, knee-deep in the wash, trying to see something of the combat. Peggy Simms' lithe figure was leaning to one side as she, too, gazed ahead, though she still paid attention to her steering and held the schooner well up, her face bright with excitement, wet with flying brine, wisps of yellow hair streaming free in the wind from beneath the close grip of her woolen tam-o'-shanter bonnet of scarlet. Carlsen was pointing out the racing fins of the killers. "Bl-o-ows!" started the deep voice of a lookout, from where sailors and hunters had grouped in the bows to witness this gladiatorial combat between sea monsters, staged fittingly in a sea that was running wild. Rainey strained his gaze to catch the steamy spiracle and the outthrust of the great head. "_Bl-o-ows!_" The deep voice almost leaped an octave in a sudden shrill of apprehension. Other voices mingled with his in a clamor of dismay. "Look out! Oh, look out! Dead ahead!" The enormous bulk of the whale had appeared, not to spout, but to lie belly up, rocking on the surface with fins outspread, paralyzed with terror, directly in the course of the _Karluk_, while toward it, intent only on their blood lust, leaped the killers, thrusting at its head as the schooner surged down. In that tremendous sea the impact would be certain to mean the staving in of something forward, perhaps the springing of a butt. "Hard a lee!" yelled Rainey. "Up with her! Up!" It was desire to vent his own feelings, rather than necessity for the command, that made Rainey yell the order, for he could see the girl striving with the spokes, Carlsen lending his strength to hers. The sheets were well flattened, the wind almost abeam, and there was no need to change the set of fore and main. Forward, the men jumped to handle the headsails. The _Karluk_ started to spin about on its keel, instinct to the changing plane of the rudder. But the waves were running tremendously high, and the wind blowing with great force, the water rolling in great mountains of sickly greenish gray, topped with foam that blew in a level scud. As the schooner hung in a deep trough, the wind struck at her, bows on. With the gale suddenly spilled out of them, the topsails lashed and shivered, and the fore broke loose with the sharp report of a gunshot and disappeared aft in the smother. Rainey saw one huge billow rising, curving, high as the gaff of the main, it seemed to him, as he grasped at the coil of the main halyards. Down came the tons of water, booming on the deck that bent under the blow, spilling in a great cataract that swashed across the deck. His feet were swept from under him, for a moment he seemed to swing horizontal in the stream, clutching at the halyards. The sea struck the opposite rail with a roar that threatened to tear it away, piling up and then seething overboard. CHAPTER V RAINEY SCORES With it went a figure. Rainey caught sight of a ghastly face, a mouth that shouted vainly for help in the pandemonium, and was instantly stoppered with strangling brine, pop-eyes appealing in awful fright as Sandy was washed away in the cascade. The halyards were held on the pin with a turn and twist that Rainey swiftly loosened, lifting the coil free, making a fast loop, and thrusting head and arms through it as he flung himself after the roustabout. Even as he dived he heard the bellow of Lund, knowing instinctively the peril of the schooner by its actions, though ignorant of the accident. "Back that jib! Back it, blast yore eyes! Ba-ck--" Then Rainey was clubbing his way through the race of water to where he glimpsed an upflung arm. Sandy was in oilskins and sea-boots, he had hardly a chance to save himself, however expert. And it flashed over Rainey's mind that, like many sailors, the lad had boasted that he could not swim. His boots would pull him under as soon as the force of the waves, that were tossing him from crest to crest, should be suspended. Rainey himself was borne on their thrust, clogged by his own equipment, linked to life only by the halyard coil. A great bulk wallowed just before him, the helpless body of the bowhead whale, the killers darting in a mad mêlée for its head. Then a figure was literally hurled upon the slippery mass of the mammal, its gray belly plain in the welter, a living raft against which the waves broke and tossed their spray. Clawing frantically, Sandy clutched at the base of the enormous pectoral fin, clinging with maniacal strength, mad with fear. Striking out to little purpose, save to help buoy himself, blinded by the flying scud and broken crests, Rainey felt himself upreared, swept impotently on and slammed against the slimy hulk, just close enough to Sandy to grasp him by the collar, as the whale, stung by a killer's tearing at its oily tongue, flailed with its fin and the two of them slid down its body, deep under water. Rainey fought against the suffocation and the fierce desire to gasp and relieve his tortured lungs. The lad's weight seemed to be carrying him down as if he was a thing of lead, but Rainey would not relax his grip. He could not. He had centered all his energy upon the desire to save Sandy, and his nerve centers were still tense to that last conscious demand. There came a swift, painful constriction of his chest that his failing senses interpreted only as the end of things. Then his head came out into the blessed air and he gulped what he could, though half of it was water. The _Karluk_ was into the wind and they were in what little lee there was, dragging aft at the end of the halyards, being fetched in toward the rail by the mighty tugs of Lund, a weird sight to Rainey's smarting eyes as he caught sight of the giant, with red hair uncovered, his beard whipping in the wind, his black glasses still in place, making some sort of a blessed monster out of him. Rainey had his left fist welded to the line, his right was set in Sandy's collar, and Sandy's death clutch had twined itself into Rainey's oilskins, though the lad was limp, and his face, seen through the watery film that streamed over it, set and white. A dozen arms shot down to grasp him. He felt the iron grip of Lund upon his left forearm, almost wrenching his arm from its socket as he was inhauled, caught at by body and legs and deposited on the deck of the schooner, that almost instantly commenced to go about upon its former course. Again he heard the bellow of the blind giant, as if it had been a continuation of the order shouted as he had gone overboard. "Ba-ack that jib to win'ard! Ba-ck it, you swabs!" The _Karluk_ came about more smartly this time, swinging on the upheaval of a wave and rushing off with ever-increasing speed. Lund bent over him, asking him with a note that Rainey, for all his exhaustion, interpreted as one of real anxiety: "How is it with you, matey? Did ye git lunged up?" Rainey managed to shake his head and, with Lund's boughlike arm for support, got to his feet, winded, shaken, aching from his pounding and the crash against the whale. "Good man!" cried Lund, thwacking him on the shoulder and holding him up as Rainey nearly collapsed under the friendly accolade. Sandy was lying face down, one hunter kneeling across him, kneading his ribs to bellows action, lifting his upper body in time to the pressure, while another worked his slack arms up and down. "I tank he's gone," said Hansen. "Swallowed a tubful." "That was splendid, Mr. Rainey! Wonderful! It was brave of you!" Peggy Simms stood before Rainey, clinging to the mainstays, a different girl to the one that he had known. Her red lips were apart, showing the clean shine of her teeth, above her glowing cheeks her gray eyes sparkled with friendly admiration, one slender wet hand was held out eagerly toward him. "Why," said Rainey, in that embarrassment that comes when one knows he has done well, yet instinctively seeks to disclaim honors, "any one would have done that. I happened to be the only one to see it." "I'm not so sure of that," replied the girl, and Rainey thought her lip curled contemptuously as she glanced toward Carlsen at the wheel. Yet Carlsen, he fancied, had full excuse for not having made the attempt, busied as he had been adding needed strength to the wheel. "Oh, it was not what he did, or failed to do," said the girl, and this time there was no mistaking the fact that she emphasized her voice with contempt and made sure that it would carry to Carlsen. "He said it wasn't worth while." Her eyes flashed and then she made a visible effort to control herself. "But it was very brave of you, and I want to ask your pardon," she concluded, with the crimson of her cheeks flooding all her face before she turned away, and made abruptly for the companion. A little bewildered, the touch of her slim but strong fingers still sensible to his own, Rainey went to the wheel. "Shall I take it over, Mr. Carlsen?" he asked. "It's my watch." Carlsen surveyed him coolly. Either he pretended not to have heard the girl's innuendo or it failed to get under his skin. "You'd better get into some dry togs, Rainey," he said. "And I'll prescribe a stiff jorum of grog-hot. Take your time about it." Rainey, conscious of a wrenched feeling in his side, a growing nausea and weakness, thanked him and took the advice. Half an hour later, save for a general soreness, he felt too vigorous to stay below, and went on deck again. Sandy had been taken forward. He encountered the hunter, Deming, and asked after the roustabout. "Born to be hanged," answered the hunter with more friendliness than he had ever exhibited. "They pumped it out of him, and got his own pump to workin'. He'll be as fit as a fiddle presently. Asking for you." "I'll see him soon," said Rainey, and again offered relief to Carlsen, which the doctor this time accepted. "Miss Simms misunderstood me, Rainey," he said easily. "My intent was, that Sandy could never stay on top in those seas, and that it was idle to send a valuable man after a lout who was as good as dead. If it hadn't been for the whale you'd never have landed him. And the killers got the whale," he added, with his cynical grin. So he had overheard. Rainey wondered whether the girl would accept the amended statement if it was offered. At its best interpretation it was callous. When Hansen took over the watch Rainey went below to Sandy. Lund had disappeared, but he found the giant in the triangular forecastle by Sandy's bunk. "That you, Rainey?" Lund asked as he heard the other's tread. Then he dropped his voice to a whisper: "The lad's grateful. Make the most of it. If he wants to spill ennything, git all of it." But Sandy seemed able to do nothing but grin sheepishly. He was half drunk with the steaming potion that had been forced down him. "I'll see you later, Mister Rainey," he finally stammered out. "See you later, sir. You--I--" Lund suddenly nudged Rainey in the ribs. "Never mind now," he whispered. A sailor had come into the forecastle with an extra blanket for Sandy, contributed from the hunters' mess. "That's all right, Sandy," said Rainey. "Better try to get some sleep." The roustabout had already dropped off. The seaman touched his temple in an old-fashioned salute. "That was a smart job you did, sir," he said to Rainey. The latter went aft with Lund through the hunters' quarters. They were seated under the swinging lamp which had been lit in the gloom of the gale, playing poker, as usual. But all laid down their cards as Rainey appeared. "Good work, sir!" said one of them, and the rest chimed in with expressions that warmed Rainey's heart. He felt that he had won his way into their good-will. They were human, after all, he thought. "Glad to have you drop in an' gam a bit with us, or take a hand in a game, sir," added Deming. Rainey escaped, a trifle embarrassed, and passed through the alley that went by the cook's domain into the main cabin. Tamada was at work, but turned a gleam of slanting eyes toward Rainey as they passed the open door. The main cabin was empty. "Come into my room," suggested Lund. "I want to talk with you." He stuffed his pipe and proffered a drink before he spoke. "Best day's work you've done in a long while, matey," he said quietly. "Take Deming's offer up, an' mix in with them hunters. An' pump thet kid, Sandy. Pump him dry. He'll know almost as much as Tamada, an' he'll come through with it easier." "Just what are you afraid of?" asked Rainey. "Son," said Lund simply, "I'm afraid of nothing. But they're primed for somethin', under Carlsen. We'll be makin' Unalaska ter-morrer or the next day. Here's hopin' it's the next. An' we've got to know what to expect. Did you know that the skipper has had another bad spell?" "No. When?" "Jest a few minnits ago. Cryin' for Carlsen like a kid for its nurse an' bottle. The doc's with him now. An' I'm beginnin' to have a hunch what's wrong with him. Here's somethin' for you to chew on: Inside of forty-eight hours there's goin' to be an upset aboard this hooker an' it's up to me an' you to see we come out on top. If not--" He spread out his arms with the great, gorilla-like hands at the end of them, in a gesture that supplanted words. Beyond any doubt Lund expected trouble. And Rainey, for the first time, began to sense it as something approaching, sinister, almost tangible. "You drop in on the hunters an' have a little game of poker ter-night," said Lund emphatically. "I haven't got much money with me," said Rainey. "Money, hell!" mocked Lund. "They don't play for money. They play for shares in the gold. They've got the big amount fixed at a million, each share worth ten thousand. 'Cordin' to the way things stand at present, you've got forty thousand dollars' worth in chips to gamble with. Put it up to 'em that way. I figger they'll accept it. If they don't, wal, we've learned something. An' don't forget to git next to Sandy." A good deal of this was enigmatical to Rainey, but there was no mistaking Lund's tremendous seriousness and, duly impressed, Rainey promised to carry out his suggestions. As he crossed the main cabin to go to his own room, Carlsen came out of the skipper's. He did not see Rainey at first and was humming a little air under his breath as he slipped a small article into his pocket. His face held a sneer. Then he saw Rainey, and it changed to a mask that revealed nothing. His tune stopped. "I hear the captain's sick again," said Rainey. "Not serious, I hope." Carlsen stood there gazing at him with his look of a sphinx, his eyes half-closed, the scoffing light showing faintly. "Serious? I'm afraid it is serious this time, Rainey. Yes," he ended slowly. "I am inclined to think it is really serious." He turned away and rapped at the door of the girl's stateroom. In answer to a low reply he turned the handle and went in, leaving Rainey alone. CHAPTER VI SANDY SPEAKS The next morning Rainey, going on deck to relieve Hansen at eight bells, in the commencement of the forenoon watch, found Lund in the bows as he walked forward, waiting for the bell to be struck. The giant leaned by the bowsprit, his spectacled eyes seeming to gaze ahead into the gray of the northern sky, and it seemed to Rainey as if he were smelling the wind. The sun shone brightly enough, but it lacked heat-power, and the sea had gone down, though it still ran high in great billows of dull green. There was a bite to the air, and Rainey, fresh from the warm cabin, wished he had brought up his sweater. Lightly as he trod, the giant heard him and instantly recognized him. "How'd ye make out with the hunters last night?" he queried. "I turned in early." "We had quite a session," said Rainey. "They got me in the game, all right." "Enny objections 'bout yore stakin' yore share in the gold?" "Not a bit. I fancy they thought it a bit of a joke. More of one after we'd finished the game. I lost two thousand seven hundred dollars," he added with a laugh. "No chips under a dollar. Sky limit. And Deming had all the luck, and a majority of the skill, I fancy." "Don't seem to worry you none." "Well, it was sort of ghost money," laughed Rainey. "You've seen the color of it," retorted Lund. "Hear ennything special?" "No." Rainey spoke thoughtfully. "I had a notion I was being treated as an outsider, though they were friendly enough. But, somehow I fancy they reserved their usual line of talk." "Shouldn't wonder," grunted Lund. "Seen Sandy yet?" "I haven't had a chance. I imagined it would be best not to be seen talking to him." "Right. Matey, things are comin' to a head. There's ice in the air. I can smell it. Feel the difference in temperature? Ice, all right. An' that means two things. We're nigh one of the Aleutians, an' Bering Strait is full of ice. Early, a bit, but there's nothin' reg'lar 'bout the way ice forms. I've got a strong hunch something'll break before we make the Strait. "There's one thing in our favor. Yore savin' Sandy has set you solid with the hunters. They won't be so keen to maroon you. An' they'll think twice about puttin' me ashore blind. I used to git along fine with the hunters. All said an' done, they're men at bottom. Got their hearts gold-plated right now. But--" He seemed obsessed with the idea that the crew, with Carlsen as prime instigator, had determined to leave them stranded on some volcanic, lonely barren islet. Rainey wondered what actual foundations he had for that theory. "The sailors--" he started. "Don't amount to a bunch of dried herrin'. A pore lot. Swing either way, like a patent gate. I ain't worryin' about them. I'm goin' to git my coffee. I was up afore dawn, tryin' to figger things out. You git to Sandy soon's you can, matey." And Lund went below. Rainey saw nothing more of him until noon, at the midday meal. And he found no chance to talk with Sandy. He noticed the boy looking at him once or twice, wistfully, he thought, and yet furtively. A thickening atmosphere of something unusual afoot seemed present. And the actual weather grew distinctly colder. He had got his sweater, and he needed it. The sailors had put on their thickest clothes. Carlsen did not appear during the morning, neither did the hunters. Nor the girl. At noon Carlsen came up to take his observation. He said nothing to Rainey, but the latter noticed the doctor's face seemed more sardonic than usual as he tucked his sextant under his arm. With Hansen on deck they all assembled at the table with the exception of the captain. Tamada served perfectly and silently. The doctor conversed with the girl in a low voice. Once or twice she smiled across the table at Rainey in friendly fashion. "Skipper enny better?" asked Lund, at the end of the meal. Carlsen ignored him, but the girl answered: "I am afraid not." It was not often she spoke to Lund at all, and Rainey wondered if she had experienced any change of feeling toward the giant as well as himself. Carlsen got up, announcing his intention of going forward. Lund nodded significantly at Rainey as if to suggest that the doctor was going to foregather with the hunters, and that this might be an opportunity to talk with Sandy. "Goin' to turn in," he said. "Eyes hurt me. It's the ice in the wind." "Is there ice?" Peggy Simms asked Rainey as Lund disappeared. Carlsen had already vanished. "None in sight," he answered. "But Lund says he can smell it, and I think I know what he means. It's cold on deck." The girl went to the door of her own room and then hesitated and came back to the table where Rainey still sat. He had four hours off, and he meant to make an opportunity of talking to the roustabout. "Mr. Carlsen told me he expects to sight land by to-morrow morning," she said. "Unalaska or Unimak, most likely. How is the boy you saved?" She seemed so inclined to friendliness, her eyes were so frank, that Rainey resolved to talk to her. He held a notion that she was lonely, and worried about her father. There were pale blue shadows under her eyes, and he fancied her face looked drawn. "May I ask you a question?" he asked. "Surely." "Just why did you beg my pardon? And, I may be wrong, but you seemed to make a point of doing so rather publicly." She flushed slowly, but did not avoid his gaze, coming over to the table and standing across from him, her fingers resting lightly on the polished wood. "It was because I thought I had misunderstood you," she said. "And I have thought it over since. I do not think that any man who would risk his life to save that lad could have joined the ship with such motives as you did. I--I hope I am not mistaken." Rainey stared at her in astonishment. "What motives?" he asked. "Surely you know I did not intend to go on this voyage of my own free will?" The changing light in her eyes reminded Rainey of the look of her father's when he was at his best in some time of stress for the schooner. They were steady, and the pupils had dilated while the irises held the color of steel. There was something more than ordinary feminine softness to her, he decided. She sat down, challenging his gaze. "Do you mean to tell me," she asked, "that you did not use your knowledge of this treasure to gain a share in it, under a covert threat of disclosing it to the newspaper you worked for?" It was Rainey's turn to flush. His indignation flooded his eyes, and the girl's faltered a little. His wrath mastered his judgment. He did not intend to spare her feelings. What did she mean by such a charge? She must have known about the drugging. If not--she soon would. "Your fiancé, Mr. Carlsen, told you that, I fancy," he said, "if you did not evolve it from your own imagination." Now her face fairly flamed. "My fiancé?" she gasped. "Who told you that?" "The gentleman himself," answered Rainey. "Oh!" she cried, closing her eyes, her face paling. "The same gentleman," went on Rainey vindictively, "who put chloral in my drink and deliberately shanghaied me aboard the _Karluk_, so that I only came to at sea, with no chance of return. He, too, was afraid I might give the snap away to my paper, though I would have given him my word not to. He told me it was a matter of business, that he had kidnapped me for my own good," he went on bitterly, recalling the talk with Carlsen when he had come out of the influence of the drug. "You don't have to believe me, of course," he broke off. "I don't think you are quite fair, Mr. Rainey," the girl answered. "To me, I mean. I will give you _my_ word that I knew nothing of this. I--" She suddenly widened her eyes and stared at him. "Then--my father--he?" Rainey felt a twinge of compassion. "He was there when it happened," he said. "But I don't know that he had anything to do with it. Mr. Carlsen may have convinced him it was the only thing to do. He seems to have considerable influence with your father." [Illustration: "The same gentleman who put chloral in my drink"] "He has. He--Mr. Rainey, I have begged your pardon once; I do so again. Won't you accept it? Perhaps, later, we can talk this matter out. I am upset. But--you'll accept the apology, and believe me?" She put out her hand across the table and Rainey gripped it. "We'll be friends?" she asked. "I need a friend aboard the _Karluk_, Mr. Rainey." He experienced a revulsion of feeling toward her. She was undoubtedly plucky, he thought; she would stand up to her guns, but she suddenly looked very tired, a pathetic figure that summoned his chivalry. "Why, surely," he said. They relinquished hands slowly, and again Rainey felt something more than her mere grasp lingering, a slight tingling that warmed him to smile at her in a manner that brought a little color back to her cheeks. "Thank you," she said. He watched her close the door of her cabin behind her before he remembered that she had not denied that she was to marry Carlsen. But he shrugged his shoulders as he started to smoke. At any rate, he told himself, she knows what kind of a chap he is--in what he calls business. Presently he thought he heard her softly sobbing in her room, and he got up and paced the cabin, not entirely pleased with himself. "I was a bit of a cad the way I went at her," he thought, "but that chap Carlsen sticks in my gorge. How any decent girl could think of mating up with him is beyond me--unless--by gad, I'll bet he's working through her father to pull it off! For the gold! If he's in love with her he's got a damned queer way of not showing it." The door from the galley corridor opened, and a head was poked in cautiously. Then Sandy came into the cabin. "Beg pardon, Mister Rainey, sir," said the roustabout, "I was through with the dishes. I wanted to have a talk with yer." His pop-eyes roamed about the cabin doubtfully. "Come in here," said Rainey, and ushered Sandy into his own quarters. "Now, then," he said, established on the bunk, while Sandy stood by the partition, slouching, irresolute, his slack jaw working as if he was chewing something, "what is it, my lad?" "They'd kick the stuffin' out of me if they knew this," said Sandy. "I've bin warned to hold my tongue. Deming said he'd cut it out if I chattered. An' he would. But--" "But what? Sit down, Sandy; I won't give you away." "You went overboard after me, sir. None of them would. I've heard what Mr. Carlsen said, that I didn't ermount to nothin'. Mebbe I don't, but I've got my own reasons for hangin' on. Me, of course I don't ermount to much. Why would I? If I ever had mother an' father, I never laid eyes on 'em. I've made my own livin' sence I was eight. I've never 'ad enough grub in my belly till I worked for Tamada. The Jap slips me prime fillin'. He's only a Jap, but he's got more heart than the rest o' that bloody bunch put tergether." Rainey nodded. "Tell me what you know, quickly. You may be wanted any minute." The words seemed to stick in the lad's dry throat, and then they came with a gush. "It's the doc! It's Carlsen who's turned 'em into a lot of bloody bolsheviks, sir. Told 'em they ought to have an ekal share in the gold. Ekal all round, all except Tamada--an' me. I don't count. An' Tamada's a Jap. The men is sore at Mr. Lund becoz he sez the skipper left him be'ind on the ice. Carlsen's worked that up, too. Said Lund made 'em all out to be cowards. 'Cept Hansen, that is. He don't dare say too much, or they'd jump him, but Hansen sort of hints that Cap'n Simms ought to have gone back after Lund, could have gone back, is the way Hansen put it. So they're all goin' to strike." Rainey's mind reacted swiftly to Sandy's talk. It seemed inconceivable that Carlsen would be willing to share alike with the hunters and the crew. Sandy's imagination had been running wild, or the men had been making a fool of him. The girl's share would be thrown into the common lot. And then flashed over him the trick by which Carlsen had disposed of all the ammunition in the hunters' possession. He had a deeper scheme than the one he fed to the hunters, and which he merely offered to serve some present purpose. Rainey's jaw muscles bunched. "Go on, Sandy," he said tersely. "There ain't much more, sir. They're goin' to put it up to Lund. First they figgered some on settin' him ashore with you an' the Jap. That's what Carlsen put up to 'em. But they warn't in favor of that. Said Lund found the gold, an' ought to have an ekal share with the rest. An' they're feelin' diff'runt about you, sir, since you saved me. Not becoz it was me, but becoz it was what Deming calls a damn plucky thing to do." "How did you learn all this?" demanded Rainey. "Scraps, sir. Here an' there. The sailors gams about it nights when they thinks I'm asleep in the fo'c's'le. An' I keeps my ears open when I waits on the hunters. But they ain't goin' to give you no share becoz you warn't in on the original deal. But they ain't goin' to maroon you, neither, unless Lund bucks an' you stand back of him." "How about Captain Simms?" "Carlsen sez he'll answer for him, sir. He boasts how he's goin' to marry the gal. That'll giv' him three shares--countin' the skipper's. The men don't see that, but I did. He's a bloody fox, is Carlsen." "When's this coming off?" asked Rainey. "Quick! They're goin' to sight land ter-morrer, they say. I heard that this mornin'. I hid in my bunk. It heads ag'inst the wall of the hunters' mess an', if it's quiet, you can hear what they say. "They ain't goin' in to Bering Strait through Unimak Pass. They're goin' in through Amukat or Seguam Pass. An' they'll put it up to Lund an' the skipper somewheres close by there. An' that's where you two'll get put off, if you don't fall in line." "All right, Sandy. You're smarter than I thought you were. Sure of all this?" "I ain't much to look at, sir, but I ain't had to buck my own way without gittin' on ter myself. You won't give me away, though? They'd keelhaul me." "I won't. You cut along. And if we happen to come out on top, Sandy, I'll see that you get a share out of it." "Thank you, sir." "I'll come out with you," said Rainey. "If any one comes in before you get clear, I'll give you an order. I sent for you, understand." But Sandy got back into the galley without any trouble. Rainey began to pace the cabin again, and then went back into his own room to line the thing up. Lund was asleep, but he would waken him, he decided, filled with admiration at the blind man's sagacity and the way he had foreseen the general situation. There was not much time to lose. He did not see what they could do against the proposition. He was sure that Lund would not consent to it. And he might have some plan. He had hinted that he had cards up his sleeve. What Carlsen's ultimate plans were Rainey did not bother himself with. That it meant the fooling of the whole crew he did not doubt. He intended eventually to gather all the gold. And the girl--she would be in his power. But perhaps she wanted to be? Rainey got out of his blind alley of thought and started into the main cabin to give Lund the news. The girl was coming out of her father's room. "Any better?" asked Rainey. "No. I can't understand it. He seems hardly to know me. Doctor Carlsen came along because of father's sciatica, but--there's something else--and the doctor can't help it any. I can't quite understand--" She stopped abruptly. "Have you known the doctor long?" asked Rainey. "For a year. He lives in Mill Valley, close to my uncle. I live with my father's brother when father is at sea. But this time I wanted to be near him. And the doctor--" Again she seemed to be deliberately checking herself from a revelation that wanted to come out. "Did he practise in Mill Valley? Or San Francisco?" asked Rainey, remembering Lund's outburst against Carlsen's professional powers. "No, he hasn't practised for some years. That was how it happened he was able to go along. Of course, father promised him a certain share in the venture. And he was a friend." She trailed off in her speech, looking uncertainly at Rainey. The latter came to a decision. "Miss Simms," he said, "are you going to marry Doctor Carlsen?" Suddenly Rainey was aware that some one had come into the cabin. It was Carlsen, now swiftly advancing toward him, his face livid, his mouth snarling, and his black eyes devilish with mischief. "I'll attend to this end of it," he said. "Peggy, you had better go in to your father. I'll be in there in a minute. He's a pretty sick man," he added. His snarl had changed to a smile, and he seemed to have swiftly controlled himself. The girl looked at both of them and slowly went into the captain's room. Carlsen wheeled on Rainey, his face once more a mask of hate. "I'll put you where you belong, you damned interloper," he said. "What in hell do you mean by asking her that question?" "That is my business." "I'll make it mine. And I'll settle yours very shortly, once and for all. I suppose you're soft on the girl yourself," he sneered. "Think yourself a hero! Do you think she'd look at you, a beggarly news-monger? Why, she--" "You can leave her out of it," said Rainey, quietly. "As for you, I think you're a dirty blackguard." Carlsen's hand shot back to his hip pocket as Rainey's fist flashed through the opening and caught him high on the jaw, sending him staggering back, crashing against the partition and down into the cushioned seat that ran around the place. But his gun was out. As he raised it Rainey grappled with him. Carlsen pulled trigger, and the bullet smashed through the skylight above them, while Rainey forced up his arm, twisting it fiercely with both hands until the gun fell on the seat. Simultaneously the girl and Lund appeared. "Gun-play?" rumbled the giant. "That'll be you, Carlsen! You're too fond of shooting off that gat of yores." Rainey had stepped back at the girl's exclamation. Carlsen recovered his gun and put it away, while Peggy Simms advanced with blazing eyes. "You coward!" she said. "If I had thought--oh!" She made a gesture of utter loathing, at which Carlsen sneered. "I'll show you whether I'm a coward or not, my lady," he said, "before I get through with all of you. And I'll tell you one thing: The captain's life is in my hands. And he and I are the only navigators aboard this vessel, except a fool of a blind man," he added, as he strode to the door of Simms' cabin, turned to look at them, laughed deliberately in their faces, and shut the door on them. CHAPTER VII RAINEY MAKES DECISION "Well?" asked Lund, "what are you goin' to do about it, Rainey? Stick with me, or line up with the rest of 'em, work yore passage, an' thank 'em for nothing when they divvy the stuff an' leave you out? You've got to decide one way or the other damn' quick, for the show-down's on the program for ter-morrer." "You haven't said outright what you are going to do yourself," replied Rainey. "As for me, I seem to be between the devil and the deep sea. Carlsen has got some plan to outwit the men. It's inconceivable that he'll be willing to give them equal shares. And he has no use for me." "You ought to have grabbed that gun of his before he did," said Lund. "He'll put you out of the way if he can, but, now his temper's b'iled over a bit, he'll not shoot you. Not afore the gold's in the hold. One thing, he knows the hunters wouldn't stand for it. They've got dust in their eyes right now--gold-dust, chucked there by Carlsen, but if he'd butchered you he'd likely lose his grip on 'em. I think he would. I don't believe yo're in enny danger, Rainey, if you want to buckle in an' line up with the crowd. "As for me," he went on, his voice deepening, "I'm goin' to tell 'em to go plumb to hell. I'll tell Carlsen a few things first. Equal shares! A fine bunch of socialists they are! Settin' aside that Carlsen's bullin' 'em, as you say. Equal? They ain't my equal, none of 'em, man to man. All men are born free an' equal, says the Constitution an' by-laws of this country of ours. Granted. But they don't stay that way long. They're all lined up to toe the mark on the start, but watch 'em straggle afore they've run a tenth of the distance. "I found this gold, an' they didn't. I don't have to divvy with 'em, an' I won't. A lot of I. W. W.'s, that's what they are, an' I'll tell 'em so. More'n that, if enny of 'em thinks he's my equal all he's got to do is say so, an' I'll give him a chance to prove it. Feel those arms, matey, size me up. Man to man, I c'ud break enny of 'em in half. Put me in a room with enny three of 'em, an' the door locked, an' one 'ud come out. That 'ud be me." This was not bragging, not blustering, but calm assurance, and Rainey felt that Lund merely stated what he believed to be facts. And Rainey believed they were facts. There was a confident strength of spirit aside from his physical condition that emanated from Lund as steam comes from a kettle. It was the sort of strength that lies in a steady gale, a wind that one can lean against, an elastic power with big reserves of force. But the conditions were all against Lund, though he proceeded to put them aside. "Man to man," he repeated, "I c'ud beat 'em into Hamburg steak. An' I've got brains enough to fool Carlsen. I've outguessed him so far." "He's got the gun," warned Rainey. "Never mind his gun. I ain't afraid of his gun." He nodded with such supreme confidence that Rainey felt himself suddenly relegating the doctor's possession of the gun to the background. "If his gun's the only thing trubblin' you, forget it. You an' me got to know where we stand. It's up to you. I won't blame you for shiftin' over. An' I can git along without you, if need be. But we've got along together fine; I've took a notion to you. I'd like to see you get a whack of that gold, an' all the devils in hell an' out of it ain't goin' to stop me from gittin' it!" He talked in a low voice, but it rumbled like the distant roar of a bull. Rainey looked at the indomitable jaw that the beard could not hide, at the great barrel of his chest, the boughlike arms, the swelling thighs and calves, and responded to the suggestion that Lund could rise in Berserker rage and sweep aside all opposition. It was absurd, of course; his next thought adjusted the balance that had been weighed down by the compelling quality of the man's vigor but, for the moment, remembering his earlier simile, Lund appeared a blind Samson who, by some miracle, could at the last moment destroy his enemies by pulling down their house--or their ship--about them. "Carlsen says that the skipper's life is in his hands," he said, still evading Lund's direct question. "What do you make of that?" "I don't know what to make of it," answered Lund. "If it is, God help the skipper! I reckon he's in a bad way. Ennyhow, he's out of it for the time bein', Rainey. I don't think he'll be present at the meetin' if he's that ill. Carlsen speaks for him. Count Simms out of it for the present." "There's the girl," said Rainey. "I don't believe she wants to marry Carlsen." "If she does," said Lund, "she ain't the kind we need worry about. Carlsen 'ud marry her if he thought it was necessary to git her share by bein' legal. He may try an' squeeze her to a wedding through the skipper. Threaten to let her dad die if she don't marry him, likely'll git the skipper to tie the knot. It 'ud be legal. But if you're interested about the gal, Rainey, an' I take it you are, I'm tellin' you that Carlsen'll marry her if it suits his book. If it don't, he won't. An', if he wins out, he'll take her without botherin' about prayer-books an' ceremonies. I know his breed. All men are more or less selfish an' shy on morals, in streaks more or less wide, but that Carlsen's just plain skunk." "The men wouldn't permit that," said Rainey tersely. "If Carlsen started anything like that I'd kill him with my own hands, gun or no gun. And any white man would help me do it." "You would, mebbe," said Lund, nodding sagely. "You'd have a try at it. But you don't know men, matey, not like I do. This ship's got a skipper now. A sick one, I grant you. But so far he's boss. An' he's the gal's father. All's usual an' reg'lar. But you turn this schooner into a free-an'-easy, equal shares-to-all, go-as-you-please outfit, let 'em git their claws on the gold, an' be on the way home to spend it--for Carlsen'll let 'em go that far afore he pulls his play, whatever it is--an' discipline will go by the board. "Grog'll be served when they feel like it, they'll start gamblin', some of 'em'll lose all they got. There'll be sore-heads, an' they'll remember there's a gal in the after-cabin, which won't be the after-cabin enny more, for they'll all have the run of it, bein' equal; then all hell's goin' to break loose, far's that gal's concerned. "A bunch of men who've bin at sea for weeks, half drunk, crazy over havin' more gold than they ever dreamed of, or havin' gambled it away. Jest a bunch of beasts, matey, whenever they think of that gal. They'll be too much for Carlsen to handle--an'"--he tapped at Rainey's knee--"Carlsen don't think enough of enny woman to let her interfere with his best interests." Rainey's jaw was set and his fists clenched, his blood running hot and fast. His imagination was instinct to conjure up full-colored scenes from Lund's suggestions. "You mean--" he began. "Under his hide, when there ain't nothin' to hinder him, a man's plain animal," said Lund. "What do these water-front bullies know about a good gal--or care? They only know one sort. Ever think what happened to a woman in privateer days when they got one aboard, alone, on the high seas? Why, if they pushed Carlsen, he'd turn her over to 'em without winkin'." "You hinted I was different," said Rainey. "How about you, Lund, how would you act?" "If Carlsen wins out, I'd be chewin' mussels on a rock, or feedin' crabs," said Lund simply. "I'm no saint, but, so long as I can keep wigglin', there ain't enny hunter or seaman goin' to harm a decent gal. That's another way they ain't my equal, Rainey. Savvy? Nor is Carlsen. There ain't enough real manhood in that Carlsen to grease a skillet. How about it, Rainey; are you lined up with me?" "Just as far as I can go, Lund. I'm with you to the limit." Lund brought down his hand with a mighty swing, and caught at Rainey's in mid-air, gripping it till Rainey bit his lips to repress a cry of pain. "You've got the guts!" cried the giant, checking the loudness of his voice abruptly. "I knew it. It ain't all goin' to go as they like it. Watch my smoke. Now, then, keep out of Carlsen's way all you can. He may try an' pick a row with you that'll put you in wrong all around. Go easy an' speak easy till land's sighted. If you ain't invited to this I. W. W. convention, horn in. "Carlsen'll try an' keep you on deck, I fancy. Don't stay there. Turn the wheel over to Sandy if you have to. I'll insist on havin' you there. That'll be better. They'll probably have some fool agreement to sign. Carlsen would do that. Make 'em all feel it's more like a bizness meetin'. They'll love to scrawl their names an' put down their marks. I'll have to have you there to read it over to me; savvy?" "What do you think Carlsen's game is, if it goes through?" "He's fox enough to think up a dozen ways. Run the schooner ashore somewhere in the night. Wreck her. Git 'em in the boats with the gold. Inside of a week, Deming an' one or two others would have won it all. Then--he'd have the only gun--he'd shoot the lot of 'em an' say they died at sea. He ain't got enny more warm blood than a squid. Or he might land, and accuse 'em all of piracy. What do we care about his plans? He ain't goin' to put 'em over." Rainey had to relieve Hansen. He left Lund primed for resistance against Carlsen, against all the crew, if necessary, resolved to save the girl, but, as Lund stayed below and the time slid by, his confidence oozed out of him, and the odds assumed their mathematical proportion. What could they do against so many? But he held firm in his determination to do what he could, to go down with the forlorn hope, fighting. Blind as he was, Lund was the better man of the two of them, Rainey felt; it was better to attempt to seize the horns of the dilemma than weakly to give way and, with Lund killed, or marooned, try single-handed to protect Peggy Simms against the horrors that would come later. He did not believe himself in love with her. The environment had not been conducive to that sort of thing. But the thought of her, their hands clasped, her eyes appealing, saying she needed a friend aboard the _Karluk_; the young clean beauty of her, nerved him to stand with Lund against the odds. Lund was fighting for his rights, for his gold, but he had said that he would not see a decent girl harmed as long as he could wiggle. Rough sea-bully as the giant was, he had his code. Rainey tingled with contempt of his own hesitancy. The _Karluk_ was bowling along northward toward landfall and the crisis between Lund and Carlsen at good speed. The weather had subsided and the half gale now served the schooner instead of hindering her. Rainey turned over the wheel to a seaman and paced the deck. The bite in the air had increased until even the smart walk he maintained failed to circulate the blood sufficiently to keep his fingers from becoming benumbed, so that he had to beat his arms across his chest. It was well below the freezing point. If they had been sailing on fresh water, instead of salt, he fancied that the rigging would have been glazed where the spray struck it. As it was, the canvas seemed to him stiffer than usual, and there was a whitish haze about the northern horizon that suggested ice. The tall, olive-tinted seas ranged up in dissolving hills, the wind's whistle was shrill in the rigging. Over the mainmast a gray-breasted bird with wide, unmoving pinions hung without apparent motion, its ruby eyes watching the ship, as if it was a spy sent out from the Arctic to report the adventurous strangers about to dare its dangers. As the day passed to sunset the gloom quickly deepened. The sun sank early into banks of leaden clouds, and the _Karluk_ slid on through the seething seas in a scene of strange loneliness, save for the suspended albatross that never varied its position by an inch or by a flirt of its plumes. Rainey felt the dreary suggestion of it all as he walked up and down, trying to evolve some plan. Lund's mysterious hints were unsatisfactory. He could not believe them without some basis, but the giant would never go further than vague talk of a "joker" or a card up his sleeve. And they would need more than one card, Rainey thought. He wondered whether they could win over Hansen, who had spoken for Lund against the skipper. And had then kept his counsel. But he dismissed Hansen as an ally. The Scandinavian was too cautious, too apt to consider such things as odds. Sandy was useless, aside from his good-will. He was cowed by Deming, scared of Carlsen, too puny to do more than he had done, given them warning. Tamada? Would he fight for the share of gold he expected to come to him? Lund had described him as neutral. But, if he knew that he was to be left out of the division? It was not likely that he would be called to the conference. The Japanese undoubtedly knew the racial prejudice against him, a prejudice that Rainey considered short-sighted, taking some pains to show that he did not share it. At any rate, Tamada might provide him with a weapon, a sharp-bladed vegetable knife if nothing better. But, if it came to downright combat, they must be overwhelmed. Carlsen's gun again assumed proper proportions. Lund might not be afraid of it, but Rainey was, very frankly. He should have snatched it from the cabin cushions. But Tamada? He could not dismiss Tamada as an important factor. There was no question to Rainey but that Tamada was, by caste, above his position as sealer's cook. It was true that a Japanese considered no means menial if they led to the proper end. Was that end merely to gain possession of his share of the gold, or did Tamada have some deeper, more complicated reason for signing on to run the galley of the _Karluk_? Somehow Rainey thought there was such a reason. He treated Tamada with a courtesy that he had found other Japanese appreciated, and fancied that Tamada gradually came to regard him with a certain amount of good-will. But it was hard to determine anything that went on back of those unfathomable eyes, or to read Tamada's face, smooth and placid as that of an ivory image. CHAPTER VIII TAMADA TALKS Tamada's galley was as orderly and efficient as the operating-room of a first-class hospital. And Tamada at his work had all the deftness and some of the dignity of a surgeon. There was no wasted move, there was no litter of preparation, every article was returned to its specified place as soon as used, and every implement and utensil was shining and spotless. It was an hour from the third meal of the day. Tamada was juggling the food for three messes, and he was doing it with the calm precision of one who has every detail well mapped out and is moving on schedule. The boy Sandy was not there, probably engaged in laying the table for the hunters' mess, Rainey imagined. Tamada regarded him with eyes that did not lack a certain luster, as a sloeberry might hold it, but which, beneath their hooded lids, revealed neither interest, nor curiosity, nor friendliness. They belonged in his unwrinkled face, they were altogether neutral. Yet they seemed covertly to suggest to Rainey that they might, on occasion, flame with wrath or hatred, or show the burning light of high intelligence. Seldom, he thought, while their gaze rested on him impassively, would they soften. "Tamada," he queried, "you think I am your friend, that I would rather help you than otherwise?" "I think that--yes?" answered the Japanese without hesitation and without servility. And his eyes slowly searched Rainey's face with appraising pertinacity for a second or two. His English, save for the oddness of his idioms and a burr that made _r's_ of most his _l's_, and sometimes reversed the process, was almost perfect. His vocabulary showed study. "You are not hating me because you are Californian and I Japanese," he said. "I know that." There was little time to spare, and there was likelihood of interruption, so Rainey plunged into his subject without introduction. "They promised you a share of this treasure, Tamada?" he asked. "They promised me that, yes." "They do not intend to give it to you." There was a tiny, dancing flicker in the dark eyes that died like a spark in the night air. Rainey recalled Lund's opinion that little went on that Tamada did not know. "You may have guessed this," he hurried on, "but I am sure of it. I, too, am promised some of the gold, but they do not intend to give it to me. They will offer Mr. Lund only a small portion of what was originally arranged, the same amount as the rest of them are to get. He will refuse that to-morrow, when a meeting is to be called. Then there will be trouble. I shall stand with Mr. Lund. If we win you will get your share, whether you help us or not. If you help us I can promise you at least twice the amount you were to get." "How can I help you? If this is to be talked over at a meeting I shall not be allowed to be present. If trouble starts it will do so immediately. Mr. Lund"--he called it Rund--"is not patient man. What can I do? How can I help you?" Rainey was nonplused. He had seized the first opportunity of sounding the Japanese, and he had nothing outlined. "I do not know," he said. "I must talk that over with Mr. Lund. I wanted to know if you would be on our side." "Mr. Lund will not want me to help you. He does not like color of my skin, he does not like Japanese because he thinks they make too good living in California, and making more money than some of his countrymen. I do not think it help you for me to join. I do not see how you can win. If you can show some way out I will do what I can. But I like to see way out." He mollified the bald acknowledgment of his neutrality with a little bow and a hissing-in breath. Back of it all was a will that was inflexible, thought Rainey. "If we lose, you lose," he went on lamely. He had come on a fool's errand, he decided. "I think I shall get my money," said Tamada, and something looked out of his eyes that betrayed a purpose already gained, Rainey fancied, as a chess player might gain assurance of victory by the looking ahead to all conceivable moves against him, and providing a counter-play that would achieve the game. It was borne in upon him that Tamada had resources he could not fathom. The Oriental gave a swift smile, that held no mirth, no friendship, rather, a sardonic appreciation of the situation, without rancor. "They are very foolish," he said. "They make me cook, they eat what I serve. They say Tamada is very good cook. But he is Jap, damn him. Suppose I put something in that food, that they would not taste? I could send them all to sleep. I could kill them. I could do it so they never suspect, but would go to their beds--and never get up from them. It would be very easy. Yet they trust me." The statement was so matter-of-fact that Rainey felt his horror gather slowly as he stared at the impassive Oriental. "You would do that? What good would it do you? You would have to kill them all, or the rest would tear you apart. And if you murdered the whole ship where would you be? You talk as if you were a little mad. Suppose I told Carlsen of this?" Tamada was smiling again. He seemed to know that Rainey was in no position to betray him--if he wished to do so. "I did not say I would do it. And, except under certain circumstances, it do me little good. I do not expect to do it. But it would be easy. Yet, as you say, it would not help you to kill only few, those who will be at the meeting, for example, even if I wish to do. No, I do not see way out. If, at any time there should seem way out and I can help you, I will." He turned abruptly to a simmering pot and rattled the lid. The hunter, Deming, stuck his head in at the door. "Smells good," he said. "Evening, Mr. Rainey." He seemed disposed to linger, and Rainey, not to excite suspicion toward himself or Tamada, went back on deck. What did Tamada mean by "except under certain circumstances"? he asked himself. For one thing he felt sure that Tamada had some basis for his expression that he expected to get his money. _He knew something_. Was it merely the Oriental method of _jiu-jitsu_, practised mentally as well as physically, the belief in a seemingly passive resistance against circumstances, waiting for some move that, by its own aggressiveness, would give him an opening for a trick that would secure him the advantage? What could one Japanese hope to do against the crowd? A thought suddenly flashed over Rainey. Was Tamada in league with Carlsen? Had he mistaken his man? Did Carlsen plan to have Tamada undertake a wholesale poisoning to secure the gold himself, providing the drugs? Was it a friendly hint from the Japanese? Still mulling over it he went down to supper. The girl was not present. Carlsen appeared in an unusual mood. "I was a bit hasty, Rainey," he said, with all appearance of sincerity. "I've been worried a bit over the skipper. He's in a bad way. "Forget what happened, if you can. I apologize. Though I still think your interference in my private affairs unwarranted. I'll call it square, if you will." He nodded across the table at Rainey, saving the latter a reply which he was rather at a loss how to word. Amenities from Carlsen were likely a Greek gift. And Carlsen rattled on during the meal in high good spirits, rallying Rainey about his poker game with the hunters, joking Lund about his shooting, talking of the landfall they expected the next day. To Rainey's surprise Lund picked up the talk. There was a subtle, sardonic flavor to it on both sides and, once in a while, as Tamada, like an animated sphinx, went about his duties, Rainey saw the eyes of Carlsen turned questioningly upon the giant as if a bit puzzled concerning the exact spirit of his sallies. Rainey admired while he marveled at the sheer skill of Lund in this sort of a fencing bout. He never went far enough to arouse Carlsen's suspicions, yet he showed a keen sense of humorous appreciation of Carlsen's half-satirical sallies that, in the light of Sandy's revelation, showed the doctor considered himself the master of the situation, the winner of a game whose pieces were already on the board, though the players had not yet taken their places. Yet Rainey fancied that Carlsen qualified his dismissal of Lund as a "blind fool" before they rose from the table, without disturbing his own equanimity as the craftier of the two. Later, when his watch was ended and he was closeted with Lund in the latter's cabin, the giant promptly quashed all discussion of Tamada's attitude. "I'll put no trust in any slant-eyed, yellow-skinned rice-eater," he announced emphatically. "They're against us, race an' religion. They want California, or rather, the Pacific coast, an' they think they're goin' to git it. They're no more akin to us than a snake is a cousin to an eel. They're not of our breed, an' you can't mix the two. I'll have no deal with Tamada, beyond gettin' dope out of him. If he helped us it 'ud be only to further his own ends. Not that he can do much--unless--" He lowered his voice to a husky whisper. "There's one thing may slip in our gold-gettin', matey," he said--"the Japanese. I doubt if this island is set down on American or British charts. But I'll bet it is on the Japanese. I don't know as any nation has openly claimed it, but it's a sure thing the Japs know of its existence. They don't know of the gold, or it wouldn't be there. Rightly, the island may belong to Russia, but, since the war, Russia's in a bad way, an' ennything loose from the mainland'll be gobbled by Japan. "What the Japs grab they don't let go of. On general principles they patrol the west side of Bering Strait. If one of their patrols sees us we'll be inside the sealin' limit, an' they'll have right of search. They'd take it, ennyway, if they sighted us. They go by _power_ of search, not right. They won't find enny pelts on us, we've got hunters aboard, we're pelagic sealers, they won't be able to hang up enny clubbin' of herds on us. "But, if they should suspicion us of gittin' gold off enny island they c'ud trump up to call theirs, if they found gold on us at all, it 'ud be all off with us an' the _Karluk_. We'd be dumped inside of some Jap prison an' the schooner confiscated. "An', if things go right with us, an' we ever sight the smoke of a Jap gunboat comin' our way, the first thing I'll be apt to do will be to scrag Tamada or he'll blow the whole proposition, whether we've got the gold aboard or not. Even if he didn't want to tell becoz of his own share, they'd git it out of him what we was after." Did this, wondered Rainey, explain Tamada's "certain circumstances"? Was he calculating on the arrival of a Japanese patrol? Had he already tipped off to his consul in San Francisco the purpose of the expedition, sure of a reward equal to what his share would have been? If so, Rainey had made a muddle of his attempt to sound Tamada. He felt guilty, glad that Lund could not see his face, and he dropped the subject abruptly. Lund seemed to know that something was amiss. "Nervous, Rainey?" he asked. "That's becoz you've not bin livin' a man's life. All yore experience has bin second-hand, an' you've never gone into a rough-an'-tumble, I take it. You'll make out all right if it comes to that at all. Yo're well put up, an' you've got solid of late. Now yo're goin' to git a taste of life in the raw. Not story-book stuff. It's strong meat sometimes, an' liable to turn some people's stomachs. I've got an appetite for it, an' so'll you have, after a bit. "Ever play much at cards?" he went on. "Play for yore last red when you don't know where to turn for another, an' have all the crowd thinkin' yo're goin' broke as they watch the play? An' then you slap down a card they've all overlooked an' larf in the other chap's face? "That's what I'm goin' to do with Carlsen. I've got that kind of a card, matey, an' I ain't goin' to spoil my fun by tellin' even you what it is, though yo're my partner in this gamble. It's a trump, an' Carlsen's overlooked it. He figgers he's stacked the deck an' fixed it so's he deals himself all the winnin' cards. But there's one he don't know is there becoz he's more of a blind fool than I am, is Doctor Carlsen." Lund chuckled hugely as he mixed himself some whisky and water. Rainey refused a drink. Lund was right, he was nervous, bothering over what the outcome might be, and how he might handle himself. He was not at all sure of his own grit. Lund had hit the nail on the head. All his experience had lain in listening to the stories of others and writing them down. He did not know whether he would act in a manner that would satisfy himself. There was a nasty doubt as to his own prowess and his own courage that kept cropping up. And that state of mind is not a pleasant one. "All be over this time ter-morrer," put in Lund, "so far as our bisness with Carlsen is concerned. You git all the sleep you can ter-night, Rainey. An' don't you worry none about that gal. She's a damn' sight more capable of lookin' after herself than you imagine. You ain't counted her in as bein' more than a clingin' vine proposition. Not that she could buck it on her own, but she's no fool, an' I bet she's game. "Soft on her?" he challenged unexpectedly. "I haven't thought of her in that way," Rainey answered, a bit shortly. "Ah!" the giant ejaculated softly. "You haven't? Wal, mebbe it's jest as well." Rainey took that last remark up on deck and pondered over it in the middle watch, but he could make nothing out of it. Yet he was sure that Lund had meant something by it. In the middle of the night the cold seemed to concentrate. Rainey had found mittens in the schooner's slop-chest, and he was glad of them at the wheel. The sailors, with but little to do, huddled forward. One man acted as lookout for ice. The smell of this was now unmistakable even to Rainey's inexperience. On certain slants of wind a sharper edge would come that bit through ordinary clothes. It was, he thought, as if some one had suddenly opened in the dark the doors of an enormous refrigerator. He knew what that felt like, and this was much the same. The weather was still clearing. In the sky of indigo the stars were glittering points, not of gold, but steel, hard and cold. Ahead, the northern lights were projected above the horizon in a low arch of quivering rose. And, out of the north, before the wind, the sea advanced in the long, smooth folds of a weighty swell over which the _Karluk_ wore her way into the breeze, clawing steadily on to the Aleutians and a passage through to Bering Strait. At two bells the hunters began to come on deck for a breath or so of fresh air after the closeness of their quarters, as they invariably did following a poker session. They did not come aft or give any greeting to Rainey, but walked briskly about in couples, discussing something that Rainey did not doubt was the next day's meeting. Doubtless, in the confidence of their numbers, they considered it a mere formality. Lund would take what they offered--or nothing. And Carlsen had guaranteed the skipper's signature to an agreement. They got their lungs recharged with good air, and then the cold drove them below, and Rainey, with the length of the schooner between him and the watch, was practically alone. He went over and over the situation as a squirrel might race around the bars of his revolving cylinder, and came to only one conclusion, the inevitable one, to let the matter develop itself. Lund's winning card he had bothered about until his brain was tired. The only thing he got out of all his fussing was the one new thought that seemed to fly out at a tangent and mock him. If Carlsen was deposed, and the skipper continued ill--to face the worst but still plausible--if Carlsen, being deposed, refused to act, and the skipper was too sick to leave his room--who was going to navigate the schooner? Not a blind man. And Rainey couldn't learn navigation in a day. There was more to it in these perilous seas than mere reckoning. Ice was ahead. What could Lund make of that? Supposing that card of his did win, how could they handle the schooner? He, in his capacity of eyes for Lund, would be about as competent as a poodle trying to lead a blind pedler out of a maze. The lookout broke in on his mulling over with a sudden shout. "_Ice! Ice!_ Close on the starboard bow!" Rainey put the helm over, throwing the _Karluk_ on the opposite tack. The berg slipped by them, not as he had imagined it, a thing of sparkling minarets and pinnacles, but a hill of snow that materialized in the soft darkness and floated off again to dissolution like the ghost of an island, leaving behind the bitter chill of death, rising and falling until, in a moment, it was gone, with its threat of shipwreck had the night been less clear. Five times before eight bells the cry came from forward, and the heaps of shining whiteness would take form, gather a certain sharpness of outline, and go past the beam with the seas surging about them and breaking with a hollow boom upon their cavernous sides. And this was in the open sea. Lund had suggested that the strait would be full of ice. Rainey felt his sailing experience, that he came to be rather proud of, pitifully limited and inadequate in the face of coming conditions. When he turned in at last, despite his determination to follow Lund's admonition concerning sleep, it would not come to him. Hansen had taken over the deck stolidly enough, with no show of misgivings as to his ability to handle things, but his words had not been cheering to Rainey. "Plenty ice from now on, Mr. Rainey. Now we bane goin' to have one hard yob on our hands, by yiminy, you an' me!" CHAPTER IX THE POT SIMMERS Rainey was awakened at half past seven by the swift rush of men on deck and a confused shouting. The sun was shining brightly through his porthole and then it became suddenly obscured. He looked out and saw a turreted mass of ice not half a cable's length away from the schooner, water cascading all over its hills and valleys, that were distinct enough, but so smoothed that the truth flashed over him. Here was a berg that had suddenly turned turtle and exposed its greater, under-water bulk to the air. About it the sea was dark and vivid blue, and the berg sparkled in the sun with prismatic reflections that gave all the hues of the rainbow to its prominences, while the bulk glowed like a fire opal. Between it and the schooner the sea ran in a lasher of diminishing turmoil. Hansen had carelessly sailed too close. The momentum of the _Karluk_ and its slight wave disturbance must have sufficed to upset the equilibrium of the berg, floating with only a third of its bulk above the water. And the displacement had narrowly missed the schooner's side. He got a cup of coffee after dressing warmly, and went up. Carlsen and the girl had preceded him and were gazing at the iceberg. The doctor seemed to be in the same rare vein of humor as overnight. Lund stood at the rail with his beak of a nose wrinkled, snuffing toward the icy crags that were spouting a dazzle of white flame, set about with smaller, sudden flares of ruby, emerald and sapphire. "Close shave, that, Rainey," called Carlsen. "She turned turtle on us." "Too close to be pleasant," said Rainey, and went to the wheel. The girl had given him a smile, but he marked her face as weary from sleeplessness and strain. Rainey left the spokes in charge of Hansen for a minute--Hansen stolid and chewing like an automaton, undisturbed by the incident now it had passed--and asked the girl how her father was. "I am afraid--" she began, then glanced at Carlsen. "He is not at all well," said the doctor, facing Rainey, his face away from the girl. As he spoke he left his mouth open for a moment, his tongue showing between his white teeth, in a grin that was as mocking as that of a wolf, mirthless, ruthless, triumphant. And for a fleeting second his eyes matched it. Rainey restrained a sudden desire to smash his fist into that sardonic mask. This was the day of Carlsen's anticipated victory, the first of his calculated moves toward check-mate, and he was palpably enjoying it. "Not--at--all--well," repeated Carlsen slowly. "He needs something to bring him out of himself, as he now is. A little excitement. Yet he should not be crossed in any way. We shall see." He shifted his position and looked at the girl much as a wolf, not particularly hungry, might look at a tethered lamb. His tongue just touched the inner edges of his lips. It was as if the wolf had licked his chops. "Carlsen would be a bad loser," Lund had once said, "and a nasty winner. He'd want to rub it in as soon as he knew he had you beat." Rainey gripped the spokes hard until he felt the pressure of his bones against the wood. Carlsen's attitude had had one good effect. His nervousness had disappeared, and a cold rage taken its place. He could cheerfully have attempted to throttle Carlsen without fear of his gun. For that matter, he had faced the pistol once and come off best. What a fool he had been, though, to let Carlsen regain his automatic! Now he was anxious for the landfall, keen for the show-down. Far on the horizon, northward, he sighted glimmering flashes of milky whiteness that came and went to the swing of the schooner. This could not be land, he decided, or they would have announced it. It was ice, pack-ice, or floes. He tried to recollect all that he had heard or read of Arctic voyages, and succeeded only in comprehending his own ignorance. Of the rapidly changing conditions the commonest sailor aboard knew more than he. Blind Lund, sniffing to windward, smelled and heard far more than he could rightfully imagine. Tamada appeared and announced breakfast. "You'll be coming later, Rainey?" asked Carlsen. "You and Lund?" He started for the companionway and the girl followed. As she passed the wheel Rainey spoke to her: "I am sorry your father is worse, Miss Simms," he said. She looked at him with eyes that were filled with sadness, that seemed liquid with tears bravely held back. "I am afraid he is dying," she answered in a low voice. "Thank you, for you sympathy. I--" She stopped at some slight sound that Rainey did not catch. But he saw the face of Carlsen framed in the shadow of the companion, his mouth open in the wolf grin, and the man's eyes were gleaming crimson. He held up a hand for the girl. She passed down without taking it. Lund came over to Rainey. "Clear weather, they tell me?" he said. "That's unusual. Fog off the Aleutians three hundred an' fifty days of the year, as a rule. Soon as we sight land, which'll be Unalaska or thereabouts, he'll have the course changed. There's a considerable fleet of United States revenue cutters at Unalaska, an' Carlsen won't pull ennything until we're well west of there. He's pretty cocky this mornin'. Wal, we'll see." There had always been a certain rollicking good-humor about Lund. This morning he was grim, his face, with its beak of a nose and aggressive chin beneath the flaming whiskers, and his whole magnificent body gave the impression of resolve and repressed action. Rainey fancied whimsically that he could hear a dynamo purring inside of the giant's massiveness. He had seen him in open rage when he had first denounced Honest Simms, but the serious mood was far more impressive. The big man stepped like a great cat, his head was thrust slightly forward, his great hands were half open. One forgot his blindness. Despite the unsightly black lenses, Lund appeared so absolutely prepared and, in a different way, fully as confident as Carlsen. A certain audacious assurance seemed to ooze out of him, to permeate his neighborhood, and a measure of it extended to Rainey. "We'll sight Makushin first," muttered Lund, as if to himself. "Makushin?" "Volcano, fifty-seven hundred feet high. Much ice in sight?" Rainey described the horizon. "All fresh-water ice," said Lund. "An' melting." "Melting? It must be way below freezing," said Rainey. Lund chuckled. "This ain't cold, matey. Wait till we git _north_. Never saw it lower than five above in Unalaska in my life. It's the rainiest spot in the U. S. A. Rains two days out of three, reg'lar. This ice is comin' out of the strait. Sure sign it's breakin' up. The winter freeze ain't due for six weeks yet." Carlsen, before he went below, had sent a man into the fore-spreaders, and now he shouted, cupping his hands and sounding his news as if it had been a call to arms. "_Land-ho!_" "What is it?" called Rainey back. "High peak, sir. Dead ahead! Clouds on it, or smoke." He came sliding down the halyards to the deck as Lund said: "That'll be Makushin. Now the fun'll commence." From below the sailors off watch came up on deck, and the hunters, the latter wiping their mouths, fresh from their interrupted breakfast, all crowding forward to get a glimpse of the land. Rainey kept on the course, heading for the far-off volcano. Minutes passed before Carlsen came on deck. He had not hurried his meal. "I'll take her over, Rainey," he said briefly. Rainey and Lund were barely seated before the heeling of the schooner and the scuffle of feet told of Lund's prophesied change of course. Rainey looked at the telltale compass above his head. "Heading due west," he told Lund. "West it is," said the giant. "More coffee, Tamada. Fill your belly, Rainey. Get a good meal while the eatin' is good." Although it was Hansen's watch below, Rainey found him at the wheel instead of the seaman he had left there. Carlsen came up to him smiling. "Better let Hansen have the deck, Mr. Rainey," he said. "We're going to have a conference in the cabin at four bells, and I'd like you to be present." "All right, sir," Rainey answered, getting a thrill at this first actual intimation of the meeting. Hansen, it seemed, was not to be one of the representatives of the seamen. And Carlsen had been smart enough to forestall Lund's demand for Rainey by taking some of the wind out of the giant's sails and doing the unexpected. Unless the hunters had suggested that Rainey be present. But that was hardly likely, considering that he was to be left out of the deal. "In just what capacity are you callin' this conference?" Lund asked, when Carlsen notified him in turn. "The skipper ain't dead is he?" "I represent the captain, Lund," replied the doctor. "He entirely approves of what I am about to suggest to you and the men. In fact I have his signature to a document that I hope you will sign also. It will be greatly to your interest to do so. I am in present charge of the _Karluk_." "You ain't a reg'lar member of this expedition," objected Lund stolidly. "Neither am I a member of the crew, just now. But the skipper's my partner in this deal, signed, sealed and recorded. Afore I go to enny meetin' I'd like to have a talk with him personally. Thet's fair enough, ain't it?" Several of the hunters had gathered about, and Lund's question seemed a general appeal. Carlsen shrugged his shoulders. "If you had your eyesight," he said almost brutally, "you could soon see that the skipper was in no condition to discuss matters, much less be present." "Here's my eyesight," countered Lund. "Mr. Rainey here. Let him see the skipper and ask him a question or two." "What kind of question? I'm asking as his doctor, Lund." "For one thing if he's read the paper you say he signed. I want to be sure of that. An' I don't make it enny of yore bizness, Carlsen, what I want to say to my partner, by proxy or otherwise. Second thing, I'd like to be sure he's still alive. As for yore standin' as his doctor, all I've got to say is that yo're a damned pore doctor, so fur as the skipper's concerned, ennyway." The two men stood facing each other, Carlsen looking evilly at the giant, whose black glasses warded off his glance. It was wasting looks to glare at a blind man. Equally to sneer. But the bout between the two was timed now, and both were casting aside any veneer of diplomacy, their enmity manifesting itself in the raw. The issue was growing tense. Rainey fancied that Carlsen was not entirely sure of his following, and relied upon Lund's indignant refusal of terms to back up his plans of getting rid of him decisively. CHAPTER X THE SHOW-DOWN "Rainey can see the skipper," said Carlsen carelessly. "All right," said Lund. "Will you do that, Rainey? Now?" And Rainey had a fleeting fancy that the giant winked one of his blind eyes at him, though the black lenses were deceiving. He went below immediately and rapped on the door, a little surprised to see the girl appear in the opening. He had expected to find the skipper alone, and he was pretty sure that Carlsen had also expected this. The drawn expression of her face, the strained faint smile with which she greeted him, the hopeless look in her eyes, startled him. "I wanted to see your father," he said in a low voice. She told him to enter. Captain Simms was lying in his bunk, apparently fully dressed, with the exception of his shoes. His cheeks had sunken, dark hollows showed under his closed eyes, the bones of his skull projected, and his flesh was the color of clay. Rainey believed that he was in the presence of death itself. He looked at the girl. "He is in a stupor," she said. "He has been that way since last night, following a collapse. I can barely find his pulse, but his breath shows on this." She produced a small mirror, little larger than a dollar, and held it before her father's lips. When she took it away Rainey saw a trace of moisture. "Carlsen can not rouse him?" he asked. "Can not--or will not," she answered in a voice that held a hard quality for all its despondency. Rainey glanced at the door. It was shut. "What do you mean by that?" he asked, speaking low. She looked at him as if measuring his dependency. "I don't know," she answered dully. "I wish I did. Father's illness started with sciatica, through exposure to the cold and damp. It was better during the time the _Karluk_ was in San Francisco though he had some severe attacks. He said that Doctor Carlsen gave him relief. I know that he did, for there were days at first when father had to stay in bed from the pain. It was in his left leg, and then it showed in frightful headaches, and he complained of pain about the heart. But he was bent on the voyage, and Doctor Carlsen guaranteed he could pull him through. But--lately--the doctor has seemed uncertain. He talks of perverted nerve functions, and he has obtained a tremendous influence over father. "You heard what he said when--the night he tried to shoot you? You see, I am trusting you in all this, Mr. Rainey. I _must_ trust some one. If I don't I can't stand it. I think I shall go mad sometimes. The doctor has changed. It is as if he was a dual personality--like Jekyll and Hyde--and now he is always Hyde. It is the gold that has turned his brain, his whole behavior from what he was in California before father returned and he learned of the island. He said last night that he could save father or--or--that he would let father die. I told him it was sheer murder! He laughed. He said he would save him--for a price." She stopped, and Rainey supplied the gap, sure that he was right. "If you would marry him?" The girl nodded. "Father will do anything he tells him. I sometimes think he tortures father and only relieves him when father promises what he wants. Otherwise I could not understand. Last night father asked me to do this thing. Not because of any threat--he did not seem conscious of anything underhanded. He told me he looked upon the doctor as a son, that it would make him happy for me to marry him--now. That he would perform the ceremony. That he did not think he would live long and he wanted to see me with a protector. "It was horrible. I dare not hint anything against the doctor. It brings on a nervous attack. Last night my refusal caused convulsions, and then--the collapse! What can I do? If I made the sacrifice how can I tell that Doctor Carlsen could--_would_ save him? What shall I do?" She was in an agony of self-questioning, of doubt. "To see him lie there--like that. I can not bear it." "Miss Simms," said Rainey, "your father is not in his right mind or he would see Carlsen as you do, as I do. Carlsen's brain is turned with the lure of the gold. If he marries you, I believe it is only for your share, for what you will get from your father. It can not be right to do a wrong thing. No good could come from it. But--something may happen this morning--I can not tell you what. I do not know, except that Lund is to face Carlsen. It may change matters." "Lund," she said scornfully. "What can he do? And he accused my father of deserting him. I--" A knock came at the door, and it started to open. Carlsen entered. "Ah," he said. "I trust I have not disturbed you. I had no idea I should interrupt a tête-á-tête. Are you satisfied as to the captain's condition, Mr. Rainey?" Rainey looked the scoffing devil full in his eyes, and hot scorn mounted to his own so swiftly that Carlsen's hand fell away from the door jamb toward his hip. Then he laughed softly. "We may be able to bring him round, all right again, who knows?" he said. Rainey went on deck, raging but impotent. He told Lund briefly of the talk between him and Peggy Simms, and described the general symptoms of the skipper's strange malady. It was nine o'clock, an hour to the meeting. He went down to his own room and sat on the bunk, smoking, trying to piece up the puzzle. If Carlsen was a potential murderer, if he intended to let Simms die, why should he want to marry the girl? He thought he solved that issue. As his wife Carlsen would retain her share. If he gave her up, it would go into the common purse. But, if he expected to trick the men out of it all, that would be unnecessary. Did he really love the girl? Or was his lust for gold mingled with a passion for possession of her? He might know that the girl would kill herself before she would submit to dishonor. Perhaps he knew she had the means! One thing became paramount. To save Peggy Simms. Lund might fight for the gold; Rainey would battle for the girl's sanctity. And, armed with that resolve, Rainey went out into the main cabin. Carlsen took the head of the table. Lund faced him at the other end. All six of the hunters, as privileged characters, were present, but only three of the seamen, awkward and diffident at being aft. The nine, with Rainey, ranged themselves on either side of the table, five and five, with Rainey on Lund's right. Tamada had brought liquor and glasses and cigars, and gone forward. The door between the main cabin and the corridor leading to the galley was locked after him by Deming. The girl was not present. Yet her share was an important factor. Lund sat with folded arms, his great body relaxed. Now that the table was set, the cards all dealt, and the first play about to be made, the giant shed his tenseness. Even his grim face softened a trifle. He seemed to regard the affair with a certain amount of humor, coupled with the zest of a gambler who loves the game whether the stakes are for death or dollars. Carlsen had a paper under his hand, but deferred its reading until he had addressed the meeting. "A ship," he said, "is a little community, a world in itself. To its safety every member is a necessity, the lookout as much as the man at the wheel, the common seaman, the navigator. And, when a ship is engaged in a certain calling, those who are hired as experts in that line are equally essential with the rest." "All the way from captain to--cook?" drawled Lund. "Each depends upon his comrade's fulfilment of duty," went on Carlsen. "So an absolute equality is evolved. Each man's responsibility being equal, his reward should be also equal. It seems to me that this status of affairs is arrived at more naturally aboard the _Karluk_ than it might be elsewhere. We are a small company, and not easily divided. The will of the majority may easily become that of all, may easily be applied. "Payment for all services comes on this voyage from an uncertain amount of gold that Nature, Mother of us all, and therefore intending that all her children shall share her heritage, has washed up on a beach from some deep-sea vein and thus deposited upon an uncharted, unclaimed island. It is discovered by an Indian, the discovery is handed on to another." "Meanin' me." Lund seemed to be enjoying himself. Despite the fact that Carlsen was presiding and most evidently assumed the attributes of leader, despite the fact that ten of the twelve at the table were arrayed against him, with the rest of the seamen behind them, Lund was decidedly enjoying himself. To Rainey, the matter of the gold was but a mask for the license that would inevitably be manifested in such a crude democracy if it was established, a license that threatened the girl, now, he imagined, watching her father, the captain of the vessel, tottering on the verge of death. His pulses raced, he longed for the climax. "This gold," went on Carlsen, "is not a commodity made in a factory, obtained through the toil of others, through the expenditure of capital. If it were, it would not alter the principle of the thing. It is of nature's own providing for those of her sons who shall find it and gather it. Sons that, as brothers, must willingly share and share alike." Lund yawned, showing his strong teeth and the red cavern of his mouth. The hunters gazed at him curiously. The seamen, lacking initiative, lacking imagination, a crude collection of water-front drifters, more or less wrecked specimens of humanity who went to sea because they had no other capacity--were apathetic, listening to Carlsen with a sort of awe, a hypnosis before his argument that street rabble exhibit before the jargon of a soap-box orator. Carlsen promised them something, therefore they followed him. But the hunters, more independent, more intelligent, seemed expecting an outburst from Lund and, because it was not forthcoming, they were a little uneasy. "Share and share alike," said Lund. "I've got yore drift, Carlsen. Let's get down to brass tacks. The idea is to divvy the gold into equal parts, ain't it? How does she split? There's twenty-five souls aboard. Does that mean you split the heap into a hundred parts an' each one gits four?" "No." It was Deming who answered. "It don't. The Jap don't come in, for one." "A cook ain't a brother?" "Not when he's got a yellow skin," answered Deming. "We'll take up a collection for Sandy. Rainey ain't in on the deal. We split it just twenty-two ways. What have you got to say about it?" His tone was truculent, and Carlsen did not appear disposed to check him. He appeared not quite certain of the temper of the hunters. Deming, like Rainey, evidently chafed under the preliminaries. "You figger we're all equal aboard," said Lund slowly, "leavin' out Mr. Rainey, Tamada an' Sandy. You an' me, an' Carlsen an' Harris there"--he nodded toward one of the seaman delegates who listened with his slack mouth agape, scratching himself under the armpit--"are all equal?" Deming cast a glance at Harris and, for just a moment, hesitated. Harris squirming under the look of Deming, which was aped by the sudden scrutiny of all the hunters, found speech: "How in hell did you know I was here?" he demanded of Lund. "I ain't opened my mouth yit!" "That ain't the truth, Harris," replied Lund composedly. "It's allus open. But if you want to know, I smelled ye." There was a guffaw at the sally. Carlsen's voice stopped it. "I'll answer the question, Lund. Yes, we're all equal. The world is not a democracy. Harris, so far, hasn't had a chance to get the equal share that belongs to him by rights. That's what I meant by saying that the _Karluk_ was a little world of its own. We're all equal on board." "Except Rainey, Tamada an' Sandy. Seems to me yore argumint's got holes in it, Carlsen." "We are waiting to know whether you agree with us?" replied Carlsen. His voice had altered quality. It held the direct challenge. Lund accepted it. "I don't," he answered dryly. "There ain't enny one of you my equal, an' you've showed it. There ain't enny one of you, from Carlsen to Harris, who'd have the nerve to put it up to me alone. You had to band together in a pack, like a flock of sheep, with Carlsen for sheepherder. _I'm talking_," he went on in a tone that suddenly leaped to thunder. "None of you have got the brains of Carlsen, becoz he had to put this scheme inter yore noddles. Deming, you think yo're a better man than Harris, you know damn' well you play better poker than the rest, an' you agreed to this becoz you figger you'll win most of the gold afore the v'yage is over. The rest of you suckers listened becoz some one tells you you are goin' to get more than what's rightly comin' to you. "This gold is mine by right of discovery. I lose my ship through bad luck, an' I make a deal whereby the skipper gets the same as I do, an' the ship, which is the same as his daughter, gets almost as much. You men were offered a share on top of yore wages if you wanted to take the chance--two shares to the hunters. It was damned liberal, an' you grabbed at it. I got left on the ice, blind on a breakin' floe, an' you sailed off an' grabbed a handful or so of gold, enough to set you crazy. "What in blazes would you know what to do with it, enny of you? Spill it all along the Barb'ry Coast, or gamble it off to Deming. Is there one of you 'ud have got off thet floe an', blind as I was, turned up ag'in? Not one of ye. An' when I _did_ show you got sore becoz you'd figgered there 'ud be more with me away. "A fine lot of skunks. You can take yore damned bit of paper an' light yore pipes with it, for all of me. To hell with it! "_Shut up_!" His voice topped the murmurs at the table. Rainey saw Carlsen sitting back with his tongue-tip showing in a grin, tapping the table with the folded paper in one hand, the other in his lap, leaning back a little. He was like a man waiting for the last bet to be made before he exposed the winning hand. "As for bein' equal, I've told you Carlsen's got the brains of you all. The skipper's dyin', Carlsen expects to marry his gal. An' he figgers thet way on pullin' down three shares to yore one. You say Rainey ain't in on the deal. He's as much so as Carlsen. Carlsen butts in as a doctor an' a fine job he's made of it. Skipper nigh dead. A hell of a doctor! Smoke up, all of you." Carlsen sat quiet, sometimes licking his lips gently, listening to Lund as he might have listened to the rantings of a melodramatic actor. But Rainey sensed that he was making a mistake. He was letting Lund go too far. The men were listening to Lund, and he knew that the giant was talking for a specific purpose. Just to what end he could not guess. The big booming voice held them, while it lashed them. "Equal to me? Bah! I'm a _man_. Yo're a lot of fools. Talk about me bein' blind. It was ice-blink got me. Then ophthalmy matterin' up my eyes. It's gold-blink's got you. Yo're cave-fish, a lot of blind suckers." He leaned over the table pointing a massive square finger, thatched with red wool, direct at Carlsen, as if he had been leveling a weapon. "Carlsen's a fake! He's got you hipped. He thinks he's boss, becoz he's the only navigator of yore crowd. I ain't overlooked that card, Carlsen. That ain't the only string he's got on ye. Nor the three shares he expects to pull down. He made you pore suckers fire off all your shells; he found out you ain't got a gun left among you that's enny more use than a club. He's got a gun an' he showed you how he could use it. He's sittin' back larfin' at the bunch of you!" The men stirred. Rainey saw Carlsen's grin disappear. He dropped the paper. His face paled, the veins showed suddenly like purple veins in dirty marble. "I've got that gun yet, Lund," he snarled. Lund laughed, the ring of it so confident that the men glanced from him to Carlsen nervously. "Yo're a fake, Carlsen," he said. "And I've got yore number! To hell with you an' yore popgun. You ain't even a doctor. I saw real doctors ashore about my eyes. Niphablepsia, they call snow-blindness. I'll bet you never heard of it. Yo're only a woman-conning dope-shooter! Else you'd have known that niphablepsia ain't _permanent_! I've bin' gettin' my sight back ever sence I left Seattle. An' now, damn you for a moldy hearted, slimy souled fakir, stand up an' say yo're my equal!" He stood up himself, towering above the rest as they rose from their chairs, tearing the black glasses from his eyes and flinging them at Carlsen, who was forced to throw up a hand to ward them off. Rainey got one glimpse of the giant's eyes. They were gray-blue, the color of agate-ware, hard as steel, implacable. Carlsen swept aside the spectacles and they shattered on the floor as he leaped up and the automatic shone in his hand. Lund had folded his arms above his great chest. He laughed again, and his arms opened. In an instant Rainey caught the object of Lund's speech-making. He had done it to enrage Carlsen beyond endurance, to make him draw his gun. Giant as he was, he moved with the grace of a panther, with a swiftness too fast for the eye to register. Something flashed in his right hand, a gun, that he had drawn from a holster slung over his left breast. The shots blended. Lund stood there erect, uninjured. A red blotch showed between Carlsen's eyes. He slumped down into his chair, his arms clubbing the table, his gun falling from his nerveless hand, his forehead striking the wood like the sound of an auctioneer's gavel. Lund had beaten him to the draw. Lund, no longer a blind Samson, with contempt in his agate eyes, surveyed the scattering group of men who stared at the dead man dully, as if gripped by the exhibition of a miracle. "It's all right, Miss Simms," he said. "Jest killed a skunk. Rainey, git that gun an' attend to the young lady, will you?" The girl stood in the doorway of her father's cabin, her face frozen to horror, her eyes fixed on Lund with repulsion. As Rainey got the automatic, slipped it into his pocket, and went toward her, she shrank from him. But her voice was for Lund. "You murderer!" she cried. Lund grinned at her, but there was no laughter in his eyes. "We'll thrash that out later, miss," he said. "Now, you men, jump for'ard, all of you. Deming, unlock that door. _Jump!_ Equals, are you? I'll show you who's master on this ship. Wait!" His voice snapped like the crack of a whip and they all halted, save Deming, who sullenly fitted the key to the lock of the corridor entrance. "Take this with you," said Lund, pointing to Carlsen's sagging body. "When you git tired of his company, throw him overboard. Jump to it!" The nearest men took up the body of the doctor and they all filed forward, silently obedient to the man who ordered them. "They ain't all whipped yit," said Lund. "Not them hunters. They're still sufferin' from gold-blink, but I'll clean their eyesight for 'em. Look after the lady an' her father, Rainey." Tamada entered as if nothing had happened. He carried a tray of dishes and cutlery that he laid down on the table. "Never mind settin' a place for Carlsen, Tamada," said Lund. "He's lost his appetite--permanent." The Oriental's face did not change. "Yes, sir," he answered. The girl shuddered. Rainey saw that Lund was exhilarated by his victory, that the primitive fighting brute was prominent. Carlsen had tried to shoot first, goaded to it; his death was deserved; but it seemed to Rainey that Lund's exhibition of savagery was unnecessary. But he also saw that Lund would not heed any protest that he might make, he was still swept on by his course of action, not yet complete. "I'll borrow Carlsen's sextant," said Lund. "Nigh noon, an' erbout time I got our reckonin'." He went into the doctor's cabin and came out with the instrument, tucking it under his arm as he went on deck. Tamada went stolidly on with his preparations. He paused at the little puddle of blood where Carlsen's head had struck the table, turned, and disappeared toward his galley, promptly emerging with a wet cloth. The girl put her hands over her eyes as Tamada methodically mopped up the telltale stains. "The brute!" she said. Then took away her hands and extended them toward Rainey. "What will he do with my father?" she said. "He thinks that dad deserted him. And the doctor, who might have saved him, is dead. My God, what shall I do? What shall I do?" Rainey found himself murmuring some attempts at consolation, a defense of Lund. "You too?" she said with a contempt that, unmerited as it was, stung Rainey to the quick. "You are on his side. Oh!" She wheeled into her father's room and shut the door. Rainey heard the click of the bolt on the other side. Tamada was going on with his table-laying. Rainey saw that he had left Carlsen's place vacant. He listened for a moment, but heard nothing within the skipper's cabin. The swift rush of events was still a jumble. Slowly he went up the companionway to the deck. CHAPTER XI HONEST SIMMS Lund greeted Rainey with a curt nod. Hansen was still at the helm. The crew on duty were standing about alert, their eyes on Lund. They had found a new master, and they were cowed, eager to do their best. "It ain't noon yet," said Lund. "I hardly need to shoot the sun with the land that close." Rainey looked over the starboard bow to where a series of peaks and lower humps of dark blue proclaimed the Aleutian island bridge stretching far to the west. "I'll show this crew they've got a skipper aboard," said Lund. "How's the cap'en?" Rainey told him. "We'll see what we can do for him," said Lund. "He's better off without that fakir, that's a cinch. Called me a murderer," he went on with a good-humored laugh. "Got spunk, she has. And she's a trim bit. A slip of a gal, but she's game. An' good-lookin' eh, Rainey?" He shot a keen glance at the newspaperman. "You're in her bad hooks, too, ain't ye? We'll fix that after a bit. She don't know when she's well off. Most wimmin don't. An' she's the sort that needs handlin' right. She's upset now, natural, an' she hates me." He smiled as if the prospect suited him. A suspicion leaped into Rainey's brain. Lund had said he would not see a decent girl harmed. But the man was changed. He had fought and won, and victory shone in his eyes with a glitter that was immune from sympathy, for all his air of good-nature. He had said that a man under his skin was just an animal. His appraisal of the girl struck Rainey with apprehension. "To the victor belong the spoils." Somehow the quotation persisted. What if Lund regarded the girl as legitimate loot? He might have talked differently beforehand, to assure himself of Rainey's support. And Rainey suddenly felt as if his support had been uncalled upon, a frail reed at best. Lund had not needed him, would he need him, save as an aid, not altogether necessary, with Hansen aboard, to run the ship? He said nothing, but thrust both hands into the side pockets of the pilot coat he had acquired from the ship's stores. The sudden touch of cold steel gave him new courage. He had sworn to protect the girl. If Lund, seeming more like a pirate than ever, with his cold eyes sweeping the horizon, his bulk casting Rainey's into a dwarf's by comparison, attempted to harm Peggy Simms, Rainey resolved to play the part of champion. He could not shoot like Lund, but he was armed. There were undoubtedly more cartridges in the clip. And he must secure the rest from Carlsen's cabin immediately. The sun reached its height, and Lund busied himself with his sextant. Rainey determined to ask him to teach him the use of it. His consent or refusal would tell him where he stood with Lund. He felt the mastery of the man. And he felt incompetent beside him. Carlsen had been right. A ship at sea was a little world of its own, and Lund was now lord of it. A lord who would demand allegiance and enforce it. He held the power of life and death, not by brute force alone. He was the only navigator aboard, with the skipper seriously ill. As such alone he held them in his hand, once they were out of sight of land. "Hansen," said Lund, "Mr. Rainey'll relieve you after we've eaten. Come on, Rainey. You ain't lost yore appetite, I hope. Watch me discard that spoon for a knife an' fork. I don't have to play blind man enny longer." Food did not appeal to Rainey. He could not help thinking of the spot under the cloth where Tamada had wiped up the blood of the man just killed by Lund, sitting opposite him, making play for a double helping of victuals. It was Lund's apparent callousness that affected him more than his own squeamishness. He could not regret Carlsen's death. With the doctor alive, his own existence would have been a constant menace. But he was not used to seeing a killing, though, in his water-front detail, he had not been unacquainted with grim tragedies of the sea. It was Lund's demeanor that gripped him. The giant had dismissed Carlsen as unceremoniously as he might have flipped the ash from a cigar, or tossed the stub overside. "I've got to tackle those hunters," Lund said. "I expect trouble there, sooner or later. But I'm goin' to lay down the law to 'em. If they come clean, well an' good, they git their original two shares. If not, they don't get a plugged nickel. An' Deming's the one who'll stir up the trouble, take it from me. Tell Hansen to turn in his watch-off, I shan't take a deck for a day or two, you'll have to go on handlin' it between you. I've got to make my peace with the gal, an' do what I can with the skipper." "She'll not make peace easily. But the skipper's in a bad way." Lund lit his pipe. "I'd jest as soon it was war. I don't see as we can help the skipper much 'less we try reverse treatment of what Carlsen did. If we knew what that was? If he gits worse she'll let us know, I reckon. Mebbe you can suggest somethin'?" Rainey shook his head. "I suppose she can do more than any of us," he said. Lund nodded, then whistled to Tamada, leaving the cabin. "Take a bottle of whisky to the hunters' mess, with my compliments. That'll give 'em about three jolts apiece," he said to Rainey. "Long as we've won out we may as well let 'em down easy. But they'll work for their shares, jest the same. A drink or two may help 'em swaller what I'm goin' to give 'em by way of dessert in the talkin' line. See you later." Rainey took the dismissal and went up to the relief of Hansen. He did not mention what had happened until the Scandinavian referred to it indirectly. "They put the doc overboard, sir, soon's Mr. Lund an' you bane go below." It seemed a summary dismissal of the dead, without ceremony. Yet, for the rite to be authentic, Lund must have presided, and the sea-burial service would have been a mockery under the circumstances. It was the best thing to have done, Rainey felt, but he could not avoid a mental shiver at the thought of the man, so lately vital, his brain alive with energy, sliding through the cold water to the ooze to lie there, sodden, swinging with the sub-sea currents until the ocean scavengers claimed him. "All right, Hansen," he said in answer, and the man hurried off after his extra detail. Lund came up after a while, and Rainey told him of the fate of Carlsen's body. "I figgered they'd do about that," commented Lund. "They savvied he'd aimed to make suckers out of 'em, an' they dumped him. But they ain't on our side, by a long sight. Not that I give a damn. If they want to sulk, let 'em sulk. But they'll stand their watches, an', when we git to the beach, they'll do their share of diggin'. If they need drivin', I'll drive 'em. "That Deming is a better man than I thought. He's the main grouch among 'em. Said if I hadn't had a gun he'd have tackled me in the cabin. Meant it, too, though I'd have smashed him. He's sore becoz I said he warn't my equal. I told him, enny time he wanted to try it out, I'd accommodate him. He didn't take it up, an' they'll kid him about it. He'll pack a grudge. I ain't afraid of their knifin' me, not while the skipper's sick. They need me to navigate." "This might be a good chance for me to handle a sextant," suggested Rainey casually. Lund shook his head, smiling, but his eyes hard. "Not yet, matey," he said. "Not that I don't trust you, but for me to be the only one, jest now, is a sort of life insurance that suits me to carry. They might figger, if you was able to navigate, that they c'ud put the screws on you to carry 'em through, with me out of the way. I don't say they could, but they might make it hard for you, an' you ain't got quite the same stake in this I have." Here was cold logic, but Rainey saw the force of it. Hansen came up early to split the watch and put their schedule right again, and Lund went below with Rainey. Lund ordered Tamada to bring a bottle and glasses, and they sat down at the table. Rainey needed the kick of a drink, and took one. As Lund was raising his glass with a toast of "Here's to luck," the skipper's door opened and the girl appeared. She looked like a ghost. Her hair was disheveled and her eyes stared at them without seeming recognition. But she spoke, in a flat toneless voice. "My father is dead! I--" she faltered, swayed, and seemed to swoon as she sank toward the floor. Rainey darted forward, but Lund was quicker and swooped her up in his arms as if she had been a feather, took her to the table, set her in a chair, dabbled a napkin in some water and applied it to her brows. "Chafe her wrists," he ordered Rainey. "Undo that top button of her blouse. That's enough; she ain't got on corsets. She'll come through. Plumb worn out. That's all." He handled her, deftly, as a nurse would a child. Rainey chafed the slender wrists and beat her palms, and soon she opened her eyes and sighed. Then she pulled away from Lund, bending over her, and got to her feet. "I must go to my father," she said. "He is dead." They followed her into the cabin, and Lund bent over the bunk. "Looks like it," he whispered to Rainey. Then he tore open the skipper's vest and shirt and laid his head on his chest. The girl made a faint motion as if to stop him, but did not hinder him. She was at the end of her own strength from weariness and worry. Lund suddenly raised his head. "There's a flutter," he announced. "He ain't gone yit. Get Tamada an' some brandy." The Japanese, by some intuition, was already on hand, and produced the brandy. Rainey poured out a measure. The captain's teeth were tightly clenched. Lund spraddled one great hand across his jaws, pressing at their junction, forcing them apart, firmly, but gently enough, while Rainey squeezed in a few drops of brandy from the corner of his soaked handkerchief. Lund stroked the sick man's throat, and he swallowed automatically. "More brandy," ordered Lund. With the next dose there came signs of revival, a low moan from the skipper. The girl flew to his side. Tamada, standing by with the bottle, stepped forward, handed the brandy to Rainey, and rolled up the lid of an eye, looking closely at the pupil. "I study medicine at Tokio," he said. "Why didn't ye say so before?" demanded Lund. It did not occur to any of them to doubt Tamada's word. There was an air of professional assurance and an efficiency about him that carried weight. "What can you do for him? There's a medicine chest in Carlsen's room." "I was hired to cook," said Tamada quietly. "I should not have been permit to interfere. It is not my business if a white man makes a fool of himself. Now we want morphine and hypodermic syringe." Tamada rolled up the captain's sleeve. The flesh, shrunken, pallid, was closely spotted with dot-like scars that showed livid, as if the captain had been suffering from some strange rash. Lund whistled softly. Rainey, too, knew what it meant. The skipper had been a veritable slave to the drug. Carlsen had administered it, prescribed it, used it as a means to bring Simms under his subjection. The girl looked strangely at Tamada. "Would he have taken that for sciatica?" she asked. "I think, perhaps, yes. Injection over muscle gives relief. Sometimes makes cure. But Captain Simms take too much. Suppose this supply cut off very suddenly, then come too much chills, maybe collapse, maybe--" The girl clutched his arm. "You meant more than you said. It might mean death?" "I don't know," replied Tamada gravely. "Perhaps, if now we have morphine, presently we give him smaller dose every time, it will be all right." He lifted up the sick man's hand and examined the nails critically. They were broken, brittle. Rainey had gone to Carlsen's room in search of the drug and the injecting needle. "How much d'ye suppose he took at once?" Lund asked the Japanese in a low voice. "Fifteen grains, I think. Maybe more. Too much! Always too much drug in his veins. Much worse than opium for man." "Carlsen's work," growled Lund. "Increased the stuff on him till he couldn't do without it. Made him a slave to dope an' Carlsen his boss. He deserved killin' jest for that, the skunk." Rainey frantically searched through the medicine chest and, finding only five tablets marked _Morphine 1 gr._ in a bottle, sought elsewhere in vain. And he could find no needle. But he ran across some automatic cartridges and put them in his pockets before he hurried back. "This is not enough," said Tamada. "And we should have needle. But I dissolve these in galley." And he hurried out. The girl had slipped down on her knees beside the bed, holding her father's hand against her lips, her eyes closed. She seemed to be praying. Rainey and Lund looked at each other. Rainey was trying to recall something. It came at last, the memory of Carlsen slipping something in his pocket as he had come out of the captain's room. That had been the hypodermic case! As the thought lit up' his eyes he saw a flash in Lund's. "Carlsen had the morphine on him," said Lund in a whisper, not to disturb the girl. "And the needle!" said Rainey. "What if?" He raced out of the cabin forward, passing Tamada, coming out of the galley with the dissolved tablets in a glass that steamed with hot water. Swiftly he told his suspicions. "They may have searched him first," he said, and went on to the hunters' cabin. They were seated about their table, talking. On seeing Rainey they stopped abruptly and viewed him suspiciously. Deming rose. "What's the idea?" he asked and his tone was not friendly. Rainey hurriedly explained. Deming shrugged his shoulders. "They sewed him up in canvas in the fo'k'le," he said indifferently. "None of us went through him. I think they made the kid do the job." Rainey found Sandy in his bunk, asleep, trying to get one of the catnaps by which he made up his lack of definitely assigned rest. The roustabout woke with a shudder, flinching under Rainey's hand. "They made me do it," he said in answer. "None of 'em 'ud touch it till I had it sewed in an old staysail, an' a boatkedge tied on for weight. I didn't go inter his pockets. I was scared to touch it more'n I had to." "Is that the truth, Sandy? I don't care what you took besides this little case and a bottle of tablets. You can keep the rest." "It's the bloody truth, Mister Rainey, s'elp me," whined Sandy. And the truth was in his shifty eyes. Rainey went back with his news. He imagined that the five grains would prove temporarily sufficient. And they could put in for Unalaska. There were surgeons there with the revenue fleet. He thought there was probably a hospital. They would have to explain Carlsen's death. They would be asked about the purpose of the voyage, the crew examined. It might mean detention, the defeat of the expedition, the very thing that Lund had feared, the following of them to the island. He wondered how Lund would take to the plan. He found that Tamada had administered the morphine. Already the beneficial results were apparent. The dry, frightfully sallow skin had changed and Simms was breathing freely while Tamada, feeling his pulse, nodded affirmatively to the girl's questioning glance. "Got it?" asked Lund. Rainey gave the result of his search. "We'll have to put in to Unalaska," he said. "There are doctors there." The girl turned toward Lund. He smiled at the intensity of her gaze and pose. "I play fair, Miss Peggy," he said. "Rainey, change the course." Peggy Simms seized Lund's great paw in both her hands, and, for the first time, the tears overflowed her eyes. The _Karluk_ came about as Rainey reached the deck and gave his orders. Then he returned to the cabin. The captain had opened his eyes. "Peggy!" he murmured. "Carlsen, where is he? Lund! Good God, Lund, you can see?" "Keep quiet as you can," said Tamada. Something in his voice made the skipper shift his look to the Japanese. "Where's Carlsen?" he asked again. "He can't come now," said Tamada. Under the urge of the drug the skipper's brain seemed abnormally clear, his intuition heightened. "Carlsen's dead?" he asked. Then, shifting to Lund. "You killed him, Jim?" Lund nodded. "How much morphine did you give me?" "Five grains." "It's not enough. It won't last. _There isn't any more?_" he flashed out, with sudden energy, trying to raise himself. "We're puttin' in for Unalaska, Simms," said Lund. "How far?" "'Bout seventy miles." "Then it's too late. Too late. The pain's shifted of late--to my heart. It'll get me presently." The girl darted a look of hate at Lund, an accusation that he met composedly, swift as the change had come from the almost reverence with which she had clasped his hand. "I'll be gone in an hour or two," said the skipper. "Got to talk while this lasts. Jim--about leavin' you that time. I could have come back. I had words about it--with Hansen. He knows. But the gale was bad, an' the ice. It wasn't the gold, Jim. I swear it. I had the ship an' crew to look out for. An' Peggy, at home. "I might have gone back sooner, Jim, I'll own up to that. But it wasn't the gold that did it. An'--I didn't hear what you shouted, Jim. The storm came up. We were frozen by the time we found the ship. Numb. "Then, then; oh, God, my heart!" He sat upright, clutching at his chest, his face convulsed with spasms of pain. Tamada got some brandy between the chattering teeth. Sweat poured out on the skipper's forehead, and he sank back, exhausted but temporarily relieved. The girl wiped his brows. "It'll get me next attack," he said presently in a weak voice. "Jim, this trouble hit me the day after we left the floe. Not sciatica, at first, but in the head. I couldn't think right. I was just numb in the brain. An' when it cleared off, it was too late. The ice had closed. We couldn't go back. I read up in my medical book, Jim, later, when the sciatica took me. "Had to take to my bunk. Couldn't stand. I had morphine, an' it relieved me. Took too much after a while. Had to have it. Got better in San Francisco for a bit. Then Carlsen prescribed it. Morphine was my boss, an' then Carlsen, he was boss of the morphine. Seemed like--seemed like--_More brandy, Tamada_." His voice was weaker when he spoke again. They came closer to catch his whispers. "Carlsen--mind wasn't my own. Peggy--I wasn't in my right mind, honey. Not when--Carlsen--he was angel when he gave me what I wanted--devil--when he wouldn't. Made me--do things. But he's dead. And I'm going. Never reach Unalaska. Peggy--forgive. Meant for best--but--not in right mind. Jim--it wasn't the gold. Not Peggy's fault--anyway." "She'll get hers, Simms," said Lund. "Yours too." The skipper's eyes closed and his frame settled under the clothes. The girl flung herself on the bed in uncontrollable weeping. Lund raised his eyebrows at Tamada, who shrugged his shoulders. "Better get out o' here," whispered Lund. He and Rainey went out together. In a few minutes Tamada joined them, his face sphinxlike as ever. "He is dead," he said. Rainey and Lund went on deck. The schooner thrashed toward the volcano, the bearing-mark for Unalaska, hidden behind it. They paced up and down in silence. "I guess he was 'Honest Simms,' after all," said Lund at last. "The gal blames me for the morphine, but Carlsen never meant him to live. She'll see that after a bit, mebbe." Rainey glanced at him curiously. He was getting fresh lights on Lund. Then the girl appeared, pale, composed, coming straight up to Lund, who halted his stride at sight of her. "Will you change the course, Mr. Lund?" she said. He looked at her in surprise. "Father spoke once more. After you left. He does not want you to go on to Unalaska. He said it would mean a rush for the gold; perhaps you would have to stay there. He does not want you to lose the gold. He wants me to have my share. He made me promise. And he wants--he wants"--she bit her lip fiercely in repression of her feelings--"to be buried at sea. That was his last request." She turned and looked over the rail, struggling to wink back her tears. Rainey saw the giant's glance sweep over her, full of admiration. "As you wish, Miss Peggy," he said. "Hansen, 'bout ship. Hold on a minnit. How about you, Miss Peggy? If you want to go home, we can find ways at Unalaska. I play fair. I'll bring back yore share--in full." "I am not thinking about the gold," the girl said scornfully. "But I want to carry out my father's last wishes, if you will permit me. I shall stay with the ship. Now I am going back to him. You--you"--she quelled the tremble of her mouth, and her chin showed firm and determined--"you can arrange for the funeral to-morrow at dawn, if you will. I want him to-night." Her face quivered piteously, but she conquered even that and walked to the companionway. "Game, by God, game as they make 'em!" said Lund. CHAPTER XII DEMING BREAKS AN ARM Rainey, dozing in his bunk, going over the sudden happenings of the day, had placed Carlsen's automatic under his pillow after loading it. He found that it lacked four shells of full capacity, the two that Lund had fired at his bottle target, the one fired by Carlsen at Rainey, and the last ineffective shot at Lund, a shot that went astray, Rainey decided, largely through Lund's _coup-de-theatre_ of tearing off his glasses and flinging them at the doctor. The dynamo that he had idly fancied he could hear purring away inside of Lund was apparent with vengeance now, driving with full force. That was what Lund would be from now on, a driver, imperative, relentless, overcoming all obstacles; as he had himself said, selfish at heart, keen for his own ends. Rainey was neither a weakling nor a coward, but he shrank from open encounter with Lund, and knew himself, without fear, the weaker man. The challenge of Lund, splendidly daring any one of them to come out against him alone, and challenging them _en masse_, had found in Rainey an acknowledgment of inferiority that was not merely physical. Lund knew far more than he did about the class of men that made up the inhabitants of the _Karluk_. Rainey had once fondly hugged the delusion that he knew something of the nature of those who "went down to the sea in ships." Now he knew that his ignorance was colossal. Such men were not complex, they moved by instinct rather than reason, they were not guided by conscience, the values of right and wrong were not intuitive with them, muscle rather than mind ruled their universe. Yet Rainey could not solve them, and Lund knew them as one may know a favorite book. Lund had brains, cunning, brute force that commanded a respect not all bred of being weaker. In a way he was magnificent. And Rainey vaguely heralded trouble when Captain Simms was at last given to the deep. He felt certain that the hunters under Deming were hatching something but, in the main, his mental prophecy of trouble coming was connected with the girl. Lund had shown no disrespect to her, rather the opposite. But the girl showed hatred of Lund and, in minor measure, of Rainey. Some of this would die out, naturally. Rainey intended to attempt an adjustment in his own behalf. But he held the feeling that Lund would not tolerate this hatred against him on the part of the girl. Such scorn would arouse something in the giant's nature, something that would either strike under the lash, or laugh at it. Dimly, Rainey saw these things as the giant gropings of sex, not as he had known it, surrounded by conventionalities, by courtesies of twentieth-century veneering, but a law, primitive, irresistible, sweeping away barriers and opposition, a thing bigger even than the lust of gold; the lure of woman for man, and man for woman. Both Lund and the girl, he felt, would have this thing in greater measure than he would. He shared his life with too many things, with books, with amusements, with the social ping-pong of the level in which he ordinarily moved. There had been once a girl, perhaps there still was a girl, whom Rainey had known on a visit to the camp-palace of a lumber king, high in the Sierras, a girl who rode and hunted and lived out-of-doors, and yet danced gloriously, sang, sewed and was both feminine and masculine, a maddening latter-day Diana, who had swept Rainey off his feet for the time. But he had known that he was not up to her standards, that he was but a paper-worm, aside from his lack of means. That latter detail would, he knew, have bothered him far more than her. But she announced openly that she would only mate with a man who had lived. He rather fancied that it had been a challenge--one he had not taken up. The matrix of his own life just then was too snug a bed. Well, he was living now, he told himself. On the border of dreams he was brought back by a strange noise on deck, a rush of feet, many voices, and topping them all, the bellow of Lund, roaring, not for help, but in challenge. Rainey, half asleep, jumped from his bunk and rushed out of the room. He had no doubt as to what had happened; the hunters had attacked Lund! And, unused to the possession of firearms, still drowsy, he forgot the automatic, intent upon rallying to the cry of the giant. As he made for the companionway, the girl came out of her father's room. "What is it?" she cried. "Lund--hunters!" Rainey called back as he sped up the stairs. He thought he heard a "wait" from her, but the stamping and yelling were loud in his ears, and he plunged out on deck. As he emerged he saw the stolid face of Hansen at the wheel, his pale blue eyes glancing at the set of his canvas and then taking on a glint as they turned amidships. Lund looked like a bear surrounded by the dog-pack. He stood upright while the six hunters tore and smashed at him. Two had caught him by the middle, one from the front and one from the rear, and, as the fight raged back and forth, they were swung off their feet, bludgeoned and kicked by Lund to stop them getting at the gun in its holster slung under his coat close to his armpit. Lund's arms swung like clubs, his great hands plucked at their holds, while he roared volleys of deep-sea, defiant oaths, shaking or striking off a man now and then, who charged back snarlingly to the attack. Brief though the fight had been when Rainey arrived, there was ample evidence of it. Clothes were torn and faces bloody, and already the men were panting as Lund dragged them here and there, flailing, striking, half-smothered, but always coming up from under, like a rock that emerges from the bursting of a heavy wave. And the voice of the combat, grunts and snarls, gasping shouts and broken curses, was the sound of ravening beasts. So far as Rainey could vision in one swift moment before he ran forward, no knives were being used. A hunter lunged out heavily and confidently to meet him as the others got Lund to his knees for a fateful moment, piling on top of him, bludgeoning blows with guttural cries of fancied victory. Rainey's man struck, and the strength of his arm, backed by his hurling weight, broke down Rainey's guard and left the arm numb. The next instant they were at close quarters, swinging madly, rife with the one desire to down the other, to maim, to kill. A blow crashed home on Rainey's cheek, sending him back dazed, striking madly, clinching to stop the piston-like smashes of the hunter clutching him, trying to trip him, hammering at the fierce face above him as they both went down and rolled into the scuppers, tearing at each other. He felt the man's hands at his throat, gradually squeezing out sense and breath and strength, and threw up his knee with all his force. It struck the hunter fairly in the groin, and he heard the man groan with the sudden agony. But he himself was nearly out. The man seemed to fade away for the second, the choking fingers relaxed, and Rainey gulped for air. His eyes seemed strained from bulging from their sockets in that fierce grip, and there was a fog before them through which he could hear the roar of Lund, sounding like a siren blast that told he was still fighting, still confident. Then he saw the hunter's face close to his again, felt the whole weight of the man crushing him, felt the bite of teeth through cloth and flesh, nipping down on his shoulder as the man lay on him, striving to hold him down until he regained the strength that the blow in the groin had temporarily broken down. For just a moment Rainey's spirit sagged, his own strength was spent, his will sapped, his lungs flattened. For a moment he wanted to lie there--to quit. Then the hunter's body tautened for action, and, at the feel, Rainey's ebbing pride came surging back, and he heaved and twisted, clubbing the other over his kidneys until the roll of the schooner sent them twisting, tumbling over to the lee once more. He felt as if he had been fighting for an hour, yet it had all taken place during the leap of the _Karluk_ between two long swells that she had negotiated with a sidelong lurch to the cross seas and wind. Rainey came up uppermost. The hunter's head struck the rail heavily. His shoulder was free, but he could see ravelings of his coat in the other's teeth. The pain in his shoulder was evident enough, and the sight of the woolly fragments maddened him. The tactics of boyish fights came back to him, and he broke loose from the arms that hugged him, hitched forward until he sat on the hunter's chest, set a knee on either bicep and battered at the other's face as it twisted from side to side helplessly, making a pulp of it, keen to efface all semblance of humanity, a brute like the rest of them, intent upon bruising, on blood-letting, on beating all resistance down to a quivering, spirit-broken mass. The hunter lay still beneath him at last, his nerve centers shattered by some blow that had short-circuited them, and Rainey got wearily to his feet. The hunter's thumbs had pressed deep on each side of his neck, and his head felt like wood for heaviness, but shot with pain. The vigor was out of him. He knew he could not endure another hand-to-hand battle with one of the crowd still raging about Lund, who was on his feet again. Rainey saw his face, one red mask of blood and hair, with his agate eyes flaring up with the glory of the fight. He roared no longer, saving his breath. Hands clutched for him and fists fell, a man was tugging at each knee of his legs, set far apart, sturdy as the masts themselves. Lund's arm came up, lifting a hunter clean from the deck, shook him off somehow, and crashed down. One of the men tackling his legs dropped senseless from the buffet he got on the side of his skull, and Lund's kick sent him scudding across the deck, limp, out of the fight that could not last much longer. All this came as Rainey, still dazed, helped himself by the skylight toward the companion, going as fast as he could to get his gun. If he did not hurry he was certain they would kill Lund. No man could withstand those odds much longer. And, Lund killed, hell would break loose. It would be his turn next, and the girl would be left at their mercy. The thought spurred him, cleared his throbbing head, jarred by the smashes of his still senseless opponent who would be coming to before long. Then he saw the girl, standing by the rail, not crouching, as he had somehow expected her to be, shutting out the sight of the fight with trembling hands, but with her face aglow, her eyes shining, watching, as a Roman maid might have watched a gladiatorial combat; thrilled with the spectacle, hands gripping the rail, leaning a little forward. She did not notice Rainey as he crept by Hansen, still guiding the schooner, holding her to her course, imperturbable, apparently careless of the issue. As he staggered down the stairs the line of thought he had pursued in his bunk, broken by the noise of the fight and his participation, flashed up in his brain. This was sex, primitive, predominant! The girl must sense what might happen to her if Lund went down. She had no eyes for Rainey, her soul was up in arms, backing Lund. The shine in her eyes was for the strength of his prime manhood, matched against the rest, not as a person, an individual, but as an embodiment of the conquering male. He got the gun, and he snatched a drink of brandy that ran through his veins like quick fire, revivifying him so that he ran up the ladder and came on deck ready to take a decisive hand. But he found it no easy matter to risk a shot in that swirling mass. They all seemed to be arm weary. Blows no longer rose and fell. Lund was slowly dragging the dead weight of them all toward the mast. The two men on the deck still lay there. Rainey's opponent was trying to get up, wiping clumsily at the blood on his face, blinded. The girl still stood by the rail. Back of the wrestling mass stood the seamen, offering to take no part, their arms aswing like apes, their dull faces working. Tamada stood by the forward companion, his arms folded, indifferent, neutral. [Illustration: Then he saw the girl standing by the rail] All this Rainey saw as he circled, while the mass whirled like a teetotum. The action raced like an overtimed kinetoscopic film. A man broke loose from the scrimmage, on the opposite side from Rainey, who barely recognized the disheveled figure with the bloody, battered face as Deming. The hunter had managed to get hold of Lund's gun. Rainey's aim was screened by a sudden lunge of the huddle of men. He saw Lund heave, saw his red face bob up, mouth open, roaring once more, saw his leg come up in a tremendous kick that caught Deming's outleveling arm close to the elbow, saw the gleam of the gun as it streaked up and overboard, and Deming staggering back, clutching at his broken limb, cursing with the pain, to bring up against the rail and shout to the seamen: "Get into it, you damned cowards! Get into it, and settle him!" Even in that instant the sarcasm of the cry of "cowards" struck home to Rainey. The next second the girl had jumped by him, a glint of metal in her hand as she brought it out of her blouse. This time she saw him. "Come on!" she cried. And darted between the fighters and the storming figure of Deming, who tried to grasp her with his one good arm, but failed. Rainey sped after her just as Lund reached the mast. The girl had a nickeled pistol in her hand and was threatening the sullen line of irresolute seamen. Rainey with his gun was not needed. He heard Lund shout out in a triumphant cry and saw him battering at the heads of three who still clung to him. All through the fight Lund had kept his head, struggling to the purpose he had finally achieved, to reach the mast-rack of belaying pins, seize one of the hardwood clubs and, with this weapon, beat his assailants to the deck. He stood against the mast, his clothes almost stripped from him, the white of his flesh gleaming through the tatters, streaked with blood. Save for his eyes, his face was no longer human, only a mass of flayed flesh and clotted beard. But his eyes were alight with battle and then, as Rainey gazed, they changed. Something of surprise, then of delight, leaped into them, followed by a burning flare that was matched in those of the girl who, with Rainey herding back the seamen, had turned at Lund's yell of victory. Lund took a lurching step forward over the prone bodies of the men on the deck, that was splotched with blood. "By God!" he said slowly, his arms opening, his great fingers outspread, his gaze on the girl, "by God!" The girl's face altered. Her eyes grew frightened, cold. The retreating blood left her cheeks pale, and she wheeled and fled, dodging behind Tamada, who gave way to let her pass, his ivory features showing no emotion, closing up the fore companionway as Peggy Simms dived below. Lund did not follow her. Instead, he laughed shortly and appeared to see Rainey for the first time. "Jumped me, the bunch of 'em!" he said, his chest heaving, his breath coming in spurts from his laboring lungs. "Couldn't use my gun. But I licked 'em. Damn 'em! _Equals?_ Hell!" He seemed to have a clear recollection of the fight. He smiled grimly at Deming, who glared at him, nursing his broken arm, then glanced at the man that Rainey had mastered. "Did him up, eh? Good for you, matey! You didn't have to use your gun. Jest as well, you might have plugged me. An' the gal had one, after all." He seemed to ruminate on this thought as if it gave him special cause for reflection. "Game!" he said. "Game as they make 'em!" He surveyed the rueful, groaning combatants with the smile of a conqueror, then turned to the seamen. "Here, you!" he roared, and they jumped as if galvanized into life by the shout. "Chuck a bucket of water over 'em! Chuck water till they git below. Then clean the decks. Off-watch, you're out of this. Below with you, where you belong. Jump! "They all fought fair," he went on. "Not a knife out. Only Deming there, when he knew he was licked, tried to git my gun. Yo're yeller, Deming," he said, with contempt that was as if he had spat in the hunter's face. "I thought you were a better man than the rest. But you've got yores. Git down below an' we'll fix you up." He strode over to Hansen, stolid at the wheel. "Wal, you wooden-faced squarehead," he said, "which way did you think it was coming out? Damn me if you didn't play square, though! You kept her up. If you'd liked you could have chucked us all asprawl, an' that would have bin the end of it, with me down. You git a bottle of booze for that, Hansen, all for yore own Scandinavian belly. Come on, Rainey. Tamada, I want you." While Tamada got splints and did what he could for the badly shattered arm, Lund taunted Deming until the hunter's face was seamed with useless ferocity, like a weasel's in a trap. "I wonder you fix him at all, Tamada," he said. "He wanted to cut you out of yore share. Called you a yellow-skinned heathen, Tamada. What makes you gentle him that way? You've got him where you want him." Tamada, binding up the splints professionally, looked at Deming with jetty eyes that revealed no emotion. Lund passed his hand over his face. "I'm some mess myself," he said, stretching his great arms. "Give me a five-finger drink, Rainey, afore I clean up. Some scrap. Hell popping on deck, and a dead man in the cabin! And the gal! Did you see the gal, Rainey?" Out of the bloody mask of his face his agate eyes twinkled at Rainey with a sort of good-natured malice. Rainey did not answer as he poured the liquor. "Make it four finger," exclaimed Lund. "Deming's goin' to faint. One for Doc Tamada." The Japanese excused himself, helping Deming, worn out with pain and consumed by baffled hate, forward through the galley corridor. Then he came back with warm water in a basin--and towels. "After this cheery little fracas," said Lund, mopping at his face, "we'll mebbe have a nice, quiet, genteel sort of ship. My gun went overboard, didn't it? Better let me have that one you've got, Rainey." He stretched out his hand for it. Rainey delivered it, reluctantly. There was nothing else to do, but he felt more than ever that the _Karluk_ was henceforth to be a one-man ship, run at the will of Lund. But the girl, too, had a weapon. He hugged that thought. She carried it for her own protection, and she would not hesitate to use it. What a girl she was! What a woman rather! A woman who would _mate_--not marry for the quiet safety of a home. Rainey thought of her as one does of a pool that one plumbs with a stone, thinking to find it fairly shallow, only to discover it a gulf with unknown depth and currents, capable of smiling placidness or sudden storm. CHAPTER XIII THE RIFLE CARTRIDGES The girl did not appear for the evening meal. She had refused Tamada's suggestions through the door. Lund drank heavily, but without any effect, save to sink him in comparative silence, as he and Rainey sat together, after the Japanese had cleared the table. In contrast to the excitement of the fight, their moods had changed, sobered by the thought of the girl sitting up with her dead in the captain's room. Rainey was bruised and stiffened, and Lund moved with less of his usual ease. The flesh of his face had been so pounded that it was turning dull purple in great patches, giving him a diabolical appearance against his naming beard. "We've got to git hold of those cartridges," he said, after a long-pause. "Carlsen had 'em planted somewhere, an' it's likely in his room. Best thing to do is to chuck 'em overboard. Cheaper to dump the cartridges an' shells than the rifles an' shotguns. "You see," he went on, "Deming ain't quit. That's one thing with a man who's streaked with yeller, when he gits licked in the open an' knows he's licked proper, he tries to git even underhanded. He knows jest as well as I do that Carlsen was lyin' that time about there bein' no more shells. O' course the skipper may have stowed 'em away, but I doubt it. An' jest so long as he thinks there's a chance of gittin' at 'em, he'll figger on turning' the tables some day. An' he'll be workin' the rest of 'em up to the job." "They can't do much without a navigator," suggested Rainey. "Mebbe they figger a man'll do a lot o' things he don't want to with a rifle barrel stuck in his neck or the small of his back," said Lund grimly. "It's a good persuader. Might even have some influence on me. Then ag'in it might not." "Where is the magazine?" asked Rainey. "In the little room aft o' the galley. We'll look there first. Come on." "How about keys? Carlsen's must have been in his pockets. I didn't see them when I was hunting the morphine. We can't go in there." Rainey made a motion toward the skipper's room. Lund chuckled. "I had my keys to the safe an' the magazine when I was aboard last trip," he said. "They was with me when we went on the ice. An' I hung on to 'em. Allus thought I might have a chance to use 'em ag'in." The strong room of the _Karluk_ was a narrow compartment, heavily partitioned off from the galley and the corridor. There was a lamp there, and Rainey lit it while Lund closed the door behind them. The magazine was an iron chest fastened to the floor and the side of the vessel with two padlocks, opened by different keys. It was quite empty. "Thorough man, Carlsen," said Lund. "Prepared for a show-down, if necessary. Might have put 'em in the safe. Wonder if he changed the combination? I bet Simms didn't, year in an' out." He worked at the disk and grunted as the tumblers clicked home. "It ain't changed," he said. "No use lookin' here." But he swung back the door and rummaged through books and papers, disturbing a chronometer and a small cash-box that held the schooner's limited amount of ready cash. There was no sign of any cartridges. "We'll tackle Carlsen's room next," he announced. "I don't suppose you looked between the bunk mattresses, did you?" "I never thought of it," said Rainey. "I didn't imagine there would be more than one." "I've got a hunch you'll find two on Carlsen's bunk. An' the shells between 'em. He kep' his door locked when he was out of the main cabin an' slep' on 'em nights. That's what I'd be apt to do." As they came into the main cabin Rainey caught Lund by the arm. "I'm almost sure I saw Carlsen's door closing," he whispered. "It might have been the shadow." "But it might not. Shouldn't wonder. One of 'em's sneaked in. Saw the cabin empty, an' figgered we'd turned in. While we was in the strong-room." He took the automatic from his pocket and went straight to the door of Carlsen's room. It was locked or bolted from within. "The fool!" said Lund. "I've got a good mind to let him stay there till he swallers some o' the drugs to fill his belly." He rapped on the panel with the butt of the gun. "Come on out before I start trouble." There was no answer. Lund looked uncertainly at Rainey. "I hate to start a rumpus ag'in," he said, jerking his head toward the skipper's room. "'Count of her. Reckon he can stay there till after we've buried Simms. He's safe enough." Rainey was a little surprised at this show of thoughtfulness, but he did not remark on it. He was beginning to think pretty constantly of late that he had underestimated Lund. The giant's hand dropped automatically to the handle as if to assure himself of the door being fast. Suddenly it opened wide, a black gap, with only the gray eye of the porthole facing them. Lund had brought up the muzzle of his pistol to the height of a man's chest, but there was nothing to oppose it. "Hidin', the damn fool! What kind of a game is this? Come out o' there." Something scuttled on the floor of the room--then darted swiftly out between the legs of Lund and Rainey, on all fours, like a great dog. Curlike, it sprawled on the floor with a white face and pop-eyes, with hands outstretched in pleading, knees drawn up in some ludicrous attempt at protection, calling shrilly, in the voice of Sandy: "Don't shoot, sir! Please don't shoot!" Lund reached down and jerked the roustabout to his feet, half strangling him with his grip on the collar of the lad's shirt, and flung him into a chair. "What were you doin' in there?" Sandy gulped convulsively, feeling at his scraggy throat, where an Adam's apple was working up and down. Speech was scared out of him, and he could only roll his eyes at them. "You damned young traitor!" said Lund. "I'll have you keelhauled for this! Out with it, now. Who sent ye? Deming?" "You've got him frightened half to death," intervened Rainey. "They probably scared him into doing this. Didn't they, Sandy?" The lad blinked, and tears of self-pity rolled down his grimy cheeks. The relief of them seemed to unstopper his voice. That, and the kinder quality of Rainey's questioning. "Deming! He said he'd cut my bloody heart out if I didn't do it. Him an' Beale. Lookit." He plucked aside the front of his almost buttonless shirt and worn undervest and showed them on his left breast the scoring where a sharp blade had marked an irregular circle on his skin. "Beale did that," he whined. "Deming said they'd finish the job if I come back without 'em." "Without the shells?" "Yes, sir. Yes, Mr. Rainey. Oh, Gord, they'll kill me sure! Oh, my Gord!" His staring eyes and loose mouth, working in fear, made him look like a fresh-landed cod. "You ain't much use alive," said Lund. "Mebbe I ain't," returned the lad, with the desperation of a cornered rat. "But I got a right to live. And I've lived worse'n a dorg on this bloody schooner. I'm fair striped an' bruised wi' boots an' knuckles an' ends o' rope. I'd 'ave chucked myself over long ago if--" "If what?" The lad turned sullen. "Never mind," he said, and glared almost defiantly at Lund. "Is that door shut?" the giant asked Rainey. "Some of 'em might be hangin' 'round." Rainey went to the corridor and closed and locked the entrance. "Now then, you young devil," said Lund. "What they did to you for'ard ain't a marker on what I'll do to you if you don't speak up an' answer when I talk. _If what?_" Sandy turned to Rainey. "They said they was goin' to give me some of the gold," he said. "They said all along I was to have the hat go 'round for me. I told you I was dragged up, but there's--there's an old woman who was good to me. She's up ag'in' it for fair. I told her I'd bring her back some dough an' if I can hang on an' git it, I'll hang on. But they'll do me up, now, for keeps." Rainey heard Lund's chuckle ripen to a quiet laugh. "I'm damned if they ain't some guts to the herrin' after all," he said. "Hangin' on to take some dough back to an old woman who ain't even his mother. Who'd have thought it? Look here, my lad. I was dragged up the same way, I was. An' I hung on. But you'll never git a cent out of that bunch. I don't know as they'll have enny to give you." His face hardened. "But you come through, an' I'll see you git somethin' for the old woman. An' yoreself, too. What's more, you can stay aft an' wait on cabin. If they lay a finger on you, I'll lay a fist on them, an' worse." "You ain't kiddin' me?" "I don't kid, my lad. I don't waste time that way." Sandy stood up, his face lighting. He began to empty his pockets, laying shells and shotgun cartridges upon the table. "I couldn't begin to git harf of 'em," he said. "The rest's under the mattresses. They said they on'y needed a few. I thought you was both turned in. When you come out of the corridor I was scared nutty." Between the mattresses, as Lund had guessed, they found the rest of the shells, laid out in orderly rows save where the lad's scrambling fingers had disturbed them. Lund stripped off a pillow-case and dumped them in, together with those on the table. "You can bunk here," he told the grateful Sandy. "Now I'll have a few words with Deming, Beale and Company. Want to come along, Rainey?" Lund strode down the corridor, bag in one hand, his gun in the other. Rainey threw open the door of the hunters' quarters and discovered them like a lot of conspirators. Deming was in his bunk; also another man, whose ribs Lund had cracked when he had kicked him along the deck out of his way. The bruised faces of the rest showed their effects from the fight. As Lund entered, covering them with the gun, while he swung down the heavy slip on the table with a clatter, their looks changed from eager expectation to consternation. CHAPTER XIV PEGGY SIMMS "Caught with the goods!" said Lund. "Two tries at mutiny in one day, my lads. You want to git it into your boneheads that I'm runnin' this ship from now on. I can sail it without ye and, by God, I'll set the bunch of ye ashore same's you figgered on doin' with me if you don't sit up an' take notice! The rifles an' guns"--he glanced at the orderly display of weapons in racks on the wall--"are too vallyble to chuck over, but here go the shells, ev'ry last one of them. So that nips _that_ little plan, Deming." He turned back the slip to display the contents. "Open a port, Rainey, an' heave the lot out." Rainey did so while the hunters gazed on in silent chagrin. "There's one thing more," said Lund, grinning at them. "If enny of you saw a man hurtin' a dog, you'd probably fetch him a wallop. But you don't think ennything of scarin' the life out of a half-baked kid an' markin' up his hide like a patchwork quilt. Thet kid's stayin' aft after this. One of you monkey with him, an' you'll do jest what he's bin doin', wish you was dead an' overboard." He turned on his heel and walked to the door, Rainey following. "Burial of the skipper at dawn," said Lund. "All hands on deck, clean an' neatly dressed to stand by. An' see yore behavior fits the occasion. Deming, you'll turn out, too. No malingerin'." It was plain that the news of the captain's death was known to them. They showed no surprise. Rainey was sure that Tamada had not mentioned it. It had leaked out through the grape-vine telegraphy of all ships. Doubtless, he thought, the after-cabin and its doings was always being spied upon. "Will you take the service ter-morrer?" Lund asked Rainey when they were back in the cabin. "Bein' as yo're an eddicated chap?" "Why--I don't know it. Is there a prayer-book aboard? I thought the skipper always presided." "I'm only deputy-skipper w'en it comes down to that," said Lund. "It ain't my ship. I'm jest runnin' it under contract with my late partner. The ship belongs to the gal. And yo're top officer now, in the regular run. As to a prayer-book, there ain't sech an article aboard to my knowledge. But I'd like to have it go off shipshape. For Simms' sake as well as the gal's. I reckon he used his best jedgment 'bout puttin' back after me on the floe. I might have done the same thing myself." Rainey doubted that statement, and set it down to Lund's generosity. Many of his late words and actions had displayed a latent depth of feeling that he had never credited Lund with possessing. He could not help believing that, in some way, the girl had brought them to the surface. "I thought I saw a Bible in the safe," he said, "when we were looking for the shells. There may be a prayer-book. I suppose there have been occasions for it. The mate died at sea last trip." "There may be," returned Lund. "That's where Simms 'ud keep it. He warn't what you'd call a religious man. We'll take a look afore we turn in." There were offices to be performed for the dead captain that the girl, with all her willingness, could not attempt. Lund did not mention them, and Rainey vacillated about disturbing her until he saw Tamada go through the cabin with folded canvas and a flag. The Japanese tapped on the door, which was instantly opened to him. He had been expected. There was no doubt that Tamada, with his medical experience, was best fitted for the task, but it seemed to Rainey also that the girl had deliberately ignored their services and that, despite her involuntary admiration of Lund's fight against odds, or in revulsion of it, she reckoned them hostile to her sentiments. Lund roused him by talking of the burial-service for Simms. "You're a writer," he said. "What's the good of knowin' how to handle words if you can't fake up some sort of a service? One's as good as another, long as it sounds like the real thing. "I reckon there's a God," he went on. "Somethin' that started things, somethin' that keeps the stars from runnin' each other down, but, after He wound up the clock He made, I don't figger He bothers much about the works. "Luck's the big thing that counts. We're all in on the deal. Some of us git the deuces an' treys, an' some git the aces. If yo're born lucky things go soft for you. But, if it warn't for luck, for the chance an' the hope of it, things 'ud be upside down an' plain anarchy in a jiffy. If it warn't the pore devil's idea that his luck has got to change for the better, mebbe ter-morrer, he'd start out an' cut his own throat, or some one else's, if he had ginger enough." "It's hardly all luck, is it?" asked Rainey. "Look at you! You're bigger than most men, stronger, better equipped to get what you want." "Hell!" laughed Lund. "I was lucky to be born that way. But you've got to fudge up some sort of a service to suit the gal. You've got that Bible. It ought to be easy. Simms wouldn't give a whoop, enny more'n I would. When yo're dead yo're through, so far's enny one can prove it to you. A dead body's a nuisance, an' the sooner it's got rid of the better. But if it's goin' to make the livin' feel enny better for spielin' off some fine words, why, hop to it an' make up yore speech." Peggy Simms saved Rainey by producing a prayer-book, bringing it to Lund, her face pale but composed enough, and her shadowed eyes calm as she gave it to him. "I reckon Rainey here 'ud read it better'n me," he said. "He's a scholar." "If you will," asked the girl. She seemed to have outworn her first sorrow, to have obtained a grip of herself that, with the dignity of her bereavement, the very control of her undoubted grief, set up a barrier between her and Lund. Rainey was conscious of this fence behind which the girl had retreated. She was polite, but she did not ask this service as a favor, as a friendly act. Refusal, even, would not have visibly affected her, he fancied. There was an invisible armor about her that might be added to at any moment by a shield of silent scorn. Somehow, if sex had, for a swift moment, brought her and Lund into any contact, that same sex, showing another aspect, set them far apart. Lund showed that he felt it, running his splay fingers through his beard in evident embarrassment, while Rainey took the book silently, looking through the pages for the ritual of "Burial at Sea." Arrangements had been made on deck long before dawn. A section of the rail had been removed and a grating arranged that could be tipped at the right moment for the consignment of the captain's body to the deep. The sea was running in long heaves, and the sun rose in a clear sky. The ocean was free from ice, though the wind was cold. Here and there a berg, far off, caught the sparkle of the sun and, to the north, parallel to their course, the peaks of the Aleutian Isles, broken buttresses of an ancient seabridge, showed sharply against the horizon. At four bells in the morning watch all hands had assembled, save for Tamada and Hansen, who appeared bearing the canvas-enveloped, flag-draped body of Simms, his sea-shroud weighted by heavy pieces of iron. Peggy Simms followed them, and, as the crew, with shuffling feet and throats that were repeatedly cleared, gathered in a semicircle, she arranged the folds of the Stars and Stripes that Hansen attached to a light line by one corner. Whatever Lund affected, the solemnity of the occasion held the men. They uncovered and stood with bowed heads that hid the bruised faces of the hunters. Lund's own damaged features were lowered as Rainey commenced to read. Only Deming's face, gray from the effort of coming on deck and the pain in his arm, held the semblance of a sneer that was largely bravado. A hunter had his arm tucked in that of his comrade with the broken ribs. A seaman was told off to the wheel and the schooner was held to the wind with all sheets close inboard, rising and falling on an almost level keel. "_And the body shall be cast into the sea._" At the words Lund and Hansen tilted the grating. There was a slight pause as if the body were reluctant to start on its last journey, and then it slid from the platform and plunged into the sea, disappearing instantly under the urge of the weights, with a hissing aeration of the water. The flag, held inboard by the line, fluttered a moment and subsided over the grating. The girl turned toward them, her head up. "Thank you," she said, and went below. "That's over," said Lund, letting out whatever emotions he might have repressed in a long breath. "Now, then, trim ship! Watch-off, get below. We're goin' to drive her for all she's worth." He took the wheel himself as the men jumped to the sheets and soon Lund was getting every foot of possible speed out of the schooner. He was as good a sailor as Simms, inclined to take more chances, but capable of handling them. The girl kept below and seldom came out of her cabin, Tamada serving her meals in there. Rainey could see Lund's resentment growing at this attitude that seemed to him normal enough, though it might present difficulty later if persisted in. But the morning that they headed up through Sequam Pass between the spouting reefs of Sequam and Amlia Islands, she came on deck and went forward to the bows, taking in deep breaths of the bracing air and gazing north to the free expanse of Bering Strait. Rainey left her alone, but Lund welcomed her as she came back aft. "Glad to see you on deck again, Miss Peggy," he said. "You need sun and air to git you in shape again." His glance held vivid admiration of her as he spoke, a glance that ran over her rounded figure with a frank approval that Rainey resented, but to which the girl paid no attention. She seemed to have made up her mind to a change of attitude. "How far have we yet to go?" she asked. "A'most a thousan' miles to the Strait proper," said Lund. "The Nome-Unalaska steamer lane lies to the east. Runs close to the Pribilofs, three hundred miles north, with Hall an' St. Matthew three hundred further. Then comes St. Lawrence Isle, plumb in the middle of the Strait, with Siberia an' Alaska closin' in." He was keen to hold her in conversation, and she willing to listen, assenting almost eagerly when he offered to point out their positions on the chart, spread on the cabin table. Lund talked well, for all his limited and at times luridly inclined vocabulary, whenever he talked of the sea and of his own adventures, stating them without brag, but bringing up striking pictures of action, full of the color and savor of life in the raw. From that time on Peggy Simms came to the table and talked freely with Lund, more conservatively with Rainey. The newspaperman was no experienced analyst of woman nature, but he saw, or thought he saw, the girl watching Lund closely when he talked, studying him, sometimes with more than a hint of approbation, at others with a look that was puzzled, seeming to be working at a problem. The giant's liking for her, boyish at times, or swiftly changing to bolder appraisal, grew daily. The girl, Rainey decided, was humoring Lund, seeking to know how with her feminine methods she might control him, keep him within bounds. Her coldness, it seemed, she had cast aside as an expedient that might prove too provoking and worthless. And Rainey's valuation of her resources increased. She was handling her woman's weapons admirably, yet when he sometimes, at night, under the cabin lamp, saw the smoldering light glowing in Lund's agate eyes, he knew that she was playing a dangerous game. "What d'ye figger on doin' with yore share, Rainey?" Lund asked him the night that they passed Nome. It was stormy weather in the Strait, and the _Karluk_ was snugged down under treble reefs, fighting her way north. Ice in the Narrows was scarce, though Lund predicted broken floes once they got through. The cabin was cozy, with a stove going. Peggy Simms was busied with some sewing, the canary and the plants gave the place a domestic atmosphere, and Lund, smoking comfortably, was eminently at ease. "'Cordin' to the way the men figgered it out," he went on, "though I reckon they're under the mark more'n over it, you'll have forty thousan' dollars. That's quite a windfall, though nothin' to Miss Peggy, here, or me, for that matter. I s'pose you got it all spent already." "I don't know that I have," said Rainey. "But I think, if all goes well, I'll get a place up in the Coast Range, in the redwoods looking over the sea, and write. Not newspaper stuff, but what I've always wanted to. Stories. Yarns of adventure!" Peggy Simms looked up. "You've never done that?" she asked. "Not satisfactorily. I suppose that genius burns in a garret, but I don't imagine myself a genius and I don't like garrets. I've an idea I can write better when I don't have to stand the bread-and-butter strain of routine." "Goin' to write second-hand stuff?" asked Lund. "Why don't you _live_ what you write? I don't see how yo're goin' to git under a man's skin by squattin' in a bungalow with a Jap servant, a porcelain bathtub, an' breakfast in bed. Why don't you travel an' see stuff as it is? How in blazes are you goin' to write Adventure if you don't live it? "Me, I'm goin' to git a schooner built accordin' to my own ideas. Have a kicker engine in it, mebbe, an' go round the world. What's the use of livin' on it an' not knowin' it by sight? Books and pictures are all right in their way, I reckon, but, while my riggin' holds up, I'm for travel. Mebbe I'll take a group of islands down in the South Seas after a bit an' make somethin' out of 'em. Not jest _copra_ an' pearl-shell, but cotton an' rubber." "A king and his kingdom," suggested the girl. "Aye, an' mebbe a queen to go with it," replied Lund, his eyes wide open in a look that made the girl flush and Rainey feel the hidden issue that he felt was bound to come, rising to the surface. "That's a _man's_ life," went on Lund. "Travel's all right, but a man's got to do somethin', buck somethin', start somethin'. An' a red-blooded man wants the right kind of a woman to play mate. Polish off his rough edges, mebbe. I'd rather be a rough castin' that could stand filin' a bit, than smooth an' plated. An', when I find the right woman, one of my own breed, I'm goin' to tie to her an' her to me. "I'm goin' to be rich. They've cleaned up the sands of Nome, but there's others'll be found yit between Cape Hope an' Cape Barry. Meantime, we've got a placer of our own. With plenty of gold they ain't much limit to what a man can do. I've roughed it all my life, an' I'm not lookin' for ease. It makes a man soft. But--" He swept the figure of the girl in a pause that was eloquent of his line of thought. She grew uneasy of it, but Lund maintained it until she raised her eyes from her work and challenged his. Rainey saw her breast heave, saw her struggle to hold the gaze, turn red, then pale. He thought her eyes showed fear, and then she stiffened. Almost unconsciously she raised her hand to where Rainey was sure she kept the little pistol, touched something as though to assure herself of its presence, and went on sewing. Lund chuckled, but shifted his eyes to Rainey. "Why don't you write up _this_ v'yage? When it's all over? There's adventure for you, an' we ain't ha'f through with it. An' romance, too, mebbe. We ain't developed much of a love-story as yit, but you never can tell." He laughed, and Peggy Simms got up quietly, folded her sewing, and said "Good night" composedly before she went to her room. "How about it, Rainey?" quizzed Lund. "How about the love part of it? She's a beauty, an' she'll be an heiress. Ain't you got enny red blood in yore veins? Don't you want her? You won't find many to hold a candle to her. Looks, built like a racin' yacht, smooth an' speedy. Smart, an' rich into the bargain. Why don't you make love to her?" Rainey felt the burning blood mounting to his face and brain. "I am not in love with Miss Simms," he said. "If I was I should not try to make love to her under the circumstances. She's alone, and she's fatherless. I do not care to discuss her." "She's a woman," said Lund. "And yo're a damned prig! You'd like to bust me in the jaw, but you know I'm stronger. You've got some guts, Rainey, but yo're hidebound. You ain't got ha'f the git-up-an'-go to ye that she has. She's a woman, I tell you, an' she's to be won. If you want her, why don't you stand up an' try to git her 'stead of sittin' around like a sick cat whenever I happen to admire her looks? "I've seen you. I ain't blind enny longer, you know. She's a woman an' I'm a man. I thought you was one. But you ain't. Yore idea of makin' love is to send the gal a box of candy an' walk pussy-footed an' write poems to her. You want to _write_ life an' I want to _live_ it. So does a gal like that. She's more my breed than yores, if she has got eddication. An' she's flesh and blood. Same as I am. Yo're half sawdust. Yo're stuffed." He went on deck laughing, leaving Rainey raging but helpless. Lund appeared to think the situation obvious. Two men, and a woman who was attractive in many ways. The _only_ woman while they were aboard the schooner, therefore the more to be desired, admired by men cut off from the rest of the world. He expected Rainey to be in love with her, to stand up and say so, to endeavor to win her. Lund sought the ardor of competition. He might be looking for the excuse to crush Rainey. But he had said she was of his breed, and that was a true saying. If Lund was a son of the sea, she was a daughter of a line of seamen. Lund, sooner or later, meant to take her, willing or unwilling. He had said so, none too covertly, that very evening. And, if Rainey meant to stand between her and Lund as a protector, Lund would accept him in that character only as the girl's lover and his rival. And Rainey did not know whether he was in love with her or not. He could not even be certain of the girl. There were times when Lund seemed to fascinate her. One thing he braced himself to do, to be ready to aid her against Lund if occasion came, and she needed protection. The luck, as Lund phrased it, that had given brawn to the giant, had given Rainey brains. When the time came he would use them. After this the girl avoided Lund's company as much as possible by seeking Rainey's. They worked through the Strait and headed into the Arctic Ocean. Ice was all about them, fields formed of vast blocks of frozen water divided by broad lanes through which the _Karluk_ slowly made her way, a maze of ice, always threatening, calling for all of Lund's skill while he fumed at every barrier, every change of the weather that grew steadily colder. The sky was never entirely unveiled by mist, and at night, as they sailed down a frozen fiord with lookouts doubled, the grinding smashing noises of the ice seemed the warning voice of the North, as they sailed on into the wilderness. The hunters kept below. Lund bossed the ship. Deming, it seemed, managed to hold his cards and deal them despite his mending arm in splints. And he was steadily winning. The girl talked with Rainey of her own life ashore and at sea on earlier trips with her father, of his own desire to write, of his ambitions, until there was little he had not told her, even to the girl who was the daughter of the Lumber King. And the spell of her nearness, her youth, her beauty, naturally held him. When he was on deck duty she remained in her room. When Lund relieved him, the day's work giving Lund, Hansen, and Rainey each two regular watches of four hours, though Lund put in most of the night as the ice grew more difficult to navigate, Rainey occasionally saw the giant's eyes sizing him up with a sardonic twinkle. For the time being, the safety of the _Karluk_ and the successful carrying out of the purpose of the trip took all of Lund's attention and energy. Twice he had been thwarted by the weather from gleaning his golden harvest, and it began to look as if the third attempt might be no more fortunate. "The _Karluk's_ stout," he said once, "but she ain't built for the Arctic. If we git nipped badly she'll go like an eggshell." "And then what?" Rainey asked. "Git the gold! That's what we come for. If we have to make sleds an' use the hunters for a dorg-team." He laughed indomitably. "We'll make a man of you yit, Rainey, afore we git back." Lund was snatching sleep in scraps, seeking always to feel a way toward the position of the island through the ice that continually baffled progress. Several times they risked the schooner in a narrow lane when a lull of the often uncertain wind would have seen them ground between the edges of the floe. Twice Lund ordered out the boats to save them. Once all hands fended desperately with spars to keep her clear, and only the schooner's overhung stern saved her rudder from the savagely clashing masses that closed behind them. But he showed few signs of strain. Once in a while he would sit with closed eyes or pass his hands across his brows as if they pained him. But he never complained, and the ice, taking on the dull hues of sea and sky, gave off no glare that should affect the sight. Against all opposition Lund forced his way until, just after sunset one night, as the dusk swept down, he gave a shout and pointed to a fitful flare over the port bow. Rainey thought it the aurora, but Lund laughed at him. "It's the crater atop the island," he said. "Nothin' dangerous. Reg'lar lighthouse. Now, boys," he went on, his deep voice ringing with exhilaration, "there's gold in sight! Whistle for a change of weather, every mother's son of you!" The deck was soon crowded. On the previous trip the schooner had approached the island from a different angle, but the men were swift to acknowledge the glow of the volcano as the expected landfall. Lund remained on deck, and it was late before any of the crew turned in. Rainey, during his watch, saw the mountain fire-pulse, glowing and winking like the eye of a Cyclops, its gleam reflected in the eyes of the watchers who were about to invade the island and rob it of its golden sands. The change of weather came about three in the morning, though not as Lund had hoped. A sudden wind materialized from the north, stiffening the canvas with its ice-laden breath, glazing the schooner wherever moisture dripped, bringing up an angry scud of clouds that fought with the moon. The sea appeared to have thickened. The _Karluk_ went sluggishly, as if she was sailing in a sea of treacle. "Half slush already," said Lund. "We're in for a real cold snap. There'll be pancake ice all around us afore dawn. That is sure a hard beach to fetch. But it's too early for winter closing. After this nip we'll have a warm spell. An' we got to git the stuff aboard an' start kitin' south afore the big freeze-up catches us." CHAPTER XV SMOKE When Rainey came on deck the next morning he found the schooner floating in a small lagoon that made the center of a floe. The water in it was slush, half solid. Main and fore were close furled, the headsails also, and the _Karluk_ was nosing against the far end of the rapidly diminishing basin. The wind was still lively. All about were other floes, but they were widely separated, and between them crisp waves of indigo were curling snappily. The island stood up sharp and jagged, much larger than Rainey had anticipated. It boasted two cones, from one of which smoke was lazily trailing. Ice was piled in wild confusion about its shores, wrecked by the gale that had blown hard from four till eight, and was now subsiding with the swift change common to the Arctic. A deep hum of bursting surf undertoned all other noises and, prisoned as she was, the schooner and her floe were sweeping slowly toward the land in the grip of a current rather than before the gusty wind. Lund had fendered the schooner's bows effectively before he went below with old sails that enveloped stem and swell, stuffed with ropes and bits of canvas. Within an hour the wind had ceased and the slush in the lagoon had pancaked into flakes of forming ice that bid fair to become solid within a short time, for the day was bitterly cold and tremendously bright. The sky rose from filmy silver-azure to richest sapphire, and the rolling waters between the floes were darkest purple-blue. As the whip of the wind ceased they settled to a vast swell on which the great clumps of ice rose and fell with dazzling reflections. Lund came up within the hour and stood blinking at the brilliance. "My eyes ain't as strong yit as they should be," he said to Rainey. "I shouldn't have slung them glasses so hasty at Carlsen, though they sp'iled his aim, at that. If this weather keeps up I'll have to make snow-specs; there ain't another pair of smokes aboard." He made a shade of his curved hand as he gazed at the island. "Current's got us," he said, "an' we'll fetch up mighty close to the beach. It lies between those two ridges, close together, buttin' out from the volcano. Long Strait current splits on Wrangell Island, and we're in the trend of the northern loop. That's why the sea don't freeze up more solid. It's freezin' fast enough round us, where there ain't motion." He seemed well satisfied with the prospect. "Had breakfast?" he asked Rainey, and then: "All right. We'll git the men aft." He bellowed an order, and soon every one came trooping, to gather in two groups either side of the cabin skylight. Their faces were eager with the proximity of the gold, yet half sullen as they waited to hear what Lund had to say. Since the attempt against him Lund had said nothing about their shares. They acknowledged him as master, but they still rebelled in spirit. "There's the island," said Lund. "We'll make it afore sundown. The beach is there, waitin' for us to dig it up. It'll be some job. I don't reckon it's frozen hard, on'y crusted. If it is we'll bust the crust with dynamite. But we got to hop to it. There'll be another cold spell after this one peters out an' the next is like to be permanent. I want the gold washed out afore then, an' us well down the Strait. It's up to you to hump yoreselves, an' I'll help the humpin'. "We'll cradle most of the stuff an', if they's time, we'll flume the silt tailin's for the fine dust. Providin' we can git a fall of water. There'll be plenty for all hands to do. An' the shares go as first fixed. I ain't expectin' you to do the diggin' an' not git a pinch or two of the dust." The men's faces lighted, and they shuffled about, looking at one another with grins of relief. "No cheers?" asked Lund ironically. "Wall, I hardly expected enny. Hansen, you'll be one of the foremen, with pay accordin'. Deming." "I can't dig," said the hunter truculently. "Neither can Beale, with his ribs." "You've got a sweet nerve," said Lund. "I reckon you've won enough to be sure of yore shares, if the boys pay up. Enough for you to do some diggin' in yore pockets for Beale. His ribs 'ud be whole if you hadn't started the bolshevik stunt. But I'll find something for both of you to do. Don't let that worry you none. "We've got mercury aboard somewhere," Lund continued, to Rainey, when the men had dispersed, far more cheerful than they had gathered. "We'll use that for concentration in the film riffles. Hansen'll have rockers made that'll catch the big stuff. If the worst comes to the worst, we'll load up the old hooker with the pay dirt an' wash it out on the way home. I'll strip that beach down to bedrock if I have to work the toes an' fingers off 'em." By noon the schooner was glazed in as firmly as a toy model that is mounted in a glass sea. The wind blew itself entirely out, but the current bore them steadily on to the clamorous shore, where the swells were creating promontories, bays, cliffs and chasms in the piled-up confusion of the floes pounding on the rocks, breaking up or sliding atop one another in noisy confusion. The marble-whiteness of the ice masses was set off by the blues and soft violets of their shadows, and by a pearly sheen wherever the planes caught the light at a proper slant for the play of prisms. Beautiful as it was, the sight was fearful to Rainey, in common with the crew. Only Lund surveyed it nonchalantly. "It's bustin' up fast," he said. "All we need is a little luck. If we ain't got that there's no use of worryin'. We can't blast ourselves out o' this without riskin' the schooner. We ought to be thankful we froze in gentle. There ain't a plank started. The floe'll fend us off. There ain't enny big chunks enny way near us aft. Luck--to make a decent landin'--is all we need, an' it's my hunch it's comin' our way." His "hunch" was correct. Though they did not actually make the little bay on which the treasure beach debouched, they fetched up near it against a broken hill of ice that had lodged on the sharp slopes of a little promontory, making the connection without further damage than a splitting of the forward end of their encasing floe, with hardly a jar to the _Karluk_. Lund sent men ashore over the ice, climbing to the promontory crags with hawsers by which they tied up schooner, floe and all, to the land. If the broken hill suffered further catastrophe, which did not seem likely, its fragments would fall upon the floe. In case of emergency Lund ordered men told off day and night to stand by the hawsers, to cast loose or cut, as the extremity needed. The main danger threatened from following floes piling up on theirs and ramming over it to smash the schooner, but that was a risk that must be met as it evolved, and there did not seem much prospect of the happening. It was dark before they were snugged. The men volunteered, through Hansen, to commence digging that night by the light of big fires, so crazy were they at the nearness of the gold. But Lund forbade it. "You'll work reg'lar shifts when you git started," he said. "An' you won't start till ter-morrer. We've got to stand by the ship ter-night until we find out by mornin' how snug we're goin' to be berthed." All night long they lay in a pandemonium of noise. After a while they would become used to it as do the workers in a stampmill, but that night it deafened them, kept them awake and alert, fearful, with the tremendous cannonading. The bite of the frost made the timbers of the _Karluk_ creak and its thrust continually worked among the stranded masses with groaning thunders and shrill grindings, while the surf ever boomed on the resonant sheets of ice. The place held a strange mystery. On top of the main cone the volcanic glow hung above the crater chimney, reflected waveringly on the rolling clouds of smoke that blotted out the stars. There were no tremors, no rumblings from the hidden furnace, only the flare of its stoking. The stars that were visible were intensely brilliant points, and, when the moon rose, it was accompanied by four mock moons bound in a halo that widely encircled the true orb. The moon-dogs shone intermittently with prismatic colors, like disks of mother-of-pearl, and the moon itself was four-rayed. Under moon and stars the coast snaked away to end in a deceptive glimmer that persisted beyond the eye-range of definite dimensions. And, despite all the sound, muffled and sharp, of splinterings and explosions, of the reverberation of the swell, outside all this clamor, silence seemed to gather and to wait. Silence and loneliness. It awed the crew, it invested the spirits of Peggy Simms and Rainey, gazing at the mystic beauty of the Arctic landscape. The walls of forced-up ice shifted about them and came clattering down, booming on their floe as if it had been a drum, and threatening to tilt it by sheer weight had they not been fairly grounded forward. Other floes came from seaward to batter at the cliffs, but the eddy that had brought them to their resting-place seemed to have been dissolved in the main current and, save for an occasional alarm, their stern was not seriously invaded. Only, as the night wore on, the floating masses became cemented to one another and the shore. The _Karluk_ was hard and fast within two hundred yards of her Tom Tiddler's ground, just over the promontory. If a thaw came, all should go well. If Lund had been deceived, and the true winter was setting in early, the prospects were far from cheerful, though no one seemed to think of that possibility. Beneath the glamour of the magic night, the weird paraselene of the moon's phenomenon, the glow of the volcano, the noises, the men whispered of one thing only--Gold! Dawn came before they were aware of it, a sudden rush of light that dyed the ice in every hue of red and orange, that tipped the frozen coast with bursts of ruby flame that flared like beacons and gilded the crests of the long swells, tinging all their world with a wild, unnatural glory. Lund, striding the deck, his red beard iced with his breath, suddenly stopped and stared into the east. There, in the very eye of the dawn, was a trail of smoke, like a plume against the flaming, three-quarters circle of the rising sun! CHAPTER XVI THE MIGHT OF NIPPON Lund's face, on which the bruises were fast fading, changed purple-black with rage. He whirled upon Sandy, gaping near, and ordered him to fetch his binoculars. Through them he stared long at the smoke. Then he turned to the girl and Rainey. "Come down inter the cabin," he said. "We'll need all our wits." "That's a gunboat patrol," he said. "Japanese, for a million! None other this far west. An' it's damned funny it should come up right at this minnit. We've made the trip on schedule time, an' here they show. But we'll let that slide. We've got to think fast. They'll board us. They'll overhaul us lookin' for seal pelts. At least, I hope so. "We've got none. Our hunters an' our rifles an' shotguns'll prove our claim to be pelagic sealers. We got to trust they believe us. If there was a hide aboard or a club, or a sign of a dead seal on the beaches they'd nail us. They may, ennyway, jest on suspicion. "They run things out this way with a high hand. If they ever clap us in prison it'll be where we can't let a peep out of us. A lot they worry about our consuls. They's too many good sealers dropped out of sight in one of their stinkin' jails to starve on millet an' dried, moldy fish. I know what I'm talkin' about. "It's lucky we didn't start mussin' up that beach. But they'll go over everything. I know 'em. They claim to own the seas hereabouts, an' they're cockier than ever, since the war. Rainey you got to git busy on the log. If yore father didn't keep it up, Miss Peggy, so much the better. If he has, you got to fake it someways, Rainey. "I'm Simms, get me, until we're clear of 'em. An' you, Rainey, are Doc Carlsen. Nothin' must show in the log about enny deaths." "But why?" asked the girl. "Why do we have to masquerade? If we haven't touched the seals?" Lund barked at her: "I gave you credit for sharper wits," he said. "We've got to have everything so reg'lar they can't find an excuse for haulin' us in an' settin' fire to the schooner. They'd do it in a jiffy. We got to show 'em our clearance papers, an' we've got to tally up all down the line. Rainey ain't on the ship's books--Carlsen is. Lund ain't, but Simms is. I'm Simms. An' you"--he stopped to grin at her--"you're my daughter. I'll dissolve the relationship after a while, I'll promise you that. An' I'll drill the men. They know what's ahead of 'em if the Japs git suspicious. "That ain't the worst of it! _They may know what we're after._ If they do, we're goners. Ever occur to you, Rainey, that Tamada, who is a deep one, may have tipped off the whole thing to his consul while the schooner was at San Francisco? He was along the last trip. He'd know the approximate position. Might have got the right figgers out o' the log, him havin' the run of the cabin. A cable would do the rest. He'd git his whack out of it, with the order of the Golden Chrysanthemum or some jig-arig to boot, an' git even with the way he feels to'ard our outfit for'ard, that ain't bin none too sweet to him." The suggestion held a foundation of conviction for Rainey. He had thought of the consul. He had always sensed depths in Tamada's reserve, he remembered bits of his talk, the "certain circumstances" that he had mentioned. It looked plausible. Lund rose. "I'll fix Tamada," he said. But the girl stopped him. "You don't _know_ that's true. Tamada has been wonderful--to me. What do you intend to do with him?" "I'll make up my mind between here and the galley," said Lund grimly. "This is my third time of tackling this island, an' no Jap is goin' to stand between me an' the gold, this trip. Why, even if he ain't blown on us, he'll give the whole thing away. If he didn't want to they'd make him come through if they laid their eyes on him. They've got more tricks than a Chinese mandarin to make a man talk. Stands to reason he'll tell 'em. If he can talk when they git here," he added ominously, standing half-way between the table and the door to the corridor, his hand opening and closing suggestively. "The crew'd settle his hash if I didn't. They ain't fools. They know what's ahead of 'em in Japan. You, Rainey, git busy with that log. That gunboat'll have a boat alongside this floe inside of ninety minnits." But Peggy Simms was between him and the door. "You shan't do it," she said, her eyes hard as flints, if Lund's were like steel. "You don't know what he was to me when--when dad was buried. Call him in and let him talk for himself or--or _I'll tell the Japanese myself what we have come for!_" Lund stood staring at her, his face hard, his beard thrust out like a bush with the jut of his jaw. Still she faced him, resolute, barely up to his shoulder, slim, defiant. Gradually his features crinkled into a grin. "I believe you would," he said at last. "An' I'd hate to fix you the way I would Tamada. But, mind you, if I don't git a definite promise out of him that rings true, I'll have to stow him somewheres, where they won't find him. An' that won't be on board ship." The girl's face softened. "You said you played fair," she said with a sigh of relief. She stepped to the door, opened it, and called for Tamada. The Japanese appeared almost instantly. Lund closed the door behind him and locked it. "You know there's a patrol comin' up, Tamada?" he asked. "A Jap patrol?" "Yes." "What do you intend tellin' 'em if they come on board?" "Nothing, if I can help it. I think I can. I am not friendly with Japanese government. It would be bad for me if they find me. One time I belong Progressive Party in Japan. I make much talk. Too much. The government say I am too progressive." Rainey imagined he caught a glint of humor in Tamada's eyes as he made his clipped syllables. "So, I leave my country. Suppose I go on steamer I think that government they stop me. I think even in California they may make trouble, if they find me. So I go in _sampan_. Sometimes Japanese cross to California in _sampan_." "That's right," said Rainey. He had handled more than one story of Japanese crews landing on some desolate portion of the coast to avoid immigration laws and steamer fares. Generally they were rounded up after their perilous, daring crossing of the Pacific. Tamada's story held the elements of truth. Even Lund nodded in reserved affirmation. "Also I ship on _Karluk_ as cook because of perhaps trouble if some one know me in San Francisco. I think much better if they do not see me. I have a plan. Also I want my share of gold. Suppose that gunboat find me, find out about gold, they will not give me reward. You do not know Japanese. They will put me in prison. It will be suggest to me, because I am of _daimio_ blood"--Tamada drew himself up slightly as he claimed his nobility--"that I make _hari-kari_. That I do not wish. I am Progressive. I much rather cook on board _Karluk_ and get my share of gold." Lund surveyed him moodily, half convinced. The girl was all eager approval. "What is your plan, Tamada?" "We're losin' time on that log," cut in Lund. "Git busy, Rainey. Look among Carlsen's stuff. He may have kept one. Dope up one of 'em, an' burn the other. Now then, Tamada, dope out yore scheme; it's got to be a good one." Both Lund and the girl were laughing when Rainey came out into the main cabin again with the records. Tamada had disappeared. "He's some fox," said Lund. "Miss Peggy, you better superintend the theatricals. It's got to be done right. Rainey, not to interrupt you, what do you know about enteric fever?" "Nothing." "Well, it's the same as typhoid. There'll be a surgeon aboard that gunboat. You got to bluff him. Say little an' look wise as an' owl. Don't let him mix in with yore patient." "My patient?" "Tamada! He's got enteric fever. If there's time he'll give you all the dope." "But I don't see how that--" "You will see when you see Tamada," Lund grinned. "How about them logs? Can you fix 'em?" "I think so." "Then hop to it. I'm goin' to wise up the men and arrange a reception committee. Don't forgit yore name's Carlsen, an' mine's Simms." Rainey wrote rapidly in his log, erasing, eliminating pages without trace, imitating the skipper's phrasing. Fortunately Simms had made scant entries at first and, later on, as the drug held him, none at all. Carlsen had kept no record that he could find. The girl had gone forward to aid with Tamada's plan which Lund had evidently accepted. Before he had quite finished he heard the tramp of men on deck and the blast of a steam whistle. He ended his task and went up to see the gunboat, gray and menacing, its brasses glistening, men on her decks at their tasks, oblivious of the schooner, and officers on her bridge watching the progress of a launch toward the floe. It made landing smartly, and a lieutenant, diminutive but highly effective in appearance, led six men toward the _Karluk_. He wore a sword and revolver; the men carried carbines. Their disciplined rank and smartness, the waiting launch, the gunboat in the offing, were ominous with the suggestion of power, the will to administer it. The officer in command carried his chin at an arrogant tilt. Lund had rigged a gangway and stood at the head of it, saluting the lieutenant as the latter snappily answered the greeting. Rainey found the girl and put a hurried question. "What about Tamada? Where is he? What's the plan?" She turned to him with eyes that danced with excitement. "He's in the galley, Doctor Carlsen. But he isn't Tamada any more. He's Jim Cuffee, nigger cook, sick with enteric fever, not to be disturbed." Rainey stared. It was a clever device, if Tamada could carry it out, and he bear his own part in the masquerade. The willingness of Tamada to risk the disguise was assurance of his fidelity. "Lund should have told me," he said. "I've got to change his name on the papers. It won't take a minute though; he doesn't appear in the log." The Japanese officer wasted no time on deck. For precaution, Rainey made his alteration in the skipper's cabin, leaving the log there on the built-in desk. "This is Lieutenant Ito, Doctor Carlsen," said Lund. "You want to see our papers, Lieutenant?" "My orders are to examine the schooner," said Ito, in English, even more perfect than Tamada's. His face was officially severe, though his slant eyes shifted constantly toward the girl. Evidently she was an unexpected feature of the visit. "I'll get the papers first," said Lund. "Doctor, you an' Peggy entertain the lieutenant." Rainey set out some whisky, which the Japanese refused, some cigars that he passed over with a motion of his hand. He sat down stiffly and ran through the papers. "We're pelagic, you know," said Lund. "We ain't trespassin' on purpose. Didn't even know you owned the island." "It is on our charts," said Ito crisply, as if that settled the right of dominion. "How did you come here at all?" "We was brought," said Lund. "Got froze in north o' Wrangell. Gale set us west as we come out o' the Strait. We're bound for Corwin. Nothin' contraband. All reg'lar. Six hunters, two damaged in the gale, though the doc's fixed 'em up. Twelve seamen, one boy, an' a nigger cook who's pizened himself with his own cookin'. Doc's bringin' him round, too, though he don't deserve it. Want to make yore inspection? We're in no hurry to git away until the ice melts. Take yore time." The little, dapper officer with his keen, high-cheeked face, and his shoe-brush hair, got up and bowed, with a side glance at Peggy Simms. "It is not usual for young ladies to be so far north." His endeavor at gallantry was obvious. "I am with my father," said the girl, looking at Rainey, enjoying the situation. "Where I go she goes," said Lund. And looked in turn at her with relish in his double suggestion. He, too, was playing the game, gambling, believing in his luck, reckless, now he had set the board. They passed through the corridor. Lund opened up the strong-room, and then the galley. It was orderly, and there was a moaning figure in Tamada's bunk, a tossing figure with a head bound in a red bandanna above the black face and neck that showed above the blankets. The eyes were closed. The black hands, showing lighter palms, plucked at the coverings. "Delirious," said Lund. "Serves him right. He's a rotten cook." "Have you all the medicines you need?" asked Ito. "I can send our surgeon." "I can manage," returned Rainey, _alias_ Carlsen. "It's enteric. I've reduced the fever." They passed on through the hunters' quarters. The girl fell behind with Rainey. "A good make-up and a good actor," she whispered. "I helped him to be sure he covered everything that would show. It was my idea about the bandanna. Just what a sick negro might wear, and it hid his straight hair." The lieutenant appeared fairly satisfied, but requested that Lund go on board his ship. He stayed there until sundown, returning in hilarious mood. "We've slipped it over on 'em this time," he said. "I left 'em aswim with _sake_, an' bubblin' over with polite regrets. But they'll be back in three weeks, they said, if the ice is open. An', if the luck holds, we'll be out of it. I don't want them searchin' the ship ag'in." He slapped Tamada on the back as he came to serve supper after Sandy had laid the table. "A reg'lar vodeville skit," he exclaimed. "You're some actor, Tamada! But why didn't you say the island was down on their charts? They've even got a name for it. Hiyama." "It means hot mountain," said Tamada. "The government names many islands." "You can bet yore life they do," said Lund. "They're smart, but they overlooked that beach an' they've given us three weeks to cash in." Lund himself had imbibed enough of the _sake_ to make him loose of tongue, added to his elation at the success he had achieved. The gunboat was gone on its patrol, and he had a free hand. He half filled a glass with whisky. "Here's to luck," he cried. And spilled a part of the liquor on the floor before he set the glass to his lips. "Here's to you, Doc," he added. "An' to Peggy!" He rolled eyes that were a trifle bloodshot at the girl. "Our relations have gone back as usual, Mr. Lund," she said quietly. Lund glared at her half truculently. "I'm agreeable," he said. "As a daughter, I disown you from now on, Miss Peggy. Here's to ye, jest the same!" CHAPTER XVII MY MATE From the day following the arrival and departure of the Japanese gunboat, they attacked the little U-shaped beach that lay between two buttresses of the volcano and sloped sharply down to the sea. Twenty-one men, a lad and a woman, they went at the despoiling of it with a sort of obsession, led, rather than driven, by Lund, who worked among the rest of them like a Hercules. From the beginning the tongue of shingle promised to be almost incredibly rich. Between these two spurs of mountain the tide had washed and flung the rich, free-flaking gold of a submarine vein, piling it up for unguessable years. Ebb tides had worked it in among the gravel, floods had beaten it down; the deeper they went to bedrock, the richer the pan. The men's fancy estimate of a million dollars began speedily to seem small as the work progressed, systematically stripping the rocky floor of all its shingle, foot by foot, and cubic yard by cubic yard, cradling it in crude rockers, fluming it, vaporizing the amalgam of gold and mercury, and adding pound after pound of virgin gold to the sacks in the schooner's strong-room. They worked at first in alternating shifts of four hours, by day and night, under the sun, the moon, the stars and the flaming aurora. The crust was drilled here and there where it had frozen into conglomerate, and exploded by dynamite, carefully placed so as not to dislodge the masses of ice that overhung the schooner. Fires to thaw out the ground were unavailable for sheer lack of fuel; there was no driftwood between these forestless shores. What fuel could be spared was conserved for use under the boilers that melted ice to provide water for the cradles and flumes, and help to cook the meals that Tamada prepared out-of-doors for the workers. Buckets of coffee, stews, and thick soups of peas and lentils, masses of beans with plenty of fat pork, these were what they craved after hours of tremendous endeavor. Despite the cold, they sweated profusely at their tasks, stripping off over-garments as they picked and shoveled or crowbarred out the rich gravel. Peggy Simms worked with the rest, assisting Tamada, helping to serve with Sandy. Deming, and Beale, the man with the damaged ribs, were given odd jobs that they could handle: feeding the fires, washing up, or assisting at the little forge where the drills were sharpened. Through all of it Lund was supreme as working superintendent. There was no job that he could not, did not, handle better than any two of them, and, though Rainey could see a shrinkage, or a compression, of his bulk as day by day he called upon it for heroic service, he never seemed to tire. "Got to keep 'em at it," he would say in the cabin. "No time to lose, an' the odds all against us, in a way. Barring Luck. That's what we got to count on, but we don't want them thinkin' that. If the weather don't break--an' break jest right--as soon as we've cleaned up, we're stung. Though I'll blast a way out of this shore ice, if it comes to the worst. I saved out some dynamite on purpose." "We ought to have brought a steam-shovel along," said Rainey. He was hard as iron, but he had served a tough apprenticeship to labor, and his hands and nails, he fancied, would never get into shape again. "Now you're talkin'," agreed Lund. "We c'ud have handled it in fine shape an' left the machine behind as junk or a souvenir for our Jap friends. We've got to cut out this four-hour shift. Too much time wasted changin'. Too many meals. We'll make it one long, steady shift of all hands long as we can stand up to it, an' all git reg'lar sleep. I'm needin' some myself." Rainey knew that neither he nor Hansen got within two-thirds as much out of their shifts as when Lund was in command, though he had given them the pick of the men. It was not that the men malingered, they simply, neither of them, had the knack of keeping the work going at top speed and top effectiveness. But, with Lund handling all of them as a unit, it was not long before the shovels began to scrape on the bare rock that underlay the gravel at tide edge, and work swiftly back to the end of the U. The outdoors kitchen had been established on top of the promontory between the schooner and the beach, a primitive arrangement of big pots slung from tripods over fires kindled on a flat area that was partly sheltered from the sea and the prevailing winds by outcrops of weathered lava. At dawn the men trooped from the schooner to be fed and warmed, and then they flung themselves at their task. The more they got out the more there was in it for them. But Lund was their overlord, their better, and they knew it. Only Deming worked with one hand the handle of the forge bellows, or fed the fires, and sneered. Lund stood a full head above the tallest of them, which was Rainey, and he was always in the thick of the work, directing, demanding the utmost, and setting example to back command. His eyes had bothered him, and he had made a pair of Arctic snow-glasses, mere circles of wood with slits in them. But under these the sweat gathered, and he discarded them, resorting to the primitive device of smearing soot all about his eyes. This, he said, gave him relief, but it made him a weird sort of Caliban in his labors. On the fifteenth day, with the work better than half done, with more than a ton of actual gold in colors, that ranged from flour dust to nuggets, in the strong-room, the weather began to change. It misted continually, and Lund, rejoicing, prophesied the breaking up of the cold snap. By the eighteenth day a regular Chinook was blowing, melting the sharper outlines of the icy crags and pinnacles, and providing streams of moisture that, in the nights now gradually growing longer, glazed every yard of rock with peril. The men worked in a muck with their rubber sea-boots worn out by constant chafing, sweaters torn, the blades of their shovels reduced by the work demanded of them, the drills, shortened by steady sharpening, gone like the spare flesh of the laborers, who, at last, began to show signs of quicker and quicker exhaustion with occasional mutterings of discontent, while Lund, intent only upon cleaning off the rock as a dentist cleans a crumbling tooth, coaxed and cursed, blamed and praised and bullied, and did the actual work of three of them. Dead with fatigue, filled with food, drowsy from the liberal grog allowance at the end of the day, the men slept in a torpor every night and showed less and less inclination to respond, though the end of their labors was almost in sight. "What's the use, we got enough," was the comment beginning to be heard more and more frequently. "Lund, he's got more'n he can spend in a lifetime!" Rainey could not trace these mutterings to Deming's instigation, but he suspected the hunter. There was no poker; all hands were too tired for play. The ice in which the schooner was packed began to show signs of disintegration. The surface rotted by day and froze again by night and this destroyed its compactness. If the sun's arc above the horizon had been longer, its rays more vertical, the ice must infallibly have melted and freed the _Karluk_, for it was salt-water ice, and there were times when the thermometer stayed above its freezing point for two or three hours around noon. Lund gave the holding floe scant attention. So long as the present weather kept up he declared that he could dynamite his way out inside of four hours. The effect of all this on Rainey was a bit bewildering. He was judging life by new standards far apart from his own modes and, though he, too, worked with a will, and rejoiced in the freer effort of his muscles, the result comparing favorably with the best of the others--save Lund--he could not assimilate the general conditions. They were too purely physical, he told himself; he missed his old habits, the reading and discussion of books, new and old, the good restaurants of San Francisco, and the chat he had been used to hold over their tables, companionable, witty, the exchange and stimulation of ideas. He missed the theaters, the concerts, the passing show of well-dressed women, a hodge-podge of flesh-pots and mental uplift. He got to dreaming of these things nights. Daytimes, he saw plainly that, in this environment at least, Lund was big, and the rest of them comparatively small. He believed that Lund could actually form a little kingdom of his own, as he had suggested, and make a success of it. But it would not be a kingdom that fostered the arts. It would cultivate the sciences, or at least encourage them and adopt results as applied to land development, and, if necessary, the defense of the kingdom. Lund would be a figure in war and peace, peace of the practical sort, the kind of peace that went with plenty. He was no dreamer, but a utilitarian. Perhaps, after all, the world most needed such men just now. As for Peggy Simms, she did not lose the polish of her culture, she was always feminine, even dainty at times, despite her work, that could not help but be coarse to a certain extent. She was full of vigor, she showed unexpected strength, she was a source of encouragement to the men as she waited on them. And also a source of undisguised admiration, all of which she shed as a duck sheds water. She was filled with abounding health, she moved with a free grace that held the eye and lingered in the mind. She was eminently a woman, and she also was big. Rainey gained an increasing respect in her prowess, and a swift conversion to the equality of the sexes. There were times when he doubted his own equality. Had she met him on his own ground, in his own realm of what he considered vaguely as culture, he would have known a mastery that he now lacked. As it was, she averaged higher, and she had an attraction of sex that was compelling. Here was a girl who would demand certain standards in the man with whom she would mate, not merely accompany through life. There were times when Rainey felt irresistibly the charm of her as a woman, longed for her in the powerful sex reactions that inevitably follow hard labor. There were times when he felt that she did not consider that he measured up to her gages, and he would strive to change the atmosphere, to dominate the situation in which Lund was the greater figure of the two men. The rivalry that Lund had suggested between them as regards the girl, Rainey felt almost thrust upon him. There were moods which Peggy Simms turned to him for sharing, but there was scant time in the waking hours for love-making, or even its consideration. Lund was centered on one achievement, the gold harvest. He ordered the girl with the rest; there were even times when he reprimanded her, while Rainey burned with the resentment she apparently did not share. A little before dawn on the eighteenth day of the work upon the beach, Lund was out upon the floe examining the condition of the ice. He had declared that two days more of hard endeavor would complete their labors. What dirt remained at the end of that time they would transship. Rainey had joined the girl and Tamada at the cook fires. The sky was bright with the aurora borealis that would pale before the sun. The men were not yet out of their bunks. They were bone and muscle tired, and Rainey doubted whether Lund, gaunt and lean himself, could get two days of top work out of them. Near the fires for the cooking, the melting of water and the forge, that were kept glowing all night, the tools were stacked, to help preserve their temper. The aurora quivered in varying incandescence as Rainey watched Lund prodding at the floe ice with a steel bar. The girl was busy with the coffee, and Tamada was compounding two pots of stew and bubbling peas pudding for the breakfast, food for heat and muscle making. Sandy appeared on deck and came swiftly over the side of the vessel and up the worn trail to the fires. He showed excitement, Rainey fancied, sure of it as the lad got within speaking distance. "Where is Mr. Lund?" he panted. Rainey pointed to Lund, now examining a crack that had opened up in the floe, a possible line of exit for the _Karluk_, later on. The men were beginning to show on the schooner. They, too, he noted somewhat idly, acted differently this morning. Usually they were sluggish until they had eaten, sleepy and indifferent until the coffee stimulated them, and Lund took up this stimulus and fanned it to a flame of work. This morning they walked differently, abnormally active. "They're drunk, an' they're goin' on strike," said Sandy. "You know the big demijohn in the lazaretto?" Rainey nodded. It was a two-handled affair holding five gallons, a reserve supply of strong rum from which Lund dispensed the grog allowances and stimulations for extra work toward the end of the shift, the night-caps and occasional rewards. "They've swiped it," he said. "Put an empty one from the hold in its place. We got plenty without usin' that one for a while, an' I only happened to notice it this morning by chance. They've bin drinkin' all night, I reckon. They're ugly, Mr. Rainey. It's the crew this time. They got the booze. The hunters are sober. Deming ain't in on this. They did it on their own. I don't know how they got it. I didn't get it for 'em, sir. They must have worked plumb through the hold an' got to it that way." "All right, Sandy. Thanks. Mr. Lund can handle them, I guess. He's coming now." The men had got to the ice, hidden from Lund, who was walking to the _Karluk_ on the opposite side of the vessel. The seamen were gesticulating freely; the sound of their voices came up to him where he stood, tinged with a new freedom of speech, rough, confident, menacing. As they climbed the trail their legs betrayed them and confirmed the boy's story. Behind them came the four hunters, with Hansen, walking apart, watching the sailors with a certain gravity that communicated itself despite the distance. Lund showed at the far rail of the schooner with his bar. He glanced toward the men going to work, went below, and came up with a sweater. He had left the bar behind him in the cabin, where it was used for a stove poker. The men filed by Rainey, their faces flushed and their eyes unusually bright. They seemed to share a prime joke that wanted to bubble up and over, yet held a restraint upon themselves that was eased by digs in one another's ribs, in laughs when one stumbled or hiccoughed. But Hansen was stolid as ever, and the hunters had evidently not shared the stolen liquor. Only Deming's eyes roved over the group of men as they gathered round for their cups and pannikins of food. He seemed to be calculating what advantage he could gain out of this unexpected happening. Peggy Simms, under cover of pouring the coffee, sweetened heavily with condensed milk, found time to speak to Rainey. "They're all drunk," she said. "Not all of them. Here comes Lund. He'll handle it." Lund seemed still pondering the problem of the floe. At first he did not notice the condition of the sailors. Then he apparently ignored it. But, after they had eaten, he talked to all the men. "Two more days of it, lads, and we're through. The beach is nigh cleared. We can git out of the floe to blue water easy enough, an' we'll git a good start on the patrol-ship. We'll go back with full pockets an' heavy ones. The shares'll be half as large again as we've figgered. I wouldn't wonder if they averaged sixteen or seventeen thousand dollars apiece." Rainey had picked out a black-bearded Finn as the leader of the sailors in their debauch. The liquor seemed to have unchained in him a spirit of revolt that bordered on insolence. He stood with his bowed legs apart, mittened hands on hips, staring at Lund with a covert grin. Next to Lund he was the biggest man aboard. With the rum giving an unusual coordination to his usually sluggish nervous system, he promised to be a source of trouble. Rainey was surprised to see him shrug his shoulders and lead the way to the beach. Perhaps breakfast had sobered them, though the fumes of liquor still clung cloudily on the air. Lund went down, with Rainey beside him, reporting Sandy. "I'll work it out of 'em," said Lund. "That booze'll be an expensive luxury to 'em, paid for in hard labor." They found the men ranged up in three groups. Deming and Beale, against custom, had gone down to the beach. They were supposed to help clean the food utensils, and aid Tamada after a meal, besides replenishing the fires. They stood a little away from the hunters and Hansen and the sailors. The Finn, talking to his comrades in a low growl, was with a separate group. There was an air of defiance manifest, a feeling of suspense in the tiny valley, backed by the frowning cone, ribbed by the two icy promontories. Lund surveyed them sharply. "What in hell's the matter with you?" he barked. "Hansen, send up a man for the drills an' shovels. Yore work's laid out; hop to it!" "We ain't goin' to work no more," said the Finn aggressively. "Not fo' no sich wage like you give." "Oh, you ain't, ain't you?" mocked Lund. He was standing with Rainey in the middle of the space they had cleared of gravel, the seamen lower down the beach, nearer the sea, their ranks compacted. "Why, you booze-bitten, lousy hunky, what in hell do you want? You never saw twenty dollars in a lump you c'u'd call yore own for more'n ten minnits. You boardin'-house loafer an' the rest of you scum o' the seven seas, git yore shovels an' git to diggin', or I'll put you ashore in San Francisco flat broke, an' glad to leave the ship, at that. _Jump!_" The Finn snarled, and the rest stood firm. Not one of them knew the real value of their promised share. Money represented only counters exchanged for lodging, food and drink enough to make them sodden before they had spent even their usual wages. Then they would wake to find the rest gone, and throw themselves upon the selfish bounty of a boarding-house keeper. But they had seen the gold, they had handled it, and they were inflamed by a sense of what it ought to do for them. Perhaps half of them could not add a simple sum, could not grasp figures beyond a thousand, at most. And the sight of so much gold had made it, in a manner, cheap. It was there, a heap of it, and they wanted more of that shining heap than had been promised them. "You talk big," said the Finn. "Look my hands." He showed palms calloused, split, swollen lumps of chilblained flesh worn down and stiffened. "I bin seaman, not goddam navvy." Lund turned to the hunters. "You in on this?" he asked. Deming and Beale moved off. Two of the others joined them. "Neutral?" sneered Lund. "I'll remember that." Hansen and the two remaining came over beside Lund and Rainey. "Five of us," said Lund. "Five men against twelve fo'c'sle rats. I'll give you two minnits to start work." "You talk big with yore gun in pocket," said the Finn. "Me good man as you enny day." Lund's face turned dark with a burst of rage that exploded in voice and action. "You think I need my gun, do ye, you pack of rats? Then try it on without it." His hand slid to his holster inside his heavy coat. His arm swung, there was a streak of gleaming metal in the lifting sun-rays, flying over the heads of the seamen. It plunked in the free water beyond the ice. "Come on," roared Lund, "or I'll rush you to the first bath you've had in five years." The Finn lowered his head, and charged; the rest followed their leader. The hot food had steadied their motive control to a certain extent, they were firmer on their feet, less vague of eye, but the crude alcohol still fumed in their brains. Without it they would never have answered the Finn's call to rebellion. He had promised, and their drunken minds believed, that refusing in a mass to work would automatically halt things until they got their "rights." They had not expected an open fight. The spur of alcohol had thrust them over the edge, given them a swifter flow of their impoverished blood, a temporary confidence in their own prowess, a mock valor that answered Lund's contemptuous challenge. Lund, thought Rainey, had done a foolhardy thing in tossing away his gun. It was magnificent, but it was not war. Pure bravado! But he had scant time for thinking. Lund tossed him a scrap of advice. "Keep movin'! Don't let 'em crowd you!" Then the fight was joined. The girl leaned out from the promontory to watch the tourney. Tamada, impassive as ever, tended his fires. Sandy crept down to the beach, drawn despite his will, and shuffled in and out, irresolute, too weak to attempt to mix in, but excited, eager to help. Deming, Beale, and the two neutral hunters, stood to one side, waiting, perhaps, to see which way the fight went, reserves for the apparent victor. The Finn, best and biggest of the sailors, rushed for Lund, his little eyes red with rage, crazy with the desire to make good his boast that he was as good as Lund. In his barbaric way he was somewhat of a dancer, and his legs were as lissome as his arms. He leaped, striking with fists and feet. Lund met him with a fierce upper-cut, short-traveled, sent from the hip. His enormous hand, bunched to a knuckly lump of stone, knocked the Finn over, lifting him, before he fell with his nose driven in, its bone shattered, his lips broken like overripe fruit, and his discolored teeth knocked out. He landed on his back, rolling over and over, to lie still, half stunned, while two more sprang for Lund. Lund roared with surprise and pain as one caught his red beard and swung to it, smiting and kicking. He wrapped his left arm about the man, crushing him close up to him, and, as the other came, diving low, butting at his solar plexus, the giant gripped him by the collar, using his own impetus, and brought the two skulls together with a thud that left them stunned. The two dropped from Lund's relaxed arms like sacks, and he stepped over them, alert, poised on the balls of his feet, letting out a shout of triumph, while he looked about him for his next adversary. The bedrock on which they fought was slippery where ice had formed in the crevices. Two seamen tackled Hansen. He stopped the curses of one with a straight punch to his mouth, but the man clung to his arm, bearing it down. Hansen swung at the other, and the blow went over the shoulder as he dodged, but Hansen got him in chancery, and the three, staggering, swearing, sliding, went down at last together, with Hansen underneath, twisting one's neck to shut off his wind while he warded off the wild blows of the second. With a wild heave he got on all-fours, and then Lund, roaring like a bull as he came, tore off a seaman and flung him headlong. "Pound him, Hansen!" he shouted, his eyes hard with purpose, shining like ice that reflects the sun, his nostrils wide, glorying in the fight. The Finn had got himself together a bit, wiping the gouts of blood from his face and spitting out the snags of his broken teeth. He drew a knife from inside his shirt, a long, curving blade, and sidled, like a crab, toward Lund, murder in his piggy, bloodshot eyes, waiting for a chance to slip in and stab Lund in the back, calling to a comrade to help him. "Come on," he called, "Olsen, wit' yore knife. Gut the swine!" Another blade flashed out, and the pair advanced, crouching, knees and bodies bent. Lund backed warily toward the opposite cliff, looking for a loose rock fragment. He had forbidden knives to the sailors since the mutiny, and had forced a delivery, but these two had been hidden. A knife to the Finn was a natural accessory. Only his drunken frenzy had made him try to beat Lund at his own game. One of the two hunters, lamed with a kick on the knee, howling with the pain, clinched savagely and bore the seaman down, battering his head against a knob of rock. The other friendly hunter had bashed and buffeted his opponent to submission. But Rainey was in hard case. A seaman, half Mexican, flew at him like a wildcat. Rainey struck out, and his fists hit at the top of the breed's head without stopping him. Then he clinched. The Mexican was slippery as an eel. He got his arms free, his hands shot up, and his thumbs sought the inner corners of Rainey's eyes. The sudden, burning anguish was maddening and he drove his clasped fists upward, wedging away the drilling fingers. Two hands clawed at his shoulders from behind. Some one sprang fairly on his back. A knee thrust against his spine. The agony left him helpless, the vertebræ seemed about to crack. Strength and will were shut off, and the world went black. And then one of the hunters catapulted into the struggle, and the four of them went down in a maddened frenzy of blows and stifled shouts. The sailors fought like beasts, striving for blows barred by all codes of decency and fair play, intent to maim. Lund had got his shoulders against the rocks and stood with open hands, watching the two with their knives, who crept in, foot by foot, to make a finish. Peggy Simms, a strand of her pale yellow hair whipped loose, flung it out of her eyes as she stood on the edge of the cliff, her lips apart, her breasts rising stormily, watching; her features changing with the tide of battle as it surged beneath her, punctuated with muffled shouts and wind-clipped oaths. She saw Lund at bay, and snatched out her pistol. But the distance was too great. She dared not trust her aim. Sandy, dancing in and out, willing but helpless, bound by fear and lack of muscle, saw Deming, followed by Beale, stealing up the trail, unnoticed by the girl, who leaned far forward, watching the fight, her eyes on Lund and the two creeping closer with their knives, cautious but determined. Tamada stood farther back and could not see them. The lad's wits, sharpened by his forecastle experience, surmised what Deming and Beale were after as they gained the promontory flat and ran toward the fires. "Hey!" he shrilled. "Look out; they're after the tools!" Deming's hand was stretched toward a shovel, its worn steel scoop sharp as a chisel. Beale was a few feet behind him. They were going to toss the shovels and drills down to the seamen. Tamada turned. His face did not change, but his eyes gleamed as he thrust a dipper in the steaming remnants of the pea-soup and flung the thick blistering mass fair in Deming's face. At the same moment the girl's pistol cracked with a stab of red flame. Beale dropped, shot in the neck, close to the collarbone, twisting like a scotched snake, rolling down the trail to the beach again. Deming, howling like a scorched devil, clawed with one hand at the sticky mass that masked him as he ran blind, wild with pain. He tripped, clutched, and lost his hold, slid on a plane of icy lava, smooth as glass, struck a buttress that sent him off at a tangent down the face of the cliff, bounding from impact with an outthrust elbow of the rock, whirling into space, into the icy turmoil of the waves, flooding into the inlet. Peggy Simms fled down the trail with a steel drill in either hand, straight across the beach toward Lund. The Finn turned on her with a snarl and a side-swipe of his knife, but she leaped aside, dodged the other slow-foot, and thrust a drill at Lund, who grasped it with a cry of exultation, swinging it over his head as if it had been a bamboo. Hansen had shaken off his men, and came leaping in for the second drill. The knife fell tinkling on the frozen rock as Lund smashed the wrist of the Finn. The girl's gun made the second would-be stabber throw up his hands while Hansen snatched his weapon, flung it over the farther cliff, and knocked the seaman to the ground before he joined Lund, charging the rest, who fled before the sight of them and the threat of the bars of steel. Lund laughed loud, and stopped striking, using the drill as a goad, driving them into a huddled horde, like leaderless sheep, knee-deep, thigh-deep, into the water, where they stopped and begged for mercy while Hansen turned to put a finish to the separate struggles. It ended as swiftly as it had begun. One hunter could barely stand for his kicked knee, Rainey's back was strained and stiffening, Lund had lost a handful of his beard, and Hansen's cheek was laid open. On the other side the casualties were more severe. Deming was drowned, his body flung up by the tide, rolling in the swash. Beale was coughing blood, though not dangerously wounded. The Finn was crying over his broken wrist, all the fight out of him. Ribs were sore where not splintered from the drills, and the two bumped by Lund sat up with sorely aching heads. The courage inspired by the liquor was all gone; oozed, beaten out of them. They were cowed, demoralized, whipped. Lund took swift inventory, lining them up as they came timorously out of the water or straggled against the cliff at his order. Tamada had come down from the fires. Peggy had told of his share, and Sandy's timely shout. Lund nodded at him in a friendly manner. "You're a white man, Tamada," he said. "You, too, Sandy. I'll not forget it. Rainey, round up these derelicts an' help Tamada fix 'em up. I'll settle with 'em later. Hansen, put the rest of 'em to work, an' keep 'em to it! Do you hear? They got to do the work of the whole bunch." They went willingly enough, limping, nursing their bruises, while Hansen, his stolidity momentarily vanished in the rush of the fight and not yet regained, exhibited an unusual vocabulary as he bossed them. Lund turned to the two hunters, who had stood apart. "Wal, you yellow-bellied neutrals," he said, his voice cold and his eyes hard. "Thought I might lose, and hoped so, didn't you? Pick up that skunk Beale an' tote him aboard. Then come back an' go to work. You'll git yore shares, but you'll not git what's comin' to those who stood by. Now git out of my sight. You can bury That when you come back." He nodded at the sodden corpse of Deming, flung up on the grit. "You can take yore pay as grave-diggers out of what you owe him at poker. He ain't goin' to collect this trip." Rainey, lame and sore, helped Tamada patch up the wounded, turning the hunters' quarters into a sick bay, using the table for operation. Beale was the worst off, but Tamada pronounced him not vitally damaged. After he had finished with them he insisted upon Rainey's lying, face down, on the table, stripped to the waist, while he rubbed him with oil and then kneaded him. Once he gave a sudden, twisting wrench, and Rainey saw a blur of stars as something snapped into place with a click. "I think you soon all right, now," said Tamada. "You and Miss Simms turned the tide," said Rainey. "If they'd got those tools first they'd have finished us in short order." "Fools!" said Tamada. "Suppose they kill Lund, how they get away? No one to navigate. Presently the gunboat would find them. I think Mr. Lund will maybe trust me now," he said quietly. "What do you mean?" "Mr. Lund think in the back of his head I arrange for that gunboat to come. He can not understand how they know the schooner at island. He think to come jus' this time too much curious, I think." "It was a bit of a coincidence." Tamada shrugged his shoulders slightly. "I think Japanese government know all that goes on in North Polar region," he said. "There is wireless station on Wrangell Island. We pass by that pretty close." Rainey chewed that information as he put on his clothes, wondering if they had seen the last of the gunboat. They would have to pass south through Bering Strait. It would be easy to overhaul them, halt them, search the schooner, confiscate the gold. They were not out of trouble yet. When he went into the cabin to replace his torn coat--he had hardly a button intact above the waist, from jacket to undershirt--he found the girl there with Lund. Apparently, they had just come in. Peggy Simms, with face aglow with the excitement that had not subsided, was proffering Lund her pistol. "Keep it," he said. "You may need it. I've got mine." "But you threw it into the water. I saw you." "No," He laughed. "That wasn't my gun. They thought it was. I wanted to bring the thing to grips. But I wasn't fool enough to chuck away my gun. That was a wrench I was usin' this mornin' to fix the cabin stove--looks jest like an ottermatic. I stuck it in my inside pocket. I was ha'f a mind to shoot when they showed their knives, but I didn't want to use my gun on that mess of hash." He stood tall and broad above her, looking down at the face that was raised to his. Rainey, unnoticed as yet, saw her eyes bright with admiration. "You are a wonderful fighter," she said softly. "Wonderful? What about you? A man's woman! You saved the day. Comin' to me with them drills. An' we licked 'em. We. God!" He swept her up into his arms, lifting her in his big hands, making no more of her than if she had been a feather pillow, up till her face was on a level with his, pressing her close, while in swift, indignant rage she fought back at him, striking futilely while he held her, kissed her, and set her down as Rainey sprang forward. Lund seemed utterly unconscious of the girl's revulsion. "Comin' to me with the drills!" he said. "We licked 'em. You an' me together. My woman!" Peggy Simms had leaped back, her eyes blazing. Lund came for her, his face lit with the desire of her, arms outspread, hands open. Before Rainey could fling himself between them, the girl had snatched the little pistol that Lund had set on the table and fired point-blank. She seemed to have missed, though Lund halted, his mouth agape, astounded. "You big bully!" said Rainey. Now that the time had come he found that he was not afraid of Lund, of his gun, of his strength. "Play fair, do you? Then show it! You asked me once why I didn't make love to her. I told you. But you, you foul-minded bully! All you think of is your big body, to take what it wants. "Peggy. Will you marry me? I can protect you from this hulking brute. If it's to be a show-down between you and me," he flared at Lund, still gazing as if stupefied, "let it come now. Peggy?" The girl, tears on her cheeks that were born from the sobs of anger that had shaken her, swung on him. "You?" she said, and Rainey wilted under the scorn in her voice. "Marry you?" She began to laugh hysterically, trying to check herself. "I didn't mean you enny harm," said Lund slowly, addressing Peggy. "Why, I wouldn't harm you, gal. You're my woman. You come to me. I was jest--jest sorter swept off my bearin's. Why," he turned to Rainey, his voice down-pitching to a growl of angry contempt, "you pen-shovin' whippersnapper, I c'ud break you in ha'f with one hand. You ain't her breed. But"--his voice changed again--"if it's a show-down, all right. "If I was to fight you, over her, I'd kill you. D'ye think I don't respect a good gal? D'ye think I don't know how to love a gal right? She's _my_ mate. Not yours. But it's up to you, Peggy Simms. I didn't mean to insult you. An' if you want him--why, it's up to you to choose between the two of us." She went by Rainey as if he had not existed, straight into Lund's arms, her face radiant, upturned. "It's you I love, Jim Lund," she said. "A man. _My_ man." As her arms went round his neck she gave a little cry. "I wounded you," she said, and the tender concern of her struck Rainey to the quick. "Quick, let me see." "Wounded, hell!" laughed Lund. "D'ye think that popgun of yores c'ud stop me? The pellet's somewheres in my shoulder. Let it bide. By God, yo're my woman, after all. Lund's Luck!" Rainey went up on deck with that ringing in his ears. His humiliation wore off swiftly as he crossed back toward the beach. By the time he crossed the promontory he even felt relieved at the outcome. He was not in love with her. He had known that when he intervened. He had not even told her so. His chivalry had spoken--not his heart. And his thoughts strayed back to California. The other girl, Diana though she was, would never, in almost one breath, have shot and kissed the man she loved. A lingering vision of Peggy Simms' beauty as she had gone to Lund remained and faded. "Lund's right," he told himself. "She's not of my breed." CHAPTER XVIII LUND'S LUCK Lund glanced at the geyser of spray where the shell from the pursuing gunboat had fallen short, and then at the bank of mist ahead. They were in the narrows of Bering Strait, between the Cape of Charles and Prince Edward's Point, the gold aboard, a full wind in their sails, making eleven knots to the gunboat's fifteen. It was mid-afternoon, three hours since they had seen smoke to the north and astern of them. Either the patrol had found them gone from the island, freed by blasting from the floe, and followed on the trail full speed, or the wireless from some Japanese station on the Tchukchis coast had told of their homing flight. The great curtain of fog was a mile ahead. The last shell had fallen two hundred yards short. Five minutes more would settle it. Hansen had the wheel. Lund stood by the taffrail, his arm about Peggy Simms. He shook a fist at the gunboat, vomiting black smoke from her funnel, foam about her bows. "We'll beat 'em yet," he cried. The next shell, with more elevation, whined parallel with them, sped ahead, and smashed into the waves. "Hold yore course, Hansen! No time to zigzag. Got to chance it. Damn it, they know how to shoot!" A missile had gone plump through main and foresails, leaving round holes to mark the score. Another fairly struck the main topmast, and some splinters came rattling down, while the remnants of the top-sail flapped amid writhing ends of halyard and sheet. They entered the beginning of the fog, curling wisps of it reached out, twining over the bowsprint and headsails, enveloping the foremast, swallowing the schooner as a hurtling shell crashed into the stern. The next instant the mist had sheltered them. Lund released the girl and jumped to the wheel. "Now then," he shouted, "we'll fool 'em!" He gripped the spokes, and the men ran to the sheets at command while the _Karluk_ shot off at right angles to her previous course, skirting the fog that blanketed the wind but yet allowed sufficient breeze to filter through to give them headway, gliding like a ghost on the new tack to the east. Rainey, tense from the explosion of the shell, jumped below at last and came back exultant. "It was a dud, Lund!" he shouted. "Or else they didn't want to blow us up on account of the gold. But they've wrecked the cabin. The fog's coming in through the hole they made. Tamada's galley's gone. It's raked the schooner!" "So long's it's above the water line, to hell with it! We'll make out. Listen to the fools. They've gone in after us, straight on." The booming of the gunboat's forward battery sounded aft of them, dulled by the fog--growing fainter. "Lund's luck! We've dodged 'em!" "They'll be waiting for us at the passes," said Rainey. "They've got the speed on us." "Let 'em wait. To blazes with the Aleutians! Ready again there for a tack! Sou'-east now. We'll work through this till we git to the wind ag'in. It's all blue water to the Seward Peninsula. We're bound for Nome." "For Nome?" asked Peggy Simms. "Nome, Peggy! An American port. The nearest harbor. An' the nearest preacher!" THE END 
44499	----	THE WRECK OF THE "GROSVENOR." THE WRECK OF THE "GROSVENOR:" AN ACCOUNT OF _THE MUTINY OF THE CREW AND THE LOSS OF THE SHIP_ WHEN TRYING TO MAKE THE BERMUDAS. _IN THREE VOLUMES._ VOL. III. LONDON: SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE & RIVINGTON, CROWN BUILDINGS, 188, FLEET STREET. 1877. (_All rights reserved._) LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS. THE WRECK OF THE "GROSVENOR." CHAPTER I. Our next job was to man the port-braces and bring the ship to a westerly course. But before we went to this work the boatswain and I stood for some minutes looking at the appearance of the sky. The range of cloud which had been but a low-lying and apparently a fugitive bank in the north-west at midnight, was now so far advanced as to project nearly over our heads, and what rendered its aspect more sinister was the steely colour of the sky, which it ruled with a line, here and there rugged, but for the most part singularly even, right from the confines of the north-eastern to the limits of the south-western horizon. All the central portion of this vast surface of cloud was of a livid hue, which, by a deception of the eye, made it appear convex, and at frequent intervals a sharp shower of arrowy lightning whizzed from that portion of it furthest away from us, but as yet we could hear no thunder. "When the rain before the wind, then your topsail halliards mind," chaunted the boatswain. "There's rather more nor a quarter o' an inch o' rain there, and there's something worse nor rain astern of it." The gloomiest feature of this approaching tempest, if such it were, was the slowness, at once mysterious and impressive, of its approach. I was not, however, to be deceived by this into supposing that, because it had taken nearly all night to climb the horizon, there was no wind behind it. I had had experience of a storm of this kind, and remembered the observations of one of the officers of the ship, when speaking of it. "Those kind of storms," he said, "are not driven by wind, but create it. They keep a hurricane locked up in their insides, and wander across the sea, on the look-out for ships; when they come across something worth wrecking they let fly. Don't be deceived by their slow pace, and imagine them only thunderstorms. They'll burst like an earthquake in a dead calm over your head, and whenever you see one coming snug your ship right away down to the last reef in her, and keep your stern at it." "I am debating, bo'sun," said I, "whether to bring the ship round or keep her before it. What do you think?" "There's a gale of wind there. I can smell it," he replied; "but we're snug enough to lie close, aren't we?" looking up at the masts. "That's to be proved," said I. "We'll bring her close if you like; but I'm pretty sure we shall have to run for it later on." "It'll bowl us well away into mid-Atlantic, won't it, Mr. Royle?" "Yes; I wish we were more to the norrard of Bermudas. However, we'll tackle the yards, and have a try for the tight little islands." "They're pretty nigh all rocks, aren't they? I never sighted 'em." "Nor I. But they've got a dockyard at Bermuda, I believe, where the Yankees refit sometimes, and that's about all I know of those islands." I asked Miss Robertson to put the helm down and keep it there until the compass pointed west; but the ship had so little way upon her, owing to the small amount of canvas she carried now and the faintness of the wind, that it took her as long to come round as if we had been warping her head to the westwards by a buoy. Having braced up the yards and steadied the helm, we could do no more; and resolving to profit as much as possible from the interval of rest before us, I directed Cornish to take the wheel, and ordered the steward to go forward and light the galley fire and boil some coffee for breakfast. "Bo'sun," said I, "you might as well drop below and have a look at those plugs of yours. Take a hammer with you and this light," handing him the binnacle lamp, "and drive the plugs in hard, for if the ship should labour heavily, she might strain them out." He started on his errand, and I then told Miss Robertson that there was nothing now to detain her on deck, and thanked her for the great services she had rendered us. How well I remember her as she stood near the wheel, wearing my straw hat, her dress hitched up to allow freedom to her movements; her small hands with the delicate blue veins glowing through the white clear skin, her yellow hair looped up, though with many a tress straying like an amber-coloured feather; her marble face, her lips pale with fatigue, her beautiful blue eyes fired ever with the same brave spirit, though dim with the weariness of long and painful watching and the oppressive and numbing sense of ever-present danger. On no consideration would I allow her to remain any longer on deck, and though she begged to stay, I took her hand firmly, and led her into the cuddy to her cabin door. "You will faithfully promise me to lie down and sleep?" I said. "I will lie down, and will sleep if I can," she answered, with a wan smile. "We have succeeded in saving you so far," I continued, earnestly, "and it would be cruel, very cruel, and hard upon me, to see your health break down for the want of rest and sleep, when both are at your command, now that life is bright again, and when any hour may see us safe on the deck of another vessel." "You shall not suffer through me," she replied. "I will obey you, indeed I will do anything you want." I kissed her hand respectfully, and said that a single hour of sound sleep would do her a deal of good; by that time I would take care that breakfast should be ready for her and her father, and I then held open the cabin door for her to enter, and returned on deck. A most extraordinary and wonderful sight saluted me when I reached the poop. The sun had risen behind the vast embankment of cloud, and its glorious rays, the orb itself being invisible, projected in a thousand lines of silver beyond the margin of the bank to the right and overhead, jutting out in visible threads, each as defined as a sunbeam in a dark room. But the effect of this wonderful light was to render the canopy of cloud more horribly livid; and weird and startling was the contrast of the mild and far-reaching sunshine, streaming in lines of silver brightness into the steely sky, with the blue lightning ripping up the belly of the cloud and suffering the eye to dwell for an instant on the titanic strata of gloom that stood ponderously behind. Nor was the ocean at this moment a less sombre and majestical object than the heavens; for upon half of it rested a shadow deep as night, making the water sallow and thick, and most desolate to behold under the terrible curtain that lay close down to it upon the horizon; whilst all on the right the green sea sparkled in the sunbeams, heaving slowly under the calm that had fallen. Looking far away on the weather beam, and where the shadow on the sea was deepest, I fancied that I discerned a black object, which might well be a ship with her sails darkened by her distance from the sun. I pointed it out to Cornish, who saw it too, and I then fetched the telescope. Judge of my surprise and consternation, when the outline of a boat with her sail low down on the mast, entered the field of the glass! I cried out, "It's the long-boat!" Cornish turned hastily. "My God!" he cried, "they're doomed men!" I gazed at her intently, but could not be deceived, for I recognised the cut of the stu'nsail, lowered as it was in anticipation of the breaking of the storm, and I could also make out the minute dark figures of the men in her. My surprise, however, was but momentary, for, considering the lightness of the wind that had prevailed all night, and the probability of her having stood to and fro in expectation of coming across us, or the quarter-boat which had attacked us, I had no reason to expect that they should have been far off. The boatswain came along the quarterdeck singing out, "It's all right below! No fear of a leak there!" "Come up here!" I cried. "There's the long-boat yonder!" On hearing this, he ran aft as hard as he could and stared in the direction I indicated, but could not make her out until he had the glass to his eye, on which he exclaimed-- "Yes, it's her, sure enough. Why, we may have to make another fight for it. She's heading this way, and if she brings down any wind, by jingo she'll overhaul us." "No, no," I answered. "They're not for fighting. They don't like the look of the weather, bo'sun, and would board us to save their lives, not to take ours." "That's it, sir," exclaimed Cornish. "I reckon there's little enough mutineering among 'em now Stevens is gone. I'd lay my life they'd turn to and go to work just as I have if you'd lay by for 'em and take 'em in." Neither the boatswain nor I made any reply to this. For my own part, though we had been perishing for the want of more hands, I don't think I should have had trust enough in those rascals to allow them on board; for I could not doubt that when the storm was over, and they found themselves afloat in the _Grosvenor_ once more, they would lay violent hands upon me and the boatswain, and treat us as they had treated Coxon and Duckling, revenging themselves in this way upon us for the death of Stevens and the other leaders of the mutiny, and likewise protecting themselves against their being carried to England and handed over to the authorities on shore as murderers. The lightning was now growing very vivid, and for the first time I heard the sullen moan of thunder. "That means," said the boatswain, "that it's a good bit off yet; and if that creature forrard 'll only bear a hand we shall be able to get something to eat and drink afore it comes down." However, as he spoke, the steward came aft with a big coffee-pot. He set it on the skylight, and fetched from the pantry some good preserved meat, biscuit and butter, and we fell to the repast with great relish and hunger. Being the first to finish, I took the wheel while Cornish breakfasted, and then ordered the steward to go and make some fresh coffee, and keep it hot in the galley, and prepare a good breakfast for the Robertsons ready to serve when the young lady should leave her cabin. "Bo'sun," said I, as he came slowly towards me, filling his pipe, "I don't like the look of that mainsail. It 'll blow out and kick up a deuce of a shindy. You and Cornish had better lay aloft with some spare line and serve the sail with it." "That's soon done," he answered, cheerfully. And Cornish left his breakfast, and they both went aloft. I yawned repeatedly as I stood at the wheel, and my eyes were sore for want of sleep. But there was something in the aspect of that tremendous, stooping, quarter-sphere of cloud abeam of us, throwing a darkness most sinister to behold on half the sea, and vomiting quick lances of blue fire from its caverns, while now and again the thunder rolled solemnly, which was formidable enough to keep me wide awake. It was growing darker every moment: already the sun's beams were obscured, though that portion of the great canopy of cloud which lay nearest to the luminary carried still a flaming edge. A dead calm had fallen, and the ship rested motionless on the water. The two men remained for a short time on the main-yard, and then came down, leaving the sail much more secure than they had found it. Cornish despatched his breakfast, and the boatswain came to me. "Do you see the long-boat now, sir?" "No," I replied; "she's hidden in the rain yonder. By Heaven! it _is_ coming down!" I did not exaggerate; the horizon was grey with the rain: it looked like steam rising from a boiling sea. "It 'll keep 'em busy bailing," said the boatswain. "Hold on here," I cried, "till I get my oilskins." I was back again in a few moments, and he went away to drape himself for the downfall, and to advise Cornish to do the same. I left the wheel for a second or two to close one of the skylights, and as I did so a flash of lightning seemed to set the ship on fire, and immediately came a deafening crash of thunder. I think there is something more awful in the roar of thunder heard at sea than on shore, unless you are among mountains; you get the full intensity of it, the mighty outburst smiting the smooth surface of the water, which in itself is a wonderful vehicle of sound, and running onwards for leagues without meeting with any impediment to check or divert it. I hastened to see if the lightning conductor ran clear to the water, and finding the end of the wire coiled up in the port main-chains, flung it overboard and resumed my place at the wheel. Now that the vast surface of cloud was well forward of overhead, I observed that its front was an almost perfect semicircle, the extremities at either point of the horizon projecting like horns. There still remained, embraced by these horns, a clear expanse of steel-coloured sky. _There_ the sea was light, but all to starboard it was black, and the terrible shadow was fast bearing down upon the ship. Crack! the lightning whizzed, and turned the deck, spars, and rigging into a network of blue fire. The peal that followed was a sudden explosion--a great dead crash, as though some mighty ponderous orb had fallen from the highest heaven upon the flooring of the sky and riven it. Then I heard the rain. I scarcely know which was the more terrifying to see and hear--the rain, or the thunder and lightning. It was a cataract of water falling from a prodigious elevation. It was a dense, impervious liquid veil, shutting out all sight of sea and sky. It tore the water into foam in striking it. Then, _boom_! down it came upon us. I held on by the wheel, and the boatswain jammed himself under the grating. It was not rain only--it was hail as big as eggs; and the rain drops were as big as eggs too. There was not a breath of air. This terrific fall came down in perfectly perpendicular lines; and as the lightning rushed through it, it illuminated with its ghastly effulgence a broad sheet of water. It was so dark that I could not see the card in the binnacle. The water rushed off our decks just as it would had we shipped a sea. And for the space of twenty minutes I stood stunned, deaf, blind, in the midst of a horrible and overpowering concert of pealing thunder and rushing rain, the awful gloom being rendered yet more dreadful by the dazzling flashes which passed through it. It passed as suddenly as it had come, and left us still in a breathless calm, drenched, terrified, and motionless. It grew lighter to windward, and I felt a small air blowing on my streaming face; lighter still, though to leeward the storm was raging and roaring, and passing with its darkness like some unearthly night. I squeezed the water out of my eyes, and saw the wind come rushing towards us upon the sea, whilst all overhead the sky was a broad lead-coloured space. "Now, bo'sun," I roared, "stand by!" He came out from under the grating, and took a grip of the rail. "Here it comes!" he cried; "and by the holy poker," he added, "here comes the long-boat atop of it!" I could only cast one brief glance in the direction indicated, where, sure enough, I saw the long-boat flying towards us on a surface of foam. In an instant the gale struck the ship and over she heeled, laying her port bulwark close down upon the water. But there she stopped. "Had we had whole topsails," I cried, "it would have been Amen!" I waited a moment or two before deciding whether to put the helm up and run. If this was the worst of it, the ship would do as she was. But in that time the long-boat, urged furiously forward by the sail they still kept on her, passed close under our stern. Twice, before she reached us, I saw them try to bring her so as to come alongside, and each time I held my breath, for I knew that the moment they brought her broadside to the wind she would capsize. May God forbid that ever I should behold such a sight again! It was indescribably shocking to see them swept helplessly past within hail of us. There were seven men in her. Two of them cried out and raved furiously, entreating with dreadful, mad gesticulations as they whirled past. But the rest, some clinging to the mast, others seated with their arms folded, were silent, like dead men already, with fixed and staring eyes--a ghastly crew. I saw one of the two raving men spring on to the gunwale, but he was instantly pulled down by another. But what was there to see? It was a moment's horror--quick-vanishing as some monstrous object leaping into sight under a flash of lightning, then instantaneously swallowed up in the devouring gloom. Our ship had got way upon her, and was surging forward with her lee-channels under water. The long-boat dwindled away on our quarter, the spray veiling her as she fled, and in a few minutes was not to be distinguished upon the immeasurable bed of foam and wave, stretching down to the livid storm that still raged upon the far horizon. "My God!" exclaimed Cornish, who stood near the wheel unnoticed by me. "I might ha' been in her! I might ha' been in her!" And he covered his face with his hands, and sobbed and shook with the horror of the scene, and the agony of the thoughts it had conjured up. CHAPTER II. I hardly knew what to make of the weather, for though it blew very hard the wind was not so violent as it had been during those three days which I have written of in another part of this story. The ship managed to hold her own well, with her head at west; I mean that she went scraping through the water, making very little lee-way, and so far she could fairly well carry the three close-reefed topsails, though I believe that had another yard of canvas more than was already exposed been on her, she would have lain down and never righted again, so violent was the first clap and outfly of the wind. Nevertheless, I got the boatswain to take the wheel, and sent Cornish forward to stand by the fore-topsail sheets, whilst I kept by the mizzen, for I was not at all sure that the terrific thunder-storm that had broken over us was not the precursor of a hurricane, to come down at any moment on the gale that was already blowing, and wreck the ship out of hand. In this way twenty minutes passed, when finding the wind to remain steady, I sang out to Cornish that he might come aft again. As I never knew the moment when a vessel might heave in sight I bent on the small ensign and ran it half-way up at the gaff end, not thinking it judicious to exhibit a train of flag-signals in so much wind. I then took the telescope, and, setting it steady in the mizzen rigging, slowly and carefully swept the weather horizon, and afterwards transferred the glass to leeward, but no ship was to be seen. "We ought to be in the track o' some sort o' wessels, too," exclaimed the boatswain, who had been awaiting the result of my inspections. "The steamers from Liverpool to New Orleans, and the West Indie mail-ships 'ud come right across this way, wouldn't they?" "Not quite so far north," I answered. "But there ought to be no lack of sailing ships from all parts--from England to the southern ports of the United States and North America--from American ports to Rio and the eastern coast of South America. They cannot keep us long waiting. Something must heave in sight soon." "Suppose we sight a wessel, what do you mean to do, sir?" "Ask them to let me have a few men to work the ship to the nearest port." "But suppose they're short-handed?" "Then they won't oblige us." "I can't see myself, sir," said he, "why, instead o' tryin' to fetch Bermuda, we shouldn't put the helm up and square away for England. How might the English Channel lie as we now are?" "A trifle to the east'ard of north-east." "Well, this here's a fair wind for it." "That's true; but will you kindly remember that the ship's company consists of three men." "Of four, countin' the steward, and five, countin' Miss Robertson." "Of three men, I say, capable of working the vessel." "Well, yes; you're right. Arter all, there's only three to go aloft." "I suppose you know," I continued, "that it would take a sailing ship, properly manned, four or five weeks to make the English Channel." "Well, sir." "Neither you, nor I, nor Cornish could do without sleep for four or five weeks." "We could keep regular watches, Mr. Royle." "I dare say we could; but we should have to let the ship remain under reefed topsails. But instead of taking four or five weeks, we should take four or five months to reach England under close-reefed topsails, unless we could keep a gale of wind astern of us all the way. I'll tell you what it is, bo'sun, these exploits are very pretty, and appear very possible in books, and persons who take anything that is told them about the sea as likely and true, believe they can be accomplished. And on one or two occasions they have been accomplished. Also I have heard on one occasion a gentleman made a voyage from Timor to Bathurst Island on the back of a turtle. But the odds, in my unromantic opinion, are a thousand to one against our working the ship home as we are, unless we can ship a crew on the road, and very shortly. And how can we be sure of this? There is scarce a ship goes to sea now that is not short-handed. We may sight fifty vessels, and get no help from one of them. They may all be willing to take us on board if we abandon the _Grosvenor_; but they'll tell us that they can give us no assistance to work her. Depend upon it, our wisest course is to make Bermuda. There, perhaps, we may pick up some hands. But if we head for England in this trim--a deep ship, with heavy gear to work, and but two seamen to depend upon, if the third has to take the wheel, trusting to chance to help us, I repeat that the odds against our bringing the ship home are one thousand to one. We shall be at the mercy of every gale that rises, and end in becoming a kind of phantom ship, chased about the ocean just as the wind happens to blow us." "Well, sir," said he, "I dare say you're right, and I'll say no more about it. Now, about turnin' in. I'll keep here if you like to go below for a couple of hours. Cornish can stand by to rouse you up." I had another look to windward before making up my mind to go below. A strong sea was rising, and the wind blew hard enough to keep one leaning against it. There was no break in the sky, and the horizon was thick, but the look-out was not worse than it had been half an hour before. We were, however, snug enough aloft, if not very neat; the bunt of the mainsail, indeed, looked rather shaky, but the other sails lay very secure upon the yards; and this being so, and the gale remaining steady, I told the boatswain to keep the ship to her present course, and went below, yawning horribly and dead wearied. I had slept three-quarters of an hour, when I was awakened by the steward rushing into my cabin and hauling upon me like a madman. Being scarcely conscious, I imagined that the mutineers had got on board again, and that here was one of them falling upon me; and having sense enough, I suppose, in my sleepy brain to make me determine to sell my life at a good price, I let fly at the steward's breast and struck him so hard that he roared out, which sound brought me to my senses at once. "What is it?" I cried. "Oh, sir," responded the steward, half dead with terror and the loss of breath occasioned by my blow, "the ship's sinking, sir! We're all going down! I've been told to fetch you up. The Lord have mercy upon us!" I rolled on to the deck in my hurry to leave the bunk, and ran with all my speed up the companion ladder; nor was the ascent difficult, for the ship was on a level keel, pitching heavily indeed, but rolling slightly. Scarcely, however, was my head up through the companion, when I thought it would have been blown off my shoulders. The fury and force of the wind was such as I had never before in all my life experienced. Both the boatswain and Cornish were at the wheel, and, in order to reach them, I had to drop upon my hands and knees and crawl along the deck. When near them I took a grip of the grating and looked around me. The first thing I saw was that the mainsail had blown away from most of the gaskets, and was thundering in a thousand rags upon the yard. The foresail was split in halves, and the port mizzen-topsail sheet had carried away, and the sail was pealing like endless discharges of musketry. All the spars were safe still. The lee braces had been let go, the helm put up, and the ship was racing before a hurricane as furious as a tornado, heading south-east, with a wilderness of foam boiling under her bows. This, then, was the real gale which the thunder-storm had been nearly all night bringing up. The first gale was but a summer breeze compared to it. The clouds lay like huge fantastic rolls of sheet lead upon the sky; in some quarters of the circle drooping to the water-line in patches and spaces ink-black. No fragment of blue heaven was visible; and yet it was lighter than it had been when I went below. The ensign, half-masted, roared over my head; the sea was momentarily growing heavier, and, as the ship pitched, she took the water in broad sheets over her forecastle. The terrible beating of the mizzen-topsail was making the mizzen-mast, from the mastcoat to the royal mast-head, jump like a piece of whalebone. Although deafened, bewildered, and soaked through with the screaming of the gale, the thunder of the torn canvas, and the spray which the wind tore out of the sea and hurtled through the air, I still preserved my senses; and perceiving that the mizzen-topmast would go if the sail were not got rid of, I crawled on my hands and knees to the foot of the mast, and let go the remaining sheet. With appalling force, and instantaneously, the massive chain was torn through the sheave-hole, and in less time than I could have counted ten, one half the sail had blown into the main-top, and the rest streamed like the ends of whipcord from the yard. I crawled to the fore-end of the poop to look at the mainmast; that stood steady; but whilst I watched the foremast, the foresail went to pieces, and the leaping and plunging of the heavy blocks upon it made the whole mast quiver so violently that the top-gallant and royal-mast bent to and fro like a bow strung and unstrung quickly. I waited some moments, debating whether or not to let go the fore-topsail sheets; but reflecting that the full force of the wind was kept away from it by the main-topsail, and that it would certainly blow to pieces if I touched a rope belonging to it, I dropped on my hands and knees again and crawled away aft. "I saw it coming!" roared the bo'sun in my ear. "I had just time to sing out to Cornish to slacken the lee-braces, and to put the helm hard over." "We shall never be able to run!" I bellowed back. "She'll be pooped as sure as a gun when the sea comes! We must heave her to whilst we can. No use thinking of the fore-topsail--it must go!" "Look there!" shouted Cornish, dropping the spokes with one hand to point. There was something indeed to look at; one of the finest steamers I had ever seen, brig-rigged, hove to under a main-staysail. She seemed, so rapidly were we reeling through the water, to rise out of the sea. She lay with her bowsprit pointing across our path, just on our starboard bow. Lying as she was, without way on her, we should have run into her had the weather been thick, as surely as I live to say so. We slightly starboarded the helm, clearing her by the time we were abreast by not more than a quarter of a mile. But we dared not have hauled the ship round another point; for, with our braces all loose, the first spilling of the sails would have brought the yards aback, in which case indeed we might have called upon God to have mercy on our souls, for the ship would not have lived five minutes. There was something fascinating in the spectacle of that beautiful steamship, rolling securely in the heavy sea, revealing as she went over to starboard her noble graceful hull, to within a few feet of her keel. But there was also something unspeakably dreadful to us to see help so close at hand, and yet of no more use than had it offered a thousand miles away. There was a man on her bridge, and others doubtless watched our vessel unseen by us; and God knows what sensations must have been excited in them by the sight of our torn and whirling ship blindly rushing before the tempest, her sails in rags, the half-hoisted ensign bitterly illustrating our miserable condition, and appealing, with a power and pathos no human cry could express, for help which could not be given. "Let us try and heave her to now!" I shrieked, maddened by the sight of this ship whirling fast away on our quarter. "We can lie by her until the gale has done and then she will help us!" But the boatswain could not control the wheel alone: the blows of the sea against the rudder made it hard for even four pairs of hands to hold the wheel steady. I rushed to the companion and bawled for the steward, and when, after a long pause, he emerged, no sooner did the wind hit him than he rolled down the ladder. I sprang below, hauled him up by the collar of his jacket, and drove him with both hands to his stern up to the wheel. "Hold on to these spokes!" I roared. And then Cornish and I ran staggering along the poop. "Get the end of the starboard main-brace to the capstan!" I cried to him. "Look alive! ship one of the bars ready!" And then I scrambled as best I could down on the main-deck, and went floundering forward through the water that was now washing higher than my ankle to the fore-topsail halliards, which I let go. Crack! whiz! away went the sail, strips of it flying into the sea like smoke. I struggled back again on to the poop, but the violence of the wind was almost more than I could bear: it beat the breath out of me; it stung my face just as if it were filled with needles; it roared in my ears; it resembled a solid wall; it rolled me off my knees and hands, and obliged me to drag myself against it bit by bit, by whatever came in my road to hold on to. Cornish lay upon the deck with the end of the main-brace in his hands, having taken the necessary turns with it around the capstan. I laid my weight against the bar and went to work, and scrambling and panting, beaten half dead by the wind, and no more able to look astern without protecting my eyes with my hands than I could survey any object in a room full of blinding smoke, I gradually got the mainyard round, but found I had not the strength to bring it close to the mast. I saw the boatswain speak to the steward, who left the wheel to help me with his weight against the capstan bar. I do think at that moment that the boatswain transformed himself into an immovable figure of iron. Heaven knows from what measureless inner sources he procured the temporary strength: he clenched his teeth, and the muscles in his hands rose like bulbs as he hung to the wheel and pitted his strength against the blows of the seas upon the rudder. Brave, honest fellow! a true seaman, a true Englishman! Well would it be for sailors were there more of his kind among them to set them examples of honest labour, noble self-sacrifice, and duty ungrudgingly performed! The seas struck the ship heavily as she rounded to. I feared that she would have too much head-sail to lie close, for the foresail and fore-topsail were in ribbons--they might show enough roaring canvas when coupled with the fore-topmast staysail to make her pay off, we having no after-sail set to counterbalance the effect of them. However, she lay steady, that is, as the compass goes, but rolled fearfully, wallowing deep like a ship half full of water, and shipped such tremendous seas that I constantly expected to hear the crash of the galley stove in. I now shaded my eyes to look astern; not hoping, indeed, to see the steamer near, but expecting at least to find her in sight. But the horizon was a dull blank: not a sign of the vessel to be seen, nothing but the rugged line of water, and the nearer deep dark under the shadow of the leaden pouring clouds. CHAPTER III. In bringing the ship close to the wind in this terrible gale, without springing a spar, we had done what I never should have believed practicable to four men, taking into consideration the size of the ship and the prodigious force of the wind; and when I looked aloft and considered that only a few hours before, so to speak, the ship was carrying all the sail that could be put upon her, and that three men had stripped her of it and put her under a close-reefed main-topsail fit to encounter a raging hurricane, I could not help thinking that we had a right to feel proud of our endurance and spirit. There was no difficulty now in holding the wheel, and, had no worse sea than was now running been promised us, the helm might have been lashed and the vessel lain as comfortably as a smack with her foresail over to windward. The torn sails were making a hideous noise on the yards forward, and as there was no earthly reason why this clamour should be suffered to last, I called to Cornish to get his knife ready and help me to cut the canvas away from the jackstays. We hauled the braces taut to steady the yards, and then went aloft, and in ten minutes severed the fragments of the foresail and topsail, and they blew up into the air like paper, and were carried nearly half a mile before they fell into the sea. The wind was killing up aloft, and I was heartily glad to get on deck again, not only to escape the wind, but on account of the fore-topmast and top-gallant mast, both of which had been heavily tried, and now rocked heavily as the ship rolled, and threatened to come down with the weight of the yards upon them. But neither Cornish nor I had strength enough in us to stay the masts more securely; our journey aloft and our sojourn on the yards, and our fight with the wind to maintain our hold, had pretty well done for us; and in Cornish I took notice of that air of lassitude and dull indifference which creeps upon shipwrecked men when worn out with their struggles, and which resembles in its way the stupor which falls upon persons who are perishing of cold. It was fair, however, since I had had some rest, that I should now take a spell at the wheel, and I therefore told Cornish to go to the cabin lately occupied by Stevens, the ship's carpenter, and turn in, and then crawled aft to the poop and desired the boatswain to go below and rest himself, and order the steward, who had not done one-tenth of the work we had performed, to stand by ready to come on deck if I should call to him. I was now alone on deck, in the centre, so it seemed when looking around the horizon, of a great storm, which was fast lifting the sea into mountains. I took a turn round the spokes of the wheel and secured the tiller ropes to steady the helm, and held on, crouching to windward, so that I might get some shelter from the murderous force of the wind by the slanting deck and rail. I could better now realize our position than when at work, and the criticalness of it struck and awed me like a revelation. I cast my eyes upon the main-topsail, and inspected it anxiously, as on this sail our lives might depend. If it blew away the only sail remaining would be the fore-topmast staysail. In all probability the ship's head would at once pay off, let me keep the helm jammed down as hard as I pleased; the vessel would then drive before the seas, which, as she had not enough canvas on her to keep her running at any speed, would very soon topple over her stern, sweep the decks fore and aft, and render her unmanageable. There was likewise the further danger of the fore-topmast going, the whole weight of the staysail being upon it. If this went it would take that sail with it, and the ship would round into the wind's eye and drive away astern. Had there been more hands on board I should not have found these speculations so alarming. My first job would have been to get some of the cargo out of the hold and pitch it overboard, so as to lighten the ship, for the dead weight in her made her strain horribly. Then with men to help it would have been easy to get the storm trysail on if the topsail blew away, clap preventer backstays on to the foremast and fore-topmast, and rouse them taut with tackles, and send down the royal and top-gallant yards, so as to ease the masts of the immense leverage of these spars. But what could four men do--one of the four being almost useless, and all four exhausted not by the perils and labour of the storm only, but by the fight they had had to make for their lives against fellow-beings? Alone on deck, with the heavy seas splashing and thundering, and precipitating their volumes of water over the ship's side, with the gale howling and roaring through the skies, I grew bitterly despondent. It seemed as if God Himself were against me, that I was the sport of some remorseless fate, whereby I was led from one peril to another, from one suffering to another, and no mercy to be shown me until death gave me rest. And yet I was sensible of no revolt and inward rage against what I deemed my destiny. My being and individuality were absorbed and swallowed up in the power and immensity of the tempest, like a rain-drop in the sea. I was overwhelmed by the vastness of the dangers which surrounded me, by the sense of the littleness and insignificance of myself and my companions in the midst of this spacious theatre of warring winds, and raging seas, and far-reaching sky of pouring cloud. I felt as though all the forces of nature were directed against my life; and those cries which my heart would have sent up in the presence of dangers less tumultuous and immense were silenced by a kind of dull amazement, of heavy passive bewilderment, which numbed my mind and forced upon me an indifference to the issue without depriving me of the will and energy to avert it. I held my post at the wheel, being anxious that the boatswain and Cornish should recruit their strength by sleep, for if one or the other of them broke down, then, indeed, our case would be deplorable. The force of the wind was stupendous, and yet the brave main-topsail stood it; but not an hour had passed since the two men went below when a monster wave took the ship on the starboard bow and threw her up, rolling at the same time an immense body of water on to the decks; her stern, where I was crouching, sank in the hollow level with the sea, then as the leviathan wave rolled under her counter, the ship's bows fell into a prodigious trough with a sickening, whirling swoop. Ere she could recover, another great sea rolled right upon her, burying her forecastle, and rushing with the fury of a cataract along the main-deck. Another wave of that kind, and our fate was sealed. But happily these were exceptional seas; smaller waves succeeded, and the struggling, straining ship showed herself alive still. Alive, but maimed. That tremendous swoop had carried away the jibboom, and the fore top-gallant mast--the one close against the bowsprit head, the other a few inches above the top-gallant yard. The mast, with the royal yard upon it, hung all in a heap against the fore-topmast, but fortunately kept steady, owing to the yard-arm having jammed itself into the fore-topmast rigging. The jibboom was clean gone adrift and was washing away to leeward. This was no formidable accident, though it gave the ship a wrecked and broken look. I should have been well-pleased to see all three top-gallant masts go over the side, for the weight of the yards, swaying to and fro at great angles, was too much for the lower-masts, and not only strained the decks, but the planking to which the chain-plates were bolted. My great anxiety now was for the fore-topmast, which was sustaining the weight of the broken mast and yard, in addition to the top-gallant yard, still standing, and the heavy pulling of the fore-topmast staysail. Dreading the consequences that might follow the loss of this sail, I called to the steward at the top of my voice, and on his thrusting his head up the companion, I bade him rouse up Cornish and the boatswain, and send them on deck. In a very short time they both arrived, and the boatswain, on looking forward, immediately comprehended our position and anticipated my order. "The topmast 'll go!" he roared in my ear. "Better let go the staysail-halliards, and make a short job o' it." "Turn to and do it at once," I replied. Away they skurried. I lost sight of them when they were once off the poop, and it seemed an eternity before they showed themselves again on the forecastle. No wonder! They had to wade and struggle through a rough sea on the main-deck, which obliged them to hold on, for minutes at a time, to whatever they could put their hands to. I wanted them to bear a hand in getting rid of the staysail, for, with the wheel hard down, the ship showed a tendency to fall off. But it was impossible for me to make my voice heard; I could only wave my hand; the boatswain understood the gesture, and I saw him motion to Cornish to clear off the forecastle. He then ran over to leeward and let go the fore-topmast staysail sheet and halliards, and, this done, he could do no more but take to his heels. The hullabaloo was frightful--the thundering of the sails, the snapping and cracking of the sheets. Boom! I knew it must follow. It was a choice of two evils--to poop the ship or lose a mast. Down came the topmast, splintering and crashing with a sound that rose above the roar of the gale, and in a minute was swinging against the shrouds--an awful wreck to behold in such a scene of raging sea and buried decks. I knew well now what ought to be done, and done without delay; for the staysail was in the water, ballooning out to every wave, and dragging the ship's head round more effectually than had the sail been set. But I had a wonderful ally in the boatswain--keen, unerring, and intrepid, a consummate sailor. I should never have had the heart to give him the order; and yet there he was, and Cornish by his side, at work, knife in hand, cutting and hacking away for dear life. A long and perilous job indeed!--now up aloft, now down, soaked by the incessant seas that thundered over the ship's bows, tripping over the raffle that encumbered the deck, actually swarming out on the bowsprit with their knives between their teeth, at moments plunged deep in the sea, yet busy again as they were lifted high in the air. I draw my breath as I write. I have the scene before me: I see the ropes parting under the knives of the men. I close my eyes as I behold once more the boiling wave that buries them, and dare not look, lest I should find them gone. I hear the hooting of the hurricane, the groaning of the over-loaded vessel, and over all the faint hurrah those brave spirits utter as the last rope is severed and the unwieldly wreck of spars and cordage falls overboard and glides away upon a running sea, and the ship comes to again under my hand, and braves, with her bows almost at them, the merciless onslaught of the huge green waves. Only the day before, one of these men was a mutineer, blood-stained already, and prepared for new murders! Strange translation! from base villainy to actions heroical! But those who know sailors best will least doubt their capacity of gauging extremes. CHAPTER IV. By the loss of the fore-topmast the ship was greatly eased. In almost every sea that we had encountered since leaving England, I had observed the immense leverage exerted over the deep-lying hull by the weight of her lofty spars; and by the effect which the carrying away of the fore-topmast had produced, I had no doubt that our position would be rendered far less critical, while the vessel would rise to the waves with much greater ease, if we could rid her of a portion of her immense top-weight. I waited until the boatswain came aft, and then surrendered the wheel to Cornish; after which I crouched with the boatswain under the lee of the companion, where, at least, we could hear each other's voices. "She pitches easier since that fore-topmast went, bo'sun. There is still too much top-hamper. The main-royal stay is gone, and the mast can't stand long, I think, unless we stay it forrard again. But we mustn't lose the topmast." "No, we can't do without him. Yet there's a risk of him goin' too, if you cut away the top-gall'nt backstays. What's to prevent him?" said he, looking up at the mast. "Oh, I know how to prevent it," I replied. "I'll go aloft with a hand-saw and wound the mast. What do you think? Shall we let it carry away?" "Yes," he replied promptly. "She'll be another ship with them masts out of her. If it comes on fine we'll make shift to bend on the new foresail, and get a jib on her by a stay from the lower mast-head to the bowsprit end. Then," he continued, calculating on his fingers, "we shall have the main-topmast stays'l, mizzen-topmast stays'l, main-topsail, mains'l, mizzen, mizzen-tops'l,--six and two makes height--height sails on her--a bloomin' show o' canvas!" He ran his eye aloft, and said emphatically-- "I'm for lettin' of 'em go, most sartinly." I got up, but he caught hold of my arm. "I'll go aloft," said he. "No, no," I replied, "it's my turn. You stand by to cut away the lanyards to leeward, and then get to windward and wait for me. We must watch for a heavy lurch, for we don't want the spars to fall amidships and drive a hole through the deck." Saying which I got off the poop and made for the cabin lately shared between the carpenter and the boatswain, where I should find a saw in the tool chest. I crept along the main-deck to leeward, but was washed off my feet in spite of every precaution, and thrown with my head against the bulwark, but the blow was more bewildering than hurtful. Fortunately, everything was secure, so there were no pounding casks and huge spars driving about like battering rams, to dodge. I found a saw, and also laid hold of the sounding-rod, so that I might try the well, being always very distrustful of the boatswain's plugs in the fore hold; but on drawing up the rod out of the sounding-pipe, I found there were not above five to six inches of water in her, and, as the pumps sucked at four inches, I had not only the satisfaction of knowing that the ship was tight in her hull, but that she was draining in very little water from her decks. This discovery of the ship's soundness filled me with joy, and, thrusting the saw down my waistcoat, I sprang into the main-rigging with a new feeling of life in me. I could not help thinking as I went ploughing and clinging my way up the ratlines, that the hurricane was less furious than it had been an hour ago; but this, I dare say, was more my hope than my conviction, for, exposed as I now was to the full force of the wind, its power and outcry were frightful. There were moments when it jammed me so hard against the shrouds that I could not have stirred an inch--no, not to save my life. I remember once reading an account of the wreck of a vessel called the _Wager_, where it was told that so terrible was the appearance of the sea that many of the sailors went raving mad with fear at the sight of it, some throwing themselves overboard in their delirium, and others falling flat on the deck and rolling to and fro with the motion of the ship, without making the smallest effort to help themselves. I believe that much such a sea as drove those poor creatures wild was spread below me now, and I can only thank Almighty God for giving me the courage to witness the terrible spectacle without losing my reason. No words that I am master of could submit the true picture of this whirling, mountainous, boiling scene to you. The waves, fore-shortened to my sight by my elevation above them, drew nevertheless a deeper shadow into their caverns, so that, so lively was this deception of colouring, each time the vessel's head fell into one of these hollows, it seemed as though she were plunging into a measureless abysm, as roaring and awful as a maelström, from which it would be impossible for her to rise in time to lift to the next great wave that was rushing upon her. When, after incredible toil, I succeeded in gaining the cross-trees, I paused for some moments to recover breath, during which I looked, with my fingers shading my eyes, carefully all round the horizon, but saw no ship in sight. The topmast was pretty steady, but the top-gallant mast rocked heavily, owing to the main-royal stay being carried away; moreover, the boatswain had already let go the royal and top-gallant braces, so that they might run out when the mast fell, and leave it free to go overboard; and the yards swinging in the wind and to the plunging of the ship, threatened every moment to bring down the whole structure of masts, including all or a part of the topmast, so that I was in the greatest peril. In order, therefore, to lose no time, I put my knife in my teeth, and shinned up the top-gallant rigging, where, holding on with one hand, I cut the top-gallant stay adrift, though the strands were so hard that I thought I should never accomplish the job. This support being gone, the mast jumped wildly, insomuch that I commended my soul to God, every instant believing that I should be shaken off the mast or that it would go overboard with me. However, I succeeded in sliding down again into the cross-trees, and having cut away the top-gallant rigging to leeward, I pulled out my saw and went to work at the mast with it, sawing the mast just under the yard, so that it might go clean off at that place. When I had sawed deep enough, I cut away the weather rigging and got down into the maintop as fast as ever I could, and sung out to the boatswain to cut away to leeward. By the time I reached the deck, all was adrift to leeward, and the mast was now held in its place by the weather backstays. I dropped into the chains and there helped the boatswain with my knife, and, watching an opportunity when the ship rolled heavily to leeward, we cut through the lanyards of the top-gallant backstay, and the whole structure of spar, yards, and rigging went flying overboard. Encouraged by the success of these operations, and well knowing that a large measure of our safety depended upon our easing the ship of her top-hamper, I sung out that we would now cut away the mizzen top-gallant mast, and once more went aloft, though the boatswain begged hard to take my place this time. This spar, being much lighter and smaller, did not threaten me so dangerously as the other had done, and in a tolerably short space of time we had sent it flying overboard after the main top-gallant mast; and all this we did without further injury to ourselves than a temporary deprivation of strength and breath. The ship had now the appearance of a wreck; and yet in her mutilated condition was safer than she had been at any moment since the gale first sprang up. The easing her of all this top-weight seemed to make her as buoyant as though we had got a hundred tons of cargo out of her. Indeed, I was now satisfied, providing everything stood, and the wind did not increase in violence, that she would be able to ride out the gale. Cornish (as well as the boatswain and myself) was soaked through and through; we therefore arranged that the boatswain and I should go below and shift our clothes, and that the boatswain should then relieve Cornish. So down we went, I, for one, terribly exhausted, but cheered all the same by an honest hope that we should save our lives and the ship after all. I stepped into the pantry to swallow a dram so as to get my nerves together, for I was trembling all over with the weariness in me, and cold as ice on the skin from the repeated dousings I had received; and then changed my clothes; and never was anything more comforting and grateful than the feel of the dry flannel and the warm stockings and sea-boots which I exchanged for shoes that sopped like brown paper and came to pieces in my hand when I pulled them off. The morning was far advanced, a little past eleven. I was anxious to ask Miss Robertson how she did, and reassure her as to our position before going on deck to take observations, and therefore went to her cabin door and listened, meaning to knock and ask her leave to see her if I heard her voice in conversation with her father. I strained my ear, but the creaking and groaning of the ship inside, and the bellowing of the wind outside, were so violent, that had the girl been singing at the top of her voice I do not believe that I should have heard her. I longed to see her, and shook the handle of the door, judging that she would distinguish this sound amid the other noises which prevailed, and, sure enough, the door opened, and her sweet face looked out. She showed herself fully when she saw me, and came into the cuddy, and was going to address me, but a look of agonized sorrow came into her face; she dropped on her knees before the bench at the table and buried her head, and never was there an attitude of grief more expressive of piteous misery than this. My belief was that the frightful rolling of the ship had crazed her brain, and that she fancied I had come to tell her we were sinking. Not to allow this false impression to affect her an instant longer than could be helped, I dropped on one knee by her side, and at once told her that the ship had been eased, and was riding well, and that the gale, as I believed, was breaking. She shook her head, still keeping her face buried, as though she would say that it was not the danger we were in that had given her that misery. "Tell me what has happened?" I exclaimed. "Your troubles and trials have been very, very great--too great for you to bear, brave and true-hearted as you are. It unmans me and breaks me down to see you in this attitude. For your own sake, keep up your courage a little longer. The first ship that passes when this gale abates will take us on board; and there are three of us still with you who will never yield an inch to any danger that may come whilst their life holds out and yours remains to be saved." She upturned her pale face, streaming with tears, and said the simple words, but in a tone I shall never forget--"Papa is dead!" Was it so, indeed? And was I so purblind as to wrong her beautiful and heroic character by supposing her capable of being crazed with fears for her own life. I rose from her side, and stood looking at her in silence. I had nothing to say. However dangerous our situation might have been, I should still have known how to comfort and encourage her. But--her father was dead! This was a blow I could not avert--a sorrow no labour could remit. It struck home hard to me. I took her hand and raised her, and entered the cabin hand in hand with her. The moisture of the deck dulled the transparency of the bull's-eye, but sufficient light was admitted through the port-hole to enable me to see him. He was as white as a sheet, and his hair frosted his head, and made him resemble a piece of marble carving. His under jaw had dropped, and that was the great and prominent signal of the thing that had come to him. Poor old man! lying dead under the coarse blanket, with his thin hands folded, as though he had died in prayer, and a most peaceful holy calm in his face! Was it worth while bringing him from the wreck for this? "God was with him when he died," I said, and I closed his poor eyes as tenderly as my rough hands would let me. She looked at him, speechless with grief, and then burst into an uncontrollable fit of crying. My love and tenderness, my deep pity of her lonely helplessness, were all so great an impulse in me that I took her in my arms and held her whilst she sobbed upon my shoulder. I am sure that she knew my sorrow was deep and real, and that I held her to my heart that she might not feel her loneliness. When her great outburst of grief was passed, I made her sit; and then she told me that when she had left the deck, she had looked at her father before lying down, and thought him sleeping very calmly. He was not dead then. Oh, no! she had noticed by the motion of the covering on him that he was breathing peacefully. Being very tired she had fallen asleep quickly, and slept soundly. She awoke, not half an hour before she heard me trying the handle of the door. The rolling and straining of the ship frightened her, and she heard one of the masts go overboard. She got out of bed, meaning to call her father, so that he might be ready to follow her, if the ship were sinking (as she believed it was), on to the deck, but could not wake him. She took him by the arm, and this bringing her close to his face, she saw that he was dead. She would have called me, but dreaded to leave the cabin lest she should be separated from her father. Meanwhile she heard the fall of another mast alongside, and the ship at the moment rolling heavily, she believed the vessel actually sinking, and flung herself upon her father's body, praying to God that her death might be mercifully speedy, and that the waves might not separate them in death. At this point she broke down and cried again bitterly. When I came to think over what she had gone through during that half hour--the dead body of her father before her, of him whose life a few hours before she had no serious fear of, and the bitterness of death which she had tasted in the dreadful persuasion that the vessel was sinking, I was too much affected to speak. I could only hold her hands and caress them, wondering in my heart that God who loves and blesses all things that are good and pure, should single out this beautiful, helpless, heroic girl for suffering so complicated and miserable. After a while I explained that it was necessary I should leave her, as I was desirous of observing the position of the sun, and promised, if no new trouble detained me on deck, to return to her as soon as I had completed my observations. So without further words I came away and got my sextant, and went on deck. I found Cornish still at the wheel, and the boatswain leaning over the weather side of the ship about half-way down the poop, watching the hull of the vessel as she rolled and plunged. I might have saved myself the trouble of bringing the sextant with me, for there was not only no sign of the sun now, but no promise of its showing itself even for a minute. Three impenetrable strata of cloud obscured the heavens: the first, a universal mist or thickness, tolerably bright as it lay nearest the sun; beneath this, ranges of heavier clouds, which had the appearance of being stationary, owing to the speed at which the ponderous smoke-coloured clouds composing the lowest stratum were swept past them. Under this whirling gloomy sky the sea was tossing in mountains, and between sea and cloud the storm was sweeping with a stupendous voice, and with a power so great that no man on shore who could have experienced its fury there, would believe that anything afloat could encounter it and live. I remained until noon anxiously watching the sky, hoping that the outline of the sun might swim out, if for a few moments only, and give me a chance to fix it. I was particularly wishful to get sights, because, if the wind abated, we might be able to wear the ship and stand for the Bermudas, which was the land the nearest to us that I knew of. But I could not be certain as to the course to be steered unless I knew my latitude and longitude. The _Grosvenor_, now hove to in this furious gale, was drifting dead to leeward at from three to four knots an hour. Consequently, if the weather remained thick and this monstrous sea lasted, I should be out of my reckoning altogether next day. This was the more to be deplored, as every mile was of serious consequence to persons in our position, as it would represent so many hours more of hard work and bitter expectation. The boatswain had by this time taken the wheel, to let Cornish go below to change his clothes, and, as no conversation could be carried on in that unsheltered part of the deck, I reserved what I had to say to him for another opportunity, and returned to the cuddy. I could not bear to think of the poor girl being alone with her dead father in the darksome cabin, where the grief of death would be augmented by the dismaying sounds of the groaning timbers and the furious wash of the water against the ship's side. I went to her and begged her to come to me to my own cabin, which, being to windward and having two bull's-eyes in the deck, was lighter and more cheerful than hers. "Your staying here," I said, "cannot recall your poor father to life, and I know, if he were alive, he would wish me to take you away. He will rest quietly here, Miss Robertson, and we will close the cabin door and leave him for a while." I drew her gently from the cabin, and when I had got her into the cuddy, I closed the door upon the dead old man, and led her by the hand to my own cabin. "I intend," I said, "that you shall occupy this berth, and I will remove into the cabin next to this." She answered in broken tones that she could not bear the thought of being separated from her father. "But you will not be separated from him," I answered, "even though you should never see him more with your eyes. There is only one separation, and that is when the heart turns and the memory forgets. He will always be with you in your thoughts, a dear friend, a dear companion, and father, as in life; not absent because he is dead, since I think that death makes those whom we love doubly our own, for they become spirits to watch over us, to dwell near us, let us journey where we please, and their affection is not to be chilled by any worldly selfishness. Try to think thus of the dead. It is not a parting that should pain us. Your father has set out on his journey before you; death is but a short leave-taking, and only a man who is doomed to live for ever could look upon death as an eternal separation." She wept quietly, and once or twice looked at me as though she would smile through her tears, to let me know that she was grateful for my poor attempts to console her; but she could not smile. Rough and idle as my words were, yet, in the fulness of my sympathy, and my knowledge of her trials, and my sense of the dangers which, even as I spoke, were raging round us, my voice faltered, and I turned to hide my face. It happened then that my eye lighted upon the little Bible I had carried with me in all my voyages ever since I had gone to sea, and I felt that now, with the old man lying dead, and his poor child's grief, and our own hard and miserable position, was the fitting time to invoke God's mercy, and to pray to Him to watch over us. I spoke to that effect to Miss Robertson, and said that if she consented I would call in Cornish and the steward and ask them to join us; that the boatswain was at the wheel and could not leave his post, but we might believe that the Almighty would accept the brave man's faithful discharge of his duty as a prayer, and would not overlook him, if our prayers were accepted, because he could not kneel in company with us. "Let him know that we are praying," she exclaimed, eagerly, "and he will pray too." I saw that my suggestion had aroused her, and at once left the cabin and went on deck, and going close to the boatswain I said-- "Poor Mr. Robertson is dead, and his daughter is in great grief." "Ah, poor lady!" he replied. "I hope God 'll spare her. She's a brave young woman, and seen a sight more trouble within the last fortnight than so pretty a gell desarves." "Bo'sun, I am going to call in Cornish and the steward, and read prayers and ask God for His protection. I should have liked you, brave old messmate, to join; but, as you can't leave the deck, pray with us in your heart, will you?" "Ay, ay, that I will, heartily; an' I hope for the lady's sake that God Almighty 'll hear us, for I'd sooner die myself than she should, poor gell, for I'm older, and it's my turn afore hers by rights." I clapped him on the back and went below, where I called to the steward and Cornish, both of whom came aft on hearing my voice. During my absence, Miss Robertson had taken the Bible and laid it open on the table; and when the two men came in I said-- "My lads, we are in the hands of God, who is our Father; and I will ask you to join this lady and me in thanking Him for the mercy and protection He has already vouchsafed us, and to pray to Him to lead us out of present peril and bring us safely to the home we love." The steward said "Yes, sir," and looked about him for a place to sit or kneel, but Cornish hung his head and glanced at the door shamefacedly. "You need not stop unless you wish, Cornish," said I. "But why should you not join us? The way you have worked, the honest manner in which you have behaved, amply atone for the past. From no man can more than hearty repentance be expected, and we all stand in need of each other's prayers. Join us, mate." "Won't it be makin' a kind of game o' religion for the likes o' me to pray?" he answered. "I was for murderin' you an' the lady and all hands as are left on board this wessel--what 'ud be the use o' _my_ prayers?" Miss Robertson went over to him and took his hand. "God," said she, "has told us that there is more joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth than over ninety and nine just persons who need no repentance. But who is good among us, Cornish? Be sure that as you repent so are you forgiven. My poor father lies dead in his cabin, and I wish you to pray with me for him, and to pray with us for our own poor lives. Mr. Royle," she said, "Cornish will stay." And with an expression on her face of infinite sweetness and pathos, she drew him to one of the cushioned lockers and seated herself by his side. I saw that her charming wonderful grace, her cordial tender voice, and her condescension, which a man of his condition would feel, had deeply moved him. The steward seated himself on the other side of her, and I began to read from the open book before me, beginning the chapter which she had chosen for us during my absence on deck. This chapter was the eleventh of St. John, wherein is related the story of that sickness "which was not unto death, but for the glory of God, that the Son of God might be glorified thereby." I read only to the thirty-sixth verse, for what followed that did not closely apply to our position; but there were passages preceding it which stirred me to the centre of my heart, knowing how they went home to the mourner, more especially those pregnant lines--"Martha saith unto Him, I know that he shall rise again in the resurrection at the last day. Jesus said unto her, I am the resurrection and the life: he that believeth in Me, though he were dead, yet shall he live," which made me feel that the words I had formerly addressed to her were not wholly idle. I then turned to St. Matthew, and read from the eighth chapter those few verses wherein it is told that Christ entered a ship with His disciples, and that there arose a great storm. Only men in a tempest at sea, their lives in jeopardy, and worn out with anxiety and the fear of death, know how great is the comfort to be got out of this brief story of our Lord's power over the elements, and His love of those whom He died to save; and, taking this as a kind of text, I knelt down, the others imitating me, and prayed that He who rebuked the sea and the wind before His doubting disciples, would be with us who believed in Him in our present danger. Many things I said (feeling that He whom I addressed was our Father, and that He alone could save us) which have gone from my mind, and tears stood in my eyes as I prayed; but I was not ashamed to let the others see them, even if they had not been as greatly affected as I, which was not the case. Nor would I conclude my prayer without entreating God to comfort the heart of the mourner, and to receive in heaven the soul of him for whom she was weeping. I then shook Cornish and the steward heartily by the hand, and I am sure, by the expression in Cornish's face, that he was glad he had stayed, and that his kneeling in prayer had done him good. "Now," said I, "you had best get your dinner, and relieve the boatswain; and you, steward, obtain what food you can, and bring it to us here, and then you and the bo'sun can dine together." The two men left the cabin, and I went and seated myself beside Miss Robertson, and said all that I could to comfort her. She was very grateful to me for my prayers for herself and her father, and already, as though she had drawn support from our little service, spoke with some degree of calmness of his death. It would have made her happy, she said, could she have kissed him before he died, and have been awake to attend to any last want. I told her that I believed he had died in his sleep, without a struggle; for, so recent as his death was, less placidity would have appeared in his face had he died awake or conscious. I added that secretly I had never believed he would live to reach Valparaiso, had the ship continued her voyage. He was too old a man to suffer and survive the physical and mental trials he had passed through; and sad though his death was under the circumstances which surrounded it, yet she must think that it had only been hastened a little; for he was already an old man, and his end might have been near, even had all prospered and he had reached England in his own ship. By degrees I drew her mind away from the subject by leading her thoughts to our own critical position. At another time I should have softened my account of our danger: but I thought it best to speak plainly, as the sense of the insecurity of our lives would in some measure distract her thoughts from her father's death. She asked me if the storm was not abating. "It is not increasing in violence," I answered, "which is a good sign. But there is one danger to be feared which must very shortly take me on deck. The wind may suddenly lull and blow again hard from another quarter. This would be the worst thing that could happen to us, for we should then have what is called a cross sea, and the ship is so deeply loaded that we might have great difficulty in keeping her afloat." "May I go on deck with you?" "You would not be able to stand. Feel this!" I exclaimed, as the ship's stern rose to a sickening height and then came down, down, down, with the water roaring about her as high as our ears. "Let me go with you!" she pleaded. "Very well," I replied, meaning to keep her under the companion, half-way up the ladder. I took a big top-coat belonging to the captain and buttoned her up in it, and also tied his fur cap over her head, so that she would be well protected from the wind, whilst the coat would keep her dress close against her. I then slipped on my oilskins, and taking a strong grip of her hand to steady her, led her up the companion ladder. "Do not come any farther," said I. "Wherever you go I will go," she answered, grasping my arm. Admiring her courage and stirred by her words, which were as dear to me as a kiss from her lips would have been, I led her right on to the deck over to windward, and made her sit on a small coil of rope just under the rail. The sea was no heavier than it had been since the early morning, and yet my short absence below had transformed it into a sublime and stupendous novelty. You will remember that not only was the _Grosvenor_ a small ship, but that she lay deep, with a free board lower by a foot and a half than she ought to have shown. The height from the poop rail to the water was not above twelve feet; and it is therefore no exaggeration to say that the sea, running from fifteen to twenty feet high, stood like walls on either side of her. To appreciate the effect of such a sea upon a ship like the _Grosvenor_, you must have crossed the Atlantic in a hurricane, not in an immense and powerful ocean steamer, but in a yacht. But even this experience would not enable you to realise our danger; for the yacht would not be overloaded with cargo, she would probably be strong, supple, and light; whereas the _Grosvenor_ was choked to the height of the hold with seven hundred and fifty tons of dead weight, and was a Nova Scotia soft wood ship, which means that she might start a butt at any moment and go to pieces in one of her frightful swoops downwards. Having lodged Miss Robertson in a secure and sheltered place, I crawled along the poop on to the main-deck and sounded the well again. I found a trifle over six inches of water in her, which satisfied me that she was still perfectly tight, and that the extra leakage was owing to the drainings from the decks. I regained the poop and communicated the good news to the boatswain, who nodded; but I noticed that there was more anxiety in his face than I liked to see, and that he watched the ship very closely each time she pitched with extra heaviness. Miss Robertson was looking up at the masts with alarmed eyes; but I pointed to them and smiled, and shook my head to let her know that their wrecked appearance need not frighten her. I then took the telescope, and, making it fast over my back, clambered into the mizzen-top, she watching my ascent with her hands tightly clasped. The ensign still roared some half-dozen feet below the gaff-end; it was a brave bit of bunting to hold on as it did. I planted myself firmly against the rigging, and carefully swept the weather horizon, and finding nothing there, pointed the glass to leeward; but all that part of the sea was likewise a waste of foaming waves, with never a sign of a ship in all the raging seas. I was greatly disappointed, for though no ship could have helped us in such a sea, yet the sight of one hove to near us--and no ship afloat, sailer or steamer, but must have hove to in that gale--would have comforted us greatly, as a promise of help at hand, and rescue to come when the wind should have gone down. CHAPTER V. All that day the wind continued to blow with frightful force, and the sky to wear its menacing aspect. On looking, however, at the barometer at four o'clock in the afternoon, I observed a distinct rise in the mercury; but I did not dare to feel elated by this promise of an improvement; for, as I have before said, the only thing the mercury foretells is a change of weather, but what kind of change you shall never be sure of until it comes. What I most dreaded was the veering of the gale to an opposite quarter, whereby, a new sea being set running right athwart, or in the eye of the already raging sea, our decks would be helplessly swept and the ship grow unmanageable. A little after eight the wind sensibly decreased, and, to my great delight, the sky cleared in the direction whence the gale was blowing, so that there was a prospect of the sea subsiding before the wind shifted, that is, if it shifted at all. When Cornish, who had been below resting after a long spell, came on deck and saw the stars shining, and that the gale was moderating, he stared upwards like one spell-bound, and then, running up to me, seized my hand and wrung it in silence. I heartily returned this mute congratulation, and we both went over and shook hands with the boatswain; and those who can appreciate the dangers of the frightful storm that had been roaring about us all day, and feel with us in the sentiments of despair and helplessness which the peril we stood in awoke in us, will understand the significance of our passionate silence as we held each other's hand and looked upon the bright stars, which shone like the blessing of God upon our forlorn state. I was eager to show Mary Robertson those glorious harbingers, and ran below to bring her on deck. I found her again in the cabin in which her father lay, bending over his body in prayer. I waited until she turned her head, and then exclaimed that the wind was falling, and that all the sky in the north-west was bright with stars, and begged her to follow me and see them. She came immediately, and, after looking around her, cried out in a rapturous voice-- "Oh, Mr. Royle! God has heard our prayers!" and, in the wildness of her emotions, burst into a flood of tears. I held her hand as I answered-- "It was your grief that moved me to pray to Him, and I consider you our guardian angel on board this ship, and that God who loves you will spare our lives for your sake." "No, no; do not say so; I am not worthier than you--not worthier than the brave boatswain and Cornish, whose repentance would do honour to the noblest heart. Oh, if my poor father had but been spared to me!" She turned her pale face and soft and swimming eyes up to the stars and gazed at them intently, as though she witnessed a vision there. But though the wind had abated, it still blew a gale, and the sea boiled and tumbled about us and over our decks in a manner that would have been terrifying had we not seen it in a greater state of fury. I sent the steward forward to see if he could get the galley fire to burn, so as to boil us some water for coffee, for though the ship was in a warm latitude, yet the wind, owing to its strength, was at times piercingly cold, and we all longed for a hot drink--a cup of hot coffee or cocoa being infinitely more invigorating, grateful, and warming than any kind of spirits drunk cold. All that the steward did, however, was to get wet through; and this he managed so effectually that he came crawling aft, looking precisely as if he had been fished out of the water with grappling-hooks. I lighted a bull's-eye lamp and went to the pumps and sounded the well. On hauling up the rod I found to my consternation that there were nine inches of water in the ship. I was so much startled by this discovery that I stood for some moments motionless; then, bethinking me that one of the plugged auger holes might be leaking, I slipped forward without saying a word to the others, and, getting a large mallet from the tool-chest, I entered the forecastle, so as to get into the fore peak. I had not been in the forecastle since the men had left the ship, and I cannot describe the effect produced upon me by this dark deserted abode, with its row of idly swinging hammocks glimmering in the light shed by the bull's-eye lamp; the black chests of the seamen which they had left behind them; here and there a suit of dark oilskins suspended by a nail and looking like a hanged man; the hollow space resonant with the booming thunder of the seas and the mighty wash of water swirling over the top-gallant deck. The whole scene took a peculiarly ghastly significance from the knowledge that of all the men who had occupied those hammocks and bunks, one only survived; for four of them we ourselves had killed, and I could not suppose that the long-boat had lived ten minutes after the gale had broken upon her. I made my way over the cable-ranges, stooping my head to clear the hammocks, and striking my shins against the sea-chests, and swung myself into the hold. Here I found myself against the water casks, close against the cargo, and just beyond was the bulk-head behind which the boatswain had hidden while Stevens bored the holes. Carefully throwing the light over the walls, I presently perceived the plugs or ends of the broom-stick protruding; and going close to them I found they were perfectly tight, that no sign of moisture was visible around them. It may seem strange that this discovery vexed and alarmed me. And yet this was the case. It would have made me perfectly easy in my mind to have seen the water gushing in through one of these holes, because not only would a few blows of the mallet have set it to rights, but it would have acquainted me with the cause of the small increase of water in the hold. Now that cause must be sought elsewhere. Was it possible that the apprehensions I had felt each time the ship had taken one of her tremendous headers were to be realised?--that she had strained a butt or started a bolt in some ungetatable place? Here where I stood, deep in the ship, below the water-line, it was frightful to hear her straining, it was frightful to feel her motion. The whole place resounded with groans and cries, as if the hold had been filled with wounded men. What bolts, though forged by a Cyclops, could resist that horrible grinding?--could hold together the immense weight which the sea threw up as a child a ball, leaving parts of it poised in air, out of water, unsustained save by the structure that contained it, then letting the whole hull fall with a hollow, horrible crash into a chasm between the waves, beating it first here, then there, with blows the force of which was to be calculated in hundreds of tons? I scrambled up through the fore scuttle, and perceiving Cornish smoking a pipe under the break of the poop, I desired he would go and relieve the boatswain at the wheel for a short while and send him to me, as I had something particular to say to him. I waited until the boatswain came, as here was the best place I could choose to conduct a conversation. Beyond all question the wind was falling, and though the ship still rolled terribly, she was not taking in nearly so much water over her sides. I re-trimmed the lamp in my hand, and in a few minutes the boatswain joined me. I said to him at once-- "I have just made nine inches of water in the hold." "When was that?" he inquired. "Ten minutes ago." "When you sounded the well before what did you find?" "Between five and six inches." "I'll tell you what it is, sir," said he. "You'll hexcuse me sayin' of it, but it's no easy job to get at the true depth of water in a ship's bottom when she's tumblin' about like this here." "I think I got correct soundings." "Suppose," he continued, "you drop the rod when she's on her beam ends. Where's the water? Why, the water lies all on one side, and the rod 'll come up pretty near dry." "I waited until the ship was level." "Ah, _you_ did, because you knows your work. But it's astonishin' what few persons there are as really _does_ know how to sound the pumps. You'll hexcuse me, sir, but I should like to drop the rod myself." "Certainly," I replied, "and I hope you'll make it less than I." In order to render my description clear to readers not acquainted with such details, I may state that in most large ships there is a pipe that leads from the upper deck, alongside the pumps, down to the bottom or within a few inches of the bottom of the vessel. The water in the hold necessarily rises to the height of its own level in this pipe; and in order to gauge the depth of water, a dry rod of iron, usually graduated in feet and inches, is attached to the end of a line and dropped down the tube, and when drawn up the depth of water is ascertained by the height of the water on the rod. It is not too much to say that no method for determining this essential point in a ship's safety could well be more susceptible of inaccuracy than this. The immersed rod, on being withdrawn from the tube, wets the sides of the tube; hence, though the rod be dry when it is dropped a second time, it is wetted in its passage down the tube; and as the accuracy of its indication is dependent on its exhibiting the mark of the level of water, it is manifest that if it becomes wetted before reaching the water, the result it shows on being withdrawn must be erroneous. Secondly, as the boatswain remarked to me, if the well be sounded at any moment when the vessel is inclined at any angle on one side or the other, the water must necessarily roll to the side to which the vessel inclines, by which the height of the water in the well is depressed, so that the rod will not report the true depth. Hence, to use the sounding-rod properly, one must not only possess good sense, but exercise very great judgment. I held the lamp close to the sounding-pipe, and the boatswain carefully dried the rod on his coat preparatory to dropping it. He then let it fall some distance down the tube, keeping it, however, well above the bottom, until the ship, midway in a roll, stood for a moment on a level keel. He instantly dropped the rod, and hauling it up quickly, remarked that we had got the true soundings this time. He held the rod to the light, and I found it a fraction over nine inches. "That's what it is, anyways," said he, putting down the rod. "An increase of three inches since the afternoon." "Well, there's nothen to alarm us in that, is there, Mr. Royle?" he exclaimed. "Perhaps its one o' my plugs as wants hammerin'." "No, they're as tight as a new kettle," I answered. "I have just come from examining them." "Well, all we've got to do is to pump the ship out; and, if we can, make the pumps suck all right. That 'll show us if anything's wrong." This was just the proposition I was about to make; so I went into the cuddy and sang out for the steward, but he was so long answering that I lost my temper and ran into the pantry, where I found him shamming to be asleep. I started him on to his legs and had him on the main-deck in less time than he could have asked what the matter was. "Look here!" I cried, "if you don't turn to and help us all to save our lives, I'll just send you adrift in that quarter-boat with the planks out of her bottom! What do you mean by pretending to be asleep when I sing out to you?" And after abusing him for some time to let him know that I would have no skulking, and that if his life were worth having he must save it himself, for we were not going to do his work and our own as well, I bid him lay hold of one of the pump-handles, and we all three of us set to work to pump the ship. If this were not the heaviest job we had yet performed, it was the most tiring; but we plied our arms steadily and perseveringly, taking every now and then a spell of rest, and shifting our posts so as to vary our postures; and after pumping I scarcely know how long, the pumps sucked, whereat the boatswain and I cheered heartily. "Now, sir," said the boatswain, as we entered the cuddy to refresh ourselves with a drain of brandy and water after our heavy exertions, "we know that the ship's dry, leastways, starting from the ship's bottom; if the well's sounded agin at half-past ten--its now half-past nine--that 'll be time enough to find out if anything's gone wrong." "How about the watches? We're all adrift again. Here's Cornish at the wheel, and its your watch on deck." As I said this, Miss Robertson came out of the cabin where her father lay--do what I might I could not induce her to keep away from the old man's body--and approaching us slowly asked why we had been pumping. "Why, ma'm," replied the boatswain, "it's always usual to pump the water out o' wessels. On dry ships it's done sometimes in the mornin' watch, and t'others they pumps in the first dog watch. All accordin'. Some wessels as they calls colliers require pumpin' all day long; and the _Heagle_, which was the fust wessel as I went to sea in, warn't the only Geordie as required pumpin' not only all day long but all night long as well. Every wessel has her own custom, but it's a werry dry ship indeed as don't want pumpin' wunce a day." "I was afraid," she said, "when I heard the clanking of the pumps that water was coming into the ship." She looked at me earnestly, as though she believed that this was the case and that I would not frighten her by telling her so. I had learnt to interpret the language of her eyes by this time, and answered her doubts as though she had expressed them. "I should tell you at once if there was any danger threatened in that way," I said. "There was more water in the ship than I cared to find in her, and so the three of us have been pumping her out." "About them watches, Mr. Royle?" exclaimed the boatswain. "Well, begin afresh, if you like," I replied. "I'll take the wheel for two hours, and then you can relieve me." "Why will you not let me take my turn at the wheel?" said Miss Robertson. The boatswain laughed. "I have proved to you that I know how to steer." "Well, that's right enough," said the boatswain. "All three of you can lie down, then." I smiled and shook my head. Said the boatswain: "If your arms wur as strong as your sperrit Miss, there'd be no reason why you shouldn't go turn and turn about with us." "But I can hold the wheel." "It 'ud fling you overboard. Listen to its kickin'. You might as well try to prewent one o' Barclay Perkins' dray hosses from bustin' into a gallop by catchin' hold o' it's tail. It 'ud be a poor look-out for us to lose you, I can tell yer. What," continued the boatswain, energetically, "we want to know is that you're sleepin', and forgettin' all this here excitement in pleasing dreams. To see a lady like you knocked about by a gale o' wind is just one o' them things I have no fancy for. Mr. Royle, if I had a young and beautiful darter, and a Dook or a Barryonet worth a thousand a year, if that ain't sayin' too much, wos to propose marriage to her, an' ax her to come and be married to him in some fur-off place, wich 'ud oblige her to cross the water, blowed if I'd consent. No flesh an' blood o' mine as I had any kind o' feeling for should set foot on board ship without fust having a row with me. Make no mistake. I'm talkin' o' females, Miss. I say the sea ain't a fit place for women and gells. It does middlin' well for the likes of me and Mr. Royle here, as aren't afraid o' carryin' full-rigged ships and other agreeable dewices in gunpowder and Hindian ink on our harms, and is seasoned, as the sayin' is, to the wexations o' the mariner's life. But when it comes to young ladies crossin' the ocean, an' I don't care wot they goes as--as passengers or skippers' wives, or stewardishes, or female hemigrants--then I say it ain't proper, and if I'd ha' been a lawyer I'd ha' made it agin the law, and contrived such a Act of Paleyment as 'ud make the gent as took his wife, darter, haunt, cousin, grandmother, female nephey, or any relations in petticoats to sea along with him, wish hisself hanged afore he paid her passage money." I was so much impressed by this vehement piece of rhetoric, delivered with many convulsions of the face, and a great deal of hand-sawing, that I could not forbear mixing him some more brandy and water, which he drank at a draught, having first wished Miss Robertson and myself long life and plenty of happiness. His declamation had quite silenced her, though I saw by her eyes that she would renew her entreaties the moment she had me alone. "Then you'll go on deck, sir, and relieve Cornish, and I'll turn in?" observed the boatswain. "Yes." "Right," said he, and was going. I added: "We must sound the well again at half-past ten." "Aye! aye!" "I shan't be able to leave the wheel, and I would rather you should sound than Cornish. I'll send the steward to rouse you." "Very well," said he. And after waiting to hear if I had anything more to say, he entered his cabin, and in all probability was sound asleep two minutes after. Miss Robertson stood near the table, with her hands folded and her eyes bent down. I was about to ask her to withdraw to her cabin and get some sleep. "Mr. Royle, you are dreadfully tired and worn out, and yet you are going on deck to remain at the wheel for two hours." "That is nothing." "Why will you not let me take your place?" "Because----" "Let the steward keep near that ladder there, so that I can call to him if I want you." "Do you think I could rest with the knowledge you were alone on deck?" "You refuse because you believe I am not to be trusted," she said gently, looking down again. "If your life were not dependent on the ship's safety, I should not think of her safety, but of yours. I refuse for your own sake, not for mine--no, I will not say that. For _both_ our sakes I refuse. I have one dear hope--well, I will call it a great ambition, which I need not be ashamed to own: it is, that I may be the means of placing you on shore in England. This hope has given me half the courage with which I have fought on through danger after danger since I first brought you from the wreck. If anything should happen to you now, I feel that all the courage and strength of heart which have sustained me would go. Is that saying too much? I do not wish to exaggerate," I exclaimed, feeling the blood in my cheeks, and lamenting, without being able to control, the impulse that had forced this speech from me, and scarcely knowing whether to applaud or detest myself for my candour. She looked up at me with her frank, beautiful eyes, but on a sudden averted them from my face to the door of the cabin where her dead father lay. A look of indescribable anguish came over her, and she drew a deep, long, sobbing breath. Without another word, I took her hand and led her to the cabin, and I knew the reason why she did not turn and speak to me was that I might not see she was weeping. But it was a time for action, and I dared not let the deep love that had come to me for her divert my thoughts from my present extremity. I summoned the steward, who tumbled out of his cabin smartly enough, and ordered him to bring his mattress and lay it alongside the companion ladder so as to be within hail. This done, I gained the poop and sent Cornish below. CHAPTER VI. As I stood at the wheel I considered how I should act when the storm had passed. And I was justified in so speculating, because now the sky was clear right away round, and the stars large and bright, though a strong gale was still blowing and keeping the sea very heavy. Indeed, the clearness of the sky made me think that the wind would go to the eastward, but as yet there was no sign of it veering from the old quarter. We had been heading west ever since we hove to, and travelling broadside on dead south south-east. Now, if wind and sea dropped, our business would be to make sail if possible, and, with the wind holding north north-west, make an eight hours' board north-easterly, and then round and stand for Bermuda. This, of course, would depend upon the weather. It was, however, more than possible that we should be picked up very soon by some passing ship. It was not as though we were down away in the South Pacific, or knocking about in the poisonous Gulf of Guinea, or up in the North Atlantic at 60°. We were on a great ocean highway, crossed and re-crossed by English, American, Dutch, and French ships, to and from all parts of the world; and bad indeed would our fortune be, and baleful the star under which we sailed, if we were not overhauled in a short time and assistance rendered us. A great though unexpressed ambition of mine was to save the ship and navigate her myself, not necessarily to England, but to some port whence I could communicate with her owners and ask for instructions. As I have elsewhere admitted, I was entirely dependent on my profession, my father having been a retired army surgeon, who had died extremely poor, leaving me at the age of twelve an orphan, with no other friend in the world than the vicar of the parish we dwelt in, who generously sent me to school for two years at his own expense, and then, after sounding my inclinations, apprenticed me to the sea. Under such circumstances, therefore, it would be highly advantageous to my interests to save the ship, since my doing so would prefer some definite claims upon the attention of the owners, or perhaps excite the notice of another firm more generous in their dealings with their servants, and of a higher commercial standing. Whilst I stood dreaming in this manner at the wheel, allowing my thoughts to run on until I pictured myself the commander of a fine ship, and ending in allowing my mind to become engrossed with thoughts of Mary Robertson, whom I believed I should never see again after we had bidden each other farewell on shore, and who would soon forget the young second mate, whom destiny had thrown her with for a little time of trouble and suffering and death, I beheld a figure advance along the poop, and on its approach I perceived the boatswain. "I've been sounding the well, Mr. Royle," said he. "I roused up on a sudden and went and did it, as I woke up anxious; and there's bad news, sir, twelve inches o' water." "Twelve inches!" I cried. "It's true enough. I found the bull's-eye on the cuddy table, and the rod don't tell no lies when it's properly used." "The pumps suck at four inches, don't they?" "Yes, sir." "Then that's a rise of eight inches since half-past nine o'clock. What time is it now?" "Twenty minutes arter ten." "We must man the pumps at once. Call Cornish. You'll find the steward on a mattress against the companion ladder." He paused a moment to look round him at the weather, and then went away. I could not doubt now that the ship was leaky, and after what we had endured, and my fond expectation of saving the vessel--and the miserable death, after all our hopes, that might be in store for us--I felt that it was very very hard on us, and I yielded to a fit of despair. What struck most home to me was that my passionate dream to save Mary Robertson might be defeated. The miseries which had been accumulated on her wrung my heart to think of. First her shipwreck, and then the peril of the mutiny, and then the dreadful storm that had held us face to face with death throughout the fearful day, and then the death of her father, and now this new horror of the ship whereon we stood filling with water beneath our feet. Yet hope--and God be praised for this mercy to all men--springs eternal, and after a few minutes my despair was mastered by reflection. If the ship made no more water than eight inches in three-quarters of an hour, it would be possible to keep her afloat for some days by regular spells at the pump, and there were four hands to work them if Miss Robertson steered whilst we pumped. In that time it would be a thousand to one if our signal of distress was not seen and answered. Presently I heard the men pumping on the main-deck, and the boatswain's voice singing to encourage the others. What courage that man had! I, who tell this story, am ashamed to think of the prominence I give to my own small actions when all the heroism belongs to him. I know not what great writer it was who, visiting the field of the battle of Waterloo, asked how it was that the officers who fell in that fight had graves and monuments erected to them, when the soldiers--the privates by whom all the hard work was done, who showed all the courage and won the battle--lay nameless in hidden pits? And so when we send ships to discover the North Pole we have little to say about poor Jack, who loses his life by scurvy, or his toes and nose by frost-bites, who labours manfully, and who makes all the success of the expedition so far as it goes. Our shouts are for Jack's officer; we title him, we lionize him--_his_ was all the work, all the suffering, all the anxiety, we think. I, who have been to sea, say that Jack deserves as much praise as his skipper, and perhaps a little more; and if honour is to be bestowed, let Jack have his share; and if a monument is to be raised, let poor Jack's name be written on the stone as well as the other's; for be sure that Jack could have done without the other, but also be sure that the other couldn't have done without Jack. Chained to my post, which I dared not vacate for a moment, for the ship pitched heavily, and required close watching as she came to and fell off upon the swinging seas, I grew miserably anxious to learn how the pumping progressed, and felt that, after the boatswain, my own hands would do four times the work of the other two. It was our peculiar misfortune that of the four men on board the ship three only should be capable; and that as one of the three men was constantly required at the wheel, there were but two available men to do the work. Had the steward been a sailor our difficulties would have been considerably diminished, and I bitterly deplored my want of judgment in allowing Fish and the Dutchman to be destroyed; for though I would not have trusted Johnson and Stevens, yet the other two might have been brought over to work for us, and I had no doubt that the spectacle of the perishing wretches in the long-boat, as she was whirled past us, would have produced as salutary an effect upon them as it had upon Cornish; and with two extra hands of this kind we could not only have kept the pumps going, but have made shift to sail the ship at the same time. The hollow thrashing sounds of the pump either found Miss Robertson awake or aroused her, for soon after the pumping had commenced she came on deck, swathed in the big warm overcoat and fur cap. Such a costume for a girl must make you laugh in the description; and yet, believe me, she lost in nothing by it. The coat dwarfed her figure somewhat, but the fur cap looked luxurious against her fair hair, and nothing could detract from the exquisite femininity of her face, manner, and carriage. I speak of the impression she had made on me in the daytime; the starlight only revealed her white face now to me. "Is the water still coming into the ship?" she asked. "The bo'sun has reported to me that eight inches deep have come into her since half-past nine." "Is that much?" "More than we want." "I don't like to trouble you with my questions, Mr. Royle; but I am very, very anxious." "Of course you are; and do not suppose that you can trouble. Ask me what you will. I promise to tell you the truth." "If you find that you cannot pump the water out as fast as it comes in, what will you do?" "Leave the ship." "How?" she exclaimed, looking around her. "By that quarter-boat there." "But it would fill with water and sink in such waves as these." "These waves are not going to last, and it is quite likely that by this time to-morrow the sea will be calm." "Will the ship keep afloat until to-morrow?" "If the water does not come in more rapidly than it does at present, the ship will keep afloat so long as we can manage to pump her out every hour. And so," said I, laughing to encourage her, "we are not going to die all at once, you see." She drew quite close to me and said-- "I shall never fear death while you remain on board, Mr. Royle. You have saved me from death once, and, though I may be wicked in daring to prophesy, yet I feel _certain_--_certain_," she repeated, with singular emphasis, "that you will save my life again." "I shall try very hard, be sure of that," I answered. "I believe--no, it is not so much a belief as a strong conviction, with which my mind seems to have nothing to do, that, whatever dangers may be before us, you and I will not perish." She paused, and I saw that she was looking at me earnestly. "You will not think me superstitious if I tell you that the reason of my conviction is a dream? My poor father came and stood beside me: he was so _real_! I stretched out my arms to him, and he took my hand and said, '_Darling, do not fear! He who has saved your life once will save it again. God will have mercy upon you and him for the prayers you offered to Him._' He stooped and kissed me and faded away, and I started up and heard the men pumping. I went to look at him, for I thought ... I thought he had really come to my side.... Oh, Mr. Royle, his spirit is with us!" Though my mind was of too prosaic a turn to catch at any significance in a dream, yet there was a strange, deep, solemn tenderness in her voice and manner as she related this vision, that impressed me. It made my heart leap to hear her own sweet lips pronounce her faith in me, and my natural hopes and longings for life gathered a new light and enthusiasm from her own belief in our future salvation. "Shipwrecked persons have been saved by a dream before now," I replied, gravely. "Many years ago a vessel called the _Mary_ went ashore on some rocks to the southward of one of the Channel Islands. A few of the crew managed to gain the rocks, where they existed ten or twelve days without water or any kind of food save limpets, which only increased their thirst without relieving their hunger. A vessel bound out of Guernsey passed the rocks at a distance too far away to observe the signals of distress made by the perishing men. But the son of the captain had twice dreamed that there were persons dying on those rocks, and so importuned his father to stand close to them that the man with great reluctance consented. In this way, and by a dream, those sailors were saved. Though I do not, as a rule, believe in dreams, I believe this story to be true, and I believe in your dream." She remained silent, but the ship presently giving a sudden lurch, she put her hand on my arm to steady herself, and kept it there. Had I dared I should have bent my head and kissed the little hand. She could not know how much she made me love her by such actions as this. "The boatswain has told me," she said, after a short silence, "that you want to save the ship. I asked him why? Are you angry with me for being curious?" "Not in the least. What did he answer?" "He said that you thought the owners would recompense you for your fidelity, and promote you in their service." "Now how could he know this? I have never spoken such thoughts to him." "It would not be difficult to guess such a wish." "Well, I don't know that I have any right to expect promotion or recompense of any kind from owners who send their ship to sea so badly provisioned that the men mutiny." "But if the water gains upon the ship you will not be able to save her?" "No, she must sink." "What will you do then?" "Put you on shore or on board another ship," I replied, laughing at my own evasion, for I knew what she meant. "Oh, of course, if we do not reach the shore we shall none of us be able to do anything," she said, dropping her head, for she stood close enough to the binnacle light to enable me to see her movements and almost catch the expression on her face. "I mean what will you do when we get ashore?" "I must try to get another ship." "To command?" "Oh dear no! as second mate, if they'll have me." "If command of a ship were given you would you accept it?" "If I could, but I can't." She asked quickly, "Why not?" "Because I have not passed an examination as master." She was silent again, and I caught myself listening eagerly to the sound of the pumping going on on the main-deck and wondering at my own levity in the face of our danger. But I could not help forgetting a very great deal when she was at my side. All at once it flashed upon me that her father owned several ships, and that her questions were preliminary to her offering me the command of one of them. I give you my honour that all recollection of who and what she was, of her station on shore, of her wealth as the old man's heiress, had as absolutely gone out of my mind as if the knowledge had never been imparted. What she was to me--what love and the wonderful association of danger and death had endeared her to me as--was what she was as she stood by my side, a sweet and gentle woman whom my heart was drawing closer and closer to every hour, whose life I would have died to preserve, whose danger made my own life a larger necessity to me than I should have felt it. A momentary emotion of disappointment, a resentment whereof I knew not the meaning, through lacking the leisure or the skill to analyse it, made me turn and say-- "Would you like me to command one of your ships, Miss Robertson?" "Yes," she answered, promptly. "As a recompense for my humane efforts to preserve you from drowning?" She withdrew her hand from my arm and inclined her head to look me full in the face. "Mr. Royle, I never thought you would speak to me like that." "I want no recompense for what I have done, Miss Robertson." "I have not offered you any recompense." "Let me feel," I said, "that you understand it is possible for an English sailor to do his duty without asking or expecting any manner of reward. The Humane Society's medals are not for him." "Why are you angry with me?" she exclaimed, sinking her head, and speaking with a little sob in her voice. I was stirred to the heart by her broken tones, and answered-- "I am not angry. I could not be angry with you. I wish you to feel that what I have done, that whatever I may do is ... is...." I faltered and stopped--an ignominious break down! though I think it concealed the true secret of my resentment. I covered my confusion by taking her hand, and resting it on my arm again. "Do you mean," she said, "that all you have done has been for my sake only--out of humanity--that you would do as much for anybody else?" "No," said I, boldly. Again she withdrew her hand and remained silent, and I made up my mind not to interrupt her thoughts. After a few moments she went to the ship's side, and stood there; sometimes looking at the stars, and sometimes at the water that stretched away into the gloom in heavy breaking seas. The wind was singing shrilly up aloft, but the sounds of the pumping ceased on a sudden. I awaited the approach of the boatswain with inexpressible anxiety. After an interval I saw his figure come up the poop ladder. "Pumps suck!" he roared out. "Hurrah!" I shouted. "Down with you for grog all round," for the other two were following the boatswain. But they all came aft first and stood near the wheel, blowing like whales, and Miss Robertson joined the group. "If it's no worse than this, bo'sun," I exclaimed, "she'll do." "Aye, she'll do, sir; but it's hard work. My arms feel as though they wos tied up in knots." "So do mine," said the steward. "Shall I take the wheel?" asked Cornish. "No; go and get some grog and turn in, all of you. I am as fresh as a lark, and will stay here till twelve o'clock," I replied. The steward at once shuffled below. "Boatswain, ask Mr. Royle to let me take the wheel," said Miss Robertson. "He has been talking to me for the last half-hour and sometimes held the wheel with one hand. I am sure I can hold it." "As you won't go below, Miss Robertson, you shall steer; but I will stop by you," I said. "That will be of no use!" she exclaimed. Cornish smothered a laugh and walked away. "Now, bo'sun, down with you," I cried. "I'll have you up again shortly to sound the well. But half an hour's sleep is something. If you get knocked up, I lose half the ship's company--two-thirds of it." "All right, sir," he replied, with a prodigious yawn. "You an' the lady 'll know how to settle this here business of steering." And off he went. "You see how obedient these men are, Miss Robertson. Why will you not obey orders, and get some sleep?" "I have offended you, Mr. Royle, and I am very, very sorry." "Let us make peace then," I said, holding out my hand. She took it; but when I had got her hand, I would not let it go for some moments. She was leaving the deck in silence when she came back and said-- "If we should have to leave this ship suddenly, I should not like--it would make me unhappy for ever to think of poor papa left in her." She spoke, poor girl, with a great effort. I answered immediately-- "Any wish you may express shall be carried out." "He would go down in this ship without a prayer said for him," she exclaimed, sobbing. "Will you leave this with me? I promise you that no tenderness, no reverence, no sincere sorrow shall be wanting." "Mr. Royle, you are a dear good friend to me. God knows how lonely I should have been without you--and yet--I made you angry." "Do not say that. What I do I do for your safety--for your ultimate happiness--so that when we say farewell to each other on shore, I may feel that the trust which God gave me in you was honourably and faithfully discharged. I desire, if our lives are spared, that this memory may follow me when all this scene is changed, and we behold it again only in our dreams. I should have told you my meaning just now, but one cannot always express one's thoughts." "You have told me your meaning, and I shall not forget it. God bless you!" she exclaimed, in her calm, earnest voice, and went slowly down into the cuddy. CHAPTER VII. The wind still continued a brisk gale and the sea very heavy. Yet overhead it was a glorious night, and as the glass had risen steadily, I was surprised to find the wild weather holding on so long. I busied my head with all kinds of schemes to save the ship, and believed it would be no hard matter to do so if the water did not come into her more quickly than she was now making it. Unfortunately, there were only two parts of the ship's hold which we could get into: namely, right forward in the fore peak, and right aft down in the lazarette. If she had strained a butt, or started any part of her planking or outer skin, amidships or anywhere in her bottom between these two points, there would be no chance of getting at the leak unless the cargo were slung out of her. But the leak could not be considered very serious that did not run a greater depth of water into the ship than under a foot an hour; and with the Bermudas close at hand and the weather promising fair, I could still dare to think it possible, despite the hopes and fears which alternately depressed and elevated me, to bring the vessel to port, all crippled and under-manned as she was. These speculations kept me busily thinking until half-past eleven, on which I bawled to the steward, who got up and called the boatswain and Cornish, though I only wanted the boatswain. Cornish thought it was midnight and his turn to take the wheel, so he came aft. I resigned my post, being anxious to get on the main-deck, where I found the bo'sun in the act of sounding the well, he having lost some time in re-lighting the lamp, which had burnt out. He dropped the rod carefully and found the water thirteen inches deep,--that was, nine inches high in the pumps. "Just what I thought," said he; "she's takin' of it at a foot an hour, no better and no worse." "Well, we must turn to," I exclaimed. "We mustn't let it rise above a foot, as every inch will make our work longer and harder." "If it stops at that, good and well," said the boatswain. "But there's always a hif in these here sinkin' cases. However, there's time enough to croak when the worst happens." He called to the steward, and we all three went to work and pumped vigorously, and kept the handles grinding and clanking, with now and again a spell of a couple of minutes' rest between, until the pumps gave out the throaty sound which told us that the water was exhausted. Though this proved beyond a doubt that, providing the leak remained as it was, we should be able to keep the water under, the prospect before us of having to work the pumps every hour was extremely disheartening; all four of us required sleep to put us right, and already our bones were aching with weariness. Yet it was certain that we should be able to obtain at the very best but brief snatches of rest; and I for one did not even promise myself so much, for I had strong misgivings as to the condition of the ship's bottom, and was prepared, at any moment, to find the water gaining more rapidly upon us than we could pump it out, though I kept my fears to myself. I had been on deck now for four hours at one stretch; so, leaving Cornish at the wheel, I lay down on the steward's mattress in the cuddy, whilst he seated himself on the bench with his head upon the cuddy table, and snored in that posture. But we were all aroused again within the hour by Cornish, who called to us down the companion, and away we floundered, with our eyes gummed up with sleep, to the pumps, and wearily worked them like miserable automatons. The dawn found me again at the wheel, having been there half an hour. I scanned the broken desolate horizon in the pale light creeping over it, but no ship was in sight. The sea, though not nearly so dangerous as it had been, was terribly sloppy, short, and quick, and tumbled very often over the ship's sides, making the decks, with the raffle that encumbered them, look wretched. I had not had my clothes off me for some days, and the sense of personal discomfort in no small degree aggravated the profound feeling of weariness which ached like rheumatism in my body and absolutely stung in my legs. The skin of my face was hard and dry with long exposure to the terrible wind and the salt water it had blown and dried upon it; and though my underclothing was dry, yet it produced all the sensation of dampness upon my skin, and never in all my life had I felt so uncomfortable, weary, and spiritless as I did standing at the wheel when the dawn broke and I looked abroad upon the rugged fields of water, and found no vessel in sight to inspire me with a moment's emotion of hope. I was replaced at the wheel by the boatswain, and took another turn at the pumps. When this harassing job was ended, I went into the forecastle, making my way thither with much difficulty. I had a sacred duty to perform, and now that the daylight was come it was proper I should go to work. On entering the forecastle I looked around me on the empty hammocks swinging from the deck, and finding one that looked new and clean, took it down and threw the mattress and blankets out of it and folded it up as a piece of canvas. I then searched the carpenter's berth for a sail needle, twine, and palm, which things, together with the hammock, I took aft. On reaching the cuddy I called Cornish, whose services in this matter I preferred to the steward's, and bid him follow me into the cabin where the old man's body lay. When there, I closed the door and informed him that we should bury the poor old gentleman when the morning was more advanced, and that I wished him to help me to sew up the body in the hammock. God knows I had rather that any man should have undertaken this job than I; but it was a duty I was bound to perform, and I desired, for Miss Robertson's sake, that it should be carried out with all the reverence and tenderness that so rude and simple a burial was susceptible of, and nothing done to cause the least violence to her feelings. We spread the hammock open on the deck, and lifted the body and placed it on the hammock, and rolled a blanket over it. A very great change had come over the face of the corpse since death, and I do not think I should have known it as the kindly, dignified countenance, reverent with its white hair and beard, that had smiled at me from the bunk and thanked me for what I had done. For what I had done!--alas! how mocking was this memory now!--with what painful cynicism did that lonely face illustrate the power of man over the great issues of life and death! I brought the sides of the hammock to meet over the corpse and held them while Cornish passed the stitches. I then sent him to find me a big holystone or any pieces of iron, so as to sink the body, and he brought some pieces of the stone, which I secured in the clues at the foot of the hammock. We left the face exposed and raised the body on to the bunk and covered it over; after which I despatched Cornish for a carpenter's short-stage I had noticed forward, and which was in use for slinging the men over the ship's side for scraping or painting her. A grating would have answered our purpose better, but the hatches were battened down, the tarpaulins over them, and there was no grating to be got at without leaving the hatchway exposed. I dressed this short-stage in the big ensign, and placed it on the upper bunk ready to be used, and then told Cornish to stand by with the steward, and went aft and knocked at Miss Robertson's door. My heart was in my throat, for this mission was even more ungrateful to me than the sewing up of the body had been, and I was afraid that I should not be able to address her tenderly enough, and show her how truly I mourned for and with her. As I got no answer, I was leaving, wishing her to obtain all the sleep she could, but when I had gone a few paces she came out and followed me. "Did you knock just now, Mr. Royle?" she asked. I told her yes, but could not immediately summon up courage enough to tell her why I had knocked. She looked at me inquiringly, and I began to reproach myself for my weakness, and still I could not address her; but seeing me glance towards her father's cabin she understood all on a sudden, and covered her face with her hands. "I have left his face uncovered for you to kiss," I said, gently laying my hand on her arm. She went at once into his cabin, and I closed the door upon her and waited outside. She did not keep me long waiting. I think, brave girl that she was, even amid all her desolating sorrow, that she knew I would wish the burial over so that we might address ourselves again to the ship. "I leave him to you now," she said. I thought she meant that she would not witness the funeral, and was glad that she had so resolved, and I accordingly took her hand to lead her away to her cabin. "Let me be with you!" she exclaimed. "Indeed, indeed, I am strong enough to bear it. I should not be happy if I did not know the moment when he left me, that I might pray to God for him then." "Be it so," I answered. "I will call you when we are ready." She left me; and Cornish and the steward and I went into the cabin to complete the mournful preparations. I cased the body completely in the hammock, and we then raised it up and laid it upon the stage, which we had made to answer for a stretcher, and over it I threw a sheet, so that only the sheet and the ensign were visible. This done, I consulted with Cornish as to what part of the deck we should choose in order to tilt the body overboard. It is generally the custom to rest the body near the gangway, but the ship was rolling too heavily to enable us to do this now, and the main-deck was afloat, so we decided on carrying the body right aft, and thither we transported it, lodging the foot of the stretcher on the rail abaft the port quarter-boat. The boatswain removed his hat when he saw the body, and the others imitated him. I went below and told Miss Robertson that all was ready, and took from among the books belonging to the captain an old thin volume containing the Office for the Burial of Dead at Sea, printed in very large type. It was fortunate that I had noticed this slip of a book when overhauling Captain Coxon's effects, for my own Prayer-Book did not contain the office, and there was no Church Service among the captain's books. I entreated Miss Robertson to reflect before resolving to witness the burial. I told her that her presence could do no good, and faithfully assured her that prayers would be read, and the sad little service conducted as reverently and tenderly as my deep sympathy and the respect which the others felt for her could dictate. She only answered that it would comfort her to pray for him and herself at the moment he was leaving her, and put her hand into mine, and gently and with tearless eyes, though with a world of sorrow in her beautiful pale face, asked me to take her on deck. Such grief was not to be argued with--indeed, I felt it would be cruel to oppose any fancy, however strange it seemed to me, which might really solace her. She started and stopped when she saw the stretcher and the white sheet and the outline beneath it, and her hand clasped mine tightly; but she recovered herself and we advanced, and then resolving that she should not see the body leave the stretcher, I procured a flag and placed it near the after skylight and said she could kneel there; which she did with her back turned upon us. I then whispered Cornish to watch me and take note of the sign I should give him to tilt the stretcher and to do it quickly; after which I placed myself near the body and began to read the service. It was altogether a strange, impressive scene, one that in a picture would, I am sure, hold the eye for a long time; but in the reality create an ineffaceable memory. The insecurity--the peril, I should prefer to say--of our situation, heightened my own feelings, and made me behold in the corpse we were about to commit to the deep a sad type and melancholy forerunner of our own end. The ship, with her broken masts, her streaming decks, her jib-boom gone, her one sail swollen by the hoarse gale, plunging and rolling amid the tumultuous seas that foamed around and over her; the strong man at the wheel, bareheaded, his hair blown about by the wind, looking downwards with a face full of blunt and honest sorrow, and his lips moving as they repeated the words I read; the motionless, kneeling girl; the three of us standing near the corpse; the still, dead burden on the stretcher, waiting to be launched; the blue sky, and sun kindling into glory as it soared above the eastern horizon: all these were details which formed a picture the wildness and strangeness of which no pen could describe. They are all, as a vision, before me as I write; but they make me know how poor are words, and eloquence how weak, when great realities and things which have befallen many men are to be described. When I came to that part of the office wherein it is directed that the body shall be let fall into the sea, my heart beat anxiously, for I feared that the girl would look around and see what was done. I gave the sign, and instantly Cornish obeyed, and I thank God that the sullen splash of the corpse was lost in the roar of a sea bursting under the ship's counter. Now that it was gone, the worst was over; and in a short time I brought the service to an end, omitting many portions which assuredly I had not skipped had not time been precious to us. I motioned to Cornish and the steward to carry the stretcher away, and waited for Miss Robertson to rise; but she remained for some minutes on her knees, and when she rose, the deck was clear. She gave me her hand, and smiled softly, though with a heart-broken expression in her eyes, at the boatswain by way of thanking him for his sympathy, and I then conducted her below and left her at the door of the cabin, saying-- "I have no words to tell you how I feel for you. Pray God that those who are still living may be spared, and be sure that in His own good time He will comfort you." CHAPTER VIII. All that morning the gale continued fresh and the sea dangerous. We found that the ship was regularly making nine to ten inches of water an hour; and after the funeral we turned to and pumped her out again. But this heavy work, coupled with our extreme anxiety and the perils and labour we had gone through, was beginning to tell heavily upon us. The steward showed signs of what strength he had coming to an end, and Cornish's face had a worn and wasted look as of a man who has fasted long. The boatswain supported this fatigue best, and always went cheerfully to work, and had encouraging words for us all. As for me, what I suffered most from was, strange to say, the eternal rolling of the ship. At times it completely nauseated me. Also it gave me a racking headache, and occasionally the motion so bewildered me that I was obliged to sit down and hold my head in my hands until the dizziness had passed. I believe this feeling was the result of over-work, long wakefulness, and preying anxiety, which was hourly sapping my constitution. Yet I was generally relieved by even a quarter of an hour's sleep, but presently was troubled again, and I grew to dread the time when I should take the wheel, for right aft the motion of the ship was intensely felt by me, so much so that on that morning, the vessel's stern falling heavily into a hollow, I nearly fainted, and only saved myself from rolling on the deck by clinging convulsively to the wheel. At a quarter-past eleven I had just gone into the cuddy, after having had an hour's spell at the pumps with the boatswain and the steward, when I heard Cornish's voice shouting down the companion, "A sail! a sail!" But a minute before I had felt so utterly prostrated, that I should not have believed myself capable of taking half-a-dozen steps without a long rest between each. Yet these magical words sent me rushing up the companion ladder with as much speed and energy as I should have been capable of after a long night's refreshing slumber. The moment Cornish saw me he pointed like a mad man to the horizon on the weather beam, and the ship's stern rising at that moment, I clearly beheld the sails of a vessel, though in what direction she was going I could not tell by the naked eye. Both the boatswain and the other had come running aft on hearing Cornish's exclamation, and the steward, in the madness of his eagerness, had swung himself on to the mizzen rigging, and stood there bawling, "Yonder's the ship! yonder's the ship! Come up here, and you'll see her plain enough!" I got the telescope and pointed it at the vessel, and found that she was heading directly for us, steering due south, with the gale upon her starboard quarter. On this I cried out: "She's coming slap at us, boys! Hurrah! Cornish, you were the first to see her; thank you! thank you!" And I grasped his hand and shook it wildly. I then seized the telescope, and inspected the vessel again, and exclaimed, while I held the glass to my eye-- "She's a big ship, bo'sun. She's carrying a main top-gallant sail, and there's a single reef in her fore-topsail. She can't miss us! She's coming right at us, hand over fist, boys! Steward, go and tell Miss Robertson to come on deck. Down with you and belay that squalling. Do you think we're blind?" The small ensign was still alive, roaring away just as we had hoisted and left it; but in my excitement I did not think the signal importunate enough, though surely it was so; and rushing to the flag-locker, I got out the book of signals, and sang out to the boatswain to help me to bend on the flags which I threw out, and which would represent that we were sinking. We hauled the ensign down, and ran up the string of flags, and glorious they looked in our eyes, as they streamed out in a semicircle, showing their brilliant colours against the clear blue sky. Again I took the telescope, and set it on the rail, and knelt to steady myself. The hull of the ship was now half risen, and as she came rolling and plunging over the seas I could discern the vast space of froth she was throwing up at her bows. Dead on as she was, we could not tell whether she had hoisted any flag at the peak, and I hoped in mercy to us that she would send up an answering pennant to the royal mast-head, so that we might see it and know that our signal was perceived. But this was a foolish hope, only such a one as bitter eager anxiety could coin. She was coming right at us; she _could_ not fail to see us; what need to answer us yet when a little patience, only a little patience, and she would be within a biscuit's throw of us? Miss Robertson came on deck without any covering on her head, and the wind blew her hair away from its fastenings and floated it out like a cloud of gold. She held on to the rail and stared at the coming ship with wild eyes and a frowning forehead, while the steward, who had fallen crazy with the sight of the ship, clambered once more into the mizzen rigging, and shouted and beckoned to the vessel as a little child would. It did not take me long, however, to recover my own reason, the more especially as I felt that we might require all the sense we had when the ship rounded and hove to. I could not, indeed, hope that they would send a boat through such a sea; they would lie by us and send a boat when the sea moderated, which, to judge by the barometer and the high and beaming sky, we might expect to find that night or next morning; and then we should require our senses, not only to keep the pumps going, but to enter the boat calmly and in an orderly way, and help our rescuers to save our lives. The boatswain leaned against the companion hatchway with his arms folded, contemplating the approaching ship with a wooden face. Variously and powerfully as the spectacle of the vessel had affected Cornish and Miss Robertson, and myself and the steward, on the boatswain it had scarcely produced any impression. I know not what kind of misgiving came into my mind as I looked from the coming ship to his stolid face. I had infinite confidence in this man's judgment and bravery, and his lifelessness on this occasion weighed down upon me like a heavy presentiment, insomuch that the cheery gratulatory words I was about to address to Miss Robertson died away on my lips. I should say that we had sighted this vessel's upper sails when she was about seventeen miles distant, and, therefore, coming down upon us before a strong wind, and helped onwards by the long running seas, in less than half an hour her whole figure was plain to us upon the water. I examined her carefully through the glass, striving to make out her nationality by the cut of her aloft. I thought she had the look of a Scotch ship, her hull being after the pattern of the Aberdeen clippers, such as I remembered them in the Australian trade, painted green, and she was also rigged with skysail-poles and a great breadth of canvas. I handed the glass to the boatswain, and asked him what country he took her to be of. After inspecting her, he said he did not think she was English; the colour of her canvas looked foreign, but it was hard to tell; we should see her colours presently. As she approached, Miss Robertson's excitement grew very great; not demonstrative--I mean she did not cry out nor gesticulate like the steward in the rigging; it was visible, like a kind of madness, in her eyes, in her swelling bosom, in a strange, wonderful, brilliant smile upon her face, such as a great actress might wear in a play, but which we who observe it know to be forced and unreal. I ran below for the fur cap and coat, and made her put them on, and then drew her away from the ship's side and kept close to her, even holding her by the hand for some time, for I could not tell what effect the sight of the ship might produce upon her mind, already strung and weakened by privation and cruel sorrow and peril. The vessel came rolling and plunging down towards us before the wind, carrying a sea on either quarter as high as her main-brace bumpkins, and spreading a great surface of foam before and around her. When she was about a couple of miles off they let go the main top-gallant halliards and clewed up the sail; and then the helm was starboarded, which brought her bows astern of us and gave her a sheer, by which we saw that she was a fine barque, of at least eight hundred tons burden. At the same moment she hoisted Russian colours. I was bitterly disappointed when I saw that flag. I should have been equally disappointed by the sight of any other foreign flag, unless it were the Stripes and Stars, which floats over brave hearts and is a signal to Englishmen as full of welcome and promise almost as their own loved bit of bunting. I had hoped, God knows how earnestly, that we should behold the English ensign at the gaff end. Our chances of rescue by a British ship were fifty to one as against our chances of rescue by a foreigner. Cases, indeed, have been known of ships commanded by Englishmen sighting vessels in distress and leaving them to their fate; but, to the honour and glory of our calling, I say that these cases make so brief a list that no impartial-minded man will allow them to weigh with him a moment when he considers the vast number of instances of pluck, humanity, and heroism which illustrate and adorn the story of British naval life. It is otherwise with foreigners. I write not with any foolish insular prejudice against wooden shoes and continental connexions: we cannot dispute good evidence. Though I believe that the Russians make fair sailors, and fight bravely on sea, why was it that my heart sank when I saw that flag? I say that the British flag is an assurance to all distressed persons that what can be done for them will be done for them, and foreigners know this well, and would sooner sight it when they are in peril than their own colours, be those colours Dutch, or French, or Spanish, or Danish, or Italian, or Russian. But he must be a confident man indeed who hopes anything from a vessel sailing under a foreign flag when life is to be saved at the risk of the lives of the rescuers. "He's goin' to round to!" exclaimed the boatswain, who watched the movements of ship with an unconcern absolutely phenomenal to me even to recall now, when I consider that the lives of us all might have depended upon the issue of the stranger's actions. She went gracefully swooping and swashing along the water, and I saw the hands upon the deck aft standing by at the main-braces to back the yards. "Bo'sun!" I cried, "she means to heave to--she won't leave us!" He made no answer, but continued watching her with an immovable face. She passed under our stern not more than a quarter of a mile distant, perhaps not so far. There was a crowd of persons near the wheel, some looking at us through binocular glasses, others through telescopes. There were a few women and children among them. Yet I could detect no hurry, no eagerness, no excitement in their movements; they appeared as imperturbable as Turks or Hollanders, contemplating us as though we were rather an object of curiosity than in miserable, perishing distress. I jumped upon the grating abaft the wheel and waved my hat to them and pointed to our signals. A man standing near their starboard quarter-boat, whom, by the way he looked aloft, I judged to be the captain, flourished his hand in reply. I then, at the top of my voice and through my hands, shouted, "We're sinking! for God's sake stand by us!" On which the same person held up his hand again, though I do not believe he understood or even heard what I said. Meanwhile they had braced up the foreyards, and as the vessel came round parallel with us, at a distance of about two-thirds of a mile, they backed the mainyards, and in a few moments she lay steady, riding finely upon the water and keeping her decks dry, though the seas were still splashing over us freely. Seeing now, as I believed, that she meant to stand by us, all my excitement broke out afresh. I cried out that we were saved, and fell upon my knees and thanked God for His mercy. Miss Robertson sobbed aloud, and the steward came down out of the rigging, and danced about the deck, exclaiming wildly and extending his arms towards the ship. Cornish retained his grasp of the wheel, but could not remove his eyes from the ship; the boatswain alone remained perfectly tranquil, and even angered me by his hard, unconcerned face. "Good God!" I cried; "do you not value your life? Have you nothing to say? See, she is lying there, and will wait till the sea moderates, and then fetch us on board!" "Perhaps she may," he answered, "and it'll be time enough for me to go mad when I _am_ saved." And he then folded his arms afresh, and leaned against the rail, contemplating the ship with the same extraordinary indifference. They now hauled down the flag, and I waited anxiously to see if they would hoist the answering pennant to let us know they understood our signal; but they made no further sign that way, nor could I be sure, therefore, that they understood the flags we had hoisted; for though in those days Marryatt's Code was in use among ships of all nations, yet it often happened (as it does now), that vessels, both British and foreign, would, through the meanness of their owners, be sent to sea with merely the flags indicating their own number on board, so that speaking one of these vessels was like addressing a dumb person. The movements of the people on the Russian barque were quite discernible by the naked eye; and we all now, saving the boatswain, watched her with rapt eagerness, the steward stopping his mad antics to grasp the poop rail, and gaze with devouring eyes. We did not know what they would do, and, indeed, we scarcely knew what we had to expect; for it was plain to us all that a boat would stand but a poor chance in that violent sea, and that we should run a greater risk of losing our lives by quitting the ship than by staying in her. But would they not give us some sign, some assurance that they meant to stand by us? The agony of my doubts of their intentions was exquisite. For some time she held her ground right abreast of us; but our topsail being full, while the Russian was actually hove to, we slowly began to reach ahead of her. Seeing this, I cried out to Cornish to put the helm hard down, and keep the sail flat at the leech; but he had already anticipated this order, though it was a useless one; for the ship came to and fell off with every sea, though the helm was hard down, and before we could have got her to behave as we wished, we should have been obliged to clap some after sail upon her, which I did not dare do, as we had only choice of the mizzen and crossjack, and either of these sails (both being large), would probably have slewed her round head into the sea, and thrown her dead and useless on our hands. Seeing that we were slowly bringing the Russian on to our lee quarter, I called out in the hope of encouraging the others-- "No matter! she will let us draw ahead, and then shorten sail and stand after us." "Are they goin' to lower that boat?" exclaimed the boatswain, suddenly starting out of his apathetic manner. There was a crowd of men round the starboard davits where the quarter-boat hung, but it was not until I brought the telescope to bear upon them that I could see they were holding an animated discussion. The man who had motioned to us, and whom I took to be master of the ship, stood aft, in company with two others and a woman, and gesticulated very vehemently, sometimes pointing at us and sometimes at the sea. His meaning was intelligible enough to me, but I was not disheartened; for though it was plain that he was representing the waves as too rough to permit them to lower a boat, which was a conclusive sign, at least, that those whom he addressed were urging him to save us; yet his refusal was no proof that he did not mean to keep by us until it should be safe to send a boat to our ship. "What will they do, Mr. Royle?" exclaimed Miss Robertson, speaking in a voice sharpened by the terrible excitement under which she laboured. "They will not leave us," I answered. "They are men--and it is enough that they should have seen you among us to make them stay. Oh!" I cried, "it is hard that those waves do not subside! but patience. The wind is lulling--we have a long spell of daylight before us. Would to God she were an English ship!--I should have no fear then." I again pointed the glass at the vessel. The captain was still declaiming and gesticulating; but the men had withdrawn from the quarter-boat, and were watching us over the bulwarks. Since the boat was not to be lowered, why did he continue arguing? I watched him intently, watched him until my eyes grew bleared and the metal rim of the telescope seemed to burn into the flesh around my eye. I put the glass down and turned to glance at the flags streaming over my head. "There she goes! I knew it. They never shows no pity!" exclaimed the boatswain, in a deep voice. I looked and saw the figures of the men hauling on the lee main-braces. The yards swung round; the vessel's head paid off; they squared away forward, and in a few minutes her stern was at us, and she went away solemnly, rolling and plunging; the main top-gallant sail being sheeted home and the yard hoisted as she surged forward on her course. We remained staring after her--no one speaking--no one believing in the reality of what he beheld. Of all the trials that had befallen us, this was the worst. Of all the terrible, cruel disappointments that can afflict suffering people, none, _none_ in all the hideous catalogue, is more deadly, more unendurable, more frightful to endure than that which it was our doom then to feel. To witness our salvation at hand and then to miss it; to have been buoyed up with hope unspeakable; to taste in the promise of rescue the joy of renovated life; to believe that our suffering was at an end, and that in a short time we should be among sympathetic rescuers, looking back with shudders upon the perils from which we had been snatched--to have felt all this, and then to be deceived! I thought my heart would burst. I tried to speak, but my tongue clove to the roof of my mouth. When the steward saw that we were abandoned, he uttered a loud scream and rushed headlong down into the cuddy. I took no notice of him. Cornish ran from the wheel, and springing on to the rail, shook his fist at the departing vessel, raving, and cursing her with horrible, blasphemous words, black in the face with his mad and useless rage. The boatswain took his place and grasped the wheel, never speaking a word. I was aroused from the stupor that had come over me, the effect of excessive emotion, by Miss Robertson putting her hand in mine. "Be brave!" she whispered, with her mouth close to my ear. "God is with us still. My dead father would not deceive me. We shall be saved yet. Have courage, and be your own true self again!" I looked into her shining eyes, out of which all the excitement that had fired them while the Russian remained hove to, had departed. There was a beautiful tranquillity, there was a courage heaven-inspired, there was a soft and hopeful smile upon her pale face, which fell upon the tempest in my breast and stilled it. God had given her this influence over me, and I yielded to it as though He Himself had commanded me. All her own troubles came before me, all her own bitter trials, her miserable bereavement; and as I heard her sweet voice bidding me have courage, and beheld her smiling upon me out of her deep faith in her simple, sacred dream, I caught up both her hands and bent my head over them and wept. "Cornish!" I cried, recovering myself, and seizing the man by the arm as he stood shouting at the fast-lessening ship, "what is the use of those oaths? let them go their ways--the pitiless cowards. We are Englishmen, and our lives are still our own. Come, brave companion! we have all undergone too much to permit this trial to break us. See this lady! she swears that we shall be saved yet. Be of her heart and mine and the bo'sun's there, and help us to make another fight for it. Come!" He suffered me to pull him off his perilous perch, and then sat himself down upon a coil of rope trembling all over, and hid his face in his hands. But a new trouble awaited me. At this moment the steward came staggering up the companion ladder, his face purple, his eyes protruding, and talking loudly and incoherently. He clasped the sea-chest belonging to himself, which certainly was of greater weight than he in his enfeebled state would have been able to bear had he not been mad. The chest was corded, and he had no doubt packed it. He rushed to the ship's side and pitched the chest overboard, and was in the act of springing on to the rail, meaning to fling himself into the sea, when I caught hold of him, and using more force than I was conscious of, dragged him backward so violently that his head struck the deck like a cannon shot, and he lay motionless and insensible. "That's the best thing that could have happened to him," exclaimed the boatswain. "Let him lie a bit. He'll come to, and maybe leave his craze behind him. It wouldn't be the fust time I've seen a daft man knocked sensible." And then, coolly biting a chew out of a stick of tobacco, which he very carefully replaced in his breeches pocket, he added-- "Jim, come and lay hold of this here wheel, will yer, while me and Mr. Royle pumps the ship out!" Cornish got up and took the boatswain's place. "I can help you to pump, Mr. Royle!" said Miss Robertson. The boatswain laughed. "Lor' bless your dear 'art, miss, what next?" he cried. "No, no; you stand by here ready to knock this steward down agin if he shows hisself anxious to swim arter the Roosian. We'll see what water the ship's a-makin', and if she shows herself obstinate, as I rayther think she will, why, we'll all turn to and leave her. For you've got to deal with a bad ship as you would with a bad wife: use every genteel persuasion fust, and if that won't alter her, there's nothen for it but to grease your boots, oil your hair, and po-litely walk out." CHAPTER IX. There being but two of us now to work the pumps, it was more than we could do to keep them going. We plied them, with a brief spell between, and then my arms fell to my side, and I told the boatswain I could pump no more. He sounded the well and made six inches. "There's only two inches left that we can get out of her," said he; "and they'll do no harm." On which we quitted the main-deck and came into the cuddy. "Mr. Royle," he said, seating himself on the edge of the table, "we shall have to leave this ship if we aren't taken off her. I reckon it'll require twelve feet o' water to sink her, allowin' for there being a deal o' wood in the cargo; and maybe she won't go down at that. However, we'll say twelve feet, and supposin' we lets her be, she'll give us, if you like, eight or nine hours afore settlin'. I'm not saying as we ought to leave her; but I'm lookin' at you, sir, and see that you're werry nigh knocked up; Cornish is about a quarter o' the man he was; an' as to the bloomin' steward, he's as good as drownded, no better and no worse. We shall take one spell too many at them pumps and fall down under it an' never get up agin. Wot we had best do is to keep a look all around for wessels, get that there quarter-boat ready for lowerin', and stand by to leave the ship when the sea calms. You know how Bermuda bears, don't you, sir?" "I can find out to-night. It is too late to get sights now." "I think," he returned, "that our lives 'll be as safe in the boat as they are on board this ship, an' a trifle safer. I've been watching this wessel a good deal, and my belief is that wos another gale to strike her, she'd make one o' her long plunges and go all to pieces like a pack o' cards when she got to the bottom o' the walley o' water. Of course, if this sea don't calm, we must make shift to keep her afloat until it do. You'll excuse me for talkin' as though I wos dictatin'. I'm just givin' you the thoughts that come into my head whilst we wos pumpin'." "I quite agree with you," I replied; "I am only thinking of the size of the quarter-boat; whether she isn't too small for five persons?" "Not she! I'll get a bit of a mast rigged up in her and it'll go hard if we don't get four mile an hour out of her somehows. How fur might the Bermuda Islands be off?" I answered, after reflecting some moments, that they would probably be distant from the ship between 250 and 300 miles. "We should get pretty near 'em in three days," said he, "if the wind blew that way. Will you go an' tell the young lady what we're thinkin' o' doing while I overhauls the boat an' see what's wantin' in her? One good job is, we shan't have to put off through the ship sinkin' all of a heap. There's a long warning given us, and I can't help thinkin' that the stormy weather's blown hisself out, for the sky looks to me to have a regular set fair blue in it." He went on to the main-deck. I inspected the glass, which I found had risen since I last looked at it. This, coupled with the brilliant sky and glorious sunshine and the diminishing motion of the ship, cheered me somewhat, though I looked forward with misgiving to leaving the ship, having upon me the memory of the sufferings endured by shipwrecked men in this lonely condition, and remembering that Mary Robertson would be one of us, and have to share in any privations that might befall us. At the same time, it was quite clear to me that the boatswain, Cornish, and myself would never, with our failing strength, be able to keep the ship afloat; and for Miss Robertson's sake, therefore, it was my duty to put a cheerful face upon the melancholy alternative. When I reached the poop the first thing I beheld was the Russian barque, now a square of gleaming white upon the southern horizon. I quickly averted my eyes from the shameful object, and saw that the steward had recovered from his swoon and was squatting against the companion counting his fingers and smiling at them. Miss Robertson was steering the ship, while Cornish lay extended along the deck, his head pillowed on a flag. The wind (as by the appearance of the weather I might have anticipated, had my mind been free to speculate on such things) had dropped suddenly, and was now a gentle breeze, and the sea was subsiding rapidly. Indeed, a most golden, glorious afternoon had set in, with a promise of a hot and breathless night. I approached Miss Robertson, and asked her what was the matter with Cornish. "I noticed him reeling at the wheel," she answered, "with his face quite white. I put a flag for his head, and told him to lie down. I called to you, but you did not hear me; and I have been waiting to see you that you might get him some brandy." I found that the boatswain had not yet come aft, and at once went below to procure a dram for Cornish. I returned and knelt by his side, and was startled to perceive that his eyeballs were turned up, and his hands and teeth clenched, as though he were convulsed. Sharp tremors ran through his body, and he made no reply nor appeared to hear me, though I called his name several times. Believing that he was dying, I shouted to the boatswain, who came immediately. The moment he looked at Cornish he uttered an exclamation. "God knows what ails the poor creature!" I cried. "Lift his head, that I may get some brandy into his mouth." The boatswain raised him by the shoulders, but his head hung back like a dead man's. I drew out my knife and inserted the blade between his teeth, and by this means contrived to introduce some brandy into his mouth, but it bubbled back again, which was a terrible sign, I thought; and still the tremors shook his poor body, and the eyes remained upturned, making the face most ghastly to see. "It's his heart broke," exclaimed the boatswain, in a tremulous voice. "Jim, what's the matter with 'ee, mate? You're not goin' to let the sight o' that Roosian murderer kill you? Come, come! God Almighty knows we've all had a hard fight for it, but we're not beat yet, lad. 'Tis but another spell o' waitin', and it'll come right presently. Don't let a gale o' wind knock the breath out o' you. What man as goes to sea but meets with reverses like this here? Swaller the brandy, Jim!... My God! Mr. Royle, he's dyin'!" As he said this Cornish threw up his arms and stiffened out his body. So strong was his dying action that he knocked the glass of brandy out of my hand and threw me backwards some paces. The pupils of his eyes rolled down, and a film came over them; he uttered something in a hoarse whisper, and lay dead on the boatswain's knee. I glanced at Miss Robertson. Her lips were tightly compressed, otherwise the heroic girl showed no emotion. The boatswain drew a deep breath and let the dead man's head fall gently on the flag. "For Miss Robertson's sake," I whispered, "let us carry him forward." He acquiesced in silence, and we bore the body off the poop and laid it on the fore-hatch. "There will be no need to bury him," said I. "No need and no time, sir. I trust God'll be merciful to the poor sailor when he's called up. He was made bad by them others, sir. His heart wasn't wrong," replied the boatswain. I procured a blanket from the forecastle and covered the body with it, and we then walked back to the poop slowly and without speaking. I felt the death of this man keenly. He had worked well, confronted danger cheerfully; he had atoned, in his untutored fashion, for the wrongs he had taken a part in--besides, the fellowship of peril was a tie upon us all, not to be sundered without a pang, which our hearts never would have felt had fate dealt otherwise with us. I stopped a moment with the boatswain to look at the steward before joining Miss Robertson. To many, I believe this spectacle of idiocy would have been more affecting than Cornish's death. He was tracing figures, such as circles and crosses, with his fore finger on the deck, smiling vacantly meanwhile, and now and then looking around him with rolling, unmeaning eyes. "How is it with you, my man?" I said. He gazed at me very earnestly, rose to his feet, and, taking my arm, drew me a short distance away from the boatswain. "A ship passed us just now, sir," he exclaimed in a whisper, and with a profoundly confidential air. "Did you see her?" "Yes, steward, I saw her." "A word in your ear, sir--_mum!_ that's the straight tip. Do you see? I was tired of this ship, sir--tired of being afraid of drowning. I put myself on board that vessel, _and there I am now, sir_. But hush! do you know I cannot talk to them--they're furriners! Roosians, sir, by the living cock! that's my oath, and it crows every morning in my back garden." He struck me softly on the waistcoat, and fell back a step, with his finger on his lip. "Ah," said I, "I understand. Sit down again and go on drawing on the deck, and then they'll think you're lost in study and not trouble you." "Right, my lord--your lordship's 'umble servant," answered the poor creature, making me a low bow; and with a lofty and dignified air he resumed his place on the deck near the companion. "Wot was he sayin'?" inquired the boatswain. "He is quite imbecile. He thinks he is on board the Russian," I replied. "Well, that's a comfort," said the boatswain. "He'll not be tryin' to swim arter her agin." "Miss Robertson," I exclaimed, "you need not remain at the wheel. There is so little wind now that the ship may be left to herself." Saving which I made the wheel fast and led her to one of the skylights. "Bo'sun," said I, "will you fetch us something to eat and drink out of the pantry? Open a tin of meat, and get some biscuit and wine. This may prove our last meal on board the _Grosvenor_," I added to Miss Robertson, as the boatswain left us. She looked at me inquiringly, but did not speak. "Before we knew," I continued, "that poor Cornish was dying, the boatswain and I resolved that we should all of us leave the ship. We have no longer the strength to man the pumps. The water is coming in at the rate of a foot an hour, and we have found latterly that even three of us cannot pump more at a time out of her than six or seven inches, and every spell at the pumps leaves us more exhausted. But even though we had hesitated to leave her, yet now that Cornish is gone and the steward has fallen imbecile, we have no alternative." "I understand," she said, glancing at the boat and compressing her lip. "You are not afraid--you who have shown more heart and courage than all of us put together?" "No--I am not much afraid. I believe that God is looking down upon us, and that He will preserve us. But," she cried, taking a short breath, and clasping her hands convulsively, "it will be very, very lonely on the great sea in that little boat." "Why more lonely in that little boat than on this broken and sinking ship? I believe with you that God is looking down upon us, and that He has given us that pure and beautiful sky as an encouragement and a promise. Contrast the sea now with what it was this morning. In a few hours hence it will be calm; and believe me when I say that we shall be a thousandfold safer in that boat than we are in this strained and leaking ship. Even while we talk now the water is creeping into the hold, and every hour will make her sink deeper and deeper until she disappears beneath the surface. On the other hand, we may have many days together of this fine weather. I will steer the boat for the Bermuda Islands, which we cannot miss by heading the boat west, even if I should lack the means of ascertaining our exact whereabouts, which you may trust me will not be the case. Moreover, the chance of our being rescued by a passing ship will be much greater when we are in the boat than it is while we remain here; for no ship, though she were commanded by a savage, would refuse to pick a boat up and take its occupants on board; whereas vessels, as we have already discovered to our cost, will sight distressed ships and leave them to shift for themselves." "I do not doubt you are right," she replied, with a plaintive smile. "I should not say or do anything to oppose you. And believe me," she exclaimed earnestly, "that I do not think more of my own life than of that of my companions. Death is not so terrible but that we may meet it, if God wills, calmly. And I would rather die at once, Mr. Royle, than win a few short years of life on hard and bitter terms." She looked at the steward as she spoke, and an expression of beautiful pity came into her face. "Miss Robertson," I said, "in my heart I am pledged to save your life. If you die, we both die!--of that be sure." "I know what I owe you," she answered, in a low and broken voice. "I know that my life is yours, won by you from the very jaws of death, soothed and supported by you afterwards. What my gratitude is only God knows. I have no words to tell you." "Do you give me the life I have saved?" I asked, wondering at my own breathless voice as I questioned her. "I do," she replied firmly, lifting up her eyes and looking at me. "Do you give it to me because your sweet and generous gratitude makes you think it my due?--not knowing I am poor, not remembering that my station in life is humble, without a question as to my past?" "I give it to you because I love you!" she answered, extending her hand. I drew her towards me and kissed her forehead. "God bless you, Mary darling, for your faith in me! God bless you for your priceless gift of your love to me! Living or dead, dearest, we are one!" And she, as though to seal these words which our danger invested with an entrancing mysteriousness, raised my hand to her spotless lips, and then held it for some moments to her heart. The boatswain, coming up the poop ladder, saw her holding my hand. He approached us slowly, and in silence; and putting down the tray, which he had heaped with sailor-like profusion with food enough for a dozen persons, stood looking on us thoughtfully. "Mr. Royle," he said, in a deliberate voice, "you'll excuse me for sayin' of it, but, sir, you've found her out?" "I have, bo'sun." "You've found her out, sir, as the truest-hearted gell as ever did duty as a darter?" "I have." "I've watched her, and know her to be British--true oak-seasoned, by God Almighty, as does this sort o' work better nor Time! You've found her out, sir?" "It is true, bo'sun." "And you, miss," he exclaimed, in the same deliberate voice, "have found _him_ out?" She looked downwards with a little blush. "Mr. Royle, and you, miss," he continued, "I'm not goin' to say nothen agin this being the right time to find each other out in. It's Almighty Providence as brings these here matters to pass, and it's in times o' danger as love speaks out strongest, turnin' the heart into a speakin' trumpet and hailin' with a loud and tremendious woice. Wot I wur goin' to say is this: that in Mr. Royle I've seen the love for a long while past burnin' and strugglin', and sometimes hidin' of itself, and then burstin' up afresh, like a flare aboard o' a sinkin' ketch on a windy night; and in you, miss, I've likewise seen tokens as 'ud ha' made me up and speak my joy days an' days ago, had it been _my_ consarn to attend to 'em. I say, that now as we're sinkin' without at all meanin' to drown, with no wun but God Almighty to see us, this is the properest time for you to have found each other out in. Mr. Royle, your hand, sir; miss, yours. I say, God bless you! Whilst we have breath we'll keep the boat afloat; and if it's not to be, still I'll say, God bless you!" He shook us heartily by the hand, looked hard at the poor steward, as though he would shake hands with him too; then walked aft, hauled down the signals, stepped into the cuddy, returned with the large ensign, bent it on to the halliards, and ran it up to the gaff-end. "That," said he, returning and looking up proudly at the flag, "is to let them as it may consarn know that we're not dead yet. Now, sir, shall I pipe to dinner?" CHAPTER X. I think the boatswain was right. It was no season for love-making; but it was surely a fitting moment "for finding each other out in." I can say this--and God knows never was there less bombast in such a thought than there was in mine: that when I looked round upon the sea and then upon my beloved companion, I felt that I would rather have chosen death with her love to bless me in the end, than life without knowledge of her. I put food before the steward and induced him to eat; but it was pitiful to see his silly, instinctive ways, no reason in them, nothing but a mechanical guiding, with foolish fleeting smiles upon his pale face. I thought of that wife of his whose letter he had wept over, and his child, and scarcely knew whether it had not been better for him and them that he should have died than return to them a broken-down, puling imbecile. I said as much to Mary, but the tender heart would not agree with me. "Whilst there is life there is hope," she answered softly. "Should God permit us to reach home, I will see that the poor fellow is well cared for. It may be that when all these horrors have passed his mind will recover its strength. Our trials are _very_ hard. When I saw that Russian ship I thought my own brain would go." She pressed her hand to her forehead, and an expression of suffering, provoked by memory, came into her face. We despatched our meal, and I went on to the main-deck to sound the well. I found two feet of water in the hold, and I came back and gave the boatswain the soundings, who recommended that we should at once turn to and get the boat ready. I said to him, as he clambered into the boat for the purpose of overhauling her, that I fully believed that a special Providence was watching over us, and that we might confidently hope God would not abandon us now. "If the men had not chased us in this boat," I continued, "what chance should we have to save our lives? The other boat is useless, and we should never have been able to repair her in time to get away from the ship. Then look at the weather! I have predicted a dead calm to-night, and already the wind is gone." "Yes, everything's happened for the best," he replied. "I only wish poor Jim's life had been saved. It's a'most like leavin' of him to drown to go away without buryin' him; and yet I know there'd be no use in puttin' him overboard. There's been a deal o' precious human life wasted since we left the Channel; and who are the murderers? Wy, the owners. It's all come through their sendin' the ship to sea with rotten stores. A few dirty pounds 'ud ha' saved all this." We had never yet had the leisure to inspect the stores with which the mutineers had furnished the quarter-boat, and we now found, in spite of their having shifted a lot of the provisions out of her into the long-boat before starting in pursuit of us, that there was still an abundance left: four kegs of water, several tins of cuddy bread, preserved meat and fruits, sugar, flour, and other things, not to mention such items as boxes of lucifer-matches, fishing tackle, a burning-glass, a quantity of tools and nails; in a word, everything which men in the condition they had hoped to find themselves in might stand in need of to support life. Indeed, the foresight illustrated by the provisioning of this boat was truly remarkable, the only things they had omitted being a mast and sail, it having been their intention to keep this boat in tow of the other. I even found that they had furnished the boat with the oars belonging to the disabled quarter-boat in addition to those of her own. However, the boat was not yet stocked to my satisfaction. I therefore repaired to my cabin and procured the boat's compass, some charts, a sextant, and other necessary articles, such as the "Nautical Almanack," and pencils and paper wherewith to work out my observations, which articles I placed very carefully in the locker in the stern-sheets of the boat. I allowed Mary to help me, that the occupation might divert her mind from the overwhelming thoughts which the gradual settling of the ship on which we stood must have excited in the strongest and bravest mind; and, indeed, I worked busily and eagerly to guard myself against any terror that might come upon me. She it was who suggested that we should provide ourselves with lamps and oil; and I shipped a lantern to hoist at our mast-head when the darkness came, and the bull's-eye lamp to enable me to work out observations of the stars, which I intended to make when the night fell. To all these things, which, sounding numerous, in reality occupied but little space, I added a can of oil, meshes for the lamps, top-coats, oilskins, and rugs to protect us at night, so that the afternoon was well advanced before we had ended our preparations. Meanwhile, the boatswain had stepped a top-gallant stun'sail boom to serve us for a mast, well stayed, with a block and halliards at the mast-head to serve for hoisting a flag or lantern, and a spare top-gallant stun'sail to act as a sail. By this time the wind had completely died away; a peaceful deep blue sky stretched from horizon to horizon; and the agitation of the sea had subsided into a long and silent swell, which washed up against the ship's sides, scarcely causing her to roll, so deep had she sunk in the water. I now thought it high time to lower the boat and bring her alongside, as our calculations of the length of time to be occupied by the ship in sinking might be falsified to our destruction by her suddenly going stern down with us on board. We therefore lowered the boat, and got the gangway ladder over the side. The boatswain got into the boat first to help Mary into her. I then took the steward by the arms and brought him along smartly, as there was danger in keeping the boat washing against the ship's side. He resisted at first, and only smiled vacantly when I threatened to leave him; but on the boatswain crying out that his wife was waiting for him, the poor idiot got himself together with a scramble, and went so hastily over the gangway that he very narrowly escaped a ducking. I paused a moment at the gangway and looked around, striving to remember if there was anything we had forgotten which would be of some use to us. Mary watched me anxiously, and called to me by my Christian name, at the same time extending her arms. I would not keep her in suspense a moment, and at once dropped into the boat. She grasped and fondled my hand, and drew me close beside her. "I should have gone on board again had you delayed coming," she whispered. The boatswain shoved the boat's head off, and we each shipped an oar and pulled the boat about a quarter of a mile away from the ship; and then, from a strange and wild curiosity to behold the ship sink, and still in our hearts clinging to her, not only as the home wherein we had found shelter for many days past, but as the only visible object in all the stupendous reach of waters, we threw in the oars and sat watching her. She had now sunk as deep as her main-chains, and was but a little higher out of water than the hull from which we had rescued Mary and her father. It was strange to behold her even from a short distance and note her littleness in comparison with the immensity of the deep on which she rested, and recall the terrible seas she had braved and triumphed over. Few sailors can behold the ship in which they have sailed sinking before their eyes without the same emotion of distress and pity almost which the spectacle of a drowning man excites in them. She has grown a familiar name, a familiar object; thus far she has borne them in safety; she has been rudely beaten, and yet has done her duty; but the tempest has broken her down at last; all the beauty is shorn from her; she is weary with the long and dreadful struggle with the vast forces that Nature arrayed against her; she sinks, a desolate abandoned thing in mid-ocean, carrying with her a thousand memories, which surge up in the heart with the pain of a strong man's tears. I looked from the ship to realize our own position. Perhaps not yet could it be keenly felt, for the ship was still a visible object for us to hold on by; and yet, turning my eyes away to the far reaches of the horizon, at one moment borne high on the summit of the ocean swell, which appeared mountainous when felt in and viewed from the boat, then sinking deep in the hollow, so that the near ship was hidden from us--the supreme loneliness of our situation, our helplessness, and the fragility and diminutiveness of the structure on which our lives depended, came home to me with the pain and wonder of a shock. Our boat, however, was new this voyage, with a good beam, and showing a tolerably bold side, considering her dimensions and freight. Of the two quarter-boats with which the _Grosvenor_ had been furnished, this was the larger and the stronger built, and for this reason had been chosen by Stevens. I could not hope, indeed, that she would live a moment in anything of a sea; but she was certainly stout enough to carry us to the Bermudas, providing the weather remained moderate. It was now six o'clock. I said to the boatswain-- "Every hour of this weather is valuable to us. There is no reason why we should stay here." "I should like to see her sink, Mr. Royle; I should like to know that poor Jim found a regular coffin in her," he answered. "We can't make no headway with the sail, and I don't recommend rowin' for the two or three mile we can fetch with the oars. It 'ud be wurse nor pumpin'!" He was right. When I reflected I was quite sure I should not, in my exhausted state, be able to handle one of the big oars for even five minutes at a stretch; and admitting that I _had_ been strong enough to row for a couple of hours, yet the result to have been obtained could not have been important enough to justify the serious labour. The steward all this time sat perfectly quiet in the bottom of the boat, with his back against the mast. He paid no attention to us when we spoke, nor looked around him, though sometimes he would fix his eyes vacantly on the sky as if his shattered mind found relief in contemplating the void. I was heartily glad to find him quiet, though I took care to watch him, for it was difficult to tell whether his imbecility was not counterfeited by his madness, to throw us off our guard, and furnish him with an opportunity to play us and himself some deadly trick. As some hours had elapsed since we had tasted food, I opened a tin of meat and prepared a meal. The boatswain ate heartily, and so did the steward; but I could not prevail upon Mary to take more than a biscuit and some sherry and water. Indeed, as the evening approached, our position affected her more deeply, and very often, after she had cast her eyes towards the horizon, I would see her lips whispering a prayer, and feel her hand tightening on mine. The ship still floated, but she was so low in the water that I every minute expected to see her vanish. The water was above her main-chains, and I could only attribute her obstinacy in not sinking to the great quantity of wood--both in cases and goods--which composed her cargo. The sun was now quite close to the horizon, branding the ocean with a purple glare, but itself descending into a cloudless sky. I cannot express how majestic and wonderful the great orb looked to us who were almost level with the water. Its disc seemed vaster than I had ever before seen it, and there was something sublimely solemn in the loneliness of its descent. All the sky about it, and far to the south and north, was changed into the colour of gold by its lustre; and over our heads the heavens were an exquisite tender green, which melted in the east into a dark blue. I was telling Mary that ere the sun sank again we might be on board a ship, and whispering any words of encouragement and hope to her, when I was startled by the boatswain crying, "Now she's gone! Look at her!" I turned my eyes towards the ship, and could scarcely credit my senses when I found that her hull had vanished, and that nothing was to be seen of her but her spars, which were all aslant sternwards. I held my breath as I saw the masts sink lower and lower. First the crossjack-yard was submerged, then the gaff with the ensign hanging dead at the peak, then the mainyard; presently only the main-topmast cross-trees were visible, a dark cross upon the water: they vanished; at the same moment the sun disappeared behind the horizon; and now we were alone on the great, breathing deep, with all the eastern sky growing dark as we watched. "It's all over!" said the boatswain, breaking the silence, and speaking in a hollow tone. "No livin' man'll ever see the _Grosvenor_ agin!" Mary shivered and leaned against me. I took up a rug and folded it round her, and kissed her forehead. The boatswain had turned his back upon us, and sat with his hands folded, I believe in prayer. I am sure he was thinking of Jim Cornish, and I would not have interrupted that honest heart's communion with its Maker for the value of the ship that had sunk. Darkness came down very quickly, and that we might lose no chance of being seen by any distant vessel, I lighted the ship's lantern and hoisted it at the mast-head. I also lighted the bull's-eye lamp and set it in the stern-sheets. "Mary," I whispered, "I will make you up a bed in the bottom of the boat. Whilst this weather lasts, dearest, we have no cause to be alarmed by our position. It will make me happy to see you sleeping, and be sure that whilst you sleep there will be watchful eyes near you." "I will sleep as I am, here, by your side. I shall rest better so," she answered. "I could not sleep lying down." It was too sweet a privilege to forego: I passed my arm around her and held her close to me; and she closed her eyes like a child to please me. Worn out as I was, enfeebled both intellectually and physically by the heavy strain that had been put upon me ever since that day when I had been ironed by Captain Coxon's orders, I say--and I solemnly believe in the truth of what I am about to write--that had it not been for the living reality of this girl, encircled by my arm, with her head supported by my shoulder--had it not been for the deep love I felt for her, which localized my thoughts, and, so to say, humanized them down to the level of our situation, forbidding them to trespass beyond the prosaic limits of our danger, of the precautions to be taken by us, of our chances of rescue, of the course to be steered when the wind should fill our sail: I should have gone mad when the night came down upon the sea and enveloped our boat--a lonely speck on the gigantic world of water--in the mystery and fear of darkness. I know this by recalling the fancy that for a few moments possessed me in looking along the water, when I clearly beheld the outline of a coast, with innumerable lights twinkling upon it; by the whirling, dizzy sensation in my head which followed the extinction of the vision; by the emotion of wild horror and unutterable disappointment which overcame me when I detected the cheat. I pressed my darling to me, and looked upon her sweet face, revealed by the light shed by the lantern at the mast-head, and all my misery left me; and the delight which the knowledge that she was my own love and that I held her in my arms, gave me, fell like an exorcism upon the demons of my stricken imagination. She smiled when I pressed her to my side and when she saw my face close to hers, looking at her; but she did not know then that she had saved me from a fate more dreadful than death, and that I--so strong as I seemed, so earnest as I had shown myself in my conflicts with fate, so resolutely as I had striven to comfort her--had been rescued from madness by her whom I had a thousand times pitied for her helplessness. She fell asleep at last, and I sat for nearly two hours motionless, that I should not awaken her. The steward slept with his head in his arms, kneeling, a strange, mad posture. The boatswain sat forward, with his face turned aft and his arms folded. I addressed him once, but he did not answer. Probably I spoke too low for him to hear, being fearful of waking Mary; but there was little we had to say. Doubtless he found his thoughts too engrossing to suffer him to talk. Being anxious to "take a star," as we say at sea, and not knowing how the time went, I gently drew out my watch and found the hour a quarter to eleven. In replacing the watch I aroused Mary, who raised her head and looked round her with eyes that flashed in the lantern light. "Where are we?" she exclaimed, and bent her head to gaze at me, on which she recollected herself. "Poor boy!" she said, taking my hand, "I have kept you supporting my weight. You were more tired than I. But it is your turn now. Rest your head on my shoulder." "No, it is still your turn," I answered, "and you shall sleep again presently. But since you are awake, I will try to find out where we are. You shall hold the lamp for me while I make my calculations and examine the chart." Saying which, I drew out my sextant and got across the thwarts to the mast, which I stood up alongside of to lean on, for the swell, though moderate enough to pass without notice on a big vessel, lifted and sunk the boat in such a way as to make it difficult to stand steady. I was in the act of raising the sextant to my eye, when the boatswain suddenly cried, "Mr. Royle, listen!" "What do you hear?" I exclaimed. "Hush! listen now!" he answered, in a breathless voice. I strained my ear, but nothing was audible to me but the wash of the water against the boat's side. "Don't you hear it, Mr. Royle?" he cried, in a kind of agony, holding up his finger. "Miss Robertson, don't you hear something?" There was another interval of silence, and Mary answered, "I hear a kind of throbbing!" "It is so!" I exclaimed. "I hear it now! it is the engines of a steamer!" "A steamer! Yes! I heard it! where is she?" shouted the boatswain, and he jumped on to the thwart on which I stood. We strained our ears again. That throbbing sound, as Mary had accurately described it, closely resembling the rythmical running of a locomotive engine heard in the country on a silent night at a long distance, was now distinctly audible; but so smooth was the water, so breathless the night, that it was impossible to tell how far away the vessel might be; for so fine and delicate a vehicle of sound is the ocean in a calm, that, though the hull of a steamship might be below the horizon, yet the thumping of her engines would be heard. Once more we inclined our ears, holding our breath as we listened. "It grows louder!" cries the boatswain. "Mr. Royle, bend your bull's-eye lamp to the end o' one o' the oars and swing it about whilst I dip this mast-head lantern." Very different was his manner now from what it had been that morning when the Russian hove in sight. I lashed the lamp by the ring of it to an oar and waved it to and fro. Meanwhile the boatswain had got hold of the mast-head halliards, and was running the big ship's lantern up and down the mast. "Mary," I exclaimed, "lift up the seat behind you, and in the left-hand corner you will find a pistol." "I have it," she answered, in a few moments. "Point it over the stern and fire!" I cried. She levelled the little weapon and pulled the trigger, the white flame leapt, and a smart report followed. "Listen now!" I said. I held the oar steady, and the boatswain ceased to dance the lantern. For the first few seconds I heard nothing, then my ear caught the throbbing sound. "I see her!" cried the boatswain; and following his finger (my sight being keener than my hearing) I saw not only the shadow of a vessel down in the south-west, but the smoke from her funnel pouring along the stars. "Mary," I cried, "fire again!" She drew the trigger. "Again!" The clear report whizzed like a bullet passed my ears. Simultaneously with the second report a ball of blue fire shot up into the sky. Another followed, and another. A moment after a red light shone clear upon the sea. "She sees us!" I cried. "God be praised! Mary, darling, she sees us!" I waved the lamp furiously. But there was no need to wave it any longer. The red light drew nearer and nearer; the throbbing of the engines louder and louder, and the revolutions of the propeller sounded like a pulse beating through the water. The shadow broadened and loomed larger. I could hear the water spouting out of her side and the blowing off of the safety-valve. Soon the vessel grew a defined shape against the stars, and then a voice, thinned by the distance, shouted, "What light is that?" I cried to the boatswain, "Answer, for God's sake! My voice is weak." He hollowed his hands and roared back, "We're shipwrecked seamen adrift in a quarter-boat!" Nearer and nearer came the shadow, and now it was a long, black hull, a funnel pouring forth a dense volume of smoke, spotted with fire-sparks, and tapering masts and fragile rigging, with the stars running through them. "Ease her!" The sound of the throbbing grew more measured. We could hear the water as it was churned up by the screw. "Stop her!" The sounds ceased, and the vessel came looming up slowly, more slowly, until she stopped. "What is that?--a boat?" exclaimed a strong bass voice. "Yes!" answered the boatswain. "We've been shipwrecked; we're adrift in a quarter-boat." "Can you bring her alongside?" "Aye, aye, sir!" I threw out an oar, but trembled so violently that it was as much as I could do to work it. We headed the boat for the steamer, and rowed towards her. As we approached I perceived that she was very long, barque-rigged, and raking, manifestly a powerful, iron-built, ocean steamer. They had hung a red light on the forestay, and a white light over her port quarter, and lights flitted about her gangway. A voice sang out, "How many are there of you?" The boatswain answered, "Three men and a lady!" On this the same voice called, "If you want help to bring the boat alongside we'll send to you." "We'll be alongside in a few minutes," returned the boatswain. But the fact was the vessel had stopped her engines when further off from us than we had imagined; being deceived by the magnitude of her looming hull, which seemed to stand not a hundred fathoms away from us and by the wonderful distinctness of the voice that had spoken us. I did not know how feeble I had become until I took the oar, and the violent emotions excited in me by our rescue now to be effected after our long and heavy trials, diminished still the little strength that was left in me, so that the boat moved very slowly through the water, and it was full twenty minutes, starting from the time when we had shipped the oars, before we came up with her. "We'll fling you a rope's end," said a voice; "look out for it." A line fell into the boat; the boatswain caught it and sang out "All fast!" I looked up the high side of the steamer: there was a crowd of men assembled round the gangway, their faces visible in the light shed not only by our own mast-head lantern (which was on a level with the steamer's bulwarks) but by other lanterns which some of them held. In all this light we, the occupants of the boat, were to be clearly viewed from the deck; and the voice that had first addressed us said-- "Are you strong enough to get up the ladder? if not we'll sling you on board." I answered that if a couple of hands would come down into the boat so as to help the lady and a man (who had fallen imbecile) over the ship's side, the other two would manage to get on board without assistance. On this a short gangway ladder was lowered, and two men descended and got into the boat. "Take that lady first," I said, pointing to Mary, but holding on as I spoke to the boat's mast, for I felt horribly sick and faint, and knew not, indeed, what was going to happen to me; and I had to exert all my power to steady my voice. They took her by the arms, and watching the moment when the wash of the swell brought the boat against the ship's side, landed her cleverly on the ladder and helped her on to the deck. "Bo'sun," I cried huskily, "she ... she is ... saved ... I am dying, I think.... God bless her! and ... and ... your hand, mate...." I remember uttering these incoherent words and seeing the boatswain spring forward to catch me. Then my senses left me with a flash. CHAPTER XI. I remained, as I was afterwards informed, insensible for four days, during which time I told and re-told in my delirium the story of the mutiny and our own sufferings, so that, as the ship's surgeon assured me, he became very exactly acquainted with all the particulars of the _Grosvenor's_ voyage, from the time of her leaving the English Channel to the moment of our rescue from the boat, though I, from whom he learnt the story, was insensible as I related it. My delirium even embraced so remote an incident as the running down of the smack. When I opened my eyes I found myself in a small, very comfortable cabin, lying in a bunk; and being alone, I had no knowledge of where I was, nor would my memory give me the slightest assistance. That every object my eye rested upon was unfamiliar, and that I was on board a ship, was all that I knew for certain. What puzzled me most was the jarring sound caused by the engines. I could not conceive what this meant nor what produced it; and the vessel being perfectly steady, it was not in my power to realize that I was being borne over the water. I closed my eyes and lay perfectly still, striving to master the past and inform myself of what had become of me; but so hopelessly muddled was my brain, that had some unseen person, by way of a joke, told me in a sepulchral voice that I was dead and apprehending the things about me only by means of my spirit, which had not yet had time to get out of my body, I should have believed him; though I don't say that I should not have been puzzled to reconcile my very keen appetite and thirst with my non-existent condition. In a few minutes the door of the cabin was opened and a jolly, red-faced man, wearing a Scotch cap, looked in. Seeing me with my eyes open, he came forward and exclaimed in a cheerful voice-- "All alive O! Staring about you full of wonderment! Nothing so good as curiosity in a sick man. Shows that the blood is flowing." He felt my pulse, and asked me if I knew who he was. I replied that I had never seen him before. "Well, that's not my fault," said he; "for I've been looking at you a pretty tidy while on and off since we hoisted you out of the brine. 'Guid speed an' furder to you, Johnny; Guid health, hale han's, an' weather bonnie; May ye ne'er want a stoup o' brany To clear your head!' Hungry?" "Very," said I. "Thirsty?" "Yes." "How do you feel in yourself?" "I have been trying to find out. I don't know. I forget who I am." "Raise your arm and try your muscles." "I can raise my arm," I said, doing so. "How's your memory?" "If you'll give me a hint or two, I'll see." He looked at me very earnestly and with much kindness in the expression of his jovial face, and debated some matter in his own mind. "I'll send you in some beef-tea," he said, "by a person who'll be able to do you more good than I can. But don't excite yourself. Converse calmly, and don't talk too much." So saying he went away. I lay quite still and my memory remained as helpless as though I had just been born. After an interval of about ten minutes the door was again opened and Mary came in. She closed the door and approached me, holding a cup of beef-tea in her hand, but however she had schooled herself to behave, her resolution forsook her; she put the cup down, threw her arms round my neck, and sobbed with her cheek against mine. With my recognition of her my memory returned to me. "My darling," I cried, in a weak voice, "is it you indeed! Oh, God is very merciful to have spared us. I remembered nothing just now; but all has come back to me with your dear face." She was too overcome to speak for some moments, but raising herself presently she said in broken tones-- "I thought I should never see you again, never be able to speak to you more. But I am wicked to give way to my feelings when I have been told that any excitement must be dangerous to my darling. Drink this, now--no, I will hold the cup to your lips. Strength has been given me to bear the sufferings we have gone through, that I may nurse you and bring you back to health." I would not let go her hand; but when I attempted to prop myself up, I found my elbow would not sustain me; so I lay back and drank from the cup which she held to my mouth. "How long is it," I asked her, "since we were taken on board this vessel?" "Four days. Do you know that you fell down insensible in the boat the moment after I had been carried on to the deck of this ship? The men crowded around me and held their lanterns to my face, and I found that most of them were Scotch by their exclamations. A woman took me by the hand to lead me away, but I refused to move one step until I saw that you were on board. She told me that you had fainted in the boatswain's arms, and others cried out that you were dead. I saw them bring you up out of the boat, and told the woman that I must go with you and see where they put you, and asked if there was a doctor on board. She said yes, and that he was that man in the Scotch cap and greatcoat, who was helping the others to take you downstairs. I took your poor senseless hands and cried bitterly over them, and told the doctor I would go on my knees to him if he would save your life. But he was very kind--very kind and gentle." "And you, Mary? I saw you keep up your wonderful courage to the last." "I fainted when the doctor took me away from you," she answered, with one of her sweet, wistful smiles. "I slept far into the next day, and I rose quite well yesterday morning, and have been by your side nearly ever since. It is rather hard upon me that your consciousness should have returned when I had left the cabin for a few minutes." I made her turn her face to the light that I might see her clearly, and found that though her mental and physical sufferings had left traces on her calm and beautiful face, yet on the whole she looked fairly well in health; her eyes bright, her complexion clear, and her lips red, with a firm expression on them. I also took notice that she was well dressed in a black silk, though probably I was not good critic enough just then in such matters to observe that it fitted her ill, and did no manner of justice to her lovely shape. She caught me looking at the dress, and told me with a smile that it had been lent to her by a lady passenger. "Why do you stand?" I said. "The doctor only allowed me to see you on condition that I did not stay above five minutes." "That is nonsense. I cannot let you go now you are here. Your dear face gives me back all the strength I have lost. How came I to fall down insensible? I am ashamed of myself! I, a sailor, supposed to be inured to all kinds of privation, to be cut adrift from my senses by a shipwreck! Mary, you are fitter to be a sailor than I. After this, let me buy a needle and thread, and advertise for needlework." "You are talking too much. I shall leave you." "You cannot while I hold your hand." "Am I not stronger than you?" "In all things stronger, Mary. You have been my guardian angel. You interceded for my life with God, and He heard you when He would not have heard me." She placed her hand on my mouth. "You are talking too much, I say. You reproach yourself for your weakness, but try to remember what you have gone through: how you had to baffle the mutineers--to take charge of the ship--to save our lives from their terrible designs. Remember, too, that for days together you scarcely closed your eyes in sleep, that you did the work of a whole crew during the storm--dearest, what you have gone through would have broken many a man's heart or driven him mad. It has left you your own true self for me to love and cherish whilst God shall spare us to each other." She kissed me on the mouth, drew her hand from mine, and with a smile full of tender affection left the cabin. I was vexed to lose her even for a short time; and still chose to think myself a poor creature for falling ill and keeping to my bed, when I might be with her about the ship and telling the people on board the story of her misfortunes and beautiful courage. It was a mistake of the doctor's to suppose that _her_ conversation could hurt me. I had no idea of the time, and stared hard at the bull's-eye over my head, hoping to discover by the complexion of the light that it was early in the day, so that I might again see Mary before the night came. I was even rash enough to imagine that I had the strength to rise, and made an effort to get out of the bunk, which gave me just the best illustration I could wish that I was as weak as a baby. So I tumbled back with a groan of disappointment, and after staring fixedly at the bull's-eye, I fell asleep. This sleep lasted some hours. I awoke, not as I had first awakened from insensibility, with tremors and bewilderment, but easily, with a delicious sense of warmth and rest and renewing vigour in my limbs. I opened my eyes upon three persons standing near the bunk; one was Mary, the other the doctor, and the third a thin, elderly, sunburnt man, in a white waistcoat with gold buttons and a blue cloth loose coat. The doctor felt my pulse, and letting fall my hand, said to Mary-- "Now, Miss Robertson, Mr. Royle will do. If you will kindly tell the steward to give you another basin of broth, you will find our patient able to make a meal." She kissed her hand to me behind the backs of the others, and went out with a beaming smile. "This is Captain Craik, Mr. Royle," continued the doctor, motioning to the gentleman in the white waistcoat, "commanding this vessel, the _Peri_." I at once thanked him earnestly for his humanity, and the kindness he was showing me. "Indeed," he replied, "I am very pleased with my good fortune in rescuing so brave a pair of men as yourself and your boatswain, and happy to have been the instrument of saving the charming girl to whom you are betrothed from the horror of exposure in an open boat. I have had the whole of your story from Miss Robertson, and I can only say that you have acted very heroically and honourably." I replied that I was very grateful to him for his kind words; but I assured him that I only deserved a portion of his praise. The man who truly merited admiration was the boatswain. "You shall divide the honours," he said, smiling. "The bo'sun is already a hero. My crew seem disposed to worship him. If you have nothing better for him in your mind, you may hand him over to me. I know the value of such men now-a-days, when so much is left to the crimp." Saying this, he went to the door and called; and immediately my old companion, the boatswain, came in. I held out my hand, and it was clutched by the honest fellow and held with passionate cordiality. "Mr. Royle, sir," he exclaimed, in a faltering voice, "this is a happy moment for me. There wos a time when I never thought I should ha' seen you alive agin, and it went to my heart, and made me blubber like any old woman when I thought o' your dyin' arter all the trouble you've seen, and just when, if I may be so bold as to say it, you might be hopin' to marry the brave, high-sperrited gell as you saved from drownin', and who belongs to you by the will o' God Almighty. Captain Craik, sir--I speak by your favour, and ax pardon for the liberty--this gen'man and me has seen some queer starts together since we fust shipped aboard the _Grosvenor_ in the West Hindie Docks, and," he cried with vehemence, "I'd sooner ha' lost the use o' my right arm an' leg--yes, an' you may chuck my right eye in along with them--than Mr. Royle should ha' died just as he was agoin' to live properly and set down on the bench o' matrimony an' happiness with a bold and handsome wife!" This eloquent harangue he delivered with a moist eye, addressing us all three in turn. I thanked him heartily for what he had said, but limited my reply to this: for though I could have complimented him more warmly than he had praised me, I considered that it would be more becoming to hold over all mutual admiration and you-and-me glorification until we should be alone. I observed that he wore a velvet waistcoat, and carried a shiny cloth cap with a brilliant peak, very richly garnished with braid; and as such articles of raiment could only emanate from the forecastle, I concluded that they were gifts from the crew, and that Captain Craik had reason in thinking that the boatswain had become a hero. The doctor shortly after this motioned him to go, whereon he gave a shipshape salute, by tweaking an imaginary curl on his forehead, and went away. I now asked what had become of the steward. Captain Craik answered that the man was all right so far as his health went; that he wandered about the decks very harmlessly, smiling in the faces of the men, and seldom speaking. "One peculiarity of the poor creature," said he, "is that he will not taste any kind of food but what is served out to the crew. I have myself tried him with dishes from the saloon table, but could not induce him to touch a mouthful. The first time I tried him in this way he fell from me as though I had offered to cut his throat; the perspiration poured from his forehead, and he eyed me with looks of the utmost horror and aversion. Can you account for this?" "Yes, sir," I replied. "The steward was in the habit of serving out the ship's stores to the crew of the _Grosvenor_. He rather sided with the captain, and tried to make the best of what was outrageously bad. When the men mutinied they threatened to hang him if he touched any portion of the cuddy stores, and I dare say they would have executed their threat. He was rather a coward before he lost his reason, and the threat affected him violently. I myself never could induce him to taste any other food than the ship's rotten stores whilst the men remained in the vessel, and I dare say the memory of the threat still lives in his broken mind." "Thanks for your explanation," said the doctor, "I shall sleep the better for it; for, upon my word, the man's unnatural dislike of good food--of _entrées_, man, and curried fowl and roast goose, for I tried him myself--has kept me awake bothering my head to understand." "May I ask what vessel this is?" I said, addressing Captain Craik. "The _Peri_, of Glasgow, homeward-bound from Jamaica," he answered. "I know the ship now, sir. She belongs to the ---- Line." "Quite right. We shall hope to put you ashore in seven days hence. It is curious that I should have known Mr. Robertson, your lady's father. I called upon him a few years since in Liverpool, on business, and had a long conversation with him. Little could I have dreamt that his end would be so sad, and that it should be reserved for me to rescue his daughter from an open boat, in mid-Atlantic!" "Ah, sir," I exclaimed, "no one but I can ever know the terrible trials this poor girl has passed through. She has been twice shipwrecked within three weeks; she has experienced all the horrors of a mutiny; she has lost her father under circumstances which would have killed many girls with grief; she has been held in terror of her life, and yet never once has her noble courage flagged, her splendid spirit failed her." "Yes," answered Captain Craik, "I have read her character in her story and in her way of relating it. You are to be congratulated on having won the love of a woman whose respect alone would do a man honour." "He deserves what he has got," said the doctor, laughing. "Findings keepings." "I did find her and I mean to keep her," I exclaimed. "Well, you have picked up a fortune," observed Captain Craik. "It is not every man who finds a shipwreck a good investment." "I know nothing about her fortune," I answered. "She did indeed tell me that her father was a ship-owner; but I have asked no questions, and only know her as Mary Robertson, a sweet, brave girl, whom I love, and, please God, mean to marry, though she possessed nothing more in the world than the clothes I found her in." "Come, come," said the doctor. "You're not a sailor, doctor," remarked Captain Craik, drily. "But, my dear sir, you'll not tell me that a gold pound's not better than a silver sixpence?" cried the doctor. "Did you never sing this song?-- 'Awa wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's alarms, The slender bit beauty you grasp in your arms; Oh, gie me the lass that has acres o' charms, Oh, gie me the lass wi' the weel-stockit farms. Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher; then hey for a lass wi' a tocher; Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher; the nice yellow guineas for me.' Is not an heiress better than a poor wench?" "I don't see how your simile of the pound and the sixpence applies," answered Captain Craik. "A good woman is a good woman all the world over, and a gift that every honest man will thank God for. 'Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion Round the wealthy titled bride; But when compared with real passion, Poor is all that princely pride.' That's one of Robbie's too, doctor, and I commend your attention to the whole song as a wholesome purge." As the conversation was rather too personal to be much to my liking, I was very glad when it was put an end to by Mary coming in with a basin of soup for me. CHAPTER XII. Thanks to my darling's devotion, to her unwearied attentions, to her foresight and care of me, I was strong enough to leave my cabin on the third day following my restoration to consciousness. During that time many inquiries were made after my health by the passengers, and Mary told me that the greatest curiosity prevailed fore and aft to see me. So misfortune had made a little ephemeral hero of me, and this, perhaps, was one stroke of compensation which I should have been very willing to dispense with. The second officer of the ship, a man of about my height and build, had very kindly placed his wardrobe at my disposal, but all that I had chosen to borrow from him was some linen, which, indeed, I stood greatly in need of; but my clothes, though rather the worse for salt water, were, in my opinion, quite good enough for me to wear until I should be able to buy a new outfit ashore. At twelve o'clock, then, on the third day I rose and leisurely dressed myself, and then sat waiting for Mary, whose arm to lean on I preferred to any one's else. She came to the cabin presently, and when she had entered I folded her in my arms with so deep a feeling of happiness and love and gratitude in me, that I had no words to speak to her. It was when I released her that she said--"Since God has heard our prayers, dearest, and mercifully preserved us from death, shall we thank Him now that we are together, and say one prayer for my dear father, who, I firmly believe, looks down upon us and has still the power to bless us?" I took her hand and we knelt together, and first thanking her for reminding me of my bounden duty, I lifted up my heart to Almighty God, Father of all men, who had guarded us amid our perils, who had brought us to the knowledge and love of Him and of each other, by the lesson of hard trials and sorrowful privation. And I would ask you to believe that I do not relate such circumstances as these from any ostentatious wish to parade my piety, of which God knows I have not so large a store that I need be vain of showing it; but that I may in some poor fashion justify many good men in my own profession who, because they are scandalised by persons among us that are bad, are confounded with these by people ashore who imagine the typical sailor to be a loose, debauched fellow, with his mouth full of bad language and his head full of drink. I say earnestly that this is not so; that a large and generous soul animates many sailors; that they love God, pray to Him, and in many ways too rough, maybe, to commend them to fastidious piety, but not surely the less honest for the roughness, strive to act up to a just standard of goodness; and that even among the bad--bad, I mean, through the looseness of their morals and the insanity of their language--there is often found a hidden instinctive religion and veneration and fear of God not to be discovered in the classes ashore to which you may parallel them. Nor, indeed, do I understand how this can fail to be; for no familiarity with the mighty deep can lessen its ever-appealing grandeur to them as a symbol of heavenly power and majesty; and the frequent fear of their lives in which sailors go--the fury of tempests, the darkness of stormy nights, the fragility of the ship in comparison with the mountainous waves which menace her, the horror of near and iron coasts--I say that such things, which are daily presented to them, must inevitably excite and sustain contemplations which very few events that happen on shore are calculated to arouse in the minds of the ignorant classes with whom such sailors as I am speaking of are on a level. When I quitted the cabin, supported by Mary, I found myself in a very spacious saloon, most handsomely furnished and decorated, and striking me the more by the contrast it offered to the plain and small interior of the _Grosvenor's_ cabin. The table was being prepared for lunch: smartly dressed stewards and under-stewards trotted to and fro; there were flowers on the table, vases of gold fish swinging from the deck, a rich thick carpet underfoot, comfortable and handsome sofas; a pianoforte stood against the mizzen-mast, which was covered with a mahogany skin and gilded; two rows of lamps went the length of the saloon; and what with the paintings on the cabin doors, the curtains, the rich brasswork about the spacious skylights, the bright sunshine streaming in upon the whole scene and kindling a brilliance in the polished woodwork, the crystal on the table, the looking-glasses at the fore end of the saloon--I fairly paused with amazement, scarcely conceiving it possible that this airy, sunshiny, sumptuous drawing-room was actually the interior of a ship, and that we were on the sea, steaming at the rate of so many miles an hour towards England. There were a couple of well-dressed women sewing or doing some kind of needlework and conversing on one of the sofas, and on another sofa a gentleman sat reading. These, with the stewards, were all the people in the saloon. The gentleman and the ladies looked at us when we approached, and all three of them rose. The ladies came and shook hands with Mary, who introduced me to them; but I forget their names. They began to praise me; the gentleman struck in, and asked permission to shake me by the hand. They had heard my story: it was a beautiful romance; in short, they overpowered me with civilities, and made me so nervous that I had scarcely the heart to go on deck. Of course it was all very kindly meant; but then what were my exploits? Nothing to make money out of, nothing to justify my appearance on the boards of a London theatre, nothing to furnish a column of wild writing to a newspaper, nothing to merit even the honour of a flattering request from a photographic company. I very exactly knew what I _had_ done, and was keenly alive to the absurdity of any heroizing process. However, I had sense enough to guess that what blushing honours were thrust upon me would be very short-lived. Who does not thank God at some time or other in his life that there _is_ such a thing as oblivion? So we went on deck; I overhearing one of the ladies talk some nonsense about her never having read or heard of anything more deliciously romantic and exciting than the young sailor rescuing a pretty girl from a wreck and falling in love with her. "Did you hear that, Mary?" I whispered. "Yes," she answered. "Was it romantic?" "I think so." "And exciting?" "Dreadfully." "And did they live happily ever afterwards?" "We shall see." "Darling, it _is_ romantic, and it _is_ exciting, to us, and to no one else. Yes, very romantic now that I come to think of it; but all has come about so gradually that I have never thought of the romance that runs through our story. What time did we have to think? Mutineers out of Wapping are no polite garnishers to a love story; and romance must be pretty stoutly bolt-roped not to be blown to smithereens by a hurricane." There were a number of passengers on deck, men, women, and children, and when I ran my eye along the ship (the _Grosvenor_ would have made a neat long-boat for her) and observed her dimensions, I thought that a city might have gone to sea in her without any inconvenience arising from overcrowding. In a word, she was a magnificent Clyde-built iron boat of some four thousand tons burden, and propelled by eight hundred horse-power engines; her decks white as a yacht's, a shining awning forward and aft; a short yellow funnel, towering masts and broad yards, and embodying every conceivable "latest improvement" in compasses, capstans, boat-lowering gear, blocks, gauges, logs, windlass, and the rest of it. She was steaming over a smooth sea and under a glorious blue sky at the rate of thirteen knots, or nearly fifteen miles an hour. Cool draughts of air circled under the awning and fanned my hollow cheeks, and invigorated and refreshed me like cordials. The captain was on deck when we arrived, and the moment he saw me he came forward and shook my hand, offering me many kindly congratulations on my recovery; and with his own hands placed chairs for me and Mary near the mizzen-mast. Then the chief officer approached, and most, indeed I think all, of the passengers; and I believe that had I been as cynical as old Diogenes I should have been melted into a hearty faith in human nature by the sympathy shown me by these kind people. They illustrated their goodness best, perhaps, by withdrawing, after a generous salutation, and resuming their various employments or discussions, so as to put me at my ease. The doctor and the chief officer stayed a little while talking to us; and then presently the tiffin-bell rang, and all the passengers went below, the captain having previously suggested that I should remain on deck, so as to get the benefit of the air, and that he would send a steward to wait upon me. Mary would not leave my side; and the officer in charge taking his station on the bridge before the funnel, we, to my great satisfaction, had the deck almost to ourselves. "You predicted, Mary," I said, "that our lives would be spared. Your dream has come true." "Yes; I knew my father would not deceive me. Would to God he had been spared!" "Yet God has been very good to us, Mary. What a change is this, from the deck of the _Grosvenor_--the seas beating over us, the ship labouring as though at any moment she must go to pieces--ourselves fagged to death, and each of us in our hearts for hours and hours beholding death face to face. I feel as though I had no right to be alive after so much hard work. It is a violation of natural laws and an impertinent triumphing of vitality over the whole forces of Nature." "But you are alive, dear, and that is all I care about." I pressed her hand, and after looking around me asked her if she knew whether this vessel went direct to Glasgow. "Yes." "Have you any friends there?" "None. But I have friends here. The captain has asked me to stay with his wife until I hear from home." "To whom shall you write?" "To my aunt in Leamington. She will come to Glasgow and take me home. And you?" "I?" I looked at her and smiled. "I! Why, your question puts a matter into my head that I must think over." "You are not strong enough to think. If you begin to think I shall grow angry." "But I must think, Mary." "Why?" "I must think how I am to get to London, and what I am to do when I get there." "When we were on the _Grosvenor_," she said, "you did all the thinking for me, didn't you? And now that we are on the _Peri_ I mean to do all the thinking for you. But I need not say that. I have thought my thoughts out. I have done with them." "Look here, Mary, I am going to be candid----" "Here comes one of the stewards to interrupt you." A very civil fellow came with a tray, which he placed on the skylight, and stood by to wait on us. I told him he need not stay, and, addressing Mary, I exclaimed-- "This recalls our farewell feast on the _Grosvenor_." "Yes; and there is the boatswain watching us, as if he would like to come to us again and congratulate us on having found each other out. Do catch his eye, dear, and wave your hand. He dare not come here." I waved my hand to him and he flourished his cap in return, and so did three or four men who were around him. "I am going----" I began. "You will eat your lunch first," she interrupted. "But why will you not listen?" "Because I have made my arrangements." "But I wish to speak of myself, dear." "I am speaking of you--my arrangements concern you--and me." I looked at her uneasily, for somehow the sense of my own poverty came home to me very sharply, and I had a strong disinclination to hear what my foolish pride might smart under as a mortification. She read my thoughts in my eyes; and blushing, yet letting me see her sweet face, she said in a low voice, "I thought we were to be married?" "I hope so. It is my dearest wish, Mary. I have told you I love you. It would break up my life to lose you now." "You shall not lose me--but neither will I lose you. I shall never release you more." "Mary, _do_ let me speak my thoughts out. I am very poor. The little that I had has gone down in the _Grosvenor_. I could not marry you as I am. I could not offer you the hand of a pauper. Let me tell you my plans. I shall write, on reaching Glasgow, to the owners of the _Grosvenor_, relate the loss of the ship, and ask for payment of the wages that are due to me. With this money I will travel to London and go to work at once to obtain a berth on another ship. Perhaps, when the owners of the _Grosvenor_ hear my story, they will give me a post on board one of their other vessels. At all events I must hope for the best. I will work very hard----" "No, no, I cannot listen!" she exclaimed, impetuously. "You are going to tell me that you will work very hard to become captain and save a little money; and you will then say that several years must pass before your pride will suffer you to think yourself in a proper position to make me your wife." "Yes, I was going to say that." "Oh, where is your clever head which enabled you to triumph over the mutineers? Has the shipwreck served you as it has the poor steward?" "My darling----" "Were you to work twenty years, what money could you save out of this poor profession of the sea that would justify your pride--your cruel pride?" I was about to speak. "What money could you save that would be of service when you know that I am rich, when you know that what is mine is yours?" "Not much," said I. "Would you have loved me the less had you known me to be poor? Would you not have risked your life to save mine though I had been a beggar? You loved me because--because I am Mary Robertson; and I love you because you are Edward Royle--dear to me for your own dear sake, for my poor dead father's sake, because of my love for you. Would you go away and leave me because you are too proud to make us both happy? I will give you all I have--I will be a beggar and you shall be rich that you need not leave me. Oh, do not speak of being poor! Who is poor that acts as you have done? Who is poor that can enrich a girl's heart as you have enriched mine?" She had raised her voice unconsciously, and overhearing herself, as it were, she stopped on a sudden, and bowed her head with a sob. "Mary," I whispered, "I will put my pride away. Let no man judge me wrongly. I talk idly--God knows how idly--when I speak of leaving you. Yes, I could leave you--but at what cost? at what cost to us both? What you have said--that I loved you as Mary Robertson--is true. I know in my own heart that my love cannot dishonour us--that it cannot gain nor lose by what the future may hold in store for me with you, dear one, as my wife." "Now you are my own true sailor boy!" was all she said. * * * * * I began this story on the sea, and I desire to end it on the sea; and though another yarn, which should embrace my arrival at Glasgow, my introduction to Mary's aunt, my visit to Leamington, my marriage, and divers other circumstances of an equally personal nature, could easily be spun to follow this--yet the title of this story must limit the compass of it, and with the "Wreck of the _Grosvenor_" my tale should have had an end. And yet I should be doing but poor justice to the faithful and beautiful nature of my dear wife, if I did not tell you that the plans which she had unfolded to me, and which I have made to appear as though they only concerned myself, included the boatswain and the poor steward. For both a provision was contemplated which I knew her too well to doubt that she had the power to make, or that she would forget: a provision that, on the one hand, would bring the boatswain alongside of us even in our own home, and make him independent of his calling, which, to say the least, considering the many years he had been to sea, had served him but ill, and still offered him but a very scurvy outlook; whilst, on the other hand, it would enable the steward to support himself and his wife and child, without in the smallest degree taxing those unfortunate brains which we could only hope the shipwreck had not irreparably damaged. Thus much, and this bit of a yarn is spun. And now I ask myself, is it worth the telling? Well, however it goes as a piece of work, it may teach a lesson: that good sailors may be made bad, and bad sailors may be made outrageous, and harmless men may be converted into criminals by the meanness of shipowners. Every man knows, thanks to one earnest, eloquent, and indefatigable voice that has been raised among us, what this country thinks of the rascals who send rotten ships to sea. And it is worth while to acquaint people with another kind of rottenness that is likewise sent to sea, which in its way is as bad as rotten timbers--a rottenness which is even less excusable, inasmuch as it costs but a trifling sum of money to remedy, than rotten hulls: I mean rotten food. Sailors have not many champions, because I think their troubles and wrongs are not understood. You must live and suffer their lives to know their lives. Go aloft with them, man the pumps with them, eat their biscuit and their pork, and drink their water with them; lodge with crimps along with them; be of their nature, and experience their shore-going temptations, the harpies in trousers and petticoats who prey upon them, who drug them and strip them. And however deficient a man may be in those qualifications of mind which go to the making of popular novels, I hope no person will charge such a writer with impertinence for drawing a quill on behalf of a race of men to whom Britain owes the greatest part of her wealth and prosperity, who brave death, who combat the elements, who lead in numerous instances the lives of mongrel dogs, who submit, with few murmurs that ever reach the shore-going ear, to privations which blanch the cheek to read, that our tables and our homes may be abundantly furnished, our banking balances large, and our national importance supreme. THE END. LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS. Transcriber's Notes: Cover and Table of Contents created by Transcriber and placed in the Public Domain. Punctuation and spelling were made consistent when a predominant preference was found in the three volumes of this novel, or to remedy simple typographical errors; otherwise they were not changed. Dialect and other non-standard spellings have not been changed. Spaces before the contraction "'ll" (for "will") have been retained. Such spacing was inconsistent in this volume Ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines have been retained. Page 107: "gauge" was misprinted as "guage". Page 180: "so that speaking one of these vessels" was printed that way. Page 213: "never was there less bombast" was misprinted as "their"; changed here. 
44498	----	THE WRECK OF THE "GROSVENOR." THE WRECK OF THE "GROSVENOR:" AN ACCOUNT OF _THE MUTINY OF THE CREW AND THE LOSS OF THE SHIP_ WHEN TRYING TO MAKE THE BERMUDAS. _IN THREE VOLUMES._ VOL. II. LONDON: SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE & RIVINGTON, CROWN BUILDINGS, 188, FLEET STREET. 1877. (_All rights reserved._) LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS. THE WRECK OF THE "GROSVENOR." CHAPTER I. As the men had been up all night, I recommended the carpenter to go to them and tell them that the watches would not be altered, and that the watch whose spell it was below should turn in. Some, it appeared, asked that rum should be served out to them; but the carpenter answered that none should be given them until breakfast time, and that if they got talking too much about the drink, he'd run a bradawl into the casks and let the contents drain out; for if the men fell to drinking, the ship was sure to get into a mess, in which case they might be boarded by the crew of another vessel and carried to England, where nothing less than hanging or transportation awaited them. This substantial advice from the lips of the man who had been foremost in planning the mutiny produced a good effect, and the fellows who had asked for spirits were at once clamorously assailed by their mates; so that, in their temper, had the carpenter proposed to fling the rum casks overboard, most of the hands would have consented and the thing being done. All this I was told by the boatswain, who had left the poop with the carpenter, but returned before him. I took this opportunity of being alone with the man to ask him some questions relative to the mutiny, and particularly inquired if he could tell me what was that intention which the man named "Bill" had asked the carpenter to communicate to me, but which he had refused to explain. The boatswain, who was at bottom a very honest man, declared that he had no notion of the intention the carpenter was concealing, but promised to try and worm the secret out of Johnson or others who were in it, and impart it to me. He now informed me that he had come into the mutiny because he saw the men were resolved, and also because they thought he took the captain's part, which was a belief full of peril to him. He said that he could not foresee how this trouble would end; for though the idea of the men to quit the ship and make for the shore in open boats was feasible, yet they would run very heavy risks of capture any way; for if they came across a ship while in the boats they could not refuse to allow themselves to be taken on board, where, some of the mutineers being very gross and ignorant men, the truth would certainly leak out; whilst as to escaping on shore, it was fifty to one if the answers they made to inquiries would not differ so widely one from another as to betray them. But at this point our conversation was interrupted by the carpenter coming aft to ask me to keep watch whilst he and the boatswain turned in, as he for one was "dead beat," and would not be of any service until he had rested. It was now broad daylight, the east filled with the silver splendours of the rising sun. I descried a sail to windward, on the starboard tack, heading eastward. I made her out through the glass to be a small topsail schooner, but as we were going free with a fresh breeze we soon sank her hull. The sight of this vessel, however, set me thinking on my own position. What would be thought and how should I be dealt with when (supposing I should ever reach land) I should come to tell the story of this mutiny? But this was a secondary consideration. My real anxiety was to foresee how the men would act when I had brought them to the place they wished to arrive at. Would they give such a witness against their murderous dealings as I was, a chance to save my life?--I, whose plain testimony could set justice on the hunt for every one of them. I could not place confidence in their assurances. The oaths of such ruffians as many of them undoubtedly were, were worthless. They would murder me without an instant's scruple if by so doing they could improve their own chances of escape; and I was fully persuaded that I should have shared the fate of Coxon and Duckling in spite of the sympathy I had shown them, and their declaration that they did not want my life, had they not foreseen that they would stand in need of some competent person to navigate the ship for them, and that I was more likely to come into their projects than either of the men they had murdered. My agitation was greater than I like to admit; and I turned over in my mind all sorts of ideas for my escape, but never forgetting the two helpless persons whose lives I considered wholly dependent on my own preservation. At one moment I thought of taking the boatswain into my confidence, stealthily storing provisions in one of the quarter-boats, and watching an opportunity to sneak off with him and our passengers under cover of night. Then I thought of getting him to sound the minds of the crew, to judge if there were any who might assist us should we rise upon the more desperate of the mutineers. Another notion was to pretend to mistake the ship's whereabouts, and run her into some port. But such stratagems as these, easily invented, were in reality impracticable. To let the men see that I stood to my work, I never quitted the deck until six o'clock. The morning was then very beautiful, with a rich and warm aroma in the glorious southerly breeze, and the water as blue as the heavens. On arousing the carpenter in the cabin formerly occupied by me (I found him in the bunk on my mattress with his boots on, and a pipe belonging to me in his hand), I told him that the ship could now carry all plain sail, and advised him to make it. He got out of the bunk in a pretty good temper, and went along the cuddy; but as he was about to mount the companion-ladder I called to know if he would see the steward, and speak to him about serving out the cuddy stores, as I preferred that he should give the man instructions, since they would best represent the wishes of the crew. But the truth was, I wanted to pack all the responsibility that I could upon him, so as to make myself as little answerable as possible to the men. "Yes, yes. Fetch him out. Where is he?" he replied, turning round. "Steward!" I called. After a pause the door of the captain's cabin opened, and the figure of the steward stepped forth. Such a woebegone object, with bloodless face and haggard expression, and red eyes and quivering mouth, hands hanging like an idiot's, his hair matted, his knees knocking together as he walked, I never wish to see again. "Now, young feller," said the carpenter (the steward, by the way, was about forty years old), "what do you think ought to be done to you, hey? Is hangin' too mild, or is drownin' more to your fancy? or would you like to be di-sected by the cook, who is reckoned a neat hand at carvin'?" The steward turned his bloodshot eyes upon me, and his white lips moved. "Mr. Stevens is only joking," I exclaimed, feeling that I would give a year's pay to strike the ruffian to the earth for his brutal playing with the miserable creature's terror. "He wants to talk to you about the cuddy provisions." The carpenter stared at him grimly, out of a mean tyranny and relish of his fears; and the poor creature said, "Yes, sir?" lifting his eyes humbly to the carpenter's face, and folding his hands in an involuntary attitude of supplication. "You'll understand, young feller," said the carpenter, thrusting his hands into his pockets and leaning against the mizzen-mast, "that we're all equals aboard this here wessel now. No one's above t'other, barring yourself, who's just nowheeres at all, owin' to your keeping in tow of the skipper when he was pisoning us with the stores which you, d---- yer! took joy in sarving out! Now, you understand this: you're to turn to and sarve out the cuddy stores to the men at the proper time, and three tots o' grog every day to each man. Mr. Ryle 'll tell you how long our passage 'll last, and you're to make a calkilation of the live stock so as each watch gits a share of the pigs an' poultry. But you," he continued, squirting some tobacco juice from his mouth, "aren't to touch no other provisions but the stores which the crew's been eatin' of: mind that! If we catch you tastin' so much as half a cuddy biscuit, by the living thunder! we'll run you up to the fore-yard-arm!" He shook his fist in the steward's face, and addressing me, said-- "That's all to be said, ain't it?" "That's all," I replied; and the steward went cringing and reeling towards the pantry, whilst the carpenter mounted the companion-ladder. I entered the cabin, which, to save confusion, I will continue to call the captain's cabin, and seated myself in a chair screwed down to the deck before a wide table. This cabin was comfortably furnished with hanging bookshelves, a fine map of the world, a few coloured prints of ships, a handsome cot, and mahogany lockers cushioned on top to serve for seats. Among some writing materials, a case of mathematical instruments, a boat's compass, and a variety of other matters which covered the table, I observed an American five-chambered revolver, which, on examining, I found was loaded. I at once put this weapon in my pocket, and after searching awhile, discovered a box of cartridges, which I also pocketed. This I considered a very lucky find, as I never knew the moment when I might stand in need of such a weapon; and whether I should have occasion to use it or not, it was certainly better in my possession than in the hands of the men. I now left my chair to examine the lockers, in the hopes of finding other firearms; and I cannot express the eagerness with which I prosecuted the search, because I considered that, should the boatswain succeed in winning even one man over from the crew, three resolute men, each armed with a revolver or firearm of any kind, might, by carefully waiting their opportunity, kill or wound enough of the crew to render the others an easy conquest. However, to my unspeakable disappointment, my search proved fruitless; all that I found in the lockers were clothes belonging to Captain Coxon, a quantity of papers, old charts, and log-books, some parcels of cigars, and a bag containing about £30 in silver. Whilst engaged in these explorations, a knock fell on the door, and on my replying, the girl came in. I bowed and asked her to be seated, and inquired how her father did. "He is still very weak," she answered; "but he is not worse this morning. I heard your voice just now, and watched you enter this cabin. I hope you will let me speak to you. I have so much to say." "Indeed," I replied, "I have been waiting impatiently for this opportunity. Will you first tell me your name?" "Mary Robertson. My father is a Liverpool merchant, Mr. Royle, and the ship in which we were wrecked was his own vessel. Oh!" she exclaimed, pressing her hands to her face, "we were many hours expecting every moment to die. I cannot believe that we are saved! and sometimes I cannot believe that what has happened is real! I think I was going mad when I saw your ship. I thought the boat was a phantom, and that it would vanish suddenly. It was horrible to be imprisoned with the dead body and that mad sailor! The sailor went mad on the first day, and soon afterwards the passenger--for he was a passenger who lay dead on the deck--sat up in his bed and uttered a dreadful cry, and fell forward dead. The mad sailor pointed to him and howled! and neither papa nor I could get out of the house, for the water washed against it and would have swept us overboard." She told me all this with her hands to her face, and her fair hair flowing over her shoulders, and made a sweet and pathetic picture in this attitude. Suddenly she looked up with a smile of wonderful sweetness, and, seizing my hand, cried-- "What do we not owe you for your noble efforts? How good and brave you are!" "You praise me too warmly, Miss Robertson. God knows there was nothing noble in my efforts, nor any daring in them. Had I really risked my life to save you, I should still have barely done my duty. How were you treated yesterday? Well, I hope." "Oh yes. The captain told the steward to give us what we wanted. I think the wine he sent us saved papa's life. He was sinking, but rallied after he had drunk a little of it. I am in a sad plight," she exclaimed, while a faint tinge of red came into her cheeks. "I have not even a piece of ribband to tie up my hair with." She took her beautiful hair in her hands, and smiled. "Is there nothing in this cabin that will be of use to you?" I said. "Here is a hair-brush--and it looks a pretty good one. I don't know whether we shall be able to muster a bit of ribband among us, but I just now came across a roll of serge, and if you can do anything with that and a needle and thread, which I'll easily get for you, I'll see that they are put in your cabin. Here are enough clothes to rig out your father, at all events, until his own are made ship-shape. But how am I to help _you_? That has been on my mind." "I can use the serge if I may have it," she replied, in the prettiest way imaginable. "Here it is," I said, hauling it out of the locker; "and I'll get needles and thread for you presently. No sailor goes to sea without a housewife, and you shall have mine. And if you will wait a moment I think I can find something else that may be useful." Saying which I hurried to my old cabin, unlocked my chest, and took out a new pair of carpet slippers. "A piece of bunting or serge fitted into these will make them sit on your feet," I exclaimed, handing them to her. "And I have other ideas, Miss Robertson, all which I hope will help to make you a little more comfortable by-and-by. Leave a sailor alone to find out ways and means." She took the slippers with a graceful little smile, and put them alongside the roll of serge; and then, with a grave face, and in an earnest voice, she asked me to tell her what the men meant to do with the ship now that they had seized her. I freely told her as much as I knew, but expressed no fears as to my own, and hers, and her father's safety. Indeed, I took the most cheerful view I could of our situation. "My notion," said I, "is that when the time comes for the men to leave the ship they will not allow us to go with them. They will oblige us to remain in her, which is the best thing that could happen; for I am sure that the boatswain will stay, and with his and the steward's help there is nothing to prevent us taking the ship into the nearest port, or lying to until we sight a vessel, and then signalling for help." I fancy she was about to express her doubts of this result, but exclaimed instead-- "No matter what comes, Mr. Royle, we shall feel safe with you." And then, suddenly rising, she asked me to come and see her father. I followed her at once into the cabin. The old man lay in an upper bunk, with a blanket over him. He looked like a dead man, with his white face rendered yet more death-like in appearance by the dishevelled white hair upon his head, and the long white beard. He was lying perfectly still, with his eyes closed, his thin hands folded outside the blanket. I thought he slept, and motioned to his daughter; but she stooped and whispered, "Papa, here is Mr. Royle;" whereupon he opened his eyes and looked at me. The sense of my presence appeared to be very slowly conveyed to his mind, and then he extended his hand. I took it, and saw with emotion that tears streamed from his eyes. "Sir," he exclaimed, in a weak faltering voice, "I can only say, God bless you!" I answered cheerfully, "Pray say no more, Mr. Robertson. I want to see you recover your strength. Thank God, your daughter has survived her horrible trials, and will soon quite recover from the effects of them. What now can I do for you? Have you slept?" "Yes, yes, I have slept; a little, I thank you. Sir, I have witnessed shocking scenes." I whispered to Miss Robertson-- "Let me prescribe some medicine that will do you both good. What you both require is support. I will be with you in a minute." So saying, I quitted the cabin and entered the pantry. There I found the steward sitting on the plate chest, with his hands to his temples. "Now then, my lad," said I; "rouse up. You are not dead yet. Have you any brandy here?" He pointed in a mechanical way to a shelf, where were several bottles. I found what I wanted, and gave him a dose to put heart into him, and asked him for some eggs. Four or five, the gathering of yesterday from the kindly hens under the long-boat, lay in the drawer, which he pulled open. I proceeded to mix two tumblers of eggs and brandy, which I carried to the next cabin. "This is my physic, Miss Robertson," I exclaimed, putting one of the tumblers into her hand; "oblige me by drinking it; and you, sir," I continued, addressing the old gentleman, "will not wait for her example." They both, to my great satisfaction, swallowed the contents of the glasses, the effect of which, after some moments, upon Mr. Robertson was decidedly beneficial, for he thanked me for my kindness in a much stronger voice, and even made shift to prop himself up on his elbow. "It is the best tonic in the world," said I, taking Miss Robertson's glass, "and I am very much obliged to you for your obedience." The look she gave me was more eloquent than any verbal reply; at least, I found it so. Her face was so womanly and beautiful, so full of pathos in its pallor, with something so brave and open in its whole expression, that it was delightful to me to watch it. "Now," said I to the old gentleman, "allow me to leave you for a little. I want to see what the _Grosvenor_ can furnish in the shape of linen and drapery. Isn't that what they call it ashore? We have found some serge, and needles and thread are easily got; and I'll set what wits the unfortunate steward has left in him to work to discover how Miss Robertson may be made comfortable until we put you both ashore." "Do not leave us!" cried the old man. "Your society does me good, sir. It puts life into me. I want to tell you who we are, and about our shipwreck, and where we were going. The _Cecilia_ was my own vessel. I am a merchant, doing most of my trade with the Cape--the Cape of Good Hope. I took my daughter--my only child, sir--to Cape Town, last year, for a change of scene and air; and I should have stopped another year, but Mary got tired and wanted to get home, and--and--well, as I was telling you, Mr--Mr.----" "Royle," said Miss Robertson. "Mr. Royle, as I was telling you, Mary got tired; and as the _Cecilia_ was loading at Cape Town--she was a snug sound ship--yes, indeed; and we went on board, we and a gentleman named--named----" "Jameson," his daughter suggested. "Ay, poor Jameson--poor, poor fellow!" He hid his face, and was silent, I should say, a whole minute, neither Miss Robertson nor myself speaking. Presently, looking up, he continued-- "It came on to blow very heavily, most suddenly, a dreadful gale. It caught the ship in a calm, and she was unprepared, and it snapped all three masts away. Oh, God, what a night of horror! The men went mad, and cried that the ship was going stern down, and crowded into the boats. One went whirling away into the darkness, and one was capsized; and then the captain said the ship was sinking, and my daughter and I ran out of the cabin on to the deck. Well, sir," continued the old man, swallowing convulsive sobs as he spoke, "the ship's side had been pierced, the captain said, by one of the yards; and she was slowly settling, and the water came over the deck, and we got into the house where you found us, for shelter. I put my head to the window and called the captain to come, and as he was coming the water hurled him overboard; and there were only myself and my poor girl and Mr. Jameson and--and--tell him the rest!" he suddenly cried, hiding his eyes and stretching out his hand. "Another time, Miss Robertson," I exclaimed, seeing the look of horror that had come into her face during her father's recital of the story. "Tell me where you live in England, and let us fancy ourselves in the dear old country, which, so it please God, we shall all reach safely in a little time." But they were both too overcome to answer me. The old man kept his face concealed, and the girl drew long sobbing breaths with dry eyes. However, she plucked up presently, and answered that they lived just out of Liverpool, but that her father had also an estate at Leamington, near Warwick, where her mother died, and where she spent most of her time, as she did not like Liverpool. "Tell me, sir," cried Mr. Robertson, "did you bring the body of poor Jameson with you? I forget." "If that was Mr. Jameson whose body lay in the deck-house," I replied, "I left him on the wreck. There was his coffin, Mr. Robertson, and I dared not wait to bring off a dead man when living creatures stood in peril of their lives." "To be sure, sir!" exclaimed the old gentleman. "You were very right. You acted with great nobleness, and are most kind to us now--most kind, Mary, is he not? Let me see?" knitting his brows. "You are not captain of this ship? I think, my dear, you said that this gentleman was the mate? Who is the captain, sir?" His daughter put her finger to her mouth, which puzzled me until I considered that she either did not want him to know that the captain was murdered, or, supposing he knew of the murder, that the circumstance should not be revived in his memory, which was just now very feeble. He did not wait for his question to be answered, but asked me where the ship was bound to? "New Orleans," I answered, with a glance at his daughter. "New Orleans!" he exclaimed. "Let me think--that is beyond the West Indies." And with great eagerness he said, "Will you put into one of the West India Islands? I am known at Kingston; I have shipped largely to a firm there, Messieurs Raymondi and Company. Why, my dear, we shall be very well received, and we shall be able to purchase fresh clothes," he continued, holding up his arm and looking at it with a melancholy smile, "and go home in one of the fine mail packets. Ha! ha! ha! how things come about!" He lay back upon his pillow with this short mirthless laugh, and remained silent. I do not say that his mind was unhinged, but his intellect was unquestionably impaired by the horrors he had witnessed and the sufferings he had endured. But then he was an old man--nearer seventy than sixty, I took him to be; whilst his daughter, whom a little rest had put upon the high road to recovery, did not appear to be above twenty years old. As the time was passing rapidly, I determined to seize the opportunity of the carpenter being on deck to do what I could to make these sufferers comfortable. I therefore left them and sang out to the steward, who came with terrified promptitude, casting the while and almost at every step, fearful glances in the direction of the main-deck, where some of the hands were visible. I gave him the captain's hair-brush to wash, and covered a tray with the various toilet conveniences with which the ill-fated skipper had provided himself. These I dispatched by the steward to Miss Robertson, and I then made the man prepare a tray with a substantial breakfast, consisting of cold fowl, fine white biscuit, ham, preserved fruit, and some tea, which I boiled in the pantry by means of a spirit-lamp that belonged to me. I took an immense pleasure in supplying these new friends' wants, and almost forgot the perilous situation I was in, in the agreeable labour of devising means to comfort the girl, whose life and her father's, thanks to God, I had been instrumental in preserving. I made a thorough overhaul of Coxon's effects, holding myself fully privileged to use them for the benefit of poor Mr. Robertson, and sent to his cabin a good suit of clothes, some clean linen, and a warm overcoat. The steward obeyed me humbly and officiously. He considered his life still in great danger, and that he must fall a sacrifice to the fury of the crew if he quitted the cuddy. However, I found him very useful, for he furnished me with some very good hints, and, among other things, he, to my great delight, informed me that he had in the steerage a box of woman's underclothing, which had been made by his wife's hand for a sister living in Valparaiso, to whom he was taking out the box as a gift, and that I was very welcome to the contents. I requested him at once to descend with me and get the box out; but this job took us over twenty minutes, for the box was right aft, and we had to clear away upwards of five hundred bird-cages, and a mass of light wooden packages of toys and dolls to come at it. We succeeded at last in hauling it into the cuddy, and he fetched the key and raised the lid; but burst into tears when he saw a letter from his wife, addressed to his sister, lying on top of the linen. I told him to put the letter in his pocket, and to be sure that his sister would be liberally compensated, if all went well with us, for this appropriation of her property. "I am not thinking of the clothes, sir," whined the poor fellow, "but of my wife and child, who I may never see again." "Nonsense," I exclaimed; "try to understand that a man is never dead until the breath is out of his body. You are as well off as I am, and those poor people in the cabin there. What we have to do now is to help each other, and put a bold face on our troubles. The worst hasn't arrived yet, and it won't do to go mad with anticipating it. Wait till it comes, and if there's a road out of it, I'll take it, trust me. Cock this box under your arm, and take it to Miss Robertson." I had now done everything that was possible, and to my perfect satisfaction; for besides having furnished the old gentleman with a complete change of clothes, I had supplied his daughter with what I knew she would appreciate as a great luxury--a quantity of warm, dry underclothing. It may strike the reader as ludicrous to find me descending into such trivialities, and perhaps I smiled myself when I thought over the business that had kept me employed since six o'clock. But shipwreck is a terrible leveller, and cold and hunger and misery know but little dignity. How would it seem to Miss Robertson, the daughter of a man obviously opulent, to find herself destitute of clothing, and accepting with gratitude such rude articles of dress as one poor workwoman would make for another of her condition? She, with the memory in her of abundant wardrobes, of costly silks, and furs, and jewellery, of rich attire, and the plentiful apparel of an heiress! But the sea pays but little attention to such claims, and would as lief strip a monarch as a poor sailor, and set him afloat naked to struggle awhile and drown. CHAPTER II. At seven bells, that is, half an hour before eight, I heard the carpenter's voice shouting down the companion for the steward. I instantly opened the cabin door to tell the man to go at once, as I believed that Stevens merely called to give him orders about the men's breakfast. This proved to be the case, as I presently learnt on going on deck, whither I repaired (although it was my watch below) in order to see what the carpenter was about. I found him lying upon one of the skylights, with a signal-flag under his head, smoking a pipe, whilst three or four of the men sat round him smoking also. All plain sail had been made, as I had directed, and the ship heading west-south-west under a glorious sky, and all around a brilliantly clear horizon and an azure sea. Away on our lee quarter was a large steamer steering south, brig-rigged, bound, I took it, to the west coast of Africa. The men about the carpenter made a movement when they saw me, as though they would leave the poop, but one of them made some remark in a low voice, which kept them all still. The carpenter, seeing me watching the steamer, called out-- "She wouldn't take long to catch us, would she? I hope there's no man on board this wessel as 'ud like to see her alongside, or would do anything to bring her near. I wouldn't like to be the man as 'ud do it--would you, Joe?" "Well, I'd rather ha' made my vill fust than forgot it, if so it were that I was that man," responded the fellow questioned. "We're glad you've come up," continued the carpenter, addressing me, though without shifting his posture, "for blowed if I know what to do if she _should_ get askin' us any questions. What 'll _you_ do, Mr. Royle?" "Let her signal us first," I replied, quite alive to the sinister suggestiveness of these questions. "Put the helm up and go astern of her--that's what my advice is," said one of the men. "You'll provoke suspicion if you do that," I exclaimed. "However, you can act as you please." "Mr. Royle's quite right," said the man addressed as Joe. "Why can't you leave him alone? He knows more about it than us, mates." "She's going twelve knots," I said, "and will cross our bows soon enough. Let her signal, we're not bound to answer." The men, in spite of themselves, watched her anxiously, and so did others on the forecastle, such cowards does conscience make of men. As for myself, I gazed at her with bitter indifference. The help that I stood in need of was not likely to come from such as she, or indeed from any vessel short of an inquisitive Government ship. Moreover, the part I was playing was too difficult to permit me to allow any impulse to inspire. The smallest distrust that I should occasion might cost me my life. My _rôle_ then surely was to seem one with the men, heart and soul. "Let her go off a point," I exclaimed to the man steering. "They'll not notice that, and she'll be across us the sooner for it." We were slipping through the water quickly, and by the time she was on our weather bow the steamer was near enough to enable us to see the awning stretched over her after-deck, and a crowd of persons watching us. She was a great ocean steamer, and went magnificently through the water. In a few minutes she was dead on end, dwindling the people watching us, but leaving such a long wake astern of her that we went over it. What would I have given to be on board of her! "Let her come to again!" I sang out. The carpenter now got off the skylight. "I've told the steward to turn to and get the men's breakfast," said he. "Ourn's to be ready by eight; and I reckon I'll show that snivelling cockney what it is to be hungry. You don't call this a mutiny, do yer, Mr. Royle? Why, the men are like lambs." "Yes, so they are," I answered. "All the same, I shall be glad to feel dry land under me. The law always hangs the skipper of a mutiny, you know; and I'm skipper by your appointment. So the sooner we all get out of this mess the better, eh, Mr. Stevens?" "That's right enough," said he; "and we look to you to get us out of it." "I'll do what you ask me--I won't do more," I answered. "We don't want more. Enough's what we want. You'll let us see your reckonings every day--not because we doubt you--but it'll ease the minds of the men to know that we aren't like to foul the Bermudas." "The Bermudas are well to the nor'rard of our course," I answered promptly. "All right, Mr. Royle, we look to you," he said, with a face on him and in a tone that meant a good deal more than met the ear. "Now, mates," addressing the others, "cut for'ard and get your breakfasts, my lads. It's eight bells. Mr. Royle, I'll go below and call the boatswain; and shall him and me have our breakfast and you arterwards, or you fust? Say the word. I'm agreeable vichever way it goes." "I'll stop on deck till you've done," I replied, wishing to have the table to myself. Down he went, and I advanced to the poop-rail and leaned over it to watch the men come aft to receive their share of the cuddy stores. I will do them the justice to say they were quiet enough. Whether the perception that they no longer recognized any superiors would not presently prevail; whether quarrels, deeds of violence, and all the consequences which generally attend the rebellion of ignorant men would not follow, was another matter. They were decent enough in their behaviour now; congregating on the main-deck and entering the cuddy one by one to receive the stores which the steward was serving out. These stores, so far as I could judge by the contents of the tin dishes which the men took forward, consisted of butter, white biscuit, a rasher of ham to each man, and tea or cocoa; excellent fare for men who had been starved on rotten provisions. I also found that every man had been served with a glass of rum. They did not seem to begrudge the privilege assumed by the carpenter and boatswain of occupying the cuddy and eating at the table there. The impression conveyed to me on the whole by their aspect and demeanour was that of men subdued and to a certain extent alarmed by the position in which they had placed themselves. But for the carpenter, I believe that I at that time and working upon their then state of mind, could have won them over to submission and made them willing to bring the ship into port and face an inquiry into the circumstances of the revolt. But though I believe this _now_, I conceived the attempt too full of peril to undertake, seeing that my failure must not only jeopardize my own, but the lives of poor old Mr. Robertson and his daughter, in the safety of whom I was so concerned, that I do not say that my profound anxiety did not paralyse the energy with which I should have attempted my own rescue had I been alone. How the men treated the steward I could not tell; but I noticed that Master Cook was very quiet in his manner. This was a sure sign of the efficacy of the fright he had received, and it pleased me greatly, as I had feared he would prove a dangerous and bloodthirsty mutineer and a terrible influence in the councils of the men. The carpenter was the first to come on deck. I had seen him (through the skylight) eating like a cormorant, his arms squared, his brown tattooed hand busy with his mouth, making atonement for his long fast in the forecastle. He kept his cap on, but the boatswain had better manners, and looked, as he faced his mate, a quite superior and different order of man altogether. I went below as soon as Stevens appeared, and the boatswain had the grace to rise, as though he would leave the table, when he saw me. I begged him to keep his seat, and, calling to the steward, asked to know how the men had treated him. "Pretty middling, sir, thank you, sir," he replied, with a trifle more spirit in his manner. "They're not brutal, sir. The cook never spoke, sir. Mr. Stevens is rather unkind, but I daresay it's only a way he has." The boatswain laughed, and asked him if he had breakfasted. "No, sir--not yet. I can wait, sir." "There's plenty to eat and drink," said the boatswain, pointing to the table. "Yes, sir, plenty," responded the steward, who, looking on the boatswain as one of the ringleaders, was as much afraid of him as of the carpenter. "Well, then," continued the boatswain, "why don't you tuck in? Mr. Royle won't mind. Sit there, or take what you want into the pantry." The steward turned pale, remembering the threats that had been used towards him if he touched the cuddy stores, and looked upon the boatswain's civility as a trick to get him hanged. "Thank you, sir," he stammered; "I've no happetite. I'd rather not eat anything at present, sir. I'll take a ship's biscuit shortly, sir, with your leave." Saying which, and with a ghastly face, he shuffled into the pantry, no doubt to escape from what he would consider highly murderous attentions. "Rum customer, that steward, Mr. Royle," said the boatswain, rubbing his mouth on the back of his hand. "So should I be had I undergone his sensations," I replied. "Well, I don't know about that. You see there ain't nothing regular about a steward. He isn't a sailor and he isn't a landsman; and when you come to them kind o' mongrels, you can't expect much sperrit. It isn't fair to expect it. It's like fallin' foul of a marmozeet, because he isn't as big as a monkey. What about them passengers o' yours, sir? They've not been sarved with breakfast since I've been here?" "I have seen to them," I answered. "What has Stevens been talking about?" As I said this I cast my eyes on the open skylight to see that our friend was not within hearing. He shook his head, and after a short pause exclaimed-- "He's a bad 'un! he's a bad 'un! he's an out-and-outer!" "Do you know which of them struck the captain down?" "He did," he answered at once. "I could have sworn it by the way in which he excused the murderer." "Stevens," continued the boatswain, "is at the bottom of all this here business--him and the cook. I suppose he didn't want the cook for a chum, and so knocked him over when he was going to operate on Duckling's body. But Duckling was a bad 'un too, and so was the skipper. They've got to thank theirselves for what they got. The crew never would ha' turned had they been properly fed." "I believe that," I said. "But I'll tell you what's troubling me, boatswain. The carpenter has some design behind all this, which he is concealing. Does he really mean that I should navigate the ship to within fifty miles of New Orleans?" "Yes, sir, he do," answered the boatswain, regarding me stedfastly. "And he means then to heave the ship to, lower away the boats, and make for one of the mouths of the Mississippi, or land upon some part of the coast, and represent himself and his companions as castaway sailors?" "Quite right," said the boatswain, watching me fixedly. "If that is really his intention," I proceeded, "I cannot believe that he will allow me to land with the others. He distrusts me. He is as suspicious as all murderers are." The boatswain continued eyeing me intently, as a man might who strives to form a resolution from the expression in another's face. "He means to scuttle the ship," he said, in a low voice. "Ah!" I exclaimed, starting. "I should have foreseen this." "He means to scuttle her just before he puts off in the boats," he added in a whisper. I watched him anxiously, for I saw that he had more to tell me. He looked up at both skylights, then towards the cuddy door, then towards the companion ladder, bent over to me, and said-- "Mr. Royle, he don't mean to let you leave this vessel." "He means to scuttle her, leaving me on board?" He nodded. "Did he tell you this?" He nodded again. "When?" "Just now." "And them?" I exclaimed, pointing towards the cabin in which were Mr. Robertson and his daughter. "They'll be left too," he replied. I took a deep breath, and closed the knife and fork on my plate. "Now then, mate!" bawled the carpenter's voice, down the companion; "how long are you goin' to be?" "Coming," answered the boatswain. A thought had flashed upon me. "There must be others in this ship whom Stevens distrusts as well as me," I whispered. "Who are they? Give me but two other men and yourself, and I'll engage that the ship will be ours! See! if these men whom he distrusts could be told that, at the last moment, they will be left to sink in a scuttled ship, they would come over on my side to save their lives. How are they to be got at?" He shook his head without speaking, and left the table; but turned to say, "Don't be in a hurry. I've got two hours afore me, and I'll turn it over." He then went on deck. I remained at the cuddy table, buried in thought. The boatswain's communication had utterly taken me by surprise. That Stevens, after the promise he had made me that there should be no more bloodshed, after the sympathy I had shown the men from the beginning, should be base enough to determine upon murdering me and the inoffensive persons we had rescued, at the moment when we might think our escape from our heavy misfortunes certain, was so shocking that the thought of it made me feel as one stunned. An emotion of deep despair was bred in me, and then this, in its turn, begot a wild fit of fury. I could scarcely restrain myself from rushing on deck and shooting the ruffian as he stood there. To escape from my own insanity, I ran into the captain's cabin, and locked the door, and plunged into deep and bitter reflection. It was idle for me to think of resistance in my then condition. Upon whom could I count? The boatswain? I could not be sure that he would aid me single-handed, nor hope that he would try to save my life at the risk of his own. The steward? Such a feeble-hearted creature would only hamper me, would be of less use even than old Mr. Robertson. Many among the crew, if not all of them indeed, must obviously be acquainted with Stevens' murderous intentions, and would make a strong and desperate gang to oppose me; and though I should discover the men who were not in the carpenter's confidence, how could I depend on them at the last moment? The feeling of helplessness induced in me by these considerations was profound and annihilating. I witnessed the whole murderous process as though it were happening: the ship hove to, the boats shoving away, one, perhaps, remaining to watch the vessel sink, that they might be in no doubt of our having perished. All this would happen in the dark too, for the departure of the men from the ship would only be safe at night, that no passing vessel might espy them. An idea that will sound barbarous, though I should not have hesitated to carry it out could I have seen my way to it, occurred to me. This was to watch an opportunity when the carpenter was alone, to hurl him overboard. But here, again, the chances against me were fifty to one. To destroy the villain without risk of detection, without the act being witnessed, without suspicion attaching to me on his being missed, would imply such a host of favouring conditions as the kindliest fortune could scarcely assemble together. What then was to be done? I had already pointed out the course the ship was to steer, and could not alter it. But though I should plausibly alter her course a point or two, what could follow? The moment land was sighted, let it be what coast it would, they would know I had deceived them; or, giving me the credit of having mistaken my reckonings, they would heave the ship to themselves, and then would come the dastardly crime. I dared not signal any passing vessel. Let my imagination devise what it would, it could invent nothing that my judgment would adopt; since, being single-handed in this ship, no effort I could make to save the lives of the persons it was my determination to stand by, but must end in our destruction. By such confessions I show myself no hero; but then I do not want to be thought one. I was, and am, a plain man, placed in one of the most formidable situations that any one could find himself in. In the darkness and horror of that time I saw no means of escape, and so I admit my blindness. A few strokes of the pen would easily show me other than I was, but then I should not be telling the truth, and should be falsely taking glory to myself, instead of truly showing it to be God's, by whose mercy I am alive to tell the story. My clothes and other things belonging to me being in the cabin now occupied by Stevens, I opened the door and desired the steward to bring them to me. My voice was heard by Miss Robertson, who came round the table to where I stood, and thanked me for my kindness to her and her father. She had made good use of the few conveniences I had been able to send her. Her hair was brushed, and most prettily looped over the comb, and she wore a collar that became her mightily, which she had found in the steward's box. She looked a sweet and true English girl; her deathlike pallor gradually yielding to a healthy white with a tinge of colour on the cheeks. "Papa seems better," she said, "and is constantly asking for you; but I told him," (with the prettiest smile,) "that you require rest as well as others, and that you have plenty to occupy you." Then looking earnestly at me for some moments, while her face grew wonderfully grave, she exclaimed-- "What is wrong, Mr. Royle? What makes you look so anxious and worried?" "There is plenty to trouble me," I answered, not carelessly, but not putting too much significance into my tone, for at that moment I did not think I ought to tell her the truth. "You know the men have mutinied, and that my position is a difficult one. I have to be careful how I act, both for my sake and yours." "Yes, I know that," she said, keeping her clear and thoughtful eyes on me. "But then you said you did not fear that the men would be violent again, and that they would leave us on board this ship when we were near New Orleans." I watched her face some time without speaking, asking myself if I should take her into my confidence, if I ought to impart the diabolical scheme of Stevens, as told me by the boatswain. Certainly I should have put her off without telling her the truth had not the courageous expression in her eyes, her firm and beautiful mouth, her resolute voice and manner, told me she would know how to bear it. "I will not conceal that I have heard something just now which has affected me very much," I said to her. "Will you step into my cabin? We can talk there without being seen," I added, having observed Stevens walk along the main-deck, and expecting that he would return in a few moments to his cabin, it being his watch below. She followed me in silence, and I closed the door. "I will tell you in a few words," I at once began, "what I heard just now. I told the boatswain that I questioned whether the men would let me land with them for fear of the evidence I could give. He replied that he had gathered from the carpenter, while at breakfast, that the men intended to scuttle the ship when they quitted her, and to leave us on board." "To drown?" "That is their idea." She pursed up her mouth tightly, and pressed her hand to her forehead. That was all. Whatever emotion my statement inspired was hidden. She said in a low voice-- "They are fiends! I did not think them so cruel--my poor father!" "This is what I am told they mean to do; and I know Stevens to be a ruffian, and that he will carry out his project if he can. I have spent some time alone here, in trying to think how we can save ourselves; as yet I see no remedy. But wait," I said; "it will take us three weeks, sailing well every day, to reach the Gulf of Mexico. I have this time before me; and in that time not only something must, but something shall be done." She did not answer. "I will hazard nothing. I will venture no risks; what I resolve to do must be effectual," I went on, "because my life is dearer to me now than it was three days ago, for your and your father's sake. You must be saved from these ruffians, but no risk must attend your deliverance. That is why I see no escape before us as _yet_; but it will come--it will come! Despair is very fruitful in expedients, and I am not beaten because I find myself flung like a dog in a hole!" She looked up at this, and said, "What is to be done?" "I must think." "I will think, too. We need not tell papa?" she added, toning her voice to a question, with an appealing look in her eyes. "No, certainly not. Remember, we are not supposed to question the men's honest intentions towards us. We must appear utterly ignorant." "Are they armed?" she inquired. "No." She cast her eyes round the cabin and said, "Have you no guns?" "Nothing but a pistol. But though we had twenty guns we have no hands to use them. So far as I know as yet, there is no man who would stand with me--not even the boatswain, unless he were sure we should conquer the ruffians." "Could I not use a pistol? Ah, I remember, you have only one." She sank her chin on her hand and looked downwards, lost in thought. "Why would you not steer the ship for some near port?" she asked presently. "I could not alter the course without being challenged. Remember that my policy is not to excite suspicion of my honesty." "If a gale would rise like that which wrecked the _Cecilia_, it might drive us near the land, where we could get help." "No, we shall have to depend upon ourselves. I do not want to pin my faith on chance." I began to pace to and fro, torn by the blind and useless labours of my mind. Just then a step sounded along the cuddy. The cabin door was pushed open roughly, and Stevens walked in. He stared at Miss Robertson, and cried-- "Sorry to interrupt. Didn't know you was here, mam, I'm sure. I thought," addressing me, "I should find you turned in. I've come to have a look at that chart o' yours. How long d'ye make it to New Orleans?" "About three weeks." "Well, there's live stock enough for three weeks, any ways. I've just told the cook to stick one of them porkers. All hands has a fancy for roast pork to-day. Sarvant, miss. You was pretty nigh drownded, I think." "My father and I owe our lives to the noble fellows in this ship. They must be brave and good men to risk their lives to save ours," she answered, with a smile of touching sweetness, looking frankly into the face of the miscreant who stood, cap on head, before her. "Lor' bless yer!" he exclaimed; "there wasn't no risk. I'd ha' swum the distance in such a sea for five shilling." She shook her head with another smile (I judged the effort this piece of acting cost her), as she said-- "I know that English sailors always undervalue their good deeds. But happily my father is a rich man, and when you land us he will take care that no man on board this ship shall complain of his gratitude." "Oh, he's rich!" exclaimed the carpenter, as though struck with a new idea. "Very rich." "How rich might he be, mam?" "Well, he owned the ship that you saved us from--cargo and ship." She could not have offered a better illustration of her father's wealth to the man, for he would appreciate the value of a vessel of that size. "And what do you think he'll give the men--them as saved him, I suppose?" "Oh, he won't make any difference. He is indebted to you all, for I have heard that the captain would not have stopped for us had he not been obliged to do so by the crew." "That's true enough," rejoined the carpenter with an oath, looking at me. "Perfectly true," I made haste to say. "My father would not certainly offer less than one hundred pounds to each man," she said quite simply. He pulled off his cap at this and twirled it and let it drop; picked it up so slowly that I thought he would never bend his body sufficiently to enable him to recover it; looked at her sideways as he put it on his head again, and then said to me with offensive abruptness-- "Come, master, let's have a look at that blooming chart." I opened the door to let Miss Robertson pass out, exchanging one glance with her as she left, and addressed myself to the carpenter. He pored over the chart with his dirty forefinger upon it. "Whereabouts are we now?" he inquired. I pointed to the spot as near as I could judge from yesterday's reckonings. "What's this here line?" he asked. "That's the longitude." He ran his eye to the bottom of the chart and exclaimed-- "Thirty. Is that it?" "Call it thirty." "But what do _you_ call it?" "Thirty, I tell you--thirty degrees west longitude." "And this here line's the latitude, I suppose?" "Yes." "That's forty." "Call it forty-four." "Will that make it right?" "Pretty nearly." "What are all these here dots and streaks?" said he, after squinting with his nose close to the chart. "Blowed if ever I could read them small words." "They are the Azores." "Oh, we're to the norrards o' them, aren't we?" he inquired sharply. "You can see for yourself," I answered, putting my finger on the chart. "Where's this blessed Gulf of Mexico?" he inquired, after casting his eyes all over the chart. "There." He ran his dirty thumbnail in a line to the the Gulf, and asked me what that blot was. "Bermuda." "You'll keep south o' that, will yer?" "If I can, certainly." "It's a man-o'-war station, I've heerd." "I believe it is." "All right," he said, and looking at the boat's compass on the table, asked if it were true. I told him it was; whereupon he set it on the chart and compared its indications with the line he had run down the chart, and was going away, when I said-- "What do you think of the young lady's idea? I should like to earn a hundred pounds." "So should I," he answered gruffly, pausing. "It would pretty well pay me for what I have had to put up with from Coxon." He gave me an indescribable look, full of fierceness, suspicion, and cunning. "I dessay it would, if you got it," he said, and walked out, banging the door after him. CHAPTER III. I had been greatly struck by the firmness with which Miss Robertson had received the ghastly bit of information I gave her, and not more by this than by her gentle and genial manner towards the carpenter, wherein she had shown herself perfectly well qualified to act with me in this critical, dangerous time. She had only just been rescued from one trial frightful enough in character to have driven one, at least, of the male sufferers mad; and now fate had plunged her into a worse situation, and yet she could confront the terrors of it calmly, and deliberate collectedly upon the danger. Such a character as this was, I thought, of the true type of heroine, with nothing in it that was strained; calm in emergency, and with a fruitful mind scattering hope around it--even though no more than hope--as the teeming flower sheds its perfume. I had especially noticed the quickness with which she had conceived and expressed that idea about her father rewarding the men; it inspirited me, in spite of the reception Stevens had given it. One hundred pounds a man was a promise that might move them into a very different train of thought from what Stevens had induced and was sustaining. Having heard the carpenter enter his cabin, I determined to step on deck and take the boatswain's sense on this new idea. But before quitting the cuddy, I knocked lightly on Miss Robertson's cabin door. She opened it instantly. "Will you come on deck?" I asked her. "Yes, if I can be of use there." "The air will refresh you after your confinement to this cabin, and will do your father good." "He is sleeping now," she answered, opening the door fully, that I might see the old man. "Let him sleep," said I; "that will do him more good. But you will come?" "Yes, with pleasure." "You have nothing to fear from the men," I said, wishing to reassure her. "They are willing to acknowledge the authority of the persons they have put over them--the bo'sun, Stevens, and myself." "I should not mind if they spoke to me," she exclaimed. "I should know what to say to them, unless they were brutal." She suddenly added, putting her hand to her head, and almost laughing-- "I have no hat." "I have a straw hat you shall have," I said, and brought it. She put it on her head, and it sat very well on the pile of yellow hair that lay heaped over her comb. "How strange," she said, speaking in the whisper in which our conversation had been carried on, "to find oneself destitute,--without even the commonest necessaries! When the captain of the _Cecilia_ said we were sinking, papa ran with me out of the cabin. We did not think of putting on our hats, nor of saving anything but our lives." She turned to look at her father, closed the door tenderly, and accompanied me on deck. The morning was now advanced. The day was still very bright; and the wonderful blue of the heavens lost nothing of its richness from contrast with the stately and swelling clouds--pearl-coloured where they faced the sun, and with here and there a rainbow on their skirts, and centres of creamy white--which sailed solemnly over it. The breeze had freshened, but the swell had greatly subsided, and the sea was almost smooth, with brilliant little waves chasing it. The ship was stretching finely along the water, all sail set and every sail drawing. On our lee beam was the canvas of a big ship, her hull invisible; and astern of her I could just make out the faint tracing of the smoke of a steamer upon the sky. The sun shone warm, but not too warm; the strong breeze was sweet and soft; the ship's motion steady, and her aspect a glorious picture of white and rounded canvas, taut rigging delicately interlaced, and gleaming decks and glittering brass-work. The blue water sang a racing chorus at the bows, and the echo died upon the broad and bubbling wake astern. I ran my eye forwards upon the men on the forecastle. Most of the crew were congregated there, lounging, squatting, smoking--no man doing any work. I wondered, not at this, but that they should be so orderly and keep their place. They might have come aft had they pleased, swarmed into the cuddy, occupied the cabins; for the ship was theirs. Since they acted with so much decency, could they not be won over from their leader's atrocious project? If I went among them, holding this girl, now at my side, by the hand, and pleaded for her life, if not for my own, would they not spare her? would not some among them be moved by her beauty and her helplessness? Nothing should seem more rational than such conjectures, always providing that I ceased to remember these men were criminals, that their one idea now was to elude the law, and that I who should plead, and those for whom I pleaded, could by a word, when set on shore, procure the conviction of the whole gang, charge them with their crimes, prove their identity, and secure their punishment. Would not Stevens keep them in mind of this? Knowing what they knew, knowing what they meditated, I say that in the very orderliness of their behaviour, I witnessed something more sinister than I should have found in violent conduct. I alone could carry them to where they wished to go. I must be conciliated, pleased, obeyed, and my fears tranquillized. If I failed them, their doom was inevitable; shipwreck or capture was certain. All this was plain to me as the fingers on my hand; and during the brief time I stood watching them, I found myself repeating again and again the hopeless question, "What can I do?" Miss Robertson seated herself on one of the skylights, that nearest the break of the poop. The boatswain glanced at her respectfully, and the men forward stared, and some of them laughed, but none of the remarks they indulged in were audible. Fish was at the wheel. I went to the binnacle, and said-- "That's our course. Let this wind hold, and we'll soon be clear of this mess." "Three weeks about, I gives us," answered the man. "And long enough, too," said I. He spat the quid in his mouth overboard, and dried his lips on his cuff. As he did not seem disposed to talk, I left him and joined the boatswain, and at my request he came and stood with me near Miss Robertson. "I have told this lady what you repeated to me at breakfast," I said, in a low voice. "She is full of courage, and I have asked her to come on deck that we may talk before her." "If she's as brave as she's pretty, I reckon not many 'll carry stouter hearts in 'em than her," he said, addressing her full, with an air of respectful gallantry that was very taking. She looked down with a smile. "Boatswain," said I, "every hour is precious to us, for at any moment Stevens may change the ship's course for a closer shore than the American; and though we should hold on for the Gulf, it may take us all our time to hit on a scheme to save ourselves and work it out. I have come to tell you an idea suggested by this lady, Miss Robertson. Her father is a rich man, owner of the vessel he was wrecked in----" "Robertson and Co., of Liverpool, ship-brokers?" he interrupted, addressing her. "Yes," she replied. "Why, I sailed in one o' that firm's wessels as bo'sun's mate, three year ago, the _Albany_ she was called, and a werry comfortable ship she was, well found and properly commanded." "Indeed!" she exclaimed, brightening up and looking at him eagerly. And then, reflecting a little, she said--"The _Albany_--that ship was commanded by Captain Tribett." "Quite right, miss, Tribett was the name. And the first mate's name was Green, and the second's Gull, and the third--ah! he were Captain Tribett's son,--same name of course. Well, blow me if this ain't wot the Italians calls a cohincidence." He was as pleased as she, and stood grinning on her. "Mr. Royle," she exclaimed, raising her fine eyes to mine, "surely there must be others like the boatswain in this ship. They cannot all be after the pattern of that horrible carpenter!" "We ought to be able to find that out, bos'un," I said. "Look here, miss," he answered, with a glance first at the men forward and then at Fish at the wheel, "the circumstances of this here affair is just this: the crew have been very badly treated, fed with rotten stores, and starved and abused by the skipper and chief mate until they went mad. I don't think myself that they meant to kill the captain and Mr. Duckling; but it happened, and no man barrin' Stevens was guiltier than his mate, and that's where it is. The carpenter knocked the skipper down, and others kicked him when he was down, not knowing he was dead; and four or five set on Mr. Duckling, and so you see it's a sin as they all share alike in. If one man had killed the skipper, and another man had killed the chief mate, why then so be, miss, the others might be got to turn upon 'em to save their own necks. But here it's all hands as did the job. And the only man who kept away, though I pretended to be one with 'em hearty enough, was me; and wot's the consequince. Stevens don't trust me; and I'm sartin in my own mind that he don't mean to let me into the boats when the time comes, any more than you." So saying, he deliberately walked aft, looked at the compass, then at the sails, and patrolled the poop for several minutes, for the very obvious reason that the men should not take notice of our talking long and close together. Presently he rejoined us, standing a little distance away, and in a careless attitude. "Bo'sun," said I, addressing him with my eyes on the deck, so that from a distance I would not appear to be speaking, "Miss Robertson told Stevens that her father would handsomely reward every man on board this ship on her arrival in port. He asked her what her father would give, and she said a hundred pounds to each man. If this were repeated to the crew, what effect would it produce?" "They wouldn't believe it." "My father would give each man a promise in writing," she exclaimed. "They wouldn't trust him," said the boatswain, without reflecting. "They'd think it a roose to bring 'em together to give 'em into custody. If I was one of them that's what I should think, and you may be sure I'm right." "But he would give them written orders on his bankers; they could not think it a ruse," she said eagerly, evidently enamoured of her own idea, since she saw that I entertained it. "Sailors don't no nothing about banks and the likes of that, miss. There are thirteen men in the ship's company, counting the cook and the steward. Call 'em twelve. If your father had a bag of sovereigns on board this wessel, and counted out a hundred to each man, then they'd believe him. But I'd not believe _them_. They'd take the money and scuttle the ship all the same. Don't make no mistake. They're fond o' their wagabone lives, and the carpenter's given 'em such a talkin' to, that they're precious keen on gettin' away and cuttin' off all evidence. It 'ud take more than a hundred pound each man to make 'em willing to risk their lives." He walked away once more and stood lounging aft, chatting with Fish. "I am afraid the bo'sun is right," said I. "Having lived among them and heard their conversation, he would know their characters too well to be deceived in the consequences of your scheme." "But papa would pay them, Mr. Royle. He would give them any pledge they might choose to name, that they would run no risk. The money could be sent to them--they need not appear--they need not be seen." "We know they would run no risks; but could we get them to believe us?" "At least let us try." "No--forgive me--we must not try. We must have nothing more to say. You have spoken to Stevens; let _him_ talk among the men. If the reward tempt them, be sure they will concert measures among themselves to land you. But I beg you to have no faith in this project. They are villains, who will betray you in the end. The boatswain's arguments respecting them are perfectly just--so just that he has inspired me with a new kind of faith in him. He owns that his own life is in jeopardy, and I believe he will hit upon some expedient to save us. See how he watches us! He will join us presently. I, too, have a scheme dawning in my head, but too imperfect to discuss as yet. Courage!" I said, animated by her beauty and the deep, speaking expression of her blue eyes: "the bo'sun's confession of his own danger makes me feel stronger by a man. I have greater confidence in him than I had. If I could but muster a few firearms--for even the steward might be made a man of, fighting for his life with a revolver in his hand--there is nothing I would not dare. But twelve to two!--what is our chance? It must not be thought of, with you and your father depending for your lives on ours." "No," she answered firmly. "There must be other and better ways. I will think as well as you." The boatswain came sauntering towards us. He flung a coil of rope over a belaying-pin, looked over the ship's side, approached us nearer, and pulled out a pipe and asked me for a light. I had one in my pocket and gave it to him. This was his excuse to speak. "It isn't so suspicious lookin' to talk now as it would be at night or in the cuddy--and in the cuddy there's no telling whose ears are about," he said. "I'll give you my scheme, thought on since breakfast, and listen close, for I durstn't talk much; after this we must belay, or the men 'll be set jawing. When we come to the Gulf of Mexico, you'll let me know how long it'll be afore we're fifty mile off the Mississippi. I helped to stow the cargo in this vessel, and she's choke full, and there's only one place as they'll be able to get at to scuttle her, and that's right forrards of the fore hatch. I'll let that out to Stevens bit by bit, in an ordinary way, and he'll remember it. The night afore we heave to--you'll tell me when--I'll fall overboard and get drowned. That'll happen in your watch. We'll get one o' them packin' cases full o' tin-tack up out o' the steerage and stow it away in one of the quarter-boats, and you'll let that drop overboard, d'ye see? which 'll sound like a man's body, and sink right away, and then you'll roar out that the boatswain's fallen overboard. Let 'em do what they like. I shall be stowed away forrard, down in the forepeak somewheers, and the man as comes there to bore a hole, _I'll choke_. Leave the rest to me. If Stevens he sings out to know if it's done, I'll say 'Yes,' and tell him to lower away the boats, and hold on for me. He'll take my voice for the fellow as is scuttling the ship. Now," he added vehemently, "I'll lay any man fifty pound agin ten shillings, that Stevens don't wait for the man he sends below. He'll get into the boat and shove off and lay by. You'll give me the signal, and I'll come up sharp, an' if there's a breath o' air we'll have the mainyards round somehow; and if the boats get in our road we'll run 'em down; and if there's no wind, and they try to board us--let 'em look out! for there'll be more blood-letting among 'em than ever they saw before, by God!" He motioned with his hand that we should leave the poop, and walked away. Miss Robertson looked at me and I at her for some moments in silence. "Will it do, Mr. Royle?" she asked, in a low voice. "Yes," I said. "You think we shall be saved by this stratagem?" I reflected before answering, and then said, "I do." She went down the companion-ladder, and when we were in the cuddy, she took my hand in both of hers, and pressed it tightly to her heart, then hurried into her cabin. CHAPTER IV. The more I considered the boatswain's proposal, the better I liked it. All that day I turned it over and over in my mind. And, what was useful to me, I could sleep when I lay down in my watches below, which was a luxury I had feared, after the boatswain's disclosure at the breakfast-table, would be denied me. I did not wish Miss Robertson to sit at the cuddy table at meal hours, and when dinner-time came I took care that as good a meal should be taken to her and her father as the ship could furnish. When Stevens joined me at the table, he sang out to the steward to "tell the old gent an' his darter that dinner vos a vaitin'!" Whereupon I explained that the old gentleman was too ill to leave his bunk. "Well, then, let the gal come," said he. "She can't leave her father," I replied. "Perhaps it ain't that so much as because I ain't genteel enough for her. It's the vest end o' London as won't have nothen to do with Wapping. The tobaccy in my breath's too strong for her." "Nothing of the kind. The old man is ill, and she must watch him. As to your manners, I dare say she is better pleased with them than you ought to be told. It is not every ship's carpenter that could talk and look like a skipper, and keep men under as you do." "You're right there!" he exclaimed, with a broad grin. "Come, sarve us out a dollop o' that pork, will yer? Roast pork's never too fresh for me." And he fell like an animal to the meat, and forgot, as I wished, all about Miss Robertson. In the first watch, from eight in the evening until midnight, which was the boatswain's, I went and sat for an hour with the old gentleman and his daughter. Not a word was said about the peril we were in; he was quite ignorant of it, and, being better and stronger, was eager in his questions about the ship's progress. I took notice that he appeared to forget all about the mutiny, and conversed as if I were captain. Nor did he show any strong recollection of the loss of his ship and the circumstances attending it. Indeed, it seemed that as he grew better his memory grew worse. _That_ was the faculty injured by his sufferings, and when I listened to his questions, which took no cognizance of things of the past, though as recent as yesterday, I thought his memory would presently quit him wholly, for he was an old man, with a mind too feeble to hold on tightly. I left them at half-past nine, and went on deck. I tried to see who was at the wheel, but could not make the man out. I think it was one of the Dutchmen. Better this man than Fish, Johnson, or some of the others, whose names I forget, who were thick with the carpenter, and before whom it would not be wise to talk with any suggestion of mystery with the boatswain. However, there was not much chance of my being noticed, for the night was gloomy, and all about the decks quite dark. The ship was under topsails and main top-gallant sail; the wind was east-south-east, blowing freshly, with long seas. There was no appearance of foul weather, and the glass stood steady; but an under-sky of level cloud lay stretched across the stars; and looking abroad over the ship's side, nothing was distinguishable but the foam of the waves breaking as they ran. As I emerged from the companion, the boatswain hailed the forecastle, and told the man there to keep a good look-out. I had not had an opportunity of speaking to him since the morning. I touched him on the arm, and he turned and stared to see who I was. "Ah, Mr. Royle," said he. "Let's get under the lee of that quarter-boat," said I. "We can hear each other there. Who's at the wheel?" "Dutch Joe." "Come to the binnacle first, and I'll talk to you about the ship's course, and then we'll get under the quarter-boat, and he'll think I am giving you sailing directions." We did this, and I gave the boatswain some instructions in the hearing of the Dutchman; and to appear very much in earnest, the boatswain and I hove the log whilst Dutch Joe turned the glass, which he could easily attend to, holding a spoke with one hand, for the ship was steering herself. We then walked to the quarter-boat and stood under the lee of it. "Bo'sun," said I, "the more I think of your scheme, the better I like it. Whatever may happen, your being in the hold will prevent any man from scuttling the ship." "Yes, so it will; I'll take care of that. One blow must do the job--he mustn't cry out. The pianofortes are amidships on nearly two foot of dunnage; all forrard the cases run large, and it's there they'll find space." "My intention is not to wait until we come to the Gulf in order to carry this out," said I; "I'll clap on sixty, eighty, a hundred miles, just as I see my way, to every day's run, so as to bring the Gulf of Mexico close alongside the Bermuda Islands. Do you understand, bo'sun?" "Yes, I understand. There's no use in waitin'. You're quite right to get it over. The sooner the better, says I." "We shall average a run of 300 miles every twenty-four hours, and I'll slip in an extra degree whenever I can. Who's to know?" "Ne'er a man on this wessel, sir," he answered. "There's not above two as can spell words in a book." "So I should think. Of course I shall have to prick off the chart according to the wind. A breeze like this may well give us three hundred miles. If it fall calm I can make her drift sixty miles west-sou'-west, and clap on another eighty for steerage way. I shall have double reckonings--one for the crew, one for myself. You, as chief mate, will know it's all right." "Leave that to me," he answered, with a short laugh. "They've found out by this time that the ship's a clipper, and I'll let 'em understand that there never was a better navigator than you. It 'll be for you and me to keep as much canvas on her as she'll carry in our watches, for the sake of appearance; and if I was you, sir, I'd trim the log-line afresh." "A good idea," said I. "I'll give her a double dose. Twelve knots shall be nothing in a moderate breeze." We both laughed at this; and then, to make my presence on deck appear reasonable, I walked to the binnacle. I returned and said-- "In nine days hence we must contrive to be in longitude 62° and latitude 33°;--somewhere about it. If we can average 180 miles every day we shall do it." "What do you make the distance from where we are now to the Gulf?" "In broad numbers, three thousand miles." "No more?" "Averaging two hundred miles a day we should be abreast of New Orleans in a fortnight. I said three weeks, but I shall correct myself to Stevens to-morrow, after I have taken observations. I'll show him a jump on the chart that will astonish him. I'll punish the scoundrels yet. I'll give them the direct course to Bermuda when they're in the boats, and if our plot only succeeds and the wind serves, one of us two will be ashore on the island before them, to let the governor know whom he is to expect." "That may be done, too," answered the boatswain; "but it'll have to be a dark night to get away from 'em without their seeing of us." "They'll choose a dark night for their own sakes. Boatswain, give us your hand. Your cleverness has in my opinion as good as saved us. I felt a dead man this morning, but I never was more alive, thanks to you, than I am now." I grasped his hand, and went below, positively in better spirits that I had enjoyed since I first put my foot upon this ill-fated ship. * * * * * The first thing I did next morning was to mark off the log-line afresh, having smuggled the reel below during my watch. I shortened the distances between the knots considerably, so that a greater number should pass over the stern whilst the sand was running than would be reeled off if the line were true. At eight bells, when the boatswain went on deck, I asked him to take the log with him; and following him presently, just as Stevens was about to leave the poop, I looked around me, as if studying the weather, and exclaimed-- "Bos'un, you must keep the log going, please. Heave it every hour, never less. I may have to depend upon dead-reckoning to-day, Mr. Stevens;" and I pointed to the sky, which was as thick as it had been all night. "Shall I heave it now?" inquired the boatswain. "Did you heave it in your watch, Mr. Stevens?" said I. "No," he replied. "What are we doin' now? This has been her pace all along--ha'n't touched a brace or given an order since I came on deck." He had come on deck to relieve me at four. "Let's heave the log," I exclaimed; "I shall be better satisfied." I gave the glass to Stevens, and whilst arranging the log-ship, I looked over the side, and said-- "By Jove, she's walking and no mistake." "I allow that we're doing ten," said the man at the wheel. "I give her thirteen good," said I. "Call it fifteen, and you'll not be far out," observed the boatswain. The carpenter cocked his evil eye at the water, but hazarded no conjecture. "She _can_ sail--if she can't do nothen else," was all he said. I flung the log-ship overboard. "Turn!" I cried out. I saw the knots fibbing out like a string of beads. The reel roared in the boatswain's hands, and when Stevens called "Stop!" I caught the line and allowed it to jam me against the rail, as though the weight of it, dragged through the water at the phenomenal speed at which we were supposed to be going, would haul me overboard. "What's that knot there, Mr. Stevens?" I called out. "Bear a hand! the line is cutting my fingers in halves!" He put down the sand-glass and laid hold of the line where the knot was, and began to count. "Fifteen!" he roared. "Well, I'm jiggered!" exclaimed the man steering. I looked at Stevens triumphantly, as though I should say, "What do you think of that?" "I told you you wur wrong, Mr. Royle," said the boatswain. "It's all fifteen. By jingo! it ain't sailing, it's engine drivin'!" The true speed of the _Grosvenor_ was about nine and a half knots--certainly not more; and whether the carpenter should believe the report of the log or not, was nothing to me. "Log it fifteen on the slate, bo'sun, and keep the log going every hour," I said, and went below again. I saw, as was now my regular custom at every meal, that the steward took a good breakfast to the Robertsons' cabin, and then sat down with Stevens to the morning repast. I took this opportunity of suggesting that if the wind held, and the vessel maintained her present rate of speed, we might hope to be in the Gulf of Mexico in a fortnight. "How do you make that out? It was three weeks yesterday." "And it might have been a month," I answered. "But a few days of this kind of sailing, let me tell you, Mr. Stevens, make a great difference in one's calculations." "How fur off is the Gulf of Mexico?" he asked. "About a couple of thousand miles." "Oh, a couple of thousand miles. Well, an' what reckoning do you get out o' that?" "Suppose you put the ship's pace down at thirteen knots an hour?" "I thought you made it fifteen?" he exclaimed, looking at me suspiciously. "Yes, but I don't suppose we shall keep that up. For the sake of argument I call it thirteen?" "Well?" cramming his mouth as he spoke. "In twenty-four hours we shall have run a distance of three hundred and twelve miles." He nodded. "Therefore, if we have the luck to keep up this pace of two knots less than we are now actually doing, for fifteen days, we shall have accomplished--let me see." I drew out a pencil, and commenced a calculation on the back of an old envelope. "Three hundred and twelve multiplied by fifteen. Five times naught are naught; three naughts and two are ten; add two thousand; we shall have accomplished a distance of four thousand six hundred and eighty miles--that is two thousand six hundred and eighty miles further than we want to go." He was puzzled (and well he might be) by my fluent figures, but would not appear so. "I understand," said he. "Stop a bit," I exclaimed; "I want to show you something." I entered the captain's cabin, procured a chart of the North and South Atlantic, including the eastern American coast, and spread it upon the table. "The two thousand miles I have given you," said I, "would bring you right off the Mississippi. See here." He rose and stooped over the chart. "The short cut to the Gulf," I continued, pointing with my pencil, "is through the Florida Channel, clean through the Bahamas, where the navigation is very ugly." "I see." "I wouldn't trust myself there without a pilot on any consideration, and, of course," said I, looking at him, "we don't want a pilot." "I should rayther think we don't," he answered, scowling at the chart. "So," I went on, "to keep clear of ships and boats, which are sure to board us if we get among these islands, I should steer round the Caribees, do you see?--well away from them, and up through the Caribbean Sea, into the Gulf. Do you follow me?" "Yes, yes--I see." "Now, Mr. Stevens," said I very gravely, "I want to do my duty to the crew, and put them and myself in the way of getting ashore and clear off from all bad consequences." The scoundrel tried to meet my eyes, but could not; and he listened to me, gazing the while on the chart. "But I don't think I should succeed if I got among those islands blocking up the entrance of the Gulf; and as to the Gulf itself, you may take your oath it's full of ships, some of which will pick you up before you reach the shore, whilst others are pretty certain to come across the vessel you have abandoned, and then--look out!" He swallowed some coffee hastily, stared at the chart, and said in a surly voice, "What are you drivin' at?" "Instead of our abandoning the ship in the Gulf of Mexico," I said, "my opinion is that, in order to assure our safety, and lessen the chance of detection, we ought to abandon her clear of these islands, to the norrard of them, off this coast here--Florida," pointing to the chart. "You think so?" he said, doubtfully, after a long pause. "I am certain of it. We ought to land upon some uninhabited part of the coast, travel along it northwards, until we reach a town, and there represent ourselves as shipwrecked sailors. Ask your mates if I am not right." "Perhaps you are," he replied, still very dubious, though not speaking distrustfully. "If you select the coast of Florida, clear of all these islands, and away from the track of ships, I'll undertake, with good winds, to put the ship off it in nine or ten days. But I'll not answer for our safety if you oblige me to navigate her into the Gulf of Mexico." He continued looking at the chart for some moments, and I saw by the movements of his lips that he was trying to spell the names of the places written on the Florida coast outline, though he would not ask me to help him. At last he said-- "It's Fish and two others as chose New Orleans. _I_ have no fancy for them half-an'-half places. What _I_ wanted was to get away into the Gulf of Guinea, and coast along down to Congo, or that way. I know that coast, but I never was in Amerikey, and," he added, fetching the chart a blow with his fist, "curse me if I like the notion of going there." "It won't do to be shifting about," said I, frightened that he would go and get the crew to agree with him to run down to the African coast, which would seriously prolong the journey, and end, for all I could tell, in defeating my scheme; "we shall be running short of water and eatable stores, and then we shall be in a fix. Make up your mind, Mr. Stevens, to the Florida coast; you can't do better. We shall fetch it in a few days, and once ashore, we can disperse in parties, and each party can tell their own yarn if they are asked questions." "Well, I'll talk to Fish and the others about it," he growled, going back to his seat. "I think you're right about them West Indie Islands. We must keep clear o' them. Perhaps some of 'em forrards may know what this here Florida is like. I was never ashore there." He fell to his breakfast again, and finding him silent, and considering that enough had been said for the present, I left him. I did not know how well I had argued the matter until that night, when he came to me on the poop, at half-past eight, and told me that the men were all agreed that it would be too dangerous to abandon the ship off New Orleans, and that they preferred the notion of leaving her off the Florida coast. I asked him if I was to consider this point definitely settled, and on his answering in the affirmative, I sang out to the man at the wheel to keep her away a couple of points, and ordered some of the watch to haul in a bit on the weather braces, explaining to Stevens that his decision would bring our course a trifle more westerly. I then told him that, with a good wind, I would give the ship eight or nine days to do the run in, and recommended him to let the crew know this, as they must now turn to and arrange, not only how they should leave the ship--in what condition, whether with their clothes and effects, as if they had had time to save them, or quite destitute, as though they had taken to the boats in a hurry--but also make up their minds as to the character of the story they should relate when they got ashore. He answered that all this was settled, as, of course, I was very well aware; but then my reason for talking to him in this strain was to convince him that I had no suspicion of the diabolical project he was meditating against my life. You will, perhaps, find it hard to believe that he and the others should be so ignorant of navigation as to be duped by my false reckonings and misstatements of distances. But I can aver from experience that merchant-seamen are, as a rule, as ignorant and thick-headed a body of men as any in this world--and scarcely a handful in every thousand with even a small acquaintance with the theoretical part of their calling. More than a knowledge of practical seamanship is not required from them; and how many are proficient even in this branch? Of every ship's company more than half always seem to be learning their business; furling badly, reefing badly, splicing, scraping, painting, cleaning badly; turning to lazily; slow up aloft, negligent, with an immense capacity of skulking. I am persuaded that had I not shown Stevens the chart, I could have satisfied him that a southerly course would have fetched the coast of America. The mistake I made was in being too candid and honest with them in the beginning. But then I had no plan formed. I dared not be tricky without plausibility, and without some definite end to achieve. Now that I had got a good scheme in my head, I progressed with it rapidly, and I felt so confident of the issue, in the boatswain's pluck and my own energy, that my situation no longer greatly excited my apprehensions, and all that I desired was that the hour might speedily arrive when the boats with their cargo of rascals and cowards should put off and leave the ship. CHAPTER V. Having no other log-book than my memory to refer to, I pass over six days, in which nothing occurred striking enough for my recollection to retain. This brought us to Sunday; and on that day at noon we were, as nearly as I can recall, in 37° north latitude and 50° west longitude. In round numbers Bermuda lies in latitude 32° and longitude 65°. This is close enough for my purpose. We had consequently some distance yet to run before we should _heave to off the coast of Florida_. But we had for five days carried a strong following wind with us, and were now (heading west by south half south) driving eight or nine knots an hour under a fresh wind forward of the port beam. I own I was very glad to be able to keep well to the norrard of 30°; for had the north-east trade winds got hold of the ship, I should not have been able to accommodate the distances run to my scheme so well as I now could with shifting winds blowing sometimes moderate gales. The crew continued to behave with moderation. The carpenter, indeed, grew more coarse and offensive in manner as the sense of his importance and of his influence over the men grew upon him; and there were times when Johnson and Fish put themselves rather disagreeably forward; but I must confess I had not looked for so much decency of behaviour as was shown by the rest of the men in a crew who were absolute masters of the vessel. But all the same, I was not to be deceived by their apparent tractableness and quiet exterior. I knew but too well the malignant purpose that underlay this reposeful conduct, and never addressed them but felt that I was accosting murderers, who, when the moment should arrive, would watch their victims miserably drown, with horrid satisfaction at the success of their cruel remedy to remove all chance of their apprehension. On this Sunday, old Mr. Robertson came on deck for the first time, accompanied by his daughter, who had not before been on the poop in the daytime. It was my watch on deck; had it been the carpenter's, I should have advised them to keep below. What I had feared had now come to pass. Mr. Robertson's memory was gone. He could recall nothing; but what was more pitiful to see, though it was all for the best so far as he was concerned, he made no effort to recollect. Nothing was suggestive; nothing, that ever I could detect, put his mind in labour. His daughter spoke to me about this melancholy extinction of his memory, but not with any bitterness of sorrow. "It is better," she said, "that he should not remember the horrors of that shipwreck, nor understand our present dreadful position." It was indeed the sense of our position that took her mind away from too active a contemplation of her father's intellectual enfeeblement. There was never a more devoted daughter, more tender, gentle, unremitting in her foresight of his wants; and yet, in spite of herself, the feeling of her helplessness would at times overpower her; that strong and beautiful instinct in women which makes them turn for safety and comfort to the strength of men whom they can trust, would master her. I knew, I felt through signs touching to me as love, how she looked to me out of her loneliness, out of the deeper loneliness created in her by her father's decay, and wondered that I, a rough sailor, little capable of expressing all the tenderness and concern and strong resolutions that filled my heart, should have the power to inspirit and pacify her most restless moods. In view of the death that might await us--for hope and strive as we might, we could pronounce nothing certain--it was exquisite flattery to me, breeding in me, indeed, thoughts which I hardly noted then, though they were there to make an epoch in my life, to feel her trust, to witness the comfort my presence gave her, to receive her gentle whispers that she had no fear now; that I was her friend; that she knew me as though our friendship was of old, old standing! I say, God bless her for her faith in me! I look back and know that I did my best. She gave me courage, heart, and cunning; and so I owed my life to her, for it was these things that saved it. She exactly knew the plans concerted by the boatswain and myself, and was eager to help us; but I could find no part for her. However, this Sunday afternoon, whilst I stood near her, talking in a low voice, her father sitting in a chair that I had brought from the cuddy, full in the sun, whose light seemed to put new life into him--I said to her with a smile-- "If to-night is dark enough, the boatswain must be drowned." "Yes," she answered, "I know. It will not be too soon, you think?" "No. I shall not be easy until I get him stowed away in the hold." "You will see," she exclaimed, "that the poor fellow takes plenty to eat and drink with him?" "A good deal more than he wants is already there," I answered. "For the last three days he has been dropping odds and ends of food down the fore hatch. Let the worst come to the worst, he had smuggled in enough, he tells me, to last him for a fortnight. Besides, the water-casks are there." "And how will he manage to sleep?" "Oh, he'll coil up and snug himself away anyhow. Sailors are never pushed for a bedstead: anything and everything serves. The only part of the job that will be rather difficult is the drowning him. I don't know anything that will make a louder splash and sink quickly too, than a box of nails. The trouble is to heave it overboard without the man at the wheel seeing me do it; and I must contrive to let him think that the boatswain is aft, before I raise the splash, because if this matter is not ship-shape and carried out cleverly, the man, whoever he may be that takes the wheel, will be set thinking and then get on to talking. Now, not the shadow of a suspicion must attend this." "May I tell you how I think the man who is steering can be deceived?" "By all means." She fixed her eyes on the sea and said-- "I must ask some questions first. When you come on deck, will it be the boatswain's or the carpenter's turn to go downstairs?" "The carpenter's. He must be turned in before I move." "And will the same man be at the wheel who steered the ship during the carpenter's watch?" "No. He will be relieved by a man out of the port watch." "Now I understand. What I think is that the man who comes to take the other one's place at the wheel ought to see the boatswain as he passes along the deck. The boatswain should stand talking with you in full sight of this man, that is, near the wheel, if the night is dark, so that he can hear his voice, if he cannot distinguish his face; and when all is quiet in the fore part of the ship, then you and he should walk away and stand yonder," pointing, as she spoke, to the creak of the poop. I listened to her with interest and curiosity. "Some one must then creep up and stand beside you, and the boatswain must instantly slip away and hide himself. The case of nails ought to be ready in one of those boats; you and the person who takes the boatswain's place must then go to the boat, and one of you, under pretence of examining her, must get the box of nails out on to the rails ready to be pushed over-boards. Then the new-comer must crouch among the shadows and glide away off the poop, and when he is gone you must push the box over into the sea and cry out." "The plot is perfect," I exclaimed, struck not more by its ingenuity than the rapidity with which it had been conceived. "There is only one drawback--who will replace the bo'sun? I dare not trust the steward." "You will trust me?" she said. I could not help laughing, as I exclaimed, "You do not look like the bo'sun." "Oh, that is easily done," she replied, slightly blushing, and yet looking at me bravely. "If he will lend me a suit of his clothes, I will put them on." To spare her the slightest feeling of embarrassment, I said-- "Very well, Miss Robertson. It will be a little masquerading, that is all. I will give you a small sou'wester that will hide your hair--though even that precaution should be unnecessary, for if the night is not dark, the adventure must be deferred." "It is settled!" she exclaimed, with her eyes shining. "Come! I knew I should be able to help. You will arrange with the boatswain, and let me know the hour you fix upon, and what signal you will give me to steal up on deck and place myself near you." "You are the bravest girl in the world! you are fit to command a ship!" I exclaimed. She smiled as she answered, "A true sailor's compliment, Mr. Royle." Then with a sudden sigh and a wonderful change of expression, making her beauty a sweet and graceful symbol of the ever-changing sea, she cried, looking at her father-- "May God protect us and send us safely home! I dare not think too much. I hope without thinking. Oh, Mr. Royle, how shall you feel when we are starting for dear England? This time will drive me mad to remember!" CHAPTER VI. I shall never forget the deep anxiety with which I awaited the coming on of the night, my feverish restlessness, the exultation with which I contemplated my scheme, the miserable anguish with which I foreboded its failure. It was like tossing a coin--the cry involving life or death! If Stevens detected the stratagem, my life was not worth a rushlight, and the thoughts of Mary Robertson falling a victim to the rage of the crew was more than my mind could be got to bear upon. Stevens came on deck at four o'clock in the afternoon, and that I might converse with the boatswain without fear of incurring the carpenter's suspicion, I brought a chart from the captain's cabin and spread it on the cuddy table, right under the after skylight, and whilst the boatswain and I hung over it, pretending to be engaged in calculations, we completed our arrangements. He was struck with the boldness of Miss Robertson's idea, and said he would as soon trust her to take part in the plot as any stout-hearted man. He grinned at the notion of her wearing his clothes, and told me he'd make up a bundle of his Sunday rig, and leave it out for me to put into her cabin. "She'll know how to shorten what's too lengthy," said he; "and you'd better tell her to take long steps ven she walks, for vimmen's legs travels twice as quick as a man's, and that's how I alvays knows vich sex is hacting before me in the theaytre, though, to be sure, some o' them do dress right up to the hammer, and vould deceive their own mothers." "Are the hatches off forrard?" "You leave that to me, Mr. Royle. That'll be all right." "What weapon have you got?" "Only a bar of iron the size of my leg," he answered, grimly. "I shouldn't like to drop it on my foot by accident." We brought our hurried conversation to a close by perceiving the carpenter staring at us stedfastly through the skylight; and whispering that everything now depended upon the night being dark, I repaired with my chart to the cabin I occupied. I noticed at this time that the lid of one of the lockers stood a trifle open, sustained by the things inside it, which had evidently been tumbled and not put square again. This, on inspecting the locker, I found to be the case; and remembering that here was the bag of silver I had come across while searching for clothes for old Mr. Robertson, I thrust my hand down to find it. It was gone. "So, Mr. Stevens," thought I, "this is some of your doing, is it? A thief as well as a murderer! You grow accomplished." Well, if he had the silver in his pocket when he quitted the ship, it would only drown him the sooner, should he find himself overboard. There was comfort in that reflection, any way; and I should have been perfectly willing that the silver had been gold, could the rogue's death have been hastened by the transmutation. A little before six o'clock, at which hour I was to relieve the boatswain in order to take charge of the ship through the second dog-watch, Stevens being in his cabin and all quiet in the after part of the vessel, I went quietly down the ladder that conducted to the steerage, this ladder being situated some dozen feet abaft the mizzen-mast. All along the starboard side of the ship in this part of her were stowed upwards of seven hundred boxes of tin-tacks, each box about twice the breadth and length of this book in your hand, and weighing pretty heavy. There was nothing else that I could think of that would so well answer the purpose of making a splash alongside, as one of these boxes, and which combined the same weight in so handy and portable a bulk. Anything in wood must float; anything in iron might be missed. All these things had to be carefully considered, for, easy as the job of dropping a weight overboard to counterfeit the sound of a human body fallen into the water may seem, yet in my case the difficulty of accomplishing it successfully, and without the chance of subsequent detection, was immense, and demanded great prudence and foresight. I conveyed one of these boxes to my cabin, and when four bells were struck (the hands kept the relief bells going for their own sakes, I giving them the time each day at noon), I smuggled it up in a topcoat, and stepped with an easy air on to the poop. The man who had been steering was in the act of surrendering the spokes to another hand, and I took advantage of one of them cutting off a piece of tobacco for the other, which kept them both occupied, to put my coat and the box inside it in the stern sheets of the port quarter-boat, as though it were my coat only which I had deposited there out of the road, handy to slip on should I require it. The boatswain observed my action without appearing to notice it; and as he passed me on the way to the cuddy, he said that his clothes would be ready by eight bells for the lady, and that I should find them in a bundle near the door. He would not stay to say more; for I believe that the carpenter had found something suspicious in our hanging together over the chart, and had spoken to this effect to his chums among the men; and it therefore behoved the boatswain and me to keep as clear of each other as possible. One stroke of fortune, however, I saw was to befall us. The night, unless a very sudden change took place, would be dark. The sky was thick, with an even and unbroken ground of cloud which had a pinkish tint down in the western horizon, where the sun was declining behind it. The sea was rough, and looked muddy. The wind held steady, but blew very fresh, and had drawn a trifle further to the southwards, so that the vessel was a point off her course. The motion of the ship was very uncomfortable, the pitching sharp and irregular, and she rolled as quickly as a vessel of one hundred tons would. As the shadows gathered upon the sea, the spectacle of the leaden-coloured sky and waves was indescribably melancholy. Some half-dozen Mother Carey's chickens followed in our wake, and I watched their grey breasts skimming the surface of the waves until they grew indistinguishable on the running foam. The look of the weather was doubtful enough to have justified me in furling the main top-gallant sail and even single reefing the two topsails; but though this canvas did not actually help the ship's progress, as she was close to the wind, and it pressed her over and gave her much leeway, yet I thought it best to let it stand, as it suggested an idea of speed to the men (which I took care the log should confirm), and I should require to make a long reckoning on the chart next day to prove to Stevens that we were fast nearing the coast of Florida. At eight o'clock I called Stevens, and saw him well upon deck before I ventured to enter the boatswain's berth. I then softly opened the door, and heard the honest fellow snoring like a trooper in his bunk; but the parcel of clothes lay ready, and I at once took them, and knocked lightly on Miss Robertson's door. She immediately appeared, and I handed her the clothes and also my sou'wester, which I had taken from my cabin after quitting the deck. "What is to be the signal?" she asked. "Three blows of my heel over your cabin. There is a spare cabin next door for you to use, as your father ought not to see you." "I will contrive that he does not see me," she answered. "He fell asleep just now when I was talking to him. I had better not leave him, for if he should wake up and call for me, I should not like to show myself in these clothes for fear of frightening him; whereas if I stop here I can dress myself by degrees and can answer him without letting him see me." "There is plenty of time," I said. "The bo'sun relieves the carpenter at midnight. I will join the bo'sun when the carpenter has left the deck. Here is my watch--you have no means of knowing the time without quitting your cabin." "Is the night dark?" "Very dark. Nothing could be better. Have no fear," I said, handing her my watch; "we shall get the bo'sun safely stowed below, and with him a crow-bar. The carpenter will find it rather harder than he imagines to scuttle the ship. He--I mean the bo'sun--is sound asleep, and snoring like a field-marshal on the eve of glory. His trumpeting is wonderfully consoling, for no man could snore like that who forbodes a dismal ending of life." I took her hand, receiving as I did so a brave smile from her hopeful, pretty face, and left her. Without much idea of sleeping, I lay down under a blanket, but fell asleep immediately, and slept as soundly, if not as noisily, as the boatswain, until eleven o'clock. The vessel's motion was now easier; she did not strain, and was more on an even keel, which either meant that the wind had fallen or that it had drawn aft. I looked through the porthole, to see if I could make anything of the night, but it was pitch dark. I lighted a pipe to keep me awake, and lay down again to think over our plot, and find, if I could, any weakness in it, but felt more than ever satisfied with our plans. The only doubtful point was whether the fellow who went down to scuttle the ship would not get into the forepeak; but if the boatswain could contrive to knock a hole in the bulkhead, he would have the man, whether he got down through the forecastle or the fore-hatch; and this I did not question he would manage, for he was very well acquainted with the ship's hold and the disposition of the cargo. I found myself laughing once when I thought of the fright the scoundrel (whoever it might be) would receive from the boatswain--he would think he had met the devil or a ghost; but I did not suppose the boatswain would give him much time to be afraid, if he could only bring that crow-bar, as big as his leg, to bear. The sounds of eight bells being struck, set my heart beating rather quickly, and almost immediately I heard Stevens' heavy step coming down the companion-ladder. I lay quiet, thinking he might look in, as it would better suit my purpose to let him think me asleep. He went and roused out the boatswain, and after a little the boatswain went on deck. But Stevens did not immediately turn in. I cautiously abstracted the key, and looked through the keyhole, and observed him bring out a bottle of rum and a tumbler from the pantry, and help himself to a stiff glass. He swallowed the fiery draught with his back turned upon the main-deck, that the men, if any were about, should not see him; and drying his lips by running his sleeve, the whole length of his arm, over them, he replaced the bottle and glass, and went to his cabin. This was now my time. There was nothing to fear from his finding me on deck should he take it into his head to come up, since it was reasonable that I, acting as skipper, should at any and all hours be watching the weather, and noting the ship's course, more particularly now, when we were supposed to be drawing near land. Still, I left my cabin quietly, as I did not want him to hear me, and sneaked up through the companion on tiptoe. The night was not so pitch dark as I might have expected from the appearance of it through the port-hole; but it was quite dark enough to answer my purpose. For instance, it was as much as I could do to follow the outline of the mainmast, and the man at the wheel and the wheel itself, viewed from a short distance, were lumped into a blotch, though there was a halo of light all around the binnacle. The lamp that was alight in the cuddy hung just abaft the foremost skylight, and I saw that it would be necessary to cover the glass. So I stepped up to the boatswain, who stood near the mizzen-mast. "Are you all ready, bo'sun?" "All ready." "Not afraid of the rats?" I said, with a laugh. "No, nor wuss than rats," he replied. "Has the lady got my clothes on yet? I _should_ like to see her." "She'll come when we are ready. That light shining on the skylight must be concealed. I don't want to put the lamp out, and am afraid to draw the curtains for fear the rings should rattle. There's a tarpaulin in the starboard quarter-boat, take and throw it over the skylight whilst I go aft and talk to the fellow steering. Who is he?" "Jim Cornish." He found the tarpaulin, and concealed the light, whilst I spoke to the man at the wheel about the ship's course, the look of the weather, and so on. "Now," said I, rejoining the boatswain, "come and take two or three turns along the poop, that Cornish may see us together." We paced to and fro, stopping every time we reached the wheel to look at the compass. When we were at the fore end of the poop I halted. "Walk aft," I said, "and post yourself right in the way of Cornish, that he shan't be able to see along the weather side of the poop." I followed him until I had come to the part of the deck that was right over Miss Robertson's cabin, and there struck three smart blows with the heel of my boot, at the same time flapping my hands against my breast so as to make Cornish believe that I was warming myself. I walked to the break of the poop and waited. In less time than I could count twenty a figure came out of the cuddy and mounted the poop ladder, and stood by my side. Looking close into the face I could see that it was rather too white to be a sailor's, that was all. The figure was a man's, most perfectly so. "Admirable!" I whispered, grasping her hand. I posted her close against the screened skylight, that her figure might be on a level with the mizzen-mast viewed from the wheel, and called to the boatswain. The tone of my voice gave him his cue. He came forward just as a man would to receive an order. "She is here," I said, turning him by the arm to where Miss Robertson stood motionless. "For God's sake get forward at once! Lose no time!" He went up to her and said-- "I'm sorry I can't see you properly, miss. If this wur daylight I reckon you'd make a handsome sailor, just fit for the gals to go dreamin' an' ravin' about." With which, and waving his hand, the plucky fellow slipped off the poop like a shadow, and I watched him glide along the main-deck until he vanished. "Now," whispered I to my companion, "the tragedy begins. We must walk up and down that the man steering may see us. Keep on the left side of the deck; it is higher than where I shall walk, and will make you look taller." I posted her properly, and we began to measure the deck. Anxious as I was, I could still find time to admire the courage of this girl. At no sacrifice of modesty--no, not even to the awakening of an instant's mirth in me--was her noble and beautiful bravery illustrated. Her pluck was so grand an expression of her English character, that no emotion but that of profound admiration of her moral qualities could have been inspired in the mind of any man who beheld her. I took care not to go further than the mizzen-rigging, so that Cornish should distinguish nothing but our figures; and after we had paraded the deck awhile I asked her to stand near the quarter-boat in which I had placed the box. I then got on to the rail and fished out the box smartly, and stood it on the rail. "Keep your hand upon it," said I, "that it may not roll overboard." With which I walked right up to Cornish. "Does she steer steady?" "True as a hair." "I left my coat this afternoon in one of the quarter-boats. Have you seen it?" "No." "Perhaps it's in the starboard-boat." I pretended to search, and then drawing close to Miss Robertson, said quickly-- "Creep away now. Keep close to the rail and crouch low. Get to your cabin and change your dress. Roll the clothes you are wearing in a bundle and hide them for the present." She glided away on her little feet, stooping her head to a level with the rail. All was quiet forward--the main-deck deserted. I waited some seconds, standing with my hand on the box, and then I shoved it right overboard. It fell just as I had expected, with a thumping splash. Instantly I roared out, "Man overboard! Down with your helm! The bo'sun's gone!" and to complete the imposture I bounded aft, cut away a life-buoy, and flung it far into the darkness astern. Cornish obeyed me literally; put the helm right down, and in a few moments the sails were shaking wildly. "Steady!" I shouted. "Aft here and man the port main-braces! Bear a hand! the bo'sun's overboard!" My excitement made my voice resonant as a trumpet, and the men in both watches came scampering along the deck. The shaking of the canvas, the racing of feet, my own and the cries of the crew, produced, as you may credit, a fine uproar. Of course I had foreseen that there would be no danger in bringing the ship aback. The wind though fresh was certainly not strong enough to jeopardize the spars; moreover, the sea had moderated. Up rushed the carpenter in a very short time, rather the worse, I thought, for the dose he had swallowed. "What's the matter! What the devil is all this?" he bellowed, lurching from side to side as the ship rolled, for we were now broadside on. "The bo'sun has fallen overboard!" I shouted in his ear; and I had need to shout, for the din of the canvas was deafening. "Do you say the bo'sun?" he bawled. "Yes. What shall we do? is it too dark to pick him up?" "Of course it is!" he cried, hoarse as a raven. "What do you want to do? He's drownded by this time! Who's to find him? Give 'em the proper orders, Mr. Royle!" and he vociferated to the men--"Do you want the masts to carry away? Do you want to be overhauled by the fust wessel as comes this road, and hanged, every mother's son of you, because the bo'sun's fallen overboard?" I stood to leeward gazing at the water and uttering exclamations to show my concern and distress at the loss of the boatswain. Stevens dragged me by the arm. "Give 'em the proper orders, I tell ye, Mr. Royle!" he cried. "I say that the bo'sun's drownded, and that no stopping the wessel will save him. Sing out to the men, for the Lord's sake! Let her fill again, or we're damned!" "Very well," I replied with a great air of reluctance, and I advanced to the poop-rail and delivered the necessary orders. By dint of flattening in the jib-sheets and checking the main-braces, and brailing up the spanker and rousing the foreyards well forward, I got the ship to pay off. The carpenter worked like a madman, bawling all the while that if the ship was dismasted all hands would certainly be hanged; and he so animated the men by his cries and entreaties, that more work was done by them in one quarter of an hour than they would have put into treble that time on any other occasion. It was now one o'clock, so it had not taken us an hour to drown the boatswain, put the ship in irons, and get her clear again. Stevens came off the main-deck on to the poop, greatly relieved in his mind now that the sails were full and the yards trimmed, and asked me how it happened that the boatswain fell overboard. I replied, very gravely, that I had come on deck at eight bells, being anxious to see what way the ship was making and how she was heading; that remembering I had left an overcoat in one of the quarter-boats, I looked, but could not find it; that I spoke to the boatswain, who told me that he had seen the coat in the stern sheets of the quarter-boat that afternoon, and got on to the poop-rail to search the boat; that I had turned my head for a moment when I heard a groan, which was immediately followed by a loud splash alongside, and I perceived that the boatswain had vanished. "So," continued I, "I pitched a life-buoy astern and sang out to put the helm down; and I must say, Mr. Stevens, that I think we could have saved the poor fellow had we tried. But you are really the skipper of this ship, and since you objected I did not argue." "There's no use sayin' we _could_ ha' saved him," rejoined Stevens, gruffly. "I say we couldn't. Who's to see him in the dark? We should have had to burn a flare for the boat to find us, and what with our driftin' and their lumpin' about, missing their road, and doing no airthly good, we should ha' ended in losin' the boat." He did not notice the tarpaulin spread over the skylight, though I had an explanation of its being there had he inquired the meaning of it. He hung about the deck for a whole hour, though I had offered to take the boatswain's watch, and go turn and turn about with him (Stevens), and he had a long yarn with the man at the wheel, which I contrived to drop in upon after awhile, and found Cornish explaining exactly how the boatswain fell overboard, and corroborating my story in every particular. Thus laborious as my stratagem had been, it was, as this circumstance alone proved, in no sense too laboured; for had not Cornish seen, with his own eyes, the boatswain and myself standing near the boat just before I gave the alarm, he would in all probability have represented the affair in such a way to Stevens as to set him doubting my story, and perhaps putting the men on to search the ship, to see if the boatswain _was_ overboard. He went below at two o'clock. The sea fell calm, and the wind shifted round to the nor'ard and westward, and was blowing a steady pleasant breeze at six bells. The stars came out and the horizon cleared, and looking to leeward I beheld at a distance of about four miles the outline of a large ship, which, when I brought the binocular glasses to bear on her, I found under full sail. She was steering a course seemingly parallel with our own, and as I watched her my brains went to work to conceive in what possible way I could utilize her presence. At all events, the first thing I had to do was to make sail, or she would run away from us; so I at once called up the watch. Whilst the men were at work the dawn broke, and by the clearer light I perceived that the vessel was making a more westerly course than we, and was drawing closer to us at every foot of water we severally measured. She was a noble-looking merchantman, like a frigate with her painted ports, with double topsail and top-gallant yards, and with skysails set, so that her sails were a wonderful volume and tower of canvas. The sight of her filled me with emotions I cannot express. As to signalling her, I knew that the moment the men saw me handling the signal-halliards they would crowd aft and ask me what I meant to do. I might indeed hail her if I could sheer the _Grosvenor_ close enough alongside for my voice to carry; but if they failed to hear me or refused to help, what would be my position? So surely as I raised my voice to declare our situation, so surely would the crew drag me down and murder me out of hand. Presently Fish and Johnson came along the main-deck, and while Fish entered the cuddy Johnson came up to me. "Hadn't you better put the ship about?" he said. "You're running us rather close. The men don't like it." Seeing that no chance would be given me to make my peril known to the stranger, I formed my resolution rapidly. I called out to the men-- "Johnson wants to 'bout ship. Yonder vessel can see that we are making a free wind, and she'll either think we're mad or that there's something wrong with us if we 'bout ship with a beam wind. Now just tell me what I am to do." "Haul us away from that ship--that's all we want," answered one of them. At this moment the carpenter came running up the poop ladder, with nothing on but his shirt and a pair of breeches. "Hallo!" he called out fiercely; "what are you about? Do you want to put us alongside!" And he bawled out fiercely--"Port your helm! run right away under her stern!" "If you do that," I exclaimed, very anxious now to show how well-intentioned I was, "you will excite her suspicions. Steady!" I cried, seeing the ship drawing rapidly ahead; "bring her to again a point off her course." Stevens scowled at me, but did not speak. The crew clustered up the poop ladder to stare at the ship, and I caught some of them casting such threatening looks at me, that I wanted no better hint of the kind of mercy I should receive if I played them any tricks. "Mr. Stevens," said I, "leave me to manage, and I'll do you no wrong. That ship is making more way than we are, and we shall have her dead on end presently. Then I'll show you what to do." As I spoke, the vessel which we had brought well on the port-bow hoisted English colours. The old ensign soared gracefully, and stood out at the gaff-end. "We must answer her," I exclaimed to the carpenter. "You had better bend on the ensign and run it up." I suppose he knew that there could be no mischievous meaning in the display of this flag, for he obeyed me, though leisurely. The ship, when she saw that we answered her, hauled her ensign down, and after awhile, during which she sensibly increased the distance between us, and had drawn very nearly stern on, hoisted her number. "Run up the answering pennant," I exclaimed; "it will look civil any way, and it means nothing." I pointed out the signal to the carpenter, who hoisted it; but I could see by his face that he meant to obey no more orders of this kind. "Steady as she goes!" cried I, to the fellow steering. "A hand let go the weather mizzen-braces and haul in some of you to leeward." This manoeuvre laid the sails on the mizzen-mast aback; they at once impeded our way, nor, being now right ahead of us, could the people on board the ship see what we had done. The result was the vessel drew away rapidly, I taking care to luff as she got to windward, so as to keep our flying jib-boom in a direct line with her stern. To judge by the way the men glanced at me and spoke to one another, they evidently appreciated this stratagem: and Stevens condescended to say, "That's one for her." "Better than going about," I answered drily. "They've hauled down them signals," he said, blinking the point I raised by my remark. "Yes. She doesn't mean to stop to ask any questions." The end of this was that in about twenty minutes the ship was three or four miles ahead of us; so not choosing to lose any more time, I swung the mizzen-yards, and got the _Grosvenor_ upon her course again. Stevens went below to put on his coat and cap and boots in order to relieve me, for it was now four o'clock. The dawn had broken with every promise of a fine day, and where the sun rose the sky resembled frost-work, layer upon layer of high delicate clouds, ranged like scale armour, all glittering with silver brightness and whitening the sea, over which they hung with a pale, pearly light. I was thoroughly exhausted, not so much from the want of rest as from the excitement I had gone through. Still, I had a part to play before I turned in; so I stuck my knuckles in my eyes to rub them open, and waited for Stevens, who presently came on deck, having first stopped on the main-deck to grumble to his crony Fish over his not having had a quarter of an hour's sleep since midnight. "I'm growed sick o' the sight o' this poop," he growled to me. "Sick o' the sight o' the whole wessel. Fust part o' the woyage I was starved for food. Now, with the skipper overboard, I'm starved for sleep. How long are we going to take to reach Florida? Sink me if I shouldn't ha' woted for some nearer coast had I known this woyage wur going to last to the day o' judgment." "If it don't fall calm," I answered, "I may safely promise to put you off the coast of Florida on Friday afternoon." He thrust his hands into his breeches' pockets, and stared aft. "I am very much troubled about the loss of the bo'sun," said I. "Are you?" he responded, ironically. "He was a civil man and a good sailor." "Yes; I dessay he was. But he's no use now." "He deserved that we should have made an effort to save him." "Well, you said that before, and I said no; and I suppose I know wot I mean when I says no." "But won't the crew think me a heartless rascal for not sending a boat to the poor devil?" I demanded, pretending to lose my temper. "The bo'sun was none so popular--don't make no mistake; he wasn't one of----Hell seize me! where are you drivin' to, Mr. Royle? Can't you let a drownded man alone?" he cried, with an outburst of passion. But immediately he softened his voice, and with a look of indescribable cunning, said, "Some of the hands didn't like him, of course; and some did, and they'll be sorry. I am one of them as did, and would ha' saved him if I hadn't feared the masts, and reckoned there'd be no use in the boat gropin' about in the dark for a drownin' man." "No doubt of that," I replied, in a most open manner. "You know the course, Mr. Stevens? You might set the fore-topmast stun'-sail presently, for we shall have a fine day." And with a civil nod I left him, more than ever satisfied that my stratagem was a complete success. I bent my ear to Miss Robertson's cabin as I passed, to hear if she were stirring; all was still; so I passed on to my berth, and turned in just as I was, and slept soundly till eight o'clock. CHAPTER VII. I only saw Miss Robertson for a few minutes at breakfast-time. The steward as usual carried their breakfast on a tray to the door, and in taking it in she saw me and came forward. "Is it all well?" she asked, quickly and eagerly. "All well," I replied. "He is in the hold," she whispered, "and no one knows?" "He is in the hold, and the crew believe to a man that he is overboard." "It is a good beginning," she exclaimed, with a faint smile playing over her pale face. "Thanks to your great courage! You performed your part admirably." "There is that hateful carpenter watching us through the skylight," she whispered, without raising her eyes. "Tell me one thing before I go--when will the ship reach the part she is to stop at?" "I shall endeavour to make it Friday afternoon." "The day after to-morrow!" She clasped her hands suddenly and exclaimed with a little sob in her voice, "Oh, let us pray that God will be merciful and protect us!" I had no thoughts for myself as I watched her enter her cabin. The situation was, indeed, a dreadful one for so sweet and helpless a woman to be placed in. I, a rough, sturdy fellow, used to the dangers of the sea, was scared at our position when I contemplated it. Truly might I say that our lives hung by a hair, and that whether we were to live or perish dismally would depend upon the courage and promptness with which the boatswain and I should act at the last moment. It was worse for me that I did not know the exact plans of the mutineers. I was aware that their intention was to scuttle the ship and leave her, with us on board, to sink. But _how_ they would do this, I did not know. I mean, I could not foresee whether they would scuttle the ship whilst all the crew remained on board, stopping until they knew that the vessel was actually sinking before taking to the boats, or whether they would get into the boat, leaving one man in the hold to scuttle the ship, and lying by to take him off when his work should have been performed. Either was likely; but one would make our preservation comparatively easy; the other would make it almost impossible. When I went on deck all hands were at breakfast. The carpenter quitted the poop the moment I showed myself, and I was left alone, none of the crew visible but the steersman. The breeze was slashing, a splendid sailing wind; the fore-topmast stun'-sail set, every sail round and hard as a drum skin, and the water smooth; the ship bowled along like a yacht in a racing match. Nothing was in sight all round the horizon. I made sure that the carpenter would go to bed as soon as he had done breakfast; but instead, about twenty minutes after he had left the poop, I saw him walk along the main-deck, and disappear in the forecastle. After an interval of some ten minutes he reappeared, followed by Johnson, the cook, and a couple of hands. They got upon the port side of the long-boat, and presently I heard the fluttering and screaming of hens. I crossed the poop to see what was the matter, and found all four men wringing the necks of the poultry. In a short time about sixteen hens, all that remained, lay dead in a heap near the coop. The cook and Johnson gathered them up, and carried them into the galley. Soon after they returned, and clambered on to the top of the long-boat, the cover of which they pitched off, and fell, each with a knife in his hand, upon the pigs. The noise now was hideous. The pigs squealed like human beings, but both men probably knew their work, for the screeching did not last above five minutes. The cook, with his face, arms, and breeches all bloody, flung the carcases among the men, who had gathered around to witness the sport, and a deal of ugly play followed. They tossed the slaughtered pigs at each other, and men and pigs fell down with tremendous thuds, and soon there was not a man who did not look as though he had been rolled for an hour in the gutter of a shambles. Their hoarse laughter, their horrible oaths, their rage not more shocking than their mirth, the live men rolling over the dead pigs, their faces and clothes ghastly with blood--all this was a scene which made one abhor oneself for laughing at it, though it was impossible to help laughing sometimes. But occasionally my mirth would be checked by a sudden spasm of terror, when I caught sight of a fellow with an infuriate face, monstrous with its crimson colouring, rush with his knife at another, and be struck down like a ninepin by a dead pig hurled full at his head, before he could deliver his blow. The saturnalia came to an end, and the men cursing, growling, groaning, and laughing--some reeling half stunned, and all panting for breath--surged into the forecastle to clean themselves, while the cook and Johnson carried the pigs into the galley. I did not quite understand what this scene heralded, but had not long to wait before it was explained. In twos and threes after much delay, the men emerged and began to wash the decks down. Two got into the long-boat and began to clean her out. Then the carpenter came aft with Johnson, and I heard him swearing at the steward. After a bit, Johnson came forth, rolling a cask of cuddy bread along the deck; after him went the steward, bearing a lime-juice jar, filled of course with rum. These things were stowed near the foremast. Then all three came aft again (the carpenter superintending the work), and more provisions were taken forward; and when enough was collected, the whole was snugged and covered with a tarpaulin, ready, as I now understood, to be shipped into the long-boat when she should have been swung over the ship's side. These preparations brought the reality of the position of myself and companions most completely home to me; yet I perfectly preserved my composure, and appeared to take the greatest interest in all that was going forward. The carpenter came on the poop presently, and went to the starboard quarter-boat and inspected it. He then crossed to the other boat. After which he walked up to me. "How many hands," he asked, "do you think the long-boat 'ud carry, comfortable?" I measured her with my eye before answering. "About twenty," I replied. "One on top o' t'other, like cattle!" he growled. "Why, mate, there wouldn't be standin' room." "Do you mean to put off from the ship in her?" "In her and one of them others," he replied, meaning the quarter-boats. "If you want my opinion, I should say that all hands ought to get into the long-boat. She has heaps of beam, and will carry us all well. Besides, she can sail. It will look better, too, to be found in her, should we be picked up before landing; because you can make out that both quarter-boats were carried away." "We're all resolved," he answered doggedly. "We mean to put off in the long-boat and one o' them quarter-boats. The quarter-boat can tow the long-boat if it's calm. Why I ax'd you how many the long-boat 'ud carry was because we don't want to overload the quarter-boat. We can use her as a tender for stores and water, do you see, so that if we get to a barren place we shan't starve." "I understand." "Them two boats 'll be enough, anyways." "I should say so. They'd carry thirty persons between them," I answered. To satisfy himself he went and took another look at the boats, and afterwards called Johnson up to him. They talked together for some time, occasionally glancing at me, and Johnson then went away; but in a few minutes he returned with a mallet and chisel. Both men now got into the port quarter-boat and proceeded, to my rage and mortification, to rip a portion of the planking out of her. In this way they knocked several planks away and threw them overboard, and Johnson then got out of her and went to the other boat, and fell to examining her closely to see that all was right; for they evidently had made up their minds to use her, she being the larger of the two. The carpenter came and stood close to me, watching Johnson. I dare say he expected I would ask him why he had injured the boat; but I hardly dared trust myself to speak to him, so great was my passion and abhorrence of the wretch whose motive in rendering this boat useless was, of course, that we should not be able to save ourselves by her when we found the ship sinking. When Johnson had done, some men came aft, and they went to work to provision the remaining quarter-boat, passing bags of bread, tins of preserved meat, kegs of water, and stores of that description, from hand to hand, until the boat held about a quarter as much again as she was fit to carry. In the mean time, others were busy in the long-boat, getting her fit for sailing with a spare top-gallant stun'-sail boom and top-gallant stun'-sail, looking to the oars and thole-pins and so forth. The morning passed rapidly, the crew as busy as bees, smoking to a man, and bandying coarse jokes with one another, and uttering loud laughs as they worked. The carpenter never once addressed me. He ran about the decks, squirting tobacco-juice everywhere, superintending the work that was going forward, and manifesting great excitement, with not a few displays of bad temper. A little before noon, when I made ready to take the sun's altitude, the men at work about the long-boat suspended their occupation to watch me, and Stevens drew aft, and came snuffling about my heels. When I sang out eight bells, and went below to work out my observations, he followed me into the cabin, and stood looking on. The ignorance of his distrust was almost ludicrous; I believe he thought I should work out a false reckoning if he were not by, but that his watching would prevent me from making two and two five. "Now, Mr. Royle," said he, seeing me put down my pencil; "where are we?" I unrolled the chart upon the table, and drew a line down a rule from the highly imaginary point to which I had brought the ship at noon on the preceding day, to latitude 29°, longitude 74° 30'. "Here is our position at the present moment," I said, pointing to the mark on the chart. "This here is Floridy, ain't it?" he demanded, outlining the coast with his dirty thumb. "That is Florida." "Well, I calls it Floridy for short." "Floridy then. I know what you mean." "And you give us till the day arter tomorrow to do this bit o' distance in?" "It doesn't look much on the chart. There's not much room for miles to show in on a square of paper like this." "Well, we shall be all ready to lower away the boats when you give us the word," said he. "Perhaps you'll sit down for five minutes, Mr. Stevens, and inform me exactly of your arrangements," I exclaimed; "for it is difficult for me to do my share in this job unless I accurately know what yours is to be." He looked at me askant, his villainous eyes right in the corners of their sockets; but sat down nevertheless, and tilted his cap over his forehead in order to scratch the back of his head. "I thought you knew what our plans was?" he remarked. "Why, I've got a kind of general notion of them, but I should like to understand them more clearly." "Well, I thought they was clear--clear as mud in a wineglass. Leastways, they're clear to all hands." "For instance, why did you knock a hole in the quarter-boat this morning?" "I didn't think you'd want that explained," he answered promptly. "But you see I do, Mr. Stevens." "Well, we only want two boats, and it 'ud be a silly look-out to leave the third one sound and tight to drift about with the _Grosvenor's_ name writ inside o' her." "Why?" "Because I says it would." "How could she drift about if she were up at the davits?" "How do I know?" he answered morosely. "I'm lookin' at things as may happen. It ain't for me to explain of them." "Very well," said I, master enough of the ruffian's meaning to require no further information on this point. "Anything more, Mr. Royle?" "Yes. The next matter is this: you gave me to understand that we should heave the ship to at night?" "Sartinly. As soon as ever it comes on dusk, so as we shall have all night before us to get well away." "Do you mean to leave her with her canvas standing?" "Just as she is when she's hove to." "Some ship may sight her, and finding her abandoned, send a crew on board to work her to the nearest port." I thought this might tempt him to admit that she was to be scuttled, which confession need not necessarily have involved the information that I and the others were to be left on board. But the fellow was too cunning to hint at such a thing. "Let them as finds her keep her," he said, getting up. "That's their consarn. Any more questions, Mr. Royle?" "Are we to take our clothes with us?" He grinned in the oddest manner. "No. Them as has wallyables may shove 'em into their pockets; but no kits 'll be allowed in the boats. We're a poor lot o' shipwrecked sailors--marineers as the newspapers calls us--come away from a ship that was settlin' under our legs afore we had the arts to leave her. We jest had time to wittol the boats and stand for the shore. We depend upon Christian kindness for 'elp; and if we falls foul o' a missionary, leave me alone to make him vurship our piety. The skipper he fell mad and jumped overboard. The chief mate he lost his life by springin' into vun o' the boats and missin' of it; and the second mate he manfully stuck to the ship for the love he bore her owners, and we pree-sume, went down with her." "Oh!" I exclaimed, forcing a laugh; "then I am not to admit that I am the second mate, when questioned?" He stared at me as if he were drunk, and cried, "_You!_" then burst into a laugh, and hit me a slap on the back. "Ah!" he exclaimed. "I forgot. Of course you'll not be second mate when you get ashore." "What then?" "Why, a passenger--a parson--the ship's doctor. We'll tell you wot to say as we go along. Come, get us off this bloomin' coast, will you, as soon as you can," pointing to the chart. "All hands is growin' delikit with care and consarn: as Joe Sampson used to sing-- 'Vith care an' consarn Ve're a vastin' avay.' And our nerviss systems is that wrought up with fear of our necks, that blowed if we shan't want two months o' strong physicking and prime livin' at the werry least, to make men of us agin arter we're landed." And with a leering grin and an ugly nod he quitted the cabin. CHAPTER VIII. I made up my mind as Stevens left me to bring this terrible time to an end on Friday afternoon, come what might. Let it fall a calm, let it blow a gale, on Friday afternoon I would tell the carpenter that the ship was off the coast of Florida, forty or fifty miles distant. If, by the boatswain's ruse, I could keep the ship afloat and carry her to Bermuda, it would matter little whether we hove her to one hundred or even two hundred miles distant from the island. The suspense I endured, the horror of our situation, was more than I could bear. I believed that my health and strength would give way if I protracted the ship's journey to the spot where the men would leave her, even for twenty-four hours longer than Friday. The task before me then was to prepare for the final struggle, to thoroughly mature my plans, to utilize the control I still had over the ship to the utmost advantage, and to put into shape all plausible objections and hints I could think upon, which would be helpful to me if adopted by the crew. What I most felt was the want of firearms. The revolver I carried was indeed five-chambered, and there was much good fortune in my having been the first to get hold of it. But could I have armed the boatswain or even the steward with another pistol, I should have been much easier in my mind when I contemplated the chances of a struggle between us and the crew. However, there is no evil that is not attended by some kind of compensation, and I found this out; for taking it into my head that there might be a pistol among Duckling's effects, though I was pretty sure that the weapon he had threatened me with was the one in my possession, I entered his cabin with the intention to begin a search, but had no sooner opened the lid of his chest than I perceived that I had been forestalled, for the clothes were tossed anyway, the pockets turned inside out, and articles taken out of wrappers, as I should judge from the paper coverings that lay among the clothes. So now I could only hope that Duckling had _not_ had a pistol, since whoever had rifled his box must have met with it. And that Stevens was the thief in this as in the case of the silver I had no doubt at all. There being now only two of us to keep watch, Stevens and I did not meet at dinner. I took his place whilst he dined, and he then relieved me. The steward told me they were having a fine feast in the forecastle; that upwards of ten of the fowls which had been strangled in the morning had been put to bake for the men's dinner; that in addition to this they had cooked three legs of pork, and were drinking freely from a jar of rum which the carpenter had ordered him to take forward. I could pretty well judge that they were enjoying themselves, by the loud choruses they were singing. Believing they would end in becoming drunk, I knocked on Miss Robertson's door, to tell her on no account to show herself on deck. She gave me her hand the moment she saw me, and gently brought me into the cabin and made me sit down, though I had not meant to stay. The old gentleman stood with his back to the door, looking through the port-hole. Though he heard my voice, he did not turn, and only looked round when his daughter pulled him by the arm. "How do you do, sir?" he exclaimed, making me a most courtly bow. "I hope you are well? You find us, sir," with a stately wave of the hand, "in wretched accommodation; but all this will be mended presently. The great lesson of life is patience." And he made me another bow, meanwhile looking hard at me and contracting his brows. I was more affected by this painful change--this visible and rapid decay, not of his memory only, but of his mind--than I know how to describe. The mournful, helpless look his daughter gave him, the tearless melancholy in her eyes, as she bent them on me, hit me hard. I did not know how to answer him, and could only fix my eyes on the deck. "This prospect," he continued, pointing to the port-hole, "is exceedingly monotonous. I have been watching it I should say a full half-hour--about that time, my dear, should you not think?--and find no change in it whatever. I witness always the same unbroken line of water, slightly darker, I observe, than the sky which bends to meet it. That unbroken line has a curious effect upon me. It seems to press like a substantial ligature or binding upon my forehead; positively," he exclaimed, with a smile almost as sweet as his child's, "as though I had a cord tied round my head." He swept his hand over his forehead, as though he could remove the sensation of tightness by the gesture. It was pitiful to witness such a venerable and dignified old gentleman stricken thus in his mind by the sufferings and miserable horrors of shipwreck. "I think, sir," I said, addressing him with all the respectfulness I could infuse into my voice, "that the uneasiness of which you complain would leave you if you would lie down. The eye gets strained by staring through a port-hole, and that eternal horizon yonder really grows a kind of craze in one's head, if watched too long." "You are quite right, sir," he replied, making me another bow; and, addressing his daughter, "This gentleman sympathizes with the peculiar inspirations of what I may call monotonous nature." He looked at her with extraordinary and painful earnestness. Evidently, some recollection had leaped into his mind and quitted him immediately, leaving him bewildered by it. He then said, in a most plaintive voice-- "I will lie down. Your shoulder, my love." He stretched out his old trembling hand. I got up to help him, but he withdrew from me with an air of offended pride, and reared his figure to its full height. "This is my daughter, sir," he exclaimed, with cold emphasis; and though I knew he was not accountable for his behaviour, I shrunk back, feeling more completely snubbed than ever I remember being in my life. With her assistance he got into the bunk, and lay there quite still. She drew close to me, and obliged me to share the seat she made of the box which had contained the steward's linen. "You are not angry with him?" she whispered. "Indeed not." "I shall lose him soon. He will not live long," she said, and tears came into her eyes. "God will spare him to you, Miss Robertson. Have courage. Our trials are nearly ended. Once ashore he will recover his health--it is this miserable confinement, this gloomy cabin, this absence of the comforts he has been used to, that are telling upon his mind. He will live to recall all this in his English home. The worst has never come until it is passed--that is my creed; because the worst may be transformed into good even when it is on us." "_You_ have the courage," she answered, "not I. But you give me courage. God knows what I should have done but for you." I looked into her brave soft eyes, swimming in tears, and could have spoken some deep thoughts to her then, awakened by her words. I was silent a moment, and then said-- "You must not go on deck to-day. Indeed, I think you had better remain below until I ask you to join me." "Why? Is there any new danger?" "Nothing you need fear. The men who fancy themselves very nearly at their journey's end, threaten to grow boisterous. But my importance to them is too great to allow them to offend me _yet_. Still, it will be best for you to keep out of sight." "I will do whatever you wish." "I am sure you will. My wish is to save you--not my wish only--it is my resolution. Trust in me wholly, Miss Robertson. Keep up your courage, for I may want you to help me at the last." "You must trust in me, too, as my whole trust is in you," she answered, smiling. I smiled back at her, and said-- "Now, let me tell you what may happen--what all my energies are and have been engaged to bring about. On Friday afternoon I shall tell the carpenter that the ship is fifty or sixty miles off the coast of Florida. If the night is calm--and I pray that it may be--the ship will be hove to, that is, rendered stationary on the water; the long-boat will be slung over the side, and the quarter-boat lowered. All _this_ is certain to happen. But now come my doubts. Will the crew remain on board until the man they send into the hold to scuttle the vessel rejoins them? or will they get into the boats and wait for him alongside? If they take to the boats and wait for the man, the ship is ours. If they remain on board, then our preservation will depend upon the bo'sun." "How?" "He will either kill the man who gets into the hold, or knock him insensible. He will then have to act as though _he_ were the man he has knocked on the head." "I see." "If they call to him, he will have to answer them without showing himself. Perhaps he will call to them. They will answer him. They will necessarily muffle their voices that we who are aft may not suspect what they are about. In that case the bo'sun may counterfeit the voice of the man he has knocked on the head successfully." "But what will he tell them?" "Why, that his job is nearly finished, and that they had best take to the boats and hold off for him, as he is scuttling her in half a dozen places, and the people aft will find her sinking and make a rush to the boats if they are not kept away. He will tell them that when he has done scuttling her, he will run up and jump overboard and swim to them. This, if done cleverly, may decide the men to shove off. We shall see." "It is a clever scheme," she answered, musingly. "The boatswain's life depends upon his success, and I believe he will succeed in duping them." "What can be done he will do, I am sure," I said, not choosing to admit that I had not her confidence in the stratagem, because I feared that the more the boatswain should endeavour to disguise his voice the greater would be the risk of its being recognised. "But let me tell you that this is the worst view of the case. It is quite probable that the men will take to the boats and wait for their mate to finish in the hold, not only because it will save time, but because they will imagine it an effectual way of compelling us to remain on the vessel. "What villains! and if they take to the boats?" "Then I shall want you." "What can I do?" "We shall see. There still remains a third chance. The carpenter is, or I have read his character upside down, a born murderer. It is possible that this villain may design to leave the man whom he sends into the hold to sink with the ship. He has not above half a dozen chums, confidential friends, among the crew; and it will be his and their policy to rid themselves of the others as best they can, so as to diminish the number of witnesses against them. If, therefore, they contemplate this, they will leave the ship while they suppose the act of scuttling to be actually proceeding. Now, amongst the many schemes which have entered my mind, there was one I should have put into practice had I not feared to commit any action which might in the smallest degree imperil your safety. This scheme was to cautiously sound the minds of the men who were not in the carpenter's intimate confidence; ascertain how far they relished the notion of quitting the ship for a shore that might prove inhospitable, or on which their boats might be wrecked and themselves drowned, and discover by what shrewdness I am master of, how many I might get to come over to my side if the boatswain and myself turned upon Stevens and killed him, shot down Johnson, and fell, armed with my revolver and a couple of belaying pins, upon Cornish and Fish--these three men composing Stevens' cabinet. I say that this was quite practicable, and no very great courage required to execute it, as we should have killed or stunned these men before they would be able to resist us." "There would be nine left." "Yes; but I should have reckoned upon some of them helping me." "You could not have depended upon them." "Well, we have another plan, and I refer to this only to show you a specimen of some of the schemes which have come into my head." "Mr. Royle, if you had a pistol to give me, I would help you to shoot them! Show me how I can aid you in saving our lives, and I will do your bidding!" she exclaimed, with her eyes on fire. I put my finger on my lip and smiled. She blushed scarlet and said, "You do not think me womanly to talk so!" "You would not hate me were you to know my thoughts," I answered, rising. "Are you going, Mr. Royle?" "Yes. Stevens, for all I know, may have seen me come in here. I would rather he should find me in my own cabin." "We see very little of you, considering that we are all three in one small ship," she said, hanging her head. "I never leave you willingly, and would be with you all day if I might. But a rough sailor like me is poor company." "Sailors are the best company in the world, Mr. Royle." "Only one woman in every hundred thinks so--perhaps one in every thousand. Well, you would see less of me than you do if I was not prepared to lay down my life for you. No! I don't say that boastfully. I have sworn in my heart to save you, and it shall cost me my life if I fail. That is what I should have said." She turned her back suddenly, and I hardly knew whether I had not said too much. I stood watching her for a few moments, with my fingers on the handle of the door. Finding she did not move, I went quietly out, but as I closed the door I heard her sob. Now, what had I said to make her cry? I did not like to go in again, and so I repaired to my cabin, wishing, instead of allowing my conversation to drift into a personal current, I had confined it to my plans, which I had not half unfolded to her, but from which I had been as easily diverted as if they were a bit of fiction instead of a living plot that our lives depended on. During my watch from four to six, Stevens joined me, and asked how "Floridy" would bear from the ship when she was hove to? I told him that Florida was not an island, but part of the main coast of North America, and that he might head the boats any point from N.N.W. to S.S.W. and still, from a distance of fifty or sixty miles, fetch some part of the Florida coast, which I dared say, showed a seaboard ranging four hundred miles long. This seemed new to him, which more than ever convinced me of his ignorance, for though I had repeatedly pointed out Florida to him, yet he did not know but that it was an island, which might easily be missed by steering the boats a point out of the course given. He then asked me what compasses we had that we might take with us. "We shall only want one in the long-boat," I replied; "and there is one on the table in the captain's cabin which will do. Have you got the long-boat all ready?" "Ay, clean as a new brass farden, and provisioned for a month." "Now let me understand; when the ship is hove to you will sling the long-boat over?" "I explained all that before," he answered gruffly. "Not that." "You're hangin' on a tidy bit about them there boats. What do you think?" "I suppose my life is as good as yours, and that I have a right to find out how we are to abandon this ship and make the shore," I answered, with some show of warmth, my object being to get all the information from him that was possible to be drawn. "You'll get the long-boat alongside, and all hands will jump into her? Is that it?" "Why, wot do you think we'd get the boat alongside for if we didn't get into her?" he replied, with a kind of growling laugh. "Will anybody be left on the ship?" "Anybody left on the ship?" he exclaimed, fetching a sudden breath: "Wot's put that in yer head?" "I was afraid that that yellow devil, the cook, might induce you to leave the steward behind to take his chance to sink or swim in her, just out of revenge for calling bad pork good," said I, fixing my eyes upon him. "No, no, nothen of the sort," he replied quickly, and with evident alarm. "Curse the cook! d'ye think I's skipper to give them kind o' orders?" "Now you see what I am driving at," I said, laying my hand on his arm, and addressing him with a smile. "I really did think you meant to leave the poor devil of a steward behind. And what I wanted to understand was how you proposed to manage with the boats to prevent him boarding you--that is why I was curious." The suspicious ruffian took the bait as I meant he should; and putting on an unconcerned manner, which fitted him as ill as the pilot jacket which he had stolen from the captain he had murdered, and which he was now wearing, inquired, "What I meant by that? If they left the steward behind--not that they was goin' to, but to say it, for the sake o' argyment--what would the management of the boats have to do with preventin' him boardin' of them? He didn't understand." "Oh, nothing," I replied with a shrug. "Since we are to take the steward with us, there's an end of the matter." "Can't you explain, sir?" he cried, striving to suppress his temper. "It is not worth the trouble," said I; "because, don't you see, if even you had made up your mind to leave the steward on the ship, you'd only have one man to deal with. What put this matter into my head was a yarn I read some time ago about a ship's company wishing to leave their vessel. There were only two boats which were serviceable, and these wouldn't hold above two-thirds of the crew. So the men conspired among themselves--do you understand me?" "Yes, yes, I'm a-followin' of you." "That is, twelve men out of a crew composed of eighteen hands resolved to lower the boats and get away, and leave the others to shift for themselves. But they had to act cautiously, because, don't you see, the fellows who were to be left behind would become desperate with the fear of death, and if any of them contrived to get into the boats, they might begin a fight, which, if it didn't capsize the boats, was pretty sure to end in a drowning match. Of course, in our case, as I have said, even supposing you _had_ made up your mind to leave the steward behind, we should have nothing to fear, because he would be only one man. But when you come to two or three, or four men driven mad by terror, then look out if they get among you in a boat; for fear will make two as strong as six, and I shouldn't like to be in the boat where such a fight was taking place." "Well, but how did them other chaps manage as you're tellin' about?" "Why, they all got into the boats in a lump, and shoved off well clear of the ship. The others jumped into the water after them, but never reached the boats. But all this doesn't hit _our_ case. You wished me to explain, and now you know my reasons for asking you how you meant to manage with the boats. Do not forget that there is a woman among us, and a fight at the last moment, when our lives may depend upon orderliness and coolness, may drown us all." And so saying I left him, under pretence of looking at the compass. CHAPTER IX. I had no reason to suppose that the hints I took care to wrap up in my conversation with Stevens would shape his actions to the form I wished them to take; but though they did no good, they would certainly do me no harm, and it was at least certain that my opinion was respected, so that I might hope that some weight would attach to whatever suggestions I offered. Nothing now remained to be done but to wait the result of events; but no language can express an idea of my anxiety as the hours passed, bringing us momentarily closer to the dreaded and yet wished-for issue. Some of the men got intoxicated that afternoon, and I believe two of them had a desperate set to; they sang until they were tired, and for tea had more hot roast pork and fowls. But the majority had their senses, and kept those who were drunk under; so that the riot was all forward. I wondered what the boatswain would think of the shindy over his head, and whether he had a watch to tell the time by. His abode was surely a very dismal one, among the coals in the forepeak, and dark as night, with plenty of rats to squeak about his ears, and the endless creaking and complaining of the timbers under water. A terrible idea possessed me once. It was that he might be asleep when the man went down to scuttle the ship, who, of course, would take a candle with him, and find him lying there. But there was no use in _imagining_ evil. I could only do what was possible. If we were doomed to die, why, we must meet our fate heroically. What more? It blew freshly at eleven o'clock, and held all night. I kept all the sail on the ship that she would bear, and up to noon next day we spanked along at a great pace. Then the wind fell light and veered round to the north; but this did not matter to me, for I showed the carpenter a run on the chart which convincingly proved to him that, even if we did no more than four knots an hour until next day, we should be near enough to the coast of Florida to heave to. This afternoon the men made preparations to swing the long-boat over the side, clapping on strops to the collar of the mainstay, and forward round the tressel-tree, ready to hook on the tackles to lift the boat out of her chocks. Their eagerness to get away from the ship was well illustrated by these early preparations. All that day they fared sumptuously on roast pork, and whatever took their fancy among the cuddy stores, but drank little, or at all events not enough to affect them, though there was sufficient rum in the hold to kill them all off in a day, had they had a mind to broach the casks. Towards evening we sighted no less than five ships, two standing to the south and the others steering north. The spectacle of these vessels fully persuaded Stevens that we were nearing the coast, he telling me he had no doubt they were from the West Indies, which he supposed were not more than four hundred miles distant. I did not undeceive him. I saw Miss Robertson for a few minutes that evening to repeat my caution to her not to show herself on deck. The men were again at their pranks in the forecastle, sky-larking as they call it at sea, and, though not drunk, they were making a tremendous noise. One of them had got a concertina, and sat playing it, tailor-fashion, on top of the capstan, and some were dancing, two having dressed themselves up as women in canvas bonnets, and blankets round them to resemble skirts. Fun of this sort would have been innocent enough had there been any recognized discipline to overlook it; but from decent mirth to boisterous, coarse disorder, is an easy step to sailors, and in the present temper of the crew the least provocation might convert the ship into a theatre for exhibitions of horse-play which, begun in vanity, might end in criminal excesses. During my brief conversation with Miss Robertson, I asked her an odd question--Could she steer a ship? She answered, "Yes." "You say 'yes' because you will try if you are wanted to do so," I said. "I say 'yes' because I really understand how to use the wheel," she replied, seriously. "Where did you learn?" "During our voyage to the Cape of Good Hope. I used to watch the man steering, and observe him move the wheel so as to keep the compass card steady. I told Captain Jenkinson I should like to learn to steer, and he would often let me hold the wheel, and for fun give me orders." "Which way would you pull the spokes if I told you to put the helm to starboard?" "To the left," she answered, promptly. "And if I said 'hard over?'" "If the wind was blowing on the left hand side I would push the wheel to the right until I could push it no further. You can't puzzle me, indeed. I know all the steering terms. _Really_, I can steer." I quite believed her, though I should never have dreamt of her proficiency in this matter, and told her that if we succeeded in getting away from the boats, she would be of the utmost importance to us, because then there would be three men to work the ship, whereas two only would be at liberty if one had to take the wheel. * * * * * And now I come to Friday. We were keeping no regular watches. Stevens, ever distrustful of me, was markedly so now that our voyage was nearly ended. He was incessantly up and down, looking at the compass, computing the ship's speed by staring at the passing water, and often engaged, sometimes on the poop, sometimes on the forecastle, in conversation with Fish, Cornish, Johnson, and others. He made no inquiries after Mr. or Miss Robertson; he appeared to have forgotten their existence. I also noticed that he shirked me as often as he could, leaving the deck when I appeared, and mounting the ladder the furthest from where I stood when he came aft from the main-deck. The dawn had broken with a promise of a beautiful day; though the glass, which had been dropping very slowly all through the night, stood low at eight o'clock that morning. The sun, even at that early hour, was intensely hot, and here and there the pitch in the seams of the deck adhered to the soles of one's boots, while the smell of the paint-work rose hot in the nostrils. There was a long swell, the undulations moderate though wide apart, coming from the westward; the clouds were very high, and the sky a dazzling blue, and the wind about north, very soft and refreshing. The men were quiet, and continued so throughout the day. Many of them, as well as the carpenter, incessantly gazed around the horizon, evidently fearing the approach of a vessel; and some would steal aft and look at the compass, and then go away again. We were under all plain sail, and the ship, as near as I could tell, was making about five knots an hour, though the log gave us seven, and I logged it seven on the slate in case of any arguments arising. When I came on deck with my sextant in hand to take sights, I was struck by the intent expressions on the faces of the crew, the whole of whom, even including the cook, had collected on the poop, or stood upon the ladders waiting for me. When I saw them thus congregated, my heart for a moment failed me. The tremendous doubt crossed my mind--were they acquainted with the ship's whereabouts? Did they know, had they known all through, that I was deceiving them? No! As I looked at them I became reassured. Theirs was an anxiety I should have been blind to misconstrue. The true expression on their faces represented nothing but eager curiosity to know whether our journey were really ended, or whether more time must elapse before they could quit the ship which they had rendered accursed with the crime of murder, and which as I well knew, from what Stevens had over and over again let fall, they abhorred with all the terrors of vulgar conscience. Having made my observations, I was about to quit the poop, when one of the men called out-- "Tell us what you make it." "I will when I have worked it out," I replied. "Work it out here, whilst we looks on." "Do any of you understand navigation?" There was no reply. "Unless you can count," said I, "you'll not be able to follow me." "Two and two and one makes nine," said a voice. "What do ye mean by jokin'? You ought to be ashamed o' yourself," exclaimed one of the men. And then there was a blow, and immediately after an oath. "If you want me to work out these sights in your presence, I'll do so," said I. And I went below to get the things I required, leaving my sextant on deck to show them that I meant to be honest. When I returned, they were all around the skylight, gazing at the sextant as though it were an animal; no man taking the liberty to touch it, however. They came, hustling each other about me as I sat on the skylight working out my figures, and I promise you their proximity, coupled with my notion that they _might_ suspect I had been deceiving them, did not sharpen my wits so as to expedite my calculations. I carried two reckonings in my head--false, and the true; and finding our actual whereabouts to be ninety-eight miles from Bermuda, the islands bearing W.S.W. as straight as a line, I unfolded the chart, and giving them the imaginary longitude and latitude, put my finger upon the spot we were supposed to have reached, exclaiming, "Now you can see where we are!" "Just make a small mark there with your pencil, will you?" said Johnson; "then all hands can have a look." I did so, and quitted the skylight, surrendering the chart to the men, who made a strange picture as they stood poring over it, pointing with their brown forefingers and arguing. "There's no question I can answer, is there?" said I to the carpenter. "Mates, is there anything you want to say to Mr. Royle?" he exclaimed. "When are we going to heave the ship to?" asked Fish. "That's for you to answer," I rejoined. "Well, I'm not for standin' too close in shore," said Fish. "How fur off do you say is this here Florida coast?" asked Johnson. "About sixty miles. Look at the chart." "And every minute brings us nearer," said a man. "That's true," I replied. "But you don't want to leave the ship before dusk, do you?" The men looked at each other as though they were not sure that they ought to confide so much to me as an answer to my question would involve. I particularly took notice of this, and felt how thoroughly I was put aside by them in their intentions. The carpenter said, "You'll understand our arrangements by-and-by, Mr. Royle. How's the wind?" "About north," said I. "Mates, shall we bring the yards to the masts and keep the leeches liftin' till we're ready to stop her?" "The best thing as can happen," said Johnson. "She'll lie to the west'ards at that, and 'll look to be sailin' properly if a wessel sights her; and she'll make no way neither," said Stevens. "You can't do better," I exclaimed. So the helm was put down, and as the men went to work I descended to my cabin. The steward's head was at the pantry door, and I called to him, "Bring me a biscuit and the sherry." I wanted neither, but I had something to say to him; and if Stevens saw him come to my cabin with a tray in his hand he was not likely to follow and listen at the door. The steward put the tray down and was going away, when I took him by the arm and led him to the extremity of the cabin. "Do you value your life?" I said to him in a whisper. He stared at me and turned pale. "Just listen," I continued. "At dusk this evening the men are going to leave the ship in the boats. They are going to scuttle the ship first that she may fill with water and sink. It is not their intention to take us with them." "My God!" he muttered, trembling like a freezing man: "are we to be left on board to sink?" "That is what they mean. But the bo'sun, whom they believe to be drowned, is in the hold ready to kill the man who goes down to scuttle the ship. If we act promptly we may save our lives and get away from the ruffians. There are only three of us, but we must fight as though we were twelve men if it should come to our having to fight. Understand that. When once the men are in the boats no creature among them must ever get on board again alive. Hit hard--spare nothing! If we are beaten, we are dead men; if we conquer, our lives are our own." "I'll do my best," answered the steward, the expression on whose face, however, was anything but heroical. "But you must tell me what to do, sir. I shan't know, sir. I never was in a fight, and the sight of blood is terrifying to me, sir." "You'll have to bottle up your fears. Don't misunderstand me, steward. Every man left on board this ship to drown will look to his companions to help him to save his life. And by all that's holy, if you show any cowardice, if you skulk, if you do not fight like forty men, if you do not stick by my side and obey my words like a flash of lightning, as sure as you breathe I'll put a bullet through your head. I'll kill you for not helping me." And I pulled out the pistol from my pocket and flourished it under his nose. He recoiled from the weapon with his eyes half out of his head, and gasped-- "What am I to use, sir?" "The first iron belaying-pin you can snatch up," I answered. "There are plenty to be found. And now be off. Not a look, not a word! Go to your work as usual. If you open your mouth you are a dead man." He went away as pale as a ghost. However, cur as he was, I did not despair of his turning to at the last moment. Cowards will sometimes make terrible antagonists. The madness of fear renders them desperate, and in their frenzy they will do more execution than the brave deliberate man. I did not remain long off the poop, being too anxious to observe the movements of the crew. I found the breeze slackening fast, with every appearance of a calm in the hot, misty blue sky, and the glassy aspect of the horizon. The lower sails flapped to every motion of the ship, and lying close to what little wind there was, we made no progress at all. The promise of a calm, though favourable to the intentions of the men, in so far as it would keep the horizon clear of sailing ships, and so limit the probability of their operations being witnessed to the chance of a steamer passing, was a blow to me; as one essential part of my scheme, that of swinging the mainyards round, and getting way on the ship, when the men had left her, would be impracticable. The glass, indeed, stood low, but then this might betoken the coming of more wind than I should want, a gale that would detain the men on the ship, and force them to defer the scheme of abandoning her for an indefinite period. They had gone to dinner, but were so quiet that the vessel seemed deserted, and nothing was audible but the clank of the tiller-chains and the rattling of the sails against the masts. Stevens was forward, apparently having his dinner with the men. In glancing through the skylight, I saw Mary Robertson looking up at me. I leaned forward, so that my face was concealed from the man at the wheel--the only person on deck besides myself--and whispered-- "Keep up your courage, and be ready to act as I may direct." "I am quite ready," she answered. "Remain in your cabin," I said, "and don't let the men see you;" for it had flashed upon me that if the crew saw her they might force her to go along with them in the boats. "I wanted a little brandy for papa," she answered. "He is very poorly and weak, and rambles terribly in his talk." She turned to hide her tears from me, and prevent me witnessing her struggles to restrain them. She would feel their impotence, the mockery of them at such a time; besides, dear heart, she would think I should distrust her courage if she let me see her weep. The steward came forward under the skylight as she entered her cabin, and said-- "I will fight for my life, sir." "That is my advice to you." "I will do my best. I have been thinking of my wife and child, sir." "Hush!" I cried. "Not so loud. If your courage fails you, there is a girl in that cabin there, who will show you how to be brave. Remember two things--act quickly and strike hard; and for God's sake don't fall to drinking to pull up your nerves. If I find you drunk I will call upon the men to drown you." And with this injunction I left the skylight. The men remained a great while in the forecastle, all so quiet that I wondered whether some among them were even now below scuttling the ship. But they would hardly act so prematurely. To be sure, it would take a long time for the ship to fill, bored even in half a dozen places by an auger; but until the evening fell, and they were actually in the boats, they could not be sure that a wind would not spring up to oblige them to keep to the ship. I remained on deck, never thinking of dinner, watching the weather anxiously. An ordinary seaman came aft to relieve the wheel; but finding that the ship had no steerage way on her, he squatted himself on the taffrail, pulled out a pipe and began to smoke. I took no notice of him. Shortly afterwards Stevens came along the main-deck and mounted the poop. "A dead calm," said he, after sweeping the horizon with his hand over his eyes, "and blessedly hot." "Is the ship to be left all standing?" I inquired. "What do you think?" he replied, with an air of indifference, casting his eyes aloft. "I should snug her, certainly." "Why?" he demanded, folding his arms, and staring at me as he leaned against the poop-rail. "Because, should she drift, and be overhauled by another ship, it will look more ship-shape if she is found snug, as though she had been abandoned in a storm." "There's something in that," he answered, without shifting his position. "Shall I tell the men to shorten sail?" "If you like," he replied, grinning in my face. I pretended not to observe his odd manner, being very anxious to get in all the sail that I could whilst there were men to do it. So I sang out, "All hands shorten sail!" The men on the forecastle stared, and burst into a laugh; and one of a group on the main-deck, who were inspecting the provisions for the long-boat, which lay under a tarpaulin, exclaimed-- "Wot's goin' to happen?" I glanced at the carpenter, who still surveyed me with a broad grin, and walked aft. I was a fool not to have anticipated this. What was it to the crew whether the ship sank with all sails standing or with all sails furled? I was too restless to go below; but to dissemble my terrible anxiety as well as I could, I lighted a pipe and crouched in the shadow of the mizzen-mast out of the way of the broiling sun. The breeze had utterly gone. The sea was glassy, and white and long wreaths of mist stood, down in the south, upon the horizon. As I looked at the ship, at her graceful spaces of canvas lowering upon the fine and delicate masts, her white decks, her gleaming brass-work, the significance of the crime meditated by the crew was shocking to me. The awful cold-bloodedness with which they meant to sink the beautiful vessel, with the few poor lives who were to be left defenceless on board, overwhelmed me with horror and detestation. So atrocious an act I thought the Almighty would not surely permit. Could not I count upon His mercy and protection? Remembering that I had not sought Him yet, I pulled off my cap, and without kneeling--for I durst not kneel with the eyes of the men upon me--I mutely invoked His heavenly protection. I pleaded with all the strength of my heart for the sweet and helpless girl whom, under His divine providence, I had already rescued from one dreadful fate, and whom, under His sure guidance, I might yet preserve from the slow and bitter death which the crew had planned that we should suffer. It was not until six o'clock that the carpenter ordered the men to get the long-boat over. But just before he called out I had noticed, with a leap of joy in me, that the water out in the north-west was dark as with the shadow of a cloud upon it. Though this was no more than a cat's paw, and travelled very slowly, I was certain, not only from the indications of the barometer, but from the complexion of the sky, that wind was behind. The men did not appear to notice it, and when the carpenter sang out the order all hands went to work briskly. Some ran aloft with tackles, which they made fast to the starboard fore and main yard-arms; others hooked on tackles to the straps which were already round the tressel-tree and collar of the mainstay. But willingly as they worked, even these preliminary measures ran into a great deal of time, and before they had done, a light breeze had come down on the ship and taken her aback. The carpenter, seeing this, clapped some hands on to the fore and mizzen braces, and filled the fore and after sails. The ship was therefore hove to with her head at west. This done, he went to the wheel, put the helm amidship and made it fast; and then went forward again to superintend the work. I took up my position on the starboard side of the poop, close against the ladder, and there I remained. I scanned the faces of the men carefully, and found all hands present, including the cook. I thus knew that no man was below in the hold, and it was now my business to watch closely that I might miss the man who should have the job to scuttle the ship. The breeze died away, but in the same direction whence it had come was another shadow, more defined and extending far to the north. The men had begun their work late, and as they knew that they had little or no twilight to count upon, laboured hard at the difficult task of raising the long-boat out of her chucks and swinging her clear of the bulwarks. It was close upon seven o'clock before they were ready to hoist. They took the end of one fall to the capstan on the main-deck, the other they led forward through a block, and presently up rose the boat until it was on a level with the bulwarks. Then the yard-arm tackles were manned, the midship falls slacked off, and the big boat sank gently down into the water. She was brought alongside at once, and three men jumped into her. Then began the process of storing the provisions. This was carried on by five men, while the remaining three came aft, and whilst one got into the quarter-boat, the other two lowered her. _At this moment I missed the carpenter._ I held my breath, looking into the boats and all round. He was not to be seen. I strained my ear at the foremost skylight, conceiving that he might have entered the cuddy. All was silent there. Beyond the shadow of a doubt, he it was who had planned the scuttling of the ship, and he it was who had left the deck to do it. It was a supreme moment. I had not contemplated that _he_ would be the man who should bore the hole. If the boatswain killed him----! Great God! the hands were on deck--all about us! If he did not return, they would seek him. He was their leader, and they were not likely to quit the ship without him. The hair stirred on my head; the sweat stood in beads on my face. I bit my lip half through to control my features, and stood waiting for--I knew not what! CHAPTER X. The men went on busily provisioning the long-boat, some whistling gay tunes, others laughing and passing jokes, all in good spirits, as though they were going on a holiday expedition. The shadow on the horizon was broadening fast, and the sun was sinking quickly, making the ocean blood-red with its burning effulgence, and veining the well-greased masts with lines of fire. What had happened? Even now, as I thought, was the villain lying dead, with the auger in his hand? The minutes rolling past seemed eternal. Five, ten, twenty minutes came and went. The sun's lower limb was close against the water-line, sipping the ruby splendour it had kindled. The breeze was now close at hand, but we still lay in a breathless calm, and the sails flapped softly to the tuneful motion of the deep. Then some of the men who remained on deck went over the ship's side, leaving four of the crew on the main-deck close against the gangway. These men sometimes looked at me, sometimes into the cuddy, sometimes forward, but none of them spoke. Now the sun was half hidden, and the soft breeze blowing upon the sails, outlined the masts against those which were backed. Suddenly--and I started as though I had beheld a ghost--the carpenter came round from before the galley, and walked quickly to the gangway. "Over with you, lads!" he cried. Like rats leaping from a sinking hull they dropped, one after the other, into the long-boat, the carpenter going last. Their painter was fast to a chain-plate, and they cast it adrift. The quarter-boat was in tow, and in a few minutes both boats stood at some two or three cables' lengths from the ship, the men watching her. The last glorious fragment of the sinking sun fled, and darkness came creeping swiftly over the sea. I had stood like one in whom life had suddenly been extinguished--too much amazed to act. Seeing the carpenter return, I had made sure that he had killed the boatswain; but his behaviour contradicted this supposition. Had he been attacked by the boatswain and killed him, would he have quitted the ship without revenging himself upon me, whom he would know to be at the bottom of this conspiracy against his life? What, then, was the meaning of his return, his collected manner, his silent exit from the ship? Had the boatswain, lying hidden, _died_? The thought fired my blood. Yes, I believed that he had died--that the carpenter had performed his task unmolested without perceiving the corpse--and that, whilst I stood there, the water was rushing into the ship's hold! I flung myself off the poop, and bounded forward. In the briefest possible time I was peering down the forescuttle. "Below there!" I called. There was no answer. "Below there, I say, boatswain!" My cry was succeeded by a hollow, thumping sound. "Below there!" I shouted, for the third time. I heard the sounds of a foot treading on something that crunched under the tread. "I am Mr. Royle. Bo'sun, are you below? For God Almighty's sake answer and let me know that you are living." "Have the skunks cleared out?" responded a voice, and, stumbling as he moved, the boatswain came under the forescuttle and turned up his face. "What have you done?" I cried, almost delirious. "Why, plugged up two on 'em. There's only one more," he answered. "One more what?" "Leaks--holes--whatever you call 'em." So saying, he shouldered his way back into the gloom. It was now all as clear as daylight to me. I waited some minutes, bursting with impatience and anxiety, during which I heard him hammering away like a caulker. My fear was that the men would discover that they had omitted to put a compass in the boats, and that they would return for one. There were other things, too, of which they might perceive the omission, and row to the ship to obtain them before she sank. Just as I was about to cry out to him to bear a hand, the boatswain's face gleamed under the hatchway. "Have you done?" I exclaimed. "Ay, ay." "Is she tight?" "Tight as a cocoa-nut." "Up with you, then! There is a bit of a breeze blowing. Let us swing the mainyards and get way upon the ship. They are waiting to see her settle before they up sail. It is dark enough to act. Hurrah, now!" He came up through the forecastle and followed me on to the main-deck. Though not yet dark, the shadow of the evening made it difficult to distinguish faces even a short distance off. There was a pretty little wind up aloft rounding the royals and top-gallant sails, and flattening the sails on the mainyards well against the masts. I stopped a second to look over the bulwarks, and found that the boats still remained at about three cable-lengths from the ship. They had slipped the mast in the long-boat; but I noticed that the two boats lay side by side, four men in the quarter-boat, and the rest in the long-boat, and that they were handing out some of the stores which had been stowed in the quarter-boat, to lighten her. "We must lose no time, Mr. Royle," exclaimed the boatswain. "How many hands can we muster?" "Three." "That'll do. We can swing the mainyard. Who's the third?--the steward? Let's have him out." I ran to the cuddy and called the steward. He came out of the pantry. "On to the poop with you!" I cried. "Right aft you'll find the bo'sun there. Miss Robertson!" At the sound of her name she stepped forth from her cabin. "The men are out of the ship," I exclaimed. "We are ready to get way upon her. Will you take the wheel at once?" She was running on to the poop before the request was well out of my mouth. The boatswain had already let go the starboard main-braces; and as I rushed aft he and the steward were hauling to leeward. I threw the whole weight of my body on the brace, and pulled with the strength of two men. "Put the wheel to starboard!" I called out; and the girl, having cast off the lashing with marvellous quickness, ran the spokes over. "By God, she's a wonder!" cried the boatswain, looking at her. And so was he. The muscles on his bare arms stood up like lumps of iron under the flesh as he strained the heavy brace. The great yards swung easily; the topsail, top-gallant, and royal yards came round with the mainyard, and swung themselves when the sails filled. There was no time to gather in the slack of the lee-braces. I ran to windward, belayed the braces, and raised a loud cry. "They're after us, bo'sun!--they're after us!" We might have been sure of that; for if we had not been able to see them we could have heard them: the grinding of the oars in the rowlocks, the frothing of the water at the boat's bows, the cries and oaths of the men in the long-boat, inciting the others to overtake us. Only the quarter-boat was in pursuit as yet; but in the long-boat they were rigging up the stun'-sail they had shipped, meaning, as they were to windward, to bear down upon us. There was no doubt that they guessed their scheme had been baffled by discerning _three_ men on deck. The carpenter at least knew that old Mr. Robertson was too ill to leave his cabin, and failing _him_ he would instantly perceive that a trick had been played; and though he could not tell in that light and at that distance who the third man was, he would certainly know that this third man's presence on board implied the existence of a plot to save the ship. As the boat approached I perceived that she was rowed by four men and steered by a fifth, and presently, hearing his voice, I understood that this man steering was Stevens. The ship had just got way enough upon her to answer her helm. Already we were drawing the long-boat away from our beam on to the quarter. I shouted to Miss Robertson "Steady! keep her straight as she is!" for even now we had brought the wind too far aft for the trim of the yards. "Steward," I cried, "whip out one of those iron belaying-pins, and stand by to hammer away." We then posted ourselves, the boatswain and the steward at the gangway, and I half-way up the poop ladder, each with a heavy belaying-pin in his hand, ready to receive the scoundrels who were making for the starboard main-chains. The boat, urged furiously through the water, came up to us hand over fist, the carpenter cursing us furiously, and swearing that he would do for us yet. I got my pistol ready, meaning to shoot the ruffian the moment he should be within reach of the weapon, but abandoned this intention from a motive of hate and revenge. I knew if I killed him as he sat there in the stern sheets, that the others would take fright and run away; and such was my passion, and the sense of our superiority over them from our position in the ship as against theirs in the boat, that I made up my mind to let them come alongside and get into the chains, so that we might kill them all as a warning to the occupants of the long-boat, who were now coming down upon us before the breeze. I took one glance at Miss Robertson: her figure was visible by the side of the wheel. She was steering as steadily as any sailor, and, with an emotion of gratitude to God for giving us such help, and her so much courage at this supreme moment, I addressed all my energies to the bloody work before me. The boat dashed alongside, and the men threw in their oars. The fellow in the bow grabbed hold of one of the chain-plates, passed the boat's painter around it, hauled it short and made it fast with incredible activity and speed. Then pulling their knives out of the sheaths they all came clambering into the main-chains. So close as they now were, I could make out the faces of the men. One was big Johnson, another Cornish, the third Fish, the fourth, Schmidten. I alone was visible. The boatswain and the steward stood with uplifted arms ready to strike at the first head that showed itself. The carpenter sprang on to the bulwark just where I stood. He poised his knife to stab me under the throat. "Now, you murderous treacherous ruffian!" I cried at the top of my voice, "say your prayers!" I levelled the pistol at his head, the muzzle not being a yard away from his face, and pulled the trigger. The bright flash illuminated him like a ray of lightning. He uttered a scream shrill as a child's, but terrific in intensity, clapped his hands to his face, and fell like a stone into the main-chains. "It is your turn now!" I roared to Johnson, and let fly at him. He was holding on to one of the main shrouds in the act of springing on to the deck. I missed his head, but struck him in the arm, I think; for he let go the shroud with a deep groan, reeled backwards, and toppled overboard, and I heard the heavy splash of his body as he fell. But we were not even now three to three, but three to one; for the boatswain had let drive with his frightful belaying-pin at Fish's head, just as that enormous protuberance had shown itself over the bulwark, and the wretch lay dead or stunned in the boat alongside; whilst the steward, who had secreted a huge carving-knife in his bosom, had stabbed the Dutchman right in the stomach, leaving the knife in him; and the miserable creature hung over the bulwark, head and arms hanging down towards the water, and suddenly writhing as he thus hung, dropped overboard. Cornish, of all five men alone lived. I had watched him aim a blow at the boatswain's back, and fired, but missed him. But he too had missed his aim, and the boatswain, slueing round, struck his wrist with the belaying-pin--whack! it sounded like the blow of a hammer on wood--and the knife fell from his hand. "Mercy! spare my life!" he roared, seeing that I had again covered him, having two more shots left. The steward, capable, now that things had gone well with us, of performing prodigies of valour, rushed upon him, laid hold of his legs, and pulled him off the bulwark on to the deck. I thought the fall had broken his back, for he lay groaning and motionless. "Don't kill him," I cried. "Make his hands fast and leave him for the present. We may want him by-and-by." The boatswain whipped a rope's end round him and shoved him against the rail, and then came running up the poop ladder, wiping the streaming perspiration from his face. The breeze was freshening, and the boat alongside wobbled and splashed as the ship towed her through the water. I ran aft and stared into the gloom astern. I could see nothing of the long-boat. I looked again and again, and fetched the night-glass, and by its aid, sure enough, I beheld her, a smudge on the even ground of the gloom, standing away close to the wind, for this much I could tell by the outline of her sail. "Miss Robertson!" I cried, "we are saved! Yonder is the long-boat leaving us. Our lives are our own!" "I bless God for His mercy," she answered quietly. But then her pent-up feelings mastered her; she rocked to and fro, grasping the spokes of the wheel, and I extended my arms just in time to save her from falling. "Bo'sun!" I shouted, and he came hurrying to me. "Miss Robertson has fainted! Reach me a flag out of that locker." He handed me a signal-flag, and I laid the poor girl gently down upon the deck with the flag for a pillow under her head. "Fetch me some brandy, bo'sun. The steward will give you a wine-glass full." And with one hand upon the wheel to steady the ship, I knelt by the girl's side, holding her cold fingers, with so much tenderness and love for her in my heart, that I could have wept like a woman to see her lying so pale and still. The boatswain returned quickly, followed by the steward. I surrendered the wheel to the former, and taking the brandy, succeeded in introducing some into her mouth. By dint of this and chafing her hands and moistening her forehead, I restored her to consciousness. I then, with my arm supporting her, helped her into the cuddy; but I did not stay an instant after this, for there was plenty of work to be done on deck; and though we had escaped one peril, yet here we might be running headlong into another, for the ship was under full sail; we had but three men to work her, not counting Cornish, of whose willingness or capacity to work after his rough handling I as yet knew nothing. The glass stood low, and if a gale should spring up and catch us as we were, it was fifty to one if the ship did not go to the bottom. "Bo'sun," I exclaimed, "what's to be done now?" "Shorten sail whilst the wind's light, that's sartin," he answered. "But the first job must be to get Cornish out of his lashin's and set him on his legs. He must lend us a hand." "Yes; we'll do that," I replied. "Steward, can you steer?" "No, sir," responded the steward. "Oh, damn it!" exclaimed the boatswain. "I'd rather be a guffy than a steward," meaning by guffy a marine. "Well," cried I, "you must try." "But I know nothing about it, sir." "Come here and lay hold of these spokes. Look at that card--no, by Jove! you can't see it." But the binnacle lamp was trimmed, and in a moment the boatswain had pulled out a lucifer match, dexterously caught the flame in his hollowed hands and fired the mesh. "Look at that card," I said, as the boatswain shipped the lamp. "I'm a lookin', sir." "Do you see that it points south-east?" "Yes, sir." "If those letters S.E. swing to the left of the lubber's point--that black mark there--pull the spokes to the left until S.E. comes to the mark again. If S.E. goes to the right, shove the spokes to the right. Do you understand?" "Yes, I think I do, sir." "Mind your eye, steward. Don't let those letters get away from you, or you'll run the ship into the long-boat, and bring all hands on board again." And leaving him holding on to the wheel with the fear, and in the attitude of a cockney clinging for his life, the boatswain and I walked to the main-deck. Cornish lay like a bundle against the rail. When he saw us he cried out-- "Kill me if you like; but for God's sake loosen this rope first! It's keepin' my blood all in one place!" "How do you know we haven't come to drown you?" cried the boatswain in an awful voice. "Don't jaw us about your blood. You won't want none in five minutes." "Then the Lord have mercy upon my soul!" groaned the poor wretch, and let drop his head which he had lifted out of the scuppers to address us. "Drownin's too easy for the likes o' you," continued the boatswain. "You want whippin' and picklin', and then quarterin' arterwards." "We are willing to spare your life," said I, feeling that we had no time to waste, "if you will give us your word to help us to work this ship, and bring her into port if we get no assistance on the road." "I'll do anything if you'll spare my life," moaned he, "and loose this rope round my middle." "Do you think he's to be trusted, Mr. Royle?" said the boatswain, in a stern voice, playing a part. "There's a bloodthirsty look on his countinunce, and his eyes are full o' murder." "Only try me!" groaned Cornish, faintly. "He wur Stevens' chief mate," continued the boatswain; "an' I think it 'ud be wiser to leave him as he is for a few hours whilst we consider the adwisability of trustin' of him." "Then I shall be cut in halves," moaned Cornish. "Well," I exclaimed, pretending first to reflect, "we will try you; and if you act honestly by us you shall have no cause to complain. But if you attempt to play false, we will treat you as you deserve; we will shoot you as we shot your mates, and pitch your body overboard. So you'll know what to expect. Bos'un, cast him adrift." He was speedily liberated, and the boatswain hoisted him on to his feet, when finding him very shaky, I fetched a glass of rum from the pantry, which he swallowed. "Thank you, sir," said he, rubbing his wrist, which the boatswain had struck during the conflict. "I'll be honest and do what I can. You may trust me to work for you. This here mutiny belonged to all hands, and was no one man's, unless it were Stevens'; and I'd rather be here than in the long-boat." "Bo'sun," said I, cutting the fellow short, "the carpenter made the port quarter-boat useless by knocking some planks out of her. We ought to get the boat alongside in board while the water's smooth--we may want her." "Right you are, Mr. Royle," said he. "Pay us out a rope's end, will you, and I'll drop her under the davits?" And, active as a cat, he scrambled into the main-chains. But on a sudden I heard a heavy splash. "My God!" I cried "he's fallen overboard!" And I was rushing towards the poop when I heard him sing out, "Hallo! here's another!" and this was followed by a second splash. I got on to the bulwarks and bawled to him, "Where are you? What are you doing? Are you bathing?" "The deuce a bit," he answered. "It was one o' them blessed mutineers in the main-chains, and here was another in the boat. I pitched 'em into the water. Now then, slacken gently, and belay when I sing out." In a few moments the boat was under the davits and both falls hooked on. Then up came the boatswain, and the three of us began to hoist, manning first one fall, and then the other, bit by bit, until the boat was up; but she was a heavy load, with her freight of provisions and water--too precious to us to lose--and we panted, I promise you, by the time she was abreast of the poop rail. "Mr. Bo'sun," said Cornish, suddenly, "beggin' your pardon--I thought you was dead." "Did you, Jim Cornish?" "I thought you was drownded, sir." "Well, I ain't the fust drownded man as has come to life agin." "All hands, Mr. Bo'sun, thought you was overboard, lyin' drownded. You _was_ overboard?" "And do you think I'm going to explain?" answered the boatswain, contemptuously. "It terrified me to see you, sir." "Well, perhaps I ain't real arter all. How do you know? Seein' ain't believin', so old women say." "I don't believe in ghosts; but I thought you was one, Mr. Bo'sun, and so did big Johnson when he swore you was one of the three at the port main-braces." "Well, I ain't ashamed o' bein' a shadder. Better men nor me have been shadders. I knew a ship-chandler as wos a churchwarden and worth a mint o' money, who became a shadder, and kept his wife from marryin' William Soaper, o' the Coopid public-house Love Lane, Shadwell High Street, by standin' at the foot of her bed every night at eight bells. He had a cast in wun eye, Mr. Royle, and that's how his wife knew him." "Well, I'll say no more--but my hair riz when you turned an' hit me over the arm. I thought you couldn't be substantial like." "'Cause you didn't get enough o' my belaying-pin," rejoined the boatswain, with a loud laugh. "Wait till you turn dusty agin, mate, and then you'll see wot a real ghost can do." Just then Miss Robertson emerged from the companion. I ran to her and entreated her to remain below--though for an hour only. "No, no," she answered, "let me help you. I am much better--I am quite well now. I can steer the ship while you take in some of the sails, for I know there are too many sails set if wind should come." Then, seeing Cornish, she started and held my arm, whispering, "Who is he? Have they come on board?" I briefly explained, and then renewed my entreaties that she should remain in her cabin; but she said she would not leave the deck, even if I refused her permission to steer, and pleaded so eloquently, holding my arm and raising her sweet eyes to my face, that I reluctantly gave way. She hastened eagerly to take the steward's place, and I never saw any man resign a responsible position more willingly than he. I now explained to the boatswain that the glass stood very low, and that we must at once turn to and get in all the sail we could hand. I asked Cornish if he thought he was able to go aloft, and on his answering in the affirmative, first testing the strength of his wrist by hanging with his whole weight to one of the rattlins on the mizzen rigging, we went to work to clew up the three royals. I knew that the steward was of no use aloft, and never even asked him if he would venture his hand at it, for I was pretty sure he would lose his head and tumble overboard before he had mounted twenty feet, and he was too useful to us to lose right off in that way. Cornish went up to stow the mizzen-royal, and the boatswain and I went aloft to the main-royal. The breeze was still very gentle and the ship slipping smoothly through the black space of sea; but when we were on the main-royal yard I called the attention of the boatswain to the appearance of the sky in the north-west, for it was lightning faintly in that direction, and the pale illumination sufficed to expose a huge bank of cloud stretching far to the north. "We shall be able to get the top-gallant sails off her," he said, "and the jibs and staysails. But I don't know how we're going to furl the mainsail, and it'll take us all night to reef the topsails." "We must work all night," I answered, "and do what we can. Just tell me, whilst I pass this gasket, how you managed in the hold." "Why," he answered, "you know I took a kind o' crow-bar down with me, and I reckoned on splittin' open the head of the fust chap as should drop through the forescuttle. But turnin' it over in my mind, I thought it 'ud be dangerous to kill the feller, as his mates might take it into their heads to wait for him. And so I determined to hide myself when I heerd the cove comin', and stand by to plug up the holes arter he wur gone." Here he discharged some tobacco-juice from his mouth, and dried his lips on the sail. "Werry well; I had my knife with me an' a box o' matches, and werry useful they wos. I made a bit of a flare by combing out a strand of yarns and settin' fire to it, and found wot was more pleasin' to my eye than had I come across a five-pun note--I mean a spare broom-stick, which I found knockin' about in the coal-hole; and I cut it into pieces and pointed 'em ready to sarve. I knew who ever 'ud come, would use an auger, and know'd the size hole it 'ud cut; and by-and-by, but the Lord knows how long it were afore it happened, I hears some one drop down the forescuttle and strike a match and light a bit o' candle end. I got behind the bulkhead, where there was a plank out, and I see the carpenter wurking away with his auger, blowin' and sweatin' like any respectable hartizan earnin' of honest wages. By-and-by the water comes rushin' in; and then he bores another hole and the water comes through that; and then he bores another hole, arter which he blows out his candle and goes away, scramblin' up on deck. My fingers quivered to give him one for hisself with the end o' my crow-bar over the back of his head. However, no sooner did he clear out than I struck a match, fits in the bits of broom-stick, and stops the leaks as neatly as he made 'em. I thought they'd hear me drivin' of them plugs in, and that was all I was afraid of. But the ship's none the worse for them holes. She's as tight as ever she wos: an' I reckon' if she gets no more water in her than 'll come through them plugs, she won't be in a hurry to sink." I laughed, and we shook hands heartily. I often think over that: the immense height we looked down from; the mystical extent of black water mingling with the far-off sky; the faint play of lightning on the horizon; the dark hull of the ship far below, with the dim radiance of the cuddy lamps upon the skylights; the brave, sweet girl steering us, and we two perched on a dizzy eminence, shaking hands! CHAPTER XI. Cornish had stowed the mizzen-royal by the time we had reached the deck, and when he joined us we clewed up the fore top-gallant sail, so that we might hand that sail when we had done with the royal. I found this man quite civil and very willing, and in my opinion he spoke honestly when he declared that he had rather be with us than in the long-boat. The lightning was growing more vivid upon the horizon; that is, when I looked in that direction from the towering height of the fore-royal yard; and it jagged and scored with blue lines the great volume and belt of cloud that hung to the sea. The wind had slightly freshened, but still it remained a very gentle breeze, and urged the ship noiselessly through the water. The stars were few and languishing as you may sometimes have seen them on a summer's night in England when the air is sultry and the night dull and thunderous. All the horizon round was lost in gloom, save where the lightning threw out at swift intervals the black water-line against the gleaming background of cloud. When we again reached the deck we were rather scant of breath, and I, being unused of late to this kind of exercise, felt the effects of it more than the others. However, if it was going to blow a gale of wind as the glass threatened, it was very advisable that we should shorten sail now that it was calm; for assuredly three men, even though working for their lives as we were, would be utterly useless up aloft when once the weather got bad. We went into the cuddy and took all three of us a sup of rum to give us life, and I then said, "Shall we turn to and snug away aft since we are here?" They agreed; so we went on the poop and let go the mizzen top-gallant and topsail halliards, roused out the reef-tackles, and went aloft, where we first stowed the top-gallant sail, and then got down upon the topsail-yard. It was a hard job tying in all three reefs, passing the earrings and hauling the reef-bands taut along the yard; but we managed to complete the job in about half an hour. Miss Robertson remained at the wheel all this time, and the steward was useful on deck to let go any ropes which we found fast. "It pains me," I said to the girl, "to see you standing here. I know you are worn out, and I feel to be acting a most unmanly part in allowing you to have your way." "You cannot do without me. Why do you want to make your crew smaller in number than it is?" she answered, smiling with the light reflected from the compass card upon her face. "Look at the lightning over there! I'm sailor enough to know that our masts would be broken if the wind struck the ship with all this sail upon her. And what is _my_ work--idly standing here--compared to yours--you, who have already done so much, and are still doing the work of many men?" "You argue too well for my wishes. I want you to agree with me." "Whom have you to take my place here?" "Only the steward." "He cannot steer, Mr. Royle; and I assure you the ship wants watching." I laughed at this nautical language in her sweet mouth, and said-- "Well, you shall remain here a little while longer." "One thing," she exclaimed, "I will ask you to do--to look into our cabin and see if papa wants anything." I ran below and peeped into the cabin. She had already lighted the lamp belonging to it, and so I was able to see that the old gentleman was asleep. I procured some brandy-and-water and biscuit and also a chair, and returned on deck. "Your father is asleep," said I, "so you may make your mind easy about him. Here are some refreshments--and see, if I put this chair here you can sit and hold the wheel steady with one hand. There is no occasion to remain on your feet. Keep that star yonder--right over the yard-arm," pointing it out to her. "That is as good a guide as the compass for the time being. We need only keep the sails full. I can shape no course as yet, though we shall haul round the moment we have stripped more canvas off her." I now heard the voices of Cornish and the boatswain right away far out in the darkness ahead, and running forward on to the forecastle, I found them stowing the flying jib. To save time I let go the outer and inner jib-halliards, and, with the assistance of the steward, hauled these sails down. He and I also clewed up the main top-gallant-sail, took the main tack and sheet to the winch and got them up, rounded up the leechlines and buntlines as well as we could, and then belayed and went forward again. I let go the fore-topsail halliards and took the ends of the reef-tackles to the capstan, and whilst the two others were tackling the outer jib, the steward and I hauled down the main-topmast staysail, and snugged it as best we could in the netting. These tasks achieved, I got upon the bowsprit, and gave the two men a hand to stow the jibs. "Now mates," I cried, "let's get upon the fore-topsail yard and see what we can do there." And up we went, and in three quarters of an hour, with the help of a jigger, we had hauled out the earrings and tied every blessed reef-point in the sail. But this was the finishing touch to our strength, and Cornish was so exhausted that I had to help him over the top down the fore rigging. We had indeed accomplished wonders: close-reefed two of the three topsails, stowed the three jibs, the three royals, two top-gallant sails and staysails. Our work was rendered three times harder than it need have been by the darkness; we had to fumble and grope, and, by being scarcely able to see each other, we found it extremely difficult to work in unison; so that, instead of hauling altogether, we hauled at odd times, and rendered our individual strength ineffectual, when, could we have collectively exerted it, we should have achieved our purpose easily. "I must sit down for a spell, sir," said Cornish. "I can't do no more work yet." "If we could only get that top-gallant sail off her," I exclaimed, looking longingly up at it. But all the same, I felt that a whole regiment of bayonets astern of me could not have urged me one inch up the shrouds. We dragged our weary limbs aft and squatted ourselves near the wheel, I for one being scarcely able to stand. "Mr. Royle," said Miss Robertson, "will you and the others go down into the cabin and get some sleep? I will keep watch, and promise faithfully to wake you the moment I think necessary." "Bo'sun," I exclaimed, "do you hear that? Miss Robertson wants us to turn in. She will keep watch, she says, and call us if a gale comes!" "God bless her!" said the boatswain. "I called her a wonder just now, and I'll call her a wonder again. So she is! and though she hears me speak, and may think me wantin' in good manners, I'll say this--an' tired as I am I'd fight the man now as he stood who'd contradict me--that she's just one o' the best--mind, Jim, I say the best--o' the werry properest kind o' gals as God Almighty ever made, a regular real woman to the eye, and a sailor in her heart. And by the livin' Moses, Jim, if you can tell me now to my face that you would ha' let her sink in this here wessel, I'll chuck you overboard, you willin! so say it!" "I don't want to say it," muttered Cornish, penitentially. "I never thought o' the lady. I forgot she were on board. Mr. Bo'sun, don't say no more about it, please. I've done my duty I hope, Mr. Royle. I've worked werry hard considerin' my bad wrist. I'd liefer fight for the lady than agin her, now that I see wot she's made of. 'Bygones is bygones,' as the cock as had his eye knocked out in a fight said, when he looked about and couldn't see nothen of it; and if you call me a willin, well and good; I'll not arguey, for I dare say you ain't fur wrong, mate." "Mr. Royle, you have not answered me. Will you and the others lie down and sleep whilst I watch?" "Not yet, Miss Robertson. By-and-by, perhaps. We have more work before us, and are only resting. Steward!" He came from behind the companion, where I think he had fallen asleep. "Yes, Mr. Royle, sir." "Cut below and mix all hands a jug of brandy-and-water, and bring some biscuits. Here, bo'sun, is some tobacco. Smoke a pipe. Fire away, Cornish. It's more soothing than sleep, mates." "The lightning's growin' rayther powerful," said the boatswain, looking astern as he loaded his pipe. "Don't it look as if it wur settin' away to the eastards?" exclaimed Cornish. "No," I replied, watching the lurid gleams lighting up the piled-up clouds. "It's coming after us dead on end, though slowly enough." I pulled out my watch and held it close to the binnacle. "Half-past two!" I cried, amazed at the passage of time. "Upon my word, I didn't think it was twelve o'clock yet. Miss Robertson, I know I cannot induce you to go below; but you must allow me to relieve you for a spell at the wheel. I can sit and steer as well as you. You'll find this grating comfortable." Saying which I pulled out some flags from the locker, made a kind of cushion for her back, and I then took her chair, keeping the wheel steady with my foot. There was less wind than there had been half an hour before; enough to give the vessel steerage-way, and that was all. We were heading S.E., the wind, or what there was of it, upon the port-quarter. There was every promise of a calm falling again, and this I should not have minded, nor the lightning either, which might well have been the play of a passing thunderstorm, had it not been for the permanent depression of the mercury. The air was very warm, but less oppressive than it had been; the sea black and even, and the heavens with a stooping, murky aspect. It was some comfort to me, however, to look aloft, and see the amount of canvas we had taken off the ship. If we could only manage to pull up our strength again, we might still succeed in furling the main top-gallant sail, and reefing the topsail before change of weather came. The steward made his appearance with the spirits and biscuit; and Miss Robertson went below, whispering to me as she passed, that she wished to look at her father, and that she would return in a few minutes. "Now that the lady's gone, Mr. Royle," exclaimed the boatswain as soon as she had left the deck, "let's talk over our situation, and think what's to be done." The steward squatted himself on his hams like a coolie, and posed himself in an attitude of eager attention. "Quite right, bo'sun," I replied. "I have been thinking during the time we have been at work, and will tell you what my plans are. At noon yesterday--that will be fifteen hours ago--the Bermuda Islands bore as true as a hair west-half-south. We hove to with the ship's head to the norrard and westward, and made some way at that, and taking the run we have made to-night, I allow that if we head the ship west by north we shall make the islands, with anything like a breeze, some time on Monday morning." "But, if we're just off the coast of Florida," said Cornish, "why couldn't we turn to and run for the West Indie Islands?" "Which is nearest, I wonders," exclaimed the boatswain, "the West Hindie Islands or the kingdom of Jericho?" "It's 'ardly a time for jokin'," remonstrated the steward. "I don't know that I said anything funny," observed Cornish, warmly. "Well, then, wot do you mean by talking o' the West Hindie Islands?" cried the boatswain. "Wot do I mean?" retorted the other; "why, wot I says. Here we are off the coast of Floridy----" "Off the coast o' your grandmother! Shut up, mate, and let Mr. Royle speak. You know nothen about it." "The Bermudas are nearer to hand than the West Indies," I continued, not choosing to explain. "What we have to do, then, the moment we can use our legs, is to haul the ship round. How is the wind now? N.N.W. Well, she will lie properly. And as soon as ever it comes daybreak, we must run up a signal of distress, and keep it flying. What more can we do?" "I suppose," said the boatswain, doubtfully, sucking so hard at his pipe that it glowed like a steamer's red light under his nose, "you wouldn't like to wenture on a run to the English Channel, Mr. Royle? It would be airning some kind o' fame, and perhaps a trifle o' money from the owners, if it wur to git about that three hands--well, I'll ax the steward's pardon, and say four--that four hands brought this here blessed ship and her walleyable cargo out o' a rigular knock-down mutiny, all aways up the Atlantic Ocean, into the Henglish Channel, and landed her safe in the West Hindie Docks. I never see my name in print in my life----" "What's your true name, Mr. Bo'sun?" inquired the steward. "Joshua, or Jo Forward, young feller; sometimes called Forrard, sometimes Jo, and on Sundays Mister." "I know a Forward as lives at Blackwall," said the steward. "Do yer? Well, then, now you knows two. Wot I was sayin', Mr. Royle, was, I never see my name in print in my life, and I should like to see it regular wrote down in the newspapers. Lloyd's is always my weekly pennorth ashore." He knocked the hot ashes into the palm of his hand, scrutinised it earnestly to see that there was no tobacco left in it, and tossed it away. "A good deal, sir," said the steward, in a thin voice, "is to be said about the lady we saved. The saving of her alone, would make 'eros of us in the public mind." "Wot do you call us--'eros?" exclaimed the boatswain. "Yes, sir, 'eros!" "What's the meaning of that word, Mr. Royle?--any relation to earwigs?" "He means heroes," I replied. "Don't you, steward?" "I did more than mean it--I said it, sir," exclaimed the steward. "That's how the Chaneymen talk, and quarrel with you for not followin' of their sense. Wot do you think of my notion, Jim, of sailin' this wessel to England?" said the boatswain. Cornish made no answer. I saw him, in the pale light diffused around the binnacle, wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, and shift uneasily on his seat. I could scarcely wonder that the boatswain's idea should make him feel uncomfortable. "Your scheme," said I, "would be a capital one providing that every man of us four had six hands and six legs, and the strength of three big Johnsons, that we could do without sleep, and split ourselves into pieces whenever we had occasion to reef topsails. But, as I am only capable of doing one man's work, and require rest like other weakly mortals, I must tell you plainly that I for one should be very sorry to undertake to work this ship to the English Channel, unless you would guarantee that by dawn this morning we should receive a draft of at least six men out of a passing vessel." "Well, well," said the boatswain, "it was only a thought; and I don't say it is to be done." "Not to be thought on--much less done," exclaimed Cornish. "Don't be too sartin, friend," retorted the boatswain, turning smartly on him. "'Where there's a will there's a way,' wos a sayin' when I was a lad." "If it comes on to blow," I put in, "it may take us all we can do to fetch Bermuda. Don't dream of aiming for a further port." At this moment Miss Robertson returned. I asked her how she had found her father, and she replied, in a low voice, that he was sleeping, but that his breathing was very faint and uncertain, and that he sometimes talked in his sleep. She could not disguise her anxiety, and I entreated her to go below and watch him and rest herself as well; but she answered that she would not leave the deck until I had finished taking in sail and doing what was necessary. "You cannot tell me that I am not of use," she added. "I will steer whilst you work, and if you wish to sleep I will watch for you. Why should I not do so? I can benefit papa more by helping you to save the ship than by leaving you to work alone while I sit with him. I pray God," she said, in her sweet, low, troubled voice, "that all may go well with us. But I have been so near to death that it scarcely frightens me now. Tell me what to do and I will do it--though for your sake alone, as you would have sacrificed your life for mine. I owe you what I can never repay--and how kind, how gentle, how good you have been to my father and me!" She spoke in so low a voice that it was impossible for any one to hear her but myself; and so greatly did her words effect me--I, who had now learnt to love her, who could indeed have died a hundredfold over for her dear sake, that I dared not trust myself to speak. Had I spoken I should have said what I was sure she would have disliked to hear from a rough sailor like me: nay, I even turned away from her that I might be silent, recoiling from my own heart's language that seemed but an impertinence, an unfair obtrusion of claims which, even though she admitted them by speaking of my having saved her life, I should have been unmanly to assert. I quickly recovered myself, and said, forcing a laugh-- "You are as bad a mutineer as the others. But as you will not obey me, I must obey you." And looking for some moments at the ponderous bank of cloud in the north-west, of which the gathering brightness and intensity of the lightning was illustrating its steady approach, I exclaimed-- "Are we strong enough to turn to, mates?" "We can douse that top-gallant sail, I dare say," answered the boatswain. "Up on your pins, steward." And we trooped along to the main-deck. The spell of rest, and perhaps the grog, not to mention the tobacco, had done us no harm; the three of us went aloft, carrying the jigger with us which we left in the main-top, and furled the top-gallant sail, if not in man-of-war fashion and with a proper harbour bunt, at all events very securely. But the main-topsail was another matter. All three of us had to lay out to windward to haul taut one earring; then skim along to the other end of the yard to the other earring; and so up and down, and still more reef-points and still more earrings, until my legs and fingers ached. This job over, we rested ourselves in the main-top, and then got upon the main-yard, and made shift to pass the yard-arm gaskets round the sail and stow it after a fashion, though I had no doubt that the first gale of wind that struck it would blow it clear of its lashings in a minute. Then on deck again with the main-topsail halliards to the capstan; and the dawn found the ship under three close-reefed topsails, foresail, and fore-topmast staysail, the whole of the other canvas having been reefed and stowed by three worn-out men, one of whom had been pretty nearly knocked up by the fight with the mutineers, the second of whom was fresh from an imprisonment of three days in a close, stifling, and rat-swarming coal-hole, whilst the third had received such a crack on his wrist as would have sent any man but an English sailor to his hammock and kept him ill and groaning for a month. END OF VOL. II. LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS. Transcriber's Notes: Cover and Table of Contents created by Transcriber and placed in the Public Domain. Punctuation and spelling were made consistent when a predominant preference was found in the three volumes of this novel, or to remedy simple typographical errors; otherwise they were not changed. Dialect and other non-standard spellings have not been changed. Spaces before the contraction "'ll" (for "will") have been retained. Ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines have been retained. Page 82: "Sailors don't no nothing" is printed as "know" in a different edition of this book. Page 203: The closing quotation mark after "of them? He didn't understand." perhaps should be after "of them?" 
21475	----	Peter Trawl, the Adventures of a Whaler, by W.H.G. Kingston. ________________________________________________________________________ Peter is a young teenager in a family that suffers a series of disastrous events. Family money is lost due to the failure of a bank, not at all uncommon in those days, probably about 1830. They lived in Portsmouth, where the father was a wherryman, ferrying people out to the ships. The father meets with an accident, having ferried a passenger to his ship at anchor outside the harbour, is caught up by freak weather, which broke up his boat and drowned him. The mother does what she can, taking commodities out to the ships for the benefit of the sailors, but trade was bad at that time, and she became ill, and dies as well. Thus the family were left without any support, until a Mr Gray, a Quaker, comes on the scene, and takes them under his wing. He is also a shipowner, and he gives Peter a chance on one of his ships. However, there are various mishaps with this ship, and Peter and his friend Jim arrive in Shetland, an archipelago in the far north of Britain, where Peter discovers that he has relatives. He takes a lift in a ship back to Portsmouth, as the ship was due to call in at Plymouth, but due to fair weather passes it by. The ship is a whaler, and needs to get into the Pacific Ocean, but has a lot of trouble trying to round the Horn. Eventually they succeed. But Peter now has a new ambition, to find his long-lost brother Jack who had gone to sea years before, and never been heard of. By chance he hears that Jack may be alive. In due course they find Jack, and come home again with him to Portsmouth, where Mr Gray has kindly looked after the female members of Peter's family, including his sister Mary. Of course there are a lot of coincidences in this story, but that's part of the fun. ________________________________________________________________________ PETER TRAWL, THE ADVENTURES OF A WHALER, BY W.H.G. KINGSTON. CHAPTER ONE. MY EARLY DAYS AT HOME. Brother Jack, a seaman's bag over his shoulders, trudged sturdily ahead; father followed, carrying the oars, spars, sails, and other gear of the wherry, while as I toddled alongside him I held on with one hand to the skirt of his pea-jacket, and griped the boat-hook which had been given to my charge with the other. From the front of the well-known inn, the "Keppel's Head," the portrait of the brave old admiral, which I always looked at with awe and admiration, thinking what a great man he must have been, gazed sternly down on us as we made our way along the Common Hard of Portsea towards the water's edge. Father and Jack hauled in the wherry, and having deposited their burdens in her, set to work to mop her out and to put her to rights, while I stood, still grasping the boat-hook, which I held upright with the point in the ground, watching their proceedings, till father, lifting me up in his arms, placed me in the stern-sheets. "Sit there, Peter, and mind you don't topple overboard, my son," he said, in the kind tone in which he always spoke to me and Jack. I was too small to be of much use, indeed father had hitherto only taken me with him when he was merely going across to Gosport and back or plying about the harbour. It was a more eventful day to Jack than to me. When I saw mother packing his bag, I had a sort of idea that he was going to sea, and when the next morning she threw her arms round his neck and burst into tears, and Jack began to cry too, I understood that he would be away for a long time. Jack had been of great use to father, who grieved as much as mother to part with him, but, as he said, he wouldn't, if he could help it, bring him up as a long-shore lubber, and a few voyages would be the making of him. "He can't get none of the right sort of eddication on shore," observed father. "He'll learn on board a man-of-war what duty and discipline mean, and to my mind till a lad knows that he isn't worth his salt." The _Lapwing_ brig-of-war, fitted out at Sheerness, had brought up at Spithead, and her commander, Captain Rogers, with whom father had long served, meeting him on shore, and hearing that he had a son old enough to go to sea, offered to take Jack and look after him. When Commander Rogers was a midshipman, he fell overboard, and would have been drowned had not father jumped in and saved him. He was very grateful, but had not till now had an opportunity of practically showing his gratitude. Father, therefore, gladly accepted his offer, being sure that he would do his best for Jack; and as Blue Peter was flying from the masthead of the brig, there was no time to be lost in taking him on board. At the time I was too young, as I was saying, to understand these matters, but I learnt about them afterwards. All I then knew was that brother Jack was going for a sailor aboard of a man-of-war. Father and Jack were just shoving off, when two persons who had come out of the "Keppel's Head" were seen hurrying down the Hard with cases and packages in their hands and under their arms. One, as his dress and appearance showed, was a seafaring man; the other wore long toggery, as sailors call the costume of landsmen. "If you are going out to Spithead, my man, we'll go with you," shouted the first. "Ay, ay, sir! I'll be glad enough to take you," answered father, happy to get a fare, instead of making nothing by the trip. "We'll give you five shillings apiece," said the officer, for such he seemed to be. "Thank you, sir; that will do. What ship shall I put you aboard?" asked father. "The _Intrepid_, South Sea whaler--she's lying to the eastward of the men-of-war. We shall see her when we get abreast of Southsea Castle," answered the officer. "Step aboard, then, sir," said father. "The tide will soon have done making out of the harbour, and there's no time to lose." The strangers took their seats in the stern-sheets, and father and Jack, shoving off, pulled out into the stream. The officer took the yoke-lines, and by the way he handled them, showed that he knew what he was about. Careful steering is always required where tides run strong and vessels are assembled; but especially was it at that time, when, peace having been just proclaimed, Portsmouth Harbour was crowded with men-of-war lately returned from foreign stations, and with transports and victuallers come in to be discharged; while all the way up towards Porchester Castle lay, now dismantled in vast numbers, those stout old ships with names renowned which had borne the victorious flag of England in many a fierce engagement. Dockyard lighters, man-of-war boats, wherries crowded with passengers, and other craft of various descriptions, were sailing or pulling about in all directions, so that the stranger had to keep his eyes about him to avoid being run down by, or running into, some other boat or vessel. "We'll step the mast, and make sail while we're in smooth water, sir," said father. "There's a lop of a sea outside, when it wouldn't be pleasant to this gentleman if we were to wait till then," and he gave a look at the landsman, who even now did not seem altogether comfortable. "The doctor hasn't been used to the sea, but he'll soon get accustomed to it. No fear of that, Cockle, eh?" said the officer, who was, he afterwards told father, second mate of the _Intrepid_. "I hope I shall, Mr Griffiths, but I confess I don't much like the thought of going through those foaming waves out there in such a cockleshell of a boat as this," answered the doctor. "No offence to you, my friend," he added, turning to father. "Ha! Ha! Ha! That's just what the boat is at present," said the mate, laughing. "Do you twig, doctor? Do you twig? She carries you and your fortunes, and if she takes us safe alongside the _Intrepid_--and I see no reason why she shouldn't--we shall be obliged to her and her owner here. What's your name, my man?" "Jack Trawl, sir; at your service," answered father. "Many's the time I've been out to Spithead in this here wherry when it's been blowing great guns and small arms, and she's ridden over the seas like a duck. The gentleman needn't be afraid." The doctor, who did not seem to like the mate's joking, or father's remark about being afraid, sat silent for some time. "I'll take the helm, sir, if you please," said father, who had stepped the mast and hauled aft the sheets. "My wherry likes me to have hold of her, and maybe she mightn't behave as well as she should if a stranger was steering." "I understand," answered Mr Griffiths, laughing. "You are wise not to trust any one but yourself. I'll yield to you in handling this style of boat under sail, though I may have been more at sea than you have." "I doubt that, sir, as I went afloat not long after you were born, if not before, and for well-nigh thirty years seldom set foot on shore," answered father. "All that time I served His Majesty--God bless him-- and if there was to come another war I'd be ready to serve him again, as my boy Jack there is just going to do." "A fine lad he seems, but he'd better by half have joined the merchant service than submitted to the tyranny of a man-of-war," said the mate. "There are just two opinions, sir, as to that," answered father, dryly. "Haul down the tack, Jack, and get a pull of the foresheet," he sang out. There was a fresh breeze from the south-east blowing almost up the harbour, but by keeping over on the Portsmouth side, aided by the tide, we stood clear out of it. The wherry soon began to pitch into the seas, which came rolling in round Southsea Castle in a way which made the doctor look very blue. The mate tried to cheer him up, but he evidently didn't like it, especially when the spray came flying over the bows, and quickly wet him and most of us well-nigh through to the skin. Every now and then more than the mere spray came aboard us, and the doctor became more and more uncomfortable. Father now called Jack aft to bale out the water, and he set to work heaving it overboard as fast as it came in. I laughed, and did not feel a bit afraid, because when I looked up at father's face I saw that there was nothing to be afraid about. At length the mate seemed to think that we were carrying on too long. "Doctor Cockle is not accustomed to this sort of thing," he observed. "Hadn't we better take in a reef or two?" "Not if you wish to get aboard your ship, sir, before night," answered father. "I know my boat, and I know what she'll do. Trust me, sir, and in less than half-an-hour you'll be safe alongside the _Intrepid_." The mate seemed satisfied, and began talking to me, amused at the way I sat bobbing, as the spray came aboard, under an old pea-jacket which father had thrown over my shoulders, and grinning when I found that I had escaped the shower by which the others got well sprinkled. "I'll not forget you, my little fellow," he said, laughing. "You'll make a prime seaman one of these days. Will you remember my name?" "Yes, sir, I think I shall, and your face too," I answered. "You are a sharp chap, I see," he observed, in the same tone as before. "Do you intend to make a sailor of him?" he asked, turning to father. "Not if I can find a better calling for the boy, sir," answered father. "I've heard say, and believe it, that man proposes and God disposes. It mayn't be in my power to choose for him." "Ay, ay, you're right there, my friend," said the mate. "If he had been as old as his brother I would have given him a berth aboard the _Intrepid_." It may seem curious that, young as I was, I should have remembered these remarks, but so it was, and I had reason long afterwards to do so. Even sooner than father had said we had hooked on to the whaler, a barque of about three hundred tons, her black hull rising high out of the water, and with three boats, sharp at both ends, hoisted up to davits in a line on each side. The good-natured mate having paid the fare and given me a bright shilling in addition, helped the doctor, who wasn't very well able to help himself, up on deck, and we then, shoving off, stood for the man-of-war brig. Jack almost broke down as we approached her. Not that he was unwilling to go away, but that he was very sorry to part from father and me, and I know that we were very sorry to part with him. "Jack, my son," said father, and his voice wasn't as firm as usual, "we may never meet again on this side the grave. You may be taken or I may be taken. What I want to say to you is this, and they may be well-nigh the last words you will ever hear me speak. Ever remember that God's eye is upon you, and so live that you may be prepared at any moment to die. I can't say more than that, my boy. Bless you. God bless you." "I will, father, I will," answered Jack, and he passed the back of his hand across his eyes. We were soon up to the brig. He gave me a hug and a kiss, and then, having made fast the end of the rope hove to us, he griped father's hand, and sprang up the side of the brig. His bag was hoisted up after him by an old shipmate of father's, who sang out, "All right, Trawl, I'll look after your boy!" We had at once to shove off, for the brig was rolling considerably, and there was a risk of the wherry being swamped alongside. As we stood away I looked astern. Jack had climbed into the fore-rigging and was waving to us. We soon lost sight of him. When, if ever, should we see him again? Having the wind and tide with us, we quickly ran back into the harbour. For reasons which will appear by-and-by I ought to say a few words respecting my family, though I don't flatter myself the world in general will be much concerned about the matter. Some people are said to be born with silver spoons in their mouths; if that means, as I suppose it does, that from their earliest days they enjoy all the luxuries of life, then I may say that when I first saw the light I must have had a very rough wooden one between my toothless gums. However, as I've often since thought, it isn't so much what a man is born to which signifies, as what he becomes by his honesty, steadiness, perseverance, and above all by his earnest desire to do right in the sight of God. My father, Jack Trawl (as he spelt his name, or, rather, as others spelt it for him, he being no great hand with a pen), was an old man-of-war's-man. I well remember hearing him say that his father, who had been mate of a merchantman, and had been lost at sea when he himself was a boy, was a Shetlander; and in an old Testament which had belonged to his mother, and which he had treasured as the only relic of either of his parents, I found the name written Troil. The ink was very faint, but I made out the words clearly, "Margaret Troil, given to her by her husband Angus." This confirmed me in the idea I had formed, that both my father's parents had come from the far off island of Shetland. My father being a sober, steady man, having saved more of his pay and prize-money than had most of his shipmates, when he left the service bought a wherry, hired and furnished a house, and married my mother, Polly Treherne, the daughter of a bumboat-woman who plied her trade in Portsmouth Harbour. I have no cause to be ashamed of my grandmother, for every one who knew her said, and I am sure of it, that she was as worthy a woman in her line of life as ever lived. She gave good measure and charged honest prices, whether she was dealing in soft tack, fruit, vegetables, cheese, herrings, or any of the other miscellaneous articles with which she supplied the seamen of His Majesty's ships; and her daughter Polly, who assisted her, was acknowledged by all to be as good and kind-hearted as she was pretty. No wonder, then, that she won the heart of my brave father when she visited the ship in which he had just come home, or that, knowing his worth, although she had many suitors, she consented to marry him. For some time all went well, but what happened is a proof that honest, industrious persons may be overtaken by misfortunes as well as other people. Father had no intention that his wife should follow her mother's calling, as he could make enough to keep the pot boiling; but after they had been married a few years, and several children had been born, all of whom died in their infancy, except my eldest brother Jack, and me and Mary, the two youngest, bad times came. CHAPTER TWO. HOW A TRUE FRIEND WAS GAINED. Just before we two entered this world of troubles, the bank in which my father had deposited his savings broke, and all were lost. The sails of his wherry were worn out, and he had been about to buy a new suit, which he now couldn't do; the wherry herself was getting crazy, and required repairs, and he himself met with an accident which laid him up for several weeks. Grandmother also, who had lost nearly her all by the failure of the bank, though she had hitherto been hale and hearty, now began to talk of feeling the approach of old age. One evening, while father was laid up, she looked in on us. "Polly, my girl, there's no use trying to beat up in the teeth of a gale with a five-knot current against one," she exclaimed, as, dropping down into out big arm-chair and undoing her bonnet-strings and the red handkerchief she wore round her neck, she threw her bonnet over the back of her head. "I'm dead beat with to-day's work, and shall be worse to-morrow. Now, my dear, what I've got to say is this, I want you to help me. You know the trade as well as I do. It will be a good thing for you as well as for me; for look you, my dear, if anything should happen to your Jack, it will help you to keep the wolf from the door." This last argument, with her desire to help the good old lady, made mother say that if father was agreeable she would do as grandmother wished. She forthwith went upstairs, where father was lying in bed, scarcely able to move for the pain his hurt caused him. They talked the matter over, and he, knowing that something must be done for the support of the family, gave, though unwillingly, his consent. Thus it happened that my mother again took to bum-boating. Trade, however, wasn't like what it used to be in the war time, I heard grandmother say. Then seamen would have their pockets filled with five-pound notes and golden guineas, which they were eager to spend; now they rarely had more than a few shillings or a handful of coppers jingling in them. Still there was an honest livelihood to be made, and grandmother and mother contrived to make it. Poor grandmother, however, before long fell ill, as she said she should, and then all the work fell on mother. Father got better, and was able sometimes to go out with the wherry, but grandmother got worse and worse, and mother had to attend on her till she died. When she and father were away from home, Mary and I were left to the care of our brother Jack. He did his best to look after us, but not being skilled as a nursemaid, while he was tending Mary, who, being a girl--she was my twin sister, I should have said--required most of his care, he could not always manage to prevent me from getting into trouble. Fortunately nothing very serious happened. Dear, kind Jack! I was very fond of him, and generally obeyed him willingly. It would not be true to say that I always did so. He was very fond of Mary and me too, of that I am sure, and he used to show his fondness by spending for our benefit any coppers he picked up by running on errands or doing odd jobs for neighbours. As his purchases were usually brandy-balls, rock, and other sweets, it was perhaps fortunate for us that he had not many to spend. By diligently pursuing her trade, mother, in course of time, saved money enough to enable father to get the wherry repaired, and to buy a new suit of sails, and when he got plenty of employment he bade mother stay at home and look after Mary and me, while Jack went with him. As, however, it would not have been prudent to give up her business altogether, she hired a girl, Nancy Fidget, to take her place, as Jack had done, when she was from home. I don't remember that anything of importance happened after grandmother's death till Jack went to sea. We missed him very much, and Mary was always asking after him, wondering when he would come back. Still, if I had gone away, she would, I think, have fretted still more. Perhaps it was because we were twins that we were so fond of each other. We were, however, not much alike. She was a fair, blue-eyed little maiden, with flaxen hair and a rosy blush on her cheeks, and I was a broad-shouldered, strongly-built chap, the hue on my cheeks and the colour of my hair soon becoming deepened by my being constantly out of doors, while my eyes were, I fancy, of a far darker tint than my sister's. After Jack went mother seemed to concentrate all her affections on us two. I don't think, however, that any woman could have a warmer or larger heart than hers, although many may have a wider scope for the exercise of their feelings. She never turned a beggar away from her door without some relief even in the worst of times, and when any of the neighbours were in distress, she always did her best to help them. Often when she had been out bum-boating for the best part of the day, and had been attending to household matters for the remainder, she would sit up the whole night with a sick acquaintance who was too poor to hire a nurse, and had only thanks to give her, and perhaps of that not very liberally. I have said that my mother had as warm and generous a heart as ever beat in woman's bosom. I repeat it. I might give numerous instances to prove the truth of my assertion, and to show that I have reason to be proud of being her son, whatever the world may think about the matter. One will suffice. It had an important effect on my destinies, although at the time no one would have supposed that such would be the case. One evening, as my mother was returning home off the water after dark, she found a female fallen down close to our door, in what seemed to be a fit. Some of the neighbours had seen the poor creature, but had let her lie there, and gone indoors, and several persons passing showed by their remarks what they thought of her character; but mother, not stopping to consider who she was or what she was, lifting her up in her strong arms, carried her into the house, and placed her on the bed which used to be Jack's. Mother now saw by the light of the candle that the unhappy being she had taken charge of was still young, and once had been pretty, but the life she had led had marred her beauty and brought her to her present sad state. After mother had undressed her and given her food and a cordial in which she had great confidence, the girl slightly revived, but it became more evident than before that she was fearfully ill. She sobbed and groaned, and sometimes shrieked out in a way terrible to hear, but would give no account of herself. At length, mother, mistrusting her own skill, sent Nancy and me off to call Dr Rolt, the nearest medical man we knew of. He came at once, and shaking his head as soon as he saw the stranger, he advised that she should be removed forthwith to the hospital. "Not to-night, doctor, surely," said mother. "It might be the death of her, poor young creature!" "She may rapidly grow worse, and it may be still more dangerous to move her afterwards," remarked Dr Rolt. "Then, please God, I'll keep charge of her till she recovers, or He thinks fit to take her," said mother, in her determined way. "She will never recover, I fear," said the doctor; "but I will do the best for her I can." Telling mother how to act, and promising to send some medicine, he went away. When father, who had been across to Ryde in the wherry, came home, he approved of what mother had done. "Why, you see, Jack, what I think is this," I heard her say; "I've no right to point a finger at her, for if I hadn't had a good mother to show me right and wrong, I might have been just as she is." The next morning the doctor came again. He looked grave when he left the stranger's room. "You are still resolved to let this poor outcast remain in your house, Mrs Trawl?" he asked. "Yes, sir, my good man thinks as I do, that we ought," answered mother, positively. Dr Rolt returned in the afternoon, accompanied by a gentleman wearing a broad-brimmed hat and a straight-cut broadcloth coat of sombre hue. He smiled pleasantly at mother as he took the seat she offered him without doffing his hat, and beckoning to Mary and me, put his hands on our heads, while he looked into our faces and smiled as he had done to mother. "I have brought Mr Silas Gray, a member of the Society of Friends, knowing that I should have your leave, Mrs Trawl, as he desires to see the poor girl you have taken care of," said Dr Rolt. "Verily, sister, thou hast acted the part of the Good Samaritan towards the hapless one of whom friend Rolt has told me, and I would endeavour to minister to her spiritual necessities, the which I fear are great indeed; also with thy leave I will help thee in supplying such creature comforts as she may need," said Mr Gray. "Thank you kindly, sir," answered mother. "I couldn't say much on the matter of religion, except to tell her that God cares for her as well as He does for the richest lady in the land, and will pardon her sins if she will but turn to Him through Christ; and as to food, kickshaws fit for sick folk are not much in my way, still I'll--" "Thou knowest the very gist of the matter, sister," observed Mr Gray, interrupting her; "but time is precious. I'll go in with friend Rolt and speak to the wandering child." Saying this, Mr Gray accompanied the doctor into the stranger's room. He, after this, came again and again--never empty-handed--oftener indeed than the doctor, whose skill failed, as he feared it would, to arrest the poor girl's malady, while Mr Gray's ministrations were successful in giving her the happy assurance that "though her sins were as scarlet, she had become white as snow," so he assured mother. "Praise the Lord," was her reply. So the young stranger died--her name, her history, unknown. Mr Gray paid the expenses of her funeral, and frequently after that came to see us, to inquire, as he said, how we were getting on. We had not heard from brother Jack since he went aboard the _Lapwing_. Mother thought that he might have got some one to write for him, though he was no great hand with a pen himself. All we knew was that the brig had gone out to the East Indies, which being a long way off would have accounted for our not often getting letters from him; but just one father hoped he would have contrived to send after he had been a year away; now nearly three years had passed since then. Had the _Lapwing_ been fitted out at Portsmouth, we should have got news of him from others, but as none of her crew hailed from our town, there was no one to whom we could go to ask about him. Father had taken lately to talk much about Jack, and sometimes regretted that he had let him go away. "You acted for the best, and so don't be blaming yourself," observed mother, trying to console him. "There's One aloft looking after him better than we can, and He'll bring our boy back to us if He thinks fit." Mary and I little knew all the trials father and mother had to go through. Mother's trade was bad, and father was often out all day without bringing a shilling home. Younger men with more gaily-painted boats--he would not acknowledge that they were better--got fares when he could not manage to pick up one. Sometimes also he was laid up with the rheumatics, and was unable to go afloat. One day, while thus suffering, mother fetched Dr Rolt to see him. Father begged the doctor to get him well as soon as he could, seeing that he wanted to be out in the wherry to gain his livelihood. "All in good time, my man," answered the doctor. "You'll be about again in a few days, never fear. By-the-bye, I saw our friend Mr Gray lately, Mrs Trawl, and he was inquiring for you. He would have come to see your husband had he known that he was ill, but he went away to London yesterday, and may, I fear, be absent for some time. Many will miss him should he be long away." Sooner than father expected he was about again. I had gone down with father and mother to the Hard, mother to board a ship which had just come in, and father to look out for a fare, while Mary remained at home with Nancy. It was blowing pretty fresh, and there was a good deal of sea running outside, though in the harbour the water was not rough enough to prevent mother from going off. While she was waiting for old Tom Swatridge, who had been with grandmother and her for years to bring along her baskets of vegetables from the market, a gentleman came hurrying down the Hard, and seeing father getting the wherry ready, said: "I want you to put me aboard my ship, my man. She's lying out at Spithead; we must be off at once." "It's blowing uncommon fresh, sir," said father. "I don't know how you'll like it when we get outside; still there's not a wherry in the harbour that will take you aboard drier than mine, though there's some risk, sir, you'll understand." "Will a couple of guineas tempt you?" asked the stranger, thinking that father was doubting about the payment he was to receive. "I'll take you, sir," answered father. "Step aboard." I was already in the boat, thinking that I was to go, and was much disappointed when father said, "I am not going to take you, Peter, for your mother wants you to help her; but just run up and tell Ned Dore I want him. He's standing by the sentry-box." As I always did as father bade me, I ran up and called Ned, who at once came rolling along down the Hard, glad of a job. When he heard what he was wanted for he stepped aboard. "I hope to be back in a couple of hours, or three at furthest, Polly," father sang out to mother, as he shoved off the wherry. "Good-bye, lass, and see that Peter makes himself useful." Mother waved her hand. "Though two guineas are not to be picked up every day, I would as lief he had stayed in the harbour this blowing weather," she said to herself more than to me, as on seeing old Tom coming we stepped into her boat. When father first went to sea, Tom Swatridge had been his shipmate, and had done him many a kind turn which he had never forgotten. Old Tom had lost a leg at Trafalgar, of which battle he was fond of talking. He might have borne up for Greenwich, but he preferred his liberty, though he had to work for his daily bread, and, I am obliged to say, for his daily quantum of rum, which always kept his pockets empty. He had plenty of intelligence, but he could neither read nor write, and that, with his love of grog, had prevented him from getting on in life as well as his many good qualities would otherwise have enabled him to do. He was a tall gaunt man, with iron-grey hair, and a countenance wrinkled, battered, and bronzed by wind and weather. When he first came ashore he was almost as sober a man as father, and having plenty of prize-money he managed to purchase a small dwelling for himself, which I shall have by-and-by to describe. Old Tom taking the oars, we pulled aboard the _Dartmouth_, forty-two gun frigate, just come in from the Mediterranean. Several of the men had been shipmates with father, and all those belonging to Portsmouth knew mother. They were very glad to see her, and she had to answer questions of all sorts about their friends on shore. It is the business of a bumboat-woman to know everything going forward, what ships are likely to be commissioned, the characters of the captains and officers, when they are to sail, and where they are going to. Among so many friends mother drove a brisker trade than usual, and when the men heard that I was Jack Trawl's son they gave me many a bright shilling and sixpence, and kind pats on the head with their broad palms. "He's a chip of the old block, no doubt about that, missus," cried one. "He'll make a smart young topman one of these days," said another. Several gave her commissions to execute, and many sent messages to friends on shore. Altogether, when she left the frigate she was in better spirits than she had been for a long time. Scarcely had we shoved off, however, when down came the rain in torrents, well-nigh wetting us through. "It's blowing plaguey hard, missus," observed old Tom, as he tugged away at the oars, I helping him while mother steered. "I hope as how we shall find your good man safe ashore when we gets in." On reaching the Hard the wherry was not to be seen. After old Tom had made fast the boat, wet as she was mother waited and waited in the hopes that father would come in. Old Tom remained also. He seemed more than usually anxious. We all stood with our hands shielding our eyes as we looked down the harbour to try and make out the wherry, but the driving rain greatly limited our view. "Hast seen anything of Jack Trawl's wherry?" asked old Tom over and over again of the men in the different boats, as they came in under their mizens and foresails. The same answer was returned by all. "Maybe he got a fare at Spithead for Gosport and will be coming across soon, or he's gone ashore at the Point with some one's luggage," observed old Tom, trying to keep up mother's spirits; but that was a hard matter to do, for the wind blew stronger and stronger. A few vessels could be seen, under close-reefed canvas, running up the harbour for shelter, but we could nowhere perceive a single boat under sail. Still old Tom continued to suggest all sorts of reasons why father had not come back. Perhaps he had been detained on board the ship at Spithead to which he took the gentleman, and seeing the heavy weather coming on would remain till it moderated. Mother clung to this notion when hour after hour went by and she had given up all expectation of seeing father that evening. Still she could not tear herself from the Hard. Suddenly she remembered me. "You must be getting wet, Peter," she said. "Run home, my child, and tell Nancy to give you your tea and then to get supper ready. Father and I will be coming soon, I hope." I lingered, unwilling to leave her. "Won't you come yourself, mother?" I asked. "I'll wait a bit longer," she answered. "Go, Peter, go; do as I bid you." "You'd better go home with Peter, missus," said old Tom. "You'll be getting the rheumatics, I'm afraid. I'll stay and look out for your good man." I had never seen mother look as she did then, when she turned her face for a moment to reply to the old man. She was as pale as death; her voice sounded hoarse and hollow. "I can't go just yet, Tom," she said. I did not hear more, as, according to her bidding, I set off to run home. I found Mary and Nancy wondering what had kept mother so long. "Can anything have happened to father?" exclaimed Mary, when I told her that mother was waiting for him. "He has been a long time coming back from Spithead, and it's blowing fearfully hard," I answered. I saw Nancy clasp her hands and look upwards with an expression of alarm on her countenance which frightened me. Her father and brother had been lost some years before, crossing in a wherry from Ryde, and her widowed mother had found it a hard matter to keep herself and her children out of the workhouse. She said nothing, however, to Mary and me, but I heard her sighing and whispering to herself, "What will poor missus do? What will poor missus do?" She gave Mary and me our suppers, and then persuaded us to go to bed. I was glad to do so to get off my wet clothes, which she hung up to dry, but I could not go to sleep for thinking what had happened to father. At length mother came in alone. She sat down on a chair without speaking, and her hands dropped by her side. I could watch her as I looked out from the small closet in which my bunk was placed. Even since I had left her her countenance had become fearfully pale and haggard. She shivered all over several times, but did not move from her seat. "Won't you get those wet duds of yours off, missus, and have some hot tea and supper?" asked Nancy, who had been preparing it. Mother made no reply. "Don't take on so, missus," said Nancy, coming up to her and putting her hand affectionately on her shoulder. "Bless me, you're as wet as muck. I've put Peter and Mary to bed, and you must just go too, or you'll be having the rheumatics and I don't know what. Do go, missus, now do go." In vain Nancy pleaded, and was still endeavouring to persuade mother to take off her wet garments, when I at last fell asleep. When I awoke in the morning I saw Nancy alone bustling about the room. I soon jumped into my clothes. My first question was for father. "He's not yet come back, Peter," she answered. "But maybe he will before long, for the wind has fallen, and if he put into Ryde he'd have waited till now to come across." "Where's mother?" I next asked, not seeing her. "Hush, Peter, don't speak loud," she said in a low tone. "She's been in a sad taking all night, but she's quiet now, and we mustn't waken her." On hearing this I crept about as silent as a mouse till Mary got up, and then we sat looking at each other without speaking a word, wondering what was going to happen, while Nancy lit the fire and got breakfast ready. At last we heard mother call to Nancy to come to her, not knowing that Mary and I were on foot. "I must get up and go and look after my good man," she cried out, in a voice strangely unlike her own. "Just help me, Nancy, will you? What can have come over me? I feel very curious." She tried to rise, but could not, and after making several attempts, sank back on her bed with a groan. Mary and I now ran into her room. "What's the matter, mother dear?" asked Mary, in a tone of alarm. She gazed at us strangely, and groaned again. "Missus is, I fear, taken very bad," said Nancy. "I must run for a doctor, or she'll be getting worse. I'm sure I don't know what to do; I wish I did. Oh dear! Oh dear!" "Let me go," I said, eagerly. "I know where he lives and you stay and take care of mother. I can run faster than you can in and out among the people in the streets." Nancy agreed, and I set off. CHAPTER THREE. A SAD CHAPTER IN MY LIFE. As I ran for the doctor I felt that I was engaged in a matter of life and death, for I had never seen mother ill before. In my anxiety for her I almost forgot all about father. On I rushed, dodging in and out among the workmen going to their daily toil--there were not many other persons out at that early hour. Two or three times I heard the cry of "Stop thief!" uttered by some small urchins for mischiefs sake, and once an old watchman, who had overslept himself in his box, suddenly starting out attempted to seize hold of me, fancying that he was about to capture a burglar, but I slipped away, leaving him sprawling in the dust and attempting to spring his rattle, and I ran on at redoubled speed, soon getting out of his sight round a corner. At last I reached Dr Rolt's house and rang the surgery bell as hard as I could pull. It was some time before the door was opened by a sleepy maid-servant, who had evidently just hurried on her clothes. "Mother wants the doctor very badly," I exclaimed. "Ask him, please, to come at once." "The doctor can't come. He's away from home, in London," answered the girl. "You'd better run on to Dr Hunt's. Maybe he'll attend on your mother." I asked where Dr Hunt lived. She told me. His house was some way off, but I found it at last. Again I had to wait for the door to be opened, when, greatly to my disappointment, the maid told me that Dr Hunt had been out all night and might not be at home for an hour or more. "Oh dear! Oh dear! Who then can I get to see poor mother?" I cried out, bursting into tears. "There's Mr Jones, the apothecary, at the end of the next street. He'll go to your mother, no doubt," said the maid. "Don't cry, my boy. Run on now; the first turning to the left. You'll see the red and green globes in his window." Without stopping to hear more, off I set again. Mr Jones was in his dispensary, giving directions to his assistant. I told him my errand. "I'll go presently," he answered. "What's the number?" Our house had no number, and I could not manage to explain its position clearly enough for his comprehension. "Then I'll stay, sir, and show you the way," I said. "Wait a bit, and I'll be ready," he replied. He kept me waiting, however, a cruel long time, it seemed to me. At last he appeared with his silver-mounted cane in hand, and bade me go on. "Stop! Stop, boy. I can't move at that rate," he cried out, before we had got far. He was a short stout man, with a bald head and grey hair. I had to restrain my eagerness, and walked slower till we reached our house. Nancy was looking out at the door for me, wondering I had not returned. "How is mother?" I asked. "Very bad, Peter; very bad indeed, I'm afeard," she answered, almost ready to cry. Then seeing Mr Jones stop with me, she continued, "Come in, doctor, come in. You'll try and cure missus, won't you?" "I'll certainly do my best when I know what is the matter with her," answered Mr Jones, as he followed Nancy into the house. Mary was with mother. I stole in after the doctor, anxious to hear what he would say about her. He made no remark in her presence, however, but when he came out of the room he observed in a low voice to Nancy, "You must keep her quiet. Let there be nothing done to agitate her, tell her husband when he comes in. I'll send some medicine, and pay her another visit in the afternoon." "But it's about her husband that she's grieving, sir," said Nancy. "He went away to Spithead yesterday morning and has never come back." "Ah, that's bad," replied Mr Jones. "However, perhaps he will appear before long. If he doesn't, it can't be helped. You must give her the medicines, at all events. I'll write the directions clearly for you." Poor Nancy had to confess that she could not read. The doctor then tried to impress upon her how and when she was to give the physic. "You'll remember, and there can be no mistake," he added, as he hurried off. I fancied that everything now depended on the arrival of the apothecary's stuff, and kept running to the door looking out for the boy who was to bring it. He seemed very long coming. I had gone half-a-dozen times when I caught sight, as I turned my eyes the other way thinking he might have passed by, of Tom Swatridge stumping slowly up the street. He stopped when he saw me, and beckoned. He looked very downcast. I observed that he had a straw hat in his hand, and I knew that it was father's. "How is mother?" he asked, when I got up to him. "Very bad," I answered, looking at the hat, but afraid to ask questions. "The news I bring will make her worse, I'm afeard," he said, in a husky voice, as he took my hand. "Peter, you had as good a father as ever lived, but you haven't got one now. A cutter just come in picked up this hat off Saint Helen's, and afterwards an oar and a sprit which both belonged to the wherry. I went out the first thing this morning to the ship your father was to put the gentleman aboard. He had got alongside all right, for I saw the gentleman himself, and he told me that he had watched the wherry after she shoved off till he lost sight of her in a heavy squall of rain. When it cleared off she was nowhere to be seen. So, Peter, my poor boy, there's no hope, I'm afeard, and we shall never see my old messmate or Ned Dore again." "Oh, Tom! Tom! You don't mean to say that father's gone!" I cried out. "I'd sooner have lost another leg than have to say it," answered the old man. "But it must be said notwithstanding, and now how are we to tell mother?" I could not answer, but kept repeating to myself, "Gone! Gone! Father gone!" as Tom led me on to the house. We met the boy with the physic at the door. "Let Nancy give her the stuff first," said the old man, thoughtfully; "maybe it will give her strength, and help her to bear the bad news." Nancy took in the bottles, while Tom and I remained outside. After some time she came out and told Tom that mother wanted to see him. He went in, shaking all over so much that I thought he would have fallen. I followed, when, seeing Mary, I threw my arms round her neck and burst into tears. She guessed what had happened even before I told her. We sat down, holding each other's hands and crying together, while Tom went in to see mother. What he said I do not know, though I am sure he tried to break the news to her as gently as he could. When she saw the hat, which he still held in his hand, she knew that father was lost. She did not go off into fits, as Tom afterwards told me he thought she would, but remained terribly calm, and just bade him describe to her all that he knew. "I mustn't give in," she said at length, "I have the children to look after, for if I was to go what would become of them?" "While I'm able to work they shan't want, missus," answered Tom, firmly. "I know what you'd wish to do, Tom; but there's one thing won't let you: that thing is liquor," said mother. "Then I'll never touch another drop as long as I live, missus!" exclaimed Tom. "May God help me!" "He will help you, Tom, if you ask Him," said mother; "and I hope that, whether I live or die, you'll keep to that resolution." I believe that conversation with Tom did mother much good; it took her off from thinking of father. She was still, however, very ill, and had to keep her bed. The doctor came again and again; generally twice a day. He of course had to be paid, and a good deal too. There was nothing coming in, and poor mother became more and more anxious to get out and attend to her business. The doctor warned her that she would go at great risk--indeed, that she was not fit to leave her bed. "She had no money left to pay for food and rent and the doctor's bill," she answered, and go she must. Though she had no money, she had, however, ample credit to stock her bumboat. Very unwillingly Nancy assisted her to, dress. Out she would go, taking me with her to lay in a stock of the articles she required. People remarked on her changed looks, and some did not even know her. She acknowledged that she was very tired when we got home, but declared that she should be the better for going on the water. The next morning old Tom had his boat ready. "I do wish, missus, that you'd stayed at home a few days longer," he remarked, looking at her. "Howsomedever, as you've come, I hopes you'll just take what I say kindly, and not be from home longer than you can help. There's dirty weather coming up from the south-west." Tom was right. We had two ships to visit. Before we got alongside the second down came the rain. But mother would go on, and consequently got wet through. Tom was very unhappy, but she said that she had done a good trade, and that no harm would come of it. Unhappily she was mistaken; that night she was taken very ill--worse than before. I fetched the doctor; he shook his head and said he wouldn't answer for what might happen. Faithful Nancy was half distracted. Poor mother got worse and worse. At last one day she beckoned with her pale hand to Mary and me to come to her bedside. "I know that I am going to be taken from you, my dears," she said, in a low voice, for she could not speak loud. "I want you to promise me to be true to each other, to do your duty in God's sight, and always to ask Him to help you." "I do, mother--I do promise," said Mary, the tears dropping from her eyes. She could scarcely speak for sobbing. "I promise, too, mother, that I do!" I exclaimed, in a firmer voice; and I sincerely intended to fulfil my promise. Mother was holding our hands in hers. She said much more to us, anxious to give us all the advice in her power. Nancy came in with her medicine, after which she rallied, and bade us go to bed. I was awakened early in the morning by hearing Nancy cry out, "Run for the doctor, Peter! Run for the doctor! Missus is taken worse." I slipped into my clothes, and was off like a shot, without asking a question, or even looking into mother's room. I rang the night-bell, for no one was up. At last the servant opened the door, and said she would call her master. Mr Jones soon appeared. He had been paid regularly, and when he saw me he was the more ready to come. Eager as I was to get back, I did not like to run ahead of him; and, to do him justice, he exerted himself to walk as fast as his breath would allow him. He asked me several questions; then I told him that mother had been again out bum-boating. "Bad--very bad. I told her not to go. A relapse is a serious matter," he remarked, panting and puffing between his sentences. "However, we must try what can be done." Mary met us at the door. "Mother has been breathing very hard since you went, Peter," she said, "but she is quite quiet now." The doctor's face looked very serious when he heard this. He hurried into the room. "I thought so," I heard him remark to Nancy. "I could have done nothing if you had sent for me hours ago. The woman is dead." "Oh, dear! Oh, dear! What shall I do?" cried Nancy, sobbing bitterly. "The sooner you let any friends the children may have know what has happened the better, and then send for the undertaker," answered Mr Jones. "The boy is sharp--he'll run your errands. I can do no more than certify the cause of death." He hurried away without bestowing a look at Mary and me, as we stood holding each other's hands, unable as yet to realise the fact that we were orphans. He had so many poor patients that he could not afford, I suppose, to exercise his compassionate feelings. Even when Nancy afterwards took us in to see mother's body, I would scarcely believe that she herself had been taken from us. I will not stop to speak of Mary's and my grief. At last Nancy, her eyes red with crying, sat down, with her hands pressed against her head, to consider what was to be done. "Why, I ought to have sent for him at once!" she suddenly exclaimed. "Peter, run and find Tom Swatridge, and tell him that poor missus has gone." I needed no second bidding, and, thankful to have something to do, I started away. On reaching the Hard, where I expected to find old Tom, I heard from some of the watermen that he had gone off with a fare to Gosport, so I had to wait for his return. Many of the men standing about asked me after mother, and seemed very sorry to hear of her death. I saw them talking earnestly together while I waited for Tom. Others joined them, and then went away, so that the news soon spread about our part of the town. I had to wait a long time, till old Tom came back with several persons in his boat. He pocketed their fares, touching his hat to each before he took any notice of me. "What cheer, Peter? How's the missus?" he asked, stepping on shore and dropping the kedge to make fast his boat. "I feared she wouldn't be up to bum-boating to-day." "Mother's dead," I answered. "Dead! The missus dead!" he exclaimed, clapping his hand to his brow, and looking fixedly at me. "The Lord have mercy on us!" "Nancy wants you, Tom," I said. "I'm coming, Peter, I'm coming. I said I'd be a father to you and Mary, and I will, please God," he replied, recovering himself. He took my hand, and stumped away towards our house. "Dick Porter, look after my boat, will ye, till I comes back?" he said to one of the men on the Hard as we hurried by. "Ay, ay," was the cheerful answer--for Dick knew where old Tom was going. Not a word did the old man speak all the way. When we got to the house, what was my astonishment to find a number of people in the sitting-room, one of whom, with note-book in hand, was making an inventory of the furniture! Mary was sitting in a corner crying, and Nancy was looking as if she had a mind to try and turn them all out. As soon as Mary saw me she jumped up and took my hand. "What's all this about?" exclaimed old Tom, in an indignant tone. "You might have stopped, whatever right you may have here, till the dead woman was carried to her grave, I'm thinking." "And others had carried off the goods," answered the man with the note-book. "We are only acting according to law. Mrs Trawl has run into debt on all sides, and when the goods are sold there won't be five shillings in the pound to pay them, that I can see, so her children must take the consequences. There's the workhouse for them." "The work'us, do ye say? Mrs Trawl's children sent to the work'us!" exclaimed old Tom, and he rapped out an expression which I need not repeat. "Not while this here hand can pull an oar and I've a shiner in my pocket. If you've got the law on your side, do as the law lets you. But all I can say is, that it's got no bowels of compassion in it, to allow the orphans to be turned out of house and home, and the breath scarce out of their mother's body. Nancy, do you pack up the children's clothes, and any school-books or play-things you can find, and then come along to my house. The law can't touch them, I suppose." "What is that drunken old Swatridge talking about?" said one of the broker's men. Tom heard him. "Such I may have been, but I'll be no longer `drunken old Swatridge' while I have these children to look after," he exclaimed; and giving one hand to Mary and the other to me, he led us out of the house. CHAPTER FOUR. A FEARFUL CATASTROPHE. Leaving Nancy, who could well hold her own, to battle with the broker's men, Tom, holding Mary by the hand, and I walked on till we came to his house, which I knew well, having often been there to call him. It consisted of two small rooms--a parlour, and little inner bedchamber, and was better furnished than might have been expected; yet old Tom had at one time made a good deal of money, and had expended a portion of it in fitting up his dwelling. Had he always been sober he would now have been comfortably off. "Stay here, my dears, while I go out for a bit," he said, bidding us sit down on an old sea-chest on one side of the fireplace. "I haven't got much to amuse you, but here's the little craft I cut out for you, Peter, and you can go on rigging her as I've been doing. No matter if you don't do it all ship-shape. And here, Mary, is the stuff for the sails; I've shaped them, you see, and if you will hem them you'll help us finely to get the craft ready for sea." Mary gladly undertook the task allotted to her, and even smiled as Tom handed out a huge housewife full of needles and thread and buttons, and odds and ends of all sorts. "My thimble won't suit your finger, I've a notion, my little maid," he observed; "but I dare say you've got one of your own in your pocket. Feel for it, will you?" Mary produced a thimble, six of which would have fitted into Tom's. "Ay, I thought so," he said, and seeing us both busily employed, he hurried out of the house. He soon, however, returned, bringing a couple of plum buns for Mary, and some bread and cheese for me, with a small jug of milk. "There, my dears, that'll stay your hunger till Nancy comes to cook some supper for you, and to put things to rights," he said, as he placed them before us. "Good-bye. I'll be back again as soon as I can," and off he went once more. Mary and I, having eaten the provisions he brought in, worked away diligently, thankful to have some employment to occupy our attention. But she stopped every now and then, when her eyes were too full of tears to allow her to see her needle, and sobbed as if her dear heart would break. Then on she went again, sewing as fast as she could, anxious to please old Tom by showing him how much she had done. At length Nancy arrived with a big bundle on her back. "I've brought away all I could," she said, as she deposited her load on the floor. "I'd a hard job to get them, and shouldn't at all, if Tom Swatridge and two other men hadn't come in and said they'd be answerable if everything wasn't all square. He and they were ordering all about the funeral, and I've got two women to stay with the missus till she's put all comfortable into her coffin. Alack! Alack! That I should have to talk about her coffin!" Nancy's feelings overcame her. On recovering, she, without loss of time, began to busy herself with household duties--lighted the fire, put the kettle on to boil, and made up old Tom's bed with some fresh sheets which she had brought. "You and I are to sleep here, Mary," she said, "and Peter is to have a shakedown in the sitting-room." "And where is Tom going to put up himself?" I asked. "That's what he didn't say but I fancy he's going to stay at night with an old chum who has a room near here. He said his place isn't big enough for us all, and so he'd made up his mind to turn out." Such I found to be the case. Nothing would persuade our friend to sleep in his own house, for fear of crowding us. He and several other watermen, old shipmates, and friends of father's, had agreed to defray the expenses of mother's funeral, for otherwise she would have been carried to a pauper's grave. Her furniture and all the property she had possessed were not sufficient to pay her debts contracted during her illness, in spite of all her exertions. We, too, had not Tom taken charge of us, should have been sent to the workhouse, and Nancy would have been turned out into the world to seek her fortune, for her mother was dead, and she had no other relatives. She did talk of trying to get into service, which meant becoming a drudge in a small tradesman's family, that she might help us with her wages; but she could not bring herself to leave Mary; and Tom, indeed, said she must stay to look after her. As father had had no funeral, his old friends wished to show all the respect in their power to his widow, and a score or more attended, some carrying the coffin, and others walking two and two behind, with bits of black crepe round their hats and arms, while Mary and I, and Nancy and Tom, followed as chief mourners all the way to Kingston Cemetery. Nancy, with the help of a friend, a poor seamstress, had managed to make a black frock for Mary and a dress for herself, out of mother's gown, I suspect. They were not very scientifically cut, but she had sat up all night stitching at them, which showed her affection and her desire to do what she considered proper. Some weeks had passed since mother's death, and we were getting accustomed to our mode of life. Tom sent Mary to a school near at hand every morning, and she used to impart the knowledge she obtained to me in the evening, including sometimes even sewing. During the time Mary was at school Nancy went out charing, or tending the neighbours' children, or doing any other odd jobs of which she was capable, thus gaining enough to support herself, for she declared that she could not be beholden to the old man for her daily food. I always went out with Tom in his boat, and I was now big enough to make myself very useful. He used to make me take the helm when we were sailing, and by patiently explaining how the wind acted on the canvas, and showing me the reason of every manoeuvre, soon taught me to manage a boat as well as any man could do, so that when the wind was light I could go out by myself without the slightest fear. "You'll do, Peter; you'll do," said the old man, approvingly, when one day I had taken the boat out to Spithead alongside a vessel and back, he sitting on a thwart with his arms folded, and not touching a rope, though he occasionally peered under the foot of the foresail to see that I was steering right, and used the boat-hook when we were going alongside the vessel, and shoving off, which I should have had to do if he had been steering. "You'll now be able to gain your living, boy, and support Mary till she's old enough to go out to service, if I'm taken from you, and that's what I've been aiming at." Often when going along the Hard a friend would ask him to step into one of the many publics facing it to take a glass of spirits or beer. "No thank ye, mate," he would reply; "if I get the taste of one I shall be wanting another, and I shouldn't be happy if I didn't treat you in return, and I've got something else to do with my money instead of spending it on liquor." I never saw him angry except when hard pressed by an ill-judging friend to step into a public-house. "Would you like to see Jack Trawl's son in a ragged shirt, without shoes to his feet, and his daughter a beggar-girl, or something worse? Then don't be asking me, mate, to take a drop of the poisonous stuff. I know what I used to be, and I know what I should be again if I was to listen to you!" he exclaimed. "Stand out of my way, now! Stand out of my way! Come along, Peter," and, grasping my hand with a grip which made my fingers crack, he stumped along the Hard as fast as he could move his timber toe. It was a pleasure on getting home to find Mary looking bright and cheerful, with her work or books before her, and Nancy busy preparing supper. The old man and I always took our dinner with us--generally a loaf of bread, with a piece of cheese or bacon or fried fish, and sometimes Irish stew in a basin, done up in a cloth, and a stone bottle of water. I remember saying that I was born with a wooden spoon in my mouth, but when I come to reflect what excellent parents I had, and what true friends I found in Tom Swatridge and Nancy, I may say that, after all, it must have been of silver, though perhaps not quite so polished as those found in the mouths of some infants. Another change in my life was about to occur. We had taken off a gentleman from Gosport. From his way of speaking, we found that he was a foreigner, and he told us that he wanted to be put on board a foreign ship lying at Spithead. "Is dere any danger?" he asked, looking out across the Channel, and thinking what a long distance he had to go. "Not a bit, sir," answered Tom, for the water was as smooth as a mill-pond. There was a light air from the southward, and there was not a cloud in the sky. "We might cross the Channel to France for that matter, with weather like this." "Oh no, no! I only want to get to dat sheep out dere!" cried the foreigner, fancying that we might carry him across against his will. "Certainly, mounseer; we'll put you aboard in a jiffy as soon as we gets a breeze to help us along," said Tom. We pulled round Blockhouse Point, along shore, till we came off Fort Monkton, when opening Stokes Bay, the wind hauling a little to the westward, we made sail and stood for Spithead. A number of vessels were brought up there, and at the Mother-bank, off Ryde, among them a few men-of-war, but mostly merchantmen, outward bound, or lately come in waiting for orders. It was difficult as yet to distinguish the craft the foreigner wanted to be put aboard. "It won't matter if we have to dodge about a little to find her, mounseer, for one thing's certain: we couldn't have a finer day for a sail," observed old Tom, as we glided smoothly over the blue water, shining brightly in the rays of the unclouded sun. He gave me the helm while he looked out for the foreign ship. "That's her, I've a notion," he said at length, pointing to a deep-waisted craft with a raised poop and forecastle, and with much greater beam than our own wall-sided merchantmen. "Keep her away a bit, Peter. Steady! That will do." The tide was running to the westward, so that we were some time getting up to the ship. "You'll be aboard presently, if that is your ship, as I suppose, mounseer," said Tom. "Yes, yes; dat is my sheep," answered the foreigner, fumbling in his pockets, I fancied, for his purse. He uttered an exclamation of annoyance. "Ma monie gone! Some villain take it, no doubte. You come aboard de sheep, and I vill give it you, my friend," he said. "One half guinea is de charge, eh? I have also letter to write; you take it and I vill give two shillings more." "All right, mounseer, I will wait your pleasure, and promise to post your letter," answered Tom. As there were several boats alongside, he told me to keep under weigh till he should hail me to come for him, and as he was as active as any man, in spite of his wooden leg, taking the foreigner by the hand, he helped him up on deck. I then hauled the tacks aboard and stood off to a little distance. I waited and waited, watching the ship, and wondering why Tom was so long on board. The wind at last began to drop, and afraid of being carried to leeward, I was on the point of running up alongside when I heard a fearful roaring thundering sound. A cloud of black smoke rose above the ship, followed by lurid names, which burst out at all her ports; her tall masts were shot into the air, her deck was cast upwards, her sides were rent asunder; and shattered fragments of planks, and of timbers and spars, and blocks, and all sorts of articles from the hold, came flying round me. I instinctively steered away from the danger, and though huge pieces of burning wreck fell hissing into the water on either side, and far beyond where I was, none of any size touched the wherry. For a minute or more I was so confounded by the awful occurrence that I did not think of my old friend. I scarcely knew where I was or what I was doing. The moment I recovered my presence of mind I put the boat about, getting out an oar to help her along, and stood back towards the burning wreck, which appeared for a moment like a vast pyramid of flame rising above the surface, and then suddenly disappeared as the waters closed over the shattered hull. I stood up, eagerly gazing towards the spot to ascertain if any human beings had survived the dreadful catastrophe, though it seemed to me impossible that a single person could have escaped. One boat alone was afloat with some people in her, but they were sitting on the thwarts or lying at the bottom, not attempting to exert themselves, all more or less injured. The other boats had been dragged down, as the ship sank. All about were shattered spars and pieces of the deck, and some way off the masts with the yards still fast to them. Here and there was a body floating with the head or a limb torn off. One man was swimming, and I saw another in the distance clinging to a spar, but the former before I could get up to him sank without a cry, and I then steered for the man on the spar, hoping against hope that he might be old Tom. I shouted to him that he might know help was coming, but he did not answer. Meantime boats from the various ships lying around were approaching. I plied my oar with all my might, fearing that the man I have spoken of might let go his hold and be lost like the other before I could reach him. The nearer I got the more I feared that he was not Tom. His face was blackened, his clothes burnt and torn. Then I saw that he had two legs, and knew for certain that he was not my old friend. Still, of course, I continued on till I got up to the spar, when I tried to help the poor man into my boat, for he was too much hurt to get on board by himself. But my strength was insufficient for the purpose, and I was afraid of letting go lest he should sink and be lost. There was no small risk also of my being dragged overboard. Still, I did my best, but could get him no higher than the gunwale. "Well done, youngster! Hold fast, and we'll help you," I heard a voice sing out, and presently a man-of-war's boat dashing up, two of her crew springing into the wherry quickly hauled the man on board. "We must take him to our ship, lads, to let the surgeon attend to him," said the officer, a master's mate in charge of the man-of-war's boat. The man was accordingly lifted into her. It appeared to me, from his sad condition, that the surgeon would be unable to do him any good. "What, did you come out here all by yourself, youngster?" asked the officer. "No, sir, I came out with old Tom Swatridge, who went on board the ship which blew up," I answered. "Then I fear he must have been blown up with her, my lad," said the officer. "I hope not, sir, I hope not," I cried out, my heart ready to break as I began to realise that such might be the case. CHAPTER FIVE. A FRIEND LOST AND A FRIEND GAINED. It seemed but a moment since the ship blew up. I could not believe that old Tom had perished. "Some people have been picked up out there, sir, I think," observed the coxswain to the officer, pointing as he spoke to several boats surrounding the one I had before remarked with the injured men in her. "Maybe the old man the lad speaks of is among them." "Make the wherry fast astern, and we'll pull on and ascertain," said the officer. "If he is not found, or if found is badly hurt, I'll get leave for a couple of hands to help you back with your boat to Portsmouth." "I can take her back easily enough by myself if the wind holds as it does now; thank you all the same, sir," I answered. I felt, indeed, that if my faithful friend really was lost, which I could scarcely yet believe, I would rather be alone; and I had no fear about managing the wherry single-handed. As may be supposed, my anxiety became intense as we approached the boat. "Is old Tom Swatridge saved?" I shouted out. No answer came. "Tom! Tell me, Tom, if you are there!" I again shouted. "Step aboard the boat and see if your friend is among the injured men," said the good-natured officer, assisting me to get alongside. I eagerly scanned the blackened faces of the men sitting up, all of whom had been more or less scorched or burnt. A surgeon who had come off from one of the ships was attending to them. They were strangers to me. Two others lay dead in the bottom of the boat, but neither of them was old Tom. He was gone, of that I could no longer have a doubt. With a sad heart I returned to the wherry. The other boats had not succeeded in saving any of the hapless crew. The ship had been loaded with arms and gunpowder, bound for South America, I heard some one say. "Cheer up, my lad!" said the officer; "you must come aboard the _Lapwing_, and we'll then send you into Portsmouth, as we must have this poor fellow looked to by our surgeon before he is taken to the hospital." The name of the _Lapwing_ aroused me; she was the brig in which my brother Jack had gone to sea. For a moment I forgot my heavy loss with the thoughts that I might presently see dear Jack again. But it was only for a moment. As I sat steering the wherry towed by the man-of-war's boat my eyes filled with tears. What sad news I had to give to Jack! What would become of Mary and Nancy? For myself I did not care, as I knew that I could obtain employment at home, or could go to sea; but then I could not hope for a long time to come to make enough to support them. My chief feeling, however, was grief at the loss of my true-hearted old friend. Soon after we got alongside the brig of war the master's mate told me to come up on deck, while one of the men took charge of the wherry. He at once led me aft to the commander, who questioned me as to how I came to be in the wherry by myself. I described to him all that had happened. "You acted a brave part in trying to save the man from the ship which blew up. Indeed, had you not held on to him he would have been lost," he observed. "I must see that you are rewarded. What is your name?" "Peter Trawl, sir," I answered, and, eager to see Jack, for whom I had been looking out since I got out of the boat, thinking that we should know each other, I added, "I have a brother, sir, who went to sea aboard this brig, and we have been looking out for him ever so long to come home. Please, sir, can I go and find him?" The commander's countenance assumed a look of concern. "Poor fellow! I wish that he was on board for his sake and yours, my lad," he answered. "I cannot say positively that he is dead, but I have too much reason to believe that he is. While we were cruising among the islands of the East Indian Archipelago he formed one of a boat's crew which was, while at a distance from the ship, attacked by a large body of Malay pirates. When we got up we found only on man, mortally wounded, in the bottom of the boat, who before he died said that, to the best of his belief, the officer in charge and the rest of the men had been killed, as he had seen several dragged on board the proas, and then hacked to pieces and hove overboard. "We chased and sank some of the pirate fleet, and made every possible search for the missing men, in case any of them should have escaped on shore, to which they were close at the time of the attack, but no traces of them could be discovered. I left an account of the occurrence with the vessel which relieved me on the station, and should any of the poor fellows have been found I should have been informed of it. It was my intention, as soon as I was paid off the _Lapwing_, to come down to Portsmouth to break the news to his father. Say this from me, and that I yet hope to see him shortly." Commander Rogers seemed very sorry when I told him that father and mother were both dead. He asked me where I lived. I told him, as well as I could describe the house, forgetting that, too probably, Mary and I and Nancy would not be long allowed to remain there. "When I commission another ship, would you like to go with me, my lad?" he asked. "Very much, sir," I answered. "But I have a sister, and I couldn't go away with no one to take care of her; so I must not think of it now Tom Swatridge has gone. All the same, I thank you kindly, sir." "Well, well, my lad; we will see what can be done," he said, and just then a midshipman came up to report that the boat was ready to carry the rescued man, with the surgeon, to the shore. I found that the master's mate, Mr Harvey, and one of the men were going in my boat, and of course I did not like to say that I could get into the harbour very well without them. I touched my hat to the commander, who gave me a kind nod--it would not have done for him, I suppose, to shake hands with a poor boy on his quarter-deck even if he had been so disposed--and then I hurried down the side. I made sail, and took the helm just as if I had been by myself, Mr Harvey sitting by my side, while the seaman had merely to rig out the mainsail with the boat-hook, as we were directly before the wind. "You are in luck, youngster," observed Mr Harvey; "though you have lost one friend you've gained another, for our commander always means what he says, and, depend on it, he'll not lose sight of you." He seemed a very free-and-easy gentleman, and made me tell him all about myself, and how we had lost father and mother, and how Tom Swatridge had taken charge of Mary and me. His cheerful way of talking made me dwell less on my grief than I should have done had I sailed into the harbour all alone. "I should like to go and see your little sister and the faithful Nancy," he said, "but I must return to the brig as soon as that poor man has been carried to the hospital, and I have several things to do on shore. Land me at the Point, you can find your way to the Hard by yourself, I've no doubt." "The boat would find her way alone, sir, she's so accustomed to it," I answered. We ran in among a number of wherries with people embarking from the Point or landing at it. The Point, it should be understood by those who do not know Portsmouth, is a hard shingly beach on the east side, at the mouth of the harbour, and there was at that time close to it an old round stone tower, from which an iron chain formerly extended across to Blockhouse Fort, on the Gosport side, to prevent vessels from coming in without leave. "Here, my lad, is my fare," said Mr Harvey, slipping half a guinea into my hand as he stepped on shore, followed by the seaman; "it will help to keep Nancy's pot boiling till you can look about you and find friends. They will appear, depend on it." Before I could thank him he was away among the motley crowd of persons thronging the Point. I was thankful that no one asked me for old Tom, and, shoving out from among the other boats, I quickly ran on to the Hard. When I landed the trial came. A waterman had gained an inkling of what had occurred from one of the crew of the _Lapwings_ boat, and I was soon surrounded by people asking questions of how it happened. "I can't tell you more," I answered, at length breaking from them. "Tom's gone, and brother Jack's gone, and I must go and look after poor Mary." It was late by the time I reached home. Nancy had got supper ready on the table, and Mary had placed old Tom's chair for him in a snug corner by the fire. They saw that something was the matter, for I couldn't speak for a minute or more, not knowing how to break the news to them. At last I said, with a choking voice, pointing to the chair, "He'll never sit there more!" Dear me, I thought Mary's and Nancy's hearts would break outright when they understood what had happened. It was evident how much they loved the rough old man--I loved him too, but in a different way, I suppose, for I could not ease my heart by crying; indeed I was thinking about what Mary and Nancy would do, and of brother Jack's loss. I did not like to tell Mary of that at first, but it had to come out, and, strange as it may seem, it made her think for the time less about what was to us by far the greater loss. Supper remained long untasted, but at last I felt that I must eat, and so I fell to, and after a time Nancy followed my example and made Mary take something. Nancy then began to talk of what we must do to gain our living, and we sat up till late at night discussing our plans. There was the wherry, and I must get a mate, and I should do very well; then we had the house, for we never dreamed that we should not go on living in it, as we were sure Tom would have wished us to do. Nancy was very sanguine as to how she could manage. Her plain, pock-marked face beamed as she spoke of getting three times as much work as before. Short and awkward as was her figure, Nancy had an heroic soul. Mary must continue to attend school, and in time would be able to do something to help also. We talked on till we almost fell asleep on our seats. The next morning we were up betimes. Nancy got out some black stuff we had worn for mother, a piece of which she fastened round my arm to show respect to old Tom's memory, and after breakfast I hurried out to try and find a mate, that I might lose no time in doing what I could with the wherry. I had thought of Jim Pulley, a stout strong lad, a year or two older than myself, who, though not very bright, was steady and honest, and I knew that I could trust him; his strength would supply my want of it for certain work we had to do. Jim was the first person I met on the Hard. I made my offer to him; he at once accepted it. "To tell the truth, Peter, I was a-coming to say, that if thou hadst not got any one to go in the place of Tom Swatridge, I would help thee till thou art suited for nothing, or if thou wilt find me in bread and cheese I'll be thankful." In a few minutes after this Jim and I were plying for hire in the harbour, and we had not long to wait before we got a fare. The first day we did very well, and I gave Jim a quarter of what we took, with which he was perfectly content. "I wouldn't ask for more, Peter," he said, "for thou hast three mouths to feed, and I have only one." The next few days we were equally successful; indeed I went home every evening in good spirits as to my prospects. I made enough for all expenses, and could lay by something for the repairs of the wherry. Though Jim and I were mere boys, while the weather was fine people took our boat as willingly as they did those of grown men. Sometimes we got parties to go off to the _Victory_, at others across to the Victualling Yard, and occasionally up the harbour to Porchester Castle. We worked early and late, and Jim or I was always on the look-out for a fare. When I got home at night I had generally a good account to give of the day's proceedings. Now and then I asked Jim in to take a cup of tea, and many a hearty laugh we had at what the ladies and gentlemen we had taken out had said and done. Seeing that we were but boys they fancied that they could talk before us in a way they wouldn't have thought of doing if we had been grown men. It must not be supposed that we were able to save much, but still I put by something every week for the repairs of the boat I had got enough to give her a fresh coat of paint, which she much wanted, and we agreed that we would haul her up on Saturday afternoon for the purpose, so that she would be ready for Monday. We carried out our intentions, though it took every shilling I had put by, and we lost more than one fare by so doing. But the wherry looked so fresh and gay, that we hoped to make up for it the next week. Jim went to chapel on the Sunday with Mary and Nancy and me, and spent most of the day with us. He was so quiet and unassuming that we all liked him much. As we had put plenty of dryers in the paint, and the sun was hot on Sunday, by Monday forenoon we were able to ply as usual. We had taken a fare across to Gosport, when a person, whom we supposed to be a gentleman from his gay waistcoat and chains, and his top-boots, and hat stuck on one side, came down to the beach and told us to take him over to Portsea. We soon guessed by the way he talked that, in spite of his fine clothes, he was not a gentleman. "I say, you fellow, do you happen to know whereabouts an old chap, one Tom Swatridge, lives?" he asked of Jim. "He doesn't live anywhere; he's dead," answered Jim. "Dead! Dead, do you say?" he exclaimed. "Who's got his property?" "He had no property that I knows on," answered Jim; "except, maybe--" "Oh yes, he had; and if the old fellow had lived he would have been the possessor of a good round sum; but, as I am his nephew, that will be mine, and everything else he left behind him, the lawyer, Master Six-and-eightpence, as I call him, tells me." All this time I had not liked to say anything, but the last remark made me feel very uncomfortable. The speaker presently took a letter out of his pocket, and, reading it, said, "Ah! I see Mr Gull is the man I've got to go to. Can you show me where Mr Gull, the attorney, lives?" he asked of Jim; "he'll settle up this matter." Jim made no answer, for we were getting near the shore, and had to keep out of the way of two craft coming up the harbour. We soon ran up to the Hard, when the man, stepping out, offered Jim a sixpence. "A shilling's the fare, sir," said Jim, keeping back his hand. "No, no, you young rascal! I know better; but I'll give you another sixpence if you will show me the way to Mr Gull's." "You may find it by yourself," answered Jim, indignantly, as he picked up the sixpence thrown to him by our fare, who walked off. "Half a loaf is better than no bread, Peter, so it's as well not to lose the sixpence," said Jim, laughing. "But no gentleman would have offered less than a shilling. I wonder whether he really is old Tom's nephew?" CHAPTER SIX. TURNED OUT OF HOUSE AND HOME. We had just landed the gaily-dressed individual who had announced himself the nephew of old Tom Swatridge. Thinking that he might possibly be the person he said he was, and not knowing what tricks he might play, I was intending to row home, when a gentleman, with two young ladies and a boy, who I knew by their dress to be Quakers, came down, wishing to take a row round the harbour, and afterwards to visit the Victualling Yard. After we had pulled off some way, I asked if they would like to go aboard the _Victory_. "No, thank thee, young friend, we take no pleasure in visiting scenes, afloat or on shore, where the blood of our fellow-creatures has been shed," answered the gentleman. As he spoke I thought by his look and the tone of his voice that he must be Mr Silas Gray, who had come to our house when the poor girl mother took in was dying, but I did not like to ask him. The young people called him father. At last he began to ask Jim and me questions, and how, young as we were, we came to have a boat by ourselves. "I suppose thy father is ill on shore?" he said. Then I told him how he was lost at Spithead, and mother had died, and old Tom had been blown up, and I had taken his wherry, seeing there was no one else to own her; and how Mary and Nancy and I lived on in his house. "And art thou and this other lad brothers?" he inquired. "No, sir; but Jim Pulley and I feel very much as if we were," I answered. "My name is Peter Trawl." "And was thy mother a bumboat-woman, a true, honest soul, one of the excellent of the earth?" he asked. "Ay, ay, sir! That was my mother," I said, my heart beating with pleasure to hear her so spoken of. Then he told me that he was Mr Silas Gray, and asked if I remembered the visits he used to pay to our house. Of course I did. The young ladies and his son joined in the conversation, and very pleasant it was to hear them talk. We were out the whole afternoon, and it was quite late when we got back to Portsea. Mr Gray said that he was going away the next morning with his family to London, but that when he returned he would pay Mary a visit, and hoped before the summer was over to take some more trips in my wherry. He paid us liberally, and he and the young people gave us kind smiles and nods as they stepped on shore. While we were out I had not thought much about the fare we had brought across from Gosport in the morning, but now, recollecting what he had said, I hurried home, anxious to hear if he had found out the house. I had not to ask, for directly I appeared Nancy told me that while Mary was at school an impudent fellow had walked in and asked if old Tom Swatridge had once lived there, and when she said "Yes," had taken a note of everything, and then sat down and lighted his pipe, and told her to run out and bring him a jug of ale. "`A likely thing, indeed!' I answered him," said Nancy; "`what! When I come back to find whatever is worth taking carried off, or maybe the door locked and I unable to get in!' The fellow laughed when I said this--a nasty sort of a laugh it was--and said, `Ay! Just so.' I didn't know exactly what he meant, but presently he sang out, `What! Are you not gone yet, gal?' `No, and I shan't,' I answered; `and when Peter and Jim come in you'll pretty quickly find who has to go.' On this he thundered out, trying to frighten me, `Do you know that I am old Tom Swatridge's nephew and heir-at-law,' [I think that's what he called himself], `and that this house and everything in it is mine, and the wherry, and any money the old chap left behind him? I'll soon prove that you and your brother are swindlers, and you'll be sent off to prison, let me tell you.' He took me for Mary, do you see, Peter; and I was not going to undeceive him? I felt somewhat nonplussed when he said this, but without answering I walked to the window, working with my needle as I was doing when he came in, and looked out as if I was expecting you and Jim to be coming. I would give him no food, nor even a drink of water; so at last he grew tired, and, saying I should see him again soon, swinging his cane and whistling, he walked away." "What do you think, Peter? Can he really be old Tom's nephew?" asked Mary, when Nancy ceased speaking. "One thing is certain, that if he proves himself to be so we shall be bound to turn out of this house, and to give up the wherry," I answered. "Oh, Peter! What shall we do, then?" exclaimed Mary. "The best we can, my sister," I said. "Perhaps the man may not be able to prove that he is what he calls himself. I have heard of impostors playing all sorts of tricks. We'll hope for the best. And now, Nancy, let us have some supper." Though I tried to keep up the spirits of Mary and Nancy, I felt very anxious, and could scarcely sleep for thinking on the subject. Whatever might happen for myself I did not care, but I was greatly troubled about what Mary and Nancy would do. I naturally thought of Commander Rogers, from whom all this time I had heard nothing, though he had promised to come and see after Mary and me. Mr Gray had said that he was going away again, so that I could not obtain advice from him. "I have God to trust to, that's a comfort," I thought, and I soon dropped off to sleep. The next morning I remained at home to a later hour than usual. Just as I was going out a man came to the door, who said he was sent by Lawyer Gull, and put a paper into my hand, which he told me was a something I could not exactly make out, to quit the house within twenty-four hours. "His client, the owner of the property, wishes not to act harshly, so refrains from taking stronger measures at present," said the clerk, who, having performed his task, went away. I stopped a few minutes to talk with Mary and Nancy. Mary said quietly that if we must go we must, and that we had better look out for cheap lodgings at once. Nancy was very indignant, and declared that we had no business to turn out for such a scamp as that. Old Tom had never spoken of having a nephew; she did not believe the fellow was his nephew, and certainly, if he was, Tom would not have left his property to him. She advised me, however, to go out and try to get advice from some one who knew more about the law than she did. I accordingly set off for the Hard, where I was sure to find several friends among the watermen. I had not got far when I met Jim Pulley, looking very disconsolate. "What is the matter, Jim," I asked. "We've lost the wherry!" he exclaimed, nearly blubbering. "Two big fellows came down, and, asking what boat she was, told me to step ashore: and when I said I wouldn't for them, or for any one but you, they took me, crop and heels, and trundled me out of her." "That is only what I feared," I said. "I was coming down to find some one to advise us what to do." "Then you couldn't ask any better man than Bob Fox, he's been in prison half a score of times for smuggling and such like, so he must know a mighty deal about law," he answered. We soon found Bob Fox, who was considered an oracle on the Hard, and a number of men gathered round while he expressed his opinion. "Why, you see, mates, it's just this," he said, extending one of his hands to enforce his remarks; "you must either give in or go to prison when they brings anything agen you, and that, maybe, is the cheapest in the end; or, as there's always a lawyer on t'other side, you must set another lawyer on to fight him, and that's what I'd advise to be done in this here case. Now I knows a chap, one Lawyer Chalk, who's as sharp as a needle, and if any man can help young Peter and his sister to keep what is their own he'll do it. I'm ready to come down with some shiners to pay him, for, you see, these lawyer folk don't argify for nothing, and I'm sure some on you who loves justice will help Jack and Polly Trawl's children; so round goes the hat." Suiting the action to the word, Bob, taking off his tarpaulin, threw a handful of silver into it, and his example being followed by a number of other men, he grasped me by the hand, and set off forthwith to consult Lawyer Chalk. We quickly reached his office. Mr Chalk, a quiet-looking little man, with easy familiar manners, which won the confidence of his illiterate constituents, knowing Bob Fox well, received us graciously. His eyes glittered as he heard the money chink in Bob's pocket. "It's all as clear as a pikestaff," he observed, when he heard what I had got to say. "They must prove first that this fellow who has turned up is Tom Swatridge's nephew; then that he is his heir-at-law, and finally that the house and boat belonged to the deceased. Now possession is nine-tenths of the law; you've got them, and you must hold them till the law turns you out." "I couldn't, sir, if another has a better right to them than I have," I answered. "I lived on in the house and used the wherry because I was sure that old Tom would have wished me to do so, but then I didn't know that he had any relation to claim them." "And you don't know that he has any relation now," said Mr Chalk; "that has to be proved, my lad. The law requires proof; that's the beauty of the law. The man may swear till he's black in the face that he is the deceased's nephew, but if he has no proof he'll not gain his cause." Bob Fox was highly delighted with our visit to the lawyer. "I told you so, lad; I told you so!" he exclaimed, rubbing his hands; "t'other chap will find he has met his match. Bless you! Old Chalk's as keen as a razor." As I could not use the wherry, I went home feeling in much better spirits than before about our prospects. I was able even to cheer up Mary and Nancy. I told them that, by Lawyer Chalk's advice, we were not to quit the house, and that he would manage everything. No one appeared during the day. The next morning we had breakfast as usual, and as the time went by I was beginning to hope that we should be unmolested, when two rough-looking men came to the door, and, though Nancy sprang up to bar them out, in they walked. One of them then thrust a paper out to her, but she drew back her hand as if it had been a hot iron. The man again attempted to make her take it. "One of you must have it," he growled out. "No, no! I couldn't make head or tail of it if I did," answered Nancy, still drawing back. "Let me have it," I said, wishing to know what the men really came for. "The sum total is, that you and the rest of you are to move away from this, and if you don't go sharp we're to turn you out!" exclaimed the bailiff, losing patience at the time I took to read the document. "It's an order of ejectment, you'll understand." "Don't you mind what it is, Peter!" exclaimed Nancy; "Mr Chalk said we was to stay here, and stay we will for all the scraps of paper in the world!" And Nancy, seating herself in a chair, folded her arms, and cast defiant looks at the officers of the law. They were, however, up to the emergency. Before either she or I were aware of what they were about to do, they had secured her arms to the back of the chair, and then, lifting it and her up, carried her out of the house and deposited her in the street, in spite of the incautious attempt I made to effect a rescue. The moment I got outside the house one of the bailiffs, turning round, seized me in a vice-like grasp, and the other then entering, led out Mary, who saw that resistance was hopeless. He next walked back, took the key from the door, and, having locked it, released Nancy and re-entered the house with the chair. Before Nancy could follow him he had shut himself in, while his companion, letting me go with a shove which sent me staggering across the street, walked off, I concluded to tell the lawyer who sent him and his mate that they had got possession of the house. Nancy was standing, with her fists clenched, too much astonished at the way she had been treated to speak. Mary was in tears, trembling all over. "Oh, Peter, what are we to do?" she asked. "I'll go to Lawyer Chalk and hear what he says," I answered. "If the house and boat ought to be ours, he'll get them back; if not, I can't say just now what we must do. Meantime do you and Nancy go to Widow Simmons's, and wait there. She was always a friend of mother's, and will be glad to help you." Mary agreed, but Nancy, who at length found her tongue, declared that she wasn't going to lose sight of the house, and that she would stay where she was and watch and tell the folks who passed how we had been treated. As nothing I could say would induce her to move, I accompanied Mary to the widow's, where I left her, and hastened on to Mr Chalk's. The lawyer made a long face when I told him how we had been treated. "I told you that `possession is nine-tenths of the law,' my lad, and now they are in and you are out," he answered. "It's a bad job--but we'll see what can be done. We must obtain at all events your clothes, and any other private property you may possess. Now go, my lad, and call upon me in a week or two; I shall see Bob Fox in the meantime." Soon after leaving the lawyer's I met Jim Pulley. Having seen Nancy, he was fuming with indignation at our having been turned out of our home, and proposed trying to break into the house to regain possession, but I had sense enough to know that we must abide by the law, whichever way that decided I found Nancy still keeping watch before the door, and vehemently appealing to all who would stop to listen to her. It was with some difficulty that I at length persuaded her to go with me to Mrs Simmons's. The kind widow was willing to give us shelter, and as Mary had fortunately my savings in her pocket, we had sufficient to pay for our food for some days. The next morning Mary went as usual to school; Nancy left the house, saying that she was going to look for work, and I set out, hoping to find employment in a wherry with one of the men who knew me. CHAPTER SEVEN. HELP COMES WHEN LEAST EXPECTED. I found it more difficult to obtain employment with wages sufficient to support Mary and me, not to speak of Nancy, than I had expected. Jim and I tried to hire a boat, but we could not obtain one to suit us for any sum we could hope to pay. Ours, for so we still called her, had been carried off, and locked up in a shed at Portsmouth. He and I picked up a sixpence or a shilling now and then, but some days we got nothing. There was a great risk of our becoming what my father had so strongly objected to "long-shore loafers." I would not desert Jim, who had served me so faithfully, and so we tried, as far as we could, to work together. Sometimes he talked of going off to sea, but as I could not leave Mary his heart failed him at the thought of going without me. At the time appointed I called on Lawyer Chalk. "Sorry to say we are beaten, my lad," were the words with which he greeted me. "I fought hard, but there's no doubt that Mr Gull's client is the nephew of Tom Swatridge, who died intestate, consequently his nephew is his heir. Had the old man wisely come to me I would have drawn up a will for him, securing his property to you or any one he might have desired. I am very sorry for you, but law is law, and it can't be helped. I hope that you will find employment somewhere soon. Good-day to you." And he waved me out of his office. In consequence of his failure in my cause, Lawyer Chalk sank considerably in the estimation of Bob Fox and his friends, who declared that the next time they wanted legal advice they would try what Lawyer Gull could do for them. I should have said that a day or two before he had sent a clerk armed with due authority to accompany Nancy and Mary, who brought away our clothing and all the articles which we had purchased with our own money. Curiously enough, I did not again set eyes on Mr Eben Swatridge, who was, I understood, the son of a younger brother of old Tom, who had gone into business in London and made money. Some property having been left to the two brothers, or to the survivor of either, Eben had been compelled to make inquiries respecting his long unrecognised uncle, and had thus been induced to pay the visit to Portsea which had produced such disastrous results to Mary and me. The house and furniture and wherry were sold, and directly afterwards he disappeared from Portsmouth. Perhaps he thought it wise to keep out of the way of Bob Fox and the other sturdy old salts who supported me. Not that one of them would have laid a finger on him, and Mary and I agreed that, far from having any ill-feeling, we should have been ready, for his uncle's sake, to have been friends if he had explained to us at the first who he was and his just rights in a quiet way. We had now a hard struggle to make the two ends meet. Mrs Simmons fell ill, and Mary, who could no longer go to school, had to attend on her, and I had to find food and, as it turned out, to pay her rent, she being no longer able to work for her own support. I did not grumble at this, for I was grateful to her for her kindness to us; but though we stinted ourselves to the utmost, we often had not a sixpence in the house to buy fit nourishment for the poor old lady. Nancy was ready to slave from morning to night, but was often unsuccessful in obtaining work, so that she made scarcely enough to support herself; she might have got a situation, but she would not leave Mary. Whenever honest Jim Pulley could save a shilling he brought it, as he said, for the widow, though I knew that besides his wish to help her he was much influenced by his regard for us. I often thought when the winter came what he and I should do then. I did not say anything to Mary about the future, but tried to keep up her spirits, for I saw that her cheek was becoming pale, and she was growing thinner and thinner every day. At last one morning, when I had got up just at daylight, and having taken a crust of bread and a drink of water for breakfast, was about to go out in search of work, Nancy came into the room, and said-- "I don't know what has come over Mary, but she has been talking and talking ever so strangely all night, and her cheek is as hot as a live cinder." I hurried into the little back room Mary and Nancy occupied next to the widow's. A glance told me that my dear little sister was in a high fever. My heart was ready to burst, for she did not know me Mrs Simmons was too ill to get up and say what she thought of its nature. "I must run for the doctor, Nancy," I exclaimed; "there's not a moment to lose;" and snatching up my hat I rushed out of the house, assured that Nancy would do her best in the meantime. I had caught sight of Dr Rolt passing along the street on the previous day, so I knew that he was at home, and I felt more inclined to go to him than to Mr Jones. I ran as I had not run for a long time, and no one ventured to stop me now. The doctor was on foot, early as was the hour. He remembered mother and Mary and me the moment I mentioned my name. "I'll come to see your little sister directly," he said. I waited for him, fearing that he might not find the house. He was soon ready, and, considering his age, I was surprised how well he kept up with me. I eagerly ushered him into the house. He had not been long with Mary before he sent me off to the chemist to get some medicine, for which I had fortunately enough in my pocket to pay. When I came back he gave it to her himself, and said that he would send some more in the evening; but he would not tell me what he thought of her. I will not dwell on this unhappy time. The doctor came twice every day and sometimes oftener, but Mary seemed to be getting no better. I had to go out to get work, but all I could make was not sufficient for our expenses, and I had to run into debt, besides which the widow's rent was due, and she could not pay it. One day Jim brought me a few shillings, which he said the watermen had given him, but times were bad with most of them, and they could do but little. This enabled me to get some things absolutely necessary for Mary and food for the rest of us. The landlord called two or three times for rent, and at last said that he must put in a distress if it was not paid. The thought of what the consequence of this would be to Mary made me tremble with fear. Ill as she and Mrs Simmons were, their beds might, notwithstanding, be taken from beneath them. The widow might be carried off to the workhouse, and we should be turned into the street I begged hard for delay, and promised that I would do all I could to raise the money. The landlord replied that he would give us two days more, but would not listen to anything further I had to say. The doctor had just before called, so that I could not then tell him of our difficulty. He had not yet given me any assurance that he thought Mary would recover. Nancy could not leave the house, as she was required every moment to attend on her and Mrs Simmons. I was not likely to find Dr Rolt till the evening, so I determined to consult Jim and Bob Fox. I soon met Jim; he was ready to cry when I told him. He scratched his head and rubbed his brow, in vain trying to suggest something. "Bob can't help us either," he said, at length. "He's got into trouble. Went away three days ago over to France in a smuggling lugger, the _Smiling Lass_, and she was catched last night with tubs aboard, so he's sure to want all the money he can get to pay Lawyer Chalk to keep him out of prison, if that's to be done, but I'm afeared even old Chalk will be nonplussed this time." "I wonder whether Lawyer Chalk would lend me the money," I said. "Might as well expect to get a hen's egg out of a block of granite," answered Jim. On inquiry I found that all my friends from whom I had the slightest hope of assistance were away over at Ryde, Cowes, or Southampton. "I tell you, Peter, as I knowed how much you wanted money, I'd a great mind to go aboard the _Smiling Lass_ t'other day, when Bob axed me. It's a good job I didn't, isn't it?" "I am very glad you didn't, not only because you would have been taken, but because you would have broken the law," I answered. "Father always set his face against smuggling." "Yes, maybe he did," said Jim, who did not see that smuggling was wrong as clearly as I did. "But now what's to be done?" "We'll go down to the Hard, and try to pick up a job," I answered. "A few pence will be better than nothing." We each got a job in different boats. The one I was in took some passengers over to Ryde, and thence some others to Spithead and back, so that it was late when I got home with a shilling and a few pence in my pocket. Mary was no better. The doctor had been, and Nancy had told him of the landlord's threats, but he had made no remark. "I'll tell you what I'll do, Nancy," I said; "I'll offer the landlord this shilling when he comes to-morrow to show that I am in earnest, and perhaps he will let us off for another day or two." "Better hear what the doctor thinks when he comes in the morning. I don't think that he'll allow Mary and Widow Simmons to have their beds taken from under them. Cheer up, Peter! Cheer up!" I did cheer up a little when Jim came in and brought another shilling, his day's earnings, declaring that he'd had a good dinner, and had still some coppers in his pocket to pay for the next day's breakfast. He, however, could not resist eating some bread and cheese which Nancy pressed on him before he went away. I could scarcely close my eyes for thinking of what the morrow might bring forth. About midnight Nancy came in and told me that Mary was sleeping more calmly than she had done since she was taken ill. Hoping that this was a good sign my mind became less disquieted, and I fell asleep. The next morning the usual hour for the doctor's coming passed and he did not appear. We waited and waited, anxious to know whether Mary really was better. At last there came a knocking at the door, and in walked the landlord, with a couple of men at his heels. "Have you the rent ready, good people?" he asked, in a gruff tone. "No, sir; but I have two shillings, and I promise to pay as much as I can every day till you've got what you demand," I said, as fast as I could speak. The men laughed as I said this. "Two shillings! That won't go no way, my lad," cried the landlord. "Let me see, why this old pot and kettle and the cups and plates, and table and chairs, and everything in this room won't sell for more than half my demands, so we must have the bedsteads and bedding and a chest of drawers or so; and as the old woman in there won't ever be able to pay me more rent, she and all of you must turn out with what remains! So now, Crouch and Scroggins, do your duty." The moment he had entered the house Nancy, passing behind me, had locked Mary's and Mrs Simmons's doors, and having put the keys in her pocket, had slipped into the scullery or little back kitchen, where we often cooked in summer. One of the men was in the act of placing one chair upon another, and his companion was approaching Mary's room, when suddenly Nancy rushed out of the back kitchen with a red-hot poker in her hand, and placing herself before it, exclaimed-- "Step an inch nearer if ye dare, ye cowards! Out on ye, Mr Grimes, to come and disturb a fever-sick girl and an old dying woman for the sake of a few filthy shillings! Peter here has offered you some, and has promised to pay you more when he can get them, and I promise too; and now let me see if one of you dare to lay a finger on any of Missus Simmons's things! Get out of this house! Get out of this house, I say!" And she began flourishing her poker and advancing towards the intruders in a way which made them beat a rapid retreat towards the door, Mr Grimes scrambling off the first, and shouting out-- "Assault and battery! I'll make you pay for this, you young vixen!" "I don't mind your salt and butter, nor what you call me either," cried Nancy; and she was just slamming the door behind them, when two persons appeared as if about to enter, one of whom exclaimed, in a voice which I recognised as that of Dr Rolt-- "Why, my good girl, what is all this about?" "They said that they was a-going to take Mary's and the widow's beds and all the things away, sir, and I wouldn't let them," she answered, panting and still grasping the hot poker. "Verily, daughter, thou hast taken a very effectual way of preventing them," said the other person, who I now saw to my great joy was Mr Silas Gray. He and the doctor at once entered the house. "Now listen to me, damsel," he continued. "Thou hast been prompted by affectionate zeal to defend thy friends, I doubt not, but nevertheless thou hast acted illegally, and the consequences to thyself may be serious; however, I will say no more on the subject at present. Put back thy weapon into the fireplace and attend on friend Rolt, who desires to see his patients." I saw Mr Gray and the doctor exchange smiles as Nancy, producing the keys from her pocket, unlocked the doors. He now, observing me, said-- "Tell me, my lad, how all this happened. I thought that thou wast doing well with thy wherry." So while the doctor was seeing Mary and Mrs Simmons, I gave him an exact account of all that had happened since the day he and his family were out with Jim and me on the water. I had just finished, when the doctor came into the room. "I can give you a favourable account of your young sister, my lad," said Dr Rolt. "Her patience and obedience, aided by Nancy's care, have been much in her favour, and she will, I trust, shortly recover. As soon as she has gained sufficient strength our friend Mr Gray wishes her to be removed to his house, and Nancy can remain here to look after the poor widow, whose days on earth are numbered." "Oh, thank you, gentlemen; thank you!" I exclaimed, my heart swelling so that I could scarcely utter the words. "And what about yourself, my son?" asked Mr Gray. "Oh, Jim and I will try to rub on together, and I'll try to pay the widow's rent as I promised, if you'll speak a word, sir, to Mr Grimes and get him not to press for payment," I answered. "Set thy mind at rest on that point. I will satisfy the demands of the widow's landlord," said Mr Gray; and he then added, "Come to my house to-morrow, and I will meantime consider what can be done to put you in the way of gaining your daily bread. I desire to show thee that I am pleased with thy conduct, but it were small kindness were I to enable thee to live in idleness." Again thanking Mr Gray from the bottom of my heart, I said, "What I want, sir, is work. Help me to get that, and it will be all I ask." Before going away Mr Gray saw Mary for a short time, and paid a long visit to poor Mrs Simmons, which she said did her heart good. I had never felt so happy in my life, and could not resist going out to tell Jim Pulley. "Ask him to set thee up with a wherry and we'll go out together again as we used to do. That will be fine, and we'll be as merry as two crickets!" he exclaimed. "I think I ought to leave it with him," I answered. "A wherry costs a lot of money, and he has already been very generous, though I should like him to do as you propose, and I promise you, Jim, whatever he proposes, to stick by you." "That's all I care for," answered my friend. He accompanied me to the door, but would not come in for fear of disturbing Mary. The next day I went to see Mr Gray, who lived in a pretty house some way out of Portsmouth. He and his daughters received me very kindly. He had, he said, been considering what he could do for me. He would obtain a wherry for me, but he considered that the life of a waterman was not suited to a lad like me, and he then said that he was a shipowner, and was about to despatch a brig in a few days to the coast of Norway for timber, and that, if I pleased, he would send me on board her as an apprentice. Also, as he considered that I was already a seaman, he would give me a trifle of pay. Remembering what my father used to say about not wishing Jack "to become a long-shore lubber," I at once replied that I would thankfully have accepted his offer, but that I could not desert Jim Pulley, who would well-nigh break his heart, if I were to go away without him. "Nor need thee do that, my son," he answered. "I will provide a berth also for thy friend on board the _Good Intent_, and he and thou need not be parted. I approve of thy constancy to him and of his faithfulness to thee. A long-shore life, such as thou wouldst lead if thou wast owner of a wherry, would be dangerous if not demoralising, albeit thou might live comfortably enough." "But, sir, what will my sister do without me when she recovers and leaves you, and where will Nancy go when the widow dies?" "I will be chargeable for both of them. Set thy mind at rest on that point. Should I be called away--and no man knows how long he has to live--I will direct my daughters to watch over them. Thou and thy friend Jim can, in the meantime, follow thy vocation of watermen, so that thou mayest eat the fruit of thy labours, which is sweeter far to brave hearts like thine than food, bestowed in charity." I did my best to thank Mr Gray as I ought, and hastened back to tell Mary and Nancy and Jim. "I'd have gone with thee, Peter, even if it had been to Botany Bay, or any of them outlandish parts," exclaimed Jim, when I told him what Mr Gray had promised. "I am glad; yes, I am glad!" We both tried at once to get employment, and did very well that afternoon and on the two following days. When I got home on the evening of the last I found that a message had been left by Mr Gray when he visited the widow and Mary, directing Jim and me to go the next morning at nine o'clock on board the _Good Intent_, which had just come into the Commercial Dock. I hastened off to tell Jim at once. As may be supposed, we were up betimes, and as we got to the dock before the hour appointed we were able to examine the _Good Intent_ at our leisure. She was a fair enough looking craft, but as she was deep in the water, having only just begun to discharge a cargo of coals brought from the north, and had a dingy appearance, from the black dust flying about, we could not judge of her properly. As the bells of Saint Thomas's Church began to strike nine we stepped on board, and directly afterwards Mr Gray, followed by a short, broad, oldish man, who had not a bit the look of a skipper, though such I guessed he was, came out of the cabin. "Right! Punctuality saves precious hours," said Mr Gray, with an approving nod. "These are the lads I desire to commit to thy care, Captain Finlay. Instruct them in their duties, so that they may become able seamen, and they will repay thy teaching." "I'll act justly by the laddies, Mr Gray, but there's an auld saying that `ye canna make a silk purse out of a sow's ear.' If they dinna keep their wits awake, or if they ha' na wits to keep awake, all the teaching in the world will na make them sailors." "They are fair sailors already, and thou wilt find them handy enough, I hope," observed Mr Gray. After putting a few questions, Captain Finlay told us to come aboard the next day but one with our bags, by which time the cargo would be discharged. We set off home greatly pleased, though puzzled to know how we should obtain a decent kit. With Nancy's help, I might be pretty well off, but poor Jim had scarcely a rag to his back besides the clothes he stood in. In the evening, however, a note came from Mr Gray with an order on an outfitter to give us each a complete kit suited to a cold climate. We were not slow to avail ourselves of it. The next day Dr Rolt considered Mary sufficiently well to be removed, and Mr Gray sent a closed carriage to convey her to his house. The doctor told me to be ready to accompany her, and kindly came himself. It was the first time I had ever been in a coach, and the rolling and pitching made me feel very queer. The young ladies received us as if we had been one of themselves, and Mary was carried up into a pretty, neat room, with white dimity curtains to the bed, and the fresh air blowing in at the open window. "I'll leave her to you, now, Miss Hannah," said the doctor. "This is all she requires, with your watchful care." After I had had a short talk with Mary alone I took my leave, and Miss Hannah told me to be sure to come back and see them before the _Good Intent_ sailed. It was not likely I should forget to do that. Jim and I now went to live on board the brig. We had plenty of work, cleaning out the hold and getting rid of the coal-dust, and then we scrubbed the deck, and blacked down the rigging, and painted the bulwarks and masts, till the change in the appearance of the dingy collier was like that of a scullery-maid when she puts on her Sunday best. We did not mind the hard work, though it was a good deal harder than any we had been accustomed to, but the master and the rest of the crew set us a good example. There was little grumbling, and what surprised me, no swearing, such as I had been accustomed to hear on the Hard. Captain Finlay would not allow it, and the mate supported him in checking any wrong expressions which some of the men had been in the habit of uttering. I got leave to run up and see Mary and to bid Nancy and Mrs Simmons good-bye. Miss Hannah and her sisters seemed to be making a great deal of Mary. It was evident they liked her much, and I was not surprised at that. The widow I never expected to see again. Nancy would scarcely let me go. "Oh, Peter, Peter! What should us do if anything was to happen to ye out on the cruel sea!" she cried, as she held my hand and rubbed her eyes with her apron. The next day the _Good Intent_ went out of harbour, and I began in earnest the seafaring life I was destined to lead. CHAPTER EIGHT. MY FIRST VOYAGE. Wind south-south-west. The North Foreland had been rounded; the countless craft, of all sizes and rigs, generally to be found off the mouth of the Thames, had been cleared, and the _Good Intent_, with studding-sails alow and aloft, was standing across the German Ocean. Jim and I soon found our sea-legs, and were as well able to go aloft to reef topsails as the older hands. We were already well up to the ordinary duties of seamen, and could take our place at the helm with any of them. "Mr Gray was not mistaken about thee, laddie," said the captain to me one day as I came aft to the wheel. "Go on as thou hast begun; obey God, and thou wilt prosper." I was much pleased with this praise, for the old man was not given to throwing words away. While I steered he stood by telling me not only what to do then, but how to act under various circumstances. At other times he made me come into the cabin and gave me lessons in navigation to fit me to become a mate and master. Jim, being unable to read, and showing no aptitude for learning, had not the same advantages. We both of us lived forward with the men, some of whom were a little jealous of the favour I received, and not only played me tricks, ordered me to do all sorts of disagreeable jobs, and gave me a taste of the rope's-end on the sly, but tried hard to set Jim against me. They soon, however, found out that they were not likely to succeed, for though Jim did not mind how they treated him, he was always ready to stick up for me. The forecastle of the _Good Intent_ was thus not a paradise to either of us. The greater number of the men were, however, well-disposed, and it was only when they were on deck that the others dared to behave as I have described, while, as we would not complain, the mate knew nothing of what was going forward below. I remember thinking to myself, "If these sort of things can be done on board a ship, with a well-disciplined crew and a good captain and mate, how hard must be the lot of the unhappy boys serving in a craft where the captain, officers, and men are alike brutal!" Jim was always ready to oblige, and I did my best to win over my enemies by trying to show that I did not mind how they treated me, and I soon succeeded. We were, I should have said, bound out to Bergen, on the coast of Norway, for a cargo of hides, tallow, salt fish, and spars, which we were to carry to London. The weather had hitherto been fine, a great advantage to Jim and me, as we had time to learn our duties and to get accustomed to going aloft before our nerves and muscles were put to any severe test. But though the sea was smooth, the breeze, which had at first carried us briskly along, shifted to the northward, so that we made but slow progress. Now we stood on one tack, now on the other, the wind each time heading us. At last the grumblers began to declare that we should never make our port. "The old craft has got a run of ill-luck, there's something worse a-going to happen," said Sam Norris, one of my chief persecutors, as during his watch below he sat with his arms folded on his chest in the fore-peak. "I seed a black cat come aboard the night afore we left the docks, and no one knows that she ever went ashore again." Some of the men looked uncomfortable at Sam's statement, but others laughed. "What harm could the black cat do, if she did come aboard?" I inquired. "Probably she came to look for rats, and having killed all she could find, slipped ashore again unseen by any one." "I didn't say a she-cat. It looked like a big tom-cat; but who knows that it was really a cat at all?" said Sam. "If it wasn't a tom-cat, what was it?" asked Bob Stout, a chum of Sam's. "Just what neither you nor I would like to meet if we had to go down into the hold alone," said Sam, in a mysterious tone. Just then the watch below was summoned on deck to shorten sail. Not a bit too soon either, and we were quickly swarming aloft and out on the yards. To reef sails in smooth water is easy enough, but when the ship is pitching into the fast-rising seas and heeling over to the gale, with the wind whistling through the rigging, blocks rattling, ropes lashing about, the hard canvas trying to escape from one's grip, and blatters of rain and sleet and hail in one's face, it is no pleasant matter. We had taken two reefs in the topsails, and even then the brig had as much canvas on her as she could stand up to, and we had all come down on deck, with the exception of Jim, who had been on the foreyard, when the mate, seeing a rope foul, ordered him to clear it. Jim performed his duty, but instead of coming down as he ought to have done, remained seated on the foreyard, holding on by the lift to get accustomed to the violent motion, in which he seemed to take a pleasure. The mate, not observing this, came aft to speak to the captain, who shortly afterwards, finding that the brig was falling off from the wind, which had before been baffling, having shifted ahead, ordered her to be put about. "Down with the helm," cried the captain. I saw the men hauling at the braces, when, looking up, I caught sight of Jim at the yardarm. I shrieked out with terror, expecting that the next instant, as the yardarm swung round, he would be dashed to pieces on the deck, or hove off into the raging sea. The kind-hearted mate, recollecting him, came rushing forward, also believing that his destruction was certain, unless he could be caught as he fell. My heart beat, and my eyes were fixed on my friend as if they would start out of my head I wildly stretched out my hands, yet I felt that I could do nothing to save him, when he made a desperate spring, and catching hold of the backstay, came gliding down by it on deck as if nothing particular had happened, scarcely conscious, indeed, of the fearful danger he had escaped. The mate rated him in stronger language than he generally used for his carelessness, winding up by asking: "Where do you think you would have been, boy, if you hadn't have jumped when you did or had missed your aim?" "Praise God for His great mercy to thee, laddie, and may thou never forget it all the days of thy life," said the old captain, who had beckoned Jim aft to speak to him. Jim, touching his hat, answered, "Ay, ay, sir!" but he was, perhaps, less aware of the danger he had been in than any one on board. The gale increased; several heavy seas struck the old brig, making her quiver from stem to stern, and at last one heavier than the rest breaking on board, carried the starboard bulwarks forward clean away. Some of the men were below; Jim and I and others were aft, and the rest, though half-drowned, managed to secure themselves. To avoid the risk of another sea striking her in the same fashion, the brig was hove-to under a close-reefed fore-topsail. As we had plenty of sea room, and the brig was tight as a bottle, so the mate affirmed, there was no danger; still, I for one heartily wished that the weather would moderate. I had gone aft, being sent by the cook to obtain the ingredients of a plum-pudding for the cabin dinner. Not thinking of danger, on my return I ran along on the lee side of the deck, but before I reached the caboose I saw a mountain sea rolling up with a terrific roar, and I heard a voice from aft shout, "Hold on for your lives!" Letting go the basin and dish I had in my hands, I grasped frantically at the nearest object I could meet with. It was a handspike sticking in the windlass, but it proved a treacherous holdfast, for, to my horror, out it came at the instant that the foaming sea broke on board, and away I was carried amid the whirl of waters right out through the shattered bulwarks. All hope of escape abandoned me. In that dreadful moment it seemed that every incident in my life came back to my memory; but Mary was the chief object of my thoughts. I knew that I was being carried off into the hungry ocean, and, as I supposed, there was no human aid at hand to save me, when the brig gave a violent lee lurch, and before I was borne away from her side I felt myself seized by the collar of my jacket, and dragged by a powerful arm, breathless and stunned with the roar of waters in my ears, into the galley. The cook, who had retreated within it when the sea struck the brig, had caught sight of me, and at the risk of his life had darted out, as a cat springs on her prey, and saved me. I quickly recovered my senses, but was not prepared for the torrent of abuse which my preserver, Bob Fritters, poured out on me for having come along on the lee instead of the weather side of the deck. Two or three of the watch who had been aft and fancied that I had been carried overboard, when they found that I was safe, instead of expressing any satisfaction, joined the cook in rating me for my folly. Feeling as I suppose a half-drowned rat might do, I was glad to make my escape below, where, with the assistance of Jim, I shifted into dry clothes, while he hurried on deck to obtain a fresh supply of materials for the captain's pudding. Shortly after this the gale abated, and the brig was again put on her course. I had been sent aloft one morning soon after daybreak to loose the fore-royal, when I saw right ahead a range of blue mountains, rising above the mist which still hung over the ocean. I knew that it must be the coast of Norway, for which we were bound. "Land! Land!" I shouted, pointing in the direction I saw the mountains, which I guessed were not visible from the deck. The mate soon came aloft to judge for himself. "You are right, Peter," he said. "We have made a good landfall, for if I mistake not we are just abreast of the entrance to the Bay of Jeltefiord, at the farther end of which stands Bergen, the town we are bound for." The mate was right. The breeze freshening we stood on, and in the course of the morning we ran between lofty and rugged rocks for several miles, through the narrow Straits of Carmesundt into the bay--or fiord rather--till we came to an anchor off the picturesque old town of Bergen. It was a thriving, bustling place; the inhabitants, people from all the northern nations of Europe, mostly engaged in mercantile pursuits. We soon discharged our cargo and began taking on board a very miscellaneous one, including a considerable quantity of spars to form the masts and yards of small vessels. The day seemed to me wonderfully long, indeed there was scarcely any night. Of course, we had plenty of hard work, as we were engaged for a large part of the twenty-four hours in hoisting in cargo. I should have thought all hands would have been too tired to think of carrying on any tricks, but it seemed that two or three of them had conceived a spite against Jim because he would not turn against me. One of our best men, Ned Andrews, who did duty as second mate, had brought for his own use a small cask of sugar, as only molasses and pea-coffee were served out forward. One morning, as I was employed aft under the captain's directions, Andrews came up and complained that on opening his cask he found it stuffed full of dirty clouts and the sugar gone. I never saw the captain so indignant. "A thief on board my brig!" he exclaimed; "verily, I'll make an example of him, whoever he is." Calling the mate, he ordered him forthwith to examine all the men's chests, supposing that the thief must have stowed the sugar in his own. "Go, Peter, and help him," he added, "for I am sure that thou, my son, art not the guilty one." I followed the mate into the fore-peak. Having first demanded the keys from the owners of those which were locked, he examined chest after chest, making me hold up the lids while he turned out the contents or plunged his hands to the bottom. No sugar was found in any of them. He then came to my chest, which I knew was not locked, and the idea came into my head that the stolen property would be there. I showed some anxiety, I suspect, as I lifted up the lid. The mate put in his hands with a careless air, as if he had no idea of the sort. Greatly to my relief he found nothing. There was but one chest to be examined. It was Jim's. Scarcely had I opened it when the mate, throwing off a jacket spread over the top, uttered an exclamation of surprise. There exposed to view was a large wooden bowl, procured the day before by the steward for washing up glasses and cups, and supposed to have fallen overboard, cram full of sugar. "Bring it along aft," cried the mate. "I did not think that of Pulley." "And I don't think it now, sir," I answered, in a confident tone, as I obeyed his order. "What's this? Where was it found?" inquired the captain, as we reached the quarter-deck. The mate told him. "I'll swear Jim never put it there, sir; not he!" I exclaimed. "Swear not at all, my son, albeit thou mayest be right," said the captain. "Send James Pulley aft." Jim quickly came. "Hast thou, James Pulley, been guilty of stealing thy shipmate's sugar?" asked the captain. "No, sir, please you, I never took it, and never put it where they say it was found," answered Jim, boldly. "Appearances are sadly against thee, James Pulley," observed the captain, with more sorrow than anger in his tone. "This matter must be investigated." "I am sure that Jim speaks the truth, sir," I exclaimed, unable to contain myself. "Somebody else stole the sugar and put it in his chest." The crew had gathered aft, and two or three looked thunder-clouds at me as I spoke. "Thine assertion needs proof," observed the captain. "Was thy cask of sugar open, Andrews?" "No, sir, tightly headed up," answered Andrews. "Then it must have been forced open by some iron instrument," said the captain. "Bring it aft here." The empty keg was brought. "I thought so," remarked the captain. "An axe was used to prise it open. Did any one see an axe in the hands of James Pulley?" There was no reply for some time. At last, Ben Grimes, one of the men who had always been most hostile to Jim and me, said, "I thinks I seed Jim Pulley going along the deck with what looked mighty like the handle of an axe sticking out from under his jacket." "The evidence is much against thee, James Pulley," said the captain. "I must, as in duty bound, report this affair to Mr Gray on our return, and it will, of course, prevent him from bestowing any further favours on you." "I didn't do it. I'd sooner have had my right hand cut off than have done it," cried Jim. "Let me go ashore, sir, and I'll try to gain my daily bread as I best can. I can't bear to stay aboard here to be called a thief; though Peter Trawl knows I didn't take the sugar; he'd never believe that of me; and the mate doesn't, and Andrews himself doesn't." "I am sorry for thee, lad. Thou must prove thine innocence," said the captain, turning away. Poor Jim was very unhappy. Though both he and I were convinced that one of the men for spite had put the sugar in his chest, we could not fix on the guilty person. I did my best to comfort him. He talked of running from the ship, but I persuaded him not to think more of doing so foolish a thing. "Stay, and your innocence will appear in due time," I said. As we went about the deck we heard Grimes and others whispering, "Birds of a feather flock together." They bullied Jim and me worse than ever, and took every occasion to call him a young thief, and other bad names besides. They saw how it vexed him, and that made them abuse him worse than before. The day after this we sailed. Poor Jim declared that if he could not clear himself he would never show his face in Portsmouth. I was sure that Andrews and the other good men did not believe him to be guilty, but they could not prove his innocence; and, as he said, the others would take care to blabber about him, and, worst of all, Mr Gray would think him a thief. An easterly breeze carried us clear of the harbour, but the wind then shifted to the southward, and then to the south-west, being very light, so that after three days we had not lost sight of the coast of Norway. There seemed every probability of our having a long passage. Some of the men said it was all owing to the black cat, and Grimes declared that we must expect ill-luck with such a psalm-singing Methodist old skipper as we had. Even Andrews prognosticated evil, but his idea was that it would be brought about by an old woman he had seen on shore, said by everyone to be a powerful witch. As, however, according to Andrews, she had the power of raising storms, and we had only to complain of calms and baffling winds, I could not see that she had had any influence over us. At last we got so far to the westward that we lost sight of the coast of Norway, but had not made good a mile to the southward--we had rather indeed drifted to the northward. Meantime, the captain hearing from the mate how the men were grumbling, called all hands aft. "Lads, I want ye to listen to me," he said. "Some of ye fancy that we are having these calms and baffling winds on one account, and some on another, but this I know, that He who rules the seas does not allow any other beings to interfere with His plans. Ye have heard, maybe, however, of the prophet Jonah. Once upon a time, Jonah, when ordered by God to go to a certain place and perform a certain duty, disobeyed his Master, and trying to escape from Him took passage on board a ship, fancying that he could get out of God's sight. Did he succeed? No! God had His eye on Jonah, and caused a hurricane which well-nigh sent the ship to the bottom. Not till Jonah was hove overboard did the tempest cease. Now, lads, just understand there are some aboard this brig who are disobeying Him and offending Him just as much as Jonah did, and it's not for me to say that He does not allow these calms, so unusual in this latitude, to prevail in consequence. That's all I've got to say, lads, but ye'll just think over it; and now go forward." Whether or not the men did think over it, or exactly understood what the old man meant, I cannot say, but the next morning the carpenter came aft to the captain and said that he had had a dream which made him remember that the evening before Andrews's sugar was found to have been stolen, Ben Grimes had borrowed an axe from him, on examining which afterwards he discovered that a small piece had been broken off on one side, and that Grimes acknowledged he had done it by striking a nail in a piece of wood he was chopping up. On hearing this the captain again summoned all hands aft, and ordered Andrews to bring his sugar cask. There in the head was found a piece of iron which exactly fitted the notch in the axe which the carpenter produced. "Now, lads, say who stole Andrews's sugar and concealed it in Pulley's chest?" asked the skipper. "Grimes! Grimes! No doubt about it!" shouted all the men, with the exception of the individual mentioned and one other. "You are right, lads, and Pulley is innocent," said the skipper. "As the babe unborn," answered the men, and they all, except Grimes and his chum, following my example, gave Jim a hearty shake of the hand. I thought that he would have blubbered outright with pleasure. Though I was sure that Jim had never touched the sugar, I was thankful that the captain and the rest were convinced of his innocence. Before noon that day a dark bank of clouds was seen coming up from the southward. In a short time several black masses broke away from the main body, and came careering across the sky. "Away aloft and shorten sail," cried the skipper. "Be smart, lads!" We hurried up the rigging, for there was no time to be lost. "Two reefs in the fore-topsail! Furl the main-topsail! Let fly topgallant sheets!" These orders came in quick succession. The captain, aided by the mate, was meantime lowering the mainsail. He at first, I believe, intended to heave the brig to, but, before the canvas was reduced the gale struck her--over she heeled--the topgallant sails, with their masts, were carried away just as Jim and I were about mounting the rigging, he the fore and I the main, to furl them; the mainsail, only half lowered, flying out, nearly knocked the mate overboard. I had got down on the weather side of the main-topsail yard to assist the hands on it, when the straining canvas broke loose from our grasp, and at the same instant the topgallant rigging, striking the two men on the lee yardarm, hurled them off into the foaming ocean. To lower a boat was impossible; we had not strength sufficient as it was to clear away the topgallant masts, and to hand the topsails. A grating and some spars were hove to them by the mate, who then, axe in hand, sprang aloft to assist us. None too soon, for we could do nothing but cling on to the yard till the topgallant rigging was cleared away. The men on the foreyard were more successful, and I saw Jim gallantly using his knife in a fashion which at length cleared away the wreck and enabled them to secure the sail. The mate succeeded also in his object, and we were expecting them to assist us in attempting to furl the main-topsail, when the captain, seeing that we were not likely to succeed, calling us down, ordered the helm to be put up and the yards squared away, and off we ran before the fast-increasing gale, leaving, we feared, our two shipmates, the carpenter and Grimes, to perish miserably. CHAPTER NINE. I EXPERIENCE THE PERILS OF THE SEA. The _Good Intent_ ran on before the increasing gale. The fast-rising seas came rolling up astern, threatening every instant to poop her, for, having a full cargo, she was much deeper in the water than when we sailed from Portsmouth. We quickly lost sight of the grating and spars thrown to our hapless shipmates, and they themselves had before then disappeared. The first thing now to be done was to get the main-topsail stowed, for, flying wildly in the wind, it seemed as if about to carry away the main-topmast. The mate, Andrews, and two other men were on the point of going aloft to try and haul it in, in spite of the danger they ran in so doing, when a report like that of thunder was heard, and the sail, split into ribbons, was torn from the bolt-ropes. The fragments, after streaming out wildly in the wind, lashed themselves round and round the yard, thus saving us the hazardous task of attempting to furl the sail. The brig flew on, now plunging into the roaring and foaming seas, now rolling from side to side so that it was difficult to keep our feet. The fore-staysail and jib had been stowed in time, and the flying jib had been blown away, so that the fore-topsail was the only sail set. Thus hour after hour passed. Had we been running in the opposite direction we should have been making good progress, but we were now going farther and farther from our destination, to be driven into even worse weather, and perhaps to have to make our way south round the Irish coast. To avoid this, the captain was anxious to heave the brig to, and I saw him and the mate consulting how it could be done. It was a dangerous operation, they both knew, for should she not quickly come up to the wind, a sea might strike her on the broadside and sweep over her deck, or throw her on her beam-ends. "If we get a lull it must be done," said the captain. "Ay, ay, sir!" answered the mate; and he ordered the men to stand ready to brace round the fore-topsail-yard as the brig came up to the wind. Still we watched in vain for the wished-for lull. In spite of the roaring seas I felt wonderfully sleepy, and could scarcely keep my eyes open as I held on to a stanchion at the after-part of the deck. Jim was much in the same condition, for we had both been on foot since the morning watch had been called, and we had had no food all day. The kind captain, observing the state we were in, instead of abusing us, as some skippers would have done, ordered us to go below to find something to eat and to lie down till we were wanted. We were making our way forward when he shouted out-- "Go into the cabin, laddies. There is some bread and cheese in the pantry, and ye'll be ready at hand when I call ye." We quickly slipped below, and he again closed the companion-hatch which he had opened to let us descend. The other hatches had been battened down, for at any moment a sea might break on board, and if they had not been secured, might fill the vessel. Not a ray of light came below, but Jim and I, groping about, found the bread and cheese we were in search of and soon satisfied our hunger. We then, thankful to get some rest, lay down on the deck of the cabin-- which landsmen would call the floor--for we should have considered it presumptuous to stretch ourselves in one of the berths or even on the locker; and in spite of the rolling and pitching of the brig we were quickly fast asleep. I seldom dreamed in those days, but, though tired as I was, my slumbers were troubled. Now I fancied that the brig was sinking, but that, somehow or other, I came to the surface, and was striking out amid the raging billows for the land; then I thought that I was again on board, and that the brig, after rushing rapidly on, struck upon a huge reef of black rocks, when, in an instant, her timbers split asunder, and we were all hurled into the seething waters. Suddenly I was awoke by the thundering, crashing sound of a tremendous blow on the side of the vessel, and I found myself hove right across the cabin, clutching fast hold of Jim, who shouted out, "Hillo, Peter, what is the matter? Are we all going to be drowned?" Before I could answer him there came from above us--indeed, it had begun while he was speaking--a deafening mingling of terrific noises, of rending planks, of falling spars, the rush and swirl and roar of waters, amid which could be heard the faint cries of human voices. The brig had been thrown on her beam-ends; of that there could be no doubt, for when we attempted to get on our feet we found the deck of the cabin almost perpendicular. "Do you think the brig will go down?" shouted Jim. The hubbub was so great that it was impossible to hear each other unless we spoke at the very top of our voices. "We must, at all events, get on deck as soon as we can, and do our best to save ourselves," I answered. Though I said this, I had very little hope of escaping, as I thought that the vessel might at any moment founder. Even to get on deck was no easy matter, for everything in the cabin was upside down--boxes and bales, and casks and articles of all sorts, thrown out of the lockers, mixed with the furniture which had broken adrift, were knocking about, while all the time we were in complete darkness. The dead-lights had fortunately been closed at the commencement of the gale, and the companion-hatch remained secure, so that, as yet, no water came below. Getting on our feet we were endeavouring to grope our way to the companion-ladder when we heard two loud crashes in quick succession, and directly afterwards, the brig righting with a violent jerk, we were thrown half across the cabin, bruised and almost stunned, among the numberless things knocking violently about. After a time, on recovering our senses, we picked ourselves up and made another attempt to get on deck. I now began to hope that the brig would not go down as soon as I had expected, but still I knew that she was in a fearfully perilous condition. I was sure from the crashing sounds we had heard that both her masts were gone: that very probably also she had sprung a leak, while we were far to the northward of the usual track of vessels. At last we found our way to the cabin door, but groped about in vain for the companion-ladder, till Jim suggested that it had been unshipped when the vessel went over. After some time we found it, but had great difficulty, in consequence of the way the brig was rolling, to get it replaced. As soon as it was so I mounted and shouted as loud as I could to some one to come and lift off the hatch. No voice replied. Again and again I shouted, fancying that the people might have gone forward for some reason or other and had forgotten us. "What can have happened?" cried Jim, in a tone of alarm. I dared not answer him, for I feared the worst. Feeling about, I discovered an axe slung just inside the companion-hatch, on which I began hammering away with all my might--but still no one came. "Jim, I'm afraid they must all be gone," I cried out at last. "Gone!" he exclaimed. "What, the old captain, and mate, and Andrews, and the rest?" "I am afraid so," I answered. Again I shouted and knocked. Still no one came. "We must break open the hatch," I said, and I attempted to force up the top with the axe, but did not succeed. "Let me try," cried Jim; "my arm is stronger than yours." I got down the ladder and gave him the axe. He took my place and began working away at the part where the hatch was placed. I could hear him giving stroke after stroke, but could see nothing, for the hatch fitted so closely that not a gleam of light came through it. Presently I heard him sing out, "I've done it," and I knew by the rush of cold damp air which came down below that he had got off the hatch. Still all was dark, but looking up I could distinguish the cloudy sky. Not till then did I know that it was night. We had gone to sleep in broad daylight, and I had no idea of the number of hours which had passed by since then. I sprang up the companion-ladder after Jim, who had stepped out on deck. The spectacle which met my eyes was appalling. The masts were gone, carried away a few feet from the deck--only the stumps were standing-- everything had been swept clear away, the caboose, the boats, the bulwark; the brig was a complete wreck; the dark foam-topped seas were rising up high above the deck, threatening to engulf her. The masts were still alongside hanging on by the rigging, their butt ends every now and then striking against her with so terrific a force that I feared they must before long drive a hole through the planking. As far as I could make out through the thick gloom, some spars which had apparently fallen before the masts gave way lay about the deck, kept from being washed away by the rigging attached to them having become entangled in the stanchions and the remaining portions of the shattered bulwarks. Not one of our shipmates could we see. Again we shouted, in the faint hope that some of them might be lying concealed forward. No one answered. "Maybe that they have gone down into the fore-peak," said Jim; "I'll go and knock on the hatch. They can't hear our shouts from where we are." I tried to persuade Jim not to make the attempt till daylight, for a sea might break on board and wash him away. "But do you see, Peter, we must try and get help to cut away the lower rigging, which keeps the masts battering against the sides?" he answered. "Then I'll go with you," I said. "We'll share the same fate, whatever that may be." "No, no, Peter! You stay by the companion-hatch; see, there are plenty of spars for me to catch hold of, and I'll take good care not to get washed away," answered Jim, beginning his journey forward. Notwithstanding what he said, I was following him when I fancied that I heard a faint groan. I stopped to listen. It might be only the sound produced by the rubbing of two spars together or the working of the timbers. Again I heard the groan. I was now sure that it was uttered by one of our shipmates. It came from a part of the deck covered by a mass of broken spars and sails and rigging. Though I could not see as far, I knew that Jim had reached the fore-hatchway by hearing him shouting and knocking with the back of the axe. "Are any of them there?" I cried out. "No! Not one, I'm afeared," he answered. "Then come and help me to see if there is any person under these spars here," I said. Of course we had to bawl out to each other at the top of our voices on account of the clashing of the seas, the groaning and creaking of the timbers and bulk-heads, and the thundering of the masts against the sides. Jim soon joined me. We had to be very cautious how we moved about, for besides the risk there was at any moment of a sea sweeping across the deck, we might on account of the darkness have stepped overboard. We lost no time in crawling to the spot whence I heard the groans proceeding. On feeling about we soon discovered a man, his body pressed down on the deck by a heavy spar, and partly concealed by the canvas. "Who are you?" cried Jim. "Speak to us,--do." A groan was the only answer. "Do you try and lift the spar, Jim, and I'll drag him out," I said. Jim tried to do as I told him, but though he exerted all his strength he could not succeed in raising the spar. "Oh, dear! Oh, dear! The poor fellow will die if we cannot get him free soon," I exclaimed, in despair. "This will do it," cried Jim, who had been searching about, and now came with the broken end of a topgallant-yard to serve as a handspike. By its means he prised up the spar, while I as gently as I could dragged out the man by the shoulders. No sooner did I feel his jacket than I was almost sure that he was no other than our good old skipper. He was breathing heavily, and had apparently been rendered unconscious by a blow on the head. I at length got him out from under the spar. "We must carry him below before another sea breaks on board," I said. "Come, help me, Jim." Together we lifted the old man, and staggering along the slippery deck, reached the companion-hatch in safety. To get him down without injury was more difficult. I going first and taking his legs, and Jim holding him by the shoulders, we succeeded at last. While Jim supported him at the bottom of the ladder, I hunted about till I found a tinder-box and matches and lighted the cabin lamp. It showed us, as I had supposed, that the person I had rescued was our captain. He was pale as death, and bleeding from a wound in the head. The light also exhibited the utter confusion into which the cabin had been thrown. I managed, however, to clear a way to the state cabin, to which we carried the captain, and then getting off his wet clothes placed him between the blankets in his berth. Fortunately, there was a cask of water in the pantry, which enabled us to wash and bind up his head, so as to staunch the blood flowing from it. The operation was performed but roughly, as all the time the sound of the masts thundering like battering-rams against the side of the vessel warned us that, we must try to cut them adrift without delay. I feared that already they had done some serious damage. Even before we left the captain he seemed to have somewhat recovered his consciousness, for I heard him mutter, "Be smart, lads. Tell mate--cut away wreck." Of course we did not let him know that besides himself we alone of all the crew were left alive. In the cabin I found another axe, and Jim and I, going on deck, began the difficult and dangerous task we had undertaken. The lower rigging, on what had been the weather side, had entirely given way, so that we had only to cut that on the opposite side, but in leaning over to reach the shrouds at the chains we ran a fearful risk of being carried off by the sea as the vessel rolled from side to side. We first tried to clear the mainmast. We had cut two of the shrouds, when a sea, having driven the butt end against the side with fearful force, lifted it just as the brig rolled over, and it came sweeping along the deck, nearly taking Jim and me off our legs. With the greatest difficulty we escaped. "It shan't do that again," cried Jim; and dashing forward with axe uplifted he cut the last shroud, and the mast was carried away by the next sea. We had still to get rid of the foremast and bowsprit, which were doing as much damage as the mainmast had done, by every now and then ramming away at the bows with a force sufficient, it seemed, to knock a hole through them at any moment. I felt anxious to return to the cabin to attend to our old captain, but the safety of the vessel required us not to delay a moment longer than could be helped in cutting away the remaining masts and bowsprit. I observed soon after the mainmast had gone that the wind had fallen, and that there was somewhat less sea running, and in a short time the light began to increase. I do not think that otherwise we should have accomplished our task. Jim sprang forward with his axe, taking always the post of danger, and hacking away at rope after rope as he could manage to reach them. I followed his example. Often we had to hold on for our lives as the seas washed over us. At length the work was accomplished. We gave a shout of satisfaction as, the last rope severed, we saw the mass of wreck drop clear of the brig. But our work was not done. There we were in the midst of the North Sea, without masts or canvas or boats, our bulwarks gone, the brig sorely battered, and only our two selves and our poor old captain to navigate her. To preserve his life our constant attention was required. "We'll go below and see how the old man gets on," I said. "There's nothing more for us to do on deck that I can see at present." "Not so sure of that, Peter," answered Jim. "You go and look after the skipper, and I'll just see how matters are forward and down in the hold." As I felt sure that the captain ought not to be left longer alone, I hurried into the cabin. He was conscious, but still scarcely able to speak. I told him that we had cleared away the wreck of the masts, and that the weather was moderating. "Thank God!" he murmured. Then, getting some more water, I again dressed his wounded head, and afterwards proposed lighting the cabin fire and trying to make him some broth. "Water! I only want water," he said, in the same low voice as before. I procured some in a mug. He drank it, and then said, "Get up jury-masts and steer west," not understanding as yet, I suppose, that the crew were lost. "Ay, ay, sir," I answered, being unwilling to undeceive him, though I wondered how Jim and I could alone obey his orders; yet, if we were ever to reach a port, jury-masts must be got up. As I could do nothing more just then for the captain, I was going on deck, when I met Jim at the companion-hatch, his face wearing an expression of the greatest alarm. "Things are very bad, Peter," he exclaimed. "The water is coming in through a big hole in the bows like a mill-sluice, and I'm much afeared that before long the old craft will carry us and the captain to the bottom." "Not if we keep our wits awake, Jim," I answered. "We must try to stop the hole. Come along." Hurrying forward, we dived down into the fore-peak. We could now venture to leave the hatch off, so as to give light below. Sure enough the water was coming in terribly fast, but not quite so fast as Jim described, though already the men's chests and other articles were afloat. The largest hole was, I saw, in the very centre of a bunk, so that we could easily get at it. Dragging out all the blankets from the other bunks, I rammed them into the hole. "Hand me a board or the top of a chest--knock it off quick!" I sang out. Jim, leaping on a chest, wrenched off the lid and gave it me. "Now that handspike." There was one close to him. By pressing the board against the blankets, and jamming the handspike down between it and the outer corner of the bunk, the gush of water was stopped. "Here's another hole still more forward, I can see the water bubbling in," cried Jim, holding a lantern, which he had lit that he might look round, to the place. We stopped it as we had the first. "It will be a mercy if there are no other holes in the side under the cargo," he said. "We'll try the well." We returned on deck, and Jim sounded the well. "Six feet of water or more," he said, in a mournful tone, as he examined the rod. "Then we must rig the pumps and try to clear her!" I exclaimed. "It will be a hard job, but it may be done, and we must not think of letting the old craft sink under our feet." We set to work, and pumped and pumped away, the water coming up in a clear stream, till our backs and arms ached, and we felt every moment ready to drop, but we cheered each other on, resolved not to give in as long as we could stand on our legs. CHAPTER TEN. ALONE ON THE OCEAN. "Are we gaining on the leaks, think you, Jim?" I at length gasped out, for I felt that if our efforts were producing some effect we should be encouraged to continue them, but that if not it would be wise before we were thoroughly exhausted to try and build a raft on which we might have a chance of saving our lives. My companion made no reply, but giving a look of doubt, still pumped on, the perspiration streaming down his face and neck showing the desperate exertions he was making. I was much in the same condition, though, like Jim, I had on only my shirt and trousers. I was the first to give in, and, utterly unable to move my arms, I sank down on the deck. Jim, still not uttering a word, doggedly worked on, bringing up a stream of water which flowed out through the scuppers. It seemed wonderful that he could go on, but after some time he also stopped, and staggered to where he had left the rod. "I'll try," he said. I gazed at him with intense anxiety. "Three inches less. We're gaining on the leaks!" he exclaimed. I sprang to my feet and seized the brake. Jim struck out with his arms "to take the turns out of the muscles," as he said, while he sat for a minute on the deck, and again went at it. All this time the wind was falling and the sea going down. As we laboured at the pumps we looked out anxiously for the appearance of a vessel which might afford us assistance, but not a sail appeared above the horizon. We must depend on our own exertions for preserving our lives. Though a calm would enable us the better to free the brig of water and to get up jury-masts, it would lessen our chance of obtaining help. Yet while the brig was rolling and tumbling about we could do nothing but pump, and pump we did till our strength failed us, and we both sank down on the deck. My eyes closed, and I felt that I was dropping off to sleep. How long I thus lay I could not tell, when I heard Jim sing out-- "Hurrah! We've gained six inches on the leak," and clank, clank, clank, went his pump. I cannot say that I sprang up, but I got, somehow or other, on my feet, and, seizing the brake, laboured away more like a person in his sleep than one awake. I saw the water flowing freely, so I knew that I was not pumping uselessly. Presently I heard Jim cry out-- "Hillo! Look there!" Turning my eyes aft, I saw the captain holding on by the companion-hatch, and gazing in utter astonishment along the deck. His head bound up in a white cloth, a blanket over his shoulders, his face pale as death, he looked more like a ghost than a living man. "Where are they, lads?" he exclaimed at length, in a hollow voice. "All gone overboard, sir," answered Jim, thinking he ought to speak. The old man, on hearing this, fell flat on the deck. We ran and lifted him up. At first I thought he was dead, but he soon opened his eyes and whispered-- "It was a passing weakness, and I'll be better soon. Trust in God, laddies; go on pumping, and He'll save your lives," he said. "We'll take you below first, sir. You'll be better in your berth than here," I answered. "No, no! I'll stay on deck; the fresh air will do me good," he said; but scarcely had he uttered the words than he fell back senseless. "We must get him below, or he'll die here," I said; so Jim and I carried him down as before, and got him into his bed. "He wants looking after," said Jim; "so, Peter, do you tend him, and I'll go back to the pumps." Thinking that he wanted food more than anything else, I lighted the cabin fire, and collecting some materials from the pantry for broth in a saucepan, put it on to boil. Though I had been actively engaged, I felt able once more to work the pumps. Jim said that he was certain the water in the hold was decreasing, while, as the brig was steadier, less was coming in. This increased our hopes of keeping her afloat, but we should want rest and sleep, and when we knocked off the water might once more gain on us. We did not forget, however, what the captain had said. When I could pump no longer I ran below, freshly dressed the old man's head, and gave him some broth, which was by this time ready. It evidently did him good. Then, taking a basin of it myself, I ran up on deck with another for Jim. "That puts life into one," he said, as, seated on the deck with his legs stretched out, he swallowed it nearly scalding hot. A draught of water which he told me to bring, however, cooled his throat, and he again set to, I following his example. By this time the day was far advanced, and even Jim confessed that he must soon give in, while I could scarcely stand. The wind had continued to go down, but the sea still rolled the vessel about too much to enable us to get up jury-masts, even if we had had strength to move, before dark. "It's no use trying to hold out longer, I must get a snooze," sighed Jim. He looked as if he were half asleep already. "We had better go and lie down in the cabin, so that we may be ready to help the captain," I answered; "but I'll tell you what, we'll take a look into the fore-peak first, to see how the leaks are going on there." "Oh, they are all right," said Jim. "We shouldn't have lessened the water so much if anything had given way." Still I persisted in going forward, and Jim followed me. Just then the vessel gave a pitch, which nearly sent me head first down the fore-hatchway. As we got below I heard the sound of a rush of water. The handspike which secured the chief leak had worked out of its place, and the blankets and boards were forced inwards. It required all our remaining strength to put them back. Had we been asleep aft the brig would have filled in a few minutes. Jim wanted to remain forward, but I persuaded him to come aft, being sure that he would sleep too soundly to hear the water coming in should the leaks break out afresh, and might be drowned before he awoke. Having done all we could to secure the handspikes, we crawled rather than walked to the cabin. We were thankful to find that the captain was asleep, so, without loss of time, Jim crept into one of the side berths, and I lay down on the after locker. In half a minute I had forgotten what had happened and where I was. As the old captain and we two lads lay fast asleep on board the demasted brig out there in the wild North Sea, a kind Providence watched over us. We might have been run down, or, the leaks breaking out afresh, the vessel might have foundered before we awoke. A voice which I supposed to be that of the captain aroused me. The sun was shining down through the cabin sky-light. The vessel was floating motionless. Not a sound did I hear except Jim's snoring. I tried to jump up, but found my limbs terribly stiff, every joint aching. I made my way, however, to the old man's berth. "How are you, Captain Finlay?" I asked. He did not reply. I stepped nearer. His eyes were closed. I thought he was dead; yet I heard his voice, I was certain of that. I stood looking at him, afraid to ascertain if what I feared was the case. A feeling of awe crept over me. I did not like to call out to Jim, yet I wanted him to come to me. At last I staggered over to the berth in which Jim was sleeping. "Jim! Jim!" I said, "I am afraid the captain is taken very bad." Jim did not awake, so I shook him several times till he sat up, still half asleep and rubbing his eyes. "What's the matter?" he asked. "Oh--ay, I know. We'll turn to at the pumps, Peter." I repeated what I had said. He was on his feet in a moment. He moved at first with as much difficulty as I had done. "Come along," I said, and together we went over to the state cabin. We looked at the old man without speaking. After some time Jim mustered courage to touch his hand. To my great relief the captain opened his eyes. "Praise God, who has preserved us during the night, my lads!" were the first words he spoke, and while we stood by his side he offered up a short prayer. He then told us to go on deck and learn the state of the weather. We hurried up. The sun was shining brightly; the sea was smooth as glass, unbroken by a single ripple. Jim did not forget the leak; he sounded the well. "We must turn to at the pumps, Peter," he exclaimed. "She's made a good deal of water during the night, and it will take us not a few hours to get it out of her, but we'll not give in." "I should think not, indeed," I answered. "But I'll go down and hear what the captain wants us to do." Before I had got half way down the companion-ladder I heard the clank of the pump. Jim had lost no time in setting to work. I hastened to the state-room. I was startled by the changed appearance of the captain's countenance during the short time I had been on deck. His eyes were turned towards me with a fixed look. I spoke, but he did not answer; I leant over him, no breath proceeded from his lips; I touched his brow, then I knew that the good old man was dead. Presently I closed his eyes, and with a sad heart returned on deck. "He's gone, Jim," I cried. "Gone! The captain gone! Then I am sorry," answered Jim, as he stopped pumping for a moment, though he still held the brake in his hands. "Then, Peter, you and I must just do our best to take the brig into port by ourselves." "I was thinking the same, Jim," I said. "He told us to get up jury-masts and steer west, and that's just what we must do if the wind will let us." The death of our good captain made us feel very sad, for we had learned to look upon him as our true friend. It caused us also to become more anxious even than before about ourselves. With his assistance we had had little doubt, should the weather remain fine, of reaching a port, but as we were neither of us accustomed to the use of charts, and did not know how to take an observation, we could not tell to what port we should steer our course. We had both, however, dauntless spirits, and had been accustomed from our childhood to trust to our own resources. Our grand idea was to steer west, if we could manage to get sail on the brig, but before this could be attempted we must pump her free of water. There was no time to mourn for our old captain, so without delay we turned to at the pumps. My arms and legs and every part of my body felt very stiff. Jim saw that I should not be able to continue long at it. "Peter, do you go below and look out for some spars to serve as jury-masts," he said; "I'll meantime keep on. We shall soon get the water under; it's only a wonder more hasn't come in." Jim and I never thought who was captain; if I told him to do a thing he did it, or if he gave an order I did not stop to consider whether or not he had the right to command. We worked together as if we had but one will. It was "a long pull, a strong pull, and a pull both together." There were plenty of spars below, and I soon selected some which I thought would serve for the masts and yards we required. I had to call Jim to help me get them up on deck. "There'll be no use for these till we can find some canvas to spread on them," I observed. "Nor till we get a breeze to fill the sails," said Jim. "However, we'll get them set while the calm lasts, and no doubt you'll find as many as we can carry in the sail-room." This was right aft, down a small hatchway. While Jim went again to his pump, I hunted about and hauled out two topgallantsails and royals, a fore-staysail, a second jib, and a main-trysail. If we could set all these we should do well, supposing we got a fair breeze. It would be no easy job, however, I knew, to get up the masts. We had one advantage. The proper masts had been carried away some six or seven feet from the deck, so that we might lash the spars to them. Before setting to work I again went below to hunt for rope. I got more than I expected from different parts of the vessel, and we had also saved some of the rigging, which had been entangled in the bulwarks. "We shall want every scrap of rope we can find!" cried Jim, panting and still pumping away. "I'll take a spell with you," I said. "Then we'll turn to and rig the ship." I pumped till I could pump no longer, and then, after a short rest, we commenced in earnest. We first lashed a short spar, with a tackle secured to its head, to the stump of the foremast, and then, having fitted two shrouds on a side, with a forestay and backstays, and blocks for the halliards, to the spar we had chosen for a foremast, we swayed it up my means of the short spar and tackle. We could not possibly in any other way have accomplished our object. We next lashed the spar to the stump of the mast. No time was lost in setting up the standing rigging. Our foremast being thus fixed, we surveyed it with infinite satisfaction, and then turned to and fitted the brig with a mainmast in the same fashion. This we made somewhat stronger, as we intended it to carry a mainsail should we have to haul on a wind. Our work, as may be supposed, was not especially neat--indeed, we had to knot most of the shrouds, as it was necessary to keep all the longer lengths of rope for halliards, and we had none to spare. I cannot stop to explain how we accomplished all this; we could not have done it without employing tackles, which we brought to the windlass, and thus gained twenty times as much power as we by ourselves possessed. We were now pretty well tired and hungry, for, except some bread and cheese and a jug of cold water, we had taken nothing all day. It was with a feeling of awe that we went down into the cabin where the old captain lay. Jim, however, closed the door of the state-room, so that we could not see him. We then lighted the fire and cooked some dinner--or rather supper, for evening was drawing on. Anxious to be again at work, we hurried over the meal. "I say, Peter, don't you think we ought to bury the skipper?" asked Jim, after a long silence. "Not for some days to come," I answered; "I hope that we may get into port first, so as to lay him in a grave on shore." "I don't think it will make much odds to him; and, to say the truth, now he's dead, I'd rather he were out of the ship," said Jim; "they say it's unlucky to have a dead man on board." I had some difficulty in persuading Jim of the folly of such a notion, but we finally agreed that we would try to carry the captain's body to land. Before bending sails we took a look down forward to see the condition of the leaks. The handspikes were in their places, and, except a slight moisture round the holes, we could not discover that any water was getting in. Still there was a great deal too much in the brig for safety, so we took another spell at the pumps before going on with the rigging. Darkness found us hard at work. We were too tired and sleepy to attempt keeping a look-out, but I bethought me of hoisting a lantern at each masthead, which would save us from being run down should a breeze spring up during the night Jim thought the idea capital, and promised to get up and trim the lamps. Fortunately, the nights were short, so that there was not much necessity for that. Our chief wish now was that the calm would continue for a few hours during the next day, that we might get the brig to rights. "One spell more at the pumps!" cried Jim. We seized the brakes, worked till we could work no longer, then went below, ate some food from the pantry, and lying down in the two larboard berths in the cabin, were fast asleep in a few seconds. People talk of sleeping like tops. A hard-worked ship-boy will beat any top in the world at sleeping soundly. For a second night the brig lay becalmed. I doubt that if even a fierce gale had sprung up it would have awakened us. The sun was shining when I opened my eyes. It might have been shining for hours for what I could tell. I roused up Jim, and we sprang on deck, vexed at having, as we supposed, lost so much precious time. By the height of the sun above the horizon, however, we judged that it was not so late as we had at first fancied. The clock in the cabin had been unshipped when the brig went over, and the captain's watch had stopped, so that we had otherwise no means of knowing how the hours passed by. It was still perfectly calm. We looked round in all directions. Not a sail was in sight. "We must get ready for the breeze, Jim, when it does spring up," I said. "It will come before many hours are over, I've a notion." I had observed some light clouds just under the sun. "May be; but we must take a spell at the pumps first," he answered--his first thought was always of them. We turned to as before, till our arms ached, and then we ran down and got some breakfast. We knew the value of time, but we couldn't get on without eating, any more than other people. On returning to the deck we lowered the lanterns, which had long since gone out, finished bending the sails, fitting braces, tacks, sheets, and bowlines, and were then ready to hoist away. We at once set all the sails we had ready, to see how they stood. To our satisfaction, they appeared to greater advantage than we had expected. "They'll do!" cried Jim, as we surveyed them; "only let us get a breeze from the right quarter, and we'll soon make the land." Fortunately, the rudder had been uninjured when the brig went over, and the wheel was in order. I stood at the helm, longing for the time when I should see the brig moving through the water. I may say, once for all, that at very frequent intervals Jim and I went to the pumps, but he stood longer at the work than I did. There was urgent necessity for our doing so, as, notwithstanding all our exertions, we had but slightly diminished the water in the hold. When not thus occupied we did various things that were necessary about the brig; among others we got life-lines round the shattered bulwarks, so that should a heavy sea get up, we might run less risk of being washed overboard. We also went to the store-room, and brought to the cabin various descriptions of provisions, that we might have them at hand when wanted. We knew that when once we got a wind we should have no time to do anything besides navigating the vessel. I had gone below to get dinner ready, the only hot meal we took in the day, leaving Jim pumping, when I heard him sing out down the companion-hatchway-- "Here it comes, and a rattling breeze, too." I sprang on deck and went to the helm, while Jim stood ready to trim sails. Looking astern I could see a line of white foam sweeping along towards us over the surface of the ocean. Before it was up to us the sails bulged out, the brig gathered way, and presently she was gliding at the rate of three or four knots through the water. Jim and I shouted with exultation--we forgot the past--we thought not of the future. We believed that we were about to reap the fruit of our labours. For several hours we ran on with the wind right aft, steering due west. I steered for most of the time, but Jim occasionally relieved me. So eager were we that we forgot all about eating, till he cried out-- "I must have some food, Peter, or I shall drop." I was running below to get it, feeling just as hungry as he did, when the wind hauled more to the southward. We took a pull at the starboard braces, and I then hurried below to bring up what we wanted. Just as I was cutting some meat which had been boiling till the fire went out, I heard a crash. I sprang up on deck. The brig was again dismasted, and Jim was struggling in the waves astern. CHAPTER ELEVEN. DANGERS MULTIPLY. For a moment I could not believe my senses. I fell like a person in a dreadful dream. What, Jim gone! The brig again dismasted, and I left alone on board her with the body of our dead captain! I was recalled to myself by hearing a faint shout, and looking over the stern I saw my old friend struggling amidst the waves some distance off. My first impulse was to leap into the sea and swim to his rescue, but then the thought happily came to me that if I did we should be unable to regain the vessel; so, instead, crying out, "Keep up, Jim--keep up, I'll help you!" I did what was far more likely to prove effectual--I unrove the peak-halliards, cutting them clear with my knife, and fastened one end to the wooden grating over the cabin sky-light. This I threw overboard, and as I feared that the halliards would not prove long enough, I bent on another rope to them. The grating appeared to be dropping astern very fast; and yet Jim, who was swimming strongly, seemed to be nearing it very slowly, by which I knew that the brig must still, urged on by the impetus she had before received, be moving through the water. Securing the line, I therefore put down the helm, and completely stopped her way. All was done faster than I have described it. Springing back to the taffrail, with straining eyes I watched Jim, for more I could not do to help him, except to give an occasional shout to cheer him up. The dreadful thought came that there might be sharks about, or that his strength might fail him before he could reach the grating. I did more than cheer, though--I prayed to God with all my soul that Jim might be saved. Often he seemed scarcely to be moving through the water--now he threw himself on his back to rest--then he once more struck bravely out, replying as he did so to my cheer. At length he got near the grating. My heart gave a bound of joy as I saw him seize it, when he gradually drew himself up and lay flat on its surface, the best way for making it afford him support. With a shout to Jim to hold on, I began to haul in the raft till I brought it under the quarter. "Wait a minute, Jim, while I get a tackle ready to haul you on board," I cried out. This did not take me the time I said, and forming a bowline I lowered it to him. He seemed so exhausted that I was afraid lest in trying to pass it over his shoulders he might slide off the grating; and I was about to go down to assist him, when, seeing the rope, he slipped his arms through it and exclaimed, "Haul away, Peter." I was not long in obeying him, it may be supposed, and I almost cried with joy as I had him at length safe on deck. I knew that the first thing now to be done was to get off his wet clothes, and to give him a restorative, but I had a hard job to carry him below, as he could not help himself. "Never mind, Peter," he said, faintly; "I shall soon be all to rights again." But I was not going to leave him in the cold air on deck, so going first, I let him slip gradually down the companion-ladder, and then stripping off his clothes, in a short time had him snug between the blankets. I then quickly relighted the fire and warmed up the broth I had before cooked, while I hung up Jim's clothes to dry. The hot broth seemed greatly to restore him, but as he was pretty well worn out before he had gone overboard, it is no wonder that as soon as the basin was emptied he fell fast asleep. I had not stopped to ask him how the accident had occurred, but I suspected, as I afterwards found was the case, that as the masts fell a rope had somehow or other caught his legs and whisked him overboard. He was, however, never very clear how it happened. Having performed my duties below, and taken some food, which I greatly needed, I went on deck. It was still blowing fresh, but there was not much sea on, and the brig lay like a log on the water. To my great relief I found that none of the spars or sails had been lost, all of them having fallen inboard, so I set to work to secure them as well as I could, knowing that till Jim was strong enough to help me I could do nothing towards getting up the masts again. I did not for a moment contemplate giving up the struggle. I next went down into the fore-peak to see if our arrangements for keeping out the water were secure. Nothing had moved. Still, as I knew that the water must be coming in and might gain upon us dangerously, I took a spell at pumping. This pretty well exhausted all my remaining strength, yet before turning in to get some rest there was another thing to be done. We might be in the track of some vessel or other, and should the night prove dark might be run down and sent to the bottom while we were asleep. I therefore trimmed the lamp in one of the lanterns, and with great labour having lashed a spar to the stump of the foremast, hoisted the lantern to the top of it. This done I could do no more, and crawling into my cabin was soon fast asleep in my berth. I slept tranquilly, knowing that He who had hitherto preserved us was watching over us still. I was awakened by the clanking sound of the pump. It was broad daylight; Jim was not in his berth, and on springing on deck there I saw him in his shirt and trowsers hard at work, forcing up the water at a great rate. "I'm all to rights, Peter," he said, in a cheerful tone, "and as I guessed that you had been up long after I went to sleep, I thought as how I would take a spell at the pump before rousing you up." Thanking him for his thoughtfulness, I seized the other brake and pumped till my arms ached. "Now, Peter, we must see about getting up the masts again," he said, when he saw me knock off. "You want some breakfast first, and so do I," I answered. "We'll then set to work with a will." We took some food, which rested and refreshed us, and then commenced the task we had undertaken. The wind had again fallen. What there was of it was fair, and the sea was almost as smooth as a mill-pond. Had it been rough we could scarcely have attempted the work. We had first to unreeve all the ropes, and unbend all the sails. We then selected two much stouter spars than before for fresh masts, got the standing rigging over their heads, and by means of tackles got them set up to the stumps of the fore and main masts, next securing them much more effectually we hoped than the former jury-masts had been, with light spars of different lengths lashed round them, and additional backstays. We made such good progress that by night we were almost ready to hoist the sails, having all the time rested only for a few minutes to obtain some food and then going on again. Nature, however, at last gave way, and if we stopped for a moment we went fast asleep with a rope or marlinespike in our hands. "It's no use trying to keep awake, Jim," I said. He, in a sleepy voice, agreed, and having again hoisted the lantern we went below to get the rest we so much needed. The next morning I heard as before the pump going. It was still dark, but Jim had awoke, and this was always his first thought. I joined him, and we laboured on till there was light enough to enable us to bend sails. The wind being fair we soon had them hoisted, and I went to the helm, Jim pulling and hauling to trim them as required. It must be understood that everything was done in a rough-and-ready fashion, but it was the best we could do. Once more the brig glided on towards the west at the rate, as we supposed, of three or four knots an hour. Jim, having done all that was required, took my place at the helm while I went below to get some food for breakfast. As I was unwilling to be off the deck a moment longer than was necessary, without stopping to light the fire I brought up a supply of provisions and water to last us for some time, as also some cloaks and blankets. We agreed that we must content ourselves with cold water, and ham, and cheese, and bread, and be thankful, remembering how many poor fellows had been much worse off than we were. We ate a hearty meal, I feeding Jim while he steered. He did not appear to have suffered from his long swim, except that he complained of being very sleepy. I therefore advised him to lie down on the coats and blankets I had brought on deck to get some rest, while I took his place at the helm, promising to call him should the breeze freshen and it become necessary to shorten sail. He agreed and I steered on, now looking at the compass, now at the canvas, and now all around on the chance of a vessel appearing from which we might learn our position. I own that I should have been very unwilling for any one to have come on board to take the brig into harbour, for we both thought how proud we should feel if we could carry her in ourselves without help. Still, for the sake of the owners we could not, we had agreed, refuse assistance should it be offered us. At last my eyes began to close, and it was with the greatest difficulty that I could keep them open, or prevent myself from sinking down on the deck. I was, therefore, very thankful when I saw Jim begin to move. I uttered his name. He was on his feet in an instant. "I'll take a spell at the pump first," he said, rubbing his eyes and looking round, especially ahead; "then I'll come to the helm." Talking to him aroused me a little, and I was able to hold on till he relieved me. I was almost asleep before I sank down on the blanket, only just hearing him say, "We must keep a bright look-out ahead, for we ought soon to be making the land." That sleep did me a great deal of good. We agreed that we would both take as much as we could during the day, that we might be more wide-awake at night. I had observed that there was something on Jim's mind, and while we were at supper, soon after sunset, I asked him what it was. "Why, you see, as I said afore, I wish that our old skipper was, somehow or other, out of the ship. Now if you are willing, Peter, I'll sew him up all comfortable like in an old sail, with a pig of iron at the feet; and as you are a better scholar than I am, you can say the prayers over him while we lower him overboard, and to my mind he'll be just as well off as he would be ashore." I reminded Jim that he had before consented to our keeping the body as long as we could, but knowing that his superstitious ideas induced him to make the proposal, and that he was really uncomfortable, I agreed to bury our skipper at the end of three days if we did not by that time sight the land. The night and another day went by, the wind still holding fair. I pointed out to Jim how thankful we should be for this, as I was certain that in the latitude where we were there was seldom so long a continuance of fine weather. He, however, was far from easy in his mind. He was sure, he said, that we ought to have seen the land before this, and was continually, when not working the pump, going forward to look out for it. "I knows that England is an island, as the song says, `Our right little, tight little island;' and don't you think that somehow we may have passed to the nor'ard of it, and be going away into the Atlantic?" "I hope not," I answered; "for if so we shall not get into port till we have run right across it; but I am sure the captain never intended us to do that when he told us to steer west; I think rather that we have not been going as fast as we supposed. I'll heave the log and try, though it will be a difficult job to do so." I got out the reel and glass. The latter I gave to Jim to hold with one hand, while he steered with the other. The handle of the reel I managed to put into a hole in the shattered bulwarks, so that it could run round easily. I then took the log-ship in my right hand and hove it. "Turn!" I cried. "Turn!" said Jim. The line ran slowly out. "Stop!" cried Jim. I examined the line. Two knots and a half was all it showed. Jim thought we were going four. I was thus certain that we had run a much shorter distance than he supposed, but he was not convinced that I was right. Day and night, between the intervals of pumping, he went forward to look out. Another day went by. It was again night Jim had been a long time pumping when he said that he would go forward and look out till it was his turn to take the helm. I advised him rather to lie down, as I was sure that he must be tired, but he would not, and away he went into the darkness towards the bows. I every now and then hailed him and he answered. I had not hailed for some time when I felt the breeze freshen. The main-topsail and mainsail bulged out, straining at the sheets, and the masts began to complain. "Jim! Jim!" I shouted, "shorten sail, be smart about it." But Jim did not answer. I dared not leave the helm lest the brig should broach to and our masts again be carried overboard. Once more I shouted, "Jim! Jim!" Still he did not come, and the dreadful idea arose in my mind that he had fallen overboard. At last I could withstand the desire no longer of rushing forward to ascertain what had become of him. What mattered it, if he were lost, what else might happen? I made a dash forward, keeping my eye on the stars. I had got as far as the mainmast when I saw that the brig's head was moving round, so I sprang back to right the helm. Again and again I shrieked out my companion's name at the top of my voice, springing forward, but had only got a little farther than before when I had to return. The wind continued to get up. The masts would go, I saw, if sail were not shortened. I let go the main-topsail, and throat and peak-halliards. The sails flapped loudly in the wind, but as the brig now kept more steadily before it, I thought that I should be able to reach the forecastle, though I had very little hope of finding Jim. I was still shouting his name, when what was my joy to hear him cry out, "Hillo! What's the matter?" and I saw his head rise from just before the windlass. I never in my life felt more inclined to abuse him for the fright he had given me, thankful as I was that no harm had happened to him. I did not even tell him how much I had been alarmed, but merely cried out, "Come, be smart, Jim, we must stow the canvas." We were beginning to do so, when the wind fell, and instead we again hoisted the fore-topsail. Jim owned that while he fancied he was looking out his legs gave way and that he had sunk down on the deck. "Take care that the same doesn't happen when you are steering, or worse consequences may follow," I remarked. He now let me take my nap, and when I awoke he said that we had had a famous run; but towards noon the wind dropped, and it became towards evening a stark calm. This lasted all night and far into the next day. "Peter, do you know if there's a prayer-book aboard?" asked Jim. The question surprised me. I was nearly certain that there was not. "Well then, you can say some prayers without one," he continued. "For, Peter, there's no use talking longer about it; we must bury the skipper." Reluctantly I agreed. Jim got a piece of canvas, a sail-maker's needle, and some twine, with a pig of iron ballast which had been used in one of the boats. As there was no sign of a breeze, with these he went below, and for the first time since his death opened the captain's state-room. We brought the corpse into the main cabin, and placing it on the canvas, without loss of time Jim began sewing it up. The old man's kind face had scarcely changed. We took one respectful last look at it, and then Jim, drawing the canvas over it, shut it out from sight. We had now to get the body on deck, but without a tackle this we could not have done. At last we managed to haul it up the companion-ladder. When Jim went below for more canvas and twine to fasten on the pig of iron to the feet, we had been longer about our task than we had supposed. Looking astern, I saw that the sky was darkened by heavy masses of clouds, while a line of foam came hissing over the surface of the deep towards us. "Quick! Quick! Jim," I shouted; "shorten sail, or the masts will be over the side!" I ran as I spoke to the halliards; he followed; we had to be smart about it, and even thus the gale was on us before we could get the canvas stowed. That was not to be done in a hurry. First one sail got loose, then another, and we had to hurry to secure them. The sea rose with unusual suddenness, and the brig was soon tossing about in a way which made us fear that another leak would be sprung, or the old ones break out. We managed at length to set the fore-topsail, closely reefed, and I going to the helm, we ran before the gale. If Jim was before anxious about our being near the land, he was more so now. His eyes were nearly always turned ahead, but I began to think more about the leaks. I asked him what he thought. "We'll try the well," he answered. No sooner had he examined the rod than he exclaimed-- "We must turn to at the pumps, Peter, if we don't want to go to the bottom." We no longer thought of burying the captain, or doing anything but keeping the brig afloat. The night began; Jim worked away as hard as his failing strength would allow. I shouted to him to let me take a spell. "No, no; you keep at the helm, Peter," he answered; "I'll work till I drop." He only stopped now and then to take a look-out ahead. The gale seemed to be increasing; the brig pitched and rolled more and more. Suddenly there came a loud clap. The foresail had given way. Jim ran forward, and lowered it on deck. As I could no longer be of use at the helm, I ran to his help, and we tried to set it again, but all our efforts were in vain. Every moment, too, the seas now raging round the vessel threatened to break on board. "Peter, the water is coming in as fast as we get it out, and if we don't keep pumping it will gain upon us," said Jim. For fear of being carried away, we made ourselves fast to some stanchions near the pumps, so that we could reach the brakes, and worked away till we were both ready to drop. Now and then we had to stop to draw breath and regain our strength. The hard battered brig pitched and rolled and tumbled, the seas dancing up wildly on every side of her. Again we had stopped, when Jim exclaimed, "Hark! I hear the breakers." I listened. The dreaded sound reached my ears. The brig was driving rapidly towards them. CHAPTER TWELVE. PORT REACHED IN AN UNEXPECTED MANNER. The sound of the breakers grew louder and louder. Every instant we expected to find the brig sent crashing on the rocks, and to have the furious seas breaking over us. "There's no use pumping any longer, Peter," said Jim. "We must cling to whatever we can get hold of, and hope for the chance of being hove up on the beach, if there is one." "A poor chance that," I could not help answering. "Perhaps the brig may be driven in between some rocks, and will hold together till the morning; if not we must be prepared to die." And I spoke to him as I think my mother would have spoken to me. Clinging to the shattered bulwarks, we waited for the dreadful event with all the resignation we could muster. Still the crash did not come, though the vessel appeared to be tossed about even more violently than before. "Peter, the breakers don't sound so loud as they did just now," exclaimed Jim, after some time. "Let's look at the compass," I said, casting off the rope round my waist. "I'll go too," cried Jim, doing the same. "What happens to you shall happen to both." Together we made our way to the binnacle, in which the lamp was still burning. As we eagerly examined the compass we found that the wind had shifted to the south-west, and if there was land, as we supposed, to the westward, was blowing partly off shore. We must have drifted past a headland, on which we had heard the seas breaking. Had the foresail stood we should have run on it, and we had cause, therefore, to be thankful that it had given way. Now, however, as it was important to keep off the land, we attempted to secure the clew and tack, and hauling together succeeded in again hoisting it. I then ran to the helm, and found that I could steer east by north or thereabouts. Though the brig moved very slowly, still I believed that we were getting away from the dreaded shore. We ran on for some time, when once more the wind shifted to the eastward of south, and blew with greater fury than before. "It's drawing more and more to the east," said Jim, looking at the compass. We hauled down the foresail, as it would only, we believed, drive us the faster to destruction. The brig tumbled and rolled and pitched about in a way that made it difficult for us to keep our feet, and every now and then the seas, washing over the deck, would have swept us off had we not again lashed ourselves to the stanchions near the pumps. These we worked as vigorously as our failing strength would allow. We had resolved not to give in while the brig remained afloat. How we longed for daylight, that we might see where we were, and judge how we could best try to save ourselves! That we were again driving towards the terrible rocks we knew too well, and several times Jim stopped pumping to listen for the sound of the breakers. At length he exclaimed, "I hear them, Peter! In less than ten minutes the brig will be in pieces! Good-bye, if the sea gets us; but we'll have a fight for it; so the moment she strikes we'll cast ourselves off from the stanchions." We were shaking hands while he spoke. I was not quite certain that I did hear the breakers, the noises on board the tumbling vessel making it difficult to distinguish sounds. Shortly after this there came a lull, but we thought it only the prelude to another squall. The wind fell more and more. "I see day breaking!" cried Jim, looking eastward. Faint yellow and red streaks were visible in that direction under the dark mass of clouds. The light increased, and to the westward, fringed by a line of rugged black rocks, a green island gradually rose before our sight. There were grassy slopes, and cliffs, and high, steep, round-topped hills, with clear streams running between them, forming lakelets near the beach, glittering in the rays of the rising sun, now bursting through the dissolving clouds. Far as our eyes could reach not a tree was visible, nor could we discover a single cottage or other habitation of man. As the light increased we found that we were about half a mile away from the entrance of a narrow gulf, which extended apparently far inland. Not a boat floated on the surface of the gulf, not a sail was to be seen along the coast. "I'm greatly afeared that yonder is a dissolute island," (meaning a desolate island), "and if no help comes to us from the shore we may be blown out to sea, and be worse off than before," said Jim. The wind had fallen to an almost perfect calm, but what there was blew out of the gulf, so that we could not hope to take the vessel up it, while the breakers still burst in sheets of foam on the rocks, and we lay tossed up and down by the glassy rolling seas. We were utterly helpless. While we were at breakfast a thought occurred to me. "I'll tell you what we'll do, Jim," I said; "we'll build a raft, put the poor old captain on it, take him ashore, and bury him. If we can find no people or houses we'll go off again. The brig won't drift far away in the meantime. If the wind will let us we'll run into the gulf, or if it shifts to the northward we'll steer along shore to the south and look out for another harbour. From what the captain said we may be sure there is one not far off where we shall find people to help us." Jim jumped at my proposal. "That's it, Peter; when once the dead man is out of the brig things will go better with us," he answered. I did not stop to argue the point, but turned to at once with him to form the proposed raft. We had plenty of spars below, so that our undertaking was not so difficult as it would have been had we not had a good supply. We first cut them into lengths with a saw we found below, and having placed them side by side, lashed others across on the top of them. Eager as we were to finish our task, we had more than once to stop and rest, for we were both very weak, and I felt a sensation of weariness I had not ever before experienced. In fact, we were thoroughly knocked up from the hard work we had gone through, and the little time we had had for rest. Having completed the raft and formed some paddles, we launched it overboard and secured it alongside. "Now, Jim," I said, "we must take some provisions, in case there are no people on the island, as we may have a longer pull back than we may like, and we have to bring up the captain and put him on the raft." We quickly collected some provisions, and I took the empty water-jar from the pantry. "What's that for?" asked Jim. "There's water enough on shore, surely." "Yes, but if we have a long pull back to the brig we shall be thankful for water," I answered. While thus employed we heard a voice coming from no great distance hail, "Ship ahoy!" My heart leapt within me at the sound, and running to the side we saw a boat with five men in her pulling towards us. An oldish man of portly figure, who looked like a sea captain, was steering. "Are ye the only people aboard?" he sang out as he saw us. "The only live ones, sir," answered Jim. There was no time to exchange more words before the boat was alongside, and the old gentleman and his men stepped on board. He gave a look of surprise as he saw the captain's body, and he then, turning to us, appeared more surprised still. "Why, my laddies, what has happened? How did this craft come here?" he asked, in a kind tone. I briefly told him how the masts had been carried away and the people washed overboard, and how the captain had been struck down and afterwards had died, and how we had kept him to bury him decently on shore, adding-- "He told us to steer west, sir, and so we did, but we don't know what country we've come to." "Why, surely, to Shetland, laddies," he answered. "But if ye had kept a little farther to the north ye would have passed our islands and run into the Atlantic, and it's weel for ye that ye didna do that. And now my men and I will take your craft up the voe and anchor her in safety. We might carry her to Lerwick, but the weather is unsettled, and she's na weel fitted to encounter another gale, no discredit to ye, laddies." Our new friend evidently compassionated our forlorn condition; indeed, now that the necessity for exerting ourselves was over, we both sank down utterly exhausted on the deck. The Shetlanders would have carried us below, but we begged to remain where we were, that we might see what was going forward. They therefore left us, and having placed the captain's body on the main hatch, covered by a flag, they proceeded to pull our raft to pieces and to hoist the spars composing it on board. This done, the four men jumped into the boat, and going ahead began to tow the brig, while the old gentleman went to the helm to steer. Before long, however, a breeze from the eastward springing up, the boat returned alongside, the men hoisted the canvas, and we stood in towards the voe, as the gulf, we found, was called. I could just distinguish the high green hills, with here and there grey cliffs and rocks jutting out from these on either side, as we sailed up the voe, but my eyes grew dimmer and dimmer till the brig's anchor was dropped, and I was just aware that we were being placed in the boat to be carried on shore. When I came to myself I found that I was in a comfortable bed with curtains round it, the sun shining brightly through the open window of the room, which looked neater and prettier than any I had ever slept in. Hearing a footstep, I peered through the curtains, and saw a lady and a little girl come in, carrying in their hands some things which they placed on the table. "I think the poor boy is awake, auntie," whispered the little girl. "I heard him move." "Perhaps he was only moving in his sleep, but I will see," answered the lady, and she approached the bed. I was looking all the time at the little girl, who seemed to me like an angel or a fairy, or some being altogether brighter than I had ever seen before--even than my sister Mary. "Yes, marm, I am awake, thank you," I said, as she opened the curtains, "and please, I want to get up and go aboard the brig to look after her and to see that our old captain is buried." "He was buried by the minister the day you came, and the brig is taken very good care of," she answered. "My father, Mr Angus Troil, has written to the owners to inform them of what has happened to her and of your brave conduct. He hopes soon to hear from them." "Thank you, marm," I again said, puzzled to know what the lady meant about hearing soon from Mr Gray, for I had supposed that Shetland was a long way from England. My first thought, however, had been about Jim. "Please, marm, where is the other boy, my shipmate?" I asked. "He was very ill only for three or four days, and is now well enough to go down to the brig with my father," she replied. "But I must not let you talk too much. You were to have some food, the doctor said, when you came to yourself. Here, Maggie, bring the broth and toast." Thereon the little girl brought the tray to the bedside and gazed compassionately at me, while the lady put the food into my mouth, for I was too weak to do so myself. It now dawned on me from what the lady said that I must have been in a state of unconsciousness for many days, and such I found was the case. I recollected nothing that had passed since I was placed in the boat. I could not speak much, but when I had finished the basin of broth I said-- "I am very thankful to you and your little daughter, marm, for all you have done for me." "You deserve to be taken care of, my boy," she answered; "but this little girl is not my daughter. Her father was my brother. He was lost at sea while captain of a ship, and her mother has since died, so that she is very precious to us." I looked at little Maggie with even more interest than before, and I said-- "My father was also drowned, and so was my grandfather, and I believe his father before him, for I come of a seafaring family." "That has been likewise the fate of many of the Troils," said the lady; "but I must not let you talk more now. Before long my father and your young shipmate will be returning, and they will be glad to hear from your own lips how you feel. In the meantime try to go to sleep again. The doctor says that the more you sleep the sooner you will regain your strength. Saying this, the lady, followed by the little girl, left the room." I thought over what she had said to me, and kept repeating to myself, "Margaret Troil! Margaret Troil! I know that name, I am sure!" but I did not think long before I forgot where I was and what had happened. I saw Maggie's sweet face peeping in at me when I woke, but as soon as she saw that my eyes were open she ran off, and shortly afterwards Mr Troil and Jim came into the room. The old gentleman spoke very kindly; told me that I must consider myself at home, and that though he hoped I should soon get well, I must be in no hurry to go away. He then went out, saying to Jim, "I can let you stay only five minutes with your friend. When the time is up I must call you." Jim could at first scarcely speak for joy at seeing me so much better. He then told me how highly Mr Troil spoke of me and him for the way we had kept the brig afloat, and brought her to the coast of Shetland. "I told him as how it wasn't us who did it," continued Jim, "but that God sent the wind as blew us here; and he says to me, `To be sure, that was the case in one way, but then that God rewarded your efforts, and thus you deserve great credit for what you did.' He promises to see that we are rewarded, and to do all he can for us himself. I told him as how you were really captain, and that I couldn't have done anything by myself, except pump, and that I had done with a will, seeing I am bigger and stronger than you." I was inclined to smile at Jim's modesty, though I felt very grateful to him for speaking so well of me, and was about to ask him what Mr Troil said in return, when our host called him out of the room. I was thus left to myself, except when the lady, who Jim had told me was Miss Troil, the old gentleman's daughter, or little Maggie looked in to see if I wanted anything. Two days after this I was able to dress and sit out in front of the house, enjoying the sun and air, looking down on the voe in which lay our brig, with a small sloop and several fishing vessels and boats. On that side, looking to the south, there was a view of the voe and the opposite bank, but on all the others the house, a square stone building, was protected by a high wall close to it, built to keep off the biting cold winds and snow of winter. Jim was out with Mr Troil, and as Miss Troil was engaged, Maggie came and sat by me with a book, and read and talked to me for a long time, getting me to tell her all about myself and our perilous voyage, till her aunt summoned her to attend to some household affairs. When I returned to my room I found that my chest had been brought on shore and placed there. Miss Troil came in and took out the things, which, having become damp and mildewy, she wished to dry. While doing so she came upon my old Testament, which, chancing to open, she examined the inside of the cover with intense curiosity. "Why, Peter, how did you come by this?" she asked. The family had got by this time to call me Peter. I told her that it had belonged to my father's mother, and then for the first time since I came to Shetland I recollected that the name in it was spelt in the same way as that of my host. "I must ask my father about this!" she exclaimed. "He had an uncle called Angus, after whom he was named, and who married a Margaret Halcro. There are none of the family remaining in Shetland, though at one time they were numerous. Peter, I should not be surprised if it turns out that you are a kinsman of ours. Should you like to be so?" "Indeed I should!" I answered; "I feel as if I were one already, from the kind way you have treated me, even before you thought I might be a relative." When Mr Trail came in he listened attentively to what his daughter told him, and, having examined the handwriting in the Testament, asked me the ages of my father and grandmother, and all other particulars I could tell him. "I have no doubt about your being a near relative of ours, Peter, and I rejoice to find you one, my dear boy," he said; "though why my aunt Margaret Troil did not come back to her husband's relatives after her husband's death I cannot tell." "Perhaps she had not the means to make the journey, or my father had gone away to sea, and she was afraid that he might be unable to find her on his return if she left her home; or, now I think of it, I remember my father saying that she died soon after my grandfather was lost, when he himself was a little chap." "Well, all is ordered for the best, though we don't see how," said Mr Troil. "And now you have come you must stay with us and turn back into a Shetlander. What do you say to my proposal?" "Oh, do stay with us, Cousin Peter!" exclaimed Maggie, taking my hand and looking up in my face. "Indeed, I should like very much to do so," I answered, "but there is my sister Mary, and I cannot desert her, even though I know that she is well off with Mr Gray." "Then Peter must go and fetch her!" exclaimed Maggie. "Oh, I should so like to have her here! I would love her as a sister." "A bright idea of yours, Maggie," said Mr Troil. "What do you say to it, Peter? I will furnish you with ample funds, and you can be back here in a month, as I feel very sure that your friend Mr Gray will willingly allow Mary to come." I need not say that I gladly accepted my generous relative's proposal, and it was arranged that as soon as I had quite recovered my strength I should go south in the first vessel sailing from Lerwick, accompanied by Jim, who wanted to see his friends, and hoped to be able to work his passage both ways, so that he might not be separated from me. CHAPTER THIRTEEN. A DISASTROUS VOYAGE. I was soon myself again, and ready for the proposed voyage southward. Accordingly, Mr Troil having received directions from Mr Gray to send the _Good Intent_ to Lerwick to be refitted, Tom and I, bidding farewell, as we hoped, only for a short season to Miss Troil and Maggie, went on board the brig to assist in carrying her there, intending to proceed by the first vessel sailing after our arrival. Mr Troil sent us a pilot and a good crew to navigate the vessel, and accompanied her himself in his sloop, that he might assist us if necessary. The wind was fair and the sea smooth, and thus without accident we arrived in that fine harbour called Brassa Sound, on the shore of which Lerwick, the capital of the islands, stands. We there found a vessel shortly to sail for Newcastle. Having taken in a cargo of coals, she was thence to proceed to Portsmouth. This so exactly suited our object that Mr Troil at once engaged a passage on board her for Jim and me. After Portsmouth the town appeared small, but the inhabitants have large warm hearts, and were very kind to Jim and me. As he remarked, it is better to have large hearts and live in a small place than small cold hearts and to live in a large place. They seemed never to tire of asking us questions about our voyage in the _Good Intent_, and how we two boys alone managed to rig jury-masts and to keep her afloat. "By just knowing how to do our work and sticking to it," answered Jim, to one of our friends. If we had remained much longer at Lerwick we should have begun to fancy ourselves much more important persons than we really were; but the brig _Nancy_, Captain Gowan, was ready for sea, and wishing farewell to my kind relative, Mr Troil, who set sail in his ship to return home, we went on board. We soon afterwards got under way with a fair breeze, and before night had left Sumburgh Head, the lofty point which forms the southern end of the Shetland Islands, far astern. The _Nancy_ was a very different sort of craft from the _Good Intent_. She was an old ill-found vessel, patched up in an imperfect manner, and scarcely seaworthy. Jim and I agreed that if she were to meet with the bad weather we encountered in our old ship she would go to the bottom or drive ashore. We discovered also before long that Captain Gowan was a very different person from our former captain. He had conducted himself pretty well on shore, so that people spoke of him as a very decent man, but when once at sea he threw off all restraint, abused the crew, quarrelled with the mate, and neglected us, who had been placed under his charge. Jim, who had to work his passage, slept in the fore-peak, but I was berthed aft. I, however, did as much duty as anyone. Jim told me that the men were a rough lot, and that he had never heard worse language in his life. They tried to bully him, but as he was strong enough to hold his own, and never lost his temper, they gave up the attempt. Captain Gowan growled when I came in to dinner the first day, which I knew that I had a right to do, and he asked if every ship-boy was to be turned into a young gentleman because he happened to have saved his life while others lost theirs? I did not answer him, for I saw an empty bottle on the locker, and another by his side with very little liquor remaining in it. After this I kept out of his way, and got my meals from the cook as best I could. Jim and I agreed that if the _Nancy_ had not been going direct to Portsmouth, we should do well to leave her at Newcastle, and try to make our way south on board some other vessel. Although we went, I believe, much out of our proper course, we at last entered the Tyne. Soon after we brought up, several curiously-shaped boats, called kreels, came alongside, containing eight tubs, each holding a chaldron; these tubs being hoisted on board, their bottoms were opened and the coals fell into the hold. The kreels, which were oval in shape, were propelled by a long oar or pole on each side, worked by a man who walked along the gunwale from the bow to the stern, pressing the upper end with his shoulder while the lower touched the ground. Another man stood in the stern with a similar long oar to steer. The crews were fine hardy fellows, known as kreelmen. I was astonished to hear them call each other bullies, till I found that the term signified "brothers." So bully Saunders meant brother Saunders. Jim and I had had the sense to put on our working clothes, which was fortunate, as before long, with the coal-dust flying about, we were as black as negroes, but as everything and all on board were coloured with the same brush, we did not mind that. With the help of the kreelmen the _Nancy_ was soon loaded, and we again sailed for the southward. Matters did not improve. The captain, having abstained from liquor while on shore, recompensed himself by taking a double allowance, and became proportionably morose and ill-tempered, never speaking civilly to me, and often passing a whole day without exchanging a word with his poor mate; and when he did open his mouth it was to abuse. The brig, though tolerably tight when light, now that she had a full cargo, as soon as a sea got up began to leak considerably, so that each watch had to pump for an hour to keep the water under. Jim and I took our turns without being ordered, but though accustomed to the exercise, it was hard work. When we cried "Spell ho!" for others to take our places, the captain shouted, "You began to pump for your own pleasure, now you shall go on for mine, you young rascals!" The men, however, though they at first laughed, having more humanity than the skipper, soon relieved us. This was the third day after we sailed, when the wind shifting to the south-west, and then to the south, we stood away to the eastward in order to double the North Foreland. After some time it came on to blow harder than ever, but the brig was made snug in time, though the leaks increased, and all hands in a watch were kept, spell and spell, at the pumps. The captain behaved just as before, drinking all day long, though he did not appear to lose his senses altogether. The mate, however, looked very anxious as the vessel pitched into the seas each time more violently than before. I asked him if he thought she would keep afloat. "That's more than I can promise you, my boy," he answered. "If the wind falls, and the sea goes down, we may perhaps manage to keep the leaks under; but if I were the captain I would run for Harwich or the Thames sooner than attempt to thrash the vessel round the Foreland." "Why don't you propose that to him, and if he does not agree, just steer as you think best?" I said. "I suspect that he would not find out in what direction we were standing." "Wouldn't he, though! Why, Peter, I tell you he would swear there was a mutiny, and knock me overboard," answered the poor mate in a tone of alarm. He was evidently completely cowed by the captain, and dared not oppose him. The night was just coming on; the seas kept breaking over the bows, washing the deck fore and aft, and the clank of the pumps was heard without cessation. The captain sat in his cabin, either drinking or sleeping, except when occasionally he clambered on deck, took a look around while holding on to the companion-hatch, and then, apparently thinking that all was going on well, went below again. When I could pump no longer I turned in, thinking it very probable that I should never see another sunrise. By continually pumping, the brig was kept afloat during the night; but when I came on deck in the morning, the mate, who looked as if he would drop from fatigue, told me that the leaks were gaining on us. We were now far out, I knew, in the German Ocean, and if the brig should go down, there was too much sea running to give us a chance of saving ourselves. Some time after daylight the captain came on deck, and he had not been there long when there was a lull. "Hands about ship!" he shouted. The watch below tumbled up, and the brig was got round. "Will you take charge, sir?" humbly asked the mate. "I have been on deck all night, and can scarcely stand." The captain raved at him for a lazy hound. "I haven't turned in, either," he said, though he had been asleep in his chair for several hours. "I want my breakfast; when I've had that I'll relieve you." The mate made no reply, and as soon as the captain went below he hurried forward to bid the cook make haste with the cabin breakfast. It was a difficult matter, however, to keep the galley fire alight, or the pots on it in their places. The weather seemed to be improving, but the men were well-nigh worn out with pumping. When the captain at last came on deck, in spite of their grumbling, he kept them labouring away as hard as ever, and ordered Jim and me to take our turn with the rest. This we did willingly, as we knew that unless all exerted themselves the brig must founder. As noon approached, the captain brought up his quadrant, and sent below to summon the mate to take observations though the clouds hung so densely over the sky that there was but little chance of doing this. "Might as well try to shoot the sun at midnight as now, with the clouds as dark as pitch," growled the mate. "What was the use of calling me up for such fool's work?" "What's that you say?" shouted the captain. "Do you call me a fool?" "Yes, I do, if you expect to take an observation with such a sky as we have got overhead," answered the mate. "Then take that!" screamed the captain, throwing the quadrant he held in his hand at the mate's head, not, for the moment, probably, recollecting what it was. It struck the mate on the temple, who, falling, let his own quadrant go, and both were broken to pieces. "Here's a pretty business," cried one of the men, "I wonder now what will become of us!" Good reason we had to wonder. The mate, picking himself up, flew at the captain, and a fearful struggle ensued. Both were too excited to know what they were about, and the captain, who was the stronger of the two, would have hove the mate overboard had not the crew rushed aft and separated them. The mate then went below, and the captain rolled about the deck, stamping and shouting that he would be revenged on him. At last he also went down into the cabin. Fearing that he would at once put his fearful threats into execution and attack the mate, I followed, intending to call the crew to my assistance should it be necessary. I saw him, however, take another pull at the rum bottle, and then, growling and muttering, turn into his bed. I waited till I supposed that he was asleep, and then I went to the mate's berth. "There is no one in charge of the deck, sir," I said. "And if it was to blow harder, as it seems likely to do, I don't know what will happen." "Nor do I either, Peter, with such a drunken skipper as ours," he answered. "What are the men about?" "They have knocked off from the pumps, and if you don't come on deck and order them to turn to again they'll let the brig go down without making any further effort to save her," I answered. My remarks had some effect, for though the mate had himself been drinking, or he would not have spoken as he did to the captain, he yet had some sense left in his head. He at last got up and came on deck. All the hands, except the man at the helm, were crouching down under the weather-bulwarks to avoid the showers of spray flying in dense masses over us. The sea had increased, and though we had not much sail set, the brig was heeling over to the furious blasts which every now and then struck her; if she righted it was only to bend lower still before the next. "Do you want to lose your lives or keep them, lads?" shouted the mate, after sounding the well. "Well then, I can tell you that if you don't turn to at once and work hard, and very hard, too, the brig will be at the bottom before the morning." Still the men did not move. Jim was holding on near me. "Come, let you and me try what we can do," I said; "we have pumped to good purpose before now." Jim needed no second asking. Seizing the brakes, we began, and pumped away with all our might, making the water rush across the deck in a full stream. Before long one man got up and joined, then another, and another. When we got tired and cried, "Spell ho!" the rest took our places. "I see you want to save your lives, lads," cried the mate, who occasionally took a spell himself. "But you must keep at it, or it will be of no use." All that day we stood on, the crew pumping without intermission. "If the wind moderates we'll set more sail," said the mate; "but the brig has as much on her as she can bear. We must be soon looking out for land, though. You, Peter, have a sharp pair of eyes--go aloft, and try if you can see it." Though the vessel was heeling over terribly at the time, I was about to obey, when Jim said, "No, you stay on deck; let me go, Peter." To this I would not agree. "Then I'll go with you," said Jim. So we both crawled up the weather-rigging together. Jim said he thought that he saw land on the starboard bow, but I did not get a glimpse of it, and felt sure that he was mistaken; at all events there was no land visible ahead. We remained aloft till darkness came on, and there was no use remaining longer. We made our reports to the mate. He said that Jim was right, and that we had probably passed the South Foreland. This was, however, I suspected, only to encourage the men to keep at the pumps. All night long, spell and spell, we laboured away. When the morning broke no land was in sight. By this time we were all pretty well knocked up, and most of the men declared that they could pump no longer. The mate now tried to make them keep on, reminding them that if they did not they would lose their lives. Some answered that they would take their chance, but Jim and I and others kept at our duty. Even we, however, began to feel that the struggle would be useless unless we should soon make the land, for the mate could not deny that the water was gaining on us. The wind, however, began to moderate, and the sun bursting forth from between the clouds cheered us up a little. At last the captain came on deck. After looking about him for some time he told me to go below and get his quadrant. He was apparently sober, and seemed to have forgotten what had happened. "Have you a second one, sir?" I asked. "No; bring the one I always use," he answered. "You hove it at the mate yesterday, sir," I said. "And he fell and broke his." "What lies are you telling, youngster?" he exclaimed, uttering a fearful oath. Then he shouted to the mate, who had gone forward to be out of his way. "Did I heave my quadrant at you?" "Yes, you did," answered the mate. "You made me break mine, too, and if we lose our lives you'll have them on your head." The captain made no reply. I think that the occurrence must have flashed on his mind. He looked at the compass, took two or three turns on deck, and then ordered more sail to be set, directly afterwards changing the ship's course to north-west. I therefore supposed that we were steering for the Downs, or perhaps for Saint Helens. The men, though very tired, went on pumping far more willingly than before. A bright look-out was kept for land, but no land appeared. For some hours the brig made fair progress, but as the evening drew on the wind again got up. The captain had gone below. He could not resist taking a pull at the rum bottle. We were carrying topsails and topgallantsails. A sudden squall laid the brig over. The captain sprang on deck and shouted-- "All hands shorten sail! You, Peter and Jim, up aloft with you and hand the main-topgallant-sail." The blast had passed over and the brig had righted. Jim and I ran aloft to obey the order. The rest of the people were still on deck except one man, who had gone up the fore-rigging, about to let fly the sheets and brail up; but, nearly worn out with labouring at the pumps, they must have very slowly obeyed the orders they received, for almost before a sheet was let go, another furious squall struck the brig. Over, over she heeled. Jim and I slid down into the main-top. "Hold on, whatever happens," cried Jim. The warning was given not a moment too soon. There was a fearful cracking sound, the mast quivered, it was almost right over the water, and just as the brig was on her beam-ends it gave way, tearing out the chain-plates on the weather side, and Jim and I were hurled with it into the raging sea. I expected every moment that we should be washed off as the mast was towed along, and so we must have been had not the lee shrouds given way. To regain the brig was impossible; the next instant the mast was clear and the brig drove on. Before she had got a cable's length from us the foremast also went by the board. We could see no one on it as it was towed along. A minute or more passed. The mast to which we clung rose to the top of a sea, we saw the brig plunge into another. Again we looked, for one instant we saw her stern, and the next she was gone. We were too far off to hear a cry. The foremast must have been drawn down with her. The boats were securely lashed. Nothing that we could see remained floating. We knew that our late shipmates had perished. Our own condition was fearful in the extreme. At any moment we might be washed from our hold! Now our head were under water! Now we rose to the top of a sea and looked down into a deep gulf below us. "Hold on; hold on, Peter," cried Jim, who was clinging on the mast close to me. "Don't give up. Here, I've cut a piece of rope for you. Lash yourself on with it. I'll get a piece for myself presently." I wanted him to secure himself first, but he insisted that I should take the rope, and I lashed myself with it. He soon afterwards secured himself in the same way. We might thus prolong our lives; but should we be able to hold out till a passing vessel might pick us up? I asked myself. We were far away from land, and hours, perhaps days, might go by before the mast was seen, and only our dead bodies would be found. We had no food, no fresh water; night was coming on. I did not tell my thoughts to Jim, nor did he say what was passing in his mind; but we tried to cheer each other up. For an instant the clouds broke asunder in the west, and the sun, just as he sank below the horizon, bursting forth, shed a bright glow over the foaming ocean. "He'll not be long down," cried Jim, "and he'll warm us on t'other side when he rises." Jim's remark did me good. We had cause to hope for the best. The squall which had carried away the brig's masts was the last of the gale. The wind rapidly fell, and the sea went down, so that in a short time we could keep ourselves almost entirely out of the water. The mast became more quiet. Had we not lashed ourselves to it when we fell asleep as we both did now and then, we might have dropped off. We talked as much as we could, both to keep up our spirits and to prevent ourselves from dozing. Thus the night passed. It seemed long enough, but not so long as I expected. I must have closed my eyes when I heard Jim shout, "A sail! A sail!" and opening them I saw a large ship under all sail about a couple of miles away, standing on a course which we hoped would bring her near us. CHAPTER FOURTEEN. JIM AND I CARRIED OFF AGAINST OUR WILL. "Shall we be seen, Jim, think you?" I asked, after we had gazed at the ship some minutes without speaking. "Ain't quite certain," answered Jim, in a sad voice; "if I thought so, I could sing for joy, that I could, but the ship's a long way off, and maybe she'll haul closer to the wind and pass us by." "Oh, Jim! Let us pray that she'll not do that," I exclaimed. "She's standing, as far as I can make out, directly towards us, and why should we fancy that we are to be deserted? Cheer up, Jim! Cheer up!" "That's what I'm trying to do," said Jim. "Still we must not make too certain. If she doesn't pick us up another vessel may. We are in the track of ships going up and down Channel, and that's one comfort." Jim did not say this all at once, for he stopped sometimes to take a look at the stranger, and every now and then a sea washed up and made us close our mouths. Still the seas were every instant growing less and less, and we at last unlashed ourselves that we might move about a little and stretch our limbs. We were on the top, it must be remembered, so that we did not run the same risk of falling off as we should have done if we had had only the mast to support us. With straining eyes we watched the ship. Still she held the same course on which she had been steering when we first saw her, and which was bringing her nearer and nearer to us. "Hurrah, Jim! We shall soon be seen, depend on that," I exclaimed, at last, "and perhaps before to-night we shall be safe on shore. Who can say that we shan't be landed at Portsmouth itself?" "I wish I could say I was as sure as you are, Peter," observed Jim, in a doleful voice. "If she had seen us it would have been all right; she would pick us up, but she may alter her course. Even now the wind is shifting, and she may have to keep away." I could not contradict this; still I kept on hoping that we should ere long be seen. I had a white handkerchief in my pocket, although it was rolled into a ball by the wet. I pulled it out, and waved it above my head as high as I could reach. Even now we might have attracted the attention of those on board the stranger, although we could distinguish no signal made to us in return. "She's a thumping big ship, whatever she is," I remarked. "She's high out of the water, and that makes her look bigger," observed Jim. "I have seen some like her brought up at Spithead, and to my mind she's a South Sea whaler, outward bound. That's the reason she looks so high. Yes, I am right, for I can make out her boats hoisted up at the davits." "I think you are right," I said; "but even if she is an outward bound ship, she'll put us on board another vessel homeward-bound, or land us on some part of the coast, the back of the Isle of Wight, or Portland." "First let us get on board her before we talk of where we shall be landed," said Jim. "It seems to me as if she was going about. The head sails are shaking." "No, no! the man at the wheel was not minding his helm," I answered. "I'll wave again." "They won't see that little bit of a rag," cried Jim, "I'll try what I can do. Here, Peter, just take hold of my jacket," he continued, as he stripped it off, and then loosening his waistband he pulled his shirt over his head, and began to wave it frantically. I waved my handkerchief, and then in our eagerness we shouted out at the top of our voices, as if the faint sounds could be carried as far as the ship. Presently our hearts sank, for there was no doubt that the ship was keeping away. Still, should anyone on board be using a spy-glass, and turn it towards us, we should, we hoped, be observed. We waved and shouted even more vehemently than before, but even I was almost in despair. "She's going to pass us after all," cried Jim, "and there's not another sail in sight." Just as he spoke there came a puff of smoke with a bright flash, from the ship's bows, followed by a sharp report. "We are seen! We are seen!" shouted Jim. "That's a signal to us. Hurrah! Hurrah!" The ship now came rapidly on, and we had no longer any doubt about being rescued. This very circumstance caused a reaction in our feelings, and, strange as it may seem, we both burst into tears. We recovered ourselves, however, very soon, and continued waving, still having an idea that the ship might sail away from us, but on and on she came. Presently her courses were brailed up, and she hove-to about three cables' lengths from our mast. Almost at the same instant one of her boats was lowered, and came pulling towards us as fast as the men could bend their backs to the oars. In a few minutes kindly hands were stretched out to help us into the boat. "Are you the only two?" asked the mate, who was steering. "Yes, sir; all the rest are gone," I answered. "Well, we'll hear all about it when we get you on board, lads, for you both seem as if you wanted looking after," he said. The boat leaving the mast, returned rapidly towards the ship. While most of the crew scrambled up the sides, the tackles were hooked on, and we were hoisted up in the boat, from whence we were speedily handed down on deck. I could not have stood if I had not been supported, and Jim was much in the same condition. We were soon surrounded by strange faces, some looking compassionately upon us, others with indifference, as if it was a matter of very little consequence that two boys should have been saved from perishing. Meantime the yards were swung round and the ship stood on her course. "We must have the lads below at once," said one of the persons standing round. "They have been many hours wet through and exposed on the mast, and even now, if we don't look out, they may slip through our fingers." "Very true, Doctor Cockle," said another, who was, I saw by his dress, an officer. "One of them may be put into my cabin, where you can look after him better than for'ard." "And the other can go into mine," said the doctor, the person who had first spoken. No one had asked us any questions; probably they saw by our condition that we should have been unable to answer them, for both Jim and I were fast verging towards unconsciousness. We were at once carried below, when I was put into the mate's cabin, where my clothes were stripped off by the doctor's orders, and, being rubbed dry, I was placed between the blankets. The doctor, who had been looking after Jim, soon came and gave me something out of a glass, which seemed to warm me up wonderfully. But even then I could not have spoken if my life had depended upon it. "Get some warm broth as quickly as you can," I heard the doctor say to someone, he in the meantime rubbing my feet and hands and chest. It seemed as if scarcely more than two or three minutes had passed when a basin of hot broth was brought me, which I drank without difficulty, and it did me more good than the stuff in the glass. "You may go to sleep now, my lad," said the doctor, in a kind tone; "you'll do well. You shall tell us by-and-by how you and your companion came to be on the mast." I obeyed the doctor's orders, and scarcely had the door been closed than I was fast asleep. I was awakened by the doctor coming in, accompanied by a boy who brought some more soup and some bread, and which, being very hungry, I thankfully swallowed. "You can eat something more substantial now," said the doctor, and he told the boy to bring in some fowl and more bread from the breakfast-table. By this I guessed that I must have had a long spell of sleep, and that a whole day and a night had passed since we were taken on board. I eagerly ate all that was given me. "You may get up now, my boy, and dress, and we will find another berth for you; we must not keep Mr Griffiths out of his bed," said the doctor. "I would not do that on any account, sir," I said; "I feel quite strong, and am accustomed to live forward." I soon dressed, and was glad to see that Jim also was up. There were two apprentices on board, who lived on the half-deck, and the doctor said that the first mate promised to have some berths knocked up for us with them. "How did you come to be on board the vessel which went down?" asked the doctor, when I accompanied him on deck. From the kind way he spoke I was encouraged to give him a full account of myself and Jim, so I told him that he and I belonged to Portsmouth, and had gone in the _Good Intent_ to Bergen; and how she had lost her masts, and the crew had been washed overboard. How the captain had died, and we had done our best to keep the brig afloat, and had been driven in close to Shetland, and that I had found a relative there, and was coming south in the _Nancy_ to fetch my sister. He then asked me about my father, and I told him that he had been lost at Spithead, and that mother had died, and old Tom had taken care of Mary and me, and how, after he had been blown up in the ship at Spithead, Jim and I had managed to gain our bread and support Mary and Nancy till a claimant appeared for old Tom's property, and our boat had been taken from us, and we had been turned out of the house, and should have been in a bad way if the good Quaker, Mr Gray, had not come to our assistance. The doctor listened attentively, and he then asked me what sort of man my father was, and whether I had a brother in the navy. I described my father, and then said that Jack had gone away on board the _Lapwing_ brig of war, but that he was supposed to have been cut off by savages in one of her boats when in the Indian seas. At all events, that we had never since heard of him. "That's very strange," he observed; "I think, Peter Trawl, that we have met before, when you were a very little chap. Do you remember your father taking off the doctor and the mate of a ship lying at Spithead, when you and your brother Jack were in the boat, and he was to be put on board the brig?" "Yes, sir," I said, looking up at his face: "I recollect it perfectly, as it was the last time I saw Jack, though I little thought then that I should never see him again." "I was the doctor, and the first mate of this ship was my companion. When I first heard your name, as it is a peculiar one, I all of a sudden recollected that it was that of the boatman who took Mr Griffiths and me off on the occasion I speak of. We are now brothers-in-law, and have ever since gone to sea together--that is to say, when we have gone to sea, for both of us have taken long spells on shore. If it hadn't been for that, Mr Griffiths would have been a captain years ago." "I am very glad to meet you and him again, sir," I said; "and now I look at you I fancy I recollect your countenance, as I did your voice. You were not as well accustomed to the sea then as you are now." "No," he answered, laughing. "That was my first voyage. I sometimes wish that I had lived comfortably on shore, and made it my last, but I got accustomed to a roving life, and having no regular business or tie, when circumstances compelled Mr Griffiths--who married my sister--to come to sea again, I agreed to accompany him." I felt sure from the kind way in which Doctor Cockle spoke that he would wish to serve me. I asked him if the ship was going to put into Saint Helens, or if not, would he get the captain to land Jim and me at Portland? "We are some way to the westward of Portland, already," he answered. "It is possible that he may land you at Plymouth or Falmouth, or if not put you on board some pilot or fishing boat, or any vessel we may fall in with coming up Channel." "Surely, sir, he would not carry us away from home? I would give anything to be on shore, where my young sister is expecting me, and it would break her heart to fancy I was lost, which she would do if I did not appear," I said. "As Mr Griffiths and I only joined the ship at Hull, ten days ago, we are not very intimate with the captain: but I hope he would not refuse your request." The doubtful way in which he spoke made me feel very unhappy. Still, I hoped that when I told the captain the strong reasons I had for wishing to be put on shore as soon as possible, he would not refuse. The doctor left me to attend to one of the men who was sick forward, and I joined Jim, who had also come on deck. I had a long talk with him about the matter. He fancied we were only then just abreast of the Downs, and that the captain would put in willingly enough for the sake of getting rid of us. It was a great disappointment to find that we were so far down Channel, and that we should thus, at all events, have a long journey back to Portsmouth. Still we neither of us doubted for a moment that we should be put on shore somewhere to the westward, as I saw by a look I had at the compass that we were standing for the land. While we were talking, the captain, whom we had not yet seen, came on deck. He was a fine, tall, sailor-like looking man, with a handsome countenance and large eyes, which seemed to take in everything at a glance--a person of whom the roughest crew would stand in awe. His bright eyes fell on Jim and me; he beckoned us to come up, and, looking at me, bade me give him the particulars of the loss of the brig, about which Mr Griffiths and the doctor had told him. I gave him the account as he desired, and then thought that I might venture to ask him to put Jim and me on shore, for that, as may be supposed, was the thing uppermost in my mind. "We will see about that, my lads," he answered. "If the wind holds as it now does it won't cause us any delay, but I can make no promises. Boys at your age ought to wish to see the world, and we can find employment for you on board. You are sharp fellows, I can see, or you would not have saved your lives. One of the apprentices isn't worth his salt, and the other will slip his cable before long, I suspect. His friends insisted on my taking him, fancying that the voyage would restore him to health." The captain spoke in so free-and-easy a way that the awe with which I was at first inclined to regard him vanished. The wind, I should have said, had shifted to the westward of south. We were standing about north-west, a course which would carry us over to the English coast before long. We were obliged to be content with the sort of promise that the captain had made, and I hoped that when the doctor and Mr Griffiths spoke to him, that he would not refuse to put us on shore. Though Jim and I were well enough to walk about the deck, we were too weak to venture aloft, or we should have been at the masthead looking out for land. We went forward, however, keeping our eyes over the starboard bow, where we expected every instant to see it. Several of the men spoke to us good-naturedly, and were as eager as the officers had been to hear what had happened to us. While we were standing there looking out, a lad came up and said, "So I hear you fellows are to be our messmates. What are your names?" I told him. "Mine's Ned Horner," he said, "and I hope we shall be friends, for I can't make anything of the fellow who messes with me, George Esdale. There's no fun in him, and he won't talk or do anything when it's his watch below but read and sing psalms." "I shall be glad to be friends with you," I answered, "but I don't suppose it will be for long, as I expect we shall leave the ship to-night or to-morrow morning." "That may or may not be," he remarked, with a laugh. "Have you been long at sea?" I told him that I had been brought up to it from my boyhood. "Well, you have the advantage of me, for this is my first voyage; and Esdale didn't know the stem from the stern when he first came on board. Now come along to the half-deck; he and I are going to dinner; I suppose you'll join us?" Jim and I were beginning to feel hungry, and willingly accepted Horner's invitation. The savoury whiffs which came out of the caboose as we passed made me feel more eager than ever for something to eat. Horner took us down to the half-deck, where we found Esdale, of whom he had spoken, seated on a chest reading. He was a pale, sickly-looking youth, taller a good deal than Jim. He put down his book and held out his hand to shake ours. "It's your turn to go for the dinner," he said to Horner, "and it must be ready by this time, but I'll go if you wish it." "Well, you may go," said Horner; "I want to do the honours to these fellows. Take care that you don't capsize with the things as you come along the deck." Then, without another word, Esdale got up, and putting his book into the chest, went forward. "I make him do just what I like," said Horner, in a contemptuous tone. "Take care that you don't treat him in the same way, for if he has too many masters he may be inclined to kick." Before long Esdale returned with a bowl of pea-soup, and a plate at the top of it containing some potatoes, and a piece of fat boiled pork. "Now fall to, youngsters," said Horner, in a patronising tone. "I am sorry not to be able to offer you better fare." While he was speaking he got out of a locker four plates and two metal spoons and two wooden ones. We did ample justice to the dinner, as we had been accustomed to nothing better while we were on board the _Nancy_. After the meal was finished we returned on deck, though Esdale did not offer to accompany us, as he spent his watch below, as Horner had said, in reading, writing, or singing in a low voice to himself. We passed the afternoon looking out for the land. At length, when night came on, in spite of my anxiety to see the coast, and the long sleep I had had, I felt scarcely able to keep my eyes open. Still, I should probably have remained on deck after dark had not the doctor come to us and said, "I have spoken to the captain, lads, and he promises to put you on shore to-morrow morning; so now go and turn in, for you require sleep." We went to the half-deck, where we found that the carpenter had knocked up some rough bunks, in which some mattresses and blankets had been placed. We were both glad enough to turn in. I observed that Esdale, before he did so, knelt down and said his prayers. It was Horner's watch on deck, so that he was not present. CHAPTER FIFTEEN. THE VOYAGE OF THE "INTREPID" BEGUN. I slept right through the night, and was surprised to find when I opened my eyes that it was daylight. Jim and I at once turned out and went on deck. There was the land, broad on the starboard bow, still at some distance. When I looked aloft I saw that the yards were square, and studding-sails on either side. A strong north-easterly wind was blowing, and we were running down Channel. The captain, the first mate, and the doctor were on deck. Jim and I gazed eagerly at the land. I went up to the doctor. "Whereabouts are we, sir?" I asked. "We are off the Start, my lad." "Off the Start!" I exclaimed. "Oh, sir, won't the captain put into Plymouth to land us as he promised? Do speak to him, sir." "These lads are very anxious to be landed, Captain Hawkins," he said. "It is of the greatest importance to young Trawl here, and it would not much delay us." The mate spoke in the same way, and entreated the captain even in stronger language than Dr Cockle had used. "No, no," he answered. "Very likely they do wish to be put on shore, but we cannot lose a moment of this fine breeze. The trip won't do them any harm, and they'll thank me for it by-and-by." Jim, when he heard this, was too angry on my account to speak, but I lifted up my hands and implored the captain to have pity on my young sister, if not on me. "Very fine, my lad," he answered, with a laugh; "but you are not quite of so much importance as you suppose. It might delay us not only for a few hours, but for days, perhaps, and, doctor, I cannot listen to you. We've got a favourable breeze, and I intend to make the best use of it." Once more I implored and entreated that the captain would not carry us away from home. All was of no use; he would not listen either to the doctor or the mate, or us. At length, growing angry, he said he would not hear another word on the subject, and Jim and I, by the doctor's advice, went for'ard to be out of his way. There we stood, watching with straining eyes the shore, past which we were running, and at length the Land's End came in sight. "Cheer up, my lads," said our kind friend, who came for'ard to us. "The wind may change, and we may be driven back, or we may be able to put you on board some homeward-bound ship. Cheer up! Cheer up!" The land, as I stood gazing at it, rapidly sank below the horizon. I strained my eyes--the last faint line had disappeared. I could have cried, but my grief was too bitter for tears. Not that I cared for being carried away on my own account, but I thought of the sorrow my kind relatives in Shetland would feel--Mr Trail and his daughter, and dear little Maggie, and more than all how Mary would feel as she waited day after day for the arrival of the brig which was never to appear, and then, when all hope was gone, how she would mourn for us, and Nancy also would, I knew, share her feelings. If I could have sent but a line to my sister to tell her I was safe, though I might be long absent, it would not have so much mattered. Mr Gray would take very good care of her, and she would have written to Mr Troil to explain what had happened; but as it was I could scarcely bear it. "The doctor told us to cheer up, and that's what I say to you, Peter," cried Jim, trying to console me. "Maybe we shall fall in with a homeward-bound ship after all, though I don't think there's much chance of our seeing the shores of old England again for a long time to come if we don't, as it looks as if the wind would hold in its present quarter till we are well out in the Atlantic." Jim was right. With yards squared and every stitch of canvas the ship could carry, we bowled along at a rate which soon left our native land far astern. I had been too long at sea, and knew the duties of a sailor too well, to feel for myself so much as many fellows of my age under similar circumstances would have done. Jim also tried to rouse me up, so instead of moping I determined to exert myself. I still had the hope to support me that before long we might fall in with a homeward-bound ship, and I concluded that the captain would, without hesitation, put Jim and me on board her. The day after we took our departure from the Land's End he saw us both together on deck. "What are those youngsters idling there for?" he exclaimed, turning to Mr Griffiths. "Put them in a watch at once, and let me see that they do their duty. If they don't, let them look out for squalls!" "Ay, ay, sir!" answered the mate, who, though of a very independent spirit, always spoke respectfully to the captain. He considerately placed us both in the same watch, knowing that we should like it, as we should be able to talk at night when we were on deck and had no especial duty to perform. We had no reason to complain of the way the men treated us, rough as some of them were. The doctor and Mr Griffiths always behaved kindly, but the captain took no further notice of us, except when he ordered Jim or me to do something. To my surprise, I found that the ship was the _Intrepid_--the very one my father and I had put Mr Griffiths and the doctor on board so many years before. She was then quite a new ship, and, being strongly-built, she was as sound as ever. I have spoken of her as a ship, but she was barque-rigged, as almost all whalers are, barques being more easily handled than ship-rigged craft. The _Intrepid_ was upwards of three hundred tons burden, with a crew of thirty hands all told, and stored, I found, for a cruise of two years or more. She carried six whale-boats, and materials for building others should any of them be lost. There were three mates, a carpenter and cooper and their mates; an armourer, a steward, and cook; four boat-steerers, four able seamen, six ordinary seamen, the doctor, two apprentices, Jim, and me. I had never before been on board a whaler, and as I listened to the long yarns of the men describing their hairbreadth escapes and the exciting chases after the monsters of the deep, I felt, had I not had such cogent reasons for returning home, that I would very gladly have gone out to the South Seas to witness with my own eyes the scenes the men spoke of. Still I longed as much as ever to get back to England. Jim and I made it out pretty well with the two apprentices. Horner was inclined to look down upon Jim for his want of education. Esdale treated us both alike with gentleness and consideration, and offered to teach Jim to read and write if he wished to learn. It had never occurred to me to try and do so. Indeed, although we had been so much together, I had not had many opportunities. The second night we were on board I was awakened by feeling some hairy creature nestling by my side. I sung out, not a little frightened. "What's up?" cried Horner, who had just come below to rouse Jim and me out to keep our watch. "A great big brute of some sort has come into my bunk; I wonder it hasn't bitten me," I answered. "Why, I've got another here!" exclaimed Jim, who just then awoke. "What in the world is it?" Horner laughed loudly. "Why, they're our ferrets," he answered. "Didn't you see them before?" "No, and I never wish to see them again," answered Jim, as he flung the creature down on the deck. Horner then told us that the captain had taken a couple on board at Hull to kill the rats, and that although a hutch had been made for them the creatures always managed to get out at night for the sake of obtaining a warm berth, and that if we put them into their hutch they would be sure to find their way back again into his or Esdale's bunks before they had been many minutes asleep. The truth was the ferrets were more afraid of the rats than the rats were of them. We bore the annoyance for three nights more, and then, by the unanimous consent of our mess, we got Horner to carry them down into the hold, from which they never ascended, and we concluded that they either got drowned in the bilge water or were eaten up by the rats. We had not been long at sea before a heavy gale sprang up, but as the wind was from the westward we were able to lay our course. To Jim and me it mattered very little, although the waves were much higher than I had seen them in the North Sea, but poor Esdale suffered very much, and Horner's conceit was taken down a good many pegs. Jim and I did our best to look after them, and to try to get them to eat something, but they could only swallow liquids. "Oh, let me alone! Let me alone!" cried Horner. The doctor came to see Esdale frequently, and advised that he should be taken to a spare berth in the cabin, but the captain would not allow it. "All lads get sick when they first come to sea if there's a gale of wind, and he'll come round again by-and-by," he remarked in his usual off-hand way. This was not told to Esdale, who said, indeed, that he preferred remaining where he was. As the weather was tolerably warm, I believe that he was as well off on the half-deck as he would have been in the cabin. At last the gale came to an end--or rather we ran out of it. Esdale got somewhat better again, but I observed that he had changed greatly in appearance since we came on board. I had now to abandon all hopes of the ship putting back, but there was still a possibility of getting on board a homeward-bound vessel. Two days after the gale had ceased, while I was below, I heard the cry of "Sail, ho!" from the man at the masthead. I hurried on deck. We had the wind abeam, and so had she--a soldier's wind as it is called. We should meet the approaching vessel before long and pass each other, with not a cable's length between us. I watched her eagerly. We drew closer and closer to each other. When we got nearly abreast I went up to the first mate and asked him what she was. "She's from the Brazils, bound for Liverpool," he answered. Just then I saw the captain come on deck. Forgetting what he was I rushed up to him. "Oh, Captain Hawkins, will you put Jim and me on board her?" I exclaimed. "You don't know how much I want to get home; it won't delay you ten minutes to put us on board." "Ten minutes of this fine breeze lost for the sake of a boy like you," he answered, with a scornful laugh. "I expended more than ten in heaving to to pick you up, and that was as much as you are worth. Go forward, you young monkey, and give me no more of your impudence." Undaunted by his heartless answer, I again and again implored that he would put me on board the Liverpool ship, but he stood looking contemptuously at me without uttering a word, till Jim, seeing that I was making no way, coming up, hat in hand, exclaimed-- "If you'll put Peter here on board yonder ship, sir, that he may go home to his young sister and friends, I'll stay here and work for you, and be your slave for as many years as you may want me. Do, sir--do let poor Peter go!" "Off with you for'ard," thundered the captain, with a fierce oath. "How dare you speak to me? Away, both of you! Somebody has been putting you up to this, I know." And he glanced angrily at Dr Cockle and the mate. "If you mean me, Captain Hawkins, I know that the lad has very good reasons for wishing to return home, but I did not advise him or Jim Pulley to speak to you. I certainly wish that you would put Peter Trawl on board that homeward-bound ship." "You may wish what you like, but I am not going to allow what I choose to do to be found fault with by you or any other man on board this ship!" cried the captain, turning on his heel. "So look out for yourself," he added, glancing half over his shoulder. The ordinary salutes were exchanged, and the two vessels stood on their course. My heart felt as if it would burst with indignation and sorrow. Had the wind been light, I might, perhaps, have been able to put a letter on board, even although the captain would not have let me go. Esdale tried to comfort me, and advised me to have one written ready to send should another opportunity occur. The first land we made soon after this was Madeira. Except the coast of Norway, I had seen no foreign country, and as we passed it within a quarter of a mile, it struck me as very beautiful and fertile. The wind being light we tarred down the rigging, and a few days afterwards, when we were about eight hundred miles from the land, one morning, on coming on deck, I noticed that the shrouds and every freshly-tarred rope looked as red as if they had been just painted. I asked the doctor, who allowed me to speak to him in a familiar way, what had caused this, and he told me that it was the red sand blown off the coast of Africa, and that it was a common occurrence in these latitudes. We passed in sight of the Cape de Verde islands, one of which, called Fogo, seemed of a prodigious height. The first place we touched at was the island of Brava, into which the captain put to obtain fresh provisions. "Now is my time," I thought. "If I can go on shore here, I shall be able to get back by the next homeward-bound vessel which calls at the place." Jim proposed that we should smuggle ourselves on board some shore-boat, but to this I would not agree. "We will go with the captain's leave," I answered, "and he surely will not refuse it now that he has no excuse for doing so." I therefore went up to him as soon as he came on deck. "Captain Hawkins," I said, in as firm a voice as I could command, "again I ask you will you allow Jim Pulley and me to leave your ship and wait on shore until we can get a passage home?" "Peter Trawl, if that's your name, I shall do no such thing," he answered. "If I find you attempting to go on shore I shall put you in irons." I knew from previous experience that there was no use in expostulating. When I told the doctor, he could scarcely conceal his indignation. "I feel inclined to help you, my lad, at every risk," he said, "but we must be cautious. Wait until the evening, and then we will see what can be done." I thanked him heartily, and promised to follow his advice. Jim was ready for anything. The doctor said he would go on shore and then send off a boat which would wait under the starboard bow, and that we must manage to slip into her as soon as it was dark. The captain in the meantime had landed, but returned very shortly with four tall negroes, whom he had engaged to pull the 'midship oars in the whale-boats. They are, I should say, first-rate oarsmen, and have a gentle disposition, ready to obey, and are happy under all circumstances. Besides the negroes, two boats loaded with fresh provisions came alongside. These were soon hoisted on board, when the captain ordered a gun to be fired and Blue Peter to be hoisted, a signal to all those on shore to return immediately. Dr Cockle and the third mate, with the cooper, whom the captain thought he could trust, had landed. Presently the captain ordered another and then another gun to be fired to hasten them, and then to my bitter disappointment he directed Mr Griffiths to loosen sails and heave up the anchor. According to Esdale's advice I had begun a letter to Mary, but had not had time to finish it. Hoping that I should not be missed by the captain, I ran below to add a few lines and then to close it, under the belief that I should be able to send it off by a shore-boat. I had to get out Esdale's ink-bottle and pen, which he had before lent me; the pen would not write, so I had to search for his penknife, and to try and mend it as well as I could, but having little experience in the art, this took me some time. I at last got the letter closed with a wafer, and directed to the care of Mr Gray, when I sprang with it on deck. Just then the eye of the captain fell on me. "Come aft here, youngster," he shouted. "Where have you been away from your duty?" I had the letter in my hand. "I wanted to get this ready to send on shore, sir," I answered, holding it up. "No excuse for leaving your station. Take that!" he cried, as he gave me a blow on the side of the head with his half-clenched fist, which brought me to the deck, and nearly stunned me. When I recovered myself the first person I saw was Dr Cockle, who, looking at me compassionately, said, "Come below, Peter, and I'll try to put your head to rights, for you seem to be much hurt. How did it happen?" "I can't tell you now, sir, for I much want to send this letter off by a shore-boat," I answered. As I spoke I observed that the crew were hoisting away and sheeting home the sails. I ran to the side and jumped on to the main chains. The only remaining boat was just shoving off. I shouted to the people in her to come and take my letter; but they did not understand me, or did not care to remain alongside, as the ship was rapidly gathering way; another stroke of their oars and they were at a distance from the ship. I waved and shouted to them to come back, but they did not heed me, and just then I heard the captain calling to me in an angry tone to attend to my duty. I was obliged to obey, expecting another cuff harder than the last; but when he saw me begin to pull and haul with the rest he said no more. Perhaps he observed the blood streaming from my head. The sails were now sheeted home, the yards trimmed, and the _Intrepid_ stood away from the land. Another opportunity of making my escape was lost. CHAPTER SIXTEEN. WE CROSS THE LINE AND ATTEMPT TO ROUND CAPE HORN. Jim was always saying, "Cheer up, Peter, cheer up!" but it was a very hard matter to be cheery when I thought of the cruel way in which I had been treated, and the sorrow my sister must be feeling at my supposed loss. I tried, as advised, to keep up my spirits, and did my best to obey the orders I received. Jim observed that it was all the same to him. His friends would not grieve much over his loss, and, as far as he was concerned, he would as soon be chasing whales in the Pacific as working a wherry in Portsmouth Harbour. As we approached the line I found that the men were making preparations for going through the ceremony which was performed on board most vessels in those days. One of the boat-steerers, Sam Ringold, who stood six feet four in his shoes, and was proportionably broad, was chosen to act the part of Neptune, and the cooper's mate, who was as wide as he was high, that of his wife. The armourer took the part of the barber, and the carpenter's mate, who was lank and tall, the doctor. Three of the ordinary seamen, the smallest fellows on board, were their attendants. All the chests were searched for the required dresses, and some curtains belonging to the cabin found their way forward to form a petticoat for Mrs Neptune. Some gold paper and pasteboard were manufactured into crowns, and some fishes' tails were ingeniously formed for the attendants. I discovered the preparations going forward, but was charged not to let Horner, or Esdale, or Jim know anything about them. I was more favoured than the rest of my messmates by the men, who seemed to have taken a liking to me; whether it was because they had heard how I had assisted to save the _Good Intent_, or thought that I was ill-treated by the captain, I do not know, but so it was. No one ever abused me, or gave me the taste of a rope's-end. We had been sailing on with light winds when one morning, after the decks had been washed down and the other duties of the ship performed, having run on for a short distance, we lay almost becalmed with the sea as smooth as a mill-pond. The captain and his mates were seen to be taking an observation, and soon afterwards it became known that we were just crossing the line. "I've often heard about it, but I can't say I see any line," said Jim. "Nor can I!" cried Horner, who was looking out eagerly. Presently a gruff voice was heard, hailing from forward. "What ship is that, shutting out the light from my palace window?" "The _Intrepid_" answered Captain Hawkins, who with the mates and doctor were standing aft. "Then go ahead, will you, or I'll indict you for a nuisance," cried the voice, the remark producing a general laugh. "I can't think of standing on until I have had the pleasure of a visit from Daddy Neptune," said the captain. "Ay, ay! Glad to hear that. Then I'll come aboard in a jiffy with my royal missus and some of our precious young family; and maybe, captain, you'll have something to give them, for they're very fond of any hot potions which may come in their way." "Be smart about it, then, Daddy, for I see a breeze springing up, and I may have to run you out of sight before you and your precious family have had time to take a sip apiece," cried the captain, who seemed to be in far better humour than usual. All this time Jim and Horner were standing with me abaft the main hatchway, with their eyes staring and their mouths agape, wondering what was going to happen. Presently, over the bows, appeared the strangest group I had ever set eyes on. First there came Daddy Neptune with a glittering crown, a beard of oakum reaching to his middle, a girdle of rope yarn round his waist, a cloak covered with strange devices, and a huge trident in his hand. His wife wore a crown like that of her husband, with ringlets of the same material as his beard, a huge sash of some gaily-coloured stuff, and a cloak formed out of a blanket. The barber had in his hand a pot containing lather, a big bowl tucked under one arm, with a razor a yard long and a shaving brush of huge size under the other; while the children or attendant imps--for it was hard to say what they were-- waddled about in green clothing, looking like sea monsters, behind them. "Well, I have heard of strange things, but these chaps are stranger than ever I saw," cried Jim. "Where do they come from?" "From the bottom of the sea, I suppose," said Horner, who evidently did not admire their looks as they advanced aft. The captain, after a little palavering, ordered the steward to bring up some grog and serve it out to them. Then retiring a short way forward, Neptune commanded all who had not before visited his dominions to come and pay their respects to him. We all did so, not feeling very comfortable as to what was to follow, when his attendants got hold of Jim and me. Horner tried to escape, but was quickly captured and brought back. No one interfered with Esdale, who had, I found, crossed Neptune's hand with a crown-piece; which, of course, none of us were able to do. A huge tub of water had been placed in front of his majesty. The barber now came forward and insisted on shaving all those who were for the first time crossing the line. Three of the ordinary seamen were novices like us. The barber first lathered our chins with some abominable mixture from his pot, and then, scraping it off with his razor, finally ducked our heads into the tub. Horner, when undergoing the operation, had the brush several times thrust into his mouth, and his whole face and head daubed over. When he opened his mouth to expostulate, in again went the brush. As he kicked and screamed and spluttered, he was treated worse and worse. Jim, taking a lesson from me, kept his mouth shut. I was let off even more easily than he was. Once Horner got loose, but instead of wisely remaining on deck and holding his tongue, he ran up the rigging and began abusing Daddy Neptune and his gang, whereupon he was again captured and compelled to undergo the same operation as before. Blacky the cook next brought out his fiddle, and Neptune and his party-- indeed, the whole crew--began dancing round and round, singing and shouting every now and then as an interlude, catching hold of the "green hands" and pitching them into the tub, chase being always made after those who attempted to escape. The grog circulated so rapidly among the crew that they would all soon have been intoxicated had not the captain, in a thundering voice, ordered them to knock off and bring their tomfoolery to an end. They obeyed. Neptune and his followers dived below, and presently returned like stout seamen as they were. The order was given to brace the yards sharp up, and, with an easterly wind, we stood on our course. The next land we made was a solitary islet. Near it stood a remarkable rock called the "Ninepin," detached from the land. The doctor told me that it is eighteen hundred feet in height. It had the appearance of a monument standing out of the ocean. There are no inhabitants on the island, nor any good landing-place, but fresh water is to be obtained there, as well as pigs and vegetables. We soon after this began to fall in with stormy weather. We found our ship, which had remarkably sharp ends, very wet, and as we were now approaching the land of storms in the dead of winter, with the days scarcely more than seven hours long, the greatest caution was deemed necessary. The royal masts were sent down and replaced by stump topgallant masts. The flying jib-boom was sent in and the studding-sail booms were also sent down. All the boats except one were got in, the hatches were battened down, and everything was done to make the ship light aloft. We were nearly off the River Plate when there were indications of an approaching gale. The hitherto blue sky was overcast, and the scud flew rapidly along, as if impelled by a hurricane. "You youngsters will have to look out for yourselves before long," said Tom Ringold, the boat-steerer, who had acted the part of Neptune. "We shall be having old Harry Cane aboard here, and he's a precious deal more difficult to tackle than Daddy Neptune, who paid us a visit on the line." "Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I wonder what we shall do?" cried Horner, who did not exactly understand what was going to happen. "Why, hold on to the weather-rigging, if you haven't to be pulling and hauling, and duck your head if you see a sea coming," answered Jim, who understood the joke about Harry Cane. In a short time the captain ordered the topsails to be reefed and the mainsail to be stowed and all the lighter sails handed. Jim and I were sent aloft to the fore-topgallant sailyard to furl the sail. We were laying out when, to my horror, I saw Jim disappear. I nearly fell from the yard myself, from thinking that he would be dashed to pieces, and that I should lose my staunchest friend. "Jim! Jim! Oh, save him! Save him!" I shouted out, not knowing what I was saying, or considering how useless it was to shout. "Here I am all right, Peter," cried Jim, and his voice seemed to come not far from me. What was my joy to discover that he had been caught in the belly of the sail, and there he lay as if he had been in a hammock, the reef tackle having been hauled out just at the time he fell. He quickly scrambled on to the yard again, resuming his duty as if nothing particular had occurred. We having finished our work came down. Scarcely was this done when the gale struck us, taking us right aback. The cabin dead-lights not being properly secured, the cabin was nearly filled with water. The carpenter and his mates hurried aft to close them, and we youngsters were sent below to help him, and put things to rights. When this was done down came the rain in such torrents that it seemed as if it would swamp the ship, while as she fell off into the trough of the sea, she began to roll in a way which threatened every instant to shake the masts out of her. It seemed wonderful that they stood. Had the rigging not been well set up they must have gone. The only accident I have to mention was that one of our remaining pigs was killed, but this did not grieve the crew, for as we had no salt on board, and the meat would not keep, the portion not required for the cabin was served out to us. Another, and what might have proved a far more serious matter, occurred. Tom Ringold was steering, when a sea striking the rudder with tremendous force knocked him over the wheel, carrying away several of the brass spokes as it flew round, and sent him against the bulwarks. For a moment everyone thought he was killed, but he picked himself up, and although he could not use his arm for two or three days, at the end of that time he was able to do his duty as well as ever. That storm soon came to an end, but the old hands told us that we might look out for others, and so the captain seemed to think, for although he was anxious to get round Cape Horn we were always under snug canvas at night, and during the day a bright look-out was kept, lest one of those sudden squalls called Pamperos might come off the land and whip the masts out of the ship, or lay her on her beam-ends, as frequently happens when the hands are not ready to shorten sail. We, however, got to the southward of the Falkland Islands without accident. My poor friend and messmate Esdale severely felt the cold which we now began to experience. He came on deck to attend to his duty, but a hacking cough and increasing weakness made him very unfit for it. The doctor at last insisted on his remaining below, although Esdale declared that he would rather be on deck and try to do his best. "But I insist on your remaining in your bunk until we round Cape Horn and reach a warmer latitude," said Dr Cockle. "I will see the captain, and tell him plainly that he will be answerable for your death, should he insist on your doing duty any longer." Esdale still pleaded, but the doctor was peremptory. "It is his only chance," he said to me; "I cannot promise that he will live. He will, however, certainly die if he is exposed to this biting wind and constant rain. I intend to tell the captain, but you, Trawl, go and stay with him whenever you can; it will cheer him up, poor fellow, to have someone to talk to, and that dull Horner cannot speak two words of sense." Before the doctor had time to do as he proposed, Captain Hawkins, missing Esdale from the deck, ordered me to tell him to come up. This I determined not to do, for it was blowing hard at the time from the south-west and the wind would have chilled him through in a minute. I, however, went below, and after remaining a little time, I returned, and said-- "Esdale is very ill, sir, and is not fit to come on deck." "How do you know that, youngster?" asked the captain, in an angry tone. "Dr Cockle has seen him and says so," I answered boldly. "Tell him to come up, or I'll send a couple of hands to bring him neck and crop," thundered the captain. I was as determined as before not to tell Esdale, knowing that he would come if sent for. "Go below and bring up that lazy young rascal," shouted the captain to Tom Ringold and another man standing near him. I immediately dived below to persuade Tom to let Esdale remain in his bunk. "It will be his death if he is exposed to this weather," I said. "I am not the fellow to kill a shipmate if I can help it," answered Tom. "Tell him to stay and I'll take the consequences." When Tom returned on deck, the captain enquired in a fierce voice why he had not carried out his orders. "Because he is too ill to be moved, Captain Hawkins," answered Tom, promptly. The captain, uttering an oath, and taking a coil of rope in his hand, was just about to go below when Doctor Cockle came on deck, and guessing, from the few words he heard, what was the captain's intention, came up to him and said-- "It would kill the lad to bring him up, and as he is my patient, I have told him to stay below." "Am I to be thwarted and insulted on board my own ship?" cried the captain. "Whether he is ill or well, up he comes." And going down to the half-deck, he asked Esdale why he had not obeyed his orders. Esdale, of course, had not received them, and said so, beginning at the same time to dress. Before, however, he could finish putting on his clothes the captain seized him by the arm and dragged him up. Scarcely, however, had he reached the deck when the poor fellow fainted right away. Tom, on seeing this, lifted him in his arms and carried him down again. "I warn you, Captain Hawkins, that you will cause the death of the lad if you compel him to be on deck in this weather," said the doctor firmly, as he turned to follow Tom and Esdale. The captain, making no remark, walked aft, and did not again interfere. Whether that sudden exposure to the cold had any serious effect I do not know, but Esdale after this got worse and worse. Whenever I could I went and sat by his side, when he used to talk to me of the happy land for which he was bound. He did not seem even to wish to live, and yet he was as cheerful as anyone on board. The doctor and first mate used also to come and talk to him, and he spoke to them as he did to me, and urged them to put their trust where he was putting his. I believe that his exhortations had a beneficial influence on them, as they had on me. When I said how I hoped that he would get better after we were round the Cape, he answered-- "I shall never see the Horn, Peter; I am as sure of that as I can be of anything." Two days after this land was sighted on the starboard bow. It proved to be Staten Island; but scarcely were we to the south of it when we encountered a furious gale blowing from the westward. For two days; by keeping close hauled, the captain endeavoured to gain ground to the westward, resolved, as he declared, "to thrash the ship round the Cape." On the third day, however, while I was on deck, a tremendous sea came rolling up. "Look out! Hold on for your lives, lads!" shouted the first mate. Every one clung to whatever was nearest to him. One poor fellow was to leeward. There was no avoiding the sea, which, like a mountain topped with foam, struck the bows. The ship plunged into it, and for a few seconds I thought would never rise again. On swept the roaring torrent, deluging the deck; and had not the hatches been battened down, would have half filled her. A loud, crashing sound followed, and when the water had passed over us nearly all the lee bulwarks were gone, and with them our shipmate who had been standing a minute before as full of life as any of us. He was not again seen, and must have gone down at once. The captain was compelled at last to heave the ship to, and there we lay, now rising to the top of a sea, now sinking into the trough, with walls of water, half as high as the main-top, round us. The seas in the German Ocean and Bay of Biscay were nothing to be compared to those we encountered off the Horn, though, perhaps, equally dangerous. As soon as I went below, I hurried to the side of Esdale. He asked what had happened. I told him. "Some one was carried overboard?" he inquired. "Yes," I said. "Poor Jack Norris," wondering how he knew it. "And I shall soon follow him," he replied. His words proved true. That very night, as I came off my watch and was about to turn in, I heard my messmate utter my name in a low voice. I went to him. "I'm going," he whispered. "Good-bye, Peter; you'll remember what I have said to you?" I promised him I would, and told him I must run and call the doctor. "No, stay," he said. "He can do me no good. Tell him I thank him for his kindness. Good-bye, Peter." The next instant his hand relaxed its hold of mine, and stooping down over him I found he had ceased to breathe. So died one of the most amiable and excellent young men I have ever met. The next morning he was sewn up in canvas, with a shot at his feet, and brought on deck. The captain stood aft watching the proceedings. Whether he felt he had hastened Esdale's death I know not; but his countenance was stern and gloomy as night. The boldest seaman on board would not have dared just then to speak to him. Hail and sleet were driving in our faces; a furious gale threatening to carry our only sail out of the bolt-ropes was blowing; the mountain seas raged round us; there was scarce time for a prayer, none for form or ceremony. A foaming billow came thundering against the bows; over the deck it swept. We clung for our lives to ropes, stanchions, and ring-bolts. When it had passed we found that it had borne our young shipmate to his ocean grave. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. ROUNDING CAPE HORN. For well-nigh six weeks we were endeavouring to get round Cape Horn, when the weather moderated, making way to the westward, but again being driven back often over more ground than we had gained. The captain was constantly on deck, exhibiting on all occasions his splendid seamanship. He was ever on the look-out to take advantage of the least change of wind which would enable us to lay our course. Day and night were alike to him; he seemed indifferent to the piercing wind and tremendous storms of sleet and hail we encountered. Twice we sighted Cape Horn, but each time, before many hours had passed, were again to the eastward of it. The captain thought he could endure anything, and certainly did not expose others more than he did himself. We saw numerous sea birds--albatrosses, Cape pigeons, stormy-petrels (or Mother Carey's chickens, as they are called), and many more. The albatross appeared to me a truly noble bird when on the wing; no matter how rough the weather or how heavy the sea, he sat on the water perfectly at ease, seeming to defy the very elements. One of the mates having got a strong line with a large hook at the end of it, a piece of meat as bait, and a cork to float it, let it drop astern. In an instant a huge albatross pounced down on the tempting bait, and was hooked. It required two men, however, to draw him on board over the taffrail. Even when brought on deck he attacked everyone who came near him. The doctor advised us to stand clear of his wings and beak, but Horner thoughtlessly held out his hat, when the bird, seizing hold of it, bit the crown clean out in a moment. Not until he had had several blows on the head with a handspike did he drop dead. He measured seventeen feet from tip to tip of the wings. The feathers under his wings and breast were as white as snow, and as they glanced in the sunlight, shone like silver. In contrast with the albatross was the stormy-petrel, a black bird scarcely larger than a sparrow, and, of course, web-footed. Vast numbers flew about the ship, but they were more difficult to catch than the albatrosses. Again we sighted Cape Horn, standing out solitary and grand into the Southern Ocean. The wind had moderated and become more in our favour, although the vast billows rolled on like moving mountains of water. Now the ship forced her way to the summit of one, the next instant to glide down rapidly into the vale below, performing the same course again and again. At length even the billows subsided, and we began to look forward to having fine weather. About noon one day the look-out from the masthead shouted-- "There she spouts! There she spouts!" A school of whales was in sight. "Lower two boats," cried the captain. No sooner was the order given than their crews, hurrying aft, jumped into them, and very few minutes were sufficient to place all their gear in readiness and to lower them into the water. The captain himself went in one as harpooner, the second mate in the other. I should have liked to go, but I knew that it was useless to ask leave of the captain. Away the boats pulled at a rapid rate to windward, the direction in which the whales had been seen, and that we might keep as near them as possible the ship was hauled close up. They were soon not discernible from the deck, and on they went increasing their distance till even the look-out from the masthead could no longer distinguish them. Still the first mate had carefully noted the direction they had taken, and seemed to have no doubt about picking them up. The weather, however, which had been fine all day, now gave signs of changing, and in a short time the wind began to blow in strong gusts, creating a nasty sea, but still it was not worse than whale-boats have often to encounter. Whether or not they had succeeded in striking a fish we could not tell, for the days were very short, and evening drew on. Fresh look-outs were sent to each of the mastheads, and we waited with anxiety for their reports. They soon hailed that they could see neither of the boats. At length, the darkness increasing, they were called down, and lanterns were got ready to show the position of the ship. "Shouldn't be surprised if we were to lose our skipper and the boats' crews," said Horner to me. "I've heard that such accidents have happened before now." "I hope not," I answered, "for although our captain is a severe man, it would be dreadful to have him and the other poor fellows lost out in this stormy ocean, with no land for hundreds of miles where they could find food and shelter, even were they to reach it." While we were speaking a heavy squall struck the ship, and the remaining hands were ordered aloft to take two reefs in the topsails. Jim and I were on the fore-yardarm. We had just finished our task, when Jim declared that he saw a light away to windward. On coming on deck we told Mr Griffiths. He at once ordered a gun to be fired as a signal. A blue light was then burnt, the glare of which, as it fell on our figures, gave us all so ghastly an appearance that Horner, who had never seen one before, cried out, "What has come over you fellows? Is anything dreadful going to happen?" As the firework died out we looked in the direction Jim had seen the light, and in a little time we caught sight of it from the deck. The men on this gave a hearty cheer to show their satisfaction. Now the light disappeared, now it came in sight again, as the boat rose on the summit of a sea. The ship was hove-to. Presently a faint hail was heard. We answered it with a shout from our united voices. At length one boat could be distinguished. Where was the other? The captain's voice assured us that he was in the first. He was soon on deck, and the boat was hoisted up. He looked pale and haggard, and much annoyed at not having killed a whale. The other boat he said was not far off. We kept hove-to for her, fearing that if she did not soon appear she might be swamped before she could be hoisted in, for as the wind and sea were now rapidly rising every moment was of importance. At length she came alongside, but it was with the greatest difficulty that the men got out of her. They looked thoroughly worn out with their long pull. We had scarcely made sail again and were standing on our course when the gale came down on us, more furiously than before, blowing right in our teeth. It was now evident that had a whale been killed we should have been compelled to abandon it. In spite of his fatigue the captain remained on deck, swearing fearfully at his ill-luck. Those who had been away with the boats were allowed to turn in, but the rest of us were kept on deck, for at any moment all our strength might be required. Suddenly, while I was aft, the captain uttered a loud cry, or shriek it seemed to me. "What's the matter, sir?" asked the mate. "I cannot see!" groaned the captain. "Where am I? What has happened?" The mate went to him and took his arm. "It may be but for a moment," he said. There had been no lightning; nothing, as far as we could discover, to produce blindness. Still the captain refused to leave the deck, declaring that it would pass over. The doctor, who had turned in, was called up, and came to him. The increasing gale compelled the mate to attend to the duties of the ship. The doctor summoned me to assist in leading the captain below. I took his arm; he was trembling like an aspen. We led him to his berth, and assisted him to undress. "Shall I be better in the morning, think you, doctor?" he asked, in an agitated tone. "I cannot say, Captain Hawkins. I believe that this blindness has come on in consequence of your having overtaxed your physical powers. In course of time, with rest and a warmer climate, I trust that you will recover your sight." "Oh that it may be so!" cried the captain, as he laid his head on the pillow. We had a heavier gale that night than we had before encountered. The seas again and again washed over the deck. It seemed wonderful that more of the men did not knock up. The first mate looked thin and haggard, and so did most of the other officers and men. The bulwarks on both sides had been carried away, two of the boats had been injured, and the ship had suffered various other damages. Still we kept at it; the wind shifted; Cape Horn was actually weathered, and at length a joyous cheer burst from the throats of the crew as the ship's head was directed to the north-west. It was some days, however, before we felt any sensible change of climate, but after that it grew warmer and warmer, for we were now fairly in the Pacific. The captain was disappointed in his expectations of recovering his sight. He came daily on deck and stood turning his head round in every direction, and I observed a painful expression on his countenance. "I'll tell you what, Peter, I've a notion how the captain came to lose his sight," said Horner to me in a confidential tone. "It's a punishment to him for the way he treated Esdale, and you, and Jim." "We have no right to think that," I answered; "even if he had treated me ten times worse than he has done, I should not wish him to suffer what must be to a man of his nature so terrible a misfortune." "Well, then, I suppose I must keep my opinion to myself," answered Horner. In a few days we reached the island of Juan Fernandez, and hove-to off it that the boats might go in close to the shore to catch some fish. Mr Griffiths gave Jim and me leave to go in one of them. We were provided with hooks and lines. The water was so clear that we could see the fish take the bait, which they did so ravenously, that in a short time we had as many rock cod and other fish as we required. We afterwards landed and brought off a quantity of wild mint, which grows in profusion over the island. We made it into tea, which we enjoyed very much after drinking pea-coffee so long. While we were collecting the mint we saw a number of goats bounding among the rocks, some standing still and looking down on us. They were descendants of those which inhabited the island in the days of Alexander Selkirk, who was taken off by Dampier during his last voyage to the Pacific. At first we thought that there were no inhabitants, but just as we were shoving off we heard a shout, and a white man and negro were seen rushing down towards us, shouting and gesticulating furiously. They were both dressed in skins, with high fur caps, and had long sticks in their hands to help themselves as they ran. "Why, I do believe that must be Robinson Crusoe and his man Friday," cried Horner, at which all hands laughed. "He got home long ago, or he never could have written his history, stupid," said the mate, "but whoever they are we'll wait for them." Still Horner had not got his first idea out of his head. He had not read much, but he had read Robinson Crusoe, and believed in it as a veracious history. The strangers soon reached the boat. "Now, I say, ain't you Robinson Crusoe?" cried Horner, as the white man got up to the boat. "No, my name is Miles Soper, and I know nothing of the chap you speak of," answered the stranger. "I say, mister," he continued, turning to the mate, "will you take us poor fellows off? We were cast ashore some six months ago or more, and are the only people out of our ship, which went down off there, who saved their lives, as far as I can tell. Sam Cole here and I came ashore on a bit of a raft, and we have had a hard time of it since then." "Why, as to that, my man, if you're willing to enter and serve aboard our ship, I daresay the captain will take you, but he doesn't want idlers." "Beggars can't be choosers," answered Miles Soper. "If you are willing to take us we shall be glad to go, and both Sam and I are able seamen." "Well, jump in, my lads," said the mate; "but haven't you anything at the place where you have lived so long to bring away?" "No, we've nothing but the clothes we stand up in, except it may be a few wooden bowls and such like things," answered the stranger, who looked hard at the mate as he spoke, probably suspecting that we might pull off, and that he and his chum might be left behind. Both the men seemed in tolerably good condition. They told us that they had had abundance of goat's flesh and vegetables, as well as fruit, but that they had got tired of the life, and had had a quarrel with four mongrel Spaniards, who lived on another part of the island, whom they thought might some day try to murder them. They both asked to take an oar, and, by the way they pulled, they showed that they were likely to be useful hands. When we got on board the _Intrepid_, Mr Griffiths spoke very kindly to them, and as they at once said that they would be glad to enter, their names were put down as belonging to the crew. I took a liking from the first to Miles Soper, though he was perfectly uneducated, and could neither read nor write. Sam also seemed an honest merry fellow. He and the other Africans soon became friends. The crew had been employed on the passage, whenever the weather permitted, in preparing what is called the "cutting-in gear," which consists of the various tackles and ropes for securing the whales alongside when caught and taking off the blubber. Then there was the gear of the various boats, and it would astonish anyone to see the enormous number of articles stowed away in a whale-boat when she starts after a whale. Everything was now got ready, as we were in expectation every day of falling in with whales, and the men were on the look-out from the mastheads from dawn until dark, in the hopes of seeing them. I longed to see a whale caught, for as yet the voyage had been profitless, and every one was out of spirits. The captain, who still remained perfectly blind, notwithstanding the assurances of Dr Cockle that he would recover, was so especially. He seemed like a heartbroken man; his countenance gloomy, as if troubled with melancholy thoughts, and his whole manner and appearance were changed. It was sad to see him come on deck and stand, sometimes for an hour together, turning his face round, as if he were picturing to himself the sparkling ocean, the blue sky overhead, and the busy scene which the deck of his ship presented. I observed that Mr Griffiths never gave an order if he could help it while the blind captain was on deck. The health of the latter, however, by degrees improved, the colour returned to his cheeks, and his voice, when he spoke, again had the ring in it which I had from the first remarked. Day after day, however, we sailed on without seeing a whale. At length one day, soon after noon, the first mate having just taken an observation, and the captain being in his cabin, we were cheered by the cry from the masthead of-- "There she spouts! There she spouts!" The loud tramping of the men on deck roused those below, who quickly sprang up, eager to engage in the expected chase. Among the first who appeared was the captain, who ran up the companion-ladder with as much agility as he had ever displayed. "Where away--where away?" he asked. The men pointed to windward, and to our surprise the captain turned his eyes in the same direction. "Lower three boats," he shouted. "I'll go in one of them." Presently I saw a low, bush-like spout of white mist rise from the surface of the sea, not two miles off. "There she spouts! There she spouts!" shouted the captain, showing that he saw too. With wonderful rapidity, as everything was prepared, the boats were lowered. The doctor had come on deck. "Where are you going, Captain Hawkins?" he asked, in an astonished tone. "In chase of those whales out there," answered the captain; "for, doctor, I can see them as well as you do." Of this there could be no doubt. Several at that instant appeared at various distances. The excitement of the moment had given the required stimulus to the captain's nerves, and he was restored to sight. I remembered the fruitless chase off Cape Horn, when the captain and those with him so nearly lost their lives, but this promised to be successful. The captain's boat took the lead. His aim was to get up to one of the monsters of the deep just as it returned to the surface for breathing, as it would be some time before it could go down again, and before that interval many a harpoon and lance might be plunged into its body. The captain soon took the lead; the men pulled as if their lives depended on it. Before they were half a mile away a whale rose just ahead of the captain's boat. Springing into the bows, he stood, harpoon in hand, ready to strike. Presently he was close up to the monster; the weapon flew from his grasp, followed by three lances hurled in rapid succession. The whale, feeling the pain, darted off. Another boat came up, and a second harpoon was made fast, while several more lances were plunged into its side. Presently its enormous flukes rose in the air. "He has sounded! He has sounded!" cried those on board. The whale had dived, and the lines coiled away in the tubs ran rapidly out. The monster, however, had not finished its breathing, and soon after a second line had been secured to the first it came again to the surface. The boats pulled rapidly towards it, and the harpooners plied it with their lances. Presently we saw them pull away as if for their lives. The whale rose nearly out of the water, and began turning round and lashing the surface with its flukes, each blow being sufficient to destroy any boat and her crew within its reach. "The monster is in its flurry," I heard the doctor say. "It is ours to a certainty." He was right. After lashing the water into a mass of blood-tinged foam, it lay perfectly still. Those on board raised a shout as they saw a little flag fixed on the body. The boats now made chase after another whale, which gave them more trouble than the first; but they attacked it bravely, now pulling up and hurling harpoons and lances into it, and now pulling away to avoid being attacked in return. Presently we saw one boat again dash forward, almost the next instant its fragments rose in the air, and the crew were scattered far and wide around. Which boat it was we could not tell. Some fancied it was the captain's, others that it was the second mate's. "He regained his sight to-day," said an old Orkneyman. "It's a question whether it wasn't that he might have a last look on his fellow-creatures and the mighty sea." CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. OUR FIRST WHALES CAUGHT--I HEAR NEWS OF JACK. The moment the accident was perceived Mr Griffiths ordered the only remaining boat away, and jumped into her, for the carpenter had not yet finished the two building to replace those lost off Cape Horn. I asked to go. "No! You stay on board and help to work the ship up to us," he answered. I accordingly went to the helm, as I steered better than most of those remaining on board, while the doctor and steward lent a hand to the rest in pulling and hauling, as we had continually to go about; but the wind was light, and it was not very hard work. I kept an eye constantly towards the boats, and soon saw a whift planted on the back of the last whale attacked, which showed that it was dead. Our anxiety was relieved when, instead of returning, they made chase after another whale. It proved that although the boat had been destroyed, the men had escaped with their lives. "I do believe we shan't have the skipper aboard again," observed Horner. "I hope so," I said. "Ahem!" was his answer, as he walked away. At length, shortening sail, we ran up alongside the first whale that had been killed. The men descended to its back with ropes round their waists to hook on the tackles to its head and flukes. We had then to wait until the boats towed the other whale up to the opposite side. We eagerly watched their proceedings. The third whale was attacked. After sounding twice and carrying out, apparently, three, if not four lines, we saw it suddenly come to the surface and leap completely out of the water. This is called breaching. It then began rolling round and round, endeavouring in its agony to get rid of the weapon sticking in it. The boats for some time kept at a distance. Then once more they approached, again to pull off as the whale commenced lashing the water with its huge flukes. "It's in its flurry," observed the doctor, who was looking through his telescope, which he handed to me. At last we saw the three boats approaching, towing the whale by the nose. The wind having fallen, and having a whale alongside, we were unable to near them to save them their long pull. On they came, towing the monster at the rate of a mile and a half an hour. It was thus upwards of that period of time before they got alongside. The first man handed up was Miles Soper--or Robinson Crusoe, as we called him--whose leg had been broken by the second whale attack. He had willingly endured the suffering, lying at the bottom of the boat, rather than give up the chase. No one else had been injured, though all had run a great risk of being drowned; but a whaler's crew know that such may be their fate at any moment. The doctor at once took the man under his charge. No time was lost in hooking on the other whale, and commencing the operation of "cutting-in." This I may briefly describe as taking off the blubber with large spades, the handles of which are twenty feet long. The whale is turned round and round by means of tackles brought to the windlass, the blanket-piece, or blubber covering, being thus gradually stripped off till it reaches the tail, which is hove on board with the last piece. The blubber is lowered down the main hatchway and cut up into small pieces, called "horse pieces." These are afterwards piled up on deck to be minced into thin slices for boiling in the pots. The operation of "cutting-in" is a very dangerous one when there is any sea on to make the ship roll. The first and second mates stand on stages lowered over the side, cutting the blubber from the whale as the crew heave it round with the windlass. The four boat-steerers are on the gang-ways attending to the guys and tackles, the captain superintending the whole process, while the carpenter grinds the spades. All round the sea swarms with sharks attracted by the oil and blubber. When not otherwise employed, Tom and I and Horner attacked them with the spades and killed great numbers. We worked away until night, but did not finish even then, as it takes twelve hours to strip the blubber off a large whale. We commenced again at daylight, and it was dark before we began to cut into the second whale. We had still a third to operate on, but as each was worth nearly a thousand pounds, no one complained. Fortunately the weather remained fine, and we got the blubber of the third whale on board by the end of the next day. We had also boiled the spermaceti oil out of the head, with small buckets at the ends of long poles. This is the most valuable production of the whale, and is used for making candles. For night work the ship's company was divided into two watches, from six to one, and from one to six. The instant the last piece of blubber was on board, the carcasses were cast loose to be devoured by fish and fowl. We began the operation of trying-out, as boiling the blubber is called, by first putting some wood under the try-pots. As soon as the blubber was boiled, the scraps which rose to the surface were skimmed off with a large ladle, and after being thrown into a pot with holes in the bottom to drain off the oil remaining in them, were used as fuel for boiling the remainder of the blubber. The appearance our decks presented, with huge fires blazing away under our pots, and the men with the ladles skimming off the scraps, or baling out the oil into the coolers, was strange and weird in the extreme. Had I been suddenly introduced among them, I should not have recognised them as my shipmates, begrimed as they were with smoke and oil. I was, however, much in the same condition. Dr Cockle had become accustomed to it, but I cannot fancy that it was very pleasant to him. The doctor told me that he should be glad, whenever I could, if I would go below and talk to poor Miles Soper. I willingly did so. He was suffering occasionally great pain, but in the intervals it cheered him to have some one to speak to. I found that he was even more ready to talk than listen, and I accordingly got him to tell me about himself. He happened to ask my name. I told him. "Peter Trawl!" he exclaimed. "Trawl! That's curious. I remember a chap of your name aboard the _Lapwing_ brig-of-war." I at once was deeply interested. "He must have been my brother Jack," I exclaimed. "Do tell me what has become of him, for I heard he was lost out in the Indian seas." "That's just where he and I were nearly lost. We were coming home when a boat was sent away, and we, with six more men and an officer, went in her, to visit an island on some business or other, I forget what, and I didn't know it's name. "There are wild sorts of chaps out in those parts, who go pirating in their proas, as they call them. While we were just shoving off, a dozen or more of these proas came round us. We knew if the pirates got hold of us we should all be knocked on the head, so we began blazing away to keep them at a distance. We kept on at it till we hadn't a charge left for our muskets. Two of our men were killed, and our officer badly wounded. The pirates then came nearer and fired their gingalls into us. Just then one of their proas caught fire, and sent up such clouds of smoke that for some time, as we were near her, we could not be seen. "`Now, lads,' said the officer, `those among you who are not wounded try and swim to shore. It's your only chance. The rest of us must die like men.' "Our oars, you see, were shattered, and by this time all hands except Jack and me were more or less hurt. We followed our brave officer's advice, and leaping overboard reached the beach before we were seen by the pirates. Some gingalls were fired at us, but we got away among the bushes, and ran as hard as our legs could carry us in shore. We did not know where we were going, or what sort of people we should meet. Whether the pirates landed or not we did not stop to learn, but as we ran for three or four hours there was not much chance of being overtaken. "We saw at last a river before us, and as it was too broad to cross, and we were afraid, should we attempt to swim over, that we might be picked off by one of those big scaly beasts they call crocodiles, we kept down along the bank, as we knew that it must lead us to the opposite side of the island to where we had landed. "`Cheer up,' said Jack to me. `Maybe our ship will come round there and take us off. Our fellows are sure to be searching round the coast on the chance of finding us.' "`I hope you're right, Jack,' said I, `for it will be a bad job for us if we can't get away, as how we are to find food is more than I can tell, and it's very clear we can't live without it.' "There were plenty of trees growing on the bank, though not so thickly but that we could manage to make our way between them. "Says Jack to me, `If those cut-throat fellows come after us, we must climb up one of these and hide ourselves among the branches.' "`I don't think they will take the trouble to follow us so far,' I answered. `But it's a good idea of yours, and it will give us a chance of saving our lives.' "We of course could not run as fast as we had been going in the open country. Sometimes we came across fallen trees, over which we had to climb, and at others we had to go round thick bushes which we could not get through. Still, what stopped us would stop our enemies. On and on we went, till just as we got out of a wood we saw before us a village of curious-looking houses, built on stout piles, many of them right in the water. "`Hadn't we better go back?' I said to Jack; `the people who live there may be the same sort of cut-throats as those we have got away from. They'll be for knocking us on the head when they see us.' "Jack agreed with me that it would be better to stay in the wood till it was dark, and we might then make our way clear of the village down to the sea. We were just going back, when a woman came out on a sort of verandah in front of the house nearest to us, and we knew by the way she was looking that we were seen. Then she turned round and called to another woman, who also came out. "`Come,' said Jack, `we had better go on boldly and ask those dark-skinned ladies to give us their protection. They are sure to do that if we look humble enough, and show them that we want to be friends, for to my mind women are alike all the world over.' "So we moved on, kissing our hands, and then holding them up clasped before us. The women did not run away, or seem a bit frightened; and as we got nearer one of them came down the ladder and held out both her hands, which we took and put on our heads. She then beckoned us up the steps, and made signs to us to sit down on mats inside the house. As we were both very hungry by this time, we pointed to our mouths to show that we wanted something to eat and drink. The younger girl went to another part of the house and brought back some fish and yams, and a bowl with some liquor in it. There was not much to be said for the taste, but we were too thirsty after our long run to be particular. We tried to make the women understand that there were enemies coming after us, and that we wanted to hide away, so when we had finished our meal they beckoned us to come into another room, and, placing some mats on the ground, they told us that we might sleep there safely--at least, that's what we made out. "Night came on, and Jack and I, agreeing that we had got into good quarters, went to sleep. There was no bell striking, and no bo'sun's mate to rouse us up, and so we slept on till it was broad daylight. We got up and looked out from the verandah, or platform, which went round the house, when we saw three men talking together. As soon as they caught sight of us they came towards the house, and one of them mounted the ladder. He looked at us with surprise, and seemed to be asking who we were. We told him as well as we could by signs that we had come across from the other side of the island, and wanted to get off to our ship, which would soon be round to take us aboard. This did not seem to satisfy him. Presently in came the women, and they had a talk about the matter, but what they said we could not make out. The first man then called the other two, and after more palavering they began to look savage, and gave us to understand that we were to be their slaves, and work for them. "`Well,' says Jack to me, `all we've got to do is to grin and bear it. Maybe, as we are near the sea, we shall have a chance of making our escape.' "This was one comfort; so we nodded, as much as to say we were ready to do what they bid us, for, you see, we were in their power and couldn't help ourselves. After we had gone into the house and sat down, waiting to see what would next happen, the women--bless them for their kindness!--brought us some more food for breakfast, and a capital one we made. Bad as was our lot, yet it was better than being knocked on the head or having our throats cut. A number of people now came out of their houses, and there was great rejoicing among them to think that they had got two white men as slaves. We found that we had plenty of work to do to cut wood and fetch water, and to hoe in their fields, which were some way from the village, or to go out fishing with them. "This we liked better than anything else. If it had not been for the women our lot would have been worse, for they took care to give us food every day, which I don't think the men would have troubled themselves about doing, for they were regular savages. "Day after day went by; we were getting accustomed to our life, and as yet had had no chance of escaping. A precious sharp look-out was at all times kept over us, and I don't think even the women would have wished us to go, for we had to do a good deal of the work which would have otherwise fallen to their lot. Though we were, as I was saying, used to the life we led, we both wanted to get away. "I've an old father down in Dorsetshire, and there's a bright young girl who lives with him whom I would give something to see again; and Jack sighed to go home, as he said, to see his father and mother, and a young brother and sister. He used to talk much to me about you all, and it seemed to me as if I knew you long before we ever met. "We found that we were much farther from the sea than we had at first supposed, for although we went a good way down the river we never reached its mouth. "The people in the village didn't lead quiet lives, for they were always on the watch, fearing that they might be attacked by enemies. At night they made fast their boats under their houses, and had their goods all ready for a start into the woods, while they had men on the look-out night and day to give notice should any strange vessels come up the river. "Jack and I agreed that if any enemies should come in the night we might have a good chance of escaping, but from what we had seen of the fellows who had attacked our boat we had no wish to fall into the hands of such characters. We thought that we might manage to slip into a boat and pull up the river and hide ourselves until the pirates had gone away. "You must know that we did not wish any ill to our masters, for though we were their slaves we had taken a liking to them, as they did not ill-treat us, and gave us a good deal of time to ourselves. "Weeks and months went by. We began to think that no enemy would come, and that we must try to get off by some other means than that we had first thought of. At last we saw the men sharpening their long knives and polishing their spears, and new painting their shields. "`Depend upon it there's something in the wind,' said Jack to me. `They are going on a war expedition.' "`No doubt about the matter,' I said, `and they'll want us to go with them.' "`Then we must take care not to go,' said Jack. `I for one won't be for killing men, women, and children, as these fellows are likely to do. We must pretend to be sick, or that we do not understand what they want of us, and get off somehow or other.' "Whether or not it was talking about being sick I don't know, but the very next night I was struck down with fever. Our masters saw that I was not shamming. The women also stood our friends, and declared that I was not fit to get up and work, while Jack was allowed to stay at home and nurse me. I was very bad, and I believe he thought that I should die. "If he had been my own mother's son he couldn't have looked after me better than he did; night and day he was always by my side, ready to give me what I wanted. One day I heard a loud shouting and singing, and Jack, who had gone out, came back and said that the men had all started with their spears and shields. They had wanted to make him go, but the women said he must stop behind, though he had a hard matter to escape from the men. I was already getting better, and this news made me feel better still. "`It will be a bad return to run off with one of their boats,' said Jack, `but there seems no help for it, and it may be our only chance, for the men will be back again in a day or two.' "That very night, while Jack and I were sitting up talking, we heard shrieks and cries in the distance; and presently, looking out, Jack said he saw the houses lower down the river burning. "Then depend upon it the pirates have taken the place, I said. "`No doubt about it,' exclaimed Jack, `and now is our chance. If we could defend the poor women and children we would, but we cannot do that. They'll know where to fly to, and so, I hope, escape.' "Suddenly I felt my strength come back, and I was able to follow Jack down the ladder, at the bottom of which the boat was kept moored. To cut the painter by which she was made fast didn't take us a moment, and springing into her we paddled across the stream. As we looked down the river we could see all the houses in a blaze, and here and there people running off into the woods, while we made out half a score or more of the dark proas stealing up along the shore." Just as Miles Soper had got thus far in his history I was summoned on deck, and eager as I was to hear how he and Jack had fared, I was obliged to attend to my duty. CHAPTER NINETEEN. MILES SOPER'S NARRATIVE CONCLUDED. "I've heard news of my brother Jack!" I exclaimed, as I met Jim directly after I sprang on deck. "What! Is he alive?" asked Jim. "Miles Soper, who was his shipmate, thinks so," I answered. "At all events, he wasn't killed when we thought he was." "Then, Peter, we'll find him if we search the world round!" cried Jim, giving me a warm grip of the hand. "I am glad; that I am!" It takes a whole day to "try out"--that is, to boil down the blubber of each whale. I found that the cooper and his mate had just finished filling up the casks from the coolers, and I was wanted, with others, to assist in rolling them aft. Here they were chocked and lashed and left to cool for several days before they were in a condition to be stowed away in the hold. In the meantime we had to get up all the empty casks on deck so that we might lay the ground-tier with the full casks. As the casks were piled up, one upon another, the ship was in consequence almost topheavy, and I saw the captain and Mr Griffiths frequently casting glances round the horizon, to watch for an indication of any change in the weather, for should a sudden squall strike the ship she might, while in this condition, be sent over in an instant. Every possible exertion was therefore made to get the task accomplished, and all hands were employed. Anxious as I was to hear what had become of my brother, I consequently had no opportunity for a long time of listening to a continuance of Miles Soper's narrative. I should have said that though the oil casks were stowed away empty and filled by means of the hose from the deck, the greatest care was required in bedding them, as they might have to remain three years or more in the hold. The blubber from the three whales was at length tryed out and secured in the casks, and the decks being washed down, the ship once more resumed her ordinary appearance, we meantime continuing our course northward. The first moment I was at liberty I went down to see Miles Soper. He said that he felt much better, though still unable to do duty. "And what about Jack?" I asked; "you and he were just pulling away across the river at night to escape from the Dyack pirates." "Yes; I have been thinking much about it since I told you. I would not have to go through that time again for a good deal if I could help it. We could hear the shrieks and cries of the old men, women, and children as the cruel pirates caught them and cut off their heads, and we could see the flames burst out from the houses all along the banks of the river. We were afraid that the light would be thrown upon our boat, so that we dare not venture down the river, but pulled up along the southern bank close under the bushes. We thought that we were safe, at all events, till daylight, when we caught sight of two boats coming out from among the pirate fleet and steering up stream. I gave up all for lost, as I knew that they would whip our heads off in a moment should they come up with us. "`Don't give in!' cried Jack; `perhaps it isn't us that they're after.' "We ceased pulling lest the light should fall on our oar-blades, for we should have had no chance if they had made chase. "`Let's paddle in under these bushes,' whispered Jack; `they're very thick, and we can lie hid here, while maybe they'll pass us.' "We did as he proposed. As the boughs overhung the water and almost touched it with their ends, we hoped that the pirates would not discover us. We could just look out across the river, and saw the boats still coming towards us. We both lay down in the bottom of our boat and remained as quiet as mice, scarcely daring to look up above the gunwale for fear of being seen. We could hear the voices of the pirates and the splash of their oars as they drew nearer. If they had before seen us they might have observed the spot where we had disappeared, and I expected every moment to have my head whipped off my shoulders. Just putting my eyes above the gunwale, I saw the two boats, broadside on, pulling along. They hadn't found us out. On and on they went, right up the stream. They must have thought that we were still ahead. We, of course, didn't dare to move, hoping that they would give up the chase and go back again. "`We must not be too sure that they won't look for us when they do come back,' said Jack. `Howsomdever, there's no use crying out till we're caught. I'll tell you what; the best thing we can do is to get on shore and make our way inland; then, though they may find the boat, they won't catch us.' I agreed; so, shoving the boat farther in till we reached the bank, we sprang on shore, and having secured her by the painter, set off directly away from the river. As it was very dark, we had to grope our way amongst the trees and bushes, though the glare in the sky from the burning houses enabled us to steer a right course. We half expected that a snake or a wild beast might pounce down upon us, and we had no arms to defend ourselves. But anything was better than to be caught by the pirates. At last, when our clothes were torn nearly off our backs, we reached some open ground, and set off running till we got to a wood on the opposite side. `Now,' says Jack, `we won't go farther, but hide here till the morning; then maybe, if we can climb to the top of a tree, we shall be able to catch sight of the river and find out what the pirates are doing.' I thought his idea a good one, so we sat down on the ground and waited. We could hear no sounds, so we concluded that all the poor people had been killed. We hoped, however, that the warriors might come back and beat the pirates off. Not that we wished to fall into the power of our old masters again, for they would have kept us prisoners if they didn't lake it into their heads to kill us. "At last the light returned, and seeing a tall tree near: Jack and I climbed up to the top. Jack went first. `Hurrah!' he shouted; `there go the pirates down the river, pulling away with all their oars out!' Sure enough I saw them also. `But I say, Jack, perhaps the warriors have come back and put them to flight; if so, we must take care not to be caught by them.' I said, `I can see where the village stood, but I don't see any people moving about.' `It's a long way, to be sure, so we must be careful,' answered Jack. We soon got down the tree and returned to our boat. The pirates hadn't discovered her, so we got on board, and cautiously shoved out to the edge of the bushes, stopping just inside them. We then took a look-out, but could discover no one moving on the opposite shore, so we pulled across to the village. It was a fearful sight we saw there. Bodies of old men, women, and children were scattered about, but the heads were gone. "We were in a hurry, you may be sure, to get away, but, says Jack, `It won't do to put to sea without food or water.' So we hunted about, and found in the bushes several baskets which the poor people had been trying to carry off with food of all sorts, and some calabashes, which we quickly filled at the spring where we were accustomed to get water. We hurried with them back to the boat, and once more shoved off. We then paddled away down the river. The current was running out, so that we made good way, and were soon out of sight of the burnt village. Our craft was not very well suited for a voyage, but anything was better than stopping to be killed on shore. We pulled on until nearly noon before we came in sight of the mouth of the river. There was no bar, and the sea was smooth, so we resolved to pull out at once, in the hope of being picked up by some passing vessel. We were still not certain even now that our masters would not make chase after us, so we didn't stop a moment, except just to look round, but pulled right away to sea. Just as we got outside we caught sight of the pirate fleet under sail, standing to the nor'ard. We therefore pulled south, not that there was much chance of their coming back, but we thought that if we went in their wake we should not fall in with any merchant vessel, for at any rate if they should have met one they would to a certainty have robbed and scuttled her. "We supposed that there were other islands away to the westward, but then they might be inhabited by the same cut-throat sort of fellows as those from whom we had escaped, and we didn't want to fall into their hands. Our chief hope was to be picked up by some passing vessel or other, perhaps by our own ship, but Jack said he thought she would not have remained at the station, and would have long ago given up searching for us. It was hot work paddling away all day, and we would have given much for a sail, but the boat was not fitted for one, and she was not fitted either for a heavy sea--not that there was much chance of that getting up at such time of the year. We had plenty of food and water, so we kept up our spirits. Where we were going to neither of us could tell; all we knew was that we were our own masters. We were queer characters to look at, with our clothes all torn to shreds, our hair long, and our faces as brown as berries. No one would have taken us for Englishmen, but we had English tongues and English hearts, and we made up our minds to stick at it and not be downcast. We wanted to get away as far as we could from the shore, for fear any of the natives might come after us--not that there was much chance of that. We paddled and paddled till our arms ached, and we were well-nigh roasted with the hot sun. We were thankful when night came on, and we were able to rest and take some food. "We had agreed to keep watch and watch, but it was of no use trying to keep awake, so we both lay down in the bottom of the boat and went fast asleep. When we awoke it was broad daylight, and presently up came the sun and beat down on our heads as hot as the day before. There we were floating on the sea with the water calm as a mill-pond, and not a sail in sight. There was no chance either of a vessel coming near us while the calm continued. We took our breakfasts, however, and talked of what we should do. Far away to the east we could see the blue outline of the island we had left, but what part to steer for we could not make up our minds. There was only one thing we determined--come what might, not to go back and be made slaves of. It seemed useless to be paddling away and yet not to know where we were going to; but we still hoped that we might fall in with some merchant vessel, it mattered not of what country, though we wished she might be English, and so we might find our way home. "`Come, let's be moving,' said Jack, at last. `I've heard say that there are Dutch and Spanish settlements out in these parts, and maybe we shall fall in with one of them, and both the mynheers and dons are good sort of people, and will treat us kindly.' "So we took to our paddles and made our way to the westward. All day we paddled on, but no land appeared in sight, and now and then we stopped to take some food and a drink of water, but it was tiring work. We were thankful when night came at last. We didn't sleep so long, and were at our paddles before daybreak, for we knew by the stars how to steer. "Next day we did just the same, and the next after that. "`I say, Miles,' said Jack, `we must soon manage to come to land or we shall be starving. We have not got food nor water for more than one day longer, and without them we shall not be able to hold out.' "That was very true; still neither of us thought of giving in. A light breeze from the eastward had sprung up, so that we made good way, but there was no land to be seen ahead. We didn't talk much, for we had said all we could say about our prospects, and they were bad enough. But they became worse when we had drunk up all the water and eaten every bit of food we had in the boat. I had heard of people going three or four days without eating, but the want of water was the worst. We would have given a heap of gold if we had had it for a cupful. The wind now shifted to the southward, and blew much stronger than before, knocking up a sea which threatened every moment to swamp our boat, which was not fitted for rough water. We now began to think that it was all up with us, and that all we could do was just to keep the boat's head to the seas to prevent her from capsizing. "At last Jack sang out, `A sail! A sail to the southward!' "There she was, coming up before the wind. A strange-looking, outlandish craft she seemed as she drew nearer. "`I wonder whether she's one of those Dyack or Malay pirates,' I said. `If so, we may as well let the boat turn over.' "`No, no; let us trust God, and hope for the best,' said Jack. `Cheer up, Miles! She's sent for our relief.' "I was not so sure of that, for it was easy to see from her outlandish rig that she was one of the craft of those seas. Presently, as she got near us, she lowered her sails and came close up. Ropes were hove to us, and hands were stretched out over the side to haul us on board, for we had scarcely strength enough left to help ourselves. They tried to secure the boat, but she drifted off and was swamped. We just saw that the people were Chinamen, pig-eyed, with turned-up noses and yellow skins. We both fainted away. They brought us some water, and in a short time we got better. They then carried us into a small cabin aft out of the hot sun. Presently they brought us some food--rice, and some stuff minced with it. We were not particular, for we were desperately hungry. "We now found that the people who had picked us up were honest traders bound northward with a cargo of sea-slugs, birds'-nests, and other things from these seas. We tried to talk to them, but could not manage it, as none of them understood English, and we couldn't speak their lingo. But as soon as we got stronger we made ourselves useful, pulling and hauling, and doing whatever came to hand. Where we were going to we could not make out, but we hoped that it was to some place at which the English ships touched, and that we might get home some day. As Jack said, we had reason to be thankful that we had been picked up, for the weather came on very bad, and our boat could not have lived through it. The Chinamen kept a bright look-out, and seemed terribly afraid of the pirates. We tried to make them understand that we had seen the fleet sail to nor'ard a short time before, and we ourselves didn't like the thoughts of falling in with them. We told them also that we would fight to the death sooner than yield. They understood us, and seemed to think that we were very fine fellows. We had been sailing on for three or four days, and we began to hope that we were free of the pirates, when just as we passed a headland we caught sight of a number of craft coming out from under it. On seeing them the Chinamen looked very much frightened, hoisted all sail, and brought their arms on deck. We watched the strangers, who, it was very clear, were making chase after us. We should have a hard fight for it, even if we should manage to get off. Presently, however, we saw their sails flapping against their masts as they came under the headland, whilst we still had a breeze and went away dancing merrily over the water. I never felt so pleased in my life, and the Chinamen seemed highly delighted, chattering and jabbering away like so many monkeys. It was pleasant to see the pirates' sails sink below the horizon, and pleasanter still to lose sight of them altogether. "We ran on day after day. The breeze held fair and we by degrees got accustomed to our new friends, and could make ourselves understood in a fashion. We sometimes were sailing between islands, and sometimes on the open sea. Whereabouts we were we had no idea, though we supposed that we were approaching the Chinamen's country. "We had been a fortnight or more on board when dark clouds rose up from the south-west, and it came on to blow very hard. The sails were lowered and we ran before the gale. I saw by the looks of the crew that they didn't like it, nor did we, for it seemed as if at any moment the clumsy craft might be capsized. We, however, pumped and baled, and tried to keep her clear of water. It all seemed, however, of no use, for the seas washed into her and she was leaking terribly. "We had been driven a long way out of our course. We did our best to cheer up our shipmates, and set them the example by working harder than any of them. "At last the gale ceased, and we once more made sail, but, do all we could, the water gained on us and the crew began to heave the cargo overboard to keep the junk afloat. The boats had been washed away, and we knew that if she went down we should all be drowned. Jack and I talked of what we could do to save our lives, but we agreed that we should have to share the fate of the rest. It seemed to us that the craft would not swim another night, when we made out a sail to the westward. "The Chinamen by this time were so knocked up that they were scarcely able to exert themselves. Jack and I sprang here and there, now pumping, now baling, now trying to make our companions do the same. It seemed to us that they would let the craft go down in sight of help. The stranger we judged by the cut of her sails to be a whaler. The junk was settling lower and lower in the water. Jack found a flag, an odd-looking piece of stuff it was. He ran it up half-mast high as a signal of distress. The stranger came on slowly, for the wind was light. It seemed even now that she would not be in time to save us. At last she got near enough to see our condition, and hove-to. Four boats were lowered, which came pulling towards us. "By this time the water was almost up to the lower deck. Jack and I stood ready to spring on board the first boat which came up. The brave crew came on, and were in time to haul the greater number of the Chinamen on board before the junk sunk beneath their feet. Several went down in her, too much knocked up to exert themselves. With us and those saved, the boats returned on board. We found that we had been picked up by the _Helen_, whaler. She had been cruising off the coast of Japan, and was going to Macao for fresh provisions. As she was short of hands Jack and I at once entered on board her. Having landed the unfortunate Chinamen and taken in the stores we wanted, we stood away into the Pacific. We found ourselves among a somewhat rough lot, but we were better off than we had been as slaves, though Jack and I agreed that we would much rather serve on board a man-o'-war. We had been cruising for some time, and had caught and stowed away about a dozen whales or more, when one night there was a cry of `Breakers ahead!' "The captain, who was on deck in a moment, gave the order to put up the helm and veer ship, but before she could be got round she struck heavily. We sounded round her and found the water deep on the starboard side. But all our efforts proving useless, the order was given to lower the boats. We had five fit for service, and they were got safely into the water. Jack went in one of them, I in another. We were ordered to keep off at a safe distance from the ship till daylight. When morning broke we found that the ship was a complete wreck, and that there was no chance of saving her. The captain then ordered the boats to come alongside one at a time and embark the rest of the crew, with such provisions as could be collected. We now saw land away to the nor'ard, and, having left the ship, pulled towards it. Our great want was water, and to obtain it the captain divided us into two parties to look into any bays we might discover and try and find a spring. I was in the second mate's boat. We were just pulling into a bay, when a dozen canoes full of black savages, with bows and spears, darted out and made chase after us, so we pulled away out to sea. What had become of the other boats we could not tell. Your brother Jack had gone in the captain's, and that was the last I saw of him." "Do you think they could have escaped from the savages?" I asked, anxiously. "I have no reason to suppose they didn't, just as we managed to escape," answered Miles, "but we didn't catch sight of them again. We had sails in our boat, and plenty of provisions, and the mate told us he intended to steer for the Sandwich Islands, the nearest civilised place he knew of, but that it was a long way off, and we should be a long time about it. He might have been right, but we were still many days' sail from it when we ran short of provisions and drank up all our water. I believe that we should have died if we hadn't fallen in with another whaler, which picked us up. I entered on board her, as did some of the men, but the mate and others preferred landing at Honolulu. I served on board her for some time. We had gone southward, having got a full ship, when we struck on a coral reef. Though we did all we could to keep her afloat, she went down with all hands, except the black and me, and we managed to get ashore on Robinson Crusoe's Island, from which you took us off." "But can't you give me any idea as to what has become of Jack?" I again asked. "Not more than I have told you," answered Miles; "but my idea is that some if not all the boats got off, though in what direction they steered I've no notion." I was prevented from talking more on the subject just then by being summoned on deck, and when I told Jim he repeated what he had before said-- "We'll find him, Peter. We'll find him." CHAPTER TWENTY. A MUTINY AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. I told Dr Cockle all I had heard about my brother Jack from Miles Soper. He seemed greatly interested, and said that he sincerely hoped we might find Jack or hear of him, though he confessed that it was very much like looking for a needle in a bundle of hay. Jim and I talked of little else. We neither of us any longer thought of going home, but I got a letter ready to send, by the first ship bound for England, to my sister Mary, and another to Mr Troil, telling them that I had got tidings of Jack, and much as I wished to get back, should stay out in those seas till I found him. My great wish now was to fall in with other whalers, that I might make inquiries about my brother. The captain--though, I suppose, Dr Cockle and Mr Griffiths told him what I had heard--seemed to take no interest in the matter, nor did he show me any more attention than before. We had left Juan Fernandez more than a month, when a cry came from the masthead of "Land ho!" It proved to be Chatham Island, one of the Galapagos, a group of volcanic islands almost under the line, some hundred miles away from the coast of Peru. We brought up in a fine bay, but the shore as far as we could see looked black and barren. There were, however, thick, low bushes of a peculiar kind, covering the ground at some distance from the beach. As Dr Cockle was going on shore with one of the mates and a party of the men, he to botanise and they to obtain fresh provisions, I went up to the captain and asked leave to accompany him. "I understand you have made up your mind not to run away," he observed, in his usual sarcastic tone. "Yes, sir," I answered; "I'm content to remain on board your ship, though I know that I would until lately have done anything to get back to England." "Take care you don't change your mind," he said, in the same tone as before. "If the doctor will be answerable for you, you can go." I told the doctor what the captain said. "I know that I can trust you. Peter, and I'll tell the captain that I'll undertake to bring you back," he answered. I was glad to find that Jim was to form one of the party. Horner also got leave to go. Though he and I were on good terms, I can't say I looked upon him as a friend, but I was well pleased that he should have a run on shore, as I hoped that it would put him in good humour, for of late he had become one of the most constant grumblers on board. I even now recollect the pleasure I felt on thus once more treading the firm ground, as, except for the short time I had landed on Juan Fernandez, I hadn't set foot on shore since I left Shetland. The rest of the seamen seemed greatly to enjoy their freedom. As soon as we had secured the boat we all set off together, running over the rough black ground, startling a number of strange-looking creatures like lizards, some of which slid off into the water, others hid themselves in holes and crevices of the rocks. Jim and I, however, went back to join the doctor, as we knew that he would want us to carry anything he might chance to pick up. The mate, after the men had had a good run, called them to him, and we proceeded more leisurely. The shrubs we had seen we found to be prickly pears. We had gone some distance when we caught sight of some enormous creatures like tortoises. The doctor called them terrapins. They had been feeding on the prickly pears, and were now leisurely making their way towards the hills which rose in the distance. We were all suffering from thirst, and the sun beat down on our heads with a great heat. We had in vain been looking for water. "I'd give anything for a mugful!" cried Jim. "So would I," "And I!" echoed several more of the men. "You needn't have long to wait if you can catch those creatures," said the doctor. "They'll yield as much cool water as we want." We all set off running after the terrapins, which, as they didn't move fast, we soon overtook. As we got close to them they drew their heads into their shells, and remained quiet. Horner had become unusually lively, and on seeing the creatures stop jumped on the back of one of them, when immediately on it went carrying him along with it. At first he thought it very good fun, and began snapping his fingers and pretending to dance, but whilst he was looking round at us the terrapin carried him against a prickly pear-bush, and over he went sprawling on the ground, to the great amusement of the men. "Oh, save me! Save me!" he shouted out, scarcely knowing what had happened, and believing that the creatures were going to turn upon him and run their bills into his body. Jim and I helped him up, and found that he was bleeding from a cut hand and a wound inflicted in his side by the point of one of the leaves. The doctor, however, on arriving at the spot, examined his hurts and comforted him by the assurance that there was not much the matter, and that if he didn't think about it he could go on as well as the rest of us. We soon again overtook the terrapins, when the men who were armed with spears ran them in under the creatures' necks and quickly killed them. We turned them over, and under the doctor's directions, found, as he said we should, plenty of perfectly cool water in their insides. It was fresh as if just out of the spring. Leaving the terrapins to carry back with us on our return, we pushed on in the hope of falling in with some more. We were not disappointed. We in a short time killed four, as many as we could manage to carry on board the boat, and sufficient to give us fresh meat for several days. I was in hopes of meeting with inhabitants, as I wanted, wherever I went, to make inquiries for Jack, not knowing where I might find him. As Miles had come to the east, I thought he might have found his way in the same direction. None of the islands are, however, inhabited, and only one of them, Charles Island, has a spring of water, though people might otherwise exist in them for years. We saw a vast number of birds, which were very tame, but not a single four-legged creature besides the terrapins and lizards. We had to make several trips to carry the meat to the boat. As we shoved off we saw the sea literally swarming with fish, and the next morning the captain sent in two boats, which, in a short time, caught as many as we could eat. In the evening we sailed and cruised in the neighbourhood of the islands, during which time we added the oil of four whales to our cargo. We also met several other whalers, from all of whom I made inquiries for Jack, but none of the people I spoke to had even heard of the wreck of the _Helen_, and could give me no information. At length the crew began to grumble at being kept so long at sea, and we sailed for Tumbez, on the mainland, where we took in wood and water. When this task was accomplished the captain gave leave to half of the crew to go ashore, and to remain away three days. On their return the other half had liberty granted them for the same time. I accompanied the doctor. We went up the river some distance, and then landing walked to a town surrounded by sand, far from having a pleasant look. With the assistance of the doctor, I made inquiries for Jack, thinking that if he belonged to a whaler he might have visited the place; but I could gain no intelligence of him. The night before we sailed it was my middle watch, and when it was over I tumbled into my bunk. I had been asleep for some time when I was awakened by hearing Horner's voice, exclaiming, "You are here, then? Rouse up and come on deck. The captain is in a great taking. He has found that a boat is missing and some of the hands, and he declares that you have gone with them." Slipping into my clothes, I hurried on deck. It was just daylight; the captain was standing aft, looking in a fearful rage, while the second mate was forward, shouting to the men to come up and show themselves. "Do you want me, sir?" I asked. "So you and Jim Pulley have not taken yourselves off?" he exclaimed. "No, sir; we never thought of doing so, and I gave you my word that I wouldn't desert." He made no reply, but ordered Mr Griffiths to call over the names of the men. Four were found missing. "Take a boat and six men, well armed, and see you bring the rascals back, alive or dead!" he exclaimed, turning to the mate. In a couple of minutes the boat was in the water and the men were ready, and Mr Griffiths pulled away. He was absent for some hours. At last we saw his boat coming back, but without the runaways. On reaching the deck Mr Griffiths reported that he had gone up the river and examined the coast on either side of it, but could find no traces of the boat or men. As soon as Captain Hawkins had abandoned all hopes of recovering the runaways he ordered Mr Griffiths to go again on shore to try and pick up some fresh hands in their place, and I was sent to look after the boat. On either side of the river as we pulled up it we saw numbers of alligators sunning themselves on the sandy banks. As we got near them they plunged into the water, and at first I thought they were about to attack the boat. As we got higher up, the river narrowed and the trees bent over our heads. In the branches we could see numbers of monkeys leaping from bough to bough and chattering at us. At last, after going six miles, we reached a landing-place, near which was an orange-grove coming close down to the water. Mr Griffiths, taking two men with him, ordered the rest of us to remain in the boat, and on no account to quit her. Scarcely, however, was he out of sight than the men declared that they must have some oranges. When I reminded them of the orders I had received they laughed at me, and one of them, springing ashore, ran off to the grove. He soon again appeared, with a handkerchief in his hands full of oranges, and sucking one as he came along. He was followed by an old gentleman, whom I at once guessed to be the owner of the orange-grove, and who came on till he reached the boat. He then stopped and said something in his native language, which none of us understood. When he found this he made signs to us that we had no business to take his oranges without leave. I tried to explain by pointing to the men's mouths that they were very thirsty, and that I couldn't prevent the sailor from taking the fruit. Whether it was from my manner or looks I can't say, but the old gentleman appeared to be pleased, and going back to an orange-tree picked off a quantity of the fruit, which he brought to me in his own handkerchief, patting me on the back at the same time, as if he was satisfied with my explanations. While sucking away at the oranges the men were kept quiet. All the time the monkeys chattered away at us from the neighbouring trees, and an ugly alligator would now and then poke his snout out of the water to have a look at us, but the shouts we raised made him swim off. At last Mr Griffiths appeared with four fresh hands, each man carrying a bundle containing all his worldly possessions. As soon as they stepped into the boat we shoved off, and gave way down the river. I was surprised to find all the men talk in a way far superior to that of common sailors, and soon found that they had deserted from American whalers, and had been, before they came to sea, in good positions, which they had lost by misconduct. The moment we got on board, though it was now late in the evening, the captain ordered the anchor to be hove up, and as the wind was off shore, we stood out to sea. We proceeded at once to our old cruising ground in the neighbourhood of the Galapagos. While we were on our way the new hands seemed perfectly contented, having little or nothing to do. I, of course, inquired of them if they had heard of anyone who had escaped from the _Helen_, but they could give me no information. To my surprise, I found that, though they had entered in different names, three of them were brothers, and the fourth an old friend. One of the brothers appeared to be a quiet, well-disposed man. As far as I could make out, he had come to sea to look after the others, and to try and keep them out of mischief, though he didn't appear to have been very successful, as time after time they had got into all sorts of scrapes, and it was a wonder that they had escaped with their lives. On reaching the old ground we fell in with a number of whales, and had very hard work, for scarcely had we stowed away the oil of one than we were in chase of another. The new hands grumbled, and so did some of the others. Of course they couldn't complain of our success in catching whales, that brought them the work to do. The mates knew of their grumbling, but took no notice of it. At last, one morning, when I came on deck, I found a letter lying on the companion-hatch, addressed to Captain Hawkins. I, of course, took it to him. "Who sent this?" he asked, in an angry tone. I told him where I had found it, and that I knew nothing more about the matter. Tearing it open, as he read it a frown gathered on his brow. "The mutinous rascals! I'll not yield to them," he exclaimed. "Say nothing about this till I come on deck," he said to me. "Send Mr Griffiths here." When the mate came the captain read the letter to him. They then armed themselves and went on deck, when the second mate was ordered to muster all hands aft. "Who wrote this letter?" asked the captain, in a firm tone. No one answered, and there was silence for some time, until the captain repeated the question. "It was Muggins," at last said one of the men. Muggins was one of the last hands shipped, and though a man of some education, he always seemed to me utterly worthless. He was a friend of the three brothers, who went by the names of Washington, Crampton, and Clifford. "But in this precious letter I have the names of all the crew," exclaimed the captain. Several of the men on this protested that they knew nothing about the letter, and had not put their names to any paper. "Well, then, let those who have agreed to it walk over to the port side, and those who wish to stick to their duty and remain in the ship go to the starboard side." Eight only walked over, including those I have mentioned. On this Miles Soper, stepping aft and touching his hat, said, "I never like to peach on shipmates, but, as an honest man, I can't hold my tongue. On two different nights I saw Muggins get up and change the meat and throw dirt in among the bread. One night he carried up some of the best pieces and hove them overboard. "It's clear to me that he did it to make the rest of us discontented with our victuals. I had made up my mind to speak about it, but I couldn't catch him at it again, though I'm certain he played the same trick more than once afterwards." "I believe you, Soper," said the captain, and at a signal from him the mates rushed forward and seized Muggins, whom they dragged aft, none of the others interfering. The captain then produced a pair of handcuffs which he had got ready, and fixed them on the wrists of the man. He then called to Horner, Jim, and me to assist the mates, and together we carried the man down below and shut him up in the cabin store-room, the captain meantime remaining by himself on deck. When we returned we found that the crew hadn't moved. "Now, lads!" he said; "you who have made up your minds to remain in the ship return to your duty." On this the men on the starboard side went forward, but the remaining seven mutineers stood where they were with their arms folded. I was in hopes that, as they were no longer under the influence of Muggins, they would yield, but they would make no promises. At length, tired of standing where they were, they moved lazily along forward. Dr Cockle told me that the captain intended to put into the Marquesas, where he could get rid of the men and obtain others. I found the next day that we were steering in that direction. After this not one of them would do any work, though they were allowed to remain at liberty. I fully expected that they would try to rescue their companion, but the captain and mates kept an eye on them, as did Jim and I. It was tantalising to us to see whales every day and yet not to go in chase of them, but the captain wouldn't send any boats away with the good men in them for fear of what the others might do in their absence. At length we reached Witahoo, one of the Marquesas, and brought up in a beautifully sheltered bay. Had there been any English authorities in the place the men would have been imprisoned, but as it was all the captain could do was to release Muggins from his handcuffs, and to send him and the other men ashore. The second mate went in one boat, and I had command of the other. The mutineers were ordered to get into them, and we pulled for the beach. Though they had only their clothes and a few articles put up in bundles, they stepped on shore with as jaunty an air as if they were going among friends, and having walked a little distance they turned round and jeered and laughed at us. "I pity you poor fellows who have to toil away on board that filthy whaler," cried Muggins. "It's a shame that you haven't spirit enough to lead the happy easy lives we are going to enjoy." Before we shoved off several natives came down to the beach, with whom the mutineers shook hands, as if they were old friends. Presently a huge fellow appeared, who, judging from the way the rest treated him, we supposed to be a chief. Though the others were of a gigantic size and magnificent proportions, he was taller than any of them. Every part of his body that we could see was tattooed over a deep blue colour, from the crown of his head to his feet. His head was shaven, and every hair, even to the eyelashes, was plucked out. He introduced himself to the mate, who was standing up in the boat, as Utatee, the chief of the island. He spoke a little English, and from him we made out that a missionary resided a short distance off up the bay. In a short time a number of other people came down, with several women and children. Nearly all the latter appeared to me to be very handsome, their good looks not being spoilt by tattooing. I have never seen so many fine-looking people together in any part of the world. The chief told us that we should be welcome to as much wood and water as we required, and offered to supply us with fresh provisions at a cheap rate. Next day the missionary came on board, and warned us to beware of the people. He had made but little progress with them, owing very much to the misconduct of the runaway sailors who lived on shore and set them a bad example. Still he had some converts, and he hoped, in time, to make more. I told him about my brother Jack, and how anxious I was to find him. I got Miles Soper to describe him minutely, and the missionary kindly promised to make inquiries for him. The captain returned with him on shore to look for men, and came back in the evening with eight he had picked up. One of them was a runaway sailor, who had been living on the island several years (such being termed a beachcomber), a Portuguese, and six Kanakas, as the natives are called. Meantime the blacks and the Sandwich Islanders, with a few of the white men, were employed in bringing off the fresh provisions we required. As Dr Cockle wished to visit a part of the bay a little distance off, he borrowed one of the boats manned with two natives, Jim Horner, and me. We visited two or three spots, where the doctor collected some plants and some shells from the shore. We were about to return when he proposed that we should look into a little bay a short distance farther on. The natives seemed disinclined to go there, and as far as we could make out advised us to return to the shore, saying that there were bad people in that neighbourhood. The doctor, however, who supposed that they only wished to save themselves from the longer pull, persisted in going on. As we got up towards the head of the bay we saw several natives, who ran off as we approached, and hid themselves behind the trees. "We must be cautious, for perhaps our men here didn't warn us without reason," observed the doctor as we pulled slowly in. Directly after he exclaimed, "There are two men lying on the beach. Who can they be? We must, at all events, go in and ascertain." He had brought his fowling-piece, and we had besides two muskets. He told Jim and me to stand up, with the muskets in our hands, for he didn't like to trust Horner, while he stepped on shore. Just as the boat reached the beach, and Jim, who was in the bows, was about to jump out, he exclaimed, "Why I do believe those two fellows are Muggins and Jones." The doctor leaped on shore, looking carefully round to ascertain that no natives were near. A cry of horror escaped him. The two men were dead, with their skulls fractured, the brains lying about. Their "free and happy" life on shore had come speedily to an end. Why they had been killed it was difficult to say. The doctor, stooping down, felt the bodies. "They are perfectly cold, and must have been dead some time," he observed. "They probably had a quarrel with some of the natives, and were trying to escape to the beach to cry for help, when they were overtaken." As we could do nothing we returned to the ship, thankful that we had escaped the treachery of the natives, though, as the doctor observed, the men who had suffered had evidently brought it all upon themselves. CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. A CRUISE ACROSS THE PACIFIC AND THE ADVENTURES I MET WITH. On reaching the ship we found that the captain, the English missionary, and the big old chief, Utatee, had arrived on board just before us. The doctor at once told them what had occurred. "The fellows probably brought their fate upon themselves," said the captain. "They must have provoked the savages and got killed in consequence." "I'm afraid that such was the case," observed the missionary; "but I will ask the chief to inquire into the matter." Utatee said he would do so, but if the white men were guilty he could not undertake to punish their murderers. While we were talking some of the crew cried out, "A shark! A shark!" and sure enough there was a huge creature swimming up close under the counter, with his fin just above the water, his wicked eye glancing up at the ship. The chief said something to one of the natives who had come aboard with him, a fine athletic fellow, who, like the chief, appeared to be fully dressed in a tightly-fitting dark blue silk dress, but who, in reality, had only a loincloth round his waist, fastened by a girdle, in which were stuck a couple of knives, the rest of his body being perfectly tattooed from head to foot. The man looked at the shark, and waiting until it had gone a little ahead, overboard he went, and swam rapidly up after it. Presently he dived, and we saw the shark floundering in the water. I thought that he had turned to seize the man, and that the blood which tinged the waves was issuing from his body; but no, it was the shark which was wounded. The man rose, and again plunged his knife into the monster's side. He did the same several times, and then towing it up by the tail to the ship, made signs for the bight of a rope to be hove to him. He passed it over the shark's head, and another rope being secured near the tail, the monster was hoisted up, while the native, with wonderful agility, climbed on deck, apparently not in the slightest degree exhausted by his exertions. Immediately after this we saw a prodigious commotion near the entrance of the bay, while a loud sound like that of stones knocked together reached our ears. We soon made out a number of people, men, women, and children, who had come off from the extreme point forming one side of the entrance of the bay, and were swimming across it, shouting and striking together a couple of big stones, which they held in their hands. Having formed in a line across the bay, they turned and swam up it, and we saw that they were driving before them a shoal of porpoises. On they kept in perfect order, till the porpoises were driven right ashore at the head of the bay. Here a number of other natives met them. Together they attacked the creatures, which they quickly killed. The missionary told us that their object was to extract the teeth, through which they make holes for the purpose of forming necklaces. "You'll not forget, sir, I hope, to look out for my brother Jack," I said, as the missionary was going. "You may trust me for that, my young friend," he answered, kindly; "but I shall not be long on these islands, I fear, as the French are coming to take possession of them, and they'll allow no Protestant missionaries to live here." The captain had no wish to remain for the purpose of inquiring into the death of the two seamen, as they didn't belong to his ship, and we therefore sailed at daybreak the next morning for Dominica, the largest island of the group, where we understood that we could obtain a larger supply of pork than we had obtained at Witahoo. We quickly came off that island, but could discover only one bay into which we could safely enter. As soon as we brought up, two of the boats were sent ashore under charge of Mr Griffiths, he going in one, and I, with Jim and Horner, in another. As we got near the beach we saw that a heavy surf was breaking on it. Mr Griffiths, however, thought that we could land safely, and waiting till the wave had burst, we dashed on. Though we shipped a good deal of water, the boats got in safely. The natives being accustomed to supply whalers, guessing what we wanted, had come down with a number of hogs to sell. The price for one was a bottle of powder, and five could be purchased for an old musket. We had brought a number of these articles for barter. Mr Griffiths ordered me to stand by the boats while he carried on the trade. As was my custom, I looked about in the hopes of seeing some English sailor of whom I might make inquiries about my brother Jack. When we had purchased as many pigs as the boats would carry, we prepared to shove off. The natives made signs to us that we had better be careful, but we didn't understand them, and the pigs being put on board, we shoved off. "I'll lead," said Mr Griffiths. "When you see me safe outside you can follow," and away he went. He got through one breaker, but what was my horror to see the next catch the boat and roll her completely over! We knew that the place abounded with ground-sharks, and we expected to see either him or some of the other men carried off by the savage creatures. He was not a bad swimmer, but, at the same time, was unaccustomed to make his way through a heavy surf. The rest of the men clung to the boat, but he attempted to gain the shore by himself. I was about to tumble the pigs out of my boat, and to go off in her to his assistance, when three of the natives darted out through the foaming seas towards where he was struggling. Every instant I expected he would disappear, but they quickly reached him, and supporting him in their arms, brought him back safe to the beach, where the rest of the men arrived, without hurt, on the bottom of the boat. "We must not be defeated, lads," cried out Mr Griffiths, as soon as he had recovered. "We shall have better fortune next time." The boat was baled out and put to rights, and the pigs, which had swum ashore, being again put in her, away we pulled, but just as she had got to the middle of the roller she broached to and over she went. This time I, not without reason, feared that some of my shipmates would be lost, as I saw the boat tossing helplessly in the breakers, but presently she came driving, with all hands and the pigs, at a rapid rate towards the beach, where the natives received them, looking as if nothing unusual had occurred. Still undaunted, Mr Griffiths determined once more to make the attempt, and the next time succeeded. I waited until the largest roller, which I had carefully noted, had passed, and my men giving way, we got through, although the boat was nearly half full of water. We carried the pigs on board, but after this, at the suggestion of one of the natives, we anchored the boats a short distance from the shore by letting him dive down and make fast a cable to the coral at the bottom. The natives then swam off to us with the pigs and the cocoanuts which we bought of them, without making any additional charge for their trouble; indeed, to them it seemed a matter of course. We could obtain no yams, but we got instead some enormous plantains, which served us instead of potatoes. As we could bring off but a few pigs at a time it was rather a long business, and we had then to skin and salt them down. The wind changing, and the surf no longer breaking at the end of the bay, we were able to land without difficulty. I had one day accompanied the doctor, who took only three other men to pull the boat. As he wished to botanise and obtain some shells and other productions of the island, the men went with him to carry what could be got, while I remained by the boat to prevent the natives from stealing the lead and gear belonging to her. Before long two or three old women came down to the beach and began talking to me by signs, for words were of no use. Then others joined them. They took hold of my hands and seemed to be admiring my complexion and examining my clothes. As far as I could make out they wanted me to accompany them to their village. When I refused, for of course I was not going to neglect my duty and leave the boat, they grew angry, and at last several of them seized me by the arms and were attempting to drag me off. I struggled violently, and shouted out at the top of my voice, but they didn't seem to mind that. As they were very strong I was completely in their power, and I fully believed that I should be carried off, when I caught sight of a man running towards the boat. He proved to be one of our crew who had been sent back by the doctor for something he had left. When he saw what was taking place, holding his musket in his hand, he rushed towards the old women, who let me go and scampered off. "It's lucky for you, Peter, that they didn't succeed in getting you away," he said. "They would have tattooed you all over and turned you into a nigger and made you marry one of their girls. I'll stay by you, for the chances are they may come back and try again to make you a prisoner. The doctor must manage to do without his spud." When Dr Cockle returned, though at first he began to scold the man, when he heard why he remained he told him he was right. At all events, had the natives carried me off it might have caused a deal of trouble to recover me. Sailing from the Marquesas we gradually worked our way westward towards the Society Islands, catching a few whales, till we arrived at Totillah, one of the Samoa group. The scenery was magnificent, while everywhere the country was covered with beautiful trees, among them the pandanus palm, the tree-fern, the banyan, the bread-fruit tree, wild nutmeg, and superb bamboos. The natives also were very well-behaved and quiet, and were always inclined to treat us hospitably. Indeed, we might have travelled without the slightest risk from one end of the island to the other. The good behaviour of the inhabitants was the result of their having become Christians owing to the indefatigable exertions of missionaries. It was here that John Williams, the great apostle to the Pacific heathen, spent several years. Not far off from where we lay at anchor was Leoni Bay, the scene of the massacre of the French navigator Perouse and his companions. While we were here two of the men we had obtained ran off. Two others were shipped in their stead. One of them, who called himself John Brown, as he stepped on deck seemed to me a remarkably fine fellow. He had belonged to a whaler which had been wrecked some time before, and he had remained behind while the rest of the crew went on to Sydney. I immediately asked him the question which I put to everybody. "Do you know anything of a young fellow named Jack Trawl?" "It seems to me that I have heard of the name," he laid, "but when or where I can't say. When did you last get news of him?" "He was wrecked in the _Helen_, and was last seen in one of her boats when the crews were making their escape from the savages," I answered. "Then perhaps I may help you a little," he said. "Some time ago we fell in with a whaler, and we were talking to her crew. At last, as we were going to shove off, one of the men said that he had been on board the _Helen_, and he knew for certain two of her boats had got safely to Timor, but what became of the others he couldn't tell." I naturally asked which of the boats had reached Timor, and whether the captain's was one of them, but he could not say, and I was obliged to rest satisfied with this information. It gave me fresh hopes that Jack was alive. I have not described the bay in which we lay. It was very deep and narrow, and might rather have been called a gulf. Just as we got under way the wind came right in, and we had either to anchor again or work out. The captain decided to do the latter. Two boats were sent ahead to tow the ship round, the rest of the crew were at their stations. Not a word was spoken, for we all saw that we had no easy task to perform. As we went about, first on one tack then on the other, we each time gained but little ground. At last, as we were just again going about, a puff of wind drove her right ashore on a coral reef. In vain the men in the two boats endeavoured to pull her round. The captain and both the mates gave her up for lost, and the crew seemed to think the same, but Brown, who was looking round everywhere, called me, and we hauled away at the fore brace. The fore-topsail filled with a flaw of wind which came off the shore, and away the ship went, the wind favouring us till we were clear out of the bay. It was one of the narrowest escapes from shipwreck I ever had. The next land we made was "Boscawen" and "Keppel" Islands, the former being a high peak, the latter a low, level island. We here landed to obtain provisions, among which we got some of the finest yams I ever saw. The natives were good-looking, friendly people. We continued on to the north-west, and made the "Duke of Clarence" Island, which has no land within four hundred miles of it. The captain said that he had touched there years before, but that it was uninhabited. As we were nearing it, however, a number of natives came off in large canoes loaded with cocoanuts and fruits, so that they or their fathers must have made a long voyage to reach it in their frail-looking vessels. Thence we proceeded to the Kingsmill group, of which Byron's Island is the largest. The men, who were heathens, were quite naked, but the women wore small aprons of seaweed. They didn't tattoo themselves, but many of them had their skins rough and hanging in flakes, which gave them a most repulsive appearance. This was in consequence of their spending much of their time in the water. They were savage not only in their appearance but in their customs, for we heard that to prevent overcrowding, as they cannot provide sufficient food for a large population, they kill their infant children. Such were the people of all these islands, however handsome in appearance, before the missionaries went among them. Many of them had terrible wounds, produced in their battles with each other, either by their spears or clubs, which are covered with sharks' teeth. We didn't see the land till we were within about ten miles of it, as it is very low, being of coral formation. Its only vegetable production is the cocoanut tree, which is of the greatest value to the natives. They build their huts of the trunks and roof them with the leaves. Their canoes are composed of numerous pieces of the wood sewn together with cocoanut fibre. The form of these canoes, which are from eighteen to twenty feet long, is curious; the shape is that of a whale-boat cut in two lengthways; one side is round, and the other perfectly flat, and they are kept upright by having an outrigger to windward which extends about ten feet from the hull. The sail is triangular and made of matting, and in fine weather they can beat to windward with the fastest ship. We here spent several months, occasionally touching at Byron's Island for fresh cocoanuts and water. We had caught nineteen whales, when towards the evening of one day a twentieth was seen at a considerable distance. "We must have that fellow," said the captain. The boats were lowered; he went in one, Mr Griffiths in another, and Mr Harvey, the second mate, in a third. Another whale appeared much nearer, but in a somewhat different direction. While Mr Griffiths pulled for the first, the captain and the second mate made for the second. Both were to windward. We had a light breeze, and at once began to beat up after them. Just before sundown we found that the captain and the second mate had made fast. It took some time before the whale was killed, and we could scarcely perceive the whift planted on its back before darkness came on. We had, in the meantime, lost sight of Mr Griffiths's boat, but we hoped that he would be equally successful. We made tack after tack till we got up to the whale, which two boats were towing towards us. We burned a blue light to show the first mate our position, but looked in vain for an answering signal. At last the captain, being anxious at his non-appearance, and fearing that some accident must have happened, ordered the second mate to hang on to the whale while he beat the ship up in the direction Mr Griffiths's boat had taken. The hours went by and the wind increased and the sea got up. "Never mind," said the captain; "Harvey will hang on under the lee of the whale even if it does come on to blow harder, and he'll be safe enough." At last, at about half-an-hour to midnight, we made out a faint light dead to windward. It took us some time to get up to it, for, though we were sure it must come from the mate's boat, it didn't approach us. As we got near we could distinguish the people hanging to the bottom of the boat, one of them sitting astride of her and holding up a lantern. We immediately hove-to, and lowered a boat to take them on board. It then appeared that the boat had been stove in by a whale, when the mate and his men clung on to her, the whale fortunately not molesting them. The boat's lantern is always headed up tight in a keg, together with a tinder-box and candles, and having providentially secured the keg, they managed to open it, get out the lantern, and strike a light. We might otherwise have passed them in the dark, and they would all probably have perished, as we should have run back to pick up Mr Harvey's boat and the whale we had killed. We now did so at once, and a hard night's work we had of it, as we had to secure the whale alongside, and get ready for cutting-in as soon as it was day. Soon after this, while I was aloft, I saw Jim, who had just been relieved at the wheel, go to the side, and, throwing off his clothes, jump overboard. It was what we often did, always taking care to leave a rope overboard to get up by, to get rid of the soot and grease, besides which, as we were close under the line, the weather was very hot, and a bath refreshing. Jim swam some way ahead of the ship, when the cook, to play him a trick, hauled up his rope, which I didn't perceive, as I was looking at Jim. Just then I caught sight of the fin of a shark at no great distance off. I shouted to Jim to come back, and he, knowing that I should not give a false alarm, struck out lustily for the ship. Mr Griffiths, who was on deck, seeing his danger, at once hove him another rope, and shouted at the top of his voice to keep the shark off. Still the monster came nearer and nearer. I saw Jim, to my great relief, get up to the side, but as he took hold of the rope, from its being covered with grease, it slipped through his fingers. The mate shouted to the other men on deck to come and assist him in hauling Jim up. I slid down on deck as fast as I could. On came the shark. Jim was still in the water, and I expected to see my old friend caught. With all our strength we hauled at the rope, but still Jim couldn't hold on by it, and I feared that it would slip through his fingers altogether, when, as it turned out, there was a knot at the end. This enabled him to hold on, and we hauled him up, more dead than alive from fright, just as the shark, showing the white of its belly, shoved its snout out of the water and made a snap at his feet, not six inches from them. Jim was saved, and I never in my life felt more inclined to cry for joy than when I saw him out of danger. While the shark was still alongside looking for its prey, one of the Marquesas islanders who came on deck, taking a knife in his hand, leapt right down, feet first, on the monster's back, which so scared it that away it went like a flash of lightning. I have mentioned these circumstances just as they occurred to show the sort of life led by the crew of a whaler. I have more interesting events to narrate in the following chapters. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. A TYPHOON, AND HOW WE GOT THROUGH IT. The crew of a whaler had need to exercise much patience. Sometimes they watch for weeks and weeks together, but watch in vain, for fish. At others so many are caught that they have not a moment to rest between the time that one is tryed out and another is brought alongside. We had at first been very successful, but a week or more having passed without a whale being seen, Captain Hawkins ordered a course to be steered for the Japan whaling ground. The very first day that we arrived in the latitude of these islands, which were, however, far out of sight, we caught two whales. We had tryed out the first and had the other alongside when another whaler made her appearance. As she got within half a mile of us it feel calm. Soon afterwards a boat was lowered from her, which came pulling towards us. When she came alongside a fine, hale-looking old man stepped on board and introduced himself as Captain Barnett, of the _Eleanor_. He spoke in a hearty, cheery tone, which contrasted greatly with the rough and unpleasant way in which Captain Hawkins generally expressed himself. Captain Barnett dined on board, and then invited Captain Hawkins and Dr Cockle to come and sup with him, I managed to address the old gentleman, and told him about Jack. "Should I ever fall in with your brother I'll say that I met you, and that you were inquiring for him," he answered, kindly. When the two captains came on deck they took a look round the horizon. "You must excuse me from accompanying you," said Captain Hawkins, "for I tell you what, I don't like the look of the weather. There's something brewing somewhere I'd advise you to get on board as soon as you can." The ocean had hitherto been perfectly calm, but there now came from the north-east a slowly-heaving swell, which every minute increased, and the whole atmosphere in a short time assumed a sombre, melancholy appearance, while a peculiar light tinged the two ships and sea around, owing to the sun's rays passing through clouds of a dull yellowish-red colour. Before this, numbers of birds had been flying about the ship, but they now winged their way to distant lands. As soon as our visitor had pulled away, our captain ordered the hands aloft to shorten sail, although at the time there was not a breath of wind. Everything was taken in with the exception of a main-topsail and storm trysail. As the swell increased, the ship began to roll in a most frightful manner, her chain-plates striking the water every time she heeled over, while the water as it rose beat against the stern with a force so violent that we were almost thrown off our legs. We had to cast adrift the last whale caught before the whole blubber was cut in, as it was impossible, without the greatest risk, to keep it alongside. I asked Brown, who was the most intelligent seaman on board, what he thought was going to happen. "We shall have a typhoon--a precious hard one too, I suspect," he answered. All night long the swell went on increasing, when suddenly the wind sprang up and broke the hitherto calm swells into foaming seas, which furiously dashed round the ship though they did us no damage. Just as daylight came on the wind again dropped; but though the wind had fallen, the sea, instead of going down, raged more fiercely than ever, making the ship roll so violently that we feared that at any moment the masts might be carried away. Yet all this time there was scarcely a breath of wind. This state of things continued till about three o'clock, when suddenly, as Brown had foretold, the gale again broke upon us, and continued to blow with increasing violence until about two o'clock on the following morning, when a more furious blast than ever struck the ship. "Hold on for your lives!" shouted Mr Griffiths, who was on deck. The captain, followed by Dr Cockle, hurried from below. There was little need to give the warning; we all clung to the weather-bulwarks. Over went the ship right on her beam-ends, and away flew the storm trysail, while every article not securely lashed was carried away. Fearful indeed was the uproar. The wind howled savagely, the sea dashed with thundering roars against the sides of the ship, the masts groaned, the bulk-heads creaked, the ropes and blocks clashed together and rattled in a way I had never before heard. Indeed, I believed that our last moments had come, for it seemed impossible unless the masts went that the ship would right. Jim and I and Horner crouched down close to each other, sheltering ourselves as we could under the bulwarks. Not far off were Miles Soper, Sam Coal, and Brown. "Is there any chance for us?" asked Horner, his teeth chattering and his voice showing his terror. "Chance!" answered Brown; "the chance that many a stout ship has braved as bad a hurricane, and yet come out of it not much the worse." We looked out for the _Eleanor_, but she was nowhere to be seen. Some of the men declared that she must have gone down. "We're afloat and why shouldn't she be?" said Brown, who was ready to cheer every one up. Some of the hands stole below, and I believe if they could have got into the spirit-room they would have made themselves drunk in order to forget their fears. Most of us, however, preferred remaining on deck and watching what would happen. Suddenly, during a momentary cessation of the wind, the ship righted, and we flew on before it, though matters in other respects seemed but little mended. As the sea beat against the ship it seemed like a huge battering-ram trying to knock her to pieces, every blow making each plank shake though none gave way. Now she plunged her head into an immense hollow, now she rose rapidly to the top of a foaming sea, while the next instant another rolling on threatened to overwhelm us. Daylight came, but it brought no cessation of the hurricane. The hours went by; not one of us thought of breakfast. Indeed, it was impossible to cook anything. We watched the masts quivering as the ship plunged into the seas, and we expected every moment to see them go by the board. The carpenter and the first mate had got their axes ready to cut them away, should such occur. At length a tremendous sea came roaring towards our weather bow. The ship struggled as if to avoid it, but she pitched headlong into the deep hollow just before her, and a monstrous sea, lifting its head half way up to the foretop, came right down on our deck, sweeping up to the main hatchway. Horner and several of the men shrieked out with terror, believing that their last moments were come. I scarcely supposed that the ship would recover herself, but suddenly she came up with a jerk, the bowsprit carried away, and the next moment it came right across our forecastle. "Rouse up, lads, and secure the foremast," shouted the captain. Led by the mates, with Brown, Ringold, Soper, Jim, and me, the crew rushed forward to secure the fore-topmast stay. We then got the bowsprit inboard. After this the ship began to ride more easily, though the hurricane continued until near sunset, when it began to abate. The watch below turned in, eager to get some rest. I never slept more soundly in my life. Next morning the sun rose from a cloudless sky. A gentle breeze was blowing. The sea had already gone down, and in a few hours sparkling wavelets alone played over the surface of the deep. Two days afterwards we brought up under the lee of South Island to repair damages. After this we again sailed to resume our search for whales. I was forward, when I saw a dark object floating some distance on the weather bow. On my reporting it to the captain, he ordered a boat to be lowered to ascertain what it was. Mr Griffiths went in her with the doctor, Jim and I forming part of the crew. As we got near we saw that it was a creature of some sort, but it made no effort to avoid us, and seemed to be fast asleep. With his harpoon Mr Griffiths went forward. As we got closer it seemed to be an enormous turtle; the doctor said of the "trunk" species. We paddled as noiselessly as we could for fear of waking it, and on getting close Mr Griffiths plunged his harpoon deep into its body through its shell. The creature in a moment was lively enough, and, after swimming away a short distance, turned and made a snap at the rope, which it nearly bit in two. We were up to it again, however, and two or three plunges of a lance quickly finished it. We then secured a rope to it and towed it to the ship. By means of the windlass it was hoisted on board. When lying on deck it was found to measure seventeen feet in length, to be seven feet wide, and four feet six inches in depth. All on board declared that they had never seen a creature of that species of the same size. We boiled it down as we would the blubber of a whale, and it yielded nearly a barrelful. Fish in these seas are very numerous. Sometimes from the masthead I could see the whole ocean alive with them. Before leaving for the Sandwich Islands, for which we were next bound, we had a day's fishing, and in a few hours caught as many as we wanted. I here also saw numbers of the paper nautilus floating on the calm surface of the water. I managed, with a small net at the end of a long pole, to catch several for my friend the doctor. I'll not describe our voyage back to Honolulu, the capital of the Society Islands. There were two or three merchantmen and about forty whalers at anchor. The entrance to the harbour is surrounded by coral reefs, and is very intricate. The chief pilot came out in his whale-boat, manned by natives, and as he passed each ship he hailed to have a boat sent him to assist in towing us in. In a short time we had nearly fifty whale-boats, twenty-five on each bow, in two long lines. It was one of the prettiest sights I ever witnessed, towing on the big ship at the rate of about three knots an hour between the coral reefs, making what would otherwise have been a difficult business perfectly easy. Here we exchanged the fish we had salted down for fifty barrels of potatoes and twenty of onions. Among the ships was the _Eleanor_, from which we had parted off Japan. As the old captain had greatly taken Dr Cockle's fancy, he wished to pay him a visit, and invited me to accompany him. On getting on board the mate said that he was below, and considering all things, doing wonderfully well. "What do you mean?" asked Dr Cockle. "Why, sir, I'll tell you," answered the mate. "If I ever saw a wonderful thing done, our captain did it. While the typhoon which caught you as well as us was at its height our rudder broke adrift, and on getting it on board to repair, it came right down on his leg, crushing it fearfully. We all thought he must have died, for you see our doctor had left the ship some time before, and there was no one who knew what was to be done. So our skipper sat down on the deck and ordered the carpenter to bring him the surgical instruments. Our carpenter is a wonderfully clever fellow, and between them they managed to saw off the leg below the knee, to take up the arteries and stop the bleeding. [See Note 1.] We then got the old man, who is sixty years of age, into bed. Would you believe it? In a few weeks after the accident he had a turning-lathe brought to the side of his bed, and if he didn't turn out a first-rate wooden leg for himself." On going below the doctor found the old captain doing wonderfully well and not requiring any further aid. Before we left he was stumping about on deck as hearty and cheery as ever. Indeed, through his courage and coolness he had undoubtedly saved his own life. The old captain probably is dead, but Mr Rosden, the mate, who is the son of an old Downs pilot, will confirm the account I have given. The captain was constantly on shore, and Mr Griffiths kindly let me take one of the boats, with Jim, and Soper, and Coal as a crew, and we visited every ship in the harbour, that I might make inquiries for Jack. As we pulled about, though disappointed at one ship, we half hoped to find him on board another. My heart grew sick as I approached the last. "Do you think he's aboard her, Miles?" I asked. "If he isn't don't lose heart," was the answer. "No, no, don't lose heart, Peter," echoed Jim. "He'll turn up some time or other. It mayn't be to-day or it mayn't be to-morrow, but if he's alive--and there's no reason why he should have lost his life--he'll be somewhere no doubt, and you'll be led to him, that's my opinion." We got on board the ship. She was an American whaler, the _William and Eliza_. We found the crew in a great state of commotion, and they would scarcely listen to what I had to say. Their commander, Captain Rogers, who seemed to be a great favourite with them, had been wrongly accused of infringing the revenue laws, and had been imprisoned in a mud fort which guarded the landing-place, and they were determined to rescue him. Most of their boats were away visiting the other ships to obtain recruits, and they declared that if he was not let out that evening they would liberate him before morning. I, of course, could not join them, but Soper and Coal were very eager to lend a hand. I persuaded them, however, to come back with me to our ship after I had made all the inquiries I could for Jack without success. Miles and Coal brought the news, and what was to be done on board, and several of our men declared that they would join, as much for the sake of the spree as influenced by a regard for Captain Rogers. As evening drew in, a number of boats put off from all the American ships, and from several of the English, for the imprisoned skipper was much liked, not only by his own men, but by the captains and mates of nearly all the whaling ships. He was a great friend, too, I found, of Captain Hawkins. When the captain came on board again, he gave any of us leave to go that chose. I don't say we were right, but when I found the second mate about to lead a party of our men, Jim and I offered to go with them, and away we pulled for the _William and Eliza_. We found her surrounded by boats, carrying well-nigh two hundred men, the whole being under the command of an American captain. We waited till nearly midnight, when the order was given to shove off. We could not tell whether the authorities on shore knew anything of what was about to take place. We carried a number of scaling ladders, with stout ropes and hooks. The first who got up with the ladders were to fix on the hooks, so that the others might swarm up, and we might all mount the walls together. We had no firearms, only axes, blubber-spades, and spears. We pulled in, forming a long line abreast, as silently as possible. On reaching the shore, two hands were left in each boat, and the rest of us rushed up to the fort to fix the ladders. It took but a few seconds before we were all at the top, and down we leaped into the fort. Nearly the whole of the garrison were asleep. When they found the place full of men some of them ran away and hid themselves, and others dashed out at the gate. We soon found the room in which Captain Rogers was shut up. The door was broken open and he was set free. Not wishing to have a disturbance with the natives, we hurried back with him the way we came, and before long were on board again. The captain made us a speech, and thanked us for setting him free, and we returned to our respective ships. I don't know that any notice was taken of the affair by the authorities, but of course Captain Rogers was unable to go on shore again while he remained in the harbour. Having repaired our ship and taken on board several fresh hands, who wished to return home to England, we sailed again for the Marquesas, in order to land the natives whom we had taken from those islands. The passage lasted five weeks, during which time we didn't see a single ship. We proceeded at once to Resolution Bay. On entering we found a French man-of-war, which immediately sent a boat on board us. The officer in command informed the captain that the islands now belonged to France, and that we must not land anything in the shape of firearms or ammunition. While he was still on board a boat pulled off from the shore, bringing a dozen soldiers, who, without asking leave, came up the side. "Why do these men come on board my ship?" asked the captain. "To see that you comply with the orders you receive," answered the officer, who spoke very good English. "I have no intention of breaking the laws you impose," exclaimed the captain, who was not the man to stand that sort of thing, "but I'll not submit to have foreign soldiers placed on board my ship." The French officer shrugged his shoulders, and said that he was but carrying out the orders of his superiors. On this the captain ordered his boat to be lowered, and pulled away on board the French man-of-war. He there threatened to throw the ship on the hands of the French if the soldiers were not immediately withdrawn. After a little time the captain returned, accompanied by a French lieutenant, who brought an order for the soldiers to return on shore. Our stay here was rendered very unpleasant by the French. As soon as we got our fresh provisions on board we sailed again for the westward, proceeding as before among the coral reefs, which lie to the north of the Society Islands. The navigation is exceedingly dangerous, as many of them are so low that they cannot be seen till the ship is close to them, and we had to keep a very sharp look-out as we sailed on. The most dangerous of all those we sighted was the Sidney group, which consist of bare sandbanks, without the least vegetation, and are nearly level with the surface of the sea. We landed on some of them to obtain birds' eggs and fish, which are very plentiful, but they are uninhabited, as there is no fresh water. Still sailing west we touched at the Kingsmills, passing also several other islands, till we came off Strong's Island. Here is a magnificent harbour, surrounded by coral reefs, but the mouth is so narrow that we could not have attempted to enter had not the boats of three vessels lying there come out to assist in towing us in. On bringing up, a number of natives came off, who talked capital English, and seemed very intelligent fellows. We found that the chief of the island was named King George. In a short time another canoe came off with a fine-looking fellow on board, who seemed as eager to trade and obtain anything he could as the rest of the natives. At last Captain Hawkins, turning to him, said, rather roughly, "You and the other chaps must be off now." "You know who I am?" asked the native. "I King George, chief of all these islands." "I beg your majesty's pardon, but you don't look much like a king," said the captain, laughing. The chief, however, didn't appear to be angry, and shook hands with the captain and officers, and stepping into the canoe paddled away for the shore. "We must take care these fellows don't play us any trick," observed the captain to Mr Griffiths. "We'll give them a salute to show them that we're wide-awake." We carried four nine-pounders, which we forthwith fired. It was the first time we had to use them during the voyage. It was hoped that this would awe the natives, and that we should not be molested during the night. The sound of the last gun had scarcely died away, when a Captain Rounds, commanding one of the whalers, whose boats had assisted to tow us in, came on board. After he had shaken hands and the usual civilities had passed, he said-- "You are wise to show that you are wide-awake, and when you hear the account I have to give you of the fearful work which took place here not long ago, you will judge whether it will be prudent to put yourself or any of your people in the power of the natives." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note 1. This account is true in every respect. My friend, Mr Henry Foster, Trinity pilot, vouches for it. CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. A FEARFUL NARRATIVE--DOINGS AT STRONG'S ISLAND. As it was very hot below, the captain had ordered chairs and a small table to be brought on deck, and he, with Captain Rounds, Dr Cockle, and Mr Griffiths, took their seats, while Mr Harvey, Horner, and I stood within earshot to hear the account our visitor had promised to give. "I came in here about two months ago for the first time this voyage to obtain provisions and water," began Captain Rounds, "and as none of us understood the language of the people, I shipped a couple of natives who spoke English very fairly to act as interpreters. Besides having been to sea on board other whalers, they were, I thought, likely to prove useful hands. Everything went on in a satisfactory way while I lay here. The natives who came on board behaved themselves well, and King George, their chief, seemed a very decent sort of fellow, and was as honest in his dealings as I could expect. I had made it a rule when I came out to these parts never to trust many of my people ashore at a time among the heathen natives without having some of the principal natives on board as hostages, or so well-behaved and friendly did these appear that I should otherwise not have hesitated to let half my crew land at a time, feeling confident that they would be well treated. Thus it was that I every evening at sundown fired off my guns, and kept a strict watch during the night. I did this, not from any fear of being attacked, but that I considered it prudent to keep to the rule I had laid down, and to maintain discipline on board. You'll see that I was fortunate in doing so. I parted on good terms with King George and his people without having any reason to alter the favourable opinion I had formed of them, taking the two native interpreters with me. From the way I treated them they became very friendly and much attached to me. We had been at sea for some time, and had caught three or four whales, each of which cost us, perhaps, more than the usual trouble to take. The two natives, who go by the names of Jackey and Tubbs, seemed very much struck by the exertions we had to make to secure the whales, and one day they came to me and said that they could put me up to the means of filling the ship with perfect ease if I would follow their advice. I asked them what they meant. They then told me that a ship lay sunk in their harbour loaded with casks of oil, and that they knew the exact spot where she went down. I then learnt from them the following particulars. "You, Hawkins, well knew Barber, who commanded the _Harriet_, of London, as you sailed together as mates with old Captain Newton in the _Felicity_. I met Barber when I first came out to the Pacific, and was wondering that I had never since heard of him or the _Harriet_. The natives now told me that about a year ago she had put into this harbour, there being no other vessels here at the time. You remember what a good-natured, yet somewhat careless fellow he was. The natives came in numbers on board his ship, and appeared to be on the most friendly terms with him and his crew. They at length, one day, invited his men to go ashore, and he consequently allowed the greater number of them to land. This sort of thing continued while he lay in the harbour. King George and most of his though they came down to visit the ship when she first arrived, were, at that time, living in another part of the island, and the people just here did pretty much as they liked. "Barber, with a boat's crew, only remained on board, when, on going on deck in the morning, he caught sight of three of his men running down towards the beach as fast as they could go, with a posse of natives after them. Presently they were overtaken. First one was struck down by the club of a savage, and directly afterwards the other two shared the same fate. The natives, on reaching the shore, jumped into their canoes, a whole fleet of which came paddling off towards the ship. The crew, on seeing this, I suspect, took fright, thinking that they should all be murdered, as their mates on shore had been. Captain Barber himself would, I am certain, have stopped to defend his ship, but probably fearing that it would be of no use to make the attempt while his crew were so faint-hearted, he ordered the boat to be lowered with such provisions and water as could be hastily thrown into her. They had scarcely left the side of the ship before the savages were up to her. They pursued the boat for some distance, but at length gave up the chase, eager to get back and secure their prize. They then set to work to plunder the vessel of everything they considered of value. They stripped her of her sails and rigging, and all the iron-work they could get at, managing even to carry away her topmasts, jib-boom, and yards. Having done this, they towed the vessel higher up the harbour and scuttled her. "When King George, who had known Captain Barber and some of his people-- for he had been down at the harbour when the ship first arrived--heard of the massacre he was very indignant, and Jackey and Tubbs told me that he killed no less than thirty of those who had taken part in it with his own hand. Whether this was actually the case or not I could not make out; but, after cross-questioning the two natives, I came to the conclusion that he himself had no hand in the massacre, and was entirely ignorant of it till afterwards. What has become of poor Barber and his boat's crew I am anxious to ascertain; but he would have had a fearfully long passage to make to any other island, and I'm afraid that he and his companions must have perished from hunger and thirst before they could have reached any friendly shore. "Having fallen in shortly after I heard this with the _Lydia_ and _Pearl_, I communicated the intelligence to them, and we determined to put in here to ascertain the truth of the story. "Now you have come we shall be sufficiently strong-handed both to defend ourselves from the natives, and to recover the _Harriet's_ cargo if we cannot raise her." Captain Hawkins at once entered into Captain Rounds' views, and they agreed the next morning with their brother captains to set to work. Captain Rounds, who was a very ingenious man, had a diving-bell constructed out of a cask, with pipes to lead the air into it. Proceeding with the boats, we found the ship sunk in six fathoms of water at a spot Jackey and Tubbs pointed out. They willingly agreed to descend in the diving-bell, and Brown and another man also went down in it. It was then found that the ship had been set on fire, but she had sunk before the flames had reached the cargo. It was calculated that there were one thousand six hundred barrels of oil in her. Her figure-head and other articles were got up, thus clearly identifying her as the unfortunate _Harriet_. The captains proposed raising her, and dividing the oil between them; but after a great deal of consultation it was considered that they had better give up the plan, as it would have occupied a long time, and caused a difficulty on their arrival at home as to whether they had a right to possess themselves of it. Thus the results of many a hard month's labour were lost. King George watched our proceedings with much interest, generally hovering about the boats in his canoe while we were at work. Perhaps he thought from the first that we should not succeed, though I think we should have done so had it been desirable to make the attempt. As soon as the undertaking was abandoned, the other vessels, which had only come in for water and provisions, sailed, and we were left alone in the harbour. The king, who did not appear to be at all offended by the way Captain Hawkins had treated him on his first visit, at once came on board, and appeared to be excessively friendly. He spoke English remarkably well, having learned it on board a whaler in his youth, and kept it up by frequently talking to runaway sailors who had remained at the island. He invited the captain to go ashore and visit him in his palace, the name we gave to the great hut in which he lived. "With great pleasure, king," answered the captain: "but fair play's a jewel, you know. If I go to visit you, your brother here will remain on board to keep my mates company till I return." The captain told Mr Griffiths to keep a strict watch on the king's brother, and not to allow him to leave the cabin lest he might slip overboard and swim on shore. We called the young savage Charlie, though that was not his real name. Charlie, who spoke a little English, seemed perfectly content; and when the king and the captain went on shore, descended to the cabin without the slightest hesitation. As the stern-windows, through which Charlie might have squeezed himself if he had had a mind, were left open for the sake of the air, Mr Griffiths told me to remain in the cabin whenever he was on deck. At night he was locked up in the state-room. I don't know that the captain was very well pleased at having the savage sleeping in his bed. Next morning the captain came back, saying that he had been hospitably treated. In the afternoon, as Charlie wished to return, and as the doctor and several men were on shore, the captain sent me, with Miles Soper and Brown, to bring the king off, that he might take his brother's place. We pulled up a long narrow creek for several miles, till we arrived at the royal residence, which was a large hut with a framework of poles and roofed over with matting. Near it were other huts, and a number of natives were employed in different ways, some pounding kava between two large stones, when the root, thus thoroughly bruised, was thrown into water. This is a much pleasanter way of preparing the beverage than by employing the women to chew it, as is done in Samoa. The king was away when we arrived, and we had thus plenty of time to walk about the village and look around us. Some natives were engaged in cooking fish and yams. This was done by putting them into a hole on the top of some hot stones and leaves, and then covering them up with more hot stones, leaves, and earth at the top of all. We soon had an opportunity of tasting them, and I can answer for their being most delicious. As the king didn't appear we walked some little distance into the country, for we knew that we were perfectly safe while the king's brother remained as a hostage. Going into a hut we found a young woman about to light a fire. I watched the process. She first took half of the log that had been split in two and laid it down with the split side upwards; then taking a small piece of hard wood about a foot long and pointed at one end, she sat down astride of the log and commenced rubbing the sharp point of the stick up and down the grain of the large piece, thus making a groove, and shoving the shavings which she worked out to the farther end, till at length they ignited, when immediately catching up some dry leaves which lay handy, and blowing gently, she soon obtained a blaze. I tried the experiment under her directions and succeeded very well. Though simple and easy as is this method of obtaining fire, I have never seen it tried in any other place. On our return to the village we found the king, who invited us to feast on the fish and yams which I had seen cooking. We were now joined by the captain and Dr Cockle, with the second mate and several men, and I was directed to go back with the king, who had to take his brother's place on board. His majesty preferred going alone in his own canoe. I sat in the bows with a long pole to keep the bow off the rocks as we went down the creek, and he placed himself astern with a paddle in his hand. He giving the canoe a shove from the bank, away we went. I was highly amused at the thought of carrying off the king as a prisoner. He, however, seemed to take it as a matter of course, and chatted and laughed as we glided along. Presently he asked-- "You young Englishman ever been here before? I think I know your face." "When was it your majesty fancied that you saw me?" I inquired. "Let me see," he said, holding his paddle in the air for a moment; "were you ever aboard the ship that my rascally people sent to the bottom out there?" and he pointed to where the _Harriet_ lay. "No," I answered, a dreadful thought coming into my mind. "Was the person you fancy I am killed with the rest of the crew?" "I think not. If I think so, I no ask you," he answered. "I see him with the captain when he visit the shore, and each time I go on board the ship. When I come down to the harbour I took great fancy to him, and asked captain to let him stay with me, but he and captain say no. He want to go home to see father and mother, brother and sister. When I found the men killed I remembered him, but no find him 'mong them. Dat all I know, but me think that he was with captain when they got away in the boat." At first, on hearing what the king said, I was almost in despair, for I was very sure that he was speaking of my brother Jack, as I thought that by this time I should have grown very like him, as I often heard my mother say that I was so when I was at the age at which he went to sea. How he had got on board the _Harriet_ I could not tell, any more than I could what had become of her boat. Still there was a possibility of his having escaped. I had no wish to return on shore with "Prince Charlie" after I had handed the king over to the care of Mr Griffiths, as I wanted to talk about the matter to Jim. As may be supposed, we did talk about it for many an hour. I was now eager to be out of the harbour, in the hopes that we might visit some other islands at which Jack might be found. Jim was as sanguine as ever that he would be found. When I told Mr Griffiths he looked very grave. "It is possible, my lad," he said, "and nothing would give me greater pleasure than to find him at last; but you know what is likely to have been the fate of the poor fellows in a boat, with a scanty supply of provisions and a long voyage to the nearest land. Just look at the chart. We are away from all civilised countries, with the wildest savages on each side of us." Next day, when the captain and the rest of the party came on board, and as soon as our royal visitor had taken his departure, I was very glad to hear the order given to get under way. The breeze being fair we stood out of the harbour. We were soon at our old work again. My patience was sorely tried. If I had not been actively engaged I don't know what I should have done. My idea was that the captain would at once sail in search of the missing boat, but he had no idea of the sort in his head. He either was convinced that she was lost, or considered that it was his business to fill up his ship as soon as possible, and not to waste time in looking for those who might never be found. We had caught several whales, when the time came for returning to the Japan fishing ground, as it's called, some distance off the east coast of those islands. My hope of finding Jack decreased, but didn't die away altogether. Jim kept me up. "We don't know in what direction the boat went," he observed. "She may have steered to the northward, and we are as likely to fall in with him the way we're going as anywhere else." I often consulted the chart. To the northward of Strong's Island I saw the Caroline group, consisting of a vast number of coral islands, and north-west of them, again, the Ladrone Islands, the principal of which, Guam, is inhabited by Spaniards. Knowing this, Captain Barber may have attempted to reach it, and one day, to my satisfaction, I heard from the doctor that Captain Hawkins intended to call there before returning home. We were now leaving those islands I have mentioned to the southward. We were very successful on the Japan ground, and nearly completed our cargo, at least the lower hold was full. At length, one calm day, a large whale was seen spouting at some distance from the ship. Four boats were lowered. The captain, the two mates, and Brown went in them, Miles Soper going as the chief mate's boat-steerer. His boat was the first up, and in a short time Soper put two irons into the whale, which almost instantly turned over on its back, threw its lower jaw open, and nipped her clean in two. Wonderful to relate, the men all got clear, and Mr Griffiths, standing up on half of the boat, plunged his lance right down the whale's throat, and then jumped off and swam with the other men to the next boat coming up. The captain's boat now fastened to the whale, which, turning as before on its back, treated her in the way it had the first. When we who were on board saw this, we began to lower the spare boats as fast as we could. While we were thus employed, the doctor, who was looking on, exclaimed-- "There's a third boat caught!" And we saw that the second mate's boat, which had got up, had been nipped by the whale. Brown's boat, the fourth, now pulled gallantly up, watching every movement of the monster, if necessary to get out of its way; but the wound it had received had already weakened it, and though it made at his boat he escaped, and succeeded in plunging several harpoons and lances into its body. Meanwhile the crews of the other boats which had been destroyed had been hanging on to them, and though the sea was swarming with sharks it was a remarkable fact that not one of the men was lost. Sharks rarely bite people when a whale is bleeding, but keep following the track of the blood. Brown took some of the men on board, and we in the spare boats, leaving only the doctor and two hands to take care of the ship, pulled quickly up and rescued the remainder. We soon had the whale alongside; it was the largest we had caught-- nearly a hundred feet in length; but we got very little oil out of it, for, having been fastened to previously, there was a huge swelling on its back as big as a tun butt, which was, no doubt, the cause of the blubber being so thin. We had still some spare space, and the crew were eager to catch the additional whales required to complete our cargo, that we might at length direct our course homeward. Although I should have before been the most eager of any to return to England, yet now, with the idea that had taken hold of me that Jack was somewhere in the neighbourhood, I was anxious to remain until I had found him. Jim shared my feelings, but I didn't suppose anybody else did. We remained a week or more, however, after killing the last huge whale which had cost us so much trouble, without seeing another, when the captain determined to steer for the Ladrone Islands. As we had now been some months without obtaining fresh provisions, we first directed our course for the Bonins, some degrees to the eastward of the coast of Japan. We understood that there were wild pigs, if not goats and sheep, on them. At all events, that fish could be caught in abundance off the shore. In a few days we sighted them, and ran under the lee of one of the group called South Island. Here the ship was hove-to, and a boat lowered, in which Mr Griffiths, the doctor, Horner, Jim and I, Brown and Miles Soper and Coal, with two other men, went. We took with us besides fishing-lines the whaling gear and a couple of muskets, three or four casks to fill with water, and provisions for the day, for we didn't intend to get back to the ship till evening. Mr Griffiths, who had been there before, took the boat inside a high reef of rocks, where he had, he said, caught a number of fish. Our first object was to obtain bait. Miles Soper and Coal undertook to swim on shore with baskets and catch some crabs, for which the fish in these seas seem to have a special fondness. We pulled in as close as we could to land them, and in a short time they filled their baskets, and shouted to us to return and take them off. We now dropped our kedge anchor just inside the surf, in between two and three fathoms of water, which was so clear that we could see the fish as they swam about, darted at the bait, and swallowed the hooks. We quickly hauled in a number of magnificent fish. We were so eager at the sport that we didn't consider how rapidly the time passed, while the doctor was more occupied with admiring the variously-coloured coral, the richly-tinted seaweeds, and the curiously-shaped fish of all the hues of the rainbow, swimming in and out among the trees of their marine gardens. At last Mr Griffiths, pulling out his watch, exclaimed, "Hulloa! How time has gone by! Get up the anchor, lads. We ought to be off." The order was more easily given than obeyed. We hauled and hauled, but the anchor had got foul of the coral, and we ran a risk of losing it. Soper offered to go down and clear it, but just then a huge shark showed his ugly throat alongside, and Mr Griffiths would not let him go. At last, just as it was dark, Brown managed to get the anchor up. When we pulled outside the reef we found that the weather had changed. It was blowing very hard, though, sheltered as we had been, we had not discovered this. We looked eagerly out for the ship, but she was nowhere to be seen. CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. OUR LIFE ON AN UNINHABITED ISLAND. We were still in smooth water, but the sea was breaking in the offing, the white caps rising against the dark sky. Mr Griffiths thought that the ship might have stood to the eastward and be concealed by the point of land which ran out in that direction. We eagerly gave way and pulled off from the shore. Several times he stood up to look about him. At length he cried out-- "There she is! There she is! She's burning a blue light." We all looked in the direction he pointed, which was almost abeam, and there we saw a light, appearing, however, just above the horizon. He at once steered the boat towards it, but as we pulled on the seas increased and frequently broke aboard us; the wind was rising rapidly, and in a short time blew a heavy gale. In vain we again looked out for the light; none could be seen, and there was a great risk, should we continue to pull on, of the boat being swamped. The doctor and Mr Griffiths talked together earnestly; the latter then said-- "Lads, there's no help for it, we must try and get on shore for the night, and in the morning, if the wind goes down, the captain will stand in to look for us." We all knew the danger we were in, for in pulling round the boat might be caught on her broadside and turned over; but it had to be done, and we trusted to Mr Griffiths' steering. We gave way as he told us, though for a moment I thought all was over as a sea struck the boat abeam and half swamped her. We got round, however, and while Horner and I baled her out, the men pulled in towards the shore. It was now very dark. All we could see ahead was an irregular line of black, but whether rocks or hills rising near the beach we could not tell. As we neared the shore Mr Griffiths stood up looking out for a landing-place, but no opening could he discover in the rocks, against which the surf was now breaking furiously; should we get within its power the boat, we knew, would be dashed to pieces in a moment. The wind went on increasing till it blew almost a hurricane. At last Dr Cockle exclaimed-- "There is an opening. We passed it this morning. I remember it by the clump of trees on the top of a rounded hill, and I can now make them out against the sky." Mr Griffiths hesitated. Should the doctor be wrong in another minute we should be hurled to destruction against the rugged rocks. Just then the moon rising on the other side of the island broke through the clouds and showed us clearly the outline of the trees and the hill. The mate hesitated no longer, but telling us to give way steered in for the opening. The surf broke wildly on either side of us, flying up above our heads; the seas came rearing on astern, threatening to engulf us. We all gave way steadily together. Now the boat rose on the top of a foaming sea, and then down she glided into comparatively smooth water inside the reef, and we were safe. Pulling on, we saw ahead a small bay with the trees coming down to the water's edge. Their tops were waving wildly, but we felt but little wind where we were, and we were able to run the boat's head on to the beach and land without difficulty. We at once drew her up and looked out for a sheltered spot under some rocks to camp. Here we got a fire lighted, as there were plenty of broken branches and leaves lying about, and soon had some of the fish we had caught cooking before it. Outside the tempest was howling furiously, and we had reason to be thankful that we had gained the shore, as no boat could have lived in the sea which was by this time running. After supper was over, and we had dried our clothes, wet through and through by the spray, we lay down to sleep under the rock. Mr Griffiths assured us that there were no wild beasts or natives to molest us in the island, though we were not altogether free from danger, as the trees which grew on the top of the rock above our heads might be blown down, or the upper part of the rock itself might give way and crush us. That we might have some chance in being awakened so as to enable us to attempt to escape, as also to prevent the fire going out, Mr Griffiths arranged that one of the party should keep watch. The doctor offered to keep the first watch. Mr Griffiths and the rest of the men then stowed themselves away close under the cliff. I, feeling no inclination to sleep, joined the doctor, who was sitting by the fire on one of the water-casks, every now and then throwing on a few sticks and making it blaze up cheerfully. I asked him if the ship were likely to return soon to take us off. "Not till the hurricane is over," he said; "the captain will not like to come near the coast for fear of being driven on it." "Then you think, sir, that we shall remain here long enough to explore the island?" I said. "Why do you wish to explore the island?" he asked. "Because I have a notion that my brother Jack is upon it," I replied. "They say there are pigs here, and there are, no doubt, plenty of birds, and he would be able to live as well as Miles Soper and Coal did on Juan Fernandez." "But it's a hundred to one--I may say a thousand to one--that the boat was driven here; besides which, so many whalers pass by this island that he would have been seen and taken off even if he had come here. You only raise up such ideas to disappoint yourself. Don't think about it; lie down and go to sleep." Notwithstanding what the doctor had said, I could not get the idea out of my head, and longed for morning, that I might set off and make a tour round the island with Jim, who, I knew, would be ready to come with me, as would Miles Soper and some of the others. Notwithstanding the howling of the wind above our heads, and the wild roar of the breakers on the rocky coast, contrary to my expectation I fell fast asleep, and didn't wake till the mate roused up all hands at daylight. The storm was raging as wildly as ever. Furious torrents of rain had come down, but the watch had managed to keep in the fire, and we all gathered round it to cook some more fish and dry our damp clothes. We were in good spirits, for we knew that the gale would blow itself out in a short time, and we expected that the ship would then come and take us off. As soon as I proposed to Jim to explore the island, he at once agreed to accompany me. The doctor and Miles Soper also said that they would go. The latter carried one of the muskets, which the mate said we might take, and the rest of us armed ourselves with long pointed sticks. The mate thought we might as well go armed, for though the island had hitherto been uninhabited, it was possible that some savages might have been driven as far north in their double canoes, and might attack us if they found we were unable to defend ourselves. We took some cooked fish for provisions, and we hoped to find water as we proceeded. We had first to make our way through a thick forest, of what the doctor called tamana-trees--some of them being of gigantic size. It was often so dark beneath their thick boughs that we could with difficulty see our way; but we went on, guided by the doctor's pocket-compass, in a straight line, until we at length got out of the forest into more open country. He proposed going on till we reached a hill which we saw some way off, and there to light a fire, that the smoke might attract the attention of any one living on the island. He carried out his plan, and collecting sticks as we neared the spot, having brought tinder and matches, we quickly had a fire blazing. We looked in vain, however, all round the island for an answering signal. "Perhaps, if there is any one, he is down by the shore, and has no means of striking a light," said the doctor; "or maybe he is still sheltering himself from the storm." As this seemed very likely, leaving the fire burning, we made our way down to the beach on the farther side of the island. The view from the hill on the north side showed us only rugged and broken ground, and we therefore proceeded along the shore as close as we could get towards the southern end. We saw plenty of birds, which would have afforded us food if we had had time to stop and shoot them. It was somewhat rough work, especially in the more exposed places against the wind. At last we got back to the part we had started from, just as night was falling. From every height we kept a look-out for the ship, but she did not appear. "You're convinced now, Peter, that your brother is not on this island," said the doctor. "I should have rejoiced if we had found him, but I did not think it at all likely that he is here. However, that is no reason why he should not be somewhere else." We had found water on our way, and the mate had discovered a spring not far from our camp. The hurricane, which had abated somewhat during the day, came on again as night approached, and we were thankful to obtain the shelter of our rock. The wind blew more furiously than ever, the lightning flashed and ran along the ground--now and again crashes were heard as some tall tree was struck and rent in two, while the rain at times came down in torrents, and nearly put out the fire. We, however, got shelter from the overhanging rock. We had just done supper, when Mr Griffiths observed-- "I'm afraid something may happen to our boat. The breakers sound so loud that they perhaps are dashing over the reef, and the sea may sweep up and carry her off." We hurried down to where we had left the boat. A bright flash of lightning revealed her to us, with the seething water rushing up under her keel. Dashing forward, we seized her just as a second wave was lifting her, and in a few seconds would have carried her off. We dragged her up the beach till we had placed her, as we hoped, out of the reach of the water. While we were thus employed we heard a loud crash coming from the direction of our camp. On returning, we discovered our fire nearly out, but it blazed sufficiently to show us a mass of earth and rock, and two tall trees, which had fallen on the very spot where a few minutes before we had all been collected. We were thankful for our preservation, though we had lost the only shelter we knew of. The mate suggested that we should go back to the boat, turn her over, and creep under her for shelter. As no trees were near where she lay, we hoped that we might thus rest in perfect safety. Having taken the things out of her, we did as he proposed, and one by one crept in, and stretched ourselves upon the damp ground. After the exertions I had made during the day I felt very sleepy, and though I remained awake for some time thinking of Jack, my eyes at length closed. I was awakened by hearing three distinct loud raps on the bottom of the boat. I fancied that I must be dreaming, but I found that Jim and Horner, who were sleeping next to me, were awake, and had heard the sounds. "What are you lads making that noise for?" asked Mr Griffiths. I told him of the raps which had awakened me. "I thought it was one of you that made them," he said. "I heard them also," remarked the doctor, from his end of the boat. The rest of the men were asleep; all of us were inside, and the sound certainly came from the outside. On this I crawled out from under the boat, half expecting to see some one standing there, but neither human being nor animal was visible. The rain had ceased, but the night was very dark, and there was time for a person after the knocks had been given to retreat into the woods. Still, I didn't think that it could have been Jack. I returned to the boat, supposing that whoever had knocked would knock again. The expectation of this kept me awake, and I determined that I would try to spring out and catch the person, whoever he was. I waited, however, in vain, and in less than two hours saw the daylight coming in under the gunwale. The surf was still breaking with a loud roar on the rocks, but the wind had ceased to howl through the trees, and I hoped that the hurricane was nearly over. The noise I made in getting out from under the boat awakened those sleeping near me, and the rest of the party were soon on foot. The first thing we did was to go back to our camp and see the effect of the landslip. The spot where we had been sitting was covered with a large mass of earth, rocks, and trees. We found a hollow in the rock near the spot, which appeared safe, and here we determined to light a fire and cook some more of our fish. While most of the people were thus employed, Mr Griffiths, the doctor, and I climbed to the highest rock in the neighbourhood, that we might take a look-out for the ship. The sun was just rising, and cast a ruddy glow over the still heaving ocean covered with foam-crested seas, which, rolling in towards the shore, broke into masses of spray as they reached the surrounding reefs. In vain we looked round for the ship; not the slightest speck of white appeared above the horizon. "Can anything have happened to her?" said the doctor, in an anxious tone. "She has weathered out many a worse gale than we have just had," observed the mate. "My only fear is that in attempting to make the land she may have been driven on one of the hidden reefs which abound everywhere hereabouts." "And if so, what are we to do?" inquired the doctor. "We must try to reach the nearest islands inhabited by civilised people. We have casks sufficient to hold water for the voyage." "I still hope she will come," said the doctor; "but we must not lose heart whatever happens." Taking another look round, we returned to the camp, where we found a blazing fire and the fish cooked. We remained all that day and the next, unable to get out and catch any more fish. By this time our stock was completely exhausted--indeed, for the last day it had been scarcely eatable. While two of the men remained on shore to collect salt from the rocks, the rest of us went off, and with the crab-bait soon caught a large quantity of fish. In two days we got as many as we could well carry. Some of these were salted, others were smoked over the fire. We didn't fail, as may be supposed, to pay frequent visits to our look-out place on the rock. Day after day went by and no sail appeared. "She's not coming back," said Mr Griffiths, at length; "something must have happened to her; and I put it to you whether we remain here or try to reach either Japan or the Ladrones. Though Guam, which is the chief island of the Ladrones, is much farther off than Japan, we are likely to receive better treatment from the Spaniards than we are from the Japanese, who may either send us off again or put us to death. The passage there is also likely to prove more boisterous than to Guam." The mate, having concluded his remarks, put the matter to the vote. Two of the men said they would rather remain on the island. No one proposed going to Japan, and the doctor and Miles Soper wished to steer for Guam. The rest of us voted with them. The mate considered that the sooner we were off the better. He said that the island was not a bad residence, but that when the winter came on we should have rains and storms, and might be unable to catch any fish or find other means of supporting life. We therefore at once set to work to prepare for the voyage. We first put off and caught a supply of fish, which we cured as before. We might have killed some birds, but we were unwilling to expend our small stock of powder, which we might require to defend ourselves against any natives who might prove hostile. Led by the doctor, Brown, Jim, and I started to explore the neighbourhood, to collect scurvy grass or roots of any sort which might serve as vegetables. The natural productions of the country appeared to be very limited, but we dug up some roots which the doctor pronounced wholesome. We were about returning in despair of obtaining what we wanted, when we came, near the shore on the other side of the bay, on a small open space overgrown with what at first looked like weeds, but I saw the doctor's eye brighten as he espied them. Hurrying on he pulled away eagerly at the seeming weeds. "Here are onions," he cried, "of more value to us than gold; and see, here are potatoes, and these are cabbages, though somewhat overgrown, but there are leaves enough to supply us for a month." We set to work to dig up the onions and potatoes with our pointed sticks, and to pull away at the cabbage leaves. "Some beneficent person must have planted a garden here not long ago," said the doctor, as we were labouring with might and main. "These vegetables may be the means of preserving our lives, for without them we should have run a great risk of suffering from scurvy." We each of us loaded ourselves with as many of the roots as we could carry, and staggered back with them to camp. We were received with a loud shout by our companions, who knew the value of what we had brought. We quickly had some of the potatoes roasting in the ashes, on which, with some onions and fish, we made a more hearty meal than we had taken since we landed. We had fortunately an iron pot, in which we were able to boil a quantity of the potatoes, and afterwards the greens and some of the roots, which, being well-seasoned with salt, the doctor hoped would keep for some time. All our preparations being made, one morning, having breakfasted at daylight, the doctor and I went up to the top of the rock to take a last look-out for the ship. On coming down we saw the boat in the water loaded, when, all hands getting aboard, we shoved off and stood out through the reef with a fair breeze from the north-west and a smooth sea. The wind would have been directly against us had we been bound for Japan, so we were glad that we had decided to sail to the southward. Our boat was somewhat deeply laden with provisions and water, but our cargo would be rapidly lightened, and Mr Griffiths told us we must be prepared to heave some of it overboard should bad weather come on. We were all in health and good spirits, our chief anxiety being about the fate of the ship. I must pass rapidly over the first part of our voyage. We had the boat's compass to steer by, but having no quadrant to take an observation or log-line to mark accurately the distance run, we could only guess at the rate we made. Mr Griffiths, however, was a good navigator, and was pretty certain that he was correct. We had, we fancied, plenty of food, but from the first he put us all on an allowance of water. While the sea remained smooth he also made us change our places constantly, and by the doctor's advice he ordered one at a time to stand up and move his arms and legs about to prevent them from becoming stiff. He also encouraged us to spin yarns and sing songs; indeed, he did everything in his power to keep us in good spirits. After the first day of our landing we had not touched any of the biscuits we had brought with us. These we now husbanded with great care in case our other provisions should run short or spoil, which the doctor feared might be the case. We were much indebted to him for the precautions taken, as Mr Griffiths carried out all his suggestions. We had a whole week of fine weather, and we could favourably compare our lot with that of many poor fellows who had to voyage in open boats in the Pacific, exposed to storms, and often with a scant allowance of food and water. The wind was generally from the northward, and when it fell calm we took to our oars. Mr Griffiths told us that we had a distance of between seven and eight hundred miles to run, as far as he could calculate, and that if the fine weather continued we might hope to reach Guam in ten days or a fortnight. We had got on so well that we began to fancy that we should have no difficulties to encounter. We were, of course, constantly on the look-out for vessels. At length we sighted a sail, but she was standing away from us. We steered after her for some distance, but before nightfall her topgallant sails sank beneath the horizon, and we again kept on our course. "I wonder whether that craft out there is the _Intrepid_," said Jim to me. "Little chance of that," I remarked. "If she escaped shipwreck, or has not been severely damaged, she would have come to look for us long before we left the island." "Perhaps the skipper fancied that we were lost, and didn't think it worth while to come and look for us," said Jim. Four days after this, according to Mr Griffiths's calculations, we were in the latitude of Guam, but to the eastward of the island. Brown, however, was of opinion that we had run farther to the south, and that if we stood east we should see it on our port bow. We accordingly hauled up on the port tack. Scarcely had we done so when the weather, which had lately looked threatening, completely changed. A strong wind began to blow from the north-west; it rapidly increased, and the sea got up and began to break over the bows in a way which threatened to swamp the boat. Three hands baled away together, but even thus we could scarcely keep the boat free of water. "We must form a raft to serve as a breakwater," said Mr Griffiths. We lashed three oars together, the sail was lowered, the boat rounded to, and the raft, with a stout rope to it, was hove overboard, the rope being secured to the bows. At the same time the steering-oar was peaked and fixed into the after-thwart, with the flat of the blade facing the bows. This served as a sail, and kept the boat's head to the sea. Thus, with the seas roaring and hissing round us, driving at the rate of two miles an hour to the southward and west, we prepared to pass the night, all of us feeling that we might never see another sun rise. CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. A PERILOUS VOYAGE IN THE WHALE-BOAT. The night was very dark, the sea rose fearfully high. Now the water broke over the starboard, now over the port bow, nearly swamping the boat, and all hands were employed in baling it out. We worked for our lives, for should another sea come before the boat was clear she might be swamped. Some of the men cried out that we should not live through the night. Mr Griffiths and the doctor cheered them up, but if it hadn't been for the raft ahead, which broke the seas, I believe that we must have gone down. I had heard of boats being saved by hanging on under the lee of a dead whale, but I had not supposed that a few oars lashed together would have served as an effectual breakwater. The peaked oar played a most important part by keeping the boat's head to the wind, and at a sufficient distance from the raft. She must otherwise have broached to, and it must have been driven against her and stove in the side. As soon as the boat was clear of water, Brown sang out, "Now let's have a stave, lads," and he began to sing, but few were able to join in with him. Jim and I tried, knowing Brown's object, but we had scarcely got through a verse when another sea came roaring on board, nearly carrying over the men in the bows, and washing away some of our provisions. We all had immediately to turn to again and bale out the boat. No one thought of singing after this, for directly we were free of one sea another broke aboard us. It was a mercy that they didn't come together. "We must pray to God, lads," cried Mr Griffiths. "He who rules the seas and winds, if we ask Him, can save us if He thinks fit. Don't cease baling. He likes people to work and pray, but not to fall down on their knees while there's work to be done and leave it undone." He and the doctor set the example by baling away as hard as any of us. We had the boat's regular balers, our iron pot, and a couple of small buckets; the rest of us used our hats and caps. Still, do all we could, it was a difficult matter to keep the boat free from water. We were wet through, as was everything in the boat, and we were afraid that our provisions would be spoilt, except perhaps the onions and potatoes. Hour after hour went slowly by, for we had no time for talking to make it appear shorter. Still the night did come to an end at last, but there were no signs of the gale abating. As soon as the sun rose we looked out eagerly on all sides for land. Nothing broke the uniform line of the horizon except the foam-topped seas, which rose up tumultuously between us and it. We were driving all this time, it must be remembered, to the southward at the rate, the mate said, of two knots an hour, so that if we had been near Guam when the gale came on we were being driven farther and farther from it, and it would be a hard matter to regain the island. We had taken nothing during the night, and we now all cried out for food. The store of salt fish we had remaining was scarcely eatable, for the salt had been washed out of it, and it was becoming bad. What we had smoked was a little better, but that also was almost spoilt, yet such as it was we were glad to have a portion with an onion apiece, and a small mug half full of water. The mate would give us no more. "What I do is for the good of all of us, lads," he said. "I can't tell when we may make the land, or what provisions we may find when we get there." Horner sang out, "We had some biscuit. What has become of that? Why don't you let us have a piece for our breakfasts?" "Because the biscuits will keep longer than anything else, and are all we may have to depend upon," answered the doctor, who had got them under him in the stern-sheets, and had been trying from the first to keep them as free from water as possible. We had till now fancied that we had an abundance of food, but some had been washed overboard and some had been completely spoilt, so we found to our dismay that we had a very small quantity remaining. Horner now began to complain bitterly of hunger and thirst, declaring that if he didn't get some food he must die. Jim and I endeavoured to cheer him up. It was not a matter to joke about; indeed I was myself feeling the pangs of hunger and getting weaker and less able to work, though I did my best. Jim kept up better than I did. We had not much time to be thinking, however, for we were compelled to be constantly baling the greater part of the day. Towards evening the sun broke through the western clouds, sending his rays athwart the troubled ocean, and tinging the seas with a ruddy hue, while his heat dried our wet clothes. Soon afterwards the wind began to drop, but the seas still ran so high that the mate thought it prudent to hang on some time longer to our raft. However, they no longer broke on board as they had been doing, and we had better hopes than on the previous night that we should see another sun rise. We had been awake so long that none of us were able to keep our eyes open, and I suspect that at times every person in the boat was fast asleep. I know for my part that I must have dozed through the greater part of the night, for I was awakened by hearing the mate's voice saying-- "Now, lads, we will get the raft on board and make sail." I jumped up to lend a hand. We got the oars out and put the boat before the seas while we set up the mast and hoisted the sail. The wind was still in the same quarter, blowing directly from where we supposed Guam to be, and as there were no hopes of making it the mate determined to run for some island to the southward, where, though it might be uninhabited, we should probably find cocoanuts and water, and might catch some fish. As none of the islands are very close together we ran a great risk of passing between them without seeing land, but then again he argued that we might be days or weeks beating up to Guam, and as he could not tell its exact position, we might even pass it after all, while by keeping to the south we might have a better prospect of having fine weather, and finding food on any shore at which we might touch. On the other hand again there was the risk of falling among savages, for the natives of these latitudes were known to be fierce, treacherous, and inhospitable to strangers. We might, however, possibly meet with some ship, as we should cross the course pursued by Spanish vessels sailing from America to the Philippines. Should we pass through the Caroline group we should have another long channel to sail over, and must then reach the coast of New Guinea. If driven thus far south our prospect of escape was small indeed; though we might obtain food, the people were supposed to be extremely savage and cruel. The doctor, to cheer us, said that he had some doubts about that, for although such was the character of the natives of some parts, there were others who might treat us kindly should we fall among them, provided we behaved well and showed that we wished to be friendly. As we sailed on the sea gradually went down, and at length we were running with a light breeze over the smooth ocean. Though at first the warm sun was pleasant it soon became very hot, and while it dried our clothes increased our thirst. At the same time the heat destroyed the remaining portion of our fish, which became so bad that we were obliged to throw it overboard. We had now only a few raw potatoes and onions, and the little store of biscuits which the doctor had so wisely husbanded. The mate told us that we must make up our minds to live on very short allowance, and be content with a quarter of a biscuit, an onion, and a small piece of raw potato. To make the latter more wholesome he cut them and hung them up to dry in the sun. Our food was served out about noon, and each day we sat eagerly waiting for the hour. Horner would turn his eyes up and watch the sun till he fancied that it had gained its greatest altitude, and then cry out to the mate-- "It must be twelve o'clock, now, sir. Won't Dr Cockle look at his watch and see?" The doctor was the only person who kept his watch wound up. The mate had collected all the provisions and placed them in the stern-sheets, and he didn't think fit to tell us how rapidly they were going. The quantity he served out was scarcely sufficient to keep body and soul together, but he acted for the best; there was no doubt about that. We were all becoming rapidly weaker, and longing for some substantial fare. Horner at last cried out that if he didn't get it he must die. Two or three of the other men said much the same thing. As I looked at their faces I felt afraid that they spoke the truth. Our limbs were swollen, and we felt so stiff that we were scarcely able to move. "Trust in God, lads," said the mate, to try and cheer us up. We were no longer inclined to spin yarns or sing songs, and only now and then exchanged a few words with each other. Not long after this, as I was gazing over the side, I saw a movement in the water, and presently a score of flying-fish rose from the sea, their wings glittering in the sunlight, and about a dozen pitched into the boat. Oh, how eagerly we all stooped down to seize them! Just then, as I was looking out, expecting some more to come, I saw several dolphins, which had no doubt been pursuing the flying-fish, and now came close up to the boat, looking out for them. Notwithstanding our hunger the doctor advised that we should split the fish and hang them up in the sun to dry. We were, however, too hungry to do this, but the mate insisted that all should be handed to him. He then served out to each of us half a fish, which we eagerly devoured. This meal, scanty as it was, somewhat restored our strength. "I told you to trust in God, lads," said the mate. "See He has sent us these fish, and He'll send us more, never fear." Before long I saw, a hundred yards off, another flight of flying-fish rise from the sea, and come darting through the air like masses of silver, when, to our joy, a number struck the sail and dropped into the bottom of the boat. The mate immediately served out the remainder of those which had at first been sent to us. This made the men cheer up more than ever, as we expected that, now we had got into the tropics, we should have an ample supply every day. We saw large quantities of dolphins, bonitos, and albicores, which pursue the flying-fish, and induce them to seek for safety in flight; but none of the larger fish came near enough to enable us to catch them, though Brown, harpoon in hand, stood up as long as he could keep his feet, in the expectation of striking one. It was very tantalising to see them sporting round us, and yet not to be able to get one on board. We had, however, a sufficient number of flying-fish to give us a good meal each for that and the next day. The mate proposed drying some in the sun and reserving them in case no more should come aboard, but nearly all hands cried out that we were certain to have some more sent us, and begged so hard to have the fish while they were good that the mate yielded to their wishes. During the night we steered south-east, with the wind on our port quarter. It was in that direction Mr Griffiths said he knew the islands lay thickest. We had a regular watch set, and a bright look-out kept ahead, for we could not tell when we might come upon reefs, and the boat might be knocked to pieces on some uninhabited spot where neither food nor water was to be procured. The next day was passed much as the previous one had been, but no flying-fish came on board, though we saw them glittering in the air in the distance. It was drawing towards evening when I saw a black triangular fin, which I knew to be that of a shark, coming up astern. "What are you looking at?" asked the doctor. I told him. Presently we caught sight of the monster's cruel eyes and back a couple of fathoms from the boat. I saw by their looks that the men did not like its appearance. "We hab him," cried Sam Coal. "We eat him if he no eat us." Brown, on hearing this remark, stood up, with his harpoon in hand, but the savage brute seemed to know its danger, and kept just beyond his reach, eyeing us, we thought, as if he expected to make a feast of the whole party. The men made their remarks on the shark, for having had sufficient food they had somewhat recovered their spirits. Still I wished that the shark would take its departure, but it kept on swimming alongside the boat, and as the breeze freshened it made faster way to keep up with us. Brown at last proposed shooting it, for our powder, being in a metal flask, had kept dry, but Mr Griffiths objected to any being expended for the purpose. It was a hundred to one that the shark would be killed, he said, and every charge might be of value. Still, as no flying-fish had been caught, the men cried out that they must have the shark, and Mr Griffiths at length allowed Brown, who was a good shot, to try and hit it in a vital part. Just, however, as he stood up with the musket in his hands the shark dived and disappeared. "Ah, ha, Jack Shark know what you going to do. Him know eberyting," said Sam Coal. Shortly after this the sun sank amid a bank of black clouds, and darkness came down on the world of waters, the weather again looking very threatening. I was awakened by a splash of water in my face. On sitting up, though a heavy sea was running, I found that the boat was still keeping on her course. The sail had been reefed, but it was as much as we could carry. Again and again the sea broke on board. The sleepers were all aroused, and we had to bale as fast as we could. Presently the mate said, "We must heave her to, lads. Get the raft rigged." We soon had this done, but as we were rounding to a heavy sea came rolling up, and breaking on board, nearly carried Sam Coal over the side. The raft was hove into the water, and we lay head to wind as before, with the oar apeak. This did not prevent the seas from occasionally breaking on board, though they came with less violence than they would otherwise have done; but the boat was severely strained and shattered as they beat against her, and she now began to leak in a way which gave us just cause for alarm. We spent the night baling as hard as we could, all striving to save our lives; but we hoped almost against hope that we should succeed. At last some of the men, as before, began to despair, saying that it was as well to die now as a few hours later, and that it would be better to give in and let the boat sink, but seeing the mate and doctor calm and composed as ever, I tried to imitate their example. "God wants us to labour on, lads," cried Mr Griffiths. "He'll help us if we do. Gales in these latitudes never last long. Perhaps to-morrow we shall have a fine day and catch some more flying-fish, or maybe we are not far off from an island and we shall be able to stretch our legs and find plenty of cocoanuts, and perhaps yams and pigs. We shall soon have a fire alight and something cooking before it, and then won't we eat, boys!" This sort of talk had a good effect upon the men, and they no longer had any thought of giving in. Still, the night went by very slowly. Sleeping, even if we had had time, with the water washing into the boat, was next to impossible. Daylight came back at last, and as the sun rose the clouds dispersed, the wind rapidly dropped, and the sea went down. In a short time the mate ordered the raft to be got on board, and we ran on as before. We were very nearly starving, for we had had nothing to eat since we had devoured the raw flying-fish on the previous day. "The doctor's got some biscuit," said one of the men, and they at once all cried out, begging that they might have it. The mate, however, would only give us a quarter of a biscuit each, with a little water. It just served to stay the gnawings of hunger, but as the day grew on we wanted food as much as ever, and our spirits again sank. For the first time I began to think that I should not survive, even if the mate and Dr Cockle did. Though they had eaten no more than any of us, they endured their sufferings better. By this time we were a scarecrow crew, our hair long, our faces wan, our bodies shrunk, and our skin tanned to a yellow by the hot sun. At last the men entreated that they might have the remainder of the biscuit, declaring that they were ready to die after they had had one good meal if we could not catch any more flying-fish. "No, lads," said Mr Griffiths; "I know what is best for you. Your lives are committed to my charge, and I'll not yield to your wishes. See, while you have been talking the water has been coming into the boat. Turn to and bale away." They obeyed, though with scowling countenances. The mate had both the guns in the stern-sheets, and he and the doctor looked as if they were prepared to resist violence. The men knew also that Jim and I would have sided with the officers. The wind had dropped, and with a gentle breeze we were gliding on, when suddenly, not ten yards off, a number of flying-fish rose out of the water and came towards the boat. Some struck the sail, and others we beat back with our hands. "I told you not to despair, lads," said Mr Griffiths. "Thank God for what He has sent us!" I believe we all did so most heartily. The mate allowed all the fish we had caught to be eaten. I heard the doctor ask him why he did so, as we might catch no more till the next day. "I'll tell you presently," he answered. We had finished our meal, with just a small piece of biscuit apiece and a quarter of a pint of water, when the mate stood up, and, shading his eyes, gazed ahead. "I would not say so before, lads, for fear of disappointing you, but I now tell you that we're in sight of land. It is not very large, and may not be inhabited; it may have no cocoanuts or other vegetables on it, but it will give us room to stretch our legs, and we may be able to catch as many fish as we want off it." "Thank God!" burst from the lips of most of the crew, and I and some others knelt down to return thanks to Him who had thus far preserved us, while we prayed that we might be brought in time to a place of safety. We all now wanted to stand up and see the land. The mate told us to sit quiet, but he allowed each one of us at a time to rise to our feet and take a look ahead. A blue irregular line could just be distinguished above the horizon, clear and defined. That it was land none of us had any doubt. A fair breeze carried us along at the rate of four or five knots an hour. In less than a couple of hours we might hope to be on shore, but the sun was sinking, and it would be dark, unless the breeze freshened, before we could reach it. In a short time the wind fell, on which our hopes of landing before night were disappointed. We got out the oars, however, and pulled on. "We must be careful, lads," said the mate, after we had rowed some distance. "Most of these islands are surrounded by coral reefs, and we may run upon one of them in the dark and knock the boat to pieces. We must heave-to, shortly, and wait for daylight." Some of the men grumbled at this, and asserted that the noise of the surf upon the reefs would give us sufficient notice when we were approaching them, but the mate was firm. "I will not risk the safety of the boat for the sake of getting on shore a few hours earlier," he said. We all, however, had the satisfaction of taking another look at the land and assuring ourselves that it was land before darkness came on. Mr Griffiths then ordered us to lay in our oars, and except two who were to keep watch and bale out the water which leaked into the boat, to lie down and go to sleep. I don't think many of us did sleep. We were all thinking too much about getting on shore in the morning to care for rest. We forgot that before that time another gale might spring up and drive us off the land, or dash the boat a hopeless wreck upon the coral reef. CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. MORE STARTLING ADVENTURES. The night passed by, and as dawn at length broke, the mate rousing up all hands, we hoisted the sail, and again stood towards the land. The sea was smooth, and the wind light and fair. As we glided on, the mate told Brown to stand up in the bows and keep a look-out for reefs. As we approached the land we could see trees on the shore and some on the hill, so that we had no doubt that we should find fresh water. It was a question, however, whether or not it was inhabited, and, if so, whether the natives would prove friendly or hostile. The mate told the doctor that he believed it was one of the most north-western of the Caroline group, the natives of which are generally more friendly to strangers than the inhabitants of the islands farther south; still, they are perfect savages, and it would be dangerous to trust them. We could, however, see no smoke or other signs of the country being inhabited. We had not gone far, when Brown sang out, "Starboard! Hard a-starboard! A reef ahead!" On this the mate, luffing up, ordered us to lower the sail. It was done in an instant, and not a moment too soon, for we saw close abeam a coral reef not two feet under the surface. "We may be thankful that we didn't stand on during the night," said Mr Griffiths to the doctor. We now got out the oars and pulled cautiously on. We soon found ourselves in a channel, with coral reefs on either side, all of them just below the surface; and as the passage twisted and turned in all directions, it required the greatest possible caution to thread our way through it. We might well be thankful not only that we did not stand on during the night, but that we had not driven farther south during the gale while we rode to the raft. Nothing could have preserved the boat from being dashed to pieces. At length we got clear of the encircling reef, and found ourselves in a broad expanse of perfectly smooth water. The rocks rising directly out of it formed the shore. We had to pull along them some distance to find a convenient landing-place. At last a beautiful bay opened out, with a sandy beach, the ground rising gradually from it, covered with cocoanut-trees. On seeing it, led by Brown, we uttered a cheer, and giving way with a will ran the boat's keel on the beach. He jumped out first, and we all followed, without thinking of savages, and only very grateful to find ourselves once more on firm ground. Led by the mate and the doctor, we fell on our knees, and I believe with grateful hearts returned thanks to God for our safety. We were hurrying up to the trees with our eyes fixed on the cocoanuts which hung temptingly from them, when the mate called to us to be cautious, for though we had seen no natives, there might be some in the neighbourhood, who might come suddenly down and attack us while we were engaged in obtaining the cocoanuts. He and the doctor then proceeded with their muskets in their hands a little way in advance, while under Brown's directions we prepared to get down the nuts. Miles Soper, Sam Coal, and Jim were the best climbers, but without assistance, weak as we all were, they found that they could not swarm up the trees. We therefore got some ropes from the boat, and Soper soon twisted one of them into a grummet, or hoop, round the tree, with sufficient space for his body inside it; then shoving the opposite side of the grummet above him, and holding on with his knees, he worked his way up the smooth trunk. Coal did the same on another tree, but Jim, after making the attempt, had to give up. "I never tried that sort of thing before, and can't manage it," he said, coming down and ready to cry for weakness. "Look out there!" shouted Sam Coal, who was the first to reach the top of his tree; and he threw down a cocoanut, and then another, and another, but they all broke as they touched the ground. "I say, that'll never do!" cried Brown, as he picked up one of them, while Horner and I got hold of the other two. "You must hang them round your neck somehow. We want the juice, which is the best part." Coal, on this, fastened three or four together in a handkerchief; Soper had in the meantime done the same, and they descended with four cocoanuts apiece. Horner and I had run with those we had picked up to Mr Griffiths and the doctor, munching a portion as we went, while Brown divided his among the other men, who were as eager to eat them as we were. So we found were the mate and the doctor. They tasted delicious to us, so long accustomed to salt or raw fish; but still more refreshing was the milk, which we got on tearing off the outer rind by cutting holes in the eyes with our knives. The cocoanuts, indeed, served us as meat and drink. All this time the doctor and mate had seen no signs of inhabitants, and as we were all far too weak to think of exploring the country, we sat down in the shade of the cocoanut-trees to rest. We talked a little to each other for a short time, and first one dropped off to sleep, then another. Mr Griffiths himself didn't long keep his eyes open, though I fancy I heard him tell Brown that we must set a watch, lest any natives should come suddenly down upon us. The mate and the doctor had both been awake during the whole of the last night in the boat--no wonder that they went to sleep. At last I opened my eyes, and sitting up, looked about me, trying to recollect where I was, and what had happened. This I soon did. My companions lay scattered around me on the ground. In front was the sea, and the two sides of the bay were formed by moderately high cliffs. Behind us was a grove of cocoanut-trees, extending along the shore to the cliffs, and beyond them I could see a hill, which formed the farther end of the valley, opening out on the bay. Every one was asleep, and I was thankful that while in that condition we had not been discovered by savages, who might have been tempted to massacre the whole of us. I was glad that I at all events was now awake. I didn't, however, like to arouse my companions, so I got up noiselessly, and to stretch my legs walked through the palm-grove. On my way I found a cocoanut fallen to the ground, and as I felt hungry, having taken off the rind, I sucked the milk, and then breaking the shell, ate as much of the fruit as I felt inclined to take. This restored my strength, and I went on till I got beyond the trees, which extended to no great distance up the valley. Farther on the ground was tolerably open, with here and there a few trees and bushes growing by the side of a stream which ran through the valley, and formed a small lake, without any outlet that I could discover. A number of birds, some of which I took to be pigeons, were flying about, but I saw no four-legged creatures of any sort. The birds were so tame that they came flying about me, and perched on the boughs without showing any signs of fear. "This is a beautiful spot," I thought to myself. "How thankful I am that we reached it! We shall have plenty of food, and if there are no natives we can remain as long as we like till we are all strong again, and Mr Griffiths determines to pursue the voyage." I was stopping, looking about, when I saw something move on the top of the hill at the farther end of the valley. The object stopped, and then I made out distinctly against the sky the figure of a man. He was too far off to enable me to make out how he was dressed, or whether he was a native or a white man. He stopped for some time, as if he was looking down into the valley, and I fancied that he might have seen me, for I was in an open spot, away from any trees or shrubs. At last I beckoned to him, to show that my companions and I wished to be friends with the natives. He took no notice of my signals, but stood looking down into the valley as before. At first I thought of going towards him, but then it struck me that others might appear, and that I might be taken prisoner, or perhaps killed, and that I ought to go back and tell Mr Griffiths what I had seen. I found him and the doctor awake. "I'm sorry to hear that," said the former. "I had hoped that there were no natives on the island. If the person you saw had been a white man he would have come down to us immediately. I suspect that he must be a native. We must look out for a visit from others, and keep a more careful watch than heretofore." He and the doctor agreed to return with me, and if the person was still where I had seen him, to try and open up a friendly communication with him and any others who might appear. Rousing up Brown and the rest of the people, and telling them where we were going, we set off. On our getting to the spot where I had been when I saw the man, he had disappeared. We, however, went on past a little lake, and along the bank of a stream, looking out very carefully on either side lest the natives might come down from the cliffs and cut us off. No one appeared; and as it was getting late, Mr Griffiths thought it wise to return. It was almost dark by the time we reached the palm-grove. We found that Soper and Coal had in the meantime collected some more cocoanuts; and that Brown, with the rest of the men, had obtained some large clams and other shell-fish from the rocks. They were now lighting a fire to cook them, while Jim had brought a kettle of water from the lake. We had thus materials for a hearty meal, of which we all partook with good appetites. We had been unable to do anything to the boat during the day, but Mr Griffiths remarked that our first care must be to put her to rights, that we might go out fishing in her, and afterwards make a voyage to some place where we might find a vessel to take us home. The mate said that we might either sail northward again to Guam, or westward to the Pellew Islands, the inhabitants of which were said to be friendly, and thence on to the Philippines. Various opinions were expressed, but nothing was decided. We had now to prepare for the night. Notwithstanding the sleep we had had during the day, we all felt that a longer rest was necessary to restore our strength. Mr Griffiths, however, insisted that a watch should be kept, as now that we had discovered the island to be inhabited, it would be folly to allow ourselves to be caught unawares at night. Though the weather was warm, as we had had no time to put up a shelter of any sort, the fire was found pleasant; we therefore agreed not to let it go out during the night. It was settled that the doctor should keep the first watch, Mr Griffiths the middle, and I was to have the third with Jim. Brown kept it with the doctor, and Soper with the mate. Our arrangements being made, we lay down to pass the night. It appeared to me that I had been asleep only a few minutes, when Mr Griffiths called me up, and Jim and I, taking the muskets, began our watch. The mate told me that the doctor's and his watches had passed quietly away, and they had not heard any sounds to indicate that any natives were near. As we were not obliged to keep close to the fire, and as there was a bright moon in the sky to enable us to see our way, I proposed to Jim that we should go through the grove, where, should any natives approach in the morning, we should discover them sooner on that side than we should by remaining at the camp. He agreed, and without difficulty we made our way through the trees, which stood apart, with little or no undergrowth. The scene which presented itself to us as we got out of the grove was very beautiful. The silver moon and the surrounding trees were reflected in the calm waters of the lake, while the outline of the hills on either side appeared sharp and distinct against the sky. Finding a clear piece of ground not far from the shore of the lake, Jim and I walked up and down, keeping a look-out now to one side, now to the other, as also up the valley. We had taken several turns, when Jim exclaimed, "Hillo! Look there!" Gazing up in the direction to which he pointed, I saw distinctly against the sky the figure of a man. How he was dressed it was impossible to say; still, he had on clothes of some sort. "He's not a native savage, at all events," said Jim. "We'll hail him, and if he's an Englishman he'll answer." We shouted at the top of our voices, but no reply came, and the figure disappeared. "That's strange," said Jim; "I thought he would have come down and had a talk with us, whoever he is. Can't we try and find him?" "We mustn't both leave our post," I answered; "but if you stop here I'll try and get up to where he was standing, and unless he has run away he can't be far off." Jim didn't like my going, but I persuaded him to stop, and hurried across the valley. When I got to the foot of the cliff I could find no way up it, and, after searching about, had to abandon the attempt. I returned to where I had left Jim, and we resumed our walk, thinking that perhaps the figure would again appear. "Perhaps if he sees us he won't show himself," said Jim. "Wouldn't it be better to go and stay under the trees? And then perhaps he'll come back." We did as Jim proposed, keeping our eyes in the direction of the cliff, but we looked in vain for the reappearance of the stranger. "He guesses that we are watching for him," said Jim. "Perhaps if we were to shout again he would come back. If he's a white man he'll understand us, and know that we are friends." "There can be no harm in shouting," I answered, "though he may be a native and there may be others with him; they would have come down before this and attacked us, had they had a mind to do so." We accordingly went from under the trees, and standing in the open ground, I shouted out-- "Hillo, stranger, we're friends, and want to have a talk with you. We have just come here for a day or two, and intend to be off again on our voyage." Jim then said much the same sort of thing, and as his voice was even louder than mine, we made sure that the stranger must have heard us. He didn't, however, show himself, though we sometimes shouted together, sometimes singly. At last we heard voices in the cocoanut grove. "I hope that no enemies have got down between us and the sea," I said. "We had no business to come so far away from the camp." We stood with our muskets ready, watching the wood. In a short time our anxiety was relieved by the appearance of the doctor and Mr Griffiths. "Why, lads, what made you shout out in that fashion?" asked the mate. "We fancied you wanted help." We told him of the man we had seen on the cliffs. "It's very extraordinary," said the doctor; "I don't think he can be a native, or he would not have shown himself in that way. He must be some white man who has been left by himself on the island, and has lost his wits, as often happens under such circumstances. He's been accustomed to see savages visit the island, and has kept out of their way to save himself from being killed or made a slave of. He had not the sense to distinguish between us and them." "I believe you are right," said Mr Griffiths. "We must take means to get hold of him, both for his own sake and ours. He'll soon come round, supposing he's an Englishman, when he finds himself among countrymen, and he'll be able to show us where to get provisions if the island produces any. He can't have lived always on cocoanuts and shell-fish." By this time the dawn began to appear, and after waiting a little longer we all returned to camp, and roused up the men to prepare for breakfast. Miles Soper and Sam Coal again climbed the trees to get some cocoanuts. Some of the men went down to the shore to collect shell-fish. Others made up the fire, while the mate and the doctor examined the boat to ascertain the damage she had received, and to see how she could best be repaired. "We have a few nails, and we must try to find some substance which will answer the purpose of pitch," observed the mate. "Doctor, I dare say you'll help us. We will strengthen her with additional planks, and get a strake put on above her gunwale. It will be a work of toil to cut the planks, but it must be done, and she will then be fit to go anywhere." At breakfast the mate told the men of his intentions. They all agreed to do their best to carry them out. We had first, however, to search for provisions. Not knowing whether there might be savages on the island, even supposing that the man we had seen was not one, the mate did not like to leave the boat unprotected. He therefore ordered Brown and one of the men to remain by her while the rest of us proceeded together to explore the island. The mate would not allow us to separate until we had ascertained whether or not there were inhabitants besides the man we had seen on the island. One musket was left with Brown, the mate carried the other, and we set off, keeping up the stream I have before described towards the end of the valley. We looked out on either side for the stranger, but he didn't appear. Some of the men declared that we had not really seen any one, and that we had mistaken a small tree or shrub for a man; but Jim and I were positive, and the doctor, at all events, believed us. On reaching the top of the hill, we looked down into a large hollow, with water at the bottom, dark rocks forming its sides, grown over with creepers, huge ferns, and various other plants. The doctor said that it was the crater of a long extinct volcano, and that the whole island was volcanic. There were many other hills out of which smoke was rising. The doctor said that this was an active volcano; indeed, the country in that direction presented a very different aspect from the part where we had landed. It was black and barren, with only here and there a few green spots. We therefore turned to the east, the direction which promised us a better chance of finding roots or fruits, or vegetable productions of some sort. The strange thing was, that though the island appeared fertile, not a single habitation or hut could we discover. The doctor supposed that this was on account of the occasional outbreak of the volcano, and that the people from the neighbouring islands were afraid to take up their residence on it. We now descended the hill, and went along another valley, of course looking out all the time for the stranger. We were passing a small grove near a hollow in the side of a hill, which was partly concealed by trees, when we heard a cock crow just as an English cock would do. At once that sound made my thoughts, as it did those of the others, probably, rush back to our far-distant homes. "If there's a cock, there must be hens and a hen-roost hereabouts," observed Miles Soper, hurrying in the direction whence the sounds proceeded. We followed; there, sure enough, sheltered by the hill, and under the shade of the trees, was not only a hen-house of good size, but a hut scarcely bigger than it was neatly built and thatched with palm-leaves. "It must be the residence of the stranger. He himself can't be far off," said the doctor. The hut was just large enough to hold one man. It had a door formed of thin poles lashed together with sennit. At the farther end was a bedstead covered with rough matting, and in the centre a small table, with a three-legged stool. No one had any longer any doubt that we had seen a man, or that this must be his abode, and that he must be a white man, but whether English or not was doubtful. Miles Soper examined the matting, and as he was looking about he found a knife on a shelf close to the bed. Taking it up, he examined it with a curious eye, opening and shutting it, and turning it round and round. "Well, that's queer, but I think I've seen this knife before," he said. "If the owner is the man I guess he is I am glad." "Who do you suppose he is?" I inquired, eagerly. "Well, Peter, that's what I don't want to say just yet. I must make sure first," he answered. "Can he be my brother Jack?" I exclaimed, my breath coming and going fast in my anxiety. "Well then, Peter, I'll tell you. Jack knew how to make matting just like this, because he learnt the way on board the _Harriet_, and so did I. He had a knife which, if this isn't it, is the fellow to it, so you see that I have some reason to think that the man who built this hut, and lives in it, is he. But then again, you know, I may be mistaken. "Why, if he is Jack, he should run away from us puzzles me. If he couldn't see our faces he must have known by our dress that we were English or American, and that there was no reason for him to hide himself. There are many men who know how to make this sort of matting, and there are many knives just like this, and that's the reason why I can't tell you whether he's Jack or not. But if Mr Griffiths will let me I'll go on alone and look for him, and when he sees who I am he'll come fast enough to me, and you may depend on it, Peter, if it's he I'll bring him back with a lighter heart than I've had for many a day." CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN. THE LOST ONE FOUND AT LAST. I wanted to accompany Soper in his search for the stranger. "No, no, Peter," he answered; "if he is Jack he'll know me; but he won't know you; and if he's grown queer by living all alone on an island, as has happened to some poor fellows, he'll get out of our way if he sees two together." The doctor assented to the wisdom of this, and advised me to be contented and remain by while Soper set off himself. The rest of the party were meanwhile examining the hen-roost. The fowls were mostly of the English breed, which made us suppose that they had been landed from some English vessel. We were confirmed in this belief by discovering an old hen-coop, in which they had probably been washed ashore. There were other pieces of wreckage scattered about, but the hut itself was composed entirely of the products of the island. At last the doctor proposed that we should proceed onwards, as the stranger, whoever he was, would not be likely to come back if he saw us near his hut. I, however, believed that it must be Jack, and, notwithstanding the doubts that Soper had expressed, begged that I might be allowed to remain behind that I might the sooner meet him. Mr Griffiths gave me leave to stay if I wished it. I thought that Soper was more likely to bring him back to the hut than to follow the rest of the party. As soon as they had gone I closed the door and sat down on the three-legged stool. I should have been glad if I had had a book to read to employ my thoughts, but the hut contained only some cocoanuts cut in two for holding water, some long skewers, which had apparently been used for roasting birds, a small nut fixed in a stand to serve as an egg-cup, and a little wooden spoon. There were also shells, some clams, and others of different shapes. Two or three of these would serve as cups and plates. I could judge from this what had been the food of the solitary inhabitant of the hut. This didn't look as if he were out of his mind. The time appeared to go by very slowly. I remembered my disappointment at South's Island when I heard the mysterious knocks on the bottom of the boat, and I began to fear that after all the stranger might not prove to be Jack. I was now sorry that I had not accompanied the rest of the party--at all events the time would not have appeared so long if I had been walking and looking out for Jack. At length I determined to get up and to go out and try and find my companions--perhaps Soper and the stranger were all this time with them, though I knew they would come back and look for me. I rose and went to the window, which had a view right down the valley, probably that the inmate might watch anybody coming in that direction. I couldn't see any object moving, and I turned towards the door, intending to go out, when the sound of voices reached my ears. I listened. One of the speakers was Miles Soper, the other spoke so indistinctly that I could not make out what he said. I opened the door and saw two persons coming through the grove. One was, as I expected, Soper; the other a strange-looking being with long hair, his skin tanned of a deep brown, his dress composed of an old jacket and trousers, patched or rather covered over with leaves, while his feet and head were destitute of covering. I stood gazing at him for a few seconds, unable to trace in his countenance any of the features of my brother Jack, which I fancied I recollected. "What, don't you know one another?" exclaimed Soper. "This is Jack Trawl and no other--the only Jack Trawl I ever knew. Come, Jack, rouse up, that's your brother Peter Trawl. Give him your fist, man. He's been talking about you, and looking for you everywhere we've been." The stranger stopped and gazed eagerly in my face. "What, are you my little brother Peter?" he exclaimed. "How are Mary, and father, and mother, and Nancy?" I knew from this that he was Jack, and springing forward, took both his hands, and looked earnestly in his face. "Yes, I am Peter, and I know you are Jack. Mary was well when I left home long ago, though you wouldn't know her now, and Nancy is with her." I didn't like at first to tell Jack that father and mother were dead, but it had to come out at last, and it seemed for a time to do away with the happiness he and I felt at meeting; for he was happy, though he looked so strange and talked so curiously. He couldn't get out his words at first, but we sat down, he on the bed, I on the stool, and Miles Soper on the table, Miles drawing him out better than I could, and he telling us how he had come upon the island. He had been on board the _Harriet_, as I had believed, from what King George had told me, and had escaped from her with Captain Barber in the boat. They had had a long voyage, and suffered dreadfully, missing Guam, for which they had steered, just as we had done, and been driven south. The other men died, one and then another, till at last only Captain Barber and he had been left. The captain was in a dying state when the boat was driven on the reef, and Jack could not tell how he had managed to reach the shore. He found himself at last in the very bay where we had landed. He had just strength enough to crawl up to the palm-grove, where he found some cocoanuts on the ground, and managing to eat one of them he regained his strength. He looked about for the old captain, but could nowhere find him, and supposed that he was drowned when the boat went to pieces. He didn't want to die, he said, so he got some shell-fish and cocoanuts, and now and then caught some birds, which were very tame. He had learnt how to get a light from King George's people on "Strong's" Island, and after a few days he managed to make a fire and cooked the shell-fish. He found some roots, but was afraid to eat them for fear they might be poisonous. It was very melancholy work living thus alone, and some times for days together he scarcely knew what he was about. At last, however, came a furious storm, and as he went down to the beach he saw a ship driving towards the island. He knew that there were reefs all around it, so he feared that she would be knocked to pieces and bring no help to him. His fears proved true; the ship struck at a distance from where he was. He made his way down to the nearest point to where she was, hoping that some of the crew might reach the shore alive, but the only thing of any size which had come ashore was a hen-coop and some fowls lashed to some gratings and some spars. His idea was that the people had been trying to make a raft, but that the ship had gone to pieces before they could finish it, and the raft had been driven on shore by itself. He secured the hen-coop and fowls, most of which were alive, and carried them up to where he had built a hut for himself. Shortly afterwards, seeing three canoes full of wild-looking natives coming near the shore, he collected all his fowls and carried them away right up to the spot where he had built his present hut. He there lay concealed, as he was afraid of falling into the hands of the natives after the way in which he had seen his shipmates murdered at "Strong's" Island, as he thought the savages would treat him in the same way. This idea seemed to have upset his mind. He was nearly starved, for he would not kill any of his fowls because they were the only living beings that seemed to care for him. At last he ventured out from his hiding-place, and, creeping cautiously on, saw the savages sailing away in their canoes. They had nearly stripped the trees of cocoanuts, and found his hut and pulled it to pieces. Why they had gone so suddenly he could not tell, but on looking towards the burning mountain it was spurting out fire and smoke, and he concluded that they had gone away from being frightened at it. His mind was now more at rest. He employed himself in building his hut and the hen-roosts, where his fowls might be safe from hawks or such-like birds, or any animals which might be in the island. He had seen wild cats at some of those he had touched at, and knew that if they found out his fowl they would soon put an end to them. He had plenty to do to find food for his poultry. He got shell-fish and berries, roots and cocoanuts, and watched what they seemed to like best. They soon became so tame that they would come and sit on his shoulders and knees and run about between his feet. What seemed to have upset him was another visit from the savages some months afterwards, when he was nearly caught. Though they pursued him they didn't discover his hen-roost or hut, but after that he was always fancying they would come and kill him. When he saw our boat he thought we must be some savages, and yet he said he couldn't help coming down to have a look at us, though it was so long since he had heard a word of English spoken he didn't understand what was said. Fortunately, Miles Soper had passed close to the place where he was hiding. At length, when he heard his own name shouted in a voice which he recollected, he came out, and at once knew his old messmate. He could not at first understand that I had grown into a big fellow, and had come to look for him, though he told Miles Soper that he should know me at once if I were like what I had been when he went to sea. When Miles told him that Mr Griffiths and Dr Cockle were with me--the gentlemen father had put on board their ship at the time he had joined the _Lapwing_--he seemed to have no doubt on the matter, and by degrees, with Miles speaking soothingly to him, the balance of his mind seemed gradually to be restored. He still found, however, a great difficulty in speaking; he had been so long without uttering a word except when he talked to his poultry. He was almost all to rights when Mr Griffiths and the doctor and the other men came back. They seemed very much pleased at seeing Jack, and all shook him warmly by the hand. The doctor and Mr Griffiths told him that they remembered him well when he was a young lad, first going to sea, little thinking that from that day to this he should be knocking about the world far away from home. He looked very shy and reserved, and seemed inclined to keep close to Miles Soper and me, but in other respects he was as much in his senses as any of us. The doctor had found several roots and fruits, which he said were wholesome, and would serve us as food, and Jack offered to catch as many birds as we wanted, begging that we wouldn't touch his poultry. The doctor promised that they should not be molested while we remained on the island, but said to me-- "You must persuade your brother to let us have them for sea-stock when we go away; they will afford us sufficient provisions to enable us to reach the `Pellew' Islands or Manilla, with the help of the birds and fish we may salt." When Mr Griffiths was about to go away, Jack asked that Miles Soper and I might stay to keep him company, promising to go down to the boat the next morning. To this Mr Griffiths agreed, and Soper and I remained behind with Jack. When they had gone Jack said-- "I haven't food for all the party, but I can give you a good supper," and he showed us his store-room at the back of the hut, in which he had several cocoanuts, some birds dried in the sun, and a dozen eggs. He showed us a sort of trap he used for catching the birds without frightening the rest. He quickly got a fire from a split log in the way I have before described, and with the help of some fresh water and the milk of the cocoanuts we had a very good meal. He had a supply of mats like those on his bed, and with these he rigged us up a place for sleeping in when it was time to lie down. I felt happier than I had been for a long time. My hope of finding Brother Jack was realised, and now my great wish was to return home with him to Mary. I forgot for the moment that we were on a remote island, and that we had only a small boat to carry us to civilised lands. When we got up the next morning Jack seemed more refreshed and better able to talk than on the previous evening. As soon as we had had breakfast, which was very much like supper, we set off to join the rest of the party at the bay. We found them all busily employed, some in caulking the boat, others in splitting a tree to form planks. We fortunately had a couple of axes with us, which were of great service, and while Soper and I lent a hand Jack went down to collect shell-fish, which he did much more rapidly than we could, being well accustomed to it. The weather was so fine that we required only a very slight hut, which we formed partly of the boat's sails and partly of the boughs and stems of small trees. Jack showed us a way up to the top of the cliff, and here Mr Griffiths erected a flagstaff with a whift, which we had in the boat, increased in size by a couple of handkerchiefs. This was large enough to attract the attention of any vessel passing near the island, but Mr Griffiths said that he believed, owing to the surrounding reefs, none would intentionally approach. We were all anxious to get the boat finished as soon as possible and commence our voyage. We had many reasons for being in a hurry, though we might have lived very well on the island for months together, but the burning mountain might again burst forth and overwhelm us, and the savages might return in large numbers and either kill us or make us prisoners, for as we had only two muskets and a scanty supply of ammunition, we could scarcely hope to beat them off should they prove hostile. Mr Griffiths and the doctor talked the matter over. "One thing is certain," observed the mate, "the sooner we're away while the fine weather lasts the better, but at the same time it won't do to start until we have fitted the boat thoroughly for sea. We have a long trip before us, and if we're caught in a gale we shall have reason to regret it if we don't take the trouble to fit our boat in the best way we can." It took a long time, first with our axes to split up the planks, and then to smooth them with our knives. We had next to shape out additional timbers to strengthen the boat, as to which also to fix the planks to. We likewise decked over the fore and aft parts, both to keep out the sea and to prevent our provisions from getting wet. The doctor searched everywhere for some sort of resin which might serve to caulk our boat. He at last found some which he thought might answer, but as we had only a small iron pot to boil it in, we had to go without our soup or our hot water till the pot was again thoroughly cleaned out. It answered the purpose, however, better than we had expected, and with mosses and dried grass we made up a substance which served instead of oakum. Jack worked as hard as any of us, and was very useful in catching a number of birds, which he salted and dried in the sun. At length one day, when nearly all our preparations were concluded, the mate said, "And now, Jack Trawl, we must get you to bring your poultry-yard down. We shall not have room for all the fowl, in the boat but I think we can cut down and repair the old hen-coop to hold a good many, and we must kill and salt the rest." "What I kill my fowl--my old companions!" said Jack. "What! Cannot we let them live? They'll soon find food for themselves; they do that pretty well already, and I couldn't bear to see their necks wrung." "I wish we were able to do without them," said the mate; "but our lives are of more value than those of the fowl. I can enter into your feelings, and we will not ask you to kill any nor to eat them afterwards unless you change your mind. Look you here, Jack; if the savages came to the island they'd kill the fowl fast enough, and perhaps our lives may depend on our having them." The doctor then said something to the same effect, and at last Jack was talked over to allow some of his fowl to be killed at once, and dried and salted like the other birds. We brought the hen-coop down to the beach, and by dint of hard work cut it away so as to hold two dozen fowl closely packed. At night, when the birds had gone to roost, Miles, Coal, Jack, and I went up and took the others while roosting. What a cackling and screeching the poor creatures made on finding themselves hauled off their perches and having their legs tied! The noise they made might have been heard over half the island. We brought them down and stowed them away in the hen-coop. Jack, accompanied by Jim, had before collected a good supply of seeds, which might serve them as food with the help of the cocoanuts and scraps of fish which we might leave. Mr Griffiths and the doctor had arranged to start the next morning. All hands had agreed to do as they proposed, which was to be up at daylight, and as soon as we had breakfasted launch the boat and go on board. We lay down, as we hoped, for the last time in our hut. As the island was known to be uninhabited it was no longer thought necessary to keep a watch. All of us slept like tops, recollecting that we should not for many days get another thorough night's rest. I was the first to wake, and, calling up Jim, he and I agreed to go to the lake and fill our pot with water to boil for breakfast, knowing that the rest would light the fire as soon as they were aroused ready for it. There was just a single streak in the eastern sky, which showed us that it would soon be daylight, and we knew our way so well through the grove that we didn't think it worth while stopping till then. We carried the pot on a stick between us, and as we had to pass among the trees, of course we could not do so as fast as if it had been daylight. It took us some little time before we could reach the place where we could dip the pot in and get the water pure. We filled it, and set off again on our way back. We had just reached the grove of cocoanut-trees. I happened to look up at the hill where I had seen Jack the morning after our arrival, when I saw against the sky the forms of well-nigh a dozen savages. I rubbed my eyes for a moment, as I at first thought it might be fancy, and then whispered to Jim to look in the same direction and then tell me what he saw. "Savages," he answered, "no doubt about that." "Then we must rouse up the rest and be prepared for them," I said. We ran on among the trees, to which we were close, hoping that we hadn't been seen. Still I thought that the savages must know that we were on the island. We didn't like to abandon our pot, though we spilled some of the water as we hurried along. Our friends were still fast asleep. "Mr Griffiths! Dr Cockle! The savages have landed and are on the hill out there," Jim and I cried out. They started to their feet in a moment, and Jack and the rest of the men jumped up on hearing our voices. The mate seemed satisfied that what we said was true. "Then, lads," he said, "we will launch the boat at once; we must at all events avoid a fight, and we can't tell how they'll behave if we remain." Jack was about the most eager to get the boat in the water, and Horner looked not a little frightened. We soon had her afloat, and then as quickly as we could, running backwards and forwards, put the cargo on board. The doctor and mate were still on shore, seeing that nothing had been left behind, when loud shrieks reached our ears, and a score or more of tattooed savages, flourishing their war clubs, burst out of the grove and rushed towards us. "Quick, doctor," cried the mate. "Get on board, and I'll follow you." He stood, as he spoke, with his musket in his hand pointed towards the savages, and then slowly retreated, while Dr Cockle sprang on board. We had our oars ready to shove off as soon as the mate was safe. "Come on, Mr Griffiths, come on," cried several others. The savages were scarcely a dozen yards from us as the mate threw himself over the bows, and we quickly shoved the boat into deep water, while the savages stood yelling and heaving stones at us from the beach. Just, however, as we got the boat's head to sea we saw, coming round a point to the eastward, four or five large canoes. It seemed impossible that we could escape them. CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT. ESCAPE FROM THE ISLAND AND THE EVENTS WHICH FOLLOWED. "Give way, lads! Give way!" shouted Mr Griffiths; "if the worst comes we must fight for it, and try to save our lives, but I want, if we can, to avoid fighting." The men bent to their oars; the wind was ahead, so that it was useless to hoist the sail. The savages on shore howled and shrieked as they saw us getting off, and hurled stones at us. The big double canoes came round the point, two more appearing astern. They were close on a wind, and rapidly skimming the water. "There's an outlet from the bay to the westward, I marked it yesterday, we will make for it," said Mr Griffiths. The canoes were to the eastward, but it seemed very doubtful whether we could reach the outlet the mate spoke of before they would be up with us. We pulled for our lives, for there could be no doubt, from the behaviour of the savages on shore,--how those in the canoes would be inclined to treat us. While the mate steered, the doctor and I got the muskets ready; the rest of the crew were rowing, Horner helping the stroke oar. On the canoes came, nearer and nearer. We observed the sea breaking over the reef, but there was a clear channel between it and the shore. The savages had left the beach and were rushing towards the point which they knew we must pass; probably, as we supposed, to enjoy the satisfaction of seeing us overtaken and massacred. As the mate altered our course to steer for the channel, we found the wind on our starboard bow; should it shift a point or two more, it would come right ahead, and even the canoes, though they sail closer to the wind than any ordinary craft, would be unable to get through it; but they were already within one hundred fathoms of us, and coming on rapidly. I counted seven of them. One took the lead of the rest, and was coming up hand over hand with us. We could see the warriors on the raised deck dancing and leaping and flourishing their clubs, and hear them shouting and shrieking like their companions on shore. I looked anxiously at the channel. Soper was pulling bow oar. The mate told Horner to take it, and directed Soper to keep a look-out for reefs ahead. The leading canoe was now within fifty fathoms astern. "Give them a shot, doctor," said the mate; "but fire over their heads. It will show them that we are armed, but I don't want to kill any one." "Ay, ay!" answered the doctor; and shouting to the savages to make them understand what he was about to do, he fired. The first shot seemed to have no effect. Still the big canoe came on. We were as far from the passage as we were from them. Our men were straining every nerve, and could make the boat go no faster. The doctor waited till I had reloaded the first musket. He again fired, still aiming high, as the mate told him to do. The next instant down came the yard and sail of the canoe. The bullet must have cut the slings right in two. "It was a chance shot, and a fortunate one," said the doctor, as he saw its effect. The canoe still glided on, but the next, unable to alter her course, ran right into her, and the others, also coming up, were thrown into confusion. Our men cheered as they saw what had happened. The channel was reached before our pursuers could get clear of each other. Then on they came again. Before, however, they had come far, the wind shifted a point and then blew right ahead. First one lowered her sail, and then another and another, while we pulled through the channel, Soper keeping a bright look-out for sunken rocks. I caught sight of the savages on shore rushing along the beach, but we had passed the point before they had gained it, and there they stood shrieking, shouting, and gesticulating at us. We pulled away in the wind's eye, knowing that we should thus have a better chance of keeping ahead of our pursuers. They had not yet, however, given up the chase. We saw them at length coming through the channel urged on by their paddles. They could thus move but slowly. Once outside, however, they might again hoist their sails, and, by standing first on one tack and then on the other, come up with us. As we got away from the island we found the wind blowing steadily from the southward, while in shore it still came from the westward. This gave us a great advantage. "We'll hoist the sail, lads," said Mr Griffiths, "and see if a whale-boat can beat a double canoe." The men, who were streaming from every pore, gladly obeyed. The mast was set up in an instant, the sail hoisted, and "_Young Hopeful_," as the doctor called our boat, glided rapidly over the dancing waters. We had made good way before we saw the sails of the canoes once more hoisted, standing, as far as we could make out, for the north-west. Now we had got the wind, it would take them a long time to come up with us. The wind was too fresh to allow the oars to be of any use. We trusted, however, to the good providence of God to carry us clear. All that we would do was to sit quiet and hope that the wind would continue steady. We could see the canoes in the north-east hull down, and we hoped that we might keep ahead till night should hide us from their sight. The mate said he was sure that they would not then attempt to follow us farther. "But, I say, is any one hungry?" exclaimed Horner. "We've had no breakfast, you'll remember." We had all been too excited to think of eating, but the mention of food excited our appetites, and the mate told the doctor to serve out provisions. The occupation of eating assisted to pass the time, and to raise our spirits. The mate told us that he and the doctor had determined to steer for the Pellew Islands, the inhabitants of which, though uncivilised, were supposed to be of a mild disposition, and likely to treat us kindly. Even had we intended to steer for Guam, the canoes in that direction would have prevented us doing so. From the Pellew Islands we should have a long voyage round to Manilla. When once there we should be sure of finding European vessels on board of which we should be able to obtain a passage to some English settlement. Every now and then, while we were eating, I took a look at the canoes, but the sight of them didn't spoil my appetite, nor that of the rest of us, as far as I could judge. "They are getting no nearer," I observed. "Wait till they come about," said Horner; "they'll then be up with us fast enough, and this may be the last meal we shall ever eat." "Haul in the slack of that, you young croaker!" cried the mate, in an angry tone. "You would like to make the others as much afraid as you are yourself." Horner could not say he was not afraid, for he looked it. The breeze freshened, and the boat made good way in spite of being heavily laden, standing up well to all the sail we could set. For another hour or more we could see the canoes. At last the mate, standing up, took a look at them and then cried-- "Hurrah! They have gone about, and are steering for the land." Just as the sun set they disappeared, and we had no longer any fear of being followed. The mate now set a regular watch;--the rest of us lay down as we best could along the thwarts, or at the bottom of the boat, with some of Jack's matting for pillows. We were rather crowded, to be sure, but we were thankful to have escaped our enemies, and hoped, in spite of its length, that we should have a prosperous voyage. Day after day we sailed on. Mr Griffiths maintained good discipline among us. Everything was done with as much regularity as if we were aboard ship. He got us to spin yarns and sing songs. I thus heard more of Jack's adventures than I ever since have been able to get out of him. He corroborated all that Miles Soper had told me, and added much more. Sam Coal told us how he had once been a slave in the Southern States of America, and made his escape, and being followed, was nearly caught, and how a kind Quaker sheltered him, at the risk of his own life, and got him away on board a ship, where he found that he had not changed much for the better in some respects; but then, as he said-- "Dis nigger feel dat he was a free man, and dat make up for all de rest." The wind was fair and the sea calm. Our chief fear was that we might run short of water, so Mr Griffiths thought it wise to put us upon an allowance at once. Several times flying-fish fell aboard, which we didn't despise, although we had to eat them raw, or rather dried in the sun. If we had had fuel we might have managed to make a fire and cook them, but in our hurry to get off we had come away without any spare wood. "Never mind, lads," said the mate; "we'll get some at the Pellew Islands, and after that we'll have a hot meal every other day at least." Brown was always on the look-out with his harpoon, ready to strike any large fish which might come near us, but they seemed to know what we were about, and kept at a respectful distance. Now and then a shark would come up and have a look at us, and the men would call him all manner of names. One day, as we were running along at the rate of about five knots an hour, we saw a black fin coming up astern; it sheered off under the counter and then floated up abreast of us, just coming near enough to show us its wicked eye. It kept too far off, however, for Brown to strike it, or it might have paid dearly for its curiosity. At last, cocking its eye, it gave a turn of its tail, and off it went like a shot, followed by our roars of laughter. "Tend on it, Jack Shark find dat we not going to make dinner for him dis day!" cried Sam Coal, "so he tink better go look out sumber else." Such were the trifling incidents which afforded us amusement and assisted to keep up our spirits. It was trying work, thus to sit all day and day after day in an open boat with nothing to do, and unable to move about freely. We were very thankful, however, to be favoured by such fine weather. At last Mr Griffiths stood up in the stern-sheets, and, after shading his eyes for some time--for the sun had already passed the zenith, said quietly, "Lads, we have made a good landfall. I'm much mistaken if we have not the Pellew Islands in sight. I make out a dozen or more blue hillocks rising above the horizon. Sit quiet, however, for you won't see them just yet. We shall have to heave-to to-night outside the reef which surrounds them, but I hope we shall get ashore in the morning." This news cheered us up, for we were beginning to get somewhat downcast, and some of us thought that we must have passed the islands altogether, and might make no other land till we reached the Philippines. We ran on till dark, by which time we could make out one large island and a number of smaller ones, some to the northward and some to the southward, with a reef marked by a line of white foam surrounding them. As it would be dangerous to attempt looking for a passage through the reef except in daylight, we hove-to, and the watch below lay down--or "turned in," as we used to call it--rejoicing in the hope of setting our feet on dry ground the next morning, and getting a plentiful supply of provisions. I had to keep the middle watch with Jim. I took good care not to let my eyes close, for we were at no great distance from the reef, and I knew the danger of being drifted on it. Now I looked to windward to make sure that no vessel was approaching to run us down, now at the reef to find out whether we were drifting nearer it than was safe. After a long silence Jim spoke to me. "There's something on my mind, Peter," he said. "I'm afraid that now you have found your brother Jack you'll not be caring for me as you used to do, for the whole of the last day you have not opened your lips to me, while you have been talking away to him." "Don't let such an idea rest on your mind, Jim," I answered. "I very naturally talked to Jack, for of course I wanted to hear everything he had been about since he first went to sea, and it's only lately I have been able to get him to say much. I don't think that anything will make me forget your affection for me. Though Jack is my brother, you've been more than a brother, and as brothers we shall remain till the end of life." In this way I did my best to satisfy Jim's mind. It hadn't before occurred to me that there was any spice of jealousy in him, and I determined in future to do my best to prevent him having any such feeling. We talked on just as we used to do after that. The wind was light, and except a slight swell coming from the eastward, the sea was perfectly smooth. If it hadn't been for the talking I should have found it a hard matter to keep my eyes open. After I lay down, I had been for some time asleep, as I fancied, when I heard the mate cry-- "Out oars, lads! Pull for your lives!" I jumped up in a moment. The strong current into which the boat had got was carrying her along at the rate of five knots an hour towards the reef, over which the sea was breaking and rising up in a wall of white foam. There was now not a breath of wind, but a much greater swell was coming in than before. We all bent to our oars, and had good reason to be thankful that we had got them to help us, for a sailing vessel would very quickly have been dashed to pieces on the reef, and every soul aboard lost. The mate headed the boat off from the shore in a diagonal course, so that we hoped soon to get out of the current. Still, notwithstanding all our efforts, we appeared to be drawing nearer and nearer the reef as the current swept us along, and I began to think that, notwithstanding all we had gone through, we were doomed to be lost at last. The mate, however, cheered us up. Daylight soon broke. As the sun rose the wind increased, and presently, a fresh breeze springing up, he hauled aft the sheet, and with the help of the oars the boat moved quickly along till we got out of the current. We were now able to venture close enough to the reef to look out for a safe opening. At last we found one a little to the southward of the largest island, and hauling up, we steered for it. The sea broke on either side of the passage, which was large enough for a good-sized vessel to venture through. We stood on, keeping a look-out for dangers ahead. We were soon inside, where the water was perfectly smooth. Seeing a snug little harbour, we ran for it. As we approached, we saw a number of natives coming down, darkish-skinned fellows, though not so black as those of the Caroline Islands all of them without a stitch of clothing on except a loin cloth; but they were pleasant-looking, and we saw no weapons among them. The mate, however, kept the muskets concealed in the stern-sheets, ready for use in case they were only acting treacherously, and should suddenly rush down upon us with clubs and spears. Still, as we got nearer, and waved our hands, they showed no inclination to attack us, and made every sign to let us understand that they wished to be friends. We therefore lowered the sail, and pulled the boat gently towards the beach. On this they came down, and when we jumped out, helped us to haul her up. There was one man who seemed to be the chief. He came up and shook hands with Mr Griffiths, the doctor, and me, and then ordered six of his people to stay by the boat, as we supposed to guard her. He made no objection when the mate and the doctor went back to get the muskets, but seemed to think it very natural that they should wish to be armed amongst so many strangers. The other people were in the meantime making friends with the rest of our party. The chief now invited us up to his house. It was built of trunks of small trees and bamboo canes, and thatched with palm-leaves, much in the same style as the huts of other South Sea islanders, though of a fair size. It was also very clean, and the floors were covered with mats. He begged us to sit down near him, while he squatted on a mat at one end of the room. As we could only talk by signs we didn't say much. Presently a number of girls appeared, bringing clay dishes, with fish and fowl and vegetables. As soon as they were placed on the ground, he told us to fall to, and a very good meal we enjoyed, after the uncooked food we had lived on so long. The mate made signs that we had come from the eastward, and were bound west for the Philippines, of which he seemed to have heard. After dinner he took us down to the shore, and showed us some fine large canoes, with the stems and sterns well carved. They were used for going about between the islands, but I don't think they could have done much in a heavy sea. Some were large enough to hold thirty or forty men. He then had a look at our boat, and seemed to wonder that we had come so far in her. The mate explained to him that, though she was shorter, she had much higher sides, and was much lighter built than his canoes. From the way he behaved we had no doubts as to his friendly intentions, or any anxiety about the men who were attended to by other natives. In the evening he gave us another feast, and then took us to a clean new hut, which by his signs we understood we were to occupy. From the way he behaved we agreed that, though he looked liked a native savage, he was as civilised a gentleman as we could wish to meet. The rest of our party were billeted in huts close to us, and from the sounds of laughter which came from them we guessed that they and their hosts were mightily amused with each other. The chief, after making signs to us to lie down and go to sleep, took his leave, and we were left alone. "I hope our fellows will behave well, and not get into any quarrel with the natives," observed the doctor. "I don't think there's any chance of that, though it would be a serious matter if they did," answered Mr Griffiths. "If you'll give me leave, sir, I'll go and speak to them," I said. "I'm sure Jim and my brother Jack will behave properly, and so I should think would Brown." "It doesn't do always to trust men," said the mate. "Just tell them to be careful. I would rather that we had been all together, but it won't do to show that we're suspicious of the natives." I accordingly got up, and, directed by the sounds I heard, went to the other huts. I found Jack and Jim in one of them, with a number of natives sitting round them, examining their dresses and trying to imitate their way of speaking. I advised them to let their friends know that they were sleepy, and wanted to lie down. As soon as they did this, the natives got up in the politest way possible, and spread mats for them at one side of the room. In the next hut I found Miles Soper and Sam Coal. I said to them what I had said before to Jack and Jim, and I then went on to another hut, the natives in each behaving in precisely the same manner. When I told the mate, he was perfectly satisfied, and said that we must trust the natives. We were not mistaken. Early the next morning a plentiful meal was brought us, and during our stay on the island we were treated with the greatest kindness by these mild and courteous people. The doctor said that they were Malays, though very unlike many of their brethren scattered about the Indian seas. Having recovered completely from the effects of being cramped up so long in the boat, and the unwholesome food we had lived on, we were anxious to prosecute our voyage. The chief looked very sorrowful when the mate told him we must be going, and that we should be thankful to him for provisions and water for the voyage. When he told his people, they brought us down fowl and vegetables enough to fill the boat. We showed them our hen-coop, in which we could keep a number of the fowl alive, but that we wanted food for them. Off they ran, and quickly came back with a good supply. By this time we could understand each other wonderfully well, helping out what we said by signs. The chief gave us all a grand feast the last night of our stay, and the next morning, having shaken hands with all round, we went aboard, and once more put to sea. The natives at the same time came off in their canoes, and accompanied us some way outside the reef; then, with shouts and waving of hands, they wished us good-bye. We had a long passage before us, but we were in good health and spirits, and we hoped to perform it in safety. We had to keep a sharp look-out at night, for, as the mate told us, there were some small islands between the Pellew and the Philippines, and that, he not being certain of their exact position, we might run upon them. For a whole week we had fine weather, though, as the wind was light, we didn't make much way. At the end of that time clouds began to gather in the horizon, and soon covered the whole sky, while the wind shifted to the north-west, and in a short time was blowing a heavy gale. The sea got up, and the water every now and then, notwithstanding our high sides, broke aboard, and we had to take to baling. Night came on, and matters grew worse. We all had confidence in Mr Griffiths's skill; and as he had, by his good seamanship, preserved our lives before, we hoped that we should again escape. At length he determined to try his former plan, and, heaving the boat to, we cast out a raft, formed by the oars, and rode to it. The gale, however, increased, and seemed likely to turn into a regular typhoon. There was no sleep for any of us that night; all hands had to keep baling, while a heavier sea than we had yet encountered broke aboard and carried away a large portion of our provisions, besides drowning all the fowl in the hen-coop. Most of us, I suspect, began to think that we should never see another sunrise. It seemed a wonder, indeed, that the boat escaped being knocked to pieces. Had it continued long, we must have gone down. Towards morning, however, the wind moderated, and before noon we were able to haul the raft aboard and once more make sail. But there we were on the wide ocean, with but scanty provisions and a sorely battered boat. The weather still looked unsettled, and we feared that we should have another bad night of it. The greater part of the day had gone by, when Brown, who was at the helm while the mate was taking some rest, suddenly exclaimed-- "A sail! A sail! She's standing this way." We all looked out to the northward, and there made out a large vessel steering directly for us. CHAPTER TWENTY NINE. ON BOARD OUR OLD SHIP--HER VOYAGE THROUGH EASTERN SEAS. The doctor awoke Mr Griffiths to tell him the good news. He at once hove the boat to. We sat eagerly watching the stranger. She could not possibly at present see us, and might alter her course before she came near enough to do so. Her topsails rose above the horizon, then in a short time her courses were seen, and then her hull itself as she came on swiftly before the breeze. I saw Mr Griffiths several times rub his eyes, then he stood up and looked fixedly at her. "Brown," he said, "did you ever see that ship before?" "Well, I was thinking that the same sail-maker cut her topsails that cut the _Intrepid's_; but there's no wonder in that," answered Brown. "What do you say to that white patch in the head of her foresail?" asked the mate. "It looks to me like one we put in when we were last at the Sandwich Islands. To be sure it's where the sail is likely to get worn, and another vessel may have had one put in like it, still, the _Intrepid's_ foresail had just such a patch as that." "What! Do you mean to say that she's the _Intrepid_?" exclaimed the doctor, interrupting him. "I mean to say that she's very like her, if she's not her," answered the mate. We all of us now looked with even greater eagerness than before at the approaching vessel. "Let draw the foresail," cried the mate. We stood on so that we might be in the best possible position for running alongside the whaler, for such she was, as soon as she hove-to. "We're seen!--we're seen!" shouted several of our crew. We waved our hats, and shouted. "She is the _Intrepid_!" cried Mr Griffiths. Presently she came to the wind, and we, lowering our sail and getting out our oars, were soon alongside her. There stood Captain Hawkins-- there the second mate, with many other faces we knew. I never saw people look so astonished as we sprang up the side, while our boat was hooked on and hoisted on board. "Why, Griffiths!--Cockle! Where have you come from?" exclaimed Captain Hawkins. "I had given you up for lost long ago." They gave a brief account of our adventures, but there was not much time for talking, for we had not been aboard five minutes before all hands were employed in shortening sail, and the gale came down upon us with even greater strength than on the previous night. Had we been exposed to it in our open boat there would have been little chance of our escape. We had thus much reason to be thankful to Heaven that we had got aboard in time. There being plenty of sea room, the _Intrepid_ was hove-to. Even as it was, the sea broke aboard and carried away one of her boats and did other damage. She had been nearly wrecked on the reef during the gale when we were on the island; and Captain Hawkins, believing that we had been lost, stood for Guam, where he had been detained for want of proper workmen and fresh hands. Had it not been for this she would long before have been on her homeward voyage. For some time I felt very strange on board, often when half asleep fancying myself still in the boat, and the air below seemed close and oppressive. The mate declared that he had caught cold from sleeping in a bed after not having been in one for so many months. The doctor suggested that his bed might have been damp. However, the gale being over, the sun came out brightly, and he soon got rid of his chill. The captain took no more notice of me than he did before, and did not even speak to Jack. His idea was to keep us at a proper distance, I suppose. He had heard, I have no doubt, of our adventures from Dr Cockle or the mate. It mattered very little to us, though I was afraid that he might take it into his head to turn Jack out of the ship at some place or other, on the plea that he did not belong to her. I advised my brother, therefore, to keep out of his sight as much as possible, especially when in harbour. Jim and I agreed that if he was sent ashore we would go also, wherever it might be. "So will I," said Miles Soper, who had heard us talking about the matter. "And I no stop eider, and den he lose four good hands. He no like dat," said Sam Coal. Brown, hearing from Jim of my apprehensions, said he would go likewise if the captain attempted to play any tricks of that sort. Three days after the gale we hove-to off three small islands surrounded by a reef. Brown, Miles Soper, two Africans and the New Zealander, the second mate and I, were sent on shore to catch turtle. We hauled the boat up and waited till the evening, at which time the creatures land to lay their eggs. Darkness approached, and we concealed ourselves behind some rocks, and watched for their coming. Presently one landed, and crawled slowly up the beach. Sam declared that she was as big as the boat. She was certainly an enormous creature. Then another and another came ashore, and commenced scraping away in the sand to make holes for their eggs. We waited till some thirty or forty had come ashore. "Now is your time," cried the mate; and rushing out, grasping the handspikes with which we were armed, we got between them and the sea, and turned them over on their backs, where they lay kicking their legs, unable to move. We had brought ropes to assist us in dragging them down to the water and hauling them on board. We had turned a dozen or more, when I said to Jim. "We mustn't let that big one go we first saw land." She and the other turtles still on their feet, had taken the alarm, and were scuttling down the beach. We made her out and attempted to turn her, but that was more than we could do. "She'll be off," cried Jim. We hove the bight of a rope over her head. "Hold on, Peter!" he cried; and he and I attempted to haul the turtle back, all the time shouting for help, for she was getting closer and closer to the water. At last in she got, dragging us after her. We could not stop her before, and there was very little chance of our doing so now. "Let her go, Jim," I cried out. "We shall lose the rope," he answered, still holding on. We were already up to our middles in the water. "It's of no use. Let go! Let go!" I cried out, "or we shall be dragged away to sea!" Supposing that he would do as I told him, I let go at the same moment, when what was my dismay to see Jim dragged away out of his depth. I swam off to him, still shouting loudly. Presently Soper and Sam Coal came up, and seeing what was happening, dashed into the water. Our united strength, however, could not stop the turtle, and Sam, who had a sharp knife in his pocket, drawing it, cut the rope, and we got Jim back to shore. The mate rated Jim for losing the rope, though Brown and the rest declared that he had behaved very pluckily, and that if help had come in time we should have saved the turtle. As it was we had turned more than we could carry off. Having been ordered not to attempt to regain the ship during the night, we turned the boat up and slept under it, while a couple of hands remained outside to watch the turtles and see that they did not manage to get on their feet again and escape. In the morning we loaded the boat, and pulled back with our prizes. The mate said nothing about the lost rope, as he knew the notion Brown and the rest had formed of Jim's courage. We sighted after this several small islands, and then made the coast of New Guinea. The captain, seeing a good place for landing, sent a boat ashore with the doctor and most of us who had been engaged in catching turtle. It seemed a beautiful country, with magnificent trees, and birds flying about in numbers among them. "This is a perfect paradise," said the doctor, as we approached the beach. Just then a number of natives came rushing out from the forest, brandishing clubs and spears. They were the ugliest set of people I ever saw, their bodies nearly naked and their heads covered with hair frizzled out like huge mops. They had also bows at their backs, but they did not point their arrows at us. The doctor and mate agreed that it would be folly to land amongst them, so we lay on our oars while the mate held up bottles and bits of iron hoops, beads and knives, and a few old clothes, to show them that we wished to trade. After a considerable time they seemed to understand what we wanted, and some of them going away returned with numbers of stuffed birds of a delicate yellow with long tails. We made signs that only those who wanted to trade must come near us. At last several came wading into the water bringing their birds. They set a high price on them, and we only bought a dozen or so. As the rest of the people behaved in as threatening a manner as before, as soon as the trading was over we pulled off, not wishing to risk an encounter with them. The doctor said that the birds were birds of paradise, and that they were such as the ladies of England wore in their hats. The curious thing was that none of the birds had feet. "Of course not," said the second mate, when I pointed this out to him; "they say that the birds come down from the skies and live in the air, and as they never perch, they don't want feet. That's why they're called birds of paradise." The doctor laughed. "That's a very old notion," he remarked, "but it's a wrong one notwithstanding, and has long since been exploded. They have legs and claws like other birds, though the natives cut them off and dry the birds as these have been over a hot fire. It's the only way they have of preserving them." The captain said we were very right not to land, as the natives might have been tempted to cut us off for the sake of possessing themselves of the articles in our boat. As we sailed along the coast the country seemed to be thickly populated, and the boat was frequently sent to try and land, but we always met with the same inhospitable reception. The moment we drew near the shore the black-skinned natives would rush down, apparently to prevent our landing. This was a great disappointment, for the captain was anxious to obtain fresh provisions, as several of the men, from having lived a long time on salt meat, were suffering from scurvy. Curiously enough, we, who had been in the boat, were free from it. At one place, however, we traded with the natives, and bought several more of the stuffed paradise birds, and a number of live lories, which we kept in cages, and beautiful little creatures they were. Our hope was to carry them safely home, but, either from improper food or change of climate, they all shortly died. Rounding New Guinea, and passing the island of Mysole, we came to a small island called Gely, at the south-east end of Gillolo, lying exactly under the equator. It contains a magnificent and secure harbour, in which we brought up. There being an abundance of good water, and trees from which spars can be cut, it is an excellent place for repairing damages. The second mate said that those suffering from scurvy would, now have an opportunity of being cured. The plan he proposed was to bury them up to their necks in the sand, and to leave them there for some hours. The doctor was unwilling to try the experiment, though he did not deny that it might be effectual. Two of our men suffering from the complaint were, however, perfectly willing to submit to the remedy, and, our boats having to go on shore to fill the water-casks, we carried them with us. Holes were dug, and the poor fellows, being stripped naked, were covered up side by side in the warm sand, leaving only their heads above the surface, so that they could not possibly extricate themselves. The captain, I should have said, approved of the plan, having before seen it tried with success; but the doctor, declaring that he would have nothing to do with the matter, went with Jack and another man in an opposite direction. Horner and I had charge of the watering party. The stream from which we filled our casks was at some distance from the place where the men were buried. I undertook to see to the casks being filled if Horner would remain by the men. We had just finished our work and were rolling the casks down to the boat when Horner came rushing up, with his eyes staring and his hair almost on end. "What's the matter? What has happened?" I asked, thinking he had gone out of his mind. "I can't bear it!" he exclaimed. "It's too dreadful. I couldn't help it." "What is dreadful? What could you not help?" I inquired. "The brutes of crocodiles. Poor fellows," he stammered out. "There won't be a bit of them left presently!" and he pointed to where we had buried our poor shipmates, and where he ought to have been watching. The men and I set off running to the spot. A dreadful sight met our eyes. The body of one man lay half eaten on the sand. A huge crocodile was dragging off the other. He had dragged it under the water before we could reach the spot. We could do nothing but shout at the crocodiles. Horner confessed that he had gone to a distance for a short time, during which the brutes had landed and killed the two men. We returned very sad to the boat. As for Horner, it was a long time before he could get over the horror he felt for his neglect of duty. Several canoes filled with natives came into the harbour from Gillolo, bringing potatoes and other vegetables. One of them brought a number of clam-shells of various sizes. One which we hoisted on board weighed four hundred-weight, and we afterwards saw on shore one which must have weighed a quarter of a ton. The natives use them as tubs; I saw a woman bathing a child in one. The meat of the creature when fried is very palatable. I also obtained some beautiful specimens of coral, which I wanted to carry home to Mary and my Shetland relations. I bought also two gallons of nutmegs for an old file, and a large number of shells for some old clothes. The harbour swarmed with sharks, which prevented us from bathing. We here cut some splendid spars for the use of the ship. I may mention that the inner harbour, from its perfect security, has obtained the name of "Abraham's Bosom." Were it not for the sharks and crocodiles the place would be perfect. All the crew having recovered from scurvy, and the ship being refitted, we once more put to sea. The weather was delightful, and we sailed on over the calm ocean with a light breeze. We had to keep a constant look-out for rocks and reefs. I can assert, though it is often denied, that when passing under the lee of the Spice Islands, the scent which came off from the shore was perfectly delicious. Whether this arises from the flowers of the cloves and nutmegs, or from the nature of the soil, I cannot determine. Though we generally had a light breeze, we were sometimes completely becalmed, on which occasions, when near shore, we ran the risk of being driven on the rocks by the currents, and more than once we had all the boats towing ahead to keep her off them till the breeze should spring up. We continued our course, passing to the eastward of Ceram and Banda, and steering for Timor, to the north-west of Australia. We had other dangers besides calms and currents. We had just left the Serwatty Islands astern when the wind dropped, and we lay becalmed. Though there was little chance of catching whales, we always kept a look-out for them from the masthead, as we could stow one or two more away. We were most of us on deck whistling for a breeze, when the look-out aloft shouted that he saw three craft stealing up from behind the island to the eastward. The second mate went up to have a look at them through his glass, and when he returned on deck he reported that they were three large proas, pulling, he should say, twenty oars or more, and full of men, and that he had no doubt they were pirates. Those seas, we knew, were infested with such gentry--generally Malays, the most bloodthirsty and cruel of their race. Many a merchant vessel has been captured by them and sunk, all hands being killed. "Whatever they are, we must be prepared for them!" cried Captain Hawkins. "I'll trust to you, lads, to fight to the last; and I tell you that if they once get alongside us we shall find it a difficult job to keep them off. We will have the arms on deck, Mr Griffiths, for if we don't get a breeze, as they pull fast, they'll soon be up to us." All the muskets were at once brought up and arranged in order; our two guns were loaded, and the armourer and carpenter set to work to sharpen the blubber-spades, harpoons, and spears. We had thus no lack of weapons; our high bulwarks also gave us an advantage; but the pirates, we knew, would probably out-number us by ten to one. However, we did not lose heart; Captain Hawkins looked cool and determined, and the mates imitated his example. I didn't think about myself, but the fear came over me that, after all, Jack might be killed, and that I should not have the happiness of taking him home. As the pirates approached, we made all necessary preparations for defending ourselves. Muskets and ammunition were served out to the men most accustomed to firearms; the others had the blubber-spades and spears put into their hands. The two mates took charge of the guns, which were loaded to their muzzles, and matches were got ready for firing them. The doctor provided himself with a couple of muskets and a sword. The captain told him he must not run the risk of being wounded, as he might be required to bind up the hurts of the rest of us. He laughed, and said that the first thing to be done was to drive back our enemies should they attempt to board the ship. The pirates came closer and closer. The captain looked anxiously round the horizon, for though, like a brave man, he was prepared to defend his ship to the last, he had no wish for a fight. As I looked over the sides I saw some cats-paws playing along the surface of the water. The pirates by this time were not a quarter of a mile astern. Presently the lighter canvas, which had hung down against the masts, bulged out, and then the topsails filled. "All hands trim sails!" shouted the captain. The breeze came from the eastward; the yards were squared, and the _Intrepid_ began to move through the water. She glided on but slowly; the pirates were still gaining on us. The wind, however, freshened. As we watched our pursuers, first one raised a mast and a long taper yard, then another, and they were soon under all sail standing after us. The breeze increased; we gave a cheer, hoping soon to get well ahead of them. Still on they came, and it seemed very doubtful whether we should succeed. I believe that some of the crew would rather have had a fight than have escaped without it. The pirates, by keeping their oars moving, still gained on us. To look at the captain, one might have supposed that it was a matter of indifference to him whether they came alongside or not, but our cargo was too valuable to risk the chance of being lost. We had soon studding-sails rigged below and aloft. Again the wind dropped, and the pirates were now almost within musket shot. "We will slew round one of our guns, and run it through the after port, Griffiths," said the captain. "A shot or two will teach the rascals what to expect should they come up to us." Just, however, as we had got the gun run out the wind again freshened. The _Intrepid_, deep in the water though she was, showed that she had not lost her power of sailing. Though the pirates were straining every nerve, we once more drew ahead of them. The more the breeze increased the faster we left them astern, and by the time the sun had set we had got fully four miles ahead, but still by going aloft we could see them following, evidently hoping that we should be again becalmed, and that they might get up with us. During the night we continued our course for Timor. At the usual hour the watch below turned in, though the captain remained on deck, and a sharp look-out was kept astern. However, as long as the breeze continued we had no fear of being overtaken. It was my morning watch. As soon as it was daylight I went aloft, and saw the proas the same distance off that they had been at nightfall. I told Mr Griffiths when I came below. "The rascals still expect to catch us," he said, "but we must hope that they'll be disappointed. However, we're prepared for them." For some hours the breeze continued steady. Soon after noon it again fell, and our pursuers crept closer to us. It was somewhat exciting, and kept us all alive, though it did not spoil our appetites. The whole of the day they were in sight, but when the wind freshened up again in the evening we once more distanced them. The night passed as the former had done. We could not tell when we went below what moment we might be roused up to fight for our lives. I for one did not sleep the worse for that. The breeze was pretty steady during the middle watch, and I was not on deck again till it was broad daylight. The second mate, who had been aloft, reported that the pirates were still in sight, but farther off than they were the day before, and the breeze now freshening, their hulls sank beneath the horizon, and we fully expected to see no more of them. We sighted Timor about three weeks after leaving Gely, and in the evening brought up in a small bay, with a town on its shore, called Cushbab. Our object was to obtain vegetables and buffalo meat. The natives are Malays, and talk Portuguese. Nearly all those we met on shore carried creeses, or long, sharp knives, in their belt, which they use on the slightest provocation. Every boy we saw had a cock under his arm. The people seemed to spend all their time in cock-fighting. They are very fond of the birds, which are of enormous size; considerably larger than any English cocks. Being unable to obtain any buffaloes here, we got under way, and anchored in another bay some way to the west, where we obtained twelve animals. At first they were very wild when we got them on board, but in a few hours became tame, and would eat out of our hands. They were destined, however, for the butcher's knife. Some of the meat we ate fresh, but the larger quantity was salted down for sea stores. The unsalted meat kept for a very short time, and we had to throw a large piece overboard. The instant it reached the water up came two tiger sharks, which fought for it, seizing each other in the most ferocious manner possible, and struggling together, although there was enough for both of them. After leaving Timor we steered along the south-east coast of Java, and then shaped a course across the Indian Ocean for the Cape of Good Hope. The wind was fair, the sea smooth, and I never remember enjoying a longer period of fine weather. In consequence of the light winds our passage was lengthened more than we had expected, and we were running short of provisions of all sorts. There were still two casks of bread left, each containing about four hundred-weight. "Never mind," observed the second mate, "we shall have enough to take us to the Cape." At length the first was finished, and we went below to get up the second. It was marked bread clearly enough, but when the carpenter knocked in the head, what was our dismay to find it full of new sails, it having been wrongly branded! The captain at once ordered a search to be made in the store-room for other provisions. The buffalo meat we had salted had long been exhausted, part of it having turned bad; and besides one cask of pork, which proved to be almost rancid, a couple of pounds of flour with a few other trifling articles, not a particle of food remained in the ship. Starvation stared us in the face. CHAPTER THIRTY. THE VOYAGE HOME, AND HOW IT ENDED. On hearing of the alarming scarcity of food on board, the captain called the crew aft. "Lads," he said, "I don't want to hide anything from you. Should the wind shift to the westward, it may be a month or more before we reach the Cape, so if you wish to save your lives, you must at once be put on a short allowance of food and water. A quarter of a pint of water, two ounces of pork, and half an ounce of flour is all I can allow for each man, and the officers and I will share alike with you." Not a word was said in reply, and the men went forward with gloomy looks. To make the flour go farther we mixed whale oil with it, and, though nauseous in the extreme, it served to keep body and soul together. At first the crew bore it pretty well, but they soon took to grumbling, saying that it was owing to the captain's want of forethought in not laying in more provisions that we were reduced to this state. Hitherto the wind had been fair, but any day it might change, and then, they asked, what would become of us? Most of them would have broken into open mutiny had not they known that the mates and doctor, Jack and I, Jim, and probably Brown and Soper, would have sided with the captain, though we felt that they were not altogether wrong in their accusation. I heard the doctor tell Mr Griffiths that he was afraid the scurvy would again appear if we were kept long on our present food. Day after day we glided on across the smooth ocean with a cloudless sky, our food and water gradually decreasing. We now often looked at each other, wondering what would be the end. At last, one night, when it was my middle watch on deck, Jim came aft to me. "I'm afraid the men won't stand it any longer," he said. "They vow that if the captain don't serve out more food and water they'll take it. I know that it will be death to all of us if they do, or I would not tell on them. You let Mr Griffiths know; maybe he'll bring them to a right mind. They don't care for Jack or me, and Brown, Soper, and Sam seemed inclined to side with the rest. Jack says whatever you do he'll do." "Thank you, Jim," I answered. "You try to show them what folly they'll commit if they attempt to do as they propose. They won't succeed, for the captain is a determined man, and there'll be bloodshed if they keep to their purpose." Jim went forward, and I took a turn on deck to consider what was best to be done. It was the second mate's watch, and it had only just struck two bells. I did not wish to say anything to him. I waited for a little, and then asked the second mate to let me go below for a minute, for I could not quit the deck without his leave. "You may go and turn in if you like," he said. "There's no chance of your being wanted on a night like this." "Thank you, sir," I answered, and at once ran down to Mr Griffiths's cabin. He awoke when I touched his shoulder, and I told him in a low voice what I had heard. "You have acted sensibly, Peter," he answered. "I'll be on deck in a moment. When the men see that we are prepared for them they'll change their minds." I again went on deck, and he soon appeared, with a brace of pistols in his belt, followed by the captain and the doctor, with muskets in their hands. At that moment up sprang from the fore-hatchway the greater part of the crew, evidently intending to make their way to the after store-room, where the provisions and water were kept. "What are you about to do, lads?" shouted the captain. "Go below, every one of you, except the watch on deck, and don't attempt to try this trick again." His tall figure holding a musket ready to fire cowed them in an instant, and they obeyed without uttering a word. The captain said that he should remain on deck, and told Mr Griffiths and the doctor that he would call them if they were wanted. Some time afterwards, going forward, I found Jim, who told me that they had all turned in. The night passed away without any disturbance. As soon as it was daylight the captain ordered me to go aloft and take a look round. I obeyed, though I felt so weak that I could scarcely climb the rigging. I glanced round the horizon, but no vessel could I see. A mist still hung over the water. I was just about to come down when the sun rose, and at the same moment I made out over our quarter, away to the southward, a white sail, on which his rays were cast, standing on the same course that we were. "Sail ho!" I shouted in a joyful tone, and pointed out in the direction in which I saw her. The captain, immediately I came down, ordered me to rouse up all hands, and every sail the ship could carry being set, we edged down to the stranger, making a signal that we desired to speak her. She was an English barque, also bound for the Cape. As we got close together, a boat being lowered, Mr Griffiths and I went on board and stated our wants. Her captain at once agreed to supply us with everything he could spare, and we soon had our boat loaded with a cask of bread, another of beef, and several other articles, and in addition a nautical almanack, for we had run out our last one within a week before this. We had a second trip to make, with casks to fill with water. As may be supposed, we had quenched our own thirst on our first visit. When we again got back we found the cook and two hands assisting him busily employed in preparing breakfast, and a right hearty one we had. We kept our charitable friends in sight till we reached the Cape, by which time we had expended all the provisions with which they had furnished us. In a few days, from the abundance of fresh meat and vegetables which we obtained from the shore, our health and strength returned, and I for one was eager once more to put to sea, that Jack and I might the sooner reach home. We had got so far on our way that it seemed to me as if we were almost there. We were, however, detained for several days refitting and provisioning the ship. Once more, however, the men showed their mutinous disposition, for when they were ordered to heave up the anchor they refused to man the windlass, on the plea that they had had no liberty on shore. Though this was the case, there having been work for all hands on board, there was no real excuse for their conduct, as they were amply supplied with provisions, and had not been really over-worked. "We shall see, my fine fellows," exclaimed the captain, on seeing them doggedly standing with their arms folded in a group forward. At once ordering his boat, which was pulled by Jack and Jim, Miles Soper and Brown, he went on shore. He soon returned, with the deputy captain of the port, who, stepping on board, called the men aft, and inquired what they had to complain of. As they were all silent, Captain McL--- made them a speech, pointing out to them that they were fortunate in being aboard a well-found and well-provisioned ship. "And, my lads," he continued, "you need not have any fear of falling sick, for the captain has an ample supply for you of anti-scorbutics." As none of the mutineers had a notion what this long word meant, they were taken completely aback; and after staring at him and then at each other, first one and then another went forward to the windlass, and we soon had the ship under way. Whenever during the voyage any of us talked about the matter, we always called Captain McL--- "Old Anti-Scorbutic." I felt happier than I had been for a long time when the ship's head was directed northward, and as we had a fresh breeze the men declared that their friends at home had got hold of the tow-rope, and that we should soon be there. On running down to Saint Helena we were followed for several days by some black whales of immense length. Sometimes they were so close to the ship's side that we might have lanced them from the deck. The fourth day after we saw them the second mate and Horner took it into their heads wantonly to fire musket-shots at them. At last one of the poor creatures was hit, when it dived, the others following its example, and we saw them no more. The only object of interest we met with crossing the north-east trades was the passage through the Gulf Stream, or Sargasso Sea, as it is sometimes called. It was curious to find ourselves surrounded by thick masses of seaweed as far as the eye could reach on every side, so that no clear water could be seen for miles away. I can compare it to nothing else than to sailing through a farmyard covered with deep straw. The first land we made was Fyal. Thence we ran across to Pico, where we obtained provisions and water. If we had got nothing else it would have been well, but the crew managed to smuggle on board a quantity of new rum, the effects of which were soon visible. Leaving Pico, we shaped a course for old England. The wind was now freshening, and all sail was made, as the captain was in a hurry to get the voyage over. In the evening, when the watch was called, not a man came on deck, every one of them being drunk, while most of the men in the other watch, who had managed to slip down every now and then, were in no better condition. The captain, who had been ailing, was in bed. Mr Griffiths, the doctor and I, Jim and Brown, were the only sober ones. The second mate evidently did not know what he was about. Mr Griffiths advised him to turn in. I was very sorry to see my brother Jack nearly as bad as the rest, though he afterwards told me that, having been so long without spirits, they had had an unexpected effect upon him. We sober ones had to remain all night on deck, running off when a puff of wind struck the sails. It was a mercy that it didn't come on to blow hard, for we could never have managed to shorten sail in time to save the spars. Indeed, very probably the masts would have gone. Brown, Jim, and I took it by turns to steer till morning broke, by which time some of the rest of the crew began to show signs of life. As we got into northern latitudes a strong north-easterly breeze made the weather feel bitterly cold to us, who had been for so long a time accustomed to a southern climate. During all that period I had not worn shoes. For the sake of warmth I now wanted to put on a pair, but my feet had so increased in size that I could not find any large enough in the slop-locker. At last the wind shifted to the south-west, and we ran before it up Channel. The first object we made was the Owers light-vessel, about ninety miles from the Downs. Having made a signal for a pilot, one boarded us out of a cutter off Dungeness. How eagerly all of us plied the old fellow for news, though as he was a man of few words it was with difficulty that the captain or mates could pump much out of him. We remained but a few hours in the Downs to obtain provisions, of which we were again short, and thence proceeded to the Thames, where we dropped our anchor for the last time before going into dock to unload. Jim and I, although we had been kept on board against our will and had never signed articles, found that we could claim wages. Though I had no reason to like Captain Hawkins, yet I felt that I ought to wish him good-bye. To my surprise, he seemed very friendly, and said that if I ever wished to go to sea again he should be very glad to have me with him, as well as my brother and Jim. Poor man! He had made his last voyage, for I heard of his death shortly afterwards. I was very sorry to part from Mr Griffiths and Dr Cockle. They invited me to come and see them, both of them saying that they never intended again to go afloat, though I heard that Mr Griffiths got the command of a fine ship shortly afterwards; so I supposed that like many others similarly situated he was induced to change his mind and tempt once more the dangers of the ocean. "We will meet again, Peter," said Miles Soper; "and I hope that if you and Jack go to sea, we shall all be aboard the same ship." Brown said the same thing, but from that day to this I have never been able to learn what became of him. Such is often the case in a sea life. For years people are living on the most intimate terms, and separate never to meet again in this life. After remaining a week in London for payment of our wages, Jim and I each received five-and-twenty pounds, Jack also obtaining nearly half that amount. Our first care before we set off for Portsmouth, to which we were eager to return, was, our clothes being worn out, to supply ourselves with decent suits of blue cloth and other necessaries. At daylight the morning after we were free, carrying our bundles and the various treasures we had collected, a pretty load altogether, we went to the place from which the coach started for Portsmouth, and finding three seats on the top, off we set with light hearts, thinking of the friends we should meet on our arriving there. Jack confessed that he had forgotten the appearance of most of them, though he longed to see Mary and to give her the curiosities he had brought. We had a couple of parrots, three other beautifully coloured birds, a big basket of shells, and a whole bundle of bows, and arrows, and darts, and a lot of other things. Rattling down the Portsmouth High Street, we at last dismounted and set off for Mr Gray's house, where I fully expected I should still find Mary living. As we walked along, the boys gathered round us to look at our birds, and some asked where we had come from with so many curious things. "From round the world," answered Jim, "since we were last at home," which was not a very definite answer. In vain we looked, about expecting to see some old acquaintances, but all the faces we set eyes on were strange. No wonder, considering how long we had been away, while certainly no one would have recognised us. It was not quite an easy matter to find our way to Mr Gray's house, and we had to stop every now and then while Jim and I consulted which turning to take, for we were ashamed to ask any one. At last, just as we got near it, we saw an old gentleman in a Quaker's dress coming along the road. He just glanced at us, as other people had done; when I, looking hard at him, felt sure he must be Mr Gray. I nudged Jim's shoulder. "Yes, it's he, I'm sure," whispered Jim. So I went up to him, and pulling off my hat said-- "Beg pardon, sir; may I be so bold as to ask if you are Mr Gray?" "Gray is my name, young man," he answered, looking somewhat surprised, "Who art thou?" "Peter Trawl, sir; and this Jim Pulley, and here is my brother Jack." If the kind Quaker had ever been addicted to uttering exclamations of surprise he would have done so on this occasion, I suspect, judging from the expression of astonishment which came over his countenance. "Peter Trawl! James Pulley! Why, it was reported that those two lads were lost in the North Sea years ago," he said. "We are the lads, sir, notwithstanding," I answered; and I briefly narrated to him how we had been picked up by the _Intrepid_ and carried off to the Pacific, and how I had there found my brother Jack. "Verily, this is good news, and will cheer the heart of thy young sister, who has never ceased to believe that thou wouldst turn up again some day or other," he said. "Is Mary well, sir? Is she still with you?" I inquired, eagerly. "Yes, Peter, thy sister is as one of my family. Though greatly pressed by her newly-found relatives in Shetland to go there and reside with them, she has always replied that she was sure thou wast alive, and that thou wouldst come back to Portsmouth to look for her and that it would grieve thee much not to find her." "How kind and thoughtful!" I exclaimed. "Do let me go on, sir, at once to see my young sister." "Stay, lad, stay," he answered. "The surprise might be too great for her. I will go back to my house and tell her that thou hast returned home safe. Thou art so changed that she would not know thee, and therefore thou and thy companions may follow close behind." We saw Mr Gray go to his door and knock. It was opened by a woman-servant, who I was sure, when I caught sight of her countenance, was Nancy herself. She saw me at the same moment, and directly Mr Gray had entered, came out on the doorstep, and regarded me intently. "Yes, I'm sure it is!" she exclaimed. "Peter, Peter, aren't you Peter, now? I have not forgotten thy face, though thee be grown into a young man!" and she stretched out her arms, quite regardless of the passers-by, ready to give me such another embrace as she had bestowed on me when I went away. I could not restrain myself any longer, but, giving the things I was carrying to Jack, sprang up the steps. "Here he is, Miss Mary, here he is!" cried Nancy, and I saw close behind her a tall, fair girl. Nancy, however, had time to give me a kiss and a hug before I could disengage myself, and the next moment my sweet sister Mary had her arms round my neck, and, half crying, half laughing, was exclaiming-- "I knew you would come, I knew you would, Peter; I was sure you were not lost!" My brother Jack and Jim were, meantime, staying outside, not liking to come in till they were summoned. Nancy did not recognise them, and thought that they were two shipmates who had accompanied me to carry my things. At last, when I told Mary that I had not only come myself, but had brought back our brother Jack, she was eager to see him, though she was so young when he went away that she had no recollection of his countenance, and scarcely knew him from Jim. Mary had let me into the parlour. I now went and beckoned them in. Nancy, when she knew who they were, welcomed them warmly, but did not bestow so affectionate a greeting on them as she had done on me. Jim stood outside the door while I brought Jack in. Though Mary kissed him, and told him how glad she was to see him, it was easy to see that she at first felt almost as if he were a stranger. Mr Gray left us to ourselves for some time, and then all the family came in and welcomed us kindly, insisting that Jack should remain with me in the parlour, while Nancy took care of Jim in the kitchen, where he was much more it his ease than he would have been with strangers. Jack, indeed, looked, as he afterwards confessed to me he felt, like a fish out of water in the presence of so many young ladies. Though I had twice written to Mary, and had directed my letters properly, neither had reached her; yet for all these fears she had not lost hope of seeing me. After supper, Jack and I were going away, but Mr Gray insisted that we should remain, as he had had beds arranged for us in the house. "I must not let you lads be exposed to the dangers and temptations of the town," he said in a kind tone. "You must stay here till you go to sea again." Mary at once wrote to Mr Troil to tell him of my return, and of my having brought my brother Jack back with me. While waiting for an answer, one day Jack and Jim and I were walking down the High Street, when we saw a large placard stating that the _Thisbe_ frigate, commissioned by Captain Rogers, was in want of hands. "I shouldn't wonder but what he was my old skipper," observed Jack. "And you fine young fellows couldn't do better than join her," exclaimed a petty officer, who was standing near, clapping Jack on the back. "Why I think I know your face," he added. "Maybe. I'm Jack Trawl. I'm not ashamed of my name," said my brother. "Jack Trawl!" exclaimed the man-of-war's man; "then you belong to the _Lapwing_. We all thought you were lost with the rest of the boat's crew." "No, I wasn't; Miles Soper and I escaped. Now I look at you, ain't you Bill Bolton?" "The same," was the answer. "Tell us how it all happened." Jack in a few words told his old shipmate what is already known to the reader. While he was speaking, who should come up but Miles Soper himself, come down to Portsmouth to look out for a berth, accompanied by Sam Coal. The long and the short of it was that they all three agreed to enter aboard the _Thisbe_, and did their best to persuade Jim to follow their example. I had no notion of doing so myself, for I knew that it would break Mary's heart to part with me again so soon, and I feared, indeed, that she would not like Jack's going. Still, taking all things into consideration, he could not do better I thought--for having been so long at sea, he felt, as he said, like a fish out of water among so many fine folks. Jim made no reply, but drawing me aside, said-- "Peter, I can't bear the thoughts of leaving you, and yet I know you wouldn't like to ship before the mast again; but if I stay ashore what am I to do? I've no fancy to spending my days in a wherry, and haven't got one if I had. I've taken a liking to Jack, and you've many friends, and can do without me, so if you don't say no I'll ship with the rest." I need not repeat what I said to Jim. I was sure that it was the best thing he could do, and advised him accordingly. "I'm with you, mates," he said, in a husky tone, going back to the rest, and away they all went together, while I returned to Mr Gray's. "I wish the lads had shipped on board a peaceable merchantman," he observed when I told him, "but I can't pretend to dictate to them. I am glad thou hast been better directed, Peter." Jack and Jim came to see us before the ship went out of harbour. Jack said he knew that he must work for his living, and that he would rather serve aboard a man-o'-war than do anything else. "I'll look after him as I used to do you, Peter," said Jim. "And I hope some day we'll come back with our pockets full of gold, and maybe bear up for wherever you've dropped your anchor." A few days after this a letter came from Mr Troil, inviting Mary, Jack, and me to Shetland. Mary was very unwilling to leave her kind friends, but Mr Gray said that it would be to our advantage, and advised Mary and me to go. He was right, for when we arrived Mr Troil received us as relatives. Mary became like a second daughter to him. I assisted in managing his property, and in the course of a few years Maggie, to whom he left everything he possessed, became my wife, while Mary married the owner of a neighbouring estate. Some few years after a small coaster came into the Voe. I went down to see what she had on board. A sailor-looking man, with a wooden leg, and a woman, stepped ashore. "That's him--that's him!" I heard them exclaim, and in a moment I was shaking hands with Jim and Nancy, who had become his wife. He had got his discharge, and had come, he said, to settle near me. I several times heard from my brother Jack, who, after serving as bo'sun on board a line-of-battle ship, retired from the service with a pension, and joined our family circle in Shetland, where he married, and declared that he was too happy ever to go to sea again. THE END. 
28387	----	Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustration. See 28387-h.htm or 28387-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/8/3/8/28387/28387-h/28387-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/8/3/8/28387/28387-h.zip) HURRICANE ISLAND by H. B. MARRIOTT WATSON Author of "Captain Fortune," Etc. [Illustration: "'May the Lord help you,' says he in his voice of suet."] A. L. Burt Company, Publishers, New York Copyright, 1904, by H. B. Marriott Watson Copyright in Great Britain Copyright, 1905, by Doubleday, Page & Company Published, February, 1905 TO RICHARD BRERETON MARRIOTT WATSON MY KEEN YET APPRECIATIVE CRITIC, WHO PLEADED ON BEHALF OF THE VILLAINS, THIS TALE OF ADVENTURE BY SEA IS DEDICATED WITH LOVE BY ITS AUTHOR AND HIS [Transcriber's Note: The dedication is incomplete.] CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. "The Sea Queen" 3 II. In the "Three Tuns" 15 III. Mademoiselle Trebizond 30 IV. An Amazing Proposition 45 V. The Wounded Man 57 VI. The Conference in the Cabin 73 VII. The Rising 89 VIII. The Capture of the Bridge 105 IX. The Flag of Truce 123 X. Legrand's Wink 135 XI. The Lull 144 XII. In the Saloon 157 XIII. The Fog 169 XIV. Barraclough Takes a Hand 179 XV. The Fight in the Music-Room 193 XVI. Pye 205 XVII. The Third Attack 222 XVIII. At Dead of Night 237 XIX. The Tragedy 250 XX. The Escape 267 XXI. On the Island 278 XXII. Holgate's Last Hand 295 HURRICANE ISLAND CHAPTER I "THE SEA QUEEN" Pember Street, E., is never very cheerful in appearance, not even in mid-spring, when the dingy lilacs in the forecourts of those grimy houses bourgeon and blossom. The shrubs assimilate soon the general air of depression common to the neighbourhood. The smoke catches and turns them; they wilt or wither; and the bunches of flowers are sicklied over with the smuts and blacks of the roaring chimneys. The one open space within reach is the river, and thither I frequently repaired during the three years I practised in the East End. At least it was something to have that wide flood before one, the channel of great winds and the haunt of strange craft. The tide grew turbid under the Tower Bridge and rolled desolately about the barren wilderness of the Isle of Dogs; but it was for all that a breach in the continuity of ugly streets and houses, a wide road itself, on which tramped unknown and curious lives, passing to and fro between London and foreign parts. Unless a man be in deadly earnest or very young, I cannot conceive a career more distressing to the imagination and crushing to the ambition than the practice of medicine in the East End. The bulk of my cases were club cases which enabled me to be sure of a living, and the rest were for the most part sordid and unpleasant subjects, springing out of the vile life of the district. Alien sailors abounded and quarrelled fiercely. Often and often have I been awakened in the dead hours to find drunken and foreign-speaking men at my door, with one or more among them suffering from a dangerous knife-wound. And the point of it that came nearly home to me was that this career would not only lead to nothing, but was unprofitable in itself. I had taken the position in the hope that I might make something of it, but I found that it was all I could do to maintain my place. I made no charge for advice in my consultations, but took a little money on the medicine which I made up. Is any position to be conceived more degrading to a professional man? The one bright time in my week was of a Saturday, when I donned my best coat and gloves, took down my silkiest hat, and, discarding the fumes and flavours of the East, set out for Piccadilly. I still remained a member of a decent club, and here I lunched in my glory, talked with some human creatures, exchanged views on the affairs of the world, smoked and lolled in comfortable chairs--in short, took my enjoyment like a man-about-town, and then went back to earn my next week's holiday. Punctually to a minute I must be in the surgery in Pember Street at six o'clock, and the horrid round must begin to circle again. I will confess that there was a time when I could have loved that career as a saunterer in West End streets. It appealed to me at five-and-twenty almost as a romantic profession. Other young men whom I had known, at school and college, had entered it, and some were, or appeared to be, signal stars in that galaxy of wealth and beauty. My means, however, denied me access, and at thirty I would have been content, after my experience of hardships and poverty, to settle in some comfortable suburb, not too distant from the sphere of radiance. As it was, I was in chains in the slums of Wapping, and re-visited the glimpses of Piccadilly once a week. When I rose on an evening in November to go down to the river almost for the last time, it was not a Saturday, but a Thursday, and the West End seemed still a long way off. I had finished my round of cases, and had sat waiting in my dingy surgery for patients. But none had come, and in the enforced meditation that ensued, as I reviewed my past and my prospects, my soul sickened in me. I wanted to breathe more freely--I wanted more air and something more cheerful than the low surgery lamp and the dismal lights that wagged in the street. I put on my hat and passed down to the river. It was quite dark, and the easterly drift had obscured and dirtied the sky, so that when I came out by a landing which I knew now familiarly, I could see only the lights across the water, and some tall spars and funnels in the foreground. But the river at full tide champed audibly against the wharves, and the various sounds of that restless port assailed my ears--the roar of the unseen traffic behind me, the fluting and screaming of whistles, the mingled shouts, oaths, and orders in the distance, and the drone of that profound water under all. I had stood for some minutes, drinking in the better air, when there were voices near, suddenly risen out of the flood, and I perceived two men had landed. They paused by me for one to relight his pipe, and in the flash of the match I gathered from the dresses that they were stevedores, newly come, no doubt, from unloading some vessel. But my attention was taken off them unexpectedly by a great flare that went up into the sky apparently in mid-channel. It made a big bright flame, quite unusual in that resort of silent lights, and one of the stevedores commented on it. "That'll be her," he said; "she was coming up round the Dogs in a la-di-da fashion. Maybe she'll fly rockets in another minute." "Them steam-yachts are the jockeys to blue the money," responded his companion. "Nothink's good enough for them." "What is it?" I asked. "Only a Geordie brig straight from winning the America Cup, sir," said the first man with a facetious smile. "What did they make her out, Bill?" Bill hesitated. "I think it was the _Sea Queen_," he said doubtfully, and added, in harmony with his companion's mood: "They don't want to make themselves known, not by a long chalk." With which, the flare having died down, they tramped away into the night with a civil leave-taking. I followed them presently, moving along the road in the direction of the docks. When I reached the entrance I paused, and the gatekeeper addressed me. "Going in, doctor? Got a call?" I recognised him in the dimness of his lamp as a man whom I had attended for an accident, and I gave him good evening. "No," said I, "but I want some air. I think I will, if you don't mind." "Welcome, sir," said he cheerily, and I found myself on the other side of the gateway. I walked along the vacant stretch of ground, lit only by dull gas-lamps, and, passing the low office buildings and storing sheds, came out by the water-basins. Here was a scene of some bustle and disorder, but it was farther on that the spectators were engaged in a knot, for the caisson was drifting round, and a handsome vessel was floating in, her funnel backed against the grey darkness and her spars in a ghostly silhouette. The name I heard on several sides roused in me a faint curiosity. It was the stranger I had observed, the _Sea Queen_, the subject of the stevedores' pleasantries. "A pretty boat," said I to my neighbour. "What is she?" He shook his head. "_Sea Queen_ out of Hamburg," he said, "and a pleasure yacht from the look of her. But what she does here beats me." The caisson closed, and the steam-yacht warped up slowly to the pier. There was little or no noise on her, only a voice raised occasionally in an authoritative command, and the rattling of chains that paid out through the donkey-engine. Idly I moved to the stone quay when the gangway was let down, but only one man descended. The passengers, if there had been any, had long since reached town from Tilbury, saving themselves that uninteresting trudge up the winding river-lane. I moved on to where a steamer was being loaded under the electric lights, and watched the same for some time with interest; then, taking out my watch, I examined it, and came to the conclusion that if I was to see any patients that evening at all I must at once get back to my unpalatable rooms. I began to go along the pier, and passed into the shadow of the _Sea Queen_, now sunk in quiet, and drab and dark. As I went, a port-hole in the stern almost on the level of my eyes gleamed like a moon, and of a sudden there was an outbreak of angry voices, one threatening volubly and the other deeper and slower, but equally hostile. It was not that the altercation was anything astonishing in human life, but I think it was the instantaneous flash of that light and those voices in a dead ship that pulled me up. I stared into the port-hole, and as I did so the face of a man passed across it 'twixt the light and me; it passed and vanished; and I walked on. As I turned to go down to the gates I was aware of the approaching fog. I had seen it scores of times in that abominable low-lying part of the town, and I knew the symptoms. There was a faint smell in the air, an odour that bit the nostrils, carrying the reek of that changeless wilderness of factories and houses. The opaque grey sky lost its greyness and was struck to a lurid yellow. Banks of high fog rolled up the east and moved menacingly, almost imperceptibly, upon the town. For a moment there were dim shadows of the wharves and the riverside houses, with a church tower dimmer still behind them, and then the billows of the fog descended and swallowed up all. I moved now in a blackness, but bore to the right, in which direction I knew were the dock sheds and safety. I seemed to have been feeling my way for a long time--quite ten minutes--and yet I did not come upon anything. I began to be seized with the fear of a blind man who is helpless in vacancy. Had I left the basin in my rear, or had I somehow wandered back towards it, and would another step take me over into the water? I shrank from the thought of that cold plunge, and, putting out my stick on all sides, tapped and tapped, and went on foot by foot. I was still upon the stone, when I should have reached the sheds, or at least have got upon the earth again, with the roadway running to the gates. Angry at my own folly for lingering so long about the ships, I continued cautiously forward, trying each step of the way. Presently I heard a sound of footsteps before me, and then a voice raised in a stave of song. There followed a loud oath and the splash of a heavy body in water. Plainly the basin was, then, in front of me, and some one had fallen in. The poor wretch was doomed to drown in that horrid and impenetrable darkness. I shuddered at the thought of that fate, and moved faster under the whip of impulse. The next moment I brought sharply up against a stone post by which ships were warped in and fastened. Below was the water, and now I could hear the sound of splashing, and a voice raised in a cry of terror. Round the post was coiled a heavy rope which I loosened as rapidly as was possible and began to lower over the edge of the basin. "This way," I called; "make this way. Here is the pier," but the splashing continued, and a smother of sound came to me, as if the swimmer were under water, and his voice stifled. Almost without thinking, I gripped the thick, tarry rope and let myself over the basin, until I had reached the surface of the water. "This way," I called; "if you can get here, I can save you." The noise seemed to come from some little distance out, and now I was in the water myself, with the cable in my hand, striking out feverishly and awkwardly in the direction of the struggling man. I came upon him in a dozen strokes, and the first news I had of him was a kick in the shoulder that almost tore me from my rope. The next moment I had him by the collar and without more ado was retracing my way, towing a violent mass of humanity behind me. It was only by dint of hard work and by propping him in my arms that I at last landed him on the pier, and then I succeeded in following myself, very sore and stiff and cold. The first words that sprang from the prostrate figure on the quay were some incoherent oaths, which ultimately took form. "Curse Legrand, curse him!" "Come," said I; "if you are well enough to swear you are well enough to travel, and we are both of us in a case for treatment." "I can't see you," said a voice, in a grumbling way, "but you saved me. Pull along, and I'll do my best to follow. Where the dickens are we?" I groped and helped him to his feet. "Give me your arm," said I; "we can't afford to go in again, either of us." "Were you in too?" he asked stupidly. "Well, what do _you_ think?" I replied with a little laugh, and began to walk, this time, determinately at right angles from the basin. He said nothing more, but hung on my arm pretty limp, as we struggled through the darkness, and presently we both fell over a bale of goods. "So far so good," I said, picking him up; "we must be in the neighbourhood of the sheds. Now to find them, and creep along in their protection." We struck the buildings immediately after, and I had no difficulty in working my way to the end. That took us to dry ground, or, at least, to the sloppy ground at the bottom of the docks. By good fortune we now hit upon the roadway, and it was to me a delight to hear the ring of the hard macadam under our squelching boots. I was now almost cheerful, for I was sure that I could not wander from the road, and, sure enough, we were advertised of our position and heralded all the way by the meagre lamps at intervals. Soon after we reached the gates, which were opened by my friend. He peered into our faces. "It was a call, sure enough," said I, laughing. "And here's my patient." When we got into the road the fog had slightly lifted, and I had less difficulty in picking my way home than I had anticipated. Once in the surgery, I turned up the lamp and poked the fire into a blaze, after which I looked at my companion. It was with a sense of familiarity that I recognised his face as that which I had seen flitting across the port-hole of the _Sea Queen_. He sat back in the chair in which I had placed him and stared weakly about the room. The steam went up from both of us. "Look here," said I, "if we stay so, we are dead or rheumatic men"; and I went into my bedroom, changed myself, and brought him some garments of my own. These he put on, talking now in the garrulous voice I had heard on the yacht, but somewhat disconnectedly. "It's awfully good of you ... a Good Samaritan," and here a vacant laugh. "I wonder if these things.... How did I go over? I thought I was going straight. It must have been that infernal fog.... Where the dickens are we?" "You are in my house," said I, "but you might be at the bottom of the basin." "Good heavens!" he said, with a laugh. "I feel mighty shivery. Don't you think a drop of something----" I looked at him closely. "I think it wouldn't be a bad idea in the circumstances," I said. "Oh, I know I had too much to carry!" he said recklessly. "It made me quarrel with that wretched Legrand, too--a fat-headed fool!" I rang for water, and mixed two hot jorums of whisky, one of which he sipped contentedly. "You see, we had a rousing time coming over," he observed, as if in apology. I looked my question, and he answered it. "Hamburg, in the _Sea Queen_. The old man skipped at Tilbury, and Barraclough's a real blazer." "Which accounts for the blaze I saw," I remarked drily. "Oh, you saw that. Yes, it was that that made Legrand mad. He's particular. But what's the odds? The boss has to pay." His eyes roamed about the shabby room--shabby from the wretched pictures on the walls to the threadbare carpet underfoot, and, though he was not a gentleman, I felt some feeling of irritation. Perhaps if he had been a gentleman I should not have been put out at this scrutiny of my poverty. "You saved me, and that's certain," he began again. "Say, are you a doctor?" I admitted it. "Well, can you recommend another glass of toddy?" he asked, smiling, and his smile was pleasant. "In the circumstances again--perhaps," I said. "Oh, I know I played the fool," he conceded. "But it isn't often I do. I must have gone off in the fog. How did you get at me?" I told him. "That was plucky," he said admiringly. "I don't know two folks I'd risk the same for." "There wasn't much risk," I answered. "It was only a question of taking a cold bath out of season." "Well!" he said, and whistled. "There's white people everywhere, I guess. Business good?" The question was abrupt, and I could not avoid it. "You have your answer," I replied, with a gesture at the room, and taking out my cigar-case I offered him one. He accepted it, bit off the end, and spat it on the floor, as if preoccupied. His brow wrinkled, as if the mental exercise were unusual and difficult. "The _Sea Queen_ is a rum bird," he said presently, "but there's plenty of money behind. And she wants a doctor." "Well," said I, smiling at him. "We left a Scotch chap sick at Hamburg," he continued. "The boss is a secret beggar, with pots of money, they say. We chartered out of the Clyde, and picked him up at Hamburg--him and others." "A pleasure yacht?" I inquired. "You may call it that. If it ain't that I don't know what it is, and I ought to know, seeing I am purser. We've all signed on for twelve months, anyway. Now, doctor, we want a doctor." He laughed, as if this had been a joke, and I stared at him. "You mean," said I slowly, "that I might apply." "If it's worth your while," said he. "You know best." "Well, I don't know about that," I replied. "It depends on a good many things." All the same I knew that I did know best. The whole of my discontent, latent and seething for years, surged up in me. Here was the wretched practice by which I earned a miserable pittance, bad food, and low company. On the pleasure yacht I should at least walk among equals, and feel myself a civilised being. I could dispose of my goodwill for a small sum, and after twelve months--well, something might turn up. At any rate, I should have a year's respite, a year's holiday. I looked across at the purser of the _Sea Queen_, with his good-looking, easy-natured face, his sleek black hair, and his rather flabby white face, and still I hesitated. "I can make it a dead bird," he said, wagging his head, "and you'll find it pretty comfortable." "Where are you going? The Mediterranean?" I asked. "I haven't the least idea," he said with a frank yawn. "But if your tickets are all right you can bet on the place." "I'm agreeable," I said, in a matter-of-fact voice. "Good man!" said he, with some of his former sparkle of interest. "And now we'll have another to toast it, and then I must be off." "Don't you think you'd better stay here the night?" I asked. "I can put you up. And the fog's thicker." "Thanks, old man," he replied with easy familiarity, "I would like a roost, only I've got an engagement. I wired to some one, you know." And he winked at me wickedly. "Very well," said I. "If you have an appointment, I would suggest that we leave over the toast." "You're right," he said ingenuously. "But it was a nasty bath. All serene. I'll fix that up. By the way," he paused on his road to the door, "I haven't your name." "Nor I yours," I answered. "Mine's Richard Phillimore." "Mine's Lane," he said. "Qualified?" "M.B. London," I replied. "Good for you. That'll make it easier. I suppose I can go in your togs." "You're welcome," I said, "though they don't fit you very well." "Oh, I'm a bit smaller than you, I know, but all cats are grey in the dark, and it's infernally dark to-night! Well, so long, and I'm much obliged to you, I'm sure." He swung out of the door with his free gait, and I stopped him. "One word more. Who's your owner?" "The boss? Oh, Morland--Morland, a regular millionaire." With that he was gone. CHAPTER II IN THE "THREE TUNS" The next day I had a full round of visits to make, so that I had little time to think over the adventure of the previous evening. On Saturday I made my way, as usual, to the West End, and spent the afternoon in luxury, basking in the renewal of my self-respect. I had leisure then to reflect, and, although the more I considered the less appeared the likelihood of any advantage to myself derivable out of Lane's promise, yet I allowed myself the satisfaction of certain inquiries. No one in the club had heard of Morland, the millionaire, and the _Sea Queen_ was unknown to my yachting friends. Moreover, no Morland appeared in the "Court Guide." Still, it was quite possible, even probable, that he was an American; so that omission did not abash me. It was only when I rehearsed the circumstances in bald terms that I doubted to the point of incredulity. I had fished up a tipsy fellow, of a loose good-nature, who, under the stimulus of more whisky, had probably at the best offered more than he was entitled to do, and who, at the worst, had long since forgotten all about his Good Samaritan. The situation seemed easy of interpretation, and in the warmth of my pleasant intercourse with my companions I presently ceased to ponder it. Yet, when I arrived at my house and opened the letter that awaited me, I will confess that I experienced a thrill of hope. It was from Hills, a firm of solicitors in Lincoln's Inn Fields, and, premising that I was a candidate for the post of doctor in the SS. _Sea Queen_, requested me to call on Monday at three o'clock. This looked, so to speak, like business, and I attended at the address with my mind made up and clear. If I was offered the position I would take it, and so cut my cable. I had to wait some time in an ante-room, but presently was ushered into the presence of one of the partners, an amiable, business-like man, with the air of a country squire. "Dr. Phillimore?" he queried introductively, and I assented. "Please sit down, will you. You are anxious to take position of doctor on the _Sea Queen._" He consulted some note before him. "I see. Your name has been mentioned to my client in this connection. I assume you are fully qualified?" I told him the facts and referred him to the "Medical Year-Book." "Moreover," I added, "I have no doubt, if a recommendation were necessary, Sir John Wemyss, of Harley Street, would be willing to write to you." "Sir John Wemyss," he echoed reflectively. "Oh, yes, the cancer man. Let me see, he was President, wasn't he, of the College of Surgeons?" "Yes, some years ago," I answered. "A good man," he declared with a friendly air of patronage. "Well, I don't suppose there would be any difficulty on that score if Sir John will write. My client is a prudent man, and would naturally like to have the best advice available. Moreover, he is quite willing to pay for it. There is, of course, that question," and he looked at me as if inviting my suggestion. I laughed. "Really I have no views, only that naturally I should like as large a salary as is compatible with the circumstances." "Very well, Dr. Phillimore," said he, nodding. "I daresay we can arrange that too. You are young yet, and the position might lead----" He broke off, as the baize door on his left opened noiselessly. "What is it, Pye?" The clerk bent down and whispered to him. "Oh, very well! It's opportune in a way. Will you ask Mr. Morland to be good enough to come in?" The little clerk went out with his neat walk, and the solicitor rose. "I shall be able to introduce you to my client, who is the owner of the _Sea Queen_," he said, with a certain change of voice, and quickly went forward to the outer door. "How do you do, Mr. Morland?" he exclaimed, with a cheerful deference, such as was due to the presence of wealth. "I was just engaged on a little matter of yours. I hope you came right up. These dull offices go so much by routine. It was the question of a doctor, sir." As he spoke he indicated me, and for the first time I saw Mr. Morland. He was a man of thirty-five, of middle height, slightly disposed to stoutness, but with a fine carriage, and with a bronzed, good-looking face, rendered heavier for the dull expression of his blue eyes. His hair, which was short and worn _en brosse_, after a foreign fashion, was straw-yellow. "Is it the doctor?" he asked, after a glance at me, and though he spoke excellent English, there was also something a little foreign in his accent. "Well, sir, we haven't reached that point yet," said the lawyer, smiling. "This is Dr. Phillimore, whom you wished me to----" "Ah, yes," said Mr. Morland, and he put out a hand mechanically. "You will arrange it," he said to the other, with an air of command. "Most certainly, sir, but I thought you would like to see, being on the spot----" "No, there is only one thing. You know anything of throats?" he asked suddenly. I told him I had studied under a specialist at the hospital, as it happened. In these days we doctors are compelled to take special courses in order to keep march with the times. "That is right," he said, nodding, and the smile that came upon his face turned the eyes bluer. He looked quite handsome. "We must all keep step with the times. I will look to you to arrange it," he added again to the lawyer, and seemed to wait for my dismissal. The solicitor bowed me sharply from the room, for was not his millionaire client in waiting? And I went down the stairs. It was now past four, and as I came out into the Square I saw before me the little lawyer's clerk who had entered the room and had been called Pye. He was talking amiably to another man, and as I passed smiled at me through his pince-nez. "You saw Mr. Morland?" he asked in a friendly way. "Yes," I said, and looked at the stranger. There seemed no necessity to say more. "It is odd that you should encounter here, gentlemen," said Pye, adjusting his glasses, "and yet I suppose it isn't. Mr. Holgate, this gentleman is the future doctor of the _Sea Queen_." "Oh, dear me, it isn't settled," said I, with a laugh. Pye beamed at me. "I think I know my chief's face," he said. "It's my business to interpret him, particularly when he can't interpret himself." The other man laughed lazily. He was a man with a big body, and a face round and gross in proportion, heavy-lidded eyes, and an imperturbable expression. "This is Mr. Holgate, the third officer," said Pye, by way of introduction, and somehow or other we began to walk in the direction of Holborn. When we had threaded the Great Turnstile the little clerk hesitated and swung round. "I was going to drink a glass of wine with Mr. Holgate. Perhaps you would join us, sir?" "Gladly," said I, for I had made up my mind to take tea before returning to Wapping, and somehow my interview had inspirited me. I took a sanguine view of my chances, for all my words to Pye. Moreover, I have always been interested in my fellow-creatures, and, finally, I was in the mood for a glass of something. Enters this trio, then, into the "Three Tuns" presently, and sits to a table in comfortable chairs, with the clatter of the street falling, like rain, on the senses, and the bright flare of gas among the dark barrels. There was about the place an odour of good-fellowship and of peace that pleased me who had not visited these haunts for years. Little Pye turned his pince-nez on me as the attendant advanced. "What'll you have, doctor?" he asked. I hesitated. "I suppose it must be port," said I; "port is more palatable and no more noxious in such places than any other wine." "Any port in a storm, in fact," said the little man, looking at me quizzically. "For my part----" said Holgate, in his stuffy, fat voice. "Port, you should say," interposed Pye with brisk wit. He smiled at his smartness and his eyes seemed to challenge me to respond. "There's nothing to beat spirits--and sound rum for choice, but as they won't have it here, I'll take brandy," continued the third officer. He lighted a cigar and began to smoke, examining everything within eyeshot attentively but with indifference. I think, except for the first glance he had bestowed upon me, that he had completely ignored my presence. Little Pye put up his glass. "I drink," said he, "to a prosperous voyage, Mr. Holgate, and to pleasant companions." "Prosperous voyage," said the third officer wheezily, and I murmured something to the same effect. "You say the old man's velvet," said Holgate, resuming his puffing. "Well," said Pye, beaming through his glasses, "I wouldn't go so far as to say it, but he looks it. He looks kid-glove." "I hate 'em," growled Holgate. "I've seen that kind on the ferry--all airs and aitches, and frosty as a berg." "Well, of course, it would be much more satisfactory to be sailing under a real Tartar," remarked the little man with mild pleasantry. Holgate cast him a glance which inquired, but was indifferent. "What's your idea, doctor?" he asked. "I have none," said I, smiling. "I am much more interested in third officers." His masklike face relaxed, and he stroked his black moustaches, and took a long pull of his cigar. "That was very nice of you, doctor," he said, nodding with more cordiality. Pye drew an apple from his pocket, and carefully bit into it. I don't know why, but it struck me as comical to see him at this schoolboy business, his ears alert, his glasses shining, and his white teeth going to and fro. He reminded me of a squirrel, a fancy to which the little tufts of whiskers by his ears lent themselves. He eyed both of us brightly. "After all," said the third officer heavily, "it's more important in the end to know your owner, let alone his travelling with you. I wouldn't give two straws for the old man, velvet or iron, so long as I could get the lug of my owner." "You'll find them both all right," said Pye reassuringly. "Captain Day I have seen and Mr. Morland I know." "He is very rich?" I asked. "I'll trouble you for a two and a half commission on it," said the clerk cheerfully, "and then I'd live like a fighting-cock. At least, that's what we all believe. There's no knowing." The shadows of the November afternoon had gathered in the streets without, and a thin scant rain was flying. Into the area of warmth and brightness entered more customers, and shook the water from the umbrellas. They stood at the bar and drank and talked noisily. Round about us in the loom of the great barrels the shadows lurched from the wagging gas-flames. The clerk had finished his apple. "We will have another," said Holgate. "This is mine," I said. He shook his head. I protested. "Doctor, you confess you live in doubt," he said, "whereas I have my appointment in my pocket. Plainly it is my right." "I think that's a fair argument, doctor," said Pye. "I am in both your debt," said I lightly. "For company and wine." "I'm sure we shall owe you both many a time yet," said the third officer civilly. At the table near us two men had sat and were talking even as we, but one had a half-penny paper, and turned the flimsy thing about, I fancy in search of racing news. "You see there is no doubt about you----," began Pye amiably, and suddenly dropped his sentence. In the unexpected silence I caught some words from the other table. "Well, it's good pluck of him if he wants to marry her. What's the odds if he is a Prince? Live and let live, I say." Pye's little squirrel head turned round and he stared for a moment at the speaker, then it came back again. "You are uncommonly polite," said Holgate irritably. "I'm sorry. I thought I recognised that voice," said the little man sweetly. "One gets echoes everywhere. I was going to say we took you for granted, doctor." "It's good of you," said I. "But will Mr. Morland?" "I can practically answer for my employer; I can't say anything about Mr. Morland, who has, however, authorised us to appoint." "The yacht is from Hamburg?" said I. "I believe so," said he. "And its destination?" "That knowledge is quite out of my province," said the squirrel briefly. When one came to think of it, it was almost a snub, and I had never any patience for these legal silences. As he shut his jaws he looked a man who could keep a secret, and knew his own mind. Yet he had been so easily familiar that I flushed with resentment. Confound these little professional tricks and solemnities! We were meeting on another ground than lawyer and client. "I dare say it will be within the cabin-boy's province to-morrow," said I, somewhat sharply. "Very likely," he assented, and Holgate, who had turned at my tone, exchanged a glance with him. "Mr. Pye is fond of keeping his own counsel," said the third officer in his slow voice, "and I'm not sure he isn't right, being a lawyer." "But he isn't a lawyer here," I protested. Pye smiled. "No; I'm not," he said, "and please don't remind me of it"; at which we all laughed and grew friendly again. "Well, this is a funny sort of tea for me," said the clerk presently. "I generally patronise the A.B.C.," and he rose to go. Holgate did not move, but sat staring at the fire, which shone on his broad placid face. "I knew a man once," he observed, "who kept his own counsel." "I hope he was a lawyer," said Pye humourously. "No; he was a steward--the steward of an estate in the North. In the hills was the wealth of a millionaire; coal, doctor," Holgate looked at me. "And he kept his counsel and held his tongue." "With what object?" I asked. "Oh, a little syndicate succeeded in buying it from the owner, and now it's a seven-figure affair." His face had no expression of inquiry or of inviting comment. He had simply stated history, but I was moved to say flippantly, "What luck!" "The steward got it?" asked Pye. "He romped in," said the third officer. "And will presently be a baronet," said I lightly. "Stranger things have happened," he remarked, and began to smile. I fancy we all smiled, though it was not, of course, altogether humourous. "Is that called robbery?" asked Holgate. "I doubt if the law covers it," said Pye. "No; it's quite an innocent transaction." "What is robbery?" I asked cynically. "Lawyers may feel their way amid the intricacies, but no one else can hope to. I'm stealing now when I take these matches." "I will follow your example," said Holgate, and did so. "I'm not sure that that's not perks," said little Pye with his quizzical glance. "Well, is it perks if I buy a picture from you for ten bob which I know to be worth £1,000?" inquired Holgate. Pye considered. "I give it up," he said. "Which only proves," said I, continuing my mood, "that it takes a good capercutter to move in and out moral sanctions." "I don't believe I know what that means quite," said Holgate, giving me the full charge of his steady eyes. I stooped and warmed my fingers, for the cold blast of the streets was forbidding. "Well, the most famous people have been those who have successfully performed the egg dance between commandments," I remarked. "I suppose they have," said Holgate thoughtfully. I rose abruptly, and in the glass above the mantelpiece the two figures behind me came into vision. The little clerk's eyebrows were elevated in a question, and the men faced each other. Holgate's lips were pursed and he nodded. I saw this in the flash of rising, and then I turned about. "I shall get a wigging," said Pye, seizing his umbrella. We walked out and I bade them good-bye after a civil exchange of amenities; then I took an omnibus down Chancery Lane and made for the Underground. As I travelled back, my thoughts circled about the situation; I was glad to have made the acquaintance of one or more of my shipmates, if, of course, I was to join the company. Holgate puzzled me for a third officer, until I reflected that in these days every officer had a master's licence. Yet that this man should not by the force of his evident individuality take higher rank in life surprised me. What, however, was of most immediate concern to me was the extreme friendliness of my two companions. Lane was well enough in his way, and certainly had shown his goodwill; but Holgate was more than this to a lonely man with an appetite for society. Holgate was intelligent. I found a few patients waiting, and disposed of them by eight o'clock, after which I strolled down to the docks, in spite of the drizzle. I have said that I am interested in my fellows, and, in addition, I confess to a certain forethought. I walked down to the docks with the deliberate intention of acquiring some information about the _Sea Queen_, if that were possible. I knew the name of the owner, or at least of the man who had chartered her; I had the name and acquaintance of one or two of the company; but I knew nothing as to her destination, her properties as a boat, or her time of sailing. Some of this ignorance I hoped to remedy by my visit. And it seemed that I was in the way to do so from the start. For no sooner was I on the quay in the neighbourhood of the yacht than I came upon a handsome young man in the dress of a superior sailor, with whom I fell into talk. He was outspoken as a child, but volunteered nothing of his own initiative--an amiable, sluggish, respectful fellow who was, as he stated, quartermaster on the _Sea Queen_. I confessed my interest in her, at which he indulgently supplied me with information. "I signed on at Glasgow, sir--and most of us too--and we picked up Mr. Morland at Hamburg--him and the ladies." "The ladies!" I echoed, for here was a surprise. "Yes; two ladies what came with him--Miss Morland and another lady, a dark one," said my friend. "Oh!" said I. "Then you're off for a pleasure cruise." "I hardly know, sir," said he. "They do say New York, but I haven't heard definite." That looked in favour of my theory of Mr. Morland as an American. He was perhaps a Trust King, and Miss Morland a vivacious "beauty" from Chicago. Here my companion suggested that I might care to have a look at the yacht. "My friend," said I, "you mustn't let me take you on false pretences. I may be your doctor, and I may be not." "Oh, that's all right, sir," said he easily. "It can't do no harm. We're only loading up with provisions, and there's no mess about." We ascended the gangway, and entered the dark ship, which was singularly silent. He had already the sailor's affection for his floating home, and pointed me out one or two points for admiration which I understood but ill, as they were technical. As we were peeping into the saloon, a man passed us and stopped sharply. "That you, Ellison?" he asked in a harsh voice. "Who's that?" "Only a gentleman having a look round. He's to be doctor," said the quartermaster. The man made no reply, but stared at me, and then went on swiftly. "Rather abrupt," I commented, smiling. "Oh, that's nothing. It is only his way," said the good-natured fellow. "He's the boatswain." "Is Mr. Morland an American?" I asked. "I don't know, sir. I've hardly seen him. We signed on at Glasgow with a little slip of a fellow representing Mr. Morland--glasses and side-whiskers." "That would be Mr. Pye," I said. "Very likely. Would you like to take a squint at the engines? Mr. McCrae is on board." He led me, without waiting for answer, towards the engine-room, and called out, "Mr. McCrae!" which brought presently a little, red-faced, bearded man from the depths. "This gentleman wants to know what you can do," said my friend, by way of introduction. The engineer nodded towards me. "We can make eighteen," he said, wiping his hands on a greasy piece of rag. "Eighteen at a pinch, but I keep her going steady at fourteen." "A good boat!" said I. "Aye, tolerable," he said, and pulled out a sheet of paper, which he began to peruse under the slender light. "This now's another slap in the eye for the Emperor," said McCrae, "this business of the Prince." "What is it?" I asked. "I haven't seen the papers to-night." He rapped his knuckles on the newspaper. "This Prince Frederic of Hochburg kicking over the traces. I tell ye I'm real sorry for the old man. I pity him, Emperor though he be. He's had his sup of troubles." "But I don't understand what this new one is," I said. McCrae was not above explaining. "Well, y'see, this Prince Frederic is the heir to the Duchy of Hochburg, and he has taken up with some singer, and swears he'll resign his inheritance and marry her. That's where the mischief is. Not that the man's not right," proceeded the Scotchman, warming, evidently, to his opinions. "For why should Princes be exempt from the disposition of Providence. Let him come forward like a man, and, ye'll see, he'll gain the univairsal sympathy of Europe for his honesty." "It certainly increases the Emperor's difficulties," I said. "For with a vacancy at Hochburg, and the Pan-German movement in full swing----" "Aye, ye're a student of political affairs," broke in the engineer in his broad Glasgow accent. "And I'll not say there isn't something to be said at the present juncture of European politics. But, man, the principle's all wrong. Why is a man, no better than you or me, to ride over us, whether it be riches, or kings, or emperors? It's the accident of birth, and the accident of riches, that dictates to us, and I'm thinking it ought to be set right by legislation." "Well, we are getting along to the Millennium famously," said I, jestingly. "The Millennium!" he said, with a contemptuous snort. I think Ellison was pleased to see us getting on so pleasantly in argument, as he was responsible for the introduction, and he now ventured on a statement in the hopes, no doubt, of cementing the acquaintanceship. "This gentleman's coming along with us, Mr. McCrae," he said. The engineer looked at me. "I have put in for doctor, but it's by no means certain," I explained. "Oh, well, we'll hope it is," he said affably, and to the quartermaster: "Ellison, this gentleman'll, maybe, take a finger of whisky to his own health--and ours," he added, with a relaxation of his grim face at his jest. "Ye'll find a bottle in my cabin." So when the quartermaster had returned, once more I had to drink to the success of my application. It appeared that the _Sea Queen_ was peopled with amiable spirits, if I excepted the boatswain; and as I went over the side I congratulated myself on having already made the acquaintance of two more of my shipmates on a friendly footing--if I were destined to the appointment. On my way home it struck me that I had already heard of the affair of Prince Frederic. The remark of the man at the next table in the "Three Tuns" must have referred to the scandal, and as I reflected on that, I could see in my mind's eye the little clerk's head go round in a stare at our neighbours. CHAPTER III MADEMOISELLE TREBIZOND Pye had interpreted his employer's face correctly, and Lane had not boasted unduly. On Wednesday evening I received a letter appointing me to the position of doctor, and at the same time informing me of my remuneration. This was well enough, as it chanced; though not on too liberal a scale, it was yet sufficient to meet my wants, and mentally I cast myself adrift from Wapping with a psalm of thankfulness. The _Sea Queen_ was to sail on Friday, and so I had little time left; yet by a lucky chance I was enabled to dispose of my practice "on the nail," to use a convenient colloquialism, and, with that adventitious sum of money, equipped and fortified myself for my voyage. I paid two preliminary visits to the yacht, but found no one of importance on board, and it was not until the actual afternoon of our departure that I made the acquaintance of any more of my shipmates. We warped out of the docks, and dropped down the river unexpectedly, the captain on his bridge at intervals, and the pilot all the time, and at ten o'clock we reached Gravesend, where we anchored in the stream. It was blowing hard of a cold night, and the wind was peppered with sleet; a depressing proem to our unknown voyage. We swung at anchor there until Mr. Morland came aboard with his friends, and we left on the turn of the tide about midnight. I did not see Mr. Morland arrive, as I was busy in the forecastle with a man who had met with a trivial accident. It was Lane who informed me that the "butterflies were come" and we might spread our wings. Lane I had encountered for a few minutes in the afternoon, when he smilingly saluted me. "Well, what price me?" and hurried off ere I could answer him or thank him, as this form of salutation seemed to require. But he had more leisure at supper, to which he invited me in his cabin. "We chaps have the benefit of a pleasure yacht, doctor," said he, winking, "and you bet I'm not purser for nothing. Blame me if I sup with that crew until they shake down a bit. Barraclough's all right, and a gentleman, but I can't stand Legrand or Holgate." "I've met Mr. Holgate, and thought him intelligent," I ventured. Lane emitted scorn. "Intelligent! He's a bladder of peas, and thinks himself a monarch. Precious little swank about him, if he can help it. He's fly enough there. Well, a tot won't hurt us now. I can tell you I've been hustled." He had recourse to a decanter of whisky. "This is the real stuff. I took care of that. Legrand can do on two-bob vitriol for all I care. He don't know the difference. Well, the boss's aboard and his crowd, and we're off, and here's fortune, doctor." The toast was irreproachable, and I put down my glass and reverted to his phrase. "His crowd?" "Yes, his sister and the other lady--rippers both. I saw them when they came aboard at Hamburg." "And now can you tell me where we're going?" I asked. "I don't know," said Lane carelessly. "I hope we're running out of this beastly weather--that's all." "I merely engaged for twelve months," I put in. "Same here, and that's good enough," said Lane. "I'll ask the old man to-morrow if his prickles don't stand up too thick. Here she goes, doctor." When I left the purser I turned in, for the night was shrewd and discomfortable enough to bar romantic thoughts on leaving the English coast. Besides, we were bound down channel, and should keep company with our native cliffs the whole of the next day. It would be time to wave a farewell when we passed the Lizard. The quarters in the _Sea Queen_ were roomy. I was berthed aft with the other officers, and Mr. Morland's rooms and the cabins of the two ladies were on the upper deck, ample in appearance from the outside, and no doubt furnished luxuriously. The guests had the run of a fine saloon also, on the lower deck, as well as a music-gallery which ran round it, and there was a boudoir, as I heard, attached to the ladies' compartments, as well as a private room to Mr. Morland's. Breakfast was mainly interesting as introducing me practically for the first time to my companions. We were then abreast of the Isle of Wight, and were keeping well away towards France. The chief officer I now, to my astonishment, discovered to be a man of title. Sir John Barraclough was a tall, loose-limbed, good-looking man of thirty something, with a blue eye, and a casual manner. He nodded at me amiably and continued his talk with Legrand, the second officer, who was dark and high-coloured, with a restless expression of face. Lane threw a jocular greeting across the table to me, and I shook hands cordially with Holgate, whom I now saw for the first time since I had come aboard. Presently Barraclough turned to me. "Glad to see you, doctor," he said in an indifferent manner. "Hope it's goin' to be a fine cruise." I had just echoed his wish formally when the captain made his appearance from the deck. Captain Day was a most fastidious-looking man, with a brown Vandyke beard and a flow of good manners. Seeing me and Holgate there as the only strangers, he singled us out at once with quite the right degree of friendliness. "Glad to make your acquaintance, Dr. Phillimore. This your first voyage? I hope we'll make a happy family." But having thus condescended briefly, he relapsed into silence and shortly afterwards left us. "There's too much condemned R.N.R. about the old man," confided Lane as we went on deck, "but he's all right." It was on deck that I met with my surprise, for the first person my eyes fell on was no other than Pye, the little lawyer's clerk. "I never expected to see you here," I told him. "Well, you see, I did expect to see you," he replied in his self-satisfied little way. "I'm here to represent Mr. Morland for the time being." "Oh," said I, "then you can tell us all where we are bound for, for no one seems to know." He considered a little. "I shall be able to tell you shortly, I have no doubt," he said at last. "At present Mr. Morland alone knows. Perhaps even he doesn't," he added with his smile. "I don't like that little buffer," declared Lane grumpily as we walked on. "He is too fussy and by-your-leave-please for me. Made me get out all my books yesterday, as if I were an office-boy." "He feels responsible, I suppose," I ventured. "Well, who's responsible if I'm not?" demanded the purser hotly. "I've been at sea fifteen years, and this brat hasn't so much as been sick in the _Marguerite_, I'll lay. Let him look after his own books. I'm all right." It was quite manifest that Lane was decided in his likes and dislikes, as his unreasonable objection to the second officer had already discovered to me. The passengers were not visible during the morning, but in the afternoon I received a message calling me to Mr. Morland's cabin. I found him seated before a bureau with a docket of papers before him, and he was civil and abrupt. "Is there anything you can recommend for sea-sickness, Dr. Phillimore?" he asked bluntly. I told him of several remedies which had been tried, and mentioned cocaine as probably the best, adding that I had little faith in any of them. He thought a moment. "Prepare me some cocaine," he said, and with a bow intimated that he had done with me. It was civil as I have said, but it was also abrupt. He had the air of a martinet and the expression of a schoolmaster who set his pupil a task. But I made up the doses forthwith and let him have them. Later I saw two figures walking upon the hurricane promenade, one of which I easily made out as Mr. Morland, and the other was a woman heavily cloaked in fur. A strong breeze was beating up channel, and as they stood and faced it the woman put her hand to her hat. But for the most part they walked to and fro, sometimes in conversation, but often in silence. Once, at eight bells, I noticed, from my point of observation, the woman stop, lean across the railing, and point towards the coast of France, which was fast fading into the gathering mists. She seemed to speak, her face turned level with her shoulders towards the man. He put out a hand and snapped his fingers, and they presently resumed their promenade. The sun had gone down, and darkness was settling on us; the _Sea Queen_ ploughed steadily westward, her lights springing out one by one, and the figures on the hurricane deck were presently merged in shadow. As I leaned over the stern, reflecting, and contemplating now the dull wash of the water about the screw, I was conscious of some one's approach. "Well, doctor," said the cheerful voice of Pye, "have you had a good look at our passengers?" "Mr. Pye," said I, pleasantly enough, "I am a man of moods. And I have lived long in silence and routine as no doubt you yourself also. I find occupation even in my own thoughts." "You are well equipped for the sea," he rejoined. "I'm not sure about myself. You see, I'm a Londoner, and I shall miss those peopled spaces. Here there's nothing but----" he waved his hand. "At all events. I see you're a respectable sailor," I said, "which, apparently, others are not." His silence seemed to inquire of me. "I gave Mr. Morland a prescription for sea-sickness this afternoon." "That would be for one of the ladies," he made answer; "he is evidently firm on his legs, and--and his companion. I suppose I may tell you that his companion is his sister," he said after a pause. "Well, yes," I replied drily, for his precautions jarred on me. "For I suppose we shall discover the mystery in the course of the next twelve months." "Mystery!" he repeated musingly. "I suppose I am by training somewhat circumspect. It's difficult to get out of it. But there's no mystery. Mr. and Miss Morland have brought a friend with them." "If there's no mystery," I said, "the friend?" "I have not heard her name," he replied, "or at least, if I have, I have forgotten. It is a friend of Miss Morland's. I believe she is a French lady." The dusk had enclosed us, but through it I perceived some one hurriedly approaching. "Is it the doctor?" said the steward's voice, and I answered in the affirmative. "You're wanted at once, sir. Mr. Morland has sent for you." I moved off quickly, and had got half-way down the deck when a woman came forward noiselessly through the gloom. "Dr. Phillimore," she said, "I want you to see to Mlle. Châteray at once. She is very ill." I entered the state rooms without further question, hurried down the handsome corridor, and under Miss Morland's guidance found the cabin. Certain constitutions are peculiarly affected by the sea, and it is even undertaking a risk for some people to travel on that element. Clearly it was, as Pye hinted, for the French lady that my prescription had been required. Outside the cabin in the corridor I encountered Mr. Morland, who exhibited a troubled face unusual to one of such apparent equanimity. But he said nothing, only looked at his sister and turned away. Inside I found a blue chamber, roomy and well lighted by electricity, an elegant broad bed affixed to the one wall, and upon it, stretched in the most wonderful _déshabille_, my patient. Mlle. Châteray was of middle height, of a pleasant fulness, and dark of feature. She had large eyes that, as I entered, were roaming in a restless way about the room, and her voice was lifted sharply abusive of her maid, a mild Frenchwoman who stood by her. "She is in a state of collapse, Dr. Phillimore," said my guide's voice in my ear. I knew better than that. It was hysteria, or I had never seen hysteria, and the _mal-de-mer_ had been merely provocative. I took her hand without ceremony, and, wheeling on me her lustrous eyes, she broke out in torrential French. She would die if she remained there. They were beasts to keep her there. Why was she not put ashore at Havre? Havre was a port, as every one knew, and there were ports not only in England. I had a kind face and would do as she bade me.... Very well, then, let her be put ashore. She began to tear at her elaborate dressing-gown, and I was afraid of one of those outbreaks which are known as _crises des nerfs._ I took her hands firmly. "You shall be put ashore as you wish," I said, "and in the meantime, while the yacht is going about, you will drink what I give you. It will comfort you." She gazed into my eyes, ceasing to struggle, and then said more quietly: "Yes--yes, give it me quick." It was a case for bromide, and I turned away at once to go to my surgery. "You will lie exactly as you are, mademoiselle," I said peremptorily, "until I return." I left the cabin and descended, and I think I was not gone more than ten minutes. When Mlle. Châteray had taken the draught, I turned to her maid: "She will be quieter now," I said. "Let me know if anything further develops," and I moved towards the door. Miss Morland stood in my way. For the first time I observed her. Her cloak had fallen from her, leaving her fine figure in the full illumination of the light. Her head was set well back above the eloquent lines of a strong throat and the square shoulders underneath. The lace over her bosom stirred with her breathing, and to my fancy at the moment she was as a statue into which life was flowing suddenly. I saw this before I met her gaze, and the calm beauty of that confirmed my fancy. She moved then and opened the door for me. "You have promised she shall be landed?" she said in a low voice. "Madam, I would promise anything in such a case," I answered. A faint smile passed over her face, for we were now outside the cabin and in the ladies' boudoir. "You can promise relief, then, I understand?" she queried. "She will probably be all right to-night, though I cannot say the hysteria will not recur," I replied. An expression flitted over her face, but whether it was of pity or annoyance I could not have said. "My brother will not put the yacht about," she said. "I'm not going to ask him," I rejoined. "I thank you, doctor," said she simply, "and so will he." "It is my business," I responded indifferently. She had spoken with distance, even coldly, and with the air of condescension. There was no necessity to thank me at all, and certainly not in that way. Bidding her good evening, I went down again, and as I went a problem which had vaguely bothered me during my administrations recurred, now more insistently. There was something familiar in Mlle. Châteray's face. What was it? I spent some time in the surgery, and later joined the officers at dinner. Captain Day wore a short dinner-jacket like my own, but the others had made no attempt to dress. Perhaps that was the reason why the captain devoted his attention to me. His voice was that of a cultivated man, and he seemed to converse on the same level of cultivation. He made a figure apart from the rest of the company, to which little Pye was now joined, and as I looked down and across the table (from which only Holgate was absent on duty) their marvellous unlikeness to him struck me. Even Sir John Barraclough and Lane seemed by comparison more or less of a piece, though the first officer ignored the purser quite markedly. Captain Day, I discovered, had some taste in letters, and as that also had been my consolation in my exile in Wapping, I think we drew nearer on a common hobby. I visited my patient about nine o'clock, and found her sleeping. As she lay asleep, I was again haunted by the likeness to some one I had seen before; but I was unable to trace it to its source nor did I trouble my head in the matter, since resemblances are so frequently accidental and baffling. Pye had invited me to his room earlier in the day, and I went straight to him from the deck cabin. To find Holgate there was not unpleasing, as it seemed in a way to recall what I almost began to consider old times--the time that was in the "Three Tuns." Pye mixed the toddy, and we smoked more or less at our ease. I spoke of my patient, in answer to a question, as one suffering from sea-sickness. "What's she like?" inquired Holgate. "I should say handsome," I rejoined. "I understood from Mr. Pye that she is French." "I think I heard so," said Pye, "but you could tell." "Well, she spoke French," I said with a smile. Pye's smile seemed to commend my reticence, but Holgate, ignoring the obvious retort on me, pursued a different subject. "Upon my soul, I envy people like those millionaires. Here am I working like a navvy for a bare living, never been able to marry; Pye probably in the same case; and you, doctor?" "No; I'm a bachelor," I answered. "Well, take us three--no doubt in our different walks every bit as capable as Mr. Morland on his Wall Street, or wherever it is. It isn't a righteous distribution of this world's goods." "It is odd," said I, speaking my thoughts, "how you came to take up this life." "The sort of blunder," said Holgate, "that is made in three cases out of four. I hankered after it in my teens, and once out of them it was too late. Who is going to adapt a youth of twenty-one, without capital, to a commercial life, or a legal life, or a medical life? There is no changing the dice. When the hands are dealt you must abide by them." "Yes, we are all waifs," said I sententiously, not being greatly interested in the argument. "When I came back from my last voyage," pursued Holgate, "I was in Paris for a bit, and went into the Comédie one night, and----" I never heard the rest of Holgate's reminiscence, for the word regarding the theatre suddenly sent a message to my memory and lighted it up instantaneously. I said aloud, and with some excitement, "Trebizond!" Holgate ceased talking, and Pye removed his cigarette hastily. "What, may we venture to ask, is Trebizond?" he said presently. I smiled foolishly. "Oh, it is only that I have made a discovery," I said, "a small discovery." Again there was silence. "Perhaps we are worthy to hear it," suggested Holgate equably. Pye still held his cigarette between his fingers and looked at me out of his gold-rimmed glasses. "Oh, nothing much," said I, and glanced at my watch. "I'm sorry, I must see my patient safe for the night. I'll look in again." I left them and went upstairs, knocking on the boudoir door. Miss Morland opened it. "Mlle. Châteray is still sleeping," she said formally. "I will leave a dose with her maid," I replied, "so that if it be necessary it may be given in the night." "You will, of course, be in attendance if required," she said coldly. I bowed. "I am paid for it, madam," I answered, though I must confess to a hostile feeling within my heart. "I think, then, that is all," she said, and I took my dismissal at the hands of the arrogant beauty with an internal conflict of anger and admiration. I did not return to Pye, but went to my own cabin in an irritable condition. It ought not to have mattered to me that the sister of a millionaire, my employer, should treat me more or less as a lackey; but it did. I threw myself on my bunk and took down a book at random from my little shelf. Out of its pages tumbled an evening news-sheet which I now remembered to have bought of a screaming boy as I hurried into the dock gates on the previous afternoon. I had not had time to look at it in my various preoccupations, but, after all, it was the last news of my native land I should have for some time, and so I opened it and began the perusal. It was one of those half-penny journals which seem to combine the maximum of vulgarity with a minimum of news. But I passed over the blatant racing items and murder trials with less than my customary distaste, and was rambling leisurely through the columns when I was arrested by a paragraph and sat up briskly. It was the tail that interested me. "... It is stated that Prince Frederic is in London. The name of the lady who has so infatuated him is Mlle. Yvonne Trebizond, the well-known prima donna." I had recalled the name Trebizond during Holgate's talk, and it seemed strange now that this second discovery should fall so coincidently. The face of Mlle. Châteray had taken me back, by a sudden gust of memory, to certain pleasant days in Paris before I was banished to the East End. I had frequented the theatres and the concert-rooms, and I remembered the vivacious singer, a true _comédienne_, with her pack of tricks and her remarkable individuality. Mlle. Châteray, then, was no other than Yvonne Trebizond, and---- I looked down at the paper and read another sentence, which, ere that illumination, had had no significance, but now was pregnant with it. "The prince has the full support and sympathy of his sister, Princess Alix." I rose abruptly. I can keep my own counsel as well as a lawyer's clerk, but I saw no reason in the world for it now. I had left my glass untouched and my cigar unlit in Pye's cabin. I went back forthwith to finish both. The pair were still seated as if expecting me. "Patient all right, doctor?" inquired Holgate. I nodded. "Mr. Pye," I said, "I find my discovery has amplified itself. When I was here it was of small dimensions. Now it has grown to the proportions of a--well, a balloon," I ended. Both men gazed at me steadily. "Out with it, man," urged the third officer. "I have your permission?" I asked the lawyer's clerk, smiling. "When you have told me what it is, I will tell you," said he, gravely jocose. I put the paper in Holgate's hands, and pointed to the paragraph. He read it slowly aloud and then looked up. "Well?" he asked. "I am going to tell you something which you know," I said, addressing Pye. "The lady in the deck cabin is Mlle. Trebizond." Holgate started. "Good Heavens!" he exclaimed, but Pye was quite silent, only keeping his eyes on me. "I recognized her, but couldn't name her," I went on. "Now it has come back to me." "Which means, of course," said Pye unemotionally, "that Mr. Morland is----" "The Prince," said Holgate with a heavy breath. Pye resumed his cigarette. "With all these sensations, my dear Holgate," he remarked, "I have forgotten my duty. Perhaps you will help yourself." Holgate did so. "Good Heavens!" he said again, and then, "I suppose, if you're right, that we carry Cæsar and his fortunes. He has got off with the lady and the plunder." "The plunder!" I echoed. He indicated the paragraph, and I read now another sentence which I had overlooked. "The prince has expressed his intention, according to rumour, of marrying as he chooses, and as he inherits more than a million pounds from his mother, he is in a position to snap his fingers at the Empress. In that case, no doubt, he would follow precedent, and take rank as an ordinary subject." I looked up at Holgate. "We carry Cæsar and his fortune," he said with a smiling emphasis on the singular, and then he waved his arm melodramatically. "And to think we are all paupers!" and grinned at me. "It is inequitable," said I lightly; "it's an unjust distribution of this world's goods," echoing therein his own remark earlier in the evening. Pye sat still, with an inexpressive face. His admirable silence, however, now ceased. "So we shall have this gossip all over the ship to-morrow." "No," said I curtly, for the suggestion annoyed me. "It is nothing to me. I told you because you knew. And I told Mr. Holgate----" I paused. "Because I'm your chum," said the third officer. I did not contradict him. I had spoken really out of the excitement of my discovery. Certainly I had not spoken because Holgate was my chum. CHAPTER IV AN AMAZING PROPOSITION As I had said, it was no business of mine, and, having divulged my news, I was in no haste to go about with it like a common gossip. That Prince Frederic of Hochburg was Mr. Morland, and that Miss Morland was Princess Alix, I was as assured as that I had identified in my patient the well-known Parisian singer Yvonne Trebizond. But, having made the discovery, I promised myself some interest in watching the course of the rumour. It would spread about the ship like fire and would be whispered over taffrails, in galleys, and in stokehole. But, to my surprise, I could observe no signs of this flight of gossip. No one certainly offered me any communication on the subject, and I observed no curiosity and no surprise. The mess conducted itself with equanimity, and nothing was hinted of princes or of emperors, or of mysterious secrets. No facts ever hid themselves so cunningly as these obviously somewhat startling facts, and I wondered at the silence, but still held my tongue. Mademoiselle continued to give me trouble during the next day, but that was more in the way of unreasonable demands and petulance than through hysteric exhibitions. She did not repeat her request to be landed, which was now quite impracticable, as we were well out in the Atlantic, but she referred to it. "Where are we, doctor?" she inquired languidly, and I told her; at which she considered. "Well, perhaps it is worth it," she said and smiled at me confidingly. Of Mr. Morland I saw little, for he was shut in his cabin a great part of the day, reading or writing, and smoking without cessation. And he walked regularly on the hurricane deck with his sister. Once I encountered him in mademoiselle's room, and he nodded. "She is getting well, doctor; is it not so?" he asked in a pleasant way, and exhibited a tenderness in his words and manner to mademoiselle which I should not have associated with him. Of his sister I saw even less, except in the distance, but her, too, I met in her friend's room. Mademoiselle was talkative that day, the second of my attendance on her, and spoke of things with a terrifying frankness, sometimes in bad English, but oftener in her own tongue. She rehearsed her sensations during sea-sickness, criticised Miss Morland, and asked me about Barraclough, whom she had seen passing by her window once or twice. "Sir John," she said, speaking pretty broken English. "Then he is noble. Oh, comme il est gentil, comme il est beau!" and as quickly fell to cross-questioning me on my parentage and history. It was in the thick of this that Miss Morland made her entrance. I do not know if it be a confession of weak-mindedness, or even of snobbishness (I hope not), but the fact was that since I had discovered Miss Morland's identity I did not judge her coldness and aloofness so hardly. I am disposed to think it was merely a reasonable attitude on my part produced by the knowledge of her circumstances, and what I set down as her trials. She bowed to me, and addressed some words to mademoiselle which, sympathetic in their import, were yet somewhat frigid in tone. Mademoiselle replied laughing: "You are very good, my dear, but I am progressing. We are sailing into the land of romance and will find what we shall find there." I lingered beyond what was necessary, and thus it happened that Miss Morland and I left the cabin together. Outside she spoke: "Is there any likelihood of a recurrence of the attack?" "I don't think so," I answered. "But Mlle. Trebizond is a nervous subject." It was the look in her eyes that made me suddenly realise my indiscretion. A light flashed in them, almost as if she would have struck me. "Mlle. Châteray is almost well enough to dispense with a doctor's services," she said with an accent on the name. "You must allow me to be the judge of that," I replied flushing. She was silent. "Naturally," she said at last, and turned away. The newspaper had stated that Princess Alix was sympathetic to her brother's attachment, but was she altogether so? I could not but attribute her coolness and her reticence to some scruple. She walked daily with her brother, and it was evident that she was fond of him, or why was she here? But how much of personal prejudice and of private conviction had she sacrificed on that pious altar? I was sure that if the news of our passengers were bruited about at all I should hear of it from Lane, who was a gossip at heart; and as he said nothing I knew that Holgate had been silent--why, I could not conceive, unless Pye had gagged him. But in any case it appeared that Holgate also could keep his own counsel and hold his tongue. That he could speak I had yet to realise, as the astonishing narrative I am now approaching demonstrates. It was the evening of our fifth day out, and the long swell of the Atlantic was washing on our port side, so that the _Sea Queen_ heeled over and dipped her snout as she ran. I had misgivings for my late patient, whom I had not seen for the last thirty-six hours, although she had made an appearance on the hurricane deck in a chair. Holgate asked me to his cabin with his customary urbanity, saying that he wanted a few words with me. Once the door was shut he settled down on his bunk and lit a cigar. "Help yourself, doctor," he said. I declined and remained standing, for I was anxious to get away. He looked at me steadily out of his dark eyes. "Do you know where we're going, doctor?" he asked. "No," said I, "but I should be glad to." "I've just discovered," he replied; "Buenos Ayres." I told him that I was glad to hear it, as we should run into better weather. "I couldn't just make up my mind," he went on, "till to-day. But it's pretty plain now, though the old man has not said so. Any fool can see it with the way we're shaping." He puffed for a moment or two and then resumed: "I've been thinking over things a bit, and, if your theory is correct, Mr. Morland is to marry the lady at Buenos Ayres and probably make his home there, or, it may be, in some other part of America. A capital place for losing identity is the States." I said that it was quite probable. "But as the yacht's chartered for a year," pursued Holgate evenly, "the odds are that there's to be cruising off and on, may be up the west coast of America, may be the South Seas, or may be Japan. There's a goodly cruise before us, doctor." "Well, it will be tolerable for us," I answered. "Just so," he replied, "only tolerable--not eighteen carat, which seems a pity." "Shall we strike for higher wages?" I asked drily. "I've been thinking over what you said, doctor," said the third officer, taking no heed of this, "and it's gone home pretty deep. Prince Frederic has cut himself adrift from his past--there's no getting behind that. The Emperor has thrown him up, and there's no one outside a penny-a-liner cares two pinches for him or what becomes of him. He's done with. The Chancelleries of Europe won't waste their time on him. He's negligible." "Well?" said I, for I was not in the mood for a political discussion. "Well, suppose he never turned up?" said Holgate, and leaned back and stared at me. "I don't understand," said I. "I don't suppose he will turn up. As you say, he's done for." "I mean that the ship might founder," said Holgate, still holding me with his eye. I was perplexed, and seeing it, he laughed. "Let us make no bones about it," he said, laying down his cigar. "Here's a discarded prince whom no one wants, sailing for no one knows where, with his fortune on board and no one responsible for him. Do you take me now?" "I'm hanged if I do," I replied testily, for indeed I had no thought of what the man was driving at. But here it came out with a burst. "Doctor, all this is in our hands. We can do what we will. We're masters of the situation." I opened my mouth and stared at him. The broad swarthy face loomed like a menace in the uncertain light before us. It was dark; it was inscrutable; a heavy resolution was marked in that thick neck, low brow, and salient chin. We eyed each other in silence. "But this is monstrous," I said with a little laugh. "You have not brought me here for a silly jest?" "It's God's truth I haven't, doctor," he replied earnestly. "I mean what I say. See, the prince carries away a million, and if the prince disappears the million belongs to those who can find it. Now, we don't want any truck with dismounted princes. We're playing for our own hand. I know you take sensible views on these matters. I admit it makes one blink a bit at first, but stick on to the idea, turn it round, and you'll get used to it. It spells a good deal to poor devils like you and me." "You must be mad," I said angrily, "or----" He interrupted me. "That's not my line. I'm in dead sober earnest. You hold on to the notion, and you'll come round to it. It's a bit steep at first to the eye. But you hang on to it like a sensible man." "Good Heavens, man," said I, "are you plotting murder?" "I never mentioned that," he said in another voice. "There are several ways. It don't do to take more risks than you want. A ship can be cast away, and parties can be separated, and one party can make sure of the boodle. See?" "I only see that you're an infernal ruffian," I replied hotly. His countenance did not change. "Hang on to it," he said, and I could have laughed in his face at the preposterous suggestion. "You'll warm to it by degrees." "You are asking me to join in wholesale robbery at the least?" I said, still angrily struggling with my stupor. "I am," he answered, and he leaned forward. "D'you think I'm entering on this game wildly? Not I. I mean to carry it out. Do you suppose I haven't laid my plans? Why, more than half the men are mine. I saw to that. It was I got 'em." He placed a large hand on my shoulder and his eyes gleamed diabolically in his set face. "They'll do my bidding. I command here, sir, and damn your Captain Day. I'll take 'em to Hell if I want to." I shook off his hand roughly. "I may tell you," I said in as cool a tone as I could assume, "that I am going straight on deck to the captain to retail this conversation. You have, therefore, probably about ten minutes left you for reflection, which I hope will bring you consolation." Holgate got up, and without undue haste threw open the large port, through which streamed the clamour of the water. "I guess I've misunderstood you," said he quietly, "and it isn't often I make a mistake." He lifted his lip in a grin, and I could see a horrid tier of teeth, which seemed to have grown together like concrete in one huge fang. "It is in my power, Dr. Phillimore, to blow your brains out here and now. The noise of the sea would cover the report," and he fingered a pistol that now I perceived in his hand. "Outside yonder is a grave that tells no tales. The dead rise up never from the sea, by thunder! And the port's open. I'm half in the mind----" He threw the weapon carelessly upon the bunk and laughed. "Look you, that's how I value you. You are mighty conscientious, doctor, but you have no value. You're just the ordinary, respectable, out-of-elbows crock that peoples that island over yonder. You are good neither for good nor ill. A crew of you wouldn't put a knot on a boat. So that's how I value you. If you won't do my work one way you shall another. I'll have my value out of you some way, if only to pay back my self-respect. You're safe from pistol and shark. Go, and do what you will. I'll wait for you and lay for you, chummie." I stood listening to this remarkable tirade, which was offered in a voice by no means angry, but even something contemptuous, and without a word I left him. I went, as I had promised, at once to the captain, whom I found in his cabin with a volume of De Quincey. "Well, doctor," said he, laying down the book, "anything amiss? Your face is portentous." "Yes, sir," I answered. He motioned me to a chair, and waited. "I suppose you're aware, sir, that you have on board Prince Frederic of Hochburg and his sister," I began. "Indeed, I'm nothing of the sort," said he sharply. "What on earth is this nonsense?" If I had not had such important information to lay before him I might have been abashed. As it was, I proceeded. "Well, sir, it's a fact. Mr. Morland is the prince. I have known it some days, and would have held my tongue but for imperative necessity. Mr. Pye knows it, and Mr. Holgate." "This is most astounding," he began, and paced nervously about the cabin. "I say Mr. Holgate because I come about him," I pursued. "He has just made the most shameless and barefaced proposal, which amounts to a plot to wreck the ship and make off with the prince's property, which is supposed to amount to a great deal." Captain Day sat down heavily. "Upon my soul, Dr. Phillimore," he said, "I shall begin to ask myself whether it is you or I who is mad." "That is exactly the sort of question I asked myself a few minutes ago," I replied. "And I've been able to answer it only on the supposition that your third officer is an amazing scoundrel." There was the pause of some moments, during which he studied my face, and at last he went to the bell. "Very well," he said more calmly, "we can settle it one way, I suppose." And when the steward appeared, "Ask Mr. Holgate to come to me at once." He sat down again, fidgeted with his book, opened it, endeavoured to read, and glanced at me in a perplexed fashion, as if he distrusted his eyesight; and so we remained without a word until a knock announced some one at the door, and the next moment Holgate, large, placid and respectful, was in the cabin. "Mr. Holgate," said Captain Day in his most particular voice, "I have just heard the most remarkable statement by Dr. Phillimore. Perhaps you will be good enough to repeat it, Dr. Phillimore," and he glanced askew at me. I did so bluntly. "This man," I said, "has proposed to me within the last ten minutes that I should join a plot to cast away the ship and seize the property of--of Mr. Morland." Day looked at his third officer. "You hear, Mr. Holgate?" he said. "What have you to say?" A broad smile passed over Holgate's fat face. "Yes, sir," he said coolly, "it is just as Dr. Phillimore says, but the whole thing was a mere spoof." "I should be glad if you would explain," said Day icily. "Well, the doctor's not exactly correct," said Holgate, still smiling, and he had the vast impudence to smile at me. "For what I proposed was to seize the property of Prince Frederic of Hochburg, I think it is." "Ah!" said Day, letting the exclamation escape softly through his lips, and he cast his nervous glance at me. "You see, sir, the doctor has got some cock-and-bull tale into his head," went on Holgate easily, "about Mr. Morland being Prince Frederic, and the ladies I don't know whom, and so I suggested that, that being so, we should take care of the prince's millions for him, and get a tidy sum all round. I daresay it wasn't a very funny joke; indeed, I thought he would have seen through it all along. But I suppose he didn't. The doctor's rather serious." I started up. "Captain Day," said I, "this man lies. The proposal was serious enough, and he knows it. Mr. Morland is Prince Frederic. I should advise you to ask Mr. Pye." "So be it," said Day, with a gesture of helplessness, and thus Pye was summoned to the strange conclave. Day took up his book again. "Pray sit down, Mr. Holgate," he said politely; "this is not the criminal dock yet," which seemed to augur badly for my case. The little clerk, on entering, fixed his glasses on his nose more firmly with two fingers and cast an inquisitive look at us. "Mr. Pye," said the captain, in his impeccable distant voice, "I am informed that Mr. Morland is not Mr. Morland, but some one else, and I have been referred to you. Is this so?" Pye glanced at me. "Mr. Morland is the name of the gentleman for whom my firm is acting," he said suavely. "And not any one else?" said Day. "Not according to my knowledge," said the clerk. "Not according to his instructions, sir," I burst out indignantly. "He knows the facts, I'm certain. And if not, I can prove my point readily enough." "The point is," said Day drily, "whether Mr. Holgate is guilty of the extraordinary charge you have preferred." "Well, sir, it is material that I acquainted him with the identity of Mr. Morland in Mr. Pye's presence," I replied hotly, feeling my ground moving from under me. Day looked at Pye. "That is true, sir," said the clerk. "Dr. Phillimore stated in my presence that he had discovered that Mr. Morland was--I think he said Prince Frederic of Hochburg." Day was silent. "I think this is pretty much a mare's nest," said he presently, "and I really don't know why I should have been bothered with it." I was furious with Pye and his idea (as I conceived it) of legal discretion. "Very well, sir," said I somewhat sullenly, and turned to go, when the door of the cabin opened and there entered Sir John Barraclough with his customary _insouciance_. "It seems, Sir John," said Day, in his ironic tones, "that not only have I the honour of a distinguished baronet as first officer, but also a prince as cargo." There was, as I had gathered, little love between the captain and his first officer. Barraclough laughed. "Oh, you've just tumbled to it," he said. "I wonder how. But it was bound to leak out some time." I never saw a man more astonished than Day. He leapt to his feet. "Good God!" he said. "I seem to be the only one who doesn't know what's going on in my ship. Is this part of the jest?" Barraclough in his turn showed surprise, but it was Holgate spoke. "Is it true, Sir John? It can't be true," he cried, opening his mouth so that the horrid tooth demonstrated itself. Barraclough looked at Pye, who was mum. "I suppose this gentleman is responsible for the news," he said. "No, sir, I have said nothing," retorted Pye. "I can't pretend to judge other professions than my own," said the captain stormily, "but I'm inclined to think I might have been taken into the confidence. Think where it places me. Heavens, man, what am I in my ship?" "I think the--Mr. Morland perhaps had better answer that question," suggested Barraclough with a little sneer. Day moved some papers with a hand that trembled. "That will do then," he said shortly. "Good evening, gentlemen. I've no desire to detain you any longer." "But----" said I. "Silence, Dr. Phillimore. I command this ship," he cried angrily, "or at least I'm supposed to. You can settle your differences with Mr. Holgate elsewhere." I shrugged my shoulders and left the cabin, a very angry man. In his vanity the fool had refused to consider my charge. And, yet, when I looked at this business more deliberately and from a little distance, I could not deny that Day had some excuse. Holgate's story was remarkably natural. The captain would judge of the third officer's incredulity by his own, and would be therefore willing to accept the story of the "spoof." But then he had not seen Holgate's face, and he had not heard Holgate. Even I was staggered by the turn things had taken, though infuriated by my treatment. And it did me no good to see Holgate's face smiling at me as I went down the gangway. "Oh, doctor, doctor, are you a Scotchman?" he whispered; at which I would have turned on him savagely, but held myself in and passed on and was silent. I have always found the value of caution. CHAPTER V THE WOUNDED MAN Well, the whole affair had been a considerable farce, in which I had played the most humiliating part. Indeed, but for the interposition of Barraclough I must have come out of it the butt of all shafts. As it was, I was sensitive in regard to my position, and more than once was tempted to see myself as I must have appeared to others. But after all they had not gone through the scene with Holgate, and were not witnesses to his astounding perfidy. I was angry with every one, with myself, with the captain, and, above all, with little Pye. In the universal surprise that came of the discovery of Mr. Morland's identity, my shame, so to speak, was covered, but I felt myself the mark of ridicule, from Holgate's cynical smile to the captain's open neglect of me. I turned on the lawyer's clerk in my fury, and gave him some home truths about solicitors and their ways; to which, however, he listened unabashed. "Doctor," said he, "do you suppose a man in my position is his own master? You are welcome to know what you will about my own affairs, but I have my professional secrets to guard. What would be thought of me had I come aboard blabbing of my firm's clients fore and aft? It would have been a betrayal of confidence." There was, of course, something in this, but the argument did not allay my irritation; it merely directed it elsewhere, so that I began upon the third mate. He heard me quietly. "Mr. Holgate can answer for himself," he replied, "but it seems to me, if I may say so without offence, doctor, that you are misinterpreting a somewhat elaborate joke. Mr. Holgate's explanation is reasonable enough, and besides, the only other explanation is monstrous--inconceivable!" "I agree with you," I said shortly, "and so I say no more." He cast a shrewd glance at me, but made no comment. Now, it was quite conceivable that Holgate should have made me a derisive object in the ship, but, on the contrary, he did nothing of the sort. The charge I had made against him did not leak out at the mess-table. Day, Holgate and Pye were aware of it, and so far as I know it went no further. This somewhat astonished me until I had some light thrown upon it later. But in the meantime I wondered, and insensibly that significant silence began to modify my attitude. Had he known me in the fulness of my disposition he would probably have spoken; but as it was he had other plans to follow. One of these seemed to include a reconciliation with myself. His quizzical smile disappeared, and he shook his head at me solemnly at table. "Doctor," said he, "that Scotchman's head!" "I am not a Scotchman," I retorted impatiently. "Well," he breathed heavily, "I will admit it was a very bad joke." I was on the point of replying that it was not a joke at all, when I recovered my temper. After all, it is trying to the temper to sit opposite to a man whom you know to be a prime ruffian, however impotent his aspirations may be. Since I had unveiled his plot, even though no credence was given it, still Holgate was harmless. But, as I have already said, I am a man of precautions and I held my tongue. I think he had taken me only for a man of impulse. "I must confess I do not see the joke," I answered. "Now you come to insist on it, and shed the cold light of reason on it, no more do I," he said with a laugh. "Jokes are very well behind the footlights." I shrugged my shoulders. "Think what a fool I look!" I said coldly. His friendliness increased. "My dear fellow," he said, bending over to me, "I give you my word I've held my tongue. I thought of that. I didn't know you'd take it so seriously." "Your profession should have been the stage," I answered. He nodded. "Low comedian. I wish I had. They make good salaries, I believe, instead of beggarly----" "Oh, you have the prince's boodle," I said lightly. He laughed. "So I have." "And I'll be hanged if I apologise," I said. "I have suffered enough from the mistake." "Quite right, doctor," said he gravely, "I would not apologise to a bishop, let alone a third officer." With that apparent advance to an understanding we parted, and I did not set eyes on him again until the abrupt events that brought about the conference in the cabin. If my personal appearance on the matter did not get out, at least the tale of the prince's identity passed swiftly from mouth to mouth. The whole ship's company was agog with interest, an interest which increased during the next two days. Sir John Barraclough expressed to me his opinion of Day's behaviour very roundly, for the captain had icily withdrawn into himself, and spoke as little as possible to his first officer. "The man's a fool to take it this way, Phillimore," he said. "Does he suppose it was my doing? I happened to know, but, of course, it was not my secret." This, too, was Pye's excuse for silence, and it was obviously adequate. But as the baronet's evidence of friendliness was thus betrayed in his confidence to me, I ventured on a question, which was not really inquisitive. "Oh, well, you see I've known the prince off and on some time. He and I yachted together before I lost my money, and he gave me this chance. He's a good sort." With which bluff and British indifference he terminated the conversation. I think that the mysterious aloofness of our passengers served to keep the interest warm. Had Mr. Morland and his party descended and been on show, so to say, before the company, it is probable that the bloom of surprise would have worn off with the contact. But they kept to themselves and the hurricane deck. Every morning and afternoon the prince and his sister took a prolonged walk together, and at times they were joined by my patient, who, however, in the better weather we were enjoying, reclined in her chair and took the sun. On these occasions Mr. Morland and his sister ceased their promenade and sat with their guest. Sometimes the full voice of Mlle. Châteray, or Trebizond, would come to us below, and occasionally her light laughter was heard, very musical to the ears. Speculations, it is not necessary to say, were rife among us. It was known we were set for Buenos Ayres, and it was taken for granted that there the Prince was to effect his morganatic marriage. But what was to happen afterwards? We were chartered for twelve months. That bespoke a cruise, and guesses flew about the ship. Lane, the purser, was the most in evidence in these discussions. He was an excitable man with a passion for talk and company, and he offered to lay me a certain sum that we should pull up in Yokohama. "As like as not paid off there. We've no contracts against it," he said in a fume. It was the attitude of McCrae, the chief engineer, that interested me in view of his professed opinions. He unfolded his mind to me one evening when we had been out some ten days. "It's like this, doctor. The man's sheer sick of courts and barbarisms, and he's in search of a healthy, independent life, which he needs, I'm thinking. That's to his credit altogether. But it's a wonderful thing, when you come to think of it, that one man like that should upset the politics of Europe, and a man that does not achieve it, mind you, but gets it by mere birth and chance. The paper said he had a million of his own. A fool could be independent on that, aye, and live healthy, too, if he weren't too much of a fool. But what right has a man with wealth like that, I ask you? As Mr. Holgate was saying yesterday, it's an insult to decent, hardworking men like you and me." "So that's Mr. Holgate's idea, is it?" said I, and mused. The engineer was proceeding in the strain when I saw the face of the boatswain jump suddenly into the dimness of the engine-room. It was a thin-lipped, gaunt face, lacking eyebrows, which added to the gauntness, and the general complexion was red to the shade of crimson. When his jaw was in repose it appeared as if the lower part of his face had been sucked up into the upper like a lid into its box. But now his jaw was open, disclosing a plentiful lack of teeth. "You're wanted, doctor," he said, in his abrupt voice. "There's been an accident forward." I left at once and followed him, asking some necessary questions. "I don't know exactly how it occurred," he said in answer. "One of the men, Adams, fell on something and it's drilled a hole in him." When we reached the man's berth he was surrounded by a number of the crew, whom I ordered off. "If I've got anything to do I don't want to be hampered," I said, "so clear out and leave Adams to me and the boatswain." When the place was clear, I made an examination, and found a wound under the shoulder-blade. It was not dangerous, but might well have been so. I sent for my bag and dressed it, the boatswain looking on. All the time I made no comment, but when I had finished I turned and met the boatswain's eyes. "That's a knife wound," I said, shortly. "Is it, sir?" he replied, and stared down at Adams. "How did it come about, Adams?" he inquired authoritatively. "I was larking along with Gray and ran up agen him," said the man, in a sullen voice. "I didn't see what he 'ad in his 'and." "More fool you!" said the boatswain angrily. "D'ye think I can go short of men for a lot of horse-play? All right, doctor? Nothing serious?" "No," said I, deliberating. "If the knife was clean there's not much harm done except that you go short of a man, as you say, for some days." The boatswain swore as politely as an oath can be managed. "I'll come in again later," I said. "Meanwhile keep him in bed." But on my next visit it was manifest that the wound was not such a simple affair, for the man's temperature had risen and he was wandering. He gave tongue to a profusion of oaths, which seemed to be directed, in the main, against Gray, but also included the boatswain, raised himself on his arm, and shook his fist in my face, muttering "my share," and "not a brown less," and something about "blowing the gaff." It was with difficulty that I completed my ministrations; but I did so, and gave the boatswain a dose to be given to the wounded man at once and another four hours later. It was entirely an involuntary omission on my part that I said nothing of returning. Nevertheless I did return only two hours later, and just before midnight. I had had the man removed to a disused cabin, and when I got there the door was locked. Angrily I went on deck and found the boatswain. "Pierce," I said, "the door of the sick-room is locked. What on earth does this mean? I want to see my patient." "Oh, he's all right, sir. He went to sleep quite easy. I asked one of the hands to keep an eye on him, and I suppose he's shut the door. But it isn't locked." "But it is," I said angrily. "The blockhead!" said the boatswain. "I'll get the key for you, sir, if you'll wait a minute." But I was not going to wait. I was making for the hatchway when I was hailed through the darkness by a voice: "Dr. Phillimore!" I turned, and little Pye emerged from the blackness. "I've been trying to get to sleep, but I've got the most awful neuralgia. I wish you'd give me something for it," said he. "In a moment," I said. "I've got to see one of the hands, and then----" "Oh, come, doctor, give us a chance," said Pye. "If you tell me what, I'll get it myself. Look here, would a dose of chloral do any good?" "My dear sir," said I drily. "Every man in these days seems to be his own doctor. Try it, and if it's only satisfactory enough, we'll have a beautiful post-mortem to-morrow." "Well," said little Pye, with a return of his native repartee, "it's precisely because I don't want to be my own doctor that I've come to you." That naturally was unanswerable, and I acknowledged the hit by prescribing for him. Then I went on my way. The door was open and the boatswain was waiting. He covered a yawn as I approached. "It was that fool, Reilly, sir," he explained. "He mucked my instructions." I nodded and proceeded to examine my patient. The boatswain seemed to have spoken the truth, for the man was as quiet as a log, save for the movement of the clothes when he respired. But it was that very respiration that arrested my attention. I felt his pulse, and I took the temperature. As I moved to examine the glass, Pierce's thin crimson face, peeping over my shoulder, almost struck upon me. The jaw was sucked into its socket. The temperature was still high, too high to allow of that placid sleep. I contemplated the thermometer meditatively. The port was shut, and the only sounds that broke the night were the dull beating of the screw and the duller wash of the waves against the side of the _Sea Queen_. The boatswain stood motionless behind me. "You are right," I said slowly. "He has gone off pretty comfortably, but I should like to see his temperature lower. However, the sleep will do him good, and I've no doubt I'll find him all right in the morning." As I spoke I turned away with a nod and passed out of the cabin. Once on deck, I paused to consider what I should do. Two things I knew for certain: firstly, that the knife-wound was no accident, for no mere horse-play could have resulted in such a deep cut; secondly, that Adams was under the influence of a narcotic. Who had administered it and why? I recalled the man's delirium and his wandering statements to which at the time I had paid little heed, and I thought I began to get the clue. I looked at my watch and found it half-past twelve. Every one, save those on duty, was abed, and the steamer ploughed steadily through the trough, a column of smoke swept abaft by the wind and black against the starlight. I sought my cabin, poured myself out a stiff glass of grog, and sat down to smoke and think. At two bells I roused myself and went on deck. How singularly still was the progress of the vessel! I heard the feet of the officer on the bridge, and no other sound in all that floating house. A figure like a statue stood out in the dimness by the chart-house, and I came to a pause. It turned, and I thought I made out my friend the quartermaster. "That you, Ellison?" I asked. "Yes, sir." "I want to look at that man Adams in the forecastle," I said. "Please accompany me, as I may need your assistance." I descended the ladder and went forward till I reached the cabin which I had used as a hospital, and turned the handle of the door. It opened, but the darkness was profound, and Ellison struck a match and lit the lamp. Adams lay in his bunk groaning faintly. I turned up his sleeve and examined him. The wound was inflamed, as I had expected, and it was not that which arrested me, but a mark on the arm above the elbow. It was the prick of the hypodermic syringe. My doubts were now certainties. As we stood there Adams opened his eyes, and struggled into a sitting posture. "No, my man," said I, "you must keep to your back." He stared at me, but allowed me to force him backwards, and continued to stare. "Adams, can you understand?" said I firmly. "Gray struck you with a knife?" "Between the shoulders, damn him," he growled sulkily. "Doctor, my head's bad--give me something to drink." I had come prepared, and I did so, and he fell back with a sigh, showing more signs of alertness. "You quarrelled?" I suggested, but he made no answer. "Look you here, my man," I went on sternly, "I know a good deal about this, and what you quarrelled over. It would be wiser, believe me, to be candid. Pierce had a hand in this." Still he was silent. I pulled from my pocket a syringe, and showed it to him. "Do you know what that is?" I asked. He shook his head, staring. "Well," said I, "it came pretty near finishing you off. You have had a heavy dose. I want to know who did it." I caught up his arm, and thrust the puncture under his nose. He still stared. "You were talking pretty wildly in your delirium, and had to be silenced. That was how it was done. If they can't silence you one way they will another. How much was your share to be?" The man's face worked in an ugly fashion, and he was at any time a repulsive creature. The glitter in his eyes spoke of fever. "The devil's own," he said hoarsely. "They wanted to cheat me of it, and I said I'd split. Damn Pierce, and Gray, and all!" "So you were going for the prince's cash-box, were you?" I said equably. "It's more than that," said he. "There's the treasure in the strong-room. That's their game." "Now I see you are sensible," I said, "and I can undertake to make you well and sound and happy provided you tell the truth." "Doctor, it burns like fire," he groaned. "I will see to that," I said. "What is the plot?" "I have cried off. That's why I got the knife," he said faintly. "But swear to God no harm'll come to me." "I promise you that," I said, nodding. "It's the boatswain's plot," he whispered, "and he has more'n half the men. They are going to rise ere ever we get to Buenos Ayres. But I was no party to their plans," he continued feverishly, and as if anxious to convince me, "that's why I've this knife, doctor, because I'm an honest man." I had more than my doubts of that, but I nodded again. "You have only done your duty in telling me, Adams," said I, "and I'll keep my promise, provided you hold your tongue about this. They have given you a dose of morphia, and it's lucky it wasn't bigger. If you do what I tell you, we'll have you right in a couple of days." I made him drink a draught I had brought with me, and, closing the door, left him. A passage led from here to the men's quarters, and as I came out, I signed to Ellison to be noiseless, and put out the light. Then we moved towards the hatchway. When we reached it I happened to glance round at Ellison, and through that brooding darkness, lightened only by a dim swinging lamp, I thought I saw a flitting shadow. But the next swing of the boat threw the light clear into the corner, and there was nothing. We emerged on the lower deck, and thence regained the quarterdeck. There was a bright light in the chart-room, and I led the way thither. I closed the door and turned on the quartermaster. His face was grey, and his hand trembled. "You heard?" said I. "Yes, sir," he replied, and hesitated. "But he's wandering, sir, ain't he?" "My man," said I, "I'm a doctor--leave that much to me. I only want to know if you heard. That is all your part. No, there is one thing more. What about the hands?" "They're a pretty mixed lot, sir, not exactly what I would call yacht hands, but----" "Were you engaged with them?" I interrupted sharply. "No, sir, Sir John he got me on. I've sailed with him before." "Thank the Lord for that," I said heartily, for I had begun to suspect every one. The voyage was a nightmare, I thought. "Who is the officer in charge?" I asked. "Mr. Legrand, sir," said Ellison. The second mate and I had had few exchanges. He was a reserved man, and devoted to his duty. Besides, as navigating officer he had his full share of responsibility for the safety of the ship. I moved out of the chart-house, leaving the quartermaster in a maze of bewilderment, and, I think, incredulity. The stars illumined the figure of the second officer on the bridge, and I stood in a little gust of doubt which shook me. Should I sleep over the new discovery? I had Ellison, a Didymus, for witness, but I was still sore from the reception of my previous news. I took the length of the deck, and looked over the poop where a faint trail of light spumed in the wake of the ship. Suddenly I was seized from behind, lifted by a powerful arm, and thrown violently upon the taffrail. It struck me heavily upon the thighs, and I plunged with my hands desperately in the air, lost my balance, and pitched over head foremost towards the bubbling water. As I fell my shoulder struck the bulge of the iron carcase of the vessel, and I cannoned off into the void, but by the merest chance my clutching hands in that instant caught in the hitch of a rope which had strayed overboard. The loop ran out with my wrist in it, and I hit the water. Its roar was in my ears, but nothing else, and when I rose to the surface the ship was thirty yards away. But the rope was still over my arm, and as soon as I recovered breath I began to haul myself slowly and painfully in. As it was, I was being torn through the water at the rate of from twelve to fourteen knots an hour, and in a very few minutes the chill which my immersion had inflicted on me passed away, giving place to a curious warmth that stole throughout my limbs, and enabled me to continue the onward struggle. I drew nearer foot by foot, the sea racing past me, and burying my face constantly in floods of salt water. But I was encouraged to observe the _Sea Queen_ was now perceptibly closer, and I clung and hauled and hauled again. My danger now was the screw, and I could hear the thumping of the steel blades below, and see the boiling pit under the stern by the vessel. If I hauled closer should I be dragged into that terrible maelstrom, and be drawn under the deadly and merciless machinery? I could see the open taffrail, through which the stars glimmered away above me. It seemed that safety was so near and yet so far. She rolled, and the lights of the port-holes flashed lanterns on the sea in that uprising. I raised my voice, helplessly, hopelessly, in a cry. I repeated this shout three times, and then I saw a man come and hang over the taffrail. Was it the unknown murderer, and did he look for his victim to complete his abominable job? As the thought struck me I was silent, and then I saw him stoop and examine the iron stanchions at his feet. Next I felt the rope being pulled slowly in. At this I shouted again, and he ceased. "The screw!" I called. "The screw!" He moved away to the port side and once more the rope began to move. Gradually I reached the side of the ship, about a dozen feet to port, and five minutes later I was safe on deck. "Good Lord, sir, what is it?" asked Ellison's voice in terror. "My arm is cut through, and one leg is near broken," I gasped. "Don't ask me more, but get me brandy." He returned in an incredibly short time, for if he was a man of leisurely British mind he was wonderful on his feet. I drank the raw spirit and felt better. "Now, do you believe?" I asked him. "You mean----" "That I was knocked overboard. I knew too much," I said sharply. "Don't stand staring, man. We don't know where we are, or what is afoot. Give me your arm and let us get to the bridge. Stay, have you any weapon?" "No, sir." "Any available?" "No, sir, not without waking the carpenter." "That is the usual British way," said I. "Believe nothing until it happens. Nothing does happen, does it? Nothing has happened, has it, Ellison? Well, we must chance it. At least we have stout fists. We made our way under the shelter of the saloon and smoking-room, and came to the steps of the bridge. I mounted with great difficulty, and Ellison followed. Legrand turned at our appearance and surveyed us under the gleam of his lamp with astonishment. "Mr. Legrand," said I, "I need not ask if you have weapons available, for I'm sure you have not. But you will need them." "What is't you mean?" he said sharply. "Mutiny and murder," said I. He went straight to the speaking-tube without a word, and called down to the engineer's room, "Mr. McCrae, will you personally bring me a couple of pistols, or any offensive weapon at hand. Iron bars will do--at once, please." This was a man after my own heart. I could have embraced him. He came back to me. "And now, doctor?" I told him. He was silent, and then brought out a string of expletives. "I mistrusted the filthy pack from the first," he said. "See what they give us to work with, sir--the scum of Glasgow and London; and none of us to have a say in the matter. I'd sooner go to sea with Satan than scum like that," he said fiercely. "As soon as I set eyes on them I knew we were in for it--but not this," he added, "not this by a long chalk." "There's one thing to be done," said I. "We'll do it now," he replied, his fury gone as suddenly as it came, and we descended the ladder. At the foot we met McCrae, very angry and sarcastic, wanting to know since when the deck was allowed to order the engine-room about like pot-boys, but a few words put him in possession of the facts, and I think, if any argument had been needed, my exhausted and dripping body would have sufficed. "The old man?" said he. Legrand nodded. CHAPTER VI THE CONFERENCE IN THE CABIN We opened the captain's door without knocking, but he was awake at once, and turned on the electric light. "What is this, gentlemen? Is it a raree show?" he inquired in his particular voice. "It is some information Dr. Phillimore has to impart, sir," said Legrand. Day's eyes narrowed. "Oh, I see Dr. Phillimore is taking part in some more theatricals," he said grimly. "And his costume seems suited to them." "I beg your pardon, sir," said I hotly. "If you would only listen instead of passing judgment we might get on." "I'm learning a lot this voyage," said Day with a sneer; "pray proceed." Again I told my story. Day got up in his pyjamas, an insignificant figure of a man without his important uniform. He might have been merely a member of Parliament, or a minor poet. But he had, with all his defects, the courage of his position and responsibilities. "This is a matter I feel unequal to alone. It has gone on too long," he said sharply. "It is time I knew where I stand." He left the cabin abruptly, and returned in a few minutes. "I have taken the liberty of inviting Mr. Morland's attendance," he said, "and have sent for Sir John Barraclough and Mr. Holgate. I will know once for all where I stand." "I beg you not Mr. Holgate, captain," said I. "And why not Mr. Holgate, sir?" he asked peremptorily. "Here is a report of conspiracy and mutiny you bring me, and I will have my officers in attendance to weigh it." "You will remember my former charge, Captain Day?" I said. "Well, sir?" he answered. "If my report to-night is correct, as I have a witness to prove, does it not shed some light on my former charge against Mr. Holgate? And is it, therefore, desirable that he should be here?" Day considered, and then he looked me up and down. "If I were a doctor, Dr. Phillimore," he observed with sarcasm, "I should advise you to change your clothes." "Oh, there is a more important matter than clothes," I replied angrily, "or should I be here? Is it for fun, do you suppose?" He turned from me without saying anything, but my words had their effect, for when the door opened and Holgate's face appeared Day said civilly enough, "I am sorry to have disturbed you unnecessarily, Mr. Holgate, but I find I shall not need you at present." The third officer's big face moved slowly on his bull neck and his eyes met mine. "Very well, sir," said he calmly, and there was nothing legible in his gaze. It was blank and insignificant, destitute even of curiosity. Barraclough arrived immediately afterwards, and on his heels--Mr. Morland, dressed as when he walked the hurricane deck daily, his somewhat dull face owning and manifesting a certain dignity. "I have asked you here, Mr. Morland," said Day at once, "because of certain rumours and mysteries and alleged discoveries which are in circulation. It is an untimely hour, but that is not my fault. Dr. Phillimore has brought me a story, which, if he is correct, is of vital importance to us. I should be glad, therefore, if you would answer a question. Are you Prince Frederic of Hochburg?" Mr. Morland's eyes lighted up. "I have employed you, sir," he began, "to work this ship----" "Pardon me, it is necessary," said Day with extreme politeness. "I hear a tale of conspiracy to rob my employer, who sails with me and whom I know as Mr. Morland, but who is stated to be Prince Frederic of Hochburg. I am justified, therefore, in asking if Mr. Morland is Prince Frederic; and if he has the money on board which the tale alleges. According to that answer must I shape my conduct." Mr. Morland drew himself up. "It is reasonable," he said, as if reflecting. "Yes, I am Frederic of Hochburg." Day's fingers trembled. "And the money?" he asked in a hard voice. "There is some money on board," said the Prince, looking round on our faces, and now I was surprised that I had not identified long since that guttural German accent. "But I should wish to know what this scene means, sir?" he said in a haughty voice. Day waved his hand at me. "I have learned to-night," said I, "by an accident, that there is a plot among the crew to seize the ship and its contents before reaching Buenos Ayres." For the third time I then told my story, to which my sodden garments were a genuine witness. The Prince listened to me with a frown. "I do not understand," said he. "I was led to believe that I was chartering a good vessel with a good captain and a crew for my cruise. I do not understand this." "Nor I," said Day, with a shrug of his shoulders. "I am not responsible for the crew. It was arranged by your agents, Mr. Morland." "Ah!" said the Prince shortly, and then, "But you tell me they have turned out to be pirates. This is ridiculous." "I must refer you to Dr. Phillimore, sir," said Day curtly. "As for me, if I had known what I know now, you would have sailed under another captain. I am too old for mysteries." Ignoring this, if he listened to it, the Prince turned on me. "Where is your evidence of this?" he asked, and his eyes fell on Ellison, who was plainly uncomfortable. "Ah! did what the doctor says happen?" "Yes, sir." "Then we must send for this man Adams," concluded his Royal Highness. "Let him be brought." I had in my hand during all this time the bar of iron which McCrae had brought. I gave it to Barraclough. "If you are going," said I, "take this. It may be needed." He looked at me with a lift of his eyebrows. "All serene," said he with a smile. "This seems a pretty show altogether. Come, quartermaster." Legrand went back to his bridge with a revolver in his pocket, and I was left with Mr. Morland and the captain. The former scrutinised me closely and deliberately, without regard to my feelings, while Day feigned to be busy at his table. "I stay here, sir," said I to the Prince with emphasis, "because I seem in a manner to be a prisoner on trial. I have called my evidence, and it will be forthcoming presently. But I must say," I added bitterly, "that I resent the way in which my testimony has been received, and at Buenos Ayres, if we ever reach that port, I shall beg to be relieved of my duties and have my contract cancelled." "If Mr.--Mr. Morland does not object certainly I shall not, Dr. Phillimore," said Day drily. "Oh, come, captain," said I impatiently; "we are in a peril together and you stand on ceremonies." "That has yet to be proved," he said. Even as he spoke a noise announced the return of the party, and Sir John Barraclough entered. "Your man's missing," said he. Day uttered an exclamation, and the Prince's frown deepened. "There's no one in the cabin," said Barraclough. At that instant a knock fell on the door. "Is the doctor here?" said a voice which I recognised at once. Barraclough opened the door and Holgate stood on the threshold. "It has been reported to me as I came on duty," he said, "that Adams is missing, doctor. It seems a bad case. He was delirious, and two of the men say they heard a plunge. The port-hole is open." "It's a lie!" I cried. Holgate's face twitched. "It's the report made to me," he said; "I came at once," and the fang showed clear under his upper lip. "It is foul play!" I said. "He was not likely to throw himself overboard. It all belongs to the plot." "Was this man delirious?" asked Day of me. I hesitated. "For a time he was slightly," I answered. "He was delirious when he told you these things?" "That I deny." He turned to Ellison. "What do you say, quartermaster?" "I don't know, sir," said the man in confusion. "He didn't seem quite--quite all right." "Ah!" said Day, looking at Mr. Morland. "Good heavens, sir, would you take a common sailor's word before a doctor's?" I asked indignantly. "No, Dr. Phillimore, I am only weighing the evidence," said he coolly. "This man was, according to you, delirious for a time. He made some communication as to a plot. Then he disappears. It is either conspiracy or delirium. Either accounts for the facts. Which are we to believe?" "You forget the attempt on me," I said hotly. "Not at all," he said, "I have not forgotten that--accident. But it hardly gets us further. It fits in with either supposition--the plot or"--he paused--"the delirium," he added significantly. "Gentlemen, I wish you good night, or good morning," I said, turning on my heel. "And I will beg of you, Mr. Morland, to grant me the privilege of a substitute when we reach Buenos Ayres." Mr. Morland did not answer. He made an impatient gesture, and then: "Are you satisfied, Captain Day?" he asked. "Quite," was the laconic answer. "Then may I request you will see that discipline is kept among your men," said the Prince severely, and stalked out of the cabin. Barraclough broke into laughter. "Upon my soul----" he began, but was interrupted by an angry exclamation. "Be good enough, sir, to keep your counsel till it is asked, sir," said Day, trembling with fury. "I have too many princes and baronets here for my taste." He stamped round the room in agitation. "My men!" he cried. "Good Lord, what have I had to do with them? I wish I'd never seen the figurehead of the yacht. Good Lord! my men! I would sooner run an excursion steamer than submit to this." Barraclough eyed him without any emotion, even with hard hostility. The exit of the Prince had stayed my departure, and abruptly Day came to a pause by me. "That will do, gentlemen," he said quietly. Holgate, who was at the door, opened it, and his round face swung gently on his shoulders till his gaze rested on me again. Something flickered in it, something like a leer on that malicious blackness, and then he was gone. Day stood stock-still looking by me after him. As I turned to follow he addressed me. "Dr. Phillimore, if you can spare a moment before you change," he said civilly, "I shall be glad of a few minutes." I answered promptly, wondering, and the door closed behind Barraclough. "Doctor, I haven't slept a wink for nights," burst out the captain suddenly; "I must have something." He had a haggard, drawn look, and his eyes seemed sunken in his head. At once I was the professional man, and not an officer of the ship. "Sit down, sir," said I, "and tell me. What is it?" He sat down shakily. "I don't like my officers, doctor, and I don't like my employer," he said peevishly. I held his pulse, which was jumping. "What else," I said. "You are not a married man?" he inquired, looking at me restlessly. "No; never mind," he paused, and proceeded in his ridiculously precise voice. "I had the misfortune to lose my wife and my son in a fortnight--about a month ago. It has rather upset me." It might have seemed comic communicated in that matter-of-fact tone, but somehow it struck me as tragic. That this vain, self-contained, and reticent man should confess to the frailty of humanity to a man he disliked was the measure of his suffering. "I can mend the sleep, captain," said I. "You must do the rest." "Good God!" he shook his head and stood up. "No," said I, "sit down. I'll see to you. Let me ring." In a few minutes I had my case of instruments, and carefully extracted what I wanted, while Day looked on feverishly impatient. "I'm going to do what has already been done this night," I said gravely, "but in a better cause." I raised the syringe, and bade him put back the sleeve of his pyjama. A rush of pain went through my arm which had been bruised and battered in the sea, and suddenly the cabin went from me. For the first and only time in my life I fainted. When I came to Day was bending over me, glass in hand, a look of solicitude on his face. "It seems we have changed places," said I feebly, "and that you are my physician." He set the glass down. "Doctor, I did you less than justice just now," he said quickly. "But I have had my troubles." I picked myself up slowly. "I will now resume," I said, smiling. "If you are able," he said doubtfully, and then, "Heavens, I should like just one hour of sleep." "You shall sleep till eight bells, I promise you," I answered, and once more I took the syringe. He sighed as if in anticipation. "Doctor," he said, as he lay back. "Not a word of this. We must talk about the other thing. I don't like my officers. I'll tackle this question to-morrow. There's something in it." I bade him "good night," and left with the conviction that in the difficulties before us Captain Day would count for little. To face such emergencies as I felt must now be faced we had no need of a neurotic subject. Nevertheless I was mistaken in one particular. Day sent for me next morning, and I found him in quite a brisk, cheerful state. He did not allude to what had occurred between us, but came straight to the subject of the plot. "Nothing has happened, doctor," he said. I knew nothing could happen, for the disappearance of Adams meant that the conspirators were not ready with their plans. Otherwise they would not have been so determined to rob me of my evidence. This I explained, and he listened attentively. "You see the difficulty," he said at last. "There is no corroboration of your story, and I can take no action. I will have an inquiry into Adams's disappearance, of course, but I fear nothing will come of it." He rubbed his hands nervously. "I wish to God it would." This was astounding from the man, but, as I looked into his eyes, I could see how deeply his nervous system had been shocked, and once more I despaired of such a captain in such circumstances. I carried my misgivings to Legrand, with whom the events of the night had seemed to bring me in closer relationship. "The old man's all right," he said. "A better seaman doesn't exist. There's nothing he doesn't know." "Except human nature," said I. "Well, that may be. But who knows much about that?" said the second officer, setting his sextant. "You say we're slumbering over a volcano. I daresay we are. It's more or less what we're paid to do, and take all risks. Things are quiet enough now, anyway." Was this another sceptic, where I had sought to find an ally? "I am used by this to ridicule," I began drily. "Who on earth is ridiculing you?" he asked. "You have only given us something to think of--and something pretty tall, too." I shrugged my shoulders. "I suppose it is my word against Holgate's," I said wearily. "Holgate's!" he said, lowering his sextant swiftly. "Holgate's! I wouldn't trust Holgate if he were on a dozen oaths--not if he were swung at a yard-arm, and were making Christian confession," he said passionately. "Nor would I," I said softly after a pause. We exchanged glances. He resumed his sextant. "The only thing to be done," he said, "is to keep a watch. We shall know shortly. Excuse me, doctor, I must take the bearings." Routine must go on aboard ship, but this cool attitude, reasonable as it was, was not to my taste in my condition. Things moved as smoothly as before; the watch came and went, and the bells tolled regularly; but with the knowledge that I had that something evil was brewing, I fretted and worried and grew out of temper. The powers that were responsible for the safety of the ship and her good conduct were indifferent to the danger, or else incredulous. I alone knew how incompetent was the captain to secure his vessel, and the attitude of "Mr. Morland" filled me with contempt. It was very well for a royal prince in his palace, surrounded by his guard, servitors, and dependants, to assume an autocratic attitude, and take things for granted. But it was another case when he had deliberately abandoned that security and launched himself upon a romantic, not to say quixotic, career, in which nothing was certain. Yet upon the promenade deck the Prince and his sister took their constitutionals as if nothing had happened or would happen, and, as before, Mlle. Trebizond joined them, and her laugh floated down to us, musical and clear. Would nothing make them understand the peril in which they stood? In all this vexation of spirit I still found time to be amused by Lane. The affair of Adams was, necessarily, public property, and the inquiry promised by Day was in process. Adams was gone, gone overboard, as I knew, and I could have put my hand on his murderer, if I could not also identify the man who had made an attempt to be mine. Lane, on the rumour of the night's proceedings reaching him, sought me, and complained. It was ludicrous, but it was characteristic of the man, as I had come to know him. "Where do I come in?" he asked plaintively. "You might have given me a call, doctor." "I wish I had been sleeping as sound as you," I said. "Oh, hang it, man, it's dull enough on this beastly boat. If there's any row on, I'm in it." "Do you think you guess how big a row you may be on?" I asked him. "Oh, well, it's infernally dull," he grumbled, which, when you come to think of it, was a surprising point of view. The Adams inquiry ended in what must necessarily be called an open verdict. The evidence of the boatswain and Pentecost, one of the hands, assured that. Both testified to the fact that they were awakened in the still hours by a splash, and one thought it was accompanied by a cry, but was not sure. At any rate, the boatswain was sufficiently aroused to make search, and to discover that Adams was missing, and subsequently that the port-hole was open. He had then, as he declared, reported the matter at once to the officer of the watch, who was Holgate. Holgate came to the captain's cabin, as has been related. There was no discrepancy to be noted in the stories of the two men, nor was there any inherent improbability in their tale. So, as I have said, though no verdict was given, the verdict might be considered as open, and we had got no further. The captain, however, took one precaution, for the key of the ammunition chest was put in Barraclough's charge. What others did I know not, but I slept with a loaded revolver under my pillow. We were now within a week of Buenos Ayres, and had come into summer weather. When we passed the twentieth parallel the heat was overpowering. We took to ducks, and the ladies, as we could observe, to the lightest of cotton dresses. For all, however, that we saw of them they might have been dwelling in another sphere, as, indeed, they were. The steward alone had the privilege of communion with them, and he, being a distant fellow, had nothing to say, though, I believe, Lane cross-questioned him rigorously. I have said that we saw nothing of our passengers, but I, at least, was to see them more nearly very soon, and that in the most unexpected manner. One evening I had retired to my cabin and was stretched in my bunk, reading one of the gilded books from the yacht's library, when I was interrupted by a knock on the door. "Come in," I called idly, and the door promptly opened, and to my amazement Miss Morland stood before me. She wore a plain evening dress of chiffon, very pretty to the eye, and over her head and shoulders a mantle of silk lace. She had naturally, as I had observed on my previous encounters, a sparkle of colour in her face; but now she had lost it, and was dead white of complexion under the electric light. "Doctor Phillimore," she said in English, which was more perfect of accent than her brother's, but speaking somewhat formally, "I understand that you believe you have discovered some plot." By this time I was on my feet. "Madam, no one else believes it," said I. "I do," she said sharply; and then, "I want you to come and see my brother--Mr. Morland." "I will do as you will," I answered, "but, at the same time, I must point out that Mr. Morland has cognisance of my story. I stated what I had to say in his presence some days since." "Ah," said she, "you do not understand. It is impossible for one in my brother's position to entertain these suspicions. It is not for him to take precautions--or should not be," she added bitterly. I bowed. "I will repeat what I have already stated," I said; and then, as she turned to go, I took a sudden impulse. My heart was beating faster at this unexpected appearance of an ally and I made up my mind to confirm the alliance if it was what it seemed. "Miss Morland," said I, "if I must continue to call you so." "That is my name, sir," she said loftily. "Then if that is your name there is nothing in my plot," I answered bluntly. "This plot, imaginary or otherwise, but one in which you say you believe, is dependent wholly on your name not being Morland, madam. Assure me that it is, and I undertake that the plot shall cease--disappear in a twinkling." "You speak, sir, as if you had authority over it," she said, after a pause. "No. I reason only on what I know. This conspiracy has been evolved on the supposition that you and Mr. Morland are not what you claim to be, and on other suppositions. If these be untrue, and the mutineers can be convinced of that, the conspiracy naturally falls to the ground." Again she made a pause, but spoke quickly when she spoke: "My brother is Prince Frederic of Hochburg." I bowed. "And, madam, the ship contains treasure? Let us finish our confidences." "There are bonds and bullion to a large amount on board," she said, as if reluctantly. "It was unwise of him, but he would have it so." "I may take it that the Princess Alix would not have it so," I suggested. "You may assume what you will, sir," she said coldly. "Madam," said I seriously, for handsome as she was and royal, too, I was nettled by her distance, "you ask me to help you, and you keep me at arm's length. I am not asking out of curiosity. I only want to know what allies I can depend on. Heaven knows I have gone through enough already to keep me silent henceforward for ever, even to the point of attempted murder." "I will answer any question you wish to put--if I can," she replied in a milder voice. "But my brother is waiting." "Then may I know why you credit this plot?" I asked. "I know nothing of the plot," she said. "The news of it has just come to my ears, through some words dropped by Mr. Morland. But this I know--that he runs a great risk. He has always run a great risk ever since----" she stopped. "I am willing to believe the worst." "Now," said I, "I am ready to accompany you," and forthwith, without more words, we went on deck. When we reached the cabin I found not only the Prince, but Day, who was clearly in one of his moods. He had a nervous way of flipping his fingers when put out, and he stood now firing off his white hand restlessly. He did not pay me any attention on my entrance, but fixed his gaze on Princess Alix. "As I am no longer in command on my boat, Dr. Phillimore," he said abruptly, "perhaps you will be good enough to explain to Mr. Morland what you propose to do." I looked at the Prince, who nodded curtly. Evidently there had been a scene. "I believe that a rising is contemplated before we reach Buenos Ayres," I said. "I would advise, therefore, that we change our course for Rio Janeiro at once. We are only thirty-hours' steam away." Day turned his attention on me. "There is something in that," he said. "I shall be able to get a new doctor." The Prince frowned. "It is for me to say," he said sharply. "You, sir, will then be able to get a new captain," said Day politely. He bowed to the Prince and Princess. "That is very probable," said the Prince, and added, "I order you to put into Rio, captain. Dr. Phillimore's advice commends itself to me." I said nothing, but the Princess gave me a quick glance, in which I seemed to read approval. "Your orders shall be obeyed," said Day, and ceremoniously left the cabin. When he was gone the Prince turned to me. "I am obliged for your zeal in my service," he said, as if he were conferring a decoration; whereupon he bowed, and I followed the captain. I went at once to Day's cabin and waited, for I had made up my mind as to the method in which he should be treated. The man was obviously incapable of discretion in his state. He entered presently with a heavy sigh, and only then observed me. A malignant look worked in his face blackly, but I interposed at once. "Captain," said I. "If you are captain, I am doctor. This can only end one way, and I won't have it end that way if it is in my power to prevent it." "You are wrong," he said snappishly. "You are captain and doctor in one." "I am going to try on you a particular drug which I have faith in," I said, ignoring his words. "It is new, but there are great possibilities in it. If it is all I believe it to be, you will get up to-morrow another man." He put his arms on the table. "Oh, my God!" he groaned. "Night and day, night and day. For God's sake, doctor, give me something." That was what I wanted. He was a little querulous, spiteful child now, and I had possession of him. I had seen his soul undressed and naked, and it frightened me. I felt more than anxiety for him; I felt compassion. And it was I that put him to bed that night. But meanwhile we were on the way to Rio Janeiro. CHAPTER VII THE RISING In advising that the yacht's course should be laid for Rio I assumed that possibly the mutineers would not have completed their arrangements, and would be taken by surprise. My assumption was justified, though its very correctness came near to wrecking what reputation I had left as a man of sense. I had long recognised that I was looked upon as having a bee in my bonnet, and the fact that we arrived safely in the port must have increased the doubts of those who knew I was responsible for the alteration of the course. The change could not, of course, be concealed very long. The watch was privy to it, when Day set the new course, and by next morning it was all over the ship. Yet the same dignified routine proceeded; no one volunteered any act of violence; and if I believed in myself no one else did, I am sure. Little Pye mused openly on the change, but withdrew himself at once into his legal reticence when I also expressed my surprise. To say the truth, I was not anxious that it should be known that I was the author of the alteration, and so made inquiries with a show of innocence. Nor do I think that any one suspected me, for neither the Prince nor Day would be likely to talk. Day, indeed, surprised me. He thanked me privately for my medical advice, and, with a smile, added: "Perhaps I should say also nautical." I shook my head, smiling also. "It was political, captain, and that's all." He nodded absently, and said suddenly, "I think, doctor, I will get rid of Pierce at Rio." I was heartily glad to hear this, and would have suggested that Holgate also should go, but refrained. I knew not how far his improvement would bear the strain of the suggestion. We lay at anchor in the bay to coal, and the passengers took themselves off to the shore, Mlle. Trebizond in a wild flutter of excitement. This meant for her the nearest approach to Paris, I suppose, that was available. At least she was in great spirits, and talked with the officers. As we entered the harbour we heard the sound of music pouring from the saloon, which had never yet been used by the party, and on that the rich notes of a fine mezzo-soprano. The little exhibition arrested the men at their work, and, after that long passage of silence, seemed to wake us up and put us in a better mood. As it was disagreeable on board during the coaling operations, I, too, followed the party on shore in the company of Barraclough. We had arrived at mid-day, and the yacht was to sail on the following evening, for the simple methods of coaling in Rio protract the business. I lunched at the English Hotel, and occupied the time in the usual manner of the sight-seer; visited the summit of the hill by the Alpine Railway, and walked negligently in the Botanical Gardens. I slept ashore, and was joined on nightfall by Lane, who was full of the gust of living. He could only be said to enjoy himself when he got ashore, and yet he could not keep off the sea. I learned from him with satisfaction that Pierce, the boatswain, was gone, paid off at the captain's orders. So here was something for my consolation. I breathed a little more freely, and inquired further. But the rest of his information was not so satisfactory. Besides the passengers, Day, Barraclough, McCrae, and himself had come ashore, leaving Legrand with Holgate and little Pye to represent what might be termed the aristocracy of the deck. And next morning I got a glimpse in the streets of Pye, so that Holgate was, barring the second officer, master of the yacht. I will confess I did not like this look of things; so deep was my distrust of Holgate. In the Rua do Ouvidor I had a fleeting vision of Princess Alix and Mlle. Trebizond as they turned into a shop; but for the rest I enjoyed myself as a stranger to the _Sea Queen_, and one with no concern in her fortunes. It was late afternoon when I got to the quay to take a boat to the yacht; for, as I calculated, that would leave me a full hour to the time appointed for sailing. Judge, then, of my amazement when I saw her standing out, the smoke-wrack flying abaft, and trudging steadily for the mouth of the harbour. I stood there, I think, fully three minutes before I moved or took action, but during that space of time I had jumped at the conclusion. I was not wanted aboard. Was it Day? No; the idea was absurd, as he was most meticulous in his observation of the conventions. It certainly was not the Prince. The inference was only too obvious. The hour of sailing had been shifted. By whom? I sprang down to the foot of the quay, where one of the big two-decked harbour ferry-boats was lying. "Is your steam up?" I shouted to a man on the bridge. "I want you to catch that yacht." He stared at me in astonishment, and shook his head. I shouted back again, and he replied in Portuguese, I assume, of which tongue I am quite ignorant. I clambered aboard and made my way to him, by which time he had been joined by another man, with gold lace round his cap. I repeated my query in French, and the second man replied indolently. "It was impossible." "I will give you twenty pounds if you catch her," I said, and fumbled in my mind for some computation in their wretched currency. I do not know how many hundred thousand reis I mentioned, but it seemed to have some effect. Both men stared after the yacht. I added several hundred thousand more reis, and they were plainly shaken. Heaven knew why I should have been offering my poor money for the sake of Prince Frederic of Hochburg. I did not stop to reason, but acted merely on impulse. The man with the gold band went to the speaking-tube and shouted down it. The other man began to give brisk orders in a small, thin voice. Evidently my offer was accepted. I turned and looked out into the bay, and there was the _Sea Queen_, still steaming leisurely for the heads. When once the ferry-boat shook herself loose she made fair way. She champed and churned in a fussy manner, and the great steel crank in her middle began to thud in a terrifying manner. We had backed out, and were driving down the harbour at the rate of perhaps nine knots. Was the _Sea Queen_ making more? It was impossible to judge at that distance. The yacht might have been a mile away, and if she were going as fast as we it would probably be impracticable to attract her attention for some time, until, at any rate, we were clear of the shipping. Surely then the sight of a cumbrous ferry-boat beating down on an unwonted journey to the heads would draw their eyes and fill their speculations. We were three miles out twenty minutes after starting, and now it was obvious that we were not making ground, but losing. The trail of the smoke swept the water behind her, and her nose was plunging for the open sea. I was in despair. I shouted to the captain in the effort to get him to hoist signals, and at last one was found which suited the emergency. I have forgotten what it was, but it apparently signified that help was required immediately. But still the yacht held on, and the distance between us grew. It seemed that I was after all destined to be free of the fortunes of that ship, whatever they might be; and I stood by the captain of the ferry-boat with a feeling of defeat and helplessness, silent, and almost resigned. And then, by one of those strange ironies the solution came to me, came to me too just as mere selfish considerations were asserting themselves. I had thought of the Prince and the conspirators if I had thought at all, certainly not of myself; and now came the reflection that I had pledged my last sovereign in the endeavour to catch the yacht, and that I was to be landed again in that foreign port penniless. Was it under the stimulus of that thought that I recalled of a sudden the first appearance of the _Sea Queen_ in my life, and remembered the flash of the rocket? "Have you any rockets?" I asked, turning abruptly round. The man stared, smiled deprecatingly, and shook his head. He addressed his mate in Portuguese, and they held an animated conversation. Finally he turned to me, and the mate went below. "There is one, he believes, monsieur," said the captain. "It was for saving life, but it is old." Well, old or new, I was resolved to try it, and presently, when the mate appeared with a huge bomb in his hands, we set ourselves to work. The men by this time were interested, and we had the rocket rigged in a trice. The anxious moment was when we came to fire it. Would it fizzle out. Was the touch long gone? It resisted sullenly for some minutes, and then unexpectedly took the bit in its teeth, if I may put it that way, and bolted. In the summer evening sky was a great rush of light, and in my ears the hissing of a hundred serpents. Then there was silence, and the light, describing its arc, vanished into the water ahead. I gazed anxiously, but it was not until ten minutes later that we were able to judge of the success of our venture. Then the little captain touched me on the shoulder, beaming. He did not trust to his inadequate French, but pointed. I had already seen the _Sea Queen_ lay to. A quarter of an hour later I stepped aboard her, and the man who let down the gangway was Holgate. "Why, doctor, we thought you were in your cabin. A near shave!" said he. "Pretty close," said I; "I thought the hour was six." "It was changed to five by captain's orders," he replied. "Notice was sent duly." "It missed me," I answered cheerfully. "I wasn't at the hotel all the time." I passed him and met Legrand, who stared at me. "It's not your ghost, doctor?" "No," I said in a lower voice. "But maybe it will come to ghosts yet." He stroked his short beard, and turned about. Day, I found, was surveying me from the bridge in the most elegant suit of ducks. "Now that you have arrived, Dr. Phillimore, perhaps we may be allowed to proceed," he said sarcastically. I made no reply, but went aft, where my adventures must be poured into Lane's ears. Barraclough looked me up and down in his cool, indifferent way. "Come aboard, sir?" he said, with a grin. "Yes," said I with a deliberate drawl. "It cost me just twenty-five pounds." "Damned if I wouldn't sooner have stayed and had a good old time," said Lane. "What's the use of a bally ship?" "Oh," said I, "being a millionaire I can't tell. If I'd only thought of it, Lane, I might have followed your advice." "Didn't you get the notice?" asked Pye. "No, I was enjoying myself, you see. I'm a careless fellow, but I'm a modest one also; and I've made too much of a sensation for my taste." "You're fond of sensations, my good sir," said Sir John, with his abominable arrogance. "Well, if you'll allow me, I'll shed all I can of this--that is, clothes," I replied calmly, and I went below. When I had had a bath and assumed my yachting costume, I came on deck again, only to meet Day in a furious temper, as I could tell from his eyes. I explained the circumstances of my mishap, adding that I had not received my notice, which was no doubt my fault. "I certainly might have made more changes at Rio than I did," he said maliciously, and passed by me. It was ungracious, but the man was not responsible. From the deck above, the face of Mlle. Trebizond peered down at me, smiling and handsome. "It was an adventure," she said in her English, showing her pretty teeth. "It was most exciting, doctor, to be chased by a pirate." "I'm glad you enjoyed it, mademoiselle," said I politely. "I take some credit to myself for the rocket." "Oh, but it should have been dark--that would have been much better," said she. "Come up and tell me all about it." After a momentary hesitation I obeyed, and when I reached the deck I found Princess Alix there. Once more I explained my misadventure, and Mlle. Trebizond chatted and laughed in great good-humour. She had made many purchases, but complained of the shops. She could not get her favourite perfume, she protested, and wondered how people could live in such remote regions. Then she tired of me, I suppose, and walked off, leaving me to the Princess. Her blue eyes, as cold as her brother's, flashed a question at me. "It was not an accident?" she said. "The notice, I find, was sent last night, after Mr. Morland had communicated with Captain Day. It should have reached me at the hotel early this morning. It didn't." "I see." She looked towards the forts at the mouth of the harbour, which we were then passing. "I am glad you did your duty in rejoining the yacht," she said next. I think I was between amusement and irritation at her words, for, after all, I considered that it was not a time to talk of duty when I had been the victim of a trick, and had, after my own poor fashion, paid so heavily for it. I might even have looked for a sentence of thanks for my zeal. But the Princess was a princess still, despite that she was also Miss Morland and the sister of a man who had thrown away all to contract a morganatic marriage. But amusement got the upper hand. I smiled. "Oh, we English have usually a severe sense of duty," I replied, "at least, when it comes to a pinch. On the other hand, of course, we lack discipline." She glanced at me, and, with a little bow, moved away. I was dismissed. The yacht was pointed now for Buenos Ayres, at which port it was clear that, for reasons of his own, Prince Frederic was anxious to arrive. It was not until the second evening, however, that anything of importance occurred. But that was of considerable importance, as you shall see. I had occasion to pay a visit to the stoke-hole, where one of the men had injured his hand, and I had finished my work and was mounting the grubby wire ladder, when a fireman passed me with averted face. I hardly glanced at him, and certainly did not pause the least fraction of a second; but to the half-glance succeeded a shock. The nerves, I suppose, took a perceptible instant of time to convey the recognition to the brain; but, despite the grime on his face and the change in his appearance, I could not be mistaken. It was Pierce, the discharged boatswain. Here was news indeed! Pierce, of whom Day thought he had got rid in Rio, was employed as stoker on the yacht. How came he there? This bespoke treachery again. And now I began to get some notion of how vast and subtle was the web of the conspiracy. It could not be that only a few men were concerned in it. Holgate had been right. How many hands could we depend on? Who put Pierce in his present situation? I went on deck in a fume of wonder and excitement. Plainly something was hatching, and probably that very moment. If fierce thought I had recognised him it would doubtless precipitate the plans of the villains. There was no time to be lost, and so, first of all, I went--whither do you suppose? To see the Princess. She received me in her boudoir, where she was reclining in an evening gown that fitted her beautiful figure closely, and she rose in astonishment. But at once her eyes lighted. "You have something to tell me?" she inquired. "Yes," said I. "The man who was dismissed is still on board. He is acting as stoker." She compressed her lips and eyed me. "That spells, madam, business," said I. "What is to be done?" she asked quietly, but I could see her bosom moving with excitement. "I have come to you first because it is you who must prepare the Prince and persuade him of the crisis. I will go to the captain with my tale, and Heaven knows how I shall be received. It is the Prince who must act." "Yes--yes," she said quickly. "Go at once. I will find my brother." Day was in his cabin, and, knocking, I entered without waiting for permission. I found him with his arm bared and a syringe in his hand. He stared at me and scowled. "There is no time for words, sir," said I. "Pierce is on board, and there is danger. There will probably be a rising to-night." He threw the syringe down. "I'm very glad to hear it," he declared, in even tones. "Take that away, doctor. Where's Sir John Barraclough?" I told him that he was on the bridge. "Send Mr. Legrand to me, and----" he broke off. "But how do you know?" he asked suspiciously. "It is not a case of knowledge. It is a case for preparation," he said. "If we have the arms distributed----" I was interrupted by a sharp report from below. Day ran out in his pyjamas, and I followed. We heard Barraclough's voice from the bridge, raised angrily. "Go back there, man; get back, Gray." It was a pitch black night, save for the glittering stars, and I could only make out a knot of men at the head of the ladder leading from the lower deck. "What the devil do you mean?" shouted Barraclough; and then all of a sudden the knot of men opened in a struggle, and a man burst through and dashed towards us, falling at my feet. "For God's sake, sir," he panted out. "They've seized the engine-room, and Mr. McCrae's shot. 'Twas Pierce done it." I recognised by his voice Grant, one of the deck-hands, and I helped him to his feet. "Who's in this?" I asked; but before he could reply the gang of men approached nearer, and some one spoke from their midst. It was Holgate. "Captain Day, I regret to state that the men are not satisfied with the way things are being conducted," he said, in a level voice. "They are not satisfied with their pay, for one thing, and there are other matters. No harm is intended, but they have decided that I am to take your place, and for the present you are to consider yourselves prisoners--particularly the doctor," he added. The offensive assurance of the man made me boil, but on Day it seemed to have a curiously astringent effect. "So, Mr. Holgate, there has been a council of war," he said quietly, even drily, "and you are to step into my shoes. I will give you three minutes to retire from the deck. Go back! I tell you, do you hear, men? Go back!" His acrid voice rang out thinly, but Barraclough above shouted hoarsely: "Good God, can't you do something to them?" At this moment I was aware of noises on the promenade deck, and, looking up, saw the Prince's figure outlined dimly against the stars. "You have your orders," he called out in his deep voice. "Go back to your quarters." There was a pause, and then the silence was broken by a shot, and one of the men fell. A second report rang out, and a curse rose on the air. A third followed, and the men turned and retreated. From the hurricane deck came still another shot, and they tumbled down the ladder pell-mell. The Prince was shooting as calmly as at so many partridges. I ran down stairs and fetched my revolver, and when I returned I could hear no sound from the lower deck. Barraclough met me at the door of the saloon. "There's not a pound of steam on her," he said. "The brutes have shut off the valves." "Let her go," said I. "We have something more important on our hands. They'll be here again. The Prince took them by surprise. No English captain would have used his weapons so." "No, by Heaven," he exclaimed. "This makes it a question of----" He paused. Mr. Legrand came running along the deck. "We've got it now," he said. "Oh, we've got all we want now." "Look here," said I. "Is Ellison with you? I'm sure he's not in this?" "Yes," said Barraclough. "Well, post him at the ladder, and here's Grant. Let's find out how we stand." "It'll be hot work to-night," said Legrand. Day's voice came to us from his cabin door: "Sir John Barraclough, be good enough to place all the men you can trust on guard, with orders to fire in case of necessity. I shall be obliged for your company and that of the officers in my cabin." We had four men, including Ellison, on the deck, and there was also the man at the wheel, who had not quitted his place through all these events. One could surely rely upon a man with such a sense of duty; so, having made such dispositions as were possible, Barraclough followed us to the captain. The ladies, I hoped, were safe in their cabins, as I had heard no sound of them. Day was brief and businesslike. "Dr. Phillimore was right," said he. "I ask his pardon. We must see how many men we have. There is Mr. Lane and Mr. Pye. Where is Mr. Pye?" "I am here, sir," said the little clerk from the back. "That makes, including Mr. Morland, twelve men to depend on, so far as we know--if, that is," he added almost with a sneer, "we can depend on them." "Grant may know more," said Legrand. "Bring him," said Day, and opened the door to the Prince. Prince Frederic was cool and collected, and showed little to mark the disturbance and bloodshed of the last quarter of an hour--little, unless it were in the increased blue of his eyes, which shone frostily. "Have you all your men, captain?" he remarked in his determined German way, quite free of vivacity. "We are sure of twelve," said Day, "and we are trying to find out about the others, so as to separate sheep and goats." But here was Grant arrived, blood on his face, and a brisk air of savagery about him. "Grant, who are the mutineers?" said the captain. "Couldn't speak to 'em all, sir," said the man. "I knew nothing of it till half an hour ago, when I ran into them, and they seized me. There was Gray and Pierce and Mr. Holgate and Granger, and half a dozen in the lot that took me." "Do you mean to say that you had no inkling of this?" said Day, with asperity. "I'll take God to witness, no, sir," said the man earnestly, "and I'll take my oath Williams and Naylor hadn't neither." "That makes two more," said the Prince, nodding. "But where are they?" Grant looked over his shoulder in the direction which would indicate the forecastle. "If they're not here, sir, your highness," he said hesitatingly, "I don't know where they are. The stokers is all joined, I heard 'em say." "Good Lord, they've made a clean sweep," said Barraclough, with a laugh. "And what's this about McCrae?" "Mr. McCrae was shot at the first, sir, in seizing the engines." "And they've fetched her pretty nigh to a standstill," growled the first officer. "Phew! No, there she goes," he exclaimed, as the screw began to bump. "They've picked her up. That'll be Crossley. He's with them, confound him." "Then that leaves twelve," said the purser, "and forty-odd t'other side. Oh!" he whistled, "this makes swank, don't it?" "Silence, Mr. Lane," commanded the captain. "We must first of all be on our guard, armed; and, secondly, see if we are in a position to add to our numbers. But we have the deck, which can only be reached one way. The stewards, Mr. Lane?" he asked quickly. "I'll answer for the three, and the cuisine," declared the purser boldly. "I'll go bail on them. I've known Jackson on other voyages. I engaged 'em myself." "Then who the devil engaged the others, I'd like to know?" asked Day, in his old irritable tone; at which, to the astonishment of all, a small voice broke the silence. "I did, sir." We all wheeled round. It was Pye. The little man fixed his gold glasses on his nose with two fingers in his nervous way, and blinked through them at us, unruffled as a cock-sparrow that yet had doubts. "He, by heaven!" whispered Legrand to me, with infinite scorn. "He chose 'em!" "And I regret to find, sir," pursued Pye, "that some of them have gone wrong. I feel myself in a way responsible." "It all comes of putting things in the hands of lawyers," said Lane, with innocent recklessness. Day looked down his nose. "Well, Mr. Pye," he said drily, "we'll try to forgive you. You fell in with the wrong crowd. If I had known----" he paused. "The question is, how are we to get in touch with the faithful men who may be in the forecastle?" "If you will allow me, sir, I will venture into the forecastle and find out," said Pye, with a restrained sense of importance. "You!" cried Day in amazement, and there was a general burst of laughter, except on the part of the Prince, who was eyeing Pye severely, and on the part of myself, who did not see anything for ridicule in the unexpected courage of a timid man. "I feel in a way responsible," repeated Pye; but his protest was feeble in effort, for Day put him curtly aside. "I fear you will not do, sir," said he. "But I will, captain," I called out. The Prince's eyes came over to me, leaving Pye. He nodded and addressed Day in an undertone. "My dear sir, they've marked you out first and foremost," said Barraclough. "I'll back the doctor," declared Lane excitedly. "Oh, I go only in the mission of humanity," I replied. "McCrae may not be dead. No one knows. And, what's more, the mutineers have two or three cripples on their hands. They won't lay a hand on me at present." "That's true, Dr. Phillimore," remarked Day. "Well, if you have weighed the risks I will not prevent you. It is essential we should know something more. It will come to blows again, and that without notice. Mr. Morland," he hesitated, "wishes me to express his thanks for your offer." "In that case," said I, acknowledging the compliment with a bow, "I may as well take time by the forelock," and nodding to Legrand, I slipped out on the deck. CHAPTER VIII THE CAPTURE OF THE BRIDGE I walked through the darkness to the head of the ladder, where Ellison was on watch. "Any news?" I asked the quartermaster. "No, sir; all quiet," he answered, and as I made to go down he cried out, "Where are you going, sir? Don't do that. You can't go there." "It's all right," I answered. "Keep your eyes open. Nothing will happen to me. And don't be lured from the staircase, whatever occurs; and here, take my revolver. I'm on a mission of peace." I slipped down the ladder and found myself in the gloom of the orlop deck. A lantern was hanging in the shrouds and I had not reached it before I was challenged. "It's the doctor, Gray," said I, recognising his voice, "and come no earlier than you want him, I'll wager. There's more than one of you has got his gruel, I'm thinking." He came into the light. "Are you armed, doctor?" said he. "You can feel," said I, and he clapped his hands down my pockets. "Well, I don't know," he said, in a hesitating way. "It's true enough. Davenport's dead as mutton, and Stephenson and Coyne are down in their bunks. But it's Mr. Holgate commands here. I'll call him." He went forward and whistled, and presently two other men approached, one of whom I saw was Holgate by his rolling form. "Glad to see you, doctor," he said cheerfully. "I was hoping to be honoured by a visit, but, hang me! if I expected it. Come along now, and let's get some light on the case." He led the way into the forecastle quarters, and emerged into the room in which the hands had their meals, which was lit by electricity, as were all the cabins and saloons of the _Sea Queen_. "These digs are not what I'm accustomed to, doctor," he said, taking a seat. "I'm frank, you see; but of course I retire only to jump better. Isn't that how it goes? We jumped too soon, you see; and that was you. If it had not been for that fool Pierce! Twice the essential ass played into your hands. You were pretty smart, though I gave you a lead. There I was the fool." "Well, Mr. Holgate, as between man and man, you were," I said. He laughed. "Oh, it will work out all right, but it makes it bloody. Now, there was no need of blood in this little job, not if it had been rightly managed, and I'll take blame for that. No, you were my mistake." He looked at me in his tense unblinking way, as if he would have torn out of me on that instant what I thought and what I really was. "I shall not be your last," I said indifferently. "Have a drink," he said. "We've got some good champagne, all under lock and key, you bet, my son. That's not going to be my mistake, at any rate. I've not lived forty years for nothing. I'm going to pull this off." "Thank you," said I. "But it's business I've come on." "Business and 'the boy' go together in the city, I've heard," he answered. "Well, is it terms you want?" "Oh, dear, no," I replied. "Only an affair of mercy. You've got two wounded men, and there's McCrae." He looked down for a moment. "McCrae was another mistake, but not mine," he said. "You can't do any good to McCrae. But you can see the others, if you will. Not that that's what you've come for. Shall I tell you what, doctor? You've come like the gentlemen who went to the Holy Land, and came back carrying grapes, eh? I remember the picture when I was a boy--a precious huge bunch, too. Well, you can have the grapes if you'll take 'em in a liquefied form, and carry them in your belly." I rose. "I'll see these men," I said abruptly. He led me to the bunks, and I examined the wounded men. One was beyond hope; the other was but slightly injured; and I told Holgate the truth. He nodded. "I don't much want Coyne," he said musingly. "I've no use for him. He's a bungler." The cold-blooded way in which he delivered this heartless criticism raised in me a feeling of nausea. I was moving away when he stopped me. "Stay; you're not going back empty-handed, doctor, after all your kindness. Any one you'd like to see?" I thought. "Yes," said I. "Naylor or Williams." Holgate moved out, and lifted the hatch. "Naylor!" he called. "Granger, let Naylor up." He turned to me. "We don't starve 'em. It's pretty comfortable 'tween decks when you're used to it." I made no reply, and presently a voice hailed us from below. "Is that Naylor?" asked Holgate. "Yes." "Naylor, here is the doctor inquiring after your health. Any questions he puts to you you are at liberty to reply to." He moved away whistling cheerfully, and I called out, "Naylor, I only want to know one thing. How many of you are there?" "Six, sir," said the man. "All under hatch?" "Yes, sir." "Very well; keep up your hearts. This is not the end. Good-night." I went to Holgate. "Really," said I lightly, "I find there are more honest men in this ship than I had anticipated." I don't think he liked that. "You've got twelve," he said drily. "And there's more than thirty with us." "You forget one thing," I said. "We have the wheel, and to-morrow you may find yourselves steaming cheerfully up the river to Buenos Ayres, like any good liner." "That would be a pity, wouldn't it?" he said with a grin. "But you also forget one thing doctor--that is, I've got the engines. Supposing those engines stopped?" "Well, we can get a press of canvas on her," I suggested. "Great heavens!" says he. "Can you? What are we doing?" "I think," said I, "that we have a good marksman on board." "You're right," he said savagely, "and, by thunder, I won't forgive him for that. I had meant---- By thunder, I'll play Old Harry and merry Hades to him for that. Lord, doctor!" he added with a sneer, "to think of you sucking up to a potty prince! or perhaps it's the ladies." "Yes; I hope you remember the ladies," said I. "It's not too late, Holgate." He was silent a moment. "I take no stock in women," he said at length. "They're nothing to me. Let the little innocent birds go free. I'll tell you what, doctor. I'll offer terms, and generous terms, considering I've got the trumps. I'll drop the whole pack of you at the mouth of the river, ladies and all, and add all personal possessions of every one save what's in the Prince's safes. Now that's fair. I'll make you ambassador. By gad, it will be the only chance you will ever have of being a prince's ambassador." He laughed. "Holgate," said I, "I've met many generous men, but you appropriate the gingerbread, as you might say. Now I wish you good-night." He advanced two steps towards me. "Doctor," said he gravely, "you've got to consider this. It's important. I'm not here to play marbles. It's a sure thing. I give you up there"--he made a movement of his thumb to the quarterdeck--"just this chance. Strike a bargain and I'll see you through. There's not a hap'orth of harm will come to any. Otherwise----" He shrugged his shoulders. "Mr. Holgate," said I, "I will deal with you as frankly as you seem to desire. This spells for you, in my opinion one thing, and that's the dock." "Oh, dear, no," he interrupted, smiling. "The men were discontented, despatched a deputation, and were fired on by the Prince. English juries don't like these arbitrary German military ways." "You forget McCrae," said I. "No, I don't. There was an accident in the engine-room, and the second engineer can bear witness to it, as well as some others. Oh, we stand very well, doctor." Even as he spoke I saw a shadow steal out of the deeper darkness and draw to his side. I made it out for Pierce, the murderer. I will say that that interruption of the ruffianly boatswain turned unexpectedly the course of my blood. I had seemed somehow to have been dealing with Holgate, as a scoundrel, certainly, yet upon terms of fair warfare. But that shadow struck us all down to a lower level. Murder had been committed, and here was the murderer. Without one word I turned and made my way towards the ladder communicating with the upper deck. I had no good news to offer to my comrades; indeed, had I spoken quite what was in my thoughts, it was a black prospect with which I must present them. But I did not wish to increase the tension of the situation, and merely recounted the facts I had gathered. "Thirty against twelve," mused Day, "and there are six true men in the hold. Three head men. We have opened well, gentlemen." He looked round sarcastically as he spoke, but at once returned to his colder formal manner. "They have the engine-room and we the bridge. That means that their attack will be on the bridge." "I have no doubt that is what they mean," I said. "Very well, gentlemen," said Day. "We know exactly where we are now, thanks to Dr. Phillimore. You have your stations. I shall be obliged if you will take them. We are likely to have a lively night." "And let me say, gentlemen," said the Prince, raising his voice, "that I do not conceive it possible that a pack of mutineers can secure the control of their ship from their officers. It is inconceivable, I repeat. I shall be at your disposal, captain," he turned to Day, "when it is necessary. I will take my share in the common danger and struggle." There was a murmur of applause at this, and we dispersed to our quarters. Legrand had the bridge, and the man at the wheel was turning the spokes as calmly as if there had been no such thing as an alarm or a rising. Down below all was quiet, and the engines were moving slowly. It was now about one in the morning, and on our beams the wind was rising. The yacht was making about eight knots and no more, and we were still a day's steam from Buenos Ayres. I paced the deck in cover of the chart-house for an hour or more in a condition of nervous impatience. Holgate, I knew, would move deliberately, but when he moved this time he would strike hard. It was towards the dawn that, stopping in my walk, I listened, and heard amid the whistling of the wind and the wash of the water a little mutter of sound somewhere in the disintegrating darkness below. I called to Legrand under my breath, and I heard his "hist." He was at attention, his ears straining in the wind to get news of what was passing. Then there was a shot, and the noise of a _mêlée_ at the ladder. Oaths and shouts and the reports of revolvers echoed from the wooden walls. "Can you see, Phillimore?" screamed Legrand against the wind. "They are attacking the gangway," I shouted back. One of the two men who stood armed near me rushed forward. "Go back, go back," thundered Legrand from the bridge. "Go to your post." I was aware that the Prince had come out on the hurricane deck, which was on the level of the bridge, and as I peered into the gloom, suddenly a shout from the second man in my neighbourhood made me wheel sharply about. I turned in time to see him fire at some figures that came over the port side of the yacht. Immediately I guessed that this was the real attack, and that the assault on the ladder was but a diversion, I ran forward, calling to Legrand, I found Barraclough on the other side of the deck-houses, using a cutlass, and I moved to his assistance. Three men had reached the deck, and a fourth was clambering over. The seaman who had called out fired wide, and the next moment went down under a heavy blow from the figure in front. I discharged a shot, but missed the man as he made his rush. Barraclough simultaneously gave way, and I saw him being pushed backwards against the side of the saloon. I fired again at one of his assailants, who fell away with a curse, and just then the first flush of the coming dawn moved over the waters, and shed a little light on the scene. It disclosed the burly form of Holgate in grips with Legrand, who had descended from the bridge, and Barraclough still struggling with his opponent. I had just time to make this out when one of the mutineers struck at me with a heavy bar, and the blow, owing to a movement on my part, fell on my right arm and paralysed it. He raised his weapon again while I fumbled to get the revolver out of my useless hand into my left, when Day suddenly emerged from somewhere with a levelled pistol. My antagonist dropped like a log. Day fired again, and then with an oath Holgate threw the second officer heavily to the deck, and pointed a revolver. There was a pause of two seconds, then a report, and Day slipped, moved his arms helplessly, and slid along the deck. A shout now came from the other side of the ship where the struggle at the gangway had been going on; and in a moment a stampede was upon us. I was forced back by sheer weight of numbers to the head of the companion-way, using my weapon with some wildness, for all was passing before me in confusion. I had received a hard crack on the head and scarcely knew what I was doing, but was merely sustained in my resistance by a sense of continuity, inherited, as it were, from the earlier part of the struggle. Somehow I found myself in the shelter of the corridor that led to the apartments of the Prince, his sister and his guest, and, for some reason I could not with my dizzy head conjecture, I was alone. I looked down the corridor, which was in gentle light, but saw nothing; it was as silent as though it had been plunged in the profound peace and slumber of the night. Without, the racket of noises reached me as in a dream, and I remember that I sat down on a couch in the corridor, my empty revolver in my hand. What ensued or how long I sat there I do not know; but I think it could not have been very long. I was aroused by a voice, and looked up stupidly. A face floated in the mists before me, and I nodded in a friendly way, smiling, and opened my mouth to speak. Instead I lurched forward and was conscious of warm arms, the soft pressure of a human body, and the fragrance of a dress. There was a time when I seemed to sway alone in a cold and dreary vacancy, but soon there returned to my senses the warmth and the fragrance and the ineffable comfort of some presence. Some liquid was forced between my lips, and I drank; and as I drank my brain cleared, and I looked and was aware who was supporting me with her arm. It was Princess Alix. "Madam----" I began stuttering. "Hush! Drink this," she said quickly. "We have need of you. We cannot spare a man like you. You have no dangerous wound?" "I think not," I said with difficulty. "A blow on the head----" My hand went feebly to it as I spoke, and came away with a patch of red. I rose and totteringly picked up my revolver, which had fallen. "What has happened?" She shook her head. "I was up in the hurricane-deck, but my brother sent me down. There is nothing to be heard. I was going out when I found you here." "It is good of you," I said vaguely. "Let us go out, then. Take this weapon." "I have one," said she quickly. I nodded. "Brave girl!" said I gravely. "Brave heart, as brave as beautiful!" I felt vaguely I was paying her a necessary compliment, but that was all. Yet the corridor was clearing before me now, and the light of dawn was filtering through the curtained windows. Princess Alix had turned to the door which gave on the deck. "If they have won," she said suddenly in a low voice, "why have they not come here?" I shook my head. "They do not want the saloon. They want other things," said I. "They want the strongrooms." "Then are they----?" she began. "I cannot tell," said I. "I will go out." "No," she said imperatively. "Wait." Of a sudden a voice was raised in a scream from the farther end of the corridor. "It is Mademoiselle," said she, with a little frown. "She is impatient of my return. I must go back." She glided off swiftly, and I stood by the door waiting for some moments. As she did not return, I opened it softly, and the strong wind off the morning sea took me in the face, refreshing me. I stepped out upon the deck. The sky was as grey as the sea, and the silhouette of the spars and funnel was ghost-like. The _Sea Queen_ thundered on her course, heeling to the broad wash of the water. As I stood watching, my ears alert for any sound that would give me information, I saw a figure detach itself from the bulwarks and move uncertainly about, and as it drew near I discovered it was Pye's. His face was of a colour with the gray steel of his revolver, which he held loosely, as if he was not aware he held it. "Oh, my God!" he said in a hoarse whisper. "Oh, my God! I didn't know it was like this. Oh, my God!" "Pye!" I called softly; and he started and dropped his pistol. "Pick it up, man, and keep silence," I whispered. "Come this way." I took his arm and stealthily withdrew him into the corridor. "What has happened?" He gazed at me wildly. "They've got the ship," he said with a whisper. "Oh, I didn't know it would be like this." I gave him a dose of the brandy which the Princess had brought for me, and it seemed to pull him together. He blinked at me through his glasses, and eyed me with some terror and distrust. "Do you know how things stand?" I asked. He shook his head. "The captain's killed," he said falteringly. "I don't know about the others." "We've got to find out," I said, and thought. Then, for I saw he would be of little use to me in his present state, I said, "Look here, Pye, I'm going to explore, while you keep this door. Mind you let no one in. We'll bolt it, see." I did so as I spoke, and turning found the Princess coming down the corridor. I explained to her the situation, and added that Pye would be placed on guard. She cast a glance at him, and looked at me inquiringly. "I'm going down to the saloon below," I said. "This set of cabins is isolated, except for the doors at each end to the deck and the door that gives on the staircase to the saloon. Can I depend on you to hold out for five minutes? A shout will bring me up at a moment's notice." "Yes," she said breathlessly. I opened the second door that admitted to the staircase and glanced down. No one was visible, and no sound was audible. I turned, nodded reassuringly to the Princess, and descended. The saloon was empty, and there were no signs of any struggle. I passed along the passage towards the officers' quarters, but everything was in order; and finally retraced my way towards the kitchens, which abutted on the engine-room, but were separated from it by a thick partition of steel and wood. As I went, the yacht rolled and sent me against a closed door with a heavy bump. From within issued a sound, subdued but unmistakable as that of a human voice. I reflected that the mutineers would not be here, for it was evident that the door was locked, and no mutineer would secure himself in a cabin in the midst of his triumph. I rapped loudly on the door and called out: "It's Phillimore. Who is in here?" After a pause I heard the bolt go back and the door opened a little, disclosing the face of Lane. "You, doctor?" he said. "Thank the Lord we're not all done yet." He flung the door wide, and I could see now that his companion was the head steward. "Where's the Prince?" I asked anxiously. "I don't know," he said, heaving a big sigh. "Thank the Lord there's some one else alive. I was forced down the companion and fell. Lost my weapon, too, or I'd 'a' showed more fight. Great Scott, I rolled all the way down, not before I'd done for one or two, I tell you." "Well, you're wanted upstairs now," said I, "both of you. We've got the ladies on our hands, and we've got to find out where the Prince is. Day is dead." Lane whistled. "Poor beggar!" he observed. "But Jackson must stay here. This is our magazine, my boy--where the grub is. If we've got to stand a siege we've got to seize the grub-chest. The storage chamber's along here." The advice seemed excellent. "Yes," I answered, "that is true. Well, let Jackson wait here and lie low. He won't be discovered here." "I dare say the cook's somewhere hidden about here, sir," observed Jackson. "All the better. Find him if you can. And remember that, if we pull through, this means a big business for you, Jackson, and cook, too." "Yes, sir," he assented mildly. "Now, then, Lane," I went on, and the purser followed me into the saloon. We mounted the staircase, and I took the chance of closing the doors at the head that gave access to the deck. Then I rapped on the door that gave on the Prince's corridor. It was opened by the Princess eagerly. "We are two more, Miss Morland," I said cheerfully, "and here is one of them." "But my brother!" she cried out. "I've not discovered his whereabouts yet," I said evasively. "Do you think that he's----" She did not finish. "Not a bit of it," I said, as decidedly as I could, for, to tell the truth, I had my grave doubts. "I have unearthed Mr. Lane and the steward. Why shouldn't I unearth Mr. Morland, too?" Yet, if the others were alive, why was the yacht so quiet? She sighed, and then looked over at the couch on which Pye sat huddled. "That man's no use," she said contemptuously. "He's been doing nothing but drink brandy." Lane crossed over to him. "The beggar's drunk," said he in disdain. "Then you must hold one door and Miss Morland the other," said I. "But you----" She paused. "I am going on another expedition. You must let me out and in. Two knocks will warn you." So saying, I slipped the bolt and got out on deck. From the appearance of the sky I judged that it was only half an hour since I had found myself in the corridor. It was light enough to make out things fairly well, and now I could discern on the bridge the portly form of Holgate struck with this light. The figure of a man was visible a little in front of me by the chart-house. I heard Holgate's voice raised wheezily in orders, and the replies of the men came back to me inarticulately. As I crouched under the shelter of the cabins on the lee side I became aware of a faint but continuous line just over the bulwarks, and then the explanation of the mysterious silence on the yacht dawned on me. It was the coast line, from which we could not be more than a couple of miles away, and in the confusion of the fight, no doubt, the _Sea Queen_ had lost her course and been driven inshore. It had, therefore, become imperative for Holgate to devote his attention and the activities of his men to the danger that threatened, more particularly as the heavy wind had threshed itself into a gale abeam. Now at this juncture I must confess that I was entirely at a loss. I could not move a foot across the deck without being discovered, since it was merely the fact that I was in the lee of the cabins and in the deeper shadows of the dawn that enabled me to skulk where I was. Yet I was reluctant to go back without having carried the search a stage further. It was obvious from the calm which reigned among the mutineers that the Prince and his following were either dead or prisoners. Which had been their fate? The shadow of the man in front of me, scarcely a dozen paces away, turned and stopped and seemed to put his ear to the woodwork. It must be (I reflected) the chart-house door by which he stood. What was he listening for? Was it possible that some of our men were shut up in the chart-house? I shuffled a step or two nearer and watched him. He was fully armed, for I could make out a weapon in his hand, and he had something by his side, probably a cutlass. It was probable that he was placed guard over the prisoners. I drew two steps closer still. Holgate's voice still painfully dominated the wind and water, and I ventured yet a pace nearer. Did he turn now the man must see me, for I was in the gray light of the dawn, a deeper shadow than the wooden walls by which I lurked. My hands twitched, and I almost seemed to have sprung before I did spring. Then I knew I was on his back and had a leg twisted about his legs. He fell heavily, and I thrust a hand across his mouth. He struggled hard, writhing upon the deck under the weight of my body like a snake, and a choking sputter issued from his throat. Hastily I dragged a handkerchief from my pocket and pushed it into his mouth. The struggling increased. I glanced up and found that we had fallen under the door of the chart-house; also in that same glance I observed that the key was in it. No doubt it had been turned on the outside. I reached up a hand, but missed the key by a few inches. The endeavour had loosened my hold of my prisoner, and I was flung against the door with a thud; but I hurled myself upon him again just in time to prevent him from withdrawing the gag. In the struggle which ensued I managed to push him a little closer under the door, and then, with a desperate effort, stretched out and turned the key. I was fumbling for the handle when the man once again evicted me from the possession of his body, and I fell in a heap, jamming the door, which opened outwards. But on that I was aware that my back was being jarred and scored, and the next instant I was tumbled over at the foot of the mutineer, who had got on his legs at last. The door was thrust open with a noise, and men issued from it, stepping over my body. "It is I--Phillimore," I gasped. "Run for the cabins." Some one helped me to my feet, and I saw the mutineer drop with a sword point through him; and then we ran, I between two of the others, one of whom I was conscious was Ellison. A shout sailed down to us from the bridge, and there was the noise of a revolver shot, but luckily it missed us, and we gained the companion-way in safety, locked and barred the door, and knocked on the entrance to the corridor. Lane opened it. "His Royal Highness, by gum!" he cried excitedly, and for the first time I was able to recognise my companions. The Prince was there, safe and scathless, and with him Barraclough, Ellison, and a fourth man, who was Grant. Princess Alix rushed on her brother, and was taken to his arms. He kissed her affectionately. "Yvonne?" he said. "She is safe," said the Princess, withdrawing herself. "She it safe, dear, but frightened." She spoke in German, and he nodded. "Ah, she would be frightened. It is no woman's work this, Alix. We must be tender with her." "We have done our best," she replied, I thought a little coldly; and at that a door down the corridor opened, and Mademoiselle herself appeared. "Frederic!" she cried ecstatically, and hastened towards us with graceful movements. "Ah, Frederic, it is cruel to leave me so. I wish I were back in Paris. Oh, _mon Dieu!_ what a voyage, what a ship!" As they embraced I turned my head away, for this reunion of lovers was no sight for public eyes, and as I did so I swept the Princess in my vision. Her face had fallen dead and chill, and I thought that a little curl of her lips betrayed some impatience with these demonstrations. Meanwhile Barraclough was narrating in his deliberate way the adventures of the party; but I cut him short, only asking one question: "Where is Legrand?" "They took him up and carried him forward, but I couldn't say if he were dead." "We have no time to lose," I said. "They may attack at any moment, and we have too much space to defend for comfort." "Why, we can manage this well enough," said he easily. "And be starved," said I. "No; we must keep the access to the saloon and the kitchens, and that means precautions. Look at the windows through which we may be approached." "Dr. Phillimore is right," said the Prince in his deep voice. "We must guard the windows." "We must close them," said I. "Grant, you can use tools. Ellison, you and Grant do what you can. There is plenty of woodwork to draw on--doors and trappings in the cabins. The portholes are useless to the mutineers, but they can enter by the skylights or the windows. They must be all barred. We are in a state of siege." "You hear your orders," said the Prince in his imperious voice. "The doctor speaks sense. See that it is done." Barraclough and Lane and the Prince himself were left on guard, and the rest of us sallied down to hunt for tools and timber to carry out this primitive fortification. In this we had the assistance of the steward, Jackson, and the cook, who had been discovered in one of his pantries. The work took us a full hour or more, but at last it was decently accomplished. The windows of the saloon and music-room that gave on the deck were shuttered, as also the windows of the cabins. Nothing but the skylights remained unprotected, and these we could trust ourselves to guard. I reckoned that we were in a position to stand a siege indefinitely, unless something untoward occurred. The fortifications completed, we stationed our guards, two in the corridor, two in the saloon, and sat down at last, wearied out with the fatigue of that abominable night. CHAPTER IX THE FLAG OF TRUCE We were not interrupted during all this time, and from the sound of the screw we could tell that the yacht was still ploughing her way, but clearly it was not now for Buenos Ayres. At six we took some food prepared by the cook, and considered the position with more equanimity. Counting the cook, who had not been reckoned in our previous numbering, we were now reduced to a party of ten men, if Pye could be accounted a man after his cowardly behaviour. There were six sailors in the hold at present useless, and the mutineers, even after their losses, were not far short of thirty. Of Legrand we knew nothing, but could only hope for the best. So long as we could hold the saloon we had plenty of food and water, and our stock of ammunition was ample. The outlook did not appear so bad. Only on the other side we had to remember that Holgate had the ship and could go whither he wished. Even if coal failed him he had the auxiliary power of the sails. Our main hope was to hold out until his provisions should be exhausted and he should be obliged to put into some port. Then would come the hour of reckoning, for we were probably better supplied with provisions than was the forecastle. The ladies breakfasted in their cabins, but the Prince was present at our common table, showing a right democratic attitude. "We are all in a common peril, gentlemen," he said with spirit. "We must not make differences. But there must be discipline," he added. There was, therefore, a certain _camaraderie_ reigning which had been foreign to the yacht before, and Lane gave way to his native garrulity, enlivening the table by some anecdotes, at which even Barraclough condescended to smile. "My hat!" cried the purser suddenly, slapping his flank. "They've not got what they fought for, and we've none of us thought of it." There was a pause. It was true, none of us had thought of it; we had been too busy thinking of other things. "Are you sure?" said I. Lane rose. "Let's go and see," said he. "But I've all the keys, and I'll swear no one came down in the neighbourhood of the strong-room while I was there." We trooped down, Prince and all, and it was as the purser had said. The safes were untouched. Barraclough elevated his eyebrows. "The fools!" he commented. "Well, it doesn't seem to me quite that," said I slowly. "It only looks as if Holgate was certain." "What do you mean?" he asked, and they all looked at me. "Why, if he did not take the trouble to touch this, he cannot be in a hurry. I never came upon a man with a cooler head. He's not in a hurry, that's a fact. It's been deliberate all through, from the very moment we left the Thames." We looked at each other now. "Jerusalem!" said Lane. "What a savage! He's made sure of us, then." "He can wait his time," I said. "He has waited, and can wait longer. The ship's in his hands." "You take a gloomy view, sir," observed the Prince with a frown. "Well, Mr. Morland," I replied drily. "I don't think we're here to glaze matters over. We've got to face things, and one of these things is that Holgate hasn't worried us since he got possession. How are you going to account for that, save on my hypothesis?" "They shall be hanged--every one," he exclaimed angrily, the German accent emerging roughly now. "Well, we'll do our best, sir," I replied lightly. I shut the strong-room door, and Lane locked it; and, as I turned, I saw the white face of Pye in the background. He had been missing from breakfast, and he looked very sickly, very pale, and very much abashed. The Prince noticed him, too, and addressed him sharply. "Why are you here, sir? What do you mean by leaving your quarters? I will have discipline kept on this ship." "I have no quarters," pleaded Pye humbly. "I was feeling sick, and lay down in my bunk." "You shall get to your quarters now, sir," declared the Prince severely. "Sir John, order this man to his post." The little man was so downcast, and was obviously so unwell, that I took pity on him, and cheered him as he went upstairs. "Never mind, Pye," I said. "We'll pull through." He shook his head. "Ah, it isn't that," he said. "But I disgraced myself, doctor. I'm not built that way. It was awful--awful." He shuddered. "Yes, we'll get our little tum-tums full of it now, I guess," remarked Lane cheerfully. "You freeze on to your barker, boy. You'll need it before we fetch up at Albert Docks again. It's Execution Docks for some of us, I'll lay. Have a cigar, doctor?" I accepted, but Pye refused, turning a sallow hue. His nerves had not yet recovered, and he had certainly drunk a good deal of brandy. Ellison and Jackson were on watch below, and when we reached the corridor Grant signalled us in a whisper from his peep-hole. "Some one coming along this way, sir." Barraclough sprang to his side. "By Heaven, it's Holgate, damn him," he said, "with a flag of truce." "Open that door," said the Prince evenly. Grant turned the key and drew the bolt, and the door fell ajar. Holgate's big form was stationed before it, and he waved a flag. "A truce, gentlemen," he said wheezily. I looked at the Prince and Barraclough for the answer, and to my amazement saw that the former had his revolver at the level. His finger was on the trigger. I leaped forward and struck it up, and the bullet buried itself in the walls of the cabin. "What do you mean, sir?" he thundered, turning on me savagely. "How dare you?" "Mr. Morland," said I. "You spoke of discipline a little ago. Well, how do you keep it?" "This is my ship," he said furiously. "Yes," said I, "and it is in the charge of Sir John Barraclough here, who will tell you, perhaps, that it is against the laws of equity, not to say common sense, to fire on a flag of truce." Sir John looked uneasy. "The doctor is right, sir," he said. "We ought to hear what he's got to say." "He is a villainous murderer. I will see that they are hanged," said the Prince, with a scowl at me. But he let his arm fall. Behind him I could see the Princess, but her face was averted. Holgate's figure blocked the doorway. "If I may come in," he said smoothly, "and you're quite done with your pistol practice, gentlemen, I should like to make a proposal to you." "It shall be unconditional surrender, Sir John Barraclough," said the Prince morosely; "I will have no other terms." "You may come in," said Barraclough shortly. Holgate edged himself through. "I claim the protection of this flag," said he flatly, and looked about him. "I hope my men haven't knocked you about too much. Doctor, my respects to you. You've got a head on you." "Come to business, sir," said Barraclough harshly. "Sir John, I've saved your ship, and I hope you'll lay that to my credit," said Holgate in his leisurely voice. "I found her drifting on a lee shore when I took charge, and, by thunder, she'd have floundered in another half-hour. So whatever you set on one side of the ledger, there's that lump on the other." "We're not here to talk about these matters," said Barraclough sternly. "Excuse me, Sir John, we are," said Holgate sweetly. "We're just on that and nothing else. It's pretty clear how you stand, but if you like I'll rehearse the situation. And I want you to understand where _I_ stand. See? I don't think that's so clear to you; and I want ventilation. This is a duffing game for his Royal Highness there. He stands to make nothing out of it, as things go, and there's precious little in it for any of you. Here you are prisoners in these palatial rooms, outnumbered by more than two to one, and not a man of his hands among you, if I except the doctor. Well, you can hold out, I daresay. I know all about that. You've got a call on the food cupboard, and you're welcome to it. But I've got the yacht, and she'll canter under my hands, not Sir John's. Don't you make any mistake. You're not in a first-class position, gentlemen." "You're a long time coming to the point," said Barraclough with exemplary curtness. "We have no time to waste." "Well, gentlemen, I'm willing to make a deal--that's the short of it--a deal that will suit both parties. That's the pith of the situation." He gazed from one to another of us unembarrassed, and even with an expression of amiable cheerfulness. "And my proposal's this----" "Unconditional surrender," broke in the Prince's harsh voice. "That so?" says Holgate without concern, directing a glance at the speaker. "I guess, Mr. Morland, you're in this for more than your health. So am I. But I should like to know before starting whom I've got to deal with, just by way of encouragement, so to say." He paused. "I don't want to pry into any secrets, but it would suit me better if I knew whom to address. Owing to the unfortunate decease of the late Captain Day----" "You infernal ruffian; you murderer!" broke fiercely out of Lane's throat. "You'll hang yet, by heaven, or I'll eat my hat." Holgate turned his heavy face and still sombre eyes upon the purser, but said nothing nor otherwise remarked his outburst. It was Barraclough who spoke: "Excuse me, Mr. Lane, this is my affair, not yours," he said abruptly. "Go on, sir," to Holgate. "I can wait, of course," said the mutineer with cool irony. "There isn't much hurry about the matter now the ship lays her course. But I should prefer a business deal with business people, and I take it that that means with you, Sir John." Barraclough nodded. "You may address me," he said. "And you will get your answer from me." "That's all right, then. And having settled so much, this is what I've got to lay before you," proceeded Holgate placidly, breathing out his words. "There's been a certain amount of pawn-taking in this game, and we've both got to pass it over if we're coming to business. Now you know what I want, and by this time you pretty well ought to know what you want also. You're in a tight fix. Well, if you'll hand over the contents of the strong-room we'll get out a proper contract, as thus: self to take the said contents, agreeing therewith to allow his Royal Highness, or Mr. Morland (which you will), a moiety of the same, provided that the party be landed at a suitable place not more than ten miles from a civilised town, and provided always that no more be heard of the steps leading up to this contract." He came to a pause, and eyed us, with a gaze divested of any eagerness, even of any significance. The Prince uttered a loud laugh, but Barraclough, as became his position, kept his expression. I was a little out of the group, and I could pick out the faces of the company. The Princess had moved forward and leaned now with her chin on her open palm, and one foot upon the settee near the door. She was frankly staring at the mutineer who made these astounding proposals. The Prince and Barraclough conferred in whispers, and presently the latter resumed his position. "If you want the contents of the strong-room," he said, "it is suggested that you had better come and take them." Holgate's eyebrows went up. "Well, I could do that, of course," he said slowly. "Don't suppose I've overlooked that solution of the little problem. But I'm dealing with you squarely when I say I'd rather not. For why? Because I don't want any further mess. We've slopped about enough for the present, and I should say you gentlemen know it." He paused again, as if to give us an opportunity of revising our decision, and once more the Prince and Sir John interchanged whispers. Barraclough shook his head vigorously, and a frown gathered on his features. In the fine light of the skylights Princess Alix's silhouette stood out, and the soft hair on her forehead was ruffled by the breeze. She was still gazing at Holgate. His bull-neck turned and he faced towards her, and their glances met. Neither gave way nor winced before the salvos of the other, and I had the odd thought that some strange duel was in progress, in which the antagonists were that fair woman and that villainous, gross man. Holgate's eyes shifted only when Barraclough spoke next. "If you leave the yacht at the next port or place of call we shall be powerless to prevent you and the men under you," said Barraclough in a dry, formal voice. "But the mutiny will be, of course, reported to the British Consul at the most accessible port." "That's a compromise, I reckon," observed Holgate with a grin, which showed his fang. "That's owner and first officer commanding rolled into one and halved, or I'm Dutch. Well, I'll let it go; but I've offered fair terms. And I'll tell you frankly that I wouldn't even have offered those had it not been for the doctor." He shook his head, wagging it at me. "Oh, doctor, doctor, to think what I lost in you! Why, we could have taken our time over the strong-room, barring your little intervention. You're a real daisy, and I won't forget it. But now it's in the hands of Providence. It's war. Sir John, I congratulate the double-barrelled leaders. There's two captains here, and that's one too many. I only allow one in my quarters. All right, gentlemen." He took up his flag and waddled towards the door. "Good-morning. I've done what I could. Don't blame me." On the threshold he paused, and his glance marched deliberately over us all, landing at last upon the Princess. "May the Lord help you," says he in his voice of suet. "May the Lord be merciful to you--all!" The door went behind him with a snap. I turned almost unconsciously in that direction in which the last shafts of his eyes had flown. The accent on the "all" had been perceptible. Princess Alix had lifted her chin from her hand and set down her foot. She held on to the arm of the settee, and I could perceive her trembling. Her face had gone white like paper, and she stared at the closed door. I moved quickly towards her, for I was a doctor, if I had no other right there. My arrival broke upon her thought; she started, and the colour flowed back slowly into her face. "That man is the most awful man I have ever seen," she said with a shudder. "He is not so awful as he thinks," I said encouragingly. She shook her head, and moved away. I followed her. "If I might suggest, I would advise you to take a rest," I said. "You have had a most trying night." "Yes--I will rest," she returned with a sigh; and then, as we walked down the corridor together, "I thought you were right when you spoke to--to my brother in regard to the revolver; but now I don't know. I think anything that would rid the world of such a monster is justifiable." "Perhaps," I replied. "But he is making war, and we are on terms of war, and more or less bound by them. At least, that is one's general notion. But who can tell? The ethical boundaries, and the borders of honour, are indefinable and intangible." "I think I would have shot him myself," she said vehemently. "I hope we shall hang him yet," I answered. She looked at me out of her blue lustrous eyes, as if deliberating. "We depend a good deal on you, Dr. Phillimore," she said next. "We are all dependent on one another," said I. "Do you suppose that man meant what he said?" she asked. "No," I said. "I would distrust every statement of his. I can't determine what was in his mind or what he is aiming at. But this I know, that to make a compact with him would be to be at his mercy. He is ruthless; he would not consider what blood he shed; and, besides, he has committed himself too deeply, and is no fool to ignore that." She sighed again. "I am glad," she murmured. "I thought perhaps that it would be wise. But my brother would never consent. Only I was afraid. But I am glad it would have been of no use. That makes only one course possible." "Only one," I said gravely. We came to a pause by the door of the cabin. "I think I had better see to Mademoiselle," I said, "in case of emergencies." "Yes, please," she said with a start, and opened the door of the _boudoir_. Mademoiselle, clad in a wonderful dishabille, was seated under the electric light, engaged in a game of dominoes with her maid, and just threw a glance at us as we entered. "There ... _tenez_ ... _là_, _là_ ..." she said excitedly, and marked her board and scrambled up the dominoes in a heap. "Juliette has won never," she cried in her broken English. "I have won three times. Where is Frederic, _ma cherie_? He is not fighting? _Non?_" "There is no fighting now, Yvonne," replied the Princess with admirable restraint, as seemed to me. "Frederic is well." "Oh, but the noise in the night," she rattled on in her own tongue. "It was dreadful. I could not sleep for the guns. It was abominable to mutiny. Ah, it is the doctor. Pardon, this light is not good, and they have boarded up the windows. We must live in darkness," she added peevishly. "But how are you, doctor? You have not been to cheer us lately. It is a dull ship." "Why, we consider it pretty lively, Mademoiselle," I answered lightly. "It keeps us occupied." "Ah, yes," she laughed. "But that is over now, and you will only have to dispose of the prisoners, to guillotine? ... No, to hang?" "It is we who are prisoners," said the Princess abruptly. Mademoiselle stared. "_Mon Dieu!_ Prisoners! Oh, but it is not so, Alix. Juliette, shuffle, or I will box your ears, silly... Whose prisoners are we?" "The anterooms, Mademoiselle, are cut off from the rest of the ship," I explained. "Are you prepared to stand a siege?" "Oh, but we have gallant defenders enough," she said with her pretty laugh. "I am not afraid. It will be experience. Juliette, open, open, stupid. Do not stare at Monsieur like a pig. Play." I passed on, the Princess following me. "When I left her she was in tears," she said in a low voice. "She may be in tears again," I said. "But at present she wants no help from me. She suffices entirely for herself." Our eyes encountered, and I am sure of what I saw in hers; if we met on no other ground we met on a curious understanding of Mademoiselle. I took my leave ceremoniously. CHAPTER X LEGRAND'S WINK As I went down the corridor the figure of little Pye sprang out upon me from somewhere. "Doctor," he said in a piteous voice. I stayed. "Doctor, I'm very ill. I'm just awful." I looked at him closely. The flesh under his eyes was blue; the eyes themselves were bloodshot, and his hands shook. I felt his pulse, and it was racing. "You're in a blue funk, Pye," said I severely. He groaned. "Anything. I'll admit anything, doctor. But for heaven's sake let me go down to my bunk. I'll pull together there, I'll swear it." "You'll go down and drink too much," I said. "Not if you'll give me something. There must be lots of things," he pleaded. "I've never seen--I'm not fitted for this. Oh, doctor, I've only lived in a street before, a suburb, Tulse Hill. Think of that." His voice cracked, and with the ghost of his favourite trick his fingers quavered with the glasses on his nose. I took a pity for the creature, a pity in which there was naturally some disgust. "Very well," I said. "Go down, and I'll make it all right. I'll pay you a visit later." He thanked me and scuttled away like a rabbit, and I sought Barraclough and explained. "Ill?" said he. "Well, if he's ill----" "He's ill enough to count," I said. "He's in a dead funk, and about as much use as a radish." Barraclough's nose wrinkled in smiling contempt. "Better make him steward and promote Jackson," he said. "He's part of a man, at any rate. They'll be on us before we know where we are." "Do you think so?" I asked. "Well, to say the truth, Holgate puzzles me. Why did he make that offer?" "Because he'll find it infernally difficult to get in here," said Barraclough easily. "Because it's a frontal attack all the way and a costly business. If it's a case of half the party going to glory they'll look out for a cheaper way first. That's why." "You may be right," I answered. "But Holgate isn't exactly particular, and anyway I want to find out." "Find out?" he echoed in surprise. "Well, Holgate used a flag. Why shouldn't I in my turn?" I asked. He screwed up his mouth. "Well, I don't know," said he. "I won't say you nay, but--look here, there's risk, Phillimore. You say Holgate isn't particular. To put it plain, he's a black-hearted swine." "You couldn't put it too plain," I replied. "But I have my notion, and I may not be wrong. He's black enough, God knows, but I think I've gauged him a little. Why didn't he push the assault? Why doesn't he now? No, Holgate's not all plain and easy. It's not like reading print. I'm hanged if I know what he's up to, but whatever it is, it's bad. And somehow I feel my way along this, and I don't think he'll do any harm at present. Call it faith--call it instinct--call it superstition if you will." He bit his moustache doubtfully. "You're on duty in an hour," he objected. "I'll be back before," I answered. "And another thing, Barraclough, there's Legrand.... Oh, they'll want a doctor." "That's true. Well, God bless you," said he, placidly yielding, and unlocked the door. I had provided myself with a flag, and now emerged upon the deck clasping it in one hand. I walked past the barred windows of the music-room and saloon, and past the smoking-room beyond, until I was level with the chart-house. I was on the windward side of the yacht, and she was heeling gently as she ran down the coastline under a full head of steam. Above me I could discern also the white spread of her wings, and from the look of the long white water that leaped and fell off her sides in a welter I guessed that we must be footing it to a pretty tune. If poor McCrae had been right in estimating her rate at eighteen knots, she could not be making much less than sixteen now. The sails were full of noise, and the wind rattled and sang in the ventilators. The first sight that struck me as I came back square with the bridge was a man swinging in a travelling-cradle and leisurely painting the funnel. It seemed so peaceful an occupation, and so strangely out of accord with those terrible transactions of the night, that I stared in wonder. Then my eyes went to the bridge and marked something more in keeping with the situation, for the bridge had been boarded about in the rear and sides with a wall of timber, so that the helmsman and the man in charge, Holgate or another, were invisible from the deck below, as also from the hurricane-deck. I suppose that this structure had been put together in memory of the Prince's prowess, and of his ruthless performances from the hurricane-deck. I advanced to the end of the deck and hailed the forecastle, waving my flag. "Is Mr. Holgate there?" I called out. "I wish to see him," and again I waved my flag. A man came into the open on the deck below and stared up at me, and presently after he was joined by another whom I recognised as Gray. They exchanged words, and I knew also from a sound overhead that some one was peering at me from the bridge. Once more I called out for Holgate, brandishing my flag vigorously: and then I heard Holgate's voice below. "Hold on, doctor!" He emerged into my line of vision and with him was Pierce, his lank red face upturned to me, his lower jaw in its socket. Gray gesticulated, indicating me, and Holgate stood passively looking at me. Suddenly the ex-boatswain put his hand in his pocket, pulled out a revolver and presented at me. It was the work of a moment. Holgate struck his arm up, and the bullet whizzed past me and banged into the chart-house. "Steady there, doctor," said Holgate. "Glad to see you. Just in time, wasn't I? Step along down there." I moved towards the ladder and descended to the lower deck, where Holgate met me. "Difficult to keep our respective men in hand, isn't it, doctor?" he said with a quizzical look. "But I won't have any firing on a flag of truce any more than you. You and I keep to the code of honour." I could have sworn that the piece of comedy which had just been performed had been his. I knew for certain now that it was his jest, this crude and savage joke that was on the margin of tragedy, and might have gone over the border. But what would he care, this infamous man of astute intelligence, cold, cunning, and ruthless determination? His eyes twinkled, and he laughed now so as to disclose his abominable fang. "We are now quits, eh, doctor?" he said. "His Royal Highness would have had me but for you, and now Pierce yonder would have potted you but for me. I like honourable warfare," he chuckled. "Well," said I cheerfully, for I was resolved to take him in his own way, "then the Prince's offence is wiped out. He is forgiven." "Oh, there's nothing to forgive about the Prince," says Holgate indifferently. "I don't want him. I want his safe. What's a Prince or two?" He looked at me narrowly. "Shall we get to business? Changed your minds?" "There's not the slightest chance of that," I answered. "You may set that on record." "Say, I will," said he, unexpectedly turning, and called out, "Pierce, Gray, come here. Just listen to the whoop our cockerels give up there. Now, doctor, spit it out." "I have nothing to add to my statement that there is no chance of any terms," I said sharply. "Think of that," observed Holgate to the others. "They don't know what's good for them. Well, let 'em alone, doctor. Let 'em stew in their juice. They'll come round in a brace of shakes, after a little argument, let's say." Gray guffawed, and Pierce grinned, his thin face puckering to his eyes, an unpleasing sight. It was clear who was master here. Holgate commanded by the sheer force of his individuality and his coolness. "Well, to what do we owe the honour of this visit?" went on Holgate easily. "Come to borrow some of our provisions? Strikes me you're a bit fond of the forecastle. We shall have to make room for you. Got room for a little one inside, Pierce?" The joke sent Gray off again, but I was aware that this gross fooling was as much a piece of acting as had been the feint of shooting at me. He was playing to an audience, and that audience a gallery that dealt only in crude fun. Why did he do it? What was his object? He puzzled me. But I made answer very plainly. "You know my profession, Mr. Holgate. We had a second officer...?" I paused. "Have!" he corrected mildly. "Have; not, of course, on active service--resting, let us say." Gray giggled. His master was as good as the clown in a circus to his tickled ears. Holgate looked at me. "There's nothing much the matter with Legrand," he went on, "save natural chagrin and a crack on the head. You see, I got him just so." He put both hands together in a comprehensive gesture, "and it interfered with his vertebræ. But better see him, doctor, better see him; and while you're about it, we've got a job or two more for you." I followed him, as he spoke, towards the forecastle deck, and soon was busy in my professional capacity, Holgate chatting the while very wheezily in my ear. And when I had finished he had the hatch opened and I descended to the prisoners. "I'm accompanying you, doctor," explained Holgate, "not because I'm going to spy on you--that would be mean, and not in the game--but as a guarantee of good faith, as one might say. You see I feel responsible for you, and if some one with an imperfect sense of honour, say like the Prince, should take it into his head to clap hatches on you, where would my reputation be?" He smiled, took a lamp from one of his men and descended after me. The prisoners were standing or squatting moodily about in that small compartment of the hold, which was otherwise almost empty, and lying on his back with his face turned towards us was the second officer. His eyes gave no indication that he was aware of my presence, though they were wide open, and, I confess, I was alarmed to see his condition. It looked like death. I felt his pulse, and examined him, and all the time his eyes were on me unwavering. His high colour had fallen away, and his face was now spotted with unhealthy blotches on a pallid skin. I pressed my fingers to the back of his neck, puzzled, and as I did so my body came betwixt Holgate with the light and Legrand. It seemed to me that now the eyes moved, and I could have declared that one of them closed sharply and opened again. But at the moment Holgate shifted his position the eyes were again dull and vacant. I drew in my underlip, and stood up, looking at the mutineer. "A heavy crack," said I. "Well, I suppose he came down rather nastily," said Holgate, unperturbed. "I'm sorry. I bear Legrand no grudge. He was a good navigating officer." "It looks like brain lesion," I said. "But I should like to examine more carefully." "Welcome, doctor, welcome," said he cheerfully, "always welcome, so long as I command this ship. Fly a flag and I'll see there's no reigning princes about. I'm the only prince here, you may take my word for that." I thanked him coolly, and giving the prisoners some directions for the care of Legrand, climbed to the deck. As I left the lower deck with the suave compliments of Holgate in my ears, I had two things in my mind to ponder. In the first place, there was the mystery behind the chief mutineer. What ailed him that he had made no attack on our weak garrison? And had the deviation of the yacht's cruise been an adequate reason for leaving the strong-room untouched? Again, when he had offered terms, had he not known that we could not accept them, and why had he conducted himself with such easy insolence as to prevent us from accepting them had we been disposed to do so? This problem frankly baffled me. But the other thought was more consolatory. I was convinced that Legrand was not much injured, and I guessed that he was "shamming." That he had winked at me to convey his real case seemed obvious. My heart rose at the thought, for it had been downcast, heaven knows. But it was something to feel that we had allies forward, in the heart of the enemy, even if they were at present under hatches. I had faith somehow in Legrand, a silent, forcible man, and I entered the staterooms with cheerfulness. Oddly enough, the note with which I was received bore some relation to that cheerfulness, for I was admitted to the tune of tremulous laughter. It was Ellison who let me in, but the laughter did not proceed from him. Half-way down the corridor was Sir John in animated conversation with Mademoiselle. At least, the animation was on her part, for he was decorously stolid, and favoured me with a nod. "Managed it, then, Phillimore. Good for you," he said with amiable patronage. "I though it was all up when I heard that shot. But Mademoiselle put her money on you." "Ah, was I not right?" she asked archly in her pretty English. "I know the doctor. He is an old friend of mine." She was dressed in a smart morning gown, somewhat open at the throat, and her admirable voice seemed to encompass us in its sympathy. One could not but feel pleased and flattered by her faith. I smiled. "I am glad to say that Legrand's safe, but _hors de combat_," I went on. "Perhaps not for long. We may have a surprise in store for us. At any rate, Holgate does not know everything. He's a little too clever, to my mind." "Oh, I wish they were all hanged, and dead," broke out Mademoiselle, with an impatient gesticulation. "They will be in due time," said Barraclough. "Tell me, Sir John, tell me, doctor, is there any danger?" she asked vivaciously. Sir John was ever deliberate, and I anticipated him. "None, or very little at present, I think." "Ah!" she beamed on us both. "Then you shall have time to play with me. Do you play breedge, Sir John?" I turned away, for it was time to relieve Lane in the saloon. CHAPTER XI THE LULL When you consider how I had parted from the Prince, his subsequent conduct must be regarded as creditable. After my watch I fell dead asleep in my bunk, and might have slept till night had it not been for the sense of discipline possessed and exhibited by his Royal Highness. He visited me in person, and did me the honour to arouse me from my dreamless slumber, whereat I sat up cursing. "It is natural you should feel irritated, Dr. Phillimore," said he calmly. "But when you come to yourself you will perceive that duty must be performed. It is your watch." "Oh, ah!" I blurted forth. "You must excuse me; sir, but I have had a night of it." He nodded amiably. "If you will come to my cabin after your watch," he observed, "I shall have something to say to you." I do not know that I looked forward to the interview with any interest. I expected some censure of my conduct earlier in the day, and I was resolved to defend myself. But the Prince proved mild and even amiable. He offered me a cigar, and condescended to discuss some points of policy with me. "I have been told," said he, "that you have been in the forecastle, and have seen Mr. Legrand. You think that there is some chance of his joining us? Well, it is good hearing. I have no doubt that we shall succeed in destroying the traitors." "Mr. Morland," said I, leaning forward to him, "I would not like to leave you in the thought that this is going to be easy." "Oh, no; it will not be easy," he agreed. But plainly he was confident that it was possible, which I was not. If there was any one in that ship that doubted, it was I. I said nothing, however, but remarked that Holgate was a man of resource and capacity. "I am willing to believe that," he said after a pause. "He is a very clever scoundrel. Oh, yes." "We might be in a better position to counter his plans if we fathom them," I suggested. He looked at me, interrogation in his blue eyes, which were, and were not, so like his sister's. "The question that puzzles me, sir, is why Holgate did not seize the saloon and the deck below last night when he had the chance--for down there is what he wants." "He had us locked up in the chart-house," replied the Prince with assurance. "He did not anticipate that we should escape; and the yacht was running into danger." Yes; that was the explanation that had occurred to me; indeed, it was the explanation that hitherto we had all accepted. But was it true? "It was his intention to possess himself of the papers at his leisure," continued Prince Frederic, smoking and gazing at me with the air of a preceptor instructing a pupil. "Why should he?" I asked bluntly. The Prince smiled pleasantly. "I will tell you, Dr. Phillimore," he answered. "When I left London, and Europe, for good, I instructed my lawyers to put my property into three forms of goods--drafts on bankers, Bank of England notes, and English currency. Each kind would be of service to me, whose destination was not quite settled. But these would make a bulky load for any man. There is a large amount of specie, and is it not the Bank of England that says, 'Come and carry what gold you will away in your pockets provided you give us £5,000'? Well, there is that difficulty for these villains." "But," I objected, "do they know how the treasure is made up?" He cast a dark glance at me. "I have told you," he said, "I trust such as you in my service, doctor. But there has been treachery. Who I am and what I carry became known. How, I cannot say. But it was treachery. The whole thing is a conspiracy," he cried, hammering on the table, "and it may be that my enemies in Hochburg are at the bottom of it. I will find out. But, see you, doctor, I am Mr. Morland here and hereafter. Let that be understood, and it is as Mr. Morland I will hang these ruffians." His frown knit his eyebrows closely, and his nostrils heaved, while the blue eyes were fired with sudden flame. If he had ideas on democracy, as reports of him had declared, he had also beyond question the temper of the martinet. It was possible, no doubt, to recognise these strange contradictions, but at the first sight it seemed difficult. I had yet to learn that I was dealing with a type of the fanatic, and a representative of that type, moreover, who exemplified in his blood the fatalism of his ascendants. Yet the glimpse I had of the man was interesting. I began to understand him, and even to sympathise with him. He had foregone much for the sake of an ideal, and that was something. But just then I should like to have known exactly what his sister's attitude to that ideal might be. For Princess Alix, strange as her brother was, was even more baffling than he. Though we kept a rigid watch all that day and night, no attack was delivered, and I began once again to speculate as to Holgate's policy. Was he trying to tire us out before he made his assault, or had he other ends in view? The second day passed as tranquilly as the first, and the yacht was still making her best southward. She had passed the mouth of the Rio La Plata, and was forging along the Argentine coast, bound for--we knew not whither. Her destination was in other hands, and we must be content to abide the issues, alert and equipped for any emergency. On the second day I revisited the forecastle, with my flag, and found Holgate as amiable as before. "You give me your word, doctor, that you have no weapons?" said he, when I had attended to his wounded men, and was proceeding to the hold where the prisoners lay. "I give you my word," I replied. He nodded, and gave orders for the removal of the hatch; and down I went, this time unaccompanied. Legrand still lay on his back, staring vacantly, and the sailors were grouped about, a despondent company, in that dark and stuffy hole. "Any improvement?" said I to one of them. "Not much, sir," said he, with a glance towards the open hatchway, where, no doubt, one of the mutineers stood on guard. "Does Mr. Legrand take any nourishment?" I asked. "A bit, sir, but not too much. He doesn't seem to relish his food," the man answered. "Does he talk?" I asked. "He has spoken about a dozen sentences, sir, but there don't seem much sense in them." "Ah, I feared as much," I said. I was certain that Holgate, for all his lordly air of unconcern, had taken steps to know what was forward in the hold. I made another examination, and was the more convinced that there was nothing seriously the matter with Legrand. This time he frankly grinned in my face, as I laid him down. No doubt the sailors were in his secret, and primed for it. "I daresay I shall have to operate," I said, and, bidding them farewell, I ascended to the deck. Holgate waved his hand cheerily at me. "Always glad to see you, doctor," he called out, and went on with the conversation in which he was engaged. I could have whipped myself that I could not guess what his crafty design was. But, if I was ignorant, no one was likely to assist me. Barraclough had no views; all that his purview compassed was the probability of an immediate fight, to which he looked forward with unconcern. Lane was ridiculously inept in his suggestions, one of which involved the idea that Holgate desired to "bag ladies and treasure with one gun." This suggestion irritated me, and I snubbed him, so far as any one could snub Lane. The Prince, I knew, was secure in his obstinate conviction, and naturally Ellison had no views any more than Barraclough. They were both very excellent examples of pure British phlegm and unimaginativeness. This seemed to cast the burden upon me, for Pye was still confined to his cabin. The little man was undoubtedly shaken by the horrid events he had witnessed, and though he was confessedly a coward, I could not help feeling sorry for him. He was an abject creature now, and clung to his bunk, keeping out of the Prince's way and Barraclough's as much as possible, and pestering me with his consultations. "I believe I should be better, doctor, if we were to get into warmer weather," he said pleadingly. "Cold does affect a man's nerves, doesn't it?" "Well, you'll have to make love to Holgate, if you want that," said I drily. "We're at his mercy." We were all, I think, conscious of that, if we did not always openly acknowledge the fact. Yet it was astonishing that no attack was made on the state-rooms. Holgate had promised it, and had even struck the shadow of deeper terrors during the concluding words of his interview in the corridor. But things went on peacefully; the sun rose in blurred heavens of blue and grey, and declined into rolling waters, and no event of consequence took place. The bells were sounded as of old; the wheelman in his armoured turret steered the yacht upon her course, and every day the _Sea Queen_ drew southward under the ordinary maritime routine. Were it not for our memories, and for the outward facts of our predicament, we might have fancied ourselves merely upon a pleasant excursion. There was, however, this lacking, that no one knew our destination. The secret was locked in Holgate's bosom, or perhaps he shared it with one or more of his desperadoes. And, as if to lull us into a sense of security and to persuade us that all was normal, Mademoiselle suddenly developed and exhibited a remarkable liveliness. She was a thing of moods and impulses, restrained by no reason or consideration for others, so far as I could judge. And, having once got the better of her hysteric fear of the mutiny, she promptly discarded any thought of it. We were prisoners in our part of the yacht, it is true, but that did not interfere with our comfort. We had food and wine to spare; we were supplied with every luxury; and no one gave us any trouble. The guards were set regularly, but Mademoiselle had no concern with that. I doubt if she even recognised that such precautions were taken. There was a certain romance in the situation which appealed to her and inflamed her imagination. She lived most of the day in her cabins, being tired by her maid, or playing dominoes or some other childish game; and in the afternoon she emerged upon us, a glorious figure in fine clothes, and gave us the benefit of her society. Naturally she spent much of her time in company with the Prince and his sister, but Barraclough and myself were by no means denied her favours. Barraclough spoke French very indifferently--as indifferently, indeed, as Mademoiselle spoke English, but that did not prevent them from getting on very well together. As I have explained, Barraclough was a tall, handsome fellow, lean and inflexible of face, with the characteristic qualities of his race. His eyes admired the lady profoundly, and he endeavoured to keep pace with her wits, a task rendered difficult by the breaches in two languages. This vivacity was crowned by exhibitions of her voice, to which she began to treat us. She had, as I remembered, a wonderful mezzo-soprano, and, being pent up in this comfortable prison, and denied access to the promenade, she used it to effect. As I have said, the music-room surrounding the saloon below, as a balcony, was in our suite, if I may put it in that way, and thither was Mademoiselle accustomed to repair of an afternoon to keep her voice in practice, as she explained. The Prince usually followed her there, and I have seen him more than once seated in the dimness of the farthest corner of the balcony, staring before him as a man lost in thought, or as one rapt out of himself into some sentimental ecstasy at the sounds of that divine music. Here we felt, more or less, that we were in Liberty Hall, and, to do him justice, Prince Frederic encouraged us to feel this. It was understood that the saloon was open to all, and it became a resort for such of us as were off duty in those days--a resort that would have been improved by more light; for the windows were all barred and shuttered, and only the skylights admitted the day. The weather was now grown much colder, for we were off the coast of Patagonia, and Holgate appeared to be bent on doubling the Horn and getting into the Pacific. In the wilds of that wide domain there would be more chances for this crew of scoundrels to find refuge and security from the arm of the law. Was it for this he was waiting? And yet that was no argument against an immediate attack, for it was clear that he might get the business over, deal with us as he chose, and make for his destination afterwards and at his leisure. Nor could it be that he doubted as to the issue of the struggle, for his forces outnumbered ours greatly, and, if I knew anything of men, Holgate was utterly without fear. But, on the other hand, he had a great deal of discretion. The only conclusion that emerged from these considerations was the certainty that in the end Holgate had decreed our fate. _That_ had been settled when Day fell, perhaps even before that, and when poor McCrae was shot by his engines. We were doomed to death. If any doubt as to our fate dwelt in Princess Alix's mind she did not show it. She was a girl of spirit and energy, and she had neat hands. Thus her time was spent in such work as she deemed useful in the circumstances, or such as occupied her mind healthily. She made a handsome fur cap for herself against the biting wind, which now came snapping off the icy highlands of the coast, and she sketched, and designed, and photographed. Above all, she was cheerful and self-reliant. There was not much in common between the brother and the sister save perhaps their aloofness from strangers. I questioned much if the Princess had any of her brother's sentimentality. She had all her brother's decision and fire, however, as I was to see exemplified more than once. It was on the third of our quiet afternoons that I was sitting in the corridor with a volume in my hand, conscious merely of the many sounds in that silence, and scarcely aware of what I read. The voyage seemed to partake of the nature of that fabled voyage of the ancient mariner. Some strange doom hung over us all, and yet the sky smiled, as it did that moment, and the cold breath of the blue sea was inspiring in one's nostrils like wine in the blood. I was aware in this dream that a door had opened and shut, and that the Princess had come into the corridor. She sat on a chair not far from me and plied her needles in a way that struck me now, as I roused myself, as very homely and pleasant. I shot a glance at her. She was very simply dressed in what, for all I know, may have been a very extravagant fashion. She had the knitted waistcoat she was making (I concluded for her brother) across her knee, and I had a full view of her as she swayed and moved about her task. Those flowing lines, that sweet ripeness, the excellent beauty of her face, impressed me newly. She met my glance, and smiled. "What do you find interests you, Dr. Phillimore?" she asked in her pleasant voice. "I was reading, or pretending to read, a book of poems," I answered. "Poems," she replied, plying her needles, and then in a little, "It is strange you should be reading poems and I knitting here." "It puzzles me," said I. I rose and went to the window behind her which was not shuttered, and for the light from which she had seated herself there. The crisp sparkle of the sea rose to eyes and ears. When I turned, Princess Alix had ceased from her work and was looking towards me. "You wonder why?" she asked. "I have made many guesses, but have never satisfied myself yet why the mutiny is not pushed to its logical conclusion." "Which would mea----" she said thoughtfully. "Which would mean," I interrupted quickly, "the possession of the treasure." There was something deeply significant in her gaze, something that was brave, and appealed, and winced at the same time. She went on slowly with her knitting. "He is waiting his time," she remarked in a low voice. "He will wait too long," I said with a little laugh. "Do you think so?" she asked, and, laying down her work, went to the window as I had done. "It is cold." "We are off an icy shore," I said. "Yes, I found it on the map this morning," she nodded. "We are close to the Straits of Magellan!" At that moment the sound of the piano sailed through the door at the end of the corridor. She turned her head slightly, and then moved away restlessly. She went to the chair on which I had been sitting and picked up my Tennyson. "I know him pretty well," she remarked, turning the pages. She halted where I had inserted a marker. "'The Princess,'" she said slowly. She drummed her fingers on the leaf, read for a minute or two, and dropped the book lightly. "We have no literature in comparison with yours, Dr. Phillimore; but we have sometimes done better than that." "Oh, not than the lyrics," I protested lightly. "_Ask me no more_----" The music from without broke into louder evidence, and she turned frowning towards the door. "Do you know, Dr. Phillimore," she asked hesitatingly, "if Mr. Morland is in his room?" "He went after lunch," I answered. She stood considering. "Mademoiselle has a beautiful voice," I said tentatively. "Oh, yes," she assented. "It is of good quality and training." Her tone was curt, as if she were unwilling to continue the conversation, but she still listened. Einsam Wandelt dein Freund im Frühlings garten. It seemed to me that I could almost hear the words in that uplifted music. The song has always been a passionate fancy of mine, beguiling the heart of rock to romance. Sentiment is on wing in every corner of one's consciousness when that song rises in its fulness and falls in its cadences on one's ears and deeper senses. In der Spiegelnden Fluth, in Schnee der Alpen.... ... strahlt dein Bildniss. I could see Mademoiselle Trebizond at the piano with the vision of the mind, her soul enrapt, her features transfigured. She was a figment of the emotions. And the Princess and I listened, she with a little dubitating look of perplexity, paying me no heed now, and I singularly moved. I walked down the corridor, past where Princess Alix stood, and as I went by I could have put out my arm and drawn her to me. She was wonderful in her beauty and her pride. Deutlich schimmert auf jedem purpur blättchen. But I went by and opened the door that gave upon the saloon stairs. Instantly the flood of music rolled into the room in a tide, and, glancing back, I saw the Princess stir. She came towards me. "A voice is a beautiful machine," she said uncertainly as the notes died away. I could not answer; but she may have read an answer in my eyes. She passed me just as the singer broke into something new, and entered the music gallery. A shaft of light struck out her figure boldly. I walked round to the second door at the head of the stairs. Right away in the corner was Mademoiselle, and by her Sir John Barraclough lounged on the sofa, stroking his moustache uneasily. But my eyes lingered on the two not at all, for they were drawn forthwith to another sight which filled me with astonishment. The barriers had been removed from several of the windows, the windows themselves were open, and I could discern the figures of men gathered without on the deck. With an exclamation I ran forward, interrupting the mellifluous course of Schubert's Serenade, and Barraclough started to his feet. "What is it?" he asked abruptly. Mademoiselle turned on her stool and regarded me with curiosity, and behind the Princess was approaching slowly. "The windows, man!" said I. Mademoiselle burst into laughter. "It was so dark," she said prettily, "I could not see plainly. I must always have light when I play. And I made Sir John open them." Barraclough fidgeted, but turned a cold face on me. "What's all the fuss about?" he asked surlily. I pointed to the figures which we could see through the open windows. "Well, that's my business," he said shortly. "I'm in command, and I'm not a fool." As he spoke he fingered his revolver. "Oh, do not be afraid. It is all right," said Mademoiselle cheerfully. "See, we will have more open. I will play them something. They are listening to my music. It will soothe them." She cast a look at Sir John from her laughing dark eyes, and let her hands down on the keys with a bang, breaking into a jolly air of the boulevards. "Stay," she cried, stopping quickly, "but I know one of your English tunes suitable for the sea. How do you call it? Tom-bolling!" As she spoke she swerved softly into that favourite air, the English words running oddly from her lips. "'Ere a sheer 'ulk lies poor Tom Bo-olling..." From the deck came a burst of applause. She laughed in delight, and winked up at me. "I can do more with them than your guns," she said boldly, and was sailing into the next verse when the Princess intervened. "Mademoiselle," she said in French, "you are inconveniencing the officers. They have much to do." Mademoiselle turned about angrily and met the Princess' gaze. She seemed about to fly out in a tempest, but as suddenly checked herself, leaving only a little frown on her forehead to witness to her annoyance. She had been engaged in a little triumph that suited her vanity, and she had been called away from it. I really do not think there was anything more than that in it--not then, at any rate. She rose. "You are a tyrant, my princess," she said, and nodding sweetly to Barraclough and myself, left the gallery. Princess Alix followed, her face pale and still. More than ever was I convinced that, whatever feelings the lady had inspired in the Prince, his sister was not party to them. CHAPTER XII IN THE SALOON I think it was from that hour that I began to get on badly with Barraclough. It was in his power as acting captain, no doubt, to remit certain precautions, but the remission of those precautions was not to the credit of his head. He had been beguiled by the Siren, and she, doubtless, by her vanity or her freakishness. When she had gone he turned on me. "What the devil do you want interfering, Phillimore?" he demanded. "I'm in charge here." There never was a man so insensate. I shrugged my shoulders. "Well, it was not my interference that was successful," I said curtly. He walked abruptly to the window and opened it wider I could not be mistaken as to the bulky form that blocked it. "Nice music, captain," said Holgate's wheezing voice. "I'll give you just three seconds to quit, or I'll put a hole through you, you infernal rascal," said Barraclough savagely, raising his revolver. "Oh, we're in no hurry," said the mutineer cheerfully, and moved away. I suppose that some gleam of reason prevented Barraclough from firing. He barred the windows afresh, and came back to me. "Why the mischief doesn't he attack?" he exclaimed peevishly. I did not know, but I was near guessing just then. In point of fact, I did guess that afternoon. I paid my usual visit to the forecastle and the hold. Legrand played the same farce with remarkable persistence, and I was no longer puzzled by him. He was biding his time, like Holgate, and his reasons were obvious. Holgate's dawned on me just then--but some of them only, as you shall see during the progress of this narrative. He maintained his friendliness, inquired civilly after our health, and how the ladies bore the seclusion. "I wish I could make it easier for them, but I can't, doctor," he said amiably. He was an abominable liar, but I had a certain admiration for his effrontery. I was glad I could meet him on his own ground, so I answered deliberately: "Of course, it would spoil your plans to get the job over." He eyed me smiling. "As how, my friend," he asked. "You would rather have us in charge of the treasure than yourself," I replied. He laughed. "Doctor, there's imagination in you, as I've always said. It's a pity I made that blunder about you. Not that it matters now. Well, you've nicked it. What's the odds? You are welcome to the truth--now." There was a perceptible emphasis on his last word. "You're not afraid of the attack?" I said. He shook his head. "Not much. While we have a common object we're all right. I'm afraid of success. Doctor, you've a penetrating eye. Why, the treasure might break us up. If you had sent it down to me I believe I'd have sent it back. That would have been your best chance. I wonder you didn't think of it. But you've got your flaws. If you'd sent that treasure down I'd have had to take it; and you might have sat down and waited on events. But it's too late now. I know where I am." "And where's that?" I asked bluntly. He smiled craftily. "We enter the Straits of Magellan this extra special night," he said. "Let's put it at that." "And what's to come?" I asked in the same voice. "Lord, one would suppose you in the counsels," he said equably. "And in a way you are. Well, you can hand over that treasure which you have been good enough to guard for me better than I could myself as soon as you will. I've no objection now. Good-evening, doctor." He wheeled about and went off humming a tune. But I was staggered. That meant, if he were not lying again, that we were near the end of our tether, that the truce was up, and that.... My mind shuddered in its train of thought. There was only one possible end for us if Holgate was to secure himself; and he was capable of any infamy. As I looked at his broad back and bull neck I felt rage and hatred gather in me and surge together. But I was impotent then and there. I went back to our quarters sick at heart. It was falling dark when I reached the state-rooms, and all was as usual. The same vacant face of quietude was presented to me in the corridor. Leaving the two men, of whom one was Grant, on guard, I went below to my cabin; and, as I did so, thought to look in upon Pye. Faint shafts of light streamed in by the open port, but I could see no one. "Pye!" I called, and received no answer. Well, it was of small consequence to us if Pye recovered or not, for he was negligible as a unit of our defence. But I was glad that the little man had sufficiently resumed what what might be called his manhood to be up and about again. Maybe, I thought with some amusement, I should find him airing himself in the corridor or disporting in the music-room. Coming out of my cabin, I groped my way along the passage in the direction of the stairs. When I reached the foot of them it was quite dark, and I stopped, arrested suddenly by a murmur of voices from the saloon beyond. I knew that some one must be on guard there, but I did not quite understand the murmur. I hesitated, making some inquiries in my mind. From the hour, I came to the conclusion that Barraclough was on duty, and I turned and entered the saloon, the door of which was ajar. "Is that you, Barraclough?" I called. My voice penetrated the darkness, which was here alleviated by the dull gleam from the port-holes. I heard a rustling, and I was sure it was of a woman's skirts. "What do you want?" asked Barraclough in a leaden voice. "Oh, nothing," said I as coldly; "I only thought I heard voices." "Now what the----" He pulled himself up sharply, for with all his faults (and heaven knows I had yet to find how many they were) he was a gentleman. "It is the doctor," came in Mademoiselle's pretty accents. "Oh, it is so cold upstairs, doctor. You must make us some machinery to warm us." "We shall be colder yet, Mademoiselle," I replied indifferently; "we shall have the ices of Magellan refrigerating us to-morrow." "Magellan," said Barraclough. "What the mischief does that mean?" "Ask Mr. Holgate," I answered. "It's his affair, or he thinks it is. He has taken it on himself." I made my way to the electric-light knobs. "As it seems to be getting dark," I said, not without irony, "I will take the liberty of illuminating." "Oh, it's none so dark," growled Barraclough. "We ought to be used to darkness by this time. We're not all children at nurse," he sneered palpably. I turned the catch, but no light came. "It's gone wrong," I exclaimed. "Yes, I did try it a little time ago," said Mademoiselle sweetly, "when Sir John and I were in so deep argument." Of course it was a lie, but what did that matter. If I could have seen Barraclough's face at that moment I felt sure it would have advertised a sense of shame, despite his passivity. But Mademoiselle.... Well, I could see in the dusk the shadow of her face, and it was a handsome shadow. Almost I could see her smile. They were seated in the recesses of the saloon. I moved towards them. "I suppose you understand the hang of this, Sir John," I said drily. "I'm not a patent detective," he answered with his arrogant sneer, but I paid no heed, for I felt sure of settling him then and there. "I suppose it has occurred to you to reflect on whose grace we have depended for our electric supply," I said mildly. "I know that it comes from the engine-room, if that's what you mean," he replied bluntly. "And now it's cut off," I said. There was a pause, and it was the lady who broke it. "What is it that you mean, doctor?" I addressed her. "The mutineers cut off the light preparatory to an attack." "You are the most wonderful sleuth-hound, Dr. Phillimore," said Barraclough with a hard laugh; "your talents are quite thrown away." "I regret to say they are here," I answered sharply. "And where would he be if he had paid some attention to the patent detective? I tell you again, Sir John Barraclough, that we've got to expect an attack to-night, and that's why the light is gone." A man may endure hostility and defeat; he may suffer shame and injustice; he may undergo pangs of jealousy and remorse. All these things are dispiriting or humiliating, but I declare that I would willingly experience them all if I might save myself from the supreme dishonour of appearing in a ridiculous _rôle_. I had spoken strongly because I felt warmly, and there was a note of dictatorial assurance in my voice which might have convinced, or at least silenced, Barraclough. But I had left the keys down, and to my shocking discomfiture as I finished my declamation the saloon was at a stroke flooded with light. The radiance discovered to me Mademoiselle's piquante face, her eyes smiling, her lips full and pouting, and close beside her Barraclough's fair Saxon jowl. He grinned at me, but said nothing, for which perhaps I should have been grateful. But I was not. "But this is in our honour, then?" suggested Mademoiselle Yvonne prettily. I had no fancy for her, but I did not mind her little sarcasm. I bowed. "No doubt to celebrate my oratory," I said, recovering myself. "But as we do not know how long Mr. Holgate will condescend to continue his compliment we may as well make the most of it." "You're a cool hand, Phillimore," said Barraclough, now with the good temper of one who has triumphed. "But none so cool as Holgate," I returned him in the same spirit, "for he has just warned me that his reasons for not attacking us are at an end." He regarded me interrogatively. "Holgate is not only a cool hand, but a cunning hand, a far-reasoning hand. He has let us take care of his treasure until he was ready for it." "What do you mean?" asked Barraclough in astonishment. "His men might have become demoralised if he had seized the safe. He has, therefore, feigned to them that it was not practicable. That has been his reason for our security--not tender mercy for us, you may guess. So we have kept his treasure safe, and now--he wants it." "Why now?" queried Barraclough, who frowned. "That's Holgate's secret. I suppose he knows what he is going to do and what destination he wants. We don't. Anyway, we're turning through Magellan to-night, and he has no further use for us." "I wish I'd shot that fiend to-day," said Barraclough savagely. Mademoiselle looked from one to the other, a curious expression on her face. "He is a remarkable man, this 'Olgate?" she asked. "He is--pardon, Mademoiselle--the devil," said Barraclough. She laughed her fluting laughter. "Oh, but the devil may be perhaps converted," she said. "He may be tamed. You say music have powers to tame the savage breast." She tapped her bosom dramatically, and smiled. "There is many men that may be tamed." She cast a soft glance at Barraclough and then at me. But I only got the edge of it, for at that moment I caught sight of a gray face, with little tufts of whisker under the ears, and glancing glasses that hung over the railings of the music balcony above. It was Pye. Had he been there long in the darkness or had he only just arrived, attracted by the light and the voices? The latter seemed the more probable assumption, for as I looked up he made an awkward movement as if he was embarrassed at being discovered. Yet if he had been eavesdropping, where was the harm? But somehow I felt annoyed. The others followed my glance, but the clerk had gone. Mademoiselle Trebizond sighed and put her small hand over her mouth to hide a yawn. "It is so what you call dull, Sir John," she protested in her coquettish way. "Nothing but sea, sea, and not even the chance to go on deck. I would sooner have the mutineers. Oh, but it was insensate to leave Europe and France. No, it is a country the most diabolic this side of the ocean. What is there under the sea, Sir John?" "Why, the fishes, Mademoiselle," said he, grinning. "No, no; understand me, Monsieur. I mean under the ground. What is there?" She waved her hands. "Sea, sea, sea, nothing else, and savages," she added thoughtfully. "They would be interesting," I suggested drily. She looked at me. "My good friend, doctor, you are right," she said charmingly. "More interesting than this company. Monsieur 'Olgate, he is interesting, is it not?" "We may have an opportunity of judging presently," said I lightly. Mademoiselle got up and peered out of the port-holes. The glow of the electric light in the luxurious saloon threw into blueness the stark darkness of the evening. Nothing was visible, but through the ports streamed the cadences of the water rising and falling about the hull. It had its picturesque side, that scene, and looked at with sympathetic eyes the setting was romantic, whatever tragedy might follow. That it was to be tragedy I was assured, but this pretty, emotional butterfly had no such thoughts. Why should she have? She was safeguarded by the prince of a regnant line; she was to be the mistress of millions; and she could coquette at will in dark corners with handsome officers. She was bored, no doubt, and when dominoes with her maid failed her, she had Barraclough to fall back on, and there was her art behind all if she had only an audience. I began to see the explanation of that astonishing scene earlier in the day. She was vain to her finger-tips; she loved sensations; and it was trying even to be the betrothed of a royal prince if divorced from excitements to her vanity. After all, Prince Frederic, apart from his lineage, was an ordinary mortal, and his conversation was not stimulating. In Germany or in Paris Mademoiselle would have footed it happily as the consort even of a dethroned prince; but what was to be got out of the eternal wash and silence of the ocean, out of the sea, sea, sea, as she herself phrased it? She came back from the port-hole. "It is so dull," she said, and yawned politely. Well, it was dull, but perhaps dulness was more pleasant than the excitements which we were promised. With a flirt of her eyes she left us. When she was gone Barraclough eyed me coldly and steadily. "You didn't say all you had to say," he remarked. "No, I didn't. Lights or no lights, Holgate will attack presently--I will not pin myself to to-night. He is where he wants to be, or will be soon. Then he has no use for us"--I paused--"women or men." "Good God, do you think him that sort of scoundrel?" he inquired sharply. "What has he done? Played with us as a cat with mice. Oh, he's the most unholy ruffian I've ever struck. And you know it. Look at his face. No, Barraclough, it's death, it's death to every man jack." "And the women?" he said hesitatingly. I too hesitated. "No, I don't credit him with that. He threatened, but I don't quite believe. Yet I don't know. No; I think it's a question of a terminus for all of us, man and woman"--I paused--"including your pretty friend there." He turned sharply on me, but made no remark. His eyelids were drawn and heavy and his eyes surcharged. He appeared to be under the stress of some severe thought. I moved away, leaving it at that, for it was obvious that he was moved. As I reached the door I happened to glance back. Barraclough stood where I had left him, his brows knitted; but my eyes passed from him to the gallery, and there lighted on Mademoiselle, who stood with one hand on the railing gazing down at Barraclough. She had her hand to her heart, and her face was white like death, but that may have been the effect of the electric light. I wondered, as I had wondered about Pye, how long she had been there, and if she had heard. Had she spied on us of a set purpose? If so (God help her!) she had taken no good of her eavesdropping. A pity for her seized me. She was still and silent in the course of my gaze, but, as I looked, the ship heeled, her bosom struck the railing heavily, and she uttered a tiny cry. Barraclough glanced up and saw her. As I went out a cold blast streamed off the sea and entered the open ports; the waters rocked and roared. I guessed that we were entering the channel. I had made my report to Barraclough, but I had to report to the Prince. When I reached his cabin I found him seated before his table, engaged in sorting a number of documents. He wore glasses, which I had never seen on him before, and he proffered me a severe frown as I entered. I have never to this day rightly assessed the character of Prince Frederic of Hochburg, so many odd ingredients entered into it. He was dictatorial, he was even domineering, he was hard-working, and he was conscientious. About these qualities I had already made up my mind. But his acts had been wholly in disregard of the rhythmical and regular conventions which he should thus have associated with himself. He had broken with his fatherland, he had thrown over dynastic laws, he had gone by his will alone, and no red tape. Perhaps there was the solution. He had gone by his conscience. I have said I was convinced of his conscientiousness, and possibly in these strange departures from the code of his fathers he was following a new and internal guide, to the detriment of his own material interests. He had abandoned the essence while retaining the forms of his birth and breeding. At least, this is but my assumption; his actions must explain him for himself. I have set down faithfully how he behaved from the first moment I met him. Let him be judged by that. The Prince, then, who had violated the traditions of his house by his proposed alliance, was occupied in his accounts. That, at any rate, is what I gathered from the hasty glance I got at the sheets of figures before him. "Well, sir?" said he brusquely. "I report, sir, that we have entered the Straits of Magellan, and that we have every reason to look for an attack at any moment," I said formally. He dropped his pen. "So!" he said, nodding quite pleasantly. "It is just as well that it comes, doctor. We have been too long on the rack. It has done us no good." "I think you are right, sir," I answered; "and, on the other hand, it has been of service to the mutineers." He looked perplexed. "We have taken charge of the safes for them," I explained. He sat silent awhile, and then mechanically curled his moustache upwards. "Yes--yes--yes," he said. "You are right. That, then, is the reason. This man is clever." It seemed the echo of what his lady-love had said a quarter of an hour before. I made no reply, as none seemed necessary. He went to the barred window, in which a gap was open, letting in the night, and the act recalled again to me Mademoiselle. Was this scion of royalty perishing for an idea? He looked very strong, very capable, and rather wonderful just then. I had never been drawn to him, but I had at the moment some understanding of what it might be to be the subject of so masterful and unreasonable a man. Yet now he was not at all unreasonable, or even masterful. He turned back to me. "Doctor," he said gently, "we must see that the ladies are not incommoded." "We will all do our best," I answered, wondering if he knew how inadequate a word he had used. Incommoded! Good heavens! Was my knowledge of Holgate to go for nothing? What would be the end? Was the man an idealist? He seemed sunk in a dream, and I saw his face soften as he stared out at the sea. Compassion gushed in my heart. I turned away. CHAPTER XIII THE FOG My watch ended at ten o'clock, and I went direct to my cabin. I was a light sleeper, and could depend upon awaking at the slightest sound. Thus I had no fear that I should be wanting in an emergency, quite apart from the fact that the steward was stationed at the opening into the saloon with strict orders. I suppose it must have been three hours later that I sat up in my bunk with a consciousness that something was wrong. I listened, but I could hear no sound, and I rose to my feet, seizing my revolver. Then I understood. It was precisely that there was no sound, or rather that sounds had dwindled, that I awoke. The screw had stopped. I opened the door and went along the passage towards the saloon. Grant was at the foot of the stairs, and I hailed him. "No, sir, I don't know, sir," he answered me in respect of my questions. Well, one had to find out at any cost, and I ran up the stairs and got access to the corridor of the state-rooms. Here were gathered the Prince, Barraclough, Lane, and the quartermaster. "I believe he's been on the P.S.N.C," Lane was saying as I came up. "He ought to be able to pull her through." "The question is, does he want to?" asked Barraclough grimly. "Good heavens, who wants to lock his ship in these accursed bilboes?" cried the purser. "It's enough to freeze one's hair stiff. Can you see anything?" For answer, Barraclough threw open the door that led upon the deck, and it was as if a vent had yawned in the night. It was pitch black, and, what was worse, banks of fog rolled along the thwarts. Lane drew back a step, and shivered. "Oh! my uncle!" he exclaimed. "You do not see any sign of them?" inquired the Prince imperturbably. Barraclough shook his head. "If they're coming they'll have their work cut out to find their way," he said. "Oh, let 'em all come this weather," said Lane agreeably. "'I wish I'd bought ducks'--I mean fires." He was shivering continuously and I pushed him back. "Don't be a fool," said I. "We want all hands in good form during the next four-and-twenty hours." I peered out of the door, but the screen of sea fog shut off the view; it was as if I gazed at a blank wall, and the cold was intense. "What do you guess has happened?" I asked Barraclough. "He's got her in a narrow gut somewhere and is frightened. I've only been through here twice in my life, and in both cases it was broad daylight. This is where they melt fogs for the world. Oh, hang it, let's have the door shut." He shut it as he spoke, and I looked round. The Prince sat on a sofa and waited. Lane blew on his fingers and whistled. Ellison stood, the respectful seaman as ever. "They've been kind about the electric light," observed Barraclough, with a grin at me. I said nothing, for there was nothing I could rejoin in the circumstances. I retraced my way to the door and opened it. "Oh! confound it all!" roared Barraclough, as the fog rolled in. "Don't you see the ladies are here?" I turned back, but only Princess Alix was visible. She moved white and tall under the lights. I shut the door again. "Why has the yacht stopped, Frederic?" she asked her brother. "The fog," he answered, with a gesture towards the door. She looked towards us, her upper lip lifted in a charming excitement and the colour flying in her cheeks. Then she came forward swiftly, and, even as she did so, the _Sea Queen_ heeled over, rolling and trembling from her copper sheathing upwards. The shock sent me against the wall, and Barraclough also staggered. Princess Alix in her flight was precipitated forward and ran upon me. She put up her hands instinctively to save herself, but in the rush she gathered momentum, and swung across the dozen paces between where she had been and the door with the speed of an arrow discharged in the air. Her palms struck the woodwork with a resounding slap, but the full force of her sweet body fell on me. For one instant I held her in my arms quite closely, her breath upon my face. "Are you hurt, Princess?" I gasped. "Oh! my hands!" she cried pitifully, and then ceased suddenly. She withdrew a little. "They sting," she said, also breathlessly. "But you--you must be injured." "I am a little out of breath," I answered, "but I was never better in my life." I cannot say why I blurted this forth. Somehow I was beyond myself. "She has struck!" cried Barraclough. The _Sea Queen_ righted herself slowly. "I can't stand this," I said. "I'm going to find out." I glanced at the Princess, but she stood clinging to the wall, her bosom heaving, her eyes on Barraclough. I opened the door, and, stepping out, closed it again behind me. I was determined to find out what had happened. After all, it was not a very hazardous enterprise. Holgate had shown no disposition to take advantage of my visits to the forecastle, and it was pretty clear that no attack was possible at the moment. Nevertheless, I will confess that I experienced a little elation in feeling my way through the dense darkness along the saloon. It is not always possible to analyse one's feelings, but I think afterwards (not at the time) I connected this mood with the Princess. I had held her in my arms, her face to mine, and I was suddenly exalted to be capable of great things. There was nothing I would not have dared then, no danger from which I would have shrunk, no risk I would not have taken, however foolhardy. In a sense I walked on air; I was lunatic; and all because I had held for an instant of time an adorable woman in my arms with no consent of hers. I believe now (and I hope it will not be counted against me) that it was with a little swagger I opened the door and stepped forth into the rolling fog. The _Sea Queen_ stirred a little as if to show she still lived, but there was no motion perceptible. I had buttoned up my coat round my neck, but even so the mists from the ice-clad hills on either side of the passage bit hard into me. I groped to the chart-house and then paused. A twinkle of light was visible ahead and aloft. It was the bridge. I launched myself suddenly into the vacancy before me, and went like hoodman blind with arms outstretched towards the railing. I struck an iron pillar, and guiding myself from it to another, reached at last the foot of the ladder that ran up. This I mounted very deliberately and carefully until I had come to the bridge itself, where a dull light burned by the binnacle. Instantly I was taken by the throat. I struggled with my assailant at a disadvantage, as I was unable to reach his face, owing to his superior grip of me; but I managed to get a leg at the back of his, and though the pressure on my windpipe was terrible, and I felt that I was weakening fast, I threw him back against the railings. As I did so a light was thrust into my face, and I heard Holgate's voice. "It's the doctor. All right, Pierce. Hands off, man." Even as he spoke my antagonist loosened his hold, and I drew off, the relaxed artery jumping in my throat painfully. "By thunder, doctor, you were near gone," went on Holgate in his ruminating voice. "Pierce don't take his fingers off no more than a bull-dog when he has once caught on. Lucky I had a suspicion of you. I thought no one would be such a fool as to venture save you. Glad to see you as always, if unexpectedly. Any news?" He lighted a cigar as he spoke, and the fog was roseate about his head. I recovered my breath as best I might. "As you are reserving us--Holgate, for a destiny of your own," I panted, "and we are not--particularly anxious to anticipate it--thought I would find out--if we are going down." He laughed fatly. "I like you, doctor. Upon my soul I do. It's a real pity we couldn't have hit it off. No; you can sleep calmly. There's no going down; well, not yet. I've been through these Straits a score of times, and in all weathers, and I've learned this much, that a fog spells the red flag. That's all, Dr. Phillimore. She's got no more than steering way on her, and I'll pull her up presently." "Well," said I. "I suppose it matters nothing to us, but a wreck is a frightening matter this weather." He seemed to be studying me, and then laughed. "All serene. If you have made up your mind to your fate there's nothing to be said. But I'm in charge here, and not Sir John Barraclough. I suppose he has some use, but I've not made it out up till now." "Holgate," said I suddenly, "this vessel's in your hands till she's out of the Straits, if she's ever out. I don't deny it. But I should like a little further light on destiny, so to speak. You reckon you can take the safes. What more do you want?" "Nothing in the world, my lad," he said comfortably. "You've hit it. Nothing in the wide, wide world." "Rubbish!" said I sharply. "Does any one suppose you're going to turn loose witnesses against you?" He took the cigar from his mouth, and, though I could not discern his face in the fog, I knew its expression. "Well, now, that's a new idea, and not a bad idea," he said equably. "Of course I should be running a risk, shouldn't I? But what's to be done in conflict with a temperament like mine? I can't help myself. Take your oath on one thing, doctor, and that is I'll die game. If the respectable folk whom I take pity on and land somewhere--somewhere nice--turn on me, why, I'll die game. But of course they won't. You know they won't, doctor." This question was not worth answering: indeed, I knew it was not meant for an answer; it was a palpable gibe. I held my tongue, but now I knew I should get no information out of this soft-voiced ruffian until it suited him to give it. Our fate was still a mystery--if we were beaten in the struggle that was imminent, and I could not flatter myself with hopes of our victory. I bade him good-night, for there was no reason to dispense with ceremonies; we were still enjoying our armed truce. But I had got no farther than the ladder when he hailed me through the gloom. "I've pitched her to, now, doctor. You can sleep like a babe, and the Princess too." I stopped--I knew not why; perhaps I had still a faint hope of discovering something. "That means you will attack," I said calmly. His figure loomed out upon me in the fog, the red cigar end burning in his mouth. "You don't mean that, my lad," said he, in an easy, affectionate tone. "I'm Lancashire born and Lancashire bred, and I'm shrewd enough to know a bit. You don't mean that, bless you. Look ye here, doctor; go and take your rest, and pray God to deliver you from your folly. A foolish man you were and that you be. You'll die that, my lad, I fear. Yet I would give you another chance. I liked you when I sat opposite to you in the tavern there." "Ah, Holgate," said I, sighing deeply. "How many weary years ago, and your doing!" I admit that this was theatrical; it was designed as such, and as a last appeal. I was afraid of that man, and that is the truth. I drew a bow at a venture. From the change in the position of the burning edge I gathered that he took his cigar out of his mouth. He was perceptibly silent for a time. Then the light went back. "Well, you'll have a sound sleep if you take my advice," he said in his normal tones. "And then ... a sounder," I said lightly. "You always take too much for granted, doctor," he replied, laughing. "By the Lord, I wish I had your forward mind." "You shall have anything you like of mine directly," I said flippantly, and began the descent of the ladder. I was conscious that he leaned over the barrier of the bridge watching me, for I saw the point of his cigar, but that was soon swallowed up in the darkness, and I saw nothing more. The cold was so intense that my fingers had grown numb as I talked with Holgate, and I could hardly feel the iron; moreover, my feet were like lumps of ice and seemed to rest on nothing as they met the rungs. This, I imagine, was the reason of my mishap. At any rate, I missed a rung, lost my catch, and tumbled heavily down the last three or four steps, falling, to my surprise, not upon the hard deck, but upon some warmer, softer body. Remembering vividly and painfully my struggle with Pierce, I was on my guard, and grabbed the man that lay under me. "For heaven's sake--" he gasped. "It's me--it's Pye." I was astounded, and relaxed my hold! What was the little craven clerk doing there at this time of night, and in such weather? "What----" I began, when he uttered an exclamation of terror, as it seemed. "Dr. Phillimore!" "That is so," I answered. "What on earth are you doing here?" There was almost a whimper in his voice as he replied: "The fog, doctor. I was foolish enough to wander out on the deck, and I lost my way. I've been straying about for twenty minutes or more. I couldn't find the door again." "Well, you won't in this direction," I assured him. "This part of the country belongs to the enemy. You've strayed afield, my friend, so, if you'll give me your arm, I'll do my best to put you straight." He thanked me, and did as I asked him, but, as I thought, somewhat timorously. His hand rested nervously inside my arm, as if he would have withdrawn it and fled at a moment's notice. And so we stumbled along the deck together to the state cabins. I gave the signal on the door, and we were admitted by Ellison. There was no one else in the corridor except Lane at the farther end, and, to my surprise, the Princess. She was seated on a couch under the electric light, reading, clad in a long and flowing morning-gown. Her hand with the book had dropped a little as we entered, and her eyes sought us. "There will be no alarm to-night, Ellison," I said on the spur of the moment, and I caught the Princess's eye. She rose, shut her book, and came towards us. "You have come back safely," she said in a quick way. "The fog was the only danger," I answered. "And it nearly did for Mr. Pye. You may confide your head to the pillow with a security to-night, Miss Morland. To-night Mr. Holgate is a sailor." She did not seem to understand. "His care is his ship to-night," I explained. "You have placed us in your debt," she said. "I do not think my brother knows how much we are indebted to you." I looked at Pye. The praise was pleasant on her lips, but I felt a little embarrassed. The clerk's eyes were fastened on the Princess Alix with a certain definite avidity of gaze. It was as if some strange animal had suddenly stiffened at the sight of prey and was watching greedily. The look repelled me; it struck horror to my marrow. I could have seized him, shaken his miserable little bones and thrown him into a weeping, cowardly heap on the floor. But as I looked his gaze came round to me, and behold! it was only the feeble watery eyes behind the gold-rimmed spectacles that I saw. With a bow to the Princess I proceeded on my way to give my report to her brother. CHAPTER XIV BARRACLOUGH TAKES A HAND I did not take Holgate's advice, although I had instinctively made up my mind that he was sincere in offering it. What reason he had for expressing kindliness for me--if he had any--I could not say. I reflected that it might very well be of a piece with his astute plans. He might seek to serve some purpose by it. I was useful as a doctor attending to his wounded men, but I knew enough of him to guess that that alone would not suffice to keep him friendly. There must be another reason, unless, indeed, it was as he said, and he really had been captivated by my personal charm! This solution of the problem was flattering, of course, but I was not disposed to accept it. So deep was my mistrust of the arch schemer that I racked my brain to find an explanation for his conduct. This, needless to say, was not conducive to sleep, and I passed a bad night. It was profoundly still, but towards dawn the screw began to move again, and I concluded that the fog had lifted. I got up and looked out of the port, and could discern dimly the white sheets of the mountains not two furlongs distant. The _Sea Queen_ began to tramp along at a slow pace at first, but finally, getting speed, resumed her normal rate of progress. If I knew Holgate he was still on the bridge, and he would remain there until the danger was over. If he was an abominable scoundrel, he was indubitably also an admirable seaman with a sense of duty to his ship. I fell asleep shortly after that, and when I awoke the sun was full up, but setting low in the east, glittering upon a field of snowy pinnacles. I ascended to the state-rooms, and there found Barraclough, who had just come on duty. He had a cheerful eye, and scanned me curiously. "Well, are we going to get through this?" he asked. "We're going to get out of the Straits, I believe," I answered. "Ah!" he said, and frowned, as he was accustomed to do when thinking deeply. He was not a man of much thought. "And after that?" said he abruptly. "The deluge," said I, shrugging my shoulders. "Look here, Phillimore, do you believe we can hold out against Holgate's forces?" he asked seriously. "I think we shall have to try," I replied evasively. "I'm damned if we can," he said bluffly. "It's all infernal nonsense." "Well, we've got to try," I repeated impatiently. "Oh, well! yes, we've got to try," he admitted, "unless Holgate will hear reason." "Good Lord, man, do you suppose he's risked all this to listen to reason now?" I asked in amazement. Barraclough turned away. "Well, you see him. You ought to know," he growled. "If he doesn't, we're done." "I don't advise you to tell the others that," I said drily. He turned on me fiercely. "Who said I would?" he snapped. "Do you take me for a fool? And who's captain here? Dr. Phillimore, I'll have you know your place," he cried, in a black passion, unusual in him. "I'm commanding officer and responsible to none, not even the--Mr. Morland, by heaven, no--not on this ship, anyway!" And with that remarkable tempest of unreasonable fury he strode angrily away, leaving me annoyed and something abashed. Assuredly the situation, the waiting, the suspense, had played havoc with all our nerves, even with this stolid English gentleman's. There was the development, in fact, as plain as a pike-staff. This tension had worn on us. Barraclough lost his temper for inadequate reasons; the Prince shut himself in his room morosely, for I shall come to that presently; and Lane growled and grumbled so that it was difficult to avoid quarrelling with him. Indeed, it was only by silence that I averted an open collision on more than one occasion. Little Pye was as nervous as a hen; a sound set him jumping. As I came up the stairs noiselessly, I encountered him, and his whole body started. "Good gracious, man!" said I, with good-humoured contempt, "you'll be skipping away from your own shadow next. How do you expect to stand up against Holgate with a spirit like that?" He was pale even through the strong colour that the sun had beaten into him. He eyed me without replying for a moment, and then, with the ghost of his old manner, answered: "I expect I shall sit down to him." The fingers with which he readjusted the glasses--his favourite trick--were tremulous. Pye was to be counted out in case of an emergency, but Pye somehow set me thinking. Pye's cowardice was manifest--rampant, if one may use such a term; yet he had ventured into the fog the night before; not only so, but upon a deck which was filled in his eyes with horrid enemies, prowling in search of victims. How had he achieved that spirited action? It seemed incredible, yet I had come upon him at the foot of the bridge stairs, and I had his explanation. What induced the timid rabbit to venture out of his hutch upon such a night and in such circumstances? Frankly the riddle beat me, and I should have worried over it had it not been for other matters that seemed more immediately important. I have spoken of the Prince's seclusion. I admit now that it had already made an impression on me. He was, as became his nature and his training, a disciplinarian. Each man had his place and his duties, and Prince Frederic appeared at due seasons and shared in the responsibilities. He did not shirk, in accordance with his promise. But for the rest he had withdrawn himself now for three days from the general company. His meals were served with his sister and Mademoiselle, but from what I saw he was most often in his own cabin; and here it was I got a glimpse of him once again--a glimpse, I mean, into that strange and compound character. I forget the occasion, but it was necessary that I should see him, and I entered the cabin after knocking. When we were done he pulled his papers before him and sat looking at them dully. "Have you any literary qualities, Dr. Phillimore?" he asked me, quite unexpectedly. I hesitated. "If so, they are quite undeveloped," I replied. "I have no reason to suppose so." "Ah!" he sighed, and taking a volume which lay on the table he opened it. "Do you know German?" I told him that I could read the language. He nodded. "It has never been properly appreciated," he said slowly; "the German literature is wonderful--ah, wonderful!" and he appeared to meditate over his page; then he set the book down and looked across at me. "You are married, doctor? Ah, no!" He nodded again, and once more resumed his meditations. I might have taken it for granted that I was free to go, but for some reason I lingered. He frowned deeply, and sighed again. "There is a passage in Schiller, but you would not know it----" He gave me no chance of saying, and I answered nothing; only sat and stared at him. "There is more music in Germany's little finger than in all the world else--in composition, I mean," he added. "That has always been my opinion," I ventured at last. He turned his dull blue eyes on me, as if wondering what I did there. "So!" he said, and heaved a bigger sigh from his very heart, as it seemed. "When the attack is made, doctor----" he broke off, and asked sharply, "When will they attack, do you say?" "Any moment now, sir," I replied. He rose. "We must remember the ladies, doctor," he said. "Yes, we are not likely to forget them," I replied. He eyed me. "Do you think----?" and paused. "That is all, sir," he said with a curt nod. It was not a ceremonious or even a fitting dismissal seeing the common peril in which we stood. In that danger surely we should have drifted together more--drifted into a situation where princes and commoners were not, where employers and hirelings did not exist. Yet I was not annoyed, for I had seen some way into his soul, and it was turbid and tortured. Black care had settled on Prince Frederic, and he looked on me out of eyes of gloom. The iron had entered into him, and he was no longer a Prince, but a mortal man undergoing travail and anguish. By the afternoon we were clear of the Straits, and the nose of the yacht turned northward. Still there was no sign from the mutineers, and that being so, I felt myself at liberty to pay my accustomed visit to Legrand in the forecastle. No one interfered with me, and I did not see Holgate; but the man on guard at the hatch made no difficulty about letting me down. As I descended it came into my mind how easy it would be to dispose of yet another fighting man of the meagre force at the Prince's disposal by clapping the hatch over my head. It would have been a grim joke quite in keeping with Holgate's character, and for a moment I turned as in doubt; but the next second, banishing my misgivings, I went down to the floor. Captivity was telling on the prisoners beyond doubt, for here they got no sight of sun, and the light was that of the gloaming. I remembered that I had forgotten to take a lantern from the sentry as soon as this twilight gloomed on me, and I was turning back when I heard a sound. "Hsst--hsst!----" I stopped. "Who is that?" I asked in a whisper. "It's me, Jones, sir," said one of the hands. I walked towards him, for the light that streamed in by the open hatchway sufficed to reveal him. "Anything wrong with you?" said I casually. "Well, I could do with a bit more light and a smoke, sir," said the man, respectfully cheerful. But it was not his words; it was his action that arrested me, for he jerked his thumb incessantly as he spoke towards the darker recesses of the hold. "All right, my man," said I. "I'll speak to Mr. Holgate. He oughtn't to keep you in such close confinement if you are to remain human beings." So saying, I waded into the deeper shadows, and as I did I felt my hand seized and dragged downwards. "S-s-s-h!" said a very still voice, and I obeyed. What was it? I was drawn downward, and at last I knelt. I knew now, and somehow my heart leaped within me. I had never really understood Legrand; I had taken him for a very ordinary ship's officer; but I had come slowly to another conclusion. I bent down. "Heart pretty bad," I said in a mechanical way. "There's only one way out," whispered a voice below me, "and that's through the bulkheads into the engine-room. I've been waiting, and I think I can do it." "I don't like the look of the eyes," I remarked indifferently. "Does he eat well?" "Not very well, sir; it's a job to get him to take it," said Jones. "We've had four days at it with a knife," said the whisper, "and by thunder we see light now. We'll get through, Phillimore. How do you stand?" "Sleep at all well?" I inquired. "I couldn't say, sir," said Jones, "just lays there like a log." "Attack may be made at any moment," I whispered back. "There are some ten of us holding the state-rooms and the ladies." He gripped my hand, and I rose to my feet. "Well, I'm afraid I can't do any more," I said. "He's going on pretty much the same. Good-bye, men." They returned the farewell, and I made my way to the ladder and ascended. The guard with emotionless face helped me out, and the first man my eyes fell on was Holgate, standing with his hands in his pockets, looking at me. He whistled as he eyed me, and his teeth showed in his grin. "For sheer arduous pursuit of duty I don't know your equal, doctor," said he. "You just hang on to work as if you loved it. How's the patient?" I told him that it was a question of time, but that there was no reason why Legrand should not get over the injury to his spine--"not that he will ever be the same man again," I added. "No," said he reflectively, "he won't. And he wants time, does he? Well, perhaps we can give him time--though, mark you, my lad, I don't promise it," he said, with his ugly fang showing in a smile. He took ten paces along the deck with me, seeming to be wrapped up in his thoughts, and then he paused. "Tell me, doctor, are you in this move?" he asked brusquely. "What move?" I asked in turn. "What do you mean?" He waved a hand towards the upper deck. "Why, Barraclough's, of course," he replied. "Are you working with him? Because, if so, I'd like to know, if only for amusement." "I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking of," I replied. "You're not making terms, eh?" said he, heavily leaden of face. "By gosh, you might be, doctor, but you ain't! More fool you. Then it's Barraclough, is it, playing on his own." He chuckled. "That man treated me as pretty dirt all along, didn't he? I'll go bail it was public property. Barraclough's real blue blood. Prick him and see. My son, he's got to be pricked, but I'm no surgeon." "I understand nothing of all this," I replied. "You enjoy mystification, Holgate, and your talents are remarkable. You can beat Sir John out of his boots. But I wish you'd used your talents elsewhere. Better have buried them. For you've given us a stiff job, and we've simply got to lick you." You will see that I broke out here in his own vein. I had come to the conclusion that this was my best card to play. I could sum up Holgate to a point, but I did not know him all through, and I was wise enough to recognise that. I think if I had been under thirty, and not over that sagacious age, I should have judged more rashly. But I had that unknown area of Holgate's character to meet, and I thought to meet it by emulating his own bearing. I am not by nature communicative, but I feigned the virtue. I spoke to him as an equal, exchanging views upon the situation as one might exchange them on a cricket match. And I believe he appreciated my tone. "If you had as little character as Sir John and more prudence, I would have bet on your future, doctor," he said soberly. "But you must play your own cards. And if Sir John wants terms, he must be generous. Generosity becomes the victor." He smiled, and nodded farewell, and I left him considerably puzzled. I had no guess as to what he meant by his talk of Barraclough and terms. It could only mean one thing on the face of it, and that was that Barraclough had been in communication with him. If so, was this by the Prince's desire? And if so again, why had not I heard of it? Our company was so small and our plight so desperate that it was unseemly to confine policy or diplomacy within a narrow circle. Surely, we had all a right to a knowledge of what was forward--at least, all of us who were in positions of responsibility. As I went back I was consumed with annoyance that such an important matter as a possible compromise with the mutineers had been concealed from me. But then, was it a compromise authorised by the Prince? If I had read that obstinate and that fanatical proud heart aright, I could not credit it. When I reached the state-rooms I inquired for Barraclough, and then remembered that he would be on duty in the saloon. I immediately sought him there, but found only Grant, who informed me that he had relieved Sir John at his orders half an hour earlier. He could not give any information beyond that. It was possible Barraclough had gone to his cabin, and so I repaired thither; but without success. I made inquiries of Ellison, who had not seen the first officer, and of the steward, who was in a like case. It was Lane who gave me the clue, in a vein which I will set down without comment. "He's on a perch, and crowing like a rooster, is the bart. You need not look for flies on Barraclough, doctor. He's his own chauffeur this trip. I don't fancy the joy myself, but the bart. is rorty, and what would you say to Mademoiselle, eh?" "Oh, let's be plain, Lane!" I said impatiently. He jerked his thumb across the corridor. "Mademoiselle wants a partner at dominoes, matador, or bridge, doctor, and the bart. plays a good game. If you have to choose between your maid and a bart., you bet your life you'll pocket the bart. Oh, this trip's about enough for me! Where's it going to end, and where are we?" He made a wry face and sank in a heap on his chair. "If you've got any influence with Holgate make him come in. I'm sick of this damn sentry-go. If it suits Germans, it don't suit a true-born Englishman." "Is Sir John with Mademoiselle?" I asked simply. "Guess again and you'll guess wrong," said Lane moodily, kicking his feet about. I was not interested in his feelings at the moment. My mind was occupied with other considerations, but it certainly gave me pause that what I had myself seen was apparently now common knowledge. That Sir John had been fascinated by the coquettish Parisian was obvious to me; if it was obvious to Lane, was it hidden from others who were more concerned? I had my answer as regards one almost immediately. If Sir John were in the ladies' boudoir, it was not for me to disturb him, and I turned away and passed out of the corridor. As I was preparing to descend to the cabins I heard the low strains of the small organ which the piety of a former owner of the _Sea Queen_ had placed at the end of the music gallery. I entered, and in the customary twilight made out a figure at the farther end of the room. Perhaps it was the dim light that gave the old air its significance. It had somewhat the effect upon me that music in a church heard faintly and moving with simple solemnity has always had. What is there that speaks so gravely in the wind notes and reeds of an organ? Ein feste burg ist unser Gott. I knew the words as familiarly as I knew the music, and yet that was almost the last place and time in which I should have expected to hear it. It was not Mademoiselle who played so low and soft to hear. Oh, I felt sure of that! The touch was lighter, graver and quieter. I drew near the player and listened. I had heard Mademoiselle sing that wonderful song, "Adelaide," and she had sung it divinely. But I would have given a dozen "Adelaide's" for that simple air, rendered by no voice, but merely by sympathetic fingers on those austere keys. I listened, as I say, and into my heart crept something--I know not what--that gave me a feeling of fulness of heart, of a surcharge of strange and not wholly painful sentiment. I was still battling with these sensations when the music ceased and the player arose. She started slightly on seeing me, and I found myself stammering an excuse for my presence. "I was looking for Sir John Barraclough." "Come," she said, after a moment's pause, "I will find him for you." I followed her into the corridor, until she paused outside a door and opened it abruptly without knocking. I waited without, but I heard her voice, strangely harsh and clear. "Sir John Barraclough, you are being sought by Dr. Phillimore." Three minutes later Barraclough joined me, red and discomposed. "Anything the matter?" he growled. I knew now that I had been used as a definite excuse to get rid of Barraclough, whose presence was not welcome to the Princess Alix; and with that knowledge I framed my answer. "Yes; what terms have you made with Holgate?" He started as if I had struck him, stared at me, and his jaw came out in a heavy obstinate fashion he had. "What's that to you?" "Only this," said I, "that my life is as valuable to me as yours or the Prince's to you or him, and that therefore I have a right to know." He laughed shortly. "I'm commanding officer." "Oh, I'm sick of these airs!" I replied. "If you will not answer me, I will go to the Prince and get an answer from him. He, at least, will see the reasonableness of my request for information." He changed his attitude at that. "You needn't do that, Phillimore," said he. "I can tell you all you need know. After all, as you say, you've a certain right." He looked at me with his hard unfriendly look, and I met him with one of expectancy. "You know what my opinion is," he resumed. "It's only a bluff to say that we have a chance against Holgate. He's got the ship, and he's got the men. I want to see if we can't make some arrangement." "And he will?" I inquired sceptically. Barraclough hesitated. "He's inclined to. He's to let me know. I think he's a bit impressed by our bluff all the same, and if we could hit on a suitable middle course----" He stopped. "Hang it, there are the women, Phillimore!" he said vehemently. "And you suppose Holgate will take them into consideration?" I said. "Well, perhaps he may. I don't think either you or I really know much of Holgate. But I think I know more than you. He's sociable and friendly, isn't he? One wouldn't take him for a rascally mutineer." "He's a most infernal ruffian," said he with an oath. "Yet you would trust him in the matter of terms," I suggested. Barraclough frowned. "We've got to," he said curtly, "unless you can show me a way to hold out." "Oh! men have been in worse cases than ours and emerged all right--a little battered, no doubt. And then there's the coal. We can't cruise indefinitely. Holgate's got to put in somewhere." "Oh, he's not going to wait for that!" said Barraclough moodily. "Look here, Phillimore; have you a guess at what he means to do?" "I have about ten guesses," I replied, shaking my head, "and none of them fits the case. What's he going to do with us? That's his real difficulty and ours. The money problem's simple. I can't see what's at the back of that black mind, but I don't think it's hopeful for us--women included." "There you are," he exploded savagely. "Anything if we can prevent the worst." "Yes," I assented. "Provided you can trust to Holgate's word. But would he let us off at any price and run the risk? And, moreover, the Prince. What of him?" "He would refuse. He wouldn't budge. He's a nuisance," said Barraclough moodily. "He's our stumbling-block." "Quite so; and if we all caved in but Mr. Morland, what must his fate be? And we should look on, shouldn't we? And then go home in a tramp steamer, a happy family party with a nice little secret of our own. Ten, twelve, well, say, sixteen of us. I can see Holgate trusting to that, and comfortably lolling back in Yokohama deck-chairs; and I can also see Sir John Barraclough reporting the total loss of the yacht _Sea Queen_, captain and owner and so-and-so going down with her. I can read it all in the papers here, and now; it will be excellent food for the ha'pennies!" The frown deepened on his face as I proceeded, but, contrary to my expectation, he did not display any temper at my mocking speech. He shrugged his shoulders. "I'll admit the difficulties. It looks like impossibility, but so's the alternative. I'm in despair." "There's only one thing will solve the problem," I said. He looked up. "Action." "You mean----" "Holgate won't wait till his coal's out. He's free for an attack now." "In God's name, let him!" said Barraclough viciously. CHAPTER XV THE FIGHT IN THE MUSIC-ROOM The _Sea Queen_ was making way on her northerly course athwart the long rollers of the Pacific. The wind blew briskly from the west, and the sea ran high, so that the yacht lay over with a strong list as she battled through the rough water. My watch began at twelve o'clock that night, and I took the precaution to lie down for a rest about eight. I fell asleep to the sound of the sea against my porthole window, but awoke in good time. It was full dark, and, save for the screw and the eternal long wash without, there was silence. Somehow the very persistence of these sounds seemed profounder silence. I groped my way into the passage, with the screw kicking under my feet, and passed Barraclough's cabin. Still there was no sound or sign of life, but I perceived the glimmer of a light beyond, and seeing that it issued from Pye's cabin I turned the handle of the door. It was locked. "Who is that?" demanded a tremulous voice. "It's I. Let me in," I called back. The door was opened slowly and little Pye stood before me. In the illumination of the incandescent wire he stood out ghastly white. "It's you, doctor," he said weakly. The smell of spirits pervaded the cabin. I looked across and saw a tumbler in the rack, half full of whisky and water. He noticed the direction of my gaze. "I can't sleep," said he. "This heavy water has given me a touch of sea-sickness. I feel awfully queer." "I don't suppose whisky will do you any good," said I. He laughed feebly and vacantly. "Oh, but it does! It stays the stomach. Different people are affected different ways, doctor." As he spoke he took down the glass with quivering fingers and drank from it in a clumsy gulp. "I shall be better if I can get to sleep," he said nervously, and drank again. "Pye, you're making trouble for yourself," said I. "You'll be pretty bad before morning." "Oh, for goodness' sake, don't talk about morning!" he broke out in a fit of terror. I gazed at him in astonishment, and he tried to recover under my eyes. "That's not your first glass," said I. He did not deny it. "I can't go on without it. Let me alone, doctor; for heaven's sake let me alone." I gave him up. "Well, if you are going to obfuscate yourself in this foolish manner," I said, my voice disclosing my contempt, "at least take my advice and don't lock yourself in. None but hysterical women do that." I was closing the door when he put a hand out. "Doctor, doctor...." I paused, and he looked at me piteously. "Could you give me a sleeping draught?" "If you'll leave that alone, I will," I said; and I returned to my cabin and brought some sulphonal tabloids. "This will do you less harm than whisky," I said. "Now buck up and be a man, Pye." He thanked me and stood looking at me. His hands nervously adjusted his glasses on his nose. He took one of the tabloids and shakily lifted his whisky and water to wash it down his throat. He coughed and sputtered, and with a shiver turned away from me. He lifted the glass again and drained it. "Good-bye, doctor--good-night, I mean," he said hoarsely, with his back still to me. "I'm all right. I think I shall go to sleep now." "Well, that's wise," said I, "and I'll look in and see how you go on when my watch is over." He started, turned half-way to me and stopped. "Right you are," he said, with a struggle after cheerfulness. His back was still to me. He had degrading cowardice in his very appearance. Somehow I was moved to pat him on the shoulder. "That's all right, man. Get to sleep." For answer he broke into tears and blubbered aloud, throwing himself face downwards on his bunk. "Come, Pye!" said I. "Why, what's this, man?" "I'm a bit upset," he said, regaining some control of himself. "I think the sea-sickness has upset me. But I'm all right." He lay on his face, and was silent. And so (for I was due now in the corridor) I left him. As I turned away, I could have sworn I heard the key click in the door. He had locked himself in again. Lane was on duty at the farther end of the corridor, and I had the door near the entrance connecting with the music balcony. Two electric lights shed a faint glow through the length and breadth of the corridor, and over all was silence. As I sat in my chair, fingering my revolver, my thoughts turned over the situation helplessly, and swung round finally to the problem of Barraclough and Mademoiselle. The Princess and I had guessed what was forward, and Lane also had an inkling. Only the Prince was ignorant of the signal flirtation which was in progress under his nose. I suppose such a woman could not remain without victims. It did not suffice for her that she had captured a prince of the blood, had dislocated the policy of a kingdom, and had ruined a man's life. She must have other trophies of her beauty, and Barraclough was one. I was sorry for him, though I cannot say that I liked him. The dull, unimaginative and wholesome Briton had toppled over before the sensuous arts of the French beauty. His anxiety was for her. He had not shown himself timorous as to the result before. Doubtless she had infected him with her fears. Possibly, even, it was at the lady's suggestion that he had made advances to Holgate. Suddenly my thoughts were diverted by a slight noise, and, looking round, I saw Lane advancing swiftly towards me. "I say, Phillimore," he said in a hoarse whisper, "I've lost the key." "Key!" I echoed. "What key?" For I did not at once take in his meaning. "Why, man, the purser's key--the key of the strong room," he said impatiently. I gazed in silence at him. "But you must have left it below," I said at last. "Not I," he answered emphatically. "I'm no juggins. They're always on me. I go to bed in them, so to speak. See here." He pulled a ring of keys from his pocket. "This is how I keep 'em--on my double chain. They don't leave me save at nights when I undress. Well, it's gone, and I'm damned if I know when it went or how it went." He gazed, frowning deeply at his bunch. "That's odd," I commented. "It puts me in a hole," said he. "How the mischief can I have lost it? I can't think how it can have slipped off. And it's the only one gone, too." "It didn't slip off," said I. "It's been stolen." He looked at me queerly. "That makes it rather worse, old chap," he said hesitatingly. "For it don't go out of my hands." "Save at night," said I. He was silent. "Hang it, what does any blighter want to steal it for?" he demanded in perplexity. "Well, we know what's in the strong room," I said. "Yes--but----" There was a sound. "To your door," said I. "Quick, man." Lane sped along the corridor to his station, and just as he reached it a door opened and Princess Alix emerged. She hesitated for a moment and then came towards me. It was bitterly cold, and she was clad in her furs. She came to a pause near me. "I could not sleep, and it is early yet," she said. "Are you expecting danger?" "We have always to act as if we were," I said evasively. She was examining my face attentively, and now looked away as if her scrutiny had satisfied her. "Why has this man never made any attempt to get the safes?" she asked next. "I wish I knew," I replied, and yet in my mind was that strange piece of information I had just had from Lane. Who had stolen the key? The Princess uttered a little sigh, and, turning, began to walk to and fro. "It is sometimes difficult to keep one's feet when the floor is at this angle," she remarked as she drew near to me; and then she paced again into the distance. She was nervous and distressed, I could see, though her face had not betrayed the fact. Yet how was I to comfort her? We were all on edge. Once again she paused near me. "What are our chances?" "They are hopeful," said I, as cheerfully as I might. "The fortress has always more chances than the leaguers, providing rations hold out, and there is no fear of ours." "Ah, tell me the truth!" she cried with agitation. "Madam, I have said what is exactly true," I replied gravely. "I have spoken of chances." "And if we lose?" she asked after a pause. Her eyes encountered mine fully. "I have no information," I said slowly, "and very little material to go on in guessing. But I hope we shall not lose," I added. "This can't go on forever, Dr. Phillimore," she said with a little catch in her voice. "It has gone on so long." My heart bled for her. She had been so courageous; she had shown such fortitude, such resistance, such common sense, this beautiful proud woman; and she was now breaking down before one of her brother's employees. "It can't go on much longer," I said, again gravely. "It will come to its own conclusion presently." "Ah, but what conclusion?" she cried. "Who knows! Who knows?" The sight of her agitation, of that splendid woman nigh to tears, thrilled me to the marrow with a storm of compassion and something more. I was carried out of myself. "God be witness," I cried, "that while I live you shall be safe from any harm. God be my witness for that." She uttered a tiny sob and put out her hand impulsively. "You are good," she said brokenly. "I am a coward to give way. But I was alone. I have brooded over it all. And Frederic--Thank you, oh, thank you! To have said so much, perhaps, has helped me. Oh, we shall all live--live to talk of these days with shudders and thankfulness to God. You are right to call God to witness. He is our witness now--He looks down on us both, and He will help us. I will pray to Him this night, as I have prayed three times a day." She spoke in a voice full of emotion, and very low and earnest, and her hand was still in mine. And, as she finished, the two electric lights in the corridor went out, leaving us in pitch darkness. I felt the Princess shudder. "Be brave," I whispered. "Oh, be brave! You have called to God. He will hear you." "Yes, yes," she whispered back, and clutched my hand tighter, drawing nearer me till her furs rested against my breast. "But what is it? What does it mean?" "It may mean nothing," I replied, "but it may mean----" I put my ear to the door, still holding her, and listened. Through the noises of the sea I could make out other and alien sounds. "They come... You must go. Can you find your way?" "Let me stay," she murmured breathlessly. "No, no; go," I said. "Your place is in your cabin just now. Remember, I know where it is and I can find you." "Yes, find me," she panted. "Please find me. See, I--I have this." She put the butt of a revolver into my hand. "That has been by me since the first. But come; find me--if--if it is necessary." I raised her hand to my lips and she melted away. I turned to the door. "Lane!" I called. "Lane!" His voice sailed back to me. "What's gone wrong with the lights?" "They're coming," I said. "Look to your door." And even as I spoke a bar crashed upon mine from without. In an instant the corridor was full of noises. The mutineers were upon us, but they had divided their forces, and were coming at different quarters. It remained to be seen at which spot their main attack was to be delivered. I put my revolver through one of the holes we had drilled in the door, and fired. It was impossible to say if my shot took effect, but I hoped so, and I heard the sound of Lane's repeater at the farther end. The blows on the door were redoubled, and it seemed to me to be yielding. I emptied two more cartridges through the hole at a venture, and that one went home I knew, since I had touched a body with the muzzle as I pulled the trigger. Ellison was on guard in the saloon below, and Grant and the cook in the music saloon; and I judged from the sounds that reached me in the _melée_ that they also were at work. By this time Barraclough and Jackson and the Prince had arrived on the scene, the last with a lantern which he swung over his head. Barraclough joined me, and Jackson was despatched to grope his way into the saloon to assist Ellison. The Prince himself took his station with Lane, and I heard the noise of his weapon several times. My door had not yet given way, but I was afraid of those swinging blows, and both Barraclough and I continued to fire. The corridor filled with smoke and the smell of powder. "Do you think he's made up his mind to get through here?" asked Barraclough. "I don't know," I shouted back. "He's attacking in three places, at any rate. We can't afford to neglect any one of them." "Confound this darkness!" he exclaimed furiously. "Oh, for an hour of dawn!" The blows descended on the door, but still it held, and I began to wonder why. Surely a body of men with axes should have destroyed the flimsy boards by this time. It looked as if this was not the real objective of the attack. I sprang to the bolt and was drawing it when Barraclough called out, for he could see in the dim light of the lantern. "Good heavens, man, are you mad?" "No," I called back. "Stand ready to fire. I believe there's practically no one behind this"; and, having now released the bolt, I flung open the door. Simultaneously Barraclough fired through the open darkness, and a body took the deck heavily, floundering on the threshold. The rest was silence. No one was visible or audible. But at my feet lay two bodies. "I thought so," I said excitedly. "This was mere bluff. And so's the attack on Lane's door. See, there's no force there. I will settle that." I delivered a pistol shot along the deck in the direction of some shadows, and retreated, bolting the door behind me. "Where is it?" gasped Barraclough, out of breath. "One at each door will do," said I. "Fetch Lane here. I think its the music-room. You and I had better get there as fast as we can." Without disputing my assumption of authority, he ran down the corridor, and explained our discovery, returning presently with Lane. Then we made for the music-room. It was pitch black on the stairs, but we groped our way through, guided by the sounds within. Barraclough struck a match and shed a light on the scene. For an instant it flared and sputtered, discovering to us the situation in that cockpit. The place was a shambles. Grant was at bay in a corner, the cook lay dead, and half a dozen mutineers were struggling in the foreground with some persons I could not see: while through the broken boards of the windows other men were climbing. With an oath Barraclough dropped his match and rushed forward. My revolver had barked as he did so, and one of the ruffians who was crawling through the window toppled head first into the saloon. But the darkness hampered us, for it was impossible to tell who was friend or enemy; and I believe it had hampered the mutineers also, or they must have triumphed long ere this. I engaged in a hand-to-hand struggle with some one who gripped me by the throat and struck at me with a knife. I felt it rip along my shoulder, and a throb of pain jumped in my arm. But the next moment I had him under foot and had used the last cartridge in my chamber. "Where are you, Grant, Barraclough, Ellison?" I called out, and I heard above the din of oaths and feet and bumping a voice call hoarsely to me. Whose it was I could not say and upon that came an exclamation of pain or cry. "My God!" With the frenzy of the lust of blood upon me, I seized some one and drove my revolver heavily into his skull. I threw another man to the floor from behind, and was then seized as in a grasp of a vice. I turned about and struggled fiercely, and together my assailant and I rocked and rolled from point to point. Neither of us had any weapon, it appeared, and all that we could do was to struggle in that mutual and tenacious grip and trust to chance. I felt myself growing weaker, but I did not relax my hold and, indeed, came to the conclusion that if I was to survive it must be by making a superhuman effort. With all the force of my muscles and the weight of my body I pushed my man forward, at the same time striving to bend him backward. He gave way a little and struck the railings that surrounded the well of the saloon, bumping along them heavily. Then recovering, he exerted all his strength against me, and we swayed together. Suddenly there was a crack in my ears, the rail parted asunder, and we both toppled over into space. A thud followed which seemed to be in my very brain, and then I knew nothing. When I was next capable of taking in impressions with my senses I was aware of a great stillness. Vacantly my mind groped its way back to the past, and I recalled that I had fallen, and must be now in the saloon. Immediately on that I was conscious that I was resting upon some still body, which must be that of my opponent who had fallen under me. What had happened? I could hear no sounds of any conflict in progress. Had the enemy taken possession of the state-rooms, and were all of our party prisoners or dead? I rose painfully into a sitting posture, and put out a hand to guide myself. It fell on a quiet face. The man was dead. It was with infinite difficulty that I got to my feet, sore, aching, and dizzy, and groped my way to the wall. Which way was I to go? Which way led out? The only sound I seemed to hear was the regular thumping of the screw below me, which was almost as if it had been in the arteries of my head, beating in consonance with my heart. Then an idea struck me, flooding me with horror, and bracing my shattered nerves. The Princess! I had promised to go to her if all was lost. I had betrayed my trust. As I thought this I staggered down the saloon, clutching the wall, and came abruptly against a pillar which supported the balcony above. From this I let myself go at a venture, and walked into the closed door forthright. Congratulating myself on my luck, I turned the handle and passed into the darkness of the passages beyond. And now a sound of voices flowed toward me, voices raised in some excitement, and I could perceive a light some way along the passage in the direction of the officers' cabins. As I stood waiting, resolute, not knowing if these were friends or foes, and fearing the latter, a man emerged toward me with a lantern. "If that fool would only switch on the light it would be easier," he said in a voice which I did not recognise. But the face over the lantern was familiar to me. It was Pierce, the murderer of McCrae, and the chief figure after Holgate in that mutiny and massacre. I shrank back behind the half-open door, but he did not see me. He had turned and gone back with an angry exclamation. "Stand away there!" I heard, in a voice of authority, and I knew the voice this time. It was Holgate's. The mutineers had the ship. What, then, had become of the Prince's party? What fate had enveloped them? I waited no longer, but staggered rather than slipped out of the saloon and groped in the darkness toward the stairs. Once on them, I pulled myself up by the balustrade until I reached the landing, where the entrance-hall gave on the state-rooms. I was panting, I was aching, every bone seemed broken in my body, and I had no weapon. How was I to face the ruffians, who might be in possession of the rooms? I tried the handle of the door, but it was locked. I knocked, and then knocked louder with my knuckles. Was it possible that some one remained alive? Summoning my wits to my aid, I gave the signal which had been used by me on previous occasions on returning from my expeditions. There was a pause; then a key turned; the door opened, and I fell forward into the corridor. CHAPTER XVI PYE I looked up into Barraclough's face. "Then you're all right," I said weakly; "and the Princess----" "We've held these rooms, and by heaven we'll keep 'em," said he vigorously. I saw now that his left arm was in a sling, but my gaze wandered afield under the lantern in search of others. "The Prince and the Princess are safe," said he, in explanation. "But it's been a bad business for us. We've lost the cook, Jackson, and Grant, and that little beggar, Pye." I breathed a sigh of relief at his first words; and then as I took in the remainder of his sentence, "What! is Pye dead?" "Well, he's missing, anyway," said Barraclough indifferently; "but he's not much loss." "Perhaps he's in his cabin. He locked himself in earlier," I said. "Give me an arm, like a good fellow. I'm winged and I'm all bruises. I fell into the saloon." "Gad, is that so?" said he; and I was aware that some one else was listening near. I raised my head, and, taking Barraclough's hand, looked round. It was Princess Alix. I could make her out from her figure, but I could not see her face. "You have broken an arm?" she said quickly. "It is not so bad as that, Miss Morland," I answered. "I got a scrape on the shoulder and the fall dazed me." I was now on my feet again, and Barraclough dropped me into a chair. "They got in by the windows of the music-room," I said. "Yes," he assented. "Ellison and Jackson ran up from the saloon on the alarm, apparently just in time to meet the rush. Ellison's bad--bullet in the groin." "I must see to him," I said, struggling up. A hand pressed me gently on the shoulder, and even so I winced with pain. "You must not go yet," said the Princess. "There is yourself to consider. You are not fit." I looked past her towards the windows, some of which had been unbarred in the conflict. "I fear I can't afford to be an invalid," I said. "There is so much to do. I will lie up presently, Miss Morland. If Sir John will be good enough to get me my bag, which is in the ante-chamber, I think I can make up on what I have." Barraclough departed silently, and I was alone with the Princess. "I did not come," I said. "I betrayed my trust." She came a little nearer to my seat. "You would have come if there had been danger," she said earnestly. "Yet why do we argue thus when death is everywhere? Three honest men have perished, and we are nearer home by so much." "Home!" said I, wondering. "Yes, I mean home," she said in a quick, low voice. "Don't think that I am a mere foolish woman. I have always seen the end, and sometimes it appears to me that we are wasting time in fighting. I know what threatens, what must fall, and I thank God I am prepared for it. See, did I not show you before?" and here she laid her hand upon her bosom, which was heaving. I shook my head. "You are wrong," said I feebly. "There is nothing certain yet. Think, I beg you, how many chances God scatters in this world, and how to turn a corner, to pause a moment, may change the face of destiny. A breath, a wind, the escape of a jet of steam, a valve astray, a jagged rock in the ocean, the murmur of a voice, a handshake--anything the least in this world may cause the greatest revolution in this world. No, you must not give up hope." "I will not," she said. "I will hope on; but I am ready for the worst." "And the Prince?" I asked. "I think he has changed much of late," she said slowly. "He is altered. Yet I do think he, too, is ready. The prison closes upon us." She had endured so bravely. That delicate nature had breasted so nobly these savage perils and mischances that it was no wonder her fortitude had now given way. But that occasion was the only time she exhibited anything in common with the strange fatalism of her brother, of which I must say something presently. It was the only time I knew that intrepid girl to fail, and even then she failed with dignity. Barraclough returned with my bag, and I selected from it what I wanted. I knew that, beyond bruises and shock, there was little the matter with me, and for that I must thank the chance that had flung me on the body of my assailant, and not underneath it. There was need of me at that crisis, as I felt, and it was no hour for the respectable and judicious methods of ordinary practice. I had to get myself up to the norm of physique, and I did so. "Well," said Lane, who had been attending to Ellison, "they've appropriated the coker-nut. It wasn't my fault, for the beggars kept me and the Prince busy at the door, and then, before you could say 'knife,' they were off. A mean, dirty trick's what I call it!" "Oh, that's in the campaign!" I said. "And what said the Prince?" "Swore like a private in the line--at least, I took it for swearing, for it was German. And then we ran as hard as we could split to the row, but it was too late. There wasn't any one left. All was over save the shouting." "Then the Prince is well?" I asked. "Not a pimple on him, old man," said the efflorescent Lane, "and he's writing like blue blazes in his cabin." What was he writing? Was that dull-blue eye eloquent of fate? When he should be afoot, what did he at his desk? Even as I pondered this question, a high voice fluted through the corridor and a door opened with a bang. It was Mademoiselle. She dashed across, a flutter of skirts and a flurry of agitation, and disappeared into the apartments occupied by the Prince. Princess Alix stood on the threshold with a disturbed look upon her face. "She's gone to raise Cain," said Lane, with a grimace. "We've got enough Cain already," said I, and walked to the window opposite. Dawn was now flowing slowly into the sky, and objects stood out greyly in a grey mist. From the deck a noise broke loudly, and Lane joined us. "Another attack," said he. "They're bound to have us now." I said nothing. Barraclough was listening at the farther end, and I think Princess Alix had turned her attention from Mademoiselle. I heard Holgate's voice lifted quite calmly in the racket: "It's death to two, at all events. So let me know who makes choice. You, Garrison?" "Let's finish the job," cried a voice. "We've had enough," and there was an outcry of applause. Immediately on that there was a loud rapping on the door near us. "When I've played my cards and fail, gentlemen," said Holgate's voice, "I'll resign the game into your hands." "What is it?" shouted Barraclough. "Fire, and be hanged!" "You mistake, Sir John," called out Holgate. "We're not anxious for another scrap. We've got our bellies full. All we want is a little matter that can be settled amicably. I won't ask you to open, for I can't quite trust the tempers of my friends here. But if you can hear me, please say so." "I hear," said Barraclough. "That's all right, then. I won't offer to come in, for William Tell may be knocking about. We can talk straight out here. We want the contents of those safes, that's all--a mere modest request in the circumstances." "You've got the safes," shouted Barraclough. "Let us alone." "Softly, Sir John, Bart.," said the mutineer. "The safes are there safe enough, but there's nothing in 'em. You've got back on us this time, by thunder, you have. And the beauty of the game was its simplicity. Well, here's terms again, since we're bound to do it in style of plenipotentiaries. Give us the contents of the safes, and I'll land you on the coast here within twelve hours with a week's provisions." There was a moment's pause on this, and Barraclough looked toward me in the dim light, as if he would, ask my advice. "They've got the safes," he said in perplexity. "This is more treachery, I suppose." "Shoot 'em," said Lane furiously. "Don't trust the brutes." "Wait a bit," said I hurriedly. "Don't let's be rash. We had better call Mr. Morland. There's something behind this. Tell them that we will answer presently." Barraclough shouted the necessary statement, and I hurried off to the Prince's cabin. I knocked, and entered abruptly. Mademoiselle sat in a chair with a face suffused with tears, her pretty head bowed in her hands. She looked up. "What are we to do, doctor? The Prince says we must fight. But there is another way, is there not?" she said in French. "Surely, we can make peace. I will make peace myself. This agitates my nerves, this fighting and the dead; and oh, Frederic! you must make peace with this 'Olgate." The Prince sat awkwardly silent, his eyes blinking and his mouth twitching. What he had said I know not, but, despite the heaviness of his appearance, he looked abjectly miserable. "It is not possible, Yvonne," he said hoarsely. "These men must be handed over to justice." I confess I had some sympathy with Mademoiselle at the moment, so obstinately stupid was this obsession of his. To talk of handing the mutineers over to justice when we were within an ace of our end and death knocking veritably on the door! "The men, sir, wish to parley with you," I said somewhat brusquely. "They are without and offer terms." He got up. "Ah, they are being defeated!" he said, and nodded. "Our resistance is too much for them." I could not have contradicted him just then, for it would probably have led to an explosion on the lady's part. But it came upon me to wonder if the Prince knew anything of the contents of the safes. They were his, and he had a right to remove them. Had he done so? I couldn't blame him if he had. He walked out with a ceremonious bow to Mademoiselle, and I followed. She had dried her eyes, and was looking at me eagerly. She passed into the corridor in front of me, and pressed forward to where Barraclough and Lane stood. "The mutineers, sir, offer terms," said Barraclough to the Prince. "They propose that if we hand over the contents of the safes we shall be landed on the coast with a week's provisions." The Prince gazed stolidly and stupidly at his officer. "I do not understand," said he. "The scoundrels are in possession of the safes." "That is precisely what we should all have supposed," I said drily. "But it seems they are not." "Look here, Holgate," called out Barraclough after a moment's silence, "are we to understand that you have not got the safes open?" It seemed odd, questioning a burglar as to his success, but the position made it necessary. "We have the safes open right enough," called Holgate hoarsely, "but there's nothing there--they're just empty. And so, if you'll be so good as to fork out the swag, captain, we'll make a deal in the terms I have said." "It is a lie. They have everything," said the Prince angrily. "Then why the deuce are they here, and what are they playing at?" said Barraclough, frowning. "Only a pretty little game of baccarat. Oh, my hat!" said Lane. "It seems to me that there's a good deal more in this than is apparent," I said. "The safes were full, and the strong-room was secure. We are most of us witnesses to that. But what has happened? I think, Sir John, it would be well if we asked the--Mr. Morland forthwith if he has removed his property. He has a key." "No, sir, I have not interfered," said the Prince emphatically. "I committed my property to the charge of this ship and to her officers. I have not interfered." Barraclough and I looked at each other. Lane whistled, and his colour deepened. "There, doctor, that's where I come in. I told you so. That's a give-away for me. I've got the other key--or had." "Had!" exclaimed the Prince, turning on him abruptly. "Yes," said Lane with sheepish surliness. "I was telling the doctor about it not long ago. My key's gone off my bunch. I found it out just now. Some one's poached it." The Prince's eyes gleamed ferociously, as if he would have sprung on the little purser, who slunk against the wall sullenly. "When did you miss it?" asked Barraclough sharply. "Oh, about an hour and a half ago!" said Lane, in an offhand way. "He has stolen it. He is the thief!" thundered the Prince. Lane glanced up at him with a scowl. "Oh, talk your head off!" said he moodily, "I don't care a damn if you're prince or pot-boy. We're all on a level here, and we're not thieves." Each one looked at the other. "We're cornered," said Barraclough. "It will make 'em mad, if they haven't got that. There's no chance of a bargain." "It is not my desire there should be any bargain," said the Prince stiffly. Barraclough shrugged his shoulders and said nothing. But it was plain to all that we were in a hole. The mutineers were probably infuriated by finding the treasure gone, and at any moment might renew their attack. There was but a small prospect that we could hold out against them. "We must tell them," said I; "at least, we must come to some arrangement with them. The question is whether we shall pretend to fall in with their wishes, or at least feign to have what they want. It will give us time, but how long?" "There is no sense in that," remarked Prince Frederic in his autocratic way. "We will send them about their business and let them do what they can." "Sir, you forget the ladies," I said boldly. "Dr. Phillimore, I forget nothing," he replied formally. "But will you be good enough to tell me what the advantage of postponing the discovery will be?" Well, when it came to the point, I really did not know. It was wholly a desire to delay, an instinct in favour of procrastination, that influenced me. I shrank from the risks of an assault in our weakened state. I struggled with my answer. "It is only to gain time." "And what then?" he inquired coldly. I shrugged my shoulders as Sir John had shrugged his. This was common sense carried to the verge of insanity. There must fall a time when there is no further room for reasoning, and surely it had come now. "You will be good enough to inform the mutineers, Sir John Barraclough," pursued the Prince, having thus silenced me, "that we have not the treasure they are in search of, and that undoubtedly it is already in their hands, or in the hands of some of them, possibly by the assistance of confederates," with which his eyes slowed round to Lane. The words, foolish beyond conception, as I deemed them, suddenly struck home to me. "Some of them!" If the Prince had not shifted his treasure, certainly Lane had not. I knew enough of the purser to go bail for him in such a case. And he had lost his key. I think it was perhaps the mere mention of confederates that set my wits to work, and what directed them to Pye I know not. "Wait one moment," said I, putting my hand on Barraclough. "I'd like to ask a question before you precipitate war," and raising my voice I cried, "Is Holgate there?" "Yes, doctor, and waiting for an answer, but I've got some tigers behind me." "Then what's become of Pye?" I asked loudly. There was a perceptible pause ere the reply came. "Can't you find him?" "No," said I. "He was last seen in his cabin about midnight, when he locked himself in." "Well, no doubt he is there now," said Holgate, with a fat laugh. "And a wise man, too. I always betted on the little cockney's astuteness. But, doctor, if you don't hurry up, I fear we shall want sky-pilots along." "What is this? Why are you preventing my orders being carried out?" asked the Prince bluffly. I fell back. "Do as you will," said I. "Our lives are in your hands." Barraclough shouted the answer dictated to him, and there came a sound of angry voices from the other side of the door. An axe descended on it, and it shivered. "Stand by there," said Barraclough sharply, and Lane closed up. Outside, the noise continued, but no further blow was struck, and at last Holgate's voice was raised again: "We will give you till eight o'clock this evening, captain, and good-day to you. If you part with the goods then, I'll keep my promise and put you ashore in the morning. If not----" He went off without finishing his sentence. "He will not keep his promise, oh, he won't!" said a tense voice in my ear; and, turning, I beheld the Princess. "That is not the trouble," said I, as low as she. "It is that we have not the treasure, and we are supposed to be in possession of it." "Who has it?" she asked quickly. "Your brother denies that he has shifted it, but the mutineers undoubtedly found it gone. It is an unfathomed secret so far." "But," she said, looking at me eagerly, "you have a suspicion." "It is none of us," I said, with an embracing glance. "That need not be said," she replied quickly. "I know honest men." She continued to hold me with her interrogating eyes, and an answer was indirectly wrung from me. "I should like to know where Pye is," I said. She took this not unnaturally as an evasion. "But he's of no use," she said. "You have told me so. We have seen so together." It was pleasant to be coupled with her in that way, even in that moment of wonder and fear. I stared across at the door which gave access to the stairs of the saloon. "It is possible they have left no one down below," I said musingly. She followed my meaning this time. "Oh, you mustn't venture it!" she said. "It would be foolhardy. You have run risks enough, and you are wounded." "Miss Morland," I answered. "This is a time when we can hardly stop to consider. Everything hinges on the next few hours. I say it to you frankly, and I will remember my promise this time." "You remembered it before. You would have come," she said, with a sudden burst of emotion; and somehow I was glad. I liked her faith in me. "What the deuce do you make of it?" said Barraclough to me. I shook my head. "I'll tell you later when I've thought it over," I answered. "At present I'm bewildered--also shocked. I've had a startler, Barraclough." He stared at me. "I'll walk round and see. But I don't know if it will get us any further." "There's only one thing that will do that," said he significantly. "You mean----" "We must make this sanguinary brute compromise. If he will land us somewhere----" "Oh, he won't!" I said. "I've no faith in him." "Well, if they haven't the treasure, they may make terms to get it," he said in perplexity. "_If_ they have not," I said. He looked at me. "The question is, who has the treasure?" I continued. "Good heavens, man, if you know--speak out," he said impatiently. "When I know I'll speak," I said; "but I will say this much, that whoever is ignorant of its whereabouts, Holgate isn't." "I give it up," said Barraclough. "Unhappily, it won't give us up," I rejoined. "We are to be attacked this evening if we don't part with what we haven't got." He walked away, apparently in despair of arriving at any conclusion by continuing the conversation. I went toward the door, for I still had my idea. I wondered if there was anything in it. Princess Alix had moved away on the approach of Sir John, but now she interrupted me. "You're not going?" she asked anxiously. "My surgery is below," said I. "I must get some things from it." She hesitated. "Won't--wouldn't that man Holgate let you have them? You are running too great a risk." "That is my safety," I said, smiling. "I go down. If no one is there so much the better; if some one crops up I have my excuse. The risk is not great. Will you be good enough to bar the door after me?" This was not quite true, but it served my purpose. She let me pass, looking after me with wondering eyes. I unlocked the door and went out into the lobby that gave on the staircase. There was no sound audible above the noises of the ship. I descended firmly, my hand on the butt of a revolver I had picked up. No one was visible at the entrance to the saloon. I turned up one of the passages toward my own cabin. I entered the surgery and shut the door. As I was looking for what I wanted, or might want, I formulated my chain of reflections. Here they are. The key had been stolen from Lane. It could only have been stolen by some one in our own part of the ship, since the purser had not ventured among the enemy. Who had stolen it? Here was a break, but my links began a little further on, in this way. If the person who had stolen the key, the traitor that is in our camp, had acted in his own interests alone, both parties were at a loss. But that was not the hypothesis to which I leaned. If, on the other hand, the traitor had acted in Holgate's interests, who was he? Before I could continue my chain to the end, I had something to do, a search to make. I left the surgery noiselessly and passed along the alley to Pye's cabin. The handle turned and the door gave. I opened it. No one was there. That settled my links for me. The man whom I had encountered in the fog at the foot of the bridge was the man who was in communication with Holgate. That pitiful little coward, whose stomach had turned at the sight of blood and on the assault of the desperadoes, was their creature. As these thoughts flashed through my mind it went back further in a leaf of memory. I recalled the room in the "Three Tuns" on that dirty November evening; I saw Holgate and the little clerk facing each other across the table and myself drinking wine with them. There was the place in which I had made the third officer's acquaintance, and that had been brought about by Pye. There, too, I had first heard of Prince Frederic of Hochburg; and back into my memory flashed the stranger's talk, the little clerk's stare, and Holgate's frown. The conspiracy had been hatched then. Its roots had gone deep then; from that moment the _Sea Queen_ and her owner had been doomed. I turned and left the cabin abruptly and soon was knocking with the concocted signal on the door. Barraclough admitted me. "I have it," said I. "Let's find the Prince." "Man, we can't afford to leave the doors." "We may be attacked," said he. "No; they won't venture just yet," I replied. "It's not their game--at least, not Holgate's. He's giving us time to find the treasure and then he'll attack." "I wish you wouldn't talk riddles," said Barraclough shortly. "I'll speak out when we get to the Prince," I said; and forthwith we hastened to his room. "Mr. Morland," I burst out, "Pye came aboard as representing your solicitors?" "That is so," he replied with some surprise in his voice and manner. "He was privy then to your affairs--I refer to your financial affairs?" I pursued. "My solicitors in London, whom I chose in preference to German solicitors, were naturally in possession of such facts relating to myself as were necessary to their advice," said the Prince somewhat formally. "And Pye knew what they knew--the contents of the safes in the strong-room?" He inclined his head. "It was intended that he should return from Buenos Ayres, after certain arrangements had been made for which he would lend his assistance." "Then, sir," said I, "Pye has sold us. Pye is the source of the plot; Pye has the treasure." "What do you mean?" exclaimed the Prince, rising. "Why, that Pye has been in league with the mutineers all along, and--good Lord, now I understand what was the meaning of his hints last night. He knew the attack was to be made, and he is a coward. He locked himself up to drink. Now he is gone." "Gone!" echoed Barraclough and Lane together; and there was momentary silence, which the latter broke. "By gum, Pye's done us brown--browner than a kipper! By gum, to think of that little wart getting the bulge on us!" "I should like to know your reasons, doctor," said Prince Frederic at last. "I'm hanged if I can puzzle it out yet myself," said Barraclough. "If they've got it, why the deuce do they come and demand it from us?" "Oh, _they_ haven't got it," I said. "It's only Holgate and Pye. The rank and file know nothing, I'll swear. As for my reasons, sir, here they are"; and with that I told them what I knew of Pye from my first meeting with him, giving an account of the transactions in the "Three Tuns," and narrating many incidents which now seemed in the light of my discovery to point to the treachery of the clerk. When I had done, Lane whistled, the Prince's brow was black, but Barraclough's face was impassive. He looked at me. "Then you are of opinion that Holgate is running this show for himself?" he asked. "I will wager ten to one on it," I answered. "That's like him. He'll leave the others in the lurch if he can. He's aiming at it. And he'll leave Pye there, too, I shouldn't wonder. And if so, what sort of a man is that to make terms with?" Barraclough made no answer. For a man of his even nature he looked troubled. "If this it so, what are you in favour of?" he said at last. The Prince, too, looked at me inquiringly, which showed that he had fully accepted my theory. "Go on as we are doing and trust to luck," said I. "Luck!" said the Prince, raising his fingers. "Chance! Destiny! Providence! Whatever be the term, we must abide it. It is written, gentlemen; is has been always written. If God design us our escape, we shall yet avoid and upset the calculations of these ruffians. Yes, it is written. You are right, Dr. Phillimore. There must be no faint heart. Sir John, give your orders and make your dispositions. I will take my orders from you." This significant speech was delivered with a fine spontaneity, and I must say the man's fervour impressed me. If he was a fatalist, he was a fighting fatalist, and I am sure he believed in his fortune. I was not able to do that; but I thought we had, in the vulgar phrase, a sporting chance. And that I was right events proved, as you will presently see. CHAPTER XVII THE THIRD ATTACK Holgate had given us till eight o'clock, but it was of course, uncertain if he would adhere to this hour. If I were right in my suppositions (and I could see no flaw in my reasoning), he would present himself at that time and carry out the farce. It was due to his men, to the other scoundrels of the pack whom he was cheating. And what would happen when we maintained that we had no knowledge of the treasure? It was clear that the men would insist on an assault. And if so, what chance had we against the infuriated ruffians? On the other hand, we had nothing to hope for from a compromise with such men. Altogether, the outlook was very black and lowering. When the Prince and all that remained with him were swept away, and were as if they had never been, Holgate would be free to deal with the mutineers according to his tender mercies; and then, with such confederates as he might have in the original plot, come into possession of the plunder for which so many innocent lives and so many guilty ones would have been sacrificed. By now the wind had sprung into a gale, and the _Sea Queen_ was running under bare sticks. The water rolled heavily from the southwest, and the yacht groaned under the buffets. It became difficult to stand--at least, for a landsman. We had hitherto experienced such equable, fine weather that I think we had taken for granted that it must continue. But now we were undeceived. The yacht pitched uneasily and rolled to her scuppers, and it was as much as we could do to keep our legs. Holgate, too, must have been occupied by the duties of his position, for he was a good mariner, which was, perhaps, as well for us. Chance decides according to her fancy, and the most trivial accidents are important in the scheme of destiny. Mademoiselle had an attack of _mal de mer_ and had recourse to me. Nothing in the world mattered save her sensations, which were probably very unpleasant, I admit. But the yacht might go to the bottom, and Holgate might storm the state-rooms at the head of his mutineers--it was all one to the lady who was groaning over her symptoms on her bed. She kept me an unconscionable time, and when I at length got away to what I regarded as more important duties I was followed by her maid. This girl, Juliette, was a trim, sensible, and practical woman, who had grown accustomed to her mistress's vagaries, took them with philosophy, and showed few signs of emotion. But now a certain fear flowed in her eye. Would Monsieur tell her if there were any danger? Monsieur looked up, balanced himself neatly against the wall, as the yacht reared, and declared that he had gone through much worse gales. She shook her head with some energy. "No, no, it was not that. There were the sailors--those demons. Was it true that they had offered to put us all ashore?" "Yes," said I, "if we give them what we have not got. That is what they promise, Juliette. But would you like to trust them?" She considered a moment, her plain, capable face in thought. "No." She shook her head. "Mademoiselle would do well to beware of them. Yes, yes," and with a nod she left me. Now what did that mean? I asked myself, and I could only jump to the conclusion that Mademoiselle had thoughts of making a bargain with Holgate on her own account. I knew she was capable of yielding to any caprice or impulse. If there had not been tragedy in the air it would have amused me to ponder the possibilities of that conflict of wits and brains between Holgate and the lady. But she was a victim to sea-sickness, and our hour drew near. Indeed, it was then but two hours to eight o'clock. It was necessary to take such precautions as we might in case Holgate kept his word. But it was possible that in that wind and sea he would not. However, to be prepared for the worst, we had a council. There were now but the Prince, Barraclough, Lane and myself available, for Ellison was in a bad way. The spareness of our forces was thus betrayed by this meeting, which was in effect a council of despair. We made our arrangements as speedily as possible, and then I asked: "The ladies? We must have some definite plan." The Prince nodded. "They must be locked in the _boudoir_," he said. "It has entrances from both their cabins." "The last stand, then, is there?" I remarked casually. He echoed the word "there." I had my duties in addition to those imposed by our dispositions, and I was not going to fail--I knew I should not fail. Outside in the corridor we sat and nursed our weapons silently. I don't think that any one was disposed to talk; but presently the Prince rose and retired to his room. He returned presently with a magnum of champagne, and Barraclough drew the cork, while Lane obtained some glasses. "Let's have a wet. That's a good idea," said the purser. The Prince ceremoniously lifted his glass to us and took our eyes. Lane quaffed his, emitting his usual gag hoarsely. "Fortune!" How amazingly odd it sounded, like the ironic exclamation of some onlooking demon of sarcasm. "Fortune!" I drank my wine at a gulp. "To a good end, if may be," I said. "To rest, at least." Barraclough held his glass coolly and examined it critically. "It's Pommery, isn't it, sir?" he asked. I do not think the Prince answered. Barraclough sipped. "I'll swear it is," said he. "Let's look at the bottle, Lane." He solved his doubts, and drank and looked at his watch. "If they're coming, they should be here now." "The weather's not going to save us," I observed bitterly; "she goes smoother." It was true enough. The wind and the sea had both moderated. Barraclough examined the chambers of his revolver. "Sir John Barraclough!" A voice hailed us loudly from the deck. Sir John moved slowly to the door and turned back to look at us. In its way it was an invitation. He did not speak, but I think he invoked our aid, or at least our support, in that look. We followed. "Yes," he called back, "I'm here." "We've come for the answer," said the voice. "You've had plenty of time to turn it over. So what's it to be--the terms offered or war?" "Is it Holgate?" said Lane in a whisper. "Oh, it's Holgate, no doubt. Steady! Remember who has the treasure, Barraclough." "The treasure is not in our possession," sang out Barraclough. "But we believe it to be in the possession of Holgate--one of yourselves." "Oh, come, that won't do--that game won't play," said a familiar wheezy voice from behind us, and we all fell back in alarm and amazement. The boards had fallen loose from one of the windows, and Holgate's head protruded into the corridor. In a flash the Prince's fingers went to his revolver, and a report echoed from the walls, the louder for that confined space. Holgate had disappeared. Barraclough ran to the window and peered out. He looked round. "That opens it," he said deliberately, and stood with a look of perplexity and doubt on his face. "Since you have chosen war and begun the offensive we have no option," shouted Holgate through the boarding. "All right, drive ahead," growled Lane, and sucked his teeth. Crash came an iron bar on the door. Barraclough inserted his revolver through the open window and fired. "One," said he. "Two, by thunder!" said Lane, discharging through one of the holes pierced in the door. "They'll play us the same trick as before," said I, and dashed across to the entrance from the music-room. Noises arose from below. I tested the locks and bars, and then running hastily into one of the cabins brought forth a table and used it to strengthen the barricade. Prince Frederic, observing this, nodded and gave instructions to Lane, who went on a similar errand on behalf of the other door. Crash fell the axe on my door, and the wood splintered. Lane and Prince Frederic were busy firing through the loopholes, with what result I could not guess, and probably they themselves knew little more. Barraclough stood at his peephole and fired now and then, and I did the same through the holes drilled in my door. But it must have been easy for any one on the outside to avoid the line of fire if he were careful. I was reminded that two could play at this game by a bullet which sang past my face and buried itself in the woodwork behind me. The light was now failing fast, and we fought in a gloaming within those walls, though without the mutineers must have seen better. The axe fell again and again, and the door was giving in several places. Once there was a respite following on a cry, and I rejoiced that one of my shots had gone home. But the work was resumed presently with increased vigour. And now of a sudden an outcry on my left startled me. I turned, and saw Prince Frederic in combat with a man, and beyond in the twilight some other figures. The door to the deck had fallen. Leaving my own door to take care of itself, I hastened to what was the immediate seat of danger, and shot one fellow through the body. He fell like a bullock, and then the Prince gave way and struck against me. His left arm had dropped to his side, but in his right hand he now held a sword, and, recovering, he thrust viciously and with agility before him. Before that gallant assault two more went down, and as Lane and Barraclough seemed to be holding their own, it seemed almost as if we should get the better of the attack. But just then I heard rather than saw the second door yielding, and with shouts the enemy clambered over the table and were upon us from that quarter also. Beneath this combined attack we slowly gave way and retreated down the corridor, fighting savagely. The mutineers must have come to the end of their ammunition, for they did not use revolvers, but knives and axes. One ruffian, whom in the uncertain light I could not identify, bore a huge axe, which he swung over his head, and aimed at me with terrific force. As I dodged it missed me and crashed into the woodwork of the cabins, from which no effort could withdraw it. I had stepped aside, and, although taking a knife wound in my thigh, slipped a blade through the fellow. But still they bore us back, and I knew in my inmost mind, where instinct rather than thought moved now, that it was time to think of the _boudoir_ and my promise. We were being driven in that direction, and if I could only reach the handle I had resolved what to do. But now it seemed again that I must be doomed to break my word, for how was it possible to resist that onset? There were, so far as I could guess, a dozen of the mutineers, but it was that fact possibly that helped us a little, as, owing to their numbers, they impeded one another. Prince Frederic was a marvellous swordsman, and he swept a passage clear before him; but at last his blade snapped in the middle, and he was left defenceless. I saw some one rush at him, and, the light gleaming on his face, I recognised Pierce. With my left hand I hurled my revolver into it with all the power of my muscles. It struck him full in the mouth, that ugly, lipless mouth which I abhorred. He uttered a cry of pain and paused for a moment. But in that moment, abstracted from my own difficulties, I had given a chance to one of my opponents, whose uplifted knife menaced me. I had no time to draw back, and if I ducked I felt I should go under and be trodden upon by the feet of the infuriated enemy. Once down, I should never rise again. It seemed all over for me as well as for the Prince, and in far less time than it takes to relate this the thought had flashed into my head--flashed together with that other thought that the Princess would wait, and wait for me in vain. Ah, but would she wait? If I knew her fine-tempered spirit she would not hesitate. She had the means of her salvation; she carried it in her bosom, and feared not. No, I could not be afraid for her. As I have said, these reflections were almost instantaneous, and they had scarcely passed in a blaze of wonder through my brain when the yacht lurched heavily, the deck slipped away from us, and the whole body of fighting, struggling men was precipitated with a crash against the opposite wall. Some had fallen to the floor, and others crawled against the woodwork, shouting oaths and crying for assistance. I had fallen with the rest, and lay against a big fellow whose back was towards me. I struggled from him and was climbing the slope of the deck, when she righted herself and rolled sharply over on the other side. This caused an incontinent rush of bodies across the corridor again, and for a moment all thought of renewing the conflict was abandoned. I recognised Prince Frederic as the man by me, and I whispered loudly in his ears, so that my voice carried through the clamour and the noises of the wind that roared outside round the state-rooms. "Better make our last stand here. I mean the ladies...." He nodded. "It will be better," he answered harshly. "Yes ... better." He turned about, with his hand on the door-knob behind him, and now I saw that we had reached the entrance to the _boudoir_. "Alix! ... Yvonne!" he called loudly through the keyhole. "You know what to do, beloved. Farewell!" I had refilled my revolver in the pause and, with a fast-beating heart, turned now to that horrid cockpit once more. The first person my eyes lighted on was Holgate, broad, clean-faced, and grinning like a demon. "He shall die, at any rate," said Prince Frederic, and lifted his revolver which he had reloaded. It missed fire; the second shot grazed Holgate's arm and felled a man behind him. "No luck, Prince," said the fellow in his mocking voice, and in his turn raised a weapon of his own. But he did not fire. Instead, he turned swiftly round and made a dash towards the other end of the corridor. "To me, men; this way! By heaven and thunder!" His voice, fat as it was, pierced the din, and acted as a rallying cry. Several of the mutineers, now confronting us again, turned and followed him, and there was the noise of a struggle issuing from the darkness of the top end of the corridor. "What the deuce is this?" screamed Barraclough in my ear. "I don't know. Let's fall on. There's an alarm. They're----! Now, by the Lord, it's Legrand, thank God! Legrand, Legrand!" "Bully for Legrand!" cried Barraclough, wiping some blood from his face, and he set upon the mutineers from the rear. Those left to face us had scarcely recovered from their astonishment at the alarm when the Prince shot two, and a third went down to me. The others retreated towards their companions, and the three of us followed them up. I say the three, for I could not see Lane anywhere, and I feared that he had fallen. The conflict thus renewed upon more equal terms found, nevertheless, most of the participants worn and exhausted. At least I can answer for myself, and I am sure that my companions were in a like case. The twilight that reigned disguised the scene of the struggle, so that each man saw but little beyond his own part in the affair; yet I was conscious that the mutineers were being pushed back towards the deck door. They had been caught between the two parties as it appeared, and Legrand's unexpected onset from the music-saloon entrance had thrown them into confusion. It was obvious that Legrand and his men were armed, for I heard a shot or two issuing from the _mêlée_, and above the noise of the oaths and thuds and thumpings was the clash of steel. Presently my man, who had engaged me over-long, dropped, and before me was a little vacancy of space, at the end of which, hard by the door, I discerned the bulky form of Holgate. He was leaning against the wall, as if faint, and a revolver dropped from his fingers. "By God, doctor, if I'd had any idea of this I'd have crucified 'em all," he said to me savagely; "but I'll get square yet. First you, and now Legrand! I'll be square yet." As he spoke, panting, he heaved himself higher against the wall and levelled his revolver. In a flash my arm descended and knocked the weapon to the floor. I could see his grin even in the dim light. "Well, it was empty, anyway, man," he said, "but I'll give you best for the present. I've my ship to look after." I could have struck him down then and there, and I raised my point to do so; but he seized my arm. "Don't be a fool, my lad. She'll be gone in this wind, if I don't take charge. Have your fling if you want it," he screamed in my face above the clamour. For the noise of the wind was now increased and grown into a roar. It sounded as a menace in the ears, and I involuntarily paused and looked out of the doorway. The heavens were black, the waters ran white to the gunwale, and the _Sea Queen_ staggered like a drunkard on her course. Holgate's practised eye had taken in the situation, and he had seen that he was necessary to the navigation of the yacht. And yet I marvelled at his coolness, at the strength of will and heroic resolution which could turn him of a sudden from one filled with the lust of blood and greed and battle into the patient sailor with his ship to save. These thoughts ran through my head as I paused. It was only a brief pause, so brief that it was no time ere I rejoined my companions in their attack on the failing mutineers; but in it I had a glimpse deep into the chief mutineer's nature. I let him go. His argument came home to me. I do not know that I could be said to have considered; rather his individuality dominated me in this appeal to something beyond our immediate quarrel, to a more ultimate good. Perhaps his very assurance, which was almost contemptuous in its expression, helped to dissuade me. I dropped my arm and he went. Outside, as I turned back, I saw him stay a moment and look upon us, that pack of desperate wolves and watch-dogs. Almost I could think he lifted his lips in a grin over his fancy. Then he disappeared into the gathering gloom, and, as I say, I returned to the attack. A few minutes later the mutineers broke and scattered. Their resistance was at an end, and they fled out into the night, leaving our party breathless, wounded, but secure and triumphant. I say secure, but alas, the price of that security had been heavy! Legrand with two of his men had escaped unhurt, but two were dead and two seriously wounded. Lane had his face cut open; Barraclough had come off with a nasty stab in the ribs, and Prince Frederic was not to be found. We hunted in that scene of carnage, and I discovered him at last under the body of a dead mutineer. When we had got him forth he was still unconscious, but breathed heavily, and I found traces of internal injuries. I administered what was necessary, including a restorative, and he came to presently. "Well, sir," said he weakly, "what's the report?" "By heaven, sir, we've licked them," I cried. "Good news, sir. The dogs have run." "They shall be hanged in due course," said he in a loud voice. "My luck holds, doctor." He waved his hand weakly down the corridor. "Tell the ladies. Acquaint--her Royal Highness." It was the first time he had given his sister her proper style, and in a way this might be taken by those who look for omens as auspicious. Did his luck indeed hold, as he said? I took the office on myself. The _Sea Queen_ was galloping like a racer, and plunged as she ran. Two steps took me to the _boudoir_ door, before which lay the body of one of our enemies. As the ship rolled it slipped away and began to creep down the corridor. The yacht reared before she dipped again, and a cascade of spray streamed over the side and entered by the broken door. I rapped loudly and called loudly; and in a trice the door opened, and the Princess Alix stood before me, glimmering like a ghost in the darkness. "They are gone," I shouted. "We have won." "Thank God! He has heard us," she exclaimed. "I could hear nothing for the sound of the sea and the wind. But oh, the suspense was terrible! My hair should be white!" "Mademoiselle?" I asked. "Mademoiselle sleeps," said she, and I thought there was something significant in her voice. It was well that Mademoiselle slept. I left her and went back to the Prince, for more than he needed my care, and as I reached the group the roll of the yacht sent me flying. Legrand caught me. "We can't spare you yet, doctor," he shouted. "Thank God for you," I answered fervently. "You came in the nick of time." "I thought we might have cut our way out last night, but I found we couldn't," he explained. "You see, we only had one knife, and it has been a tough job to get through the heavy wood of the partition." "Thank God," I repeated, and clutched at him again as the floor rose up. "I'm not accustomed to this," I said with a laugh. "It's worse than the mutineers." He answered nothing, for his gaze was directed towards the door. "We must take charge," he shouted. "Good Lord, there's no time to lose." "Holgate's there," I screamed back. "He went to look after the ship." We stood holding on to each other, and Barraclough, Lane and the Prince were holding on by the brass rods on the cabin doors. She rolled and kicked and stood up at an angle of 45°. "What is it?" I screamed. Legrand pointed to the blackness without. "We'll get it in a little. I hope to God it will be no worse than this. She can't stand on her head with safety." Suddenly the roar swelled louder, and dismal shrieks and whistlings sounded in the ears. The _Sea Queen_ sank, and a whole tide of sea rushed over the bulwarks and flooded the state-rooms. The water ran knee-deep and set the bodies of the dead awash. One struck against me in the whirlpool. It was a ghastly scene, set in that gathered darkness. "Nothing can be done. We've got to hold on," said Legrand. "He's a good seaman; I'll say that for him. But how many's he got with him? He's undermanned. It's all on the engine-room now." We were silent again, mainly because it was almost impossible to hear anything through that tempest of wind and volcanic sea. She came right for a moment, and our grip of each other relaxed. "I'm going, Legrand," I called to him. "Don't be a fool," said he. "Oh, I'm all right. I've forgotten something," I shouted. "I'll see to myself"; and I cut myself adrift from him. I crossed the corridor successfully, and then the yacht heeled and I was almost precipitated to the other end of it. She was being knocked about like a tin pot in a gale. I seized a door-handle and hung on, and when the vessel recovered somewhat I twisted it, but it did not give. The _boudoir_ must be farther on. I crept on by means of the brass railing and at last reached a door which gave. I opened it and called out: "Princess! Princess!" Blackness filled the room. I could hear and see nothing human. I entered, and the door swung to behind with a clang. "Princess!" I shouted, but I could hear no answer. I groped in the darkness with both hands, and then I touched an arm! I seized it, and drew the owner to me gently. "Princess!" I called, and this time an answer reached me through the raging elements: "It is I." "Thank God, you're safe. Do not be alarmed," I said, speaking into her ear. "The yacht's caught in a hurricane, but----" There fell at that instant a resounding crash far above the noise of the storm, and we were thrown headlong against the outer wall of the _boudoir_. I knew that only, and then I knew no more. CHAPTER XVIII AT DEAD OF NIGHT Consciousness flowed back upon me slowly, and I emerged in pain and in intense bewilderment from my swoon. The first sound that came to me in my awakening was the terrific roar of the water against the side of the yacht, the next a woman's scream. Recalling now the incidents exactly preceding my fall, I stirred and endeavoured to sit up, and then I was aware of being pinned down by a weight. It was, as will be remembered, pitch dark, but I put out my hand and felt the beating of a heart. There was also unmistakably a woman's bodice under my fingers. It was Princess Alix, who had fallen with me. But what had happened? And what noise was screaming through the night, even above all that awful tumult of waste water and wild wind? I answered the second query first. It was Mademoiselle. Well, she could wait. My first concern must be for the Princess, who lay upon me a dead weight, but, as I knew, a living, breathing body. I carefully extricated myself and raised her. The yacht was stooping at an angle, and I was forced back against the wall with my burden. If it had been only light and I had known which way to move! I laid the Princess on the couch, which I discovered by groping, and tried to open the door. It was jammed. Then it dawned upon me that the screw had stopped. The noise of its beating was not among the many noises I heard. If it had stopped, only one thing could have happened. The _Sea Queen_ must be ashore. That was the explanation. We had struck. I was now the more anxious, as you may conceive, to get out of the cabin, for if we had struck it was essential to know how we stood and what degree of risk we ran. For all I knew, the yacht might be sinking at that moment or breaking up upon rocks. Finding egress through the door impossible, I made my way with difficulty to the other side of the _boudoir_, where I knew there was a communication with the bedrooms. This door stood open, as it had been flung by the shock, and I was now able to locate the sounds of the screaming. They came from the cabin beyond, which I knew to be Mademoiselle's. I guided myself as well as I could to the door giving access to the corridor and unlocked it. As I did so a speck of light gleamed in the darkness and arrested me. It enlarged and emerged upon me till it took the shape of a candle, and underneath it I beheld the capable face of the French maid Juliette. "It is necessary I should have something to quiet Mademoiselle, monsieur," said she in her tranquil way. "I am in search of something now for the Princess, Juliette," I explained. "Thank God for your light. How did you get it?" "I always have a candle with me when I travel, Monsieur," she replied. She was the most sensible woman I had ever met, and I could have embraced her. "The yacht has gone aground," I said. "I will find out how much damage has been done. I will bring back what is necessary. The Princess lies in there. See to her." With that I left her and stepped into the corridor. Like the cabins, it was opaque with the night, but I groped my way across it without hearing any sounds of living people--only that terrible turmoil of waters without. I knew where my bag was. It was in the small cabin which the Prince used as his smoking-room, and in which we had sometimes played cards to pass the time during those days of anxiety and trouble. The first door I opened seemed to give me access to the open sea. The wind ramped in my face, and would have thrown me back, and I was drenched with a cascade of water. I thought I must have opened the door to the deck until I remembered that that had been destroyed in the fight. I put out a hand, and it touched a piece of furniture, and then once again the sea broke over me. There could be no other solution of the puzzle than this--that the outer wall of the cabin had been carried away. I judged that I was in the Prince's room. I retraced my way, opening the door with difficulty, and, once more in the shelter of the corridor, felt my way along the railing. There seemed to be a foot of water about my legs, and it was icy chill. The next handle I hit upon I turned as before, and the door came back upon me with a rush, almost sending me headlong. I entered the cabin, and by dint of groping I reached the upholstered couch at the back. My bag was not where I had left it, but it could not be far away. The salt water flowed and oozed on the floor, but I dropped to my knees and hunted for it, and was at last rewarded by finding it jammed into a corner under a cupboard. Getting back into the corridor, I had now to determine whether to return at once to the Princess or to go in search of news. I stood wavering, reluctant to leave her in her swoon all untended, and yet conscious that it would be wiser to ascertain the extent of our damages. Happily the decision was not forced upon me, for I saw in the distance a swinging lantern, which seemed to be advancing towards me down the corridor. I shouted, and the dim figure behind it stopped and turned the light upon me. "You, Phillimore?" It was Barraclough's voice. "What has happened?" I asked. "Struck on a reef," he roared back. "She's tight yet, I think. But where are the ladies?" "Let me have your lantern and I'll take you to them," said I, and, thanking Providence for that signal mercy, I crossed the corridor with him. The lantern shed a benign light upon the wreck of the _boudoir_. The Princess lay where I had left her; but her eyes were open, and I made use of my flask of cognac with beneficial results. Then I was plucked by the arm, and Barraclough claimed my attention. "Mademoiselle Trebizond is ill," he called. "Give her something. You must see to her." Of course that was my duty, and I took such steps as seemed necessary for one of so neurotic a nature. "She is all right," I explained. "If the ship's in no danger just now they are best here. The maid has a candle." I returned to Princess Alix and found her recovered, and I bade her be of good cheer, shouting (for it was always shouting) that we had defied the mutineers successfully, and that we should also successfully defy the elements. Then I went back, for I had other work to do. Barraclough informed me that the Prince had been taken to the music saloon, and Lane also was there. I therefore joined the relics of our company in that devastated chamber, and did what my skill availed to do for the injured. The Prince had been struck on the head and in the body, but the marks were not very apparent. He breathed heavily, but had still his old air of authority. Lane bubbled over with alternate fumes of petulance and passion; but he had his excuse, as he was suffering a great deal of pain. Ellison, too, wounded as he was, had dragged himself from his temporary hospital to the music-room. But one of Legrand's men had vanished, and it was supposed he had gone overboard in one of the great tides of sea that swept over the yacht. Legrand had ventured on deck, and clinging to the railings, had endeavoured to get some notion of the position of things. But he had seen and heard nothing beyond the storm. "She's firm so far," he shouted in my ears, "and the night's clearing. I can see a star." "The Star of Hope," I answered. He shrugged his shoulders. "They may be at the pumps. But the sea's moderating and the wind's dropping. We shall know presently." Something was now drawing me irresistibly back to the Princess. My heart pined for the sight of her and the assurance that she had suffered no injury. I grew restless at the inaction, and, weary and bruised as I was, I think passion gave me wings and endurance. I left the music saloon and emerged into the lobby where the stairs went down to the saloon below. The sea was breaking through the shattered door on the one side, but on the lee the _Sea Queen_ was tilted upwards, and it was there she lay in irons, no doubt upon some rocks, or shores. If only the day would dawn! As I stood awhile, before entering the corridor through another shattered doorway, the glimmer of a light caught my eye. It came from the door upon the farther side of the lobby, seeming to shine through the keyhole. As I watched, the door opened and let in a blast of wind that shook the broken woodwork; it also let in the figure of a man, and that man, seen dimly in the shades of the light he carried, was Holgate. I drew myself up into the fastness of the gloom and stared at him. He had turned the shutter in his lantern now, for it was a bull's-eye, and the darkness was once more universal, but I had a feeling that he had a companion, and although I necessarily lost sight of Holgate I was assured in myself that he had descended the stairway. Any noise his heavy feet might make would be absorbed into the general racket of the night. I stood and wondered. What was Holgate's object in this silent expedition? I confess my curiosity rose high--to a pitch, indeed, at which it might not be denied. A surmise sprang into my mind, but I hardly allowed it time to formulate, for not a minute after the recognition I, too, was on my way down the stairs. It was comparatively easy to descend, for, as I have said, there was no danger of discovery from noise, and I had the balustrade under my hand. When I had reached the floor below I caught the gleam of the lantern in the distance, and I pursued it down one of the passages. This pursuit took me past the cabins towards the kitchen; and then I came to an abrupt pause, for the lantern, too, had stopped. I could make out Holgate's bulky form and the light flashing on the walls, and now, too, I found that my senses had not deceived me, and that there was a second man. He stood in the shadow, so that I could not identify him; and both men were peering into an open door. My position in the passage began to assume a perilous character, and I made investigations in my neighbourhood. Near me was the door of a cabin, which I opened without difficulty and entered. Now, by putting out my head, I could see the mutineers, while I had a refuge in the event of their turning back. They were still bent forwards, peering into the room. I thought that, with good luck, I might venture farther while they were so engrossed with their occupation. So, leaving my hiding-place, I stole forwards boldly to the next cabin and entered it as I had entered the former. I was now quite close to them, and suddenly I saw who was Holgate's companion. It was Pye. With equal celerity did my brain take in the situation and interpret it. Indeed, I should have guessed at it long before, I think, had not the events of the night thrown me into a state of confusion. It was the treasure they looked at, and this was where Pye had concealed it. As this truth came home to me Holgate lifted his head and I drew back, setting the cabin door ajar. Presently after the bull's-eye flashed through the crack of the door, and stayed there. For a moment I thought all was up, and that my retreat had been discovered, but I was soon reassured. The noise of the water had fallen, and above it, or rather through it, I could hear Holgate's voice fatly decisive. "She'll hold, I tell you, for twenty-four hours at any rate, even without pumps. Hang it, man, do you suppose I can take the risk now? They're sick enough as it is--all blood and no money. We must let it lie for a bit and take our opportunity." Pye's voice followed; I could not hear what he said, but Holgate's was in answer and coldly impatient. "You've the stomach of a nursery governess. Good heavens, to run in harness with you! What the deuce do I know? We're cast away, that's certain. But I will be hanged if I lose what I've played for, Mr. Pye; so put that in your pipe." The light went out and the voice faded. Presently I opened the door and looked out upon profound darkness. I knew my way about the yacht by that time, and was not discomposed by the situation. The mutineer and his treacherous confederate were gone, and I must make the best of my time to follow them. Nothing could be effected without a light, and I had no means of procuring one in those nether regions. I retraced my way more or less by instinct until I came out at the foot of the stairway, and knew it was easy to regain the upper regions. Instead of going to the _boudoir_, I sought the group in the music-room, and was challenged by Barraclough. "Who's that?" "Phillimore," I answered. "We must have more light. Have we no more lanterns?" "Yes, sir," said Ellison's cheerful voice. "There's some in the steward's room." "Good for you," said I. "If some one will give me matches I think I'll go on a hunt." The other sailor produced a box of vestas from his pocket, and as he was unwounded I took him with me on my return journey. In the steward's room we found several lanterns, as well as some bottles of beer and some cold fowl. We made a selection from this and got safely back to our friends. Here we lit two or three of the lanterns, and I opened some of the beer and left them to a repast. You will be thinking that I had not kept my word, and had neglected what should have been my prime duty. I had not forgotten, however. Was it likely? And I made haste at once to the quarters of the ladies, taking with me something which should make me welcome--which was a lighted lantern. Princess Alix was quite recovered, but showed great anxiety for news of her brother. I was able to quiet her fears by describing the supper at which I had left him, and her eyes brightened. "He is so good and brave!" she said simply. "He is so noble! He has always thought of others." That the Prince was fond of his sister was manifest, and it was patent, too, that he was attached to the woman for whom he had thrown all away and was thus imperilled. Yet I should not have attributed to him inordinate unselfishness. I made no reply, however, beyond urging her to follow her brother's example and fortify herself with food. She waved it aside. "No, no, I am not hungry! I am only anxious," she said. "Tell me, are we safe?" "For the present," I said. "I gather that most of the mutineers are at the pumps." "Then we are sinking?" she cried. "It does not follow," I answered. "Holgate has his own hand to play, and he will play it. We are safe just now. God answered your prayers, Princess." She looked me earnestly in the face and sighed. "Yes," she said softly. Meanwhile I discovered that Mademoiselle had picked up her spirits. She complained of the noise, of the darkness, and of the lack of sleep, but she found some compensations, now that it was clear that we were not going to the bottom. "It was magnificent, Monsieur, that storm!" she exclaimed. "I could see the demons raging in it. Oh, _ciel_! It was like the terrors of the Erl König, yes. But what have you there, doctor? Oh, it is beer, English beer. I am tired of champagne. Give me some beer. I love the bocks. It calls to mind the boulevards. Oh, the boulevards, that I shall not see, never, never in my life!" I consoled her, comforting her with the assurance that we were nearer the boulevards now than we had been a few hours ago, which in a way was true enough. She inquired after the Prince pleasantly, also after Barraclough, and asked with cheerful curiosity when we were going to land. I said I hoped it would be soon, but she was content with her new toy, which was English bottled ale, and I left her eating daintily and sipping the foam from her toilette glass with satisfaction. I returned to the music-room and joined the company; and, after a little, silence fell upon us, and I found myself drift into the slumber of the weary. I awoke with the grey dawn streaming in by the shattered skylights, and, sitting up, looked about me. My companions were all wrapped in slumber, Lane tossing restlessly with the pain of his wound. I walked to the door and looked out. The sea had gone down, and now lapped and washed along the sides of the _Sea Queen_. The sky was clear, and far in the east were the banners of the morning. The gentle air of the dawn was grateful to my flesh and stimulated my lungs. I opened my chest to draw it in, and then, recrossing the lobby, I peered out through the windows on the port side. The dim loom of land saluted my eyes, and nearer still a precipice of rocks, by which the seafowl were screaming. We had gone ashore on some sort of island. This discovery relieved one of the anxieties that had weighed upon me. At last we had a refuge not only from the violence and treachery of the ocean, but also from the murderous ruffians who had possession of the yacht. It was, therefore, with a lighter heart that I descended into the cabins and made my way along the passage to the point where I had seen Holgate and Pye stop. I identified the door which they had opened, and after a little manoeuvring I succeeded in getting it open. It was the cook's pantry in which I now found myself, and I proceeded to examine carefully every drawer and every cupboard by the meagre light of the dawn. I had not been at work ten minutes before I came upon the contents of the safes, safely stowed in a locker. Well, if the documents and gold could be shifted once they could be shifted again; and forthwith I set about the job. It pleased me (I know not why) to choose no other place than Pye's cabin in which to rehide them. I think the irony of the choice decided me upon it, and also it was scarcely likely that Holgate and his accomplice would think of looking for the treasure in the latter's room. It took me quite an hour to make the transfer, during which time I was not interrupted by any alarm. Whatever Holgate and his men were doing, they evidently did not deem that there was any center of interest in the saloon cabins at that moment. My task accomplished, I returned to the music-room, in which the wounded men still slept restlessly. I occupied my time in preparing a meal, and I took a strong glass of whisky and water, for my strength was beginning to ebb. I had endured much and fought hard, and had slept but little. As I stood looking down on my companions, I was aware of a grey shadow that the slender sunlight cast as a ghost upon the wall. I turned and saw the Princess. She was clad as for a journey, and warmly against the cold, and her face was pale and anxious. "You are astir, Dr. Phillimore," she said. "Yes," said I. "I could not sleep." "Nor I," she returned with a sigh. "I sometimes feel that I shall never sleep again. The sound of the storm and the noises of the fight--the oaths--the cries--they are forever beating in my brain." "They will pass," I replied encouragingly. "I do believe we are destined to safety. Look forth there and you will see the morning mists on the island." "Yes," she assented. "I saw that we had struck on an island, and that is why I am here. Our chance is given us, Dr. Phillimore. We must go." I looked doubtfully at the sleeping men. "Yes, yes, I know, but my brother will be more reasonable now," she pursued; "he will see things in another light. He has done all for honour that honour calls for." "He has done too much," said I somewhat bitterly, for I realised how greatly he had imperilled his sister. She made no answer to that, but approached and looked down at the Prince, who lay with his head pillowed on the cushioned seat. "He is well enough?" she asked. "He is well enough to leave the yacht if he will consent," I answered. Perhaps it was the sound of our voices, though we had both pitched them low. At any rate, Prince Frederic stirred and sat up slowly. "Good-morning, Alix," he said affectionately, and his eyes alighted on me, as if wondering. The Princess went forward and embraced him. "Dr. Phillimore has kindly got breakfast for you," she said. "You must eat, Frederic, for we are going to leave the yacht this morning." She spoke decisively, as if she had taken control of affairs out of his hands, and he smiled back. "Are those your orders, Alix? You were always wilful from a child." "No, no," she cried, smiling too, "I always obeyed your orders, Frederic. It was you who were hero to me, not Karl or Wilhelm--only you." He patted her hand and glanced at the food I had obtained. "We owe to Dr. Phillimore a debt of gratitude," he said in his friendliest manner. The talking had disturbed Barraclough also, who now awoke and saluted us. He made no difficulty of beginning at once on his breakfast, cracking a joke at my expense. It was a strangely pacific gathering after the terrible night; but I suppose we were all too worn to take things in duly. There is a limit to the power of facts to make impressions on one's senses, and I think we had reached it. For the most part we were just animals with an appetite. But there was my news, and I hastened to break it. It was not startling, but it had an interest for us all. The Prince deliberated. "It is fate," he said slowly. "It is the luck of the Hochburgers." Barraclough's comment was from a different aspect. "That's a trick to us. We've a shot in the locker yet." "What is it you mean?" asked the Prince. "Why, that we can drive a bargain with them," replied Barraclough. "We've got the whip-hand." "There shall no bargain be made with murderers," said the Prince in his deep voice. "Frederic," said Princess Alix in a quick, impulsive way, "let us escape while there is time. The way is clear now. We can get to the island and be quit forever of those dreadful men and horrible scenes." The Prince let his glance fall on her. "There is something to be done here," he said at last. "The luck of the Hochburgers holds." He was ill for certain; perhaps he was more than ill; but at that moment I had no patience with him. I turned on my heel and left the room. CHAPTER XIX THE TRAGEDY It was quite obvious that we could not offer any resistance to another attack if one should be made. All told, and excluding the women, there were but seven of us, and three of these were disabled by their wounds. We did not, of course, know how the mutineers had fared, but it was certain that their assault had cost them dear. The heavy seas had washed overboard dead and dying, and it was impossible for us to say how many enemies were left to us. It might be that with their diminished numbers they would not risk another attack, particularly as they had found us develop so fierce a resistance. But, on the other hand, the rank and file of the mutineers believed us to be in possession of the treasure (as we actually were once more), and it was likely that they would make yet another attempt to gain it. But they on their side could not tell how we had suffered, and they would be sure to use caution. For these reasons I did not think that we need fear an immediate assault, but we thought it advisable to concentrate our forces against an emergency. We therefore abandoned the music-room and secured ourselves as well as possible in the wreck of the state-rooms, using furniture and trunks and boxes as barricades. For my part, my heart echoed the Princess's wish. I was in favour of abandoning the yacht and trusting to the chances of the island. As the sun rose higher we got glimpses of this through the windows, and the verdure looked inviting after so many weary weeks of desolate water. The tops of the hills seemed barren, but I had no doubt that there was more fertility in the valleys, which were not swept by the bluff winds of the wild sea. But the Prince was obstinate, and, relying upon his luck, was dragging down with him the lives of the two women he loved, to say nothing of the rest of our company. We had therefore to make the best of the situation, and to sit down and await issues with what composure we might. The Prince himself had recovered wonderfully, though I did not like the look of the dent on his head, which had been dealt apparently by the back of an axe. His power of recuperation astonished me, and I was amazed on leaving the cabin in which Lane was housed, to find him entering the doorway that led from the lobby. I remonstrated with him, for it was evident that he had been wandering, and I wanted him to rest, so as to have all his strength for use later should it be necessary. He smiled queerly. "Yet you would have me take a turn on the island, doctor," he said. "I saw it in your eyes. I will not have you encourage the Princess so. It is my wish to stay. I will see my luck to the end." This was the frame of his mind, and you will conceive how impossible to move one so fanatically fixed on his course; indeed, the futility of argument was evident from the first, and I made no attempt. Barraclough, too, retired defeated, though it was by no means his last word on the point, as you shall hear. I was seated in the corridor some three hours later, near what should have been four bells, when I heard my name called softly. I looked about me without seeing any one. The wounded men were resting, and Legrand was at the farther end of the corridor, acting as sentinel over our makeshift of a fortress. I sat wondering, and then my name was called again--called in a whisper that, nevertheless, penetrated to my ears and seemed to carry on the quiet air. I rose and went towards Legrand. "Did you call?" I asked. He shook his head. "No," said he. "I heard my name distinctly," I said. "Oh, don't get fancying things, Phillimore," he said with impatient earnestness. "My dear fellow, there's only you and Barraclough and me now." "Well, I'd better swallow some of my own medicine," I retorted grimly, and left him. I walked back again and turned. As I did so, the call came to me so clearly and so softly that I knew it was no fancy on my part, and now I involuntarily lifted my eyes upwards to the skylights. One of these had been shattered in the gale. "Doctor!" I gazed in amazement, and suddenly Holgate's face passed momentarily over the hole in the glass. "Doctor, can you spare me ten minutes?" What in the name of wonder was this? I paused, looked down the corridor towards Legrand, and reflected. Then I took it in at a guess, and I resolved to see him. "Where?" I asked, in a voice so modulated that it did not reach Legrand. "Here--the promenade," came back the reply. I whistled softly, but made no answer. Then I walked away. "Legrand," said I, "I'm going for a turn. I've got an idea." "Don't let your idea get you," said he bluffly. I assured him that I was particular about my personal safety, and with his assistance the door was opened behind the barricade. For the first time for two days I found myself on the deck and in the open air. Hastily glancing about me to make sure that no mutineers were in the neighbourhood, I walked to the foot of the ladder that gave access to the promenade-deck above and quickly clambered to the top. At first I could see no sign of Holgate, and then a head emerged from behind the raised skylights and he beckoned to me. "Sit here, doctor," said he. "You'll be safe here. No harm shall come to you." He indicated a seat under cover of one of the extra boats which was swung inside the promenade-deck for use in the event of emergencies, and he himself set me the example of sitting. "I suppose you've come armed," he said. I tapped my breast-pocket significantly. "So!" said he, smiling. "Well, you're plucky, but you're not a fool; and I won't forget that little affair downstairs. I'll admit you might have dusted me right up, if you'd chosen. But you didn't. You had a clear head and refrained." "On the contrary," said I, "I've been thinking ever since what a dolt I was not to shoot." "You don't shoot the man at the wheel, lad," said he with a grin. "Oh, you weren't that; you were only the enemy. Why, we struck half an hour later." "Yes," he assented. "But we're not down under yet. And you can take your solemn Alfred that that's where we should be now if you hadn't let me pass. No, doctor, you spared the rod and saved the ship." "Well, she's piled up, my good sir," I declared. "So she is," he admitted. "But she's saved all the same. And I'll let you into a little secret, doctor. What d'ye suppose my men are busy about, eh? Why, pumping--pumping for all they're worth. I keep 'em well employed, by thunder." He laughed. "If it's not fight, it's pump, and if it weren't pump, by the blazes it would be fight. So you owe me one, doctor, you and those fine friends of yours who wouldn't pick you out of a gutter." "Supposing we get to the point," I suggested curtly. "That's all right. There's a point about here, sure enough. Well, we're piled up on blessed Hurricane Island, doctor, as you see. We struck her at a proper angle. See? Here lies the _Sea Queen_, with a bulge in her and her nose for the water. She'd like to crawl off, and could." He waved his hand as he spoke, and for the first time my gaze took in the scene. We lay crooked up upon a ridge of rock and sand; beyond, to the right, the cliffs rose in a cloud of gulls, and nearer and leftwards the long rollers broke upon a little beach which sloped up to the verdure of a tiny valley. It was a solitary but a not unhandsome prospect, and my eyes devoured it with inward satisfaction, even with longing. Far away a little hill was crowned with trees, and the sun was shining warmly on the gray sand and blue water. I turned, and Holgate's eye was on me. "She's piled up for certain, but I guess she could get up and waddle if we urged her," he said slowly. "Come, Holgate, I have no idea what this means," said I. "I only know that a few hours ago you would have annihilated us, and that we must look for the same attempt again. I confess there's nothing else plain to me." "I'll make it plain, lad," said he with his Lancashire accent uppermost. "I'm not denying what you say. I told you long ago that I was going through with this, and that holds. I'm not going to let go now, no, by thunder, not when I'm within an ace of it. But there's been a bit of manoeuvring, doctor, and I think we can help each other." "You want a compromise," I said. "You can call it that if you will," he said. "But the terms I offered yesterday I repeat to-day." "Why do you take this method of offering them?" I inquired. "Why not approach the Prince officially?" "Well, you see, doctor, I don't hanker after seeing the Prince, as you might say; and then, between you and me, you're more reasonable, and know when the butter's on the bread." "And there's another reason," said I. He slapped his thigh and laughed. "Ah! Ah! doctor, there's no getting behind you. You're a fair daisy," he said good-humouredly. "Yes, there's another reason, which is by way of manoeuvring, as I have said. My men are at the pumps or they would be at you. You see you've got the treasure." "Oh, only a few hours since," I said lightly. His fang showed. "That's so. But so far as my men know you've had it all along. Now I wonder where you hid it? Perchance in a steward's pantry, doctor?" "Very likely," I assented. His sombre eyes, which never smiled, scrutinised me. "I'd put my shirt on it that 'twas you, doctor," he said presently. "What a man you are! It couldn't be that worm, Pye, naturally; so it must be you. I'm nuts on you." I rose. "I'm afraid, Holgate, you can't offer any terms which would be acceptable," I said drily. "Well, it's a fair exchange," he said. "I guess I can keep my men aloof for a bit, and we can get her off. There's not much the matter with the yacht. I'll land your party on the coast in return for the boodle." "The Prince would not do it," I answered. "Nor would I advise him to do so--for one reason, if for no other." I spoke deliberately and looked him in the face fully. "What may that be?" he asked, meeting my gaze. "You would not keep your word," I said. He shook his head. "You're wrong, doctor, you're wholly wrong. You haven't got my measure yet, hanged if you have. I thought you had a clearer eye. What interest have I in your destruction? None in the world." "Credit me with some common sense, Holgate," I replied sharply. "Dead men tell no tales." "Nor dead women," he said meaningly, and I shuddered. "But, good Lord! I kill no man save in fight. Surrender, and I'll keep the wolves off you. They only want the money." "Which they would not get," I put in. He smiled, not resenting this insinuation. "That's between me and my Maker," he said with bold blasphemy. "Anyway, I'm not afraid of putting your party at liberty. I know a corner or two. I can look after myself. I've got my earths to run to." "It's no use," I said firmly. "Well, there's an alternative," he said, showing his teeth, "and that's war; and when it comes to war, lives don't count, of either sex; no, by blazes, they don't, Dr. Phillimore!" He stood up and faced me, his mouth open, his teeth apart, and that malicious grin wrinkling all but his smouldering feral eyes. I turned my back on him without a word and descended to the deck. I had not a notion what was to be done, but I knew better than to trust to the ravening mercies of that arch-mutineer. Holgate was aware that the treasure was gone, and he wished to jockey us into a surrender. That was the gist of my interview, which I hastened to communicate to my companions. Legrand and Barraclough listened with varying faces. Expressions flitted over the former's as shadows over a sea, but the baronet was still as rock, yes, and as hard, it seemed to me. "You people have all got a bee in your bonnet in respect of a compromise," he said with a sneer. "You follow the Prince, and God knows he's no judge. He's a fanatic. Hang it, Phillimore, haven't you tumbled to that yet?" He was a fanatic, it was true, but I did not like Barraclough's tone. "Then you would trust the lives of this company, including the ladies, to Holgate?" I asked sharply. "With proper reservations and safeguards," he said. I threw out my hands. "You talk of safeguards, and you're dealing with a cut-throat. What safeguards could you have?" "Well, we might stipulate for a surrender of all the firearms," said Barraclough, knitting his brow. "It wouldn't wash," said Legrand decidedly. "Do you think they'd give up all they had? No, it would only be a pretence--a sham. I agree with the doctor that Holgate's safety is only spelled out by our deaths. There you have it in a nutshell. The man can't afford to let us go free." Barraclough assumed a mule-like look. "Very well," said he. "Then we're wiped out as soon as he cares to move," and he turned away angrily. An hour later I was passing the ladies' cabins when a door flew open, and Mademoiselle jumped out on me in a state of agitation. "What is this, doctor?" she cried. "This 'Olgate offers to put us on shore safe, and you refuse--refuse to give him up the money. You must not. You must bargain with him. Our lives depend on it. And you will arrange that he leaves us sufficient to get to civilisation again." "Mademoiselle," said I quietly, "I am not in authority here. It is the Prince." "The Prince, he is ill," she went on in her voluble French. "He is not master of himself, as you well know. He is not to be trusted to make a decision. Sir John shall do it. He is captain." "It should be done with all my heart and now, Mademoiselle," I said, "if we could put any reliance on the man's word. But how can we after his acts, after this bloody mutiny?" She clasped her hands together in terror. "Then we shall be doomed to death, Monsieur. Ah, try, consent! Let us see what he will offer. Sir John shall do it for me whose life is at stake." I was sorry for her fears, and her agitation embarrassed me. Heaven knew I understood the situation even more clearly than she, and to me it was formidable, pregnant with peril. But what could I do? I did what I could to reassure her, which was little enough, and I left her weeping. The singing-bird had become suddenly conscious of her danger, and was beating wildly against the bars of her cage. Poor singing-bird! Princess Alix had taken upon herself the office of nurse to her brother, and although he refused to acknowledge the necessity of a nurse, he seemed glad to have her in his room. When I entered early in the afternoon after tending my other patients, they were talking low together in German, a tongue with which, as I think I have said, I was not very familiar. But I caught some words, and I guessed that it was of home they spoke, and the linden-trees in the avenue before the castle of Hochburg. The Princess's face wore a sad smile, which strove to be tender and playful at once, but failed pitifully. And she dropped the pretence when she faced me. "Dr. Phillimore, my brother is not so well. He--he has been wandering," she said anxiously under her breath. I had been afraid of the dent in the head. I approached him and felt his pulse. "It will not be long, doctor, before we have these scoundrels hanged," he said confidently, nodding to me in his grave way. "We have nearly finished our work." "Yes," said I, "very nearly." I did not like his looks. He raised himself in his chair. "'_Den Lieben langen Tag_,' Alix. Why don't you sing that now? You used to sing it when you were but a child," he said, relapsing into German. "Sing, Alix." He stared about as if suddenly remembering something. "If Yvonne were here, she would sing. Her voice is beautiful--ach, so beautiful!" There was a moment's silence, and the Princess looked at me, inquiringly, as it appeared to me. I nodded to her, and she parted her lips. Sweet and soft and plaintive were the strains of that old-world song. Ah, how strangely did that slender voice of beauty touch the heart, while Mademoiselle had sung in vain with all her art and accomplishment: Den Lieben langen Tag Hab ich nur Schmerz und Plag Und darf am Abend doch nit weine. Wen ich am Fendersteh, Und in die Nacht nei seh, So ganz alleine, so muss ich weine. Her voice had scarce died away gently when a sound from without drew my ears, and I turned towards the door. The Prince had closed his eyes and lay back in his chair as if he slept, and his face was that of a happy child. Motioning to the Princess to let him stay so, undisturbed, I moved to the door and opened it noiselessly. I heard Legrand's voice raised high as if in angry altercation, and I stepped into the corridor and closed the door behind me. I hurried down to the barricade and found Barraclough and Legrand struggling furiously. "Shame!" I called, "shame! What is it?" and I pulled Legrand back. "He has only one arm, man," I said reproachfully. "I don't care if he has none. He's betrayed us," cried Legrand, savagely angry. I stared. "What does it mean?" "Why, that his friends are outside, and that he wants to admit them," said Legrand with an oath. Barraclough met my gaze unblinkingly. "It's more or less true," he said bluntly, "and I'm going to let them in. I'm sick of this business, and I've taken the matter in hand myself. I'm captain here." He spoke with morose authority and eyed me coolly. I shrugged my shoulders. We could not afford to quarrel, but the man's obduracy angered me. Alas! I did not guess how soon he was to pay the penalty! "Then you have come to terms, as you call it, on your own account, with Holgate?" I asked. "Yes," he said defiantly. "And what terms, may I ask?" He hesitated. "They can have the treasure in return for our safety. You know my views." "And you know mine," said I. "Then, I may take it you have revealed the secret of the treasure?" "What the devil's it got to do with you?" he replied sullenly. "Stand out of the way there! I'm going to open the door!" "And why, pray, if they already have the treasure?" "You fool! it's only Holgate, and he's here to get us to sign a document." "Meaning," said I, "that we are not to split on him, and to keep silent as to all these bloody transactions." "It's our only chance," he said savagely. "Out of the way!" I hesitated. If Holgate were alone, there was not much to be feared, and, the treasure being now in his hands, what could move him to visit us? Surely, he could have no sinister motive just then? Could he, after all, be willing to trust to his luck and release us, his predestined victims, as the unhappy Prince had trusted to his? The omen was ill. The barricades had been removed evidently before Legrand had arrived on the scene to interfere, and even as I hesitated Barraclough turned the key, and the door fell open. Holgate waddled heavily into the corridor and took us all three in with his rolling eyes. His face seemed to be broader, more substantial, and darker than ever, and his mouth and chin marked the resolute animal even more determinedly. The open door was behind him. "As Sir John will have told you," he began slowly, moving his gaze from one to another, "I have come on a little business with him which we've got to settle before we part." Legrand stood in angry bewilderment, and, as for me, I knew not how to take this. Had he come in good faith? "I would be damned if I would have struck a bargain with you, Holgate, or dreamed of trusting you," said Legrand, fuming. "But as it's done, and you have the spoils, what's your game now?" Holgate sent a quick look at him, and passed his hand over his forehead. Then he eyed me. "What do you suppose I'm here for?" he asked, his eyes looking out as tigers waiting in their lair. "All unarmed, and trusting, as I am, it is only reasonable to suppose that I come to fulfill my promise to Sir John here. He knows what that was, and he's done enough to have got his money's worth." "We will sign if you produce the document," said Barraclough curtly. "You'll sign, Phillimore, and you?" he said, looking at Legrand. It had the air of a command, but what else could we do? We were at Holgate's mercy, and the act of signature could do us no harm. On the other hand, it might save us. "Yes," I said reluctantly, "I'll sign, as it's come to that." "I'll follow," growled Legrand. "But if I'd known----" "Hang it! let's get it over!" said Barraclough. "You shall have our word of honour as gentlemen." "It's a pretty big thing you're asking," said Legrand moodily. "I don't know. Let's think it out." "And the Prince?" said Holgate; "he must sign. You can manage him?" Barraclough frowned. After all, it seemed more complex now with the cold light of reason on the compact. "Look here, man," said he, and I never was nearer liking him, "if you'll put us ashore within forty-eight hours after floating--and you can--on the Chili coast, you'll have a fortnight's start, and can chance the rest. Hang it! Holgate, take your risks." Holgate showed his teeth in a grin. "I have lived forty years," said he slowly, "and, by thunder, I've never taken an unnecessary risk in my life--no! by God I haven't!" and he whistled shrilly through his teeth. Instantaneously (for they must have been in waiting) half a dozen of the mutineers dashed through the doorway, and, before any of us could finger a weapon, we were in their grip. It was the simplest booby-trap that ever was laid, and yet it was prepared with consummate skill. He had come alone and unarmed; he had held us in converse; and when we had lost our sense of suspicion and precaution he had brought his men upon us. Down went the lid of the trap! I could have kicked myself. Legrand struggled, as did Barraclough; but what did resistance avail? The infamous Pierce, who had me on one side, twisted my arm in warning lest I should kick futilely against the pricks. "Steady!" said I. "It is not a question of war just now, but of parley," and I raised my voice so as to be heard above the noise. "What does this mean, Holgate? More treachery of a special black die?" He seated himself on the barricade. "You may call it revenge," said he, considering me. "I exonerate Sir John, and I think Legrand there, but cuss me if I'm sure about you." "You're a black traitor!" cried Barraclough, impotently fierce. "Whoa there, Sir John, whoa there!" said the mutineer equably. "I've already said I exonerate you; but, hang it, man, you're a flat. They've diddled you. I'm no traitor. I'd have struck to my bargain and trusted you, but by the Lord, what am I to do when I find I'm dealing with a pack of hucksters?" "What's your game?" repeated Legrand, blowing hard. Holgate indicated Barraclough. "If he had carried out his part I was prepared to carry out mine; as he hasn't----" He left his end in space. "You haven't the treasure?" I cried in surprise; but Holgate's gaze had gone beyond us and was directed at something down the corridor. I moved my head with difficulty, and, as I did so, I saw Holgate take a revolver from one of his men. He sat fingering it; and that was all I observed, for my eyes, slewing round, had caught sight of the Prince and Princess. The Prince moved heavily towards us, with an uncertain gait, and Alix's face was full of terror and wonder. In that instant I remembered something, and I saw in my mind's eye the figure of the Prince labouring through the doorway that gave access to the stairs to the lower deck. It was he who had removed the treasure, and Holgate had been cheated a second time. Even as this revelation came to me, I wondered at the self-restraint of the man. He was as cool as if he sat at dinner among friends, merely resting a finger on the trigger of his weapon, the muzzle of which he held to the ground. "What is this, sir?" demanded the Prince, coming to a pause and staring at the scene. Holgate answered nothing. I doubt if the Prince had seen him from where he stood, for he addressed Barraclough, and now he repeated his question with dignity. At that moment a door opened somewhere with a click, and Mademoiselle entered the corridor. Barraclough made no sign, but with his teeth on his under lip stared before him helplessly. "But you have the treasure," suddenly cried a tremulous voice in broken English, and Mademoiselle was in our midst. "Go back, Messieurs: you have broke your word. You have the treasure." The Prince stared at her. "What treasure?" he asked with a puzzled expression. "Sir John has made peace with them," she cried excitedly. "He has delivered up the treasure, and they will let us go free. It is all settled. Let him go, 'Olgate. You shall let him go." "Why," said the Prince with a singular expression on his face, "it means I am surrounded with traitors. There is treachery everywhere. Yvonne, you have betrayed me." "Ah, _non_, _non_!" she cried plaintively, clasping her hands together. "We shall be saved. Sir John sees to that." "So you made terms," said the Prince to Barraclough in his deep voice of fury. "I acted for the best," said Barraclough; and now that he met the storm he faced it with dignity. Perhaps I alone knew the measure of his temptation. He had fallen a victim to the arts of a beautiful woman. There was nought else could have melted that obdurate British heart or turned that obstinate British mind. This obtuseness had been his ruin, and he must have recognised it then; for he had admitted the enemy and our stronghold was in their hands. But the last blow had yet to fall. "Fool!" said the Prince with a bitter laugh. "The treasure is not there. You have played without cards." "I will be damned if I didn't think it was his royal highness," said Holgate in his even voice, and as he spoke he rose into sight. It was grotesque as it sounded, certainly not a bit like the prelude of high tragedy; yet that was on the way, and fell at once. Holgate's voice arrested the Prince, and he started, as if now for the first time aware of the presence of the mutineers. Till that moment he had merely been bent on rating a servant. With the swiftness of lightning he drew and levelled a revolver; I saw Holgate's fat bull neck and body lean to one side and drop awkwardly, and then an exclamation sprang up on my left, where Gray and another were holding Barraclough captive. The bullet had gone over Holgate's head as he dodged it and had found its home in Sir John's heart. His body dropped between the captors. The Princess gave a cry of horror. Holgate cast a glance behind him. "You're too mighty dangerous," he said easily, and put up his own weapon. But before it could reach the level, the Prince with a slight start clapped the revolver to his own head and pulled the trigger. "Alix!" he cried weakly, and then something low in German, and as he fell the life must have left him. His sister bent over him, her face white like the cerements of the dead, and Mademoiselle ran forward. "Frederic!" she cried. "_Mon Frederic!_" and broke into violent sobs. "Good God!" said Legrand, trembling. CHAPTER XX THE ESCAPE The shock of the tragedy which had taken place in so brief a space and so unexpectedly threw me into confusion. I knew I was gazing at the Princess, who was bent over her brother, and I heard the weeping of Mademoiselle Trebizond punctuating the deep silence which had fallen after those two reports. There was some movement among the mutineers which I did not understand, and presently I found that Legrand and I were being marched to one of the cabins. "Doctor, do you know anything of this?" sounded a voice in my ear, and I was aware that Holgate was speaking. "The treasure, man, the treasure!" he added, seeing, I suppose, some bewilderment in my face. "No," said I shortly; "the only man who did is dead." "Very well," said he sharply, "I'll deal with you when I have time," and he hurried off. Our captors shoved Legrand and myself into what had been the Prince's smoking-room, and gave us to understand that we were to be shot down if we made any attempt to escape. The rest of these pirates, I conceived, must be in full cry after the spoils, for I heard the sound of the doors being opened and the noise of voices exchanging calls and sour oaths. Presently the door was thrust aside, and the Princess and Mademoiselle were ushered in unceremoniously by the foul-faced Pierce. They were resolved to box us up in our prison until they had settled on a fate for us. The Princess was pale, but quiet, in contrast with her companion, who was still in a storm of sobs. She declared that she was doomed, that she was betrayed, and in a breath vowed that her Frederic would have saved her had he been alive. She appealed to us in turn for aid, and called God to witness that we were cowards and would desert her and hand her over to death. In a word, she behaved with that hysterical exhibition of nerves which I had noted in her at the outset of our hapless voyage. Princess Alix, on the other hand, was still and silent. She made no attempt to calm her companion, and it was as if she heard not those weak and selfish wailings. Once her blank gaze fell upon me as it wandered, and I was alarmed, so tragic were the eyes. I got up, and put my hand impulsively on her arm. "Princess," I said in a low voice. Her lip quivered. She hid her face. I went back to my seat. Who was I that I should intervene upon that infinite private sorrow? No, the past was not for me; the future faced me, pressed upon me, staring bleakly and cruelly upon our condition. Was all over? Had we to remain there, merely at Holgate's pleasure helpless victims to his will, sheep ready for the slaughter that he destined for us? I swore in my heart in that hour that it should not be--not without a struggle. I took God to witness in my inmost soul that I would die before harm should touch the Princess. No, all was not lost yet--not so long as we were free to move and breathe and think intelligently. But, if anything were to be done, it must be attempted ere Holgate remembered us again. He had placed the guard upon us, and he would not turn his thoughts our way again until he had either found what he was looking for or despaired of finding it. How long would the search go on? As I resolved the situation in my head, ideas began to assume form in my quickening brain. In the cabin, under watch and ward, were the two ladies, Legrand, and myself. Lane and Ellison were elsewhere, if they had not been killed by the mutineers, as I almost feared. Also, there was Juliette, Mademoiselle's maid. What had become of her? It was not death I feared for her. But the mutineers, it was quite certain, would think of nothing but running to earth the treasure for the present. The Prince had successfully concealed it, but, of course, the space on a yacht is limited, and it seemed as if in time the discovery must be made. How long would it be? But then came in a flash a disturbing thought. They would abandon their hunt when the light failed until the following morning, and the interlude would direct their attention to their unfortunate prisoners. If they found the treasure by that time, it might be too late for us, but if they went on till dark--I thought I saw light at last in these reflections. We must wait, and act as soon as darkness fell. One thing that gave me hope was that our guards showed no special vigilance. I suppose this was partly because we were considered to be safely disposed of, and partly because they were interested in the progress of the search. Now and then one of them opened the door and glanced in, shutting it again abruptly, to resume conversation with his companion. We had been deprived of our weapons, and the outward windows towards the deck were so small as to forbid the possibility of escape that way, even had the intermittent visitations of our sentries been wanting. Another thing encouraged me, which was, that we were free to talk unheeded. What could the communion of helpless, unarmed prisoners matter? I glanced at Legrand, who sat back, his eyes staring at the ceiling, his arms folded, a deep frown bitten in his forehead. "Legrand," I whispered. His eyes dropped to my level. "They will be busy till dark. What about dusk?" He stirred, and shifted towards me. "Odd. I've been thinking the same," he answered in a low tone. "We may have one more chance if we make it." "We must make it," said I. "I'll tell you what it is, Phillimore," said he. "There's something we can't do without, in our circumstances, and I think I know where to find it." He rose, and opened a cupboard in the wall, from which he brought out a bottle of brandy, some glasses and some tinned foods. "There's always been some kept here," he added. "And, as I live, a knife, if only a jack-knife. Well, she'll do, man--first to open the tins, and then----" He left his meaning in the air. When the tins were opened, I endeavoured to persuade the Princess to eat. She refused at first from lips of marble, but I used my authority as a doctor. "Come," I said with asperity, "you're under orders here, Princess. You must do as you're told." Her lips quivered. "I will try," she said in a strangled voice. Mademoiselle had sat up some time ago and dried her tears. I think she had worn herself out with that passion of weeping, and her nimble wits began to flow again. "You are right, doctor," she said. "It is well to eat, otherwise we become weak. I will eat and then see what may be done." "Bravo, Mademoiselle!" said I. "That is spoken like a sensible woman." "Yes," she went on, "I will try my eloquence upon them--those beasts. They will not harm me, if I speak to them. It was Sir John before, and he was only a man, and clumsy. I will sing to them, if necessary. I will charm them. Have I not done it before?" I wondered if the poor lady had any guess in her mind, had any realisation at all, of what human passions, let loose as upon that ship, amounted to. She spoke as a child, as a vain and hopeful child, boasting of her influence. But it was the mood I wanted rather than the hysterical state of tears. We ate, and drank a little brandy and water, without interruption from without, and turned once more to the thought of escape. The search was still going on, as sounds that came to our ears indicated, and slowly the room darkened with the enveloping night. I could just see the Princess across the cabin. Legrand whispered to me: "They're still hard at work. We shall have our chance soon." Our plan was simple, if we could once get quit of our guards. One of the smaller boats lay on the starboard side, and, hanging outwards from the davits, could, from the slant of the _Sea Queen_ as she lay on the rocks, be easily dropped and floated. If we could lower her into the water and get the ladies into her, it would be possible, under cover of the darkness and the preoccupation of the mutineers, to reach the island. Once there, we must, of course, trust to our luck for food and shelter. Legrand got to his feet and moved noiselessly towards the door. The yacht was comparatively still, and we could hear the lapping of the quiet sea beyond the broken windows. I followed him. "We have one jack-knife," I whispered in his ear. He nodded. "And there are two men," he whispered back. "Is the door locked?" He fumbled softly. "I don't think so. They did not turn the key last time. But it's a question of who's outside. If the body of the mutineers are still there, we're done. If the two are alone----" "They are alone," I whispered. "I can hear no noise. They're hunting elsewhere." "The darkness about suits us now. Explain to the ladies," he said under his breath. "Let them be ready directly we are." I went back to the couch and poured out my story through the darkness. I spoke to two shadows, and as I did so a hand moved in the air and touched mine. I took it, and it was cold like the snows in January. I pressed it softly. "Be of good heart. I will come back. And do not cry out." Even as I stole back in that critical moment, my heart bounded, for I knew to whom the hand belonged. Body of Love! should not I know it in the grave? I reached Legrand. "Ready," I said. "You take the nearest," said he. "A jack-knife carries farther." "I shall want it," I said. "I have only my fingers." "You shall have it," he said grimly. "One at a time. Fingers or throat, mind you, and no noise. Have you got your muscles back? You're a strong man, Phillimore, but, by heaven! all rests on your fingers. And you have been wounded?" "I could tear down the pillars of Gaza at this moment," I replied. "My blood's afire." "God be with us!" he muttered, and slowly turned the handle. The door opened inwards, and in the darkness loomed a single figure. Legrand sprang, and the two disappeared in a heap upon the floor. I had leapt to one side and was feeling in the air for my enemy, but my hands took nothing, nor could my eyes make out any other figure in the gloom. Presently something rose from the floor, and I heard Legrand's voice. "He's alone. There was only the one." "Yes," I whispered back. "And the mutineers are gone from here." Faint noises issued from below, acquainting us in what direction the search had flowed. "All the better," said Legrand. "The way's clear for us. Where are the women?" I found my way into the cabin again and called them in a low voice. "Give me your hand," said I to the first that reached me. I recognised the tall figure. Mademoiselle was _petite_. I conducted both through the doorway, and the Princess stumbled and gave vent to a little moan. It was the dead man. I pulled her to me. "Legrand," said I, "you must take Mademoiselle; she will not find her way alone, and I must have an arm free." "I want two," he growled. At that moment a beam of light flashed from the cabins across the way. Legrand gave vent to a hiss of warning and moved off. I could see his shadow for a moment, and then it was swallowed in the blackness. He was waiting and watching outside the cabin. The light streamed out in a fan towards us, and revealed, in the opening of a door, a man's form, and even as it did, Legrand struck. The man went down in silence, and Legrand bent over and picked up the lantern which had clashed to the floor. He stooped and examined the face of his victim. Then he crossed to us, and on my arm a hand was trembling like a leaf in the wind. "Courage," I whispered, and I groped for Mademoiselle on the other side. "It was the other man," said Legrand calmly. "I don't know what he did there, but we've got a bull's-eye, which is so much to the good. Come, let's get on." We passed down the corridor and through the bare doorway to the deck. Here the breath of the night blew softly on our faces. Legrand moved along the bulwarks till he reached the davits from which the boat depended. Standing into the opaque blackness, he cut at the ropes above. Presently I heard a splash. I did not offer to assist, for he had the knife and the knowledge; the two women were my charge. It must have been twenty minutes that we waited there silently, deep in the security of the darkness. "She's down," said Legrand in my ear. "It's not a long drop, but it's a job for women. Do you think you can manage it?" "I'm going to try," I said, and I whispered to the Princess, "Will you trust yourself to me? I must lower you into the boat?" "Yes--yes," she answered in a low voice. "Legrand," said I, "you go first. I'll lower them, and then I'll follow." He made no answer, but slipped over the railing, and presently his voice sounded softly from below: "Now." I took the Princess's hand from my arm. "You must go," said I; "Legrand is awaiting you. If I put you over, can you hang by the rope and lower yourself? He will catch you." "Yes," she said in the same voice. I lifted her gently to the top of the bulwarks and put the rope in her hands, and I felt her go down slowly. I had faith in her, yet I waited anxiously until I heard the voice below: "Safe." I turned to where I had left Mademoiselle, but my hands moving in the darkness encountered nothing. She was gone. What had become of her? I moved a little way, and almost fell on my face over some obstacle, which was soft and moved. I stooped, and felt there on the deck with a sudden misgiving. It was Mademoiselle Trebizond, who had gone off in a swoon! What was to be done? I racked my brains, and could not see any means by which she could be lowered in that unconscious state to the boat. I called out to Legrand softly, informing him of the situation, and I heard an oath float on the air. Suddenly a thought came to me and I leaned over. "Wait," I said, "I have an idea. I will be back shortly." I had the bull's-eye, and now I turned it on and lighted myself back into the corridor. In a flash I had had a thought as to what the second guard had wanted in the cabin, and I retraced my way to it along the deserted corridor, and found the door open and the man's body blocking it. I stepped over this and threw the light about. I had guessed it was the _boudoir_. I pushed into the farther room, which had been Mademoiselle's, and a cry greeted me. I had conjectured rightly. The second man had been set as guard on other prisoners. Juliette ran to me quickly. "Mademoiselle?" said she. "Is safe," I answered, "but wants your help. Come." I cast the light on Lane. "Can you walk, Lane?" "Yes," he said; "I'm fit for anything." "Ellison?" "Yes, sir." "Well, follow me. If you'd known it, your prison was open for you. Be as silent as you can. There's no time to lose." As I issued from the doorway, I stopped and took the revolver and cartridge-belt from the dead man, and Ellison followed my example in respect of the other sentry. We reached the deck without a word, and I shut off the lantern. I called to Legrand, and he answered. "Hush!" he said. "There's been some one along here just now. Be careful." I told him what had happened, and, as there was no time for more words, stooped to find Mademoiselle's unconscious form. It was not there! Perplexed, I communicated my discovery to my companions, and we searched in the dark for some minutes. But it then became apparent that she had vanished utterly. I heard Legrand's voice in warning below. "There's a light coming aft. Quick. We can't wait." I was fairly distracted, and knew not what to do. It was plain that, if we lingered there, we should be detected, and it seemed equally plain that there was no chance of discovering Mademoiselle. Some one who had passed that way had lighted upon her unconscious body. "Quick, man," said Legrand. "All will be lost." I ordered Juliette down the rope, and as she protested, talking of her mistress, I told her all would be well if she would only descend. Thus reassured--for she had understood but imperfectly what had happened through her ignorance of English--she jumped on the rail alertly and disappeared. Lane followed, and Ellison, despite his wound, was lithe as a cat. Then I mounted. Heaven was a vault of darkness, and the sea poured multitudinous small noises in my ears as it rippled against the side of the _Sea Queen_. There was visible but the loom of the funnel and the stack of the state-rooms turning night into deeper night. Noises now arose from the saloon and streamed up to me. I put my hands on the rope, and then a voice wheezed almost in my ear. "I'll lay it's the doctor." It was Holgate, as civil and indifferent as if he were greeting a friend on the quarterdeck. I started and gripped my revolver tightly. "It couldn't be any one else," pursued Holgate; and now his bulk was a blacker shadow than the empty blackness around. "Got a little party down there, I dare say? Well, now, I never thought of that, doctor. For one thing, I hadn't an idea that you would have left a lady all alone in a faint. It wasn't like your gallantry, doctor. So I didn't tumble to it. But it's no odds. You're welcome. I make you a present of your party. Good-night, doctor." I slipped down the rope and reached the boat ere this astounding speech was ended. He was a fiend. Why did he torture us thus? "Let her go, man," said I fiercely to Legrand. "He's the Devil in the flesh." The rope was overboard, and the oars dipped. A lantern flashed from the side of the yacht, and a trail of light spread faint over the quiet water. "Shall I give him a barrel, sir?" asked Ellison respectfully. "No," said I shortly; "we shall have enough to do with our barrels presently. Besides, you wouldn't hit him." The boat sped out beyond the channel of light. "Good-night, doctor," called out Holgate. "We've got a little business on, but when that's over I hope to drop in to tea. You're not going far." No one answered, and the wash of the water foamed about the nose of the boat as she turned seaward. CHAPTER XXI ON THE ISLAND We were not, however, bound to sea, a course which would in our situation have been madness. Better have perished under the bloody hands of the mutineers than adventure on a wide ocean, without sail or food or compass, to die of thirst, exposure, or starvation. Legrand took the boat well out upon that tranquil water before swinging her round to reach the island far away from the _Sea Queen_. We had no guess as to what size the island might be, but hoped that it might be sufficiently large to provide us a hiding-place, as well as with opportunities of securing food. The night was placid, and the sea like a smooth lake. When we had got some way out, and the sounds of the water on the yacht, together with the human noises of her crew, had faded, a singular silence fell. The plash of the oars was the only sound that broke on the ears. The air was soft and serene; nature seemed to have at last relented, and to be out of key with those tragic deeds committed on the sea. As I sat, passing such reflections in my mind, I heard a voice at my ear in French: "But, Monsieur, where is my mistress?" It was Juliette, faithful still. I had to explain, and she cried out in alarm, and then was silent. She was above all a practical woman, as I had gathered, and no doubt she saw the position. Mademoiselle was gone, and it was patent how she was gone. Holgate's words had put her fate beyond uncertainty. She was in the hands of the mutineers, but with what object I could not guess. Possibly, Holgate had some thought that she was privy to the hiding of the treasure. If he had, I knew better. But, meanwhile, whatever design he had, it was not likely that Mademoiselle was in danger. Probably, indeed, she was suffering less discomfort at the moment than she had endured during the last few hours. If we were destined to destruction by the mutineers, as I had no doubt, Holgate was biding his time. It might be that he still had some suspicion that one or more of us knew the secret he sought. So he held his hand. Under Legrand's guidance, the boat grounded with a dull, soft, swishing noise on sand, and in the darkness we effected our landing. That done, it remained to conceal our craft in case of emergencies, which we succeeded in doing under a spreading patch of bushes well above the reach of the tides. Then the question of shelter faced us. This part of the island appeared, from the trend of the ground, to move gently upwards among dwarf trees and shrubs, and, plunging almost at random in the night, we hit upon a knoll at the base of which was a hollow screened by some bushes. Here we decided to stay till the sun was up. Legrand helped Lane, who was badly fatigued, and Ellison made himself useful all round, paying complimentary attentions to the French maid. As for me, I am not ashamed to say that I had but one thought just then, and that was to render the Princess comfortable. I found some dry ferns and piled them up as a couch, so that she was protected from the hard, unyielding earth, and then I bade her sleep. She had not spoken since we had entered the boat, and she rendered herself submissively as a helpless child to my directions. She lay down, and I was aware that she was looking into the depth of heaven, where a few stars shone dimly. She was thinking of her brother, and (dear heart) I pitied her. I yearned towards her as a lover yearns to his mistress, with the single desire that he may comfort and solace and protect her. Ah, well! my secret had been no secret to me for many days. There was only one divine woman on earth, and she lay upon a rude couch in a savage island, under the naked stars, and stared disconsolately to heaven. I fell asleep at last, and when I awoke, stiff from the earthy bed, the night was receding westward. The dawn was merging in pearls and gray, and a little light was suffused about the hollow. It was still warm. My companions slept, some tossing restlessly, but the Princess lay almost as if she had been sleeping under the hand of death. Her bosom moved regularly, her parted lips disclosed the even white of her teeth; she was safe from fears and immune from sorrows now at least, and I thanked God. I got up and pushed my way through the bushes towards the beach on which the high tide rumbled monotonously. Each moment the light grew stronger, and I had walked only a little way before I was enabled to make out the loom of the yacht some half-mile or more away. I mounted the rise behind our sleeping-place, and now perceived that the land ran upwards from where we were into a central ridge, dotted on the slopes with trees. On the south-easterly side the island appeared to be broken and to conclude in rocks, and here was where the _Sea Queen_ lay, with a seaward list. It was plain, then, that so small a sanctuary would not offer us adequate protection from Holgate if he wished to pursue us, and my heart sank as I considered the position. Would he at the best leave us to our fate on the island? And if so, would that be more merciful than despatching us by the bullet of the assassin? I returned to my companions to find Legrand and the French maid awake. Juliette was serviceable as of old. She inquired of me sweetly what chance her mistress had and took my assurances philosophically. She would do her duty, I was sure, but I doubted the depth of her affections. She came of sound, sensible peasant blood. And this was what was needed at the moment, for we had to see to some breakfast, Legrand agreed to mount guard while I went on an excursion of investigation along the north shore. Here I was hidden from the eyes of those on board the _Sea Queen_ by the intervening range of hills. It took me just twenty minutes of strolling to reach the farther end of the island, where the barren rocks swarmed with gulls and other sea birds, from which you may draw some idea as to the dimensions of our domain. I obtained some sea-gulls' eggs from the nests on the rocks, having to beat off some of the infuriated creatures to secure my booty, and, thus supplied, returned to the camp. The remainder of the party were now awake, and Juliette prepared the eggs, roasting them in the sand by the aid of hot ashes. As we were well-nigh famished, I think we all ate with appetite, except the Princess, who was still very silent and listless. "Princess," I said to her presently, "if a man lose half his treasure, will he then throw away the other half recklessly?" She looked at me in wonder. "You have lost a brother," I continued, "but you have your own life which God gave you to guard." "Yes," she said slowly, "I know you are right, but it is hard. I will try, but----" She shivered. "It is hard--so hard to forget. I live in a nightmare by day; it is only in sleep I can forget." But she ate her breakfast after that, and a little later accompanied me to a spring Ellison had discovered for a drink of water. As we stood there in the morning sunshine, the fair wind tossing her skirts, she faced me gravely. "You have not given up hope, then?" "No," said I frankly. "We are not beaten yet. I think I shall be able to restore you to Europe, to hand you back to your uncle's palace." She looked away to sea. "We were to have given up that for always--Frederic and I," she said softly. "--we arranged it between us." "Princess," I said, "you did not approve. I have always known it. You consented out of love for him. And now you shall go back." She shook her head. "It is too late. The mill will never grind with the waters that are passed. I did not--I was afraid. Yes, but I made up my mind. He was all I had, and now I have nothing--I am alone." It was impossible to assure her. There was no consolation possible now, whatever might come hereafter. Her eyes encountered mine. "But I am grateful--oh! so grateful, to those who stood by him to the end and risked their lives for him," she said in a broken voice and with tears in her eyes, and she put out her hand impulsively. I took it, and my voice was almost as broken as hers. "It is not true you are alone," I said, "for those who stood by your brother belong to you. They would die for you." "My friend," she murmured. "No; I am not alone." Legrand expressed great anxiety that we should improve our position, which, indeed, left us a prey to any attack. We therefore wended our way along the northern beach towards the rocks, in the hope of hitting upon a situation in which we might have some chance of defence. The scarp descended boldly into the blue water here, and the edges were planted with brushwood. Brushwood, too, covered the slope of the hills, interspersed with larger trees. Here and there the rough rock outcropped and was broken, no doubt, by the winds of that tempestuous sea or by the frosts. Legrand and I mounted, leaving the others below, and ascended to the top of the rise, from which the shafts of our eyes went down upon the southern beach. But the _Sea Queen_ was concealed from view by the abutment of hill which sloped outwards and formed an arm to a pleasant little ravine. From the top of this a stream bubbled out of the rock and fell downwards in a jet of silver. Legrand stooped to refresh himself with a draught preparatory to turning back, for it was not advisable that we should venture lower upon that side of the hills. As he did so he stopped suddenly and straightened himself. With his hand he beckoned to me, pointing to the hillside. I looked and saw what was in his mind. Just under the summit the rock-stratum emerged in mass, and on one side the earth yawned in a hole. Cautiously we approached. It was the mouth of a shallow cavern some twelve feet through and some twenty feet in width. The cave admitted us by stooping. "The very place," said he significantly. "It's near water too, and has this advantage, that we can overlook the beach by which any movement will be made." That was in my thoughts also, and we rejoined our companions well satisfied. But some preparations were necessary before we installed ourselves in our new quarters. We made a larder of eggs and piled a heap of brushwood before the door of our house. So long as there were no mutineers in sight we should have liberty to come and go over the brow of the hill; and upon the north side, in a little dip, we built our fireplace, so that the smoke should not rise and attract the notice of the _Sea Queen_. These arrangements occupied a great part of the morning, during all which time we saw nothing of Holgate's men. No doubt they were busily engaged in their hunt for the Prince's treasure. The day passed wearily enough but in safety; and with the fall of night we felt even more secure, for our hiding-place could not be discovered in the darkness. I reckoned that we were not, as the crow flies, more than a few hundred yards from where the yacht lay aground, and in the greater stillness that seems to fall at night sounds reached us from the mutineers. As I sat at the door of the cave, with the stars overhead, I caught a snatch of song rolling up from below, and presently other voices joined in. A little later there was a riotous burst of noise, as from a quarrel in progress. Had the treasure been found, and were the sailors celebrating their triumph, or was this merely a drunken debauch? It sounded as if the latter were the true alternative. In their disappointment the mutineers had gone to the rum cask for consolation. As time went on the sounds increased, and I listened to them with a trembling fear for the unfortunate woman who was still aboard. Black of heart as those men undoubtedly were in their sober moments, and under the influence of the lust of gold, what would they be when inflamed by spirits and in the throes of angry chagrin? As I watched I was conscious that some one had issued from the cave on light feet and stood by my side. A low voice addressed me, but before she had spoken I knew who it was. My heart could not have failed to recognise her. "Do you fear attack?" "No, Princess," said I, "not to-night. They don't know where we are; and, besides, they are quarrelling among themselves." She was silent for a time, and then, "That unhappy woman!" she sighed. "She has lost all she cared for. I am sorry for her," I answered. "Yes," she said slowly. "I suppose so; but what does any one of us care for? What does it all mean? The puzzle is too great for me. I am shaken." "You must trust yourself," I said impulsive. "Trust to those who care for you." "You are--good," she replied softly. "Princess----" I began, but she interposed quickly. "Do not call me that. I am no Princess. I have given all up. I am just Alix Morland." "You will go back," said I, "and resume your rightful place in courts, and this will only remain to you as a horrid nightmare." "I shall remember the evil dream. Yes," she said; "but I shall also remember some heroic souls and noble deeds. But it will not be in courts." She was silent again, but presently said, in a hesitating voice: "Dr. Phillimore, I never wanted that marriage; I was always against it; and now I am sorry. Poor Frederic! I was a traitor to him." "No, no," I said, "but a loyal and devoted heart. Why are you here? Because, even though you mistrusted his judgment, you sacrificed yourself to your affection for him. The test of true affection is to stand by when you disapprove. Any one can stand by if he approves." "And it has all come to this!" she said with a sigh. "This is not the end," said I stoutly. Suddenly she laid her hand on my arm. "What has become of her?" she asked. "What has been her fate?" To say the truth, I knew not what to reply, and the trouble in her voice declared itself again. "Can we do nothing?" she asked distressfully. "I did not like her, but can we do nothing? It is dreadful to----" I found my voice then. "Not to-night, but to-morrow," I replied soothingly. "She will take no harm to-night;" but I wished I had been as sure as I seemed. About noon on the following day we took our first sight of the mutineers. A knot emerged into view on the beach below and spread out presently towards the wooded valley. This gave me some concern, for I guessed that they might be searching for us by Holgate's directions. He had threatened to visit us. Was he now fulfilling that threat? In any case, if they were hunting for us, we must in the end be run to earth in that small island. And then would come the final act. We had two revolvers and a limited amount of ammunition to defend ourselves against the resources of the mutineers, to whom the yacht was open. We saw no more of them, however, for two hours, and then they came straggling back towards the little bluff behind which the _Sea Queen_ lay. If they had been looking for us, they were so far foiled. But that was not the last of them. The boat which had landed the first lot of mutineers had returned to the yacht, and now again struck the beach with a fresh complement of hands. Were they to renew the pursuit? I looked down from our eyrie, scarcely more than half a mile away, with some misgivings. Legrand was upon the other side of the hill on an exploration of his own, and Lane and Ellison were still wounded men. I peered from behind our pile of brushwood and awaited events. The second gang of mutineers had brought a keg with them, and I saw them tap it. Only too clearly was its nature revealed. They had come ashore to an orgie. I counted ten of them, and thought I recognised one or two of the figures--Gray's and Pierce's for certain. Holgate evidently was not with them, for his form would have been unmistakable, nor could I discern Pye. But why were they there? I could only answer my question on the assumption that they had found the treasure and were making merry. Yet it was not like Holgate to give them the reins so completely unless he had some purpose to serve by his complaisance. Hurricane Island, as the mutineer had dubbed it, lay under the broad face of the sun, and the cascade sparkled at my feet on its run to the sea. Down below the ruffians were engaged in drinking themselves into a condition of maudlin merriment. Well, so much the better, I reflected, for I had made up my mind that now, if ever, was the time to inquire into the fate of Mademoiselle. When Legrand returned, the debauch had developed, and the boat was clumsily put to sea by two of the hands. Evidently a fresh supply of rum had been requisitioned, for shortly afterwards the boat returned and two more kegs were rolled out upon the beach. This time it also brought Holgate himself, together with a companion, whom I made out to be Pye. The men lolled in the sun, smoking and drinking, and now singing snatches of songs. What was Holgate about, to let them get into this condition? Well, Holgate probably knew his own affairs. If he had not carefully calculated every step in this situation, I should have been much astonished. He himself, as far as I could see, took little part in the orgie, but the clamour of voices grew louder, and reached us in our retreat very distinctly. We could even catch the names and some of the words that flew about. The talk was boisterous, but I doubted if it was overmerry. Had they been baffled by the treasure after all? I counted them again, and came to the conclusion that almost the whole of the decimated company must be ashore. If that were so, it was time for my excursion. Presently, when the dark came, it might be too late. My plan, as I explained it to Legrand, was this. I would descend across the spur of the hill, under cover of the bushes, and climb down the steeper heights that faced the _Sea Queen_. She lay scarce more than a hundred yards from the Island, and it would be easy to reach her by swimming. If Mademoiselle were safe on board as I conjectured, we could take advantage of a boat to reach the northern beach, and so make our escape without being seen by any of the mutineers ashore. As for the mutineers on the ship, if there were any, I must deal with them as chance suggested. Legrand was doubtful as to my venture, his philosophy being summed up in the adage, "Let well alone"; but he consented that the experiment should be tried when I pressed it. He had, in the course of his ramblings, discovered in the north side of the hill another cavern, which he declared would serve us on an emergency as a second hiding-place. It was quite possible that we might be driven from burrow to burrow like rabbits, and so it behooved us to examine well the lines of our retreat. I started on my journey just as the sun went down, spreading a deep rose colour on the western waters. I walked cautiously and deliberately, making deviations in my slanting course across the spur, so as to keep within the screen of the bushes. I had not gone more than a hundred yards when I was aware that I was being followed, and I stopped and looked back. To my amazement, I saw the Princess coming up rapidly in my wake. She had evidently sped down the ravine, and was a little out of breath. This had imparted some colour to her pale face--a colour which made her radiantly beautiful. "Princess!" I said in surprise. "I am come after you," she said hurriedly, "because I don't want you to go. Oh, don't go, please! I did not know you were going until you were gone. Mr. Legrand told me so when I asked after you. But you must not go. I know you are going because of what I said last night. But you must not.... It is too dangerous. Oh, did you not see that band of assassins there? They are wolves, they are ravening, fierce wolves. You will perish." My heart throbbed hard--harder than it had done before through all those terrible days of anxiety. I took her hand. "Princess," I said, "I must go." I held her hand tightly. "You see that I must go. But ah, I will not forget your kindness!" "They will kill you!" she burst out. "No"; I shook my head and smiled. "God bless you! You are the most kind and most beautiful woman in life. God bless and keep you!" I kissed her hand and turned and went down. She stood awhile, as if lost in thought, and when I looked back I thought I could read upon her face trouble and fear. I would have gone back to her if I had dared, but had I done so I must have taken her in my arms. I kept my face steadily towards the descent, and when I at last summoned courage to adventure the gaze, she had turned and was slowly mounting the hill. My eyes left her and went downwards to the beach. I was almost at the top of the spur which rolled over towards the bay on which the yacht had stranded. What was my horror to notice some excitement among the mutineers, and to see a man with his face towards the hill and an uplifted arm. Good heavens! The Princess had been discovered. I stood stock-still, rooted to the ground with my apprehensions, and then several of the mutineers began to run towards the ravine. I started at once on a race up the slope. Looking down I saw the full pack streaming up the valley, and I redoubled my exertions. I was some distance away, but I had not so far to go as they. The Princess stopped, arrested by the drunken shouts from below, and then suddenly broke into a run. She had recognised her danger. I bounded through the bushes, and cut across to intercept the wolves. It was all a matter of little more than five minutes, and then I stopped and awaited their arrival. The first man, who was without a weapon, came to a pause a dozen paces from me. "Stand, or I fire," I said, levelling my weapon. He looked uncertainly round for his companions. Two or three joined him, and, encouraged by this accession to the force, he said jeeringly: "Put that down, or it will be the worse for you. We've had enough of you. And now we've got you in a mucky hole." "That remains to be seen," said I calmly, for I noticed that they did not seem to be supplied with weapons. I could see others climbing up below, and among them Holgate. A little lull fell on the scene. It was as if fate hung undecided, not certain whether the scales should go down on this side or that. I stood facing the group of dismayed and angry ruffians, and without turning my head was aware of some one running behind me. I do not think I gave this a single thought, so preoccupied was I with the situation in front. The group was enlarged by arrivals and one of these, stumbling, uttered an oath. "Shoot him!" he said, and himself lifted a pistol at me. I raised mine also, and a second and a third were now levelled at me. The scales were against me, but even as this flashed across my mind, a report sounded behind me, and the drunken creature fell. I glanced about, and there was Legrand, with his steady hand and flaming eye. My heart thrilled. A shout of fury went up in front. "Shoot them--shoot them!" and the barrels directed at us seemed to be suddenly many. Holgate had come to a pause on the outer edge of the group and was observing the scene with interest. He made no movement. Death touched us with the breath of his passage. An arm was flung sharply about me. "If you die, I die too!" cried a voice--a voice, ah, so well remembered and so dear! Ah, Heaven! Was it Alix? A pistol barked, and I swerved, almost losing my feet. If we must die, we should die hard. I fired, and one of the mutineers uttered an exclamation. "Stay there," called Holgate. "Easy, men. Don't let's kill the goose that lays the golden eggs. Let's have a few questions answered." "Dent's down," sang out one. "Well, there'll be all the more for those that are left," said Holgate, easily, steering his way through the knot. A faint laugh followed on this, but I think even the mutineers, brutal as they were, were aghast at this revolting cynicism. "Let's have a parley first," said Holgate, now in the forefront of the gang. "Business first--pleasure afterwards. Now, doctor, out with it. Where's that treasure?" "I have told you," said I, "that the Prince removed it." Alix's arms were about me still. I was dazed. "Obstinate mule!" said Holgate with a grin. "See that, boys? I've given 'em every chance. Let her go." In response to his command revolvers were raised. It marked the end, the fall of the curtain on that long tragedy. Alix's arms were about me, and suddenly my brain cleared. I saw as sharply and as definitely as if I had been aloof and unconcerned in that disturbing crisis. "Stop, men," said I. "I have one thing to say before we go further. Two things. You shall hear about the treasure." There was a pause. Holgate turned his black, incurious eyes on me, as if he wondered. "I will tell you where the treasure is, if you will allow me to give you the history of a transaction," I said. My mind was quick, my nerve was cool. There was a chance in delay. "Spit it out," said one of the men encouragingly. "The funeral will wait." "Men, you've been taken in by that scoundrel there, your leader," I said, pointing at Holgate. "He's diddled you all through. Ask him about the treasure; ask him!" The eyes of all went round to Holgate, who stood without a sign of discomposure. "Well, are you going to let 'em go?" was all he said. Once again the interest of the group returned to me, but I was fighting hard for--Alix. "Who was it planned this mutiny and the seizing of the treasure?" I cried. "Why, Holgate, you know well--Holgate and Pye. And who brought about the rising? Holgate again. Why didn't you push through and get hold of the treasure at the first? I suppose you were told it was too difficult. Well, it would have been difficult, but that wasn't the reason. It was because this man had got his accomplice aft, stealing the treasure against your coming. And so, when you came, where was it? Gone! Look here, men; I swear to you I saw this man and Pye gloating over the treasure they had removed before your coming. Oh, he's a cunning devil, is Holgate, and he's diddled you!" There were some murmurs among the mutineers, who looked dubiously at their master, and Pierce spoke. "That's all very well, but how are we to know it's not mere bluff? You're putting up a bluff on us." Holgate still stood there with his unpleasing smile, and he answered nothing. It was the truth I had spoken, but now I was to bluff. "Well, I will prove my words," said I. "You asked me where the treasure is, and I'll tell you. It was removed from Holgate's hiding-place by me and hidden in Pye's cabin, and afterwards the Prince and I removed it again and concealed it." "Where! Where!" shouted several voices; but Holgate did not budge or speak. If we saved this situation, we should at least have a respite, another chance. There was no alternative but death. "Why, in its proper place, to be sure," said I. "In the strong-room, where it should be. I suppose none of you thought of that. You're too clever for that, Pierce." "By God!" cried Pierce suddenly. But at the moment I was startled by a change in Holgate. I had fired a barrel at random, and now he shot on me a diabolical glance. His eyes gleamed like creatures about to leap from cover; his lips in a snarl revealed his teeth. A flash of inspiration came to me, and I knew then for certain that, wherever the Prince had concealed the treasure, it was now lying in the very place I had named in the presence of all those ruffians. Holgate glanced a swift glance from left to right. "What's he take us for?" he said in a hoarse, fat voice, in which rage burned and trembled. "Who's he stuffing with these fairy tales?" Pierce, his thin lips moving, stared at him. "Anyway, it's worth trying," he said meaningly. "You've had your shot; I'll have mine." "Damn it, he's fooling you," called out Holgate furiously; but already two or three of the mutineers had started down the ravine, and the others turned. Excitement seized upon them, as it had been a panic. And then suddenly a cry arose: "Look, by thunder, look!" The sun was gone, but the beautiful twilight lingered, serene and gracious, and in that clear light we could descry the form of the _Sea Queen_ forging slowly out to sea, and rolling as she moved on the ebb. "Good lord! she's floated off! She came off on the high tide!" cried Pierce; and instantly there was a stampede from the hillside towards the beach. Pell-mell the mutineers tumbled down over bush and brier at a breakneck speed to reach the boat that tossed idly on the water to its moorings. CHAPTER XXII HOLGATE'S LAST HAND The first thought that passed through my mind was that we had lost our one hope of escape from Hurricane Island. Insensibly I had come to look on the _Sea Queen_ as the vehicle of our rescue, and there she was before my eyes adrift on a tide that was steadily drawing her seawards. There could be no doubt as to that, for, even as I gazed, she made perceptible way, and seemed to be footing it fast. I turned to Alix, who was by me, staring also. "I will come back," I said rapidly. "I must go down." "No, no," she said, detaining me. "Dear, they will take no heed of me now. I am perfectly safe for the present. They are taken up with more important matters." I squeezed her hands in both mine, turned and left her. Holgate was some hundred yards in front of me, plunging heavily through the bushes. He called to mind some evil and monstrous beast of the forest that broke clumsily in wrath upon its enemy. Down on the beach I could see that Pierce and some of the others, who had already arrived, were casting the boat from her moorings. I laboured after Holgate, and came out on the beach near him. He ran down to the water's edge and called aloud: "Put back. Put back, damn you." The boat was some fifty yards from land by now, and was awash in a broken current. Three men bent to the oars. Holgate levelled his revolver and fired. One of the men lay down grotesquely on his oar. He fired again, and one of the remaining two stood up, shook a fist towards the shore and, staggering backwards, capsized the boat in the surf. He must have sunk like lead with his wound, for he never rose to the surface; but the last man, who was Pierce, battled gallantly with the flood, and endeavoured to reach the boat, which was bottom upwards. In this, however, he failed, for the tide seemed to suck him away. The boat drifted outwards, and after a few ineffectual struggles, finding probably that his strength was failing him, Pierce struck out towards the shore. He landed a hundred yards or more away from Holgate. Between the two men were gathered in a bunch, irresolute and divided in counsels, the remaining mutineers. For the moment I think I was so taken up with the situation that I did not consider my own case. No one had eyes for me in the fast-descending dusk, and behind the shelter of a bush I watched the course of that singular drama. Holgate had indifferently reloaded his revolver, and now stood holding it carelessly by his side. "Gray, is that you? Come here," he called. But the knot of men did not move; and now Pierce was walking rapidly towards it. It opened to receive him, and swallowed him up again cautiously, as if there was safety in that circle against the arch-mutineer. Holgate strode leisurely towards them. "I suppose you guess where we are?" he said, in his malevolent, fluent, wheezing tones. "You've dished us, Pierce, my man." Pierce replied from the group with an oath, and there was an undercurrent of murmur, as if a consultation was in progress. "Say, where's that damned little lawyer cuss?" asked a voice, that of an American, who was one of the hands. Holgate put one hand in his trousers' pocket. "How should I know?" he said; "and what's that got to do with the situation?" "It's your doing. You've put us in this hole. You've strung us up to-day in this blooming island," said Gray fiercely. "What did you shoot for? Haven't you any other use for your pop-gun?" "Come out, Gray; come out, my man, and talk it over," said Holgate suavely. "You were always good at the gab. Step out in front, man," and he played with his revolver. But Gray did not budge. I wondered why he was not shot there and then if they were in this temper, for it was plain that some of them were armed. But I suppose that they were overawed by the bearing of the man, and, lawless ruffians, as they were, were yet under the influence of some discipline. Holgate had known how to rule in his triumph, and the ghost of that authority was with him still in his defeat. "Look here," called out Pierce after further consultation, "this is as good as a trial, this is. You're standing for your life, Mr. Holgate, and don't you forget it. What d'ye say, Bill? Speak up. Give 'im 'is counts." "We accuse you of treachery and not behaving like a mate on ship about the treasure," sang out Gray in a loud, high monotone. "We accuse you, Mr. Holgate, of the murder of our two companions, Smith and Alabaster. We accuse you, furthermore, Mr. Holgate, of a conspiracy to cheat the company, us all being comrades." "Now, Bill Gray, that's a very parsonical view of yours, isn't it?" said Holgate with a sneer. "By gum, you regularly hit me off, Gray. You're the man to see his way through a brick wall. I killed Smith and Alabaster, did I? Well, what's the odds? Here was this man, Pierce, who's frightened to face me in there with you, and his two pals, making for the _Sea Queen_ to rob you and me. Don't I know him and you, too? Where would we have been if I hadn't dropped 'em? Why, left, my good man, left." "That's what we are now," said one of the mutineers, "regularly busted--busted and left. We're done." "That's so," said Holgate suavely. "But at least Smith and Alabaster have paid their shot and lot too. And, by thunder, that skunk behind you shall do it too. Come out there, Pierce, sneak and dog, and take your gruel." He did not raise his voice perceptibly, but it seemed to wither the mutineers, who stood about ten paces from him. He waddled towards them. "Out of the way, men, and let me see him. Blind me, I'd sooner have taken a bug into my confidence than Pierce. He gets ahead of us with his long thin legs, and without so much as 'By your leave' swims out to sea to cop what belongs to you and me and all of us." There was a murmur at this, and it was quite impossible to tell how the sympathies of the gang were going. But one called out again: "Where's that damn Pye? Where's your spy?" "So," says Holgate, "you are thinking of the doctor's story, are you? You fool, he was only playing for his life and the life of his best girl. Haven't you got the sense of a louse between you? Find Pye then, and screw it out of him. Thumbscrew him till he tells, and see how much he has to tell. It'll be worth your while, Garratt. Why, you fool, he's just a little clerk that was useful, and was going to get a tip for his pains. He wasn't standing in on our level. We came in on bed-rock." There was a hoarse, discordant laugh. "With the yacht gone, and us on a Godforsaken tea-tray in mid-ocean!" said a voice. Upon that in the dwindling light a shot came from the group, and Holgate lifted his barrel deliberately. "So, that's Pierce, by thunder, is it? Well, Johnny Pierce, you're a brave man, and I'd take off my hat to you if my hands were free. Stand aside there, men, and let's see Johnny Pierce's ugly mug. Now, then, divide, d'ye hear, divide!" I never could determine whether Holgate in that moment realized that all was up, and the end was come, and had carried things through with a swagger, or whether he had a hope of escape. Nothing showed in his voice or in his manner save extreme resolution and contemptuous indifference. These men he had misled and cheated were to him no more than brutes of the field, to be despised and ridiculed and browbeaten. At his words, indeed, the old habit of obedience asserted itself and the knot fell apart; as it did I saw Pierce with his revolver up, but Holgate did not move. He fired carefully and Pierce uttered a curse. Then another weapon barked, and Holgate moved a pace forwards. He fired again, and a man dropped. Two or more shots rang out, and the arch-mutineer lifted his left hand slowly to his breast. "Bully for you, Pierce," he said, and fired yet once more. The knot now had dissolved, and Gray ran in the gathering gloom a little way up the beach. He halted, and raising his weapon, fired. It was abominable. It may have been execution, but it was horribly like murder. As Gray fired, Holgate turned and put his hand to his shoulder. Immediately he let his last barrel go. "Ha! That's done you, Pierce," he wheezed out. "By heavens, I thought I'd do for you!" Crack! went Gray's pistol again from his rear, and he swung round; his weapon dropped, and he began to walk up the beach steadily towards me. In the blue gloom I could see his eyes stolidly black and furtive, and I could hear him puffing. He came within ten paces of me, and then stood still, and coughed in a sickening, inhuman way. Then he dropped and rolled heavily upon his back. I had witnessed enough. Heaven knows we had no reason to show mercy to that criminal, but that last hopeless struggle against odds had enlisted some sympathy, and I had a feeling of nausea at the sight of that collapse. He must have fallen riddled with bullets. He had played for high stakes, had sacrificed many innocent lives, and had died the death of a dog. And there he would rest and rot in that remote and desert island. I stole from my bush and crept upwards through the darkness. I had not gone a hundred yards before my ears were caught by a rustling on my left. Had I put up some animal? I came to a pause, and then there was a swift rush, and a man's figure broke through the undergrowth and disappeared across the slope of the hill. It was near dark, but I thought in that instant I recognised it as the figure of the little lawyer's clerk. When I reached the cavern I found no sign of any one, and I was wondering what could have become of my companions when I heard a voice calling low through the gloaming: "Dr. Phillimore!" It was Alix. I sprang to her side and took her hands. Then I learnt that Legrand had decided, as a counsel of prudence, to occupy the second cavern on the northern slope, which he considered more private than that which we had found first. "And you came back to warn me?" I asked in a low voice. "No; I waited," said she as low. "I was afraid, although you told me.... Ah, but you have never told me wrong yet! I believe you implicitly." "Princess," I said with emotion. "No, no," she whispered. "Not any more ... never any more." "Alix," I whispered low, and I held her closer. She gave a little cry. "What is it?" I asked anxiously. For answer her head lay quiet on my shoulder, and the stars looked down upon a pale sweet face. She had fainted. Now the hand which clasped her arm felt warm and wet, and I shifted it hastily and bent down to her. It was blood. She was wounded. Tenderly I bound my handkerchief about the arm and waited in distress for her to revive. If we had only some of the mutineers' brandy! But presently she opened her eyes. "Dearest ... dearest," she murmured faintly. "You are wounded, darling," I said. "Oh, why did you not tell me?" "It was the first shot," she said in a drowsy voice. "When--when I had my arm about you." I kissed that fair white arm, and then for the first time I kissed her lips. We reached Legrand's cave after Alix had rested, and I related the tragedy that had passed under my eyes on the beach below. Legrand listened silently, and then: "He was a black scoundrel. He died as he should," he said shortly, and said no more. Wearied with our exertions, and exhausted by the anxieties of the day, we gradually sank to sleep, and as I passed off Alix's hand lay in mine. She slept sweetly, for all the profound miseries of those past days. I awoke to the sound of a bird that twittered in the bushes, and, emerging from the cavern, looked around. The sun was bright on the water, the foam sparkled, and the blue tossed and danced as if Nature were revisiting happily the scene of pleasant memories. It seemed as if those deeds of the previous night, that long fight against fate, those dismal forebodings, the tragedy of the Prince, were all separated from us by a gulf of years. It was almost impossible to conceive of them as belonging to our immediate precedent past and as colouring our present and our future. And as my gaze swept the horizon for the orient towards the west it landed upon nothing less than the _Sea Queen_! I could have rubbed my eyes, and I started in amazement. My heart beat heavily. But it was true. There rode the yacht in the offing, idly swinging and plunging on the tide and clearly under no man's control. She must have drifted in upon Hurricane Island again through the stress of some backward tide, and here she bobbed on the broken water safe from the eyes of the mutineers. As soon as I had recovered from the shock of surprise, I reëntered the cavern and woke Legrand, and in less than five minutes all of us were outside our shelter and gazing at the welcome sight. "We have the boat hidden," said Legrand. "We must work our way back to it, and the sooner the better." "Too much risk," said I. "I know a better way. At the tail of the island we may be seen and pursued. There are boats aboard, and she's not more than three hundred yards out." "What, swim?" he asked, and looked rueful. He was one of the many sailors I have known who had not that useful art. I nodded. "It won't take me long." As I passed, Alix caught my hand. She said nothing, but her eyes devoured me and her bosom heaved. I smiled. "My Princess!" I whispered, and her soul was in her look. "I can't see a sign of any one on board," said Legrand, with his hand over his eyes. "Mademoiselle would not be awake yet. It can't be later than five," said Lane, who was much better to-day. "I make it 5:30," said Legrand. "We have some time to ourselves if we have luck. After last night those fiends will sleep well and with easy consciences." He spoke grimly. "Have everything ready," I called as I left. "We must not lose a chance or hazard anything." "What do _you_ think?" said Lane, in his old cheerful manner. I quickly descended to the beach, threw off my coat, waistcoat, and boots, and tightened my belt. Then I waded into the sea. It was cold, and, when I first entered, struck a chill into me. But presently, as I walked out into the deepening waters, with the sparkling reflection of the sun in my eyes from a thousand facets of ripples, I began to grow warm. I reached water waist-high, and next moment I was swimming. The tide sucked at me in a strong current, and soon, I perceived, would carry me across the _Sea Queen's_ bows unless I made a struggle. The water was racing under me, and I felt that my strength was as nothing compared with it. I was thrown this way and that as the flood moved. My passage had been taken incredibly quick, and now I was conscious that I was past the level of the yacht, and I turned and battled back. So far as I could see, I made no impression on the space that separated me from her, and I began to despair of reaching the yacht. In my mind I revolved the possibility of going with the flood and trusting to work ashore at the tail of the island. If that were not practicable, I was lost, for I should be blown out to the open sea. Just as these desperate reflections crossed my mind, the _Sea Queen's_ stern, off which I was struggling, backed. She came round to the wind and jammed, so that the flutter of canvas which she still carried cracked above the voice of the seas. Then her nose swung right round upon me, with the bubble under her cutwater. It was almost as if she had sighted a doomed wretch and was come to his assistance. Her broadside now broke the tide for me, and I began to see that I was creeping up to her, and, thus encouraged, step by step made my way until at last I reached her, and by the aid of a trailing sheet got aboard. It had been half an hour since I left the island. Once aboard, I waved across the intervening stretch of sea to my friends, and looked about me. There was no sign or sound of life anywhere on the yacht. She swung noisily, with creaks and groans, to the pulse of the tide, but there was no witness to human presence there. Mademoiselle immediately was in my thoughts, and I found my way to the state-rooms to reassure her, if she should be awake. They were as we had left them, save that every cabin had been ransacked and every box turned inside out. The cabins were empty, and so was the _boudoir_. Clearly, Mademoiselle Trebizond was not there. I went down into the saloon, but nothing rewarded me there; and afterwards I turned along the passage that led to the officers' quarters, and farther on, the steward's room. Here, too, was my own surgery, and instinctively I stopped when I reached it. The door stood ajar. No doubt, I thought, like every other place, it had suffered the ravages of the mutineers. I opened it wide, and started back, for there on the floor, a bottle in her hand, and her features still and tragic, lay Yvonne Trebizond! I stooped to her, but I knew it was useless even without glancing at the bottle she held. She had sought death in the despair of her loneliness. The _Sea Queen_ had carried out upon the face of the dark waters the previous evening an unhappy woman to a fate which she could not face. She had chosen Death to that terrible solitude on the wilderness of the ocean. I lifted her gently, and carried her to one of the cabins, disposing the body on a bunk. Then I returned to the deck, for I had work to do that pressed. I experienced no difficulty in loosing one of the remaining boats, and, dropping into her, I began to row towards the island. Legrand had the party at the water's edge, and they were in the boat in a very brief space of time. We shoved off, and now Legrand and Ellison had oars in addition to myself, so that, what with that and the tide, we made good progress. We had not, however, got more than halfway to the yacht when Legrand paused on his oars and I saw his face directed along the beach. I followed his glance, and saw, to my astonishment, a boat bobbing off the spit of the island. "It's our boat!" said I. "Yes," he said, "the ruffians are up and about. Give way, give way!" We bent to the oars, but as we did so a number of figures appeared round the bend of the land where we had passed our first night. Shouts reached us. The figure in the boat was working his oars with frantic haste, and now Legrand called out suddenly, "Pye!" Pye it was, and it was also apparent now that he was aiming for us, and that he was striving to get away from the mutineers. He stood out to sea, and pulled obliquely towards the yacht. Obviously, he was better content to trust himself to our mercies than to the ruffians with whom he had consorted. He was a coward, I knew, and I remembered then his white face and his terror at the time of the first onslaught. I remembered, too, how vaguely, how timidly and how ineffectually he had endeavoured to warn me of the coming massacre. He was a miserable cur; he had been largely responsible for the bloody voyage; but I could not help feeling some pity for him. I hung on my oars. "Shall we pick him up?" I asked. Legrand's only answer was an oath. He had forgotten the presence of Alix, I think. His eyes blazed above his red cheeks. "Let him drown," he said. By the time we reached the _Sea Queen_, some of the mutineers, who had started running when they saw us, had got to the water's edge opposite to us, and one or two of them plunged in. In the distance, the others were pursuing Pye and his boat. Legrand, meanwhile, had taken the wheel, and Ellison set about the sails. I did what I could to help, and it was not many minutes ere we had the topsails going. Under that pressure the yacht began to walk slowly. Seeing this, the mutineers on the shore raised a howl, and two more jumped in to join the swimmers, who were now halfway to us. Legrand cried out an order, and Ellison had the jib-sail set, and the _Sea Queen_ quickened her pace under the brisk breeze. The swimming mutineers dropped behind. There must have been half a dozen of them in the water, and now we saw that they had given up the attempt to reach us in that way and had fallen back on a new idea. They turned aside to intercept Pye. The little lawyer's clerk was paddling for life, and knew it, but he made no way. The yacht moved faster, and he sent up to heaven a dreadful scream that tingled in my ears. I made a step towards Legrand, but he merely gave one glance backward towards the boat and then fixed his gaze on the wide horizon of interminable sea, as though he thus turned his back forever on Hurricane Island and all there. He pulled the spokes of the wheel, and the _Sea Queen_, breasting the foam-heads, began to leap. We were moving at a brisk pace. I looked back to the unhappy man. He had fallen away now, but still laboured at his oars. The swimmers could not have been more than twenty yards from him. Just then Alix's voice was low with agitation in my ears. "Yvonne? Where is Yvonne?" I turned to her and took her hand. "She will need no further care of yours, sweetheart," I said. "She has played her last tragedy--a tragedy she thought destined for a comedy." Alix, looking at me, sighed, and ere she could say more Lane intervened in huge excitement. "Good heavens, Phillimore! the treasure's all in my safes again. By crikey, is it all a dream?" "Yes," I answered, looking at Alix, "all a bad nightmare." I looked away across the sea, for somehow I could not help it. "What are you looking at?" she asked. "They cannot catch us, can they?" The foremost mutineers had reached the boat and were climbing aboard. The little clerk, white and gasping, raised his oar and struck at them with screams of terror, striking and screaming again. "Hush! don't look, darling," said I, and I put my hands before her eyes. "It is the judgment of God." She shuddered. Pye's shrieks rang in my ear; I glanced off the taffrail and saw that the mutineers had possession of the boat. They were busy with the oars. I could see no one else. The boat was headed towards us. Legrand cast a glance of indifference backwards. "If you care to hold the wheel, Phillimore, we can rig that other sail," he said. I took the wheel. Alix was by my side, and the breeze sang in the sheets. "We're going home, dear heart," I whispered. She moved closer to me, shuddered and sighed, and I think the sigh was a sigh of contentment. The _Sea Queen_ dipped her nose and broke into a sharper pace. She was going home! THE END * * * * * Good Fiction Worth Reading. A series of romances containing several of the old favorites in the field of historical fiction, replete with powerful romances of love and diplomacy that excel in thrilling and absorbing interest. * * * * * WINDSOR CASTLE. A Historical Romance of the Reign of Henry VIII., Catharine of Aragon and Anne Boleyn. By Wm. Harrison Ainsworth. Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by George Cruikshank. Price, $1.00. "Windsor Castle" is the story of Henry VIII., Catharine, and Anne Boleyn. "Bluff King Hal," although a well-loved monarch, was none too good a one in many ways. Of all his selfishness and unwarrantable acts, none was more discreditable than his divorce from Catharine, and his marriage to the beautiful Anne Boleyn. The King's love was as brief as it was vehement. Jane Seymour, waiting maid on the Queen, attracted him, and Anne Boleyn was forced to the block to make room for her successor. This romance is one of extreme interest to all readers. HORSESHOE ROBINSON. A tale of the Tory Ascendency in South Carolina in 1780. By John P. Kennedy. Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by J. Watson Davis. Price, $1.00. Among the old favorites in the field of what is known as historical fiction, there are none which appeal to a larger number of Americans than Horseshoe Robinson, and this because it is the only story which depicts with fidelity to the facts the heroic efforts of the colonists in South Carolina to defend their homes against the brutal oppression of the British under such leaders as Cornwallis and Tarleton. The reader is charmed with the story of love which forms the thread of the tale, and then impressed with the wealth of detail concerning those times. The picture of the manifold sufferings of the people, is never overdrawn, but painted faithfully and honestly by one who spared neither time nor labor in his efforts to present in this charming love story all that price in blood and tears which the Carolinians paid as their share in the winning of the republic. Take it all in all, "Horseshoe Robinson" is a work which should be found on every book-shelf, not only because it is a most entertaining story, but because of the wealth of valuable information concerning the colonists which it contains. That it has been brought out once more, well illustrated, is something which will give pleasure to thousands who have long desired an opportunity to read the story again, and to the many who have tried vainly in these latter days to procure a copy that they might read it for the first time. THE PEARL OF ORR'S ISLAND. A story of the Coast of Maine. By Harriet Beecher Stowe. Cloth, 12mo. Illustrated. Price, $1.00. Written prior to 1862, the "Pearl of Orr's Island" is ever new; a book filled with delicate fancies, such as seemingly array themselves anew each time one reads them. One sees the "sea like an unbroken mirror all around the pine-girt, lonely shores of Orr's Island," and straightway comes "the heavy, hollow moan of the surf on the beach, like the wild angry howl of some savage animal." Who can read of the beginning of that sweet life, named Mara, which came into this world under the very shadow of the Death angel's wings, without having an intense desire to know how the premature bud blossomed? Again and again one lingers over the descriptions of the character of that baby boy Moses, who came through the tempest, amid the angry billows, pillowed on his dead mother's breast. There is no more faithful portrayal of New England life than that which Mrs. Stowe gives in "The Pearl of Orr's Island." * * * * * For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers, A. L. BURT COMPANY, 52-58 Duane St., New York. Good Fiction Worth Reading. A series of romances containing several of the old favorites in the field of historical fiction, replete with powerful romances of love and diplomacy that excel in thrilling and absorbing interest. * * * * * A COLONIAL FREE-LANCE. A story of American Colonial Times. By Chauncey C. Hotchkiss. Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by J. Watson Davis. Price, $1.00. A book that appeals to Americans as a vivid picture of Revolutionary scenes. The story is a strong one, a thrilling one. It causes the true American to flush with excitement, to devour chapter after chapter, until the eyes smart, and it fairly smokes with patriotism. The love story is a singularly charming idyl. THE TOWER OF LONDON. A Historical Romance of the Times of Lady Jane Grey and Mary Tudor. By Wm. Harrison Ainsworth. Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by George Cruikshank. Price, $1.00. This romance of the "Tower of London" depicts the Tower as palace, prison and fortress, with many historical associations. The era is the middle of the sixteenth century. The story is divided into two parts, one dealing with Lady Jane Grey, and the other with Mary Tudor as Queen, introducing other notable characters of the era. Throughout the story holds the interest of the reader in the midst of intrigue and conspiracy, extending considerably over a half a century. IN DEFIANCE OF THE KING. A Romance of the American Revolution. By Chauncey C. Hotchkiss. Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by J. Watson Davis. Price, $1.00. Mr. Hotchkiss has etched in burning words a story of Yankee bravery, and true love that thrills from beginning to end, with the spirit of the Revolution. The heart beats quickly, and we feel ourselves taking a part in the exciting scenes described. The whole story is so absorbing that you will sit up far into the night to finish it. As a love romance it is charming. GARTHOWEN. A story of a Welsh Homestead. By Allen Raine. Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by J. Watson Davis. Price, $1.00. "This is a little idyl of humble life and enduring love, laid bare before us, very real and pure, which in its telling shows us some strong points of Welsh character--the pride, the hasty temper, the quick dying out of wrath.... We call this a well-written story, interesting alike through its romance and its glimpses into another life than ours. A delightful and clever picture of Welsh village life. The result is excellent."--Detroit Free Press. MIFANWY. The story of a Welsh Singer. By Allan Raine. Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by J. Watson Davis. Price, $1.00. "This is a love story, simple, tender and pretty as one would care to read. The action throughout is brisk and pleasing; the characters, it is apparent at once, are as true to life as though the author had known them all personally. Simple in all its situations, the story is worked up in that touching and quaint strain which never grows wearisome, no matter how often the lights and shadows of love are introduced. It rings true, and does not tax the imagination."--Boston Herald. * * * * * For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers, A. L. BURT COMPANY, 52-58 Duane St., New York. Good Fiction Worth Reading. A series of romances containing several of the old favorites in the field of historical fiction, replete with powerful romances of love and diplomacy that excel in thrilling and absorbing interest. * * * * * DARNLEY. A Romance of the times of Henry VIII. and Cardinal Wolsey. By G. P. R. James. Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by J. Watson Davis. Price, $1.00. In point of publication, "Darnley" is that work by Mr. James which follows "Richelieu," and, if rumor can be credited, it was owing to the advice and insistence of our own Washington Irving that we are indebted primarily for the story, the young author questioning whether he could properly paint the difference in the characters of the two great cardinals. And it is not surprising that James should have hesitated; he had been eminently successful in giving to the world the portrait of Richelieu as a man, and by attempting a similar task with Wolsey as the theme, was much like tempting fortune. Irving insisted that "Darnley" came naturally in sequence, and this opinion being supported by Sir Walter Scott, the author set about the work. As a historical romance "Darnley" is a book that can be taken up pleasurably again and again, for there is about it that subtle charm which those who are strangers to the works of G. P. R. James have claimed was only to be imparted by Dumas. If there was nothing more about the work to attract especial attention, the account of the meeting of the kings on the historic "field of the cloth of gold" would entitle the story to the most favorable consideration of every reader. There is really but little pure romance in this story, for the author has taken care to imagine love passages only between those whom history has credited with having entertained the tender passion one for another, and he succeeds in making such lovers as all the world must love. CAPTAIN BRAND, OF THE SCHOONER CENTIPEDE. By Lieut. Henry A. Wise, U.S.N. (Harry Gringo). Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by J. Watson Davis. Price, $1.00. The re-publication of this story will please those lovers of sea yarns who delight in so much of the salty flavor of the ocean as can come through the medium of a printed page, for never has a story of the sea and those "who go down in ships" been written by one more familiar with the scenes depicted. The one book of this gifted author which is best remembered, and which will be read with pleasure for many years to come, is "Captain Brand," who, as the author states on his title page, was a "pirate of eminence in the West Indies." As a sea story pure and simple, "Captain Brand" has never been excelled, and as a story of piratical life, told without the usual embellishments of blood and thunder, it has no equal. NICK OF THE WOODS. A story of the Early Settlers of Kentucky. By Robert Montgomery Bird. Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by J. Watson Davis. Price, $1.00. This most popular novel and thrilling story of early frontier life in Kentucky was originally published in the year 1837. The novel, long out of print, had in its day a phenomenal sale, for its realistic presentation of Indian and frontier life in the early days of settlement in the South, narrated in the tale with all the art of a practiced writer. A very charming love romance runs through the story. This new and tasteful edition of "Nick of the Woods" will be certain to make many new admirers for this enchanting story from Dr. Bird's clever and versatile pen. * * * * * For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers, A. L. BURT COMPANY, 52-58 Duane St., New York. Good Fiction Worth Reading. A series of romances containing several of the old favorites in the field of historical fiction, replete with powerful romances of love and diplomacy that excel in thrilling and absorbing interest. * * * * * GUY FAWKES. A Romance of the Gunpowder Treason. By Wm. Harrison Ainsworth. Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by George Cruikshank. Price, $1.00. The "Gunpowder Plot" was a modest attempt to blow up Parliament, the King and his Counsellors. James of Scotland, then King of England, was weak-minded and extravagant. He hit upon the efficient scheme of extorting money from the people by imposing taxes on the Catholics. In their natural resentment to this extortion, a handful of bold spirits concluded to overthrow the government. Finally the plotters were arrested, and the King put to torture Guy Fawkes and the other prisoners with royal vigor. A very intense love story runs through the entire romance. THE SPIRIT OF THE BORDER. A Romance of the Early Settlers in the Ohio Valley. By Zane Grey. Cloth. 12mo. with four illustrations by J. Watson Davis. Price, $1.00. A book rather out of the ordinary is this "Spirit of the Border." The main thread of the story has to do with the work of the Moravian missionaries in the Ohio Valley. Incidentally the reader is given details of the frontier life of those hardy pioneers who broke the wilderness for the planting of this great nation. Chief among these, as a matter of course, is Lewis Wetzel, one of the most peculiar, and at the same time the most admirable of all the brave men who spent their lives battling with the savage foe, that others might dwell in comparative security. Details of the establishment and destruction of the Moravian "Village of Peace" are given at some length, and with minute description. The efforts to Christianize the Indians are described as they never have been before, and the author has depicted the characters of the leaders of the several Indian tribes with great care, which of itself will be of interest to the student. By no means least among the charms of the story are the vivid word-pictures of the thrilling adventures, and the intense paintings of the beauties of nature, as seen in the almost unbroken forests. It is the spirit of the frontier which is described, and one can by it, perhaps, the better understand why men, and women, too, willingly braved every privation and danger that the westward progress of the star of empire might be the more certain and rapid. A love story, simple and tender, runs through the book. RICHELIEU. A tale of France in the reign of King Louis XIII. By G. P. R. James. Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by J. Watson Davis. Price, $1.00. In 1829 Mr. James published his first romance, "Richelieu," and was recognized at once as one of the masters of the craft. In this book he laid the story during those later days of the great cardinal's life, when his power was beginning to wane, but while it was yet sufficiently strong to permit now and then of volcanic outbursts which overwhelmed foes and carried friends to the topmost wave of prosperity. One of the most striking portions of the story is that of Cinq Mar's conspiracy; the method of conducting criminal cases, and the political trickery resorted to by royal favorites, affording a better insight into the statecraft of that day than can be had even by an exhaustive study of history. It is a powerful romance of love and diplomacy, and in point of thrilling and absorbing interest has never been excelled. * * * * * For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers, A. L. BURT COMPANY, 52-58 Duane St., New York. 
44546	----	THE LAST ENTRY NOVELS, ETC., BY W. CLARK RUSSELL. Crown 8vo., cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each; post 8vo., illustrated boards, 2s. each; cloth limp, 2s. 6d. each. ROUND THE GALLEY FIRE. IN THE MIDDLE WATCH. ON THE FO'K'SLE HEAD. A VOYAGE TO THE CAPE. A BOOK FOR THE HAMMOCK. THE MYSTERY OF THE 'OCEAN STAR.' THE ROMANCE OF JENNY HARLOWE. AN OCEAN TRAGEDY. MY SHIPMATE LOUISE. ALONE ON A WIDE WIDE SEA. THE GOOD SHIP 'MOHOCK.' THE PHANTOM DEATH. IS HE THE MAN? THE CONVICT SHIP. HEART OF OAK. THE TALE OF THE TEN. THE LAST ENTRY. LONDON: CHATTO & WINDUS, 111 ST. MARTIN'S LANE, W.C. OPINIONS OF THE PRESS ON THE LAST ENTRY '"The Last Entry" is a rattling good salt-water yarn, told in the author's usual breezy, exhilarating style.'--_Daily Mail._ 'In this new novel Mr. Russell has cleverly thrown its events into the year 1837, and there are one or two ingenious passages which add to the Diamond Jubilee interest which that date suggests.... "The Last Entry" is as certain of general popularity as any of Mr. Russell's former tales of the marvels of the sea.'--_Glasgow Herald._ 'We do not think it possible for anyone to dip into this novel without desiring to finish it, and it adds another to the long list of successes of our best sea author.'--_Librarian._ 'In addition to mutiny and murder, "The Last Entry" contains many of those good things which have made Mr. Russell's pages a joy to so many lovers of the sea during the last twenty years.... "The Last Entry" is a welcome addition to Mr. Clark Russell's library.'--_Speaker._ 'The writer is as realistic and picturesque as usual in his vivid descriptions of the stagnant life on board the homeward-bound Indiaman.'--_Times._ 'It is full of pleasant vigour.... As is always the case in Mr. Clark Russell's books, the elements are treated with the pen of an artist.'--_Standard._ 'We expected plenty of go, of fresh and vigorous description of sea-faring life, coupled with a story which would not be wanting in interest. All this we have here.'--_Tablet._ THE LAST ENTRY BY W. CLARK RUSSELL AUTHOR OF 'THE WRECK OF THE "GROSVENOR,"' 'MY SHIPMATE LOUISE,' 'THE TALE OF THE TEN,' ETC. [Illustration: Decoration] A NEW EDITION LONDON CHATTO & WINDUS 1899 CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. MR. AND MISS VANDERHOLT 1 II. DOWN RIVER 28 III. 'ALONG OF BILL' 53 IV. CAPTAIN MARY LIND 82 V. ON THE EVE 119 VI. THE MURDERS 141 VII. CAPTAIN PARRY 169 VIII. IN SEARCH 196 IX. THE DISCOVERY 224 THE LAST ENTRY CHAPTER I. MR. AND MISS VANDERHOLT. This story belongs to the year 1837, and was regarded by the generations of that and a succeeding time as the most miraculous of all the recorded deliverances from death at sea. It may be told thus: Mr. Montagu Vanderholt sat at breakfast with his daughter Violet one morning in September. Vanderholt's house was one of a fine terrace close to Hyde Park. He was a rich man, a retired Cape merchant, and his life had been as chequered as Trelawney's, with nothing of romance and nothing of imagination in it. He was the son of honest parents, of Dutch extraction, and had run away to sea when about twelve years old. Nothing under the serious heavens was harsher, more charged with misery, suffering, dirt, and wretchedness, than seafaring in the days when young Vanderholt, with an idiot's cunning, fled to it from his father's comfortable little home. He got a ship, was three years absent, and on his return found both his father and mother dead. He went again to sea, and, fortunately for him, was shipwrecked in the neighbourhood of Simon's Bay. The survivors made their way to Cape Town, and presently young Vanderholt got a job, and afterwards a position. He then became a master, until, after some eight or ten years of heroic perseverance, attended by much good luck, behold Mr. Vanderholt full-blown into a colonial merchant prince. How much he was worth when he made up his mind to settle in England, after the death of his wife, and when he had disposed of his affairs so as to leave himself as free a man as ever he had been when he was a common Jack Swab, really signifies nothing. It is certain he had plenty, and plenty is enough, even for a merchant prince of Dutch extraction. Besides Violet, he had two sons, who will not make an appearance on this little brief stage. They are dismissed, therefore, with this brief reference--that both were in the army, and both, at the time of this tale, in India. Violet was Vanderholt's only daughter, and he loved her exceedingly. She was not beautiful, but she was fair to see, with a pretty figure, and an arch, gay smile. You saw the Dutch blood in her eyes, as you saw it in her father's, whose orbs of vision, indeed, were ridiculously small--scarcely visible in their bed of socket and lash. An English mother had come to Violet's help in this matter. Taking her from top to toe, with her surprising quantity of brown hair, soft complexion, good mouth, teeth, and figure, Violet Vanderholt was undoubtedly a fine girl. The room in which they were breakfasting was imposingly furnished. The pictures were many and fine. One in particular took the eye, and detained it. It was hung over the sideboard, which glittered with plate; it represented a schooner, bowed by a sudden blast, coming at you. The white brine, shredded by the shrieking stroke of the squall, hissed shrilly from the cut-water. The life and spirit of the reality was in that fine canvas. The sailors seemed to run as you watched, the gaffs to droop with the handling of their gear. She came rushing in a smother of spume right at you, and, before delight could arise, you had felt a pleasurable shock of surprise that was almost alarm. Such is the effect produced by Cooper's bull as, with bowed head and eyes of fire, and horns of death, it looks to be bounding with the velocity of a locomotive out of the frame. Mr. Vanderholt and his daughter conversed for some time on matters of no concern to us who are to follow their fortunes. Presently, after helping himself to his second bloater--for his wealth had neither lessened his appetite nor influenced his choice of dishes: he clung, with true Dutch courage, to solid sausage; he loved new bread, smoking hot; he was wedded to all the several kinds of cured fish, and often drank a pint of beer, instead of coffee or tea, at his morning meal--he took his second herring, and, whilst his gray beard wagged to the movement of his jaws, an expression of pensiveness entered his face as he fastened his gaze upon the picture of the rushing schooner. 'How beautifully she is painted!' said he. 'It is the greatest of the arts. How with the pen could you make that vessel show as the brush has?' 'It could only be done by suggestion,' said Miss Vanderholt, looking up sideways at the picture. 'It is the hint that submits the pen-and-ink sketch.' 'So that, if a man has never seen a schooner, you might hint and suggest all your life, and the death-bed of that man would still find his mind a blank as to a schooner?' 'True,' said his daughter. 'I am going to tell you what I have made up my mind to do.' 'Yes, and there she is,' interrupted the girl, with a sweep of her hand at the picture. 'And pretty wet they are; and a fine handsome sea is going to run presently, till the yacht shall swoop into the cataracts like a wreck--veiled--strained! She is too small.' 'You consider one hundred and eighty tons too small? What would Columbus have thought of you? Do you know that Mynheer Vanderdecken is battling with the storms of the Cape of Good Hope at this very hour in something under one hundred and eighty tons?' 'But I really don't think, father, that you need such an extensive change.' 'My doctors are of my opinion. I require nothing less than three months of the sea-breeze, and all the climates that I can pack into that time.' 'And George?' said Miss Vanderholt, her voice a little coloured by vexation. 'He may arrive home and find us absent, and there will be nobody in the world to tell him where we are--whether we are alive or dead, and when we may be expected back.' 'George won't be home till June next.' said Mr. Vanderholt. 'There is no chance of it. Meanwhile, I mean to escape the winter by heading direct for the Equator and back.' 'I'm afraid it is likely that George will not be able to arrive in England before the end of June,' exclaimed Miss Vanderholt. 'But if he should return sooner, it would drive me mad to hear that he had come and found me absent.' 'We shall be back by February,' said Mr. Vanderholt, in that sort of voice which makes you feel that the man who speaks is used to having his way. 'Shall you take any friends with you?' 'Not even a dog,' answered Mr. Vanderholt. 'Then it will be dull!' exclaimed his daughter. 'Nothing but sea and sky and novels. Why not ask Mr. Allan Kinnaird? He is a very amusing man.' 'I do not agree with you. Kinnaird is amusing for about half an hour. Kinnaird and I never could get on at sea, locked up together as we should be. He is always objecting to what I say, and he listens to my jokes merely with the intention of enlarging upon their points so as to defraud me of the laugh.' 'Will you carry a doctor?' 'I have thought over that. No; we will ship a medicine chest instead, and a book treating of every disease under the sun. We do not go to sea to be ill. A doctor will be in the way. He will be neither with us nor of us. He might begin to bore you with his attentions, and you would only think of him as a man who believes that he is under an obligation to be agreeable.' 'But the _Mowbray_ has not been afloat for two or three years,' said Miss Vanderholt. 'She has been well looked after. I have always liked the boat, and would not sell her, though I have not used her of late,' said Mr. Vanderholt, leaning back in his chair to contemplate to advantage the beautiful picture over the sideboard. 'She is French built, and about twenty years old. The French are better ship-builders than the English--infinitely more choice in their lines and curves, and so scientific that you seldom hear of a disaster in their experiments. Look at that vessel as she rushes at you. How perfect is her entry! How insinuating the swell of her bow, running into a beautiful roundness and plumpness of sides instead of the up-and-down walls which the British yachtsman, who loves to admire his yacht from the shore, conceives to be the one element which gives a vessel stability! The more they narrow, the more they blunder. You must have stability if you want seaworthiness. And in all the years that I was at sea I never knew a crank ship a fast ship.' It was easily seen by the expression of Miss Vanderholt's face that she was thinking of George. Finding her father had ceased to speak, she exclaimed: 'Who will be the captain?' 'I shall ask my friend Fairbanks to recommend a man to me. He, of all the shipowners that I am acquainted with, is certain to know of a good man.' 'Will he belong to the Royal Navy?' 'No.' 'Then, he will not be a gentleman?' Vanderholt looked at her intently. His face relaxed. He combed down his beard, and said: 'He will be a sailor; and if he is a sailor, he will be a man. Combine these two things, and you produce an illustration of human existence beyond the achievement of the most illustrious lineage and the most ancient college.' Miss Vanderholt was used to her father's views, and continued her breakfast with a distant, listening air, which promised no further expression of opinion upon this proposed voyage to the Equator. A stranger listening at that table to Vanderholt would have guessed that he was a man of hot temper, a Dutchman at root in his views and prejudices, not a man, perhaps, of many friends, spite of his wealth. He fixed his little eyes upon his daughter, and, after gazing at her for some time, with a look of anxiety, he said: 'You know, Vi, I should not care to go without you.' 'No, father; nor should I wish to be left alone at home.' 'You will be happy in the old _Mowbray_. We will lay in a stock of good things. We will make a fine holiday jaunt of it. Perhaps I shall be able to show you some of the wonders of the deep. We will teach our crew to sing litanies to break the spell of that demon the waterspout. We will hook on to a whale, and thunder through it with foam to the figure-head, with the velocity of the meteoric storm. We shall be at liberty to shift our course as often as we please, and settle some marine problem for good and all; not the sea-serpent--no. Who would defraud the newspapers of that joke? But I am strongly of opinion that there is a distinct difference between the dugong and the mermaid. The old idiots of the fifteenth century no doubt confounded them; and the mermaid, shocked by the hideous misrepresentation--for think of comparing some golden-haired angel of an English girl with a New Zealand native woman, frightful with the hues of her sky, and horrible with devices of the needle!--I say the disgusted mermaid may have sunk into the ooze, resolved never again to give man a sight of her face. Best of all, Vi, the voyage will do me good, will do you good, and delightfully shorten the time of your waiting for George.' 'It is the only feeling I have in the matter,' answered the young lady. And now, having breakfasted, they arose and quitted the table. Miss Violet Vanderholt, being acquainted with her father's character, and knowing that he rarely changed his mind, went to her room, where in peace she occupied a full hour in writing a long letter to George. And who was George? One had but to peep over the girl's shoulder to discover. 'My own darling George,' she began; and this sort of thing is commonly accepted as the language of love. Captain George Parry was an officer in the Honourable East India Company's service. When he was last at home he had met Miss Violet, haunted her closely, and exhibited himself in a variety of ways as deeply in love with her. Wonderful to relate, Mr. Montagu Vanderholt took a fancy to the young man, and when Ensign Parry called to ask his leave to consider himself engaged, he was astounded by the cheerful 'Certainly, with pleasure, if you are both satisfied,' which greeted him. A few questions and answers followed. Mr. Vanderholt knew very little about the army, though he had two sons in it. How long would Ensign Parry have to wait for his promotion? How long was the engagement going to last? For his part, he did not like long engagements: they made people ill. Many girls were hurried to their graves by procrastination--that thief of sleep, the ice-cold 'lubbar fiend' that bestrides women's hearts and keeps them shivering. The interview terminated to the satisfaction of both gentlemen. In due time, Ensign Parry returned to India, and now, as Captain Parry, he was expected home in June; but in one or two of his letters to Violet he had expressed a hope that he would be able to get home by an earlier date. It had been settled that they should be married soon after his arrival in England. And this was the posture of affairs as regarded Captain Parry and Miss Vanderholt. The young lady, seating herself, dipped her pen and wrote. She wrote fast, and often with a flushed cheek when she underlined, or doubly underlined, a word or a sentence. Her letter consisted mainly of endearing expressions, such as, when read aloud in court after a couple have quarrelled, excite merriment. She informed her sweetheart in this letter that her father had made up his mind to go on a cruise for his health as far as the Equator, in the old _Mowbray_. She was going with him alone. George would know where she was, therefore, until her return to England, which could not be delayed beyond February. She dared not hope that George would arrive before the _Mowbray_ reached England. If this should happen, then he might, perhaps, never receive this very letter which she was writing. To provide against this, she said that before she sailed she would write a second letter, and leave it with the housekeeper. On the afternoon of this same day Mr. Vanderholt entered his carriage and drove into the City. He alighted at the offices of a firm of shipowners in Fenchurch Street, and was immediately confronted by the very person he had called to see. They shook hands. 'I want ten minutes with you, Fairbanks.' 'As long as you please, Mr. Vanderholt. Always happy to be of service to you.' It was plain that Mr. Vanderholt was not a skipper or a mate in search of a situation on board one of the ships owned by this firm. They walked through an office full of scribbling clerks; the walls were decorated with pictures of ships in full sail, and odd configurations on glazed yellow cloth, signifying cabin accommodation--first, second, and 'tween decks. They reached a small back-room, and when Mr. Fairbanks closed the door they were private. Mr. Vanderholt was rendered a little uneasy by Mr. Fairbanks' look of expectation, and began somewhat in a hurry, lest his friend's anticipation should grow. 'It is a very trifling matter I have called to see you about, Fairbanks. It concerns a skipper for my boat, the _Mowbray_. For some time past I have been out of sorts, and have resolved to get clear of England during the winter. I have a fine boat laid up in the Thames. She is 180 tons, and I calculate, counting the cook and the fellow for the cabin, that a skipper, a mate, and eight hands will suffice me. Do you know of a good skipper?' Mr. Fairbanks brought his fingers together in an attitude of prayer, and said he thought that by dint of inquiry he might be able to find one. 'What pay?' said he. 'Ten pounds a month,' answered Mr. Vanderholt. 'I want a good man.' 'Do you take any company with you?' 'Only my daughter.' 'Then,' said Mr. Fairbanks, 'the skipper must not drink, and must not swear. He must be a man of cleanly appearance, of considerable experience, and able to hold his own in conversation.' 'So,' said Mr. Vanderholt. 'I believe,' said Mr. Fairbanks, 'that I know the man for you. He had charge of a ship of ours, the _Sandyfoot_. It was but yesterday I nodded to him outside these offices. If you take him you will carry a romance in pilot-cloth to sea with you. This fellow--you will not believe what I am going to tell you after you see him--was in love with a girl. He broke with her in a quarrel, and went to sea, and by a homeward ship wrote to ask her forgiveness and keep her heart whole for him, as he would shortly return. He was swept overboard in a storm, picked up floating on a buoy by a three-masted schooner, and carried to China. On his arrival home, he found his sweetheart had gone out of her mind. She recovered by degrees, under his influence, and they were to be married. They proceeded together to church, and at the altar she went mad again. Of course, the parson refused to officiate, and a few weeks later the poor thing died.' 'What is the name of our friend?' inquired Mr. Vanderholt, who had listened without much interest to this romantic story. 'Thomas Glew.' 'Originally a nickname, meant to stick,' said Mr. Vanderholt dryly. 'Send him to me. You will oblige me by doing so.' 'I'll endeavour to find him this afternoon, and you shall see him to-morrow,' answered the other. 'And you really enjoy the prospect of a cruise to the Equator and home?' 'Would I go if I did not?' 'But is not such sailing like running to and fro between wickets when there's nobody bowling?' said Mr. Fairbanks, placing a decanter of old Madeira and a box of cigars on the table. Mr. Vanderholt brimmed a deep-hearted wineglass, and lighted a cigar, saying betwixt the puffs: 'If there is no good in the pursuit of health, you are right.' 'Well,' said Mr. Fairbanks, 'for my part I never could contemplate a voyage of any sort without associating it with a port and business.' 'Thank the North Star,' said the gentleman of Dutch extraction, 'with me that time has passed!' 'But to think of the Equator as a port of call!' exclaimed Mr. Fairbanks; and they both began to laugh. The term 'port of call' set them conversing about trade, how matters went in the City. Mr. Vanderholt talked fluently on all affairs connected with shipping. After enjoying his cigar and his chat, he re-entered his carriage, and was driven away. Next morning, at about eleven o'clock, he was in his study, writing some letters. His daughter sat with him, reading a newspaper. A man-servant opened the door, and said that a seafaring gentleman was in the 'all, and had called by request. On a silver salver lay Mr. Fairbanks' card, and Mr. Vanderholt, after glancing at the card, told the footman to show Captain Glew in. There entered soon, with a quick, resolved, quarter-deck stride, a short but powerfully-built man, shell-backed by ocean duties, with a face that might have been cast in light bronze, that might have served as a ship's figure-head in that metal, so roasted had it been in its day, so hard set was it, as though fresh from the pickle of the harness-cask. The flesh of the countenance had that sort of tension which does not admit of much, or perhaps any, play of emotion. The man might expel a laugh from his throat, but was he physically equal to a smile? He held a round hat, and was soberly attired in blue cloth. He looked swiftly and lightly around him, but seemed unmoved by the splendour of the apartment. He sent a keen, gray, seawardly glance at Miss Vanderholt, and fastened his gaze with an expression of attention upon her father. Miss Vanderholt viewed him with curiosity and disappointment. 'Captain Glew?' said Mr. Vanderholt. 'That's my name, sir,' answered the captain, in a voice as decisive as his walk and air. 'I was asked to call upon you by Mr. Fairbanks.' 'Right. Sit down. I had a good many years of it myself, but did not reach the quarter-deck,' said Mr. Vanderholt. 'My end was plumb with the fore-top.' The captain seated himself, but did not smile, nor did he look as if he wanted to. 'Many years at sea, Captain Glew?' 'Thirty, sir.' 'Did you run away, as I did, from home?' 'No. I was put apprentice by my father, who had charge of a Bethel, and was a man of education.' 'Did Mr. Fairbanks explain what I wanted to see you about?' 'Yes, sir. I believe you'll find me a suitable man. I confess I'd like the job. I know the _Mowbray_.' Mr. Vanderholt's face lighted up. 'I was off her in a wherry not above a fortnight ago, and we stopped to admire her. I never saw prettier lines.' Here he raised his eyes to the picture over the sideboard, as though observing it for the first time, but his face discovered no marks of enthusiasm or admiration whilst he let his sight rest for a moment on that square of splendid, spirit-moving canvas. 'My uncle was a shipbuilder,' he continued, 'and I have some knowledge of that trade. The finest examples of seaworthy craft are, in my opinion, the Baltimore clippers--some of them, at all events. The _Mowbray_ might be the queen of that fleet, sir.' Mr. Vanderholt glanced at his daughter, as if he should say, 'This is our man.' He then rang the bell. A footman quickly appeared. 'Wine,' said Mr. Vanderholt. 'Not for me, if you please,' said Captain Glew, lifting his hand, and bowing with a motion that made his refusal emphatic. 'What will you take?' said Mr. Vanderholt. 'Nothing whatever, I thank you, sir.' 'Are you a teetotaler?' said Mr. Vanderholt, signing to the footman to be gone. 'No, sir. I am one of those men who drink only when they are thirsty, and as I am seldom thirsty it follows that I drink little.' 'Do you know anything about fore and aft seamanship?' _Now_ Captain Glew smiled, but the expression was like a passing spasm. 'I do, sir. I have held command in several types of ships in my time. Seven years ago I had charge for three voyages of a fruiter from the Thames to the Western Islands.' 'That will do,' said Mr. Vanderholt, with an appreciative flourish of his hand, and a laugh of satisfaction. 'Five years ago, being in distress for a position, and having a wife and two children to maintain, I took command of a three-masted schooner to the Brazils, where I left her and returned in charge of a little barque. I then got a berth in Mr. Fairbanks' employ----' He was proceeding, but Mr. Vanderholt had heard enough. 'I am quite satisfied,' said he. 'Now let us settle the matter straight off. That is my way of going to work. I'm not for easing away handsomely; I'm for letting go with a run. We shall want a mate, and we shall want a crew. Can I trust you to see to this business?' 'You can, sir.' 'Let the crew be blue-water men. I shall want real sailors aboard the _Mowbray_.' 'There's nothing like them, sir.' 'The craft lies dismantled, as you know. I leave the whole work of her being made ready for sea to you. Employ your own labour. Call upon me as the work proceeds. I shall make you several visits from time to time, for I am a man of leisure.' 'Does the young lady go with us, sir?' 'Yes.' 'You'll wish her cabin specially fitted?' 'I will see to that myself, Captain Glew.' 'Right, sir. And the voyage, I understand, is to be a cruise in the North Atlantic?' 'It is to be a run to the Equator and home.' 'It seems such an odd place to steer for,' said Miss Vanderholt, breaking the silence for the first time. 'It's as determinable as a rock, anyhow!' exclaimed Mr. Vanderholt. 'I want to be able to report a wonder when we return.' Here his Dutch countenance put on the air of good-humoured cunning with which he usually prefaced a joke. 'There is about a quarter of a mile of Equatorial water which possesses a remarkable property. Sink an object in it, and you draw it up gilt. If we strike this wonderful patch of sea, we will gild the _Mowbray_ from waterway to truck; boats, ground-tackle--everything--shall be resplendent, and we shall be the marvel of London as we sail up the Thames.' Miss Vanderholt watched Captain Glew, to see how he relished this sort of thing. The skipper exclaimed austerely: 'It's a tract of water written of in books for the marines. It's not to be found at sea, sir.' 'We must strike it, man, so that we may return covered with glory.' 'Patch got any colour, sir?' 'I believe it is a blood-red. A man I once sailed with claimed to have sighted it. He was in the foretop-mast crosstrees, and saw the patch off the bow, and hailed the deck, but he squinted damnably. You can't keep a true course for anything when you squint. The captain missed the patch. No other man saw it; and the sailor, who was a Dane, was, or is, the only man in the world who has ever seen that miraculous bit of Equatorial water.' He looked at his daughter, clearly enjoying his own imagination; and Captain Glew uttered a hollow laugh, and stood up. 'I will visit the vessel to-morrow, sir, and report. I will bring my papers along with me----' 'No need,' interrupted Mr. Vanderholt; 'Mr. Fairbanks' introduction is enough.' The man made a nautical bow to the father and daughter, and was going, when he suddenly stopped to say: 'Are you particular as to the nationalities of the men, sir?' 'English and Dutchmen, in such proportions as may please you,' said Mr. Vanderholt; 'but never a Dago, Captain Glew. I was once stabbed by a Dago.' 'And a Dago would have stabbed me if I hadn't killed him,' said the captain. 'We'll ship no Dagos, sir.' He made another nautical bow, and departed. 'I like him,' said Mr. Vanderholt, turning in his chair so as to resume his letter-writing; 'but I guess the crew will find him a taut hand.' 'What is a taut hand?' inquired his daughter. 'A man who breeds mutinies,' he answered. He looked thoughtful for a few moments, as though visited by some tragic memories; then, taking up his pen, he went on writing his letters. CHAPTER II. DOWN RIVER. On the morning of November 21, 1837, the schooner _Mowbray_ lay at anchor abreast of Greenwich. In the fresh westerly wind you found the sun-white sparkle of winter. Buildings, ships, wharves, the further bends of the Reach, stood out with the sharpness and delicacy of ivory work. The movements of the drapery of bunting, the swelling and breathing of passing canvas, were beautiful to see under the hard, blue sky, with its frost-work of gleaming cloud high over Plaistow Level. The schooner looked exceedingly handsome as she floated at her cable, with the ripples of the blown stream twisting in slender lines of light from the cut-water. These lines flashed in her glossy sides as they trembled past, and her coppered hull was beautified by other lustres than the light of day, as she sat motionless, courting the eye to the tall heights of the delicate mastheads, each of them star-crowned with a shining gilt truck. She was handsomer than a yacht, because she lacked the summer precision and fine-weather finish of that sort of craft. The nautical eye does not love fine feathers. The _Mowbray_ was a sea-going boat. She had beam for stability, a height of side which promised a dry ship, a spring of bow smack-like with its promise of domination. Her copper shone; she was sheathed to the bends; she carried little or no finery about her decks, but the scantling of everything--the companion, the skylights, the sailors' deck-house, nay, even the caboose forward--might have been that of a ten-gun brig. The hour was about half-past eleven. A number of seamen, apparelled with some regard to uniformity of attire, lounged in the bows, staring Greenwich way, or at the familiar scene of docks the other side of the river. They looked a rough company of the genuine merchant-sailor type--raggedly hairy, defiant in stare, in fold of arm, resolved in their several postures. They wore round hats and jackets, and the bell-ended, blue-cloth trousers of the Jacks of that day. On the quarter-deck walked Captain Glew and the mate who had signed articles for the run, Mr. Tweed. This was a short, hearty, plump man. His grog-blossomed, jovial face suggested a suppressed boisterousness of spirits; you felt that in him lay the voice for the back-parlour of the Free and Easy. The owner of the vessel and party were expected on board shortly, and Tweed had clothed himself with care, in a short, round jacket, with a corner of red silk handkerchief carelessly straying from one side-pocket. His trousers rippled as he walked, and the rest of him consisted of a check shirt and pumps. 'I think he ought to be pleased,' said Captain Glew, coming to a stand at the binnacle, and throwing a look over the little ship and then up aloft; 'nothing handsomer sails out of the Thames this year.' 'She is sweet enough for a pennon,' said Tweed. 'I wish she was mine. I'd like to go a-pirating in a vessel of this sort. No, I wouldn't, either; I'd go a-slaving. A hundred and eighty tons. I reckon you could stow away six hundred blacks in her 'tween decks.' 'I sometimes wish I'd been born a hundred years sooner,' said Captain Glew. 'I would have been a pirate; the ocean was thick with booty, and you got an estate with very little risk. The dogs came to the gibbet because they never would be satisfied.' 'Piracy gave a sailor a good chance,' said the mate, with a groggy look at the hands lounging forward. 'Here am I grateful for this £30 job,' growled the captain. 'The wife and young uns may now eat and drink for three months, and for three months the thought of to-morrow morning shan't keep me awake. Holy Jemmy! But it's on the quarter-deck where the hearts of stone are wanted. To those fellows forward the getting a ship's as easy as an oath. Do you or I get ships as easily as we swear?' 'No, not by all that I'm worth!' answered Tweed. 'Captain, I have followed the sea for twenty years, and I'll tell you how it stands with me now: in my cabin you'll find a sea-chest; it's painted green--green it should be; it's the colour of my life. In that sea-chest is all that I own in the world, saving a matter of a few pounds stowed away ashore. Twenty years of the sea, and nothing but a bloomed green sea-chest to show for it!' exclaimed Tweed, with so much blood in his face that his grog-blossoms made him look as if he had burst into a dangerous rash. Thus these worthies discoursed, as they walked the quarter-deck, awaiting the arrival of Mr. Vanderholt and party. They had been shipmates in prior times, were in some fashion connected, had frequently of late met ashore, and had grown intimate during the time occupied by the refitting of the _Mowbray_. We are not to confound the discipline of this little schooner with that of a great Indiaman. Men who had commanded fruiters were not commonly distant to their mates when they afterwards handled small vessels. Forward the seamen growled in talk indistinguishable to the quarter-deck walkers. 'What sort of boss is th' ole man going to turn out?' exclaimed one of the seamen, staring aft. 'I don't like his looks. But when once I've signed a vessel's articles I'm for outweathering the skipper, if he was the devil himself. He'll get no change out of Joseph Dabb, and it's extraordinary, bullies, that Joseph Dabb should be my name.' 'If there's no eddication in the fok'sle of this vessel, fired if there oughtn't to be enough aft to enable all hands to spell the word "lush,"' said a dark, heavy-browed man, gazing with a deep and surly smile at the plump figure of Tweed, as he walked, rolling about like a butterbox in a seaway, alongside the captain. 'I never see a face in all my time more beautifully decorated. How many pints go to one of them blossoms? We shall be hearing of him singing "We're all a-noddin'" in some middle watch, when there's onusual need for a bright look-out.' 'I was spliced three weeks ago,' exclaimed a red-headed seaman. 'I'm a-missing of Sally, my joys. I feel gallus like going home again.' He eyed the land about the West India Docks, and extended his arms, amidst a rumble of laughter and much spitting of yellow froth over the bows. 'I don't expect to see my old 'oman again,' exclaimed a seaman, standing upright with his arms folded. 'If she don't die, she'll make tracks, and, foreseeing of that, I sold off my household furniture yesterday.' 'Ain't ye left her nothing to sit upon?' said the red-headed seaman. 'Yes; a carpenter's knee. D'ye think I'm to be hubbled?' he cried, letting fall his arms, and turning fiercely upon the red-headed man. 'I wondered to find her at home last voyage. She'd have found me a true man. Bruised if I like ship's carpenters, anyhow. I never yet knew a ship's carpenter yer could trust as a man.' 'Stow that!' exclaimed a seaman, leaning over the rail, and merely turning his head to speak. '_You're_ no ship's carpenter,' was the answer. 'This ain't no ship. Present company's always excepted, too, in polite society;' and he began to step the deck with temper. 'Where's this vessel bound to?' said another man. 'I signed for a cruise,' answered someone. 'Something was said about the Equator,' exclaimed another. 'The Equator's no coast,' said the red-headed man. 'The covey that owns this here craft,' exclaimed the carpenter, who was also the boatswain, 'is a Dutchman. He ain't a Dutchman only--he's a feenansure. Now, I've heard tell that when a Dutchman makes more money than his mind's capable of weighing the idea of, his intellects go wrong. Did ye ever hear of the prices they paid for toolips? I'm the son of a sweep, lads, if some of 'em didn't pay as much as a £100 in good money for a durned stalk not worth a cabbage! They was all rich men as bought them bulbs, and they was all mad; and you lay your last farden's-worth of silver spoons if this here scheme of a voyage to the Equator ain't the caper of a blooming Dutchman who's made so much money that his brains have given under the weight of the idea of his fortune!' Just then a large white boat was seen to be approaching the _Mowbray_ from the direction of Greenwich, and in a few minutes she was alongside--a boat full of ladies and gentlemen; and Captain Glew stood at the open gangway, cap in hand. The party consisted of Mr. and Miss Vanderholt and a few friends who had accompanied them to Greenwich to see them off. Vanderholt shook hands with his captain, nodded to the mate, and cast a look of approval in the direction of the forecastle. He seemed in high spirits. His eyes smiled deep in their little sockets, and the fresh and friendly wind blew his beard into twenty expressions of kindly laughter. He was rigged out for the sea. No Minories slop-shop could have furnished him with a salter aspect. The seamen on the forecastle eyed him, and murmured one to another. They seemed to recognise their own vocation in the man, yet viewed him doubtfully, as dogs watch with suspicion the dog in Punch and Judy. His daughter was handsomely draped in velvet and fur, and wore a turban-shaped hat that was as good for the deck as for her looks. In a minute there was a little crowd of well-dressed gentlemen and ladies standing on the quarter-deck, gazing around them and aloft, with Mr. Vanderholt laughing with the wind in his beard, and Miss Vi gazing somewhat pensively at the full scene of the schooner. It was the right sort of morning for a start for the ocean. The brisk breeze covered the surface of the river with sliding shapes, coming and going. A large Indiaman, newly arrived, with the rust of four months of brine draining down her chain-plate bolts, her sheathing green as grass, with a quivering of weeds here and there, lay off the Docks opposite. Her house-flag blew stately from the lofty masthead; stately and proud, too, she floated, tall and square. She seemed alive, and conscious of victory. The lights of her cabin windows shook through the ripples in long darts of silver. A chorus of thirty stormy throats swept down the wind, and there came out of that inspiriting windlass-song of sailors who had brought their lofty ship home the whole spirit of the ocean into this living, brimming picture of river. Mr. Vanderholt's friends walked about the decks of the _Mowbray_, praising the schooner highly. 'He goes alone with his daughter,' said one gentleman to another, 'and touches nowhere. I do not envy her.' 'Don't you remember,' said the other, 'what the German said? "I don't see der use of being seek onless you makes your friends seek mit you."' They both laughed. Mr. Vanderholt led the whole party into the cabin, where they found the table clothed for a cold lunch. A steward stood in a corner, waiting for the hour to strike when he should summon the company by a bell. Some baskets of champagne were beside him. It was a roomy cabin, with plenty of accommodation for eight or nine people to sit at table; brightly lighted, handsomely upholstered, painted and gilded as charmingly as a drawing-room. Some little berths aft had been knocked into two, and Violet was very well pleased with the size and comfort of her sea bedroom. She would swing in a cot; the furniture provided her with many more conveniences than she would get ashore in a friend's house. Mr. Vanderholt's cabin was plainly equipped. He was going to sea as a sailor; he was bent upon reviving old memories; and his guests laughed when he pointed to a sea-chest, which he said contained nearly the whole of his kit, which chest had also been the one he had used in the last voyage he made as a sailor. 'Do you see those ragged marks?' said he, stooping to run his finger along the edge of the chest, whilst he looked up into the face of a fashionably-dressed lady. 'They were caused by my cutting up plug tobacco. I would not have them filled in. On this chest I have sat and blown strong Cavendish tobacco-smoke into an atmosphere composed almost entirely of carbonic acid gas; I have watched the blue ring burning round the flame of the lamp, and smoked on.' 'Would you be a sailor again?' asked the fashionably-dressed lady. 'Not for a million on _these_ terms,' answered Mr. Vanderholt, bringing his fist down, in a sudden passion of recollection, upon the lid of his chest. Presently the little bell rang, and they seated themselves. The champagne fizzed, knives and forks rattled on plates, the one steward ran about. Mr. Vanderholt was in high spirits; he drank to his daughter amongst others; no more cordial or hospitable gentleman ever sat at the head of a cabin table. 'The hardest part of a sailor's life,' said a pretty young woman, with black eyes, and a handsome white feather coiled round a large hat, 'must be saying good-bye to the girls, as I think they call them,' exposing a row of milk-white teeth. 'They are absent for months and years; how can you expect constancy?' 'Ha!' exclaimed Mr. Vanderholt. 'But a man may be faithful, even though he should be as much cut off from his girl as if he was buried. Don't you remember what your Richard Steele says? I quote from memory: "The poor fellow who lost his arm last siege will tell you that he feels the fingers that are buried in Flanders ache every cold morning at Chelsea."' 'I do not see the application,' said one of the gentlemen. 'It is perfectly plain,' said Violet, flushing. 'Vanderholt,' exclaimed one of the guests, 'tell me what has become of that old sailor who used to take a month in making a pair of clews for the captain's cot, or a fancy pair of beckets for the mate's camphor-wood chest.' 'He belonged to the days of leisure,' answered Mr. Vanderholt. 'It is all for speed now, cracking on, carrying away, four months to Bombay, when in my time six months was looked upon as a good voyage.' Captain Glew, at the invitation of Mr. Vanderholt, sat at the foot of the table. 'The lady,' said he, with an inclination of his head in the direction of the person referred to, 'was speaking just now of constancy amongst sailors. I remember some years ago being aboard a ship in a collision. The other vessel received us, and it turned out that the first seaman who sprang into the ship was the husband of the wife of the captain.' 'Lor', what a complication!' said somebody. 'The seaman who sprang was supposed to be dead?' said Mr. Vanderholt. Captain Glew looked at him without smiling. His face, however, was not wanting in a certain arch expression. 'Sailors undergo very many more perils than are written down, or than the world wots of,' said a gentleman. 'I once met a travelling show. Part of it was a man in a cage. Nothing in this or the under world could be more frightful to see than that man. And what had happened to him? He had slept on a bale of cloves, and the cloves, by drawing all the moisture out of him, had left him a skeleton, with a heart beating under a loose coat of parchment.' 'Poor thing!' said a lady. 'And are cloves so drying? Really! How could the poor creature while away the time in a cage?' 'By showing the crowd how to make clove-hitches, I expect,' said Vanderholt. Captain Glew rose, and, bowing to the company, went to his cabin, which was a cupboard forward annexed to the pantry. Opposite was the mate's. He reappeared in a minute or two, said something to Mr. Vanderholt, and passed on deck. 'I wonder you do not touch at Madeira,' said a gentleman. 'I touch at the Line only.' 'Oh, but Miss Vanderholt,' exclaimed the gentleman, 'if you have not seen Madeira, you should compel your father to stop at the island, '"Where the virgins are soft as the roses they twine, And all, save the spirit of man, is divine."' 'I know nothing about the virgins of that island,' said a gentleman; 'but the men who visit your ship, and the men who salute you when you get ashore, are poisonously hideous. They cling like toads to a bed of glorious growths. The spirit of man is not divine at Madeira.' 'I touch nowhere,' said Mr. Vanderholt. 'When our forefoot cuts the zero of the chart, we shift helm for the homeward run.' He glanced at a clock in the skylight, made a movement, and simultaneously all stood up, and, standing, they drank a final glass of champagne to the safety of the voyage, to Vanderholt's health, to the return of the charming Violet Vanderholt; then, conducted by the owner of the schooner, the guests went on deck, and in a few minutes took their leave. There was much hand-shaking--all the usual assurances of friendship agitated by leave-taking. Nevertheless, when the company were in their boat, going ashore, one of the gentlemen exclaimed: 'I think Vanderholt must be a selfish old cuckoo to carry away his daughter to the ocean, with no other company but his own grumbling self and Captain Glew.' 'I would not be sailing to the Equator in that schooner for a thousand pounds!' said a lady. 'I should have to be run away with to do such a thing;' and she leered sweetly at a gentleman opposite her. 'They are flourishing their handkerchiefs to us,' cried someone. All stood up in the boat to wave back. 'For Gord's sake, sit down, ladies and gents! You'll be capsizing of us!' bawled the one-eyed bow oar. On board the schooner they were getting under weigh. The name of the boatswain--he was also the carpenter--who had shipped to act as second mate whenever his services in this capacity should be required, was Jones. No man blew the boatswain's silver pipe more sweetly. He had sent his lark-like carol to the mastheads, and afar on either hand the streaming river that pure music of the sea thrilled, whilst their guests were making their way ashore. The _Mowbray_ was a small ship, but her deep-water men dealt with her as though she had been a thousand-ton Indiaman. The hearties, in their round jackets, sprang, as an echo of the boatswain's roaring cry, to the windlass handles, and in a moment a voice, broken by years of drink and by hailing the deck from immense heights, broke into that most melancholy chorus, 'Across the Plains of Mexico.' The cherry-faced mate, Tweed, standing in the bows, soon reported the cable up and down; then sail was made. The eager little ship herself broke her anchor out of the London mud, and to the impulse of her mounting standing jib, staysail, and gaff foresail, was, with a clipper's restlessness of spirit in the whole length of her, swiftly turning her head down-stream, whilst a few hands sang 'Old Stormy, he is dead and gone' at the little windlass, lifting the anchor to the cathead. Before the length of Blackwall Reach had been measured, the schooner was clothed, her seamen coiling down, some attending the sheets--everything quiet and comfortable. The captain stood beside the tiller, conning the little vessel. He was qualified as a pilot for the Thames, and boasted that he could smell his way up and down in the dark--and truly perhaps the nose, in some parts of this noble river, would be as good as the lead, or a buoy, to tell a man where he was. Glew caught the eye of Mr. Vanderholt, who, approaching him, said: 'I am very well pleased. You have chosen well. This is a good company of seamen.' Captain Glew touched his cap, and continued to watch the schooner. She was square-rigged forward, carried topsail, top-gallant-sail, and royal; but there was no good in humbugging with this sort of canvas in a serpentine river that shifts your course for you every two miles by three or four points. Miss Vanderholt stood at the rail viewing the moving picture round about, with a very pensive face. Her eyes often went to a large vessel at anchor ahead. That full-rigged ship made her think of George. In much such a ship, no doubt, George would return. When? In all probability before her own arrival; and how maddening that would be! For, oddly enough, though it was a long time since they had parted, Miss Violet Vanderholt was quite as much in love with Captain George Parry as ever she was on that day when she and her father saw him off in the East India Docks, when she cried, and he hugged her, and when they had spent half an hour up in a corner all alone in talk as impassioned as ever passed between two lovers. This must convince us that there was something Dutch and solid in the girl's character, for she had had many opportunities to recollect herself and transfer her affection. Though Vanderholt's wealth was not of a size to lead to newspaper paragraphs and to editorial exaggerations, it was, in a quiet way, known and talked about, and people passing his house would look up and nod at it, and say: 'A rich old cock lives there.' However, Miss Vi's meditations were presently to be interrupted by a scene not very unfamiliar in the River Thames. The wind was west, and it blew a fresh breeze. The ripples rushing to the whipping carried a little edging of foam. Whatever was under canvas, unless it was a barge, or something running in a mile or two of straight water, leaned in shafts of light. You caught the glance of copper sheathing, the sunshine showered in a rainbow glow upon flashes of brackish foam bursting without the life of brine from shearing bows and gliding sides. The smoke ashore blew away quickly, and the heavens remained a beautiful blue, and the sky over the Plaistow Flats shone like the inside of an oyster-shell with the prismatic hues of a setting of motionless, finely-linked clouds. Just as the _Mowbray_ passed down Bugsby's Reach, opening the long tract of the Woolwich waters beyond, two collier brigs reaching up the river swept into each other with crackling jibbooms. The schooner's road was blocked; her helm was shifted swift as the swallow curves in flight, and then followed a pause which enabled Miss Vanderholt to gain some little insight into the ways of the deep, and the behaviour and speech of those who go down to it for two or three pounds a month. The two brigs came together with a crash that might have been heard at London Bridge. They butted bow to bow, then, swinging to, locked themselves helplessly broadside to broadside, and began to float shorewards, with sails and heavy pieces of timber falling from aloft, and men, two or three of them wearing tall hats, and shawls round their throats, rushing about the decks in agonies of pantomime. It was a saying that there was no better school than the North Country Geordie for seamanship. Certainly there was no school in which a man learnt more quickly to swear. The _Mowbray_ floated close past, and all could be seen. Nothing is more helpless in this world than two ships thus yoked, steering each other ashore, with an occasional drag, or jerk, or butt, that brings a ton of top-hamper crashing about the ears of the profane on deck. 'Let go your tawps'l brace, you blooming old fool! Don't you see it's foul of my mainyard-arm?' 'What in flames are you keeping your jib hoisted for? You're paying her right into me!' 'Jumped if we shan't both go ashore if yer don't starboard yer 'ellum. Why don't you let go yer anchor, you rooting hogs?' 'Yes, and tear my smothered bows out because a crew of dairymen don't know how to steer their ship!' Then, in the midst of this--crash!--off short like a carrot would snap a yard, or down, torn bodily out by its roots, would fall a gaff, amidst yells of: 'You gutter-sots! You're all drunk this holy day! Suffocate yer, you scabs! Let go yer taws'l halliards! Don't you see they're binding the wessels together by my yard that's gone in the slings?' But the _Mowbray_ was now on her course; the distance between her and the embracing brigs was fast widening, and articulate oaths had faded into a chorus of indistinguishable shouts. The vessels were doomed. They both drifted ashore abreast of Woolwich, and next day a paper described a fight that was bloody with knives between the two crews, and reported the death of a foolhardy waterman who tried to make peace, clearly with an eye to salvage. 'This,' said Mr. Vanderholt, as the _Mowbray_, rounding into Galleon's Reach, put the brigs out of sight, 'is a sample of the poetry of the sea, Vi. But very few poets have dealt with subjects of this sort. They write of the splendours of the sunset and moon-rise at sea, and such things. Yet, if I were a poet, I would rather choose a subject in those two brigs in the Thames in a collision, going ashore, full of curses, than in all the stars which shine upon the ocean.' At five o'clock the _Mowbray_ let go her anchor off Gravesend. CHAPTER III. 'ALONG OF BILL.' It was dark when the _Mowbray_ brought up. The Gravesend lights trembled windily, and there was a dance of lanterns as of fireflies upon the breast of the stream. Mr. Vanderholt had no intention of going ashore. He had ordered Captain Glew to bring up off Gravesend to avoid the risks of the navigation of the river in a dark night. It is not customary for the skippers of yachts to dine with their owners, but Mr. Vanderholt, who was a seaman at heart, who disliked forms and ceremonies, having made up his mind on the matter, had, after speaking a few words to his daughter, walked up to Captain Glew and expressed a wish that he would eat with them at their table. Glew touched his cap without any expression of surprise or emotion of gratitude. He appeared to receive the courtesy as a command, to accept it as he would an order to get the vessel under weigh or shorten sail. At six o'clock the cabin bell was rung to call them to dinner. Mr. Vanderholt and Captain Glew arrived from the deck, Miss Vanderholt from her cabin. The interior was a pretty little picture of hospitality; two handsome lamps shone purely and brightly. The burnished swing-trays reflected the beams of the lamps. The light glanced dart-like in polished bulkhead and mirror, and shone on silver and damask, and fruit and crystal. The steward appeared with a dish of fish. 'I think you have a pretty good cook in this vessel,' said Vanderholt, examining the fish, as he helped his daughter. 'He served his time in liners, and has done a deal of cooking at sea in his day.' 'I hope he will take some trouble to please the men,' said Mr. Vanderholt. 'It is always bad food for the forecastle, but a bad cook makes bad bad indeed.' 'What do the men get to eat?' asked the young lady. 'The usual ship-going fare, miss,' answered Glew: 'pork, junk, pease-soup, biscuit, and the like.' 'Who keeps the log of this ship?' said Mr. Vanderholt. 'I shall,' said the captain. 'What is a log?' inquired Miss Vanderholt. 'A book, my dear, in which the chief mate of a ship enters daily her situation, the state of the weather, and such observations as he is capable of making.' 'They are not many, or of a poetical order,' said Glew, with his faint taut smile. 'The nearest romantic stroke that I can recollect was this entry: "A dreadful day. At noon precisely the ship blew up, and nobody was left but William Gibson."' 'I suspect, captain,' said Mr. Vanderholt, 'that you will have met with some romantic traverses in your time?' 'I don't recall any,' answered the captain. 'Why, to put one instance as delicately as I can,' said Mr. Vanderholt, filling a silver tankard till it foamed over with India pale ale; 'that extraordinary affair of some early love.' Miss Vi looked extremely confused, and gazed with entreaty at her father. 'The remarkable story, I mean,' continued Vanderholt, bringing out his mouth and nose covered with froth, 'that Mr. Fairbanks told me.' 'And what might the story be, sir?' said Captain Glew, looking blankly. Miss Vanderholt continued to gaze with entreaty, whilst her father repeated the story. Captain Glew drained his wine-glass, and uttered a dismal laugh, in which his face bore no part. 'Why,' said he, 'that yarn's told of old Jim Dyson, old Captain Dyson, who was found dead in his bed three years ago at the sign of the Sot's Hole, down Limehouse way.' Miss Vanderholt burst out laughing. 'I wonder Mr. Fairbanks should tell that yarn of me,' continued Captain Glew. 'If my wife gets to hear of it--and there's trouble enough in married life without lies----' 'So the bubbles break as quickly as they are blown,' said Mr. Vanderholt. 'But I confess I never would have thought it of you, Captain Glew.' After dinner the father and daughter patrolled the deck, warmly wrapped. Mr. Vanderholt smoked an immense pipe that curled from an amber tip at his lips into a richly-bronzed and glowing bowl in his hand. It was early night. The wind was gone, the stream of tide softly shaled along the bends of the schooner in the note of surf washing on shingle heard at a distance. How dismal, flat and gaunt looked the treeless Tilbury shore in that sad light! The very stars shining over it seemed to tremble with the spirit of mud and cold desolation. Shadowy shapes of ships went by, sometimes to a sound of music, as of concertinas and the like; tall phantasmal shapes, lifting spires as delicate as needles to the stars, loomed anear and afar. In the main, silence lay upon that river, with its burden of living freights. The crew loafed about the schooner's deck forward, and the grumble of their voices came aft, along with the scent of tobacco-smoke. They slept in a deck-house, with three windows of a side, and spikes of light shot from those windows, occasionally glancing on the figure of a passing man, and falling in streams of radiance upon the bulwarks. Besides this deck-house, the schooner owned a small forecastle, containing three or four bunks. 'I don't know how it may be with you, Vi,' said Mr. Vanderholt, pressing his daughter's arm affectionately against his side, 'but I give you my word I feel better already.' 'That's a good thing,' exclaimed the young lady. 'I wish George were with us.' 'George is not two men. He can't be in India and here at the same time.' 'He ought to be here, by my side,' said Miss Vanderholt. 'Oh, how delicious the voyage would then be! I should not object to your sailing round the world.' 'Make the youngster give up the army. He's got means of his own, and _you'll_ be pretty well off, I hope,' said Mr. Vanderholt. 'If you go out to India I shall be alone, and you'll die of some distemper, engendered by what is there called "a station." No good in titular dignity. The land teems with captains and colonels; and a time may come when a man will be respected because he is not a major-general. It would be different if George was in the Dutch army.' He was proceeding, when he suddenly stopped, catching a noise of oars on the bow, and suddenly a long, sharp-stemmed boat, apparently a police boat, shot out of the gloom, and a powerful voice hailed: 'Schooner ahoy!' 'Hallo!' answered Captain Glew, who was leaning over the side, at a respectful distance from the father and daughter, furtively smoking a cheroot. 'I want to come aboard of you.' In a minute the boat was alongside, and a couple of men sprang over the rail. 'What vessel's this?' said one of the men, who, like his companion, wore a tall, glazed hat, and was swathed to the throat in overcoat and shawls. 'The _Mowbray_, privately owned. What's your business?' said Captain Glew. 'We're Bow Street officers. We're searching the shipping for a man named Simmons. D'ye want to see our warrant?' 'What's he charged with?' said Mr. Vanderholt, coming with his daughter on his arm from the other side of the deck. 'Murder!' was the answer. Miss Vanderholt screamed. Her father said instantly: 'Search my ship by all means. I hope the man may not be on board of us. If he is, I do not sail. Captain Glew, render these two officers every assistance.' The _Mowbray_ was a small vessel, and the search did not take long. The hatches were lifted, the hold explored by lantern-light, the deck-house was rummaged, the whole ship's company was mustered and severally examined. It was strange to see those seamen standing in a line, with the runners in their glazed hats flashing the light of their lanterns over their rough, bearded, weather-blackened faces. They had assented very easily to this mustering and examination, for the man was wanted for murder, and the very name will subdue the roughest, and silence those curses of the forecastle with which the two Bow Street fellows were the sort of people to have been handsomely assailed by this crew, had they bothered the men with a smaller errand. They searched the cabins, and, lastly, they entered the little forecastle in which no man had as yet slept. A hole of a seabedroom was this. You could scarcely stand upright in it. The two men descended the short ladder, and Captain Glew stood atop waiting. The bullies of Bow Street swung their lamps carefully. Suddenly one of them, delivering a low gasp, said: 'Catch hold of this light, Tom.' He dropped on his knees, and grabbed at a leg, the foot of which dimly showed under one of the bunks. He hauled with a will, and out came the body of a man or boy, shrieking like a woman in a fit. 'Don't 'urt me! for God's sake, don't 'urt me, gemmen! I meant no 'arm. It was all along of Bill.' 'Is that a woman you've got down there?' sung out Captain Glew. 'Nothing else, by the holy poker!' answered one of the officers, in a voice that trembled with the temper of disappointment. 'Yes, I'm a girl, gemmen. It was all along of Bill. Put me ashore, and I promise never to offend again,' cried the unfortunate little woman, sobbing grievously. Yet, bedraggled as she was, of a raw, uncouth, mixed look, with her trousers and sailor's jacket, and plentiful black hair loosened by dragging, she showed as a saucy, handsome wench, and the spirit of the devil was in her black eyes when she looked at the Bow Street men. They all went on deck. 'Thunder of heaven!' cried Mr. Vanderholt, in a voice of horror. 'The murderer is on board our ship! They have got him. So,' he cried in a voice deep with resolution, 'our voyage ends. To-morrow we return home.' 'It's a woman, sir,' said Captain Glew. 'A woman!' shouted Mr. Vanderholt. He quitted his daughter, and strode straight up to the group as they came along, and, putting his face close into the woman's, he exclaimed: 'What are you doing aboard my vessel?' 'It's all along of Bill!' cried the girl. 'I never meant no 'arm, and I can't tell yer what I done it for.' 'Father,' said Miss Vanderholt, approaching the group, and taking a view of the girl by the sheen that floated round about the lighted skylight, 'don't you think it's just possible that this person who's been in hiding for some time may be a little bit hungry and thirsty? Ask her into the cabin. She will tell us her story.' 'Oh, lady, you is kind!' exclaimed the girl, extending both hands towards Miss Violet, and again beginning to cry bitterly. 'This way, then,' said Mr. Vanderholt. The Bow Street gentlemen descended with the rest. Whether they imagined a scent of crime in this female stowaway, or whether they distinguished a scent of drink in the cabin atmosphere, cannot, after all these years, be settled with any degree of certainty. They seated themselves, and Mr. Vanderholt offered them drink, and they drank, eyeing the girl with very knowing looks, whilst she told her story in a high, strained voice. 'What are ye?' began Captain Glew. 'I'm barmaid at the One Bell in Cable Street, nigh the London Docks.' Here she paused, and looked at Miss Violet. The blood was red in her cheeks, and her eyes were wild and wet with tears. Her aspect, in the clear light of the lamp, was extraordinary. She seemed half a gipsy. Her beauty was coarse and masculine; her hair, black as streaming ink, lay upon her back in a wonderful quantity. 'It was all along of Bill,' she went on. 'Who's this bloomed Bill you've been talking about since you was lugged out of it?' said one of the officers. 'The young man I keeps company with,' she answered. 'We fell out because of a sailor man that's aboard this vessel. Fred Maul his name is, and it 'ud have been good for me this blessed night had they strangled him in the hour of his coming into this blistered world. Why,' she cried, turning upon Miss Violet, who shrank a little from the gathering ferocity of the woman, 'this beast of a Maul comes and 'angs about me, and Bill, he falls jealous. Bill and me 'ad a row over this 'ere Maul. He says to me: "I know the ship he's signed for; yer'd better foller him." "By God!" cries I, mad with feeling that _he_ oughtn't to have said it, "say that again, and I'll do it." He says it again.' Here the unfortunate woman raised her voice till the little cabin rang; but though the gentlemen of Bow Street shouted, and though Captain Glew and Mr. Vanderholt sought, with a hundred gestures, to subdue her voice, nothing could soften the hysteric, piercing note. 'He s'ys it ag'in, I s'y, and, going away, the unfeeling devil comes back arter ten minutes, and chucks a bundle on to the counter, and says, with a low sneer: "There's your kit. Now go and foller Bill."' 'And so here y'are,' said one of the officers. 'A tidy lot, I allow, for a select hevening party. When I saw her boot, fired if I didn't think it was a man.' The girl bit upon a sandwich, and glared fiercely at the officers while she chewed. Miss Violet, with the merciful heart of her sex, fetched some hairpins from her cabin, and gave them to the girl, who, with a curtsey, and a smile of shame and thanks, turned to a strip of mirror and swiftly coiled her hair upon her head. 'Go and fetch the young lady's hat,' said Mr. Vanderholt to the steward. The Bow Street gentlemen, having drunk their glasses of cold brandy and water, got up, saying they must be off. 'Yer'll put me ashore, won't yer?' asked the girl. 'Ay, they'll put you ashore,' said Mr. Vanderholt, slipping a sovereign into the hand of one of them; 'and here's for a knot of gay ribbons for you, miss,' said he, laughing at the figure of the woman, 'when you're clear of this spree, and in petticoats again.' She thrust the sovereign into her breeches pocket, muttering 'Thank you, sir,' whilst she scowled at the two officers. 'Come along, miss, if you're coming; for we're off,' said one of the men. The young woman followed them, gazing about her as she went as though she had only just discovered that she was in a very richly-furnished cabin, and in the presence of a gentleman and a very finely-dressed, handsome young lady. She wore an expression that was like asking 'Where am I? How did I get here? What's it about?' And then, pausing an instant at the foot of the companion-steps, to look at Miss Violet, and say, 'It was all along of Bill; but he'll get it 'ot when I meet him,' she went up the ladder in the wake of Captain Glew. 'Let them get clear of the schooner,' said Mr. Vanderholt, casting himself upon a sofa. 'They're not what you would call pickings from the sweetest of the social orders.' 'What did she intend?' 'She couldn't have told you. When women of that sort go mad with jealousy, "stand by," as Jack says. She'd have had Maul's life, perhaps, before we were out of the Channel.' He was interrupted by a great commotion on deck--loud cries of men, mingled with the yells of a woman. 'Stop here, Violet!' cried Mr. Vanderholt; and he rushed up the steps. The deck-house door was open. The light of the lantern streamed freely into the air, and illuminated a considerable area of plank, in the midst of which a fight was apparently going on, for it was thence the uproar proceeded. Mr. Vanderholt ran forward, and saw the girl tearing with outstretched claws at one of the men as though she would rend him in pieces. His trouble was to get away. He butted and dodged behind his elbow, shouting: 'S'elp me Bob, Polly, it worn't no fault o' mine'! And then she would shriek out: 'Yer drove me to it! It was along o' you, and not Bill, you sink----' And here she would nearly tear his ear off; and then she got at his hair, whilst the man, never offering to hit her, danced in the light, shouting with pain, and swearing that he had had nothing to do with it. 'Stop it!' roared Captain Glew. 'Is a gentleman's yacht to be disgraced by a stowaway spitfire? Help her into the boat, Mr. Officers;' and plunging, they bore the girl out of her entangled embrace of Maul, and in a few minutes they were over the side, and gone. The crew followed Maul into the deck-house, and a grunt of laughter went along with them. 'What have you been a-doing to her?' says one. 'Where's my 'at?' said Maul. 'What do it feel like, Frederick?' sung out a sailor named Legg. 'As if you was married?' 'Never mind _her_. I'm a-thinking of what I've left behind me, my joys,' exclaimed a seaman. 'I'm durned mighty glad I sold off all my furniture,' said the deep-throated Jack who had on an early occasion made a statement on this subject. Father and daughter sat in the cabin till half-past ten. Miss Violet was then sleepy, and went to bed. When she left her berth in the morning the schooner was under weigh, storming through Sea Reach, with half a gale of wind astern of her, and a thunderstorm of hell's own hue lancing the land beyond Canvey Island with lightning that fell in showers of fiery bayonets. It was a majestic, sublime, terrible storm. The girl, standing in the companion-way, was fascinated. The sun peeped at a corner of this purple-black bank of vapour, off which rags of tempest, gilded by his radiance, were blowing sheer across the wind, whilst for miles the edge of the electric mass was a line of glorious light. It was as though a bed of fire lay on top, with the molten stuff darting in flames through the swollen belly; and the thunder roared in rattling broadsides. The noble, dangerous scene of sky, however, was soon far astern; and the schooner sped on, carving out a grass-green comber with her chisel-like stem, and leaving the tail of a comet blowing in froth behind her. And now did nothing noticeable happen for some days. They met with heavy weather in the Channel. The wind darkened with snow, and the _Mowbray_, under small canvas, ratched, panting over the crazy, choppy sea behind the Goodwins for a board that should open her a free run down the English coast. Miss Violet was rather sea-sick. Strange to say, her father was rather sea-sick, too. 'This motion,' he growled to Captain Glew, whilst he grasped a decanter of brandy by the neck, 'is not an honest heave. I am a good sailor in seas where the head and the stomach swing together, but when the stomach leaps at the head, and the head darts back from the stomach, leaving a sensation of brains in one's very toes, I give up.' And so saying, he swallowed a glass of brandy, and lay down. It was now that Miss Vi felt the want of a maid, or, at all events, of a stewardess to attend upon her. But Vanderholt had been dogged and Dutch in this matter when they had talked about the voyage at home. He would have no women, he said; they would be going forward among the men, and breeding trouble. Was it not good for Violet that she should learn to help herself? Could not she do her own hair? Then let her cut it off; it would be growing whilst they were away. These trifles illustrated Mr. Vanderholt's eccentricities as a rich man, and Violet's submissiveness as an only daughter. However, the fine girl was not so ill but that she could manage for herself. Her nausea had left her, whilst her father still lay grunting, incapable of smoking, and gray as his beard. She waited upon him, and stood upright with ease upon a bounding deck by his side, holding on to nothing but her own hands. He rolled a languid eye of admiration over her. 'I did not bargain for this,' said he, 'or, as God is my witness, we would have joined the hooker at Plymouth.' 'Where are we now?' 'In the Chops, where the Channel always shows its teeth,' answered Mr. Vanderholt, with an ashy grin of nausea. Vanderholt need not have been ashamed. Nelson, whilst rolling in the Downs, wrote with pathetic irritability to his Emma of his incessant sickness. A man has stepped ashore after a voyage to Australia. Would not you suppose him seasoned? Yet, on crossing the Channel in one of the small steamers, he was more violently sick than the most prostrate of the Frenchmen who lay in cloaks, with tureens by their sides, helpless about the decks. 'There is the Bay of Biscay to come,' said Miss Violet, with a lurking hope that, if her father's sickness continued, he would order Captain Glew to steer for home again. 'Yes, it is not far off, and I hope it may blow a hurricane when we get there, for then I shall be all right. I like a tall sea. Man and boy, I never could stand these rugged little Channel tumblers. Call for the steward, my dear. I want some tea.' The old gentleman was not very accurate in his description of the state of the ocean, nevertheless. A large and liberal sea was running steadfast, in charging hills of green, which crumbled into foam. The torn scud flew fast. Every hollow was the wide and seething valley of Atlantic waters; and as the hull of the schooner sank into the trough, you might catch in the noise of expiring spray, in the explosion of coloured bubbles, winking like stars in beds of froth, a sound of martial music. The _Mowbray_ was making splendid weather of it. The wind was right abeam. She took the seas in steady lifts and falls. Regularly as the beat of a pulse, the hull would disappear. She seemed a foundered craft, till, in a minute, up she'd soar, with marble-hard breasts of canvas, leaping like some creation or possession of the deep to the height of a surge, bursting the flickering green peak into smoke, which blew away in rainbows whenever the sun rolled out of some solemn-sailing cloud under which the scud was scattering like smoke. It was half-past eleven o'clock in the morning. Captain Glew, coming below for his sextant, looked in on Mr. Vanderholt, and exchanged a few sentences with him touching affairs aboard. The schooner had been liberally provisioned with fresh meat and loaves of bread for the forecastle use, and, so far, the men had sat down to a fresh mess every day. But carcasses and quarters, ribs and heads, and rumps must, unless they are pickled, soon take a character to call 'avast,' even to a sailor's appetite. Indeed, all the fresh meat was gone. It had been eaten up. It was the dinner-hour aboard the _Mowbray_--at sea, before the mast, everybody used to sit down and eat his dinner by the sun, at the same time, no matter in what ocean he floated--and three or four men were gathered about the door of the little caboose, waiting to carry the kids into the deck-house. A hairy, tattooed lump of a man, named Simon Toole, after snuffling a bit, exclaimed: 'If it's to be pay-soup, maties, at the rate of this smell, then I'll tell yer a story it reminds me of. Micky M'Carthy was able seaman on board a brigantine. She foundered in mid-ocean. They'd just time to chuck something to eat and drink into her, and there they was, afloat under a broiling sun. By-'n-by, wan of thim, feeling thirsty, goes for a drink, and what d'ye think they found they had shipped for water, which was all the drink, by gob, they had? Casther-oil, bullies! It was Micky's doing. He had mustook breakers of oil for breakers of water, and then, all hands feeling thirsty, they nearly kilt him.' 'Lads,' said a man named Dabb, 'now there's no fresh beef left, I'm a-going to feel hungry.' 'That's nater,' exclaimed Toole; 'knock, and there ain't no room. It's always t'other ways about in this world. What couldn't I sit down and ate? Everything, bedad, but the stuff they're going to give me.' 'The capt'n looks plump,' said Dabb darkly, looking aft at Captain Glew, who stood with a sextant upon the quarter. 'He's fed so well that I'm gorged if he's left any room for a smile in his face.' 'I knew a skipper,' said the cook, lounging half out of the galley-door, and plunging into the conversation a little irrelevantly, 'who used to talk to his ship and his masts as if they was alive. He'd look up at his maintaws'l, and say: "D'ye think you could stand it if I shook a single reef out of yer? Why, then, all right"; and then he'd bawl out the order to the men. Next he'd step back right aft, paying no heed to the fellow at the wheel, and looking aloft, would say to his mizzen taws'l, "I think a reef can come out of you, too. Does the mast feel equal to the strain, d'ye think? Why, then, my lads, jump aloft, and shake a reef out of the mizzen taws'l." He was a queer dawg,' continued the cook--'fat as a slug, and as long in seeing a thing as a balloon's in falling.' Seeing the captain looking, he slunk back to his coppers. Presently the pea-soup and pork were ready, the kids were filled, and the hands went to dinner. They sat on sea-chests, the kids were upon the deck, and the sailors plunged their sheath-knives into the pale, fat lumps of meat, and took what they wanted, a few using tin dishes, and some ship's biscuit, as trenchers. 'Blast me!' after a grim silence, presently exclaims James Jones, who had shipped as boatswain and carpenter, 'if I don't think the Dutchman has sneaked us aboard on the cheap. This here's no food for a man.' He held aloft a morsel of pork, and squinted up at it. 'Yer taste'll grow,' said a sailor, with a sullen laugh. 'The flavour of roast beef ain't out of your mouth yet, Jim.' 'He'll be a mean cuss,' said the boatswain, continuing to squint dangerously at the piece of pork, 'if it's to be no better than this.' 'Here's the yarn of the meanest thing that ever was read of in books,' said a seaman named Mike Scott. 'A man once said to me: "When I was a boy, I stood at my father's gate, with a kitten on my shoulder. A man on horseback stops and says: 'I likes to see little boys kind to animals. Here's a farden for ye, sonny.'" And with that he gives him a button, and then rides off. Who was it, d'ye think? Why, the Dook o' Vellington.' 'Not a vord agin the Dook. He's my godfather,' said a man. 'I'm a-going to complain of this meat,' said the boatswain, starting up. Retaining the piece on the end of his knife, he stepped out of the house, and walked aft. Captain Glew saw him coming, yet did not look towards him. On the contrary, he began to take sights. Yet, as though he carried a slip of looking-glass in the side of his nose, he saw the man approaching, and he did not want to see that the boatswain held, on a level with his face, a piece of meat at the end of his knife, to guess that his errand was thunder-charged with the old-fashioned forecastle growl. The captain's face was incapable of any play of expression. It was hard beyond the holding of any further meaning the man's spirit or heart could put into it. But his eyes could look all the abominations of a tyrannical soul; and when he perceived the boatswain approaching, his right eye gazed with a devilish malice at the sun through the little telescope attached to his sextant. Many minutes passed before he heeded the man, who had drawn close and stood waiting to be noticed. A huddle of heads, all looking in one direction, with but one leg exposed, as though the crew had been changed into one of those many-headed giants you read of in fairy tales, embellished the deck-house door. The red-faced mate stood near the helm. Presently, the captain, with his eye still gummed to his sextant, seemed to see the man. 'What d'yer want, Jones?' 'I'd like yer to taste this piece of meat, sir. It isn't fit food for men.' Captain Glew slowly let his sextant sink from his eye, and exclaimed: 'Jones, I shipped you for a respectable, quiet sailor. This is a gentleman's yacht. Don't disturb our quiet by anything in the South Spainer or Cape Horn way.' 'Yacht or no yacht, cap'n, this is strong meat, killed diseased; the sorter stuff, if consumed, to lay the whole ship's company low with the sickness the beast died of. Smell of it.' He offered the knife, with the pork on it, to the captain. 'The fault is in the cooking,' said the captain; 'it always is; it always will be. Go and growl to Allan.' 'Is the rest of the pork to be like this?' said Jones, taking the dollop off the point of his knife, and seeming to weigh it in the palm of his gigantic, tar-stained hand. 'Go forward and finish your dinner, Jones, and leave me to get an observation,' said Captain Glew, with a very forbidding glance. He applied his sextant once more to his eye, walking a little way aft. The boatswain stood looking from him to the piece of pork, and from the piece of pork to him; then saying, 'There goes my dinner,' he jerked the pale, rather bluish lump over the side, and rolled forward. CHAPTER IV. CAPTAIN MARY LIND. Next day they broached a cask of beef for the forecastle. The meat proved fairly sweet, and that and a kidful of currant-dumplings kept the men quiet. But on the following day the bad pork was served out again. Captain Glew refused to hear the boatswain on the subject, and those of the men who could not swallow the meat made shift for a meal with pea-soup and ship's biscuit. Not a word of this trouble, which Captain Glew must have known was charged with one of the deadliest of all ocean menaces, reached Mr. Vanderholt. 'I'll not have him worried,' said Glew to the mate. 'If you sent them a Mansion House tuck-out, the fiends would growl, tell you it wasn't Galapagos turtle, and that they'd hooked better salmon out of cans. I'm responsible for the stores. I knew what I was about when I ordered them. Surely you know Humph Lyons, the ships' chandler in Dock Street, Limehouse? He's shipped for me before, and he's likewise shipped for my owners, and I've never heard a murmur against him.' 'Was that the Lyons an action was brought against for selling condemned Admiralty stores as good food for merchant sailors?' said Mr. Tweed, with a grin. 'It was his brother,' said Captain Glew. 'A man can't be responsible for his relations.' 'As to relations,' said Mr. Tweed, 'a man may try his darned hardest to be all that's right, and in conformity with the law and piety, and still find himself adrift at the end. I remember a skipper saying to me: "It's all very well to say, 'Honour thy father and thy mother,' but I knew a man who all his life did his fired best to honour his father, and when his mother lay dying she told him, with the tears running over her cheeks, that the man he'd been a-honouring all his life had never been his father at all!"' Here the groggy little man set up so loud a laugh that Captain Glew walked away, and the conversation came to an end. The days passed. The _Mowbray_ broke the seas of the Bay clothed to her royal yard. Blue sky was over her, and sunshine bright as that of the English June lighted up the rolling ocean. By this time Mr. Vanderholt was perfectly recovered, and had ceased to apologize to Captain Glew for being sea-sick. He smoked his long pipe. He stalked the deck arm-in-arm with his daughter. He repeatedly asked her and Captain Glew how they thought he was looking; and Captain Glew swore that in all his life he had never seen any gentleman pick up so surprisingly fast. 'I'm quite sure,' the captain said, 'Miss Vanderholt will agree with me, sir, when I say that you're looking ten years younger this same day than at the hour of your starting.' Miss Violet smiled, and Vanderholt stroked his beard, and grinned till his eyes faded into little wrinkles. One fine hot morning, when the _Mowbray_ was far to the southward of the Madeira parallels, Mr. Vanderholt and his daughter came on deck from the breakfast-table, and seated themselves under the shelter of a short awning. The young lady held a novel. Mr. Vanderholt smoked his immense and richly-coloured pipe. Captain Glew passed them in short to-and-fro look-out excursions; and forward the little ship carried a busy face, with seamen at work on the hundred jobs which, fair or foul, a vessel exacts from her crew at sea. A soft wind blew. The sky was capacious with the clarity of the horizon, and wondrous lofty with light cloud, resembling froth that dries in curls upon a beach. A ship was in sight on the starboard quarter, going away north-west, under square yards. Her spires trembled in the moist, rich distance, as though they were rays of starlight, twisting, burning, dying. She had been too far off to signal, nor did Mr. Vanderholt seem particularly anxious that the safety and whereabouts of his little ship should be reported at home. 'Who is troubling his head about us, do you think?' he had said to his daughter on one occasion when this question of reporting had arisen between him and Glew. 'I am not insured. No man in the city is concerned for me. And of our friends, how many are thinking of us?' And he held up two fingers with a satirical smile, as though he should say, 'D'ye think two are thinking of us?' 'If George returns before we do,' Miss Vi had said in reply, 'I should like him to know that all was well with us down to the date on which we were last heard of.' 'We'll signal steam,' had been old Vanderholt's answer. 'Anything blown along by canvas will not arrive at home very much earlier than we shall.' Now, on this morning--this fine hot morning--they sat together in very comfortable deck-chairs, one trying to read a novel, the other finding his tobacco delicious in the open air. Presently, directing her eyes at some men who sat at work stitching upon a sail near the galley, Miss Vanderholt said: 'How could any man be a sailor! How could you have survived such a horrible life! See how hard those men are kept at work all day; and at night they have to watch, wet or dry, for four hours at a time.' 'Ay; and the colder it is, and the damper it is, and the more abominable in a general way the whole precious weather is, the harder they have to watch,' answered Vanderholt. 'Have sailors no amusements?' inquired his daughter. 'How do sailors amuse themselves, Glew?' called Mr. Vanderholt. And the man, arresting his look-out walk, stood up before father and daughter. 'By growling, sir,' answered Glew. Miss Vanderholt did not like the expression that entered Captain Glew's eyes when he made that answer. 'A happy, well-disciplined crew are the jolliest company of men in the world,' said Mr. Vanderholt. 'They have plenty to eat, no rent to pay, dollars for the girls at the end of the voyage, and they behold the wonders of the world at the cost of the ship-owner--poor fellow! For diversions, think--they dance in the dog-watch, they sing songs and tell stories, they play at cards, they fight----' 'A little, sir,' said Captain Glew. 'We made a sport of fighting in our time,' said Vanderholt. 'We'd take two men, and nail them face to face on a sea-chest, with long spikes driven through the stern of their trousers. It was good sport.' He opened his mouth to let out a cloud, smiling at some forecastle recollections, which perhaps caused him to regret that his daughter was present, for he found Glew a good listener. 'Sailors take some pleasure in cards,' said Captain Glew. 'I remember, when I was second-mate of a ship, having occasion to go forward. It was night, a dead calm; a frightful thunderstorm was about us; the lightning was hissing like snakes all over everything that was metal aloft, and every crash of thunder was like the splitting of the heavens by God's own hand in wrath. I took a peep down the forecastle, and in the midst of this tremendous commotion, which was fit to subdue the heart of the stoutest, sat four sailors at a chest, playing at cards, a lighted candle in a bottle in the midst of them, all so intent on the game that they heard and saw nothing.' 'Sail-ho!' at this moment sang out a fellow aloft, on the little top-gallant yard. 'Where away?' shouted Glew, with the sharp of his hand to his mouth. 'Right ahead, sir!' cried down the seaman, in a sort of chant. 'If she's going to England you shall make our number, Glew--for George's sake,' said Mr. Vanderholt, looking at his daughter. Just then the boatswain hailed the sailor on the top-gallant yard, and gave him some directions. 'That Jones is a fine-looking man,' said Mr. Vanderholt; 'such as he should never want a ship. What's his nation?' 'London, sir.' 'A mighty nation!' exclaimed Miss Violet. 'Which does not believe in a God,' said Vanderholt, 'though it worships a Madonna called Our Lady of Threadneedle Street.' 'There's many a pilgrim always bound to that shrine,' said Captain Glew, trying to smile. 'I am of Dutch extraction,' continued Mr. Vanderholt; 'but never dropped the letter H, nor found the V's and W's difficult. I have out-generationed that trouble of the foreigner. But why is it that the Cockney should drop his H? You speak of London. Think of the number of H's which are dropped in it every day!' 'George once made a pun,' exclaimed Miss Vanderholt. 'We were talking of a certain young lady, and I said: "Do you observe that she drops her H's?" "Her sister does worse," he answered. "Address her and she drops her eyes."' Captain Glew again tried to smile. Mr. Vanderholt, expelling a great cloud of smoke, burst in: 'Yes; and I'll tell you what those girls' father once said to me at an evening party. He took me aside, and said: "Did you ever 'ear of that fine riddle in rhyme supposed to have been written by Lord Byron, though it's attributed to a lady? I'll tell it you," and my friend, with a grave face, began: '"'Twas whispered in 'eaven; 'twas muttered in 'ell'"-- and so he went on to the end. "Well," says he, "what is it?" "I give it up," says I. "The letter H," says he.' 'Did you ever see a funeral at sea, father?' inquired Miss Vanderholt, watching the ship ahead, that was growing larger and whiter. 'Scores, my blessing; much too many. We shipped a heavy cargo at Bombay, and amongst it was cholera. I can still hear, in that dead calm of twelve days, the recurrent, sullen plunge of the shotted corpse.' 'The worst of being buried is, that you don't know what they're saying about you,' said Captain Glew. 'That's true, whether ashore or whether at sea. As the corpse goes along in the car, it might like to know what sort of a following it had, how the people who'd been thought friends had turned out. Yet, I dare say,' he went on, 'that if a man could get up and listen a bit, and take a look round, he'd be glad to sneak back.' 'Yes; if he had to hear his will read in a room full of relations,' said Miss Violet. 'I have often thought this,' said Mr. Vanderholt: 'that a man who is a genius and famous should provide by his will for a quiet funeral; for, by doing so, he guards against the risk of neglect.' This was a touch above Glew. Mr. Vanderholt rose, and went to the rail to knock out the ashes of his pipe into the sea. Miss Violet began to read, and the captain fell to walking the deck. The ship ahead grew rapidly. It was first like the half of the crescent moon leaning and shining, then it swelled into cotton-white canvas and a green hull. But the sun ate up the wind at noon. The vessels were then two miles apart, and it was not until about three in the afternoon that they were wafted by cat's-paws within speaking distance. She was a little barque, dingy with long travel. Her copper was green. Her figure-head was a romantic imagination. It represented a nymph, with her black hair fairly concealing her shape, extending her arms in a posture of ecstasy at a large gilt star that was fixed within a foot or two of her hands. Her canvas shone like satin, and at her mizzen-peak end languidly swung the Stripes and Stars, a very large flag, looking brand-new. A number of men, some of them coloured, lay over the forecastle-rail, indolently watching the _Mowbray_. The barque had a little poop, and upon it, with one foot resting on a hen-coop and one hand grasping a backstay, stood the most extraordinary figure Mr. Vanderholt had ever beheld. It resembled a man dressed in what, in former ages, were known as petticoat-breeches. Their plenty made them look like a frock. Inspecting this figure through a binocular glass, Mr. Vanderholt perceived that the rest of its garb consisted of a white shirt, a silk handkerchief, tied in a sailor's knot under a wide turned-down collar, a braided jacket, blue, and a cap with a naval peak, much after the pattern that is worn by yachting men. A short, square man stood at the wheel, that blazed in a brass circle to the sun, and beside him stood another man, remarkable for nothing but a long goatlike beard, and a blue cap, tasselled, pointed, and overhanging, such as mutinous smacksmen wear in Italian opera. 'A queer ship's company!' exclaimed Mr. Vanderholt to Glew. 'In all your going a-fishing did you ever see the like of such a sailor-man as that chap yonder in the trousers?' Captain Glew's reply was arrested by a hail from the little barque. 'Ho!' shrilled the strange figure in breeches. 'The schooner ahoy! What schooner are you?' 'The _Mowbray_, of London, on a cruise. What ship are you?' 'The _Wife's Hope_, from Calcutta to New York! Eighty days out! Jute and linseed! We're short of sugar: can you loan me some?' All this was delivered in the voice of a bantam-cock, delirious with continuous triumphant clarioning. 'The _Wife's Hope_,' said Mr. Vanderholt, turning to his daughter. 'Here's some Yankee notion.' 'If that figure's not a woman,' answered Violet, 'it does not speak with the voice of a man.' After a brief consultation with Mr. Vanderholt, Captain Glew shouted: 'I think we can let you have some sugar--a cask of moist, and some lump, to help you along to the next ship. We'll carry it aboard for you.' The figure in breeches flourished its hand in a gesture of delight, and then began to walk the short poop with superior stately strides, constantly directing glances at the yacht. The _Mowbray_ carried three good boats, and the boat amidships was the long-boat; this was promptly got over the side. They broke out a cask of moist sugar and a case of lump; and a crew having entered her, Mr. and Miss Vanderholt were steered by Mr. Tweed to the _Wife's Hope_ over the glazed heave of the deep-blue afternoon swell. Very hot it was. The sunshine tingled in the water, and the trembling fire rose roasting to the face. 'Do you think we shall be welcome, father?' said Miss Vanderholt, a little nervously. 'We are here to see the wonders of the deep,' answered Mr. Vanderholt, 'whether they welcome us or not; and yonder figure seems to me to be one of the greatest wonders in the world.' 'It is a woman, sir,' said Mr. Tweed. 'A female ship-master,' exclaimed Mr. Vanderholt. 'The _Wife's Hope_! It should be the _Husband's Despair_.' Miss Violet was gazing at the receding shape of the _Mowbray_. The schooner lightly leaned with the swell, darting glances of flame as she swayed. Tender, blue fingers of shadow, like an outstretched hand in front of the sun, overran her sails, and the swing of her canvas was a miracle of milk-white light and violet shade against the hot liquid blue of the afternoon sky. 'A vessel like that is like a horse,' said Violet: 'you want to pat her side, to whisper encouraging words to her, to thank her for the noble, sweeping pace she has carried you at. How little she looks, and how lonely!' They were fast approaching the barque. The petticoat-trousered figure, seeing that company was coming, had ordered a ladder to be thrown over the side, and she--for a woman it was--stood in the open gangway to receive the visitors. 'Have you brought what we asked you for?' she cried, the strain in her voice lifting it to a shriek. Tweed answered with one of those tumbling gesticulations--a peculiar drunken, rounding fall of the arm and dropping of the head--which with sailors stand for 'yes.' 'Jump aloft, a hand,' screamed the lady skipper, 'and make fast a whip to the yard-arm! I'll want that sugar carefully hoisted!' The boat drove alongside, and Mr. and Miss Vanderholt ascended the short ladder. Now that they stood close, they found that by no possibility could her garb make a man of the captain, with her large fine eyes and delicate features, though sunburnt to deformity. She was a tall woman, with a lofty, commanding air, which was not to be neutralized by anything diverting in the suggestions of her apparel. She looked hard at Miss Violet, and ran her eyes over her dress; her sex spoke in that, spite of her cropped head and abundant breeks. 'I have brought a cask of moist sugar, and a case of broken lump,' said Mr. Vanderholt, lifting his hat; 'and, madam, if you are in command of this vessel, it gives me a very singular satisfaction to make your acquaintance.' 'Don't call me "madam," I beg, sir!' exclaimed the other, showing a white set of teeth in a cordial smile, full of spirit. 'I am Captain Lind.' 'Captain Lind, then,' said Mr. Vanderholt, again lifting his hat, whilst his eyes disappeared in a grin full of wrinkles. 'You are the owner of that yacht, I reckon?' said Captain Lind; and Miss Vanderholt noticed the American accent in the skipper's speech. 'Ay, captain, that's my yacht, and this is my daughter,' answered Vanderholt, continuing to grin with all his might, whilst he looked first at Captain Lind, and then aloft, and then along the decks. 'What do I owe you for that sugar?' said Captain Lind. 'Our visit fully discharges your obligations, captain. There is enough, maybe, to keep you sweet till you get more.' 'Well, I thank you,' said the lady skipper; 'and when I have seen that cask safely inboards, we'll go into the cabin and drink a cup of tea.' Mr. Vanderholt pulled out his watch, then, hailing Glew, said that he and Miss Vanderholt would remain another half-hour on board the barque. 'Don't let the vessels slide far apart, Glew!' he roared. 'Tweed, whilst we're below keep a bright look-out on the weather.' The mate of the _Mowbray_ touched his cap. Miss Vanderholt stared with amazement at Captain Lind. A woman in charge of a ship! A woman qualified to handle the complicated machinery of the gear and sails of a barque of no mean tonnage, as tonnage then went! Did the men obey her? Wasn't she afraid of her sailors? And Miss Violet turned to inspect the seamen who were getting the sugar aboard in the gangway, whilst others lay on the rail lazily staring at the _Mowbray_ from the forecastle-head. A rough lot they looked--rougher even than the _Mowbray's_ crew, by virtue, no doubt, of their apparel, which was showing very much like the end of a long voyage. They carried sheath-knives on their hips, straw hats or Scotch caps on their heads; their naked breasts disclosed the wool upon them through rents in the flying wide dungaree shirt. And a woman had command of these fellows, had held them obedient, and brought them and the ship in safety to that part of the ocean in which the _Mowbray_ had encountered them! Who had ever heard of such a thing? It was a fact worth going to sea to realize. 'How George will laugh and doubt when I tell him!' Miss Vanderholt thought, as she looked with wonder, deepening ever, at the amazing figure built up of petticoat-trousers and blue jacket, very plentifully braided. When the sugar was on board, Captain Lind, calling to the man in the opera-cap, said: 'See that cask safely stowed. This is a chance that mightn't happen again 'twixt here and New York; and I tell you, mister,' said she, turning to Mr. Vanderholt, 'that I have missed the sugar in my cup of tea. I have a sweet tooth. Who is that gent?' she continued, looking at Mr. Tweed. 'He is the mate of my schooner,' answered Mr. Vanderholt. 'Then, see here, Mr. Prunes,' she cried, with a womanly yell that broadened Tweed's mouth from ear to ear; 'whilst we're at tea below, you'll see that this gentleman has some refreshment. He can ask for what he likes, and if we've got it, he can have it. Send the boy aft, Mr. Prunes.' All this was addressed to the tasselled seaman who was apparently the mate of the ship. Captain Lind then conducted Mr. Vanderholt and his daughter below into the cabin--a little interior, rude in comparison with the _Mowbray's_ cabin, yet comfortable and breezy with the panting of the heel of a windsail, as the swing of the barque swelled the mouth of the tube aloft. There were two little cabins aft, and two little cabins forward, and a little square table amidships. A small black boy arrived. 'Bring tea and biscuit, and tell Mr. Prunes to give you some lump sugar. Don't eat none. Now spring! Hurrah!' The lad, with a grin, leapt up the ladder, and the soles of his naked feet glimmered like bars of yellow soap as he disappeared. 'I never heard before of a lady taking command of a ship,' said Mr. Vanderholt. Captain Lind pulled her cap off, and disclosed a head of rich brown hair, cut short, and divided in the middle. 'Well,' she answered, stretching forth her hand as an invitation to Miss Violet to seat herself, 'I'm not what is called in your country a lady. I'm just a plain Amurrican woman. Of course you've never heard of such a thing as a woman in charge of a ship. Are you an Englishman, sir?' 'Why, yes. My name is foreign--Vanderholt; but I am an Englishman.' 'Names don't signify now in the nationalities of folks,' exclaimed Captain Lind, smiling at Miss Violet. 'Look at Amurrica. They're coming fast, and when they settle they call themselves Amurricans. I can tell you, sir, there are very few Amurricans in Amurrica. Who's the Amurrican of to-day? Is he Mr. O'Brien, or is he Herr Von Dunks?' 'You asked me if I was an Englishman,' said Mr. Vanderholt, who was greatly entertained by the singular figure this strange, fine, original woman presented, as she sat at table, talking, and waiting for a cup of tea. 'Yes; because if you're an Englishman you'll be a century astern of us in Amurrica. We had to show you the road in nearly everything of consequence. We gave you steam,' said the lady, coolly making way for the negro boy, who just then arrived with tea--a japanned tray with an old silver teapot upon it and a bowl of broken lump sugar. The captain instantly put one of these lumps into her mouth, and continued to talk and suck while she poured out the milkless tea, and shoved a plate of white biscuit towards Miss Vanderholt. 'We gave you steam, sir, and electricity. We taught you ship-building; for, until the Amurricans began to build, shapeliness and speed weren't known to the world. We offer you the double topsail. You'll take twenty years to consider it,' she said, leaning back in her chair with a sneer, while she lifted her saucer and teacup and began to sip in a ladylike way. 'I had no idea that we were so much in your debt,' said Mr. Vanderholt. 'But I tell you what: if you can induce the ladies of Great Britain to study navigation, and take charge of ships, after the example you are setting, there are a great many husbands who will be everlastingly obliged to you for indicating a new source of income for the family, and a sure chance for peace at home.' 'You don't reckon, p'r'aps, that we Amurricans gave you electricity?' said the lady skipper, who seemed to find something suspicious in Mr. Vanderholt's answer. 'Who flew the kite? Who brought fire from the skies so that a man might know what to do with it?' Vanderholt, holding his countenance behind his beard, respectfully bowed and sipped at his cup. 'Are there other female captains like yourself in your country?' asked Miss Vanderholt. 'Two,' she answered; 'there may be more. I'm a third, certainly. Stop till I spin the yarn. My father was a sea-captain, and when I was a girl carried me with him on several voyages. My husband was the master of a ship, and I always went to sea with him, and could discharge his duties as well as he, and sometimes better. He died, and left me a childless widow. But I was not poor. What with my father, and my husband, and here and there a legacy, I had got to own a few thousand dollars, which I didn't quite know what to do with, for I couldn't get value enough out of the money to live upon.' Mr. Vanderholt pricked up his ears. Any reference to dollars and interest engaged him. He listened, and forgot he was at sea. 'Till one day,' continued Captain Lind, 'being at New York--I wasn't then living in that city--I happened to pick up the _New York Hatchet_, and, after reading it a bit, came across this passage----' She left the table and entered an after-berth. Mr. Vanderholt exchanged looks with his daughter. Captain Lind returned, holding an old newspaper. She seated herself, and, popping another lump of sugar into her mouth, sucked, with a grave face, whilst she opened the paper. Then, when the sugar was gone, she read aloud: '"Mrs. Sarah Davis, of New York, has just brilliantly passed her examination for a certificate as shipmaster and pilot, and, on receiving her certificate, will, it is announced, take the command of the yacht _Emerald_. This lady is, it is said, not the first of her sex who has been in command of a vessel. Mrs. Mary Miller, of New Orleans, obtained a master's certificate a few years ago, and is now captain of the full-rigged merchant-ship _Saline_." 'When I read this, an idea came into my head, and I wasn't long in making up my mind. There's no obligation in my country to take out a master's certificate, any more than there is in yourn; but I was determined to let 'm know I was fit to command a ship, and I presented myself, and received some handsome compliments on a quality of all-round knowledge sights in excess of what the average captain carries to the ocean with him. This is my third voyage in the _Wife's Hope_.' 'Why the _Wife's Hope_?' exclaimed Mr. Vanderholt. 'You told me you were a widow.' 'I named her the _Wife's Hope_,' answered Captain Lind, 'that she might encourage married women cussed with drinking, loafing, idling, gambling, worthless husbands, to direct their attention to a noble pursuit which would carry them leagues clear of the troubles of home, put money in their pockets, enable them to see the world and life, and help them,' said she, putting another lump of sugar into her mouth, 'to acquire that spirit of independence without which woman must always be meaner than the plantation slave, and her case a gone sight more hopeless.' This little speech was delivered with some dignity. Mr. Vanderholt was impressed, and ran his eyes over her figure, and looked at her face with a countenance of earnest respect. The sugar in her mouth did not impair the stateliness of her manner and utterance. 'It would be more respectable and quiet than a divorce,' the captain went on. 'You'd find no bad husband going to sea with his wife. The cuss wouldn't have the liver for it.' 'The star of your figure-head,' said Miss Violet, 'I suppose, is the art of seamanship, and the figure stretching her hand towards it symbolizes woman rapturously greeting a new calling?' 'You've hit it down to the heels,' answered Captain Lind. 'It was my notion. Quite a pome, ain't it? Were you pleased with it as you came along?' 'We were delighted,' said Mr. Vanderholt. 'I said to my daughter, or, if I did not say it, it was in my mind to speak it, "There is in that barque a strong original genius." America should distinguish you, captain.' The captain bowed and smiled, and pushed the sugar-bowl away, that she might not be tempted by its contents. 'Aren't you afraid of your sailors?' asked Miss Vanderholt. 'Afraid!' echoed the captain, bridling. 'What is there in sailors to be afraid of? I have revolvers, and I know how to load and shoot, and I should no more hesitate to send a ball through a mutinous seaman's nut than put one of them lumps into my mouth. Don't you ever be afraid of any man, miss. Why man bosses woman's jest a question of muscle. My crew soon learnt the art of jumping to the music of my voice. I'm a little shrill--don't reckon that I sink my sex in these clothes--and it may be that sailors, being accustomed mainly to voices deep with drink and hollow with vice, run the more nimbly for being called to in their mother's tender notes. Will you have a cigar, sir?' And, without awaiting Mr. Vanderholt's reply, she entered a cabin, and, after a short absence, returned with a box of cigars, a couple of loaded revolvers, and two long, dangerous knives. 'They need no better discipline whenever it comes to it,' said she, helping herself to another lump of sugar. 'Take a cigar, sir?' Meanwhile, on deck the mate of the _Mowbray_ conversed with the mate of the _Wife's Hope_. Mr. Tweed had asked for no other refreshment than a glass of rum and cold water. He stood sucking a pipe in the gangway, ready for the appearance of Mr. Vanderholt and his daughter on deck, and beside him was Mr. Prunes. The first dog-watch had begun; it had seemed, however, to Mr. Tweed that it was all dog-watch with the crew of the _Wife's Hope_; they only appeared to lounge a little more now that one of them had struck eight times on the forecastle bell. The sun was still high, but his splendour was deepening, and the lights which sparkled about the decks of the barque and in her sides were rich; she floated in the silence upon the dark-blue sea, with the whole lazy spirit of the hour in the sleepy droop of her canvas and the indolent roll of her hull. 'That's a fine schooner of yourn,' said Mr. Prunes to Mr. Tweed. 'It's like having the Wight aboard to see her. Bound to the Equator, eh? And what are you going to load there?' He pulled his long goatee, with a laugh that struck a shudder through his cap. 'This seems a pretty comfortable old barkey,' said Tweed, slowly looking round him. 'Eighty days in finding your way here? Well, yer might have done worse,' he added, with a look aloft. 'Doomed if I could keep my face when I saw your skipper! It isn't that all that's becoming in a female don't unite in her; it's her sex that makes me laugh.' 'I shall be blamed glad when the voyage is ended,' said Prunes, pulling off his cap, and wiping his forehead with it; and now Mr. Tweed was not a little astonished to remark that this seaman wore his hair in a net. 'I signed more for a lark than for a berth. They told me that the _Wife's Hope_ was in want of a chief mate. She was in Calcutta, and I hadn't been long out of 'orspital. I knew she was commanded by a woman, and reckoned upon being treated as captain, in fact, though _she_ might call herself the old man. Never was a chap more mistaken. If she hasn't held her own as master of this vessel from the moment the pilot left us, I'll swallow that pipe.' 'D'ye tell me she understands all about the manoeuvring of a ship?' said Tweed. 'There's no man out of the Thames or Mersey who's got a trick above her, blow high, blow low, bet all you're a-going to take up!' exclaimed Prunes. 'See her put this craft about! It's yachting for nice discernment. I never knew any master keep his weather-eye lifting as this female do. She can smell what's coming along. She's reefed down when the sky's been blue as it is, all hands have been growling and laughing at her, and a quarter of an hour later the barque's been on her beam-ends, and the sea just one yell o' froth!' 'Doomed if it 'ud be a believable thing, if it couldn't be seen,' said Tweed. 'What made t'other mate leave the ship?' 'The same as'll make me glad to get to New York,' answered Mr. Prunes, putting on his cap, and caressing the tassel, whilst his eyes met in a squint of earnestness in the grog-flowered countenance of Mr. Tweed. He paused, and seemed to reflect. 'What is it?' said Mr. Tweed. Mr. Prunes began to nod at him, and then said in a low, confidential voice, and a glance aft at the companion-hatch: 'She's in want of that sort of mate which ashore they calls a husband.' 'Ha!' said Mr. Tweed; 'and it drove the other chap out of a good berth?' 'Well, there was a many quarrels, I believe, afore they got to Calcutta. Thinking that I might stand the better with her, seeing that I'm middling young, and that the sea hasn't robbed me of all that I owe to my mother, who was the handsomest woman in Shadwell, I kept dark about my 'ome, and to this bloomed hour she don't know that I've got a wife and three young uns awaiting my return in the little house I left 'em in at Stepney.' 'I'd up and tell her the truth, if I were you,' said Tweed. A gleam of cunning twinkled in Mr. Prunes's eyes. 'I've been pretty comfortable for eighty days,' said he, 'under an error. There's no call now to correct it, seeing that the end of the voyage isn't fur off.' Whilst he spoke, Captain Lind and Mr. and Miss Vanderholt were coming on deck. The captain sang out in a shrill, bantam-like voice, that caused Prunes to glance somewhat sheepishly at Tweed: 'The lady and gentleman are going aboard their schooner! See their boat all ready!' Then, springing on to the rail with wonderful activity, she hailed the _Mowbray_, and asked Captain Glew for his latitude and longitude. This she received, and entered upon a piece of paper with a face of triumph. Then, turning to Mr. Vanderholt, she exclaimed: 'See here, sir! A mile out, and the error may be his.' 'I am lost in admiration, I assure you,' said Vanderholt. 'I would rather have met this barque than the _Flying Dutchman_. It will be far more interesting to me to talk about than an apparition. It is really, captain, an extraordinary departure! I wish you prosperity, I am sure, ma'am.' He bowed low. The captain of the _Wife's Hope_ then shook hands cordially with Miss Vanderholt. Tweed got into the boat, and the party returned to the _Mowbray_. Just before sunset a breeze came right along the red, shortening shaft of glory, as though it blew out of the sun. Both vessels immediately trimmed for their respective courses, and in an hour's time the _Wife's Hope_ had vanished in the starlit dusk of the evening. CHAPTER V. ON THE EVE. It was five days later, and in that time the _Mowbray_ had drawn four hundred miles closer to the Equator, still leaving a wide expanse of water to be measured. The weather had been of a constant tropic beauty. The heave of the Atlantic swell had the wide and solemn indolence of the South Pacific fold. Mr. Vanderholt's face was crimson with the sea. He certainly looked extremely well; so, too, did his daughter. The sun had caught her, spite of a diligent use of her parasol and swift flights from his scorching eye to the shelter of the awning. It had delicately spangled the fair flesh of her face with some golden freckles, which somehow gave an archness to her looks, and a whiter flash to her teeth, when the play of her lips exposed them. This fifth day following the meeting with the _Wife's Hope_ had glowed through a cloudless splendour of sky into a glorious sunset, and a promise of cool heavens, full of rich stars, with the Southern Cross-- 'Memorial reverenced by a thousand storms'-- low down over the jib-boom end. Mr. Vanderholt came on deck when the sun was gone, though all the west was swimming in the fast waning crimson. A number of stars sparkled in the east. Mr. Vanderholt looked at them with delight, for they reminded him of the twinkling of the sky in windy summer trees. A pleasant air of wind was blowing. Now that the sun was gone, the breeze seemed to fan over the bulwark-rail with the fragrance of a land of flowers. It was a sweetness that made you think of the Arabian gale of the poet, but the African land was leagues and leagues distant, and that sweet breath, therefore, was old Ocean's own. The schooner, with every stitch upon her, saving the foretopmast studding-sail, to the setting of which Mr. Vanderholt had an objection, glided through the gathering dusk to the music of broken waters. Miss Vanderholt sat in the cabin, under the lamp. She was reading, and appeared to be interested. Mr. Vanderholt filled his pipe from a pouch whose size corresponded with the bowl it was to feed, and whilst he did this he looked about him. Glew stood between him and the lingering scarlet, and his body, black as indigo, rose and fell. What was the matter? It seemed to Mr. Vanderholt that an unnatural stillness was in the little vessel. He still preserved the forecastle faculties, and carried the eye, whilst he could bend the ear, of a sailor. Eight bells had been struck. The second dog-watch was therefore over. The watch below would, or would not, have gone to bed. All this Mr. Vanderholt knew; but so bright, flushed, and sweet a night, after the roasting and blinding glories of the day, might well prove a temptation to the hands whose turn it was to take rest till midnight to linger to converse and suck out yet another pipe of tobacco. But the silence forward was so deep that Vanderholt, hearkening with his forefinger pressed upon his bowl of unlighted tobacco, thought it ominous. At intervals somebody away in the bows would speak. The voice was a growl, and it would be answered by a growl, and it seemed to the owner of the _Mowbray_ that, whoever it might be that broke the silence in his little ship, made utterance with the throat of a sleeping mastiff. Mr. Vanderholt lighted his pipe, seated himself, and called to Captain Glew, who immediately crossed the deck. 'The men seem very quiet, Glew.' 'And a good job too, sir. This is a yacht, and we've got a lady aboard.' 'Ay, ay, man, that's so. But, yacht or no yacht, lady or no lady, surely I'm the last man to be opposed to a little harmless dog-watch jollity whenever my sailors have a mind to it.' The man at the helm was not far off, and Vanderholt spoke low. 'They're a crew that want keeping under,' said Captain Glew. 'They're not used to pleasure-sailing of this sort. I singled them out myself, and had good hopes of them, and there's no fault to be found with them as seamen. This light cruising job is fast spoiling them. They need the heavy work of a full-rigged ship.' 'If they find the job an easy one, then I suppose they're satisfied?' said Mr. Vanderholt. 'I'm very much afraid that there's no kind treatment, and no easy job under the sun, that's going to satisfy an English sailor,' said Captain Glew. 'You're hard upon the calling, Glew. You're talking to a man who has had to work hard and fare hard.' 'Sir, if you'd been in command, you'd know that I speak the truth.' 'Aren't you rather a taut hand, Glew? Not that I object to a strict discipline on board ship; but there is a manner of talking to sailors.... I've heard of a captain who never would address a sailor if he could help it, but if he had anything to give him he'd put it down upon the deck and kick it at him.' 'And I've heard of sailors, sir, who've scuttled their ship, broken the captain's heart by ruining the voyage, and made a widow of his wife by sending him adrift in an open boat. I've had charge of seamen, and I know their natures, and I'm sorry that you should think I'm a taut hand, sir.' 'Understand me,' said Vanderholt soothingly: 'you are, perhaps, a taut hand, but I do not say unnecessarily taut. Frankly, I do not think the men love you.' 'What's a sailor's love like?' said Captain Glew. Here Miss Vanderholt came on deck. Captain Glew placed a chair for her beside her father. 'What a heavenly sweet and silent night!' exclaimed the young lady. 'Is that a ship on fire down there?' 'It's the moon rising, miss,' exclaimed Captain Glew. Her upper limb floated blood-red on the sea-line like a glowing ember. She sailed up, large, swollen, stately, the face rusty, as though the luminary had been a mighty casting in the African sands, and was now sent aloft red-hot by some thrust of giant shoulders. At her coming the wind freshened in a damp gust, the schooner strained, and the sound arose of water broken quickly into froth. 'Glew and I have been talking about the men, Vi,' said Mr. Vanderholt, after contemplating for a few minutes the hot lunar dawn. 'They don't look a very happy crew,' answered Miss Vanderholt; 'but heat will make people sullen. The sailors have to work in the sun, and, after all, there is very little money for them to receive apiece when they reach home.' Vanderholt laughed, and said: 'Quite as much as they shall get out of my pocket. Four pounds and five pounds a month, Vi. Why, I've been signing on, when a fine young man, for two pounds five, and glad to get it.' 'Are the crew dissatisfied?' inquired Miss Violet. 'Well, I don't mind owning to you, Mr. Vanderholt,' said the captain, 'that they've been trying to make a trouble about the stores. But I wouldn't allow it.' He stopped short, with a vibratory note in his voice, as though a piece of catgut had been twanged. 'The stores ought to be good,' said Mr. Vanderholt. 'The cheque that was made payable to Mr. Lyons was a liberal one.' 'Do they grumble at one thing more than another?' said Miss Vanderholt. 'Oh, first it's the pork, then it's the beef; they'll work their way right through till they come to the pickles,' said Glew, with a short, nervous laugh. 'This is the first time I've heard that the men are dissatisfied,' exclaimed Mr. Vanderholt. 'What is the good of worrying you with fo'c's'le troubles, sir? You're on a cruise for your health, and the worries of the ship should be mine, not yours.' 'It is well meant, Glew,' said Vanderholt, a little uneasily. 'They are a rough body of men, mind. I was long fed on pork and beef, and my palate has memory enough to distinguish, I think. Tell Allan to-morrow to cook samples of both kinds, and I will lunch off them.' This being said, Mr. Vanderholt smoked for awhile in silence. The question of pork and beef and sailors' grievances is uninteresting at all times, and peculiarly uninviting on a fine moonlight night. The subject was dropped. Captain Glew moved off, and father and daughter sat alone in the moonlight. The atmosphere was now misty with the silver of the satellite; she was nearly a full moon, and rained her glory most abundantly. She made a fairy vision of the _Mowbray_, etherealizing her into a fabric of white vapour and fountain-like lines as she leaned, purring at her cutwater, from the delicate wind. 'I don't think Glew treats the men well,' said Miss Vanderholt, turning her knuckles to the moon to see the diamonds in her rings sparkle. 'He is restrained when I'm on deck; I judge him by the demeanour of the crew.' 'They are not yachtsmen; they are not fresh-watermen. I, too, have eyes in my head, and I'll not condemn Glew off-hand for being what the Americans call a "hard case,"' answered Mr. Vanderholt. 'They are rough fellows, got out of low sailors' boarding-houses. I know the breed--the right sort of men for a jaunt of this kind--and I'm very well satisfied with them. But they have the look of growlers, and the man Jones, who should be the most trustworthy of the lot, has the very best genius for putting on a surly, dangerous face, and posturing in the mutineer style when hotly called to of any sea-dog that I can recall. So, Vi, I'm not for interfering with the duties of the captain.' He smoked, and his little eyes dwelt upon the face of the beautiful moon. 'If the sea,' said he musingly, 'were a silver shield it could not flash more brightly. How mysterious does the moon make the world of waters! They speak of the awe bred of darkness--the awe, the uncertainty--yes, I have known it; but how much more must this lighted ocean stir one's spiritual pulses than if it were a bed of darkness!' 'You are certainly better,' said Miss Violet; 'you are seldom poetical at home.' 'No man who has been to sea can help being a poet,' said the old gentleman complacently, smoothing his beard. 'He beholds many strange appearances; he dreams strangely. Mysterious fancies thicken upon the drowsy vision of his lonely midnight look-out, and with him _then_ it is as the great poet sublimely sings: '"But shapes that come not at an earthly call, Will not depart when mortal voices bid; Lords of the visionary eye, whose lid, Once raised, remains aghast, and will not fall."' He relighted his pipe, and smiled at the moon, and seemed very well pleased with the acuteness of his memory. 'Those are noble lines,' said the girl. 'They are Wordsworth's. Ach! What delight that man has given me.' 'How much pleasanter it is,' said Miss Violet, 'on a glorious night like this to talk of poetry, and the visionary shapes of the sea, than of sailors' beef and pork!' 'You would not think so if you had been stuck here for ten days on a raft.' 'Well,' exclaimed the girl, heaving a sigh, 'the Equator is not very far off now, and then we shall turn and go home.' 'I hope that our forefoot will cut the Line by the 25th,' answered Mr. Vanderholt. 'We shall be home in February, brown, and in the best of spirits.' 'And George will have started--will be coming.' They talked for a little while about this gentleman. It was ten o'clock before they quitted the deck. A man struck four bells on the forecastle. Immediately a figure arose from the deep shadow cast by the deck-house on the planks, and went aft to relieve the helm. Captain Glew stood on the yacht's quarter, and was as visible in the moonshine as though the bright dawn had broken. There was a muttering about the course at the helm, and then the man who had been relieved took a step or two forward, looking at the captain. 'What are you staring at?' said Glew. The man, continuing to walk but slowly, persisted in staring, so that his head revolved. 'What are you staring at?' repeated Glew, in a soft but threatening voice. The skylight and companion-way were wide open; he had no wish that his note of temper should penetrate. 'Mayn't a man use his eyesight aboard this bloody ship?' said the seaman, coming to a halt. 'Go forward!' exclaimed the captain, stiffening himself at the rail. The man seemed to hesitate, then went slowly towards the forecastle, audibly muttering. This man's name was Joseph Dabb. When he was close to the deck-house, a sailor, who was squatting in the shadow of it, exclaimed gruffly: 'What was he a-saying of?' 'Asked me what I was a-staring at because I was looking at him.' 'S'elp me, all angels!' exclaimed the squatting figure, after spitting right across the deck, 'if I don't feel sometimes like cutting the scab's heart out of him! We're not men in _his_ sight. We're muck. He thinks of us as muck, and he talks of us as muck. He speaks to us as if we was muck, and it's muck he's shipped aboard this vessel for us muck to eat.' He stood up, and the whites of his eyes glistened in the reflected moonlight that whitened off the edges of the stay-foresail, as he turned his gaze aft, where the figure of the captain walked. A man came out of the deck-house and joined the company. Immediately after, a fourth man approached from the forecastle, and stood listening. 'They've been a-yarning about us half my trick,' said Dabb. 'The captain said this pleasuring was a-spoiling of us.' All four united in a low, dismal laugh, which would have been a loud, defiant, mirthless roar but for the sleepers in the deck-house, hard by which they were talking. Sleep is counted a sacred thing at sea. 'Ay,' exclaimed one of the men, who proved to be Mike Scott, 'you lay a man's going to be spoilt by the pleasuring that's to be done under _him_. What was said, Joe?' 'That blarsted Dutchman talks in his beard. That and his pipe smothered up his voice. I couldn't hear him. T'other was more clear. He spoke of sailors as had scuttled their ships, as had broke the cap'n's heart by ruinating his voyage, and made a widder of his wife by sending him adrift. T'other speaks, and then the cap'n says, "What's a sailor's love like?"' Silence followed. 'What do he mean by "a sailor's love"?' exclaimed the third man, Maul. 'Is it a belaying-pin or a handspike? You'll find he's a-trying to excite a disgust against us sailors in the mind of that old Dutchman, so that he may make a difficulty about paying us at the end of the voyage.' ''Ow d'ye know,' said Dabb, 'that it ain't the Dutchman who's put the skipper up to ill-treating of us, reckoning upon sailing into the Thames with some of us in irons? D'ye mean to say----' 'Whisper, you crow!' 'D'ye mean to say,' continued the man, lowering his voice, 'that the stores were shipped without the Dutchman knowing of their character? I'm a-beginning to smell blue hell in this business.' All this while the moon shone sweetly and piercingly. A divine peace was upon the sea, and the light noises of the wind were as fresh as dew on grass, with the sound as of the plashing of many fountains. In the cabin they talked of poetry--and one of the sailors forward was for cutting the captain's heart out! The little royal and top-gallant sail were half aback; the luffs of the jibs were trembling. 'Trim sail!' shouted Captain Glew; and he continued to bawl as he walked slowly forwards: 'Brace forward the topsail-yard! Ease away the weather braces! Get a drag on your jib-sheets!' And it was clear, by the manner in which he delivered these orders to the men, that he had been watching and thinking of them all the time they had been talking about him. All was quiet after this. The moon rolled down into the sea, the shadow of the earth slipped off the eastern horizon, and the schooner floated into another tropical morning, wide and high with cloudless splendour. Nothing was in sight. The date was December 15, 1837. At half-past eleven, the steward, a man named Gordon, who had been shipped for cabin duty, but who had sailed on many occasions as an able seaman, so that his sympathies were wholly with the forecastle, went to the harness-cask, and, unlocking it, picked over some pieces of meat, brine-whitened, and carried two cubes of the flesh forward to the cook. 'What's this for?' says Allan. 'Here's stink enough. The pork's measly bad to-day!' 'Samples for the cabin table,' said the steward, Gordon, dabbing the flabby offal down on the dresser. 'Ho!' says the cook. 'They'd best be cooked separate, I suppose. The stench'll break the young lady's heart if they're boiled in them coppers.' 'Cook 'em as you like. That's your business,' said Gordon. 'It's for one o'clock.' 'Who's going to eat 'em?' 'How big's a man's windpipe?' asked Gordon. The cook eyed him. 'Would about that lump,' said Gordon, snatching up a knife and slightly scoring a corner off one of the pieces, 'fit a man's windpipe?' 'Ah! would it?' muttered the cook. 'And if you'll let me guess whose pipe it is you're a-thinking of, I wouldn't mind telling you that I'm game--s'elp me God!--to ram it down with this--a clean job!' And seizing a long, black, sharp-ended poker, he flourished it at Gordon's mouth, poising it as though he meant to do for the steward. Gordon rounded out of the little caboose with a laugh. Mr. Tweed walked the weather side of the quarter-deck; his sextant lay upon the skylight cover. The seaman named Legg was at the helm. His figure, airily clad in duck and calico and wide straw hat, stood out like a painted figure of marble, as it slightly rose and slightly fell against the hot pale-blue sky in the north. Miss Vanderholt was seated in a deck-chair under the awning, beside a quarter-boat. A book lay upon her lap, but her hands were clasped upon it, and her eyes were bent upon the sea. She viewed it listlessly. The monotony of that eternal girdle was growing shocking. It seemed to bind up her very soul. She thought to herself: 'They speak of the freedom of the sea. But doesn't its sense of freedom come only when motion is swift, when the roar of the white water is strong, and when one's home is not very far off?' It was the men's dinner-hour. Miss Violet had often, during the warm weather, from her comfortable quarter-deck chair, observed a couple of men a little before noon stagger with sweating faces out of the galley, bearing in their hands a sort of wooden washing-tub, which sent up a great deal of steam. This she knew was the crew's dinner. She had sometimes wondered how they ate: whether they spread a table-cloth; whether they planted a cruet-stand in their midst, and placed knives and forks on either hand, for the hearts to cut and come again. Who carved? She supposed that the boatswain took the head of the table. She had never felt so curious, however, in this matter as to ask questions, and as, moreover, she had not caught so much as a glimpse of the interior of the crew's dwelling-house, she had figured into conviction a comfortable little sea-parlour in which the men dined just as she and Glew and the mate and her father dined. 'After all,' she mused, keeping her hands clasped upon her open book, with her eyes fastened upon the sailors' house, 'it is the monotony of the sea that repels. It must have its good side. Plenty to eat and drink, and, as father says, most of the wonders of the world--islands, harbours, inland scenes of beauty--to be visited at the cost of others.' Whilst she thus moralized, she beheld a head with a very savage and malicious look upon its face in the deck-house door. The figure of the man was exposed to the waist, and two great hands grasped for support each side of the opening. It was the head of the boatswain of the schooner, James Jones, carpenter and second mate--but as second mate he had never been called upon to serve. He was uncovered, and his hair was wild. His expression was devilish. Though at some distance from the man, the young lady could clearly distinguish a look of fury upon the seaman's face, as though he had just slain a shipmate, and was in the act of leaping on deck. He stood in the doorway, and continued to stare aft. Miss Vanderholt glanced uneasily at the skylight. She waited for her father and Captain Glew to appear. The captain was bound to arrive in a minute or two, for already Mr. Tweed, who had glanced at the boatswain without appearing to see anything unusual in the man's fixed, half-in and half-out posture, and dark, endevilled face, had picked up his sextant, and was ogling the sun. Mr. Vanderholt was the first of the two to come on deck. His daughter called to him softly, and said: 'Father, did you ever see, in all your life, such a wicked expression as that man wears?' 'What man?' exclaimed Mr. Vanderholt, lancing his teeth with a silver toothpick, and gazing along the decks with an expression of bland benevolence. 'That man there, in the door of the galley,' said the girl. 'He's been standing like that for the last three or four minutes, hatless, looking aft, with that face of fury, as if they'd tied him in the doorway and were goading him.' 'I certainly see a man lounging in the doorway,' said Mr. Vanderholt, who was a little short-sighted. 'Does he look angry?' He spoke somewhat uneasily, and turned his head to see if the captain was on deck. Glew at that moment rose through the hatch, armed with his sextant. Vanderholt went up to him, and said: 'There is a man leaning in the door of the caboose--now I look again I see it is the boatswain--whose face my daughter tells me is formidable with temper. I do not clearly see all that way off. I hope it will mean no fresh trouble about the stores. Let them know I have ordered pieces of the pork and beef to be boiled for our mid-day meal.' Whilst he was speaking, Glew's eyes were fixed upon the boatswain, who, at the moment that Vanderholt ceased, withdrew. Glew's attitude was immediately and insensibly charged with malice and danger, with passions quickly growing and contending, by the odd, crouching air he carried, whilst he had watched the boatswain and listened to his employer. 'That Jones,' he said, 'is the right sort of forecastle scoundrel to breed a mutiny, and if he troubles me to-day we must have him out of it, Mr. Vanderholt, in the approved old method. Mr. Tweed, can you lay your hands readily upon a set of irons for that fellow?' The mate answered: 'The carpenter has charge of the irons, sir, and the carpenter is, unfortunately, the boatswain himself.' 'Go forward,' said Captain Glew, 'and ask the man to give you a set of irons.' 'Stop!' exclaimed Mr. Vanderholt, glancing at the helmsman, whose eyes were upon Glew, and who was clearly a listener. 'We must have no talk of irons in this vessel, until something has been done to warrant their introduction.' 'If there should come a difficulty,' was the captain's answer, 'we may find it impossible to get forward so as to procure the irons. I like to be beforehand.' 'I'll not have it!' said Mr. Vanderholt, with warmth. Captain Glew simply said, 'Ay, ay, sir,' and turned his face to the sun, with his sextant lifted. Now it was that the boatswain reappeared, still without his hat, his head very shaggy, his shirt-sleeves rolled above his elbows, disclosing the muscles of a carthorse. He sprang, in a single bound, through the door of the deck-house, grasping his mess-kid. The seaman Dabb followed; he, too, grasped a mess-kid. Then the rest of the crew appeared--Gordon, Allan, Toole, Scott, Maul. 'Now, bullies, are we ready?' exclaimed Jones, in a voice of thunder; and he put the kid upon the deck. Dabb did likewise. 'Hurrah for a hot male of mate for the cabin!' shouted Simon Toole. The boatswain and Dabb, each man in his boots, kicked. They kicked at the kids with all their might, and the wooden vessels rushed aft to the very feet of Captain Glew and Vanderholt, scattering their precious contents of pork and pea-soup over the smooth planks. Never was an uglier affront offered to the master of a ship. Never had mutinous insolence been carried to a greater height. Captain Glew turned white as milk, but not with fear. Well for him had he felt fear. Mr. Vanderholt was ashy pale. He called to his daughter to go below. She sprang up, but, instead of going below, went and stood right aft, beside the helmsman, to whom she said: 'What do those men want?' 'Their rights!' he answered, with a diabolical leer. The frightened girl made a quick step to the companion-hatch, and stood beside the cover; she was afraid to go below. CHAPTER VI. THE MURDERS. 'What's the meaning of this atrocious conduct, men?' shouted Mr. Vanderholt. 'I am sorry if anything's wrong with you. I am an old sailor----' He was interrupted by Captain Glew roaring out: 'Tweed, help me to put that scoundrel in irons!' And he rushed forward, Tweed following. 'Oh, my God!' cried Mr. Vanderholt; 'stay your hands, men! This is my ship! I am master here! I'll see your wrongs righted!' 'There'll be murder!' shrieked Miss Vanderholt. 'Go below, for Christ's sake!' roared the distracted man; and, catching hold of his daughter's arm, he dragged her down the steps into the cabin. 'No man in this ship puts me in irons,' said the boatswain, showing his teeth, as he squared up at Captain Glew, with his immensely thick arms covered with hair, arrows and crucifixes. 'I've been wanting the killing of you this many a day, you rat! and, as you men hear me, by the living Lord, I'll kill him if he lays a finger upon me!' For a few minutes Captain Glew paused, waiting for Mr. Tweed, who had disappeared. He stood one man to seven; his nostrils were dilated; his eyes were on fire; his skin was a ghastly white; and his fingers worked like those of one who plays a piano. His breath flew from him in sharp, quite audible hissings. He was the incarnation of wrath fiendish above anything human, and in that pause those of the men who met his gaze seemed to quail. Mr. Vanderholt came running from the companion-hatch. His right hand was in the pocket of his coat. 'What is it, men?' he bawled. 'I am an old sailor, and was a man at sea when you were boys. Is your pork bad? Is the rest of your food bad?' 'Go and gut yourself!' roared Dabb. 'If that cuckoo had the victualling of this ship, you had the paying of him; and was there ever a Dutchman that didn't know good food from bad by the price of it?' He was proceeding. Gordon, standing alongside, clipped the dog over the back of his neck, and silenced him. Mr. Vanderholt swayed speechless on the slightly heaving deck of his vessel. He was petrified. He stared at the insolent villain; he couldn't credit his senses. Indeed, it was shocking that that fine old gentleman, with his full gray beard, his dignified bearing, his knowledge of life and letters, his years, his great fortune, should be thus addressed by a brute of the sea, a scab, a wen of the ocean, who ashore, in liquor, was, of course, the swaggering, yelping terror of women and little children. Mr. Tweed came along from the forecastle, grasping an iron bar with rings upon it The moment the men saw him, three or four--Scott, Toole, Allan, and another--flung themselves upon him. The irons were sent whizzing overboard, the man himself was felled to the deck. He rose in a minute, breathless and mad. 'But you _shall_ come aft. Help me, Tweed!' And the captain, crying this out in a voice frightful to hear with its tension of passion, flung himself upon the boatswain. 'The man who moves--the man who interferes with the captain, I'll shoot!' shouted Vanderholt, pulling out a revolver, a six-barrelled engine of those days, from his pocket, and taking aim at the crew. Tweed had sprung upon the boatswain, and now three madmen were wrestling. A fourth rushed in; he was Simon Toole. He yelled like a savage as he leapt upon the heaving and writhing group. 'Stand back, or I'll shoot you!' shouted Mr. Vanderholt. 'I have six men's lives here.' He saw Toole seize Captain Glew by the throat, and taking aim at the man, he pulled the trigger. The flash, the report, was followed by a dying groan, and Tweed, with both hands lifted and clenched, fell, shot through the head. At this moment an iron belaying-pin[1] struck Mr. Vanderholt across the face. It was Maul who hurled it. He flung it with the rage and meaning of murder, standing not a couple of fathoms away from the unhappy gentleman, who dropped like a running man when he falls dead from heart disease. 'You murderous curs!' groaned Captain Glew, falling upon one knee with his hand to his side. For a little while they stood raging; their shouts were hoarse and insane. Legg bawled to them from the helm, and they answered him. You would have thought that they were breeding some fresh hellish scene of bloodshed amongst themselves, so flushed, wild, clamorous was the mob of them, every man trying to drown the other's voice. 'It was his doing!' said Jones, pointing to the figure of the dying captain. 'I never wanted it!' 'Anyhow, we're not responsible for _him_,' said Allan, nodding at the body of the mate. 'Who floored the Dutchman?' 'I did!' yelled Maul. 'He's a killed man,' said Scott, stooping to look at him. 'Water,' whispered Captain Glew. Toole's eyes were on the captain at the instant, and the ruffian saw the man's lips move. 'He's spakin'!' he exclaimed, with a face of sudden horror, backing two or three steps. Dabb put his ear to the dying man's mouth. 'He asks for water,' said the seaman; and he sprang to the scuttle-butt and filled a pannikin which stood handily by the side of the dipper, and, lifting Captain Glew's head, he poured some of the cool drink into his mouth. 'Drag me out of the sun,' muttered the captain. 'Mike, len's a hand,' called Dabb; and quite gently these two seamen, who were just now devils, carried the captain aft into the shelter of the awning, where they left him to lie and expire, with the Union Jack rolled up as a pillow. 'I never wanted it! I never wanted it!' suddenly broke out the boatswain, in a deep groaning voice. 'This is a swinging matter. What's to be done? It's damnation to our souls. Why couldn't ye have let the old Dutchman be?' 'His pistol was full cock on you, Jim, when I let fly,' answered Maul. 'He's only stunned. Hasn't a man a right to fight for his life? Look at them barrels!' he added, pointing to the revolver. 'Here comes his daughter,' exclaimed Gordon. Miss Vanderholt was standing in the companion-way. She wore a straw hat, and her eyes, under the shadow of the brim and under the fluff of hair about her brow, looked twice their usual size--strained, unwinking, blind, with sudden, dreadful amazement, but brilliant as light also with horror and terror. She came out of the hatch slowly. Legg, at the helm, with a note of commiseration, said: 'He's only been knocked down. He shouldn't have got messing about with firearms amongst a mob of angry men.' She did not hear him, or, if she did, she did not heed him. She went straight to her father, making a low wailing or moaning noise as she walked. The boatswain exclaimed: 'No harm was intended to him, miss. 'Twas him that shot Mr. Tweed.' She stooped, moaning, but so as to be scarcely audible, and looked closely into her father's face. He lay on his back, staring with white eyes, half-closed, at the sky. He had fallen as though shot through the heart. A great, livid weal, dreadful to see, blackened and lifted his brow. A little blood that had trickled from one ear lay glazed close beside the gray hair of his whiskers. 'Is he dead?' she asked, looking round at the men, and speaking in a voice sunk with fear. 'Let's carry him aft to his cabin. It's not right the young lady should see him lying there,' said Gordon. Thereupon, Gordon, Allan, and Jones picked the body up and bore him aft, followed by Miss Vanderholt, who often staggered as she walked. They got him into a cabin, and put him down upon a sofa. 'An ugly job!' said one of the seamen. 'Who did it?' the girl asked. The men made no answer. 'Oh, father!' she cried, trembling violently; then, dropping upon her knees beside him, she began to free his throat. 'He may only be stunned,' she said. 'What is to be done? Shall I bathe his face?' 'If he's only stunned, I allow he'll come to all right, if he's left alone,' said Gordon. 'You'll please to recollect this,' said one of the men: 'he comes rushing along, with a pistol to shoot us with, and the motive was to strike the revolver out of his hand before he could send a second shot. It was him that killed the mate;' and the speaker wheeled on his naked feet, and went to the companion ladder. He was almost immediately followed by the others. The girl was alone with her dead father. But was he dead? He looked so. Yet the lifeless looks of one in a swoon or in a fit may easily pass as marks of death. She ran to his cabin, and fetched a bowl, into which she splashed cold water from a decanter, and for a quarter of an hour she ceaselessly bathed his face and head. He never stirred. Not the least sigh escaped him. She could not find his pulse, though she sought for it, with trembling fingers, about his wrists. His hands were growing cold, and they lay very dead and heavy in hers, and still she thought, still she hoped, she prayed. 'It may be the same as a fit, or a swoon. He has been stunned. If I sit here patiently, I may see signs of life, and he will come to.' But, if he should be dead? What would they do with the schooner? What would they do with her? Terrors shook her; they wrenched her heart, and she wrung her hands in agony. If her father was dead, and she quite understood that Captain Glew and Mr. Tweed were dead, though she but vaguely understood that her father had shot the mate, and that Captain Glew had been assassinated--if he was dead, she was alone in the schooner with eight seamen, who had made outlaws and reckless criminals of themselves by the murders done that morning. Meanwhile, on deck, the men were quieting down. Their rude, unreasoning passions were paling. Consternation was beginning to work in them. They had gone fearfully and tragically far beyond the unformed wrathful fancies which were in them when they kicked the mess-kids aft, and when the Irishman howled at the sight. The mate lay dead, with a dark purple hole in his forehead, upon the deck, abreast of the little square of main hatch. Aft, with his head pillowed on the rolled-up ensign, was the corpse of the captain. These were sights, coupled with the thought of the dead man below, to drive the keenest power of realization of what had happened that day into the mind of an idiot, and there was no idiot in that schooner. Legg had been relieved at the wheel by Scott. The _Mowbray_, all this while, was sailing a dead south course for the Equator--her queer destination--royally clothed; her white breasts of canvas were swelled with the blue gushing of the wind; her jibs yearned at their sheets as they rose and sank in a play of soft shadow, with the airy rise and the seething stoop of the bows. 'There's too much gone and happened this all-fired day,' said Allan, folding his naked, burnt arms on his breast, and leaning against the side of his little caboose whilst he eyed askew the body of the mate. 'What's to be done?' The men came and stood about him. 'It was like forcing of a man's hand,' exclaimed the boatswain. 'I was never in a mess of this sort afore. But, curse catch me, if an angel could have stood him--an angel from the skies!' he shouted, lifting up his two great hands, with a wild melodramatic gesture, to the heavens. 'I couldn't tell you why, but there was hate of us as sailor-men in the very turn of the rooter's body as he walked the deck. There's but one remedy for the likes of him, but it's hard upon sailors;' and he smeared the sweat off his brow, which had taken a scowl dark as thunder. 'I saw that there bleeding old Dutchman a-covering of you, Jim,' said Maul, pointing to the revolver which yet lay upon the deck. 'There was no mistaking the meaning in his face. I'd pulled out the pin ready for whatever was to come along, and, say what yer will, yer owe me your life.' 'What's to be done?' said the cook. 'All this here moralizing ain't going to help us. Are them bodies to be left to lie there till they turn?' 'Don't be in such a smothering hurry!' exclaimed Legg. 'How are ye to know they're gone home? 'Ere's Bill for chucking of two warm bodies overboard. Feel their pulses, or try their breath with a piece of glass, or, maybe, you'll be murdering of them over again.' 'Don't talk of murdering!' said the boatswain savagely. 'That man there was killed by Mr. Vanderholt.' 'Where are we sailing to?' says Gordon. 'Why!' exclaimed Dabb, sending a pair of drink-stained eyes slowly travelling over the little ship, 'I'm dumped, mates, if there's e'er a navigator in the vessel!' At this juncture Toole and Jones stepped to the body of the mate, and carried him to the side of the captain, whose form they bent over. The boatswain went down upon his knees, and looked with a face of hate and horror at the countenance of the dead man. This was a picture to handsomely symbolize one large, old, red tradition of the Merchant Service. Are there any Glews left? So long as they remain in command, so long will they prove the solvers of the so-called mysteries of the ocean--the abandoned ship, the boat-load of men whose statements differ, the stranded body with the wound in its throat. 'These men are dead,' says the boatswain, standing up. 'No use in letting 'em lie here to shock the female, should she come on deck. Get 'em covered up, and we'll bury 'em this afternoon.' Toole fetched a small tarpaulin, and hid the bodies. 'How's the Dutchman getting on, I wonder?' said the boatswain. He went to the open skylight, and looked down. He saw the figure of Mr. Vanderholt lying stiff in death on a sofa locker; his daughter sat beside him, inclined forwards, resting her chin on her hands, herself, whilst the boatswain watched, as stirless as the dead. The seaman stepped back, and walked forward slowly. The sailors, Scott excepted, were gathered about the deck-house door, holding a council upon their condition and prospects. There was the hurry of nerve in their speech, and again one or another would look ahead, or on either bow. The boatswain, shoving in amongst them, said in his deep voice: 'I'm for getting something to eat. I want my dinner.' 'And I'm for getting something to drink,' said Toole. The boatswain picked up Mr. Vanderholt's revolver, and, whilst he examined it, before pocketing it, he said: 'There's no chance of my bossing you, lads. I'll never do more than advise you. But let me give you this counsel: of course there'll be drink for the cabin somewhere aft. We're entitled to our allowance of rum, anyhow, and if we add a bottle or two of the cabin stuff to that allowance, who's a-going to miss it? That's not counsel, you say--no, but _this_ is: don't none of you go and get drunk. I vow to God the first man that falls insensible I'll chuck overboard. We're murderers and pirates--d'ye know that?' he roared, with a ferocious look at the men--a look that might have convinced shrewder perceptions than those about him that he was going mad--'and we're to take care, if we don't want to swing, that we're not found out. Can ye guess what swinging's like? Many's the time I've thought of it--of the gray, wet morning, and their coming in to fetch you to be hanged, and their making your arms fast astern, with a parson walking in front reading about death; then the standing upon the trap-door, and the crowds of faces--my God!--all looking at you, and, worst of all, the awful feeling that a man must have when the cap's drawed down, and he stands awaiting!' 'There's no call to keep on, Jim,' said Dabb; 'we don't want to be hanged, and we don't mean to do it. And who's a-going to fall down dead drunk, and act the beast, as you says, a-seeing how it stands with us?' 'Let's get something to eat,' said the boatswain. 'Jim,' said he, turning to Gordon, 'you know the ropes aft. Bring something for'ard from the Dutchman's pantry fit for the men to sit down to.' 'Am I to bring any drink?' says Gordon. 'What have they got down there?' asked Maul. 'There's some cases of bottled ale.' 'Bring eight bottles for'ards,' said the boatswain. 'Joe, go you along and lend him a hand.' Gordon and Dabb walked aft, and disappeared down the companion-hatch. The others trudged about their deck-house door, passing and repassing each other in short look-out walks, their heads sunk, their backs bowed, and their hands plunged deep in their breeches pockets. After some time, Gordon and the other arrived with their arms full of bottles of beer and preserved meats, and delicate cabin eatables out of the pantry. It was broiling hot. Mike Scott at the helm bawled to them to bring him a bottle. He swilled the foaming draught down out of a pannikin in a sort of dance of ecstasy. 'What's the young woman a-doing of?' asked the boatswain, following Gordon into the deck-house. 'She was sitting by her father's body when we entered. She jumps up as if she'd been stabbed, and says in a little shriek: "What do you men want?" I answered in the kindest voice I've got: "We're not here to hurt you, miss. The men are hungry, and want food, and I've come to fetch 'em some--food and a little beer. What can I get for you, miss?" says I. "This is the luncheon-hour. Let me spread the table for you." She shook, and held out her hands as though shoving me away. How could she sit down and eat with him lying there? Indeed, it went against me to name it, Jim. It was flung cruelly hard. I never see such a forehead as the poor old bloke's got.' 'By the vart of me oath, then,' exclaimed Toole--for now all hands had swarmed into the deck-house--'Maul took aim at the pistol, and never meant to kill him!' They were hungry and thirsty, a rough, red-handed mob of seamen. They sat down upon their chests, and ate and drank, one taking a plateful of food to the helmsman, and whilst they dined they discoursed upon what was to be done. Occasionally the boatswain would step out and look around. The wind was slack, the fiery eye of heaven was eating it up, and the sea waved in dull shades of satin and silver in winding dyes of faint violet and glassy brightness, as though a current ran; it sheeted with colours faint with tropic heat into the now visionary distance where sea and sky were blent. 'What are we to do with this vessel, and how are we to manage for ourselves?' said the boatswain, who sat on a chest with a tin of preserved meat between his knees. 'That's the question.' 'Ain't this moist stuff veal and 'am?' Whatever it is, it's blooming nice,' said a sailor. 'Joe, knock the 'ead off this 'ere bottle for me; you've got the knack.' 'Isn't there no port to which we could carry this craft and dispose of her, and then disperse?' said Allan, the cook. 'She might go for a song, for me. We only want our wages.' 'Where's the port without a fired consul?' said Maul. 'I'll tell ye what 'd happen: they'd ask questions, a file of soldiers 'ud come aboard, us men 'ud be marched off into a fortress, and lie in cells fourteen or twenty foot under the sea. There our beards would grow, our bones would wear out our shirts, and all the music ye'd get, mates, would be the clank of chains.' 'No port for me!' said Toole. 'I'm for kaping on the say, and being found in a situation of disthress.' 'We must agree to one yarn, and stick to it. What about the lady?' said Dabb. 'Do she know what's happened?' said Maul. 'How it came about, I mean? Then she couldn't say nothing agin our yarn.' 'Tell'e what, my lads,' said the boatswain, looking thoughtfully around him, 'I'm not at all sure that the right tack don't lie in our up and telling the truth, explaining how we was exasperated, and proving that the deaths was accidental.' 'You're a-going to prove nothing accidental out of that bloke's knife,' said Dabb, with a dry, uncomfortable laugh, nodding at Toole. 'As good an accident as Maul's murtherous belaying-pin, and be damned to ye!' exclaimed the Irishman. 'Brothers, I'm thinking Joe there would have me be the only hanged man of this company. Is that because I'm a furriner?' His eyes, fiercely squinting, met in Dabb's hot face. The seamen began to cut up tobacco, and then they lurched to the galley to light their pipes. The boatswain, pipe in mouth, stood in the waist, looking round him and aloft. The little ship lay nearly becalmed. The sails swayed idly, fanning sweet draughts athwartships. The boatswain walked to the binnacle, and said, after looking at the card: 'There's no call now, Mike, to keep her heading for the Equator. I'm for giving my stern to this here boiling.' 'What's settled?' said Scott. 'Nothing.' 'I don't see,' said the man irritably, 'how anything's to be settled in this here roasting heat, and them two bodies side by side there. Him in the cabin's alone enough to take the curl out of a man's spirit. To think of him, with half a fathom of death, blue as ink, across his brow, and himself a-walking these very decks but just a little while gone! Three! It's too many!' 'One was the Dutchman's job,' answered the boatswain. 'But see here! Are ye afraid?' 'Afraid o' what?' 'Well, only that you're talking as if the ghosts of them bodies had jockeyed the yard-arms of your mind, and was close reefing your intellect.' 'I don't like dead bodies,' said Scott; 'and of all the dead bodies a-going,' he added, with a countenance of gloomy ferocity, 'the least I like is murdered bodies. Why don't ye get 'em cleared out overboard, Jim, and sweeten the little hooker? Do human blood smell? Something that my nose never tasted afore came along not long since in a breath o' wind.' The boatswain went to the tarpaulin, pulled it aside, and examined the two dead faces. 'Dead they are,' said he, with a shiver of sick disgust. He walked forward, and presently a few of the men came to the tarpaulin, carrying hammocks, twine, sinkers for the clews. They made despatch. Captain Glew, blind with death, threatened them as malevolently as in life, with his upper lip lifted and stiffened, exposing a snarling grin of fangs. The other poor wretch lay composed; the grog-blossoms had faded. His cheek was as pale as moonlight, and the expression was a smile. Before stitching up the bodies, they emptied the pockets. Captain Glew had a silver watch and chain, a leather pocket-book, a silver-mounted, wooden pipe, a bunch of keys, and other odds and ends. The mate likewise owned a watch and a hair chain, tipped with gold--a woman's gift, no doubt. 'These things shall be put into their cabins,' said the boatswain. 'He's left a widow and young uns.' 'Are we going to bury 'em in their clothes?' said Toole. 'Holes and all,' answered Legg, with a significant glance at the sheath-knife on the Irishman's hip. In a few minutes the two bodies made their last plunge, amidst the silence of the seamen, some of whom, nevertheless, continued to smoke, and the bubbles which flashed to the surface were as lasting a memorial of the dead twain's resting-place as any gravestone which could have been erected ashore for dogs to smell at. A light air from the south-west was coming along, over the burnished heave, in a delicate blue film, with feelers and crawlers of the draught tarnishing the water in front of the breeze-line in catspaws. 'Shall we stick this vessel's head north?' said the boatswain, and now all hands came together in the gangway close beside the bulwark-rail, whence the bodies had sped; there was to be a discussion over every suggestion. 'If we go north, where's it to carry us to?' said Gordon. 'Out of this heat, anyhow,' answered the boatswain. 'We ought to make up our minds,' said the cook, with an uneasy look at the sea. 'We're just that sort of craft which is sure to excite notice. "Hallo," they sings out, "a yacht all this way down here!" and they comes sheering alongside to hail and take a look.' 'I'm not for going any further to the s'uth'ard,' said the boatswain doggedly. After a great deal of talk, during which the galley was repeatedly visited for pipe-lights, they agreed to head the vessel north, if for no other reason than that of temperature. So the helm was put hard up, and the little vessel wore. When the ropes had been coiled down and the decks cleared, the boatswain called Gordon and Scott, who by this hour was relieved at the helm. These two men seemed the most respectable of the clan, perhaps the fittest for the mission the boatswain had now in his mind. 'Mates,' said he, dropping his words between hard sucks at an inch of sooty pipe, 'there's a difficulty in the cabin that's got to be made an end of. The Dutchman must be buried. Now, the three of us had better go below, with sail-cloth and twine, and stitch him up to the satisfaction of his daughter. I'd give this hand,' said he, holding up a paw as big as a boxing-glove, 'if he hadn't been killed. He had meant to get his dinner off our junk and pork to-day. It was the captain kept him in ignorance of our condition.' 'He'd have shot as many of us as there was balls in his pistol,' said Scott. 'You're right,' said the boatswain, as though he found something to rally him in that thought. 'Let's get what's wanted, my lads, and make an end.' The dead man was alone when they entered the cabin. The ghastly hue of the blow that had killed him was fading. One hand lay upon his beard, and he seemed in thought. 'Quick, now,' says the boatswain, 'whilst the lady's out of sight.' They emptied his pockets, putting everything they found upon the table, then quickly fell to swathing and stitching. In the midst of this work Gordon violently started, and cried out, muttering, 'Lor', how she took me!' Miss Vanderholt stood near him. She was painfully white, and her eyes were swollen almost to concealment. Yet anyone capable of interpreting human expression must have found a subtle token of resolution in her features, shadowy marks of firmness, as though the countenance was struggling to take its presentment from the spirit. This might be visible sooner to the eye of sympathy than to the vision of the head. 'Are you going to bury him?' she exclaimed, in a low, trembling voice. 'Yes, miss,' said the boatswain, rearing himself, and backing and looking at her. 'Is there no one who can read a prayer from the service over him?' said the girl. The men looked at one another, shaking their heads, and then the boatswain said: 'Tell 'e what, lads: we'll stitch the poor gentleman up ready, and leave him a-bit, whilst the lady says a prayer by his side. It'll do him more good than any prayer that's a-going to come from us, whether we reads it, or whether we imagines it.' Miss Vanderholt took a step to her father and kissed him, then, weeping silently, went to the foremost end of the cabin, and stood waiting. FOOTNOTE: [1] A belaying-pin is a bar of wood or metal. It fits in a rail, and is used for making a rope fast to. When of wood it is heavy enough, when of metal deadly as a weapon or a missile. CHAPTER VII. CAPTAIN PARRY. On the night of December 20, in the same year of the mutiny of the _Mowbray_, a large full-rigged ship, homeward bound, was, to the north of the Equator, stealing silently through the dusk. The hour was about half-past nine. The moon rode high and shone gloriously, and the edge of the plain of ocean came in two sweeps of ebony to the clasp of splendour under the satellite. The ship lifted a cloud of sail to the stars. The night-wind was lightly breathing, and every cloth was asleep, stirless as alabaster mouldings, curving from each yard-arm, and climbing with the whiteness of the moon into three spires. This ship was the _Alfred_, but not the famous Thames East Indiaman of that name. She was about sixteen hundred tons, with an abundant crew, a captain and four mates. She was carrying a valuable cargo and a number of passengers from India to London, and once only had she halted--at Simon's Bay, where she put a lieutenant of Marines and fifteen men ashore, and then proceeded, after filling her fresh-water casks. She was a flush-decked ship, and when you stood at the wheel your eye ran along a spacious length of deck, rounding with the exquisite art of the shipwright into flaring bows which sank into the true clipper lines, high above the keen and coppered forefoot. A number of ladies and gentlemen sat and moved about the decks. The awnings were furled, and the moonshine glistened upon these people, and sparkled in the jewellery of the ladies, and silvered the whiskers of the gentlemen. On the weather side of the long quarter-deck walked the commander of the ship, Captain Barrington. A lady's hand was tucked under his arm, and he frequently looked to windward whilst he talked. To leeward paced the mate, and a little distance forward, in the deep shadows of the main-rigging, stood a group of midshipmen. Right aft, upon the taffrail, sat three gentlemen. One smoked a pipe, the others cheroots. Captain Barrington permitted his guests--as he, with facetious politeness, called his passengers--to smoke upon the quarter-deck after five bells in the first watch. A considerable surface of grating stretched betwixt these three gentlemen and the wheel. The wheel was something forward of the grating, and the helmsman, therefore, absorbed in the business of keeping the ship to her course, could hear little more than the rumble of the tones of the gentlemen who conversed on the taffrail. 'I say, Parry,' said one of the gentlemen, who was, indeed, no less a personage than the surgeon of the ship, casting his eyes up at the moon, and tasting his tobacco, with slow enjoyment, in the discharge of each little cloud of it; 'did it ever occur to you to consider that all the great processes of this world--that all creation, in short, is based on circles?' 'Why do you address yourself to me?' said Captain Parry. 'What do I know about circles?' 'Behold yonder moon,' continued the doctor, pointing with the stem of his pipe to the luminary, beautiful with her greenish tinge, so sparklingly and brilliantly edged, too, so marvellously clear-cut, that you might then realize, if you never did before, the miracle of her self-poised flight through the domain of violet ether. 'She is a circle,' said the doctor. 'So is the sun. So are the stars. The flight of our system through space, if not a circle, is nearly so--enough to justify my theory that, when the Great Hand launched Creation, the design was one of circles.' 'Oh, blow that!' said one of the gentlemen. 'Parry, hand us a cheroot.' 'Whatever brings God closer to us is good,' said the doctor. 'This theory of construction proves the existence of a genius like to man's in the Great Spirit, and we can be in sympathy with it.' 'The breeze seems scanting,' said Captain Parry. 'If this voyage goes on lasting, I shall be like the sailor who, when he was washed ashore on a desert island in his shirt, complained that he certainly did feel the want of a few necessaries.' 'A man going home to be married ought not to be becalmed,' said the doctor. 'How do you like the idea of being married, Parry?' said the third gentleman, who was one Lieutenant Piercy. Captain Parry viewed the beautiful moon in silence. 'Until I got married myself,' said the Doctor, 'I used to express marriage by what I consider an excellent image. A man marrying is like unto a ship that grounds on a bar and beats over, where she lies unable to get out; so other ships passing behold her riding, royal yards across, and the bar thick under the bows.' Captain Parry continued to view the moon. 'A man for comfort,' said Piercy, 'should marry a roomy woman. You know what I mean--a woman who'll give him plenty of geographical and intellectual room to move in. He's still contained in her, d'ye see, still in sympathy, still sacramentally one, yet he's got plenty of room,' he drawled. 'I remember some idiots who berthed a number of horses on board ship, and allowed no room for the toss of their heads. It's room that a chap wants in marriage.' 'Isn't that something white ahead there?' said Parry, pointing into the starry visionary distance, right over the bow. The others seemed to look. 'Something white should be a ghost,' said Piercy. 'I wonder if ghosts walk the sea as they do churchyards?' 'The most terrifying ghost that, to my mind, ever appeared,' said the doctor, 'must have been the spirit of the Prince of Saxony. He came in complete steel, suddenly, upon his unhappy relative, who had idly pronounced his name, never dreaming to see him, and said: "Karl, Karl, was wollst du mit mich?" Is it the German that makes this question awful?' 'The worst of all ghosts,' said Captain Parry, who had been straining his eyes at the elusive gleam ahead, 'are the phantasies of the sick eye.' 'Right,' said the doctor. 'When I was ill some years ago in India, I had been reading Boswell's "Life of Johnson," and every night at a certain hour a miniature figure of Dr. Johnson would sit upon the mantelpiece and play the spinet. I knew the old cock hadn't a note of music in his soul. His head wagged like a simmering cauliflower. I was in a mortal funk whilst he played, but was too weak to throw anything at him. When the vision first appeared, I thought it might have been a large bottle. The mantelpiece was cleared, and still old Sam came and played upon the spinet for five nights running.' 'The most inconvenient of all ghosts is the living ghost,' said Lieutenant Piercy. 'An Irish sergeant told me that, before he left Ireland, he lent an uncle five pounds. On returning, after fourteen years, he called upon his uncle, and asked him for the money. "Och, shure," said the man, "haven't I spent the double of it in masses for yez?"' 'Talking of ghosts,' said the doctor, 'what do you say, gentlemen, to this psychological touch? A young man--call him Brown--after years of deliberation, seriously considers that he has been born into the wrong family. He is wholly out of sympathy with his relations. He is superior to them. He loves music, the fine arts, literature, and so on. His sisters are vulgar, his father a cad. The young man, feeling convinced that a serious mistake has happened, goes forth to search for his own family. He finds them at last, a cultivated circle of people, and they all seem to know that he belongs to them. Strangely enough, young Brown meets in this family with one of the sons, a young fellow of his own age--call him Jones. Jones laments to Brown that he is entirely out of sympathy with his family. They are superior to him. He likes vulgar songs, the diverting company of ostlers and billiard-markers. He objects to young ladies. He prefers shop-girls. The point is clear,' said the doctor. 'These young men were born into the wrong families. Brown hinted to Jones that he would meet with the right parties at the Browns', and Jones was received by the Browns with that instinctive perception of his claims as a member of the family which had characterized the meeting between Brown and the Jones's.' 'Brown is a snob and Jones an ass,' said Parry. Here the chief officer came right aft, and looked into the binnacle. As the cheeks are sucked in, so the sails hollowed to the sudden emptiness of the atmosphere along with the slight floating roll of the whole fabric. A low thunder fore and aft broke from the masts. 'I'm sick of that noise!' exclaimed Lieutenant Piercy. 'The cockroaches dance to it. The kitchen offal that the cook threw overboard yesterday delights in it, and dwells alongside, a loving listener. I say, Mr. Mulready,' he called to the mate, 'when are you going to give us a whole gale over the taffrail--something that shall come roaring down upon the ship in a cloudless thunder of wind?' 'Ha, sir, when?' answered the mate, a dry man. Captain Parry, with a slight yawn, stood up, stretched his arms, stepped across the grating, and sprang upon the deck, then stood looking over the bulwark-rail at the distant icy gleam on the bow. 'The heat seems to have baked the life out of Parry,' said Lieutenant Piercy, 'or is it that his spirits sink as he approaches home, knowing what lies before him?' 'A man should feel himself a poor creature,' exclaimed the doctor, 'when he understands that a fit of despondency, a mood of unspeakable depression, reaching even unto tears, may be caused, not by the affections--oh no!--but by a little piece of celery, or half a pickled walnut.' 'I am thirsty,' said Piercy; 'come below, doctor, and have a drink.' Four bells were struck. The ladies disappeared. Five bells--then most of the gentlemen vanished. Six bells, and now the ship seemed clothed in sleep and silence. At intervals faint catspaws stirred, none of which were neglected by the mate of the watch, who, regardless of the smothered curses of the seamen, hoarsely roared orders for the braces to be manned. Thus, stealthily, the ship floated through the midnight sea, flooded with moonshine. Then came the dawn, the resurrection of the day, trailing its ghastly shroud across the face of the eastern sky. The watch of the mate came round again at eight bells--four o'clock--and when the day broke it found him on deck, standing at the rail, and peering ahead. 'Bring me the glass,' said he to a midshipman. Some three points on the bow of the ship lay a schooner. She had all cloths showing, saving her little top-gallant sail and royal. She was certainly not under command, and yet she did not seem derelict. Mr. Mulready levelled the ship's glass. What was she? Scarcely a yacht, yet of yacht-like finish and delicacy. The faint breeze trembled in her moon-white canvas. She lay head to wind, and the long pulse of ocean swell, in lifting and sinking her, exposed her sheathing in flashes, and submitted to the eye of Mr. Mulready the handsomest sea-going model he had ever looked at. 'Something wrong there,' thought he, carefully covering her with his glass, and intently examining her for any signs of life, for smoke in the caboose chimney, for a head peering in sickness over the bulwark rail. About a mile and a half separated the two vessels, and it had taken the _Alfred_ nearly the whole night long to measure the space betwixt the gleam over the bows and the spot of waters whence it had first been sighted by Captain Parry. The chief mate could do nothing without the captain; but, whilst the crew were washing down the decks, often pausing for a breath or two in their scrubbing to glance at the graceful, helpless, lonely fabric that was now drawing abeam, Captain Barrington stepped through the companion-hatch. His sight immediately went to the schooner. 'What vessel have we there?' he exclaimed, and he picked up the telescope that lay upon the skylight. 'She is abandoned, sir,' said he to his chief mate. 'She looks too beautiful for ill-luck,' answered the mate. 'The man who moulded her knew his art.' 'What's she doing all this way down here?' said Captain Barrington, talking with the telescope at his eye. 'She's a gentleman's pleasure-boat. Has she been sacked, and her crew and pleasure-party murdered? Brace the foretopsail aback. I'll send a boat aboard.' The ship came to a stand, with a lazy sigh of the light breeze in her canvas, the yards of the fore creaking on parrel and truss as they came round to the drag of hauling sailors. A boat was manned, lowered, and despatched in charge of the third officer, an intelligent young gentleman of the name of Blundell. 'Thoroughly overhaul her,' the captain had said. 'If she is derelict, bring away the log-book and papers.' And as the boat swept towards the schooner the skipper turned to Mr. Mulready and exclaimed: 'If she be abandoned, I'll put a crew aboard, and we'll sail home together. There is value in that little ship, sir, and she is too handsome a craft to be allowed to wash about down here.' Some of the male passengers arrived for their customary bath in the head. Do not believe the bath-room of the metal palace of this day comparable as a luxury to the old head-pump. You stripped, you sprang on to a grating betwixt the head-boards, and an ordinary seaman went to work. The gushing blue brine sank to your marrow. It gushed in cold sweetness through and through you. You gazed down, and saw the clear blue profound out of which the sparkling coil that hissed over your body was being drawn. It was the one delight of the tropics, the one joy that haply sometimes checked the profanities in the passengers' mouths when they came on deck and found the ship motionless. One of the first to come on deck to taste the sweetness of the head-pump was Captain Parry. The instant he rose through the hatch his eye caught sight of the schooner. He stood awhile staring; someone coming up behind him forced him to move out of the hatch. He stepped out, still with his eyes glued to the schooner, and advancing, that his vision might clear the quarter-boat, he again came to a stand, staring. He was a tall, well-built young man, about eight-and-twenty years of age, close-shaven and dark, and there was something Roman and heroic in the cast of his countenance. He was airily clothed for the bath, and watched the schooner with a towel or two dangling in his grasp. By this time the boat had reached the side of the apparently abandoned vessel, and the third officer might with the naked eye easily have been seen to spring aboard, followed by a seaman. He stood awhile taking a view of the decks, then disappeared. 'Captain Barrington,' exclaimed Captain Parry, wheeling suddenly upon the skipper of the ship as he approached him, 'is anything known of that vessel?' 'I have just sent a boat to board her,' answered the captain. 'Will you allow me to use that glass?' He took the telescope from the captain's hands, and resting the tubes on the bulwark rail, gazed thirstily. There was something of astonishment--indeed, of amazement--in his face when he turned to Captain Barrington. 'I don't think I can be mistaken,' he exclaimed in a low voice, talking to the captain, but looking at the schooner. 'It is the same figure-head, exactly the same rig, the same size, so far as the eye can measure her at this distance. She has a deck-house for her sailors, and her paintwork is the same. It will be extraordinary!' He fetched his breath in a half-gasp. 'Do you know that vessel, d'ye say, Captain Parry?' asked old Barrington, looking with curiosity and interest at the fine young fellow. 'I would swear that she is the _Mowbray_,' answered Captain Parry, picking up the glass afresh, and continuing to talk. 'She was purchased by Mr. Vanderholt, who made a yacht of her, and, when I was last in England, I went a short cruise in her along with Mr. Vanderholt and his daughter, the lady to whom--to whom---- Good God! the longer I look, the more I am satisfied. No name is painted on her; you will find her name in the boats. What, under heaven, brings her here, lying abandoned? Yes, oh yes! I'd pick her out if she were in a fleet of five hundred sail.' 'It may be as you say,' exclaimed Captain Barrington. 'It is a very remarkable meeting. But we can be sure of nothing until the third officer returns.' A few passengers, attracted by this conversation, had drawn close. You heard murmurs of excitement. A voyage at sea, in the old days of tacks and sheets, was a tedious affair, in spite of flirtation, cards, the simple diversions of the dance on the quarter-deck, the heaving of the quoit, the bets on the run. Even a floating bottle was a something to cause a stir. It broke the dull continuity of the day. A sail was a Godsend. And here now, after many weeks of tedious ocean travel, here now had suddenly uprisen, all at once, coming down a-beam out of the darkness of the midnight, so to speak, an ocean mystery that would be fraught with an inexpressible significance if Captain Parry's conjecture proved accurate. To this gentleman, for whom the head pump had magically ceased to have existence, the time of waiting and suspense was frantically long. Lieutenant Piercy came and stood beside him. 'But, supposing it is the _Mowbray_,' said the young officer: 'her presence in this sea needn't concern your friends. The vessel may have been sold. They may have been carrying her to some distant port. If it is fever, the dead will be found; if mutiny----' Here Lieutenant Piercy stopped, puzzled. 'I don't think Vanderholt would sell her,' exclaimed Parry. 'He was proud merely of her possession, though he did not often go afloat. How amazing to see her lying there! Of course it is the _Mowbray_,' he exclaimed, again levelling the glass. 'She used to carry a long-boat, and that's gone. If her people have left her, they went away in it.' 'She's certainly abandoned,' said Piercy, 'or something living would have shown itself by this time.' 'Why the deuce doesn't that fellow Blundell return?' muttered Parry, in an agony of impatience. But, even as he spoke, the figure of the mate might have been observed to drop over the schooner's side into the boat. The oars swept the brine into steam. The boat hissed alongside, and the third mate stepped on board. All the people of the saloon or cabin had by this time heard the news; they knew that an abandoned schooner, which was an ocean mystery, lay close by, and they had made great haste to dress themselves, insomuch that a large number of them were on deck. They elbowed round the third mate, and the commander, and Captain Parry, to hear the ship's officer's report. 'She is the _Mowbray_, sir, of, and from, London. I can't find any papers. Here's her log-book, sir. The last entry is in a female hand. The vessel was apparently on a pleasure cruise.' 'Let me look at that book,' said Captain Parry. He turned the pages till he came to the last entry, then began to read, now and then swaying himself, then making a step in recoil. All saw by his face and his motions, by his strange gestures, by the wild looks he would sometimes cast from the page to the schooner, that what he read was carrying the bitterness of death to his heart. Meanwhile the captain was questioning the third officer. 'There's nothing alive on board?' 'Nothing, sir. I searched everywhere.' 'No dead bodies?' 'None, sir.' 'Did you discover nothing to enable us to make a guess at what's become of her people?' 'Everything is in its place, sir. The log-book was left conspicuously open on the table of the cabin, that had, doubtless, been occupied by the captain.' 'Will you kindly accompany me below, Captain Barrington?' said Captain Parry, who was so extremely agitated and distressed that he could barely utter the words. The passengers made room. Every face bore marks of pity and astonishment. They had heard that the last entry was in a female hand, and they had also heard--indeed, they could see--that yonder schooner was abandoned. Captain Parry followed the commander of the ship down the companion-steps into a bright, handsomely-furnished saloon; thence they passed into an after-cabin, the door of which Captain Barrington shut. A large, old-fashioned stern window provided a spacious view of the sea. The light came off the water in a cloud of splendour, and glowed and throbbed upon the nautical brass instruments upon the table, and sparkled in a glazed framed likeness of Mrs. Barrington. 'The entry here,' exclaimed Captain Parry, trembling with excitement, and the twenty contending passions within him, 'is in the handwriting of the young lady to whom I am--to whom I was--to whom I am to be married on my arrival in England. She is Miss Violet Vanderholt. You perceive,' he said, pointing with a shaking forefinger, 'that she writes her name. The story she tells is of a diabolical mutiny. It took place on December 15. This entry is dated the 18th; to-day is the 20th. The _Mowbray_ has, therefore, been abandoned two days only, perhaps not a day, for though this last entry is dated the 18th, the crew need not necessarily have abandoned the schooner till yesterday, or even this morning.' 'It is certain,' said Captain Barrington, 'that the hands, together with the young lady, were on board the schooner on the 18th.' 'Quite certain, sir; but here is her story. Pray read it aloud to me; I did not fully master it.' Captain Parry, with a shaking hand, gave the log-book to his companion. It was of the usual form of log-book, with a good wide space for 'Remarks' on the right-hand side of each page. Captain Barrington, a white-haired man of fifty-five, with scarlet cheeks, glanced over a few of the earlier entries. He saw that the log had been kept down to December 14, afterwards the entry was in a female hand, strong, sure, but somewhat small: 'I have ascertained that none of the men can read. I am writing an account of what has befallen us, hoping, since the men talk of leaving her and taking me with them, that this yacht may be met with, and this log-book discovered. I heartily pray any into whose hands this book may fall that he will publish my narrative to the world, so that my father's fate and my own may be made known to Captain George Parry, H.E.I.C.'s Service, to whom I am engaged to be married.' The commander looked at Parry with brows arched by astonishment and sailorly concern. The officer brought his hands together in a convulsive gesture, and turned his eyes with a look of despair upon the sea, framed in the window. 'My father was Mr. Montagu Vanderholt, a well-known Cape merchant. We resided at ---- Terrace, Hyde Park, London. I, Violet Vanderholt, am his only daughter. He thought that a sea-trip would do him good. He asked me to accompany him. I was his only companion, and we set sail from the Thames, November 1, in this year. The master was Captain Glew. He treated the crew harshly, and excited their hate, though he was cautious in his behaviour when I was on deck, so that I never could say he spoke to a man barbarously. But the dreadful tragedy of this voyage was occasioned by the bad food supplied to the sailors. This was undoubtedly Captain Glew's fault. He had been commissioned to victual the vessel, and was responsible for her stores, and I fear he knew that what he bought was not wholesome for men to eat, though the charges my poor father was at should have given the men the very best quality of food. They complained to Glew, but not to my father. Captain Glew never hinted that the men were murmuring, and the mutiny was sprung upon us with dreadful suddenness. The captain and the mate seized the boatswain, and a man stabbed the captain in the side, and mortally wounded him. My father dragged me below, and, rushing into his cabin for a pistol, returned on deck to cow the men with the weapon. They did not heed him, and he fired, and, as I have since been told, and must believe, shot the mate, Mr. Tweed, accidentally through the head. Mr. Vanderholt was killed by an iron bar, flung with murderous violence. They afterwards feigned that this bar was thrown with the intention of dashing the pistol from my father's hand. This is all that I have to relate. 'I am writing this at ten o'clock on the morning of the 18th. I cannot imagine what the men intend. I asked the boatswain, who has treated me with great civility throughout, to tell me what they mean to do. This very morning I repeated the question. He answered he could not say. The men were undecided. Some were for going away in the boat, and taking their chance of being picked up, and some for remaining in the vessel. I gathered from his manner that these were few. What are they to do with the schooner if they stick to her? They might, indeed, wreck her off some island where they could represent themselves as shipwrecked men. I know that they regard me as a witness against them, and that my life is in great danger, and the merciful God alone knows what is to become of me. It is nearly----' Here the entry ended. The commander of the ship looked at Captain Parry. 'The hand of Providence is in this,' said the scarlet-faced man, very soberly and seriously. 'They cannot be far off!' exclaimed Captain Parry, stepping to the stern window with an air of distraction, and staring out at the sea. 'It is a clock-calm,' said the commander, 'and if anything which moves by canvas has received the crew, we may presume that she lies as helpless as we, not far distant.' 'But what excuse could they make,' said Captain Parry, 'to be transferred from so staunch a little ship as the _Mowbray_?' 'They might say that they were without a navigator.' 'Wouldn't another vessel put a navigator on board so fine a craft and send her home, sooner than leave her to go to pieces? In that case we should not have found her here.' 'There's nothing to be done at sea, sir, by arguing and speculating,' said Captain Barrington, still preserving his very serious manner, as though, indeed, he had found something to awe him in the circumstance of a girl writing, so to speak, in the heart of the Atlantic, with particular reference to her lover, and that lover reading her words there. 'It is as likely as not,' he continued, 'that they have gone away in the long-boat. It is clear, from the narrative, that the majority were in favour of that measure. These are quiet waters, and the men have reason to hope that they will be picked up soon, in which case they can tell their own story.' 'But Miss Vanderholt?' exclaimed Captain Parry. 'She can bear witness against them. What will they do with her?' 'Ha!' exclaimed the commander, fetching a deep breath. 'It is certain, anyhow, that she is not in the schooner.' CHAPTER VIII. IN SEARCH. In the year of this story Old Leisure was still going to sea. He flourished as pleasantly upon the ocean as amidst the hens and dunghills, the milkmaids and dairies, of the Poyser farmyard. He brought his main-topsail to the mast without reluctance when there was anything to be seen or talked to; he went on board the stranger, and dined with him; invited the stranger in return; then leisurely proceeded. There was no prompt despatch, to speak of, no urgency. The wind was the prevailing condition of the immense distances which the wooden keel traversed. Old Leisure kept his eye to windward, and hauled out his bowlines; but it was a time of ambling, of dozing, and of whistling for winds until too much came. Only in such a time as this now dealt with could we conceive a large, full-rigged ship, homeward bound from India, full of impatient hearts, hove-to, with a derelict schooner within easy hail, and the commander taking plenty of time to reason about her with a gentleman who was infinitely concerned in her unexpected, astounding apparition and log-book narrative. 'The thought of Miss Vanderholt being at the mercy of a crew of mutinous ruffians is unbearable!' exclaimed Captain Parry. 'What is to be done? Advise me, in the name of God, captain! You know--you know--I have told you she was to be my wife. You are an old sailor. For God's sake, counsel me!' 'If I could be sure that they had made off in their boat, and were still afloat in her,' answered the captain, 'I should know how to advise you. But if they have been received on board a ship, then I don't see what can be done. For in what direction may that ship be heading? Enough if your young lady should be safe, sir. Supposing her to be on board a ship, I have no doubt of your hearing good news of her, in course of time, after your arrival in England.' He opened the cabin-door, and called to one of the stewards. 'My compliments to the chief officer, and ask him to come to me.' Mr. Mulready quickly presented himself. 'We have some notion,' said Captain Barrington, addressing his mate, whilst he laid his hand upon the log of the _Mowbray_, 'that the crew of the schooner may have left her in their boat, taking the young lady with them. Send a couple of hands--don't trouble the young gentlemen,' said he, with a supercilious smile, vanishing almost as it appeared upon his firm lips, 'but a couple of sharp hands to the royal mastheads. Give one of them this glass.' He handed Mr. Mulready a binocular. 'Let the other take the ship's telescope aloft. I want the sea carefully swept. Make them understand that they must creep in their search to the very verge, for how far off is a boat visible? But they might sight the gleam of her lugsail.' Mr. Mulready took the glasses, and went swiftly out. Captain Parry stood at the open window, listening to what was passing, straining his sight also with consuming passions of dread, blind desire, helpless wrath, at the star-blue line of the sea that swept the brilliance of the heavens within little more than a league. The captain of the ship went to a locker, and took out a chart of the Atlantic. He spread it, and called to Captain Parry. The officer turned, and eagerly stepped to the chart. He saw zigzag prickings or lines upon the white sheet, as though somebody had been trying to represent flashes of lightning. Each line terminated in a little dotted circle. These were the 'runs.' But, then, these were also the Doldrums, and the motive power of that ship, the _Alfred_, lay in the breeze that, in the Doldrums, blows in the delicate catspaw that scarcely has power to run a shiver into the glazed breast. 'This was our situation at noon yesterday,' said the commander, putting his finger upon the northernmost little circle. 'There is no land for leagues, as you may observe.' 'What are those rocks?' observed Captain Parry, peering. 'St. Paul's Island--a horrible hornet's nest of black fangs, entirely out of the boat's reach. I am not sure that I ever heard of a boat effecting a landing. Anyone cast ashore there must perish. There is nothing to eat or drink. It is the desolation of hell!' added the commander, with a note of religious fervour in his speech; 'and a dreadful surf like a nightmare of storm raves day and night round those rocks.' 'What is to be done?' said Captain Parry, lifting himself erect from the chart. 'If they are in a boat they cannot be far distant. They have not long left the schooner, but every stroke of the oar carries them further away, and renders the search more hopeless.' 'The search?' exclaimed the commander, in a note of inquiry and surprise. 'I don't mean in this ship, of course,' said the officer, speaking with agitation and very quickly. 'A clipper schooner lies close at hand. If you will lend me a navigator and a few hands, we will sweep the sea, taking this mark,' he continued, putting his finger upon the chart, 'as our base, and hunting with masthead look-outs, and fierce fires burning by night, in circles whose circumference or diameter I should leave to the judgment of the mate in charge.' The commander began to slowly pace his cabin. Once he paused, and gazed with a face of earnest gravity at the sea that came brimming to the counter in a sheet of winding lines, the light swathes of the tropic calm, the oily gleam, the trouble of some stream of current twinkling in diamonds. Captain Parry eyed him with anxiety. He dreaded a discussion that might kill the hope that had suddenly been born in him. A tap on the door caused the commander to start. Mr. Mulready entered. 'The masthead men have been working hard with their glasses, sir, and report nothing in sight.' 'How is the schooner?' 'Forlorn, but safe, sir.' 'Take a boat and go aboard, and make a further thorough examination of her, and overhaul her stores--all as smartly as may be, sir. This gentleman has an idea, and I don't know but that it might prove practicable,' said the commander. And, as Mr. Mulready left the cabin, the captain of the ship turned to Parry, and asked him to follow him on deck. On the commander emerging, the third mate approached and touched his cap, and exclaimed: 'When I said there was no living thing aboard that schooner, sir, I should have reported a small coop full of cocks and hens, all alive, and very hungry and thirsty. I fed them with some rice I found in the galley, and poured a quantity of water into their trough.' He saluted, and marched off. 'In the face of Miss Vanderholt's last entry,' said the captain to Parry, 'we don't want live cocks and hens to tell us that that vessel has been recently abandoned.' She lay softly lifting upon the light swell, a beautiful, helpless fabric. The shudders which ran through her canvas were like the distress of something living. She had slewed somewhat, bringing her jibbooms to bear upon the ship. In the blind, hopeless way of abandoned craft, she was posture-making for help. The excitement aboard the _Alfred_ was very great indeed. The mastheading of the men, the pictures of their little bodies high in the heavens, sweeping the deep with binocular and telescope, had immensely stimulated the passions of curiosity and wonder. What did the captain expect the sailors to see upon that vast girdle of brine, that rolled flawless to the glorious stroke of the sun? It was known that the young lady who had been on board the schooner was betrothed to Captain Parry. Could romance be carried beyond this? The ladies fluttered in talk, the gentlemen growled. 'I'm keeping a diary,' said a major, with great, dyed, well-curled whiskers, to the surgeon of the ship, 'of this voyage home, as I did of the voyage out, and I shall probably publish it, sir. But this incident will not be credited. Sages in their day have believed in ghosts, and laughed to scorn a report of earthquakes.' 'I do not see why this incident should not be believed,' said the doctor. 'It is too probable--for the sea, sir. If you want a sea-fact to be accepted, state that which a sailor will know to be impossible.' 'Parry looks as haggard as if he had been up for a week of nights,' said the doctor. Many eyes were fixed upon him as he stood beside the master of the ship, viewing the schooner and talking. The ship forward was a gem of an ocean piece, with the smoke of her galley-chimney going straight up, the sailors--it was their breakfast-time--lounging in the cool of the shade of the jibs, with hook-pots and biscuits, and pipes of tobacco: and the great foresail, white as milk, floated motionless from its long yard. Some soldiers in white clothes were seated upon the booms, in the wake of the draught which would stir from that vast square of sail when the weak swell of the sea put a faint pulse of life into it. The sky was sublimely lofty, with the light-blue brilliance of the tropic zone; not a cloud to depress it to the sight, and all the air was gone. Captain Barrington and Captain Parry stood together at the mizzen shrouds, looking at the schooner, conversing, and waiting for the return of the mate. The passengers very respectfully gave them a wide berth. 'No,' says Captain Barrington presently; 'I shall have no objection, sir. I am to be influenced by humanity in this business. My owners cannot and will not object,' he added, as if thinking aloud. 'We shall be saving a valuable yacht. Mr. Blundell is a very efficient young officer, quite experienced enough to take charge, and he will receive certain instructions from me, sir, for we must define the area of sea to be searched, and the time to be taken.' He looked at the schooner thoughtfully. 'She is under two hundred tons,' said he. 'Mr. Blundell and four men and a boy should suffice; I can spare no more.' 'I am no sailor, but I can pull and haul,' said Captain Parry. 'I can do a man's bit. What time would you limit us to?' 'I should wish to be a little elastic. There's no wind here to depend upon,' answered the commander. 'I will see Mr. Blundell in my cabin after breakfast, and explain my ideas.' Presently the breakfast-bell rang. The captain and the passengers went below. Captain Parry asked that a biscuit and a cup of tea should be brought to him on deck. He gazed round upon the spacious sea, and the tranquillity of it soothed and calmed his inward, hidden, fuming impatience. He knew that the stagnation that held the _Alfred_ motionless would keep the boat so, unless the men rowed, which was not very conceivable, for sailors do not commonly row when the distance they have to traverse runs into hundreds of miles. If they had been taken aboard a ship, she, too, must be lying becalmed. Yet one black dread ever haunted Captain Parry's fancies. He was going to seek the boat. Had Miss Vanderholt accompanied the men? Would they carry with them a living witness to their piracy and murders? Had not she been murdered before the schooner was abandoned? It was ten o'clock when the mate returned from the _Mowbray_. All this while the sea remained satin-smooth. The sun, soaring high, burnt fiercely; the paint bubbled in blisters, the pitch ran in soft-soap, and the whole light of the schooner's canvas poured under her in quivering sheets of quicksilver. Mr. Mulready was dark with dirt and sweat, and looked like a man who has passed a week in stowing a ship's hold. Captain Parry stood in the gangway to receive him, and the mate's immediate inquiry was for the commander. He was closeted with Mr. Blundell. 'What news can you give me?' said the military officer, grasping the dry-minded mate by the arm, and looking beseechingly into his face. 'There's just plenty of stores and fresh water,' answered Mr. Mulready, 'enough to last a small crew six months. Her after-hold is rich in the eating line. There are about two dozen cocks and hens.' 'I don't mean _that_!' exclaimed Parry wildly. 'Did you find no hint of the fate of the young lady?' 'My answer must be,' answered the mate, with a certain formal, sympathetic gravity, 'that nothing is alive on yonder vessel saving a few cocks and hens.' The captain made his appearance, followed by Mr. Blundell. 'I have arranged with the third officer,' said he, walking straight up to Captain Parry and the mate, 'that he shall take charge of the yacht and search for the boat. There can be no hurry whilst this clock-calm lasts. Still, I dare say you'll be glad to go on board.' 'I'm mad to go on board!' answered Captain Parry. 'Get your luggage together, then, sir. Mr. Blundell will provide the schooner with a couple of pistols out of the arms' chest, and the necessary ammunition. If you fall in with the boat, remember they are eight seamen, rendered desperate by murder. You will be but seven. The possibility is faint, the chance is the smallest,' the captain muttered in a dying voice. 'I thank you for your foresight,' said Parry; and he went hastily to his cabin to pack up. The mate told Captain Barrington that there were plenty of rockets and portfires aboard the schooner. A fireball by night might bring the boat to the yacht. He then produced a piece of paper, and gave the commander an idea of the quantity of stores in the little vessel. 'They'll want nothing from us, then,' said Captain Barrington. 'However, since the mutiny appears to have been owing to the rottenness of the food, sling a couple of casks of our beef into the boat.' It was eleven o'clock when all was ready for Captain Parry to go on board the _Mowbray_. Four men and a boy had volunteered as a crew, and when the boat was freighted she lay deep alongside with seamen's chests, luggage, casks of beef, and human beings. The passengers made a tender farewell of this singular, most romantic leave-taking in mid-ocean. They pressed forward to shake Captain Parry by the hand. Some hoped that the blessing of God would attend his search. More than one lady raised a handkerchief to her eyes. As the boat shoved off, a hearty cheer broke from the whole length of the vessel. The boat reached the side of the _Mowbray_, and all that was to be received on board was hoisted up. Captain Parry breathed deep, and wore a wildness in his looks, whilst he stood for a few minutes gazing round about him. Of course, he remembered the little ship perfectly well--the delightful cruise he had taken in her, with Violet and her father, a little while before he returned to India. He looked, and began to realize the brutal scene as the girl had sketched it in that last entry. It was hard to think of his immensely wealthy friend Mr. Vanderholt meeting a mean, base end at the hands of a brutal Ratcliffe sailor. What had they done with Violet? The little ship seemed to smell of human blood. The airy graces of her heights, the beauty of all that was choice and finished betwixt her rails, seemed to have departed. Wherever murder stalks, the spirit of horror, attended by the ghost of neglect and decay, follows. They break the windows of the house. They command the spiders to build. The dirty little building in which the body was found is going to pieces. The alley up which the body was dragged is of a sickly green, with a growth of unwholesome grass. It was so with this yacht--this beautiful fabric, the _Mowbray_. The wizardry of murder had changed her to the sight of Parry. He cursed her with all his heart as the cause of the destruction of his sweetheart and Mr. Vanderholt, and, wondering what the devil had brought her so far from home, whether it might be possible that father and daughter had been sailing to India to meet him, that they might return together in the same vessel, he put his hand upon the fire-hot companion-hood, and descended the ladder. He searched, as the two mates had searched, and, of course, found more than they. He beheld in a cabin memorials of his sweetheart--her dresses, her hats, a veil, and a pair of gloves lay in her cot. One glove was still bulked with the impress of her hand, as though she had but just now drawn it off in a hurry, and cast it down. He peered narrowly. The cabin was a charming little boudoir. He witnessed no suggestions of violence; nothing appeared to have been disturbed. He sought for marks of blood, then thought to himself, 'If she is murdered, they did not kill her with a knife--they drowned her.' He stayed for half an hour in this cabin, then entered the adjoining berth, which had been Mr. Vanderholt's. He found nothing to help him here. The old gentleman had been eccentric. He had believed he loved the life of the forecastle,--God help him!--and he had illustrated his idle imagination of fondness by causing his berth to be rendered as uncomfortable as possible. Parry was disturbed in his investigations of this berth by a bustle in the cabin. He looked out, and saw a couple of sailors coming down with his luggage. 'Tumble those traps in here,' said he. 'Are we moving?' 'It is a fact, sir,' said one of the men, who was a Swede. 'A little gentle vindt has begun to blow, and der _Alfred_ is going home.' 'Home? I do not quite understand,' exclaimed Captain Parry. He said no more, however, to the men, and went on deck to look about him. An air of heaven, blowing out of the boundless blue, with not a cloud in the sky to show you where it came from, was wrinkling the wide waters into a thrilling azure, and under the sun the glory was blinding. They had trimmed sail on the schooner--a trifling matter; a hand was at the helm; Mr. Blundell stood beside him, looking into the little binnacle. On the bow was the _Alfred_, with her foretop-sail full, every cloth stirless, so soft was the cradling of that sea. Her yards were braced forwards, and she seemed to lean; she floated upright in silent majesty, nevertheless, her trucks plumb with the zenith, and, as she gained way, her short scope of wake sparkled like a shoal of herrings under her counter. Mr. Blundell was a stout, hearty young sailor, about two-and-twenty years of age. He had that sort of face which is often met at sea under both flags--perfectly hairless, fleshy, permanently tinctured by the roasting fires and the drying-in gales and frosts of ocean-travel. He was looking at the compass of the schooner when Captain Parry approached. Perhaps he sought for a hint or two in gear that did not lead like a ship's, and canvas that was not shaped for square-yards. At a motion from Captain Parry, he drew away from the helmsman. 'I am at a loss,' said the captain, looking at the ship under the shelter of his hand. 'Is the _Alfred_ going home?' 'Certainly, sir,' answered Mr. Blundell. 'We've dipped our farewell. We're now on our own hook.' 'Then, I mistook. I supposed when Captain Barrington talked of limiting us to time that he intended we should return to him here,' said Captain Parry. The young mate smiled. 'His notion in limiting us to time,' said he, 'was that we should not run the quest into a hopeless job. There should be a limit.' 'Of course, a reasonable limit,' said Parry. 'What is it?' 'It has been left to my judgment, sir; and I am willing to be governed by you.' 'Thanks, Blundell!' Captain Parry, pronouncing this sentence with warmth and emotion, stepped to the binnacle and looked at the card. 'You are holding the schooner north-west,' said he. 'You have a reason?' 'We must head her on one course or another,' answered Blundell. 'I propose, with your leave, to carry out Captain Barrington's ideas. He has sketched me a circular course. I'll compass it off on the chart below presently, and you shall form your own opinion. Loose the square canvas, my lads!' he sang out, abruptly breaking from Captain Parry. The captain lent a hand to pull and haul; he dragged to the music of the salt-throats at the sheets and halliards. The breeze freshened in a steady gushing. The ocean was a miracle of laughing light. Already you heard the snore of foam at the cutwater, and the stealthy hiss of its passage aft. The _Alfred_ was growing small and square in the blue distance. She was feeling the breeze now, and her pale and shapely shadow leaned as she headed, with an occasional dim flash from her wet, black side, into the far northern recess. Captain Parry went below, and returned on deck with the binocular which he had observed in Mr. Vanderholt's cabin. The main rigging of the _Mowbray_ was rattled down to the height of the lower masthead. The captain got into the shrouds, and made his way to the crosstrees. Higher, being no sailor, he durst not crawl. With one hand he grasped a topmast shroud that was sweating tar; with the other he lifted the glasses, and searched the sea till his eyes swelled and throbbed in their sockets. When he descended he said to the mate: 'I have wondered why the men should have left the schooner afloat. Don't they usually scuttle vessels in affairs of this sort?' 'I heard the captain and the second officer talk this matter over,' said Mr. Blundell. 'The second mate thought that the villains knew what they were about when they left the schooner floating. She would be met with, and boarded. They'd find nothing to give them an idea of what had happened. So she'd be carried away to a port as a mystery, and that would be giving the men a better chance than had they scuttled her.' 'Why?' 'Always one of the men who've been concerned in bloody businesses of this sort finds his way to a hospital. He lies alongside another man and gabbles. The second mate seemed to think that if one of the men of this yacht turned up at a hospital and gabbled, less would be made of what he said if the schooner had been towed into port as a mystery than had she been sunk. For my part,' added Mr. Blundell, 'I believe they left her afloat because they couldn't find the heart to sink her. She is a beauty,' he murmured; and he whistled as he looked aloft and around. 'I take the second mate's view,' said Captain Parry. He now made the tour of the schooner. He went forward and looked into the men's deck-house, then dropped into the little forecastle and peered round him. When he regained the deck, he saw a seaman climbing the fore-rigging, with a binocular glass slung over his shoulder. He watched him till the man had reached the royal yard, over which he threw his leg, with his back against the sun-bright mast. The seaman began to sweep the sea slowly and critically. 'Good God!' thought Captain Parry, with a sudden heart-leap, 'if the boat is afloat, or has not been picked up, we ought to fall in with her.' The noise of the breeze was in his ears, a glad sense of motion came to him from the quick salt seething alongside. His heart leapt up; but in a minute all was dark again within him, with the horrible dread that Violet had been murdered by the men before they quitted the schooner. The large, comfortable long-boat had been lifted out of its chocks, and was gone. Captain Parry noticed, however, that two good boats hung in the davits on either hand. He was impatient to learn the directions given by Captain Barrington, but Mr. Blundell was busy with the little ship's affairs just then. He had to appoint a cook, and see to the dinner; he had to arrange for a masthead look-out that should be brief under that broiling eye of day. They were few, and it taxed his genius as a sailor to make the most of them. At last he found some time to spare. A sailor was left to trudge a look-out; one at the helm made two, one on the royal yard made three. The cook was the fourth, and the 'boy' was left to stand-by. Captain Parry followed the mate into the cabin, and, whilst Blundell went into his berth for the chart of the Atlantic, the captain stood looking about him and thinking. She had sat there, or there, he thought, at table. It was so recent, the very fragrance of her might be found in the atmosphere. How often had her feet trodden those steps? He saw her, in imagination, reading; she pored upon some volume, under that golden globe, with her hair illuminated; he thought of her agony of heart when she rushed on deck at the sound of firearms, and saw her father, the captain, and mate lying dead, and knew that she was alone with a crew of murderers. 'This is how Captain Barrington hopes we'll work it, sir,' said Blundell, coming out of Captain Glew's berth, and putting a chart upon the table. He also produced a pair of compasses and a nautical instrument for measuring distances. He pulled a paper, covered with calculations, from his pocket, and placed it by his side. 'This will be it, I think, sir,' said Blundell, sticking a leg of the compass into the chart; 'where the point of this leg is we were when we parted company with the _Alfred_. We allow the boat a start of thirty-six hours, remembering always that our weather will have been hers.' 'Quite so!' exclaimed Captain Parry, devouring every word. 'I am now heading,' continued the mate, with a glance at the paper, 'to arrive at this point.' Here he put the pencil end of the compasses upon the chart. 'When we arrive there, our navigation will be this.' He now, with great care, and constant references to the paper of figures, together with a frequent use of the nautical instruments for measuring distances, described a number of circles. These circles lay one within another, and when completed they might be likened to a cone-shaped spring, or to a corkscrew looked at vertically. 'You will perceive, Captain Parry,' said the mate, 'that the distance between each circle is the same. How far can a man see from the schooner's royal yard? Well, Captain Barrington would not allow that he should be able to see so small an object as a boat, even with a good telescope, at a greater distance than thirteen miles. Thirteen miles to port and thirteen to starboard. Each circle, therefore, is twenty-six miles wide.' 'If the boat is afloat,' exclaimed Captain Parry, viewing the discs with admiration full of hope, 'she must positively be within one of these circles?' 'Unless she has taken a breeze and blown clear, or means to come running into the inner whilst we're steering our dead best for the outer circles.' 'What chance do we stand?' 'Frankly, sir, the smallest chance that ever was found at sea,' answered the young mate, rolling up his chart. 'The horrible consideration with me,' said Captain Parry, 'is that the young lady may not be in the boat.' Mr. Blundell looked slowly round the cabin, but made no answer. 'What do you think?' exclaimed Parry. 'If we fall in with the boat shall we find Miss Vanderholt in her?' The mate mused, toyed a bit with the chart, rolling and unrolling it, then said: 'From what I overheard the mate say about the entry the young lady made in the log-book, I should argue that the men had been using her civilly from the time of the mutiny. That's in her favour, sir.' Parry eyed him intently. All the shrewdness in Blundell's brain was working in his face, sharpening his gaze and pinching lips and nose into a lifted look of eagerness whilst he talked. 'There seems to have been no trouble aboard this vessel,' he continued, 'until the mutiny took place. That should signify that the men, taking them all round, were steady as sailors go. No doubt they'd got something in the Nova Scotia way in their captain. He appears to have been one of those captains who, after draining the blood out of men's veins, runs gunpowder in, then applies the fuse. Everybody's aghast at the bloody business, but it's one man's doing.' 'You believe that they would not use violence towards Miss Vanderholt?' 'Until I knew, I could never persuade myself that they'd make away with her. They are men. I dare say they were demons whilst they fought, and thought of the cause of their fighting. I'll not believe that, as English seamen, they'd kill the poor lady.' 'She's a living witness against them.' 'They'll have heaped oath upon oath upon her, sir. Likely as not they'll put her aboard something passing, themselves going away and waiting for the next ship.' 'God grant it!' exclaimed Captain Parry. 'It's the first bit of hope that's come to me since we fell in with the schooner.' CHAPTER IX. THE DISCOVERY. The wind that evening freshened out of the north-west glare of sunset. The sky thickened, and some small wings of scud flew south-east, bronzed by the western splendour dimming fast. The sea ran in a cloudy green, but without weight, in the light tropic surge. At sundown Mr. Blundell hailed the royal yard, and the answer, hoarse in tone as a seagull's scream, was: 'Nothing in sight, sir.' The mate ordered the man to come down on deck, and half an hour later, when darkness was on the face of the deep, and the last red scar had died out of the starless sky, the _Mowbray_ was slopping softly through the creaming waters, under her mainsail and standing jib. It was like being hove-to; but she had way, and when Captain Parry looked over the taffrail, he saw the cold, green lights of the sea revolving and sliding off in the short spread of yeast the nimble clipper carried with her. It drew down a night ghastly with the pallor of the hidden moon. At about nine o'clock they burnt a flare; the crimson flames rose quivering, and the smoke drove, black as a thunder-cloud, betwixt the masts to leeward. The little ship stood out against the night fire-tinctured. She looked, with her glowing yellow masts and fiery shrouds, to be built of flame. The night came in walls of blackness to this wild and beautiful vision, and the noise of the sea, and the sense of the infinity of the deep, that was running and seething out of sight, filled the glowing picture with an entrancing spirit of mystery. You would have said that she owed her life and light to the sea-gods. Both Parry and the mate, whilst this flare was burning, repeatedly directed their night-glasses at the ocean, and, even whilst it burnt, a man came aft to the call of the mate and sent up a couple of rockets. The fireballs hissed, burst, and vanished in spangles, darting a lustre as of lightning across a little space of sky. The flare crackled, leapt up, smouldered, and was extinguished by a bucket of water. A couple of lanterns--bright globular glasses--were lighted, and hung up in the main rigging, one on each side. This brought the hour to about a quarter past ten. The sea was again searched, its ghastly face had stolen out, and the heads of the breaking billows under that thick and pallid sky were like flashes of guns in mist. 'If the lady isn't in this circle, Captain Parry,' said Mr. Blundell cheerfully, 'let's hope we'll find her in the next. If the boat's within ten miles of us they'll have seen our flare and those fireballs.' 'But we are moving through the sea,' said Captain Parry. 'If we make them a head wind, and continue to sail, how are they to fetch us?' 'The schooner's only just under command, sir. If I heave to the drift will put me out. With your kind leave I'll go below and get a glass of grog.' They both went into the cabin, leaving a man to look out. They were waited upon by the 'boy,' who was, indeed, a young man of about eight-and-twenty, with a face full of sallow fluff, and an old man's look in his eyes and in the contraction of his brows, as though he had been born in the workhouse and knew life. But at sea there were but three ratings, and if you don't sign articles as an able or ordinary seaman, then, if you were eighty years old, and could scarcely creep over the ship's side with your cargo of scythe and hour-glass, you'd still be called a boy. The mate and Captain Parry sat for a little in the cabin, sipping cold brandy and water. 'Should the men in the boat see our flares and rockets,' said the captain, 'what will they think of them?' 'They'll approach us to take a look.' 'But if they make out that we are the schooner of their piracy and murders, will they come on board?' 'She's an open boat, sir, and you have to consider how men will be driven by exposure. Anyhow,' said Mr. Blundell, 'if we can only coax her this side the horizon, we may easily keep her in sight till we've worn them out.' 'I have been thinking of these red-hot skies, too. Will Miss Vanderholt be able to survive the exposure of even a day and a night?' And Captain Parry swayed in his chair with the grief of the thought. 'Well,' said the mate, with the note of a stout heart in his voice, 'only a sailor is able to tell a man what ladies really can go through. Low-class females, emigrants and the like, cave in quickly; they are the shriekers. They cannot bear terror, and it kills them on rafts and in boats. But your thoroughbred lady is always the one that I've seen, heard of, and read of, who has shown a lion's heart and the coldness of a stone head in shipwreck. If Miss Vanderholt be in the boat, you'll find that she'll have suffered less than the men.' A faint smile stirred the lips of Captain Parry; but he grew quickly grave again, with the distress of his imaginations. At that moment a hoarse cry in the skylight made them spring to their feet. 'There's a big ship a-bearing down upon us!' The mate rushed up the steps, followed by Captain Parry. The ghostly sheen of the moon still clouded as with steam the thickness of the night, and the scene of heaven and sea was mystical with elusive distance, with the soft near flash of the surge, and the windy chaos of the horizon. On the bow, not half a mile distant, was a large pale shape. The night-glass made her white-hulled, with canvas to her trucks. The schooner was thrown into the wind. It was clearly the intention of the stranger to speak the _Mowbray_. Through the small scattering hiss of the sea on either hand you might have heard the low, constant thunder of the bow-wave of the ship as she washed through the brine, making a light for herself with her sides and white heights, but showing no lights. On a sudden the human silence was broken by a short, gruff command, weak with distance. The sound might then be heard of yards being swung; ropes crowed in blocks, parrels creaked on masts, and in a few minutes a large white ship, with the fires of the sea dripping at her cutwater, lay abreast of the schooner, all way choked out of her by the backed topsail. 'Schooner ahoy!' 'Hallo!' shouted Mr. Blundell, sending his voice far into the darkness over the ship's rail, whence the hail had proceeded. 'What's wrong with you that you are sending up rockets and burning flares?' 'We are in search of a boat. Have you met with a boat containing eight men and a lady?' A short silence ensued. 'What schooner are you?' 'The _Mowbray_, of, and now for, the Thames, when we recover the boat. What ship are you?' 'The _Georgina Wilde_, Liverpool to Melbourne. I expect your people have been rescued. We passed a schooner's long-boat yesterday morning, and I read your name, the _Mowbray_, in her stern sheets.' 'If that's the case,' exclaimed Mr. Blundell quickly to Captain Parry, 'there'll be no good left in this circle job.' 'Has he no more information to give us?' said Captain Parry, with a hopeless stare at the tall, pale shadow, upon whose decks nothing was visible in that thickness save a dull, Will-o'-the-wisp-like glimmer where the binnacle stand stood. The schooner was hailed again. 'Hallo!' answered Blundell. 'We sighted a derelict yesterday at noon. She was within a mile or two of the long-boat. Looked like a small brig, timber-laden.' 'How would she bear from us now?' bawled the mate. It was plain, from the stillness that followed, that the man with the powerful hoarse voice had walked to his compass-stand to consider the required bearings. A midnight hush came down upon the deep then, spite of the plash and gurgle of waters in motion, and of a dull song of wind up aloft in the rigging of the schooner. Now it was that a single shaft of moonlight glanced through a rift down upon the sea, flashing up the rolling head of a surge into a melting hill of silver. The night seemed to sweep with a deeper dye of blackness from either hand that pure crystal ray. Yet it made a light, too. It gave substance and firmness to the visionary ship abeam. Captain Parry saw a figure coming along the deck from the binnacle to the rail to hail. He also perceived figures of seamen on the short topgallant forecastle; likewise he beheld the bowsprit and jibbooms forking out like a huge spear, poised for hurling in the grasp of a giant, and betwixt that extreme point of jibboom and masthead floated symmetric clouds of soft whiteness; but the moonbeam was eclipsed in a few moments, and the white ship sank back into a vision, glimmering and scarce determinable. Again the schooner was hailed. 'The bearings of the derelict,' shouted the voice, in tones of the volume of a speaking-trumpet, 'will be north-west by north half north, about. Don't take this as if it was an observation. Try about forty mile on that course, and if nothing heaves into view, sweep the sea. The derelict's bound to be afloat. Farewell! Good luck attend you!' Then, a minute later, 'Swing the main topsail yard! Ease away your weather main braces!' The pale and lofty shadow leaned from the damp night breeze, and the water trembled into fire along the visionary length of her, when, with a soft stoop of her bow to some invisible heave of the ocean, she broke her way onwards, dissolving quickly into the night. 'About forty miles distant,' said Mr. Blundell, stepping to the compass. 'Shall we head on a course for her, sir?' 'Oh, most certainly!' answered Captain Parry. 'Better jog along under easy canvas, till it comes daylight, anyhow,' said the mate. The course was shifted, sail trimmed, the gaff foresail was set, and the schooner, carrying the midnight breeze abeam, slided soundless through the gloom over the black, wide swell of the sea. Captain Parry was too anxious to take rest. He lighted a cheroot, and paced the deck with Mr. Blundell, who had heroically resolved not to turn in that night--not to turn in at all until the timber-laden derelict had been sighted, boarded and rummaged. They kept the lanterns burning in the rigging. They never knew how it might be with the eight men and the lady, supposing the lady with them. It is true that the long-boat had been fallen in with adrift; but then, as Mr. Blundell put it, 'That might be due to an accident, without signifying that they'd been received on board a ship, and their boat let go.' 'My own view's this, sir,' said he, as he lighted one of Parry's cheroots at the glowing tip of the Captain's. 'The men saw that timber craft, and being scorched with the heat, and wild with cramp, they resolved to make for the shelter of it, where they could stretch their arms and take the kinks out of their legs. The painter which held the boat slipped, and she drifted softly off, and when they saw that she was gone she was a dozen ships' lengths distant. They could do nothing, aboard a drowned timberman with empty davits, and a list of perhaps forty degrees, but let her go. That's my notion. We shall find all hands aboard. If so, what will you wish me to do, sir?' 'Bring them into this schooner,' answered Captain Parry. 'If they have murdered Miss Vanderholt, they shall swing for it, by God!' 'But pray consider this, sir,' said Mr. Blundell coolly. 'They are eight men, daring, defiant devils, no doubt, bullies in the alley, jolly examples of your Jack Muck. We are seven. To bring them on board we should be obliged to fetch them. But, sir, we can't leave the schooner deserted. She might run away from us. She got her liberty once, and the appearance of the derelict might excite her appetite afresh for freedom.' 'For God's sake, Mr. Blundell,' broke in Captain Parry, 'don't joke!' 'I mean, sir,' continued Mr. Blundell, in a voice that did him some honour, as it proved he could be abashed, 'that we should have to leave three of our people to look after the schooner, so that we should go four to eight in order to fetch them.' 'We are armed,' exclaimed Captain Parry. 'Two pistols,' said the mate. 'We must bring them aboard--we must bring them aboard!' cried Captain Parry, in a voice that almost shouted with nerve. 'Will they be content,' he went on after a hard suck or two at his cigar, 'to continue washing about in a wreck that might spread under them at any minute like a pack of cards when they see a schooner alongside willing to receive them?' 'To be hanged, sir.' 'Who's to tell them _that_ till we've got them under hatches?' said Captain Parry. 'They know this craft,' said Blundell, in a note of gloom. 'It'll be a job. Eight of 'em, and only four of us. It'll take us all we know.' Captain Parry belonged to a fighting profession. When he talked of boarding the timberman and bringing off the eight men, his imagination was a little confused. He brandished a sword in fancy; he was followed by a number of smart men in red coats, and with fixed bayonets. He did not quite gather that, if he headed the boarders, he should be leading into glory three timid seamen who were entirely averse to selling their lives at any price. Moreover, Captain Parry was not a sailor. He could not imagine how difficult it is to gain the deck of a ship whose people do not want you. These eight men would, in a deck cargo of timber, find plenty of materials fit for knocking out the bottom of a boat, and the brains of those who should venture their noses above the rail. But it was an idle argument betwixt him and the mate. Were they going to find the half-foundered brig? Would the eight men be in her? Would Miss Vanderholt be amongst them? At daybreak nothing was visible in the telescope from the fore royal yard. The weather had cleared in the night. It was a strange, mountainous morning of huge swollen cloud, whose sun-bright bellies amazingly whitened the silver of that ocean. Now and again, round about the horizon, a spark of lightning flashed in the heart of a violet shadow of vapour, and now and again a low note of thunder, distant, tremulous as an organ strain, rolled across the sea, as though some huge, deep-throated beast, big as a hill, and couchant behind the horizon, was being worried. There was breeze enough to keep the schooner's sails full, and sunrise found the _Mowbray_ pursuing the course of the night. Captain Parry refreshed himself with a bucket of cold green brine, and tried to make some breakfast. Mr. Blundell ate heartily, and again, as they sat at table, they argued upon the course to adopt should they find the eight seamen on the wreck. 'If they've got Miss Vanderholt with them,' said the mate, 'I should recommend asking them to allow us to receive her aboard--we leaving them aboard the wreck to be taken off by the next thing that passes.' 'I like that idea,' said Captain Parry; 'it would save bloodshed. We want nothing but the young lady. They should be glad to get easily rid of her as a witness. If they are short of food, we can supply them with stores enough to keep them going for a time that would allow of a reasonable chance of their being rescued.' 'They'll want provisions, anyhow,' said the mate. 'Stove timbermen float on their cargo. You need to dive to get at the grub in those derelicts. I'm counting upon hunger courting them into the schooner without obliging us to try what coaxing them with four men and two pistols is going to do.' They went on deck, and stared at the sea-line through glasses. A little before noon, just at the moment when Mr. Blundell was coming out of his cabin with his sextant, a man stationed aloft on the look-out hailed him. 'What is it?' shouted Blundell, springing through the companion-hatch. 'There is a black object away down upon the port-bow. It looks like a boat.' 'How does it bear on the bow?' cried Blundell to the little figure aloft, a sailor with a face set in black whiskers. He looked to tremble in the heat up there, and his shape, as he stood erect to the height of the truck, seemed shot with the lights of several dyes, and against a swollen heap of cloud past him he showed like a coloured daguerreotype. 'About two points,' was his answer. Mr. Blundell shifted his helm for it, but, whatever it might be, it was not yet visible from the deck. The mate got an observation of the sun, and went below to work it out. When he returned he found Captain Parry examining a dark object on the bow with a telescope. 'It's a ship's boat most unquestionably,' said the captain, turning to Mr. Blundell. The mate was at this instant hailed afresh from the masthead. 'There's another dark object about a point on the weather-bow,' said the fellow dangling high in air, his hoarse voice softening in falls as it reached the ear from the hollows of the sails. 'She'll be the wreck, sir,' he howled, after working away with his glass. Captain Parry was as pale as the dawn with excitement and expectation. 'I vow to God,' said he, bringing his fist down on the rail, 'I would certainly lose my left arm with cheerfulness to know at this instant that Miss Vanderholt is alive and well in the wreck!' 'If she is with them they'll all come aboard together,' said the mate, with scarce conscious dryness. 'Hunger and thirst will work their way with beasts, let alone men.' Little more was said whilst the schooner, driven by a five-knot breeze, swept in long floating launches down upon the boat that came and went. There had been wind somewhere, and a small swell rolled in from the westward, running lightning flashes through the water. No man could say it was the _Mowbray's_ long-boat till they had luffed and shaken the wind out of the schooner close alongside the little fabric. Then her identity was settled by a single glance at her through the glass. The yacht's name, '_Mowbray_--London,' was painted in large black letters in the stern-sheets. 'Stand by to hook her,' shouted the mate. A seaman aft, jumping for a boathook in one of the quarter-boats, sprang into the little ledge of the main chains. The schooner was slightly manoeuvred; the boat was brought close alongside and captured. She was as empty and dry as an old cocoanut-shell. 'What does that signify?' said Captain Parry. 'One of two things, clearly,' answered Blundell. 'Either they have carried all the stores they left the yacht with aboard the wreck, or the ship that picked them up emptied her before sending her adrift.' 'Would they let a valuable boat like that go?' The mate shrugged his shoulders. There are some questions concerning the sea which even a sailor cannot answer. 'Do you see that her long painter is trailing overboard?' exclaimed Captain Parry. 'Does it not look as if the knot had unhitched and let her slip away?' 'But from what, sir? That trailing length of rope might as easily mean that she was let slip from a ship, as that she slipped of her own accord from a wreck.' This talk, uttered swiftly, occupied a minute, whilst they overhung the rail, looking into the boat alongside. 'We must have her out of that,' said the mate, 'and restore her.' The man who was hanging to her by the boathook, turning up a face as dark as a new bronze coin, exclaimed: 'There's something white right aft, jammed away down under them stern-sheets.' It was immediately wanted, of course, but the man with the boathook could not get it and keep a hold of the boat, too; so another man jumped in and brought up a pocket-handkerchief. 'It's a lady's,' said the mate. 'It's Miss Vanderholt's!' exclaimed Captain Parry, observing a small 'V. V.' in the corner. Two or three marks of blood stained it, as though the lip, nose, or ear had slightly bled. 'What does it betoken?' said Captain Parry, looking at the handkerchief, and speaking softly, as though to himself. 'If it is a memorial, why, in God's name, should it come to me blood-stained?' They got the boat aboard; all hands, including Parry, pulling and hauling at the tackles. When she was chocked, a course was shaped for the derelict brig, according to the indication of the masthead man. It was a time of thrilling anxiety for Parry. The handkerchief was no warrant that the girl had been in the boat. They might have bound her, and drowned her at the side of the schooner, and yet a handkerchief of hers might have found its way into the boat. The handkerchief, then, proved nothing. Nevertheless, Parry found a sinister significance in the blood-marks. Was not this blood-stained token most tragically portentous, as the only relic or memorial of his love that the sea had to offer him? He looked at it, and in the wildness of his heart he made a meaning of it: it was a farewell to him, a message mute and eloquent; it said to him that her father was slain, and that she was lost to him for ever. Thus he stood interpreting the thing. Shortly after one o'clock the derelict was in view right ahead. The telescope then easily resolved her. She was a small black brig, with her lower masts standing and bowsprit gone. She sat tolerably high, but rolled with the sickly sluggishness of the waterlogged hulk. As the schooner approached, features of the wreck grew plain. She carried a deck-load of timber, and her hold was evidently full of timber. By some desperate gale she had been wrenched till her butts started, her strong fastenings gave, her topmasts went, and the green seas rushing in, drowned her into a lifelessness of helm. On board the schooner they could perceive no wreckage floating near. What sufferings, obscure and horrible, was that little wreck memorializing? The phantoms of the imagination peopled her. White-faced men, dying in squatting postures, were upon the sea-broken deck-load of timber. There was no captain, no command, the fingers of famine had effaced distinctions. Then one would die with a groan, falling sideways with his white eyes glazing to the sun; and another would mutter in delirium, and call upon the Lord Jesus Christ, and motion with a ghastly smile to his mother to make haste with the drink of water she was bringing him. Phantoms or no phantoms, all were gone. The wreck lay apparently lifeless, absolutely abandoned, a yawning frame, sodden by weeks of washing to and fro. Thus it seemed to the eyes aboard the schooner as she drew closer and closer to the desolate, mournful, storm-broken fabric. 'There may be rats in that vessel,' said the mate, with a countenance made up of relief and extreme curiosity; 'but I don't see them, Captain Parry, neither do I see anything else that's living.' 'A ship has taken them off,' said Captain Parry, in a tone of hopeless misery; 'and it may be months and years before I find out what is the fate of Miss Vanderholt.' They were now within a musket-shot of the wreck. The yacht's way was arrested, and she seemed to stand at gaze, with her people staring. The long swell swung a dismal roll into the lifeless hull. A raffle of rigging lay over her sides, and whenever she rolled away she tore this gear up from the water as if it had been sea-plants whose roots were a thousand fathoms deep; it rose hissing to the drag, and sank, like baffled snakes, when she came wearily over again. It made the heart sick to watch her, to figure one's self as alone upon her; the loose timbers clattering through the long, black night, the dark water welling in sobs alongside, the awful and soul-subduing spirit of stillness that lies in the sea when its billows are silent, as though the hush in the central heart of the profound rose like an emanation of wind or vapour, taking the senses of the lonely one with the maddening undertones of spiritual utterance. Mr. Blundell continued to view the wreck through a glass. Captain Parry stood beside him with tightly-folded arms, death-white with grief and the sickness of disappointment, and silent. 'There is nobody aboard that vessel, sir.' 'I fear not,' the captain answered in a low voice. 'The only place where people could find shelter,' said the mate, 'is in that little green deck-house. If there were eight men sitting in the house, one would have seen us, and all have tumbled out long ago.' 'The long-boat has told us the story,' said the captain. 'They have been taken on board another vessel. Is Miss Vanderholt with them?' He started as to a sudden access of temper and determination, and said: 'Blundell, give me two of your men, and lower that boat. I'll board the brig. I may find something to give us a clue.' 'Put one of the revolvers in your pocket, sir,' said Mr. Blundell. A boat was lowered, and two men and Captain Parry, armed, entered her. All was lifeless aboard the wreck. It would have been ridiculous, then, to suspect an ambush. She had old-fashioned channels, platforms by which her lower rigging was extended and secured to dead-eyes. These platforms remained. The hulk would souse them, hissing, and lift them seething and streaming, but through long intervals they would sway dry with pendulum regularity. 'The main chains will be your only chance, sir,' said one of the seamen. 'Am I to go on board with ye?' 'If you will.' 'Then, Tom, when we're out of it, shove off for God's sake, and keep her clear of them chains. If they come down upon you, your life and the boat ain't worth a drowned cockroach.' Watching his chance with great patience, Captain Parry sprang. He stumbled; but a wild flourish of his arm brought his hand safely to an iron belaying-pin in the rail above. He seized another hard by, and, lifting his knees to the rail, gained the deck. He stood holding on. The peculiar jerky rolling of the hull threatened to throw him, until a minute or two of sympathetic feeling _into_ the life of the fabric should have put some government of it into his legs. The sailor had easily followed. Captain Parry was looking at the forepart of the vessel, which was a horrible litter and muddle of heaped-up timber and smashed caboose, when his companion muttered in his ear in a low growl: 'My God, master, there's a living man!' A living man it was, standing right in the door of the deck-house. He was a seaman, and carried a strange face to those who looked at him, though one might have said he should be familiar enough to anybody belonging to the schooner _Mowbray_. He was James Jones, the boatswain of the yacht. His cheeks were gaunt and grimy, and his eyes blazed in their hollows. His hair lay in streaks over his ears, and down the back of his head, as though to repeated greasy tuggings and pullings. He was without his coat, and his great muscular arms were bare to above the elbow. Captain Parry recoiled a step, thrusting his hand into the pocket where the pistol lay. He suspected this man to be one of the eight, and that the seven would burst out in a minute. 'I'm damned if ye ain't come just in the nick of time!' said Jones; and his grin, and exhibition of yellow fangs, and his dirty skin and flaming eyes, made his face horrible. 'I tell ye what I've just found out. There ain't no death! "How do I know that?" says you. Why, ye see, a man ain't dead till he dies, and when he's dead death ain't got no existence for him. D'ye see it?' said he with an inimitable leer. Captain Parry saw that he was mad, but in the moment of detecting this he observed something more. Behind the madman, looking over his shoulders, stood Miss Vanderholt. She was robed in white, and wore a small straw hat. She was pale, as though exhausted, perhaps from the want of food or drink; otherwise, but for her impassioned transforming gaze, she looked as though she had but now come with Captain Parry to view the wreck. 'Oh, Violet, my dear one! Violet, I have found you!' cried Parry, and he rushed towards her. She shrieked, standing still and clasping her hands, and looking up to God. 'There's no admission 'ere!' roared the madman, barricading the door by extending his arms. 'This is a royal yacht. Why don't you cast your eyes aloft and view the Royal Standard a-flying? The Princess Victoria is within. Didn't I know her gracious mother, the Duchess? I'm an English sailor, and I'm loyal to my native country. God save the King!' Saying which, he turned and bowed with every mark of profound veneration to Miss Vanderholt. 'Let me pass, man!' cried Captain Parry, pulling out his revolver and hustling the powerful fellow. 'Hide it!' screamed Violet; 'he is mad! He has been kind to me! Oh, my God! George, am I dreaming? Is it you in the flesh, or am I mad, too?' She put her hands to her eyes, and reeled to a stanchion, against which she leaned. The madman continued to barricade the door, both huge arms extended. 'Look here,' cried Parry, almost as mad as the seaman he confronted, with impatience, infuriated by this hellish lunatic obstruction, wild to clasp the girl, whose reel and motion of hands had stabbed his heart; 'we want to get at this young lady at once, to take her on board yonder schooner. Make way, for God's sake! I'll hear all about your views on death when we're comfortable aboard that vessel.' 'There's no blooming man,' shouted the madman, 'a-going to approach the Princess Victoria without falling down upon his bended knees and crawling to her feet, as the custom is at St. James's Palace!' Miss Vanderholt went into hysterics. She shrieked with laughter; she sobbed as if her heart was breaking. 'I think you'd better go down upon your knees, sir,' said the sailor who had accompanied Parry. 'Here, my lad,' said he, crooking his finger into a fish-hook at the man, 'you just make way for the gent to crawl to her Gracious 'Ighness, and whilst he's kow-towing, give me that there yarn of yourn about death.' He winked at the captain, who sank upon his knees. The scene was grotesque, tragic, extraordinary. The boatswain watched the figure of the captain with fiery suspicion whilst he passed on all fours through the door of the deck-house. Miss Vanderholt was still in hysterics. 'Damn the ruffian! I can't stand it!' shouted the captain, and he sprang to his feet and clasped the girl. But the madman had begun to state his queer paradox with fearful earnestness to the seaman, who had fixed him with a stare, and was, with singular judgment in a common fool of a drunken sailor, drawing him out of sight of the couple. Miss Vanderholt lay in her lover's arms, weeping and laughing; but a few kisses and murmurs of devotion produced a very good effect. She controlled herself, and then they were able to talk in swift questions and eager answers. Outside the madman continued to argue with the sailor on the subject of death. 'There ain't no death!' he roared, with all the strength of his throat. 'D'ye call it a good job, mate? Here stands the man as has got rid of the terror of the world. Hark you, bully! Ye can turn in now without fearing to die. It'll do away with prayers, for there ain't no death!' Thus he raved, whilst inside, the girl, in the embrace of her sweetheart, talked in a score of feverish questions and answers. She was white, but clearly not from want of food. Up in a corner of the deck-house stood a little load of tins of meat and biscuit, removed from the _Mowbray's_ hold by her revolted men. In another corner was the long-boat's big breaker, and a pannikin at hand for a drink. 'Let's get away from this wreck,' said Parry, clasping the girl's hand. 'Yet, what a wonderful meeting!' he cried, devouring her with his eyes. 'What a miraculous deliverance! Oh, the hand of God is in it, and I am grateful--I am grateful!' They moved towards the door, and the madman saw them coming. 'Look here,' he cried, making for them in a jump or two, with an air so menacing that Parry's hand instantly sought his pistol. 'No man walks alongside the Princess Victoria aboard this Royal yacht. Her 'Ighness the Duchess taught me how to behave myself in the eye of Royalty when I was a young un, and this is how it's done,' said he, giving Captain Parry a shove that drove him some feet from Miss Vanderholt; then, stepping in front of the girl, he bowed low, with all those marks of abject veneration which had distinguished his former obeisance, and saying, 'If your Royal 'Ighness will now step out,' he moved backwards. But a long plank lay athwart his path; the captain and the seaman saw what was to happen; the madman fell heavily backwards over it. 'Bring the boat alongside, Jim!' bawled the sailor. 'This is the Ryle yacht. See the Standard a-flying? The Princess Victoria is aboard, and we've got to back her into the boat according to the custom of the Court of St. James's Palace.' The boatswain was up again, and, flourishing his hand, he cried: 'Right!' 'You leave him to me, sir,' said the sailor, with a half-wink at Captain Parry, who was absolutely at a loss. He would not for a million have shot the unhappy madman, and yet he durst not approach Miss Vanderholt whilst that huge and brawny lunatic watched him. The seaman in the boat concluded that his shipmate had lost his mind. 'What the blooming blazes,' he thought to himself, 'is Bill a-jawing about, with his Ryle yachts and Ryle Standards?' And he looked right up into the sky. 'Stand by now, Tom, to receive her Ryle 'Ighness!' shouted the sailor, with a glance at the madman. 'As her 'Ighness must go first, there's no harm, I hope,' said he, 'in her walking face foremost?' 'She always do,' shouted the boatswain. 'Bow her to the rail, and hand her over.' Nothing could have been better. The swell gave them a good deal of trouble, but two of them were sailors, and presently Miss Vanderholt was in the boat. Captain Parry sprang into the chains, and, watching his opportunity, leapt, and was by his sweetheart's side in a minute. The madman overhung the rails, staring greedily. He knuckled his brow as one who would drive a pain out of his brain, then began to laugh when Captain Parry jumped into the boat. 'Bring him along, Bill. You lay he'll know what to do!' cried the sailor in the boat. 'Her Ryle 'Ighness commands you to attend her, sir,' said the seaman. 'Step right over the side into the chains, and don't jump back'ards.' The boatswain drew himself stiffly erect, and, after gazing aloft at the vision of the Standard, which blew in rich folds under the swelling clouds to his insane eye, he exclaimed: 'Who's going to look after her Royal 'Ighness's yacht if I leave her?' 'She'll lie quiet enough, mate, till you return,' said the sailor. 'Hark! Her Ryle 'Ighness is a-calling of you.' 'Pray attend upon me! I command your presence in this boat!' cried the girl in the loudest, most imperious voice her condition would permit her to manage. The poor creature bowed low over the rail, then in silence dropped into the chains, followed by the sailor, and in a minute or two both were seated in the boat. All went quietly. The boatswain shifted restlessly in his seat, with a grin of stupefaction. His burning eyes rolled over the _Mowbray_, and again and again he pulled his hair with hands that sweated like tallow. Miss Vanderholt's first exclamation, when she was handed over the side, was, 'My father! my poor father!' And she began to cry. The dreadful scene rose before her mental vision, and she shook with old sensations of terror. Captain Parry, passing his arm through hers, gently and tenderly led her below. She had been too much moved to address Mr. Blundell, and for a little while she needed the privacy of the cabin and her lover's company. Presently, whilst they sat below, she told Captain Parry the story of the mutiny, and her adventures down to this hour. It seems that some of the men were for going away at once in the long-boat, after scuttling the yacht; others were for letting her lie afloat; but all were agreed that she must be abandoned. Then Miss Vanderholt found out that they were undecided what they should do with her. Most of them, she gathered, were for leaving her in the yacht, to take her chance of being picked up. 'Why not?' said they. 'We can shorten sail for her before we leave. We can lash the helm amidships. She's got plenty to eat and drink. She can't come to hurt in these waters, and is bound to be rescued.' But the boatswain, who had grown ferocious in temper, and had manifested many symptoms of insanity, swore that she should not be abandoned to her fate. She was an Englishwoman; he was an English seaman. By God! he would brain any man who talked of leaving the poor young lady alone to wash about in the schooner. She told Captain Parry that this Jones overawed the men, and they seemed to treat him as though his madness made him superior to themselves. They all left in the long-boat. The boatswain next morning went quite mad, and took Miss Vanderholt to be the Princess Victoria. He bowed humbly to her in the boat; he would sometimes kneel to her. He whipped a straw hat off a man's head to shade her with. His hallucination was, fortunately, a sober one. He supposed the men to be the crew of the cutter of some Royal yacht or other, and himself in command, seeking the vessel that her Gracious Highness, as he frequently called her, might sail round the world. A man cut his finger in opening a tin, and the young lady gave him her handkerchief to bind the wound. He left it in the boat. When they fell in with the derelict they were exhausted with the scorching heat and the exposure by night, and determined to take shelter and rest aboard, and signal for help, if help should heave into view. They emptied the long-boat; but that same evening of their entering the derelict, about an hour before sundown, a small brigantine leisurely came flapping down upon them, and seven men entered the long-boat and rowed for her, leaving the boatswain and the young lady to their fate. Not until long afterwards was it discovered that this brigantine was a Frenchman, that her crew had mutinied, and sent her captain and mate adrift, and that, though they perceived the figures of the boatswain and the young lady on the brig, yet, on the _Mowbray's_ men telling them that one could bear witness to the mutiny, and that the other was a dangerous madman, they put their helm up and sailed away. Before the set of sun the _Mowbray_ was heeling to a fresh breeze; every cloth that could draw was driving her cutwater through it, and her clipper-stem rose the white brine raving to her hawse-pipes. She seemed, like those on board, to have got the scent, and to know that she was going home. THE END. BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS, GUILDFORD. [Illustration: Decoration] 
44497	----	THE WRECK OF THE "GROSVENOR." THE WRECK OF THE "GROSVENOR:" AN ACCOUNT OF _THE MUTINY OF THE CREW AND THE LOSS OF THE SHIP_ WHEN TRYING TO MAKE THE BERMUDAS. _IN THREE VOLUMES._ VOL. I. LONDON: SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE & RIVINGTON, CROWN BUILDINGS, 188, FLEET STREET. 1877. (_All rights reserved._) LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS. THE WRECK OF THE "GROSVENOR." CHAPTER I. There was every appearance of a south-westerly wind. The coast of France, which had been standing high and shining upon the horizon on the port bow, and so magnified by the clear northerly air that you could discern, even at that distance, the dim emerald sheen of the upper slopes and the streaky shadows thrown by projecting points and elbows on the white ground, was fast fading, though the sun still stood within an hour of its setting beyond the bleak Foreland. The north wind, which had rattled us with an acre of foam at our bows right away down the river, and had now brought us well abreast of the Gull lightship, was dropping fast. There was barely enough air to keep the royals full, and the ship's number, which I had just hoisted at the peak--a string of gaudy flags which made a brilliant figure against the white canvas of the spanker--shook their folds sluggishly. The whole stretch of scene, from the North Foreland down to the vanishing French headlands miles away yonder, was lovely at that moment--full of the great peace of an ocean falling asleep, of gently moving vessels, of the solemn gathering of shadows. The town of Deal was upon the starboard bow, a warm cluster of houses, with a windmill on the green hills turning drowsily, here and there a window glittering with a sudden beam of light, an inclined beach in the foreground with groups of boats high and dry upon it, and a line of foam at its base which sang upon the shingle so that you could hear it plainly amid intervals of silence on board the ship. The evening sun shining over the giant brow of the South Foreland struck the grey outline of the cliff deep in the still water, but the clear red blaze fell far and wide over the dry white downs of Sandwich and the outlying plains, and threw the distant country into such bold relief against the blue sky that, from the sea, it looked close at hand, and but a short walk from the shore. There were three or four dozen vessels at anchor in the Downs waiting for a change of wind or anticipating a dead calm for some hours. A few others, like ourselves, were swimming stealthily over the slack tide, with every foot of their canvas piled upon them with the effort to reach safe anchorage before the wind wholly failed and the tide turned. A large ship, with her sails stowed and her masts and rigging showing with the fineness of ivory-tracing against the sky, was being towed up Channel, and the slapping of the water by the paddles of the tug, in fast capricious revolutions, was quite audible, though both ship and steamer were a long league distant. Here and there small boats were rowing away from the anchored ships for the shore. Now and again you could hear the faint distant choruses of seamen furling a big sail or paying out more cable, the _clank, clank_ of which was as pretty as music. Down in the east the heavens were a deep blue, flecked along the water line with white sails, which glowed in the sunshine like beacons. I was in a proper mood to appreciate this beautiful tranquil scene. I was leaving England for a long spell, and the sight of that quiet little town of Deal and the grand old Foreland cliffs shutting out the sky, and the pale white shores we had left far astern, went right to my heart. Well, it was just a quiet leave-taking of the old country without words or sobs. "The pilot means to bring up. I have just heard him tell the skipper to stand by for a light sou'-westerly breeze. This is a _most_ confounded nuisance! All hands, perhaps, in the middle watch to get under way." "I expected as much," said I, turning and confronting a short, squarely-built man, with a power of red hair under his chin, and a skin like yellow leather through thirty years exposure to sun and wind and dirt all over the world. This was the chief mate, Mr. Ephraim Duckling, confidently assumed by me to be a Yankee, though he didn't talk with his nose. I had looked at this gentleman with some doubt when I first met him in the West India Docks. He had blue eyes, with a cast in the port optic; this somehow made him humorous, whether or no, when he meant to be droll, so he had an advantage over other wits. He had hair so dense, coarse, and red withal, that he might have been safely scalped for a door-mat. His legs were short, and his body very long and broad, and I guessed his strength by the way his arm filled out, and threatened to burst up the sleeve of his coat when he bent it. So far he had been polite enough to me, in a mighty rough fashion indeed; and as to the men, there had been little occasion for him to give orders as yet. "I expected as much," said I. "I have been watching the coast of France for the last quarter of an hour, and the moisture has nearly shut it out altogether. I doubt if we'll fetch the Downs before the calm falls." "There's a little wind over the land, though, or that mill wouldn't be turning." He turned his eyes up aloft; then went to the ship's side, and looked over. I followed him. The clear green water was slipping slowly past, and now and again a string of sea-weed went by, or a big, transparent jelly-fish, or a great crab floating on the top of the water. A thin ripple shot out in a semicircle from the ship's bow, and, at all events, we might tell that we were moving by watching the mast of the Gull lightship sliding by the canvas of a vessel hull below the horizon to the eastward of the sands. Some of the hands were on the forecastle, looking and pointing towards the shore. Others stood in a group near the galley, talking with the cook, a fat, pale man, with flannel shirt-sleeves rolled above his elbows. The pigs in the long-boat grunted an accompaniment to the chattering of a mass of hens cooped under the long-boat. There was no movement in the sea, and the great sails overhead hung without flapping, and nothing stirred aloft but the light canvas of the royals, which sometimes shook against the masts lazily, and with a fine distant sound. The skipper stood on the weather-side of the poop, against the starboard quarter-boat, conversing with the pilot. Have before you a tall, well-shaped man, with iron-grey hair, a thin aquiline nose, a short compressed mouth, small dark eyes, which looked at you imperiously from under a perfect hedge of eyebrow, and whitish whiskers, which slanted across his cheeks; dressed in a tall hat, a long monkey-jacket, and square-toed boots. Captain Coxon was a decidedly good-looking man, not in the smallest degree approaching the conventional notion of the merchant-skipper. Happily, it is no condition of good seamanship that a man should have bow-legs, and a coppery nose, and groggy eyes; and that he should prefer a dish of junk to a savoury kickshaw, and screeching rum to good wine. I had heard before I joined the _Grosvenor_ that Coxon was a smart seaman, though a bully to his men. But this did not prejudice me. I thought I knew my duties well enough to steer clear of his temper; and for the rest, knowing what a seafaring life is, and how scarcely an hour ever comes without bringing some kind of peril of its own, I would rather any day take service under a Bashaw who knew his work, than a mild-natured creature who didn't. The pilot was a little dusky-faced man, with great bushy whiskers, and a large chocolate-coloured shawl round his throat, though we were in August. I was watching these two men talking, when Duckling said-- "It's my belief that we shall have trouble with those fellows forward. When we trimmed sail off the North Foreland did you notice how they went to work?" "Yes, I did. And I'll tell you what's the matter. As I was going forward after dinner, the cook stopped me, and told me the men were grumbling at the provisions. He said that some of the pork served out stunk, and the bread was mouldy and full of weevils." "Oh, is that it!" said Duckling. "Wait till I get them to sea, and I'll give them my affidavit now, if they like, that _then_ they'll have something to cry over. There's a Portugee fellow among them, and no ship's company can keep honest when one of those devils comes aboard. He'll always find out something that's wrong, and turn and tumble it about until it sets all hands on fire." He went to the break of the poop and leaned, with his arms squarely set, upon the brass rail, and stared furiously at the group of men about the galley. Some of them grew uneasy, and edged away and got round to the other side of the galley; others, of those who remained, folded their arms and stared at him back, and one of them laughed, which put him in a passion at once. "You lazy hounds!" he bellowed in a voice of thunder, "have you nothing to get about? Some of you get that cable range there more over to windward. You, there, get some scrubbing-brushes and clean the long-boat's bottom. Forecastle, there, come down out of that and see that your halliards are clear for running! I'll teach you to palaver the cook, you grumbling villains!" and he made a movement so full of menace that the most obstinate-looking of the fellows got life into them at once, and bustled about. I looked at the skipper to see what he thought of this little outbreak; but neither he nor the pilot paid the smallest attention to it: only, when Duckling had made an end, the pilot gave an order which was repeated by the chief mate with lungs of brass-- "Aft here, and clew up the mainsail and furl it!" The men threw down the scrubbing-brushes and chain-hooks which they had picked up, and came aft to the main-deck in a most surly fashion. Duckling eyed them like a mastiff a cat. I noticed some smart-looking hands among them, but they all to a man put on a lubberly air; and as they hauled upon the various ropes which snug a ship's canvas upon the yard preparatory to its being furled, I heard them putting all manner of coarse, violent expressions, having reference to the ship and her officers, into their songs. They went up aloft slowly and laid out along the yard, grumbling furiously. And to show what bad sailors they were, I suppose, they stowed the sail villainously, leaving bits of the leech sticking out, and making a bunt that must have blown out to the first cap-full of wind. I was rather of opinion that Duckling's behaviour was founded on traditions which had been surrendered years ago by British seamen to Yankee skippers and mates. He had sailed a voyage in this ship with Coxon, and the captain therefore knew his character. That Coxon should abet Duckling's behaviour towards the men by his silence, was a bad augury. I reckoned that they understood each other, and that the whole ship's company, including myself, might expect a very uncomfortable voyage. Meanwhile, Duckling waited until the men were off the yard and descending the rigging: he then roared out, "Furl the mainsail!" The men stopped coming down, and looked at the yard and then at Duckling; and one of them said, in a sullen tone, "It is furled." I was amazed to see Duckling hop off the deck on to the poop-rail and spring up the rigging: I thought that he was going to thrash the man who had answered: and the man evidently thought so too, for he turned pale, and edged sideways along the ratline on which he stood, whilst he held one of his hands clenched. Up went Duckling, shaking the shrouds violently with his ungainly, sprawling way of climbing, and making the men dance upon the ratlines. In a moment he had swung himself upon the foot-rope and was casting off the yard-arm gaskets. I don't think half a dozen men could have loosed the sail in the time taken by him to do so. Down it fell, and down he came, hand over fist along the main-topsail sheets against the mainmast, bounded up the poop-ladder, and without loss of breath, roared out, "Furl the mainsail!" The men seemed inclined to disobey: some of them had already reached the bulwark: but another bellow, accompanied by a gesture, appeared to decide them. They mounted slowly, got upon the yard, and this time did the job in a sailor-like fashion. "I'm only beginning with them," he said in his rough voice to me; and then glanced at Coxon, who gave him a nod and a smile. The pilot now told me to go forward and see everything ready for bringing up. We were drawing close to the Downs, but the air had quite died out and the sea stretched like oil to the horizon. I don't know what was giving us way, for the light sails aloft hung flat, and the smoke of a steamboat with its two funnels only showing away across the Channel, went straight up into the sky. There must, however, have been a faint, imperceptible tide running, but it took us another half-hour to reach the point where the pilot had resolved to bring up, and by that time the sun had sunk behind the great headland beyond Deal, and was casting a broad crimson glare upon the further sea. The royals and top-gallant sails were clewed up and furled, and then the order was given to let go the topsail halliards. Down came the three heavy yards rumbling along the masts, with the sound of chain rattling over sheaves. The canvas fell into festoons, and the pilot called, "All ready forrard?" "All ready." "Let go the anchor." "Stand clear of the cable!" I shouted. Whack! whack! went the carpenter's driving hammer. A moment's pause, then a tremendous splash, and the cable rushed with a hoarse outcry through the hawser hole. When this job was over I waited on the forecastle to superintend the stowing of the sails forward. The men worked briskly enough, and I heard one of them who was stowing the fore-topmast stay-sail say "that it was good luck the skipper had brought up. He didn't think he'd be such a fool." This set me wondering what their meaning could be; but I thought it best to take no notice nor repeat what I had heard, as I considered that the less Mr. Duckling had to say to the men the better we should all get on. It was half-past seven by the time the sails were furled and the decks cleared of the ropes. The hands went below to tea, and I was walking aft when the cook came out of the galley and said-- "Beg your pardon, sir; would you mind tasting of this?" And he handed me a bit of the ship's biscuit. I smelt it and found it mouldy, and put a piece in my mouth, but soon spat it out. "I can't say much for this, cook," said I. "It's not fit for dogs," replied the cook. "But, so far as I've seen, all the provisions is the same. The sugar's like mud, and the molasses is full of grit; and though I've been to sea man and boy two and twenty year, I never saw tea like what they've got on board this ship. It ain't tea--it makes the liquor yaller. It's shavings, and wot I say is, regular tea _ain't_ shavings." "Well, let the men complain to the captain," I answered. "He can report to the owners and get the ship's stores condemned." "It's my belief they wos condemned afore they came on board," answered the cook. "I'll bet any man a week's grog that they wos bought cheap in a dockyard sale o' rotten grub, by order o' the Admiralty." "Give me a biscuit," said I, "and I'll show it to the captain." He took one out from a drawer in which he kept the dough for the cuddy's use, and I put it in my pocket and went aft. CHAPTER II. I will here pause to describe the ship which, being the theatre of much that befel me which is related in this book, I should place before your eyes in as true a picture as I can draw. The _Grosvenor_, then, was a small, full-rigged ship of five hundred tons, painted black, with a single white streak below her bulwarks. She was a soft-wood vessel, built in Halifax, Nova Scotia. Her lines were very perfect. Indeed, the beauty of her hull, her lofty masts, stayed with as great perfection as a man-of-war's, her graceful figure-head, sharp yacht-like bows and round stern, had filled me with admiration when I first beheld her. Her decks were white and well kept. She had a poop and a top-gallant forecastle, both of which I think the builder might have spared, as she was scarcely big enough for them. There was a good deal of brass-work on her after-decks, and more expense than she deserved, from the perishable nature of the material of which she was constructed, had been lavished upon her in respect of deck ornamentation. Her richly carved wheel, brass belaying-pins, brass capstan, brass binnacle, handsome skylights, and other such details made her look like a gay pleasure-vessel rather than a sober trader. Her cuddy, however, was plain enough, containing six cabins, including the pantry. The woodwork was cheaply varnished mahogany; a fixed table ran from the mizzen-mast to within a few feet of the cuddy front, and on either side this table was a stout hair-covered bench. Abaft the mizzen-mast were the two cabins respectively occupied by Captain Coxon and Mr. Duckling. My own cabin was just under the break of the poop, so that from the window in it I could look out upon the main-deck. A couple of broad skylights, well protected with brass wire-fenders, let plenty of light into the cuddy; and swinging trays and lamps, and red curtains to draw across the skylights when the sun beat upon them, completed the furniture of this part of the vessel. We could very well have carried a few passengers, and I never learned why we did not; but it may, perhaps, have happened that nobody was going our way at the time we were advertised to sail. We were bound to Valparaiso with a general cargo, consisting chiefly of toys, hardware, Birmingham and Sheffield cutlery, and metal goods, and a stock of pianofortes. The ship, to my thinking, was too deep, as though the owners had compensated themselves for the want of passenger-money by "taking it out" in freight. I readily foresaw that we should be a wet ship, and that we should labour, more than was comfortable, in a heavy sea. The steerage was packed with light goods, bird-cages and such things, but space was left in the 'tween decks, though the cargo came flush with the deck in the hold. However, in spite of being overloaded, the _Grosvenor_ had beaten everything coming down the river that day. Just off the Reculvers, for example, when we had drawn the wind a trifle more abeam, we overhauled a steamer. She was pretty evidently a fast screw, and her people grew jealous when they saw us coming up astern, and piled up the fires, but could not stop us from dropping her, as neatly as _she_ dropped an old coal brig that was staggering near the shore under dirty canvas. But she smothered us with her smoke as we passed her to leeward, and I dare say they were glad to see the dose we got for our pains. I came aft, as I have said, after leaving the baker, with the biscuit in my pocket, and got upon the poop. The skipper had gone below with the pilot, and they were having tea. Duckling was walking the poop, swearing now and again at a couple of ordinary seamen, whom he had set to work to flemish-coil the ropes along the deck, for no other reason than that he might put as much work upon them as he could invent--for this flemish-coiling was of no use under the circumstances, and is only fit for Sundays on passenger ships when you want to please the ladies with "tidy" effects, or when a vessel is in port. A watch had been set forward, and having cast a look up aloft to see that everything was trim, I went down the companion-ladder to the cuddy, followed by Duckling. The interior of the cabin looked like some old Dutch painting, for the plain mahogany woodwork gave the place an antique air. The lamps were alight, for it was dusk here, though daylight was still abroad upon the sea; and the lamplight imparted a grave, old-fashioned colouring to the things it shone upon. The skipper sat near the mizzen-mast, stirring the sugar in a cup of tea. He looked better without than with his hat; his forehead was high, though rather peaked, and his iron-grey hair, parted amid-ships and brushed carelessly over his ears, gave him a look of dignity. The coarse little pilot was eating bread and butter voraciously, his great whiskers moving as he worked his jaws. Duckling and I seated ourselves at the table, and I had some difficulty to prevent myself from laughing at the odd figures Duckling and the pilot made side by side--the one with his whiskers working like a pair of brushes, and the other with that door-mat of red hair on his head, and the puzzling cast of the eye that made me always doubt which one I should address when I tried to look him full in the face. "There's a breeze coming from the sou'-west, sir," said Duckling to the captain. "The water's darkish out in that quarter, but I don't think there's enough of it to swing the ship." "Let it come favourable, and we'll get under way at once," answered Coxon. "I had a spell of this sort of thing last year--for ten days, wasn't it, Duckling?--because I neglected a light air that sprang up south-easterly. I thought it couldn't have held ten minutes, but it would have carried me well away to the French side before it failed, and made me a free passage down, for the wind came fresh from south by west and dead-locked me here. Mr. Royle, what's going forwards among the men? I heard them cursing pretty freely when they were up aloft." "They are complaining of the ship's provisions, sir," I replied. "The cook gave me a biscuit just now, and I promised to show it to you." Saying which, I pulled the biscuit out of my pocket and put it upon the table. He contracted his bushy eyebrows, and, without looking at the biscuit, stared angrily at me. "Hark you, Mr. Royle," said he, in a voice I found detestable for the sneering contempt it conveyed. "I allow no officer that sails under me to become a confidant of my crew. Do you understand?" I flushed up as I answered that I was no confidant of the crew: that the cook had stopped me to explain the men's grievance, and that I had asked him for a biscuit to show the captain as a sample of the ship's bread which the steward was serving out. "It's very good bread," said the obsequious pilot, taking up the biscuit whilst he wiped the butter out of the corners of his mouth. "Eat it, then!" I exclaimed. "Damnation! eat it yourself!" cried Coxon, furiously. "You're used to that kind of fare, I should think, and like it, or you wouldn't be bringing it into the cuddy in your pocket, would you, sir?" I made him no answer. I could see by the expression in Duckling's face that he sided with the skipper, and I thought it would be a bad look-out for me to begin the voyage with a quarrel. "I'll trouble you to put that biscuit where you took it from," the captain continued, with an enraged nod in the direction of my pocket, "and return it to the blackguard who gave it, and tell him to present Captain Coxon's respects to the men, and inform them that if they object to the ship's bread, they're welcome to take their meals along with the pigs in the long-boat. The butcher 'll serve them." "Mr. Royle tells me they find the meat worse than the bread," said Mr. Duckling. "I guess the hounds who grumble most are men who have shipped out of workhouses, where their grub was burnt burgoo twice a day, and a lick of brimstone to make it easy." He laughed loudly at his own humour, and was joined by the pilot, who rubbed his hands and swore that he hadn't heard a better joke for years. I made what despatch I might with my tea, not much desiring to remain in company with Coxon in his present temper. I fancy he grew a little ashamed of himself presently, for he softened his voice and now and again glanced across at me. The pilot, looking up through the skylight, called attention to the vane at the main-royal masthead, which was fluttering to a light air from the south-west, as had been predicted, and as I could tell by referring to the tell-tale compass, which was swung just over where Coxon was seated. Then Coxon and his chief mate talked of the time they meant to occupy in the run to Valparaiso. I understood the former to say that his employers had given him eight weeks to do it in. I should like to have said that had they added another two to that, they would still have been imposing enough upon us all to keep us alive. But at this point I quitted the table, giving Coxon a bow as I rose, which he returned with a sort of half-ashamed stiffness, and repaired to my cabin to get my pipe for a half-hour's enjoyment of the beautiful autumn evening on deck. I don't think tobacco has the same flavour ashore that it has at sea. Something in the salt air brings out the full richness and aroma of it. A few whiffs on the main-deck came like oil upon the agitation of my mind, ruffled by Coxon's impertinence and temper. I stepped on to the forecastle to see that the riding-lamps were all right, and that there was a man on the look-out. The crew were in the forecastle talking in subdued voices, and the hot air that came up through the fore-scuttle was intolerable as I passed it. I then regained the poop, and seated myself on the rail among the shadows of the backstays leading from the main-royal and top-gallant masts. The sun had gone down some time now, and only faint traces of daylight lowered in the westward. The light on the South Foreland emitted a most beautiful, clear, and brilliant beam, and diffused a broad area of misty radiance on the land around. The light-beacons were winking along the Goodwin Sands, and pretty close at hand were the lights of Deal, a pale, fine constellation, which made the country all the darker for their presence. The moon would not rise until after nine, but the heavens were spangled with stars, some so lustrous that the calm sea mirrowed them in cones of silver; and from time to time flashing shooting-stars chased across the sky, and with their blue fires offered a peculiar contrast to the eye with the yellow and red lights on the water. There was a little air moving from the southward, but so light as scarcely to be noticeable to any man but a sailor awaiting a change. The vessels at anchor near us loomed large in the starlit gloom that overspread the face of the sea. Lights flitted upon them; and the voices of men singing, the jingling of a concertina or a fiddle, the rumbling of yards lowered aboard some new-comers which could not be descried, and now and again the measured splash of oars, were sounds which only served to give a deeper intensity to the solemn calm of the night. The inmates of the cuddy still kept their seats, and their voices came out through the open skylights. I heard Captain Coxon say-- "I should like to know what sort of a fellow they have given me for a second mate. He strikes me as coming the gentleman a trifle, don't he, Duckling?" To which the other replied, "He seems a civil-spoken young man, and up to his work. But I guess there's too much molasses mixed with his blood to suit my book. He wants a New Orleans training, as my old skipper used to say. Do you know what that means, sir?" evidently addressing the pilot. "Well, it means a knife in your ribs when you're not disposed to hurry, and a knuckle-duster in the shape of a marlin-spike down your throat if you stop to arguefy." The pilot laughed and said, "Here's your health, sir. Men of your kind are wanted nowadays, sir." It was plain from this speech that the pilot had exchanged his tea for something stronger. The captain here began to speak, but I couldn't catch his words, though I strained my ears, as I was anxious to gain all the insight I could into his character that I might know how to shape my behaviour. I say this for a very weighty reason--I was entirely dependent on the profession I had adopted. I knew it was in the power of any captain I sailed with to injure me, and perhaps ruin my prospects. Everything in seafaring life depends upon reports and testimonials; and in these days, when the demand for officers is utterly disproportionate to the immense supply, owners are only too willing to listen to objections, and take any skipper's word as an excuse to decline your services or get rid of you. Neither the captain nor Mr. Duckling appeared on deck again. The pilot came up shortly after one bell (half-past eight) and looked about him for a few minutes. The tide had swung the ship with her stern up Channel. He went and looked over the side, and then had a stare at Deal, but took no notice of me, whom he could very plainly see, and returned below. I lingered three quarters of an hour on deck, during which time the little sigh of wind that had come from the south-west died out, and a most perfect calm fell. The larger stars burned with amazing brilliancy and power, and I thought it possible that the wind might go to the eastward. This idea detained me on deck longer than I had meant to stop, as I thought it would do me no ill service if I should be the first to report a fair wind to the skipper, and show myself smart in getting the hands up. Perhaps the moon would bring a breeze with her, and as she rose at twenty minutes past nine, I filled another pipe to await her coming. As I struck a match, the steward came half-way up the poop-ladder to tell me that the spirits were on the table. "Did the captain send you?" I asked. "No, sir," he answered. "I thought I'd let you know, as they'll be cleared away after nine, and my orders are not to serve them again when once they're stowed away for the night. That's the captain's rule." "All right," said I. Another time I should have gone below and had my glass of grog; but I considered it my best policy to keep clear of Coxon until the temper that had been excited by my unfortunate production of the ship's biscuit was cooled down. I took some turns along the deck, and shortly after nine one of the lamps in the cuddy was extinguished, and on looking through the skylight I found that the three men had left the table. There was a man pacing to and fro the forecastle, and I could just make out his figure against the stars which gleamed and throbbed right down to the horizon. The rest of the crew had evidently turned in, for I heard no voices, and now that the talking which had been going on in the cuddy no longer vexed the ear with rough accents, a profound silence and peace came down upon the ship. Around me, the anchored vessels gloomed like phantoms; the sea unrolled its dark, unbreathing surface into the visionary distances; nothing sounded from the shore but the murmur of the summer surf upon the shingle. One might have said that the spirit of life had departed from the earth; that nothing lived but the stars, which looked down upon a scene as impalpable and elusive as a dream. At last uprose the moon. She made her coming apparent by paling the stars in the southern sky, then by projecting a white mist of light over the horizon. Anon her upper limb, red as fire, jetted upwards, and the full orb, vast and feverish as the setting sun, sailed out of the sea, most slowly and solemnly, lifting with her a black mist that belted her like a circle of smoke: this vanished, and by degrees, perceptible to the eye, her colour changed; the red chastened into pearl, her disc grew smaller, and soon she was well above the horizon, shining with a most clear and silvery splendour, and making the sea beneath her lustrous with mild light. But not a breath of air followed her coming. The ships in the Downs caught the new light, and their yards showed like streaks of pearl against the night. The red lights of the Goodwin Sands dwindled before the pure, far-reaching radiance into mere floating sparks of fire. The heavens were cloudless, and the sea a wonderful calm. I might keep watch all night, and still have nothing to report; so, knocking the ashes out of my pipe, I descended the poop-ladder and entered my cabin. CHAPTER III. I had slung a cot, although there was a good mahogany bunk in the cabin. No sensible person would sleep in a bunk at sea when he could swing in a hammock or cot. Suppose the bunk is athwart-ship: when the vessel goes about you must shift your pillow; and very often she will go about in your watch below and catch you asleep, so that when you wake you find your feet are in the air, and all the blood in your body in your head. When I first went to sea I slept in a 'thwartship bunk. The ship was taken aback one night when I was asleep, and they came and roared, "All hands shorten sail!" down the booby hatch. I heard the cry and tried to get out of my bed, but my head was jammed to leeward by the weight of my body, and I could not move. Had the ship foundered, I should have gone to the bottom, in bed, helpless. Always after that I slept in a hammock. The watch on deck had orders to call the captain if a change of wind came; also I knew that the pilot would be up, sniffing about, off and on, through the night: so I turned in properly and slept soundly until two; when, waking up, I drew on my small clothes and went on deck, where I found Duckling mousing about in the moonshine in a pair of yellow flannel drawers, he having, like myself, come up to see if any wind was stirring. He looked like a new kind of monkey in his tight white rig and immense head of hair. "No wind, no wind," he muttered, in a sleepy grumble, and then went below with a run, nearly tumbling, in fact, head over heels down the companion-ladder. I took a turn forward to see if the riding lights burned well and the man on the look-out was awake. The decks were wet with dew, and the moon was now hanging over the South Foreland. The sky was still cloudless, and not a breath of air to be felt. This being the case, I went back to my cot. When I next awoke I found my cot violently swinging. I thought for the moment that we were under way and in a heavy sea; but on looking over I saw Mr. Duckling, who exclaimed, "Out with you, Mr. Royle! There's a good breeze from the east'ards. Look alive and call the boatswain to pipe all hands." Hearing this, I was wide awake at once, and in a few minutes was making my way to the boatswain's cabin, a deck-house on the port side against the forecastle. He and the carpenter were fast asleep in bunks placed one over the other. I laid hold of the boatswain's leg, which hung over the bunk--both he and the carpenter had turned in "all standing," as they say at sea--and shook it. His great brown hairy face came out of the bolster in which it was buried; he then threw over his other leg and sat upright. "All hands, sir?" "Yes; look sharp, bo'sun." He was about to speak, but stopped short and said, "Ay, ay, sir;" whereupon I hurried aft. It was twenty minutes past five by the clock in the cuddy. The sun had been risen half an hour, and was already warming the decks. But there was a fine breeze--not from the eastward, as Duckling had said, but well to the northward of east--which brought ripe, fresh morning smells from the land with it, and made the water run in little leaps of foam against the ship's side. Captain Coxon and the pilot were both on the poop, and as I came up the former called out-- "Is the boatswain awake yet?" "Yes, sir," I answered, and dived into my cabin to finish dressing. I heard the boatswain's pipe sound, followed by the roar of his voice summoning the hands to weigh anchor. My station was on the forecastle, and thither I went. But none of the hands had emerged as yet, the only man seen being the fellow on the look-out. All about us the outward-bound vessels were taking advantage of the wind: some of them were already standing away, others were sheeting home their canvas; the clanking of the windlasses was incessant, and several Deal boats were driving under their lugs among the shipping. "Mr. Royle," cried out the captain, "jump below, will you, and see what those fellows are about." I went to the fore-scuttle and peered into it, bawling, "Below there!" "There's no use singing out," said a voice; "we don't mean to get the ship under way until you give us something fit to eat." "Who was that who spoke?" I called. "Show yourself, my man." A fellow came and stood under the fore-scuttle, and looking up, said in a bold, defiant way-- "_I_ spoke--'Bill Marling, able seaman.'" "Am I to tell the captain that you refuse to turn to?" "Ay, and tell him we'd rather have six months of chokee than one mouthful of his damned provisions," he answered; and immediately a lot of voices took up the theme, and as I left the forecastle to deliver the message, I heard the men cursing and abusing us all violently, the foreigners particularly--that is, the Portuguese and a Frenchman, who was half a negro--swearing in the worst English words and worst English pronunciation, shrilly and fiercely. Coxon pretty well knew what was coming. He and Duckling stood together on the poop, and I delivered the men's message from the quarter-deck. Coxon was in a great rage and quite pale with it. The expression in his face was really devilish. His lips became bloodless, and when he glanced his eyes around and saw the other ships taking advantage of the fine breeze and sailing away, he seemed deprived of speech. He had sense enough, however, with all his fury, to know that in this case no good could come from passion. He seized the brass rail with both hands, and made a gesture with his head to signify that I should draw nearer. "Who was the man who gave you that message, sir?" "A fellow who called himself Bill Marling." "Do they refuse to leave the forecastle?" "They refuse to get the ship under way." "Is the boatswain disaffected?" "No, sir; but I fancy he knows the men's minds." He turned to Mr. Duckling. "If the boatswain is sound, we four ought to be able to make the scoundrels turn to." This was like suggesting a hand to hand fight--four against twelve, and Duckling had the sense to hold his tongue. The boatswain was standing near the long-boat, looking aft, and Coxon suddenly called to him, "Lead the men aft." I now thought proper to get upon the poop; and in a short time the men came aft in twos and threes. They were thirteen in all, including the carpenter, four ordinary seamen, the cook, and the cook's mate. The boatswain kept forward. There was a capstan just abaft the mainmast, and here the men assembled. There was not much in the situation to move one's gravity, and yet I could scarcely forbear smiling when I looked down upon their faces fraught with expressions so various in kind, though all denoting the same feelings. Some were regular old stagers, fellows who had been to sea all their lives, with great bare arms tattooed with crucifixes, bracelets, and other such devices, in canvas or blanket breeches and flannel shirts, with the invariable belt and knife around their middle. Some, to judge from their clothes, had evidently signed articles in an almost destitute condition, their clothes being complete suits of patches, and their faces pale and thin. The foreigners were, of course, excessively dirty; and the "Portugee's" wonderfully ugly countenance was hardly improved by the stout silver earrings with which his long ears were ornamented. The first movement of mirth in me, however, was but transient. Pity came uppermost in a few moments. I do think there is something touching in the simplicity of sailors, in the childlike way in which they go about to explain a grievance and get it redressed. They have few words and little experience outside the monotonous life they follow; they express themselves ill, are subdued by a harsh discipline on board, or by acts of cruelty which could not be tolerated in any kind of service ashore; the very negroes and savages of distant countries have more interest taken in them by the people of England than sailors, for whom scarcely a charity exists; the laws which deal with their insubordination are unnecessarily severe; and of the persons who are appointed to inquire into the causes of insubordination, scarce five in the hundred are qualified by experience, sympathy, or disinterestedness to do sailors justice. Some such thoughts as these were in my mind as I stood watching the men on the quarter-deck. Coxon, with his hands still clutching the rail, said, "The boatswain has piped you out to get the ship under way. Do you refuse?" The man named Bill Marling made a step forward. The men had evidently constituted him spokesman. "We don't mean to work this here ship," said he, "until better food is put aboard. The biscuits are not fit for dogs; and I say that the pork stinks, and that the molasses is grits." "That's the truth," said a voice; and the Portuguese nodded and gesticulated violently. "You blackguards!" burst out the captain, losing all self-control. "What do you know about food for dogs? You're not as good as dogs to know. Aren't you shipped out of filthy Ratcliffe Highway lodgings, where the ship's bread and meat and molasses would be eaten by you as damned fine luxuries, you lubbers? Turn to at once and man the windlass, or I'll find a way to make you!" "We say," said the spokesman, pulling a biscuit out of his bosom and holding it up, "that we don't mean to work the ship until you give us better bread than this. It's mouldy and full of weevils. Put the bread in the sun, and see the worms crawl out of it." "Will the skipper pitch the cuddy bread overboard and eat ourn?" demanded a voice. "And the cuddy meat along with it!" exclaimed a man, a short, powerfully built fellow with a crisp black beard and woolly hair, holding up a piece of pork on the blade of a knife. "Let Captain Coxon smell this." The captain looked at them for a few moments with flashing eyes, then turned and walked right aft with Duckling. Here they were joined by the pilot, and a discussion took place among them that lasted some minutes. Meanwhile I paced to and fro athwart the poop. The men talked in low tones among themselves, but none of them seemed disposed to give in. For my own part, I rather fancied that though their complaint of the provisions was justifiable enough, it was advanced rather as a sound excuse for declining to sail with a skipper and chief mate whose behaviour so far towards them was a very mild suggestion of the treatment they might expect when they should be fairly at sea, and in these two men's power. I heard my name mentioned among them and one or two remarks made about me, but not uncomplimentary. The cook had probably told them I was well-disposed, and I believe that some of them would have harangued me had I appeared willing to listen. Presently Mr. Duckling left the captain and ordered the men to go forward. He then called the boatswain, and turning to me, said that I was to be left in charge of the ship with the pilot whilst he and the captain went ashore. The boatswain came aft and got into the quarter-boat which Duckling and I lowered; and I then towed her by her painter to the gangway, where Duckling and the captain got into her. As no signal was hoisted I was at a loss to conceive what course Captain Coxon proposed to adopt. Duckling and the boatswain each took an oar while Coxon steered, and away they went, sousing over the little waves which the fresh land breeze had set running along the water. By this time all the outward-bound ships had got their anchors up, and were standing down Channel. Some of them which had got away smartly were well around the Foreland, and we were the only one of them all that still kept the ground. Captain Coxon's rage and disappointment were, of course, intelligible enough; for time to him was not only money, but credit--I mean that every day he could save in making the run to Valparaiso would improve him in his employers' estimation. The men peered over the bulwarks at the departing boat, wondering what the skipper would do. There was a tide running to the southward, and they had to keep the boat heading towards Sandwich. Strong as the boatswain was, I could see what a much stronger oar Duckling pulled by the way the boat's head swerved under his strokes. I stood watching them for some time and then joined the pilot, who had lighted a pipe and sat smoking on the taffrail. He gave me a civil nod, being well-disposed enough now that Coxon was not by, and made some remark about the awkwardness of the men refusing work when the breeze was so good. "True," said I; "but I think you'll find that the magistrates will give it in their favour. There's some mistake about the ship's stores. Such bread as the men have had served out to them ought never to have been put on board, and the steward has owned to me that it's all alike." "The captain don't intend to let it come before the magistrates," answered the pilot with a wink, and pulling his pipe from his mouth to inspect the bowl. "He wants to be off, and means to telegraph for another crew and turn those fellows yonder adrift." "Won't he ship some better provisions?" "I don't know, sir. Preehaps he's satisfied that the provisions is good enough for the men, and preehaps he isn't. Leastways he'll not be persuaded contrarily to his belief." "So, then, the police are to have nothing to do with this matter, and the stores will be retained for another crew?" "That's as it may be." "There will be a mutiny before we get to Valparaiso." "Something 'll happen, I dare say." I not only considered the captain's behaviour in this matter bad morally, but extremely impolitic. His motives were plain enough. The stores had been shipped as a cheap lot for the men to eat; and I dare say the understanding between Coxon and the owners was that the stores should not be changed. This view would account for his going on shore to telegraph for a new crew, since sending the old crew about their business would promise a cheaper issue than signalling for the police and bringing the offenders before the magistrates, and causing the vessel to be detained while inquiries were made. But that he would be imperilling the safety of his vessel by shipping a fresh crew without exchanging the bad stores for good was quite certain, and I wondered that so old a sailor as he should be such a fool as not to foresee some disastrous end to his own or his owners' contemptible cheese-paring policy. However, I had not so good an opinion of the pilot's taciturnity as to make him my confidant in these thoughts; we talked on other matters for a few minutes and he then went below, and after a while, on passing the skylight, I saw him stretched on one of the cuddy benches sound asleep. The Downs now presented a very different appearance from what they had exhibited an hour before. There were not above four vessels at anchor, and of those which had filled and stood away scarce half a dozen were in sight. These were some lumbering old brigs with a barque among them, with the water almost level with their decks; picturesque enough, however, in the glorious morning light, as they went washing solemnly away, showing their square sterns to the wind. A prettier sight was a fine schooner yacht coming up fast from the southward, with her bow close to the wind; and over to the eastward the sea was alive with smacks, their sails shining like copper, standing apparently for the North Sea. The land all about Walmer was of an exquisite soft green, and in the breezy summer light Deal looked the quaintest, snuggest little town in the world. A little after eight the steward called me down to breakfast, where I found the pilot impatiently sniffing an atmosphere charged with the aroma of broiled ham and strong coffee. I own, as I helped myself to a rasher and contrasted the good provisions with which the cuddy table was furnished with the bad food served to the men, that I was weak enough to sympathize very cordially with the poor fellows. The steward told me that not a man among them had broken his fast; this he had been told by the cook, who added that the men would rather starve than eat the biscuit that had been served out to them. Such was their way of showing themselves wronged; and the steward declared that he did not half like bringing our breakfast from the galley, for the men, when they smelt the ham and saw him going aft with a tin of hot rolls, became so forcible in their language that he every moment, during his walk along the main-deck, expected to feel himself seized behind and pitched overboard. "It's the old story, sir," said the pilot, who was making an immense breakfast, "and it's true enough what Mr. Duckling said last night, which I thought uncommonly good. They ship sailors out of places where there's nothing to be seen but rags and rum--rum and rags, sir; they give 'em a good cabin to live in, pounds sterling a month, grog every day at eight bells, plenty of good livin', considering what they was, where they come from, and what they desarves: and what do they do but turn up their noses at food which they'd crawl upon their knees to get in their kennels ashore, and swear that they won't do ne'er a stroke of work unless they're bribed by the very best of everything. What do they want?--lobsters for breakfast, and wenison and plum-duff for dinner, and chops and tamater sauce for supper? It's the ruination of owners, sir, are these here new-fangled ideas; and I don't say--mind, I don't say that it don't go agin pilots as a body. A pilot can't do his dooty as he ought when he's got such crews as sarve nowadays to order about. Here am I stuck here, with a job that I knows of waitin' and waitin' for me at Gravesend. And all because this blessed ship's company wants wenison and plum-duff for dinner!" He helped himself to a large slice of broiled ham and devoured it with sullen energy. I could have said a word for the men, but guessed that my remarks would be repeated to the skipper; and since I could not benefit them, there was no use in injuring myself. After breakfast I went upon deck, and saw a Deal boat making for the ship. She came along in slashing style, under her broad lug--what splendid boats those Deal luggers are, and how superbly the fellows handle them!--and in a short time was near enough to enable me to see that she towed our quarter-boat astern, and that Coxon and Duckling were among her occupants. I went to the gangway to receive her: she fell off, then luffed, running a fine semicircle; down dropped her lug, her mizzen brought her right to, and she came alongside with beautiful precision, stopping under the gangway like a carriage at your door. I caught the line that was flung from her, took a turn with it, and then Coxon and the chief mate stepped on board. The moment he touched the deck, Coxon called to the men who were hanging about the forecastle. "Get your traps together, and out with you! If ever a man among you stops in my ship five minutes, I'll fling him overboard." With which terrible threat he walked into the cuddy. Duckling remained at the gangway to see the crew leave the ship. The poor fellows were all ready. They had made up their minds to go ashore, but hardly knew under what circumstances. I had noticed them pressing forward to look into the boat when she came alongside, no doubt expecting to see the uniform of a police-superintendent there. The presence of such an official would, of course, have meant imprisonment to them; they would have been locked up until brought before the magistrates. They were clearly disappointed by the skipper's procedure, for as they came to the gangway, carrying their bags and chests, all kinds of remarks, expressive of their opinion on the matter, were uttered by them. "The old blackguard," said one, flinging his bag into the boat, and lingering before Duckling and myself in order to deliver his observations, "he hasn't the pluck to have us tried. Pitch us overboard! let him try his (etc.) hand upon the littlest of us! I'd take six months, and thank 'em, just to warm my fist on his (etc.) face!" and so forth. Duckling was wise to hold his peace. The men were furious enough to have massacred him had he opened his lips. The older hands got into the boat in silence; but none of the rest left the ship without some candid expression of his feelings. One said he'd gladly pay a pound for leave to set fire to the ship. Another called her a floating workhouse. A third hoped that the vessel would be sunk, and the brutes commanding her drowned before this time to-morrow. Every evil wish that malice and rage could invent was hurled at the vessel and at those who remained in her. In after days I recalled that beautiful morning, the picture of the lugger alongside the ship, the hungry, ill-used men with their poor packs going over the vessel's side, and the curses they pronounced as they left us. An incident followed the entry of the last of the men in the boat. The sail was hoisted, the rope that held the boat let go, and her head was shoved off; when the "Portugee," in the excitement and fury of his feelings, drew in his breath and his cheeks, and spat with tremendous energy at Duckling, who was watching him: but the missile fell short; in a word, he spat full in the face of one of the old hands, who instantly knocked him down. He tumbled head over heels among the feet of the crowd of men, while Duckling roared out, "If the man who knocked that blackguard down will return to his duty, I'll be his friend." But all the answer he got was a roar which resembled in sound and character the mingled laughter and groans of a large mob; the fresh wind caught and filled the sail, the boat bounded away under the pressure, and in a few minutes was a long distance out of hail. CHAPTER IV. A fresh crew came down from London the following morning in charge of a crimp. Duckling went ashore to meet them at the railway station, and they came off in the same boat that had landed the others on the previous day. They appeared much the same sort of men as those who had left us; badly clothed for the most part, and but four of them had sea-chests, the rest bringing bags. There was one very big man among them, a fellow that dwarfed the others; he held himself erect, wore good boots, and might very well have passed for an escaped Lifeguardsman, were it not for the indescribable _something_ in his gait, and the way in which he hung his hands, that marked him for a Jack. Another fellow I noticed, as he scrambled over the ship's side, and sung out, in notes as hoarse as a raven's, to pitch him up his "blooming portmantey," had a very extraordinary face, altogether out of proportion with his head, being, I dare say, a full third too small. The back of the skull was immense, and was covered with hair coarser than Duckling's--as coarse as hemp-yarns. This hair grew down beside his ears, and got mixed up with streaky whiskers, which bound up the lower part of his face like a tar poultice. Out of this circle of hair looked a face as small as a young boy's; little half-closed Chinese eyes, a bit of a pug nose, and a square mouth, kept open so as to show that he wanted four front teeth. The frame belonging to this remarkable head and face was singularly vigorous though grievously misshapen. His long arms went far down his legs; his back, without having a hump, was as round as a shell, and he looked as if he measured a yard and a half from shoulder to shoulder. I watched this strange-looking creature with great curiosity until I lost sight of him in the forecastle. The men bustled over the side with great alacrity, bawling for their bags and property to be handed up in a great variety of accents. There were two Dutchmen and a copper-coloured man, with African features, among them; the rest were English. The crimp remained in the boat, watching the men go on board. He was from the other side of Jordan. His woolly hair was soaked with oil, and shone resplendent in the sun; the oil seemed to have got into his hat, too, for that had a most fearful polish. He wore a greatcoat that came down to his shins, and beneath this he exhibited a pair of blue serge breeches, terminating in boots as greasy as his hat. He was genteel enough to wear kid gloves; but the imagination was not to be seduced by such an artifice from picturing the dirt under the gloves. I knew something of crimps, and amused myself with an idle speculation or two whilst watching the man. This was a fellow who would probably keep a lodging-house for sailors in some dirty little street leading out of the West India Dock Road. His terms would be very easy: seven shillings a week for board and lodging, and every gentleman to pay for extras. He would probably have two or three amiable and obliging sisters, daughters, or nieces living with him, knowing the generous and blind confidence Jack reposes in the endearments of the soft sex, and how very prodigally he will pay for them. So this greasy miscreant's dirty West India Dock Road lodging-house for sailors would always be pretty full, and he would never have much difficulty in mustering a crew when he got an order to raise one. Of course it would pay him as it pays other crimps to let lodgings to sailors, so as to have them always about him when a crew is wanted; for will he not obligingly cash their advance-notes for them, handing them say, thirty shillings for three pounds ten? "What do I do with this dirty risk?" he will exclaim, when Jack expostulates. "Supposing you cut stick? I lose my money! I only do this to obleege you. Go into the street," he cries, pretending to get into a passion, "and see what you'll get for your dirty piece of paper. You'll be comin' back to me on your bended knees, with the tears a tricklin' and runnin' over your cheeks, axing my parding for wronging me and willin' to say a prayer of thankfulness for me bein' put in your vay. You'll want a bag for your clothes, and here's one, dirt cheap, five and a 'arf. And you can't go to sea vith one pair o' brigs, and you shall have these beauties a bargain--come, fourteen and six, for _you_, and I'll ask you not to say what you gave for 'em, or I shall have four hundred and fifty-vun customers comin' in a rage to tell me I'm a villin for charging of 'em a guinea for the shame article. And here's a first-class knife and belt--something fit for the heye to rest upon--honestly vorth 'arf a sovrin, which I'll make you a present of for a bob, and if you say a vord I'll take everything back, for I _can't_ stand ingratitood." Our friend watched the crew over the vessel's side with jealous eyes, for had they refused at the last moment to remain in the ship, he would have been a loser to the amount he had given them for their advance-notes. He looked really happy when the last man was out of the lugger and her head turned for the shore. He raised his greasy hat to Duckling, and his hair shone like polished mahogany in the sun. "Aft here, some of you, and ship this gangway. Boatswain, pipe all hands to get the ship under weigh," cried Duckling; and turning to me with a wink, he added, "If the grub is going to bring more rows, we must fight 'em on the high seas." There was a little breeze from the south-east; quite enough to keep the lighter sails full and give us headway against the tide that was running up Channel. The men, zealous as all new-comers are, hastened briskly out of the forecastle on hearing Duckling's voice and the boatswain's whistle, and manned the windlass. The pilot was now on the poop with the skipper, the latter looking lively enough as he heard the quick clanking of the palls. The men broke into a song and chorus presently, and the rude strains chimed in well with the hoarse echo of the cable coming link by link in-board. Presently I reported the cable up and down. Then from Duckling, the pilot's mouthpiece, came the familiar orders-- "Loose the outer jib." "Lay aloft, some of you, and loose the topsails." "Up with that jib smartly, my lads." "A hand aft here to the wheel." The ship lay with her head pointing to the direction in which she was going: there was nothing more to do than sheet home the topsails and trip the anchor. The men were tolerably nimble and smart. The three topsails were soon set, the windlass again manned, and within a quarter of an hour from the time when the order was given, the ship was under way, and pushing quietly through a tide that raced in a hundred wrinkles around her bows. We set the fore and main top-gallant sails and spanker presently: the yards were braced sharp up, for we were heading well south, so as to give the Foreland a wide berth. This extra canvas sent us swirling past the red-hulled lightship off this point, and soon the Dover pier opened, and the great white cliffs with their green heights. Anon, our course bringing the wind more aft, we set the mainsail and main-royal and mizzen top-gallant sail, with the staysails and jibs. The breeze freshened as we stretched seawards; the ship was now carrying a deal of canvas, and the men seemed pleased with her pace. The day was gloriously fine. The sea was of an emerald green, alive with little leaping waves each with its narrow thread of froth: the breeze was strong enough to lay the vessel over, just so far as to enable one looking over the weather side to see her copper, shining red below the green line of water. The brilliant sunshine illuminated the brass-work with innumerable glories, and shone with fluctuating flashes in the glass of the skylights, and made the decks glisten like a yacht's. The canvas, broad and white, towered nobly to the sky, and the main-royal against the deep blue of the sky seemed like a cloud among the whiter clouds which swept in quick succession high above. It was a sight to look over the ship's bows, to see her keen stem shredding the water, and the permanent pillar of foam leaning away from her weather-bow. This part of the Channel was full of shipping, and I know, by the vividness with which my memory reproduces the scene, how beautiful was the picture impressed upon it. All on our right were the English shores, made delicate and even fanciful by distance; here and there fairy-like groups of houses, standing on the heights among trees or embosomed in valleys, with silver sands sloping to the sea: deep shadows staining the purity of the brilliant chalk, and a foreground of pleasure-boats with sails glistening like pearl and bright flags streaming. And to our right and left vessels of different rigs and sizes standing up or down Channel, some running like ourselves, free, with streaming wakes, others coming up close-hauled, some in ballast high out of water, stretching their black sides along the sea and exposing to windward shining surfaces of copper. At half-past two o'clock in the afternoon, all sail that was required having been made, and the decks cleared, the hands were divided into watches, and I, having charge of the port watch, came on deck. The starboard watch went below; but as the men had not dined, a portion of my own watch joined the others in the forecastle to get their dinner. I now discovered that the copper-faced man, to whom I have drawn attention, was the new cook. I heard the men bandying jokes with him as they went in and out of the galley, carrying the steaming lumps of pork and reeking dishes of pea-soup into the forecastle, whence I concluded that they had either not yet discovered the quality of the provisions, or that they were more easily satisfied than their predecessors had been. Among the men in my own watch was the great strapping fellow whom I had likened to a Lifeguardsman. I had thought the man too big to be handy up aloft, but was very much deceived; for in all my life I never witnessed such feats of activity as he performed. His long legs had enabled him to take two ratlines at a time, and he saved himself the trouble of getting over the futtock shrouds by very easily making two steps from the mainshrouds to the mainyard, and from the mainyard to the maintop. I watched him leave the galley, carrying his smoking mess; but I also noticed, before I lost sight of him, that he took a suspiciously long sniff at the steam under his nose, and then violently expectorated. The breeze was now very lively; the canvas was stretching nobly to it, and the shore all along our starboard beam was a gliding panorama, brilliant with colour and sunshine. They were having dinner in the cuddy, and as often as I passed the skylight I could see the captain glancing upwards at the sails with a well-pleased expression. I presently noticed the cook's copper face, crowned with an odd kind of knitted cap, protruding from the galley, and his small eyes gazed intently at me. I paced the length of the poop, and when I returned, the cook's head was still at its post, and then his body came out and he stood staring in my direction. I had to turn abruptly to hide my mirth, for his face was ornamented with an expression of disgust exquisitely comical with the wrinkled nose, the arched thick mouth, and the screwed-up eyebrows. When I again looked he was coming along the deck, swinging a piece of very fat pork at the end of a string. He advanced close to the poop-ladder at the top of which I was standing, and holding up the pork, said-- "You see dis, sar?" "Yes," I answered. "Me belong to a country where we no eat pork," he exclaimed, with great gravity, still preserving his wrinkled nose and immensely disgusted expression. "What country is that?" I asked. "Hot country, sar," he answered. "But me will eat pork on board ship." "Very proper." "But me will _not_ eat stinking pork on board ship or anywhere else," he cried excitedly. "Is that piece of pork tainted?" I inquired. "Don't know nuffen 'bout tainted, sar," he replied; "but it smells kinder strong. But not so strong as the liquor where t'other porks was biled in. Nebber smelled de like, sar. Most disgusting. Come and try it, sar. Make you feel queer." "Pitch the water overboard, then." "No good, sar. Fork'sle full of stinks, and men grumblin' like hell. Me fust-rate cook, too--but no make a stink sweet. Dat beats me." He held up the pork, with an expression on his face as if he were about to sneeze, shook his finger at it as though it were something that could be affected by the gesture, and flung it overboard. "Dat's my rations," said he. "Shouldn't like to eat de fish dat swallers it." And turning jauntily in his frocked canvas breeches he walked off. A few moments afterwards the extraordinary-looking man with the small face and large head, and shell-shaped back, came out of the forecastle, walking from side to side with a springing jerky action of the legs, they being evidently moved by a force having no reference to his will. "Ax your pardon, sir," he said, twirling up his thumb in the direction of his forehead; "but the meat's infernal bad aboard this here wessel." "I can't help it," I answered, annoyed to be the recipient of these complaints, which seemed really to justify Coxon's charge of my being the crew's confidant. "You must talk to the captain about it." "Ne'er a man among us can eat of the pork; and the cook, as is better acquainted than us with these here matters, says he'd rather be biled alive than swaller a ounce of it." "The captain is the proper person to complain to." "That may be, sir," said the man, dropping his chin, so that by projecting his beard his face appeared to withdraw, and grow smaller still. "But the boatswain says there'll not be much got by complaining to the skipper." "I can't make the ship's stores better than they are," I replied, moving a step, for I now perceived that some of the crew were watching us, and I did not want the captain to come on deck and find me talking to this man about the provisions. But it so happened that at this particular moment the captain emerged from the companion hatchway. The man did not stir, and the captain said-- "What does that fellow want?" "He is complaining of the pork, sir. I have referred him to you." He gave me a sharp look, and leaning forwards, said in a quiet, mild voice-- "What's the matter, my man?" "Why, sir, I've been asked to come and say that the pork that's been served to the men is in a werry bad state, to be sure. It's more smell than meat, and what ain't smell is brine." "I am sorry to hear that," said the captain in a most benignant manner. "Look into the cuddy and tell the steward I want him." The steward stepped on to the quarter-deck and looked up at his master in a way that made me suspect he had got his cue. "What's the matter with the pork, steward?" "Nothing, sir, that I know of." "The men say it smells strong--that's what you say, I think?" remarked the captain, addressing the man. "Werry strong, sir--strong enough to sit upon, sir." "I don't know how that can be," exclaimed the steward, looking very puzzled indeed. "It's sweet enough in the cask. Perhaps it's the fault of the biling." "Nothing to do with the biling, mate," said the man, shaking his extraordinary head, at the same time surveying the steward indignantly. "Biling clears away smells as a rule." "Perhaps you've opened a bad cask. If so," said the captain, "fling it overboard, for I'll not have the men poisoned. Let the cook boil me a sample from the next cask you open, and put it upon my table--do you hear?" "Yes, sir." "That will do," continued the captain, addressing the man. "You may go forward and tell your mates what I have said." And away straggled the man to inform the crew, no doubt, that the skipper was a brick, and that he'd like to punch the steward's head. At seven o'clock next morning we were abreast the Isle of Wight, having carried a strong south-easterly breeze with us as far as Eastbourne, when the wind lulled and remained light all through the middle watch; but after four it freshened again from the same quarter, and came on to blow strong; but we kept the fore and main royals on her all through, and only furled them to heave the ship to off Ventnor, where we landed the pilot. There was a nasty lump of a sea on just here, and some smacks making for Portsmouth carried half sails soaking and their decks running with water. The _Grosvenor_, owing to her weight, lay steady enough; a little too steady, I thought, for she shipped water over her starboard bow without rising, reminding me of a deep-laden barge, along which you will see the swell running and washing, whilst she herself goes squashing through with scarcely a roll. A dandy-rigged boat put off, in response to our signal, and I enjoyed the pretty picture she made as she came foaming, close hauled, towards the ship, burying herself in spray as she shoved her keen nose into the sea, and hopping nimbly out of one trough into another, so that sometimes you could see her forefoot right out of water. I was glad when the pilot got over the side. He was a mean toady, and had done me no good with the captain. The gangway ladder had been thrown over to enable him to descend, and the boat washed high and low, up and down, alongside, sometimes level with the deck, sometimes twelve or fourteen feet in a hollow. "Now's your time," said I, mischievously, as he hung on to the man-rope with one leg out to catch the boat as she rose. He took me at my word and let go; but the boat was sinking, and down he went with her, and I had the satisfaction of seeing him roll right into the boat's bottom, and there get so hopelessly entangled with the pump and some trawling gear, that it took two boatmen to pull him out and set him on his feet. Then away they went, the pilot waving his hat to the skipper, who cries-- "Man the lee main braces." The great yards were swung around, and the ship lay over to the immense weight of canvas. "Ease off those jib-sheets there, and set the mainsail." The ship, feeling the full breeze, surged slowly forwards, parting the toppling seas with thundering blows of her bows. She had as much sail on her as she could well carry, and a trifle to spare, for the breeze had freshened whilst we had been lying to, a couple of vessels to windward were taking in their fore and mizzen top-gallant sails, and ahead was a smart brig with a single reef in her fore-topsail. The wind was well abeam, perhaps half a point abaft, and every sail was swollen like the cheeks of rude Boreas in the picture of that bleak worthy. This cracking on delighted Duckling, whose head turned so violently about as he stared first at these sails, then at those, then forward, then aft, that I thought he would end in putting a kink into his neck. "This is proper!" he exclaimed, in his hoarse voice, after ordering some hands "to clap the watch-tackle on to the main-tack and rouse it down." "We'll teach 'em how to froth this blessed Channel! I guess we've had enough of calms, and if the Scilly ain't some miles astern by the second dog-watch to-morrow I'll turn a monk, you see!" We were heading well west-south-west, and the water was flying in sheets of foam from the ship's bows. By this time it was dark, and the sky thick with the volume of wind that swept over it; the stars shone hazily, but it was as much as I could do to trace the outlines of the main-royal and top-gallant sail. The vessel was rushing through the water at a great pace. I felt as exhilarated as one new to the life when I looked astern and saw the broad path of foam churned by the ship rising and falling and fading upon the desolate gloom of the hilly horizon. Blue fires burnt in the water; but, by-and-by, when by stretching out we had got into the broader sea, and the vessel plunged to the heavier waves which were running, big flakes of phosphorescent light were hurled up with the water every time the ship pitched, and for twenty fathoms astern the water was as luminous as the Milky Way. The roaring of the wind on high, the creaking of the spars, the clanking and grinding of the chain-sheets, the squeal of sheaves working on rusty pins, the hissing and spitting of the seething foam, and ever and anon the sullen thunder of a sea striking the ship, filled the ear with a wonderful volume of sound. The captain was cracking on to make up for lost time, and he was on deck when I went below at ten o'clock to get some rest before relieving Duckling at midnight. There were then two hands at the wheel, and a couple on the look-out; our lamps were burning bravely, but we had long ago outrun all sight of shore and of lights ashore. I slept soundly, and at eight bells Duckling roused me up. The unpleasantest part of a sailor's life is this periodical turning out of warm blankets to walk the deck for four hours. The rawness of the night air is anything but stimulating to a man just awake and very sleepy. Let the wind be never so steady, the decks are full of powerful draughts rushing out of the sails and blowing into your eyes and ears and up the legs of your trousers, and down the collar of your shirt, turn where you will: and you think, as your hair is blown over your eyes and a shower of spray comes pattering upon your oilskins and annoying your face, of your sheltered cabin and warm cot, and wonder what, in the name of common sense, caused you to take to this uncomfortable profession. The crew in this respect are better off than their officers; for the watch on deck at night can always manage to sneak into the forecastle and dose upon their chests, or on the deck and keep under shelter; whereas the mate in charge must be always wide awake and on his legs throughout his watch, and shirk nothing that the heavens may choose to pour upon his defenceless person. I had four hours before me when I went on deck, and I may perhaps have wished myself ashore in a quiet bed. The captain stood near the wheel. It was blowing very fresh indeed, the wind about east-southeast, with a strong following sea. The yards had been braced further aft, but no other alteration had been made since I had gone below. If I had thought that the vessel was carrying too much sail then, I certainly thought that she was carrying a great deal too much sail now. She could have very well dispensed with the main-royal and two top-gallant sails, and in my opinion would have made the same way with a single reef in the topsails. The press of canvas was burying her. Well aft as the wind was, the vessel lay over to starboard under it, and she was dragging her heavy channels sluicing and foaming through the water. The moon was weak, with a big ring round her, and the sky was obscured by the scud which fled swiftly away to the north-west. The horizon was thick, and the troubled sheen of the moon upon the jumping seas made the dark waters, with their ghastly lines of phosphorescent foam, a most wild and weird panorama. I mustered the watch, and a couple of them went to relieve their mates on the forecastle. A night-glass lay on one of the skylights, and I swept the horizon with it, but nothing was to be seen. I walked aft to see how she was steering, for these heavy following seas lumping up against a ship's quarter play the deuce with some vessels, making the compass-card swing wildly and setting the square sails lifting; but found her steering very steadily, though the rush of some of the seas under her counter might have bewildered a two-thousand-ton ship. She rose, too, better than I thought she would, though she was sluggish enough, for some of the seas ran past her with their crests curling above her lee bulwarks, and she had received one souser near the galley; but her decks to windward were dry. Coxon was smoking a big Dutch pipe, holding it with one hand and the rail with the other. He had a hair cap on with flaps over his ears, and sea-boots, and all that he was doing was first to blow a cloud and then look up at the sails, and then blow another cloud and then look up again. This would appear to have been going on since nine o'clock. I thought he must be pretty tired of his diversion by this time. "She bears her canvas well, sir," said I. "Yes," he answered gruffly, "I have lost twenty-four hours. I ought to have been clear of the Channel by this." "She is a fast vessel, sir. We are doing good twelve, I should say." He cast his eyes over the stern, then looked up aloft, but made no answer. I was moving away when he exclaimed-- "Go forward and tell the men to keep a bright look-out. And keep your weather-eye lifting yourself, sir." I did as he bade me, and got upon the forecastle. I found the two men who were indistinguishable from the poop, wrapped in oilskins leaning against the forecastle rail. It blew harder here than it did aft, for a power of wind rushed slanting from the fore-topmast stay-sail and whirled up from under the foot of the foresail. The crashing sound of the vessel's bows, urged through the heavy water by the great power that was bellowing overhead, was wonderful to hear: an uproar of thunder was all around, mingled with wild shrieking cries and the strange groaning of straining timbers. The moon stood away to windward of the mizzen royal-mast head, and it was a sight to look up and see the grey canvas, full like balloons, soaring into the sky, and to hear the mighty rush of the wind among the rigging as the vessel rolled against it, making the moon whirl across her spars to and fro, to and fro. I had been on deck three quarters of an hour when, feeling the wind very cold, I dived into my cabin for a shawl to wrap round my neck. I had hardly left the cuddy door to return, when I heard a loud cry from the forecastle, and both hands roared out simultaneously, "A sail right ahead!" Coxon walked quickly forward to the poop-rail to try to see the vessel to windward. Then he went over to the other side and peered under the mainsail; after which he said, "I see nothing. Where is she?" I shouted through my hands, "On which bow is she?" "Right ahead!" came the reply. "There was a short pause, and then one of the men roared out, "Hard over! we're upon her! She's cutter rigged! she's a smack!" "Hard a-port! hard a-port!" bawled Coxon. I saw the spokes of the wheel fly round, but almost at the same moment, I felt a sudden shock--an odd kind of _thud_, the effect of which upon my senses was to produce the impression of a sudden lull in the wind. "God Almighty!" bellowed a voice, "we've run her down!" In a second I had bounded to the weather-side of the poop and looked over, and what I saw sliding rapidly past, was a mast and a dark-coloured sail, which in the daylight would probably be red, stretched flat upon the wilderness of foam which our ship was sweeping off her sides. Upon this ghastly white ground the sail and mast were distinctly outlined--for a brief moment only--they vanished even as I watched, swallowed up in the seething water. And then all overhead the sails of the ship began to thunder, and the rigging quivered and jerked as though it must snap. "Hard over! hard over!" bellowed Coxon. I saw him rush to the wheel, thrust away one of the men, and pull the spokes over with all his force. The vessel answered splendidly, swerved nobly round like a creature of instinct, and was again rushing headlong with full sail over the sea. This was a close shave. At the speed at which she was travelling she had obeyed the rudder in the first instance so promptly as to come round close to the wind. A few moments more and she would have been taken aback; and this, taking into consideration the amount of canvas she was carrying, must infallibly have meant the loss of most, if not of all, her spars. Horrified by the thoughts of living creatures drowning in our wake, I cried out to the skipper-- "Won't you make an effort to save them, sir?" "Save them be hanged!" he answered fiercely. "Why the devil didn't they get out of our road?" I was so much shocked by the coarse inhumanity of this reply, that I turned on my heel; but yet was constrained by an ugly fascination to turn again and cast shuddering glances at the spot where I pictured the drowning wretches battling with the waves. Captain Coxon was too intent upon the compass to notice my manner; he was giving directions to the men in a low voice, with his eyes fixed on the card. Presently he exclaimed, in his gruffest voice, "Call the carpenter to sound the well." This was soon despatched, and I returned and reported a dry bottom. "Heave the log, sir." I called a couple of hands aft and went through the tiresome and tedious job of ascertaining the speed by the measured line and sand-glass. The reel rattled furiously in the hands of the man who held it: I thought the whole of the line would go away overboard before the fellow who was holding the glass cried, "Stop!" "What do you make it?" demanded Coxon. "Thirteen knots, sir." He looked over the side as though to assure himself that the computation was correct, then called out-- "Clew up the main-royal, and furl it!" This was a beginning, and it was about time that a beginning was made. The breeze had freshened into a strong wind, this had grown into half a gale, and the look of the sky promised a whole gale before morning. The main-royal halliards were let go, and a couple of hands went up to stow the bit of canvas that was thumping among the clouds. Presently, "Furl the fore and mizzen top-gallant sails." This gave occupation to the watch; and now the decks began to grow lively with the figures of men running about, with songs and choruses, with cries of "Belay, there!"--"Up with it smartly, my lads!" and with the heavy flapping of canvas. All this, however, was no very great reduction of sail. The _Grosvenor_ carried the old-fashioned single topsails, and these immense spaces of canvas were holding a power of wind. Overhead the scud flew fast and furious, and all to windward the horizon was very thick. We took in the main-top-gallant sail; and while the hands were aloft we came up hand over fist with a big ship, painted white. She was to leeward, stretching away under double-reefed topsails, and showed out quite distinctly upon the dark sea beyond, and under the struggling moonshine. We ran close enough to take the wind out of her sails, and could easily have hailed her had there been any necessity to do so; but we could discern no one on deck but a single hand at the wheel. She showed no lights, and with her white hull and glimmering sails, and fragile naked yards and masts, she looked as ghostly as anything I ever saw on the water. She rolled and plunged solemnly among the seas, and threw up her own swirling outline in startling relief upon the foam she flung from her side, and which streamed away in pyramid-shape. She went astern like a buoy, and in a few minutes had vanished as utterly from our sight as if she had foundered. I now stood waiting for an order which I knew must soon come. It is one thing to "carry on," but it is another thing to rip the masts out of a ship. I don't think we had lost half a knot in speed through the canvas that had been taken in: the vessel seemed to be running very nearly as fast as the seas. But the wind was not only increasing, but increasing with squalls, so that there were times when you would have thought that the inmates of forty mad-houses had got among the rigging and out upon the yards, and were screeching, yelling, and groaning with all the force they were master of. At last the captain gave the order I awaited. "All hands reef topsails." In a few minutes the boatswain's pipe sounded, and the watch below came tumbling out of the forecastle. Now came a scene familiar to every man who has been to sea, whether as a sailor or a passenger. In a ship of war the crew go to work to the sound of fiddles or silver whistles; every man knows his station; everything is done quickly, quietly, and completely. But in a merchantman the men go to work to the sound of their own voices: these voices are, as a rule, uncommonly harsh and hoarse; and as every working party has its own solo and chorus, and as all working parties sing together, the effect upon the ear, to say the very least, is hideous. But also in a merchantman the crew is always less in number than they ought to be. Hence, when the halliards are let go, the confusion below and aloft becomes overwhelming; for not more, perhaps, than a couple of sails can be handled at a time, and, meanwhile, the others waiting to be furled are banged about by the wind, and fling such a thunder upon the ear that orders are scarce audible for the noise. All this to a certain degree happened in the present instance. The captain having carried canvas with fool-hardy boldness, now ran into the other extreme. The quick fierce gusts which ran down upon the ship frightened him, and his order was to let go all three topsail halliards, and double-reef the sails. The halliards were easily let go; but then, the working hands being few, confusion must follow. The yards coming down upon the caps, the sails stood out in bellies hard as iron. A whole watch upon each reef-tackle could hardly bring the blocks together. When the mizzen-topsail was reefed, it was found that the fore-topsail would require all hands; the helm had to be put down to shake the sail, so as to enable the men to make the reef-points meet. The main-topsail lifted as well as the fore-topsail, and both sails rattled in unison; and the din of the pealing canvas, furiously shaken by the howling wind, the cries of the men getting the sail over to windward, the booming of the seas against the ship's bows, the groaning of her timbers, the excited grunting of terrified pigs, and the rumbling of an empty water-cask, which had broken from its lashings and was rolling to and fro the main-deck, constituted an uproar of which no description, however elaborate, could even faintly express the overwhelming character. When the dawn broke it found the _Grosvenor_ under reefed topsails, fore-topmast, staysail, foresail, main-trysail, and spanker, snug enough, but with streaming decks, for the gale had raised a heavy beam sea, and the deep-laden ship was sluggish, and took the water repeatedly over her weather-bulwarks. The watch below had turned in again, but it was already seven bells, and at four o'clock my turn would come to go to bed. I had charge of the ship, for the captain having passed the night in observing his vessel's sailing powers under all canvas, had gone below, and I was not sorry to get rid of him, for his continued presence aft had become a nuisance to my eyes. The sea under the gathering light in the east was a remarkable sight. The creaming arching surfaces of the waves took the pale illumination, but the troughs or hollows were livid, and looking along the rugged surface as the ship rose, one seemed to behold countless lines of yawning caverns opening in an illimitable waste of snow. Nothing could surpass the profound desolation of the scene surveyed in the faint struggling dawn, the pallid heaven, bearing its dim and languishing stars, over which were swept long lines of smoke-coloured clouds torn and mangled by the wind; the broken ocean pouring and boiling away to a melancholy horizon, still dark, save where the dawn was creeping upwards with its chilly light, and making the eastern sea and sky leaden-hued. I had now leisure to recall the fatal accident I have related, and the inhumanity of Captain Coxon's comment upon it. I hugged myself in my thick coat as I looked astern at the cold and rushing waters, and thought of the bitter sudden deaths of the unfortunates we had run down. With what appalling rapidity had the whole thing happened! not even a dying shriek had been heard amid the roar of the wind among the masts. For many a day the memory of that dark-coloured sail, prone upon the foaming water, haunted me. The significance of it was awful to think upon. But for the men on the look-out, never a soul among us would have known that living beings had been hurled into sudden and dreadful death, that the ship in which we sailed had perchance made widows of sleeping wives, had made children fatherless, and that ruin and beggary and sorrow had been churned up out of the deep by our unsparing bows. Our voyage had begun inauspiciously enough, God knows: and as I looked towards the east where the morning light was kindling over the livid, rugged horizon, a strange depression fell upon my spirits, and the presentiment then entered my mind and never afterwards quitted it, that perils and suffering and death were in store for us, and that when I had looked on the English coast last night I was unconsciously bidding farewell to scenes I should never behold again. CHAPTER V. I was on deck again at eight o'clock. It was still blowing a gale, but the wind had drawn right aft, and though the topsails were kept reefed, Duckling had thought fit to set the main top-gallant sail, and the ship was running bravely. Yet, though her speed was good, she was rolling abominably; for the wind had not had time to change the course of the waves, and we had now all the disadvantage of a beam sea without the modifying influence over the ship's rolling of a beam wind. I reckoned that we had made over one hundred and thirty knots during the twelve hours, so that if the gale lasted, we might hope to be clear of the Scilly Isles by next morning. There was a small screw steamer crossing our bows right ahead, possibly hailing from France and bound to the Bristol Channel. I watched her through a glass, sometimes breathlessly, for in all my life I never saw any vessel pitch as she did, and live. Sometimes she seemed to stand clear out of water so as to look all hull: then down she would go and leave nothing showing but a bit of her funnel sticking up with black smoke pouring away from it. Several times when she pitched I said to myself, "Now she is gone!" Her bows went clean under, heaving aloft a prodigious space of foam: up cocked her stern, and, with the help of the glass, I could see her screw skurrying round in the air. Her decks were lumbered with cattle-pens, but the only living thing I could see on board was a man steering her on the bridge. She vanished all on a sudden, amid a Niagara of spray; but some minutes after I saw her smoke on the horizon. Had I not seen her smoke I should have been willing to wager that she had foundered. These mysterious disappearances at sea are by no means rare; but are difficult to account for, since they sometimes happen when the horizon is clear. I have sighted a ship and watched her for some time: withdrawn my eyes for a minute, looked again, and perceived no signs of her. It is possible that mists of small extent may hang upon the sea, not noticeable at a distance, and that they will shut out a vessel suddenly and puzzle you as a miracle would. The fascinating legend of the "Phantom Ship" may have originated in disappearances of this kind, for they are quite complete and surprising enough to inspire superstitious thoughts in such plain, unlettered minds as sailors'. They were breakfasting in the cuddy and in the forecastle, and I was waiting for the skipper to come on deck that I might go below and get something to eat. But before he made his appearance, the confounded copper-coloured cook, accompanied by a couple of men, came aft. "Sar," said this worthy, who looked lovely in a pink-striped skirt and yellow overalls, "me ask you respeckfly to speak to de skipper and tell him him biscuit am dam bad, sar." "I'm messman for the starboard watch, sir," exclaimed one of the men, "and the ship's company says they can't get the bread down 'em nohow." "Why do you come to me?" I demanded of them angrily. "I have already told you, cook, that I have nothing to do with the ship's stores. You heard what Captain Coxon said yesterday?" "Can't the steward get us up a fresh bag of bread for breakfast?" exclaimed the third man. "He's in the cuddy," I replied; "ask him." They bobbed their heads forward to see through the cuddy windows, and at that moment Duckling came on deck up through the companion. "You can get your breakfast," said he to me. "I'll keep watch until you've done." "Here are some men on the quarter-deck complaining of the bread," said I. "Will you speak to them?" He came forward at once, very briskly, and looked over. "What's the matter?" he called out. "We've come to complain of the ship's bread, sir," said one of the men, quite civilly. "Dam bad bread, sar. Me honest man and speak plain truff," exclaimed the cook, who possibly thought that his position privileged him to be both easy and candid on the subject of eating. "Get away forward!" cried Duckling, passionately. "The bread's good enough. You want to kick up a shindy." The men made a movement, the instinct of obedience responding mechanically to the command. But the cook held his ground, and said, shaking his head and convulsing his face-- "De bread am poison, sar. All de flour's changed into worms. Nebber see such a ting. It get here"--touching his throat--"and make me--yaw!" "Go forward, I tell you, you yellow-faced villain!" shouted Duckling. "D'ye hear what I say?" "Dis chile is a cook," began the fellow; but Duckling sprang off the poop, and with his clenched fist struck him full under the jaw: the poor devil staggered and whirled round, and then up went Duckling's foot, and cook was propelled at a great pace along the main-deck towards the galley. He stopped, put his hand to his jaw, and looked at the palm of it; rubbed the part that had been kicked, turned and held up his clenched fist, and went into the galley. The two other men disappeared in the forecastle. "Curse their impudence!" exclaimed Duckling, remounting the poop-ladder and polishing his knuckles on the sleeve of his coat. "Now, Mr. Royle, get you down to your breakfast. I want to turn in when you've done." I entered the cuddy, not very greatly edified by Duckling's way of emphasizing his orders, and made a bow to the captain, who was still at table. He condescended to raise his eyes, but for some minutes afterwards took no notice of me whatever, occupying himself with glancing over a bundle of slips which looked like bill-heads in his hand. The vessel was rolling so heavily that the very plates slided to and fro the table, and it not only required dexterity, but was no mean labour to catch the coffee-pot off the swinging tray as it came like a pendulum over to my side, and to pour out a cup of coffee without capsizing it. The mahogany panelling and cabin doors all round creaked incessantly, and in the steward's pantry there was a frequent rattle of crockery. "What was going forward on the main-deck just now?" demanded Coxon, stowing away the papers in his pocket, and breaking fragments from a breakfast roll. I explained. "Ah!" said he; "they're still at that game, are they?" "Mr. Duckling punched the cook's head----" "I saw him, sir. Likewise he kicked him. Mr. Duckling knows his duty, and I hope he has taught the cook his. Steward!" "Yes, sir?" responded the steward, coming out of the pantry. "See that a piece of the pork you are serving out to the men is put upon my table to-day." "Yes, sir." The captain fell into another fit of silence, during which I ate my breakfast as quickly as I could, in order to relieve Duckling. "Mr. Royle," said he presently, "when we ran that smack down this morning, what were you for doing?" "I should have hove the ship to," I replied, meeting his eyes. "Would you have hove her to had you been alone on deck, sir?" "Yes, and depended on your humanity to excuse me." "What do you mean by my humanity?" he cried, dissembling his temper badly. "What kind of cant is this you have brought on board my ship? Humanity! Damn it!" he exclaimed, his ungovernable temper blazing out: "had you hove my ship to on your own hook, I'd have had you in irons for the rest of the voyage." "I don't see the use of that threat, sir," said I, quietly. "You have to judge me by what I did do, not by what I might or would do." "Oh, confound your distinctions!" he went on, pushing his hair over his ears. "You told me that you would have hove the ship to had you been alone, and that means you would have whipped the masts out of her. Do you mean to tell me that you knew what sail we were carrying, to talk like this?" "Perfectly well." My composure irritated him more than my words, and I don't know what savage answer he was about to return; but his attention was on a sudden arrested and diverted from me. I turned my eyes in the direction in which he was staring, and beheld the whole ship's company advancing along the main-deck, led by the big seaman whose name was Johnson, and by the tortoise-backed, small-faced man who was called Fish--Ebenezer Fish. The moment the captain observed them, he rose precipitately, and ran up the companion-ladder; and as I had finished breakfast, I followed him. By the time I had reached the break of the poop the hands were all gathered about the mainmast. A few of them held tin dishes in their hands, in which were lumps of meat swimming in black vinegar. One carried some dozen biscuits supported against his breast. Another held a tin pannikin filled with treacle, and another grasped a salt-jar, or some such utensil, containing tea. The _coup d'oeil_ from the poop was at this moment striking. All around was a heavy sea with great waves boiling along it; overhead a pale blue sky, along which the wildest clouds were sweeping. The vessel running before the wind under double-reefed topsails, rolled deeply both to port and to starboard, ever and anon shipping a sheet of green water over her bulwarks, which went rushing to and fro the decks, seething and hissing among the feet of the men, and escaping, with loud bubbling noises, through the scupper-holes. I was almost as soon on deck as Coxon, and therefore heard the opening address of Johnson, who, folding his arms upon his breast, and "giving" on either leg, so as to maintain his equilibrium while the deck sloped to and fro under him, said in a loud, distinct voice-- "The ship's company thinks it a dooty as they owe theirselves to come aft altogether to let you know that the provisions sarved out to 'em ain't eatable." "Out, all hands, with what you've got to say," replied Coxon, leaning against the rail, "and when you've done I'll talk to you." "Now then, mates, you hear what the skipper says," exclaimed Johnson, turning to the others. Just then I noticed the copper face of the cook, who was skulking behind the men, with his eyes fixed, flashing like a madman's, upon Duckling. The fellow with the biscuits came forward, but a heavy lurch at that moment made him stumble, and the biscuits rolled out of his arms. They were collected officiously by the others, and placed again in his hands, all sopping wet; but he said, in a collected voice-- "These here are the starboard watch's bread. Ne'er a man has tasted of them. We've brought 'em for you to see, as so be it may happen that you aren't formiliar with the muck the steward sarves out." "Hand up a dry one," said the skipper. A man ran forward and returned with a biscuit, which the captain took, broke, smelt, and tasted. He then handed it to Duckling, who also smelt and tasted. After which he (the captain) said, "Fire away!" The fellow with the biscuits withdrew, and one of the men, bearing the pork swimming in vinegar, advanced. He was a Dutchman, and was heard and understood with difficulty. "My mates they shay tat tiss pork ish tam nashty, an' it isshn't pork ash I fanshy; but Gott knowsh what it iss; an' I shwear it gifs me ta shtomack-ache--by Gott, it doess, sir, ass I am a man." This speech was received with great gravity by the men as well as Coxon, who answered, "Hand it up." The mess was shoved through the rail and poked at by the skipper with a pen-knife; he even jobbed a piece of it out and put it into his mouth. I watched for a grimace, but he made none. He handed the tin dish as he had the biscuit to Duckling, who looked at it closely and put it on the deck. "The next?" said the captain. The Dutchman, looking as a man would who is conscious of having discharged a most important duty, hustled back among the others, and the man with the treacle came out. "This, sir, is what the steward's givin' us for molasses," said he, looking into the pannikin. The captain made no answer. "And though his senses are agin him, he goes on a callin' of it molasses." Another pause. "But to my way of thinkin' it ain't no more molasses than it's oysters. It's biled black-beetles, that's what I call it, and you want a toothpick as strong as a marlin-spike to get the shells out o' your teeth arter a meal of it." "Hand it up," said the captain, from whom every moment I was expecting an explosion of temper. He did not offer to taste the stuff, but inspected it with apparent attention, and tilted the vessel first this way and then that, that the treacle might run. "Here's your molasses," said he, handing down the pannikin. "What else is there?" "We're willin' to call this tea," said a man, holding up an earthenware jar filled with a black liquor; "but it ain't tea like what they sells ashore, an' it ain't tea like what I've bin used to drink on board other wessels. It's tea," continued he, looking first into the jar and then at the skipper, "and yet it ain't. Maybe it was growed in England, for there isn't no flavour of Chaney about it. It's too faint for 'bacca-leaves, and it ain't sweet enough for liquorish. Fish here says it's the mustiness as makes it taste like senna." Here followed a pause, during which the men gazed eagerly at the skipper. I noticed some angry and even sinister countenances among them; and the cook looked as evil as a fiend, with his hard yellow face and gleaming eyes staring upwards under his eyebrows. But so far there had been nothing in the men's speeches and behaviour to alarm the most timid captain; and I thought it would require but little tact and a few kindly concessions to make them, on the whole, a hard-working and tractable crew. The captain having kept silence for some time, exchanged looks with Duckling, and called to know if the men had any more complaints to make. They talked among themselves, and Johnson answered "No." "Very well, then," said he. "I can do nothing for you here. There are no bake-houses yonder," nodding at the sea, "to get fresh bread from. You must wait till we get to Valparaiso." A regular growl came up from the men, and Johnson exclaimed-- "We can't live on nothing till we get to Valparaiso." "What do you want me to do?" cried the skipper savagely. "It's not for us to dictate," replied Johnson. "All that the crew wants is grub fit to eat." "Put into Brest," exclaimed a voice. "It ain't fur off. There's good junk and biscuit to be got at Brest." "Who dares to advise me as to what I'm to do?" shouted the skipper in his furious way. "By Heaven, I'll break every bone in the scoundrel's body if he opens his infernal mutinous mouth again. I tell you I can't change the provisions here, and I'm not going to alter the ship's course with this wind astern, not if you were all starving in reality." But having said this he pulled up short, as if his temper were diverting him from the line of policy he had in his mind to follow; he lowered his voice and said, "I'll tell you what, my lads; you must make the provisions serve you for the present, and if I can make a fair wind of it, I'll haul round for some Spanish port: or if not there, I'll see what land is to be picked up." "You hear what the captain says, don't you?" growled Duckling. "It isn't us that minds waiting, it's our stomachs," said Fish, the small-faced man. "Do you mean to tell me you can't get a meal out of the food in your hands?" demanded the captain, pointing amongst them. "We'd rayther drink cold water than the tea," said one. "And the water ain't over-drinkable, neither," exclaimed another. "The cook shays te pork 'll gif us te cholera," said one of the Dutchmen. "We wouldn't mind if the bread an' molasses was right," cried Fish. "But they aren't. Nothen's right. The werry weevils ain't ordinary; they're longer an' fatter nor common bread-worms." "Hold your jaw!" bawled Duckling. "The captain has spoke you fairer than any skipper that ever I sailed under would have spoke. So now cut forward--do you hear?--and finish your breakfast. Cook, come out from behind the mainmast, you loafing nigger, and leave the main-deck, or I'll make you trot to show the others the road." He pulled a brass-belaying pin out of the rail and flourished it. The captain walked aft to the wheel, leaving Duckling to finish off with the men. They moved away, talking in low grumbling tones among themselves, manifestly dissatisfied with the result of their conference, and presently were all in the forecastle. "I'll tell you what it is, Mr. Royle," said Duckling, turning impudently upon me; "you must wake up, if you please, and help me to keep those fellows in their place. No use in staring and listening. You must talk to 'em and curse 'em, damme! do you understand, Mr. Royle?" "No, I don't understand," I replied. "I don't believe in cursing men. I've seen that sort of thing tried, but it never answered." "Oh, I suppose you are one of those officers who call all hands to prayers before you reef down, are you?" he asked, with a coarse, sneering laugh. "I don't think Captain Coxon will appreciate your services much if that's your kind." "I am sorry you should misunderstand me," I answered gravely. "I believe I can do my work and get others to do theirs without foul language and knocking men down." "Thunder and lightning! what spooney skipper nursed _you_ at his breast? Could you knock a man down if you tried?" I glanced at him with a smile, and saw him running his eyes over me as though measuring my strength. There was enough of me, perhaps, to make him require time for his calculations. Sinewy and vigorous as his ill-built frame was, I was quite a match for him--half a head taller, and weighed more, with heavier arms upon me and a deeper chest than he; and was eight and twenty, whilst he was nearly fifty. "I think," said I, "that I _could_ knock a man down if I tried. Perhaps two. But then I don't try, and must be badly provoked in order to try. The skipper who nursed me was not a New Orleans man, but an Englishman, and something better--an English gentleman. That means that no one on board his ship ever gave him occasion to use his fists." He muttered something about my thinking myself a very fine sort of bird, no doubt, but I could not catch all that he said owing to the incessant thundering of the gale; he then left me and joined the captain, who advanced to meet him, and they both went below. It was now pretty plain that I was unsuited for the taste and society of the two men with whom I was thrown. The captain saw I was not likely to help his paltry views, and that my sympathy was with the crew; and try as I might, I could _not_ disguise my real contempt for Duckling. They were great chums, and thoroughly relished each other's nature. They were both bullies, and, in addition, Duckling was a toady. Hence it was inevitable--but less from the subordinate position that I filled than from the dislike I had of these men's characters--that I should be an outsider, distrusted by the skipper as objecting to his dealings with the crew and capable of opposing them, and hated by Duckling for the contempt of him I could not disguise. Much as I regretted this result and had done what I could to avert it, now that it was thrust upon me, I resolved to meet it quietly. For the rest of that watch, therefore, I amused myself by shaping my plans, which simply amounted to a determination to do my duty as completely as I could, so as to deprive Coxon of all opportunity of making my berth more uncomfortable than it was; to hold my tongue, to take no notice of the skipper's doings, to steer as clear of Duckling as possible, and to quit the ship, if possible, at Valparaiso. How I kept these good resolutions you shall hear. CHAPTER VI. The weather mended next day, and we made all sail with a fine breeze, steering south-south-west. We had left the Downs on Tuesday, the 22nd of August, and on the 25th we found by observation that we had made a distance of over 900 miles, which, considering the heavy seas the ship had encountered and the depth to which she was loaded, was very good sailing. However, though we carried the strong north-westerly wind with us all day, it fell calm towards night, then shifted ahead, then drew away north, and then fell calm again. We were now well upon the skirts of the Bay of Biscay, and the heavy swell for which that stretch of sea is famous, did not fail us. All through the night we lay like the ship in the song, rolling abominably, with Coxon in a ferocious temper on deck, routing up the hands to man first the port, and then the starboard braces, bousing the yards about to every whiff of wind, like a madman in the Doldrums, until both watches were exhausted. All this work was put upon us, merely because the skipper was in a rage at the calm, and not caring to rest himself, determined that his crew should not; but for all the good this slueing the yards about did, he might as well have laid the mainyards aback, and waited until some wind really came. Early in the morning a light breeze sprang up aft, and the fore-topmast stun'-sail was run up, and the ship began to move again. This breeze held steady all day, and freshened a bit at night--but being right aft scarcely gave us more than six knots when liveliest. However, it saved the men's arms and legs, and enabled them to go about other and easier work than manning braces, stowing sails, and setting them again. And so till Wednesday, the 31st of August, on which day we were, to the best of my memory, in latitude 45° and longitude about 10°. The men during this time had been pretty quiet. The boatswain told me that grumbling among them was as regular as meal-times; but no murmurs came aft, no fresh complaints were made to the skipper. The reason was, I think, the crew believed that the skipper meant to touch at Madeira or one of the more southerly Canary Islands. That this was their notion was put into my head by a question asked me by a hand at the wheel when I was alone on deck: would I tell him where the ship was? I gave him the results of the sights taken at noon. "That's to the east'ard of Madeery, ain't it, sir?" "Yes." He bent his eyes on the compass-card, and seemed to be reflecting on the ship's course. The subject dropped; but after he had been relieved, and was gone forward, I saw him talking to the rest of the watch: and one of them knelt down and drew some kind of figure with a piece of chalk upon the deck (it looked to me, and doubtless was, a rude chart of the ship's position), whereupon the cook began to jabber with great vehemence, extending his hands in the wildest way, and pulling one of the men close to him, and whispering in his ear. They noticed me watching them, presently, and broke up. Had I been on friendly terms with Coxon or Duckling, I should have made no delay in going to one or the other of them and communicating my misgivings; for misgivings I had, and pretty strong misgivings they were. But I perfectly well foresaw the reception my hints would meet with from both Duckling and the captain. I really believed that the latter disliked me enough now to convert my apprehension of trouble into some direct charge against me. He might swear that I had sympathized all along with the crew--and this I had admitted--and that if the mutiny which my fears foreboded broke out, I should be held directly responsible for it and treated as the ringleader. Besides, there was another consideration that influenced me: my misgivings _might_ be unfounded. I might make a report which would not only imperil my own position, but provoke him into assuming an attitude towards the men which would produce in reality the mutiny that might, as things went, never come to pass. This consideration more than anything else decided me to hold my tongue, to let matters take their course, and to leave the captain and his chief mate to use their own eyesight, instead of obtruding mine upon them. When I left the deck at four o'clock on the Wednesday afternoon, there was a pleasant breeze blowing directly from astern, and the ship was carrying all the canvas that would draw. The sky was clear, but pale, like a winter's sky, and there was a very heavy swell rolling up from the southward. The weather, on the whole, looked promising, and, despite the north-easterly wind, the temperature was so mild that I could have very well dispensed with my pilot jacket. There was something, however, about the aspect of the sun which struck me as new and strange. Standing high over the western horizon it should be brilliant enough: and yet it was possible to keep one's eye fixed upon it for some moments without pain. It hung indeed, a fluctuating molten globe in the sky, without any glory of rays. This seemed to me a real phenomenon, viewed with respect to the _apparent_ purity of the sky; but of course I understood that a mist or fog intervened between the sight and the sun, though I never before remembered having seen the sun's disc so dim in brilliancy and at the same time so _clean_ in outline in a blue sky. I looked at the barometer before entering my cabin and found a slight fall. Such a fall might betoken rain, or a change of wind to the southward. In truth, there is no telling what a rise or fall in the barometer _does_ betoken, beyond a change in the density of the atmosphere. I would any day rather trust an old sailor's or an old farmer's eye: and as to weather forecasts, based upon a thousand fantastic hobbies, I liken them to dreams, of which every one remembers the one or two that were verified, and forgets the immense number that were never fulfilled. Throughout the dog-watches the weather still held fair; but the glass had fallen another bit and the wind was dropping. Captain Coxon had very little to say to me now and I to him. I was just civil, and he was barely so; but when I was taking a glass in the cuddy preparatory to turning in for three hours, he asked me what I thought of the weather. "It's difficult to know what this swell means, sir," I answered. "Either it comes in advance of a gale or it follows a gale." "In advance," he said. "If you are going to turn in, keep your clothes on. There was a thundering gale in the sun this afternoon, and if you clap your nose over the ship's side you'll smell it coming." Oddly as he expressed himself, he was quite serious, and I understood him. As the wind grew more sluggish, the vessel rolled more heavily. I never was in a cuddy that groaned and strained more than this, owing to the mahogany fittings having shrunk and warped away from their fixings. Up through the skylights it was pitch dark, from the effect of the swinging lamps within; and though both skylights were closed, I could hear the sails flapping like sharp peals of artillery against the masts, and the gurgling, washing sob of the water as the roll of the ship brought it up through the scupper-holes. Just then Duckling overhead sang out to the men to get the fore-topmast stun'-sail in: and Coxon at once quitted the cabin and went on deck. There was something ominous in the calm and darkness of the night and the voluminous heaving of the sea, and I made up my mind to keep away from my cabin a while longer. I loaded a pipe and posted myself in a corner of the cuddy front. Had this been my first voyage, I don't think I should have found more difficulty in keeping my legs. The roll of the vessel was so heavy that it was almost impossible to walk. I gained the corner by dint of keeping my hands out and holding on to everything that came in my road; but even this nook was uncomfortable enough to remain in standing, for, taking the sea-line as my base, I was at one moment reclining at an angle of forty degrees, the next, I had to stiffen my legs forward to prevent myself from being shot like a stone out of the corner and projected to the other side of the deck. The men were at work getting in the fore-topmast stun'-sail, and some were aloft rigging in the boom. There was no air to be felt save the draughts wafted along the deck by the flapping canvas. Even where I stood I could hear the jar and shock of the rudder struck by the swell, and the grinding of the tiller-chains as the wheel kicked. The sky was thick with half a dozen spars sparely glimmering upon it here and there. The sea was black and oily, flashing fitfully with spaces of phosphorescent light which gleamed below the surface. But it was too dark to discern the extent and bulk of the swell: that was to be felt. Duckling's voice began to sound harshly, calling upon the men to bear a hand, and _their_ voices, chorusing up in the darkness, produced a curious effect. So far from my being able to make out their figures, it was as much as I could do to trace the outlines of the sails. After awhile they came down, and immediately Duckling ordered the fore and main royals to be furled. Then the fore and mizzen top-gallant halliards were let go, and the sails clewed up ready to be stowed when the men had done with the royals. So by degrees all the lighter sails were taken in, and then the whole of the watch was put to close-reef the mizzen-topsail. As I knew one watch was not enough to reef the other topsails, and that all hands would soon be called, I put my pipe in my pocket and got upon the poop. Duckling stood holding on to the mizzen-rigging, vociferating, bully-fashion, to the men. I walked to the binnacle and found that the vessel had no steerage way on her, and that her head was lying west, though she swung heavily four or five points either side of this to every swell that lifted her. The captain took no notice of me, and I went and stuck myself against the companion-hatchway and had a look around the horizon which I could not clearly see from my former position on the quarter-deck. The scene was certainly very gloomy. The deep, mysterious silence, made more impressive by the breathless rolling of the gigantic swell, and by the impenetrable darkness that overhung the water-circle, inspired a peculiar awe in the feelings. The rattle of the canvas overhead had been in some measure subdued; but the great topsails flapped heavily, and now and again the bell that hung just abaft the mainmast tolled with a single stroke. It was a relief to turn the eye from the black space of ocean to the deck of the ship catching a lustre from the cuddy lights. Duckling, perceiving my figure leaning against the hatchway, poked his nose into my face to see who I was. "I believed you were turned in," said he. "I thought all hands would be called, and wished to save myself trouble." "We shall close-reef at eight bells," said he, and marched away. This was an act of consideration towards the men, as it meant that the watch below would not be called until it was time for them to turn out. At all events the ship was snug enough now, come what might, even with two whole topsails on her. Having close-reefed the mizzen-topsail, the hands were now furling the mainsail, and only a little more work was needful to put the ship in trim for a hurricane. So I took Duckling's hint and laid down to get some sleep, first taking a peep at the glass and noting that it was dropping steadily. Sailors learn to go to sleep smartly and to get up smartly. And they also learn to extract refreshment out of a few winks, which is an art scarce any landsman that I am acquainted with ever succeeded in acquiring. I was awakened by one of the hands striking eight bells, and at once tumbled up and got on deck. The night was darker than it was when I had gone to my cabin; no star was now visible, an inky blackness overspread the confines of the deep, and inspired a sense of calm that was breathless, suffocating, insupportable. The heavy swell still rose and sunk the vessel, washing her sides to the height of the bulwarks, and making the rudder kick furiously. The moment Coxon saw me he told me to go forward and set all hands to close-reef the fore-topsail. I did his bidding, calling out the order as I went stumbling and sprawling along the main-deck, and letting go the halliards to wake up the men, after groping for them. Indeed, it was _pitch_ dark forward. I might have been stone-blind for anything I could see, barring the thin rays of the forecastle lamp glimmering faintly upon a few objects amidships. Owing to this darkness it was a worse job to reef the topsails than had it been blowing a hurricane in daylight. It was a quarter to one before both sails were reefed, and then the watch that had been on deck since eight o'clock turned in. Here were we now under almost bare poles, in a dead calm; and yet had the skipper ordered both the fore and mizzen topsails to be furled, he would not have been doing more than was justified by the extraordinary character of the night--the strange and monstrous sub-swell of the ocean, the opacity of the heavens, the sinister and phenomenal breathlessness and heat of the atmosphere. Duckling was below, lying at full length upon one of the cuddy benches, ready to start up at the first call. I glanced at him through the skylight, and wondered how on earth he kept himself steady on his back. I should have been dislodged by every roll as surely as it came. Perhaps he used his shoulder-blades as cleats to hold on to the sides of the bench; and to so wildly proportioned a man as Duckling, a great deal was possible. The card was swinging in the binnacle as before, and just now the ship's head was north-west. With more canvas upon the vessel her position would have been perilous by the impossibility of guessing from what quarter the wind would come--if it came at all. Even to be taken aback under close-reefed topsails might prove unpleasant enough, should a sudden gale come down and find the ship without way on her. The captain, who was on the starboard side of the wheel, called me over to him. "Are the decks clear?" "All clear, sir." "Fore-topsail sheets?" "Ready for running, sir." "How's her head now?" to the man at the helm. "Nor'-west, half north." "Keep a brisk look-out to the south'ard, sir," he said to me; "and sing out if you see the sky clearing." I saw him, by the binnacle-light, put his finger in his mouth and hold it up. But there was no other air to be felt than the short rush first one way, then another, as the ship rolled. Scarcely ten minutes had passed since he addressed me, when I saw what I took to be a ship's light standing clear upon the horizon, right astern. I was about to call out when another light sprang up just above it. Then a small, faint light, a little to the westward of these, then another. Owing to the peculiar character of the atmosphere these lights looked red, and so completely was I deceived by their appearance, that I halloed out-- "Do you see those lights astern, sir? They look like a fleet of steamers coming up." But I had scarcely spoken when I knew that I had made a fool of myself. They were not ships' lights, _but stars_, and at once I comprehended the import of this sudden astral revelation. "Stand by the starboard braces!" roared the skipper; and the men, awake to a sense of a great and perhaps perilous change close at hand, came shambling and stumbling along the deck. A wonderful panorama was now being rapidly unfolded in the south. All down there the sky was clearing as if by magic, and the stars shining; but as I watched, great flying wreaths like mighty volumes of smoke pouring out of gigantic factory chimneys, came rushing over and obscuring them, though always leaving a few brightly burning in a foreground which advanced with astonishing rapidity towards the ship. To right and left of this point of the horizon, the sky cleared only to be obscured afresh by the flying clouds. Soon, amid the solemn pauses falling upon the ship between the intervals of her pitching, for she had now swung right before the swell, we could hear the coming whirlwind screeching along the surface of the water. The contrast of its approach with the oily, breathless, heaving surface of the sea around us and all ahead, and the utter stagnation of the air, produced an effect upon my mind, and, I believe, upon the minds of all others who were witnesses of the sight, to which no words could give expression--an emotion, if you like, of suspense that was almost terror, and yet terror deprived of pain by a wild and tingling curiosity. But such a gale as I am describing travels quickly: all overhead the sky was first cleared and then massed up with whirling clouds, before the wind struck us: the white surface of the sea, cleanly lined like the surf upon a beach, was plainly seen by us, even when the water all around was still unruffled; and _then_, with a prolonged and pealing yell, the gale and the spray it was lashing out of the sea were upon us. In a moment our decks were soaking--the masts creaked, and every shroud and stay sang to the sudden, mighty strain; the vessel staggered and reeled--stopped, as a heavy swell rolled under her bows, and threw her all aslant against the hurricane, which screeched and howled through the rigging, and then fled forwards under the yards, which had squared themselves as the starboard braces were slackened. It was lucky for the _Grosvenor_ that the gale struck her astern. So great was its fury that, had it taken her aback, I doubt if she would have righted. This furious wind had cleared the horizon, and the water-line all around was distinctly figured against the sky. The sea was a sheet of foam, and, what will scarcely seem credible, the swell _subsided_ under the lateral pressure of the wind, so that for a short time we seemed to be racing along a level surface of froth. Large masses of this froth, bubbly and crackling like wood in a fire, were jogged clean off the water and struck the decks or sides of the ship with reports like the discharge of a pistol, and no more than a handful of water blown against my face hit me with such force, that for some moments I suffered the greatest torment, as though my eyes had been scalded, and I hardly knew whether I had not lost my sight. The wind was blowing true from the south and we were bowling before it due north, losing as much ground every five minutes as had taken us an hour to get during the day. Coxon, however, was _feeling_ the gale before he brought the ship close: at any moment, you see, the wind might chop round and blow a hurricane; though, to be sure, the sky with its torn masses of skurrying clouds had too wild an aspect to make us believe that this gale was likely to be of short duration. The sea now began to rise, and it was strange to watch it. First it boiled in short waves which the wind shattered and blew flat. But other waves rose, too solid for the wind to level: they increased in bulk as they ran, and broke in coils of spray, while fresh and larger waves succeeded, and the ship began to pitch quickly in the young sea. The wonderful violence of the wind could not be well appreciated by us who were running before it; but when the crew manned the braces and the helm was put to starboard, it seemed as if the wind would blow the ship out of the water. She came to slowly, laying her main-deck level with the sea, and the screeching of the wind was diabolical and absolutely terrifying to listen to. With the weather leeches just lifting, she was still well away from her course, and her progress under all three topsails was all leeway. But I soon saw that she could not carry two of the three topsails, owing to the tremendous sudden pressure put upon the masts by her lurches to windward; and sure enough Duckling (who had turned out along with all hands when the gale had first struck the ship) roared through a speaking-trumpet to clew up and furl the fore and mizzen topsails. It took all hands to deal with each sail separately, and I helped to stow the fore-topsail. To be up aloft in weather of the kind I am describing is an experience no landsman can realize by imagination. To begin with, it is an immense job to _breathe_, for the wind stands like something solid in your mouth, and up your nostrils, and makes the expelling of your breath a task fitter for a one-horse engine than a pair of human lungs. Then you have two remorseless forces at work in the shape of the wind and the sail doing their utmost to hurl you from the yard. The fore-topsail was snugged as well as bunt-lines and clew-lines, hauled taut as steel bars, could bring it; and besides, there were already three reefs in it. And yet it stood out like cast-iron, and all hands might have danced a horn-pipe upon it without putting a crease into the canvas with their united weight. We had to roar out to Duckling to put the helm down, and spill the sail, before we could get hold of it; and so fiercely did the canvas shake in the hurricane as the ship came to, that I, who stood in the bunt, expected to see the hands out at the yard-arms shaken off the foot-ropes, and precipitated into the sea. But what a wildly picturesque scene was the ocean surveyed from the height of the foremast! The sea was now heavy, and furiously lashing the weather bow; avalanches of spray ran high up the side, and were blown in a veil of hurtling sleet and froth across the forecastle. Casting my eyes backwards, the ship looked forlornly naked with no other canvas on her than the close-reefed main-topsail, with the bare outlines of her main and after yards, and the slack ropes and lines blown to leeward in semicircles, surging to and fro in long sweeps against the stars, which glimmered and vanished between the furiously whirling clouds. The hull of the vessel looked strangely narrow and long, contemplated from my elevation, upon the boiling seas; the froth of the water made an artificial light, and objects on deck were clear now, which, before the gale burst upon us, had been wrapped in impenetrable darkness. When the sail was furled, all hands laid down as smartly as they could; but just under the foretop the rush of wind was so powerful, that when I dropped my leg over the edge to feel with my foot for the futtock shrouds, my weight was entirely sustained and buoyed up, and I believe that had I let go with my hands, I should have been blown securely against the fore-shrouds and there held. The ship was now as snug as we could make her, hove to under close-reefed main-topsail and fore-topmast staysail, riding tolerably well, though, to be sure, the wind had not yet had time to raise much of a sea. The crew were fagged by their heavy work, and the captain ordered the steward to serve out a tot of grog apiece to them, more out of policy than pity, I think, as he would remember what was in their minds respecting their provisions, and how the ship's safety depended on their obedience. CHAPTER VII. All that night it blew terribly hard, and raised as wild and raging a sea as ever I remember hearing or seeing described. During my watch, that is, from midnight until four o'clock, the wind veered a couple of points, but had gone back again only to blow harder, just as though it had stepped out of its way a trifle to catch extra breath. I was quite worn out by the time my turn came to go below, and though the vessel was groaning like a live creature in its death-agonies, and the seas thumping against her with such shocks as kept me thinking that she was striking hard ground, I fell asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow, and never moved until routed out by Duckling four hours afterwards. All this time the gale had not bated a jot of its violence, and the ship laboured so heavily that I had the utmost difficulty in getting out of the cuddy on to the poop. When I say that the decks fore and aft were streaming wet, I convey no notion of the truth; the main-deck was simply _afloat_, and every time the ship rolled, the water on her deck rushed in a wave against the bulwarks and shot high in the air, to mingle sometimes with fresh and heavy inroads of the sea, both falling back upon the deck with the boom of a gun. I had already ascertained from Duckling that the well had been sounded and the ship found dry; and therefore, since we were tight below, it mattered little what water was shipped above, as the hatches were securely battened down fore and aft, and the mast-coats unwrung. But still she laboured under the serious disadvantage of being overloaded; and the result was her fore parts were being incessantly swept by seas which at times completely hid her forecastle in spray. Shortly after breakfast Captain Coxon sent me forward to despatch a couple of hands on to the jib-boom to snug the inner jib, which looked to be rather shakily stowed. I managed to dodge the water on the main-deck by waiting until it rolled to the starboard scuppers, and then cutting ahead as fast as I could; but just as I got upon the forecastle, I was saluted by a green sea which carried me off my legs and would have swept me down on the main-deck had I not held on stoutly with both hands to one of the fore shrouds. The water nearly drowned me, and kept me sneezing and coughing for ten minutes afterwards. But it did me no further mischief, for I was encased in good oilskins and sou'wester, which kept me as dry as a bone inside. Two ordinary seamen got upon the jib-boom, and I bade them keep a good hold, for the ship sometimes danced her figurehead under water and buried her spritsail yard, and when she sank her stern her flying jib-boom stood up like the mizzen-mast. I waited until this job of snugging the sail was finished, and then made haste to get off the forecastle, where the seas flew so continuously and heavily that had I not kept a sharp look-out I should several times have been knocked overboard. Partly out of curiosity and partly with a wish to hearten the men, I looked into the forecastle before going aft. There were sliding doors let into the entrance on either side the windlass, but one of them was kept half open to admit air, the fore-scuttle above being closed. The darkness here was made visible by an oil-lamp, in shape resembling a tin coffee-pot with a wick in the spout, which burnt black and smokily. The deck was up to my ankles in water, which gurgled over the pile of swabs that lay at the open entrance. It took my eye some moments to distinguish objects in the gloom, and then by degrees the strange interior was revealed. A number of hammocks were swung against the upper deck, and around the forecastle were two rows of bunks, one atop of the other. Here and there were sea-chests lashed to the deck, and these, with the huge windlass, a range of chain-cable, lengths of rope, odds and ends of pots and dishes, with here a pair of breeches hanging from a hammock, and there a row of oilskins swinging from a beam, pretty well made up all the furniture that met my eye. The whole of the crew were below. Some of the men lay smoking in their bunks, others in their hammocks with their boots over the edge; one was patching a coat, another greasing his boots, others were seated in a group talking, whilst under the lamp were a couple of men playing at cards upon a chest, three or four watching and holding on by the hammocks over their heads. A man, lying in his bunk with his face towards me, started up and sent his legs, encased in blanket trousers and brown woollen stockings, flying out. "Here's Mr. Royle, mates!" he called out. "Let's ask him the name of the port the captain means to touch at for proper food, for we aren't goin' to wait much longer." "Don't ask me any questions of that kind, my lads," I replied promptly, seeing a general movement of heads in the bunks and hammocks. "I'd give you proper victuals if I had the ordering of them; and I have spoken to Captain Coxon about you, and I am sure he will see this matter put to rights." I had difficulty in making my voice heard, for the striking of the seas against the ship's bows filled the place with an overwhelming volume of sound, and the hollow, deafening thunder was increased by the uproar of the ship's straining timbers. "Who the devil thinks," said a voice from a hammock, "that we're going to let ourselves be grinded as we was last night, without proper wittles to support us? I'd rather have signed articles for a coal-barge with drownded rats to eat from Gravesend to Whitstable, than shipped in this here cursed wessel, where the bread's just fit to make savages retch!" I had not bargained for this, but had merely meant to address them cheerily, with a few words of approval of the smart way in which they had worked the ship in the night. Seeing that my presence would do no good, I turned about and left the forecastle, hearing as I came away one of the Dutchmen cry out: "Look here, Mishter Rile, vill you be pleashed to ssay when we are to hov' something to eat?--for, by Gott! ve vill kill te dom pigs in the long-boat, if the shkipper don't mindt--so look out!" As ill-luck would have it, Captain Coxon was at the break of the poop, and saw me come out of the forecastle. He waited until he had got me alongside of him, when he asked me what I was doing among the men. "I looked in to give them a good word for the work they did last night," I answered. "And who asked you to give them a good word, as you call it?" "I have never had to wait for orders to encourage a crew." "Mind what you are about, sir!" he exclaimed in a voice tremulous with rage. "I see through your game, and I'll put a stopper upon it that you won't like." "What game, sir? Let me have your meaning." "An infernal mutinous game!" he roared. "Don't talk to me, sir! I know you! I've had my eye upon you! You'll play false if you can, and are trying to smother up your damned rebel meanings with genteel airs! Get away, sir!" he bellowed, stamping his foot. "Get away aft! You're a lumping, useless encumbrance! But, by thunder! I'll give you two for every one you try to give me! So stand by!" And apparently half-mad with his rage he staggered away in the very direction in which he had told me to go, and stood near the wheel, glaring upon me with a white face, which looked indescribably malevolent in the fur cap and ear protectors that ornamented it. I was terribly vexed by this rudeness, which I was powerless to resist, and regretted my indiscretion in entering the forecastle after the politic resolutions I had formed. However, Captain Coxon's ferocity was nothing new to me; truly I believed he was not quite right in his mind, and expected, as in former cases, that he would come round a bit by-and-by, when his insane temper had passed. Still, his insinuations were highly dangerous, not to speak of their offensiveness. It was no joke to be charged, even by a madman, with striving to arouse the crew to mutiny. Nevertheless, I tried to console myself as best I could by reflecting that he could not prove his charges; that I need only endure his insolence for a few weeks, and that there was always a law to vindicate me and punish him should his evil temper betray him into any acts of cruelty against me. The gale, at times the severest that I was ever in, lasted three days, during which the ship drove something like eighty miles to the north-west. The sea on the afternoon of the third day was appalling: had the ship attempted to run, she would have been pooped and smothered in a minute; but lying close, she rode fairly well, though there were moments when I held my breath as she sunk into a hollow like a coal-mine, filled with the astounding noise of boiling water, really believing that the immense waves which came hurtling towards us with solid, sharp, transparent ridges, out of which the wind tore lumps of water and flung them through the rigging of the ship, must overwhelm the vessel before she could rise to it. The fury of the tempest and the violence of the sea, which the boldest could not contemplate without feeling that the ship was every moment in more or less peril, kept the crew subdued, and they eat as best they could the provisions without complaint. However, it needed nothing less than a storm to keep them quiet; for on the second day a sea extinguished the galley-fire, and until the gale abated no cooking could be done; so that the men had to put up with cold water and biscuit. Hence all hands were thrown upon the ship's bread for two days, and the badness of it, therefore was made even more apparent than heretofore, when its wormy mouldiness was in some degree qualified by the nauseousness of bad salt pork and beef, and the sickly flavour of damaged tea. As I had anticipated, the captain came round a little a few hours after his insulting attack upon me. I think his temper frightened him when it had reference to me. Like others of his breed, he was a bit of a cur at bottom: my character was a trifle beyond him, and he was ignorant enough to hate and fear what he could not understand. Be this as it may, he made some rough attempts at a rude kind of politeness when I went below to get some grog, and condescended to say that when I had been to sea as long as he, I would know that the most ungrateful rascals in the world were sailors; that every crew he had sailed with had always taken care to invent some grievance to growl over--either the provisions were bad, or the work too heavy, or the ship unseaworthy--and that long ago he had made up his mind never to pay attention to their complaints, since no sooner would one wrong be redressed, than another would be coined and shoved under his nose. I took this opportunity of assuring him that I had never willingly listened to the complaints of the men, and that I was always annoyed when they spoke to me about the provisions, as I had nothing whatever to do with that matter; and that so far from my wishing to stir up the men into rebellion, my conduct had been uniformly influenced by the desire to conciliate them and represent their condition as very tolerable, so as to repress any tendency to disaffection which they might foment among themselves. To this he made no reply, and soon afterwards we parted; but all next day he was sullen again, and never addressed me save to give an order. On the evening of the third day the gale broke; the glass had risen since the morning, but until the first dog-watch the wind did not bate one iota of its violence, and the horizon still retained its stormy and threatening aspect. The clouds then broke in the west, and the setting sun shone forth with deep crimson light upon the wilderness of mountainous waters. The wind fell quickly, then went round to the west, and blew freshly; but there was a remarkable softness and sweetness in the feel and taste of it. A couple of reefs were at once shaken out of the main-topsail, and sail made. By midnight the heavy sea had subsided into a deep, long, rolling swell, still strangely enough coming from the south; but the fresh westerly wind held the ship steady, and for the first time for nearly a hundred hours we were able to move about the decks with comparative comfort. Early next morning the watch were set to wash down and clear up the decks, and when I left my cabin at eight o'clock, I found the weather bright and warm, with a blue sky shining among heavy, white, April-looking clouds, and the ship making seven knots under all plain sail. The decks were dry and comfortable, and the ship had a habitable and civilized look by reason of the row of clothes hung by the seamen to dry on the forecastle. It was half-past nine o'clock, and I was standing near the taffrail looking at a shoal of porpoises playing some few hundreds of feet astern, when the man who was steering asked me to look in the direction to which he pointed, that was, a little to the right of the bowsprit, and say if there was anything to be seen there; for he had caught sight of something black upon the horizon twice, but could not detect it now. I turned my eyes towards the quarter of the sea indicated, but could discern nothing whatever; and, telling him that what he had seen was probably a wave which, standing higher than its fellows, will sometimes show black a long distance off, walked to the fore part of the poop. The breeze still held good and the vessel was slipping easily through the water, though the southerly swell made her roll, and at times shook the wind out of the sails. The skipper had gone to lie down, being pretty well exhausted, I dare say, for he had kept the deck for the greater part of three nights running. Duckling was also below. Most of my watch were on the forecastle, sitting or lying in the sun, which shone very warm upon the decks; the hens under the long-boat were chattering briskly, and the cocks crowing and the pigs grunting with the comfort of the warmth. Suddenly, as the ship rose, I distinctly beheld something black out away upon the horizon, showing just under the foot of the foresail. It vanished instantly; but I was now satisfied, and went for the glass which lay upon brackets just under the companion. I then told the man who was steering to keep her away a couple of points for a few moments, and resting the glass against the mizzen-royal backstay, pointed it towards the place where I had seen the black object. For some moments nothing but sea or sky filled the field of the glass as the ship rose and fell; but all at once there leaped into this field the hull of a ship, deep as her main-chains in the water, which came and went before my eye as the long seas lifted or dropped in the foreground. I managed to keep her sufficiently long in view to perceive that she was totally dismasted. "It's a wreck," said I, turning to the man; "let her come to again and luff a point. There may be living creatures aboard of her." Knowing what sort of man Captain Coxon was, I do not think that I should have had the hardihood to luff the ship a point out of her course had it involved the bracing of the yards; for the songs of the men would certainly have brought him on deck, and I might have provoked some ugly insolence. But the ship was going free, and would head more westerly without occasioning further change than slightly slackening the weather braces of the upper yards. This I did quietly, and the dismasted hull was brought right dead on end with our flying jib-boom. The men now caught sight of her, and began to stare and point, but did not sing out as they saw by the telescope in my hand that I perceived her. The breeze unhappily began to slacken somewhat, owing perhaps to the gathering heat of the sun; our pace fell off, and a full hour passed before we brought the wreck near enough to see her permanently, for up to this she had been constantly vanishing under the rise of the swell. She was now about two miles off, and I took a long and steady look at her through the telescope. It was a black hull, with painted ports. The deck was flush fore and aft, and there was a good-sized house just before where the mainmast should have been. This house was uninjured, though the galley was split up and to starboard stood up in splinters like the stump of a tree struck by lightning. No boats could be seen aboard of her. Her jib-boom was gone, and so were all three masts, clean cut off at the deck, as though a hand-saw had done it; but the mizzen-mast was alongside, held by the shrouds and backstays, and the port main and fore shrouds streamed like serpents from her chains into the water. I reckoned at once that she must be loaded with timber, for she never could keep afloat at that depth with any other kind of cargo in her. She made a most mournful and piteous object in the sunlight, sluggishly rolling to the swell which ran in transparent volumes over her sides and foamed around the deck-house. Once, when her stern rose, I read the name _Cecilia_ in broad white letters. I was gazing at her intently in the effort to witness some indication of living thing on board, when, to my mingled consternation and horror, I witnessed an arm project through the window of the deck-house, and frantically wave what resembled a white handkerchief. As none of the men called out, I judged this signal was not perceptible to the naked eye, and in my excitement I shouted-- "There's a living man on board of her, my lads!" dropped the glass, and ran aft to call the captain. I met him coming up the companion-ladder. The first thing he said was, "You're out of your course," and looked up at the sails. "There's a wreck yonder!" I cried, pointing eagerly, "with a man on board signalling to us." "Get me the glass," he said sulkily, and I picked it up, and gave it to him. He looked at the wreck for some moments, and addressing the man at the wheel, exclaimed, making a movement with his hand-- "Keep her away. Where the devil are you steering to?" "Good Heaven!" I ejaculated; "there's a man on board--there may be others!" "Damnation!" he exclaimed, between his teeth; "what do you mean by interfering with me? Keep her away!" he roared out. During this time we had drawn sufficiently near to the wreck to enable the sharper-sighted among the hands to remark the signal; and they were calling out that there was somebody flying a handkerchief aboard the hull. "Captain Coxon," said I, in as firm a voice as I could command--for I was nearly in as great a rage as he, and rendered insensible to all consequences by his inhumanity--"if you bear away, and leave that man yonder to sink with that wreck, when he can be saved with very little trouble, you will become as much a murderer as any ruffian who stabs a man asleep." When I had said this, Coxon turned black in the face with passion. His eyes protruded, his hands and fingers worked as though he were under some electrical process, and I saw for the first time in all my life, a sight I had always laughed at as a bit of impossible novelist description--a mouth foaming with rage. He rushed aft just over Duckling's cabin, and stamped with all his might. "Now," thought I, "they may try to murder me!" And without a word, I pulled off my coat, seized a belaying-pin, and stood ready, resolved that, happen what might, I would give the first man who should lay his fingers on me something to remember me by whilst he had breath in his body. The men, not quite understanding what was happening, but seeing that a "row" was taking place, came off the forecastle, and advanced by degrees along the main-deck. Among them I noticed the cook, muttering to one or the other who stood near. Mr. Duckling, awakened by the violent clattering over his head, came running up the companion with a bewildered, sleepy look in his face. The captain grasped him by the arm, and pointing to me, cried out with an oath, "that that villain was breeding a mutiny on board, and, he believed, wanted to murder him and Duckling." I at once answered, "Nothing of the kind! There is a man miserably perishing on board that sinking wreck, Mr. Duckling, and he ought to be saved. My lads!" I cried, addressing the men on the main-deck, "is there a sailor among you all who would have the heart to leave that man yonder without an effort to rescue him?" "No, sir!" shouted one of them. "We'll save the man, and if the skipper refuses we'll make him!" "Luff!" I called to the man at the wheel. "Luff, at your peril!" screamed the skipper. "Aft here, some hands," I cried, "and lay the main-yard aback. Let go the port-main braces!" The captain came running towards me. "By the living God!" I cried, in a fury, grasping the heavy brass belaying-pin, "if you come within a foot of me, Captain Coxon, I'll dash your brains out!" My attitude, my enraged face and menacing gesture, produced the desired effect. He stopped dead, turned a ghastly white, and looked round at Duckling. "What do you mean by this (etc.) conduct, you (etc.) mutinous scoundrel!" roared Duckling, with a volley of foul language. "Give him one for himself if he says too much, Mr. Royle!" sung out some hoarse voice on the main-deck, "we'll back yer!" And then came cries of "They're a cursed pair o' murderers!" "Who run the smack down?" "Who lets men drown?" "Who starves honest men?" This last exclamation was followed by a roar. The whole of the crew were now on deck, having been aroused by our voices. Some of them were looking on with a grin; others with an expression of fierce curiosity. It was at once understood that I was making a stand against the captain and chief mate, and a single glance at them assured me that by one word I could set the whole of them on fire to do my bidding even to shedding blood. In the mean time the man at the wheel had luffed until the weather leeches were flat and the ship scarcely moving. And at this moment, that the skipper might know their meaning, a couple of hands jumped aft and let go the weather main-braces. I took care to keep my eyes on Coxon and the mate, fully prepared for any attack that one or both might make on me. Duckling eyed me furiously, but in silence, evidently baffled by my resolute air and the posture of the men. Then he said something to the captain, who looked exhausted and white and haggard with his useless passion. They walked over to the lee-side of the poop, and after a short conference the captain, to my surprise, went below, and Duckling came forward. "There's no objection," he said, "to your saving the man's life, if you want. Lower away the starboard quarter-boat, and you go along in her," he added to me, uttering the last words in such a thick voice that I thought he was choking. "Come along, some of you," I cried out, hastily putting on my coat; and in less than a minute I was in the boat with the rudder and thole-pins shipped and four hands ready to out oars as soon as we touched the water. Duckling began to fumble at one of the boat's falls. "Don't let him lower away!" roared out one of the men in the boat. "He'll let us go with a run. He'd like to see us drownded." Duckling fell back scowling with fury, and, shoving his head over as the boat sank quietly into the water, he discharged a volley of execrations at us, saying that he would shoot some of us, if he swung for it, before he was done; and especially applying a heap of abusive terms to me. The fellow pulling the bow oar laughed in his face, and another shouted out, "We'll teach you to say your prayers yet, you ugly old sinner!" We got away from the ship's side cleverly, and in a short time were rowing fast for the wreck. The excitement under which I laboured made me reckless of the issue of this adventure. The sight of the lonely man upon the wreck, coupled with the unmanly, brutal intention of Coxon to leave him to his fate, had goaded me into a state of mind infuriate enough to have done and dared everything to _compel_ Coxon to save him. He might call it mutiny, but I called it humanity, and I was prepared to stand or fall by my theory. The hate the crew had for their captain and chief mate was quite strong enough to guarantee me against any foul play on the part of Coxon, otherwise I might have prepared myself to see the ship fill and stand away and leave us alone on the sea with the wreck. One of the men in the boat suggested this; but another immediately answered: "They'd pitch the skipper overboard if he gave such an order, and glad o' the chance. There's no love for 'em among us, I can tell you, and by ---- there'll be bloody work done aboard the _Grosvenor_ if things aren't mended soon, as you'll see." They all four pulled at their oars savagely as these words were spoken, and I never saw such sullen and ferocious expressions on men's faces as came into theirs when they fixed their eyes as with one accord upon the ship. _She_, deep as she was, looked a beautiful model on the mighty surface of the water, rolling with marvellous grace to the swell, the strength and volume of which made me feel my littleness and weakness as it lifted the small boat with irresistible power. There was wind enough to keep her sails full upon her graceful, slender masts, and the brass-work upon her deck flashed brilliantly as she rolled from side to side. Strange contrast to look from her to the broken and desolate picture ahead! My eyes were rivetted upon it now with new and intense emotion, for by this time I could discern that the person who was waving to us was a female--woman or girl I could not yet make out--and that her hair was like a veil of gold behind her swaying arm. "It's a woman!" I cried in my excitement; "it's no man at all. Pull smartly, my lads, pull smartly, for God's sake!" The men gave way stoutly, and the swell favouring us, we were soon close to the wreck. The girl, as I now perceived she was, waved her handkerchief wildly as we approached; but my attention was occupied in considering how we could best board the wreck without injury to the boat. She lay broadside to us, with her stern on our right, and was not only rolling heavily with wallowing, squelching movements, but was swirling the heavy mizzen-mast that lay alongside through the water each time she went over to starboard, so that it was necessary to approach her with the greatest caution to prevent our boat from being stove in. Another element of danger was the great flood of water which she took in over her shattered bulwarks, first on this side, then on that, discharging the torrent again into the sea according as she rolled. This water came from her like a cataract, and in a second would fill and sink the boat unless extreme care were taken to keep clear of it. I waved my hat to the poor girl to let her know that we saw her and had come to save her, and steered the boat right around the wreck that I might observe the most practicable point for boarding her. She appeared to be a vessel of about 700 tons. The falling of her masts had crushed her port bulwarks level with the deck, and part of her starboard bulwarks was also smashed to pieces. Her wheel was gone, and the heavy seas that had swept her deck had carried away capstans, binnacle, hatchway gratings, pumps--everything, in short, but the deck-house and the remnants of the galley. I particularly noticed a strong iron boat's davit twisted up like a corkscrew. She was full of water, and lay as deep as her main-chains, but her bows stood high, and her fore-chains were out of the sea. It was miraculous to see her keep afloat as the long swell rolled over her in a cruel, foaming succession of waves. Though these plain details impressed themselves upon my memory, I did not seem to notice anything, in the anxiety that possessed me to rescue the lonely creature in the deck-house. It would have been impossible to keep a footing upon the main-deck without a life-line or something to hold on by; and seeing this and forming my resolutions rapidly, I ordered the man in the bows of the boat to throw in his oar and exchange places with me, and head the boat for the starboard port-chains. As we approached I stood up with one foot planted on the gunwale ready to spring; the broken shrouds were streaming aft and alongside, so that if I missed the jump and fell into the water there was plenty of stuff to catch hold of. "Gently--'vast rowing--ready to back astern smartly!" I cried, as we approached. I waited a moment: the hull rolled towards us, and the succeeding swell threw up our boat; the deck, though all aslant, was on a line with my feet. I sprang with all my strength, and got well upon the deck, but fell heavily as I reached it. However, I was up again in a moment, and ran forward out of the wash of the water. Here was a heap of gear, staysail and jib-halliards and other ropes, some of the ends swarming overboard. I hauled in one of these ends, but found I could not clear the raffle; but looking round, I perceived a couple of coils of line, spare stun'-sail tacks or halliards I took them to be, lying close against the foot of the bowsprit. I immediately seized the end of one of these coils and flung it into the boat, telling them to drop clear of the wreck astern; and when they had backed as far as the length of line permitted, I bent on the end of the other coil and paid that out until the boat was some fathoms astern. I then made my end fast, and sung out to one of the men to get on board by the starboard mizzen-chains and to bring the end of the line with him. After waiting a few minutes, the boat being hidden, I saw the fellow come scrambling over the side with a red face, his clothes and hair streaming, he having fallen overboard. He shook himself like a dog, and crawled with the line, on his hands and knees, a short distance forward, then hauled the line taut and made it fast. "Tell them to bring the boat round here," I cried, "and lay off on their oars until we are ready. And you get hold of this line and work yourself up to me." Saying which I advanced along the deck, clinging tightly with both hands. It very providentially happened that the door of the deck-house faced the forecastle within a few feet of where the remains of the galley stood. There would be, therefore, less risk in opening it than had it faced beam-wise; for the water, as it broke against the sides of the house, disparted clear of the fore and after parts; that is, the great bulk of it ran clear, though, of course, a foot's depth of it at least surged against the door. I called out to the girl to open the door quickly, as it slided in grooves like a panel, and was not to be stirred from the outside. The poor creature appeared mad, and I repeated my request three times without inducing her to leave the window. Then, not believing that she understood me, I cried out, "Are you English?" "Yes," she replied. "For God's sake, save us!" "I cannot get you through that window," I exclaimed. "Rouse yourself and open that door, and I will save you." She now seemed to comprehend, and drew in her head. By this time the man out of the boat had succeeded in sliding along the rope to where I stood, though the poor devil was nearly drowned on the road; for when about half-way the hull took in a lump of a swell which swept him right off his legs, and he was swung hard a-starboard, holding on for his life. However, he recovered himself smartly when the water was gone, and came along hand over fist, snorting and cursing in wonderful style. Meanwhile, though I kept firm hold of the life-line, I took care to stand where the inroads of water were not heavy, waiting impatiently for the door to open. It shook in the grooves, tried by a feeble hand; then a desperate effort was made, and it slid a couple of inches. "That will do!" I shouted. "Now, then, my lad, catch hold of me with one hand and the line with the other." The fellow took a firm grip of my monkey-jacket, and I made for the door. The water washed up to my knees, but I soon inserted my fingers in the crevice of the door and thrust it open. The house was a single compartment, though I had expected to find it divided into two. In the centre was a table that travelled on stanchions from the roof to the deck. On either side were a couple of bunks. The girl stood near the door. In a bunk to the left of the door lay an old man with white hair. Prostrate on his back, on the deck, with his arms stretched against his ears, was the corpse of a man, well dressed; and in a bunk on the right sat a sailor, who, when he saw me, yelled out and snapped his fingers, making horrible grimaces. Such in brief the _coup d'oeil_ of that weird interior as it met my eyes. I seized the girl by the arm. "You first," said I. "Come--there is no time to be lost." But she shrank back, pressing against the door with her hand to prevent me from pulling her, crying in a husky voice, and looking at the old man with the white hair. "My father first!--my father first!" "You shall all be saved, but you must obey me. Quickly now!" I exclaimed passionately, for a heavy sea at that moment flooded the ship, and a rush of water swamped the house through the open door, and washed the corpse on the deck up into a corner. Grasping her firmly, I lifted her off her feet, and went staggering to the life-rope, slinging her light body over my shoulder as I went. Assisted by my man, I gained the bow of the wreck, and, hailing the boat, ordered it alongside. "One of you," cried I, "stand ready to receive this lady when I give the signal." I then told the man who was with me to jump into the fore-chains, which he instantly did. The wreck lurched heavily to port. "Stand by, my lads!" I shouted. Over she came again, with the water swooping along the main-deck. The boat rose high, and the fore-chains were submerged to the height of the man's knees. "Now!" I called, and lifted the girl over. She was seized by the man in the chains and pushed towards the boat; the fellow standing in the bow of the boat caught her, and at the same moment down sank the boat, and the wreck rolled wearily over. But the girl was safe. "Hurrah, my lad!" I sung out. "Up with you--there are others remaining;" and I went sprawling along the line to the deck-house, there to encounter another rush of water, which washed as high as my thighs, and fetched me such a thump in the stomach, that I thought I must have died of suffocation. I was glad to find that the old man had got out of his bunk and was standing at the door. "Is my poor girl safe, sir?" he exclaimed, with the same huskiness of voice that had grated so unpleasantly in the girl's tone. "Quite safe--come along." "Thanks be to Almighty God!" he ejaculated, and burst into tears. I seized hold of his thin, cold hand, but shifted my fingers to catch him by the coat collar, so as to exert more power over him, and hauled him along the deck, telling my companion to lay hold of the seaman and fetch him away smartly. We managed to escape the water, for the poor old gentleman bestirred himself very nimbly, and I helped him over the fore-chains, and when the boat rose, tumbled him into her without ceremony. I saw the daughter leap towards him and clasp him in her arms, but I was soon again scrambling on to the deck, having heard cries from my man, accompanied with several loud curses, mingled with dreadful yells. "He's bitten me, sir!" cried my companion, hauling himself away from the deck-house. "He's roaring mad." "It can't be helped," I answered. "We must get him out." He saw me pushing along the life-line, plucked up heart, and went with myself through a sousing sea to the door. I caught a glimpse of a white face glaring at me from the interior: in a second a figure shot out, fled with incredible speed towards the bow, and leaped into the sea just where our boat lay. "They'll pick him up," I exclaimed. "Stop a second;" and I entered the house and stooped over the figure of the man on the deck. I was not familiar with death, and yet I knew it was here. I cannot describe the signs in his face; but such as they were they told me the truth. I noticed a ring upon his finger, and that his clothes were good. His hair was black, and his features well-shaped, though his face had a half-convulsed expression, as if something frightful had appeared to him, and he had died of the sight of it. "This wreck must be his coffin," I said. "He is a corpse. We can do no more." We scrambled for the last time along the life-line and got into the fore-chains, but to our consternation saw the boat rowing away from the wreck. However, the fit of rage and terror that possessed me, lasted but a moment or two; for I now saw they were giving chase to the madman, who was swimming steadily away. Two of the men rowed, and the third hung over the bows, ready to grasp the miserable wretch. The _Grosvenor_ stood steady, about a mile off, with her mainyards backed; and just as the fellow over the boat's bows caught hold of the swimmer's hair, the ensign was run up on board the ship and dipped three times. "Bring him along!" I shouted. "They'll be off without us if we don't bear a hand." They nearly capsized the boat as they dragged the lunatic, streaming like a drowned rat, out of the water; and one of the sailors tumbled him over on his back, and knelt upon him, whilst he took some turns with the boat's painter round his body, arms, and legs. The boat then came alongside, and, watching our opportunity, we jumped into her and shoved off. I had now leisure to examine the persons whom we had saved. They--father and daughter as I judged them, by the girl's exclamation on the wreck--sat in the stern-sheets, their hands locked. The old man seemed nearly insensible, leaning backwards with his chin on his breast and his eyes partially closed. I feared he was dying, but could do no good until we reached the _Grosvenor_, as we had no spirits in the boat. The girl appeared to be about twenty years of age, very fair, her hair of a golden straw colour, which hung wet and streaky down her back and over her shoulders, though a portion of it was held by a comb. She was deadly pale and her lips blue, and in her fine eyes was such a look of mingled horror and rapture as she cast them around her, first glancing at me, then at the wreck, then at the _Grosvenor_, that the memory of it will last me to my death. Her dress, of some dark material, was soaked with salt water up to her hips, and she shivered and moaned incessantly, though the sun beat so warmly upon us that the thwarts were hot to the hand. The mad sailor lay at the bottom of the boat, looking straight into the sky. He was a horrid-looking object with his streaming hair, pasty features, and red beard; his naked shanks and feet protruding through his soaking, clinging trousers, which figured his shin-bones as though they clothed a skeleton. Now and again he would give himself a wild twirl and yelp out fiercely; but he was well-nigh spent with his swim, and on the whole was quiet enough. I said to the girl, "How long have you been in this dreadful position?" "Since yesterday morning," she answered in a choking voice painful to hear, and gulping after each word. "We have not had a drop of water to drink since the night before last. He is mad with thirst, for he drank the water on the deck," and she pointed to the man in the bottom of the boat. "My God!" I cried to the men; "do you hear her? They have not drunk water for two days! For the love of God, give way!" They bent their backs to the oars and the boat foamed over the long swell. The wind was astern and helped us. I did not speak again to the poor girl, for it was cruel to make her talk when the words lacerated her throat as though they were pieces of burning iron. After twenty minutes, which seemed as many hours, we reached the vessel. The crew pressing round the gangway cheered when they saw we had brought people from the wreck. Duckling and the skipper watched us grimly from the poop. "Now then, my lads," I cried, "up with this lady first. Some of you on deck get water ready, as these people are dying of thirst." In a few moments both the girl and the old man were handed over the gangway. I cut the boat's painter adrift from the ring-bolt so that we could ship the madman without loosening his bonds, and he was hoisted up like a bale of goods. Then four of us got out of the boat, leaving one to drop her under the davits and hook on the falls. At this moment a horrible scene took place. The old man, tottering on the arms of two seamen, was being led into the cuddy, followed by the girl, who walked unaided. The madman, in the grasp of the big sailor named Johnson, stood near the gangway, and as I scrambled on deck one of the men was holding a pannikin full of water to his face. The poor wretch was shrinking away from it, with his eyes half out of their sockets; but suddenly tearing his arm with a violent effort from the rope that bound him, he seized the pannikin _and bit clean through the tin_; after which, throwing back his head, he swallowed the whole draught, dashed the pannikin down, his face turned black, and he fell dead on the deck. The big sailor sprang aside with an oath, forced from him by his terror, and from every looker-on there broke a groan. They all shrank away and stood staring with blanched faces. Such a piteous sight as it was, lying doubled up, with the rope pinioning the miserable limbs, the teeth locked, and the right arm up-tossed! "Aft here and get the quarter-boat hoisted up!" shouted Duckling, advancing on the poop; and seeing the man dead on the deck, he added, "Get a tarpaulin and cover him up, and let him lie on the fore-hatch." "Shall I tell the steward to serve out grog to the men who went with me?" I asked him. He stared at me contemptuously, and walked away without answering. "You shall have your grog," said I, addressing one of them who stood near, "though it should be my own allowance." And thoroughly exhausted after my exertions, and wet through, I turned into my cabin to put on some dry clothes. CHAPTER VIII. Whilst I was in my cabin I heard the men hoisting up the quarter-boat, and this was followed by an order from Duckling to man the lee main-braces. The ship, hove too, was off her course; but when she filled, she brought the wreck right abreast of the port-hole in my cabin. I stood watching for some minutes with peculiar emotions, for the recollection of the dead body in the deck-house lent a most impressive significance to the mournful object which rolled from side to side. It comforted me, however, to reflect that it was impossible I could have left anything living on the hull, since nothing could have existed below the deck, and any one above must have been seen by me. The ship, now lying over, shut the wreck out, and I shifted my clothes as speedily as I could, being anxious to hear what Captain Coxon should say to me. I was also curious to see the old man and girl, and learn what treatment the captain was showing them. I remember it struck me, just at this time, that the girl was in a very awkward position; for here she was on board a vessel without any female to serve her for a companion and lend her clothes, which she would stand seriously in need of, as those she had on her were wringing wet. And even supposing she could make shift with these for a time, she would soon want a change of apparel, which she certainly would not get until we reached Valparaiso, unless the skipper put into some port and landed them. The memory of her refined and pretty face, with the amber air about it, and her wild, soft, piteous blue eyes, haunted me; and I tried to think what could be done to make her comfortable in this matter of dress if the captain refused to go out of his way to set them ashore. Thus thinking, I was pulling on a boot, when there came an awkward knock at the door of the cabin, and in stepped the carpenter, Stevens by name, holding in his hand a bar of iron with a collar at either end, and one collar fastened with a padlock. Close behind the carpenter came Duckling, who let the door close of itself, and who immediately said-- "Captain Coxon's orders are to put you in irons. Carpenter, clap those belayers on his damned shins." I jumped off the chest on which I was seated, not with the intention of resisting, but of remonstrating; but Duckling, mistaking the action, drew a pistol out of his side-pocket, and presenting it at my head, said, right through his nose, which was the first time I had heard him so speak: "By the Etarnal! if you don't let the carpenter do his work, I'll shoot you dead--so mind!" "You're a ruffian and a bully!" said I; "but I'll keep my life if only to punish you and your master!" Saying which, I reseated myself, folded my arms resolutely, and suffered the carpenter to lock the irons on my ankles, keeping my eyes fixed on Duckling with an expression of the utmost scorn and dislike in them. "Now," said he, "you infernal mutinous hound! I reckon you'll not give us much trouble for the rest of the voyage." This injurious language was more than my temper could brook. Scarcely knowing what I did, I threw myself against him, caught his throat, and dashed him violently down upon the deck. The pistol exploded in his hand as he fell. "Carpenter," I cried furiously, "open that door!" The fellow obeyed me instantly, and walked out of the cabin. Duckling lay pretty well stunned upon the deck; but in a few moments he would have been up and at me, and, hampered as I was by the irons, he must have mastered me easily. I shambled over to where he lay, dragged him upright, and pitched him with a crash through the open door against the cuddy table. He struck it heavily and rolled under it, and I then slammed the door and sat down, feeling faint and quite exhausted of breath. The door had not been closed two minutes when it was partially opened, and a friendly hand (the boatswain's, as I afterwards learnt) placed a pannikin of rum-and-water on the deck, and a voice said, "They'll not let you be here long, sir." The door was then shut again; and very thankful for a refreshment of which I stood seriously in need, I got hold of the pannikin and swallowed the contents. I now tried to reflect upon my situation, but found it impossible to do so, as I could not guess what intentions the captain had against me and what would be the result of my conflict with Duckling. For some while I sat expecting to see the chief mate rush in on me; and, in anticipation of a struggle with a coward who would have me almost at his mercy, I laid hold of a sea-boot, very heavy, with an iron-shod heel, and held it ready to strike at the bully's head should he enter. However, in about a quarter of an hour's time I saw him through my cabin window pass along the main-deck, with a blue lump over his right eye, while the rest of his face shone with soap, which he must have used without stint to rid his features of the blood that had smeared them. Whether the report of the pistol had been heard or not I could not tell; but no notice appeared to be taken of it. I noticed a number of the crew just under the forecastle conversing in a very earnest manner, and sometimes looking towards my cabin. There was something very gross and brutal in this treatment to which I was subjected, and there was a contempt in it for me, suggested by the skipper sending Duckling to see me in irons, instead of logging me to my face and acting in a shipshape fashion in putting me under arrest, which galled me extremely. The very irons on my legs were not such as are ordinarily used on board ship, and looked as if they had been picked up cheap in some rag and slop shop in South America or in the West Indies, for I think I had seen such things in pictures of truculent negro slaves. I was in some measure supported by the reflection that the crew sympathized with me, and would not suffer me to be cruelly used; but the idea of a mutiny among them gave me no pleasure, for the skipper was sure to swear that I was the ringleader, and Duckling would of course back his statements; and my calling upon the men to help me to put off to the wreck, against the captain's orders, my going thither, and my confinement in irons, would all tell heavily against me in any court of inquiry; so that, as things were, I not only stood the chance of being professionally ruined, but of having to undergo a term of imprisonment ashore. These were no very agreeable reflections; and if some rather desperate thoughts came into my head whilst I sat pondering over my misfortunes, the reader will not greatly wonder. I was growing rather faint with hunger, for it was past my usual dinner-hour, and I had done enough work to account for a good appetite. The captain was eating his dinner in the cuddy; for I not only smelt the cooking, but heard his voice addressing the steward, who was, perhaps, the only man in the ship who showed any kind of liking for him. I tried to hear if the old man or the girl were with him, but caught no other voice. I honestly prayed that the captain would act humanely towards them; but I had my doubts, for he was certainly a cold-blooded, selfish rascal. By-and-by I heard Duckling's voice, showing that the captain had gone on deck. This man, either wanting the tact of his superior or hating me more bitterly (which I admit was fair, seeing how I had punished him), said in a loud voice to the steward-- "What fodder is that mutinous dog yonder to have?" The steward spoke low and I did not hear him. "Serve the skunk right," continued the chief mate. "By glory, if there was only a pair of handcuffs on board they should be on him. How's this lump?" The steward replied, and Mr. Duckling continued-- "I guess the fellow at the wheel grinned when he saw it. But I'll be raising bigger lumps than this on some of 'em before I'm done. This is the most skulking, snivelling, mutinous ship's crew that ever I sailed with--I'd rather work the vessel with four Lascars; and as to that rat in the hole there, if it wasn't for the colour of the bunting we sail under, I reckon we'd have made an ensign of him at the mizzen-peak some days ago, by the Lord, with the signal halliards round his neck, for he's born to be hanged; and I guess, though he knocked me down when I wasn't looking, I'm strong enough to hoist _him_ thirty feet, and let him drop with a run." All this was said in a loud voice for my edification, but I must own it did not frighten me very greatly. To speak the truth, I thought more of the old man and his daughter than myself; for if they should hear this bragging bully from their cabins, they would form very alarming conclusions as to the character of the persons who had rescued them, and scarcely know, indeed, whether we were not all cut-throats. Shortly after this, Duckling came out on to the main-deck, and observing me looking through the window, bawled at the top of his voice for the carpenter, who presently came, and Duckling, pointing to my window, gave him some instructions, which he went away to execute. A young ordinary seaman--an Irish lad named Driscoll--was coiling a rope over one of the belaying-pins around the mainmast. Duckling pointed up aloft, and his voice sounded, though I did not hear the order. The lad waited to coil the rest of the rope--a fathom or so--before obeying: whereupon Duckling hit him a blow on the back, slewed him round, caught him by the throat, and backed him savagely against the starboard bulwarks, roaring, in language quite audible to me now--"Up with you, you skulker! I'll teach you to wait when I give an order. Up with you, I say, or I'll pound you to pieces." At this moment the carpenter approached my window, provided with a hammer and a couple of planks, which he proceeded to nail upon the framework. Duckling watched him with a grin upon his ugly face, the lump over his eye not improving the expression, as you may believe. I was now in comparative darkness; for the port-hole admitted but little light, and, unlike the rest of the cuddy berths, my cabin had no bull's-eye. I reached the door with a great deal of trouble, for the iron-bar hampered my movements excessively, and found it locked outside; but by whom and when I did not know, for I had not heard the key turned. But I might depend that Duckling had done this with cat-like stealthiness, and that he probably had the key in his pocket. I was hungry enough to have felt grateful for a biscuit, and had half a mind to sing out to the steward to bring me something to eat, but reflected that my doing so might only provoke an insulting answer from the fellow. With some difficulty I pulled the mattress out of the cot and put it into the bunk, as my pinioned legs would not enable me to climb or spring, and laid down and presently fell asleep. I slept away the greater part of the afternoon; for when I awoke, the sky, as I saw it through the port-hole, was dark with the shadow of evening. A strong wind was blowing and the ship laying heavily over to it, by which I might know she was carrying a heap of canvas. I looked over the edge of the bunk, and saw on the deck near the door a tin dish, containing some common ship's biscuit and a can of cold water. I was so hungry that I jumped up eagerly to get the biscuit, by doing which I so tweaked my ankles with the irons, that the blood came from the broken skin. I made shift to reach the biscuit, which proved to be the ship's bread as served to the men, and ate greedily, being indeed famished; but speedily discovered the substantial grounds of complaint the sailors had against the ship's stores; for the biscuit was intolerably mouldy and rotten, and so full of weevils, that nothing but hunger could have induced me to swallow the abomination. I managed to devour a couple of these things, and drank some water; and then pulled out my pipe and began to smoke, caring little about the skipper's objection to this indulgence in the saloon, and heartily wishing he would come to the cabin that I might tell him what I thought of his behaviour. How long was this state of things going to last with me? Would the crew compel Captain Coxon to put into some near port where I should be handed over to the authorities, or would he proceed direct to Valparaiso? The probability of his touching anywhere was, in my opinion, now smaller than before; as the delays, and inquiry into my conduct and the complaints of the men, would seriously enlarge the period of the voyage. Nor could I imagine that the two persons we had rescued would prevail upon him to go out of his way to land them. As for myself, looking back on my actions, I did not believe that any court would judge me severely for obliging Coxon to send a boat to the wreck; for I had the evidence of the crew to prove that a human being had been seen signalling to us for help, before I ordered the ship to be hove to, and that therefore my determination to board the wreck had not been speculative, but truly justified by the spectacle of human distress. Still, such anticipations scarcely consoled me for the inconvenience I suffered in my feet being held in irons, and in my being locked up in a gloomy cabin, where such fare as I had already eaten would probably be the food I should get until the voyage out was ended. As the evening advanced the wind freshened, and I heard the captain giving orders just over my head, and the hands shortening sail. The skipper was again straining the ship heavily: the creaking and groaning in the cuddy was incessant: and every now and again I heard the boom of a sea against the vessel's side, and the sousing rush of water on deck. But after the men had been at work some time, the vessel laboured less and got upon a more even keel. Two bells (nine o'clock) had been struck, when I was suddenly attracted by a sound of hammering upon the dead-light in my cabin. I turned my head hastily; but as it was not only dark inside, but dark without, I could discern nothing, and concluded that the noise had been made on the deck overhead. After an interval of a minute the hammering was repeated, and now it was impossible for me to doubt that it was caused by something hard, such as the handle of a knife being struck upon the thick glass of the port-hole. I was greatly astonished; but remembering that the main-chains extended away from this port-hole, I easily concluded that some one had got down into them and was knocking to draw my attention. I hoisted my legs out of the bunk with very great difficulty, and having got my feet upon the deck, drew myself to the port-hole, but with much trouble, it being to windward, and the deck sloping to a considerable angle. Not a glimmer of light penetrated my cabin from the cuddy: and whether the sky outside was clear or not, I only know that the prospect seen through the port-hole, buried in the thickness of the ship's wall, was pitch dark. I untwisted the screw that kept the dead-light closed, and it blew open, and a rush of wind, concentrated by the narrowness of the aperture through which it penetrated, blew damp with spray upon my face. Fearful of my voice being heard in the cuddy--for this was the hour when the spirits were put upon the table, and it was quite likely that Coxon or Duckling might be seated within, drinking alone--I muffled my voice between my hands and asked who was there? The fellow jammed his face so effectually into the port-hole as to exclude the wind, so that the whisper in which he spoke was quite distinct. "Me--Stevens, the carpenter. I've come from the crew. But you're to take your solemn oath you'll not split upon us if I tell you what's goin' to happen?" "I am not in a position to split," I replied. "But I can make no promises until I know your intentions." The man was a long time silent. Several times he withdrew his face, as I knew (for I could not see him) by the rush of wind that came in, to shake himself free of the spray that broke over him. "It's just this," he said, bunging up the port-hole again. "We'd rather take a twelvemonth imprisonment ashore, in the worst jail in England, than work this wessel on the rotten food we're obliged to eat. What we want to know is, will you take charge o' the ship and carry her where we tells yer, if we give you command?" I was too much startled by this question to reply at once. Influenced by the long term of confinement before me, if Captain Coxon remained in control, by my bitter dislike of him and his bully factotum, by the longing to be free, and the hundred excuses I could frame for co-operating with the crew, my first impulse was to say yes. But there came quickly considerations of the danger of mutiny on board ship, of the sure excesses of men made reckless by liberty and freed from the discipline which, though their passions might protest against it, their still stronger instincts admitted and obeyed. "Give us your answer," said the man. "If the chief mate looks over, he'll see me." "I cannot consent," I replied. "I am as sorry for the crew as I am for myself. But things are better as they are." "By----!" exclaimed the man in a violent, hoarse whisper, "we don't mean to let 'em be as they are. We've put up with a bit too much as it is. We'll find a way of making you consent--see to that! And if you peach on us we're still too strong for you--so mind your life!" Saying which he withdrew his head; and after waiting a short time to see if he remained, I closed the port, and shuffled into my bunk again. I tried to think how I should act. If I acquainted the captain with the carpenter's disclosure the men would probably murder me. And though they withheld from bloodshed, my putting the captain on his guard would not save the ship if the men were determined to seize her, because he could not count on more than two men to side with him, and the crew would overpower them immediately. However, I will not seem more virtuous and upright than I was; and I may therefore say, that after giving this matter some half-hour's thinking, I found that it would suit my purpose better if the crew mutinied than if the captain continued in charge, because it might open large opportunities for my future, and relieve me from the disgraceful position in which I was placed by the malice and injustice of my two superiors. The one thing I heartily prayed for was that murder might not be done; but I did not anticipate great violence, as I imagined that the crew had no other object in rebelling than to compel the captain to put into the nearest port to exchange the stores. The night wore away very slowly, and I counted every bell that was struck. The wind decreased at midnight, and I heard Duckling go into the captain's cabin and rouse him up, the captain evidently having undertaken my duties. Duckling reported the weather during his watch, and said, "The wind is dropping, but it looks dirty to the south'ard. If we lose the breeze we may get it fresh from t'other quarter, and she can't hurt under easy sail until we see what's going to do." They then went on deck together, and in about ten minutes' time Duckling returned and went into his cabin, closing the door noisily. A little after one o'clock I fell into a dose, but was shortly after awakened by hearing the growl of voices close against my cabin, my apprehensions making my hearing very sensitive, even in sleep. In a few moments the voices of the men were silenced, and I then heard the tread of footsteps in the cuddy going aft, and some one as he passed tried the handle of my door. Another long interval of silence followed; and as I did not hear the men who had entered the cuddy return, I wondered where they had stationed themselves, and what they were doing. As to myself, the irons on my legs made me quite helpless. The time that now passed seemed an eternity, and I was beginning to wonder whether the voices I had heard might not have been Coxon's and the steward's--all was so quiet--when a step sounded overhead, and the captain's voice rang out, "Lay aft, some hands, and brail up the spanker!" Instantly several men ran up the starboard poop-ladder, proving that they must have been stationed close against my cabin, and their heavy feet clattered along the deck, and I heard their voices singing. Scarce were their voices hushed when a shrill whistle, like a sharp human squeal, was raised forwards, and immediately there was a sharp twirl and scuffle of feet on the deck, followed by a groan and a fall. At the same moment a door was forced open in the cuddy, and, as I might judge by what followed, a body of men tumbled into the chief mate's cabin. A growling and yelping of fierce human voices followed. "Haul him out of it by the hair!"--"You blackguard! you'll show fight, will yer! Take that for yourself!"--"Over the eyes next time, Bill! Let me get at the----!" But, as I imagined, the muscular, infuriate chief mate would not fall an easy prey, fighting as he deemed for his life. I heard the thump of bodies swung against the panelling, fierce execrations, the smash of crockery, and the heavy breathing of men engaged in deadly conflict. It was brief enough in reality, though Duckling seemed to find them work for a good while. "Don't kill him now! Wait till dere's plenty ob light!" howled a voice, which I knew to be the cook's. And then they came along the cuddy, dragging the body which they had either killed or knocked insensible after them, and got upon the main-deck. "Poop, ahoy!" shouted one of them. "What cheer up there, mates?" "Right as a trivet!--ready to sling astern!" came the answer directly over my head, followed by some laughter. As I lay holding my breath, scarcely knowing what was next to befall, the handle of my door was tried, the door pushed, then shaken passionately, after which a voice, in tones which might have emanated from a ghost, exclaimed-- "Mr. Royle, they have killed the captain and Mr. Duckling! For God Almighty's sake, ask them to spare my life! They will listen to you, sir! For God's sake, save me!" "Who are you?" I answered. "The steward, sir." But as he said this one of the men on the quarter-deck shouted, "Where's the steward? He's as bad as the others! He's the one what swore the pork was sweet!" And then I heard the steward steal swiftly away from my cabin door and some men come into the cuddy. They would doubtless have hunted him down there and then, but one of them unconsciously diverted the thoughts of the others by exclaiming-- "There's the second mate in there. Let's have him out of it." My cabin door was again tried, and a heavy kick administered. "It's locked, can't you see?" said one of the men. As it opened into the cuddy it was not to be forced, so one of them exclaimed that he would fetch a mallet and a calking-iron, with which he returned in less than a couple of minutes, and presently the lock was smashed to pieces, and the door fell open. Both swinging-lamps were alight in the cuddy, and one, being nearly opposite my cabin, streamed fairly into it. I was seated erect in my bunk when the men entered, and I immediately exclaimed, pointing to the irons, "I am glad you have thought of me. Knock those things off, will you?" I believe there was something in the cool way in which I pronounced these words that as fully persuaded them that I was intent upon the mutiny as any action I could have committed. "We'll not take long to do that for you," cried the fellow who held the mallet (a formidable weapon, by the way, in such hands!). "Get upon the deck, and I'll swaller this iron if you aren't able to dance a breakdown in a jiffy!" I dropped out of the bunk, and with two blows the man cut off the staple, and I kicked the irons off. "Now, my lads," said I, beginning to play the part I had made up my mind to act whilst listening to the onslaught on the captain and Duckling; "what have you done?" The fellow who had knocked off the irons, and now answered me, was named Cornish, a man in my own watch. "The ship's ourn--that's what we've done," he said. "The skipper's dead as a nail up there, I doubt," exclaimed another, indicating the poop with a movement of the head; "and if you'll step on to the main-deck you'll see how we've handled Mister Duckling!" "And what do _you_ mean to do?" exclaimed a man, one of the four who had accompanied me to the wreck. "_We_'re masters now, I suppose you know, and so I hope you aren't agin us." At this moment the carpenter, followed by a few others, came shoving into the cuddy. "Oh, there he is!" he cried. He grasped me by the arm and led me out of the cabin, and bidding me stand at the end of the table, with my face looking aft, ran to the door, and bawled at the top of his voice, "Into the cuddy, all hands!" Those who were on the poop came scuffling along, dragging something with them, and presently rose a cry of "one--two--three!" and there was a soft thud upon the main-deck--the body of the captain, in fact, pitched off the poop--and then the men came running in and stood in a crowd on either side the table. This was a scene I am not likely ever to forget, nor the feelings excited in me by it. The men were variously dressed, some in yellow sou'westers, some in tight-fitting caps, in coarse shirts, in suits of oil-skin, in liberally patched monkey-jackets. Some of them, with black beards and moustachios and burnt complexions, looked swarthy and sinister enough in the lamplight; some were pale with the devilish spirit that had been aroused in them; every face, not excepting the youngest of the ordinary seamen, wore a passionate, reckless, malignant look. They ran their eyes over the cuddy as strangers would, and one of them took a glass off a swinging tray, and held it high, saying grimly, "By the Lord! we'll have something fit to swaller now! No more starvation and stinking water!" I noticed the boatswain--named Ferroll--the only quiet face in the crowd. He met my eye, and instantly looked down. "Now, Mr. Royle," said the carpenter, "we're all ekals here, with a fust-rate execootioner among us (pointing to the big sailor, Johnson), as knows, when he's axed, how to choke off indiwiduals as don't make theirselves sootable to our feelin's. What we're all here collected for to discover, is this--are you with us, or agin us?" "With you," I replied, "in everything but murder." Some of them growled, and the carpenter exclaimed hastily-- "We don't know what you call murder. We aren't used to them sort o' expressions. What's done has happened, ain't it? And I _have_ heerd tell of accidents, which is the properest word to conwey our thoughts." He nodded at me significantly. "Look here," said I. "Just a plain word with you before I am asked any more questions. There's not a man among you who doesn't know that I have been warm on your side ever since I learnt what kind of provisions you were obliged to eat. I have had words with the captain about your stores, and it is as much because of my interference in that matter as because of my determination not to let a woman die upon a miserable wreck, that he clapped me in irons. I don't know what you mean to do with me, but I'll not say I don't care. I do care. I value my life, and in the hope of saving it, I'll tell you this, and it's God's truth--that if you take my life you'll be killing a man who has been your friend at heart, who has sympathized with you in your privations, who has never to his knowledge spoken harshly to you, when he had the power to do so, and who, had he commanded this vessel, would have shifted your provisions long ago." So saying, I folded my arms and gazed fixedly at the carpenter. They listened to me in silence, and when I had done broke into various exclamations. "We know all that." "We don't owe _you_ no grudge." "We don't want your life. Just show us what to do--that's what it is." I appeared to pay no attention to their remarks, but kept my eyes resolutely bent on Stevens, the carpenter, that they might see I accepted him as their mouthpiece, and would deal only with him. "Well," he began, "all what you say is quite correct, and we've no fault to find with you. What I says to you this evenin' through the port-hole I says now--will you navigate this here wessel for us to the part as we've agreed on? and if you'll do that you can choose officers out of us, and we'll do your bidding as though you was lawful skipper, and trust to you. But I say now, and I says it before all hands here, that if you take us where we don't want to go, or put us in the way of any man-o'-war, or try in any manner to bring us to book for this here job, so help me, Mr. Royle, and that's your name, as mine is William Stevens, and I say it before all hands here, we'll sling you overboard as sartin as there's hair growin' on your head--we will; we'll murder you out an' out. All my mates is a followin' of me--so you'll please mind that!" "I hear you," I replied, "and will do your bidding, but on this condition--that having killed the captain, you will swear to me that no more lives shall be sacrificed." "By Gor, no!" shouted the cook. "Don't swear dat! Wait till by-um-by. "Be advised by me!" I cried, seizing the fellow's frightful meaning, and dreading the hideous scene it portended. "We have an old man and a young girl on board. Are they safe?" "Yes," answered several voices; and the cook jabbered, "Yes, yes!" with horrid contortions of the face, under the impression that I had mistaken his interruption. "We have the steward and the chief mate?" "Dat's dey! dat's dey!" screamed the cook. "No mercy upon 'em! Hab no mercy upon us! Him strike me on de jaw and kick me! T'oder one poison us! No mercy!" he howled, and several joined in the howl. "Look here! I am a single man against many," I said; "but I am not afraid to speak out--because I am an Englishman speaking to Englishmen, with one bloodthirsty yellow savage among you!" There was a shout of laughter. "If you wish it, I will go on my knees to you and implore you not to stain your hands with these men's blood. You have them in your power--you cannot better your position by killing them--be merciful! Mates, how would you kill them?--in cold blood? Is there an Englishman among you who would slaughter a defenceless man? who would stand by and see a defenceless man slaughtered? There is an Almighty God above you, and He is the God of vengeance! Hear me!" "We'll let the steward go!" cried a voice; "but we want our revenge upon Duckling, and we'll have it. Damn your sermons!" And once again the ominous growling of angry men muttering altogether arose; in the midst of which the fellow who was steering left the wheel to sing out through the skylight-- "It's as black as thunder to leeward. Better stand by, or the ship 'll be aback!" "Now what am I to do?" I exclaimed. "We give you command. Out with your orders--we'll obey 'em," came the answer. In a few moments I was on the poop. By the first glance I threw upwards I saw that the ship was already aback. "Port your helm--hard a port!" I shouted. "Let go the port-braces fore and aft! Round with the yards smartly!" Fortunately not only was the first coming of the wind light, but the canvas on the ship was comparatively small. The mainsail, cross-jack, the three royals, two top-gallant sails, spanker, flying and outer jibs were furled, and there was a single reef in the fore and mizzen topsails. The yards swung easily and the sails filled, and not knowing what course to steer, I braced the yards up sharp and kept her close. The sky to the south looked threatening, and the night was very dark. I ran below to look at the glass, and found a slight fall, but nothing to speak of. This being so, I thought we might hold on with the topsails as they were for the present, and ordered the top-gallant sail to be furled. The men worked with great alacrity, singing out lustily; indeed, it was difficult for me, standing on the poop and giving orders, to realize the experiences of the last hour: and yet I might know, by the strange trembling and inward and painful feeling of faintness which from time to time seized me, that both my moral and physical being had received a terrible shock, and that I should feel the reality more keenly when my excitement was abated and I should have no other occupation than to think. The only food I had taken all day was the two ship's biscuits, and feeling the need of some substantial refreshment to relieve me of the sensation of faintness, I left the poop to seek the carpenter, in order to request him to keep watch whilst I went below. When on the quarter-deck, and looking towards the cuddy, I perceived two figures huddled together just outside the cuddy door. There was plenty of light here from the lamps inside, and I at once saw that the two bodies were those of Duckling and Coxon. I stepped up to them. Coxon lay on his back with his face exposed, and Duckling was right across him, breast downwards, his head in the corner and his feet towards me. There was no blood on either of them. Coxon had evidently been struck over the head from behind, and killed instantly; his features were composed, and his grey hairs made him look a reverend object in death. Some men on the main-deck watched me looking at the bodies, and when they saw me take Duckling by the arm and turn him on his back, one of them called: "That's right; keep the beggar alive! he's cookee's portion, he is!" These exclamations attracted the attention of the carpenter, who came aft immediately and found me stooping over Duckling. "He's dead, I reckon," he said. "Dead, or next door to it," I replied. "Better for him if he is dead. The captain's a corpse, killed quickly enough, by the look of him," I continued, gazing at the white, still face at my feet. "You had better get him carried forward and covered up. Where's the body of the sailor I brought on board?" "Why, pitched overboard like a dead rat, by orders of this Christian," he answered, giving the captain's body a kick. "He had a good deal of feelin', this pious gentleman. Why do you want him covered up? Let him go overboard now, won't 'ee? Hi, mates!" he called to the men who were looking on. "Here's another witness agin us for the Day o' Judgment! Heave him into the sea, my hearties! We don't want to give him no excuse to soften the truth for our sakes when he's called upon to spin his yarn!" The men flocked round the bodies, and whilst three of them caught up the corpse of the skipper as if it had been a coil of rope, others of them began to handle Duckling. "Him too?" asked one. "What do you say, Mr. Royle?" demanded the carpenter. "It ain't Mr. Royle's consarn--it's cookee's!" cried one of the men. And he began to bawl for "cookee!" Meantime the fellows who held the captain's body, not relishing their burden, went to leeward; and two of them taking the shoulders and one the feet, they began to swing him, and at a given word, shot him over the bulwarks. They then came back quite unconcernedly, one of them observing that the devil ought to be very much obliged to them for their handsome present. The cook now approached, walked aft by some men who held him by the arms. They were laughing uproariously, which was explained when I saw that the cook was drunk. "Here's your friend, Mr. Cookee," said Stevens, stirring Duckling with the toe of his boot. "He's waitin' for you to know wot's to become of him." "Him a berry good genelman," returned the cook, pulling off his cap with drunken gravity, and making a reeling bow to the body. "Me love dis genelman like my own son. Nebber knew tenderer-hearted man. Him gib me a nice blow here," holding his clenched fist to his jaw, "and anoder one here," clapping his hand to his back. Then, after a pause, he kicked the dying or dead man savagely in the head, yelling in a hideous falsetto, "Oh, I'll skin um alive! Oh, I'll pull his eyes out and make um swaller dem! He kick an' strike honest English cook! Oh, my golly! I'll cut off his foot! Gib me a knife, sar," looking around him with a wandering, gleaming eye. "Gib me a knife, I say, an' you see what I do!" One of the ruffians actually gave him a knife. I grasped the carpenter's arm. "Mr. Stevens," I exclaimed in his ear, "you'll not allow this! For God's sake, don't let this drunken cannibal disgrace our manhood by such brutal deeds before us! Living or dead, better fling the body overboard! Don't let him be tortured if living; and if dead, is not your revenge complete?" The carpenter made no answer, and sick with horror and disgust I was turning away, feeling powerless to deal with these wretches, when, the cook already kneeling and baring his arm for I know not what bloody work, Stevens sprang forward and fetched him such a thump under the chin, that he rolled head over heels into the lee-scuppers. The men roared with laughter. "Now then, overboard with this thing!" the carpenter shouted; "and if cookee wants more wengeance, fling him overboard arter him!" They seized Duckling as they had seized Coxon, and slung him overboard, just as they had slung the other. Some of them ran to the cook, and it was impossible to judge whether they were in earnest or not when they shrieked out, "Overboard with him, too! We can't separate the friends!" The cook at all events believed they meant no joke, for uttering a prolonged yell of terror, he wriggled with incredible activity out of their hands, and rushed forward like a steam-engine. They did not offer to pursue him; and, ill with these scenes of horror, I called to the carpenter and asked him to step on the poop whilst I went into the cuddy. "What to do there?" he inquired suspiciously. "To get something to eat. I have had nothing all day but two of the ship's bad biscuits." "Right," he said. "But, before I go, I'll tell you what's agreed among us. You're to take charge, and sarve with me and the bo'sun, turn and turn about on deck. That's agreeable, ain't it?" "Quite." "You're to do all the piloting of the ship, and navigate us to where the ship's company agrees upon." "I understand." "We three 'll live aft here, and the ship's company forrards; but all the ship's stores 'll be smothered, and the cuddy provisions sprung, d'ye see? likewise the grog and whatsomever there may be proper to eat and drink. We're all to be ekals, and fare and fare alike, though the crew 'll obey orders as usual. You're to have the skipper's berth, and I'll take yourn; and the bo'sun he'll take Duckling's. That we've all agreed on afore we went to work, and so I thought I'd let you know." "Well, Mr. Stevens," I replied, "as I told you just now, I'll do your bidding. I'll take the ship to the place you may name; and as I shan't play you false (though I have no notion of your intentions), so I hope you won't play me false. I have begged for the steward's life, and you have promised to spare him. And how are the two persons we saved to be treated?" "They're to live along with us here. All that's settled, I told yer. But I'm not so sure about the steward. I never made no promise about sparing of him." "Look here!" I exclaimed sternly. "I am capable of taking this ship to any port you choose to name. There is not another man on board who could do this. I can keep you out of the track of ships, and help you in a number of ways to save your necks. Do you understand me? But I tell you--on my oath--if you murder the steward, if any further act of violence is committed on board this ship, I'll throw up my charge, and you may do your worst. These are my terms, easier to you than to me. What is your answer?" He reflected a moment and replied, "I'll talk to my mates about it." "Do so," I said. "Call them aft now. But you had better get on deck, as the ship wants watching. Talk to them on the poop." He obeyed me literally, calling for the hands to lay aft, and I was left alone. I went into the steward's pantry, where I found some cold meat and biscuit and a bottle of sherry. These things I carried to the aftermost end of the table. Somehow I did not feel greatly concerned about the debate going on overhead, as I knew the men could not do without me; nor did I believe the general feeling against the steward sufficiently strong to make them willing to sacrifice my services to their revengeful passions. I fell to the meat and wine as greedily as a starving man, and was eating very heartily, when I felt a light touch on my arm. I turned hastily and confronted the girl whom I had brought away from the wreck. Her hair hung loose over her shoulders, and she was as pale as marble. But her blue eyes were very brilliant, and fired with a resolved and brave expression, and I thought her beautiful as she stood before me in the lamplight with her hair shining about her face. "Are you Mr. Royle?" she asked, in a low but most clear and sweet voice. "I am," I replied, rising. She took my hand and kissed it. "You have saved my father's life and mine, and I have prayed God to bless you for your noble courage. I have had no opportunity to thank you before. They would not let me see you. The captain said you had mutinied and were in irons. My father wishes to thank you--his heart is so full that he cannot rest--but he is too weak to move. Will you come and see him?" She made a movement towards the cabin next the pantry. "Not now," I said. "You should be asleep, resting after your terrible trials." "How could I sleep?" she exclaimed with a shudder. "I have heard all that has been said. I heard them killing the man in that cabin there." She clasped her hands convulsively. "Frightful things have happened," I said, speaking quickly, for I every moment expected the men to come running down the companion-ladder, near which we were conversing; "but the worst has passed. Did not you hear them answer me that you and your father were safe? Go, I beg you, to your cabin and sleep if you can, and be sure that no harm shall befall you whilst I remain in this ship. I have a very difficult part before me, and wish to reflect upon my position. And the sense that _your_ security will depend upon my actions," I added, moved by her beauty and the memory of the fate I had rescued her from, "will make me doubly vigilant." And as she had kissed my hand on meeting me, so now I raised hers to my lips; and obedient to my instructions, she entered her cabin and closed the door. I stood for some time engrossed, to the exclusion of all other thoughts, by the picture impressed on my mind by the girl's sweet face. It inspired a new kind of energy in me. Whatever qualms my conscience may have suffered from my undertaking to navigate the ship for the satisfaction and safety of a pack of ruffians, merely because I stood in fear of my life, were annihilated by the sight of this girl. The profound necessity enjoined upon me to protect her from the dangers that would inevitably come upon her, should my life be taken, so violently affected me as I stood thinking of her, that my cowardly acquiescence in the basest proposals which the crew could submit, would have been tolerable to my conscience for her lonely and helpless sake. The voices of the men overhead, talking in excited tones, awoke me to a sense of my situation. I took another draught of wine, and entered the captain's cabin, wishing to inspect the log-book that I might ascertain the ship's position at noon on the preceding day. The shadow of the mizzen-mast fell right upon the interior as I opened the cabin door. I looked about me for a lamp, but was suddenly scared by the spectacle of a man crawling on his hands and knees out of a corner. "Oh, my God!" cried a melancholy voice. "Am I to be killed! Will they murder me, sir? Oh, sir, it is in your power to save me. They'll obey you. I have a wife and child in England, sir. I am a miserable sinner, and not fit to die." And the wretched creature burst into tears, and crawled close to my legs, and twined his arms around them. "Go back into your corner," I said. "Don't let them hear or see you. I can make no promises, but will do my best to save your life. Back with you now! Be a man, for God's sake! Your whining will only amuse them. Be resolute; and should you have to face them, meet them bravely." He went crawling back to his corner, and I seeing the log-book open on the table, carried it under the lamp in the cuddy. There I read off the sights of the previous day, replaced the book, and mounted to the poop. The dawn was breaking in the east, and the sky heavy, though something of its threatening character had left it. There was a smart sea on, but the ship lay pretty steady, owing to the wind having freshened enough to keep the vessel well over. We were making no headway to speak of, the yards being against the masts, and but little canvas set. The fellow steering lounged at the wheel, one arm through the spokes, and his left leg across his right shin, letting all hands know by this free and easy attitude that we were all equals now, and that he was only there to oblige. He was watching the men assembled round the forward saloon skylight, and now and then called out to them. There were eight or nine of the crew there and on the top of the skylight, and in the centre of the throng were squatted the boatswain and the carpenter. Many of them were smoking, and some of them laid down the law with their forefingers upon the palms of their hands. I saw no signs of the cook, and hoped that the fright the evil-minded scoundrel had undergone would keep him pretty quiet for a time. Not thinking it politic to join the men until they summoned me, I walked to the compass to see how the ship's head lay; whereupon the man steering, out of a habit of respect too strong for him to control, drew himself erect, and looked at the sails, and then at the card, as a man intent upon his work. I made no observation to him, and swept the horizon through my hands, which I hollowed to collect the pale light, but could discover nothing save the rugged outline of waves. Just then the men saw me, and both the carpenter and the boatswain scrambled off the skylight, and they all came towards me. A tremor ran through me which I could not control, but strength was given me to suppress all outward manifestation of emotion, and I awaited their approach with a forced tranquillity which, as I afterwards heard, gave the more intelligent and better disposed among them a good opinion of me. The carpenter said, "Most of us are for leaving the steward alone; but there's three of us as says that he showed hisself so spiteful in the way he used to sarve out the rotten stores, and swore to such a lie when he said the pork was sweet, before it went into the coppers, that they're for havin' some kind o' rewenge." "None of you want his life, do you?" "Damn his life!" came a growl. "Who'd take what ain't of no use even to him as owns it?" "Which of you wants revenge?" I asked. There was a pause; and Fish, projecting his extraordinary head, said, "Well, I'm one as dew." "Suppose," said I, "you were to see this wretched creature grovelling on his hands and knees, weeping and moaning like a woman, licking the deck in his agony of fear, and already half dead with terror. Would not such a miserable sight satisfy your thirst for revenge? What punishment short of death that you can inflict would make him suffer more dreadful tortures than his fear has already caused him? Fish, be a man, and leave this hunted wretch alone." He muttered something under his breath, though looking, I was glad to see, rather shame-faced, and the boatswain said-- "There's something more, Mr. Royle. He knows where to lay his hands on the cuddy provisions, and if we knock him on the head we shan't be able to find half that'll be wanted. What I woted was that we should make him wait upon us, and let him have nothen but the ship's stores to eat, whilst he sarves us with the cuddy's." "Won't that do?" I exclaimed, addressing the others, at the same time receiving a glance from the boatswain which showed me that I should have an ally in him: as indeed I had expected; for this was the only one of the forecastle hands who had come from London with us, and I was pretty sure he had joined in the mutiny merely to save his life. "Oh yes, that'll do!" some of them answered impatiently; and one said, "Wot's the use of jawing about the steward? We want to talk of ourselves. Where's the ship bound to? _I_ don't want to be hanged when I get ashore." This sensible observation was delivered by Johnson. "Now then, if you like, we'll come to that," said I, immensely relieved; for I not only knew that the steward's life was safe, but that in their present temper no further act of violence would be perpetrated. "Mr. Stevens, you told me that all your plans were prepared. Am I to have your confidence?" "Sartinly," replied the fellow, looking around upon the assembled faces fast growing distinguishable in the gathering light. "You're a scholard and can sail the ship for us, and we look to you to get us out o' this mess, for we've treated you well and made you skipper." "Go ahead," I exclaimed, seating myself in a nonchalant way on one of the gratings abaft the wheel. "This here mutiny," began the carpenter, after casting about in his mind for words, "is all along o' bad treatment. Had the capten acted fair and proper, _we_'d ha' acted fair an' proper. He as good as swore that he'd put in for fresh stores, but never altered the ship's course, and we wouldn't starve no longer. So we up and did the business. But we never meant to kill him. We was afraid he'd ha' had pistols on him, and so some of us knocked him down unaweers, and knocked too hard, that was all. And t'other one he struggled so, instead of givin' up when he saw we was too many for ten o' the likes of him, that he died of his own doin'; and that's a fact, mates, ain't it?" "Ay," responded a gruff voice. "He'd ha' gouged my eye out. He had his thumb in my mouth workin' away as if he thought my tooth was my eye. He drawed blood with his thumb, and I had to choke it out of my mouth, or he'd ha' tore my tongue out!" So saying, he expectorated violently. "To come back to wot I was saying," resumed the carpenter; "it's this. When me and my mates made up our minds to squench the skipper and his bully mate for their wrongful dealings with us, one says that our plan was to run the ship to the North Ameriky shore somewheeres. One says, Floridy way; and another, he says round into the Gulf o' Mexico, within reach o' New Orleans; and another, he says, 'Let's get south, mates, upon the coast of Africa;' and another, he says he's for making the ice, right away north, up near Baffin Land. But none was agreeable to that. We aren't resolved yet, but we're most all for Ameriky, because it's a big place, pretty nigh big enough to hide in." Some of the men laughed. "And so," continued the carpenter, "our plan is this: as easy as sayin' your prayers. We'll draw lots and choose upon the coast for you to run us to; and when we're a day's sail of them parts, leavin' you to tell us and to keep us out o' the way of ships, d'ye mind, Mr. Royle?"--with stern significance: I nodded--"some of us gets into the long-boat and some into the quarter-boats, and we pulls for the shore. And wot we do and says when we gets ashore needn't matter, eh, mates? We're shipwrecked mariners, destitoot and forlorn, and every man's for hisself. And so that's our plan." "Yes, that's our plan," said one: "but it ain't all. You're not putting everything to Mr. Royle, mate." "Look here, Bill," answered the carpenter savagely. "Either I'm to manage this here business or I'm not. If _you_'re for carryin' of it on, good and well--say the word, and then we'll know the time o' day. But either it must be you or it must be I--there ain't room for two woices in one mouth." "_I_'ve got nothen to say," rejoined the man addressed as "Bill," extending his arms and turning his back; "only I thought as you might ha' forgot." What the carpenter was holding back I could not guess; but I exhibited no curiosity. Neither did I tell them that our course to the "American shores," as they called it, would bring us right in the road of vessels from all parts of the world. My business was to listen and to act as circumstances should dictate, with good judgment, if possible, for the preservation of my own and the lives of the old man and his daughter. The carpenter now paused to hear what I had to say. Finding this, I exclaimed-- "I know what you want me to do; and the sooner you fix upon a point to start for the better." "Can't you advise us?" said one of the men. "Give us some place easily fetched." "I was never on the North American coast," I answered. "Well, Ameriky ain't the only place in the world," said Fish. "You'd best not say that when you're there," exclaimed Johnson. "Most of the hands wants to go ashore in Ameriky, and so that's settled, mates," said the carpenter sharply. "Let's keep south, anyhow, say I. If we can make New Orleans there's plenty of vessels sailing every day from that port, paying good wages," said Johnson. "And every man can choose for hisself where he'll sail for," observed Fish. "Make up your minds," I exclaimed, "and I'll alter the ship's course." So saying, I got off the grating and walked to the other end of the poop. I was much easier in my mind now that I had observed the disposition of the men. They were unquestionably alarmed by what they had done, which was tolerable security against the commission of further outrages. Their project of quitting the ship when near land and making for the shore, where, doubtless, they would represent themselves as shipwrecked seamen, was practicable and struck me as ingenious; for as soon as they got ashore they would disperse, and ship on board fresh vessels, and so defy inquiry even should suspicion be excited, or one of them peach upon his fellows. These I at least assumed to be their plans. But how far they would affect my own safety I could not tell. I doubted if they would let me leave the ship, as they might be sure that on my landing I should hasten, to inform against them. But I would not allow my mind to be troubled with considerations of the future at that time. All my energies were required to deal with the crisis of the moment, and to guard myself against being led by too much confidence in their promises, into any step which might prove fatal to me and those I had promised to protect. The dawn was now bright in the east and the wind strong from the southward. The ship was chopping on the tumbling seas with scarcely any way upon her; but the menacing aspect of the sky was fast fading, and there was a promise of fair weather in the clouds, which ranged high and out of the reach of the breeze that was burying the ship's lee channels. Presently the carpenter called to me, and I went over to the men. "We're all resolved, Mr. Royle," said he in a pretty civil voice, "and our wotes is for New Orleans. Plenty of wessels is wrecked in the Gulf of Mexico, as I've heerd tell; and when we're about fifty miles off, you'll say so, and give us the bearings of the Mississippi, and we'll not trouble you any more." "How's her head?" I asked the man at the wheel. "Sou'-west," he replied. "Keep her away," I exclaimed, for the weather-leeches were flat. "What's our true course for New Orleans?" asked the carpenter suspiciously. "Stop a bit and I'll show you," I answered, and went below to the captain's cabin to get the chart. "Steward!" I called. "Yes, sir," replied the miserable whining voice. It was still too dark for me to see the man. "Make your mind easy--they'll not hurt you," I said. He started up and rushed towards me like a madman. "May God in heaven bless you!" he cried, delirious with joy. "Hold off!" I exclaimed, keeping him away with my outstretched hand. "Get your wits about you and remain here for the present. Don't let them hear you, and don't show yourself until I call you." I could have said nothing better to repress his violent manifestations of delight; for he at once went cowering again into the gloom of the corner. I struck a wax match, and after a short search found the chart of the North Atlantic upon which the ship's course, so far as she had gone up to noon on the preceding day, was pricked off. I took this on deck, spread it on the skylight and showed our whereabouts to the men. "Our course," said I, "is south-west and by west." They bent their faces over the chart, studying it curiously. "Are you satisfied, Mr. Stevens?" I asked him. "Oh, I suppose it's all right," answered he. "Slacken away the lee-braces," I said. "Put your helm up" (to the man at the wheel). The men went tumbling off the poop to man the braces, and in a few minutes we were making a fair wind. Both the carpenter and the boatswain remained on the poop. "Some hands lay aloft and loose the fore and main top-gallant sails!" I called out. And turning to the carpenter: "Mr. Stevens," I said, "I'll navigate this ship for you and your mates to within fifty miles off the mouths of the Mississippi, as you wish; but on the conditions I have already named. Do you remember?" "Oh yes," he growled. "We've done enough--too much, I dessay, though not more than the beggars desarved. All that we want is to get out o' this cursed wessel." "Very well," I said. "But I won't undertake to pilot this ship safely unless my orders are obeyed." "The men are quite willin' to obey you, so long as you're true to 'em," he rejoined. "You may do what you like with the cuddy stores; though if you take my advice you will let the steward serve them out in the regular way, that they may last; otherwise you will eat them all up before we reach our journey's end, and have to fall back upon the bad provisions. But I must have control of the spirits." "And what allowance do you mean to put us on?" demanded the carpenter. "I shall be advised by you," said I. This was turning the tables. He pulled off his cap and scratched his head. "Three tots a day?" he suggested. "Very well," I said; "but you'll stop at that?" "Well, perhaps we can do on three tots a day," he answered, after deliberating. "And you engage that the steward will be protected against any violence while serving out the men's allowance?" "Mates!" he suddenly called out to the men who were standing by to sheet home the top-gallant sails; "will three tots o' grog a day keep you alive?" "Are we to have it all at once?" one of them answered. "No," I replied; "three times a day." "Now then, my lads, let's know your minds," cried the boatswain. A young ordinary seaman answered--"Three ain't enough." But one of the older hands turned upon him, exclaiming, "Why, you bit of a snuffler! where will _you_ stow all that rum? Don't go answerin' for your betters, my young scaramouch, or maybe you'll be findin' yourself brought up with a round turn. That'll do!" he called out to us. "Right you are!" replied the carpenter. "Sheet home!" I cried, as the sails fell from the top-gallant yards, anxious to clinch this matter of the grog. And so it rested. END OF VOL. I. LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS. Transcriber's Notes: Punctuation and spelling were made consistent when a predominant preference was found in the three volumes of this novel, or to remedy simple typographical errors; otherwise they were not changed. Dialect and other non-standard spellings have not been changed. Examples of unchanged spelling: "befel", "mirrowed", "dose" (for "doze"), "jobbed" (for "jabbed"), "wessel" (for "vessel") "biled" (for "boiled"). Spaces before the contraction "'ll" (for "will") have been retained. Ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines have been retained. 
38296	----	Wild Adventures round the Pole The Cruise of the "Snowbird" Crew in the "Arrandoon" By Gordon Stables Published by Hodder and Stoughton, 27 Paternoster Row, London. This edition dated 1883. Wild Adventures round the Pole, by Gordon Stables. ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ WILD ADVENTURES ROUND THE POLE, BY GORDON STABLES. CHAPTER ONE. THE TWIN RIVERS--A BUSY SCENE--OLD FRIENDS WITH NEW FACES--THE BUILDING OF THE GREAT SHIP--PEOPLE'S OPINIONS--RALPH'S HIGHLAND HOME. Wilder scenery there is in abundance in Scotland, but hardly will you find any more picturesquely beautiful than that in which the two great rivers, the Clyde and the Tweed, first begin their journey seawards. It is a classic land, there is poetry in every breath you breathe, the very air seems redolent of romance. Here Coleridge, Scott, and Burns roved. Wilson loved it well, and on yonder hills Hogg, the Bard of Ettrick--he who "taught the wandering winds to sing"--fed his flocks. It is a land, too, not only of poetic memories, but one dear to all who can appreciate daring deeds done in a good cause, and who love the name of hero. If the reader saw the rivers we have just named, as they roll their waters majestically into the ocean, the one at Greenock, the other near the quaint old town of Berwick, he would hardly believe that at the commencement of their course they are so small and narrow that ordinary-sized men can step across them, that bare-legged little boys wade through them, and thrust their arms under their green banks, bringing therefrom many a lusty trout. But so it is. Both rise in the same district, within not very many miles of each other, and for a considerable distance they follow the same direction and flow north. But soon the Tweed gets very faint-hearted indeed. "The country is getting wilder and wilder," she says to her companion, "we'll never be able to do it. I'm going south and east. It is easier." "And I," says the bold Clyde, "am going northwards and west; it is more difficult, and therein lies the enjoyment. I will conquer every obstacle, I'll defy everything that comes against me, and thus I'll be a mightier river than you. I'll water great cities, and on my broad breast I will bear proud navies to the ocean, to do battle against wind and wave. `Faint heart never won fair lady.' Farewell, friend Tweed, farewell." And so they part. This conversation between the two rivers is held fourteen hundred feet above the level of the sea, and five score miles and over have to be traversed before the Clyde can reach it. Yet, nothing daunted, merrily on she rolls, gaining many an accession of strength on the way from streams and burns. "If you are going seaward," say these burns, "so are we, so we'll take the liberty of joining you." "And right welcome you are," sings the Clyde; "in union lies strength." In union lies strength; yes, and in union is happiness too, it would seem, for the Clyde, broader and stronger now, glides peacefully and silently onwards; or if not quite silently, it emits but a silvery murmur of content. Past green banks and wooded braes, through daisied fields where cattle feed, through lonely moorlands heather-clad, now hidden in forest depths, now out again into the broad light of day, sweeping past villages, cottages, mansions, and castles, homes of serf and feudal lord in times long past and gone, with many a sweep and many a curve it reaches the wildest part of its course. Here it must rush, the rapids and go tumbling and roaring over the lynns, with a noise that may be heard for miles on a still night, with an impetuosity that shakes the earth for hundreds of yards on every side. "I wonder how old Tweed is getting on?" thinks our brave river as soon as it has cleared the rocks and rapids and pauses for breath. But the Clyde will soon be rewarded for its pluck and its daring, before long it will enter and sweep through the second city of the empire, the great metropolis of the west; but ere it does so, forgive it, if it lingers awhile at Bothwell, and if it seems sullen and sad as it dashes underneath the ancient bridge where, in days long gone, so fierce a fight took place that five hundred of the brave Covenanters lay dead on the field of battle. And pardon it when anon it makes a grand and splendid sweep round Bothwell Bank, as if loth to leave it. Yonder are the ruins of the ancient castle-- "Where once proud Murray held the festive board. ***** But where are now the festive board, The martial throng, and midnight song? Ah! ivy binds the mouldering walls, And ruin reigns in Bothwell's halls. O, deep and long have slumbered now The cares that knit the soldier's brow, The lovely grace, the manly power, In gilded hall and lady's bower; The tears that fell from beauty's eye, The broken heart, the bitter sigh, E'en deadly feuds have passed away, Still thou art lovely in decay." But see, our river has left both beauty and romance far behind it. It has entered the city--the city of merchant princes, the city of a thousand palaces; it bears itself more steadily now, for hath not Queen Commerce deigned to welcome it, and entrusted to it the floating wealth of half a nation? The river is in no hurry to leave this fair city. "My noble queen," it seems to say, "I am at your service. I come from the far-off hills to obey your high behests. My ambition is fulfilled, do with me as you will." But soon as the bustle and din of the city are led behind, soon as the grand old hills begin to appear on the right, and glimpses of green on the southern banks, lo! the tide comes up to welcome the noble river; and so the Clyde falls silently and imperceptibly into the mighty Atlantic. Yet scarcely is the lurid and smoky atmosphere that hangs pall-like over the town exchanged for the purer, clearer air beyond, hardly have the waters from the distant mountains begun to mingle with ocean's brine, ere the noise of ten thousand hammers seems to rend the very sky. Clang, clang, clang, clang--surely the ancient god Vulcan has reappeared, and taken up his abode by the banks of the river. Clang, clang, clang. See yonder is the _Iona_, churning the water into foam with her swift-revolving paddles. She has over a thousand passengers on board; they are bound for the Highlands, bent on pleasure. But this terrible noise and din of hammers--they will have three long miles of it before they can even converse in comfort. Clang, clang, clang--it is no music to them. Nay, but to many it is. It is music to the merchant prince, for yonder lordly ship, when she is launched from the slips, will sail far over the sea, and bring him back wealth from many a foreign shore. It is music to the naval officer; it tells him his ship is preparing, that ere long she will be ready for sea, that his white flag will be unfurled to the breeze, and that he will walk her decks--her proud commander. And it is music--merry music to the ears of two individuals at least, who are destined to play a very prominent part in this story. They are standing on the quarter-deck of a half-completed ship, while clang, clang, clang, go the hammers outside and inside. The younger of the two--he can be but little over twenty-three--with folded arms, is leaning carelessly against the bulwarks. Although there is a thoughtful look upon his handsome face, there is a smile as well, a smile of pleasure. He is taller by many inches than his companion, though by no means better "built," as sailors call it. This companion has a bold, brown, weather-beaten face, the lower half of it buried in a beard that is slightly tinged with grey; his eyes are clear and honest,--eyes that you can tell at a glance would not flinch to meet even death itself. He stands bold, erect, firm. Both are dressed well, but there is a marked difference in the style of their attire. The garments of the elder pronounce him at once just what he is,--one who has been "down to the sea in ships." The younger is dressed in the fashionable attire of an English gentleman. To say more were needless. A minute observer, however, might have noticed that there was a slight air of _neglige_ about him, if only in the unbuttoned coat or the faultless hat pushed back off the brow. "And so you tell me," said the younger, "that the work still goes bravely on?" "Ay, that it does," said his companion; "there have been rumours of a strike for higher wages among the men of other yards, but none, I am proud to say, in this." "And still," continued the former, "we pay but a fraction of wage more than other people, and then, of course, there is the extra weekly half-holiday." "There is something more, Ralph--forgive me if I call you Ralph, in memory of dear old times. You will always be a boy to me, and I could no more call you Mr Leigh than I could fly." Ralph grasped his companion by the hand; the action was but momentary, but it showed a deal of kindly feeling. "Always call me Ralph," he said, "always, McBain, always. When we are back once more at sea I'll call you captain, not till then. But what is the something more that makes our men so happy?" "Why, your kindly manner, Ralph boy. You mix with them, you talk with them, and take an interest in all their doings, and you positively seem to know every one of them by name. Mind you, that extra half-holiday isn't thrown away: they work all the harder, and they are happy. Why, listen to them now." He paused, and held up one hand. From bows to stern of the vessel there arose the sound of industry, incessant, continual; but high over the clang of hammers and the grating noise of saws there arose the voice of song. "They sing, you see," continued McBain; "but they don't put down their tools to sing. But here comes old Ap. What cheer, Mr Ap Ewen?" Those of my readers who knew Ap as he was two or three years ago--the little stiff figure-head of a fellow--would be surprised to see him now. [_Vide_ "Cruise of the Snowbird." Same Author and Publishers.] He is far more smartly dressed, he is more active looking, and more the man, had taken him in hand. He had caused him to study his trade of boat-builder in a far more scientific fashion, with the result that he was now, as our story opens, foreman over all the men employed on the ship in which Ralph Leigh stood. Indeed, McBain himself, as well as Ap, were good examples of what earnest study can effect. There is hardly anything which either boy or man cannot learn if he applies his mind thereto. "What cheer, Mr Ap Ewen?" said McBain. "More hands wanted, sir," said Ap, pulling out his snuff-box and taking a vigorous pinch. "More hands, Ap?" exclaimed McBain. "Ay, sir, ay; look you see," replied Ap, "you told me to hurry on, you see, and on Monday we shall want to begin the saloon bulkheads." "Bravo! Ap, bravo! come to my office to-night at seven, and we'll put that all straight." "Thank you, sir," said Ap, touching his hat and retiring. Ralph Leigh was owner of the splendid composite steamship that was now fast nearing her completion. She was not being built by contract, but privately, and McBain was head controller of every department, and for every department he had hired experts to carry on the work. The vessel was designed for special service, and therefore she must be a vessel of purity, a vessel of strength. There must not be a flaw in her, not a patch--all must be solid, all must be good. McBain had hired experts to examine everything ere it was purchased, but he made use of his own eyes and ears as well. The yard in which the ship was built was rented, and every bit of timber that entered it was tested first, whether it were oak or teak, pine, mahogany, or cedar; and the iron the same, and the bolts of copper and steel, so that Captain McBain's work was really no sinecure. "Well, then," said Ralph, "I've been over all the ship; I'm extremely pleased with the way things are going on, so if you have nothing more to say to me I'm off. By the way, do the people still flock down on Friday afternoons to look over the ship?" "They do," replied McBain; "and poor old Ap, I feel sorry for him. _He_ gets no Friday half-holiday; he won't let me stop, but he insists upon remaining himself to show the people round." "And the people enjoy it?" "They do. They marvel at our engines, as well they may. The gear, so simple and strong, that Ap and I invented for the shipping and unshipping of the rudder, and the easy method we have for elevating the screw out of the water and reducing the vessel to a sailing ship, they think little short of miraculous. They are astonished, too, at the extraordinary strength of build of the ship. Indeed, they are highly complimentary to us in their general admiration. But," continued McBain, laughing aloud, "it would amuse you to hear the remarks of some of these good, innocent souls. The two 12-pounder Dalgrens are universal favourites. They pat them as if they loved them. One girl last Friday said `they just looked for a' the warld like a couple o' big iron soda-water bottles.' They linger in the armoury; old Ap shows them our `express' rifles, and our `bone-crushers,' and the hardened and explosive bullets: then he takes them to the harpoon-room and shows them the harpoons, and the guns, and the electric apparatus, and all the other gear. They stare open-mouthed at the balloon-room and the sledge-lockers, but when they come to the door of the torpedo-chamber they simply hurry past with looks of awe. It is currently reported that we are bound for the very North Pole itself; I'm not sure we are not going to bring it back home with us. Anyhow, they say that as soon as we reach the ice, we are to fill our balloons, attaching one to each mast and funnel, and float away and away over the sea of ancient ice until we reach the Pole." Ralph laughed right merrily, and next minute he was over the side, with his face set townwards, trudging steadily on to the railway-station. It was only a trifle over three miles; there were cabs to be had in abundance, but what young man would ride if he had time to walk? Ralph was going home. Not to his fair English home far away in the south, for ever since, in the early spring-time--and now it was autumn-- the keel of the ship--_his_ ship--had been laid, Ralph had taken up his abode in a rustic cottage by the banks of a broad-bosomed lake in the Highlands of Argyll. Wild though the country was all around, it was but four miles from the railway, and this journey he used to accomplish twice or oftener every week, on the back of a daft-looking Welsh pony that he had bought for the purpose. Once on board the train, two hours took him to the city, and thence a brisk walk to the building-yard. He had watched, week after week, the gradual progress of his ship towards completion, with an interest and a joy that were quite boyish. He dearly loved to see the men at work, and listen to their cheerful voices as they laboured. Even the smell of the pine or cedar shavings was perfume to Ralph, and the way he used to climb about and wander over and through the ship, when she was little more than ribs, knees, and beams, was quite amusing. But he was nevertheless always happy to get back to his Highland home, his books, his boat, and his fishing-rod. She was a widow who owned the humble cottage, but she was kind and good, and Ralph's rooms, that looked away out over the lake, were always kept in a state of perfect cleanliness. The widow had one little daughter, a sweetly pretty and intelligent child, over whose fair wee head five summers had hardly rolled. Jeannie was her name, Jeannie Morrison, and she was an especial pet of Ralph's. She and the collie dog always came gleefully down the road to meet him on his return from the distant city, and you may be perfectly sure he always brought something nice in his pocket for the pair of them. When tired of reading, Ralph used to romp with wee Jeannie, or take her on his knee and tell her wonderful stories, which made her blue eyes grow bigger and more earnest than ever as she listened. In fact, Jeannie and Ralph were very fond of each other, indeed, and every time he went to a romantic little island out in the lake to fish, he took Jeannie in the stern of the boat, and the time passed doubly quick. "Oh, Mista Walph! Mista Walph!" cried Jeannie, bursting into Ralph's room one afternoon, clapping her hands with joy. "Mista McBain is coming; Capping McBain is coming." "Yes," said Mistress Morrison, entering behind her little daughter. "I'm sure you'll be delighted, sir, and so am I, for the captain hasn't been here for a month." Then Ralph got his hat, and, accompanied by the honest collie and his favourite Jeannie, went off down the road to meet McBain and bid him welcome to his Highland home. CHAPTER TWO. THE DINNER BY THE LAKE--RORY'S RUN ROUND AFRICA--THE RETURN OF THE WANDERERS. "When did you hear from Allan and Rory?" asked McBain that day, as they were seated at dinner in the little Highland cottage. Mrs Morrison had done her best to put something nice before them, and not without success either--so thought Ralph, and so, too, thought his guest. At all events, both of them did ample justice to that noble lake trout. Five pounds did he weigh, if he weighed an ounce, and as red was he in flesh as if he had been fed upon beet. The juicy joint of mountain mutton that followed was fit to grace the table of a prince--it was as fragrant and sweet as the blooming heather tops that had brought it to perfection. Nor was the cranberry tart to be despised. The berries of which it was composed had not come over the Atlantic in a barrel of questionable flavour--no, they had been culled on the dewy braelands that very morning by the fair young fingers of wee Jeannie Morrison herself. The widow did not forget to tell them that, and it did not detract from their enjoyment of the tart. For drink they had fragrant heather ale--home-brewed. "When did I hear from Allan and Rory?" said Ralph, repeating McBain's question; "from the first, not for weeks--he is a lazy boy; from the latter, only yesterday morning." "And what says Rory?" asked McBain. "Oh!" replied Ralph, "his letter is beautiful. It is twelve pages long. He is loud in his praises of the behaviour of the yacht, as a matter of course; but in no single sentence of this lengthy epistle does he refer definitely to the health or welfare of anybody whatever." "From which you infer--?" "From which I infer," said Ralph, "that everybody is as well as Rory himself--that my dear father is well, and Allan, and his mother, and his sister Helen Edith. He is a queer boy, Rory, and he encloses me a couple of columns from a Cape of Good Hope paper, in which he has written an epitome of the whole voyage, since they first started in May last. He calls his yarn `Right round Africa.' He commences at Suez, a place where even boy Rory, I should think, would fail to find much poetry and romance; but they must have enjoyed themselves at Alexandria, where Rory mounted on top of Pompey's Pillar, rode upon donkeys, and did all kinds of queer things. Well, they spent a week at Malta, with its streets of stairs, its bells, its priests, its convents, and its blood-oranges. Rory missed trees and shade, though; he says Malta is a capital place for lizards, or any animal, human or otherwise, that cares to spend the day basking on the top of a stone. He liked Tunis and Algiers better, and he quite enjoyed Teneriffe and Madeira. Then they crossed over to Sierra Leone, and he launches forth in praise of the awful forests--`primeval,' he calls them--and he says, in his own inimitable Irish way, that `they are dark, bedad, even in broad daylight.' Then all down the strange savage West Coast they sailed; they even visited Ashantee, but he doesn't say whether or not they called on his sable majesty the king. Of course they didn't miss looking in at Saint Helena, which he designates a paradise in mid-ocean, and not a lonely sea-girt rock, as old books call it. Ascension was their next place of resort. That is a rock, if you like, he says; but the sea-birds' eggs and the turtle are redeeming features. And so on to the Cape, and up the Mozambique, landing here and there at beautiful villages and towns, and in woods where they picked the oysters off the trees." [Oysters growing on trees seems a strange paradox. They do so grow, however. The mangrove-trees are washed by the tide, and to their tortuous roots oysters adhere, which may be gathered at low water.] "They really must be enjoying themselves," said McBain. "That they are," Ralph replied, pulling out Rory's letter. "Just listen how charmingly he writes of the Indian Ocean--nobody else save our own poetic Rory could so write:--`My dear, honest, unsophisticated Ralph,-- oh, you ought to have been with us as we rounded the Cape! That thunderstorm by night would have made even your somewhat torpid blood tingle in your veins. It was night, my Ralph; what little wind there was was dead off the iron-bound coast, but the billows were mountains high. Yes, this is no figure of speech. I have never seen such waves before, and mayhap never will again. I have never seen such lightning, and never heard such thunder. We remained all night on deck; no one had the slightest wish to go below. As I write our yacht is bounding over a blue and rippling sea; the low, wooded shore on our lee is sleeping in the warm sunlight, and everything around us breathes peace and quiet, and yet I have but to clap my hand across my eyes, and once again the whole scene rises up before me. I see the lightning quivering on the dark waves, and flashing incessantly around us, with intervals of the blackest darkness. I see the good yacht clinging by the bows to the crest of the waves, or plunging arrowlike into the watery ravines; I see the wet and slippery decks and cordage, and the awe-struck men around the bulwarks; and I see the faces of my friends as I saw them then-- Allan's knitted brow, his mother's looks of terror, and the pale features of poor Helen Edith. There are nights, Ralph, in the life of a sailor that he is but little likely ever to forget; that was one in mine that will cling to my memory till I cease to breathe.' "Don't you call that graphic?" said Ralph. "I do," replied McBain; "give us one other extract, and then lend me the letter. I'll take it to town with me, and you can have it again when you come up." "Well," said Ralph, "he describes Delagoa Bay and the scenery all round it so pleasantly, that if I hadn't an estate of my own in old England I would run off and take a farm there; right quaintly he talks of the curious Portuguese city of Mozambique; he is loud in the praises of the Comoro Islands, especially of Johanna, with its groves of citrons and limes, its feathery palm-trees, and its lofty mountains, tree-clad to the very summits; and he could write a lordly volume, he says, on the sultanic city of Zanzibar, where, it would seem, his adventures were not like angels' visits--few and far between. He has even fought with the wild Somali Indians, and assisted at a pitched battle between Arabs and a British cruiser. Then he describes his adventures in the woods and in the far-off hills and jungles, tiger-slaying; here is a serpent adventure; here is a butterfly hunt. Fancy butterflies as big as a lady's fan, and of plumage--yes, that is the very word Rory makes use of--`plumage' more bright than a noonday rainbow. "Here again is a description of the great Johanna hornet, two inches long, blue-black in colour, and so dreaded by the natives that they will not approach within twenty yards of the tree these terrible insects inhabit. Here is a beetle as big as a fish, and as strong apparently as a man, for he seizes hold of the top of the big pickle-jar into which Rory wants to introduce him, and obstinately refuses to be drowned in spirits; and here is a centipede as long as an adder, green, transparent, deadly; tarantulas as big as frogs, hairy and horrible; scorpions as big as crabs, green and dangerous as the centipedes themselves, that run from you, it is true, but threaten you as they run. "It is pleasant," continued Ralph, "to turn from his descriptions of the awful African creepie-creepies, and read of the enchanting beauty of some parts of the Zanzibar woods, the mighty trees mango-laden, the patches of tempting pine-apples, through which one can hardly wade, the curious breadfruit-trees, the pomolos, the citrons, the oranges, and the guavas, that look and taste, says Rory, `like strawberries smothered in cream.' He dilates, too, on the beauty of the wild flowers, and the brilliancy of the birds--birds that never sing, but flit sadly and silently from bough to bough in the golden sunlight. From the very centre of this beautiful wood Rory, with masterly pen, carries you right away to a lovely coral island in the Indian Ocean. "`Although many, many miles in extent,' he tells us, `although it is clothed in waving woods, although even the cocoa-nut palm waves high aloft its luscious fruit, it is not inhabited by man. Perhaps my boat was the first that ever rasped upon its shore of silvery sand, perhaps I was the first human being that ever lay under the shade of its mangrove-trees or bathed in the waters of its sunny lagune. My boat is a skiff--a tiny skiff; our yacht lies at anchor off Chak-Chak, and I have come all alone to visit this fairy-like island. I left the ship while the stars were still glittering in the heavens, long before the sun leapt up and turned the waters into blood; and now I have rested, bathed, and breakfasted, and am once more on board my indolent skiff. Here in this bay, even half a mile from the shore, you can see the bottom distinct and clear, for the water is as pellucid as crystal, and there isn't a ripple on the sea. And what do I gaze upon?--A submarine garden; and I gaze upon it like one enchanted, the while my boat-- impelled by the tide alone--glides slowly on and over it. Down yonder are flowers of every shape and hue, shrubs of every variety of foliage, coral bushes--pink, and white, and even black--rocks covered with medusae of the most brilliant colours an artist could imagine, and patches of white sand, strewn with living shells, each one more lovely to look upon than another. And every bush and shrub and flower is all a-quiver with a strange, indescribable motion, which greatly heightens their magical beauty; and why? Because every bush and shrub and flower is composed of a thousand living things. But the larger creatures that creep and crawl, or glide through this submarine garden are fantastic in the extreme. Monster crabs and crayfish, horny, abhorrent, and so strange in shape one cannot help thinking they were made to frighten each other; long transparent fishes, partly grayling partly eel; flat fishes that swim in all kinds of ridiculous ways; some fishes that seem all tail together, and others that are nothing but head. And among all the others a curious flat fish that swims on an even keel, and, by the very brilliancy of his colours and gorgeous array, seems to quite take the shine out of all the others. Both sides of this fish are painted alike; both sides of him are divided into five or six equal parts, and each part is of a different colour--one is a marigold yellow, another green, another brightest crimson, another steel grey, and so on. Him I dubbed the harlequin flounder. Yes, Ralph, Shakespeare was right when he said there are more things in heaven and earth than we dream of in our philosophy, and he might have added there are more things in ocean's depths, and stranger things, than any naturalist ever could imagine.' "You see," said Ralph, folding Rory's funny letter, and handing it to McBain, "that our friends are enjoying themselves; but you won't fail to notice Rory's closing sentence, in which he says that, in the very midst of all the brightness and beauty so lavishly spread around him, he is ofttimes longing to visit once more the strange, mysterious regions around the Pole." "And you have never written a word to him about our new ship and our purposed voyage?" inquired McBain. "Never a word," cried Ralph, laughing. "You see, I want to keep that a secret till the very last. Oh, fancy, McBain, how wild with glee both Rory and Allan will be when they find that the splendid ship is built and ready, and that we but wait for the return of spring to carry us once more away to the far north again." "I'd like to see Rory's face," said McBain, smiling, "when you break the news to him." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Just six weeks after this quiet little _tete-a-tete_ dinner on the bank of the Highland lake, a very important-looking and fussy little tug-boat come puff-puffing up the Clyde from seaward, towing in a large and pretty yacht; her sails were clewed, and her yards squared, and everything looked trig and trim, not only about her, but on board of her. The blue ensign floated proudly from her staff; her crew were dressed in true yachting rig, and her decks were white as the driven snow. An elderly lady with snow-white hair paced slowly up and down the quarter-deck, leaning lightly on the arm of a tall and gentlemanly man of mature age. In a lounge chair right aft, and abreast of the binnacle, a fair young girl was reclining, book in lap, but not reading; she was engaged in pleasant conversation with a youth who sat on a camp-stool not far off, while another who leant upon the taffrail gazing shorewards frequently turned towards them, to put in his oar with a word or two. He was taller than the former and apparently a year or two older. He was probably more manly in appearance and build, but certainly not better-looking. Both were tanned with the tropical sun, and both were dressed alike in a kind of sailor uniform of navy blue. "Yes, Rory," the girl was saying, "I must confess that I do feel glad to get back again to Scotland, much though I have enjoyed our cruise and all our strange adventures around that wild and beautiful coast. Oh! I do not wonder at your being fond of the sea. If I were a man I feel sure I would be a sailor." "And here we are," replied Rory, with pleasure beaming from his bright, laughing eyes, "within three miles of Glasgow. And, you know, Ralph is here; how delighted he will be to meet us all again! I really wonder he did not come with us." But Ralph was very much nearer to them at that moment than they had any idea of. "Helen Edith," cried Allan at that moment, "and you, Rory, do come and have a look at this beautiful steam barque on the stocks." Both Helen and Rory were by his side in a moment. "She is a beauty indeed," said Rory, enthusiastically. "There are lines for you! There is shape! Fancy that craft in the water! Look at the beautiful rake that even her funnel has! But is she a man-o'-war, I wonder?" "More like a despatch boat, I should say," said Allan. "Look, she is pierced for guns." Allan was right about the guns, for just as he spoke a balloon-shaped cloud of white smoke rose slowly up from her side, and almost simultaneously the roar of a big gun came over the water and died away in a hundred echoes among the rocks and hills. Another and another followed in slow and measured succession, until they had counted fourteen. "It is saluting they are," said Allan; "but they surely cannot be saluting us; and yet there is no other craft of any consequence coming up the water." "But I feel sure," said Helen, "it is some one bidding us welcome. And see, they dip the flag." The yacht's flag was now dipped in return, but still the mystery remained unravelled. But it does not remain so long. For see, the yacht is now almost abreast of the new ship, and the decks of the latter are crowded with wildly cheering men. Ay, and yonder, beside the flagstaff, is Ralph himself, with McBain by his side, waving their hats in the air. The good people on the yacht are for a minute rendered dumb with astonishment, but only for a minute; then the air is rent with their shouts as they give back cheer for cheer. "Och! deed in troth," cried Rory, losing all control of his English accent, "it's myself that is bothered entoirely. Is it my head or my heels that I'm standing on? for never a morsel of me knows! Is it dreaming I am? Allan, boy, can't you tell me? Just look at the name on the stern of the beautiful craft." Allan himself was dumb with astonishment to behold, in broad letters of gold the words, "The Arrandoon." CHAPTER THREE. RETROSPECTION--RALPH'S HOME IN ENGLAND--A HEARTY IF NOT POETIC WELCOME. Many of my readers have met with the heroes of this tale before [in the "Cruise of the Snowbird," by the same Author and Publishers], but doubtless some have not; and as it is always well to know at least a little of the _dramatis personae_ of a story beforehand, the many must in the present instance give place to the few. They must either, therefore, listen politely to a little epitomised repetition, or sit quietly aside with their fingers in their ears for the space of five minutes. But, levity apart, I shall be as brief as brevity itself. Which of our heroes shall we start with first? Allan? Yes, simply because his initial letter stands first on the alphabetic list. Allan McGregor is a worthy Scot. We met him for the first time several years prior to the date of this tale; met him in the company of his foster-father, met him in a wildly picturesque Highland glen, called Glentruim, at the castle of Arrandoon. It was midwinter; the young man's southern friends, Ralph Leigh and Rory Elphinston, were coming to see him and live with him for a time, and right welcomely were they received, all the more in that they had narrowly escaped losing their lives in the snow. Allan was--and so remains--the chieftain of his clan, his father having died years before, sword in hand, on a bloodstained redoubt in India, leaving to his only son's care an encumbered estate, a mother and one daughter, Edith, or Helen Edith. The young chief was poor and proud, but he dearly loved his widowed mother, his beautiful sister, the romantic old castle, and the glen that had reared him from his boyhood; and how he wished and longed to be able to better the position of the former and the condition of the latter, none but he could tell or say. Allan was brave--his clan is proverbially so; his soul was deeply imbued with the spirit of religion, and, it must be added, just slightly tinged with superstition--a superstition born of the mountain mists and the stern, romantic scenery, where he had lived for the greater part of his lifetime. Ralph Leigh was the son of a once wealthy baronet, and had just finished his education. Rory Elphinston was an orphan, who owned estates in the west of Ireland, from which property, however, he seldom realised the rents. Like Ralph, Rory was fond of adventure, and ready and willing to do anything honest and worthy to earn that needful dross called gold; and when, one evening, McBain hinted at the wealth that lay ungathered in the inhospitable lands around the Pole, and of the many wild adventures to be met with in those regions, the relation fired the youthful blood of the trio. The boys clubbed together, as most boys might, and bought a small yacht. Small as she was, however, in her, under the able tuition of McBain, they were taught seamanship and discipline, and they became enamoured of the sea and longed to possess a larger ship, in which they might go in quest of adventures in far-off foreign lands. Now Ralph's father, poor though he was, was very fond--and perhaps even a little proud--of his son; he would, therefore, not refuse him anything in reason he could afford. He rejoiced to see him happy. The good yacht _Snowbird_ was therefore bought, and in it our brave boys sailed away to the far north. The narrative of their adventures by sea and land is duly recorded in "The Cruise of the Snowbird." You may seek for them there if you wish to read of them; if not, there is little harm done. The _Snowbird_ returned at last, if not really rich, yet with what sailors call an excellent general cargo, quite sufficient for each of them to realise a tolerably large sum of money from. Every shilling of his share Allan had expended in improving the glen, with its cottages and sheep farms, and the dear old castle itself. But, meanwhile, Ralph had fallen into a large fortune, and found himself possessed of rich estates, and a splendid old mansion in --shire, England. He might have married now, and settled quietly down for life as a country squire, enjoying to the full all the pleasures and luxuries that health combined with wealth are capable of bringing to their possessors. Ah! but then the spirit of the rover had entered into him; he had learned to love adventure for the sake of itself, and to love a life on the ocean wave. Loving a life on the ocean wave, he might, had he so chosen, have had a very pleasant cruise with his friends, had he gone with them in their run round Africa, alluded to in the last chapter of this tale; but, as would be gleaned from the conversation recorded therein, he did not so choose. He and McBain had their little secret, which they kept well. They were determined to turn explorers, so Ralph built a ship, built a noble ship--built it without acquainting any one what service it was intended for, and even his dear friends Ralph and Rory were to know nothing about her until they, returned from their cruise in the tropics. Ralph meant it all as a kindly and a glad surprise to them, for well did he know how their hearts would bound with joy at the very thoughts of sailing once more in quest of adventures. Nor, as the sequel will show, was he in one whit disappointed. In character, disposition, and appearance my four principal heroes may be thus summed up--I have already told you about Allan's:-- McBain--Captain McBain--was a hardy, fear-nothing, daring man, his mind imbued with a sense of duty and with piety, both of which he had learned at the maternal knee. Ralph was a young Englishman in every sense of the word--tall, broad, shapely, somewhat slow in action, with difficulty aroused, but a very lion when he did march out of his den intent on a purpose. Somewhat more youthful was Rory, smaller as to person, poetic as to temperament, fond of the beautiful, an artist and a musician. And if you were to ask me, "Was he, too, brave?" I should answer, "Are not poets and Irishmen always brave? Does not Sir Walter Scott tell us that they laugh in their ranks as they go forward to battle--that they-- "Move to death with military glee?" Sir Walter, I may also remind those who live in the land o' cakes, says in the same poem: "But ne'er in battlefield throbbed heart more brave Than that which beats beneath the Scottish plaid." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ So now we are back again at the place where we left off in the last chapter, with the yacht being towed slowly past good Ralph's ship on the stocks, and lusty cheers being exchanged from one vessel to the other. Rory and Allan exchanged glances. The faces of each were at that moment a study for a physiognomist, but the uppermost feeling visible in either was one of astonishment--not blank astonishment, mind you, for there was something in the eyes of each, and in the smile that flickered round their lips, that would have told you in a moment that Ralph's nicely-kept secret was a secret no more. Rory, as usual with natives of green Erin, was the first to break the silence. "Depend upon it," he said, nodding his head mirthfully, "it is all some mighty fine joke of Ralph's, and he means giving us a pleasant surprise." "The same thought struck me," replied Allan, "as soon as I clapped eyes on the word `_Arrandoon_.'" "Oh?" chimed in Helen Edith, with her sweet, musical voice; "that is the reason your friend would not come with us on our delightful voyage." "That _was_ the reason," said Allan, emphatically, "because he was building a ship of his own, the sly dog." "But wherever do you think he means cruising to at all, at all?" added Rory, with puzzled face. "That's what I should like to know," said Allan. And this thought occupied their minds all the way up to Glasgow; but once there, and the ladies seen safely to their hotels, Rory and Allan sped off without delay to visit this big, mysterious yacht; and they had not been half an hour on board ere, as Rory expressed it, in language more forcible than elegant. "The secret was out entirely, the cat flew out of the bag, and every drop of milk got out of the cocoa-nut." Poor Ralph was delighted at the return of his friends from their long cruise; and now that he had their company he had no longer any wish or desire to remain in the vicinity of the _Arrandoon_; so giving up his pretty Highland cottage, bidding a kindly adieu to the widow, kissing wee weeping Jeannie, and promising to be sure to return some day, the trio hurried them southwards, to spend most of their time at Ralph's pleasant home, until the ship should be ready to launch. Leigh Hall was a lordly mansion, possessing no very great pretensions to architectural splendour, but beautifully situated among its woods and parks on a high braeland that overlooked one of England's fairest lakes. For miles you approached the house from behind by a road which, with many a devious turning, wound through a rich but rolling country. Past many a rural hamlet; past many a picturesque cottage, their gables and fronts charmingly painted and tinted by the hands of the magic artist Time; past stately farms, where sleek cattle seemed to low kindly welcome to our heroes as their carriage came rolling onwards, with here a wood and there a field, and yonder a great stretch of common where cows waded shoulder deep in ferns and furze, daintily cropping the green and tender tops of the trailing bramble; and here a broad, rushy moor, on which flocks of snowy geese wandered. Alluding to the latter, says Rory, "Don't these geese come out prettily against the patches of green grass, and how soft and easy it must be for the feet of them!" "They're preparing for Christmas," said Ralph. Poet Rory gave him a look--one of Rory's looks. "There's never a bit of poetry nor romance in the soul of you," he said. "Except the romance and poetry of a well-spread table," said Allan, laughing. "And, 'deed, indeed," replied Rory, "there is little to choose betwixt the pair of you; so what can I do but be sorry for you both?" It was on a beautiful autumn afternoon that the three young men were now approaching the manor of Leigh. The trees that had been once of a tender green, whose leaves in the gentle breath of spring had rustled with a kind of silken _frou-frou_, were green now only when the sun shone upon them; all the rest was black by contrast. Feathery seedlings floated here and there on the breeze that blew from the north. This breeze went rushing through the woods with a sound that made Rory, at all events, think of waves breaking in mid-ocean, and even the fields of ripe and waving grain had, to his mind, a strange resemblance to the sea. The rooks that floated high in air seemed to glory in the wind, for they screamed with delight, baffled though at times they were--taken aback you might say, and hurled yards out of their course. It was only a plain farmer's autumn wind after all, but it made these youthful sailors think of something else than baffled, rooks and fields of ripening grain. Now up through a dark oak copse, and they come all at once to one of the old park gates. Grey is it with very age, and so is the quaintly-gabled lodge; its stones are crumbling to pieces. And well suited for such a dwelling is the bent but kindly-faced old crone who totters out on her staff to open the ponderous gates. She nods and smiles a welcome, to which bows and smiles are returned, and the carriage rolls on. A great square old house; they come to it at last, so big and square that it did not even look tall at a distance. They drove up to what really appeared the back of this mansion, with its stairs and pillars and verandahs, the door opening from which led into the hall proper, which ran straight through the manor, and opened by other doors on to broad green terraces, with ribbon gardens and fountains, and then the braelike park, with its ancient trees, and so on, downwards to the beautiful lake, with the hills beyond. Right respectfully and loyally was Ralph greeted by his servants and retainers. All this may be imagined better than I can describe it. While Rory was marching through the long line of servants I believe he felt just a little awed; and if, as soon as they found themselves alone, Ralph had addressed himself to his guests in some such speech as follows, he would not have been very much astonished. If Ralph had said, "Welcome, Ronald Elphinston, and you, my lord of Arrandoon, to the ancient home of the Leighs!" Rory would have thought it quite in keeping with the poetry of the place. Ralph did nothing of the kind, however; he pitched his hat and gloves rather unceremoniously on a chair, and said, all in one breath and one tone of voice, "Now, boys, here we are at last; I'm sure you'll make yourselves at home. We'll have fine times for a few weeks, anyhow. Would you like to wash your hands?" Well, if it was not a very poetic welcome, it was a very hearty one nevertheless. CHAPTER FOUR. LIFE AT LEIGH HALL--THE LAUNCH OF THE "ARRANDOON"--TRIAL TRIPS--A ROW AND A FIGHT--"FREEZING POWDERS." As the owner of a large house, the head of a county family, and a landed proprietor, there were many duties devolved upon Ralph Leigh when at home, from which he never for a moment thought of shrinking. Though a great part of the day was spent in shooting, rowing, or fishing, the mornings were never his own, nor the evenings either. He had a knack of giving nice dinners, and young though he was, he also possessed the happy knack of making all his guests feel perfectly at home, so that when carriages drew round, and it was time to start for their various homes, everybody was astonished at the speed with which the evening had sped away; and that was proof positive it had passed most pleasantly. They kept early hours at Leigh Hall, and so they did at every house all over the quiet, romantic country, and no doubt they were all the better for it, and all the more healthy. But our heroes must be forgiven, if, after the last guest had gone, after the lights were out in the banqueting hall, and the doors closed for the night, they assembled in a cosy, fire-brightened room upstairs, all by their three selves, for a quiet confab and talk, a little exchange of ideas, a little conversation about the days o' auld lang syne, and their hopes of adventures in the far north, whither they were so soon to sail. About once a fortnight, McBain, whom we may as well call Captain McBain now--Captain McBain, of the steam yacht _Arrandoon_--used to run down to Leigh Hall to report progress; the "social hour," as Rory called it, was then doubly dear to them all, and I'm not at all sure that they did not upon these occasions steal half an hour at least from midnight. You see they were very happy; they were happy with the happiness of anticipation. They never dreamt of failure in the expedition on which they were about to embark. "In the lexicon of youth, which fate reserves For a great manhood, there is no such word as--fail." True, but had they known the dangers they were to encounter, the trials they would have to come through, brave as they undoubtedly were, their hearts might have throbbed less joyfully. They had, however, the most perfect confidence in each other, just as brothers might have. The friendship, begun long ago between them, cemented, during the cruise of the _Snowbird_, in many an hour of difficulty and danger--for had they not come through fire and death together?--was strengthened during their residence at Leigh Hall. Indeed, it would not be too much to say that their affection for each other was brotherly to a degree. Dissimilar in character in many ways they were, but this same dissimilarity seemed but to increase their mutual regard and esteem. Faults each one of them had--who on this earth has not?--and each could see those of the other, if he did not always notice his own. Says Burns-- "O would some power the giftie gie us, To see ourselves as others see us, It would from mony a fautie free us." Probably, individually they did not forget these lines, and so the one was most careful in guarding against anything that might hurt the feelings of the others. Is not this true friendship? But as to what is called "chaff," they had all learned long ago to be proof against that--I'm not sure they did not even like it; Rory did, I know; he said so one day; and on Allan asking him his reason, "My reason is it?" says Rory; "sure enough, boys, chaffing metres with laughing; where you find the chaff you find the laugh, and laughing is better to a man than cod-liver oil. And that's my reason!" And Rory's romantic sayings and doings were oftentimes the subject of a considerable deal of chaff and fun; so, too, was what the young Irishman was pleased to call Ralph's English "stolidity" and Allan's Scottish fire and intensity of patriotism; but never did the blood of one of our boys get hot, never did their lips tighten in anger or their cheeks pale with vexation. Just on one occasion--which I now record lest I forget it--was boy Rory, as he was still affectionately called, very nearly losing his temper under a rattling fire of chaff from Allan and Ralph, who were in extra good spirits. It happened months after they had sailed in the _Arrandoon_. All at once that day Rory grew suddenly quiet, and the smile that still remained on his face was only round the lips, and didn't ripple round the eyes. It was a sad kind of a smile; then he jumped up and ran away from the table. "We've offended him," said Allan, looking quite serious. "I hope not," said Ralph, growing serious in turn. "I'll go and look him up;" this from Allan. "No, that you won't!" put in McBain. "Leave boy Rory alone; he'll come to presently." Meanwhile, ridiculous as it may seem, Rory had sped away forward to the dispensary, where he found the doctor. "Doctor, dear," cried Rory, "give me a blue pill at once--a couple of them, if you like, for sure it isn't well I am!" "Oh!" said the surgeon, "liver a bit out of order, eh?" "Liver!" cried Rory; "I know by the nasty temper that's on me that there isn't a bit of liver left in me worth mentioning! There now, give me the pills." The doctor laughed, but Rory had his bolus; then he came aft again, smiling, confessing to his comrades what a ninny he had very nearly been making of himself. Just like Rory! The bearing of our young heroes towards Captain McBain was invariably respectful and affectionate; they both loved and admired him, and, indeed, he was worthy of all their esteem. In wealth there is power, but in wisdom worth, and Ralph, Rory, and Allan felt this truth if they never expressed it. McBain had really raised himself to the position he now held; he was a living proof that-- "Whate'er a man dares he can do." I will not deny, however that McBain possessed a little genius to begin with; but here is old Ap, once but a poor boat-builder, with never a spark of genius in him, superintending the construction of a noble ship. In him we have an example of industry and perseverance pure and simple. The _Arrandoon_ made speedy progress on the stocks, and the anxious day was near at hand when she would leave her native timbers, and slide gracefully and auspiciously it was to be hoped, into the smooth waters of the Clyde. That day came at last, and with it came thousands to view the launch. With it came Mrs McGregor and Allan's sister; and the latter was to break the tiny phial of wine and name the ship! On the platform beneath, and closely adjoining the bows of the _Arrandoon_, were numerous gentlemen and ladies; conspicuous among the former was Rory. He was full of earnest and pleasant excitement. Conspicuous among the latter was Helen Edith. She certainly never looked more lovely than she did now. The ceremony she was about to engage in, in which, indeed, she was chief actress, was just a trifle too much for her delicate nerves, and as she stood, bouquet in hand, with a slight flush on her cheek and a sparkle in her eye, with head slightly bent, she looked like a bride at the altar. Rory stood near her; perhaps his vicinity comforted her, as did his remarks, to which, however, he met with but little response. I am beginning to think that Rory loved this sweet child; if he did it was a love that was purely Platonic, and it needed be none the less sincere for all that. As for Helen Edith--but hark! A gun rings out from the deck of the _Arrandoon_ causing every window in the vicinity to rattle again, and the steeples to nod. The gallant ship moves off down the slip slowly--slowly--slowly, yes, slowly but steadily, swerving neither to starboard nor larboard, quicker now faster still. Will she float? Our heroes' hearts stand still. McBain is pale and breathes not. She slows, she almost stops, now she is over the hitch and on again, on--on--and on--and into the water. Hurrah! You should have heard that cheer, and Rory shakes hands with Helen Edith, and compliments her, and positively there are tears in the foolish boy's eyes. There was a deal of hand-shaking, I can assure you, after the launch, and a deal of joy expressed, and if the truth be told, more than one prayer breathed for the future safety of the _Arrandoon_ and her gallant crew. There was lunch after launch in the saloon of the new yacht, at which Allan's mother presided with the same quiet dignity she was wont to maintain at the castle that gave the ship its name. McBain made a speech, and a good one, too, after Ralph had spoken a few words. Poor Ralph! speaking was certainly not his strong point. But there was no hesitancy about McBain, and no nervousness either, and during its delivery he stood bolt upright in his place, as straight as an arrow, and his words were manly and straightforward. Allan felt proud of his foster-father. But Rory came next. For once in his life he hadn't the slightest intention of making anybody laugh. But because he tried not to, he did; and when Irish bull after Irish bull came rattling out, "Och!" thinks Rory to himself, "seriousness isn't my forte after all;" then he simply gave himself rein, and expressed himself so comically that there was not a dry eye in the room, for tears come with laughing as well as weeping. There was a deal to be done to the _Arrandoon_--in her, on her, and around her--after she was launched, before she was ready; but it would serve no good purpose and only waste time to describe her completion, for we long to be "steam up" and away to sea _en route_ for the starry north. She was a gallant sight, the _Arrandoon_, as she stood away out to sea, past the rocky shores of Bute, bound south on her trial trip by the measured mile. Fifteen hundred tons burden was she, with tall and tapering masts: lower, main, topgallant, and royal; not one higher; no star-gazers, sky-scrapers, or moon-rakers; she wouldn't have to rake much for the wind in the stormy seas they were going to. Then there was the funnel, such a funnel as a man with an eye in his head likes to see, not a mere pipe of a thing, but a great wide armful of a funnel, with the tiniest bit of rake on it; so too had the masts, though the _Arrandoon_ did not look half so saucy as the _Snowbird_. The _Arrandoon_ had more solidity about her, and more soberness and staidness, as became her--a ship about to be pitted against dangers unknown. Her figure-head was the bust of a fair and beautiful girl. That day, on her trial trip, the ladies were on board; and Rory made this remark to Helen Edith: "The fair image on our bows, Helen, will soon be gazing wistfully north." "Ah! you seem to long for that," said Helen, "but," she added archly, "mamma and I look forward to the time when she will be gazing just as wistfully south again." Rory laughed, and the conversation assumed a livelier tone. Steamers, I always think, are very similar in one way to colts, they require a certain amount of breaking in, they seldom do well on their trial trip. The _Arrandoon_ was no exception; she promised well at first, and fulfilled that promise for twenty good miles and two; then she intimated to the engineers in charge that she had had enough of it. Well, this was a good opportunity of trying her sailing qualities, and in these she exceeded all expectations. McBain rubbed his hands with delight, for no yacht at Cowes ever sailed more close to the wind, came round on shorter length, or made more knots an hour. He promised himself a treat, and that treat was to run out some day with her in half a gale of wind, when there were no ladies on board. He would then see what the _Arrandoon_ could do under sail, and what she couldn't. He did this; and the very next day after he came back he made the journey to Leigh Hall, and stopped there for a whole week. That was proof enough that the captain was pleased with his ship. Early in the month of the succeeding February, the _Arrandoon_ lay at the Broomielaw, with the blue-peter unfurled, steam up, all hands on board, and even the pilot. That very morning they were to begin their adventurous voyage. Ralph, Allan, and Rory would be picked up at Oban, and the vessel now only awaited the arrival of McBain before casting off and dropping down stream. The Broomielaw didn't look pretty that morning, nor very comfortable. Although the hills all around Glasgow were white with snow, over the city itself hung the smoke like a murky pall. There was mud under feet, and a Scotch mist held possession of the air. Here was nothing cheering to look at, slop-shops and pawn-shops, and Jack-frequented dram-shops, bales of wet merchandise on the quay, and eave-dripping dock-houses; nor were the people pleasant to be among; the only human beings that did seem to enjoy themselves were the ragged urchins who had taken shelter in the empty barrels that lined the back of the warehouses; they had shelter, and sugar to eat. McBain thought he wouldn't be sorry when he was safely round the Mull of Cantyre. "Come on, Jack," cried one of these tiny gutter-snipes, rushing out of his tub; "come on, here's a row." There was a row; apparently a fight was going on, for a ring had formed a little way down the street; and simply out of curiosity McBain went to have a peep over the shoulders of the mob. As usual, the policemen were very busy in some other part of the street. Only a poor little itinerant nigger boy lying on the ground, being savagely kicked by a burly and half-drunken street porter. "Oh!" the little fellow was shrieking; "what for you kickee my shins so? Oh!" McBain entered the ring in a very businesslike fashion indeed; he begged for room; he told the mob he meant thrashing the ruffian if he did not apologise to the poor lad. Then he intimated as much to the ruffian himself. "Come on," was the defiant reply, as the fellow threw himself into a fighting attitude. "Man, your mither'll no ken ye when you gang home the nicht." "We'll see," said McBain, quietly. For the next three minutes this ruffianly porter's movements were confined to a series of beautiful falls, that would have brought down the house in a circus. When he rose the last time it was merely to assume a sitting position, "Gie us your hand," he said to McBain. "You're the first chiel that ever dang Jock the Wraggler. I admire ye, man--I admire ye." "Come with me, my little fellow," said McBain to the nigger boy; and he took him kindly by the hand. Meanwhile a woman who had been standing by placed a curious-looking bundle in the lad's hand, and bade him be a good boy, and keep out of Jock the Wraggler's way next time. "I'll see you a little way home, Jim," continued McBain, when they were clear of the crowd. "Jim is what they call you, isn't it?" "Jim," said the blackamoor, "is what dey are good enough to call me. But, sah, Jim has no home." "And where do you sleep at night, Jim?" "Anywhere, sah. Jim ain't pertikler; some time it is a sugar barrel, an oder time a door-step." A low, sneering laugh was at this moment heard from the mysterious bundle Jim carried. McBain started. "Don't be afeared, sah," said Jim; "it's only de cockatoo, sah!" "Have you any money, Jim?" asked McBain. "Only de cockatoo, sah," replied Jim; "but la!" he added, "I'se a puffuk gemlam (gentleman), sah--I'se got a heart as high as de steeple, sah!" "Well, Jim," said McBain, laughing, "would you like to sail in a big ship with me, and--and--black my boots?" "Golly! yes, sah; dat would suit Jim all to nuffin." "But suppose, Jim, we went far away--as far as the North Pole?" "Don't care, sah," said Jim, emphatically; "der never was a pole yet as Jim couldn't climb." "Have you a surname, Jim?" "No, sah," replied poor Jim; "I'se got no belongings but de cockatoo." "I mean, Jim, have you a second name?" "La! no, sir," said Jim; "one name plenty good enough for a nigga boy. Only--yes now I 'members, in de ship dat bring me from Sierra Leone last summer de cap'n never call me nuffin else but Freezin' Powders." McBain did not take long to make up his mind about anything; he determined to take this strange boy with him, so he took him to a shop and bought him a cage for the cockatoo, and then the two marched on board together, talking away as if they had known each other for years. Freezing Powders was sent below to be washed and dressed and made decent. The ship was passing Inellan when he came on deck again. Jim was thunderstruck; he had never seen snow before. "La! sah," he cried, pointing with outstretched arm towards the hills; "look, sah, look; dey never like dat before. De Great Massa has been and painted dem all white." CHAPTER FIVE. DANGER ON THE DEEP--A FOREST OF WATERSPOUTS--THE "ARRANDOON" IS SWAMPED--THE WARNING. "La la lay lee-ah, lay la le lo-O" So went the song on deck--a song without words, short, and interrupted at every bar, as the men hauled cheerily on tack and sheet. Such a thing would not be allowed for a single moment on board a British man-o'-war, as the watch singing while they obeyed the orders of the bo'sun's pipe, taking in sail, squaring yards, or doing any other duty required of them. And yet, with all due respect for my own flag, methinks there are times when, as practised in merchant or passenger ships, that strange, weird, wordless song is not at all an unpleasant sound to listen to. By night, for instance, after you have turned in to your little narrow bed--the cradle of the deep, in which you are nightly rocked--to hear it rising and falling, and ending in long-drawn cadence, gives one an indescribable feeling of peace and security. Your bark is all alone--so your thoughts may run--on a wild world of waters. There may not be another ship within hundreds of miles; the wind may be rising or the wind may be falling--what do you care? What need you care? There are watchful eyes on deck, there are good men and true overhead, and they seem to sing your cradle hymn, "La la lee ah," and before it is done you are wrapt in that sweetest, that dreamless slumber that landsmen seldom know. There was one man at least in every watch on board the _Arrandoon_, who usually led the song that accompanied the hauling on a rope, with a sweet, clear tenor voice; you could not have been angry with these men had you been twenty times a man-o'-war's man. It was about an hour after breakfast, and our boys were lazing below. For some time previous to the working song, there had been perfect silence on board--a silence broken only now and then by a short word of command, a footstep on deck, or the ominous flapping of the canvas aloft, as it shivered for a moment, then filled and swelled out again. Had you been down below, one sign alone would have told you that something was going to happen--that some change was about to take place. It was this: when everything is going on all right, you hear the almost constant tramp, tramp of the officer of the watch up and down the quarter-deck, but this was absent now, and you would have known without seeing him that he was standing, probably, by the binnacle, his eyes now bent aloft, and now sweeping the horizon, and now and then glancing at the compass. Then came a word or two of command, given in a quiet, ordinary tone of voice--there was no occasion to howl on this particular morning. And after this a rush of feet, and next the song, and the bo'sun's pipe. Thus:-- _Song_.--"La la lee ah, lay la le lo-O." _Spoken_.--"Hoy!" _Boatswain's Pipe_.--"Whee-e, weet weet weet, wee-e." _Song_.--"La la lee ah, lay la le lo-O." _Spoken_.--"Belay!" _Boatswain's Pipe_.--"Wee wee weet weet weet weet, wee-e." _Spoken_.--"Now lads." _Song_.--"Lo ah o ee." _Pipe_.--"Weet weet!" Then a hurry-scurrying away forward, a trampling of feet enough to awaken Rip van Winkle, then the bo'sun's pipe _encore_. Allan straightens his back in his easy-chair--he has been bending over the table, reading the "Noctes Ambrosianae"--straightens his back, stretches his arms, and says "Heigho!" Rory is busy arranging some beautiful transparent specimens of animalculae, not bigger than midges, on a piece of black cardboard; he had caught them overnight in a gauze net dragged astern. He doesn't look up. Ralph is lying "tandem" on a sofa, reading "Ivanhoe." He won't take his eyes off the book, nor move as much as one drowsy eyelid, but he manages to say,-- "What are they about on deck, Rory?" "Don't know even a tiny bit," says Rory. "Rory," continues Ralph, in a slightly louder key; "you're a young man; run up and see." "Rory won't then," says Rory, intent on his work; "fag for yourself, my lazy boy." "Oh!" says Ralph, "won't you have your ears pulled when I do get up!" "Ha! ha!" laughed Rory, "you'll have forgotten all about it long before then." "Freezing Powders!" roared Ralph. The bright-faced though bullet-headed nigger boy introduced in last chapter appeared instantly. He was dressed in white flannel, braided with blue. Had he been a sprite, or a djin, he couldn't have popped up with more startling rapidity. Truth is, the young rascal had been asleep under the table. "Off on deck with you, Freezing Powders, and see what's up." Freezing Powders was down again in a moment. "Take in all sail, sah! and square de yard; no wind, sah! nebber a puff." It was just as Freezing Powders said, but there was noise enough presently, and puffing too, for steam was got up, and the great screw was churning the waters of the dark northern ocean into creamish foam, as the vessel went steadily ahead at about ten knots an hour. There was no occasion to hurry. When Rory and Allan went on deck, they found the captain in consultation with the mates, Mitchell and Stevenson. "I must admit," McBain was remarking, "that I can't make it out at all." "No more can we," said Stevenson with a puzzled smile. "The wind has failed us all at once, and the sea gone down, and the glass seems to have taken leave of its senses entirely. It is up one moment high enough for anything, and down the next to 28 degrees. There, just look at that sea and look at that sky." There was certainly something most appalling in the appearance of both. The ocean was calm and unruffled as glass, with only a long low heave on it; not a ripple on it big enough to swamp a fly; but over it all a strange, glassy lustre that--so you would have thought--could have been skimmed off. The sky was one mass of dark purple-black clouds in masses. It seemed no distance overhead, and the horizon looked hardly a mile away on either side. Only in the north it was one unbroken bluish black, as dark seemingly as night, from the midst of which every now and then, and every here and there, would come quickly a little puff of cloud of a lightish grey colour, as if a gun had been fired. Only there was no sound. There was something awe-inspiring in the strange, ominous look of sea and sky, and in the silence broken only by the grind and gride of screw and engine. "No," said McBain, "I don't know what we are going to have. Perhaps a tornado. Anyhow, Mr Stevenson, let us be ready. Get down topgallant masts, it will be a bit of exercise for the men; let us have all the steam we can command, and--" "Batten down, sir?" "Yes, Mr Stevenson, batten down, and lash the boats inboard." The good ship _Arrandoon_ was at the time of which I write about fifty miles south of the Faroes, and a long way to the east. The weather had been dark and somewhat gloomy, from the very time they lost sight of the snow-clad hills around Oban, but it now seemed to culminate in a darkness that could be felt. The men were well drilled on board this steam yacht. McBain delighted to have them smart, and it was with surprising celerity that the topgallant masts were lowered, the hatches battened down, and the good ship prepared for any emergency. None too soon; the darkness grew more intense, especially did the clouds look threatening ahead of them. And now here and there all round them the sea began to get ruffled with small whirlwinds, that sent the water wheeling round and round like miniature maelstroms, and raised it up into cones in the centre. "How is the glass now, Mr Stevenson?" asked McBain. "Stands very low, sir," was the reply, "but keeps steadily down." "All right," said McBain; "now get two guns loaded with ball cartridge; have no more hands on deck than we want. No idlers, d'ye hear?" "Ay, ay, sir." "Send Magnus Bolt here." "Now, Magnus, old man," continued McBain, "d'ye mind the time, some years ago in the _Snowbird_, when you rid us of that troublesome pirate?" "Ay, that I do right well, sir," said this little old weasened specimen of humanity, rubbing his hands with delight. "It were a fine shot that. He! he! he! Mercy on us, to see his masts and sails come toppling down, sir,--he! he! he!" "Well, I want you again, Magnus; I'd rather trust to your old eye in an emergency than to any in the ship." "But where is the foe, sir?" "Look ahead, Magnus." Magnus did as he was told; it was a strange, and to one who understood it, a dreadful sight. Apparently a thousand balloons were afloat in the blue, murky air, each one trailing its car in the sea, balloons of terrible size, flat as to their tops, which seemed to join or merge into one another, forming a black and ominous cloud. The cars that trailed on the sea were snowy white. "Heaven help us?" said Magnus, clasping his hands for just a moment, while his cheeks assumed an ashen hue. "Heaven help us, sir; this is worse than the pirate." "They are all coming this way," said McBain; "fire only at those that threaten us, and fire while they are still some distance ahead." Meanwhile Ralph had come on deck, and joined his companions. I do not think that through all the long terrible hour that followed, either of them spoke one word; although there was no sea on, and for the most part no motion, they clutched with one hand rigging or shroud, and gazed terror-struck at the awful scene ahead and around them. They were soon in the very centre of what appeared an interminable forest of waterspouts. Few indeed have ever seen such a sight or encountered so pressing a danger and lived to tell it. The balloon-shaped heads of these waterspouts looked dark as midnight; their shafts, I can call them nothing else, were immense pillars rising out of gigantic feet of seething foam. So close did they pass to some of these that the yardarms seemed almost to touch them. Our heroes noticed then, and they marvelled at it afterwards, the strange monotonous roaring sound they emitted,--a sound that drowned even the noise of the troubled waters around their shafts. [Such a phenomenon as this has rarely been witnessed in the Northern Ocean. It is somewhat strange that on the self-same year this happened, an earthquake was felt in Ireland, and shocks even near Perth, in Scotland.] Old Magnus made good use of his guns on those that threatened the good ship with destruction; one shot broke always one, and sometimes more, probably with the vibration; but the thundering sound of the falling waters, and the turmoil of the sea that followed, what pen can describe? But, good shot as he is, Magnus is not infallible, else McBain would not now have to grasp his speaking-trumpet and shout,-- "Stand by, men, stand by." A waterspout had wholly, or partially at least, broken on board of them. It was as though the splendid ship had suddenly been blown to atoms by a terrible explosion, and every timber of her engulfed in the ocean! For long moments thus, then her crew, half drowned, half dead, could once more look around. The _Arrandoon_ was afloat, but her decks were swept. Hundreds of tons of water still filled her decks, and poured out into the sea in cataracts through her broken bulwarks; ay, and it poured below too, at the fore and main hatchways, which had been smashed open with the violence and force of the deluge. The main-yard had come down, and one whaler was smashed into matchwood. I wish I could say this was all, but two poor fellows lost for ever the number of their mess. One was seen floating about dead and unwounded on the deck ere the water got clear; the other, with sadly splintered brow, was still clutching in a death-grasp a rope that had bound a tarpaulin over a grating. But away ahead appeared a long yellowish streak of clear sky, close to the horizon. The danger had passed. All hands were now called to clear away the wreck and make good repairs. The pumps, too, had to be set to work, and as soon as the wind came down on them from the clear of the horizon, sail was set, for the fires had been drowned out. The wind increased to a gale, and there was nothing for it but to lay to. And so they did all that night and all next day; then the weather moderated, and the wind coming more easterly they were able to show more canvas, and to resume their course with something akin to comfort. The bodies of the two poor fellows who had met with so sad a fate were committed to the deep--the sailor's grave. "Earth to earth and dust to dust." There was more than one moist eye while those words were uttered, for the men had both been great favourites with their messmates. Rory was sitting that evening with his elbows resting on the saloon table, his chin on his hands, and a book in front of him that he was not looking at, when McBain came below. "You're quieter than usual," said McBain, placing a kindly hand on his shoulder. Rory smiled, forced a laugh even, as one does who wants to shake off an incubus. "I was thinking," he said, "of that awful black forest of waterspouts. I'll never get it out of my head." "Oh! yes you will, boy Rory," said McBain; "it was a new sensation, that's all." "New sensation!" said Allan, laughing in earnest; "well, captain, I must say that is a mild way of putting it. _I_ don't want any more such sensations. Steward, bring some nice hot coffee." "Ay!" cried Ralph, "that's the style, Allan. Some coffee, steward--and, steward, bring the cold pork and fowls, and make some toast, and bring the butter and the Chili vinegar." Poor Irish Rory! Like every one with a poetic temperament, he was easily cast down, and just as easily raised again. Ralph's wondrous appetite always amused him. "Oh, you true Saxon!" said Rory--"you hungry Englishman!" But, ten minutes afterwards, he felt himself constrained to join the party at the supper table. You see, reader mine, a sailor's life is like an April day--sunshine now and showers anon. "How now, Stevenson?" said McBain, as the mate entered with a kind of a puzzled look on his face. "Well, sir, we are, as you said, off the Faroes. The night is precious dark, but I can see the lights of a village in here, and the lights of a vessel of some size, evidently lying at anchor." "Then, mate," said the captain, "as we don't know exactly where we are, I don't think we can do wrong to steam in and drop anchor alongside this craft. We can then board her and find out. How is the weather?" "A bit thick, sir, and seems inclined to blow a little from the east-south-east." "Let it, Stevenson--let it. If the other vessel can ride it out I don't think the _Arrandoon_ is likely to lose her anchors. Hullo! Mitchell," he continued, as the second mate next entered hat in hand, "what's in the wind now, man?" "Why, sir," said Mitchell, "I'm all ashore like, you see; I can't make it out. But here is a boat just been a-hailing of us, and the passenger--there is only one, a comely lass enough--has just come on board, and wants to see you at once. Seems a bit cranky. Here she be, sir;" and Mitchell retired. A young girl. She was probably not over seventeen, fair-faced, and with wild blue eyes, and yellow hair, dripping with dew, floating over her shoulders. "Stop the ship!" she cried, seizing McBain by the arm. "Go no farther, or her ribs will be scattered over the waves, and your bones will bleach on the cliffs of the rocks." "Poor thing!" muttered McBain. "Oh, you heed me not!" continued the girl, wringing her hands in despair. "It will be too late--it will be too late! I tell you here is no harbour, here is no ship. The lights you see are placed there to lure your vessel on shore. They are wreckers, I tell you; they will--" "By the deep three!" sung the man in the chains. Then there was a shout from the man at the foretop. "Breakers ahead!" Then, "Stand by both anchors. Ready about." CHAPTER SIX. A LIFE ON THE OCEAN WAVE--ON THE ROCKS--MYSTERY--A HOME ON THE ROLLING DEEP. Has the reader ever been to sea? The first feeling that a landsman objects to at sea is that of the heaving motion of the ship; to your true sailor the cessation of that motion, or its absence under circumstances, is disagreeable in the extreme. To me there is always a certain air of romance about the old ocean, and about a ship at sea; but what can be less romantic than lying in a harbour or dull wet dock, with no more life nor motion in your craft than there is in the slopshop round the corner? To lie thus and probably have to listen to the grating voices and pointless jokes of semi-inebriated stevedores, as they load or unload, soiling, as they do, your beautiful decks with their dreadful boots, is very far from pleasant. In a case like this how one wishes to be away out on the blue water once more, and to feel life in the good ship once again--to feel, as it were, her very heart throb beneath one's feet! But disagreeable as the sensation is of lying lifeless in harbour or dock, still more so is it to feel your vessel, that one moment before was sailing peacefully over the sea, suddenly rasp on a rock beneath you, then stop dead. Nothing in the world will wake a sailor sooner, even should he be in the deepest of slumber, than this sudden cessation of motion. I remember on one particular occasion being awakened thus. No crew ever went to sleep with a greater feeling of security than we had done, for the night was fine and the ship went well. But all at once, about four bells in the middle watch,-- Kurr-r-r-r! that was the noise we heard proceeding from our keel, then all was steady, all was still. And every man sprang from his hammock, every officer from his cot. We were in the middle of the Indian Ocean, or rather the Mozambique Channel, with no land in sight, and we were hard and fast on the dreaded Lyra reef. A beautiful night it was, just enough wind to make a ripple on the water for the broad moon's beams to dance in, a cloudless sky, and countless stars. We took all this in at the first glance. Safe enough we were--for the time; _but_ if the wind rose there was the certainty of our being broken up, even as the war-ship _Lyra_ was, that gave its name to the reef. At the first shout from the man on the outlook in the _Arrandoon_, McBain rushed on deck. "Stand by both anchors. Ready about." But these orders are, alas! too late. Kurr-r-r-r! The stately _Arrandoon_ is hard and fast on the rocky bottom. The ship was under easy sail, for although there was hardly any wind, what little there was gave evident signs of shifting. It might come on to blow, and blow pretty hard, too, from the south-east or east-south-east, and Mr Stevenson was hardly the man to be caught in a trap, to find himself on a lee shore or a rock-bound coast, with a crowd of canvas. Well for our people it was that there was but little sail on her and little wind, or, speedily as everything was let go, the masts-- some of them at least--would have gone by the board. Half an hour after she struck, the _Arrandoon_ was under bare poles and steam was up. The order had been given to get up steam with all speed. Both the engineer and his two assistants were brawny Scots. "Man!" said the former, "it'll take ye a whole hour to get up steam if you bother wi' coals and cinders alone. But do your best wi' what ye hae till I come back." He wasn't gone long ere he came staggering down the ladder again, carrying a sack. "It's American hams," he said; "they're hardly fit for anything else but fuel, so here goes." And he popped a couple into the fire. "That's the style," he said, as they began to frizzle and blaze. "Look, lads, the kettle'll be boilin' in twa seconds." "Thank you, Stuart," said McBain, when the engineer went on the bridge to report everything ready; "you are a valuable servant; now stand by to receive orders." All hands had been called, and there was certainly plenty for them to do. It wanted several hours to high-water, and McBain determined to make the best of his time. "By the blessing of Providence on our own exertions, Stevenson," the captain said, "we'll get her off all right. Had it been high-water, though, when we ran on shore, eh!" Stevenson laughed a grim laugh. "We'd leave her bones here," he said, "that would be all." The men were now getting their big guns over the side into the boats. This would lighten her a little. But as the tide was flowing, anchors were sent out astern, to prevent the ship from being carried still farther on to the reef. "Go astern at full speed." The screws revolved and kept on revolving, the ship still stuck fast. The night was very dark, so that everything had to be done by the weird light of lanterns. Never mind, the work went cheerily on, and the men sang as they laboured. "High-water about half-past two, isn't it, Stevenson?" asked Captain McBain. "Yes, sir," the mate replied, "that's about the time, sir." "Ah! well," the captain said, "she is sure to float then, and there are no signs of your storm coming." "There is hardly a breath of wind now, sir, but you never know in these latitudes where it may come on to blow from next." The cheerful way in which McBain talked reassured our heroes, and towards eleven o'clock English Ralph spoke as follows,-- "Look here, boys--" "There isn't a bit of good looking in the dark, is there?" said Allan. "Well," continued Ralph, "figuratively speaking, look here; I don't see the good of sticking up on deck in the cold. We're not doing an atom of good; let us go below and finish our supper." "Right," said Allan; "and mind you, that poor girl is below there all this time. She may want some refreshment." When they entered the saloon they found it empty, deserted as far as human beings were concerned. Polly the cockatoo was there, no one else. "Well?" said the bird, inquiringly, as she helped herself to an enormous mouthful of hemp-seed. "Well?" "What have you done with the young lady?" asked Allan. "The proof o' the pudding--" Polly was too busy eating to say more. Peter the steward entered just then, overhearing the question as he came. "That strange girl, sir," he replied, "went over the side and away in her boat as soon as the ship struck." "Well, I call that a pity," said Allan; "the poor girl comes here to warn us of danger and never stops for thanks. It is wonderful." "From this date," remarked Ralph, "I cease to wonder at anything. Steward, you know we were only half done with supper, and we're all as hungry as hunters, and--" But Peter was off, and in a few minutes our boys were supping as quietly and contentedly as if they had been in the Coffee-room of the Queen's Hotel, Glasgow, instead of being on a lee shore, with the certainty that if it came on to blow not a timber of the good ship _Arrandoon_ that would not be smashed into matchwood. But hark! the noise on deck recommences, the men are heaving on the winch, the engines are once more at work, and the great screw is revolving. Then there is a shout from the men forward. "She moves!" "Hurrah! then, boys, hurrah!" cried McBain; "heave, and she goes." [The word "hurrah" in the parlance of North Sea sailors means "do your utmost" or "make all speed."] The men burst into song--tune a wild, uncouth sailor's melody, words extempore, one man singing one line, another metreing it with a second, with a chorus between each line, in which all joined, with all their strength of voice to the tune, with all the power of their brawny muscles to the winch. Mere doggerel, but it did the turn better, perhaps, than more refined music would have done. In San Domingo I was born, _Chorus_--Hurrah! lads, hurrah! And reared among the yellow corn. Heave, boys, and away we go. Our bold McBain is a captain nice, _Chorus_--Hurrah! lads, hurrah! The main-brace he is _sure_ to splice. Heave, boys, and away we go. The Faroe Isles are not our goal, Oh! no, lads, no! We'll reach the North, and we'll _bag_ the Pole, Heave, boys, and away we go, Hurrah! "We're off," cried Stevenson, excitedly. "Hurrah! men. Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!" The men needed but little encouragement now, though. Round went the winch right merrily, and in a quarter of an hour the bows were abreast of the anchors. "Now, steward," said the captain, "splice the main-brace." The ration was brought and served, Ted Wilson, who was a moving spirit in the 'tween decks, giving a toast, which every man re-echoed ere he raised the basin to his head,-- "Success to the saucy _Arrandoon_, and our bold skipper, Captain McBain." The vessel's head was now turned seawards, and presently the anchors that had been taken in were let go again, and fires banked. The long night wore away, and the dismal dawn came. McBain had lain down for a short time, with orders to be roused on the first appearance of daylight. Rory, anxious to see how the land looked, was on deck nearly as soon as the captain. A grey mist was lifting up from off the sea, and from off the shore, revealing black, beetling crags, hundreds of feet high at the water's edge, a sheer beetling cliff around which thousands of strange sea-birds were wheeling and screaming, their white wings relieved against the black of the rocks, on which rows on rows of solemn-looking guillemots sat, and lines of those strange old-fashion-faced birds, the puffins. The cliffs were snow-clad, the hills above were terraced with rocks almost to their summits. Between the ship and this inhospitable shore lay a long, dangerous-looking reef of rocks. "Ah! Rory," said McBain, "there was a merciful Providence watching over us last night. Yonder is where we lay; had it come on to blow, not one of us would be alive this morning to see the sun rise." Rory could hardly help, shuddering as he thought of the narrow escape they had had from so terrible a fate. When steam was got up they went round the island--it was one of the most southerly of the Faroes; but except around one little bay, where boats might land with difficulty, it seemed impossible that human beings could exist in such a place. What, then, was the mystery of the previous evening, of the fair-haired girl, of the lights inside the reef that simulated those of a broad-beamed ship, of the lights like those of a village that twinkled on shore? The whole affair seemed strange, inexplicable. Now that it was broad daylight the events of the preceding night, with its dangers and its darkness, had more the similitude of some dreadful dream than a stern reality. This same evening the anchor was let go in the Bay of Thorshaven, the capital--city, shall I say?--of the Faroe Islands. I am writing a tale of adventure, not a narrative of travel, else would I willingly devote a whole chapter to a description of this quaint and primitive wee, wee town. Our heroes saw it at its very worst, its very bleakest, for winter still held it in thrall; the turf-clad roofs of its cottages, that in summer are green with grass and redolent of wild thyme, were now clad with snow; its streets, difficult to climb even in July, were now stairs of glass; its fort looked frozen out; and its little chapel, where Sunday after Sunday the hardy and brave inhabitants, who never move abroad without their lives in their hands, worship God in all humility--this little chapel stood up black and bold against its background of snow. Although the streamlets were all frozen, although ice was afloat in the bay, and a grey and leaden sky overhead, our boys were not sorry to land and have a look around. To say that they were hospitably received would be hardly doing the Faroese justice, for hospitality really seems a part and parcel of the people's religion. The viands they placed before them were well cooked, but curious, to say the least of it. Steak of young whale, stew of young seal's liver, roast guillemot and baked auk; these may sound queer as dinner dishes, but as they were cooked by the ancient Faroese gentleman who entertained our heroes at his house, each and all of them were brave eating. Couldn't they stop a month? this gentleman, who looked like a true descendant of some ancient viking, asked McBain. Well then, a fortnight? well, surely one short week? But, "Nay, nay, nay," the captain answered, kindly and smilingly, to all his entreaties; they must hurry on to the far north ere spring and summer came. The Faroese could give them no clue to the mystery that shrouded the previous night. They had never heard of either wreckers or pirates in these peaceful islands. "But," said the old viking, "we are willing to turn out to a man; we are one thousand inhabitants in all--including the women; but even they will go; and we have ten brave, real soldiers in the fort, they too will go, and we will make search, and if we find them we will hang them on--on--" the old man hesitated. "On the nearest tree," suggested Rory with a mischievous smile. The viking laughed grimly at the joke. "Well," he said, "we will hang them anyhow, trees or no trees." But McBain could not be induced to deviate from his set purpose, and bidding these simple folk a friendly farewell, they steamed once more out of the bay, passed many a strange, fantastic island, passed rocks pierced with caves, and bird-haunted, and so, with the vessel's prow pointing to the northward and west, they left the Faroes far behind them. Tremendous seas rolled in from the broad Atlantic all that night and all next day, little wind though, and no broken water. In the evening, in the dog-watch, the waves seemed to increase in size; they were miles long, mountains high; when down in the trough of the sea you had to look up to their crests as you would to the summer's sun at noontide. Indeed, those waves made the brave ship _Arrandoon_ look wondrous small. McBain, somewhat to Stevenson's astonishment, made the man at the wheel steer directly north. "We're out of our course, sir," said the mate. "Pardon me for a minute or two," replied the captain, half apologetically, "we are now broadside on to these seas, I just want to test her stability." "Well, everything is pretty fast, sir," said the mate, quietly; "but if the ship goes on her beam-ends don't blame me." "Perhaps, Mr Stevenson, there wouldn't be much time to blame any one; but I can trust my ship, I think. Wo! my beauty." The beauty didn't seem a bit inclined to "wo!" however. She positively rolled her ports under, and Rory confessed that the doldrums were nothing to this. Presently up comes Rory from below. "Och! captain dear," he says, "my gun-case has burst my fiddle-case, and I'm not sure that the fiddle herself is safe, the darling." Next up comes Stevenson. "Please captain," he says, "the steward says his crockery is all going to smithereens, and the cook can't keep the fire in the galley range, and Freezing Powders has broken the tureen and spilt the soup, and--" "Enough, enough," cried McBain, laughing; "take charge, mate, and do as you like with her, I'm satisfied." So down below dived the captain, the ship's head was once more turned north-west, and a bit of canvas clapped on to steady her. CHAPTER SEVEN. SANDIE MCFLAIL, M.D.--"WHA WOULDNA' BE A SEA-BIRD?"--THE GIRL TELLS HER STRANGE ADVENTURES--NIGHTFALL ON THE SEA. There is one member of the mess whom I have not yet introduced, but a very worthy member he is, our youthful doctor. Poor fellow! never before had he been to sea, and so he suffered accordingly. Oh! right bravely had he tried to keep up for all that. He was the boldest mariner afloat while coming down the Clyde; he disappeared as the ship began to round the stormy Mull. He appeared again for a short time at Oban, but vanished when the anchor was weighed. At Lerwick, where they called in to take old Magnus Bolt on board, and ship a dozen stalwart Shetlanders, the doctor was once more seen on deck; and it was currently reported that when the vessel lay helpless on the reef, a ghostly form bearing a strong resemblance to the bold surgeon was seen flitting about in the darkness, and a quavering voice was heard to put this solemn question more than once, "Any danger, men? Men, are we in danger?" This was the last that had been seen of the medico; but Rory found a slate in the dispensary, into which sanctum, by the way, he had no right to pop even his nose. He brought this slate aft, the young rascal, and read what was written thereon to Allan and Ralph, from which it was quite evident that Sandie McFlail, M.D., of Aberdeen, had made a most intrepid attempt to keep a diary. The entries were short, and ran somewhat thus:-- "February 9th.--Dropped away from the Broomielaw and steamed down the beautiful Clyde. Charming day, though cold, and the hills on each side the river clothed in virgin snow. Felt sad and sorrowful at leaving my native land. I wonder will ever we return, or will the great sea swallow us up? Would rather it didn't. I wonder if _she_ will think of me and pray for her mariner bold when the wind blows high at night, when the cold rain beats against the window-panes of her little cot, and the storm spirit roars around the old chimneys. I feel a sailor already all over, and I tread the decks with pride. "Feb. 10th.--At sea. The ocean getting rough. Passed some seagulls. "Feb. 11th.--Sea rougher. Passed a ship. "Feb. 12th.--Sea still rough. Passed some seaweed. "Feb. 13th.--Sea mountains high. Passed--" "And here," says Rory, "the diary breaks off all of a sudden like; and all of a sudden the entries close; so, really, there is no saying what the doctor passed on the 13th. But just about this time, the mate tells me, he was seen leaning languidly over the side, so--" "Ho, ho!" cried McBain, close at his ear. The captain had entered the saloon unperceived by boy Rory, and had been standing behind him all the time he was reading. Ralph and Allan saw him well enough, but they, of course, said nothing, although they could not refrain from laughing. "Ho, ho, Rory, my boy!" says McBain; "ho, ho, boy Rory! so you're fairly caught?" "And indeed then," says Rory, jumping up and looking as guilty as any schoolboy, "I didn't know you were there at all at all." "Of that I am perfectly sure," McBain says, laughing, "else you wouldn't have been reading the poor doctor's private diary. What shall we do with him, Ralph? What shall he be done to, Allan?" "Oh!" said Ralph, mischievously; "send him to the masthead for a couple of hours. Into the foretop, mind, where he'll get plenty of air about him." "No," said Allan, grinning; "give him a seat for three hours on the end of the bowsprit. Of course, Captain McBain, you'll let him have a bottle of hot water at his feet, and a blanket or two about him. He is only a little one, you know." "But now that I think of it," said McBain, "you are all the same, boys; there isn't one of you a whit better than the other." "Sure and you're right, captain," Rory put in, "for if I was reading, they were listening, most intently, too." "Well then, boys, I'll tell you how you can make amends to the honest doctor. Off you go, the three of you, and see if you can't rouse him out. Get him to come on deck and breathe the fresh air. He'll soon get round." And off our three heroes went, joyfully, on their mission of mercy. They found the worthy doctor in bed in his cabin, and forthwith set about kindly but firmly rousing him out. They had even brought Freezing Powders with them, to carry a pint of moselle. "I feel vera limp," said Sandie, as soon as he got dressed, "vera limp indeed. Well, as you say, the moselle may do me good, but I'm a teetotaler as a rule." "We never touch any wine," said Ralph, "nor care to; but this, my dear doctor, is medicine." Sandie confessed himself better immediately when he got on deck. With Allan on one side of him and big Ralph on the other, he was marched up and down the deck for half an hour and more. "Man! gentlemen!" he remarked, "I thought I could walk finely, but I'm just now for a' the world like a silly drunken body." "We were just the same," said Allan, "when we came first to sea-- couldn't walk a bit; but we soon got our sea-legs, and we've never lost them yet." The doctor was struck with wonder at the might and majesty of the waves, and also at the multitude of birds that were everywhere about and around them. Kittiwakes, solons, gulls, guillemots, auks, and puffins, they whirled and wheeled around the ship in hundreds, screaming and shrieking and laughing. They floated on the water, they swam on its surface, and dived down into its dark depths, and no fear had they of human beings, nor of the steamer itself. "How happy they all seem!" said Rory; "if I was one of the lower animals, as we call them, sure there is nothing in the wide world I'd like better to be than a sea-bird." "True for you," said Allan; "it's a wild, free life they lead." "And they seem to have no care," said the doctor. "Their meat is bound to their heads; at any rate, they never have far to go to seek it. When tired they can rest; when rested they can fly again. Then look at the warm and beautiful coats they wear. There is no wetting them to the skin; the water glides off o' them like the rain from a duck's back. Then think o' the pleasure o' possessin' a pair o' wings that can cleave the air like an arrow from a bowstring; that in a few short days, independent o' wind or waves or weather, can carry them from the cauld north far, far awa' to the saft and sunny south. Wha wouldna' be a sea-bird?" "Yes," reiterated Rory, stopping in front of the doctor; "as you say, doctor, `Wha wouldna' be a sea-bird?' But pardon me, sir, for in you I recognise a kindred spirit, a lover of nature, a lover of the beautiful. You and I will be friends, doctor--fast friends. There, shake hands." "As for Ralph and Allan," he added, with a mischievous grin, "'deed in troth, doctor dear, there isn't a bit of poetry in their nature, and they would any day far sooner see a couple of eider ducks roasted and flanked with apple sauce, than the same wildly beautiful birds happy and alive and afloat on the dark, heaving breast of the ocean. It's the truth I'm telling ye, doctor. D'ye play at all? Have you any favourite instrument?" "Weel, sir," the doctor replied, "I canna say that I'm vera much o' a musician, but I just can manage to toot a wee bit on the flute." "And I've no doubt," said Rory, "that you `toot' well, too." The conversation never slackened for a couple of hours, and so well did the doctor feel, that of his own free will he volunteered joining them at dinner in the saloon. McBain was as much surprised as delighted when he came below to dine, and found that their new messmate, Sandie McFlail, had at long last put in an appearance at table. The swell on the sea was much less next morning; the wind had slightly increased, and more sail had been spread, so that the ship was moderately steady. The rugged coast and strange, fantastic rocks of the outlying islands of Iceland were in sight, and, half-buried in misty clouds, the distant mountains could be dimly descried. "Yonder," said the mate, advancing towards Captain McBain, glass in hand,--"yonder is a small boat, sir, with a bit of a sail on her; she has just rounded the needle rocks, and seems standing in for the mainland." "Well," said the captain, "let us overhaul her, anyhow. There can be no harm in that, and it may secure us a fresh fish or two for dinner." In less than an hour the _Arrandoon_ had come up with this strange sail, which at first sight had seemed a mere speck on the ocean, seen at one moment and hidden the next behind some mountain roller. The surprise of our heroes may be better imagined than described, to find afloat in this cockle-shell of a boat, with an oar shipped as a mast and a tartan plaid as a main-sail, none other than the heroine of the wreckers' reef. Seeing that she was in the power of the big ship, she made no further attempt to get away, but, dropping her sail, she seized the oars, paddled quietly and coolly alongside, and next moment stood on the quarter-deck, with bowed head and modest mien, before Captain McBain. The captain took her kindly by the hand, smiling as he said, "Do not be afraid, my girl; consider yourself among friends--among those, indeed, who would do anything in their power to serve you, even if they were not already deeply in your debt, and deeply grateful." "Ah!" she said, mournfully, "my warning came all too late to save you. But, praised be God! you are safe now, and not in the power of those terrible men, who would have spared not a single life of those the waves did not engulf." "But tell us," continued McBain, "all about it--all about yourself. There is some strange mystery about the matter, which we would fain have solved. But stay--not here, and not yet. You must be very tired and weary; you must first have rest and refreshment, after which you can tell us your tale. Stevenson, see the little boat hauled up; and, doctor, I place this young lady under your care; to-night I hope to land her safely in Reikjavik; meanwhile my cabin is at her disposal." "Come, lassie," said the good surgeon, laconically, leading the way down the companion. Merely dropping a queenly curtsey to McBain and our young heroes, she followed the doctor without a word. Peter the steward placed before her the most tempting viands in the ship, yet she seemed to have but little appetite. "I am tired," she said at length, "I fain would rest. Long weary weeks of sorrow have been mine. But they are past and gone at last." Then she retired, this strange ocean waif and stray, and so the day wore gradually to a close, and they saw no more of her until the sun, fierce, fiery, and red, began to disappear behind the distant snow-clad hills; then they found her once more in their midst. She had gathered the folds of her plaid around her, her long yellow hair still floated over her shoulders, and her dreamy blue eyes were shyly raised to McBain's face as she began to speak. "I owe you some explanation," she said. "My strange conduct must appear almost inexplicable to you. My appearance among you two nights ago was intended to save you from the destruction that awaited you--from the destruction that had been prepared for you by the Danish wreckers." "Sir," she continued, after a pause, "I am myself a Dane. My father was parish minister in the little village of Elmdene. Alas! I fear he is now no more. Afflictions gathered and thickened around us in our once happy little home, and the only way we could see out of them was to leave our native land and cross the ocean. In America we have many friends who had kindly offered us an asylum, until happier days should come again. Our vessel was a brig, our crew all told only twenty hands, and we, my brother, father, and myself--for mother has long since gone up beyond--were the only passengers. "All went well until we were off the northern Shetlands, when at the dark, starry hour of midnight our ship was boarded and carried by pirates. Every one in the ship was put to the sword, saving my father and myself. My poor dear brave brother was slain before my eyes, but he died as the Danes die--with his face to the foe. My father was promised his life if he would perform the ceremony of marriage between myself and the pirate captain, who is a Russian, a daring, fearless fellow, but a strange compound of superstition and vice--a man who will go to prayers before scuttling a ship! The object of this pirate was to seize your vessel; he would have met and fought you at sea, but the easier plan for him was to try to wreck you. Fortune seemed to favour this bold design of his. The lights placed on shore, to represent a vessel of large size, were part and parcel of his vile scheme. But the darkness of the night enabled me to escape and come towards you. Then I feared to return; but, alas! alas! I now tremble lest my dear father has had to pay the penalty of my rashness with his life." [The story of the pirate is founded on fact.] "But the ship--this pirate?" said McBain. "We sailed around the island next day but saw no signs of him?" "Then," said the girl, "he must have escaped in the darkness, immediately after discovering the entire failure of his scheme." "And whither were you bound for when we overtook you, my poor girl?" asked McBain. "At Reikjavik," she replied, "I have an uncle, a minister. He it was who taught me all I know, while he was still at home in Elmdene--taught me among other things the beautiful language of your country, which I speak, but speak so indifferently." "Can this be," said McBain, "the self-same pirate that attacked the _Snowbird_?" "The very same thought," answered Ralph, "was passing through my own mind." "And yet how strange that a pirate should, cruise in these far northern seas?" "She has less chance of being caught, at all events," Allan said. "Ha?" exclaimed McBain, with a kind of grim, exultant laugh, "if she comes across the _Arrandoon_, that chance will indeed be a small one. She'll find us a different kind of a craft from the _Snowbird_." The vessel was now heading directly for the south-east coast of Iceland. Somewhere in there, though at present hidden by points of land and rocky islets, lay the capital of Iceland, which they hoped to reach ere midnight. A more lovely land and seascape than that which was now stretched out before them, it would indeed be difficult to conceive. The sun had gone down behind the western end of a long line of snow-clad mountains, serrated, jagged, and peaked, but their tops were all rose-tipped with his parting beams. Above them the sky was clear, with just one speck of crimson cloud; the lower land between was bathed in a purple mist, through which the ice-bound rocks could dimly be discerned, while the mantle of night had already been spread over the ocean. It was "nightfall on the sea." CHAPTER EIGHT. A GALE FROM THE MOUNTAINS--DAYBREAK IN ICELAND--THE GREAT BALLOON ASCENT--RORY'S YARN--THE SNOW-CLOUD--THE PIRATE IS SEEN. A whole week has elapsed since the events transpired which I have related in last chapter,--a week most interestingly if not always quite pleasantly spent. The _Arrandoon_ is lying before the quaint, fantastical old town of Reikjavik, surrounded almost in every direction by mountains bold and wild, the peaked summits and even the sides of which are now covered with ice and snow. For spring has not yet arrived to unrivet stern winter's chains, to swell the rivers into roaring torrents, and finally to carpet the earth with beauty. The streams are still frozen, the bay in which the good ship lies at her anchors twain, is filled with broken pancake-ice, which makes communication with the shore by means of boat a matter of no little difficulty, for oars have to be had inboard or used as pressing poles, and boat-hooks are in constant requisition. Winter it is, and the country all around might be called dreary, were it not for the ever-varying shades of colour that, as the sun shines out, or anon hides his head behind a cloud, spread themselves over hill and dale and rugged glen. Oh! the splendour of those sunrises and sunsets, the rose tints, the purples, the emerald greens and cool greys, that blaze and blend, grow faint and fade as they chase each other among mountains and ravines! What a poor morsel of steel my pen feels as I attempt to describe them! Yet have they a beauty peculiarly their own,--a beauty which never can be forgotten by those whose eyes have once rested thereon. The fair-haired Danish girl has been landed, and for a time has found shelter and peace in the humble home of her uncle the clergyman. Our heroes have been on shore studying the manners and customs of the primitive but hospitable people they find themselves among. Several city worthies have been off to see the ship and to dine. But to-night our heroes are all by themselves in the saloon. Dinner is finished, nuts and fruit and fragrant coffee are on the table, at the head of which sits the captain, on his right the doctor and Ralph, on his left Allan and Rory. Freezing Powders, neatly dressed, is hovering near, and Peter, the steward, is not far off, while the cockatoo is busy as usual, helping himself to tremendous billfuls of hemp-seed, but nevertheless putting in his oar every minute, with a "Well, duckie?" or a long-drawn "Dea-ah me!" I cannot say that all is peace, though, beyond the wooden walls of the _Arrandoon_, for a storm is raging with almost hurricane violence, sweeping down from the hills with ever-varying force, and threatening to tear the vessel from her anchorage. Steam is up, the screw revolves, and it taxes all the engineer's skill to keep up to the anchors so as to avert the strain from them. But our boys are used to danger by this time, and there is hardly a moment's lull in the conversation. Even Sandie McFlail, M.D. o' Aberdeen, has already forgotten all the horrors of _mal-de-mer_; he even believes he has found his sea-legs, and feels all over as good a sailor as anybody. "Reikjavik?" says Ralph; "isn't it a queer break-jaw kind of a name. It puts one in mind of a mouthful of exceedingly tough beefsteak." "A gastronomic simile," says Rory; "though maybe neither poetical nor elegant, sure, but truly Saxon." "Ah! weel," the doctor says, in his quiet, thoughtful, canny way, "I dinna know now. Some o' the vera best poetry of all ages bears reference to the pleesures o' the table. Witness Horace's Odes, for instance." "Hear! hear!" from Allan; and "Horace was a brick!" from honest English Ralph; but Rory murmurs "Moore?" "But," continues the doctor, "to my ear there is nothing vera harsh in the language that these islanders speak. They pronounce the `ch' hard, like the Scotch; their `j's' soft, like the Spanish; and turn their `w's' into `v's.' They pronounce church--kurk; and the `j' is a `y,' or next thing to it. `Reik' or `reyk' means smoke, you know, as it is in Scotch `reek;' and `wik,' or `wich,' or `vik' means a bay, as in the English `Woolwich,' `Sandwich,' etc, so that Reikjavik is simply `the bay of smoke,' or `the smoking bay;' but whether with reference to the smoke that hangs over the town, or the spray that rises mistlike from the seething billows when the wind blows, I cannot say--probably the former; and it is worthy of note, gentlemen, that some savage races far, far away from here--the aborigines of Australia, for example--designate towns by the term `the big smoke.'" "How profoundly erudite you are, doctor!" says Rory. "Now, wouldn't it have been much better for your heirs and assigns and the world at large, if you had accepted a Professorship of Antiquity in the University of Aberdeen, instead of coming away with us, to cool the toes of you at the North Pole, and maybe leave your bones to bleach beneath the Aurora Borealis, eh?" "Ha! there I have you," cries Sandie, smiling good-humouredly, for by this time he was quite used to Rory's bantering ways,--"there I have you, boy Rory; and it is with the profoundest awe and respect for everything sacred, that I remind you that the Aurora Borealis never bleached any bones; and those poor unfortunates who, in their devotion for science, have wandered towards the mystery land around the Pole, and there laid down their lives, will never, never moulder into dust, but, entombed in the green, salt ice, with the virgin snow as their winding-sheet, their bodies will rest in peace, and rest intact until the trumpet sounds." There was a lull in the conversation at this point, but no lull in the storm; the waves dashed wildly over the ship, the wind roared through the rigging, the brave vessel quivered from stem to stern, as if in constant fear she might be hurled from the protection afforded by anchor and cable, and cast helpless upon the rock-bound shore. A lull, broken presently by a deep sigh from Freezing Powders. "Well, duckie?" said Polly, in sympathising tones. "Well, Freezing Powders," said McBain, "and pray what are you sighing about?" "What for I sigh?" repeated Freezing Powders. "Am you not afraid you'se'f, sah! You not hear de wild winds roar, and de wave make too much bobbery? 'Tis a'most enuff, sah, to make a gem'lam turn pale, sah!" "Ha! ha?" laughed Rory; "really, it'll take a mighty big storm, Freezing Powders, to make you turn pale. But, doctor," he continued, "what say you to some music?" "If you'll play," said the surgeon, "I'll toot." And so the concert was begun; and the shriek of the storm spirit was drowned in mirth and melody, or, as the doctor, quoting Burns, expressed it,-- "The storm without might roar and rustle, They didna mind the storm a whustle." But after this night of storm and tempest, what a wonderful morning it was! The sun shot up amidst the encrimsoned mountain peaks, and shone brightly down from a sky of cloudless blue. The snow was everywhere dazzling in its whiteness, and there was not a sigh of wind to raise so much as a ripple on the waters of the bay, from which every bit of ice had been blown far to sea. Wild birds screamed with joy as they wheeled in hundreds around the ship, while out in the bay a shoal of porpoises were disporting themselves, leaping high in air from out of the sparkling waters, and shrieking--or, as the doctor called it, "whustling"--for very joy. Every one on board the _Arrandoon_ was early astir--up, indeed, before the sun himself--for there were to be great doings on shore to-day. The first great experimental balloon ascent and flight was about to be made. Every one on shore was early astir, too; in fact, the greatest excitement prevailed, and on the table-land to the right of, and some little distance from, the town, from which the balloon was to ascend, the people had assembled from an early hour, even the ladies of Reikjavik turning out dressed in their gayest attire, no small proportion of which consisted of fur and feathers. The aeronaut was a professional, Monsieur De Vere by name. McBain had gone all the way to Paris especially to engage his services. Nor had he hired him at random, for this canny captain of ours had not only satisfied himself that De Vere was in a scientific point of view a clever man, but he had accompanied him in several ascents, and could thus vouch for his being a really practical aeronaut. Who would go with De Vere in this first great trip over the regions of perpetual snow? The doctor stepped forward as a volunteer, and by his side was Rory. Perhaps Allan and Ralph were rather lazy for any such aerial exploit; anyhow, they were content to stay at home. "We'll look on, you know," said Ralph, "as long as we can see you; and when you return--that is, if ever you do return--you can tell us all about it." When all was ready the ropes were cast loose, and, with a ringing cheer from the assembled multitude, up arose the mighty balloon, straight as arrow from bow, into the blue, sunny sky. Like the eagle that soars from the peak of Benrinnes, she seemed to seek the very sun itself. Rory and the surgeon, who had never been in a balloon before--nor even, for the matter of that, down in a coalpit--at first hardly relished their sudden elevation, but they soon got used to it. Not the slightest motion was there; Rory could hardly credit the fact that he was moving, and when at last he did muster up sufficient courage to peep earthwards over the side of the car. "Oh, look, doctor dear!" he cried; "sure, look for yourself; the world is moving away from us altogether!" And this was precisely the sensation they experienced. Both the doctor and Rory were inclined to clutch nervously and tremulously the sides of the car in the first part of their ascent; but though the former was not much of a sailor, somewhat to his surprise he experienced none of those giddy feelings common to the landsman when gazing from an immense height. He could look beneath him and around him, and enjoy to the full the strange bird's-eye landscape and seascape that every moment seemed to broaden and widen, until a great portion of the northern island, with its mountains, its lakes, its frozen torrents, its gulfs and bays and islands, and the great blue southern ocean, even to the far-off Faroe Isles, lay like a beautifully portrayed map beneath their feet. The grandeur of the scene kept them silent for long minutes; it impressed them, it awed them. It did more than even this, for it caused them to feel their own littleness, and the might of the Majesty that made the world. De Vere himself seldom vouchsafed a single glance landwards; he seemed to busy himself wholly and solely with the many strange instruments with which he was surrounded. He was hardly a moment idle. The intense cold, that soon began to benumb the senses of Sandie, seemed to have no deterrent effect on his efforts. "I must confess I do fell sleepy," said the worthy medico, "and I meant to assist you, Mr De Vere." "Here," cried the scientist, pouring something out of a phial, and handing it to him, "drink that quick." "I feel double the individual," cried Sandie, brightly, as soon as he had swallowed the draught. "Come," said Rory, "come, monsieur, _I_ want to feel double the individual, too." "No, no, sir," said De Vere, smiling, "an Irishman no want etherism; you are already--pardon me--too ethereal." Sandie was gazing skywards. "It is the moon,"--he was saying--"I ken her horn, She's blinkin' in the lift sae hie; She smiles, the jade! to wile us hame, But, 'deed, I doubt, she'll wait a wee." "Happy thought!" cried Rory; "let us go to the moon." "No," laughed the doctor; "nobody ever got that length yet." "Oh, you forget, Mr Surgeon," said Rory,--"you forget entirely all about Danny O'Rourke." "Tell us, then, Rory." "Troth, then," began Rory, in his richest brogue, "it was just like this same. Danny was a dacint boy enough, who lived entoirely alone with Biddy his wife, and the pig, close to a big bog in old Oireland. Sitting on a stone in the midst of this bog was Danny, one foine summer's evening, when who should fly down but an aigle. `Foine noight,' says the aigle. `The same to you,' says Danny, `and many of them.' `But,' says the aigle, `don't you see that it is sinking you are?' `Och! sure,' cries Danny, `and so it is. I'll be swallowed up in the bog, and poor Biddy and the pig will nivir set eyes on me again. Och! och! what'll I do?' `Git on to me back, troth,' says the aigle, `and I'll fly you sthraight to your Biddy's door.' `And the blessings av the O'Rourkes be wid ye thin,' says Danny, putting his arms round the aigle's neck, `for you are the sinsible bird, and whatever I'd have done widout ye, ne'er a bit o' me knows. But isn't it high enough you are now, aroon? Yonder is my cottage just down there.' For," continued Rory, "you must know that by this time the aigle had mounted fully a mile high with poor Danny. `Be quiet wid ye,' says the aigle, `or I'll shake ye off me back entoirely. Don't ye remember robbing my nest last year? _I_ do. And it's niver a cottage you'll ever see again, nor Biddy, nor the pig either. It's right up to the moon I'm flying wid ye.' `What!' cries Danny, `to that bit av a thing like a raping-hook? Och! and och! what'll become av me at all at all?' But the moon got bigger the nearer they came to it, and they found it a dacint size enough when they got there entirely. `Catch a howld av the end av the raping-hook,' says the aigle, `or by this and by that I'll shake ye off me shoulder.' And so poor Danny had no ho' but just to do as he was told, and away flew the aigle and left him. While he was wondering what he should do now, a stern voice behind him says, `Let go--let go the end of the raping-hook, and be off wid ye back to your own counthry.' `It's hardly civil av you,' says Danny, `to ask me sich a thing. Sure it is few ever come to call on you anyhow.' `Let go,' thundered the man o' the moon; and he gave Danny just one kick, and off went the poor boy flying into the air. `It's killed I'll be,' says he to himself, `killed entoirely wid the fall, and what'll become o' me wife Biddy and the pig is more'n I can tell.' But he fell, and he fell, and he fell, and he never seemed to stop falling, till plump he alights right in the middle o' the sea, and there he lay on the broad back av him, till a big lump av a whale came and splashed him all over wid his tail. But sure enough the sea was only his bed, and the big whale turned out to be Biddy herself, with the watering-pot, telling him to get up, for a lazy ould boy, and feed the pig, and troth it was nothing but a dream after all. "But where in the name of wonder are we now?" he continued, gazing around. It was a very natural question. It had got suddenly dark. They were enveloped in a snow-cloud. The brave balloon seemed to struggle through it. Ballast was thrown over, and up and out into the sunshine she rose again, but what a change had come over her appearance--every rope and length of her and the car itself and our bold aeronauts were covered white with virgin snow. "Monsieurs," said De Vere, "this is more than I bargained for. We must descend. You see she has lost all life. De lofely soul dat was in de balloon seems to have gone. We will descend." Indeed the huge balloon was already moving slowly earthwards, and in a minute more they were again passing through the snow-cloud. Once clear of this a breeze sprang up, or, to speak more correctly, they entered a current of air, that carried them directly inland for many miles. Tired of this direction, the valve was opened, out roared the gas, and the descent became more rapid, until the wind ceased to blow--they were beneath the adverse current. More ballast was thrown out, and her "way" was stopped. But see, what aileth our hero, boy Rory? For some minutes he has been gazing southwards over the sea, so intensely indeed that his looks almost frighten the honest doctor. "The glass, the glass," he hisses, holding round his hand, but not taking his glance for a moment off the southern horizon. The glass is handed to him, he adjusts it to his eye, and takes one long, fixed look; and when he turns once more towards the doctor his face is radiant with joy and excitement. "It is she," he cried, "it is _she_, it is she!" The doctor really looked scared. "Man!" he said, "are ye takin' leave o' your wuts? There, tak' a hold o' my hand and dinna try to frighten folk. There's never a `she' near ye." "It is _she_, I tell you," cried Rory again; "take the glass and look in under the land yonder, and heading for Stromsoe. It is the pirate herself,--the pirate we fought in the _Snowbird_. Hurrah! hurrah!" CHAPTER NINE. MOUNT HEKLA--THE GREAT GEYSER--A NARROW ESCAPE--THE SEARCH FOR THE PIRATE--MCBAIN'S LITTLE "RUSE DE GUERRE"--THE BATTLE BEGUN. "That puts quite another complexion on the matter," said Dr Sandy McFlail, with a sigh of relief, when Rory explained to him that he had spied the pirate, "quite another complexion, though, for the time bein' ye glowered sae like a warlock that I did think ye had lost your reason; so give me the glass, and I'll e'en take a look at her mysel'. "Eh! sirs," he continued, with the telescope at his eye, "but she is a big ship, and a bonnie ship. But, Rory boy, just catch a hold o' my coat-tails, and I'll feel more secure like. I wouldn't wish to go heels o'er head out o' the car. A fine big ship indeed--square-rigged forward and schooner-rigged aft; a vera judeecious arrangement." "Now," cried Rory, "the sooner we are landed on old mother earth the better. Bend on to the valve halyards, De Vere. Down with her." "Sirs! sirs!" cried the doctor, in great alarm; "pray don't be rash. Be judeecious, gentlemen, be judeecious." De Vere looked from one to the other, then laughed aloud. He was amused at the impetuosity of the Irishman and at the canniness of the Scot. A very pleasant little man was this De Vere to look at, black as to hair and moustache, dark as to eyes; thoughtful-looking as a rule were these eyes, yet oft lit up with fun. He never spoke much, perhaps he cogitated the more; he seldom made a joke himself, but he had a high appreciation of humour in others. Taking him all and all he gave you the impression of one who would be little likely to lose his presence of mind in a time of danger. "Gentlemen," he said, quietly, "you will leave the descent in my hands, if you please. We are now, by my calculation, some ninety miles from the city of Reikjavik. You see beneat' you wild mountains, ice-bound plains, frozen lakes, rivers and waterfalls, deep ravines and gorges, but no sign of smoke, no life. Shall I make my descent here? Shall I pull vat Monsieur Rory call de valve halyard? Shall I land in de regions of desolation?" "Dinna think o't," cried Sandy. "Never mind Rory; he is only a laddie." "It's yourself that's complimentary," quoth Rory. "Ah! ver' well," said De Vere; "I will go on, for since you have been gazing on de ship, de current have change, and we once more get nearer home." An hour went slowly by. Both the doctor and Rory were gazing at the _far-off_ mountain, Hekla, that lay to the south and east, though distant many miles. The vast hill looked a king among the other mountains; a king, but a dead king, being still and quiet in the sunshine, enrobed in a shroud of snow. Sandy was doubly engaged--he was talking musingly, and aloud; but at the same time he was doing ample justice to the venison pie that lay so confidingly on his knee, for Sandy was a bit of a philosopher in his own quiet way. "Mount Hekla," he was saying; "is it any wonder that these Norsemen, these superstitious sons of the ancient Vikings, look upon it as the entrance-gate to the terrible abode of fire and brimstone, gloom and woe, where are confined the souls of the unhappy dead? Hekla, round thy snow-capped summit the thunders never cease to roll--" "Hark," said Rory, holding up his hand; "talk about thunder, list to that." Both leant over the car and looked earthwards. What could it mean, that low, deep, long-continued thunderpeal? Was a storm raging beneath them? Yes, but not of the kind they at first imagined. For see, from where yonder hill starts abruptly from the glen, rise immense clouds of silvery white, and roll slowly adown the valley. The balloon hangs suspended right above the great _geyser_, which is now in full eruption. "It is as I thought," said De Vere; "let us descend a little way;" and he opened the valve as he spoke. The balloon made a downward rush as he did so, as if she meant to plunge herself and all her occupants into the very midst of the boiling cauldron. The steam from the geyser had almost reached their feet; the car thrilled beneath them, while the never-ceasing thunder pealed louder and louder. "My conscience!" roared honest Sandy, losing all control over himself; "we'll be boiled alive like so many partans!" [Partans: Scottish, crabs.] De Vere coolly threw overboard a bag or two of sand, and the balloon mounted again like a skylark. And not too soon either, for, awful, to relate, in his sudden terror Sandy had made a grab at the valve-rope, as if to check her downward speed. Had not Rory speedily pulled him back, the consequences would have been too dreadful to think of. De Vere only laughed; but he held up one finger by way of admonishing the doctor as he said, "Neever catch hold of de reins ven anoder man is driving." "But," said Rory, "didn't you go a trifle too near that time, Mister de Vere?" "A leetle," said the Frenchman, coolly. "It was noding." "Ach! sure no," says Rory; "it was nothing at all; and yet, Mister de Vere, it isn't the pleasantest thing in the world to imagine yourself being played at pitch and toss with on the top of a mighty geyser, for all the world like a nut-gall on the top of a twopenny fountain!" Sandy resumed the dissection of his venison pie. He would have a long entry for his diary to-night, he thought. Luck does not always attend the aeronaut, albeit fortune favours the brave, and the current of air that was carrying the balloonists so merrily back to Reikjavik, ceased entirely when they were still within ten miles of that quaint wee place. It was determined, therefore, to make a descent. Happily, they were over a glen. Close by the sea and around the bay were many small farms, and so adroitly did De Vere manage to attach an anchor to the roof of an old barn, that descent was easy in the extreme. Perhaps the happiest man in the universe at the moment Sandy McFlail's feet touched mother earth again was Sandy himself. "Man!" he cried to Rory, rubbing his hands and laughing with glee, "I thought gettin' out meant a broken leg at the vera least, and I haven't even bled my nose." There was some commotion, I can tell you, among the feathered inmates of the barnyard when the balloonists popped down among them; as for the farm folks, they had shut themselves up in the dwelling-house. The geese were particularly noisy. Geese, reader, always remind me of those people we call sceptics: they are sure to gabble their loudest at things they can't understand. But convinced at last that the aeronauts were neither evil spirits nor inhabitants of the moon, the good farmer made them heartily welcome at his fireside, and assisted them to pack, so that, by the aid of men and ponies, they found themselves late that evening safely on board the _Arrandoon_; and right glad were their comrades to see them again, you may be sure, and to listen to a narration by Rory of all their adventures, interlarded by Sandy's queer, dry remarks, which only served to render it all the more funny. But before they sat down to the ample supper that Peter had prepared for them, Rory reported to the captain his great discovery. McBain's eyes sparkled like live coals as he heard of it, but he said little. He sent quietly for the engineer and the mate. "How soon," he asked the former, "can you get up steam?" "In an hour, sir--easy." "That will do," said the captain. "Mr Stevenson, when will the moon rise?" "She is rising now, sir." "All right, Mr Stevenson. Have all ready to weigh anchor in two hours' time." "Ay, ay, sir!" The engineer still lingered. "I _could_ get up steam in twenty minutes," he said; "those American hams, sir--" "Oh, bother the hams?" said the captain, laughing. "No, no; we may be glad of those yet when frozen in at the Pole. Bear-and-ham pie, engineer; how will that eat, eh?" and he bowed him kindly out. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ By two bells in the middle watch the good ship _Arrandoon_ was off the needle rocks of the Portland Huck. They stood up out of the water like tall sheeted ghosts, with the moonlight and starlight shimmering from their shoulders. The sea was calm, with only a gentle heave on it; and there were but a few snowy clouds in the sky skirting the southern horizon, so the vessel ploughed along as beautifully as any sailor could wish, with a steady, contented throb of engine and gride of screw, leaving in her wake a long silvery line for the moonbeams to dance in. Save the noise of the ship's working there was not another sound to be heard, only occasionally a gull would float past overhead emitting a strange and mournful cry. What makes the sea-birds, I have wondered, sometimes leave the rocks at the midnight hour, and go skimming alone through the darkling air, emitting that weird and plaintive wail of theirs? It is a wail that goes directly to one's heart, and you cannot help thinking they must be bereaved ones mourning for their dead. Our heroes walked long on deck that night, talking quietly, as became the hour, of the prospects of their having a brush with the pirate. But they got weary at last, and turned in. Next morning they found the decks wet and slippery, more clouds in the sky, a fair beam wind blowing, and a trifle of canvas displayed. After breakfast McBain called all hands aft. In calm, dispassionate language he told them the story of the poor girl who had risked her life on their account, of her murdered brother and captive father, and of the pirate he was about to try to find and capture. Then he paused; and as he did so every one of the crew turned eyes on Ted Wilson, who strode forward. "Captain," said Ted, firmly, "we didn't sign articles to fight, did we, mates?" "No," from all hands. "_But_," continued Ted, "for such a captain as you be, and in such a cause, we _will_ fight, every man Jack of us, as long as the saucy _Arrandoon_ has a timber above the water. Am I right, mates?" A ringing cheer was all the reply, and Ted retired. Now, reader, were I a landsman novelist I would very likely here make my captain give the orders to "splice the main-brace," but I'm a sailor, and I tell you this, boys, that British seamen never yet needed Dutch courage to make them do their duty. Captain McBain only waved a hand and said, "Pipe down." An hour afterwards the crow's-nest was rigged and hoisted at the main-truck, and either the mate or the captain was in it off and on the whole day. But no pirate appeared that day nor the next. In the evening, however, some fishermen boarded the _Arrandoon_, and reported having seen a large barque, answering to the description of the suspected craft, that same morning lying at anchor off Suddersoe, with boats passing to and fro 'twixt ship and shore. "It is my precious opinion, captain," said old Magnus Bolt, "that this craft does a bit o' smuggling 'tween here and Shetland." "And it is my precious opinion, my dear Magnus," said McBain, "that the rascal doesn't care what he does so long as he lands the cash." The _Arrandoon_ was now kept away for the island named by the honest fishermen. Not straight, however; McBain gave it a wide berth, and passed it far to the west, and held on his course until many miles to the southward. In the morning it was "bout ship" and stand away north and by east again. They sighted the island about seven bells in the morning watch. Suddenly there was a hail from the crow's-nest. It was the captain's voice. "Come up here, Magnus Bolt, if your old bones will let you, and see what you shall see." Magnus sprang up the rigging somewhat after the fashion of an antiquated monkey, but with an agility no one would have given him credit for. "It is she!" he shouted, after he had had a look through the long glass in towards the iron-bound shores of the islands; "it is she! it is she! Ha! ha! ha!" and he positively danced and chuckled with delight. "You'll fight? you'll fight?" he gasped. "Rather," replied McBain; "but we'll run first. She shall fire the first shot, and, Magnus, you shall fire the second." Half an hour afterwards, when our heroes came on deck to have their morning look around, they stared at each other in blank astonishment. The _Arrandoon_ looked as if she had just come out of a tornado and had been dreadfully handled. The foretop-gallant mast was down, the jibboom inboard, the screw was hoisted up, the funnel itself had been unshipped and was lashed to the deck, and the flag was flying at half-mast, as if the vessel were in distress, or had death on board. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Now let me, with one touch of the fairy wand the storyteller wields, waft my readers on board the pirate herself. Fear not, for we will stay there but a brief space of time indeed. The tall and by no means unprepossessing form of the captain, armed _cap-a-pie_, is leaning against the rudder-wheel, one spoke of which he holds. His mate is by his side, glass in hand, examining the _Arrandoon_, now only a few miles off. "Ha! ha!" says the latter; "it is the same big craft we tried to strand; and she's had dirty weather, too--foretop-gallant mast and jibboom both gone. She is flying a signal of distress." "Distress? Eh? Ha! ha! ha?" laughed the pirate. "Isn't it funny? She'll have more of it; won't she, matie mine?" The mate laughed and commenced to sing-- "`Won't you walk into my parlour?' Said the spider to the fly?" "She's evidently a whaler, crow's-nest and all," he said. "Well," said the captain, "we'll _w(h)ale_ her;" and he laughed at his own stupid joke. "I say there, old lantern-jaws," he bawled down the companion. "I reckon," said a Yankee voice, "you alludes to this child." "I do," cried the captain; "and look ye here. We are going to fight and so forth. If we're like to be bested, scupper the old man at once. D'ye hear?" "Well, I guess I ain't deaf." "Very well, then. Obey, or a short shrift yours will be." "Why, captain," said the mate, "she knows us. She has put about, and is bearing away to the nor'-nor'-west." "Then hands up-anchor," cried his superior. "Crowd all sail; she can't escape us in her crippled condition." "Ah! captain," the mate remarked, "had you taken my advice and given that pretty but sly minx the _sack_, ere she gave you the _slip_, that whaler would have been ours before now." "Silence," roared the captain. "On that subject I will not hear a word. She shall be mine yet--or her father dies." With the exception of the few sentences bawled down the companion, all this was said in Danish, and my translation is a free one. And so the chase commenced, and seawards before the pirate, in an apparently crippled condition, staggered the _Arrandoon_. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "How far do you intend to bring her out?" asked Allan. "Ten miles clear of these islands, anyhow," replied McBain, "then she won't be able to play any pranks with us. Boys," continued McBain, a few minutes afterwards, "I'm going to write letters--home." There was nothing very unusual in the tone of his voice as he spoke these words, but there was a meaning in them, nevertheless, that was perfectly understood by our young heroes. They were not long, then, before they were each and all of them seated by the saloon table, inditing, it might or might not be, the last communications to the loved ones at home they _ever_ would pen. They were performing a duty--a sad one, perhaps, but still a duty; they were about to fight in a good cause, doubtless, but the result of the battle was uncertain. The _Maelsturm_, for that was the name of the pirate, was better--or rather, I should say, more copiously--manned than the _Arrandoon_, and though not so large a ship, she had more guns; her crew too fought with halters round their necks, and would therefore doubtless fight to the bitter end. The only advantage--and it was a great one--possessed by the _Arrandoon_ was steam power. Hours went by, and the chase was still kept up. It was six bells in the forenoon watch, and the _Maelsturm_ was hardly a mile astern. Our men had already had dinner, and were all in readiness--waiting, when, borne towards them over the wind-rippled waters from the pirate ship, came the quick, sharp rattle of a kettledrum. One roll, two rolls, three. "At last," said McBain, "they are beating to quarters." A puff of smoke from the bow of the pirate, the roar of a gun, and almost immediately after a round shot ricocheted past the quarter of the _Arrandoon_. The battle was begun. CHAPTER TEN. "DOWN WITH THE RED FLAG AND UP WITH THE BLACK!"--VICTORY--AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE--HIE, FOR THE NORTH. If the crew of the _Arrandoon_ needed any stimulus to fight the pirate, beyond the short speech that their captain had made them, it certainly was given them when the order was issued on board the latter craft, "Down with the red flag and up with the black!" and the broad, white-crossed ensign of merchant Denmark gave place to the hideous skull and cross-bones flown by sea marauders of all nations. She had rounded, too, in order to fire her broadside guns, or this would hardly have been visible. Perhaps the pirates imagined it would strike sudden fear into the hearts of those they had elected to consider their foes. Hatred and loathing it certainly inspired, but as to fear--well, in the matter of scaring, British sailors are perhaps the most unsatisfactory class of beings in the world. For the next quarter of an hour the doings on board the _Arrandoon_, as seen from the pirate's poop, must have considerably astonished--not to say puzzled--the officers of that ship, for in that short space of time what had appeared to be a sadly disabled vessel in distress, had hoisted a funnel, lowered a screw, and, while sail was being taken in, moved slowly away beyond reach of her guns. Not for long was she gone, however. She rounded almost on her own length; then, bows on, back she came, black and grim, athirst for vengeance. But the pirate was no coward, and broadside after broadside was poured into the advancing ship, without eliciting a single shot save one. This was the shot--the second shot--that McBain had promised Magnus. It went roaring through the air, crashed through the _Maelsturm's_ bulwarks midships, and smashed a boat to flinders. Magnus Bolt, or "Green," as he was better known, old as he was, was by far the best shot in the ship. He and Mitchell, the mate, a man of eagle eye and firm of nerve, were the gunners proper, and fired every gun in the fight that followed the second shot. If it were a starboard broadside they were there; if a port, they but crossed the deck to take deadly aim and fire it. "Remember, gunners," cried McBain, "we've got to take that ship, and not to sink her; so waste not a shot between wind and water?" On came the vessels, bow to bow, as arrow might meet arrow, and when within two hundred yards of each other, the _Maelsturm_ heading north and west, the _Arrandoon_ going full speed south and east, the pirate delivered her broadside, and immediately luffed up and commenced firing with her bow guns. She could get no nearer the wind, however. To go on the other tack would be but to hasten the inevitable. "Hard a port! Ease her a little! Steady as you go!" were the orders from the quarter-deck of the _Arrandoon_. "Small-arm men to fire wherever head or hand is visible." Now the _Arrandoon_ delivers her broadside as she again comes parallel with the _Maelsturm_, whose sails are all a-shiver. This just by way of confusing her a little. There is worse to come, for the order is now given to double-shot the port Dalgrens with canister. Away steams the _Arrandoon_, and round goes the _Maelsturm_. Ah! well he knows what the foe intends, but he will try to outmanoeuvre her if he can. But see! the _Arrandoon_ is round again; there will be no escaping her this time. Fire your bow guns, Mr Pirate; fire your broadside, you cannot elicit a reply. "Sta'board!" cries the captain; "starboard?" he signals, with his calm, uplifted arm. "Starboard still! steady now!" Then, in a voice of thunder, as they rounded the port quarter of the pirate, and, in spite of all good handling, got momentarily broadside on to her stem, "Stand to your guns--_Fire_!" When the _Arrandoon_ forged ahead clear of the smoke, it was evident from the confusion on board the _Maelsturm_, and the dishevelment of running and standing rigging, that the havoc on her decks must have been terrible. She was not beaten, though, as a gun from her broadside soon told. "We'll end this," said the captain to Rory, by his side, who had constituted himself clerk, and was coolly taking notes in the very thick of the fight, while shot roared through the ship's rigging and sides, men fell on all hands, and splinters filled the air. "We'll end it in the good old fashion, Rory. Stand by to grapple with ice-anchors! Prepare to board!" Now Allan and Ralph, who had been below assisting the surgeon, heard that word of command, and, just as the sides of the two ships had grated together, after firing their last broadsides, they were both, sword in hand, by their captain's side. McBain and our heroes were the very first to leap on to the blood-slippery decks of the pirate. The crew of that doomed ship fought for a time like furies--for a time, but only for a time. In less than five minutes every pirate on board was either disarmed or driven below, and the _Maelsturm_ was the prize of the gallant _Arrandoon_, and her captain himself lay bound on the quarter-deck. But the commander of this pirate ship was the very last man on board of her to yield. Even when the battle was virtually ended, as fiercely as a lion at bay he fought on his own quarter-deck, McBain himself being his antagonist. The latter could have shot him down had he been so minded, but he was not the man to take a mean advantage of a foe. The pirate was taller than McBain, but not so well built nor so muscular. They were thus pretty well matched, and as they fought, round and round the quarter-deck, a more beautiful display of swordsmanship was perhaps never witnessed. Once the pirate tripped and fell, McBain lowered his weapon until he had regained his feet, then swords clashed again and sparks flew. But see, the captain of the _Arrandoon_ clasps his claymore double-handed; he uses it hatchet fashion almost. He looks in his brawny might as if he could fell trees. The pirate cannot withstand the shock of the terrible onslaught, but he makes up in agility what he lacks in strength. He is borne backward and backward round the companion, McBain "showering his blows like wintry rain;" and now at last victory is his, the pirate's sword flies into flinders, our captain drops his claymore and springs empty-handed on his adversary, and next moment dashes him to the deck, where he lies stunned and bleeding, and before he can recover consciousness he is bound and helpless. Ralph, Allan, and Rory, none of whom, as providence so willed it, are wounded, and who had been silent spectators of the duel, now crowd around their captain, and shake his willing hand. "Heaven," says McBain, "has given the enemy into our hands, boys, but there is now much to be done. Let us buckle to it without a moment's delay. The wounded are to be seen to, both our own and the pirate's, the decks cleared, and everything made shipshape, and, if all goes well, we'll anchor with our prize to-morrow at Reikjavik." "And the clergyman, captain, the clergyman, the poor girl's father?" exclaimed Rory. "Ay, ay, boy Rory," said McBain; "he is doubtless on the vessel. We will proceed at once to search for him." If fiends ever laugh, reader, it must be with some such sound as that which now proceeded from the larynx of the pirate captain; if fiends ever smile, it must be with the same sardonic expression that now spread itself over his features. All eyes were instantly turned towards him. He had raised himself to the sitting position. "Ha! ha! ha!" he chuckled, while, manacled though his wrists were, he drew his right forefinger rapidly across his throat, uttering, as he did so, these words, "Your padre; ha! ha! dead--dead--dead." His listeners were horrified. What McBain's reply would have been none can say. It was not needed, for at that very moment, ere the exultant grin had vanished from the wretch's face, there sprang on deck from the companion a figure, tall and gaunt, clad from top to toe in skins. He knelt on the deck in front of the pirate, the better to confront him. With forefinger raised, "he held him with his glittering eye," while he addressed him as follows: "Look here, Mister Pirate, I was going to use strong language, but I won't, though I guess and calculate mild words are wasted on sich as you. The parson ain't dead; ne'er a hair on his reverend head. Ye thought I'd scupper him, didn't you, soon's the ship was taken? Ye thought this child was your slave, didn't ye? Ha! ha! though, he has rounded on ye at last, and if that bit of black rag weren't enough to hang you and your wretched crew of cutthroats, here in front o' ye kneels one witness o' your dirty deeds, and the other will be on deck in a minute in the person o' the parson you thought dead. How d'ye like it, eh?" and the speaker once more stood erect, and confronted our heroes. "Seth!" they ejaculated, in one voice. "Seth! by all that is marvellous!" said McBain, clutching the old man by the right hand, while Rory seized his left, and Allan and Ralph got hold of an arm each. "Ah! gentlemen," said honest Seth--and there was positively a tear in his eye as he spoke--"it's on occasions like these that one wishes he had four hands,--a hand for every friend. Yes, I reckon it is Seth himself, and nary a one else. You may well say wonders will never cease. You may well ask me how on earth I came here. It war Providence, gentlemen, and nuthin' else, that I knows on. It war Providence sent that cut-throat skipper to the land where you left me on the _Snowbird_, though I didn't think so at the time, when they burned and pillaged my hut and killed poor old Plunkett, nor when they carried me a prisoner on board the _Maelsturm_. They meant to scupper old Seth. They did talk o' bilin' his old bones in whale oil, but they soon found out he could heal a hole in a hide as well as make one, and so, gentlemen, I've been surgeon-in-chief to this craft for nine months and over. Yes, it war Providence and nuthin' else, and I knew it war as soon as I saw your ship heave in sight, the day they guessed they'd wreck ye. The parson's daughter, poor little Dunette, war on board then. I sent her to save ye; and when I heard your voice, Captain McBain, on the reef, I felt sure it war Providence then, and I kind o' prayed in my rough way that He might spare ye. Shake hands, gentlemen, again. Bother these old eyes o' mine; they will keep watering." And Seth drew his sleeve rapidly across his face as he spoke. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Rory was a proud--boy, ahem! well, _man_, then, if you will have it so, when that same afternoon he was put on board the _Maelsturm_, as captain of her, with a picked crew from the _Arrandoon_, and with orders to make all sail for Reikjavik. McBain's last words to him were these,-- "Keep your weather eye lifting, Captain Roderick Elphinston. Clap two sentries on those ruffianly prisoners of yours, and let your men sleep with their cutlasses by their sides and their revolvers under their heads." "Ay, ay, sir!" said Rory. Rory allowed his crew to sleep, but he himself paced the deck all the livelong night. Occasionally he could see the lights of the _Arrandoon_ far on ahead; but towards morning the weather got thick and somewhat squally, and at daylight the _Maelsturm_ seemed alone on the ocean. Sail was taken in, but the ship kept her course, and just in the even-glome Rory ran into the Bay of Reikjavik, and dropped anchor, and shortly after a boat came off from the _Arrandoon_ with both Allan and Ralph in it, to congratulate the boy-captain on the success of his, first voyage as skipper-commandant. Next day both the pirate vessel and her captor were show-ships for the people--all the _elite_ and beauty of Reikjavik crowded off from the shore in dozens to see them. The dilapidated condition of the _Maelsturm_, her broken bulwarks, rent rigging, and shivered spars, showed how fierce the fight had been. Nor were evidences of the struggle wanting on board the _Arrandoon_, albeit the men had been hard at work all the day making good repairs. The dead were buried at sea; the wounded were mostly sent on shore. Five poor fellows belonging to McBain's ship would never fight again, and many more were placed for a time _hors de combat_. As to the prisoners, they were transferred to a French ship that lay at Reikjavik, and that in the course of a week sailed with them for Denmark. Seth and the officers of the _Arrandoon_ made and signed depositions; and in addition to this, as evidence against the pirates, the old clergyman and his daughter Dunette, now joyfully reunited, went along with the Frenchman, while, with a crew from shore, the _Maelsturm_ left some days after. The black flag had never been lowered, nor was it until the day the pirate captain and many of his crew expiated their long list of crimes on the scaffold at the Holms of Copenhagen. Poor Dunette, the tears fell unheeded from her sad blue eyes as she bade farewell to our heroes on the deck of the _Arrandoon_. She did not say good-bye to the surgeon, however--at least not there. He had begged for a boat, and accompanied her on board the vessel in which she was to sail. Have they a secret, we wonder? Is it possible that our quiet surgeon has won the heart of this beautiful fair-haired Danish maiden? These are questions we must not seek answer to now, but time may tell. Not until the pirate ship had left the bay, and the wounded were so far convalescent as to be brought once more on board, did the old peace and quiet settle down upon the good ship _Arrandoon_. And now once more all was bustle and stir; in a day or two they would start for the far north, and bid adieu to civilisation--a long but not, they hoped, a last adieu. The very evening before they sailed, a farewell party was given on board the _Arrandoon_. The decks were tented over with canvas lined with flags, and the whole scene was gay and festive in the extreme. Poetic Rory could not have believed that there was so much female youth and loveliness in this primitive little town of Reikjavik. No wonder that day was dawning in the east ere the last boat of laughing and merry guests left for the shore. Many and many a time afterwards, when surrounded by dangers innumerable, when beset in ice, when engulfed in darkness and storm, in the mysterious regions of the Pole, did they look back with pleasure to that last happy night spent in the bay of Reikjavik. But see, it is twelve o'clock by the sun. Flags are floating gaily on the fort, on the little church tower, and on every eminence in or near the town, and the beach and snow-clad rocks are lined with an excited crowd. Hands and handkerchiefs are waved, and with the farewell cheers the far-off hills resound. Then our brave fellows man the rigging and waft them back cheer for cheer, as the noble vessel cleaves the waters of the bay, and stands away for the Northern Ocean. CHAPTER ELEVEN. THE VOYAGE RESUMED--A PLEASANT EVENING--"THOSE RUSHING WINDS"--THE "ARRANDOON" GROWS SAUCY--THE DOCTOR SPREAD-EAGLED--A SCHOOL OF WHALES. Ere the day had worn to a close, before the sun went down in a golden haze, leaving one long line of crimson cloud, as earnest of a bright to-morrow, the _Arrandoon_, steaming twelve knots to the hour, was once more far away at sea, and the rugged mountains of Iceland could hardly be descried. As night fell a breeze sprang up, and as there was little doubt it would freshen ere long--for it blew from the east-south-east, and the glass had slightly gone down, with the mercury still concave at top--Captain McBain gave orders for the fires to be banked, and as much canvas spread as she could comfortably carry. "Just make her snug, you know, Mr Stevenson," said McBain, "for the night will be dark, and we may have more wind before the middle watch." "And troth," said Rory to his companions, "if the ship is to be made snug, I don't see why we shouldn't make ourselves snug for the night too." Ralph was gazing down through the skylight at the brilliantly-lighted saloon, where Peter, with the aid of the assistant-steward and Freezing Powders, was busy laying the cloth for dinner. "I've just come from forward," replied Ralph, in raptures, "where I've been sniffing the roast beef and the boiled potatoes; and now just look below, Rory,--look how Peter's face beams with intelligent delight; see how radiant Freezing Powders is; behold how merrily the flames dance on that fire of fires in the stove, and how the coloured crystal shimmers, and the bright silver shines on that cloth of spotless snow! Yes, Rory, you're right, boy--let us make ourselves snug for the night. So down we go, and dress our smartest--for, mind, boys, there is going to be company to-night." Yes, there was going to be company; five were all that as a rule sat down to table in the grand saloon, but to-night the covers were laid for five more, namely Stevenson, Seth, old Magnus, and Ap, and last, though not least, De Vere, the French aeronaut. The cook of the _Arrandoon_ had been chosen specially by Ralph himself. Need I say, then, that he was an artist? and to-night he had done his best to outshine himself, and, I think, succeeded. I think, too, that when Peter went forward, some time after the great joints had been put on the table, and told him that everything was going on "as merrily as marriage bells," and that the gentlemen were loud in their praises of Ralph's cook, that that cook was about the happiest man in the ship. Peter had not exaggerated a bit either, for everything did go off well at this little dinner-party. It would have done your heart good to have seen the beaming countenances of little Ap, old man Magnus, and honest trapper Seth; and to have noticed how often they passed their plates for another help would have made you open your eyes with wonder--that is, if you never had been to Greenland; but had you made the voyage North Polewards even once, you would have known that of all countries in the world that is just the place to give man or boy a healthy appetite. When the cloth was removed and dessert placed upon the table they seemed happier than ever, if that were possible, and smiles and jokes and jocund yarns ere the order of the evening. After every good story the cockatoo helped himself to an immense mouthful of hemp-seed, and cried,-- "Dea-ah me! Well, well, but go on, _go on_--next." And as to Freezing Powders, he was so amazed at many things he heard, that more than a dozen times in one hour he had to refresh himself by standing on his head in a corner of the saloon. "Well, well, well!" said McBain, taking the advantage of a mere momentary lull in this feast of reason and flow of soul, "and what a strange mixture of nationalities we are, to be sure! Here is our bold, quiet Ralph, English to the spine--" "And I," said Rory, "I'm Oirish to the chine." "That you are," assented McBain; "and Allan and myself here are Scotch; and if you look farther along the table there is Wales represented in the form of cool, calculating, mathematical Ap; Shetland in the shape of our brave gunner Magnus; France in the form of friend De Vere; and the mightiest republic in the world in Seth's six feet and odd inches; to say nothing of Africa standing on its head beside Polly's cage. Freezing Powders, you young rascal, drop on to your other end; don't you see you're making Polly believe the world is upside down? look at her hanging by the feet with her head down!" "Dat cockatoo not a fool, sah," said Freezing Powders; "he know putty well what he am about, sah!" "D'ye know," said Ralph, looking smilingly towards Seth, "it is quite like old times to see Seth once more in the midst of us?" "And oh!" said Seth, rubbing his hands, while a modest smile stole over his wiry face, "mebbe this old trapper ain't a bit pleased to meet ye all again. Gentlemen, Seth and civilisation hain't been 'cquaintances very long; skins seem to suit this child better'n the fine toggery ye've rigged him out in. But ye've made him feel a deal younger, and he guesses and calculates he may die 'pectable yet." I fear it was pretty far into the middle watch ere our friends parted and betook themselves to their berths. Two bells had gone--"the wee short hoor ayont the twal"--when McBain rose from the table, this being a signal for general good-nights. "I'm going part of the way home with you, old man," he said to Magnus, and with his arm placed kindly over his shoulder he left the saloon with the brave wee Shetlander. "Two turns on the deck, Magnus," he continued, "and then you can turn in. And so, you say, in all your experience--and it has been very vast, hasn't it, my friend?" "That it has, sir," replied Magnus. "I may say I was born in these seas, for the first thing I remember--when our ship went down under us in the pack north of Jan Mayen--is my father, bless him! putting me in a carpetbag for safety, to carry me on to the ice with him. Yes, sir, yes." "And in all your experience," McBain went on, "you don't remember a season likely to have been more favourable for our expedition to the North Pole than the present?" "I don't, sir--I don't," said little Magnus, "Look, see, sir, the frost has been extreme all over the north. In the Arctic regions the ice has been all of a heap like. It isn't yet loosened. We haven't met a berg yet. Funny, ain't it, sir?--queer, isn't it, cap'n?" "It is strange," said McBain; "and from this what do you anticipate?" "Anticipate isn't the word, cap'n," cried Magnus, fixing McBain by the right arm, stopping his way, and emphasising his words with wildfire glints from his warlock eyes. "Anticipate?--bah! cap'n--bah! I'm old enough to be your grandfather. Ask me rather what I _augur_? And I answer this, I augur a glorious summer. Ice loosened before May-Day. Fierce heat south of England, and consequently rarefaction of the atmosphere, and rushing winds from the far north to fill up the heated vacuum--rushing winds to trundle the icebergs south before them--rushing winds to split the packs, and rend the floes, and open up a passage for this brave ship to the far-off Isle of Alba." "Bless you, Magnus! Give us your hand, my old sea-dad. You always gave me comfort, even when I was a boy in the wilds of Spitzbergen. You taught me to splice, and reef, and steer. Bless you, Magnus! I couldn't have sailed without you." "But stay, my son, stay," continued this weird little man, holding up a warning finger; "those rushing winds--" "Yes, Magnus?" "They will bring danger on their wings." "I'll welcome it, Magnus," laughed McBain. "Those rushing winds will tear down on us, hurricane-high, tempest-strong. The great bergs, impelled by force of wind and might of wave, will dash each other to atoms." "All the better for us, Daddy Magnus," said the captain. "Were your voice as loud as cannon's roar you will be as one dumb amid the turmoil." "Then I'll steer by signs," said McBain. "Should our ship escape destruction, we will be enveloped by fogs, encircled by a darkness that will be felt." "Then we'll heave-to and wait till they evaporate. But there, my good Magnus, you see I'm not afraid of anything. I'd be unworthy of such a sea-dad as you if I were; so no more tragic airs, please. Thou mindest me, old Magnus, of the scene between Lochiel and the Wizard. "`Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day When the Lowlands shall meet you in battle array,' "says the Wizard, and so on and so forth. "`False wizard, avaunt!' replies Lochiel, and all the rest of it, you know. But, beloved Magnus, I don't _say_ `avaunt!' to you. But just see how the cold spray is dashing inboard. So, not to put too poetic a point on it, I simply say, `Go down below, old man, and don't get wet, else your joints will ache in the morning with the rheumatiz.'" The morning broke beautifully fine and clear, the reefs were shaken out of the topsails, topgallant-sails and royals were set, and, indeed, all the square cloth she could carry, and away went the _Arrandoon_ before the wind, as happy, to all appearance, as the malleys and gulls that seemed to play at hide-and-seek with her, behind the comb-crested seas of olive-green. Ralph and Allan, arm-in-arm, were marching rapidly up and down one side of the quarter-deck, Rory and McFlail on the other, and ever and anon a merry laugh from some one of them rang out bright and joyously on the fresh frosty air. Towards noon stunsails were set, and the _Arrandoon_ looked more like a sea-bird than ever; she even seemed to sing to herself--so thought Rory and so thought the doctor--as she went nodding and curtseying along over the waves, with now a bend to starboard, and now a lean to port; now lowering her bows till the seas ahead looked mountains high, and anon giving a dip waterwards till her waist was wet with the seething spray, and her lower stunsail-booms seemed to tickle the very breast of old mother ocean. The wind was increasing, and there were times when our boys had to pause in their walk and grapple the mizzen rigging, laughing at each other as they did so. "Wo ho, my beauty?" said McBain. "Mr Mitchell, I daresay we must take in sail." "I'm afraid so, sir," replies Mitchell; "but--" and here he eyes the bellowing canvas--"it do seem a pity, sir, don't it?" But here "my beauty" gives a vicious plunge forwards, elevating herself aft like a kicking mare, and shipping tons of water over her bows. "I don't want to be wicked," the ship seems to say, "and I don't want to lose a spar, though I _could_ kick one off as easy as a daddy-longlegs gets rid of a limb; but if you don't ease me a bit I'll--" A bigger and more decided plunge into the sea, followed by a rising of her jibboom zenithwards, and the water comes roaring aft in one great bore, which seeks exit by the quarter-deck scupper-holes, and goes tumbling down the companion ladder, to the indignation of Peter and the disgust of Freezing Powders, who is standing on his head in an attitude of contemplation, and ships a green sea down his nostrils. Our heroes leap in time on to the top of the skylight, and there sit grinning delightedly as the waters go roaring past them, and floating thereon evidence enough that the men had been preparing dinner when Neptune boarded them, for yonder float potatoes and turnips and cabbages, to say nothing of a leg of Highland mutton and a six-pound piece of bacon. "Hands, shorten sail!" But next day--so changeable is a sailor's life--the wind had all got bottled up again or gone back to its cave; the sea was smooth as glass, and steam was up, but the sky was still clear, and the sun undimmed by the slightest haze. Just before lunch came the first signs that ice was not far ahead. The _Arrandoon_ encountered a great "stream," as it is called, of deep, snowy slush--I do not know what else to call it. It stretched away eastwards to westwards, as far as the eye from the crow's-nest could reach, and it was probably nine or ten miles wide. It lessened the good ship's way considerably, you may be sure. Her bows clove through it with a brushing sound; her screw revolved in it with a noise like dead leaves stirred by autumn winds. "Losh!" cried Sandy, the surgeon, looking curiously overboard, "what's this noo? Wonders will never cease!" "Och, sure!" replied Rory, mischievously, "you know well enough what it is; it's only speaking for speaking's sake you are." "The ne'er a bone o' ma knows, I do assure ye," said Sandy. "Well, doctor dear," said Rory, "it is simply the belt, or zone, that geographers call the `Arctic circle.'" But Sandy looked at him with a pitying smile. "Man--Rory?" he said, "I'm no' so sea-green as you tak me to be. I've a right good mind to pu' your lugs. Young men, sir, dinna enter Aberdeen University stirks and come out cuddies?" "Mon!" cried Rory, imitating Sandy's brogue, "if ye want to pu' my lugs you'll hae to catch me first;" and off he went round the deck, with the doctor after him. But Ralph caught him, if Sandy couldn't, and handed him over to justice. "Now," cried the surgeon, catching him by the ear, "whistle, and I'll let you free." It is no easy matter to whistle when you want to laugh, but when Rory at long last did manage to emit a labial note that passed muster as a whistle, the doctor was as good as his word, and Rory was free. Luncheon was barely finished, when down from the crow's-nest rang the welcome hail, "Ice ahead!" Our heroes rushed on deck, McBain was there before them, and when they stepped on to the "lid" of the ship, as Sandy once called the deck, they found the captain half-way up to the nest. There wasn't a bit of ice to be seen from the deck. "Hurrah for the foretop?" cried Rory, laying hold of a stay. "Who's coming?" "I will!" cried Allan. "I'm going below to finish lunch," said Ralph. "I'll be safer on deck, I think," said the canny doctor. But when Rory on the foretop struck an attitude of wonderment, and pointing away ahead, exclaimed, in rapture, "Oh, boys, what a scene is here!" the doctor thought he would give anything for a peep, so he summoned up his courage and began to ascend the rigging, slowly, and with about as much grace in his actions as a mud turtle would exhibit under the like circumstances. Allan roared, "Good doctor! good! Bravo, old man! Heave round like a brick! Don't look down." Rory was in a fit of merriment, and trying to stifle himself with his handkerchief. Suddenly down dropped that handkerchief; and this was just the signal four active lads were waiting for. Up they sprang like monkeys behind the surgeon, who had hardly reached the lubber-hole. Alas! the good medico didn't reach it that day, for before you could have said "cutlass" he was seized, hand and foot, and lashed to the rigging, Saint Andrew's-cross fashion. The surgeon of the _Arrandoon_ was spread-eagled, and Rory, the wicked boy! had his revenge. "My conscience!" cried Sandy; "what next, I wonder?" "It's a vera judeecious arrangement," sung Rory from the top. But the men were not hard on the worthy doctor, and the promise of several ounces of nigger-head procured him his freedom, and he soon regained the deck, a sadder and a wiser man. They were quickly among the ice--not bergs, mind you, only a stream of bits and pieces, of every shape and form, some like sheep and some like swans, and some like great white oxen. Here was a piece like a milking-pail; here was a lump like a hay-cock; yonder a gondola; yonder a boat; and yonder a couch on which the Naiades might recline and float, or Ino slumber. It was Rory who made the last remark. "And by this and by that!" he exclaimed, "there is a Naiad on it now! or it's Ino herself, by all that's amusing!" "Away, second whaler!"--this from McBain. "Get your rifle, boy Rory, and jump on board and fetch that seal!" Down rattled the boat from the davits, Rory in the bows; the next moment she was off, and tearing through the glazed water as fast as sturdy arms could row. The seal took one look up to see what was coming. Rory's rifle rang out sharp and clear in the frosty air, and the poor seal never lifted head again. The ship was by this time a goodly mile ahead, but there she stopped; then she went ahead again, rounded, and came back full speed to meet the boat, for they on board could see a danger that Rory couldn't--couldn't, did I say? Ah! but he soon did, and, with the roar of a maelstrom, down they came upon him--an enormous school of whales! The men lay on their oars thunderstruck. The sea around them seemed alive with the mighty monsters. How they plunged and ploughed and snorted and blew! The sea became roughened, as if a fierce wind was blowing over it; pieces of ice as large as boats were caught on the backs or tails of these brutes and pitched aside as one might a football. It occurred to Rory to fire at some of them. "Stay, stay!" roared the coxswain; "if you love your life, sir, and care for ours, fire not. _You_ may never have seen a whale angry--I have. Fire not, I beseech you!" It was a strange danger to have encountered, and Rory and his boat-mates were not sorry when it passed, and they once more stood in safety on the deck of the _Arrandoon_. But Rory soon regained his equanimity. "Five hundred whales!" he cried; "and they were all mine, Ralph, 'cause I found them! Sure, they were worth a million of money?" "So you've been a millionaire, Rory?" said McBain. "Yes, worse luck!" said Rory, in a voice of comic sadness, "a millionaire for a minute!" CHAPTER TWELVE. THE ISLE OF JAN MAYEN--RETROSPECTION--THE SEA OF ICE--THE DESERTED VILLAGE--CARRIED OFF BY A BEAR--DANCING FOR DEAR LIFE. What a tiny speck it looks in the map, that island of Jan Mayen, all by itself, right in the centre of the great Arctic Ocean. Of volcanic origin it undoubtedly is--every mountain, rock, and hill in it--and there is ample evidence that from yonder gigantic cone, that rises, like a mighty sugar-loaf or the Tower of Babel itself, to a height of 6,000 feet sheer into the blue and cloudless sky, at one time smoke and flames must oftentimes have burst, and showers of stones and ashes, and streams of molten lava. I have gazed on it by night, and my imagination has carried me back, and back, and back, through the long-distant past, and I have tried to fancy the sublimity of the scene during an eruption. The time is early spring. The long, dark winter has passed away; the cold-looking, rayless sun rises now, but skirts hurriedly across a small disc of southern sky, then speedily sinks to rest again, as though he shuddered to gaze upon scenery so bleak and desolate. The island of Jan Mayen, with its ridgy hills and its one mighty mountain, is clad in dazzling robes of virgin snow. Its rocky and precipitous shores rise not up, as yet, from the dark waters that in summer time wash round them, but from the sea of ice itself. As far as eye can reach, or north or south, or east or west, stretches this immeasurable ocean of ice. All flat and all snow-clad is it, like the wildest and loneliest of Highland moorlands in winter, and its very flatness gives it an air of greater lonesomeness, which the solitary hummocks here and there but tend to heighten. And through the short and dreary day one solitary cloud has rested like a pall on the summit of the mountain. But it is midnight now: in the deep blue of the sky big, bright stars are shining, that look like moons of molten silver, and seem far nearer than they do in southern climes. In the north the radiant bow of the Aurora is spread out, its transverse beams glancing and glistering, spears of light, that dance and glide and shimmer, changing their colours every moment from green to blue or red, from pale-yellow to the brightest of crimson. And the silence that reigns over all this field of ice is one that travellers have often experienced, often been impressed and awed by, but never yet found words to describe. Silence did I say? Yes! but listen! Subterranean thunders suddenly break it--thunders coming evidently from the bosom of the great mountain yonder, thunders that shake and crack and rend the very ice on which you stand, causing the bergs to grind and shriek like monsters in agony. The great cloud pall has risen higher and spread itself out, and now hangs horizontally over half the island, black and threatening, its blackness lit up ever and anon with flashes of lightning, sheet and forked, while, peal after peal, the thunder now rolls almost without intermission. And onward and onward rolls the cloud athwart the sky, blotting out the starlight--blotting out the beautiful Aurora--till the sea of ice for leagues around is canopied in darkness. But behold, over the mountain-top the cloud gets lighter in colour, for immense volumes of steam, solid sheets of water, and pieces of ice tons in weight, are being belched forth, or hurtled into the air with a continued noise that drowns the awful rhythm of the thunder itself. Then flames follow, shooting up into the sky many hundreds of feet, lighting up the scene with a lurid glare, while down the snow-clad sides of the great cone streams of fiery lava rush in fury, crimson, blue, or green. And gigantic rocks are precipitated into the air--rocks so large that, as they fall upon the ice miles distant from the burning crater, they smash the heaviest floes, and sink through into the sea. Great stones, too, are incessantly emitted, like balls of fire, that burst in the air, and keep up a sound like that of the loudest artillery. The sun will rise in due course, but his beams cannot penetrate the veil of saturnine darkness that envelops the sea of ice. And the fire will rage, the thunders will roll, and showers of stones and ashes fall for days, ay, mayhap for weeks or months, ere the mighty convulsion ceases, and silence once more reigns in and around this island of Jan Mayen. Towards this lonely isle of the ocean the _Arrandoon_ had been beating and pushing her way for days; and she now lay, with clewed sails and banked fires, among the flat but heavy bergs not five miles from it. There was no water in sight, for the iceless ocean had been left far, far astern, and the ship was now to all intents and purposes beset. Yet the ice was loose; it was not welded together by the fingers of King Frost, and if it remained so, the difficulty of getting out into the clear water again would be by no means insurmountable. Our heroes, the doctor included, were all on deck, dressed to kill, in caps of fur with ear lapels, coats of frieze with pockets innumerable, with boots that reached over the knees, and each was armed with a rifle and seal-club, with revolver in belt and short sheath-knife dangling from the left side. "And so," said the doctor, "this is the mighty sea of ice that I've heard so much about! Man! boys! I'm no so vera muckle struck with it. It is not unlike my father's peat moss in the dreary depths of winter. Where are the lofty pinnacled bergs I expected to see, the rocks and towers of ice, the green glistening gables, and the tall spires, like a hundred cathedrals dang into one?" "Ah!" said McBain, laughing, "just bide a wee, doctor lad, till we go farther north, and if you don't see ice that will outdo your every dream of romance, I'm neither Scot nor sailor. "But what is this?" continued the captain. "Who in the name of all that is marvellous have we here?" "I 'spects I'se Freezin' Powders, sah," was the reply of the little negro boy. "Leastways I hopes I is." Here the urchin touched his cap. "Freezin' Powders, at your service, sah--your under-steward and butler, sah?" "Well, my under-steward and butler," said McBain; "but whoever could have expected to see you rigged out in this fashion--pilot suit, fur cap, boots, and all complete? Why, who dressed you, my little Freezin' Powders?" "De minor ole gem'lam," replied the boy; "but don't dey fit, sah? Don't dey become dis chile? Look heah, sah!" and Freezing Powders went strutting up and down the quarter-deck, as proud as a pouter pigeon; and finished off by presenting arms with his seal-club in front of his good-natured captain. "Well," said McBain, much amused, "you are a comical customer. By `the minor ole gem'lam' I suppose you mean honest Magnus? But your English is peculiar, youngster." "My English is puffuk, sah!" replied the boy; "but lo! sah! suppose I not have dis suit of close, I freeze, sah! I no longer be Freezin' Powders, 'cause I freeze all up into one lump, sah! Now, sah, I can go on shoh wid de oder officers." "Ho! ho!" laughed McBain; "the _other_ officers. It's come to that, has it? But," he added, turning to Allan and Rory, "you'll look after the lad, won't you?" "That will we," said both in a breath. Here are the names of those who went on shore in Jan Mayen on this memorable day--Allan, Ralph, Rory, Seth, and the doctor, with three club-armed retainers, and lastly, Freezing Powders himself. They were a merry band. You could have heard them laughing and talking when they were miles away from the ship. They had to leap from one piece of ice to another; but as the bergs were from forty to fifty feet square--thus affording them a good run for their leaps--and as the pieces were pretty closely packed, jumping was no great hardship. When now and then they came to a bit of water that required a tolerable spring to get over, tall Ralph vaulted first, then brawny-chested Allan pitched Freezing Powders after him, whom Ralph caught as easily as if he had been a cricket-ball. They landed on the island in a kind of bay, where the land sloped down to the snow-clad beach. Not far from the sea they were much surprised to find the ruins of huts that had been. No smoke issued therefrom now, but there was ample proof that roaring fires had once burned in each hut. They were partly underground, and though built of wood and sealskins they were thatched and fortified with snow. The largest cot of all was in the centre, and entering this they found a key to the seeming mystery, for here were evidences of civilisation. Pots and pans stood on the empty hearth; a chair or two, a truckle bed, a deal table and a book-cupboard, formed the furniture, and to cap all a written document was found, which informed them that this village had been the encampment for the summer months of a party of American walrus-hunters, the captain of which had aided science by making innumerable observations of a meteorological and scientific nature. "I reckon," said Seth, "there ain't many parts o' the world where my enterprising countrymen hain't shown their noses." "All honour to them for that same," said Rory; "and troth, there isn't a mightier nation on the face of the earth bar the kingdom of Ireland." "Now, look here," said Allan, "this wee chap, Freezing Powders, will be far too tired if he goes with us; and here, by good luck, is a frozen ham in this enterprising Yankee's cupboard. I move we light a fire, hang it over it, and leave the little black butler as cook till we come back." "Bravo!" said Ralph. "Allan, you're a brick. You won't be afraid, will you, Freezing Powders?" "I stop and do de cookin', plenty quick," answered the boy, briskly. "Freezin' Powders never was afraid of nuffin in his life." So the fire was lighted--there was fuel enough in the hut to keep it going for a month; then, leaving the boy to watch the ham, away went our explorers, upwards and onwards, through the ruggedest glens imaginable; winding round rocks and hills of ice and snow, they soon lost sight of the primitive village, the distant ship, and the sea of ice itself. They wandered on and on for miles, pausing often to allow Rory to make a sketch of some more than usually wild and fantastic group of ice-clad rocks or charming bit of scenery; but wherever they went, or whichever way they turned, there loomed the great mountain cone of Jan Mayen above them. The scene was everywhere silent and desolate in the extreme, for not a breath of wind was blowing, not a cloud was in the sky, and no sign of life was there to greet them, not even a solitary gull or snowbird. It wanted two good hours to sunset when they once more returned to the deserted village, eager to test the flavour of the Yankee's ham, for walking on the snow had given them the appetite of healthy hunters. Their astonishment as well as horror may be imagined when, on entering the hut, they found a scene of utter confusion. The fire still burned, it is true, and yonder hung the ham; but the table and chairs were overturned, and the contents of even the rude bookcase scattered about the floor. _And Freezing Powders was gone_! He had been carried off by a bear. Of this there was plenty of testimony, if only in the huge footprints of the monster, which he had left in the snow. Not very distinct were they, however, for the surface of the snow was crisp and hard. But Seth was equal to the occasion, and at once--walking in a bee line, the trapper leading--they set out to track the bear, if possible, to his lair. The footprints led them southwards and west, through a region far more wild than that which they had already traversed. For a whole hour they walked in silence, until they found themselves at the top of a ravine, the rocks of which joined to form a sort of triangle. Half-roofed over was this triangle with a balcony of frozen snow, from which descended immense icicles, on which the roof leant, forming a kind of verandah. Seth paused, and pointed upwards. "The b'ar is yonder!" he whispered. "Stay here; the old trapper's feet are moccasined, he won't be heard. Gentlemen, Seth means to have that b'ar, or he won't come back alive!" So leaving his companions, onwards, all alone, steals Seth. A bear itself could not have crept more silently, more cautiously along than the trapper does. Those left behind waited in a fever of almost breathless suspense. The doctor stretched out his arm and took gentle hold of Rory's wrist. His pulse was over a hundred; so was the doctor's own, and he could easily hear his heart beat. How slowly old Seth seems to move. He is on hands and knees now, and many a listening pause he makes. Now he has reached the edge of the icy verandah, and peers carefully over. The bear is there, undoubtedly, for, see, he gives one anxious glance at his rifle--it is a double-barrelled bone-crusher. Crang-r-r-r! goes the rifle, and every rock in the island seems to re-echo the sound. The reverberation has not ceased, however, when there mingles with it a roar--a blood-curdling roar--that seems to shake the very ground. "Wah-o-ah! waugh! waugh! wah-o?" and a great pale-yellow bear springs from the cave, then falls, quivering and bleeding, on his side in the snow. Our heroes rush up now. "Any more of them?" cries Rory. "Wall, I guess not," said the old trapper. "Yonder lies the master; I've given him a sickener; and the missus ain't at home. But there is suthin' black in thar, though!" "Why," cried Allan, "I declare it is Freezing Powders himself!" and out into the bright light stalked the poor nigger boy, staring wildly round about, and seemingly in a dream. "Ah, gem'lams!" he said, slowly, "so you have come at last! What a drefful, _drefful_ fright dis poor chile have got! 'Spect I'll nebber get ober it; nebber no more!" "Come along," said Ralph. "Get on top of my shoulder. That's the style! You can tell us all about it when we reach the village." "Now," cried Allan, "look alive, lads, and whip old Bruin out of his skin, and bring along his jacket and paws!" When they did get back to the hut, and poor Freezing Powders had warmed himself and discussed a huge slice of broiled ham and a captain's biscuit, the boy got quite cheery again, and proceeded to relate his terrible adventure. "You see, gem'lams," he said, "soon as ebber you leave me I begin for to watch de ham, and turn he round and round plenty much, and make de fire blaze like bobbery. Mebbe one whole hour pass away. De flames dey crack, and de ham he frizzle. Den all to once I hear somebody snuff-snuffing like, and I look round plenty quick, and dere was--oh! dat great big awful bear--bigger dan a gator [alligator]. Didn't I scream and run jus'! And de bear he knock down de chairs and de tables, and den he catchee me in his mouf, all de same I one small mouse and he one big cat. You see, gem'lam, he smell de ham. `Dat bery nice,' he tink, `but de nigga boy better.' So he take dis chile. He nebber have take one nigga boy before dis, praps. Den he run off wid me ober de mountains. He no put one tooth in me all de time. When he come to de cave he put me down and snuff me. Den he say to himself, `I want some fun; I make play wid dis nigga boy befoh I gobbles 'im up.' So he make me run wid his big foot, and when I run away den he catchee me again, and he keep me run away plenty time, till I so tired I ready to drop. [Greenland bears have been known to play this cat-and-mouse game with seals before devouring them.] All de same, I not want to be gobble up too soon, gem'lams, so I make all de fun I can. I stand on my head, and I run on my four feet. I jump and I kick, and I dance, and I sing to de tune ob-- "`Plenty quick, nigga boy, Plenty fast you run, De bear will nebber gobble you up So long's you make de fun.' "Den de big, ugly yellow bear he berry much tickled, and he tink to hisself, `Well,' he tink, `'pon my word and honah! I nebber see nuffin like dis before--not in all my born days! I not eat dis nigga boy up till my mudder come home.' And all de time I make dance and sing-- "`Quicker, quicker, nigga boy, Faster, faster go, Amoosin' ob de ole bear, Among de Ahtic snow. "`Jing-a-ring, a-ring-a-ring, Sich somersaults I frow, In all his life dis nigger chile Ne'er danced like dis befoh.' "But now, gem'lams, I notice dat de bear he begin to make winkee-winkee wid both his two eyes. Den I dance all de same, but I begin to sing more slow and plaintive, gem'lams-- "`Oh! I'm dreaming 'bout my mudder dear Dat I leave on Afric's shoh, And de little hut among de woods Dat I ne'er shall see no moh. "`Sierra-lee-le-ohney, Sierra-lee-leon, Ah! who will feed de cockatoo When I is dead and gone?' "Dat song fix de yellow bear, gem'lams. He no winkee no more now; he sleep sound and fast, wid his big head on his big paws. Den I sing one oder verse, and I sleep, too, and I not hear nuffin more until de rifles make de bobbery and de yellow bear begin to cough." "Bravo!" cried Ralph, when Freezing Powders had finished his story. "Now, Allan, lad, cut us all another slice of that glorious ham, and let us be moving." "Yes," said Allan. "Here goes, then, for night is falling already, and the captain will be longing to hear of our adventures." CHAPTER THIRTEEN. MORE ABOUT FREEZING POWDERS--"PERSEVERANDO"--DINING IN THE SKY--THE DESCENT OF THE CRATER. A black man in a barrel of treacle is said by some to be emblematical of happiness. So situated, a black man without doubt enjoys a deal of bliss, but I question very much if it equals the joy poor Freezing Powders felt when he found himself once more safe on board the _Arrandoon_, and cuddled down in a corner with his old cockatoo. [It may be as well to state here that neither the negro boy nor the cockatoo is a character drawn at random; both had their counterparts in real life.] What a long story he had to tell the bird, to be sure!--what a "terrible tale," I might call it! As usual, when greatly engrossed in listening, the bird was busily engaged helping himself to enormous mouthfuls of hemp-seed, spilling more than he swallowed, cocking his head, and gazing at his little black master, with many an interjectional and wondering "Oh!" and many a long-drawn "De-ah me!" just as if he understood every word the boy said, and fully appreciated the dangers he had come through. "Well, duckie?" said the bird, fondly, when Freezing Powders had concluded. "Oh! der ain't no moh to tell, cockie," said the boy; "but I 'ssure you, when I see dat big yellow bear wid his big red mouf, I tink I not hab much longer to lib in dis world, cockie--I 'ssure you I tink so." Freezing Powders was the hero for one evening at all events. McBain made him recite his story and sing his daft, wild songs more than once, and the very innocence of the poor boy heightened the general effect. He was a favourite all over the ship from that day forth. Everybody in a manner petted him, and yet it was impossible to spoil him, for he took the petting as a matter of course, but always kept his place. His duties were multifarious, though light--he cleaned the silver and shined the boots, and helped to lay the cloth and wait at table. He went by different names in different parts of the ship. Ralph called him his cup-bearer, because he brought that young gentleman's matutinal coffee, without which our English hero would not have left his cabin for the world. Freezing Powders was message-boy betwixt steward and cook, and bore the viands triumphantly along the deck, so the steward called him "Mustard and Cress," and the cook "Young Shallots," while Ted Wilson dubbed him "Boss of the Soup Tureen;" but the boy was entirely indifferent as to what he was called. "Make your games, gem'lams," he would say; "don't be afraid to 'ffend dis chile. He nebber get angry I 'ssure you." When Freezing Powders had nothing in his hand his method of progression forward was at times somewhat peculiar. He went cart-wheel fashion, rolling over and over so quickly that you could hardly see him, he seemed a mist of legs, or something like the figure you see on a Manx penny. At other times "the doctor," as the cook was invariably called by the crew, would pop up his head out of the fore-hatch and bawl out,-- "Pass young Shallots forward here." "Ay, ay, doctor," the men would answer. "Shalots! Shalots! Shalots!" Then Freezing Powder's curly head would beam up out of the saloon companion. "Stand by, men!" the sailor who captured him would cry; and the men would form themselves into a line along the deck about three yards apart, and Freezing Powders would be pitched from one to the other as if he had been a ball of spun-yarn, until he finally fell into the friendly arms of the cook. About a week after the bear adventure De Vere, the aeronaut, was breakfasting in the saloon, as he always did when there was anything "grand in the wind," as Rory styled the situation. "Dat is von thing I admire very mooch," said the Frenchman, pointing to a beautifully-framed design that hung in a conspicuous part of the saloon bulkhead. "Ah," said Allan, laughing, "that was an idea of dear foolish boy Rory. He brought it as a gift to me last Christmas. The coral comes from the Indian Ocean; Rory gathered it himself; the whole design is his." "It's a vera judeecious arrangement," said Sandy McFlail, admiringly. The arrangement, as the doctor called it, was simple enough. Three pieces of coral, in the shape of a rose, a thistle, and shamrock, encased--nay, I may say enshrined--in a beautiful casket of crystal and gilded ebony. There was the milk-white rose of England and the blood-red thistle of Scotland side by side, and fondly twining around them the shamrock of old Ireland--all in black. Here was the motto underneath them-- "Perseverando." "There is nothing like perseverance," said Allan. "The little coral insect thereby builds islands, ay, and founds continents, destined to be stages on which will be worked out or fought out the histories of nations yet unborn. `Perseverando!' it is a grand and bold motto, and I love it." The Frenchman had been standing before the casket; he now turned quickly round to Allan and held out his hand. "You are a bold man," he said; "you will come with me to-day in de balloon?" "I will," said Allan. "We vill soar far above yonder mountain," continued De Vere; "we vill descend into the crater. We vill do vat mortal man has neever done before. Perseverando! Do you fear?" "Fear?" said Allan; "no! I fear nothing under the sun. Whate'er a man dares he can do." "Bravely spoken," cried the Frenchman. "Perseverando! I have room for two more." "Perseverando!" says Rory. "Perseverando for ever! Hoorah! I'm one of you, boys." Ralph was lying on the sofa, reading a book. But he doubled down a leaf, got up, and stretched himself. "Here," he said, quietly, "you fellows mustn't have all the fun; I'll go toe, just to see fair play. But, I say," he added, after a moment's pause, "I don't suppose there will be any refreshment-stalls down there--eh?" "No, that there won't," cried Allan. "Hi! Peter, pack a basket for four." "Ay, ay, sir?" said Peter. "And, I say, Peter--" This from Ralph. "Yes, sir," said the steward, pausing in the doorway. "Enough for twenty," said Ralph. "That's all, Peter." "Thank'ee, sir," said Peter, laughing; "I'll see to that, sir." It was some time before De Vere succeeded in gaining Captain McBain's consent to the embarkation of his boys on this wild and strange adventure, but he was talked over at last. "It is all for the good of science, I suppose," he said, half doubtfully, as he shook hands with our heroes before they took their places in the car. "God keep you, boys. I'm not at all sure I'll ever see one of you again." The ropes were let go, and upwards into the clear air rose the mighty balloon. "Here's a lark," said Allan. "A skylark," said Rory. "Let us sing, boys--let us sing as we soar, `Rule Britannia, Britannia rules the waves.'" Standing on the quarter-deck, and gazing upwards, McBain heard the voices growing fainter and fainter, and saw the balloon lessening and lessening, till the song could no longer be heard, and the balloon itself was but a tiny speck in the heaven's blue. Then he went down below, and busied himself all day with calculations. He didn't want to think. Meanwhile, how fared it with our boys? Here they were, all together, embarked upon as strange an expedition as it has ever probably been the lot of any youth or youths to try the chance of. Yet I do not think that anything approaching to fear found place in the hearts of one of them. The situation was novel in the extreme. With a slow and steady but imperceptible motion--for she was weightily ballasted--the "Perseverando," as they had named the balloon, was mounting skywards. There was not the slightest air or wind, nor the tiniest of clouds to be seen anywhere, and down beneath and around them was spread out a panorama, which but to gaze upon held them spell-bound. There was the island itself, with its rugged hills looking now so strangely flattened and so grotesquely contorted; to the west and to the north lay the white and boundless sea of ice, but far to the eastward and south was the ocean itself, looking dark as night in contrast with the solid ice. But see, yonder, where the ice joins the water, and just a little way from its edge, lie stately ships--two, three, five in all can be counted, and their sails are all clewed; and those innumerable black ticks on the snow, what can they be but seals, and men sealing? "Don't you long to join them?" said Allan, addressing his companions. "I don't," replied Rory; "in spite of the cold I feel a strange, dreamy kind of happiness all over heart and brain. Troth! I feel as if I had breakfasted on lotus-leaves." "And I," said Ralph, "feel as I hadn't breakfasted on anything in particular. Let us see what Peter has done up for us." And he stretched out his hand as he spoke towards a basket. "Ah?" cried the Frenchman, "not dat basket; dat is my Bagdads--my pigeons, my letter-carriers! You see, gentlemen, I have come prepared to combat eevery deeficulty." "So I see," said Ralph, coolly undoing the other basket; "what an appetite the fresh air gives a fellow, to be sure!" "Indeed," says Rory, archly, "it is never very far from home you've got to go for that same, big brother Ralph. But it's hardly fair, after all, to try to eat the Bagdads." "Remember one thing, though," replied Ralph; "if it should occur to me suddenly that you want your ears pulled you cannot run away to save yourself." "Indeed," said Rory, "I don't think that the frost has left any ears at all on me worth pulling, or worth speaking about either." "Ha?" cried Allan, "that reminds me; I've got those face mufflers. There! I'll show you how to put one on. The fur side goes inside-- thus; now I have a hole to breathe through, and a couple of holes for vision." "And a pretty guy you look!" "Oh! bother the looks," responded Ralph, "let us all be guys. Give us a mask, old man." They did feel more comfortable now that they had the masks on, and could gaze about them without the risk of being frozen. The cold was intense; it was bitter. "I'd beat my feet to keep them warm," said Rory, "if I didn't think I'd beat the bottom of the car out. Then we'd all go fluttering down like so many kittywakes, and it's Captain McBain himself that would be astounded to see us back so soon." "Gentlemen," said the Frenchman, "we are right over the mouth of the crater. I shall now make descent, with your permission. Then it vill not be so cold." "And is it inside the volcano," cries Rory, "you'd be taking us to warm us? Down into the crater, to toast our toes at Vulcan's own fireside? Sure, Captain De Vere, it is splicing the main-brace you're after, for you want to give us all a drop of the craytur." "Oh!--oh!" this from Ralph. "Oh! Rory--oh! how can you make so vile a pun? In such a situation, too!" The gentlest of breezes was carrying the balloon almost imperceptibly towards the north and west; meanwhile De Vere was permitting a gradual escape of gas, and the _Perseverando_ sunk gradually towards the mountain-top, the mouth of which seemed to yawn to swallow them up. There was a terrible earnestness about this daring aeronaut's face that awed even Rory into silence. "Stand by," he whispered; for in the dread silence even a whisper could be heard,--"stand by, Allan, to throw that bag of ballast over the moment I say the word." Viewing it from the sea of ice, no one could calculate how large is the extent of the crater on the top of that mighty mountain cone. It is perfectly circular, and five hundred yards at least in circumference, but it is deeper, far and away, than any volcanic crater into which it has ever been my fortune to peer. Even when the great balloon began to alight in its centre the gulf below seemed bottomless. The _Perseverando_ appeared to be sinking down--down--down into the blackness of darkness. To the perceptions of our heroes, who peered fearfully over the car and gazed below, the gulf was rising towards them and swallowing them up. I do not think I am detracting in the slightest from their character for bravery, when I say that the hearts of Ralph, Rory, and Allan, at all events, felt as if standing still, so terrible was the feeling of dread of some unknown danger that crept over them. As for De Vere, he was a fatalist of the newest French school, and a man that carried his life in his hand. He never attempted, it is true, any feat which he deemed all but impossible to perform; but, having embarked on an enterprise, he would go through with it, or he cared not to live. Strange though it may appear, it is just men like this that fortune favours. Probably because the wish to continue to exist is not uppermost in their minds, the wish and the hope to achieve success is the paramount feeling. Still slowly, very slowly, sunk the balloon, as if unwilling to leave her aerial home. And now a faint shade of light begins to mingle with the darkness beneath them; they are near the bottom of the crater at last. "Stand by once again," whispers De Vere, "to throw that anchor over as soon as I tell you." A moment of awful suspense. "Now! now!" hisses De Vere. Two anchors quit the car at the same time--one thrown by the aeronaut himself, one by Allan, and the ropes are speedily made fast. The balloon gives an upward plunge, the cables tighten, then all is still! "Ha! ha! she is fast!" cried De Vere, now for the first time showing a little excitement. "Oh, she is a beauty! she has behave most lofely! Look up, gentlemen!--look up!--behold the mighty walls of blue ice that surround us!--behold the circle of blue sky dat over-canopies us!--look, the stars are shining!" "Can it be night so soon?" exclaimed Allan, in alarm. "Nay, nay, gentlemen," said the enthusiastic Frenchman, "be easy of your minds. It is not night in the vorld outside, but here it is alvays night; up yonder the stars shine alvays, alvays, when de clouds are absent. And shine dey vill until de crack of doom. Now gaze around you. See, the darkness already begins to vanish, and you can see the vast and mighty cavern into which I have brought you. If my judgment serves me, it extends for miles around beneath de mountain. There!--you begin to perceive the gigantic stalactites that seem to support the roof!" "Ralph," cried Rory, seizing his friend by the hand, "do you remember, years and years ago, while we all sat round the fire in the tartan parlour of Arrandoon Castle, wishing we might be able to do something that no one, man or boy, had ever done before?" "I do--I do," answered Ralph. "Descend with me here, then," continued Rory, "and let us explore the cavern. Only a little, _little_ way, captain," he pleaded, seeing that De Vere shook his head in strong dissent. "You know not vat you do ask," said De Vere, solemnly. "Here are caves within caves, one cavern but hides a thousand more; besides, there are, maybe, and doubtless are, crevasses in de floor of dis awful crater, into which you may tumble, neever, neever to be seen again. Pray do not think of risking a danger so vast." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The day wore slowly to a close; many and many an anxious look did McBain take skywards, in hopes of seeing the returning balloon. But the sun set, tipping the distant hills with brightest crimson, twilight died away in the west, and one by one shone out the stars, till night and darkness and silence reigned over all the sea of ice. He went below at last. His feelings may be better imagined then described. He tried to make himself believe that nothing had occurred, and that the balloon had safely descended in some snow-clad valley, and that morning would bring good tidings. But for all this he could not for the life of him banish a dread, cold feeling that something terrible had occurred, the very novelty of which made it all the more appalling to think of. Presently the mate entered the saloon. "What cheer, Stevenson! Any tidings?" "A pigeon, sir," replied the mate, handing the bird into the captain's grasp. McBain's hands shook as he had never remembered them shake before, as he undid the tiny missive from the pigeon's leg. It ran briefly thus:-- "We are detained here in the crater all night. Do not be alarmed. To-morrow will, please Providence, see us safely home." CHAPTER FOURTEEN. ANXIOUS HOURS--EXPLORATION OF THE MOUNTAIN CAVERN--THE CAVE OF THE KING OF ICE, AND GHOULS OF A THOUSAND WINTERS--TRANSFORMATION SCENES-- SNOWBLIND--LOST. It would be difficult to say which was most to be pitied, McBain on board the _Arrandoon_, passing long hours of inconceivable anxiety, or our other heroes, left to spend the drear, cold night in the awful depths of that Arctic crater. It was with light hearts that Ralph and Rory descended from the car of the _Perseverando_ and commenced their perilous exploration of the vast and dimly-lighted cavern; but heavy hearts were left behind them, and hardly had they disappeared in the gloom ere the Frenchman exclaimed to Allan, "I greatly fear dat I have done wrong. Your two friends are big wid impulse; if anydings happen to them dere vill be for me no more peace in dis world." Allan was silent. But when hours passed away and there were no signs of their returning, when gloaming itself began to fall around them, and the stars at the crater's mouth assumed a brighter hue, Allan's anxiety knew no bounds, and he proposed to De Vere to go in search of his friends. "Ah! if dat vere indeed possible!" was the reply. "And why not?" said Allan. "For many reasons: de balloon vill even now hardly bear de strain on her anchors; de loss of even your veight vould require such delicate manipulation on my part, dat I fear I could not successfully vork in such small space. Alas! ve must vait. But there yet is hope." Meanwhile it behoves us to follow Ralph and Rory. They had faithfully promised De Vere they would go but a short distance from the car, and that promise they had meant to redeem. They found that the ground sloped downwards from the mouth of the crater, but there was no want of light, as yet at least, and thus not the slightest danger of being unable to find their way back, for were there not their footsteps in the snow to guide them? So onward they strolled, cheerfully enough, arm-in-arm, like brothers, and that was precisely how they felt towards each other. The road--if I may say "road" where there was no road--was rough enough in all conscience, and at times it was difficult for them to prevent stumbling over a boulder. "I wonder," said Rory, "how long these boulders have lain here, and I wonder what is beneath us principally, and what those vast stalactite pillars are formed of." "`Bide a wee,' as the doctor says," replied Ralph; "don't hurry me with too many questions, and don't forget that though I am ever so much bigger and stronger than you, I don't think I am half so wise. But the boulders may have lain here for ages: those ghostly-looking pillars are doubtless ice-clad rocks, partly formed through the agency of fire, partly by water. I think we stand principally on rocks and on ice, with, far, far down beneath us, fire." "Dear, dear!" said Rory, talking very seriously, and with the perfect English he always used when speaking earnestly; "what a strange, mysterious place we are in! Do you know, Ralph, I am half afraid to go much farther." "Silly boy!" said his companion, "how thoroughly Irish you are at heart--joy, tears, sunshine and fun, but, deep under all, a smouldering superstition." "Just like the fires," added Rory, "that roll so far beneath us. But you know, Ray,"--in their most affectionate and friendly moods Ralph had come to be "Ray" to Rory, and Rory "Row" to Ralph--"you know, Ray, that the silence and gloom of this eerie place are enough to make any one superstitious--any one, that is, whose soul isn't solid matter-of-fact." "Well, it _is_ silent. But I say, Row--" "Well, Ray?" "Suppose we try to break it with a song? I daresay they have never heard much singing down here." "Who?" cried Rory, staring fearfully into the darkness. "Oh!" said Ralph, carelessly, "I didn't mean any one in particular. Come, what shall we sing--`The wearing o' the green'?" "No, Ray, no; that were far too melancholic, though I grant it is a lovely melody." "Well, something Scotch, and stirring. The echoes of this cavern must be wonderful." They were, indeed; and when Rory started off into that world-known but ever-popular song, "Auld lang syne," and Ralph chimed with deep and sonorous bass, the effect was really grand and beautiful, for a thousand voices seemed to fill the cavern. They heard the song even in the car of the balloon, and it caused Allan to remark, smilingly, for they had not yet been long gone, "Ralph and boy Rory seem to be enjoying themselves; but I trust they won't be long away." Rory was quite lively again ere he reached the words-- "And we'll tak' a richt good-willy waught For auld lang syne." He burst out laughing. "Indeed, indeed! there is no wonder I laugh," he said; "fancy the notion of taking a `good-willy waught' in a place like this! And now," he added, "for a bit of a sketch." "Don't be long in nibbing it in, then." Rory was seated on a boulder now, tracing on his page the outlines of those strange, weird pillars that hands of man had never raised nor human eyes gazed upon before. So the silence once more became irksome, and the time seemed long to Ralph, but Rory had finished at last. Then the two companions, after journeying on somewhat farther, began to awaken the echoes by various shouts; and voices, some coming from a long distance, repeated clearly the last words. "Let us frighten those ghouls down there by rolling down boulders," said Rory. "Come on, then," said Ralph; "I've often played at that game." They had ten minutes of this work. It was evident this hill within a hill, this crater's point, was of depth illimitable from the distant hissing noises which the broken boulders finally emitted. "It's a regular whispering gallery," said Rory. "It is, Row. But do let us get back. See, there is already barely light enough to reveal our footsteps." "Ah! but, my boy," said Rory, "the nearer the car we walk the more light we'll have. And I have just one more surprise for you. You see this little bag?" "Yes. What is in it--sandwiches?" "Nay, my Saxon friend! but Bengal fires. Now witness the effects of the grand illumination of the Cave of the King of Ice by us, his two ghouls of a thousand winters!" The scene, under weird blue lights, pale green or crimson, was really magical. All the transformation scenes ever they had witnessed dwindled into insignificance compared to it. "I shall remember this to my dying day?" Rory exclaimed. "And I too!" cried Ralph, entranced. "Now the finale?" said the artist; "it'll beat all the others! This white light of mine will eclipse the glory of the rest as the morning sun does that of moonlight! It will burn quite a long time, too; I made it last night on purpose." It was a Bengal fire of dazzling splendour that now was lit, and our heroes themselves were astonished. "It beats the `Arabian Nights'!" cried Rory. "Look, look!" he continued, waving it gently to and fro, "the stalactites seem to dance and move towards us from out the gloom arrayed in robes of transplendent white. Yonder comes the King of Ice himself to bid us welcome." "Put it out! put it out!" murmured Ralph, with his hand on his brow. It presently burned out, but lo! the change!--total darkness! _Rory and Ralph were snowblind_! "Oh, boy Rory!" said Ralph, "that brilliant of yours has sealed our fate. It will be hours ere our eyes can be restored, and long before then the darkness of night will have enshrouded us. We are lost!" "Let us not lose each other, at all events," said Rory, feeling for his friend's arm, and linking it in his own. "You think we are lost; dear Ralph, I have more hopes. Something within me tells me that we were never meant to end our days in the awful darkness of this terrible cavern. Pass the night here it is certain we must, but to-morrow will bring daylight, and daylight safety, for be assured Allan and De Vere will not leave us, unless--" Here the hope-giver paused. "Unless," added Ralph--"for I know what you would say--an accident should be imminent--unless they _must_ leave. A balloon needs strange management." "Even then they will return to seek us by morning light. Do you know what, Ray?" he continued, "our adventures have been too foolhardy. Providence has punished us, but He will not utterly desert us." "Hope springs eternal in the human breast." The lamp of hope was flickering--had, indeed, burned out--in Ralph's heart, but his friend's words rekindled it. Perhaps Rory's true character never shone more clearly out than it did now, for, while trying to cheer his more than friend, he fully appreciated the desperateness of the situation, and had but little hope left in him, except his extreme trust in the goodness of a higher Power. "Could we not," said Ralph, "all snowblind as we are, try to grope our way upwards?" "No, no, no!" cried Rory; "success in that way is all but impossible; and, remember, we have but the trail of our footprints to guide us even by day." Something of the ludicrous invariably mixes itself up with the most tragic affairs of this world. I have seen the truth of this in the chamber of death itself, in storms at sea, and in scenes where men grappled each other in deadly strife. And it is well it should be so, else would the troubles of this world oftentimes swamp reason itself. The attempts of Rory to keep his companion in cheer, partook of the nature of the ludicrous, as did the attempts of both of them to keep warm. So hours elapsed, and sometimes sitting, sometimes standing and beating feet and hands for circulation's sake, and doing much talking, but never daring to leave the spot, at last says Rory, "Hullo, Ray! joy of joys! I've found a lucifer!" Almost at the same moment he lit it. They could see each other's faces--see a watch, and notice it was nearly midnight. They had regained sight! Joy and hope were at once restored. "Troth!" said Rory, resuming his brogue, "it's myself could be a baby for once and cry. Now what do ye say to try to sleep? We'll lie close together, you know, and it's warm we'll be in a jiffey?" So down they lay, and, after ten long shivering minutes, heat came back to their frozen bodies. They had not been talking all this time; it is but right to say they were better engaged. With warmth came _le gaiete_--to Rory, at least. "Have you wound your watch, Ray?" "No, Row? and I wouldn't move for the world!" After a pause, "Ray," says Row. "Yes, Row?" says Ray. "You always said you liked a big bed-room, Ray, and, troth, you've got one for once!" "How I envy you your spirits," answers Ray. "Don't talk about spirits," says Row, "and frighten a poor boy. I've covered up my head, and I wouldn't look up for the world. I'm going to repeat myself to sleep. Good night." "Good night," asks Ray, "but how do you do it?" "Psalms, Ray," Row replies. "I know them all. I'll be out of here in a moment. "`He makes me down to lie by pastures green, He leadeth me the quiet waters by.' "Isn't that pretty, Ray?" "Very, Row, but `pastures green' and `quiet waters' aren't much in my way. Repeat _me_ to sleep, Rory boy, and I promise you I won't pull your ears again for a month." "Well, I'll try," says Row. "Are your eyes shut?" "To be sure. A likely thing I'd have them open, isn't it?" "Then we're both going to a ball in old England." "Glorious," says Ray. "I'm there already." Then in slow, monotonous, but pleasing tones, Row goes on. He describes the brilliant festive scene, the warmth, the light, the beauty and the music, and the dances, and last but not least the supper table. It is at this point that our Saxon hero gives sundry nasal indications that this strange species of mesmerism had taken due effect, so Row leaves him at the supper table, and goes back to his "pastures green" and "quiet waters," and soon they both are sound enough. Let us leave them there; no need to watch them. Remember what Lover says in his beautiful song,-- "O! watch ye well by daylight, For angels watch at night." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Poor McBain! Worn out with watching, he had sunk at last to sleep in his chair. And day broke slowly on the sea of ice. The snow-clad crater's peak was the first to welcome glorious aurora with a rosy blush, which stole gradually downwards till it settled on the jagged mountain tips. Then bears began to yawn and stretch themselves, the sly Arctic foxes crept forth from snow-banks, and birds in their thousands--brightest of all the snowbird--came wheeling around the _Arrandoon_ to snatch an early breakfast ere they wended their way westward to fields of blood and phocal carnage. And their screaming awoke McBain. He was speedily on deck. Yonder was the _Perseverando_ slowly descending. During all the long cruise of the _Arrandoon_ nobody referred to the adventure at the crater of Jan Mayen without a feeling akin to sadness and contrition, for all felt that something had been done which ought not to have been done--there had been, as McBain called it, "a tempting of Providence." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Well, well, well," cried the skipper of the _Canny Scotia_--and he seemed to be in anything but a sweet temper. "Just like my luck. I do declare, mate, if I'd been born a hatter everybody else would have been born without heads. Here have I been struggling away for years against fortune, always trying to get a good voyage to support a small wife and a big family, and now that luck seems to have all turned in our favour, two glorious patches of seals on the ice yonder, a hard frost, and the ice beautifully red with blood, and no ship near us, then you, mate, come down from the crow's-nest with that confoundedly long face of yours, for which you ought to have been smothered at birth--" "I can't help my face, sir," cried the mate, bristling up like a bantam cock. "Silence!" roared the burly skipper. "Silence! when you talk to your captain. You, I say, _you_ come and report a big steamer in sight to help us at the banquet." The mate scratched his head, taking his hat off for the purpose. "Did I make the ship?" he asked with naive innocence. "Pooh!" the skipper cried; and next moment he was scrambling up the rigging with all the elegance, grace, and speed of a mud turtle. He was in a better humour when he returned. "I say, matie," he said, "yonder chap ain't a sealer; too dandy, and not boats enough. No, she is one of they spectioneering kind o' chaps as goes a prowling around lookin' for the North Pole. Ha! ha! ha! Come below, matie, and we'll have a glass together. She ain't the kind o' lady to interfere with our blubber-hunting." The mate was mollified. His face was soaped, and he shone. CHAPTER FIFTEEN. THE "ARRANDOON" ANCHORS TO THE "FLOE"--THE VISIT TO THE "CANNY SCOTIA"-- SILAS GRIG--A SAD SCENE--RORY RELIEVES HIS FEELINGS--STRANGERS COMING FROM THE FAR WEST. Seeing the skipper of the _Canny Scotia_ and his mate come below together smiling, the steward readily guessed what they wanted, so he was not dilatory in producing the rum-bottle and two tumblers. Then the skipper pushed the former towards the mate, and said,-- "Help yourself, matie." And the mate dutifully and respectfully pushed it back again, saying,-- "After you, sir." This palaver finished, they both half-filled their tumblers with the ruby intoxicant, added thereto a modicum of boiling coffee from the urn that simmered on top of the stove, then, with a preliminary nod towards each other, emptied their glasses at a gulp. After this, gasping for breath, they beamed on each other with a newly-found friendliness. "Have another," said the skipper. They had another, then went on deck. After ten minutes of attentive gazing at the _Arrandoon_, "Well," said the skipper, "I do call that a bit o' pretty steering; if it ain't, my name isn't Silas Grig." "But there's a deal o' palaver about it, don't you think so, sir?" remarked the mate. "Granted, granted," assented Silas; "granted, matie." The cause of their admiration was the way in which the _Arrandoon_ was brought alongside the great ice-floe. She didn't come stem on--as if she meant to flatten, her bows--and then swing round. Not she. She approached the ice with a beautiful sweep, describing nearly half a circle, then, broadside on to the ice, she neared it and neared it. Next over went the fenders; the steam roared from the pipe upwards into the blue air, like driven snow, then dissolved itself like the ghost of the white lady; the ship was stopped, away went the ice-anchors, the vessel was fast. And no noise about it either. There may not be much seamanship now-a-days, but I tell you, boys, it takes a clever man to manage a big steamer prettily and well. The _Arrandoon_ was not two hundred yards from the _Canny Scotia_. Now round go the davits on the port quarter, outward swings the boat, men and officers spring nimbly into her, blocks rattle, and down goes the first whaler, reaching the water with a flop, but not a plash, and with keel as even and straight as a ruled line. "I say, matie," said Silas Grig, in some surprise, "if that boat ain't coming straight away here, I hope I may never chew cheese again." So far as that was concerned, if Silas chose, he would at least have the chance of chewing cheese again, for the _Arrandoon's_ boat came rippling along towards them with a steady cluck-el-tee cluck-el-tee, which spoke well for the men at the oars. "Well," continued Silas, who, rough nut though he was, always meant well enough, "let us do the civil, matie; tell the steward to fill the rum-bottle, and pitch 'em a rope." The rope came in very handy; but there was no need for the rum; even in Greenland men can live without it--the officers of the _Arrandoon_ had found that out. McBain, with Allan and Rory,--the latter, by the way, seemed to have registered a vow to go everywhere and see everything,--stood on the quarter-deck of the _Canny Scotia_, the skipper of which craft was in front of him, a comical look of admiration on his round brick-coloured countenance, and his two hands deep in the pockets of his powerful pilot coat. "Ay, sir! ay!" he was saying; "well, I must say ye do surprise _me_." He put such an emphasis on the "me" that one would have thought that to surprise Silas Grig was something to be quite boastful of ever after. "All the way to the North Pole? Well, well; but d'ye think you'll find it?" "We mean to," said Rory, boldly. "Perseverando!" said Allan. "The _Perseverance_!" cried the skipper. "I know the ship, a Peterheader. Last time I saw her she had got in the nips, and was lying keel up on the ice, yards and rigging all awry of course; and, bother her, I hope she'll lie there till Silas Grig gets a voyage [a cargo], then when the _Scotia_ is full ship, the _Perseverance_ can get down off the shelf, and cabbage all the rest. Them's my sentiments. But come below, gentlemen, come below; there is room enough in the cabin of the old _Scotia_ for every man Jack o' ye. Come below." Silas was right. There was room, but not much to spare, and, squeezed in between Allan and McBain, poor Rory was hardly visible, and could only reach the table with one hand. The cabin of this Greenlandman can be described with a stroke of the pen, so to speak. It was square and not very lofty--a tall man required to duck when under a beam; the beams were painted white, the bulkheads and cabin doors--four in number--were grey picked out with green. One-half at least of the available space was occupied by the table; close around it were cushioned lockers; the only other furniture was the captain's big chair and a few camp-stools, a big square stove with a roaring fire, and a big square urn fixed on top thereof, which contained coffee, had never been empty all the voyage, and would not be till the end thereof. I suppose a bucket of water could hardly be called furniture, but there it stood close to the side of the stove, and the concentric rings of ice inside it showed the difficulty everybody must experience who chose to quench his thirst in the most natural way possible. Above, in the hollow of the skylight, hung a big compass, and several enormously long sealer's telescopes. "No rum, gentlemen?" said Silas; "well, you do astonish _me_; but you'll taste my wife's green ginger wine, and drink her health?" "That we will," replied McBain, "and maybe finish a bottle." "And welcome to ten," said Silas; "and the bun, steward, bring the bun. That's the style! My wife isn't much to look at, gentlemen, but, for a bun or o' drop o' green ginger, I'll back her against the whole world." After our heroes had done justice to the bun, and pledged the skipper's good lady in the green ginger, that gentleman must needs eye them again and again, with as much curiosity as if they had been some new and wonderful zoological specimens, that he had by chance captured. "All the way to the North Pole!" he muttered. "Well, well, but that _does_ get over Silas." Rory could not help laughing. "Funny old stick," said Silas, joining in his merriment, "ain't I?" He did look all that and more, with his two elbows on the table, and his knuckles supporting his chin, for his face was as round as a full moon orient, and just the colour of a new flower-pot; then he laughed more with one side of his face than the other, his eyes were nowhere in the folds of his face, and his nose hardly worth mentioning. After the laugh, beginning with Rory, had spread fairly round the table, everybody felt relieved. "I'm only a plain, honest blubber-hunter, gentlemen," said Silas Grig, apologetically, "with a large family and--and a small wife--but--but you do surprise _me_. There?" [It is but fair to say that, as a rule, captains of Greenlandmen are far more refined in manner than poor Silas.] But when McBain informed him that the _Arrandoon_ would lay alongside him for a week or more, and help him to secure a voyage, and wouldn't ship a single skin herself, Silas was more surprised than ever. Indeed, until this day I could not tell you what would have happened to Silas, had the mate not been providentially beside him to vent his feelings upon. On that unfortunate officer's back he brought down his great shoulder-of-mutton fist with a force that made him jump, and his breath to come and go as if he had just been popped under a shower-bath. "Luck's come," he cried. "Hey? hey?" And every "hey?" represented a dig in the mate's ribs with the skipper's thumb of iron. "Told ye it would, hey? Didn't I? hey?" "What'll the old woman say, hey? Hey, boys? Hey, matie? Hey? Hey?" "You gentlemen," said Silas, alter his feelings had calmed down a trifle, "are all for sport, and Silas has to make a voyage. But you'll have sport, gentlemen, that ye will. My men are sealing now. They're among the young seals. It has been nothing but flay, flay, flay, for the last two rounds of the sun, and there isn't such a very long night now, is there? And you saw the blood?" Saw the blood, reader! Indeed, our heroes had. Where was it that that blood was not? All the beautiful snow was encrimsoned with it on the distant field of ice, where the men were carrying on their ghastly work. It was as if a great battle had been fought there, and the dead crangs lay in dozens and hundreds. A crang means a carcass. Is the adjective "dead," then, not unnecessary? What else can a carcass or crang be but "dead"? Nay, but listen: let me whisper a truth in your ear, and I know your brave young blood will boil when I tell you: I've known our men, Englishmen and Scotchmen, flense the lambs while still alive. From the field of slaughter the skins were being dragged to the ship by men with ropes, so there were streaks of red all the way to the ship, and all the vessel's starboard side was smeared with blood. Indeed, I do not wish to harrow the feelings of my readers, and I shall but describe a few of the cruelties of sealing--no, on second thoughts, I will not even do that, because I know well you will believe me when I tell you these cruelties are very great, and believing this, if ever you have an opportunity of voting for a bill or signing a petition to get poor Greenland seals fair play, I know you will. Silas Grig and our heroes took a walk to the field of unequal strife, and Rory and Allan, to whom all they saw was very new, were not a little horrified as well as disgusted. "This," said McBain, "is the young-sealing. We are not going to assist you in this; we are sportsmen, not butchers, Captain Grig?" Silas grasped McBain's hand. "Your feelings do you credit, sir," he said--"they do. But I have feelings, too. Yes, a weather-beaten old stick like me has feelings! But I'm sent out here to make a voyage, and what can I do? I've a small wife and a large family; and my owners, too, would sack me if I didn't bring the skins. I say," he added, after a pause, "you know my mate?" "Yes," said McBain. "Well," said Silas, "you wouldn't, imagine that a fellow with such an ugly chunk o' a figure-head as that had feelings, eh? But he has, though; and during all this young-sealing business we both of us just drowns our feelings in the rum-bottle. Fact, sir! and old Silas scorns a lie. But, gentlemen, when all this wicked work is over, when we are away north from here, among the old seals, and when we can look at that sun again without seeing blood, then my matie and I banishes Black-Jack [the gallon measure from which rum is served is so called] and sticks to coffee and arrowroot; that we do!" They had turned their backs on the by no means inviting scene, and were walking towards the _Canny Scotia_ as Silas spoke. "But," said the Greenland mariner, "come and dine with the old man to-morrow. The last of the young seals will be on board by then, and we'll have had a wash down; we'll be clean and tidy like. Then hurrah for the old seals! That's sport, if you like!--that's fair play." "Ah!" said McBain, "your heart is in the right place, I can see that. I wish there were more like you. Do _you_ seal on Sunday? Many do." Silas looked solemn. "I knows they do," he said, "but Silas hasn't done so yet, and he prays he never may be tempted to." "Captain Grig, we'll come and dine with you, and we expect you to pay us the same compliment another day." "I daresay you fellows are glad to get home?" said Ralph, rising from the sofa and throwing down the volume he had been dreaming over. "Not a bit of it!" said Rory and Allan, both in one breath; and Rory added, "You don't know what a funny ship a real Greenlandman is! I declare you've lost a treat!" "Does it smell badly?" asked Ralph, with a slight curl of his upper lip. "Never a taste!" says Rory; "she's as sweet as cowslips or clover, or newly-made hay; and the bun was beautiful!" "The what?" said Ralph. "Don't tell him?" cried Allan; "don't tell him!" "And the green ginger!" said Rory, smacking his lips. "Ah, yes! the green ginger," said Allan; "I never tasted anything like that in all my born days!" "Hi, you, Freezing Powders!" cried Rory, "take my coat and out-o'-doors gear. D'ye hear? Look sharp?" "I'm coming, sah; and coming plenty quick!" "De-ah me!" from Cockie. "Now bring my fiddle, you young rascal, into my cabin;" for Rory, reader, had that young-sealing scene on his brain, and he would not be happy till he had played it away. And a wild, weird lilt it was, too, that he did bring forth. Extempore, did you ask? Certainly, for he played as he thought and felt; all his soul seemed to enter the cremona, and to well forth again from the beautiful instrument, now in tones of plaintive sorrow, now in notes of wrath; and then it stopped all at once abruptly. That was Rory's way; he had pitched fiddle and bow on the bed, and presently he returned to the saloon. "Are you better?" inquired Allan. Rory only gave a little laugh, and sat down to read. It had taken McBain nearly a fortnight to get clear away from the Isle of Jan Mayen, for the frost had set in sharp and hard, and the great ice-saws had to be worked, and the aid of dynamite called in to blast the pieces. They were now some ten miles to the north and east of the island, but, so far as he knew on the day of his visit to the _Scotia_, he had bidden it farewell for ever. It had not been for the mere sake of sport or adventure he had called in there, he had another reason. Old Magnus, before the sailing--ay, or even the building--of the _Arrandoon_, had heard that the island was inhabited by a party of wandering Eskimos. Wherever Eskimos were McBain had thought there must be dogs, and that was just what was wanting to complete the expedition--a kennel of sleigh-dogs. But, as we have seen, the Eskimo encampment was deserted, so McBain had to leave it disappointed. But, as it turned out, it was only temporarily deserted after all, and on the very day on which they had arranged to dine with Skipper Grig, two daring men, chiefs of a tribe of Eskimos, drawn in a rude sledge, were making their way towards the island. Their team consisted of over a dozen half-wild dogs, harnessed with ropes of skin and untanned leather. They seemed to fly across the sea of ice. Hardly could you see the dogs for the powdery snow that rose in clouds around them. Well might they hurry, for clouds were banking up in the west, a low wind came moaning over the dreary plain, and a storm was brewing, and if it burst upon them ere they reached the still distant island, then-- CHAPTER SIXTEEN. SILAS GRIG'S DINNER-PARTY--A NEW MEMBER OF THE MALACOPTERYGII--THE STORM ON THE SEA OF ICE--BREAK-UP OF THE MAIN PACK--ROUGHING IT AT SEA. While those two chiefs of the Eskimo Indians were hurrying their team of dogs across the sea of ice eastwards, ever eastwards, with the clouds rising behind them, with the wind whispering and moaning around them, and sometimes raising the powdery snow in little angry eddies, that almost hid the plunging dogs from their view, honest Silas Grig, though somewhat uneasy in his mind as to what kind of weather was brewing, busied himself nevertheless in preparing what he considered a splendid dinner for his coming guests. "But," he said to his mate, "it will just be like my luck, you know, if it comes on to blow big guns, and we've got to leave good cheer and put out to sea." "Ah! sir," said the mate, "don't forget luck has turned, you know." "Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Silas, "really, matie, I _had_ a'most forgotten." And away forward he hurried, to see how the men were getting on scrubbing decks and cleaning brass-work, and how the cook was getting on with that mighty sirloin of beef. He took many a ran forward as the day advanced, often pausing, though, to give an uneasy glance windward, and at the sun, not yet hidden by the rising clouds. And often as he did so he shook his head and made some remark to his mate. "I tell ye, matie," he said once, "I don't quite like the looks o' 't. Those clouds ain't natural this time o' the year, and don't you see the spots in the sun? Why, he is holed through and through like an old Dutch cheese. Something's brewin'. But, talking of brewin', I wonder how the soup is getting on?" [In Greenland these sunspots are quite easily seen by the naked eye.] Silas's face was more the colour of a new flower-pot than ever, when McBain and our three heroes came alongside in their dashing gig, with its beautiful paint and varnish, snow-white oars, flag trailing astern, and rudder-ribbons, all complete. Rory was steering, and he brought her alongside with a regular admiral's sweep. "Why, she's going away past us!" cried Silas; "no, she ain't. It is the bow-and-bow business the young 'un's after." "In bow?" cried Rory. "Way enough--oars!" These were the only three orders Rory needed to give to his men. There was no shouting of "Easy sta'board!" or "Easy port!" as when a lubber is coxswain. Next moment they were all on deck, shaking hands with the skipper and his mate. The latter remained on deck; he didn't care for the company of "quality;" besides, he had to loosen sails, and have all ready to get in anchors at a minute's notice and put out to sea. The skipper of the _Canny Scotia_ had contrived another seat at table, so there was no such thing as crowding, and the dinner passed off entirely to his satisfaction. The pea-soup was excellent, neither too thick nor too thin, and the sippets done to a turn. Then came what Silas called the whitebait. "Which is only my fun, gentlemen," he observed, "seeing that they are bigger than sprats. Where do I get them? Hey? Why, turn up a piece of pancake-ice, and there they be sticking in the clear in hundreds, like bees in a honeycomb, and nothing out but their bits of tails." "It is curious," said Rory. "How do they bore the holes, I wonder?" "That, young gentleman," replied Silas, "I can't say, never having seen them at work. Maybe they melt the ice with their noses; they can't make the holes with their teeth, their bows are too blunt and humble like. Perhaps, after all, they find the holes ready-made, and just go in for warmth. Queer, ain't it?" "I believe," said Rory, "they belong to the natural order _Malacopterygii_." "The what?" cried Ralph; "but, pray, Row, don't repeat the word. Think of the small bones; and McFlail isn't here, you know." "Of which," continued Rory, "the _Clupeidae_" [Ralph groaned] "form one of the families, belonging to which are the herring, the sardine, the whitebait, and sprat." "They may be sprats, or they may be young sperm-whales, for anything I care," said Ralph; "but I do know they are jolly good eating. Captain Grig, may I trouble you again?" With the pudding came the green ginger, that Ralph was so anxious to taste. "The peculiarity of that pudding, gentlemen, is this," said Silas--"eaten hot it _is_ a pudding, eaten cold it is a bun. The peculiarity of the green--" What more he meant to have said will never be known, for at that moment the _Canny Scotia_ gave an angry cant to leeward, and away--extemporised seat and all--went the skipper down upon the sta'board bulkheads; the coalscuttle, the water-bucket, and the big armchair followed suit, and there was consequently some little confusion, and a speedy break-up of the dinner-party. McBain's boat was called away, for the ship had slipped her ice-anchors, and was drifting seaward, with the wind roaring wildly through rigging and cordage. The gale had come upon them as sudden as a thunderclap. Good-byes were hastily said, and away pulled the gig. She was in the lee of the ice and partly sheltered, otherwise they never would have regained the _Arrandoon_. As it was, the men were almost exhausted when they got alongside. Her anchors were well fast, and her cables were strong; there was little fear of dragging for some time, so the order was given to at once get up steam, and that, too, with all speed, for the force of the wind seemed to increase almost momentarily. On the _Arrandoon's_ decks you could scarcely have seen anything, for the snow blew blindingly from off the ice; there was little to be heard either, for the shrill, harsh whistling of the wind. Men flitted hither and thither like uneasy ghosts, making things snug, and battening down the principal hatches; on the bridge, dimly descried, was McBain, speaking-trumpet under arm, and beside him Stevenson. Down below, from fore to aft, everybody was engaged. In the stoke-hole they were busy, and making goodly use of the American hams; in the engine-room the engineers were looking well to their gear, with bits of greasy "pob" in their hands, humming songs as they gave a rub here and a nib there, though to what end or purpose I couldn't tell you, but evidently on the best of terms with themselves and their beautiful engine. The doctor was busy stowing his bottles away, and the steward was making the pantry shipshape, and our heroes themselves were stowing away all loose gear in their cabins. Presently they entered the saloon again, where was Freezing Powders making the cockatoo's cage fast with a morsel of lanyard. "Here's a pretty to-do!" the bird was saying, half choking on a billful of hemp. "Call the steward!--call the steward!--call the steward!" "You jus' console yourse'f," said the boy, "and don't take sich big mou'fuls o' hemp. Mind, you'll be sea-sick p'esently." "De-ah me!" "Yes, ye will--dreffully sea-sick. Den you wants to call de steward plenty quick." One ice-anchor came on board; the other--the bow--was cut adrift as the ship's stern swung round seaward. Almost at the same moment an explosion was heard close alongside, as if one of the boilers had burst. The great berg to which they had been anchored had parted company with the floe, and was evidently bent on going to sea along with the _Arrandoon_. Once they were a little way clear of the ice they could look about them, the snow no longer blowing over the vessel. The scene was peculiar, and such as can only be viewed in Greenland under like circumstances. The whole field of ice, as far as it was visible, was a smother of whirling drift; the lofty cone of Jan Mayen, which though miles to the south'ard and west, had been so well-defined an object against the blue of the sky, was now blurred and indistinct, and the grey, driving clouds every now and again quite hid the top of it from view. All along the edge of the pack the snow was being blown seaward like smoke, or like the white spray on the rocks where billows break. The eastern horizon was a chaos of dark, shifting billows, as tall as houses, and foam-tipped; but near by the ice, although the wind blew already with the force of a gale, and the surface of the water was churned into froth, there was not a wave bigger than you would see on a farmer's mill-pond. What a pity it seemed to leave this comparatively smooth water and steam away out into the centre of yonder mighty conflict 'twixt wind and wave. But well every one on board knew that to remain where they were was but to court destruction, for the noise that proceeded from the ice-fields told them the pack was breaking up. Ay, and bergs were already forging ahead of them, and surrounding them. Ere they were a mile from the floes they found this out, and the danger from the floating masses of ice was very real indeed. Every minute the pieces were hurtled with all the force of the waves against the sturdy vessel's weather-side, threatening to stave her; nor could McBain, who never left the bridge until the vessel was well out to sea, avoid at times stemming the bergs that appeared ahead of him. For often two would present themselves at one time, and one must be stemmed--the smaller of the twain; for to have come in collision bow on, would have meant foundering. But at length the danger was past as far as the ice was concerned, though now the seas were mountains high, and of Titanic force; so after an hour or two the _Arrandoon_ lay to, and having seen the lights all properly placed, and extra hands put on the look-out--having, in fact, done everything a sailor could do for the safety of his ship, McBain came down below. In shining oil-skins and dripping sou'-wester, he looked like some queer sea-monster that had just been caught and hauled on board. He looked a trifle more human, however, when the steward had marched off with his outer garments. "Is she snug?" asked Allan. "Ay, lads, as snug as she is likely to be to-night," replied McBain; "but she doesn't like it, I can tell you, and the gale seems increasing to hurricane force. How is the glass, Rory?" "Not so very low," said Rory; "not under twenty-nine degrees." "But concave at the top?" "Yes, sir." "Well, well," said McBain, "content yourselves, boys, for I think we'll have days of it. I for one don't want to see much more of the ice while this blow lasts. But what a splendid fire you have! Steward, mind you put on the guard last thing to-night." "Why the guard?" asked Rory. "Because," explained McBain, "I feel certain that many a good ship has been burned at sea by the fire falling out of the grate; a wave or a piece of ice hits her on the bows, the fire flies out of the stove, no one is below, and so, and so--" "Yes," said Ralph, "that is very likely, and pray don't let us speak of anything very dreadful to-night. List! how the wind roars, to be sure! But to change the subject--Peter." "Ay, ay, sir." "Is supper ready?" "Very nearly, sir." "Well, tell Seth to come, and Magnus." "Ho! ho!" said McBain, "that's it, is it?" "What a comfort on a night like this," Allan remarked, "it is to be shipmates with two such fellows as Ray and Row, the epicure and the poet--the one to cater for the corporeal, the other for the mental man." The ship was pitching angrily, dipping her bows deep down under the solid seas and raising them quickly again, but not neglecting to ship tons of water every time, which found its way aft, so that down in the saloon they could hear it washing about overhead and pouring past the ports into the sea. "Steady, sir, steady," cried Magnus, entering the saloon. He was speaking to Seth, who had preceded him. He didn't walk in, he came in head first, and was now lying all his length on the saloon floor. But Rory and Allan lifted him tenderly up again and seated him on the couch, amid such remarks as, "No bones broken, I do hope," "Gently does it, Seth, old man," "Have you really left your sea-legs forward?" "Call the steward," the last remark being the cockatoo's. "I reckon," said the old trapper, rubbing his elbows and knees, "there ain't any bones given way this time, but that same is more chance than good management." After supper--which was of Ralph's own choosing, I need not say more--a general adjournment was made to the after-cabin, or snuggery, and here every one adopted attitudes of comfort around the blazing stove, in easy-chairs, on sofas, or on rugs and skins on the deck; there they sat, or lounged, or lay. The elders had their pipes, the youngsters coffee. But with the pitching and rolling of the ship it was not very easy either to sit, or lounge, or lie, nor was it advisable to leave the coffee in the cup for any length of time; nevertheless everybody was happy, for wondrous little care had they on their minds. Oh! how wild and tempestuous the night was, and how madly the seas leapt and tossed around them! But they had a ship they could trust, and, better by far, a Power above them which they had learned to put confidence in. Seth, to-night, was in what Ralph called fine form. His stories of adventure, told in his dry, droll, inimitable way, were irresistible. De Vere's face never once lacked a smile on it; he loved to listen though he could not talk. Old Magnus also had some queer tales to tell, his relation of them affording Seth breathing space. Several times during the evening Rory played, and the doctor tooted, as he called it. Thus merrily and pleasantly sped the time--every one doing his best to amuse his neighbours--until eight bells rang out, then all retired. It is on such a night as this that the soundest sleep visits the pillow of your thorough sailor--the roar of the wind overhead, the rocking of the ship, and the sound of the waves close by the ear, all conduce to sweetest slumber. There was little if any improvement in the weather next day, nor for several days; but cold and stormy though it was, to be on the bridge, holding on--figuratively speaking--by the eyelids, was a glorious treat for our sailor heroes. The masts bent like fishing-rods beneath the force of the gale. At times the good ship heeled until her yard-ends ploughed the waves, and if a sea struck her then, the spray leapt higher than the main-truck, and the green water made a clean breach over her. On the second day the clouds were all blown away, but the wind retained its force, and the waves their power and magnitude. Every wave threatened to come inboard, and about one out of ten did. Those that didn't went singing astern, or got in under the _Arrandoon_, and tossed her all they could. The frost was intense, and in some way or other, I think, accounted for the strange singing noise emitted by those waves that went past without breaking. But it was when one great sea followed swiftly on the heels of another that the good ship suffered most, because she would probably be down by the head when she received salute number two. It was thus she had her bulwarks smashed, and one good boat rent into matchwood and cast away. It was no easy task to reach the bridge, nor to rush therefrom and regain the saloon companion. You had to watch the seas, and were generally pretty safe if you made use of arms and legs just after one or two big waves had done their worst; but Allan once, and Rory three times, were washed into the scuppers, and more bruised than they cared to own. Ralph seldom came on deck, and the doctor just once got his head above the companion; for this piece of daring he received a sea in the teeth, which he declared nearly cut his head off. He went down below to change his clothes, and never came up again. On the third day, in the dog-watch, the wind fell, and the sea went down considerably. Had the gale blown from the east, the sea would have been in no such hurry to go down, but it had continued all the time to blow steadily from off the ice. What a strange sight the _Arrandoon_ now presented! She was a ship of glass and snow. Funnel, masts, and rigging were, or seemed to be, composed of frosted crystal. The funnel, Rory declared, looked like a stalactite from "the cave of a thousand winters." Her bows were lumbered with ice feet thick, and from stem to stern there was no more liveliness in the good _Arrandoon_ than there is in a Dutch collier. As soon as the wind fell a man was sent up aloft, and the order was given,-- "All hands clear ship of ice." But hark! there is a shout from the crow's-nest. "Large ship down to leeward, sir, apparently in distress." CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. THE STORM--THE "CANNY SCOTIA" IN DISTRESS--RUM, MUTINY, ANARCHY, AND DEATH--SAVED--ADVENTURE WITH A SHE-BEAR--CAPTURE OF THE YOUNG. Has it not been said that the greatest pleasure on earth is felt on the sudden surcease of severe pain? I am inclined, though, to doubt the truth of this statement, and I think that nothing can equal the feeling of quiet, calm joy that is instilled into the heart on the instant one is plucked from the jaws of impending death. When the King of Terrors comes speedily, while the blood is up and the heart beating high, as he does to those who fall in the field of battle, his approach does not seem anything like so terrible as when he lags in his march towards his victim. One needs to have a hope that leads his thoughts beyond this world, to be brave and calm at such a moment. When the _Canny Scotia_ slipped her ice-anchors and was driven out to sea, to encounter all the fury of the gale that had so suddenly sprung up, she had not the advantages of the _Arrandoon_. She had no steam power, nor was she so well manned. She could therefore only scud under bare poles, or lie to with about as much canvas spread as would make a mason's apron. Silas didn't mean to be caught napping, however, and, as quickly as he could, he got the tarpaulins down over the hatches, took in all spare canvas, and did all he could for the best. Alas! the best was bad. The _Scotia_ made fearful weather, and twenty-four hours after it had come on to blow, she had not a topmast standing, two of her best boats had been carried away, her bulwarks looked like a badly-built farmer's paling, and, worse than all, she was stove amidships on the weather-side and under the water-line. When this last disaster was reported to Silas Grig, he called all hands to "make good repairs," and stem the flow of the water, which was rushing inboard like a mill-stream through the ugly hole in the vessel's side. Had it been calm weather, this might have been done effectually enough, but, under the circumstances, it was simply an impossibility. Everything was done, however, that could be done, but still the seas poured in at every lurch to windward. Then it was "All hands to the pumps." The men worked in relays, and cheerily, too, and for a time the water was sent overboard faster than it came in, albeit there were times when the green seas poured over the ship like mountain cataracts. But after some hours, either through the men flagging, or from the hole in the ship's side getting larger, the water in the hold began to gain rapidly on them. "Bring up black-jack!" cried the skipper to the steward, "and we'll splice the main-brace." "Now hurrah! lads!" he exclaimed, addressing the men after a liberal allowance of rum had been handed round. "Hurrah! heave round again. The storm has about spent itself and the sea is going down. We can keep her afloat if we try. Hurrah then, hurrah!" "Hurrah!" echoed the men in response, and, flushed with artificial strength, they once more set themselves with redoubled energy to keep the water under. There was no danger now from ice. The piece that had wrought them so much mischief was about the last they had seen. So for a time all went well, and if the water did not decrease it certainly did not rise. An hour went by, then a deputation came aft to beg for more rum, and the fate of this vessel, like that of many another lost at sea, seemed sealed by the awful drink curse. "It's hardly judicious," said Silas to his mate, "but I suppose they must have it." Ah! Silas Grig, it was not judicious to serve them with the first allowance. When hard work is over and finished, and men are worn out and tired, then is the time, if ever, to splice the main-brace; but when work has to be done that needs clear heads, and when danger is all around a ship, the farther away the rum is the better. They had it, though, and presently they were singing as they pumped-- singing, but not working half so hard as before. Then even the singing itself ceased; they were getting tired and drowsy, and yet another allowance of rum was asked and granted. The water rose higher in the hold. When the men heard this report they would work no more. With one accord they desisted from their labours, and a deputation of the boldest found their way aft. "It is no use, Captain Silas Grig," they said, addressing their skipper; "the ship is going down, and we mean to die jolly. Bring up the rum." "This is mutiny," cried the captain, pulling out a revolver. "I'll shoot the first man dead that dares go down that cabin staircase." "Captain," said one of the men, stepping forward, "will you let me speak to you? I've nothing but friendly feelings towards you." "Well," replied the skipper, "what have you to say?" "This," said the man; "let us have no murder. Put up your shooting-irons. It is all in vain. The men _will_ have rum. Hark! d'ye hear that?" "I heard a knocking below," said the skipper. "What does it mean?" Before the man could reply there was a wild shout from the half-deck. "It means," replied the man, "that the men have broken through the cabin bulkheads and supplied themselves." "Then Heaven help us!" said poor bewildered Silas. He staggered to the seat beside the skylight and sat down, holding on by the brass glass-guards. A moment after the mate joined him. "You haven't been drinking, matie," said Silas, glancing gloomily upwards, "have you?" "No, sir, nor the second mate, nor the steward, nor the spectioneer," was the mate's reply. "Give us your hand, sir. We've had words together often; let us forgive each other now. God bless you, sir, and if die together we must, we won't die like pigs, at all events." There was anarchy forward, anarchy and wild revelry, and cruel brawls and fighting, but the five men aft stuck together, and tried to comfort each other, though there was hardly a hope in their hearts that their vessel would be saved. A long evening wore away, a kind of semi-darkness settled over the sea, but this short night soon gave place once more to-day. Then down forward all was quiet; the revellers were sleeping the stertorous sleep of the drunkard. But the wind had fallen considerably, and the seas had gone down; the broken waves no longer sung in the frosty air, but the ship rolled like a half-dead thing in the trough of the sea. She was water-logged. With infinite difficulty the mates, with the steward's assistance, stretched more canvas, while the captain took the helm. She heeled over to it, and looked as if she hardly cared to right again. But this brought the hole in her side into view. Then they got heavy blankets up, and, working as they had never worked before, they managed in an hour and a half to staunch the leak from the outside. Hope began to rise in their hearts, and, at the bidding of the skipper, the steward went below and brought up a large tin of preserved soup. "Ah! men," said poor Silas, "this is better than all the rum in the world." And it was, for it gave them strength and heart. They went away down below next to the galley and half-deck, and tried to rouse some of the men. They found five of them stark and stiff, and from the others came nothing but groans and oaths. So they went to the pumps themselves, and worked away for hours for dear life itself. Oh! what a joyful sight it was for them when, in answer to their signal of distress, they saw the good ship _Arrandoon_ coming steaming down towards them. Then the grim raven Death, who had been hovering over the seemingly doomed ship, flapped his ragged wings and flew slowly away. They were saved! Oil was pumped upon the water between the _Arrandoon_ and _Scotia_, to round off the curling, comb-like peaks of the waves, and a boat was lowered from the steamer and sent to the assistance of the distressed vessel. The ship was pumped out, and next day, the weather becoming once more fine, she was towed towards the island of Jan Mayen, and made fast to a floe. She was next heeled over and the repairs completed. The _Arrandoon_ spared them a few spars, and plenty of willing hands to hoist them, so that in a few days the Greenland sealer was as strong as ever. Silas Grig was a very happy man now. The unfortunate wretches who had flown to meet their fate were sunk in the dark waters of the sea of ice, but this rough but kindly-hearted skipper never let one upbraiding word escape him towards his men, and the men knew they were forgiven, and liked their skipper none the less for his extreme forbearance. "Do you know what I have done?" said Silas to McBain. "You have forgiven your men, haven't you?" replied McBain. "Ay, that I have," said Silas, "but I have staved every cask of rum on board, and black-jack is thrown overboard." All along the west coast or shore of the island of Jan Mayen our heroes, on their re-arrival there, found that the water was comparatively clear, the bergs having been driven away out to sea on the wings of the wind, so that by breaking the light bay ice the boats could approach quite close to the snow-clad cliffs. Our three boys--for boys we must continue to call them for the sake of the days of "auld lang syne"--were glad to set foot on shore again, and with them went old Seth and the doctor. Freezing Powders was also invited, but his reply was, "No, sah! thank you all de same. But only dis chile not want anoder bad winter wid a yellow bear!" "`Adventure' you mean, don't you?" said Rory. "Dat is him, sah!" replied the boy. "I not want no more dancin' for de dear life." "But the yellow bear was killed, Freezing Powders," persisted Allan. "But him's moder not killed," said the lad, with round, open eyes. "You seem to hab 'tirely forgotten dat, sah; and p'raps de moder is much worse dan de son." So they went without him. Well armed were they, and provisioned for a day at all events. Somewhat to their surprise, they found smoke issuing from the once deserted huts, while a whole pack of dogs started up from where they had been lying and attempted to bar their progress. But the same two hardy chiefs of the Eskimos whom we last saw speeding along over the sea of ice, with the snow-wind roaring around them, came forth, quieted the dogs, and bade them kindly welcome. In their broken English they told them the tale of their adventurous journey across the pack from the far-off western land of Greenland, and of the narrow escape they had had from the violence of the sudden storm. Then they led the way, not into one of the small huts, but into the large central one. "We are making him fit and warm and good," they explained, "for our big 'Melican masta. He come directly. To-day we see his boat not far off-- a two-stick boat, with plenty mooch sail." The "two-stick boat" which the chiefs referred to was a saucy little Yankee yacht, that on this very morning was cruising off the island. Our heroes spent several hours in the hut, seated by the blazing logs, listening delightedly to a description of the strange country these chiefs called their home--a country that few white men have ever yet visited, and where certainly none have ever wintered. But I cannot repeat all the strangers told them about the manners and customs of their countrymen, the dress of the men and women, their fishing and hunting exploits, their fierce though petty wars with other tribes, and the wonderful life they lead throughout the summer and during the long, drear, sunless season of winter. "Ah!" said Rory, with a bit of a sigh, "I do like to hear these men talk about their wild land in the Far West. We must come again and make them tell us a deal more. I've half a mind to set out with them when they return, and live among them for some months. I say, Ray, wouldn't it be glorious to go surging over the ice-fields drawn by a hundred fleet-footed hounds?" "Drawn by a hundred hounds!" cried Allan, laughing. "Draw it mild, Rory." "Well," said Rory, "more or less, you know." "Besides," Ralph put in, "these are not hounds, Rory; there is more of the wolf about them than the hound." "Och, botheration?" replied Rory; "you're too particular. But if I went with these men, and dwelt among their tribes for a time, then I'd go to press when I came back to old England." "A book of adventure?" said Allan. "Ah, yes!" said Rory; "a book, if you please, but not dry-as-dust prose, my boys! I'd write an epic poem." Talking thus, away they went on an exploring expedition, Rory riding the high horse, building any number of castles in the air, and giving the reins to his wonderful imagination. "I reckon, Mr Rory," said Seth, "that you'd make the fortune of any publisher that liked to take you up. You try New York, I guess that'd suit you; and, if you like, you shall write the life of old trapper Seth." "Glorious!" cried Rory; "`A Life in the Forests of the Far West.' Hurrah! I'll do it! You wait a bit. Look, look! What is that?" "It's a white fox," said Seth, bowling the animal over before the others had time to draw a bead on it. But that white fox, with a few loons, and five guillemots--which, by the way, when skinned, are excellent eating--were all they bagged that day. McBain and Stevenson had better luck though, they had seen a gigantic bear prowling around among the rough ice beneath the cliffs, and had called away a boat and gone after it. "O! sah!" cried Freezing Powders, running up to McBain as he was going over the side. "Don't go, sah! I can see de yellow bear's moder and two piccaninnies on de ice. She is one berry bad woman. She make you dance to please de piccaninnies, den she gobble your head off. Don't you go, sah! You not look nice widout a head. Dat am my impression, sah." There was nothing of the sensational about McBain's adventure with the bear, but something of the sad. The captain of the _Arrandoon_ was not the man to take the life of even a bear while in company of her young ones, but he well knew how terrible and how bloodthirsty such an animal is, and how cunning in her ferocity. He shuddered as he thought of Allan or Rory heedlessly passing the cave or crevasse in the rocks where she lay concealed, and being pounced upon and dragged in to be torn limb from limb. So he determined she must die. Once landed, they almost immediately sighted her, and gave chase. Alone she might have escaped; but in dread terror the young ones leapt on her back and thus hampered her movements. [She-bears with young ones are easily got up to and killed on this account.] She then turned fiercely at bay, coming swiftly on to the attack, bent upon a fearful vengeance if she could only accomplish it. "Stand by, Stevenson," cried McBain, dropping on one knee, "to fire if I don't kill at once." The monster held her head low as she advanced, and a less experienced hunter would have made this the target. McBain knew better. He aimed at the lower part of the neck, and the bear fell pierced through the great artery of the heart. Yet so near had he allowed the animal to come before firing, that Stevenson, trembling for his safety, had brought his own rifle to the shoulder. Then those two poor young bears stood up to fight for their dead dam, giving vent to growls of grief and rage. "We can take them alive, sir," said Stevenson. "Come along, lads." This last sentence was addressed to the boat's crew. "Come along quick, and bring the ropes." Had old Seth been there, these young Bruins would soon have been lassoed. But McBain's men were not over expert at such work. They did manage to rope one in a few minutes, but the other gave them a deal of trouble--sport one man erroneously called it. He invariably flew at the man who tried to throw the rope, and the man invariably made his feet his friends, thus giving another man a chance to try his skill. If he failed he had to run next, and so on until at long last one more adroit or more fortunate than his fellow succeeded in throwing the lasso over the young bear's neck, and brought it half strangled to the ice. "A present for you, Captain Grig," cried McBain, pulling alongside the _Canny Scotia_ with his double capture. Silas was delighted when he saw the two live bears. "Heaven bless you, sir!" he exclaimed. "Why, sir, they'll fetch forty pounds each in the London _too_. Forty pounds, sir! Think o' that. Eighty pounds for the two o' them. Keep my little wife and all the family for a month o' Sundays. Hurrah! matie, luck's turned." CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. A NEW ARRIVAL--THE DOGS--TRAPPER SETH BECOMES KENNEL-MAN--PREPARATIONS FOR A GREAT SEAL HUNT--THE GREENLAND BEAR. On the very day that McBain shot the great she-bear--for it was one of the largest that ever fell before a sportsman's gun--on that day, and on the afternoon of that day, just as our heroes were about to leave the island and re-embark on the _Arrandoon_, there landed from off that saucy "little two-stick yacht" one of the tallest Yankees that ever stepped in boots. Seth squeezed the hand of this countryman of his till tears sprang into the stranger's eyes; and they were not tears of emotion, nor sentiment either, but of downright pain. "I say, siree?" cried the newcomer, shaking his hand and looking at the tips of his fingers, "patriotism and brotherly love are both beautiful things in their way, but when it comes to squeezing the blood out from under a fellow's finger-nails, then I say, bother brotherly love." "I'm proud to meet you, sir," exclaimed Seth, "let us shake hands once more." "Never a shake, old man," said the stranger; "let us admire each other at a respectable distance. But come, gentlemen all," he continued, turning to the others, "you ain't going on board just yet. Come up with me to my house. I daresay you've been there already; but come back and break bread with Nathaniel Cobb, sometimes called the Little Wonder, because I ain't much more'n seven feet high." Nat Cobb's boat's crew were Norwegians every one of them, short, somewhat squat, fair-haired fellows, but as active and bustling as a corresponding number of well-bred fox-terriers. A couple of them were moving on ahead now, with an immense basket between them. "That's the dinner," said the Little Wonder; "and you'll find there's enough for all hands, too." "Well, gentlemen," Nat said, when everybody had done justice to the good things placed before them, "let us drink each other's healths in a cup of fragrant mocha, for that's the wine for Greenland weather. Gentlemen, I look around me at your smiling faces, and I pledge you and bid you welcome to my island of Jan Mayen." "Hallo!" thought Rory, "_your_ island." "Yes, gentlemen," continued Nat, looking as if he really read Rory's thoughts, "_my_ island. Six months and more ago I annexed it, and to-morrow once again the stars and stripes will proudly flutter from yonder flagstaff, and the bird o' freedom will soar over this wild mountain land." Apart from his queer, half-boastful speech, Nat Cobb was a very agreeable companion. He was very frank at all events. After looking at Rory for the space of half a minute, he suddenly stretched out his hand. "I like you," he said, "muchly, and I like you all. It is from men like you that the mightiest republic in the world has been built. But why don't you speak more, Rory, as your messmates call you?" "Ach! troth?" said Rory, "and sure I'm driving _tandem_ with the thinking." "And you're wondering," said Nat, "where a piece of elongated mortality like myself stretches himself of a night on board the _Highflier_?" "Seeing," replied Rory, laughing, "that you're about as long as the keel, and maybe a bit longer, I may well wonder that same; and unless you lean against a mast, I don't quite see how you can stretch yourself." "Well, young sir, I'll tell you how I do it. I double up into four, and lie on my back! that is how it's done." The Little Wonder went off with our party to the _Arrandoon_; and as Yankees are ever ready to trade, he had not been long on board when McBain had purchased from him a dozen of his best dogs. They were to be kept until the ship returned from a week's sport among the old seals, then taken on board just before the _Arrandoon_ left for the extreme north. Old Seth was duly told off to superintend the erection of kennels, forward near the bows, and old Seth was in his glory in consequence. "I'll feel myself o' some kind o' use now," he said. "Kennel-man in ordinary to the _Arrandoon_, a free house and victuals found, I guess it ain't half a bad sitivation." About a week after this--the Greenland sealer having been made as good as new again--the Jan Mayen fleet sailed away from the island, and directed its course about north-and-by-east. First on the line went the noble _Arrandoon_ sailing, not steaming, for a nice beam wind was blowing; next came the _Canny Scotia_ with her tall, tapering spars; and the saucy _Highflier_, with her fore-and-aft canvas, brought up the rear. Nathaniel Cobb was Arctic meteorologist to a private company of American scientists, but his time was pretty much his own, and he didn't mind spending a week or a fortnight of it among the old seals. He wanted a skin or two anyhow, he said, to make a warm carpet for his "house," and some oil to burn for fuel, but promised that everything beyond what he really wanted which happened to fall to his gun should be given to Silas. Silas Grig was never happier in his life than he was now. Luck had indeed turned, fortune was about to favour him for once in a way. His would be a bumper ship, full to the hatches, with a bing of skins on deck that he wouldn't be able to find room for below. And when he returned to Peterhead, flags would fly and bands would play, and his little wife and he would live happy ever after. McBain wanted to show his young companions a little genuine sport, and at the same time do a good turn to honest Silas, by helping him to a voyage; while the former, on the other hand, were all excitement and bustle, for the _Arrandoon_ was about to be transformed into a sealer; and the idea being such a perfectly new one, was correspondingly appreciated. The little fleet kept well together; it would not have suited them to part company, although, even on a wind, without the aid of her boilers, the _Arrandoon_ could easily have shown her consorts a pair of clean heels. The doctor himself was led away with enthusiasm, and longed to draw a bead, as Seth called it, on a bear itself. He had chosen a rifle from the box, cleaned and polished it, and called it his own. "I've never shot a wild beast," he explained to Rory, "but, man, if I get the chance, I'll have a try." "Bravo!" cried Rory, "and you're sure to get the chance, you know." The ice was loose, although the weather was clear and very frosty. There was a heaving motion in the main pack that prevented the bergs from getting frozen together, but for all that the fleet kept well clear of it, for fear of getting beset. Patches of old seals might, it is true, have been found far in among the ice, but the risk was too great to run, so McBain kept to the outside edge, and the others followed his example. Silas Grig was invited on board the _Arrandoon_; and proud he was when the captain told him that he could choose five-and-twenty of his best men, and superintend their preparations for going after the seals. The third mate might be one of the number, but neither Stevenson nor Mitchell was to be allowed to go, although McBain did not object to these officers, or even the engineers, having a day's sport now and then. It was a glorious morning--for Greenland--when Captain McBain called all hands, in order that Silas might choose the men who were to assist him in making his fortune. The sun was shining as brightly as ever it does in England, and there wasn't too much wind to blow the cold through and through one. Either of the officers might have passed for old men, if white hairs make men look old, for their hair, whiskers, and moustachios were coated with hoar-frost ice. Our heroes had just finished breakfast, all of them having had a cold sea-bath to give them a glow before they sat down, and were now walking briskly up and down the quarter-deck, talking merrily and laughing. The _Scotia_ had her foreyard aback, and the _Arrandoon_ had also stopped her way, and yonder was Silas in his boat coming rapidly over the rippling water towards the steamer, the skipper himself standing like a gondolier and steering with an oar in true whaler fashion. "Now, lads," cried Silas, when the men of the _Arrandoon_ lay aft in obedience to orders. "You're a fine lot, I must say; every man Jack o' ye is better than the other; but I just want the men that have been to the country before. The men among ye that know a seal-club from a toastin'-fork, or a lowrie-tow from a bell-rope, just elevate a hand, will ye?" [Lowrie-tow--the rope with which the men drag the skins to the ship's side.] No less than fifteen gloved hands were waved aloft. Silas was delighted, and did not take long to choose the remaining ten. "You'll go on the ice by twos, you know, men," he continued, "and when one o' ye tumbles into the water, why, the other'll simply pull him out. Nothing easier." All these hands were to be clubsmen and draggers, while "the guns," as they were called, comprised the following: Ralph, Rory, Allan, Sandy the surgeon, De Vere the aeronaut, Seth trapper, and the third mate, seven in all, and warranted to give a good account of the seals, and keep the men steadily on drag if the sport was anything like good. Having made these preliminary arrangements, the men were dismissed, and Silas spent the rest of the day forward with old Ap the carpenter and the sail-maker. And very busy the whole four of them were, too, for three dozen daggers or seal-knives had to be fitted with sheaths of leather, and belts to go round the men's waists, and three dozen lowrie-tows, with the same number of seal-clubs, had to be got ready. I saw the other day an engraving of a sealing scene in Greenland, evidently done by an artist who had never been in the Arctic regions in his life, and who had therefore trusted to his imagination, which had led him far from the truth. In this picture there is a ship under canvas: error Number 1, for sealers always clue or brail up before the men go over the side. The ice is tall and pinnacled: error Number 2, for the ice the old seals lie on is either flat or hummocky. The men on the ice are leaping madly from berg to berg and clubbing _old_ seals: error Number 3, for unless old seals get positively frozen out of the water by the pieces becoming fast together, they will not wait to be clubbed. You may catch a weasel asleep, but never an old seal. Lastly, in this picture, the men are wielding clubs that have evidently been borrowed from some gymnasium: this constitutes error Number 4, for seal-clubs are nothing like these. They are more like an ancient battle-axe; the shaft is about four or five feet long and made of strong, tough wood, while through the top of this terrible weapon is run the part that does the execution--a square piece of iron or steel-- sharpened at one end, hammer-like at the other, and nearly a foot long. With this instrument a strong man has been known to lay a Greenland bear dead with one blow. No one of course would dare to attack a bear armed with a club alone, but instances have occurred where the bear has been the aggressor, and where the man had to defend himself as best he could. One word parenthetically about the great Polar or ice bear. Until I had first seen the carcass of one lying flensed on the ice, I could not have believed that any wild beast could attain such gigantic proportions. The footprints of this monster were as large as an ordinary pair of kitchen bellows. The pastern, or ankle, seemed as wide as the paw, and as near as I could guess about thirty inches round; the forearms and hind-legs were of tremendous strength; so too were the shoulders and loin. An animal like this with one stroke can slay the largest seal in Greenland, and could serve the biggest lion that ever roared in an African jungle precisely the same. As to the voice, it is hardly so fearful as the lion's, but heard, as I heard it one night on the pack, within two yards of me, it is sufficiently appalling, to say the least of it. It is a sort of half-cough, half roar. As trapper Seth described it after his adventure at the cave in Jan Mayen, when little Freezing Powders so nearly lost the number of his mess: "The roar of a healthy Greenland bear, when the owner of it is so close ye could kick him, is a kind o' confusin'; it shakes your innards considerable, and makes ye think the critter has swallowed the thick end of a thunderstorm and is tryin' to work it up again." An elephant--a tusker--is no joke when he loses his temper and comes after you, nor is a lion or tiger when he thinks he can do you a mischief, but I would rather face either of them twice over than I would an ice bear with his back up, if I myself were unarmed. I was very young, by the way, when I found myself confronted with my first Greenland bear, but I well remember both what my thoughts were at the time, and what were my feelings. The truth is, I had made the captain promise he would give me a chance to go and fight one of these terrible giants of the ice. He did so in good time, and I confess that as the boat neared the pack--I being in the bows--I suddenly discovered that I was not half so brave as I had previously imagined. The bear did not run away, as I fear I had almost wished that he would. He simply waited, looking at us somewhat inquiringly; and when I landed, all alone, mind you, he came along to meet me, and inquire what I wanted, and I hated him while I envied him for his coolness. He seemed to say, "Why, you're only a boy; just wait till I get alongside you, and I'll show you how I treat boys. I'll turn you inside out." I had to wait. Wild horses couldn't have tom me from the spot, where I had dropped on one knee. Oh! I can assure you, I would have liked, well enough, to run away, but with all the ship's crew looking at me--? No; death rather than live a coward. On came Bruin, much to my disgust; I would have felt as brave as a lion had he only shown me his heels. Then these questions chased each other through my brain: "How near will I let the beggar come before I fire? Shall I hit him on the head, or shoot him in the chest? and, What shall I do if the rifle misses fire?" Bruin still advanced at a shambling trot. Then I brought my rifle to the shoulder and took aim, glancing along the glimmering barrel till I could only see the _vise_ at the end, and immediately beyond that Bruin's yellow breast. Bang, bang! I dare say it really was myself who pulled those two triggers of my double-barrelled rifle, but at the time I felt as if I had nothing at all to do with it. Then there was a shout from the boat, and a shout from the ship. Bruin was dead, and I was the hero; but somehow I did not feel that I deserved the praise which I received. Yet, after all, I daresay I only felt in this encounter as most boys would have felt. Doing anything dangerous is always nasty at first, but when one gains confidence in himself, then is the time one knows-- "That strange joy that warriors feel In foemen worthy of their steel." CHAPTER NINETEEN. "SILAS GRIG, HIS YARN"--THE WHITE WHALE--AFLOAT ON AN ICEBERG--A DREARY JOURNEY--BEAR ADVENTURES--"THE SEALS! THE SEALS!" There was only one subject in the whole world that Silas Grig was thoroughly conversant with, and that was the manners and customs of his friends the seals. Had you started talking upon either politics or science, or the state of Europe or Ireland, Silas would have become silent at once. He would have retired within himself; his soul, so to speak, would have gone indoors, and not come out again until you had done. Such was Silas; and he confessed frankly that he had never sung a song nor made a speech in his lifetime. He was a perfect enthusiast while talking about the natural family _Phocidae_. No naturalist in the world knew half so much about them as Silas. On the evening of the day in which he had chosen his men from the crew of the _Arrandoon_, he was pronounced by both Ralph and Rory to be in fine form. He was full of anecdote, and even tales of adventure, so our heroes allowed him to talk, and indeed encouraged him to do so. "What!" he cried, his honest, fear-nothing face lighting up with smiles as he eyed Rory across the table after dinner. "Spin you a yarn, d'ye say? ah! boy, and you'll excuse me calling ye a boy. Silas never could tell a story, and I don't suppose he ever had an adventure as signified much to you in his life." "Never mind," insisted Rory, "you tell us something, and I'll play you that old tune you so dearly love." "Ah! but," said Silas, "if my matie were only here; now you wouldn't think, gentlemen,"--here he glanced round the table as seriously as if contradiction were most unlikely--"you wouldn't think that a fellow like that, with such an ugly chunk of a head, had any sentiment; but he has, though, and he owns the prettiest wife and the smartest family in all Peterhead." "Look here," cried Rory, "be quiet about your matie. Sure this is what we're waiting for." He exhibited the doctor's slate as he spoke, and on the back thereof, behold! in large letters, the words,-- "Silas Grig, His Yarn." Silas laughed till his sides ached, his eyes watered, the chair creaked, and the rafters rang. It was a pleasant sight to see. After this he lit up a huge meerschaum pipe, "hoping there was no offence," cleared his throat, turning his face upwards at the pendent compass, as if seeking help there. Then he began,-- "Of the earlier days of Silas Grig little need be said. I daresay he was no better and no worse than other boys. He nearly plagued the life out of his grandmother, and drove three maiden aunts to the verge of distraction, and made any amount of work for the tailor and the shoemaker; and when they couldn't stand him any longer at home they sent him to school, reminding the teacher ere they left him there, that to spare the rod was to spoil the child. The teacher didn't forget that; he whipped me three times a day, drilled me through the English grammar and Grey's arithmetic, then flogged me into Caesar; and when I translated the passage, `Caesar triduas vias fecit' [Caesar made three days' journey.] into `Caesar made three roads,' the dominie gave me such a dressing that I followed Caesar's example--I made three days' journey due north, and never returned to my maiden aunts, nor the dominie either. "I found myself now in the heart of what I then took to be a big town, for I wasn't very big myself, you know. It was only Peterhead, after all. I marched boldly down to the docks, and on board a great raking-masted Greenlandman. "`What use would you be?' inquired the skipper when I told him what I wanted. `Bless me!' he added, `you ain't any size at all; the bears would eat you up.' "`I'll have him,' said the doctor, `if you'll let me, captain. He can be my lob-lolly-boy and body-guard.' "And so, gentlemen, from that day to this I've been a sailor o' the northern seas; and there isn't much to be seen in these regions that old Silas hasn't come across, from Baffin's Bay to Kamschatka, from lonely Spitzbergen in the north to Iceland in the south." "And so you've been in Spitzbergen, have you?" said McBain. "Why, bless you, yes," replied Silas. "It was there I was in at the death of the great white whale, and a sad day it was for us, I can tell you. He was white with age. [Very old whales are sometimes found in the far northern seas covered with a kind of parasite, which gives them a white or light-grey appearance.] I should think he couldn't have been much under a hundred years old, and just as sly and wary as a hundred and forty foxes all rolled in to one. Many and many a boat had tried to catch him, but he had a way of diving and doubling to avoid the harpoons that some believed was rather more than natural; then when you thought he was miles and miles away, pop! up he would come among the very midst of the boats, and a funny thing it would be if he didn't knock one o' them to smithereens with that tail o' his. We killed him though. Our skipper himself speared him, but it was hours after that before he died. And before he died terrible was the revenge he took on his destroyers. Gentlemen, Silas Grig has no language in his vocabulary to describe the vicious wrath of that sea-demon. I think I see him now as he rose to the surface, blowing blood and spray, snorting with fury, with fire seeming to flash out of his little evil eyes. We in the boats thought our last hour had come, as he ploughed down through us. But our hearts stood still with fear and dread when he dashed past us and made for the ship itself. Onward with lightning speed went the brute, leaving a wake astern such as a man-o'-war might have left. "Our craft--a small brig--was lying with her foreyard aback. She looked as if sleeping on the gently rippling water. No one spoke in the boats, every eye was fixed on our ship--our home, and on the fearful monster advancing to attack her. We could see that the people left on the brig knew the whole extent of their danger, for they seemed all on deck. There were wild shouts, and guns were fired, but nothing availed to avert the catastrophe. Then, oh! the sad, despairing cry that rose to heaven from that doomed ship! It seems to ring in my ears whenever I think of it. The whale struck her right amidships, and she went over and down at once. No soul was saved; and when we rode up to the spot, there was nothing to be seen, and nothing to be heard, save the body of the great white whale, dead, on his side, with the waves lap-lapping against it as it slowly rose and fell. "For six long, cold, weary days we lived in the open boats, feeding on the flesh of the seals we happened to kill, and quenching our thirst with the snow we gathered from the ice. When we had almost despaired of being saved, for we were far to the nor'ard and east of the usual fishing-grounds, a Norwegian walrus-hunter picked us up, and landed us at last, in midwinter, on a dreary shore in Lapland. But, gentlemen, that is nothing to what we, the survivors of the ill-fated _Jonathan Grey_, suffered some years afterwards. The ship got `in the nips' coming out o' the pack. We were crushed just as you might crash an egg-shell between your fingers. Thirty of us embarked upon the very iceberg that had caused our ruin, with two casks of biscuit, and hardly clothes enough to cover us. Then it came on to blow, and, huddled together in the centre of the berg, we were blown out to sea, trying in vain to keep each other warm, and defend ourselves from the cruel cold seas that dashed over us, heavier than lead, more remorseless than the grave. Fifteen days were we on the berg, and every day some one dropped off, ay, and the living seemed to envy the quiet, calm sleep of the dead. A sail in sight at last; and how many of us, think you, were alive to see it? Three I only three! It was a year after this before I was fit to brave the Arctic seas again, and meanwhile I had met my Peggy--my little wife that is. Some difference, you will allow, gentlemen, between Silas Grig afloat on a solitary iceberg in a troubled northern sea, and Silas strolling on the top of a breezy cliff in the bright moonlight of midsummer, with Peggy on his arm, and just as happy as the sea-birds. "Were these the only times that I was cast away? No--for I lost my ship by fire once in the northern ice of Western Greenland, and it was two whole years before either myself or my messmates placed foot again on British soil. There wasn't a ship anywhere near us, and the nearest settlement was a colony of transported Danes, that lived about three hundred miles south of us. We saved all we could from the burning barque, and that was little enough; then we constructed rough sledges, and tied our food and chattels thereon, and set out upon our long, dreary march. It took us well-nigh two months to accomplish our journey, for the way was a rough one, and the region was wild and desolate in the extreme. It was late in autumn, and the sun shone by day, but his beams were sadly shorn by the falling snow. Five suns in all we could count at times, though four, you know, were merely mirages. We did not all reach the colony; indeed, many succumbed to the fatigue of the march, to frost-bites, and to scurvy; and we laid them to rest in hastily-dug graves, and the snow was their only winding-sheet. It was more than a year before we found a passage back to our own country, and kind though the poor people all were to us, the governor included, we had to rough it, I can tell you. But you see, sailors who choose the Arctic Seas as their cruising-grounds must expect to suffer at times. "Bears, did you say? Thousands! I've counted as many as fifty at one time on the ice, and I've had a few encounters with them too, myself, though I've known those that have had more. I've known men fight them single-handed, and come off scot-free, leaving Bruin dead on the ice. Dickie McInlay fought a bear with a seal-club. You may be sure the duel wasn't of his own proposing; but coming across the ice one day all alone, he rounded the corner of a hummock, and lo! and behold! there was a monstrous bear washing the blood off his chops after eating a seal. "`Ho! ho!' roared the bear. `I have dined, but you'll come in handy for dessert. Oho! Waugh, O! oh!' "Dick was a little bit of a fellow, but his biceps was as big, round, and just as hard as a hawser. "`If you come an inch nearer me,' cried Dickie, quite undaunted, `it'll be a dear day's work for ye, Mr Bruin.' "The bear crouched for a spring. He never did spring, though; but Dickie did; and he will tell you to this day that he never could understand how he managed to clear the space betwixt himself and the bear so speedily. Then there was a dull thud; Bruin never lifted head again, for the iron of Dickie's club was planted deep into his brain. "The doctor here," continued Silas, "can tell you what a terribly sharp and deadly weapon of offence a large amputating knife would prove, in the hands of a powerful man, against any animal that ever lived. But the doctor I don't think would care to attack a bear with one." "Indeed, no," said Sandy; "I would rather be excused." "But the surgeon of the _North Star_ did," said Silas. "I was witness myself to the awful encounter. But the poor surgeon was mad at the time; he had given way to the rum-fever--rum-fiend it should be called. With his knife in his hand he wandered off and away all by himself over the pack. I saw the fight between the bear and him commence, and sent men at once to assist him. When they reached the scene of action they found the huge bear lying dead, stabbed in fifty places at least. The snow for yards around had been trampled down in the awful struggle, and was yellow and red with blood. The doctor lay beside the bear, apparently asleep. I need not tell you that he slept the sleep that knows no waking. The poor fellow's body was crushed to pulp. "Charles Manning, a spectioneer of the _Good Resolve_, was lying on his back on the sunny side of a hummock, snatching a five-minutes' rest, for it was sealing time, when a bear crept up behind him, more stealthily than any cat could have done. He drew his paw upwards along the poor fellow's body. Only once, mind you, but he left him a mere empty shell." [The author is relating facts; names only are concealed.] "Ah! but, gentlemen, you should have seen a two-mile run I had not five years ago from a bear. Silas himself wouldn't have believed that Silas could have done the distance in double the time. He was coming home all by himself, when he burst his rifle firing at a seal, and just at that moment up popped a bear. "`All alone, are you, Silas?' Bruin seemed to say. "`Yes,' replied Silas, moving off; `and I don't want your company either. I know my way, thank you.' "`Oh, I daresay you do!' says the bear. `But it will only be friendly like if I see you home. Wait a bit.' "`Never a wait!' said Silas; and so the race began. "Of course they saw it from the ship, and sent men to meet me and settle Bruin. Puffed? I should think I was! I lay on my face for five minutes, with no more breath in my old bellows than there is in a dead badger?" "You've seen the sea-lion, I suppose, Captain Grig?" said Allan. "I have that!" replied Silas, "and the sea-bear, too, and I don't know which of the two I'd rather meet on the top of a berg, for they are vicious brutes both." "I've read some very interesting accounts of them," said Allan, "in the encyclopaedias." "So have I," laughed old Silas, "written by men who had never seen them out of the Brighton Aquarium. Pardon me, but you cannot study nature from books." "Do you know the _Stemmatopus cristatus_?" inquired Rory. "What ship, my boy?" said Silas, with one hand behind his ear; "I didn't catch the name o' the craft." "It isn't a ship," said Rory, smiling; "it is a great black seal, with a thing like a kettle-pot over his head." "Oho!" cried Silas; "now I know. You mean the bladder-nose. Ay, lad! and a dangerous monster he is. A Greenland sailor would almost as soon face a bear as fight one of those brutes single-handed." "But the books tell us," said Rory, "that, when surprised by the hunter, they weep copiously." "Bother such books!" said Silas. "What? a bladder-nose weep! Crocodile's tears, then, lad! Why, gentlemen, this monstrous seal is more fierce than any other I know. When once he gets his back up and erects that kettle-pot o' his, and turns round to see who is coming, stand clear, that's what Silas says, for he means mischief, and he's as willing to take his death as any terrier dog that ever barked. I would like to see some o' those cyclopaedia-building chaps face to face with a healthy bladder-nose on a bit o' bay ice. I think I know which o' them would do the weeping part of the business." "Down south here," said McBain--"if we can call it south--the seals have their young on the ice, don't they?" "You're right, sir," said Silas. "And where do they go after that?" "Away back to the far, far north," said Silas. "We follow them up as far as we can. They live at the Pole." "Ah!" said McBain; "and that, Captain Grig, is in itself a proof that there must be open water around the Pole." "I haven't a doubt about it!" cried Silas; "and if you succeed in getting there you'll see land and water too, mountains and streams, and maybe a milder climate. Seals were never made to live down in the dark water; they have eyes and lungs, even, if they are amphibious. But look! look! look, men, look!" Silas started up from the table as he spoke, excitement expressed in every lineament of his face. He pointed to the port from which at present the _Canny Scotia_ was plainly visible, about half a mile off, on the weather quarter. The men could be seen crowding up the rattlings, and even manning the yards, and wildly waving their caps and arms in the air. Silas threw the port open wide. "Listen!" he cried. Our heroes held their breath, while over the water from the distant barque came the sound of many voices cheering. Then the _Arrandoon's_ rigging is manned, and glad shout after glad shout is sent them back. Next moment Stevenson rushed into the cabin. "The seals! the seals!" was all he could say, or rather gasp. "Are there many?" inquired several voices at once.--"Millions on millions!" cried the mate; "the whole pack is black with them as far as ever we can see from the mainmast head." CHAPTER TWENTY. SEAL-STALKING--A GLORIOUS DAY'S SPORT--PIPER PETER AND THE BEAR--A STRANGE DUET--THE SEAL-STALKERS' RETURN. It was about midnight on the 24th of April when the seals were sighted. Midnight, and the sun was low down on the horizon, but, for three long months, never more would it set or sink behind the sea of ice. The weather was bright, bracing, beautiful. Not a cloud in the sky, and hardly wind enough to let the ships get well in through the pack, towards the place where the seals lay as thick as bees, and all unconscious of their approaching fate. But the _Arrandoon_ got steam up, and commenced forcing her way through the closely packed yet loosely floating bergs, leaving behind her a wake of clear water, which made it easy work for the _Scotia_ and the saucy little "two-stick yacht" to follow her example. My young reader must dismiss from his mind the idea of tall, mountainous, pinnacled icebergs, like those he sees in common engravings. The ice was in heavy pieces, it is true, from forty to sixty or seventy feet square, and probably six feet out of water, with hummocks here and there, and piles of bay ice that looked like packs of gigantic cards, but so flat and low upon the whole, that from the masthead a stretch of snow-clad ice could be seen, spreading westwards and north for many and many a mile. When even the power of steam failed to force the _Arrandoon_ farther into the pack, the ships were stopped, fires were banked and sails were clewed, and all hands prepared for instant action. The men girt their knives and steels around them, and threw their "Jowrie-tows" across their broad shoulders, and the officers, dressed in their sealing costume, seized their rifles and shot-belts. Next moment the bo's'n's shrill pipe sounded out in the still air, and the order was shouted,-- "All hands over the side." In five minutes more the ships were apparently deserted. You wouldn't have heard a sound on board, for few were left but stewards and cooks; while little boy Freezing Powders and his wonderful cockatoo had it all to themselves down in the saloon of the great steamship. The boy was bending down beside his favourite in the corner. "What's the row? What's the row? What's the row?" the bird was saying. "I don't know nuffin' more nor you do, Cockie," was the boy's reply; "but it strikes dis chile dat dey have all taken leave of der senses, ebery moder's son of dem. And de captain he have gone up into de crow's-nest, which looks for all de world like a big barrel of treacle, Cockie, and he have shut hisself in der, and nuffin' does he do but wave a long stick wid a black ball at de end of it. [The fan with which Greenland captains guide their men in the direction of the seals.] Dat is all de knows; but oh! Cockie, don't you take such drefful big mouf-fuls o' hemp. Supposin' anyting happen to you, Cockie, den I hab nobody to talk to dat fully understand dis chile." The _Canny Scotia_ was moored to the ice so close to the _Arrandoon_ that the captains of the respective ships could maintain a conversation without stressing their lungs to any very great extent. Talking thus, each in his own crow's-nest, they looked for all the world like a couple of chimney-sweeps conversing together from rival chimneys. The cooks were not idle in the galleys, they were busy boiling hams and huge joints of beef, and these, when cooked, were taken on deck; for sealing is hungry work, and every time a man brings a drag to the vessel's side he helps himself to a lordly slice and a biscuit. By-and-by the draggers began to drop in fast enough, each one hauling an immense skin with the fat or blubber attached; and these skins were all hoisted on board the _Scotia_, for all hands were working for Silas. But our heroes had the sport, and, taking it all in all, I do not think there is any sport in the world to compare to that of seal-stalking. Without any of the cowardliness of battue shooting, in which the poor surrounded animals are helpless, and cruelly and mercilessly slain, you have far more excitement, and the sport is not unattended with danger. To be a good seal-stalker you need the limbs of an athlete, the eye of an excellent marksman, and all the stealth and cunning of a tabby cat or a Coromanche Indian. If your nerves are not well strung, or your muscles not like iron, you may fail to leap across the lane of dark water that separates piece from piece; if you do fail and are not speedily helped out, the current may drag you beneath the bergs, or those dreadful sharks, that seldom are absent where blood is being spilled on the sea of ice, may seize and pull you down to a fearful death; if you are not a good shot, your seals will get away, for your bullet _must_ pierce either neck or head; and, lastly, if you are not cunning, if you do not stalk with stealth, your seals will escape with the speed of lightning. On warm, sunny days the seals lie close and sleep soundly, but they always have their sentries set. Kill the sentry, and many others are at your mercy; miss him, or merely wound him, and he gives the alarm _instanter_, and all the rest jump helter-skelter into the sea, according you a beautiful view of their tail-ends, which you don't find very advantageous in the way of making a bag. A good sealer, like a good skirmisher, takes advantage of every bit of cover, and many a death-blow is dealt from the shelter of a lump of loose ice. The gunners to-day, as they usually do, went on after the seals in skirmishing order, in one long line, each taking a breadth of about seventy or one hundred yards. It was an hour past midnight before they left the ships. When it was nine in the morning there was a kind of general assembly of the riflemen to breakfast, behind a large square hummock of packed bay ice, and only the very oldest among them could believe that it was so late. [These strange hummocks, which resemble, as already stated, huge packs of cards, are formed of pieces of bay ice about a foot thick, which has been broken up between two bergs, and finally thrown up out of the water altogether. They form quite a characteristic feature of a North Greenland icescape.] Why, to our own particular heroes it seemed scarcely an hour since they had left their ship, so great is the excitement of seal-stalking. But Ralph and Rory and Allan had done so well, and had managed to lay so many splendid seals dead on every piece of ice, that they earned high encomiums from the mate of the _Canny Scotia_; and even the doctor hadn't shot amiss, and proud was he to be told so. "But, my dear sirs," said Sandy, "I'd like to know why a good surgeon shouldn't be a good sportsman. Don't you know that the great Liston himself was sometimes summoned to an operation at the hospital, just as he was mounting his horse to ride off to the hunt, arrayed in scarlet and cords?" "And what did he do?" asked Rory. "Pass the pie," said Ralph. "Why," continued the doctor, enthusiastically, "doffed his scarlet coat and donned an old gown, whipped off a leg in one minute ten and a half seconds, and was in the saddle again five minutes after that." "Brayvo!" cried Captain Cobb, "doctor, you're a brick, and if ever you come out to New Jersey, come and see Cobb, and I guess he'll give you a good time of it." "Ray," said Rory. "Well, Row," said Ray. "Your face and hands are begrimed with powder, and there is a kind of wolfish look about you that is worth studying. You look like a frozen-out blacksmith who hasn't a penny to buy a bit of peas-pudding or a morsel of soap." "I'm hungry, anyhow," said Ray. "How good of McBain to send such a jolly breakfast! But I say, Row, d'ye remember the proverb about Claudius? Well, don't you call my face and hands black till you've washed your own. You look like a chimney-sweep who has been out of work for a week, and got no food since the day before yesterday." "Well, well," says Row, "but 'deed in troth, my dear big boy, nobody can wonder at your being successful as a seal-stalker, for what with the colour of your face, and the urgency, so to speak, of the two eyes of you, and that big fur cap, why the seals take you for one o' themselves, a big bladder-nose." "Pass the ham," said Ray; "Allan, some more coffee, I begin to feel like a giant refreshed." "I do declare upon mine honour," said De Vere, "dat dis is de most glorious pignig [picnic] I ever have de pleasure to attend. But just you look at mine friend Seth, how funnily he do dress." "It may be a funny way," said Allan, "but it is a most effectual one; dear old trapper Seth has killed more seals this morning than any two of us." Seth was dressed from top to toe in young seals' skins, the hair outwards, with the exception of the cap, which was of darker fur, and a black patch on his back. They were not loose garments, they were almost as tight as a harlequin's; but when Seth drew his fur cap over his face and threw himself on the ice, and began wriggling along, his resemblance to a saddle-seal was so preposterous that everybody burst into a hearty laugh. "That's the way I gets so near them," said Seth, standing once more erect. "Look, look!" cried Rory, and every eye was turned in the direction in which he pointed; and there, in a pool of dark water not twenty yards away, a dozen beautiful heads, with round, wondering eyes, had popped up to gaze at them. It was a lovely sight, and never a rifle was lifted to shoot. Presently they disappeared, but on the mate of the _Scotia_ giving vent to a loud whistle, up came the heads again, and there they remained as long as the mate whistled, for of all wild creatures in the world that I have ever come across, the Greenland seal is the most inquisitive; and no doubt the experience of some of my old-boy readers who have been to the country is the same as my own. Onwards, steadily onwards, all that day went our sportsmen; they did not even assemble again for another meal, and at five of the clock they found themselves fully four miles from the place where the ships lay. The field of seals which they had attacked was some ten miles square, and although they had worked their way into it for miles, nevertheless when the flags were hoisted to recall them, at two bells in the first dog-watch, the field of seals still remained about ten miles square. This may seem strange, but is thus accounted for. Out of say twenty seals on each berg, fifteen at least would escape, and these swam away under the pack, and again took the ice on the far-off edge of the field of seals. It being somewhat too far to drag the skins to the ship, bings had been made on the ice during the latter part of the day, so that no dead seals should be left unflensed upon the ice. When they wended their way homewards at the end of this glorious day's shooting a broom was stuck besom-side up, on each bing, with the name of the ship on the handles. This is done with the view of preventing other ships from appropriating the skins. This is the custom of the country--one of the unwritten laws of the sea of ice. While the gunners and their merry men were yet a long way off from the ships, there came a hail from the crow's-nest of the _Arrandoon_, which, by the way, McBain had hardly left all the time. Peter had brought him up coffee and food, and he had danced in the interval to keep himself warm. "On deck there?" "Ay, ay, sir," roared Peter, looking up. "Is dinner all laid?" "Ay, sir, and the cook is waiting." "Well, on with the kilt, Peter, if you're not afraid of getting your hocks frozen, get the bagpipes, and go and meet the hunters." Down below dived Peter, and he was up again in what sailors call "a brace of shakes," arrayed in full Highland costume, with the bagpipes over his arm. No wonder the cockatoo cried,-- "De-ah me?" when he saw Peter, and added, "Such a to-do! such a to-do! such a to-do!" Now the bears had been rather numerous on the pack that day, just as the sharks were in the water. Doubtless the sharks found many a poor wounded seal to close their vengeful jaws upon, for they are either too cowardly or not swift enough to catch a healthy phoca; but the bears had behaved themselves unusually well. They had had plenty to eat, at all events, and seemed to know that the men at work on the ice were laying up a store of provisions for them that would last them all the summer, so they had made no attempt to attack them. But on their way back to the ship the doctor, who was striding on a little way in advance of the rest, startled a huge monster who was sunning himself behind a hummock. It would be difficult to say whether the bear or the doctor was the more startled; at all events the latter fired and missed, and the former made off, running in the direction of the ships. But he hadn't gone above half a mile when who should Bruin meet but Peter, coming swinging along with his bagpipes under his arm. Never a gun had Peter, and never a club--only the pipes. As soon as they saw each other they both stopped short. "I do declare," Bruin seemed to say to himself, "here is a man or something all alone. But what a strange dress! I never saw anybody dressed like that before. Never mind, he looks sweet and nice; I'll have a bit." "I do declare," said Peter to himself, "if that isn't a big lump of a bear coming along, and I haven't even a stone to throw at him. Whatever shall I do at all, at all? Och! and och! this is the end of me now, at last. Sure enough it is marching to my own funeral I've been all the time, instead of going to meet the sportsmen. Oh! Peter, Peter! you'll never see your old mother in this world again, nor Scotland either. Yonder big bear is licking his chops to devour you. Yonder is the big hairy sarcophagus that'll soon contain your mangled remains. Who would have thought that Peter of Arrandoon would have lived to play his own coronach?" [Coronach--a funeral hymn or wail for the departed.] Hardly knowing what he did, poor Peter shouldered his pipes, and began to play a dreary, droning, yelling, squealing lament. At the same moment Bruin commenced to perform some of the queerest antics ever a bear tried before. He stretched first one leg, then another, and he stretched his neck and described circles in the air with his nose, keeping time with the music. Then he sat up entirely on one end. "Oh!" he seemed to say, "flesh and blood couldn't stand that; I must, yes, I must give vent to a Ho--o--o--o--o-- "And likewise to a Hoo--oo--oo--oo--oo!!" Reader, the voice of an asthmatical steam-engine, heard at midnight as it enters a tunnel, is a melancholy sound, so is the Welsh hooter, and the fog-horn of a Newcastle coal brig; but all combined, and sounding together, would be but a feeble imitation of the agonising notes of that great white bear as he sat on his haunches listening to Peter's pipes. Peter himself saw the effect his music had produced, and, like the "towsy tike" in _Tam o' Shanter_,-- "He hotched and blew wi' might and main." And, as if Peter had been a great magician, Bruin felt impelled to try to follow the notes, though I am bound to say he did not always keep even in the key-note. Surely such a duet was never heard before in this world. There was a small open space of water not far from the hummock on which the piper of the _Arrandoon_ had stationed himself; it was soon alive with the heads of hundreds of seals who had come up to listen; so, upon the whole, Peter had a most appreciative audience. But see yonder, is that a seal on the ice that is creeping closer and closer up behind the bear? Nay, for seals don't carry rifles; and now the newcomer levels his gun just for a moment, there is a puff of blue-white smoke, the bear springs high in the air, then falls prostrate on the snow. His ululations are over for ever and ay; the piper plays a merrier air, and advances with speed to meet old Seth and the rest of the sportsmen, who, glad as they are to see him alive, greet him with uproarious cheers and laughter. Then a procession is formed, and with Peter and his pipes striding on in front, thus do the seal-stalkers return to the _Arrandoon_. CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. THE COMING FROST--SILAS WARNS THE "ARRANDOON" OF DANGER--FORGING THROUGH THE ICE--BESET--A STRANGE AND ALARMING ACCIDENT. So willingly and merrily worked all hands on the ice, that in less than three days the _Canny Scotia_ was almost a full, though by no means a bumper ship, and poor Silas began to see visions of future happiness in his mind's eye, when he should return to his native land and complete the joy of his family. Unfortunately, however, his good fortune did not last for the present. How seldom, indeed, good luck does last in this world of ours! One day, towards midnight, the sky apparently assumed a brighter blue. This seemed to concern Silas considerably. The good man was walking the deck at the time with his inseparable companion the first mate, neither of whom ever appeared now to court sleep or rest. "Matie," said Silas, pointing skywards, "do you see any difference in the colour yonder?" "That do I!" replied the mate. "And hasn't it got much colder?" "Well, both of us have been walking," the chief officer returned, "at the rate of several knots, just to keep the dear life in us, and I never saw you, sir, with your hands so deep in your pockets before." Down rushed the captain to consult his glass; he was speedily up again, however. "It is just as I thought," he said. "Now come up into the nest with me; there's room for both of us. Look!" he added, as soon as they had reached their barrel of observation, "the rascals know what is coming. They are taking the water, and before ten minutes there won't be a seal with his nose on that bit of pack. Heigho, matie! heigho! that is just like my luck. If I'd been born a tailor, every man would have been born a Highlander, and made his own kilts. But hi! up, matie, Silas doesn't mean to let his heart down yet for a bit. A black frost is on the wing. There is no help for that, but the _Arrandoon's_ people don't seem to know it. I must off over and tell them;" and even as he spoke Silas began descending the Jacob's ladder. "Call all hands!" he cried, as he disappeared over the side; "we must work her round as long as the pieces are anything loose-like." It was not a long journey to the big sister ship, and the sturdy legs of this ancient mariner would soon get him there. But he would not wait till alongside; he needs must hail her while still many yards from her dark and stately sides. "What ho, there!" he bawled. "_Arrandoon_ ahoy!" That voice of his was a wonderful one. It might have awakened the dead; it was like a ten-horse power speaking-trumpet lined with the roughest emery-paper. Seals heard it far down beneath the ice, and came to the surface to listen and to marvel. A great bear was sitting not twenty yards from Silas. He thought he should like to eat Silas, but he could not swallow that voice, so he went across the ice instead. Then the voice rolled in over the vessel's bulwarks, startled the officer on duty, and went ringing down below through the state-rooms, causing our sleeping heroes to tumble out of their bunks with double-quick speed, even the usually late and lazy Ralph evincing more celerity than ever he had done in his life before. They met, rubbing their eyes and looking cold and foolish, all in a knot in the saloon. Cold and foolish, and a little bit frightened as well, for the words of Silas sounded terribly like "the _Arrandoon_ on fire!" Not a bit of it, for there came the hail again, and distinct enough this time. "_Arrandoon_ ahoy! Is everybody dead on board?" "What _is_ the matter?" cried McBain, as soon as he got on deck, dressed as he was in the garments of night. "Black frost, Captain McBain," answered Silas, springing up the side, "and you'll soon find that matter enough, or my name ain't Grig, nor my luck like a bad wind, always veering in the wrong direction. The seals are gone, sir--every mother's son o' them! My advice is--but, dear me, gentlemen! go below and rig out. Why, here's four more of you! That ain't the raiment for a black frost! You look like five candidates for a choking good influenza!" This first bit of advice being taken in good part, "Now," continued Silas, "your next best holt, Captain McBain, will be to get up steam, and get her head pointed away for the blue water, else there is no saying we may not leave our bones here." "Ah!" exclaimed McBain, "we've no wish to do that. And here comes our worthy engineer. The old question, chief--How soon can you get us under way?" "With the American hams, sir," was the quiet reply, "in about twenty minutes; with a morsel of nice blubber that I laid in especially for the purpose of emergencies, in far less time than that." "Thanks!" said McBain, smiling; "use anything, but don't lose time." The ships lay far from the open sea. They had been "rove" a long way in through the pack, to get close to the seals, but, independently of that, floating streams of ice, one after another, had joined the outer edge of this immense field of bergs, placing them at a greater distance from the welcome water. Steam was speedily roaring, and ready for its work. Then, not without considerable difficulty, the vessel was put about, and the voyage seaward was commenced. Slow and tedious this voyage was bound to be, for there was so little wind it was useless to shake the sails loose, so the duty of towing her consorts devolved upon the _Arrandoon_. Instead of remaining on his own ship, Silas Grig came on board the steamer, where his services as iceman were fully appreciated. As yet the frost had made no appreciable difference to the solidity of the pack; a very gentle swell was moving the pieces--a swell that rolled in from seaward, causing the whole scene around to look like a tract of snow-clad land, acted on by the giant force of an earthquake. Forging ahead through such ice, even by the aid of steam, is hard, slow work; and, assisted as the _Arrandoon_ was by men walking in front of her and pushing on the bergs with long poles, hardly could she make a headway of half a mile an hour, and there were twenty good miles to traverse! It was a weary task, but the men bent their backs cheerfully to it, as British sailors ever do to a duty that has to be performed. [Light lie the earth on the breast of the gallant Captain Brownrigg, R.N., and green be the grass on his grave. My young readers know the story; it is such stories as his they ought to read; such men as he ought to be enshrined in their memory. Betrayed by treacherous Arabs, with a mere handful of men he fought their powerful dhow and guns; and even when hope itself had fled he made no attempt to escape, but fought on and fought on, till he fell pierced with twenty wounds. He was a heroic sailor, and _he was doing his duty_!] Even had it been possible to keep up the men's strength, forty hours must have elapsed ere the _Arrandoon_ would be rising and falling on blue water. But many hours had not gone by ere the men got a rest they little cared for--for down went the swell, the motion among the bergs was stilled, and frost began its work of welding them together. "Just like my luck, now, isn't it?" said Silas, when he found the ship could not be budged another inch, and was quite surrounded by heavy ice. "I don't believe in luck," said Captain McBain; "and, after all, things might have turned out even worse than they have." "Oh!" said Silas, "I'm not the man to grumble or growl. We are comfortable and jolly, and we have plenty to eat." "We won't have much sport, though," said Rory, with a sigh, "if we have to remain here long, for the bears will follow the seals, won't they?" "That they will," replied Silas, "and small blame to them; it is exactly what I should like to do myself." "Well, you can, you know," said McBain, laughing. "We have a splendid balloon. De Vere will take you for a fly I'm sure, if you'll ask him." "What! trust myself up in the clouds!" cried Silas; "thank you very much for the offer, but if ill-luck has kept following my footsteps all my life, ill-luck would be sure to follow me if I attempted any aerial flights, and I'd come down by the run." "Well, we're fairly beset, anyhow," said Rory, "and I daresay we'll have to try to make the best of it." So guns were placed disconsolately ill the racks, as soon as the terrible black frost had quite set in, or if they were taken out when a walk was determined on, it was only for fashion's sake, and for the fear that an occasional bear might be met with. But it was good fun breaking bottles with rifle bullets, and good practice as well. As the days went on, and there were no signs of the pack breaking up, a number of books were taken down to be perused, much time was spent in playing piano or violin, or both together, while after dinner the hours were devoted to talking. Many a racy yarn was told by Cobb, many an adventure by Seth, and many a queer experience by Silas Grig, and duly appreciated, too. So the evenings did not seem long, whatever the days did. Said Silas one morning to McBain, as they stood together leaning on the bulwarks. "I don't quite like the look of that ice, captain; it is precious big, and if it came on to press a bit, why, it would go clean through the ribs of us, strong though our good ships are. And that cockle-shell of Cobb's would be the very first to go down to the bottom." "Or up to the top," suggested McBain. "What?" laughed Silas; "would you clap your balloon top of her, and lift her out like?" "No, not that; but we could hoist her high and dry on top of the ice easily enough." "Well, I declare," cried Silas, clapping one brawny hand on his knee, "that is a glorious idea. And an old iceman like me to never think of it!" Then Silas's face fell, as he said,-- "Ah! but you couldn't hoist me up too. The _Canny Scotia_ would go down; that would be more of my luck." "Well, but I've thought of a plan. I have torpedoes on board. I'll have a go at this ice, anyhow." "Make a kind of harbour, you mean?" inquired Silas. "That's it," was the reply. "But," said Silas, still somewhat dubious, "you know the currents run like mill-streams in under the ice. Well, suppose your torpedoes were to be floated in under my ship, and went bursting off there?" "Well, your ship would be hoisted," replied McBain; "that would be all." "Ay!" said Silas, "that would be all; that would end all the luck, good or bad." "But there is no fear of any such accident. And now let us just have a try at it." Blowing up icebergs with torpedoes is by no means difficult, when you know how to do it, but sometimes the current will shift the guiding-pole or rope, and were it to get under the stern of the ship itself, it would make it awkward for the Arctic explorers. In the present instance everything went well, and berg after berg succumbed to the force of the gun-cotton, until the last, when, by some mismanagement, one torpedo was shifted right under a piece of ice on which stood, tools in hand, about ten men, besides Silas, Rory, and Captain McBain himself. Of course it was not likely that boy Rory was going to be far away when any fun was going on, so that is why he happened to be on top of this identical berg when the blowing-up took place. And here is precisely what was seen by disinterested bystanders--a smother of snow and water and ice, mixed, rising in shape of a rounded column over ten feet high, and, dimly visible in the misty midst thereof, a minglement of hands and heads and arms and legs. The sound accompanying the columnar rising was something between a puff and a thud; I cannot better describe it. Then there was a sudden collapse, and next moment the arms and the legs and the hands and the heads were all seen sprawling and struggling in the frothy, seething water below. It simply and purely looked as if they were all being boiled alive in a huge cauldron. But the strangest part of the story is to come. With the exception of a few trifling braises, not one of those who were thus surprised by so sudden a rise in the world was a bit the worse. The ducking in the cold sea was certainly far from pleasant, but dry clothes and hot coffee soon put that to rights, and they came up smiling again. Freezing Powders, who was on deck at the time of the accident, was dreadfully frightened, and ran down below instantly to report matters to his favourite. "What's the row? What's the row? What's the row?" cried the bird as the boy entered the saloon. "Don't talk so fast, Cockie, and I'll tell you," said Freezing Powders, sinking down on the deck with one arm on the cage. "I tink I'se all right at present, though my breaf is all frightened out of my body, and I must look 'bout as pale as you, Cockie." "De-ah me!" said Cockie. "But don't hang by de legs, Cockie. When you wants a mouf-ful of hemp just hop down for it, else de blood all run to your poor head, den you die in a fit?" "Poor de-ah Cockie! Pretty old Cockie!" said the bird, in mournful tones. "And now I got my breaf again, I try to 'splain to you what am de row. De drefful world round de ship is all white, Cockie, and to-day dey has commenced blowing it up, and jus' now, Cockie, dey has commenced to blow derselves up?" "De-ah me!" from Cockie. "Dat am quite true, Cockie, and de heads and de legs am flying about in all directions! It is too drefful to behold!" "Now then, young Roley Poley!" cried Peter, entering at that moment, "toddle away forward for some boiling-hot coffee, and run quicker than ever you ran in your life." "I'se off like a bird!" said Freezing Powders, darting out of the cabin as if there had been a boot after him. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. CAPTAIN COBB RETIRES--MORE TORPEDOING--THE GREAT ICE-HOLE--STRANGE SPORT--THE TERRIBLE ZUGAENA--THE DEATH STRUGGLE. Both Captain McBain and Silas Grig felt more easy in their minds when they had got fairly rid of the green-rooted monsters of icebergs that had lain so placidly yet so threateningly alongside their respective ships. And oh! by the way, how very calm, harmless, and gentle bergs like these _can_ look, when there is no disturbing element beneath them, their snow-clad tops asleep and glistening in the sunlight; but I have seen them angry, grinding and crashing together, each upheaval representing a height of from fifteen to thirty feet; each upheaval representing a strength hydraulic equal in force to the might of the great ocean itself. Our heroes had taken time by the forelock. They had "guncottoned the bergs," as Captain Cobb termed it, and lay for the time being in square ice-locked harbours, and could bid defiance to almost any ordinary occurrence, whether gale of wind in the pack or swell from the distant sea. As the days went by the black frost seemed only to increase in severity. "How long d'ye think," said Captain Cobb, one morning, while at breakfast in the _Arrandoon_--"how long d'ye think this state of affairs'll last? 'cause, mind ye, I begin to feel a kind o' riled already." McBain looked inquiringly at Silas. "If it's asking me you are," said the latter, "I makes answer and says, it may be for months, but it can't be for ever." "But the frost isn't likely to go for a week, is it now?" "That it won't, worse luck," was the reply. "Well, then, gentlemen," said Cobb, "this child is going off, straight away out o' here back to Jan Mayen." "Back to Jan Mayen?" "Back to Jan Mayen!" everybody said, or seemed to say, in one breath. "I reckon ye heard aright," said the imperturbable Yankee. "It's just like this, ye see," he continued. "I'm paid by my employers to make observations on the old island down yonder; stopping here ain't taking sights, but it's taking the company's dollars for nothing, so if you'll--either o' ye--lend me a hand or two, and promise to hoist up Cobb's cockle-shell in the event of a squeeze, Cobb himself is off home, 'tain't mor'n fifty miles." The journey was a dangerous one, nobody knew that better than the bold American himself, and it was a true sense of duty to his employers that caused him to undertake it. But having once made up his mind to a thing, Cobb was not the man to be deterred from accomplishing it. So, with many a good wish for his safety, accompanied by only three men, he set out on his long journey over the snow. Rory, from the deck of the _Arrandoon_, and McBain from the nest, watched them as long as they were in sight. Indeed, I am not at all sure that Rory did not feel a little sorry he had not asked leave to accompany them, so fond was he of adventure in every shape and form. It was a relief for him--and not for him alone--when McBain, in order to break the monotony of existence, and by way of doing something, proposed trying the effects of his torpedoes again at some distance from the ship, and forming a great ice-hole. "Things will come up to breathe, and look about them, you know," he explained, "and then we may get some sport, and Silas may bag a seal or two." Our heroes were overjoyed when the working party was called away. At last there was a prospect of doing something, and seeing an animal of some kind, for not only the bears, but the very birds had deserted them. Sometimes, indeed, a solitary snowbird would come flying around the ships. It would hover for awhile in the air, giving vent to many a peevish, mournful chirp, then fly away again. "No, no, no!" it seemed to say, "there is nothing good to eat down there--no raw flesh, no blood--and so I'm off again to the distant sealing ground, where the yellow bear prowls, and the snow is red with blood." A few hours' work with torpedoes, picks, and ice-saws, was enough to form an opening big enough for the purpose required. The broken pieces were either "landed high and dry," or sunk beneath the pack, and so the work was completed. "It'll entail a deal of trouble, gentlemen," said Dr McFlail, "to keep that hole clear with the temperature which we are at present enjoying-- or rather enduring." "There is that in the sea, doctor," said Silas, with a knowing nod, "which will save us the trouble." He wasn't wrong. Not an hour elapsed ere a few black heads, with great wondering eyes, appeared above the surface and peered around them, and blinked at the sun, and seemed to enjoy mightily a sniff of the fresh air and a blink of the daylight. "This is nice, now," they said, "and ever so much better than being down there in the dark--quite an oasis in the desert." Bang! bang! Two of them slowly sank to rise no more. "This won't do," said Allan; "it is only murder to shoot poor seals that we cannot land and make some good out off. What is to be done?" "Be quiet with ye!" said Rory. "Sure yonder is Seth himself, coming straight from the ship, in his suit of skins, and if he isn't up to some manoeuvre then my name isn't Roderick, that is all." Seth _was_ up to something; he had a coil of rope with him, and the nattiest little harpoon that ever was handled. "Fire away, gentlemen!" he said, lying down on the sunny side of a small hummock pretty close to the water's edge, "only don't hit the old trapper; he'd rather die in his bed if it be all the same to you." Undeterred by the fate that had befallen their companions, it was not long before other seals popped up to breathe. Our heroes were ready for them, and two again were killed, one being missed. Seth was ready for them, too. He sprang to his feet, and ere the smoke had melted in the thin air, one of the seals was neatly harpooned and dragged to the edge. Here it was gaffed, and lifted or pulled bodily on to the ice by help of Ralph's powerful arm. The harpoon was released, and before the other seal had time to sink it was served in precisely the same manner. The sport was exceedingly novel, and combined, as Rory said, "all the pleasures of shooting and fishing in one glorious whole." No work on natural history, so far as my reading goes, remarks upon the exceedingly great speed exhibited by the Greenland seal in his flight-- it is in reality a flight--through and beneath the water. I have often been astonished at the rapidity of their movements; so swiftly do they dart along that the eye can barely follow them for the moment or two they are visible. This power of swimming enables them to pursue their finny prey for many miles under an ice-pack; it doubtless also enables them to escape the fangs of their natural enemy, the great Greenland shark (_Scymnus borealis_), and on the present occasion it accounted for their appearance at the great breathing-hole made for them by the torpedoes and ice-saws of the _Arrandoon_. The water under the pack would be everywhere else as black and dark as midnight, but through this opening the sunshine would stream in straight and powerful rays, and not seals alone, but fishes and monsters of the deep of many kinds, would naturally come towards the light, as the salmon does to the glimmer from the torch of the Highland poacher. The sport obtained at the opening was not of a very exciting character on the first day, but next morn, to their joy, they found that a bear had been around, and had left the marks of his broad soles in the snow. Many more seals, too, came up to breathe, and more harpoons had to be requisitioned. Silas was once more in his glory at the prospect of adding a few more skins, and a few more tons of oil, to the cargo he had already shipped. Towards afternoon the fun grew fast and furious, and when Peter came in person to announce dinner, he could hardly get his officers to pay any heed to the summons. Even Cockie down in the saloon heard the noise, and must needs inquire, as he stretched his neck and fastened one bead of an eye on his little black master. "What's all the to-do about? What's all the to-do about?" "I don't know," was the reply of Freezing Powders. "I don't know no more nor you do, Cockie. I tinks dey has gone to blow derselves all to pieces again." Dinner was partaken of in a merrier mood that day than it had been for weeks. Silas was there, of course; in fact, he had become an honorary member of the _Arrandoon_ mess. "You see, Captain Grig," McBain had observed, "we must have you as much with as now as we can, for we soon go different roads, don't we?" "Ah! yes," replied Silas, with a bit of a sigh; "you go north; God send you safe back; and I go back to my little wife and large family." "Happy reunion, won't it be?" said Allan. The eyes of Silas sparkled, but his heart was too full of happy thoughts to say more than simply,-- "Yes." "Won't the green ginger fly?" said Rory. "I say, boys," Ralph put in, "this sort of thing positively gives a man a kind of an appetite." Rory looked at him with such a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that Ralph longed to pinch him. "Just as if ever you lost yours," said Rory. At this moment the sound of a rifle was heard, apparently close to the ship. "It's the trapper," cried Rory; "it's friend Seth. Sure enough I know the charming music of his long gun. Now, Ray, I'll wager my fiddle he has bagged a bear." Rory was right for once, and here is how it fell out. Several bears had that day scented the battle from afar, or were attracted by the noise of the malleys and gulls that were now wheeling around the ships in thousands. They stood aloof while shooting was going on, sitting on their haunches licking their chops, greedy, hungry, expectant; but as soon as the sportsmen went off to dine,-- "Now is our time," said one, "to get a bit of fresh meat." "Come on, then," cried another; "there are a hundred seals lying on the ice. Hurrah?" So down they came to the feast. They had not had such a treat for a whole day, and that is a long time for a bear to fast, and they made good use of their time, you may be sure, and so earnest were they, that they did not perceive a long, hairy creature that came creeping stealthily towards them. When at last one of them did observe this strange animal "with the tail of his eye," he said to himself,-- "Oh! it is only a tiny bit of a young seal, hunting for a lost mother, perhaps. Well, I'll have it presently by way of dessert." And almost immediately after, the sound that had startled our friends at _their_ dessert rang out in the clear, frosty air, and Bruin's head dropped never more to rise. His brother bears suddenly discovered they had eaten enough; anyhow, they remembered that it was always best to rise up from the table feeling that you could eat a little more, so they shambled away across the pack as fast as four legs could carry them. "Bravo, Seth, old boy," cried Rory and Allan, coming on the scene. Ralph only waited to finish some pastry, then he too joined them. "Why," said the latter, "it is the biggest bear we have seen yet." In true trapper fashion, Seth was already on his knees beside the enormous carcass, engaged with knife and fist and elbow, "working the rascal out of his jacket," as he called it, when Rory, who was not far from the edge of the water, started, or rather sprang back in horror. "Oh! Allan, Allan! Ray, Ray! look!" he cried. Well might he cry "look," for a more terrible or revolting apparition never raises head over the black waters of the Greenland ocean than the zugaena, or hammer-headed shark. The skull is in shape precisely what the name indicates, that of a gigantic hammer, with a great eye at each end, and the mouth beneath. This shark is not unfrequently met with in the northern seas, and he is just as fierce as he is fearful to behold. Allan and Ralph both saw the brute, and neither could repress a shudder. It appeared but for a few moments, then dived below again. Silas and McBain, coming up at the time, were told of the occurrence. "I know the vile beasts well," said Silas, "and they do say that they never appear in these seas without bringing a big slice o' ill-luck in their wake. That is unless you catches them, and sometimes that doesn't save the ship. When I was skipper o' the _Penelope_, and that is more than ten years ago, there wasn't a lazier chap in the crew than snuffy Sandy Foster. He wasn't a deal o' use down below, he did nothing on deck, and he never went aloft. He had two favourite positions: one was sitting before a joint of junk, with a knife in his hand; t'other was leaning against the bulwarks with a pipe in his mouth, and we never could make out which he liked best. "`Did ever you do anything clever in your life, Sandy?' I asked one day. "Sandy took his pipe out of his mouth and eyed the mainmast for fully half a minute. Then he brought his eyes round to my face, and said,-- "`Not that I can remember o', sir.' "`The first time, Sandy,' says I, `that you do anything clever, I'll give you a pair of the best canvas trousers in the ship.' "Sandy's eyes a kind of sparkled; I'd never seen them sparkle before. "`I'll win them,' said Sandy, `wait till ye see.' "And, indeed, gentlemen, I hadn't long to wait. One day the brig was dead before the wind under a crowd o' cloth, for there wasn't much wind, but a nasty rumble-tumble sea; there was no doubt, gentlemen, from the looks o' that sea, that we had just come through a gale o' wind, and there was evidence enough to go to jury on that there was another not far away. Well, it was just in the dusk o' the evening--we were pretty far south--that the cry got up,-- "`Man overboard.' "It was our bo's'n's boy, a lad of fourteen, who had gone by the run. Singing out to the mate to lay to, I ran forward, and if ever I forget the expression of the poor bo's'n's face as he wrung his hands and cried, `Oh, save my laddie! Oh, save my laddie!' my name will change to something else than Silas. "`I'll save him,' cried a voice behind me. Some one rushed past. There was a splash in the water next moment, and I had barely time to see it was Sandy. Before the boat reached the spot they were a quarter of a mile astern, but they were saved; they found the bo's'n's laddie riding `cockerty-coosie' on Sandy's shoulder, and Sandy spitting out the mouthfuls of salt water, laughing and crying,-- "`I've won the breeks! I've won the canvas breeks, boys!' "He had won them, and that right nobly, too. Well, after he had worn them for over a month, it became painfully evident even to Sandy that they sorely needed washing; but, woe is me! Sandy was too lazy to put a hand to them. But he thought of a plan, nevertheless, to save trouble. He steeped them in a soda ley, attached a strong line to them, and pitched them overboard to tow. "When, after two hours' towing, Sandy went to haul them up, great was his astonishment to find a great hammer-head spring half out of the water and seize them. Sandy had never seen so awful a monster before; he put it down as an evil spirit. "`Let go,' he roared; `let go my breeks, ye beast.' "Now, maybe, with those hooked teeth of his, the shark could not let go; anyhow, he did not. "`I dinna ken who ye are, or what ye are,' cried Sandy, `but ye'll no get my breeks. Ah! bide a wee.' "Luckily the dolphin-striker lay handy, Sandy made a grab at it, and next minute it was hard and fast in the hammer-head's neck. To see how that monster wriggled and fought, more like a fiend than a fish, when we got him on deck, would have--but look--look--r--" Seth had not been idle while his companions were talking. He had cut off choice pieces of blubber and thrown them into the sea; he had coiled his rope on the ice close by; then, harpoon in hand, he knelt ready to strike. Nor had he long to wait. The bait took, the bait was taken, the harpoon had left the trapper's hand and gone deep into the monster's body. I will not attempt to describe the scene that followed--it was a death-scene that no pen could do justice to--the wild struggle of the giant shark in the water, his mad and frantic motions ere clubbed to death on the ice, and his terrible appearance as he snapped his dreadful jaws at everything within reach; but here is a fact, strange and weird though it may read--fully half an hour after the creature seemed dead, and lying on its side, while our heroes stood silently round it, with the wild birds wheeling and screaming closely overhead, the zugaena suddenly threw itself on its stomach as if about to swim away. It was the last of its movements, and a mere spasmodic and painless one, though very distressing to witness. CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. RORY'S REVERIE--SILAS ON THE SCYMNUS BOREALIS--THE BATTLE WITH THE SHARKS--RORY GETS IN FOR IT AGAIN--THROWN AMONG THE SHARKS. The ships still lay hard and fast in the ice-pack, many miles to the nor'ard and eastward of the Isle of Jan Mayen. There was as yet no sign of the frost giving way. Day after day the bay ice between the bergs got thicker and thicker, and the thermometer still stood steadily well down below zero. But the wind never blew, and there never was a speck of cloud in the brilliant sapphire sky, nor even haze itself to shear the sun of his beams; so the cold was hardly felt, and after a brisk walk or scamper over the ice our heroes felt so warm that they were in the habit of throwing themselves down on the snow on the southern side of a hummock of ice. Book in hand, Rory would sometimes lie thus for fully half an hour on a stretch. Not always reading, though; the fact of Rory's having a book in his hand was no proof that he was reading, for just as often he was dreaming; and I'll tell you a little secret-- there were a pair of beautiful eyes which were filled with tears when last he had seen them, there were two rosy lips that had quivered as they parted to breathe the word "good-bye." These, and a soft, small hand that had lain for a moment in his, haunted him by night and by day, and seemed ever present with him through all his wild adventures. Ah! but they didn't make him unhappy, though; no, but quite the reverse. He was reclining thus one day all by himself, about a quarter of a mile from his ship, when Ralph and McBain came gently up behind him, walking as silently as the crisp snow, that felt like powdered glass under their feet, would permit them. "Hullo! Rory," cried McBain, in a voice of thunder. Startled from his reverie, Rory sprang to his feet, and instinctively grasped his rifle. His friends laughed at him. "It is somewhat late to seize your rifle now, my boy," said McBain; "supposing now we'd been a bear, why, we would be eating you at this present moment." "Or making a mouse of you," added Ralph, "as the yellow bear did of poor Freezing Powders; and at this very minute you'd be-- "`Dancin' for de dear life Among de Greenland snow.'" "I was reading," said Rory, smiling, "that beautiful poem of Wordsworth, _We are seven_." "Wordsworth's _We are seven_?" cried Ralph, laughing. "Oh! Row, Row, you'll be the death of me some day. Since when did you learn to read with your book upside down?" "Had I now?" said Rory, with an amused look of candour. "In troth I daresay you are right." "But come on, Row, boy," continued Ralph, "luncheon is all ready, Peter is waiting, and after lunch Silas Grig is going to show as some fun." "What more malley-shooting?" asked Rory. "No, Row, boy," was the reply; "he is going to lead us forth to battle against the sharks." "Against the sharks!" exclaimed Rory, incredulous. "I'm not in fun, really," replied Ralph. "Silas tells us they are in shoals of thousands at present under us; that the sea swarms with them, some fifteen feet long, others nearer twenty." "Oh!" said Row; "this _is_ interesting. Come on; I'm ready." While the trio stroll leisurely shipwards over the snow, let me try to explain to my reader what Rory meant by malley-shooting, as taught them by Silas Grig. The term, or name, "malley," is that which is given by Greenlandmen to the Arctic gull. Although not so charming in plumage as the snowbird, it is nevertheless a very handsome bird, and has many queer ways of its own which are interesting to the naturalist, and which you do not find described in books. These gulls build their nests early in the season on the cliffs of Faroe and Shetland, and probably, though I have never found them, in sheltered caves of Jan Mayen and Western Greenland as well. Despite the extreme cold, they manage to bring forth and rear their young successfully, and are always ready to follow Greenland ships in immense flocks. Wherever work is going on, wherever the crack of the rifle is heard on the pack, wherever the snow is stained crimson and yellow with blood, the malleys will be there in daring thousands. The most curious part of the thing is this: they possess a power of either scent or sight, which enables them to discover their quarry, although scores of miles away from it. For example--the Arctic gulls, as a rule, do not follow a ship for sake of the bits of bread and fat that may be thrown overboard. Some of them do, I know, but I look upon these as merely the lazaroni, the beggars of their tribe; your healthy, youthful, aristocratic malley prefers something he considers better. Give him blubber to eat, or the flesh of a new slain seal, and he will follow you far enough. Now a ship may be lying becalmed off this pack, with no seals in sight, and doing nothing; if so she will be deserted by these birds. Not from the crow's-nest, though aided by the most powerful telescope, will you be able to descry a single gull; but no sooner is a sealskin or two hauled on deck to be cleared of their fat, than notice seems to be flashed to the far-off gulls, and in a few minutes they are winging around you, making the welkin ring with their wild, delighted screams. They alight in the water around a morsel of meat in such bunches, that a table-cloth would cover two dozen of them. Having had enough--and that "enough" means something enormous--they go off for a "fly," just as tumbling pigeons do. You may see them in hundreds high in air, sailing round and round, enjoying themselves apparently to the very utmost, and shrieking with joy. Now is the time for the skua to attack them. A bold, black, hawklike rascal is this skua, a robber and a thief. He never comes within gunshot of a ship. He is as wild and untamable as the north wind itself; yet, no sooner have the malleys commenced their post-prandial gambols than he is in the midst of them. He does not want to kill them; only some one or more must disgorge their food. On this the skua lives. No wonder that Greenland sailors call him the unclean bird. The malley-gull floats on the waves as lightly and gently as a child's toy air-ball would. His usual diet is fish, except in sealing times; and of the fish he catches the marauding skua never fails to get his share. It is for the sake of the feathers sailors shoot these birds on the ice, for they are nearly as well feathered as an eider duck. Getting tired of shooting seals in the water, Rory and Allan one day, leaving the others on the banks of the great ice-hole, determined to make a bag of feathers. And here is how they bagged their game. Armed with fowling-pieces, they retired to some distance from the water party and lay down behind a hummock of ice. Here they might have lain until this day without a bird looking twice in their direction had they not provided themselves with a lure. This lure was simply a pair of the wings of a gull, which one waved above his head, while the other prepared to fire right and left. And not a minute would these wings be waved aloft ere the gulls, with that strange curiosity inherent in all wild creatures, would begin to circle around, coming nearer and nearer, tack and half-tack, until they were within reach of the guns, when--down they came. But the untimely end of one brace nor twenty did not prevent their companions from trying to solve the mystery of the waving wings. Luncheon was on the table, and our friends were seated around it, all looking happy and hungry. Rory would have liked to have asked Silas Grig right straight away about the expedition against the sharks but for one thing--he didn't like to appear too inquisitive; and, for another, he was not quite sure even now that it was not one of Ralph's pretty jokes. But when everybody had been served, when weather and future prospects, the state of the thermometer and height of the barometer, had been discussed, Rory found he could not contain himself any longer. "What are you going to be doing after lunch?" he asked Silas, pointedly. "Aha, boy Rory!" was the reply; "we'll have such sport as you never saw the likes o' before!" Rory now began to see there really was no joke about the matter; and Ralph, who was sitting next to him, pinched him for his doubt and misbelief. The two young men could read each other's thoughts like books. "Do you mean to say you are going to catch sharks in earnest, you know?" asked Rory. "Well," said Silas, with a bit of a laugh, "I'm going to have as good a try at it as ever I had. And as for catching 'em in earnest, I'm thinking it won't be fun--for the sharks!" "It is the _Scymnus borealis_, isn't it?" said Dr Sandy McFlail, "belongin', if my memory serves me, to the natural family _Squalidae_--a powerful brute, and a vera dangerous, too." "You may call him the _Aurora borealis_ if you like, doctor," said Silas; "and as for his family connections I know nought, but I daresay he comes from a jolly bad stock." "Natural history books," said Allan, "don't speak of their being so very numerous." "Natural history books!" reiterated Silas, with some warmth of disdain. "What do they know? what can they teach a man? Write a complete history of all the creatures that move about on God's fair earth, that fly in His air or swim in His sea, and you'd fill Saint Paul's with books from top to bottom--from the mighty cellars beneath to the golden cross itself. No, take my advice, boy Rory; if you want to study nature, put little faith in books. The classification is handy, say you? Yes, doctor; and I've seen a stripling fresh from college look as proud as a two-year-old peacock because he could spin you off the Greek names of a few specimens in the British Museum, though he couldn't have told you the ways and habits of any one of them to save him from having his leave stopped. There is only one way, gentlemen, to study natural history; you must go to the great book of Nature itself--ay, and be content, and thankful, too, if, during even a long lifetime, you are able to learn the contents of even a single page of it." Rory, and the doctor, too, looked at Silas with a kind of new-born admiration; there was more in this man, with his weather-beaten, flower-pot-coloured face, than they had had any idea of. "If I had time, gentlemen," Silas added, "I could tell you some queer stories about sharks. `I reckon,' as poor old Cobb used to say, that some o' them would raise your hair a bit, too!" "And what kind of a monster is this Greenland shark?" asked Allan. "No more a monster," said Silas, "than I am. God made us both, and we have each some end to fulfil in life. But if you want me to tell you something about him, I'll confess to you I love the animal about as much as I do an alligator. He comes prowling around the icebergs when we are sealing to see what he can pick up in the shape of a dead or wounded seal, a chunk o' blubber, or a man's leg. He is neither dainty nor particular, he has the appetite of a healthy ostrich, and about as much conscience as a coal-carter's horse. He is as wary as a five-season fox, and when he pays your ship a visit when out at sea, he looks as humble and unsophisticated as a bull trout. He'll take whatever you like to throw him, though--anything, in fact, from a cow's-heel to the cabin boy--and he'll swallow a red-hot brick rather than go away with an empty stomach. But when he comes around the ice at old-sealing time he doesn't come alone, he brings his father and mother with him, and his uncles and aunts, and apparently all his natural family, as the doctor calls it. And fine fun they have, though they don't agree particularly well even _en famille_. I've seen five of them on to one seal crang, and there was little interchange of courtesies, I can tell you. He's not a brave fish, the Greenland shark, big and all as he is. If you fall into the water among a score of them your best plan is to keep cool and kick. Yes, gentlemen, by keeping cool and kicking plenty I've known more than one man escape without a bite. The getting out is the worst, though, for as long as you splash they keep at a distance and look on; they don't quite know what to make of you; but as soon as you get a hold of the end of the rope, and are being drawn out, look sharp, that's all, or it will be `Snap!' and you will be minus one leg before you can wink, and thankful you may be it isn't two. A mighty tough skin has the Greenland shark," continued Silas; "I've played upon the back of one for over half an hour with a Colt's revolver, and it just seemed to tickle him--nothing more. I don't think sharks have much natural affection, and they are no respecters of persons. I do believe they would just as soon dine off little Freezing Powders here as they would off a leg of McBain." "Oh, oh, Massa Silas!" cried Freezing Powders, "don't talk like dat; you makes my flesh all creep like nuffin' at all!" "They are slow in their movements, aren't they?" said the doctor. "Ay!" said Silas, "when they get everything their own way; but they are fierce, revengeful, and terrible in their wrath. An angry shark will bite a bit out of your boat, collar an oar, or do anything to spite you, though it generally ends in his having his own head split in the long run." [Silas Grig's description of the Greenland shark is a pretty correct one, so far as my own experience goes.--G.S.] "The men are all ready, sir," said Stevenson, entering the cabin at that moment, "to go over the side, sir." "Thank you," said the captain; "send them on to the ice, then, for a general skylark till we come up." When the officers did come up they found all the men on the ice, and a pretty row they were having. They were running, racing, jumping high leap and low leap, boxing, and fencing with single-sticks, quarter-staves, and foils; and last but not least, a party were dancing the wild and exciting reels of Scotland, with Peter playing to them just as loudly as he knew how to, although his eyes seemed starting from his head, and his face was as red as a dorking's comb in laying season. Then it was "Hurrah for the ice-hole!" and "Hurrah for the sharks!" Silas did not take very long to get his party--his fishing-party, as he called it--into working order. He evidently meant business, and expected it, too. He had seven or eight long lines, to each of which was attached a piece of chain and an immense shark-hook. These were baited with pieces of blubber; the men were armed with long knives and clubs. So sure was Silas Grig of capturing a big haul of these sea-fiends, the Greenland sharks, that he had a large fire of wood lighted on the ice at some little distance, and over it, suspended by a kind of shears, hung an immense cauldron. In this it was intended to boil the livers of the sharks in order to extract the oil, which is the most valuable part of the animal. Until tempted by huge pieces of seal-flesh hardly a shark showed fin; but when once their appetites were wetted then--! I cannot, nor will I attempt to describe this battle with the sharks, although such a fight I have been eyewitness to. Sometimes as many as two were hauled out at once; it required the united strength of fifteen or twenty men to land them. Then came the struggle on the ice, the clubbing, the axing, and the death, during which many a man bit the snow, though none were grievously wounded. Before the sun pointed to midnight, between thirty and forty immense sharks had been captured, and the oil from their livers weighed nearly a ton. Poor Rory--to whom all the best of the fun and all the worst misfortunes seemed always to fall--had a terrible adventure during the battle. Carried away by his enthusiasm, with club in hand, he was engaging one of the largest sharks landed. The brute bent himself suddenly, then as suddenly straightened himself out, and away went boy Rory, like an arrow from a cross-bow, alighting in the very centre of the pool. For a moment every one was struck dumb with horror! But Rory himself never lost his presence of mind. He remembered what Silas had said about splashing and kicking to keep the sharks at bay. Splash? I should think he did splash, and kick, too; indeed, kicking is hardly any name for his antics. He made a wheel of himself in the water. He seemed all arms and legs, and as for his head, it was just as often up as down, and _vice versa_; and all the while he was issuing orders to those on the bank--a word or two at a time, whenever his head happened to be uppermost, so that in the midst of the splashing and spluttering his speech ran like this: "Stand by"--(splutter, splutter)--"you fellows"--(splash, splash)--"up there"--(splutter) "to pull quick"--(splash)--"as soon as!"--(splutter, splutter)--"catch the rope."--(splash, splash)--"Now lads, now!"--(splutter, splutter, splash, splash, splutter, splutter, splash). "Hurrah!" he cried, when he found himself on the ice. "Hurrah! boys. Cheer, boys, cheer. Safe to bank! Hurrah! and both my legs as sound as a bell, and never a toe missing from any single one of the two o' them. Hurrah! Sure it's myself'll be Queen o' the May to-morrow. Hurrah!" Yes, reader, the very next day was May-day, and on that day there are such doings on Greenland ships as you never see in England. CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. MAY-DAY IN THE ARCTIC REGIONS. May-day! May-day in England! Surely, even to the minds of the youngest among us, these words bring some pleasant recollections. "Ah! but," I think I hear you complain, "the May-days are not now what they were in the good old times; not the May-days we read of in books; not the May-days of merrie England. Where are the may-poles, with their circles of rosy-cheeked children dancing gleesomely around them? Where are the revels? Where are the games? Where is the little maiden persistent, who plagued her mother so lest she should forget to wake and call her early-- "`Because I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May?' "And echo answers, `Where?'" These things, maiden included, have passed away; they have fled like the fairies before the shriek of engine and rattle of railway wheels. But May-day in England! Why, there is some pleasure and some joy left in it even yet. Summer comes with it, or promises it will soon be on the wing. Already in the meadows the cattle wade knee-deep in dewy grass, and cull sweet cowslips and daisies. A balmier air breathes over the land; the rising sun is rosy with hope; the lark springs from his nest among the tender corn, and mounts higher to sing than he has ever done before; flowers are blooming on every brae; the mossy banks are redolent of wild thyme; roses begin to peep coyly out in the hedgerows, and butterflies spread their wings, as a sailor spreads a sail, and go fluttering away through the gladsome sunshine. And yonder--why, yonder _is_ a little maiden, and a very pretty one, too, though she isn't going to be Queen o' the May. No, but she is tripping along towards the glade, where the pink-blossomed hawthorn grows, and the yellow scented furze. She is going to-- Bathe her sweet face in May-morn dew, To make her look lovely all the year through. She glances shyly around her, hoping that no one sees her. You and I, dear reader, are far too manly to stand and stare so. Hey! presto! and the scene is changed. May-day! May-day in Greenland! An illimitable ocean of ice, stretching away on all sides towards every point of the compass from where those ships are lying beset. It looks like some measureless wold covered with the snows of midwinter. It is early morning, though the sun shines brightly in a sky of cloudless blue, and, save for the footfall of the solitary watchman who paces the deck of the _Arrandoon_, there is not a sound to be heard, the stillness everywhere is as the stillness of death. An hour or two goes slowly by, then the watchman approaches the great bell that hangs amidships. Dong-dong! dong-dong! dong-dong! dong-dong! Eight bells. The men spring up from hatch and companion-way, and soon the decks are crowded and the crew are busy enough. They have discussed their breakfast long ago, and have since been hard at work on the May-day garland, which they now proceed to hoist on high, 'twixt fore and main masts. That garland is quite a work of art, and a very gay one, too. Not a man in the ship that has not contributed a few ribbons to aid in decorating it. Those ribbons had been kept for this special purpose, and were the last loving gifts of sisters, wives, or sweethearts ere the vessel set sail for the sea of ice. But there is more to be done than hoisting the garland. The ship has to be dressed, and when this is finished, with her flags all floating around her, she will look as beautiful as a bride on her marriage morning. None the worse for the ducking and fright of the previous day, Rory was first up on this particular May-day, and tubbed and dressed long before either Allan or Ralph was awake. "Get up, Ray!" cried Rory, entering his friend's cabin. "Ray, _Ray_, Ray!" The last "Ray" was shouted. "Hullo! hullo!" cried Ray. "Oh! it's you, is it, Row? Is breakfast all ready, old man?" "Ray, arise, you lazy dog!" continued Row, shaking him by the shoulder. "This is May-morning, Ray, and I'm to be Queen of the May, my boy, I'm to be Queen of the May!" At half-past eight our heroes, Captain McBain included, went on deck in a body, and this was the time for the crew to cluster up the rigging, man the yards, and give voice to a ringing cheer; nay, not one cheer only, but three times three; and hardly had the sound died away ere it was taken up and re-echoed back by the crew of the _Canny Scotia_. It seemed that Captain Cobb's cockle-shell was not to be left out of the fun either, for the crew of even that tiny craft must man the rigging and cheer, though after the lusty roar that had gone up from the other ships, their voices sounded like that of a chicken learning to crow. After this, while the men went to work to rig a great platform on the upper deck, Peter, arrayed in fullest Highland costume, played pibroch after pibroch, and wild march after wild march, as he went strutting up and down the quarter-deck. The decks were cleared of everything that could be removed, and a great tent erected from mizen to foremast; when this was lined with flags there was but little light, but lamps in clusters were hung here and there, and a stove was brought up to give heat, so that the whole place was as gay as could be, and comfortable as well. At one end of the tent a platform was erected. There the piano was placed all handy, and Rory's fiddle and the doctor's flute, as well as several armchairs and a kind of a throne, the use of which will soon be seen. On the stage at one side was an immense tub nearly filled with cold, icy water; two steps led up to it, and on the edge thereof was a revolving chair. Very comfortable it looked indeed, but, on touching a spring, backwards it went, and whoever might be sitting on it had the benefit of a beautiful bath. My readers already guess what this is for. Yes, for May-day in Greenland is not only a day of fun and frolic, but the self-same kind of performance takes place as on southern ships while crossing the line. The day itself was dedicated to games on the ice, for not until towards evening would the real fun begin. The seals had a rest to-day, and so had the sharks; even the terrible zugaena wasn't once thought of, and Bruin himself might sit on one end licking his chops and looking on, so long as he kept at a respectful distance. The games were both Scotch and English, a happy medley in which all hands joined. The morning saw cricket and football matches in full swing, the afternoon golf--and golf played on hummocky ice _is_ golf--and hockey. Peter was the band, and right well he played; but when, tired of march quadrille, or pibroch, he burst into a Highland reel, and the crews began to dance--well, the scene on the snow grew exciting indeed. It was grotesque enough, too, in all conscience, for everybody, without exception, was dressed in fancy costume. No wonder, too, that Cockie, whom his master had brought on deck to look down on them from the bulwarks, lost all control of himself, and shouted, "Go on--go on--keep it up--keep it up." Then when Cockie began to throw his head back and shriek with laughter, the men couldn't resist it any longer; they joined in that laugh, and laughed till sides ached and eyes ran water, and many had to roll in the snow to prevent catastrophes. But the louder the men laughed, all the louder laughed Cockie, till Freezing Powders was obliged to run below with him at last. "Oh!" said his master, as he restored the cage to its corner, "I tell you all day, Cockie, you eat too much hemp. It's drefful, Cockie, to hear you laugh like all dat." Suddenly from the bows of the _Arrandoon_ a big gun is fired, and the revel stops. Then comes a hail from the crow's-nest,-- "Below there?" "Ay, ay!" roared McBain. "A procession coming along over the snow, sir, towards the ship." A consultation was at once held, and it was resolved to march forth to meet them. "It is Neptune, I know," said McBain, "for a snowbird this morning brought me a note to say he'd dine with us." It wasn't long before our friends came in sight of the royal party. It was Neptune, sure enough, trident and all, both his trident and he looking as large as life.--He was drawn along in a sledge by a party of naiads, and Amazon jades they looked. On one side of him walked his wife, on the other the Cock o' the North, while behind him came the barber carrying an immense razor and a bucket of lather. Silas Grig, I may as well mention, played Neptune, and Seth his wife--and a taller, skinnier, bristlier old lady you couldn't have imagined; and her attempts to act the lady of fashion, and her airs and graces, were really funny. The Cock o' the North was Ted Wilson. He was dressed in feathers from top to toe, with an immense bill, comb, and wattles, and acted his part well. He was introduced by Neptune as-- "One who ne'er has been to school, But keeps us fat--in fact, our fool; A fool, forsooth, yet full of wit As he can stand, or lie, or sit." After the usual introduction, salaams, and courtesies, Neptune made his speech in doggerel verse, with many an interruption both from his wife and his fool, telling how "his name was Neptune"--"though it might be Norval," added the Cock o' the North. How-- "From east to west, from pole to pole, Where'er waves break or waters roll, _My_ empire is--" _His Wife_--"And _you_ belong to _me_." _Cock o' the North_.--"All hail, great monarch of the sea!" _Neptune_--"The clouds pay tribute, and streams and rills Come singing from the distant hills." _His Wife_.--"_Do_ stop, my dear; you're _not_ a poet, And never were--" _Neptune_.--"Good sooth, I know it. But now lead on, our blood feels cold, For truth to tell, we're getting old. We and our wife have seen much service, Besides--the dear old thing is nervous, So to the ship lead on, I say, We'd see some fun on this auspicious day. My younger sons I fain would bless 'em." _His Barber_.--"And I can shave." _His Wife (rapturously_).--"And I can kiss 'em." The six poor lads who were to be operated on, and whose only fault was that they had never before crossed the line, trembled in their prison as they heard the big guns thunder forth, announcing the arrival of King Neptune. They trembled more when, dressed in white, they were led forth, a pair at a time, and seated blindfolded on the chair of the terrible tub, and duly shaved and blessed and kissed; but they trembled most when the bolt was drawn, and they tumbled head foremost into the icy water; but when, about twenty minutes thereafter, they were seen seated in a row in dry, warm clothing, you would not have known them for the same boys. Their faces were beaming with smiles, and each one busied himself discussing a huge basin of savoury sea-pie. They were not trembling then at all. At the dinner which followed, Neptune took the head of the table, with his wife on his right and McBain himself as vice-president. The dinner was good even for the _Arrandoon_, and that is saying a deal. In size, in odour, and beauty of rotundity, the plum-pudding that two stalwart men carried in and placed in front of Neptune, was something to remember for ever and a day. Size? Why, Neptune could have served it out with his trident. Ay! and everybody had two helps, and looked all the healthier and happier after them. Our three chief heroes were in fine form, Rory in one of his funniest, happiest moods. And why not? Had not he dubbed himself Queen o' the May? Yes, and well he sustained the part. I am not sure how Neptune managed to possess himself of so many bottles of Silas Grig's green ginger, but there they were, and they went all round the table, and even the men of the crew seemed to prefer it to rum. The toasts given by the men were not a few, and all did honour to the manliness of their hearts. The songs sung ere the table was cleared were all well worth listening to, though some were ballads of extreme length. Neptune was full of anecdotes of his life and adventures, and his wife also had a good deal to say about hers, which caused many a peal of laughter to rattle round the table. Some of the men recited pieces of their own composition. Here is one by the crew's pet, Ted Wilson to wit: The Ghost of the Cochin-Shanghai. 'Tis a tale of the Greenland ocean, A tale of the Northern seas, Of a ship that sailed from her native land On the wings of a favouring breeze; Her skipper as brave a seaman As ever set sail before, Her crew all told as true and bold As ever yet left the shore. And never a ship was better "found," She couldn't be better, I know, With beef in the rigging and porkers to kill, And tanks filled with water below; And turkeys to fatten, and ducklings and geese, And the best Spanish pullets to lay; But the pride of the ship, and the pet of the mess, Was a Brahma cock, Cochin-Shanghai. And every day when the watches were called, This cock crew so cheery O! With a shrill cock-a-lee, and a hoarse cock-a-lo, And a long cock-a-leerie O! But still as the grave was the brave bird at night, For well did he know what was best; Yes, well the cock knew that most of the crew Were weary and wanted their rest But one awful night he awoke in a fright, Then wasn't it dreary O! To hear him crow, with a hoarse cock-a-lo, And a shrill cock-a-leerie O! Oh! Then out of bed scrambled the men in a mass, "We cannot get sleep," they all cried; "May we never reach dock till we silence that cock, We'll never have peace till the villain is fried." All dressed as they were in the garments of night, Though the decks were deep covered with snow, They chased the cock round, with wild yell and bound, ####But they never got near him--no. And wherever he flew, still the bold Cochin crew, With a shrill cock-a-lee, and a hoarse cock-a-lo, And a long cock-a-leerie O! Now far up aloft defiant he stands, Like an eagle in eerie O! Till a sea-boot at last, knocked him down from the mast, And he sunk in the ocean below. But the saddest part of the story is this: He hadn't quite finished his crow, He'd got just as far as the hoarse cock-a-lo But failed at the leerie O! Oh-h! And that ship is still sailing, they say, on the sea, Though 'tis hundreds of years ago; Till they silence that cock they'll ne'er reach a dock, Nor lay down their burden of woe; For out on the boom, till the crack of doom, The ghost of the Cochin will crow, With his shrill cock-a-lee, and his hoarse cock-a-lo, But _never_ the leerie O! No! They tell me at times that the ship may be seen Straggling on o'er the billows o' blue, That the hardest of hearts would melt like the snow, To witness the grief of that crew, As they eye the cold waves, and long for their graves, Looking _so weary O_! Will he _never_ have done with that weird cock-a-lo, As get to the leerie O! Oh-h! Dinner discussed, the fun commenced. In the first place, there were sailors' dances, and the floor was kept pretty well filled one way or another. But certainly _the_ dances of the evening were the barber's "break-down," Rory's "Irish jig," and the doctor's "Hielan fling." They were _solos_, of course, and the barber was the first to take the floor; and oh! the shuffling and the double-shuffling, and the tripleing and double-tripleing of that wonderful hornpipe! No wonder he was cheered, and encored, and cheered again. Then came Rory, dressed in natty knickerbockers and carrying a shillelah! nobody could say at times which end of him was uppermost, or whether he did not just as often strike his seemingly adamantine head with his heels as with his shillelah. Lastly came Sandy McFlail in Highland costume, and being a countryman of my own, I must be modestly mum on the performance, only, towards the end of the "fling," you saw before you such a mist of waving arms and legs and plaid-ends, that you could not have been sure it was Sandy at all, and not an octopus. But hark! there comes a shriek from the pack, so loud that it drowns the sounds of music and merriment. Men grow suddenly serious. Again they hear it, and there is a perceptible movement--a kind of thrill under their feet. It is the wail that never fails to give the first announcement of the breaking up of the sea of ice. CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. BREAKING UP OF THE GREAT ICE PACK--IN THE NIPS--THE "CANNY SCOTIA" ON HER BEAM-ENDS--STAVING OF THE "ARRANDOON." In the very midst of joy and pleasure in this so-called weary world, we are oftentimes very nigh to grief and pain. See yonder Swiss village by the foot of the mountain, how peacefully it is sleeping in the moonlight; not a sound is to be heard save the occasional crowing of a wakeful cock, or the voice of watch-dog baying the moon. The inhabitants have gone to bed hours and hours ago, and their dreams, if they dream at all, are assuredly not dreams of danger. But hark to that terrible noise far overhead. Is it thunder? Yes, the thunder of a mighty avalanche. Nearer and nearer it rolls, till it reaches the devoted village, then all is desolation and woe. See yet another village, far away in sunny Africa; its little huts nestle around the banyan-tree, the tall cocoa-palm, and the wide-spreading mango. They are a quiet, inoffensive race who inhabit that village. They live south of the line, far away from treacherous Somali Indians or wild Magulla men; they never even dreamt of war or bloodshed. They certainly do not dream of it now. "The babe lies in its mother's arms, The wife's head pillowed on the husband's breast." Suddenly there is a shout, and when they awake--oh! horror! their huts are all in flames, the Arab slavers are on them, and--I would not harrow your young feelings by describing the scenes that follow. But a ship--and this is coming nearer home--may be sailing over a rippling sea, with the most pleasant of breezes filling her sails, no land in sight, and every one, fore and aft, as happy as the birds on an early morning in summer, when all at once she rasps, and strikes-- strikes on a rock, the very existence of which was never even suspected before. In half an hour perhaps that vessel has gone down, and those that are saved are afloat in open boats, the breeze freshening every moment, the wavetops breaking into cold spray, night coming on, and dark, threatening clouds banking up on the windward horizon. When the first wail arose from the pack that announced the breaking up of the sea of ice, a silence of nearly a minute fell on the sailors assembled at the entertainment. Music stopped, dancing ceased, and every one listened. The sound was repeated, and multiplied, and the ship quivered and half reeled. McBain knew the advantage of remaining calm and retaining his presence of mind in danger. Because he was a true sailor. He was not like the sailor captains you read of in penny dreadfuls--half coal-heaver, half Herzegovinian bandit. "Odd, isn't it?" he muttered, as he stroked his beard and smiled; then in a louder voice he gave his orders. "Men," he said, "we'll have some work to do before morning--get ready. The ice is breaking up. Pipe down, boatswain. Mr Stevenson, see to the clearing away of all this hamper." Then, followed by Rory and the doctor, he got away out into the daylight. The ships were all safe enough as yet, and there was only perceptible the gentlest heaving motion in the pack. Sufficient was it, however, to break up the bay ice between the bergs, and this with a series of loud reports, which could be heard in every direction. McBain looked overboard somewhat anxiously; the broken pieces of bay ice were getting ploughed up against the ship's side with a noise that is indescribable, not so much from its extreme loudness as from its peculiarity; it was a strange mixture of a hundred different noises, a wailing, complaining, shrieking, grinding noise, mingled with a series of sharp, irregular reports. "It is like nothing earthly," said Rory, "that ever I heard before; and when I close my eyes for a brace of seconds, I could imagine that down on the pack there two hundred tom-cats had lain down to die, that twenty Highland bag-pipers--twenty Peters--were playing pibrochs of lament, and that just forenenst them a squad of militia-men was firing a _feu-de-joie_, and that neither the militia-men nor the pipers either were as self-contained as they should be on so solemn an occasion." The doctor was musing; he was thinking how happy he had been half an hour ago, and now--heigho; it was just possible he would never get back to Iceland again, never see his blue-eyed Danish maiden more. "Pleasures," he cried, "pleasures, Captain McBain--" "Yes," said McBain, "pleasures--" "Pleasures," continued the doctor,-- "`Are like poppies shed, You seize the flower, the bloom is fled.' "I'll gang doon below. Bed is the best place." "Perhaps," said McBain, smiling, "but not the safest. Mind, the ship is in the nips, and a berg might go through her at any moment. There is the merest possibility of your being killed in your bed. That's all; but that won't keep _you_ on deck." Mischievous Rory was doing ridiculous attitudes close behind the worthy surgeon. "What?" cried Sandy, in his broadest accent. "_That_ not keep me on deck! Man, the merest possibility of such a cawtawstrophy would keep me on deck for a month." "A vera judeecious arrangement," hissed Rory in his ear, for which he was chased round the deck, and had his own ears well pulled next minute. The doctor had him by the ear when Allan and Ralph appeared on the scene. "Hullo!" they laughed, "Rory got in for it again." "Whustle," cried Sandy. "I only said `a vera--'" began Rory. "Whustle, will ye?" cried the doctor. "I can't `whustle,'" laughed Rory. But he had to "whustle," and then he was free. "It's going to be a tough squeeze," said Silas to McBain. "Yes; and, worse luck, the swell has set in from the east," answered the captain. "I'm off to the _Canny Scotia_; good morning." "One minute, Captain Grig; we promised to hoist up Cobb's cockle-shell. Lend us a hand with your fellows, will you?" "Ay, wi' right good will," said Silas. There were plenty of spars on board the _Arrandoon_ big enough to rig shears, and these were sent overboard without delay, with ropes and everything else required. The men of the _Arrandoon_, assisted by those of the _Canny Scotia_, worked with a readiness and will worthy even of our gallant Royal Engineers. A shears was soon rigged, and a winch got up. On a spar fastened along the cockle-shell's deck the purchase was made, and, under the superintendence of brave little Ap, the work began. For a long time the "shell" refused to budge, so heavily did the ice press around her; the spar on her deck started though, several times. "Worse luck," thought little Ap. He had the spar re-fastened. Tried again. The same result followed. Then little Ap considered, taking "mighty" big pinches of snuff the while. "We won't do like that," he said to himself, "because, look you see, the purchase is too much on the perpendicular. Yes, yes." Then he had the spar elevated a couple of yards, and fastened between the masts, which he had strengthened by lashing extra spars to them. The result of this was soon apparent. The hawsers tightened, the little yacht moved, even the pressure of the ice under her helped to lift her as soon as she began to heel over, and, in half an hour afterwards, the cockle-shell lay in a very ignominious position indeed--beam-ends on the ice. "Bravo!" cried Silas, when the men had finished their cheering. "Bravo! what _would_ long Cobb say now? what would he say? Ha! ha! ha!" Silas Grig laughed and chuckled till his face grew redder than ever, but he would not have been quite so gay, I think, had he known what was so soon to happen to his own ship. Stevenson touched McBain on the shoulder. "The ice presses heavy on the rudder, sir." "Then unship it," said McBain. "And I'll unship mine," said Silas. Unshipping rudders is a kind of drill that few save Greenland sailors ever learn, but it is very useful at times, nevertheless. In another hour the rudders of the two ships were hoisted and laid on the bergs. So that was one danger past. But others were soon to follow, for the swell under the ice increased, the bergs all around them rolled higher and higher. The noise from the pack was terrific, as the pieces met and clashed and ground their slippery sides together. In an hour or two the bay ice had been either ground to slush, or piled in packs on top of the bergs, so that the bergs had freedom to fight, as it were. Alas! for the two ships that happened to be between the combatants. Their position was, indeed, far from an enviable one. Hardly had an hour elapsed ere the ice-harbours McBain and Silas had prided themselves in, were wrecked and disintegrated. They were then, in some measure, at the mercy of the enemy, that pressed them closely on every quarter. The _Canny Scotia_ was the worst off--she lay between two of the biggest bergs in the pack. McBain came to his assistance with torpedoes. He might as well have tried to blow them to pieces with a child's pop-gun. Better, in fact, for he would have had the same sport with less trouble and expense, and the result would have been equally gratifying. For once poor Silas lost his equanimity. He actually wrung his hands in grief when he saw the terrible position of his vessel. "My poor shippie," he said. "Heaven help us! I was building castles in the air. But she is doomed! My bonnie ship is doomed." At the same time he wisely determined not to be idle, so provisions and valuables were got on shore, and all the men's clothes and belongings. As nothing more could be done, Silas grew more contented. "It was just his luck," he said, "just his luck." Long hours of anxiety to every one went slowly past, and still the swell kept up, and the bergs lifted and fell and swung on the unseen billows, and ground viciously against the great sides of the _Arrandoon_. Now the _Canny Scotia_ was somewhat Dutchified in her build--not as to bows but as to bottom. She was not a clipper by any manner of means, and her build saved her. The ice actually ground her up out of the water till she lay with her beam-ends on the ice, and her keel completely exposed. [As did the _P--e_, of Peterhead, once for weeks. The men lived on the ice alongside, expecting the vessel to sink as soon as the ice opened. The captain, however, would not desert his ship, but slept on board, his mattress lying on the ship's side. The author's ship was beset some miles off at the same time.] But the _Arrandoon_ had no such build. The ice caught under her forefoot, and she was lifted twelve feet out of the water. No wonder McBain and our heroes were anxious. The former never went below during all the ten hours or more that the squeeze lasted. But the swells gradually lessened, and finally ceased. The _Arrandoon_ regained her position, and lost her list, but there lay the _Canny Scotia_, a pitiable sight to see, like some giant overthrown, silent yet suffering. When the pumps of the _Arrandoon_ had been tried, and it was found that there was no extra water in her, McBain felt glad indeed, and thanked God from his inmost heart for their safe deliverance from this great peril. He could now turn his attention to consoling his friend Silas. After dinner that day, said McBain,-- "Your cabin is all ready, Captain Grig, for of course you will sleep with us now." But Silas arose silently and calmly. "I needn't say," he replied, "how much I feel your manifold acts of kindness, but Silas Grig won't desert his ship. His bed is on the _Canny Scotia_." "But, my dear fellow," insisted McBain, "the ice may open in an hour, and your good ship go down." "Then," said Silas, "I go with her, and it will be for you to tell my owners and my little wife--heaven keep her!--that Skipper Grig stuck to his ship to the last." What could McBain say, what argument adduce, to prevent this rough old tar from risking his life in what he considered a matter of duty? Nothing! and so he was dumb. Then away went Silas home, as he called it, to his ship. He lowered himself down by a rope, clambered over the doorway of the cabin, took one glance at the chaos around, then walked tenderly _over_ the bulkhead, and so literally _down_ to his bed. He found the mattress and bed-clothes had fallen against the side, and so there this good man, this true sailor, laid him down and slept the sleep of the just. But the _Scotia_ did not go to the bottom; she lay there for a whole week, defying all attempts to move her, Silas sleeping on board every night, the only soul in her, and his crew remaining on the _Arrandoon_. At the end of that time the ice opened more; then the prostrate giant seemed to begin to show signs of returning life. She swayed slightly, and looked as if she longed once more to feel the embrace of her native element; seeing which, scientific assistance was given her. Suddenly she sprang up as does a fallen horse, and hardly had the men time to seek safety on the neighbouring bergs, when she took the water-- relaunched herself--with a violence that sent the spray flying in every direction with the force of a cataract. It would have been well had the wetting the crew received been the only harm done. It was not, for the bergs moved asunder with tremendous force. One struck the _Arrandoon_ in her weakest part--amidships, under the water-line. She was stove, the timbers bent inwards and cracked, and the bunks alongside the seat of accident were dashed into matchwood. Poor old Duncan Gibb, who was lying in one of these bunks with an almost united fracture of one of his limbs, had the leg broken over again. "Never mind, Duncan," said the surgeon, consolingly, "I didn't make a vera pretty job of it last time. I'll make it as straight as a dart this turn!" "Vera weel, sir; and so be it," was poor contented Duncan's reply, as he smiled in his agony. "Dear me, now!" said Silas, some time afterwards; "I could simply cry-- make a big baby of myself and cry. It would be crying for joy and grief, you know--joy that my old shippie should show so much pluck as to right herself like a race-horse, and grief to think she should go and stave the _Arrandoon_. The ungrateful old jade!" "Never mind," said McBain, cheerfully, "Ap and the carpenters will soon put the _Arrandoon_ all right. We will shift the ballast, throw her over to starboard, and repair her, and the place will be, like Duncan's leg, stronger than ever." It did not take very long to right Captain Cobb's cockle-shell, and all the vessels being now in position again, and the ice opening, it might have been as well to have got steam up at once, and felt the way to the open water. McBain decided to make good repairs first; it was just as easy to list the ship among the ice as out of it, and probably less dangerous. Besides, the water kept pouring in, and the beautiful arrangement of blankets and hammock-cloths which Ap had devised, hardly sufficed to keep it out.--This decision of the captain nearly cost the life of two of our best-loved heroes, and poor old Seth as well. But their adventure demands a chapter, or part of one at least, to itself. CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. AN ADVENTURE ON THE PACK--SEPARATED FROM THE SHIP--DESPAIR--THE DREAM OF HOME--UNDER WAY ONCE MORE. Nothing in the shape of adventure came amiss to Rory. He was always ready for any kind of "fun," as he called every kind of excitement. Such a thing as fear I do not believe Rory ever felt, and, as for failing in anything he undertook, he never even dreamt of such a thing. He had often proposed escapades and wild adventures to his companions at which they hung fire. Rory's line of argument was very simple and unsophisticated. It may be summed up in three sentences--first, "Sure we've only to try and we're bound to do it." If that did not convince Allan or Ralph, he brought up his first-class reserve, "Let us try, _anyhow_;" and if that failed, his second reserve, "It's _bound_ to come right in the end." Had Rory been seized by a lion or tiger, and borne away to the bush, those very words would have risen to his lips to bring him solace, "It's bound to come right in the end." The few days' delay that succeeded the accident to the _Arrandoon_, while she had to be listed over, and things were made as uncomfortable as they always are when a ship is lying on an uneven keel, threw Rory back upon his books for enjoyment. That and writing verses, and, fiddle in hand composing music to his own words, enabled him to pass the day with some degree of comfort; but when Mr Stevenson one morning, on giving his usual report at breakfast-time, happened to say,-- "Ice rather more open to-day, sir; a slight breeze from the west, and about a foot of rise and fall among the bergs; two or three bears about a mile to leeward, and a few seals," then Rory jumped up. "Will you go, Allan," he cried, "and bag a bear? Ralph hasn't done breakfast." "Bide a wee, young gentleman," said McBain, smiling. "I really imagined I was master of the ship." "I beg your pardon, Captain McBain," said Rory, at once; and with all becoming gravity he saluted, and continued, "Please, sir, may I go on shore?" "Certainly not," was the reply; and the captain added, "No, boy, no. We value even Rory, for all the trouble he gives us, more than many bears." Rory got hold of his fiddle, and his feelings found vent in music. But no sooner had McBain retired to his cabin than Rory threw down his much beloved instrument and jumped up. "Bide a wee; I'll manage," he cried. "Doctor," he added, disarranging all the medico's hair with his hand-- Sandy's legs were under the mahogany, so he could not speedily retaliate--"Sandy, mon, I'll manage. It'll be a vera judeecious arrangement." Then he was off, and presently back, all smiles and rejoicing: "Come on, Allan, dear boy," he cried. "We're going, both of us, and Seth and one man, and we're going to carry a plank to help us across the ice. Finish your breakfast, baby Ralph. I wouldn't disturb myself for the world if I were you." "I don't mean to," said Ralph, helping himself to more toast and marmalade. "What are you grinning at now?" asked Rory of the surgeon. "To think," said Sandy, laughing outright, "that our poor little boy Rory couldn't be trusted on the ice without Seth and a plank. Ha, ha, ha! my conscience!" "Doctor," said Rory. "Well?" said the doctor. "Whustle," cried Rory, making a face. "I'll whustle ye," said Sandy, springing up. But Rory was off. On the wiry shoulders of Seth the plank was borne as easily as if it had been only an oar; the man carried the rope and sealing clubs. The plank did them good service, for whenever the space between two bergs was too wide for a safe leap it was laid down, and over they went. They thus made good progress. There was a little motion among the ice, but nothing to signify. The pieces approached each other gradually until within a certain distance. Then was the time to leap, and at once, too, without fear and hesitation. If you did hesitate, and made up your mind to leap a moment after, you might fail to reach the next berg, and this meant a ducking at the very least. But a ducking of this kind is no joke, as the writer of these lines knows from experience. You strip off your clothes to wring out the superabundance of water, and by the time you put them on again, your upper garments, at all events, are frozen harder than parchment. You have to construe the verb _salto_ [_Salto_--I leap, or jump] from beginning to end before you feel on good terms with yourself again. But falling into the sea between two bergs may not end with a mere ducking. A man may be sucked by the current under the ice, or he may instantly fall a prey to that great greedy monster, the Greenland shark. Well the brute loves to devour a half-dead seal, but a man is caviare to his maw. Again, if you are not speedily rescued, the bergs may come slowly together and grind you to pulp. But our heroes escaped scot-free. So did the bears which they had come to shoot. "It is provoking!" said Rory. "Let us follow them a mile or so, at all events." They did, and came in sight of one--an immensely great brute of a Bruin--who, after stopping about a minute to study them, set off again shambling over the bergs. Then he paused, and then started off once more; and this he did many times, but he never permitted them to get within shot. All this time the signal of recall was floating at the masthead of the _Arrandoon_, but they never saw it. They began to notice at last, though, that the bergs were wider apart, so they wisely determined to give up the chase and return. Return? Yes, it is only a little word--hardly a simpler one to be found in the whole English vocabulary, whether to speak or to spell; and yet it is a word that has baffled thousands. It is a word that we should never forget when entering upon any undertaking in which there is danger to either ourselves or others. It is a word great generals keep well in view; probably it was just that word "return" which prevented the great Napoleon from landing half a million of men on our shores with the view of conquering the country. The man of ambition was afraid he might find a difficulty in getting his Frenchmen back, and that Englishmen would not be over kind to them. Rory and his party could see the flag of recall now, and they could see also the broad black fan being waved from the crow's-nest to expedite their movements. So they made all the haste in their power. There was no leaping now, the plank had to be laid across the chasms constantly. But at last they succeeded in getting just half-way to the ship, when, to their horror, they discovered that all further advance was a sheer impossibility! A lane of open water effectually barred their progress. It was already a hundred yards wide at least, and it was broadening every minute. South and by west, as far as eye could reach, stretched this canal, and north-west as well. They were drifting away on a loose portion of the pack, leaving their ship behind them. Their feelings were certainly not to be envied. They knew the whole extent of their danger, and dared not depreciate it. It was coming on to blow; already the face of that black lane of water was covered with angry little ripples. If the wind increased to a gale, the chances of regaining their vessel were small indeed; more likely they would be blown out to sea, as men have often been under similar circumstances, and so perish miserably on the berg on which they stood. To be sure, they were to leeward, and the _Arrandoon_ was a steamer; there was some consolation in that, but it was damped, on the other hand, by the recollection that, though a steamer, she was a partially disabled one. It would take hours before she could readjust her ballast and temporarily make good her leak, and hours longer ere she could force and forge her way to the lane of water, through the mile of heavy bergs that intervened. Meanwhile, what might not happen? Both Rory and Allan were by this time good ice-men, and had there been but a piece of ice big enough to bear their weight, and nothing more, they could have embarked thereon and ferried themselves across, using as paddles the butt-ends of their rifles. But there was nothing of the sort; the bay ice had all been ground up; there was nothing save the great green-sided, snow-topped bergs. And so they could only wait and hope for the best. "It'll all come right in the end," said Rory. He said this many times; but as the weary hours went by, and the lane widened and widened, till, from being a lane, it looked a Jake, the little sentence that had always brought him comfort before seemed trite to even Rory himself. The increasing motion of the berg on which they stood did not serve to reassure them, and the cold they had, from their forced inactivity, to endure, would have damped the boldest spirits. For a time they managed to keep warm by walking or running about the berg, but afterwards movement itself became painful, so that they had but little heart to take exercise. The whole hull of the _Arrandoon_ was hidden from their view behind the hummocky ice, and thus they could not tell what was going on on deck, but they could see no smoke arising from the funnel, and this but served further to dishearten them. Even gazing at those lanes of water that so often open up in the very midst of a field of ice, is apt to stir up strange thoughts in one's mind, especially if one be, like Rory, of a somewhat poetical and romantic disposition. The very blackness of the water impresses you; its depth causes a feeling akin to awe; you know, as if by instinct, that it is deep--terribly, eeriesomely deep. It lies smiling in the sunshine as to surface, but all is the blackness of darkness below. Up here it is all day; down there, all night. The surface of the water seems to divide two worlds--a seen and an unseen, a known and an unknown and mysterious--life and death! Tired at last of roaming like caged bears up and down the berg, one by one they seated themselves on the sunny side of a small hummock. They huddled together for warmth, but they did not care to talk much. Their very souls seemed heavy, their bodies seemed numbed and frozen, but their heads were hot, and they felt very drowsy, yet bit their lips and tongues lest they might fall into that strange slumber from which it is said men wake no more. They talked not at all. The last words were spoken by Seth. Rory remembered them. "I'm old," he was muttering; "my time's a kind o' up; but it do seem hard on these younkers. Guess I'd give the best puma's skin ever I killed, just to see Rory safe. Guess I'd--" Rory's eyes were closed, he heard no more. He was dreaming. Dreaming of what? you ask me. I answer, in the words of Lover,-- "Ask of the sailor youth, when far His light barque bounds o'er ocean's foam What charms him most when evening star Smiles o'er the wave? To dream of home." Yes, Rory was dreaming of home. All the home he knew, poor lad! He was in the Castle of _Arrandoon_. Seeing, but all unseen, he stood in the cosy tartan parlour where he had spent so many happy hours. A bright fire was burning in the grate, the curtains were drawn, in her easy-chair sat Allan's mother with her work on her lap, the great deerhound lay on the hearthrug asleep, and Helen Edith was bending over her harp. How boy Rory longed to rush forward and take her by the hand! But even in his partial sleep he knew this was but a dream, and he feared to move lest he might break the sweet spell. But languor, pain, and cold, all were forgotten while the vision lasted. But list! a horn seems to sound beyond the castle moat. Rory, in his dream, wonders that Helen hears it not; then the boy starts to his feet on the snow. The vision has fled, and the sound of the horn resolves itself into the shout,-- "Ahoy--oy--hoy! Ahoy! hoy!" Every one is on his feet at the same time, though both Allan and Rory stagger and fall again. But, behold! a boat comes dancing down the lane of water towards them, and a minute after they are all safe on board. The labour of getting that boat over the ice had been tremendous. It had been a labour of love, however, and the men had worked cheerily and boldly, and never flinched a moment, until it was safely launched in the open water and our heroes were in it. The _Arrandoon_, the men told them, had got up steam, and in a couple of hours at most she would reach the water. Meanwhile they, by the captain's orders, were to land on the other side, and make themselves as comfortable as possible until her arrival. Rory and Allan were quite themselves again now, and so, too, was honest Seth,-- "Though, blame me," said he, "if I didn't think this old trapper's time had come. Not that that'd matter a sight, but I did feel for you youngsters, blame me if I didn't;" and he dashed his coat-sleeve rapidly across his face as he spoke. And now a fire was built and coffee made, and Stevenson then opened the Norwegian chest--a wonderful contrivance, in which a dinner may be kept hot for four-and-twenty hours, and even partially cooked. Up arose the savoury steam of a glorious Irish stew. "How mindful of the captain?" said Allan. "It was Ralph that sent the dinner," said Stevenson, "and he sent with it his compliments to Rory." "Bless his old heart," cried Rory. "I don't think I'll ever chaff him again about the gourmandising propensities of the Saxon race." "And the doctor," continued the mate, "sent you some blankets, Mr Rory. There they are, sir; and he told me to give you this note, if I found you alive." The note was in the Scottish dialect, and ran as follows:-- "_My conscience, Rory! some folks pay dear for their whustle. But keep up your heart, ma wee laddie. It's a vera judeecious arrangement_." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ In a few days more the _Arrandoon_ had made good her repairs, and as the western wind had freshened, and was blowing what would have been a ten-knot breeze in the open sea, the steamer got up steam and the sailing-ship canvas, and together they took the loose ice, and made their way slowly to the eastward. The bergs, though some distance asunder, were still sufficiently near to considerably impede their way, and, for fear of accident, the _Arrandoon_ took the cockle-shell, as she was always called now, in tow. For many days the ships went steadily eastward, which proved to them how extensive the pack had been. Sometimes they came upon large tracts of open water, many miles in extent, and across this they sailed merrily and speedily enough, considering that neither of the vessels had as yet shipped her rudder. This they had determined not to do until they were well clear of the very heavy ice, or until the swell went down. So they were steered entirely by boats pulling ahead of them. Open water at last, and the cockle-shell bids the big ships adieu, spreads her white sails to the breeze, and, swanlike, goes sailing away for the distant isle of Jan Mayen. Ay, and the big ships themselves must now very soon part company, the _Scotia_ to bear up for the green shores of our native land, the _Arrandoon_ for regions as yet unknown. CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN. WORKING ALONG THE PACK EDGE--AMONG THE SEALS AGAIN--A BUMPER SHIP-- ADVENTURES ON THE ICE--TED WILSON'S PROMOTION. The _Arrandoon_ was steaming slowly along the pack edge, wind still westerly, the _Canny Scotia_, with all canvas exposed, a mile or more to leeward of her. Both were heading in the same direction, north and by east, for McBain and our heroes had determined not to desert Silas until he really had what he called a voyage--in other words, a full ship. "We can spare the time, you know," the captain had said to Ralph; "a fortnight, will do it, and I dare say Rory here doesn't object to a little more sport before going away to the far north." "That I don't," Rory had replied. "If we fall among the old seals, a fortnight will do it." "Ay," Allan had said, "and won't old Silas be happy!" "Yes," from McBain; "and, after all, to be able to give happiness to others is certainly one of the greatest pleasures in this world." Dear reader, just a word parenthetically. I am so sure that what McBain said is true, that I earnestly advise you to try the experiment suggested by his words, for great is the reward, even in this world, of those who can conquer self and endeavour to bring joy to others. The _Arrandoon_ steamed along the pack edge, but it must not be supposed that this was a straight line, or anything like it. Indeed it was very much like any ordinary coastline, for here was a bay and yonder a cape, and yonder again, where the ice is heavier, a bold promontory. But Greenlandmen call a bay a "bight," and a cape they call a "point-end." Let us adopt their nomenclature. The _Canny Scotia_, then, avoided these point-ends; she kept well out to sea, well away from the pack, for there was not over-much wind, and Silas Grig had no wish to be beset again. But the _Arrandoon_, on the other hand, steamed, as I have said, in a straight line. She scorned to double a point, but went steadily on her course, ploughing her way through the bergs. There was one advantage in this: she could the more easily discover the seals, for in the month of May these animals, having done their duty by their young, commence their return journey to the north, the polar regions being their home _par excellence_. They are in no hurry getting back, however. They like to enjoy themselves, and usually for every one day's progress they make, they lie two or three on the ice. The capes, or point-ends, are favourite positions with them, and on the bergs they may be seen lying in scores, nor if the sun be shining with any degree of strength are they at all easily disturbed. It is their summer, and they try to make the best of it. Hark now to that shout from the crow's-nest of the _Arrandoon_. "A large patch of seals in sight, sir." Our heroes pause in their walk, and gaze upwards; from the deck nothing is visible to windward save the great ice-pack. "Where away?" cries Stevenson. "On the weather bow, sir, and a good mile in through the pack." "What do you think, sir?" says Stevenson, addressing his commander. "Shall we risk taking the ice again?" "Risk, Stevenson?" is the reply. "Why, man, yes; we'll risk anything to do old Silas a good turn. We'll risk more yet, mate, before the ship's head is turned homewards." Then the ship is stopped, and signals are made to Silas, who instantly changes his course, and, after a vast deal of tacking and half-tacking, bears down upon them, and being nearly alongside, gets his main-yard aback, and presently lowers a boat and comes on board the _Arrandoon_. Our heroes crowd around him. "Why," they say, "you are a perfect stranger; it is a whole week since we've seen you." "Ay," says Silas, "and a whole week without seeing a seal--isn't it astonishing?" "Ah! but they're in sight now," says McBain. "I'm going to take the ice, and I'll tow you in, and if you're not a bumper ship before a week, then this isn't the _Arrandoon_, that's all." Silas is all smiles; he rubs his hands, and finally laughs outright, then he claps his hand on his leg, and,-- "I was sure of it," says Silas, "soon as ever I saw your signal. `Matie,' says I, `yonder is a signal from the _Arrandoon_. I'm wanted on board; seals is in sight, ye maybe sure. Matie,' says I, `luck's turned again;' and with that I gives him such a dig in the ribs that he nearly jumped out of the nest." "Make the signal to the _Scotia_, Stevenson," says McBain, "to clew up, and to get all ready for being taken in tow. Come below, Captain Grig, lunch is on the table." Fairly seated at the table, honest Silas rubbed his hands again and looked with a delighted smile at each of his friends in turn. There was a bluff heartiness about this old sailor which was very taking. "I declare," he said, "I feel just like a schoolboy home for a holiday?" Rory and Silas were specially friendly. "Rory, lad," he remarked, after a pause, "we won't be long together now." "No," replied Rory; "and it isn't sorry I am, but really downright _sad_ at the thoughts of your going away and leaving us. I say, though--happy thought!--send Stevenson home with your ship and you stay with us in place of him." Silas laughed. "What _would_ my owners say, boy? and what about my little wife, eh?" "Ah! true," said Rory; "I had forgotten." Then, after a pause, he added, more heartily, "But we'll meet again, won't we?" "Please God!" said Silas, reverently. "I think," Rory added, "I would know your house among a thousand, you have told me so much about it--the blue-grey walls, the bay windows, the garden, with its roses and--and--" "The green paling," Silas put in. "Ah, yes! the green paling, to be sure; how could I have forgotten that? Well, I'll come and see you; and won't you bring out the green ginger that day, Silas!" "_And_ the bun," added Silas. "_And_ the bun," repeated Rory after him. "And won't my little wife make you welcome, too! you may bet your fiddle on that!" Then these two sworn friends grasped hands over the table, and the conversation dropped for a time. But there perhaps never was a much happier Greenland skipper than Silas Grig, when he found his ship lying secure among the ice, with thousands on thousands of old seals all around him. The weather continued extremely fine for a whole week. The little wind there had been, died all away, and the sun shone more warmly and brightly than it had done since the _Arrandoon_ came to the country. The seals were so cosy that they really did not seem to mind being shot, and those that were scared off one piece of ice almost immediately scrambled on to another. "Fire away!" they seemed to say; "we are so numerous that we really won't miss a few of us. Only don't disturb us more than you can help." So the seals hugged the ice, basking in the bright sunshine, either sleeping soundly or gazing dreamily around them with their splendid eyes, or scratching their woolly ribs with their flippers for want of something to do. And bang, bang, bang! went the rifles; they never seemed to cease from the noon of night until mid-day, nor from mid-day until the noon of night again. The draggers of skins went in pairs for safety, and thus many a poor fellow who tumbled into the sea between the bergs, escaped with a ducking when otherwise he would have lost his life. Ralph--long-legged, brawny-chested Saxon Ralph--was among "the ducked," as Rory called the unfortunates. He came to a space of water which was too wide even for him. He would not be beaten, though, so he pitched his rifle over first by way of beginning the battle. Then he thought, by swinging his heavy cartridge-bag by its shoulder-strap the weight would help to carry him over. He called this jumping from a tangent. It was a miserable failure. But the best of the fun--so Rory said, though it could not have been fun to Ralph--was this: when he found himself floundering in the water he let go the bag of cartridges, which at once began to sink, but in sinking caught his heel, and pulled him for the moment under water. Poor Ralph! his feelings may be better imagined than described. "I made sure a shark had me!" he said, quietly, when by the help of his friend Rory, he had been brought safely to bank. It was not very often that Ralph had a mishap of any kind, but, having come to grief in this way, it was not likely that Rory would throw away so good a chance of chaffing him. He suddenly burst out laughing at luncheon that day, at a time when nobody was speaking, and when apparently there was nothing at all to laugh about. "What now, Rory? what now, boy?" said McBain, with a smile of anticipation. "Oh!" cried Rory, "if you had only seen my big English brother's face when he thought the shark had him!" "Was it funny?" said Allan, egging him on. "Funny!" said Rory. "Och I now, funny is no name for it. You should have seen the eyes of him!--and his jaw fall!--and that big chin of his. You know, Englishmen have a lot of chin, and--" "And Irishmen have a lot of cheek," cried Ralph. "Just wait till I get you on deck, Row boy." "I'd make him whustle," suggested the doctor. "Troth," Rory went on, "it was very nearly the death o' me. And to see him kick and flounder! Sure I'd pity the shark that got one between the eyes from your foot, baby Ralph." "Well," said Ralph, "it was nearly the death of me, anyhow, having to take off all my clothes and wring them on top of the snow." "Oh! but," continued Rory, assuming seriousness, and addressing McBain, "you ought to have seen Ralph just then, sir. That was the time to see my baby brother to advantage. Neptune is nobody to him. Troth, Ray, if you'd lived in the good old times, it's a gladiator they'd have made of you entirely." Here came a low derisive laugh from Cockie's cage, and Ralph pitched a crust of bread at the bird, and shook his fingers at Rory. But Rory kept out of Ralph's way for a whole hour after this, and by that time the storm had blown clean away, so Rory was safe. Allan had his turn next day. The danger in walking on the ice was chiefly owing to the fact that the edges of many of the bergs had been undermined by the waves and the recent swell, so that they were apt to break off and precipitate the unwary pedestrian into the water. Here is Allan's little adventure, and it makes one shudder to think how nearly it led him to being an actor in a terrible tragedy. He was trudging on after the seals with rifle at full cock, for he expected a shot almost immediately, when, as he was about to leap, the snowy edge of the berg gave way, and down he went. Instinctively he held his rifle out to his friend, who grasped it with both hands, the muzzle against his breast, and thus pulled him out. It seemed marvellous that the rifle did not go off. [Both these adventures are sketched from the life.] When safe to bank, and when he noticed the manner in which he had been helped out, poor Allan felt sick, there is no other name for it. "Oh, Ralph, Ralph!" he said, clutching his friend by the shoulder to keep himself from falling, "what if I had killed you?" When told of the incident that evening after dinner, McBain, after a momentary silence, said quietly,-- "I'm not sorry such a thing should have happened, boys; it ought to teach you caution; and it teaches us all that there is Some One in whose hands we are; Some One to look after us even in moments of extremest peril." But I think Allan loved Ralph even better after this. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Two weeks' constant sealing; two weeks during which the crews of the _Arrandoon_ and _Canny Scotia_ never sat down to a regular meal, and never lay down for two consecutive hours of repose, only eating when hungry and sleeping when they could no longer keep moving; two weeks during which nobody knew what o'clock it was at any particular time, or which was east or west, or whether it were day or night. Two weeks, then the seals on the ice disappeared as if by magic, for the frost was coming. "Let them go," said Silas, shaking McBain warmly by the hand. "Thanks to you, sir, I'm a bumper ship. Why, man, I'm full to the hatches. Low freeboard and all that sort of thing. Plimsoll wouldn't pass us out of any British harbour. But, with fair weather and God's help, sir, we'll get safely home." "And now," McBain replied, "there isn't a moment to lose. We must get out of here, Captain Grig, or the frost will serve us a trick as it did before." With some difficulty the ships were got about and headed once more for the open sea. None too soon, though, for there came again that strange, ethereal blue into the sky, which, from their experiences of the last black frost, they had learned to dread. The thermometer sank, and sank, and sank, till far down below zero. The _Arrandoon_ took her "chummy ship" in tow. "Go ahead at full speed," was the order. No, none too soon, for in two hours' time the great steam-hammer had to be set to work to break the newly-formed bay ice at the bows of the _Arrandoon_, and fifty men were sent over the side to help her on. With iron-shod pikes they smashed the ice, with long poles they pushed the bergs, singing merrily as they worked, working merrily as they sang, laughing, joking, stamping, shouting, and cheering as ever and anon the great ship made another spurt, and tore along for fifty or a hundred yards. Handicapped though she was by having the _Scotia_ in tow, the _Arrandoon_ fought the ice as if she had been some mighty giant, and every minute the distance between her and the open water became less, till at last it could be seen even from the quarter-deck. But the frost seemed to grow momentarily more intense, and the bay- ce stronger and harder between the bergs. Never mind, that only stimulated the men to greater exertions. It was a battle for freedom, and they meant to win. With well-meaning though ridiculous doggerel, Ted Wilson led the music,-- "Work and keep warm, boys; heave and keep hot, Jack Frost thinks he's clever; we'll show him he's not. Beyond is the sea, boys; Let us fight and get free, boys; One thing will keep boiling, and that is the pot. With a heave O! Push and she'll go. To work and to fight is the bold sailor's lot. Heave O--O--O! "Go fetch me the lubber who won't bear a hand, We'll feed him on blubber, we'll stuff him with sand. But yonder our ships, boys, Ere they get in the nips, boys, We'll wrestle and work, as long's we can stand, Then cheerily has it, men, Heave O--O--O! Merrily has it, men, Off we go, O--O--O!" Yes, reader, and away they went, and in one more hour they were clear of the ice, _the Arrandoon_ had cast the _Scotia_ off, and banked her fires, for, together with her consort, she was to sail, not steam, down to the island of Jan Mayen, where they were to take on board the sleigh-dogs, and bid farewell to Captain Cobb, the bold Yankee astronomer.--There was but little wind, but they made the most of what there was. Silas dined on board that day, as usual. They were determined to have as much of the worthy old sailor as they could. But before dinner one good action was performed by McBain in Captain Grig's presence. First he called all hands, and ordered them aft; then he asked Ted Wilson to step forward, and addressed him briefly as follows: "Mr Wilson, I find I can do with another mate, and I appoint you to the post." Ted was a little taken aback; a brighter light came into his eyes; he muttered something--thanks, I suppose--but the men's cheering drowned his voice. Then our heroes shook hands with him all around, and McBain gave the order,-- "Pipe down." But as soon as Ted Wilson returned to his shipmates they shouldered him, and carried him high and dry right away forward, and so down below. CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT. A WONDERFUL YANKEE--"MAKING OFF" SKINS--PREPARING TO "BEAR UP"--THE SUMMER HOME OF THE GIANT WALRUS--THE SHIPS PART. In two days the ships sighted the island of Jan Mayen. As they neared it, they found the ice so closely packed around the shore that all approach even by boats was out of the question, so the sails were clewed, the ice-anchors got out, and both ships made fast to the floe. It was not long ere Captain Cobb was on board the _Arrandoon_, to welcome our heroes back to "_his_ island of Jan Mayen." He was profuse in his thanks for what he called the clever kindness of Captain McBain, in saving his little yacht from a fatal accident among the ice; and, of course, they would do him the honour to come on shore and dine with him. He would take it as downright "mean" if they did not. There was no resisting such an appeal as this, so, leaving their ships in charge of their respective mates, both McBain and Silas, in company with our heroes--Sandy McFlail, Seth, and all--they trudged off over the snowy bergs to take dinner in the hut of the bold Yankee astronomer. Very unprepossessing, indeed, was the building to behold from the outside, but no sooner had they entered, than they opened their eyes wide with astonishment. When our young friends had visited it before, the hut looked neither more nor less than a big hall, or rather barn. But now--why, here were all the luxuries of civilised life. The place was divided into ante-room, saloon, and bed-chamber, and each apartment seemed more comfortable than another. The walls of the saloon were covered with rich tapestry, the floor with a soft thick carpet. There were couches and easy-chairs and skins _galore_, and books and musical instruments. A great stove, of American pattern, burned in the centre, giving out warmth and making the room look doubly cheerful, and overhead swung an immense lamp, which shed a soft, effulgent light everywhere, so that one did not miss the windows, of which the hut was _minus_. At one end of this apartment was a dining-table, as well laid and as prettily arranged as if it stood in the dining-hall of a club-room in Pall Mall, and beside the table were two sable waiters clad in white. Captain Cobb seemed to thoroughly enjoy the looks of bewilderment and wonder exhibited on the faces of his guests. "Why," said McBain at last, "pardon me, but you Yankees are about the most wonderful people on the face of the earth." "Waal," said the Yankee, "I guess we like our little comforts, and don't see any harm in having them." "So long's we deserve them," put in Seth, who, at that moment, really felt very proud of being a Yankee. "Bravo! old man," cried his countryman; "let us shake your hand." "And now, gentlemen," he continued, "sit in. I reckon the keen air and the walk have given ye all an appetite." Soups, fish, _entries_, joints--why I do not know what there was not in the bill-of-fare. It was a banquet fit for a king. "I can't make out how you manage it," said McBain. "Do you keep a djin?" Cobb laughed and summoned the cook. If he was not a djin, he was just as ugly. Four feet high--not an inch more--with long arms, black skin, flat face, and no nose at all worth mentioning. He was dressed as a _chef_, however, and very polite, for at a motion from his master, he salaamed very prettily and retired. At dessert the host produced a zither, and, accompanying himself on this beautiful instrument, sang to them. He drawled while talking, but he sang most sweetly, and with a taste and feeling that quite charmed Rory, and held Silas and the doctor spell-bound. He was indeed a wonderful Yankee. "Do you know," said Rory, "I feel for all the world like being in an enchanted cave? Do sing again, if only one song." It is needless to add that our friends spent the evening most enjoyably. It was a red-letter night, and one they often looked back to with pleasure, and talked about as they lay around their snuggery fire, during the long dreary time they spent in the regions round the Pole. "I'm glad, anyhow," said Captain Cobb, as he bade them good-bye on the snow-clad beach, "that I've made it a kind o' pleasant for ye. Don't forget to call as you come back, and if Cobb be here, why, Cobb will bid you welcome. Farewell." By eight bells in next morning watch everything was ready for a start. The dogs--twelve in number--were got on board and duly kennelled, and the old trapper was installed as whipper-in. "But I guess," said Seth, "there won't be much whipping-in in the play. Trapper Seth is one of those rare old birds who know the difference between a dog and a door-knocker. Yes, Seth knows that there's more in a good bed and a biscuit, with a kind word whenever it is needed, than there is in all the cruel whips in existence." The kennelling for the poor animals was got up under the supervision of Ap and Seth himself. It was built on what the trapper called "scientific principles." There was a yard or ran in common for the whole pack; but the large, roomy sleeping compartment had a bench, on which all twelve dogs could sleep or lie at once, yet nevertheless it was divided by boards about a foot high into six divisions. This was to prevent the dogs all tumbling into a heap when the ship rolled. The bedding was straw and shavings; of the former commodity McBain had not forgotten to lay in a plentiful supply before leaving Scotland. There was, besides, a whole tankful of Spratts' biscuits, so that what with these and the ship's scraps, it did not seem at all likely that the dogs would go hungry to bed for some time to come. Seth was now much happier on board than ever he had been, because he had duties to perform and an office to fill, humble though it might be. At half-past eight Silas came on board the _Arrandoon_ to breakfast. Allan and Rory were tramping rapidly up and down the deck to keep themselves warm, for, though the wind was blowing west-south-west, it was bitterly cold, and the "barber" was blowing. The barber is a name given to a light vapoury mist that, when the frost is intense and the wind in pertain directions, is seen rising off the sea in Greenland. I have called it a mist, but it in reality partakes more of the nature of steam, being due to the circumstance of the air being ever so much colder than the surface of the water. Oh! but it is a cold steam--a bitter, biting, killing steam. Woe be to the man who exposes his ears to it, or who does not keep constantly rubbing his nose when walking or sailing in it, for want of precaution in this respect may result in the loss of ears or nose, and both appendages are useful, not to say ornamental. "Good morning," cried Silas, jumping down on to the deck. "The top of the morning to you, friend Silas," said Rory; "how do you feel after your blow-out at Captain Cobb's?" "Fust-rate," said Silas--"just fust-rate; but where is Ralph and the captain?" "Ralph!" said Rory; "why, I don't suppose there is a bit of him to be seen yet, except the extreme tip of his nose and maybe a morsel of his Saxon chin; and as for the captain, he is busy in his cabin. Breakfast all ready, is it, Peter? Thank you, Peter, we're coming down in a jiffy." Just as they entered the saloon by one door, McBain came in by another. "Ah! good morning, Captain Grig," he cried, extending his hand. "Sit down. Peter, the coffee. And now," he continued, "what think you of the prospect? It isn't exactly a fair wind for you to bear up, is it?" "The wind would do," said Silas; "but I'm hardly what you might call tidy enough to bear up yet. It'll take us a week to make off our skins, and a day more to clean up. I'd like to go home not only a bumper ship, but a clean and wholesome sweet ship." "Well, then," McBain said, "here is what I'll do for you." "But you've done so much already," put in Silas, "that really--" "Nonsense, man," cried McBain, interrupting him; "why, it has been all fun to us. But I was going to say that instead of lying here for a week, you had better sail north with us, Spitzbergen way, and my men will help you to make off and tidy up. Who knows but that after that you may get a fair wind to carry you right away south into summer weather in little over a week?" "Bless your heart!" said Silas; "the suggestion is a grand one. I close with your offer at once. You see, sir, we Greenlandmen generally return to harbour all dirty, outside anyhow, with our sides scraped clean o' paint, and our masts and spars as black as a collier's." "_You_ shan't, though," said McBain. "We'll spend a bucket or two of paint over him, won't we, boys?" "That will we," said Ralph and Allan, both in one breath. "And I'll tell you what I'll do," added Rory. "Something nice, I'm certain," said Silas. "I'll paint and gild that Highland lassie of yours that you have for a figure-head." "Glorious! glorious!" cried Silas Grig. "Why, my own wife won't know the ship. And, poor wee body! she'll be down there looking anxiously enough out to sea when she hears I'm in the offing. Oh, it will be glorious! Won't my matie be pleased when he hears about it!" "I say, though," said Rory, "I'll change the pattern of your Highland lassie's tartan. She came to the country a Gordon, she shall return a McGregor." "Or a McFlail," suggested Sandy. "Ha! ha! ha!" This was an impudent, derisive laugh from Cockie's cage, which made everybody else laugh, and caused Sandy to turn red in the face. After breakfast the ice-anchors were cast off and got on board, and sail set. The _Arrandoon_ led, keeping well clear of the ice, and taking a course of north-east and by north. When well off the ice, and everything working free and easy, McBain called all hands, and ordered the men to lay aft. "Men," he said, "you all signed articles to complete the voyage with me to the Polar regions and back. Most of you knew, as you put your names to the paper, what you were about, because you had been here before, but some of you didn't. Now I am by no means short-handed, and if any of you thinks he has had enough of it already, and would like to return to his country, step forward and say so now, and I'll make arrangements with Captain Grig for your passage back." Not a man stirred. "I will take it as a favour," continued the captain, "if any one who has any doubts on his mind will come forward now. I want only willing hands with me." "We _are_ willing, we are willing hands," the men shouted. "Beg your pardon, sir," said bold Ted Wilson, stepping forward, "but I know the crew well. I'm sure they all feel thankful for your kind offer, but ne'er a man Jack o' them would go back, if you offered to pay him for doing so." The captain bowed and thanked Ted, and the men gave one hearty cheer and retired. Once fairly at sea, McBain sent two whalers on board the _Scotia_, their crews rigged out in working dress, and making off was at once commenced. Upright boards were made fast here and there along the decks; the skins, with their two or three inches of blubber attached, were handed up from below, and the men set to work in this way--they stood at one side of the board and spread the skin in front of them on the other; then they leant over, and first cutting off all useless pieces of flesh, etc, they next cleaned the blubber from off the skin. This was by other hands cut into pieces about a foot square, carried away, and sent below to be deposited in the tanks. Other workmen removed the cleaned skins. These were dashed over with rough salt, rolled tightly and separately up, and cast into tanks by themselves. This latter duty devolved upon the mates, and old Silas himself stood, with book in hand, "taking tally," that is, counting the number of skins as they were passed one by one below. The refuse, or "orra bits," as Scotch sailors call them, were thrown overboard by bucketfuls, and over these thousands of screaming gulls fought on the surface of the water, and scores of sharks immediately beneath. It was a busy scene, and one that can only be witnessed in Greenland north. In three days all the skins were made off and stowed away. All this time the men had been as merry as sheep-shearers, and only on the last day did Silas splice the main-brace, even then diluting the rum with warm coffee. Then came the cleaning up, and scouring of decks below and above, and white-washing and mast-scraping. After this McBain sent his painters on board, and in less than four-and-twenty hours she looked like a new ship. And Rory was busy below on the 'tween decks. The Highland lassie had been unshipped, and taken below for him to paint and gild. Rory, mind you, did not wish it to be unshipped. He would have preferred being swung overboard. There would have been more fun in it, he said. But Silas would not hear of such a thing. The cold, he feared, would benumb him so that he might drop off into the sea, to the infinite joy and satisfaction of a gang of unprincipled sharks that kept up with the ship, but to the everlasting sorrow of him, Captain Silas Grig. When the ship was all painted, and the masts scraped and varnished, and the Highland lassie--brightly arrayed in gold and McGregor tartan-- re-shipped, why then, I do not think a prouder or happier man than Silas Grig ever trod a quarter-deck. The day after this everybody on the _Arrandoon_ was busy, busy, busy writing letters for home. They were thus engaged, when a shout came from the crow's-nest,-- "Heavy ice ahead!" It was the ice-bound shores of the southernmost islands of Spitzbergen they had sighted. They passed between several of these, and grandly beautiful they looked, with their fantastically-shaped sides glittering green and blue and white in the sunshine. These islands seemed to be the northern home or summer retreat of the great bladder-nosed seal and the giant walrus. They basked on the smaller bergs that floated around them, while hundreds of strange sea-birds nodded half asleep on the snow-clad rocks. It was here where the two ships parted, the _Canny Scotia_ bearing up for the sunny south, the _Arrandoon_ clewing sails and lighting fires to steam away to The Unknown Land. There were tears in poor Rory's eyes as he shook hands with Silas, and he could not trust himself to say much. Indeed, there was little said on either hand, but the farewell wishes were none the less heartfelt for all that. There is always somewhat of humour mixed up with the sad in life. It was not wanting on this occasion. Silas had brought a servant with him when he came to say adieu. This servant carried with him a mysterious-looking box. It was all he could do to lift it. Seeing McBain look inquiringly at it,-- "It's just a drop of green ginger," said Silas. "When you tap it, boys, when far away from here, you won't forget Silas, I know. I won't forget you, anyhow," he continued; "and look here, boys, if a prayer from such a rough old salt as I am availeth, then Heaven will send you safely home again, and the first to welcome you will be Silas Grig. Good-bye, God be wi' ye." "Good-bye, God be wi' ye." CHAPTER TWENTY NINE. NORTHWARD HO!--HOISTING BEACONS--THE WHITE FOG--THE GREAT SEA-SERPENT. "Good-bye, and God be with you." It was a prayer as heartfelt and fervent as ever fell from the lips of an honest sailor. The _Arrandoon_ steamed away, and soon was hidden from view behind a lofty iceberg, and all that Silas Grig, as he stood on his own quarter-deck, could now hear, was the sad and mournful wail of Peter's bagpipes. Peter was playing that wild and plaintive melody which has drawn tears from so many eyes when our brave Highland regiments were departing for some far-off seat of wax, to be-- "Borne on rough seas to a far-distant shore, Maybe to return to Lochaber no more." "Heigho! matie," sighed Silas, talking to his chief officer and giving orders all in one breath, "I don't think we'll--haul aft the jib-sheet-- ever see them again. I don't think they can--take a pull on the main-brace--ever get back from among that fearful--luff a little, lad, luff--ice, matie. And the poor boys, if any one had told Silas he could have loved them as much as he does in so short a time, he would have laughed in his face. Come below, matie, and we'll have a drop o' green ginger. Keep her close, Mortimer, but don't let her shiver." "Ay, ay, sir," said the man at the wheel. In a few hours the wind got more aft, and so, heading now for more southern climes, away went the _Canny Scotia_, with stun'sails up. I cannot say that she bounded over the waters like a thing of life. No; but she looked as happy and frisky as a plough-horse on a gala day, that has just been taken home from the miry fields, fed and groomed, and dressed with ribbons and started off in a light spring-van with a load of laughing children. But eastwards and north steamed the _Arrandoon_. Indeed, she tried to do all the northing she could, with just as little easting as possible. She passed islands innumerable; islands that we fail to see in the chart, owing, no doubt, to the fact that they are usually covered entirely with ice and snow, and would be taken for immense icebergs. But this was a singularly open year, and there was no mistaking solid rocky land for floating ice. The bearings of all these were carefully put down in the charts--I say charts, because not only the captain and mate, but our young heroes as well, took the daily reckoning, and kept a log, though I am bound in the interests of truth to say that Ralph very often did not write up his log for days and days, and then he impudently "fudged" it from Rory's. "Are you done with my log?" Rory would sometimes modestly inquire of Ralph as he sat at the table busily "fudging." "Not yet, youngster," Ralph would reply; "there, you go away and amuse yourself with your fiddle till I'm done with it, unless you specially want your ears pulled." McBain landed at many of these islands, and hoisted beacons on them. These beacons were simply spare spars, with bunches of light wood lashed to their top ends, so that at some little distance they looked like tall brooms. He hoisted one on the highest peak of every island that lay in his route. They came at length to what seemed the very northernmost and most easterly of these islands, and on this McBain determined to land provisions and store them. It would tend to lighten the ship; and "on the return voyage," said the captain, "if so be that Providence shall protect and spare us, they will be a welcome sight." This done, the voyage was continued, and the sea becoming clearer of ice towards the west, the course was altered to almost due north. The wind drawing round more to the south, the fires were banked, and the vessel put under easy sail. The water all round looked black and deep; but, with all the caution of your true sailor, McBain had two men constantly in the chains to heave the lead, with a watch continually in the crow's-nest to give warning of any sudden change in the colour of the water. More than once such a change was observed, the surface becoming of a yellowish ashen hue away ahead of them. Then the main or fore yard was hauled aback, and a boat despatched to investigate, and it was found that the strange appearance was caused by myriads of tiny shrimplets, what the northern sailor calls "whale's food." Whether this be whale food or not I cannot say for certain, but several times our heroes fell in with a shoal of bottle-noses, disporting themselves among these curious ashen-hued streams. This formed a temptation too great to resist, for the oil would do instead of fuel when they wintered away up in the extreme north. So boats were lowered--not two but four, for these brutes are as wild as the winds and more wily than any old fox. No less than four were "bagged," as Rory called it. They were not large, but the blubber obtained from them was quite sufficient to fill one large tank. The best of it was, that Ralph--big, "plethoric" (another of Rory's pretty words), Saxon Ralph, made quite a hero of himself by manfully guiding his boat towards a floundering monster that was threatening destruction to the third whaler, which was fast to her, and skilfully spearing her at the very nick of time. Rory was in the same boat, and drenched in blood from head to heels though both of them were, he must needs get up and shake his "baby brother" by the hand. "Oh, sure!" said Rory, with tears in his eyes, "it's myself that is proud of the English race, after all. They haven't the fire of the Gael; but only just awaken them!--Dear Ray, you're a broth of a boy, entirely." "What do you think," said McBain, one morning just after breakfast--"what do you think, Rory, I'm going to make to-day?" "Sure, I don't know," said Rory, all interest. "Why, fenders," said McBain. "Fenders?" ejaculated Rory, with wider eyes. "Fenders? troth it'll be fire-irons you'll be making next, sir; but what do you want with fenders?" "You don't take," said Ralph. "It is fenders to throw overboard when the ice is too obtrusive, isn't it, sir?" "That's it," said the captain, laughing. "Sometimes the bergs may be a bit too pressing with their attentions, and then I'll hang these over. That's it." It took nearly a fortnight to complete the manufacture of these fenders or trusses, for each of them was some twelve feet long by three in diameter composed of compressed straw and shielded by knitted ropework. To the captain's foresight in making these fenders, they several times owed the safety of their gallant ship during the winter that followed. A whole month passed away. The sun now set every night, and the still, long day began to get sensibly shorter. The progress northward was hindered by dense white fogs, which at times hugged the ship so closely that, standing by the bowsprit, you could not see the jibboom-end. The vessel, as Sandy McFlail expressed it, seemed enveloped in huge sheets of wet lint. Then the fog would lift partially off and away--in other words, it seemed to retire and station itself at some distance, with the ice looming through it in the most magical way. At these times the ship would be stopped, and our heroes were allowed to take boat exercise around the _Arrandoon_, with strict injunctions not to go beyond a certain distance of the vessel. Their laughing and talking and singing never failed to bring up a seal or two, or a round-eyed wondering walrus, or an inquisitive bladder-nose, but the appearance of these animals, as they loomed gigantic through the fog, was sometimes awful in the extreme. When a malley or gull came sweeping down towards them it looked as big as the fabulous Roc that carried away Sinbad the Sailor, and Rory would throw himself in the bottom of the boat and pretend to be in a terrible fright. [The optical illusions caused among the ice by these fogs are well and humorously described in a book just to hand called "The Voyage of the _Vega_" (Macmillan and Co). I myself wrote on the same subject _thirteen years ago_, in a series of articles on Greenland North.] "Oh! Ray, boy, look at the Roc," he would cry. "I'm come for, sure enough. Do catch hold of me, big brother. Don't let the great baste carry me off. Sure, he'll fly up to the moon with me, as the eagle did with Daniel O'Rourke." I think the fog must have caused delusions in sound as well as sight, else why the following. They were pulling gently about, one day, in the first whaler, when, borne along on the slight breeze that was blowing, came a sound as of happy children engaged at play. The merry laughter and the occasional excited scream or shout were most distinctly audible. "Whatever can it be?" cried Allan, looking very serious, his somewhat superstitious nature for a moment gaining the ascendency. "Sure," said Rory, "you needn't pull so long a face, old man; it's only the childer just got out of school." The "childer" in this instance were birds. "It's much clearer to-day," said Stevenson, one morning, as he made his usual report. "We can see the clouds, and they're all on the scud. I expect we'll have wind soon, sir." "Very well, Mr Stevenson," was the reply, "be ready for it, you know; have the fires lit and banked, and then stand by to get the ice-anchors and fenders on board," (the ship was fast to a berg). "There is a line of ice to the westward, sir, about a quarter of a mile off, and clear water all between." "Thank you, Mr Stevenson." But Stevenson did not retire. He stopped, hesitatingly. "You've something to ask me, I think?" said McBain. "I've something to tell you," replied the mate, with a kind of a forced laugh. "I dare say you will think me a fool for my pains, but as sure as you gentlemen are sitting there at breakfast this morning, about five bells in the middle watch I saw--and every man Jack of us saw--" "Saw what?" said McBain. "Sit down, man; you are looking positively scared." "We saw--_the great Sea-Serpent_!" [What is herein related really occurred as described. I myself was a witness to the event, being then in medical charge of the barque _Xanthus_, recently burned at sea.] McBain did not attempt to laugh him out of his story, but he made him describe over and over again what he had seen; then he called the watch, and examined them verbally man by man, and found they all told the self-same tale, talking soberly, earnestly, and truthfully, as men do who feel they are stating facts. The terrible monster they averred came from the northwards, and was distinctly visible for nearly a minute, passing between the ship and the ice-line which Stevenson had mentioned. They described his length, which could not have been less than seventy or eighty yards, the undulations of his body as he swept along on the surface of the water, the elevated head, the mane and--some added--the awful glaring eyes. It did not come on to blow as the mate predicted, so the ship made no move from her position, but all day long there was but little else talked about, either fore or aft, save the visit of the great sea-serpent, and as night drew on the stories told around the galley fire would have been listened to with interest by any one at all fond of the mysterious and awful. "I mean," said Rory, as he retired, "to turn out as soon as it is light, and watch; the brute is sure to return. I've told Peter to call me." "So shall I," said Allan and the doctor. "So shall I," said Ralph. "Well, boys," said McBain, "I'll keep you company." When they went on deck, about four bells in the middle watch, they were not surprised to find all hands on deck, eagerly gazing towards the spot where they had seen "the maned monster of the deep,"--as poet Rory termed him--disappear. It was a cold, dull cheerless morning; the sun was up but his beams were sadly shorn--they failed to pierce the thick canopy of clouds and mist that overspread the sky, and brought the horizon within a quarter of a mile of them. They could, however, easily see the ice-line--long and low and white. A whole hour passed, and McBain at all events was thinking of going below, when suddenly came a shout from the men around the forecastle. "Look! look! Oh! look! Yonder he rips! There he goes!" Gazing in the direction indicated, the hearts of more than one of our heroes seemed to stand still with a strange, mysterious fear, for there, rushing over the surface of the dark water, the undulated body well-defined against the white ice-edge, was--what else could it be?-- the great sea-serpent! "I can see his mane and head and eyes," cried Rory. "Oh! it is too dreadful." Then a shout from the masthead,-- "He is coming this way." It was true. The maned monster had altered his course, and was bearing straight down upon the _Arrandoon_. No one moved from his position, but there were pale, frightened faces and starting eyes; and though the men uttered no cry, a strange, frightened moan arose, a fearful quavering "Oh-h-h?"--a sound that once heard is never to be forgotten. Next moment, the great sea-serpent, with a wild and unearthly scream, bore down upon the devoted ship, then suddenly resolved itself _into a long flight of sea-birds_ (Arctic divers)! So there you have a true story of the great sea-serpent, but I am utterly at a loss to describe to you the jollity and fun and laughing that ensued, as soon as the ridiculous mistake was discovered. And nothing would suit Ted Wilson but getting up on the top of the bowsprit and shouting,-- "Men of the _Arrandoon_, bold sailors all, three cheers for the great sea-serpent. Hip! hip! hip! Hurrah!!!" Down below dived Ralph, followed by all the others. "Peter! Peter! Peter!" he cried. "Ay, ay, sir," from Peter. "Peter, I'm precious hungry." "And so am I," said everybody. Peter wasn't long in laying the cloth and bringing out the cold meat and the pickles, and it wasn't long either before Freezing Powders brought hot coffee. Oh! didn't they do justice to the good things, too! "I dare say," said the doctor, "this is our breakfast." "Ridiculous!" cried Ralph, "ridiculous! It's only a late supper, doctor. We'll have breakfast just the same." "A vera judeecious arrangement," said Sandy. CHAPTER THIRTY. LAND HO! THE ISLE OF DESOLATION--THE LAST BLINK OF SUNSHINE--THE AURORA BOREALIS--STRANGE ADVENTURE WITH A BEAR. "Well, Magnus," said Captain McBain one day to his old friend, "what think you of our prospects of gaining the North Pole, or your mysterious island of Alba?" Magnus was seated at the table in the captain's own room, with an old yellow, much-worn chart spread out before him, the only other person in the cabin, save these two, being Rory, who, with his chin resting on his hands and his elbows on the table, was listening with great interest to the conversation. "Think of it?" replied the weird wee man, looking up and glaring at McBain through his fierce grey eyebrows. "Think of it, sir? Why we are nearly as far north now as _we_ were in 1843. We'll reach the Isle of Alba, sir, if--" "If what, good Magnus?" asked McBain, as the old man paused. "If what?" "If that be all you want," answered Magnus. "Nay, nay, my faithful friend," cried the captain, "that isn't all. We want to reach the Pole, to plant the British flag thereon, and return safely to our native shores again." "So you will, so you will," said Magnus, "if--" "What, another `if,' Magnus?" said McBain. "What does this new `if' refer to?" "If," continued Magnus, "Providence gives us just such another autumn as that we have had this year. If not--" "Well, Magnus, well?" "We will leave our bones to lie among the eternal snows until the last trump shall sound." After a pause, during which McBain seemed in deep and earnest thought. "Magnus," he said, "my brave boys and I have determined to push on as far as ever we can. We have counted all the chances, we mean to do our utmost, and we leave the rest to Providence." Allan had entered while he was speaking, and he said, as the captain finished,-- "Whatever a man dares he can do." "Brave words, my foster-son," replied McBain, grasping Allan's hand, "and the spirit of these words gained for the English nation the victory in a thousand fights." "Besides, you know," added Rory, looking unusually serious, "it is sure to come right in the end." The _Arrandoon_, wonderful to relate, had now gained the extreme altitude of 86 degrees north latitude, and although winter was rapidly approaching, the sea was still a comparatively open one. Nor was the cold very intense; the frosts that had fled away during the short Arctic summer had not yet returned. The sea between the bergs and floes was everywhere calm; they had passed beyond the region of fogs, and, it would almost seem, beyond the storm regions as well, for the air was windless. So on they steamed steadily though slowly, never relaxing their vigilance; so careful, indeed, in this respect was McBain, that the man in the chains as well as the "nest hand" were changed every hour, and only old and tried sailors were permitted to go on duty on these posts. "Land ahead!" was the shout one day from the nest. The day, be it remembered, was now barely an hour long. "Land ahead on the port bow!" "What does it look like, Mr Stevenson?" cried the captain. The mate had run up at the first hail. "I can just see the tops of a few hills, sir," was the reply, "towering high over the icebergs." The _Arrandoon_ bore away for this strange land. In three hours' time they were lying off one of the dreariest and most desolate-looking islands it has ever been the lot of mariners to behold. It looked like an island of some worn-out planet, whose internal fires have gone for ever out, from which life has long since fled, which possesses no future save the everlasting night of silence and death. Some slight repairs were required in the engine-room, so the _Arrandoon_ lay here for a week. "To think," said McBain, as he stood on the bridge one day with our heroes, "that in the far-distant past that lonely isle of gloom was once clad in all the bright colour of tropical vegetation, with wild beasts roaming in its jungles and forests, and wild birds filling its groves with music,--an island of sunshine, flowers, and beauty! And now behold it." An expedition was got up to explore the isle, and to climb its highest peak to make observations. McBain himself accompanied it, so did Allan, Rory, and Seth. It was no easy task, climbing that snowy cone by the light of stars and Aurora. But they gained the summit ere the short, short day broke. To the north and west they saw land and mountains, stretching away and away as far as eye could follow them. To the east and north water studded with ugly icebergs that looked as if they had broken away from the shores of the western land. "But what is that in the middle of yonder ice-floe to the south and west?" cried Rory. "As I live," exclaimed McBain, as he eyed the object through the glass, "it is a ship of some kind, evidently deserted; and it is quite as evident that we are not the only explorers that have reached as far north as this island." The mystery was explained next day, and a sad story brought to light. McBain and party landed on the floe and walked towards the derelict. She was sloop-rigged, with sails all clewed, and her hull half hidden in snow. After a deal of difficulty they succeeded in opening one of the companion hatches, and making their way down below. No less than five unburied corpses lay huddled together in the little cabin. From their surroundings it was plain they had been walrus-hunters, and it was not difficult to perceive that the poor fellows had died from cold and hunger _many, many years before_. Frozen in, too far up in this northern sea, they had been unable to regain the open water, and so had miserably perished. Next day they returned and laid the mortal remains of these unfortunate men in graves in the snow, and even Rory was much more silent and thoughtful than usual as they returned to the ship. Was it not possible that they might meet with a similar fate? The poor fellows they had just buried had doubtless possessed many home ties; their wives and mothers had waited and wished a weary time, till at long last the heart had grown sick with hope deferred, and maybe the grave had long since closed over them. Such were some of Rory's thoughts, but after dinner McBain "brought him up with a round turn," as he phrased it. "Rory," he cried, "go and play to us. Freezing Powders, you young rascal, bring that cockatoo of yours up on the table and make us laugh." Rory brightened up and got hold of his fiddle; and "All right, sah," cried Freezing Powders. "I bring de old cockatoo plenty quick. Come along, Cockie, you catchee my arm and pull yourse'f up. Dat's it." "Come on," cried Cockie, hopping on the table and at once commencing to waltz and polka round. "Come on; play up, play up." A queer bird was Cockie. He cared for nobody except his master and Rory. Rory he loved solely on account of the fiddle, but his affection for Freezing Powders was very genuine. When his master was glad, so was Cockie; when the little nigger boy felt tired, and threw himself down beside the cage to rest, then Cockie would open his cage door and back tail foremost under the boy's arm, heaving as he did so a deep, delighted sigh, as much as to say, "Oh, what joy it is to nestle in here?" Cockie was not a pretty bird; his bill was worn and all twisted awry, and his eyes looked terribly old-fashioned, and the blue, wrinkled skin around them gave him quite an antediluvian look. He was white in colour--or, more correctly speaking, he had been white once; but time, that steals the roses from the softest cheeks, had long since toned him down to a kind of yellow lilac, so he did not look a very respectable bird on the whole. "You ought to wash him," McBain said, one day. "Wash him, sah?" said Freezing Powders; "is dat de 'xpression you make use of, sah? Bless you, sah! I have tried dat plenty much often; I have tried to wash myself, too. No good in eeder case, sah; I 'ssure you I speak de truf." "Come on I come on?" cried Cockie. "Play up! play up! La de lal, de lal, de lal!" And round spun the bird, keeping time to the merry air, and every now and then giving a "whoop?" such as could only be emitted by Cockie himself, a Connemara Irishman, or a Cuscarora Indian. But this is a remarkable thing, Cockie danced and whirled in one direction till he found his head getting light, then he reversed the action, and whirled round the other way! [This description of the wonderful bird is in no way overdrawn.] It really seemed as if he would tire Rory out. "Lal de dal!" he sung: "our days are short--whoop!--our lives are merry--lal de dal, de dal, de _whoop_!" But Rory changed his tactics; he began to play _The Last Rose of Summer_, leaning down towards the table. Cockie stopped at once, and backed, tail foremost, in under the musician's hands, crouching down with a sigh to listen. But Rory went off again into the _Sprig of Shillelagh_, and off went Cockie, too, dancing more madly than ever with a small flag in his mouth that Freezing Powders had handed him. Then he stopped at last, and walked about gasping, pitching penholders and pencils in all directions. "Here's a pretty to-do!" he said; and when somebody laughed, Cockie simply shrieked with laughter till he had everybody joining him and holding their sides, and feeling sore all over. Verily, Cockie was a cure! No wonder his master loved him. In a few days the _Arrandoon_ left the desolate island, which Rory had named "Walrus Isle." Everybody was on deck as the vessel slowly steamed away. Most of the land was already shrouded in gloom, only in the far distance a tall mountain cone was all ablaze with a crimson glory, borrowed from the last blink of sunshine. Yes, the god of day had sunk to rest, and they would bask no more in his cheering beams for many a long and weary month to come. "Give us a bass, Ray, old boy!" cried Rory; "and you, doctor, a tenor." And he started,-- "Shades of evening, close not o'er us, Leave our lonely bark awhile, Morn, alas! will not restore us Yonder dim and distant isle." Ah, reader! what a glorious thing music is; I tell you, honestly and truthfully, that I do not believe I could have come through half the trials and troubles and griefs and worries I have had in life, if I had not at times been able to seek solace and comfort from my old cremona. Our heroes thought at first they would greatly miss the light of the sun, but they soon got quite used to the strange electric light emitted by the splendid Aurora, combined with that which gleamed more steadily downwards from the brilliant stars. These stars were seen to best advantage in the south; they seemed very large and very near, and whether it was the reflection of the Aurora, or whether it was real, I never could tell, but they seemed to shine with differently coloured lights. There were pure white stars, mostly low on the horizon; there were crimson and green changing stars, and yellow and rose-coloured changing stars, and some of a pale-golden hue, the soft light of which was inexpressibly lovely. But any effort of mine to paint in words the extreme beauty of the heavens on clear nights would prove but a painful failure, so I leave it alone. The chief bow of the Aurora is, I may just mention, composed apparently of spears of ever-changing rainbow-coloured light continually falling back into masses and phalanxes, and anon advancing and clashing, as it were. While walking on the ice-fields, if you listen, you can hear a strange whispering, hissing sound emitted from these clashing, mixing spears. The following letters, whispered rapidly, give some faint idea of this mysterious sound,-- "Ush-sh-sh-sh-sh-sh-sh." You can also produce a somewhat similar noise by rubbing your fingers swiftly backwards and forwards on a sheet of paper. But indeed the whole firmament, when the sky was clear, was precisely as Rory described it--"one beautiful poem." Many bears were now seen, and nearly all that were seen were killed. They were enormously large and fierce, foolishly fierce indeed, for they seldom thought of taking to flight. There were unicorns (narwhals) in the sea in scores, and walruses on the flat ice by the dozen. It was after these latter that Master Bruin came prowling. A nice juicy walrus-steak a Greenland bear will tell you is the best thing in the world for keeping the cold out. Old trapper Seth had strange ways of hunting at times. One example must suffice. Our heroes had been out after a walrus which they had succeeded in killing. A bear or two had been seen an hour or two before that, evidently on the prowl, and probably very hungry. Now, nothing will fetch these kings of the northern ice more surely than the scent of blood. "Young gentlemen," said Seth, "there's a b'ar about somewheres, and I reckon he ain't far off either. Now, we'll just whip this old walrus out o' his skin, and Seth will creep in, and you'll see what you'll see." He was very busy with his knife as he spoke, and in a few minutes the crang was got out and thrown into the water, the head being left on. Into the skin crept the trapper, lying down at full length with his rifle close by his side, and by his directions away pulled the boat. It was not two hundred yards off, when up out of the sea scrambled a huge bear. "Hullo," says Bruin, shaking himself like a dozen great Newfoundland dogs rolled into one--"hullo! they've killed the wallie and left him. Now won't I have a blow-out just?" and he licked his great chops in anticipation. "Dear me?" continued Bruin, as the walrus turned right round and confronted him; "why, they haven't quite killed you! Never mind, wallie, I'll put you out of pain, and I'll do it ever so gently. Then I'll just have one leetle bite out of your loin, you know." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "I guess you won't this journey," said Seth, bringing his rifle into position as the bear prepared to spring. "I reckon it'll be the other way on, and b'ar's steak ain't to be sneezed at when it's nicely cooked." Bang! It was very soon over with that poor bear; he never even changed the position into which he had thrown himself, but lay there dead, with his great head on his paws like a gigantic dog asleep. CHAPTER THIRTY ONE. A COUNCIL--PREPARING FOR WINTER QUARTERS--THE ISLE OF ALBA AND ITS MAMMOTH CAVES--MAGNUS'S TALE--AT HIS BOY'S GRAVE. The word "canny" is often applied to Scotchmen in a somewhat disparaging sense by those who do not know the meaning of the word, nor the true character of the people on whom they choose to fix the epithet. The word is derived from "can," signifying knowledge, ability, skill, etc, and probably a corruption of the Gaelic "caen" (head). The Scotch are pre-eminently a thinking nation, and, as a rule, they are individually skilful in their undertakings; they like to look before they leap, they like to know what they have to do before they begin, but having begun, they work or fight with all their life and power. It was "canniness" that won for Robert Bruce the Battle of Bannockburn, it was the canniness of Prince Charles Stuart that enabled him to defeat Sir John Cope at the Battle of Dunbar. There is no nation in the world possesses more "can" than the Scotch, although they are pretty well matched by the Germans. Prince Bismarck is the canniest man of the century. "A Berlin! A Berlin!" was the somewhat childish cry of the volatile Gaul, when war broke out betwixt his sturdy neighbour and him. Yes, fair France, go to Berlin if you choose, only first and foremost you have to overthrow--what? Oh! only one man. A very old one, too. Yonder he is, in that tent in the corner of a field, seated at a table, quietly solving, one would almost think, a chess problem. And so it is, but he is playing the game with living men, and every move he makes is carefully studied. That old man in the tent, to which the wires converge from the field of battle, is General von Moltke, the best soldier that the world has ever known since the days of Bonaparte and Wellington, and the _canniest_. But the word "canny" never implies over-frugality or meanness, and I believe my readers will go a long way through the world, without meeting a Scotchman who would not gladly share the last sixpence he had in the world to benefit a friend. Our Captain McBain was canny in the true sense of the word, and it was this canniness of his that induced him to call his officers, and every one who could think and give an opinion, into the saloon two days after the events described in the last chapter. After making a short speech, in which he stated his own ideas freely, he called upon them to express theirs. "If," he concluded, "you think we have gone far enough north with the ship, here, or near here, we will anchor; if you think we ought to push on, I will take that barrier of ice to the north-east, and push and bore and forge and blast my way for many miles farther, and it may be we will strike the open water around the Pole, if such open water exists." "We are now," said Stevenson, after consulting for a short time with the second mate, with Magnus, and De Vere the aeronaut--"we are now nearly 88 degrees north and 76 degrees west from the meridian; the season has been a wonderful one, but will we have an open summer to find our way back again if we push on farther?" "No," cried old Magnus, with some vehemence; "no, such seasons as these come but once in ten years." "I see how the land lies," said McBain, smiling, "and I am glad that we are all of the same way of thinking. Well, gentlemen, this decides me; we shall winter where we are." "Hurrah!" cried Stevenson; "we wouldn't have gone contrary to your wishes for the world, captain, but I'm sure we will be all delighted to go into winter quarters." After this the _Arrandoon_ was kept away more to the west, where the water was clearer of bergs, and where mountainous land was seen to lie. They steamed along this land or shore for many miles, although lighted only by the bright silvery stars and the gleaming Aurora. They came at length to a small landlocked bay or gulf, entirely filled with flat ice. The ship was stopped, and all hands ordered away to a clear a passage by means of ice-saws and torpedoes. After many hours of hard work this was successfully accomplished, and the vessel was warped in till she lay close under the lee of the braeland, that rose steeply up from the surface of the sea. Those braes were to the north and west of them, and would help to shelter the ship from at least one of the coldest winds. "Well, boys," said McBain that day as they sat down to dinner, and he spoke more cheerfully than he had done since the departure of the _Scotia_,--"well, boys, here we are safe and snug in winter quarters. How do you like the prospect of living here for three months without ever catching a blink of the sun?" "I for one don't mind it a bit," said Allan. "It'll do us all good; but won't we be glad to see the jolly visage of old Sol again, when he peeps over the hills to see whether we are dead or alive!" "I'm sure," said Rory, "that I will enjoy the fun immensely." "What fun?" asked Ralph. "Why, the new sensation," replied Rory; "a winter at the Pole." "You're not quite there yet," said Ralph; "but as for me, I think I'll enjoy it too, though of course winter in London would be more lively. Why, what is that green-looking stuff in those glasses, doctor?" "That's your dram," said Sandy. "Why it's lime-juice," cried Rory, tasting his glass and making a face. "So it is," said Ralph. "Where are the sugar-plums, doctor?" "Yes," cried Rory; "where are the plums? Oh!" he continued, "I have it--a drop of Silas Grig's green ginger, steward, quick." And every day throughout the winter, when our heroes swallowed their dose of lime-juice, they were allowed a tiny drop of green ginger to put away the taste, and as they sipped it, they never failed to think and talk of honest Silas. And lime-juice was served out by the surgeon to all hands. They knew well it was to keep scurvy at bay, so they quietly took their dose and said nothing. The sea remained open for about a week longer, and scores of bears were bagged. [These animals are said to bury themselves in the snow during winter, and sleep soundly for two or three months. This, however, is doubtful.] This seemed, indeed, to be the autumn home of the King of the Ice. Then the winter began to close in in earnest, and all saving the noonday twilight deserted them. The sky, however, remained clear and starry, and many wonderful meteors were seen almost nightly shooting across the firmament, and for a time lighting up the strange and desolate scene with a brightness like the noon of day. The Aurora was clearer and more dazzling after the frost came, so that as far as light was concerned the sun was not so much missed. On going on deck one morning our heroes were astonished to find a light gleaming down upon them from the maintop, of such dazzling whiteness that they were fain, for the moment, to press their hands against their eyes. It was an electric candle, means for erecting which McBain had provided himself with before leaving the Clyde. So successful was he with his experiment that the sea of ice on the one hand, and the braeland on the other, seemed enshrouded in gloom. Rory gazed in ecstasy, then he must needs walk up to McBain and shake him enthusiastically by the hand, laughing as he remarked,-- "'Deed, indeed, captain, you're a wonderful man. Whatever made you think of this? What a glorious surprise. Have you any more in store for us? Really! sir, I don't know what your boys would do without you at all at all." Thus spoke impulsive young Rory, as McBain laughingly returned his hand-shake, while high overhead the new light eclipsed the radiance of the brightest stars. But what is that strange, mournful cry that is heard among the hills far up above them? It comes nearer and still more near, and then out from the gloom swoops a gigantic bird. Attracted by the light, it has come from afar, and now keeps wheeling round and round it. Previously there had not been a bird visible for many days, but now, curious to relate, they come in hundreds, and even alight close by the ship to feed on the refuse that has been thrown overboard. "It is strange, isn't it, sir?" said Rory. "It is, indeed," replied McBain, adding, after a pause, "Rory, boy, I've got an idea." "Well," said Rory, "I know before you mention it that it is a good one." "Ah! but," said McBain, "I'm not going to mention it yet awhile." "I vill vager," said the aeronaut, who stood beside them, gazing upwards at the bright light and the circling birds--"I vill vager my big balloon dat de same idea has struck me myself." "Whisper," said the captain. The aeronaut did so, and McBain burst out laughing. "How funny!" he remarked; "but you are perfectly right, De Vere; only keep it dark for a bit." "Oh yes," said De Vere, laughing in turn; "very dark; as dark as--" "Hush?" cried McBain, clapping a hand on his mouth. "How tantalising!" said Rory. "You'll know all about it in good time," McBain said; "and now, boys, we've got to prepare for winter in right good earnest. Duty before pleasure, you know. Now here is what I propose." What he did propose was set about without loss of time. Little Ap was summoned aft. "Can you build barrows?" asked McBain. Little Ap took an immense pinch of snuff before he replied. "I have built many a boat," he said, "but never a barrow. But look, you see, with the help of the cooper and the carpenters I can build barrows by the dozen. Yes, yes, sir." "Bravo, Ap!" cried McBain; "then set about it at once, for we are all going to turn navvies. We are going," he added, "to excavate a cave half-way up that brae yonder on the starboard quarter. It will be big enough, Ap, to hold the whole ship's crew, officers and all. It will be a glorious shelter from the cold, and it will--" "Stop," cried Sandy McFlail. "Beg your pardon, sir, but let me finish the sentence: it will give the men employment and keep sickness away." "That's it, my worthy surgeon," said McBain. "Bravo!" said Sandy. "I look upon that now as--" Sandy paused and reddened a little. "As a vera judeecious arrangement," said Rory, laughing. "Out with it, Sandy, man." Rory edged off towards the door of the saloon as he spoke; the doctor kicked over his chair and made a dart after him, but Rory had fled. Hardly, however, was the surgeon re-seated ere his tormentor keeked in again. "Eh! mon, Sandy McFlail," he cried; "you'll want to take a lot more salt in your porridge, mon, before ye can catch Rory Elphinston." On the hillside, fifty feet above the sea level, they commenced operations, and in a fortnight's time the cave was almost completed; and not only that, but a beautiful staircase leading up to it. The soil was not hard after the outer crust was tapped, although some veins of quartz were alighted upon which required to be blasted. Several times they came across the trunks of huge trees that seemed to have been scorched by fire, the remains, doubtless, of the primeval forest that had once clad these hills with a sea of living green. Nor were bones wanting; some of immense size were turned up and carefully preserved. Rory made a careful study of the remains of the animal and vegetable life which were found, and the result of this was his painting two pictures representing the Past and Present of the strange land where their vessel now lay. The one represented the _Arrandoon_ lying under bare poles and yards in the ice-locked bay, with the wild mountainous land beyond, peak rising o'er peak, and crag o'er crag, all clad in the garments of eternal winter, and asleep in the uncertain light of the countless stars and the radiant Aurora. But the other picture! Who but Rory--who but an artist-poet could have painted that? There are the same formations of hill and dale, the same towering peaks and bold bluffs, but neither ice nor snow is there; the glens and valleys are clad in waving forests; flowers and ferns are there; lichens, crimson and white, creep and hang over the brown rocks; happy birds are in the sky; bright-winged butterflies seem flitting in the noonday sunshine, and strange animals of monstrous size are basking on the sea-shore. Rory's pictures were admired by all hands, but the artist had his private view to begin with, and, among others like privileged, aft came weird old Magnus. First he was shown the picture of the Past. He gazed at it long and earnestly, muttering to himself, "Strange, strange, strange." But no sooner was the companion picture placed before him, than he started from the chair on which he had been sitting. "I was right! I was right?" he cried. "Oh! bless you, boy Rory; bless you, Captain McBain. This--this is the Isle of Alba. Yonder are the dear hills. I thought I could not be mistaken, and not far off are the mammoth caves. I can guide you, gentlemen, to the place where lies wealth untold. This is the happiest day of old Magnus's life." "Sit down, Magnus," said McBain, kindly; "sit down, my old sea-dad. Gentlemen, gather round us; Magnus has something to tell us I know. Magnus," he continued, taking the old man's thin and withered hand in his, "I have often thought you knew more about this Isle of Alba than you cared to tell. What is the mystery? You have spoken so often about these mammoth caves. How know you there is wealth of ivory lying there?" "I have no story to relate," said Magnus, talking apparently to himself; "only a sad reminiscence of a voyage I took years and years ago to these same dreary latitudes. I had a son with me, a son I loved for his dead mother's sake and his own. I commanded a sloop--'twas but a sloop--and we sailed away from Norwegian shores in search of the ivory mines. We reached this very island. The year was an open one, just like this; myself and my brave fellows found ivory in abundance; in such abundance that our sloop would not carry a thousandth part of it, for, gentlemen, in ages long gone by, this island and those around it were the homes of the mammoth and the mastodon. We collected all the ivory and placed it in one cave. How I used to gloat over my treasure! It was all for my boy. He would be the richest man in Northern Europe. My boy, my dear boy, with his mother's eyes! I had only to go back to Norway with my sloop and charter a large vessel, and return to the Isle of Alba for my buried treasure." Here poor old Magnus threw his body forward and covered his face with his skinny hands, and the tears welled through his fingers, while his whole form was convulsed with sobs. "My boy--died!" was all he could utter. "He sleeps yonder--yonder at the cave's mouth. Yonder--yonder. To-morrow I will guide you to the cave, and we will see my boy." The old man seemed wandering a little. "I would sleep now," he added. "To-morrow--to-morrow." There was a strange light in Magnus's eye next day when he joined the search party on deck, and a strange flush on his cheek that seemed to bode no good. "I'll see my boy," he kept repeating to himself, as he led the way on shore. "I'll see my boy." He walked so fast that his younger companions could hardly keep pace with him. Along the shore and upwards through a glen, round hills and rocks, by many a devious path, he led them on and on, till they stood at last at the foot of a tall perpendicular cliff, with, close beside it, a spar or flagstaff. They knew now that Magnus had not been raving, that they were no old man's dream, these mammoth caves, but a glorious reality. "Quick, quick," cried Magnus, pointing to a spot at the foot of the spar. "Clear away the snow." Our heroes were hardly prepared for the sight that met their eyes, as soon as Magnus had been obeyed, for there, encased in a block of crystal ice, lay the form of a youth of probably sixteen summers, dressed in the blue uniform of a Norwegian sailor, with long fair hair floating over his shoulders. Time had wrought no change on the face; this lad, though buried for twenty years, seemed even now only in a gentle slumber, from which a word or touch might awake him. "My boy! my boy!" was the cry of the old man, as he knelt beside the grave, kissed the cold ice, and bedewed it with his tears. "Look up, look up; 'tis your father that is bending over you. But no, no, no; he'll never speak nor smile again. Oh! my boy, my boy!" Rory was in tears, and not he alone, for the roughest sailor that stood beside the grave could not witness the grief of that old man unmoved. McBain stepped forward and placed his hand kindly on his shoulder. Magnus turned his streaming eyes just once upwards to his captain's face, then he gave vent to one long, sobbing sigh, threw out his arms, and dropped. Magnus was no more. They made his grave close to that of his boy's, and there, side by side, these twain will sleep till the sea gives up its dead. CHAPTER THIRTY TWO. THE TERRIBLE SNOWSTORM--SOMETHING LIKE AN AQUARIUM--THE MAMMOTH CAVES AND THEIR STARTLING TREASURES--THE JOURNEY POLEWARDS--COLLAPSE OF THE BALLOON--"GOD SAVE THE QUEEN." Four long months have passed away since poor old Magnus dropped dead on the grave of his son. The sun has once more appeared above the horizon, bringing joy to the hearts of the officers and crew of the _Arrandoon_. Despite every effort to keep their spirits up, the past winter has been a weary one. Had the stars always shone, had the glorious Aurora always flickered above them, it might have been different; but shortly after the cave was finished and furnished, divided into compartments, and made comfortable with chairs and sofas, and carpets and skins, a terrible storm came on them from the north-west. Never had our young heroes, never had McBain himself, known such cold, or such fierce winds and depth of snow. For three whole weeks did this Arctic storm rage, and during this time it would have been certain death for any one to have ventured ten yards from the mouth of the cavern. But the wind fell at last, the clouds dispersed, and once more the goodly stars shone forth, and the bright Aurora. Then they ventured to creep out from their friendly shelter. The Arctic night seemed now as bright as day; they could hardly believe that the sun was not hidden behind some of those quartz-like clouds, that were still banked up on the south-eastern horizon. But where was the ship? where was their lordly _Arrandoon_? For a moment it seemed as if the ice had opened and swallowed her up. They rubbed their wondering eyes and looked again. Three silver streaks glimmering against the dark blue of the sky represented her topmasts; all the rest of her was buried beneath the snow. And as far as they could see seaward it was all a waste of smooth dazzling white, with here and there only the points and peaks of the icebergs appearing above it. As soon as the snow had sunk, which it soon did many feet, McBain had got his crew ready to start for the mammoth mines. The weather had continued fine, only there were whole weeks during which the wind blew so cuttingly fierce that no work or walking either could be attempted. The troglodytes--an expression of Rory's--were, therefore, a good deal confined to their cave, and it was well for them then that they had books to read and the wherewithal to amuse themselves in many other ways. The following is a remark that Rory had made to Ralph and Allan one day, after nearly three months of the winter had passed away. "Which of you troglodytes is going with me to-morrow to see the sun rise?" "Not I, thanks," said Ralph. "Pass the ham, old man; that bit of bear-steak was a treat." "I'll go," said Allan. "Hurrah!" cried Rory. "It is you that's the brave boy after all. We'll have friend Seth, too, and the dogs. It's the first time they've been out; it will do us all good." This sledging-party had been a merry one, but they were obliged to leave the dogs at the foot of the mountain, and climb, as best they could, to the top, where, sure enough, they were soon rewarded by a glimpse, just one thrilling glimpse, of the king of day. They could not refrain from shouting aloud with joy. They shouted and cheered, and though, well-nigh three miles from the cave, the troglodytes there heard it, so intense was the silence, and gave them back shout for shout and cheer for cheer. They had seen something, though, from the hill-top that had very much astonished them. In the centre of this curious island, and entirely surrounded by mountains, was a lake of open water, as black as ink it looked in contrast with the snow-clad braeland around it, and right in the centre thereof played an enormous geyser, or natural fountain. It was evidently of volcanic origin. The days got longer and longer, and in five months from the time they had entered the cave day and night were about equal. But I must not omit telling you of the strange experiment that had suggested itself to McBain while gazing upwards at the birds--lured from afar--circling round the electric light. It was nothing more nor less than that of paying a visit, by means of a diving-bell and the electric light, to the denizens of the deep--the creatures that lived in the ocean under the ice. Everything was got ready under the supervision of the aeronaut, ably assisted by the carpenter and crew and little Ap. The bell itself was an immense one, and most carefully constructed to float or sink at will. Inside it was quite as comfortable as the room in the lift of some of our large hotels. Ralph seldom went far out of his way in search of adventure, but this new and wonderful experiment seemed to possess an irresistible charm even for him. As for Rory, he was, as Sandy McFlail said, "half daft" over the idea. McBain was most careful in seeing that everything was in working order; and the bell was sunk and re-sunk empty a dozen times in the water before he would allow any one to venture down in it. The snow had been previously cleared away all from and around the ship, and an immense ice-hole made for the purpose of conducting the experiment. When all seemed safe, and it was found that the bell, sunk to a depth of forty feet, was acted on by no current, but rose straight to the surface of the ice-hole when wanted, then the captain himself and De Vere ventured down. They remained beneath for fully twenty minutes--and anxious minutes they were to those on the surface; then the signal to hoist was given, and presently up bobbed the bell, and was raised to the level by the derrick, when out stepped De Vere and McBain. "Smiling all over, sure!" said Rory, "and looking as clean and sweet and pretty as if they'd just popped out of a band-box." The diving-bell was called "the band-box" after this. But it was after dark that the real experiment was to take place. "Troth!" said Rory at dinner that day, "will you fellows never have done eating? It's myself that is longing to get away down to the bottom of the sea." The four of them entered the band-box--Allan, Ralph, the doctor, and Rory; then they were slowly lowered down--down--down amid a darkness that could be felt. But presently a green glimmer of light shone in through the strong window of the bell; they could see each other's faces. The light got stronger and stronger as the electric ball came nearer and nearer, till at last it stopped stationary about twelve yards from their window, making the sea all round, beneath, and above it as bright as noon. "Yonder is the stage, boys," cried Rory; "but where are the performers?" They had not long to wait for these. Fish, first of the smaller kinds, came sailing round the light; presently these fled in all directions, and a monster shark took up the room. He soon had company, for dozens of others came floating around, and not sharks only, but creatures of more hideous forms than anything even Rory could have imagined in his wildest dreams. "Oh!" cried the young poet, "if Gustave Dore were only here to see this terrible sight!" "It beats," said Sandy, "the Brighton Aquarium all to pieces. Oh?" he screamed, shrinking into a corner of the band-box, as a huge hammer-headed shark sidled up to the window, crooked his awful eyes, and stared in. "Oh, Rory, man, signal quick! I want to get up out o' here. No more divin'-bells for me, lad." For nearly six weeks it became the regular custom to visit this submarine vivarium every night after dinner. "It was just as good," Ralph and Allan said, "as going to a show." "And a deal better," added Rory. Even the mates and the crew begged for a peep at the wonders displayed in the depths of the illuminated sea. "Well," said Ted Wilson, when he ascended after his first view, "I'm a sadder and a wiser man, and I'll dream of what I've seen this night as long as ever I live." They found the mouth of the mammoth cave, near which lay all that was mortal of poor old Magnus and his son, after days and days of digging; but when at long last they succeeded in forcing an entrance, one glance around them proved that they had indeed fallen upon riches and wealth untold. Those vast tusks and teeth of the mighty monsters of an age long past and gone were of the purest ivory, more white and hard than any they had ever seen before. "Why, sure," said Rory, "the cave of Aladdin was nothing to this!" "The next thing, gentlemen," said the captain, "is to transport our treasure to the good ship _Arrandoon_. Seth, old friend, your dogs will be wanted now in good earnest." "I reckon," replied Seth, "they're all ready, sir, and just mad enough to eat each other's collars, 'cause they don't get anything to do." What a change it was to have sunshine and a comparative degree of warmth again. Rough and toilsome enough was the road between the ship and the mammoth cave, but the snow was crisp and hard. The dogs were wild with delight, and so were our heroes, and so hard did everybody work all day that no one thought any more about the diving-bell and the denizens of the deep. After dinner they needed rest. Rory took his boat, or canoe, with him once or twice, and, all alone, he embarked on the volcanic lake and paddled round the geyser. In three weeks from the day they had found the entrance to the cave they had transported all the ivory to the _Arrandoon_. They were now what Silas would have called a "bumper ship." If they should succeed in regaining their own country, Rory would be able to live all his days in peace and comfort, independent of the whims of his Irish tenantry, and Allan--ah, yes, poor Allan!--began to dream of home now. Already, in imagination, he saw Glentruim a fair and smiling valley, every acre of it tilled, comfortable cottages sending their blue smoke heavenwards from the green birchen woods, a new and beautiful church, and the castle restored, himself once more resuming his rights of chief of his clan, and his dear mother and sister honoured and respected by all. "I'll roast an ox whole, boys!" he cried, one evening, jumping up from the sofa in the snuggery, where he had been lying thinking and dreaming of the future. "A whole ox; nothing less!" Rory and Ralph burst out laughing. "A vera judeecious arrangement!" cried Sandy. "But where will ye get the ox? I'm getting tired o' bear-beef, and wouldn't mind a slice out of a juicy stot's rump." "Oh, dear!" said Allan, smiling; "I forgot you hadn't been following the train of my thoughts. I was back again in Arrandoon." "Hurrah!" cried Rory. "Gather round the fire, boys; sit in, captain; sit in, Sandy; let us talk about home and what we all will do when we get there." Little, little did they know then the hardships that were in store for them. Summer had fairly set in, but as yet there were not the slightest signs of the ice breaking up. Several balloon flights were made, the aeronaut always making most careful calculations for days before starting, and generally succeeding in catching a favourable time. Then the principal adventure of the whole cruise was undertaken--a great sledging journey towards the Pole itself. The sledges, specially prepared for the purpose, were got out and carefully loaded with everything that would be found necessary. For a time the _Arrandoon_ was to be left with but a few hands, or "ship-keepers," as they are called, on her. The great snowstorm of the previous winter McBain judged, and rightly too, would be in favour of the expedition; it smoothed the roughness of the ice, and made sledging even pleasurable. De Vere had two sledges, devoted to carrying his balloon and the means wherewith to inflate it. Ted Wilson was left in charge of the ship, with little Ap, the cook, and carpenter's crew, to say nothing of little Freezing Powders and Cockie. "If you do find the North Pole," cried Ted Wilson, as a parting salutation to one of his companions, "do fair Johnick, Bill, fair Johnick--bring us a bit." I have to tell of no terrible hardships or sufferings experienced by our heroes during this memorable sledge journey. They accomplished on an average about twelve miles a day, or seventy miles a week, and they invariably rested on the Sabbath, merely taking exercise on that day to keep up the warmth of their bodies. They suffered but little from the cold, but it must be remembered that by this time they had become thoroughly inured to the rigours of the Arctic regions. It was easy to keep warm trudging along over the snow, and helping to drag the sledge by day. The dogs they found were a great acquisition. Under the wise and judicious management of Trapper Seth they were most tractable, and their strength seemed something marvellous. They were fat and sleek, and comfortable-looking, too, and had entirely lost the gaunt, hungry, wolfish appearance they presented when Captain Cobb first sent them on board. Well did they work for, and richly did they deserve, the four Spratts' biscuits given to each of them daily; that, followed by a mouthful of snow, was all they cared for and all they needed to make them the happiest of the happy. A short halt was made for luncheon every noon, and at six o'clock they stopped for the night, and dinner was cooked. This was Seth's duty, and, considering the limited means at his command, he succeeded wonderfully. The tent was erected over a large pit in the snow, the sledges being drawn up to protect it against the prevailing wind. But of this there was but little. After dinner they gathered around a great spirit-lamp stove, wrapped in skins and blankets, and generally talked themselves to sleep. But Seth always slept with the dogs. "I like to curl up," he explained, "with the animiles. They keeps me warm, they do; and, gentlemen, Seth's bones ain't quite so young as they used to be." For weeks our heroes journeyed on towards the Pole, but they came to the end of what McBain called the snowfields at last, and all farther progress by sledge was practically at an end. Before them stretched away to the utmost limits of the horizon The Sea of Ancient Ice, a chaos of boulders, over which it would take a week at least to drag the sledges even a distance of ten miles, Now came the balloon to the rescue, but who were to go in it? Its car would, big as it was, contain but four. The four were finally selected; they were McBain, the aeronaut himself, Allan, and Rory. Upwards mounted the great balloon, upwards but sailing southwards; yet well had De Vere counted his chances. Ballast was thrown out, and they rose into the air with inconceivable rapidity, and McBain soon perceived that the direction had now changed, and that the balloon was going rapidly northwards. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ To those left behind on the snowfields the time dragged on very slowly indeed, and when four-and-twenty hours had gone by, and still there was no sign of the return of the aeronauts, Ralph's anxiety knew no bounds. He seemed to spend most of his time on the top of a large iceberg, gazing northwards and skywards in hopes of catching a glimpse of the balloon. But all in vain, and so passed six-and-thirty hours, and so passed forty-eight and fifty. Something must have happened. Grief began to weigh like lead on poor Ralph's heart. A hundred times in an hour he reproached himself for not having gone in the balloon instead of Rory. He was strong, Rory was not, and if anything had happened to his more than brother, he felt he could never forget it and never forgive himself. Despair was slowly taking the place of grief; he was walking up and down rapidly on the snow, for he could not rest,--he had taken neither food nor sleep since the balloon departed,--when there was a shout from the man on the outlook. "Something black on the northern horizon, sir, but no signs of the balloon." "Hurrah?" cried Ralph. "Now, men, to the rescue. Let us go and meet them, and help them over this sea of boulders." In three hours more McBain and party were back in camp, safe and sound, terribly tired, but able to tell all their story. "We've planted the dear old flag as far north as we could get," said McBain, "and left it there." "Ay," said Rory, "and kissed and blessed it a hundred times over." "And but for the accident to the balloon, which we were obliged to abandon, we would have been back long ere now." "But we have not seen de open sea around de Pole," said De Vere. "No," said McBain; "there is no such sea; that is all a myth; only the sea of ancient ice, and land, with tall, cone-shaped mountains on it, evidently the remains of extinct volcanoes. Oh! it was a dreary, dreary scene. No signs of life, never a bird or bear, and a silence like the silence of death." "It was on one of those hills," added Rory, "we planted the flag--`the flag that braved a thousand years the battle and the breeze.' It was a glorious moment, dear Ralph, when we saw that bit of bunting unfurled. How Allan and myself wished you'd been with us. It was so funny, too, because, you see, there was no north, no east, and no west; everything was south of us. The whole world lay down beneath us, as it were, all to the south'ard, and we could walk round the world, so to speak, a dozen times in a minute." "Yes, it is curious," replied Ralph, musing in silence for a moment. Then he stretched out his hand and grasped Rory's. He did not speak. There was no need, Rory knew well what he meant. "Now, boys and men," cried the captain, "we have to return thanks to Him who has safely guided us through all perils into these distant regions, and pray that He may permit us to return in safety to our native land. Let us pray." A more heartfelt prayer than that of those hardy sailors probably never ascended on high. Afterwards a psalm was sung, to a beautiful old melody, and this closed the service; but next morning, ere they started to return to the _Arrandoon_, another spar was erected on the top of the biggest and highest iceberg. On this the English colours were _nailed_, and around it the crew assembled, and cheer after cheer rent the air, and, as Sandy McFlail afterwards observed, hats and bonnets were pitched on high, till they positively darkened the air, like a flock o' craws. Then "Give us a good bass and tenor, boys," cried Rory, and he burst into the grand old National Anthem,-- "God save our Gracious Queen, Long may Victoria reign, God save the Queen." CHAPTER THIRTY THREE. ANOTHER WINTER AT THE POLE--CHRISTMAS DAY--THE CURTAIN RISES ON THE LAST ACT--SICKNESS--DEATH--DESPAIR. The summer was far advanced before Captain McBain and his crew returned to where their vessel lay off the island of Alba. They had fully expected to see some signs of the ice breaking up, so as to allow them to get clear and bear up for home, but the chance of this taking place seemed as far off as ever. If the truth must be told, the captain had counted upon a break-up of the sea of ice shortly after midsummer at the very latest. But midsummer went past, the sun each midnight began to decline nearer and nearer to the northern horizon, and it already seemed sadly probable that another winter would have to be passed in these desolate regions. McBain could not help recalling the words of old Magnus, "Open seasons do not come oftener than once in ten years." If this indeed were true, then he, his boys and his crew, were doomed to sufferings more terrible than tongue could tell or pen relate-- sufferings from which there could be no escape save through the jaws of death. Provisions would hardly last throughout another winter, and until the ice broke up and they were again free, there could be no chance of getting those that had been stored on the northernmost isle of Spitzbergen. The sky remained clear and hard, and McBain soon began to think he would give all he possessed in life for the sight of one little cloud not bigger than a man's hand. But that cloud never came, and the sun commenced to set and the summer waned away. The captain kept his sorrow very much to himself; at all events he tried to talk cheerfully and hopefully when in the company of any of our young heroes; but they could mark a change, and well they knew the cause. The ice-hole was opened, but, strange to say, although they captured sharks and other great fish innumerable, neither seal nor walrus ever showed head above the water. Bears were pretty numerous on the ice, and now McBain gave orders to preserve not only the skins but even the flesh of those monsters. It was cut in pieces and buried in the ice and snow, well up the braeland near to the mouth of the cave, in which they had found shelter during all the dark months of the former winter. The fact that no seals appeared at the ice-hole proved beyond a doubt that the open water was very far indeed to the southward of them. How they had rejoiced to see the sun rise for the first time in the previous spring; how their hearts sank now to see him set! "Boys," said McBain one day, after he had remained silent for some time, as if in deep thought--"boys, I fear we won't get out of this place for many months to come. How do you like the prospect?" He smiled as he spoke; but they could see the smile was a simulated one. "Never mind," said Ralph and Allan; "we'll keep our hearts up, never fear; don't you be unhappy on our account." "I'll try not to be," said McBain, "and I'm sure I shall not be so on my own." "Besides, captain dear," added Rory, "it's sure to come right in the end." McBain laid his hand on boy Rory's head, and smiled somewhat sadly. "You're always hopeful, Rory," he said. "We must pray that your words may come true." And, indeed, besides waiting with a hopeful trust in that all-seeing Providence who had never yet deserted them in their direst need, there was little now to be done. As the days got shorter and shorter, and escape from another winter's imprisonment seemed impossible, the crew of the _Arrandoon_ was set to work overhauling stores. It was found that with strict economy the provisions would last until spring, but, with the addition of the flesh of sharks and bears, for a month or two longer. It was determined, therefore, that the men should not be put upon short allowance, for semi-starvation--McBain was doctor enough to know--only opened the door for disease to step in, in the shape perhaps of that scourge called scurvy, or even the black death itself. When the sun at last sank to rise no more for three long months, so far from letting down their hearts, or losing hope, the officers and crew of our gallant ship once more settled down to their "old winter ways," as Seth called them. They betook themselves to the cave in the hillside, which, for sake of giving the men exercise, McBain had made double the size, the mould taken therefrom and the rocks being used to erect a terrace near the entrance. This was surrounded by a balustrade or bulwark, with a flagstaff erected at one end, and on this was unfurled the Union Jack. Watches were kept, and meals cooked and served, with as much regularity as if they had been at sea, while the evenings were devoted to reading, music, and story-telling round the many great fires that were lighted to keep the cave warm. Where, it may be asked, did the fuel come from? Certainly not from the ship. The coals were most carefully stored, and retained for future service; but tons on tons of great pine-logs were dug from the hill-sides. And glorious fires they made, too. It was, as Rory said, raking up the ashes of a long-past age to find fuel for a new one. Once more the electric light was got under way, and twice a week at least the diving-bell was sunk. This was a source of amusement that never failed to give pleasure; but so intense was the frost at times that it was a matter of no small difficulty to break the ice on the water. The captain was untiring in his efforts to keep his men employed, and in as happy a frame of mind as circumstances would admit of. There was no snowstorm this winter, and very seldom any wind; the sky was nearly always clear, and the stars and Aurora brighter than ever they had seen them. Christmas--the second they had spent together since leaving the Clyde-- passed pleasantly enough, though there was no boisterous merriment. Songs and story-telling were in far greater request than dancing. Never, perhaps, was Rory in better spirits for solo-playing. He appeared to know intuitively the class of music the listeners would delight in, and his rendering of some of the old Scottish airs seemed simply to hold them spell-bound. As the wild, weird, plaintive notes of the violin, touched by the master fingers of the young poet, fell on their ears, they were no longer ice-bound in the dreary regions of the pole. It was no longer winter; it was no longer night. They were home once more in their native land; home in dear auld Scotland. The sun was shining brightly in the summer sky, the purple of the heather was on the moorland, the glens and valleys were green, and the music of merle and mavis, mingling with the soft croodle of the amorous cushat, resounded from the groves. No wonder that a few sighs were heard when Rory ceased to play; he had touched a chord in their inmost hearts, and for the time being had rendered them inexpressibly happy. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ It is well to let the curtain fall here for a short time; it rises again on the first scene of the last act of this Arctic drama of ours. Three months have elapsed since that Christmas evening in the cave when we beheld the crew of the _Arrandoon_ listening with happy, hopeful, upturned faces to the sweet music that Rory discoursed from his darling instrument. Only three months, but what a change has come over the prospects of sill on board that seemingly doomed ship! Often and often had our heroes been face to face with death in storms and tempests at sea, in fighting with wild beasts, and even with wild men, but never before had they met the grim king of terrors in the form he now assumed. For several weeks the men had been falling ill, and dying one by one, and already no less than nine graves had been dug and filled under the snow on the mountain's side. The disease, whatever it was, resisted all kinds of treatment, and, indeed, though the symptoms in every case were similar at the commencement, no two men died in precisely the same way. At first there was an intense longing for home; this would be succeeded in a few days by loss of all appetite, by distaste for food or exertion of any kind, and by fits of extreme melancholy and depression. The doctor did his best. Alas! there are diseases against which all the might of medical skill is unavailing. Brandy and other stimulants were tried; but these only kept the deadly ailment at bay for a very short time; it returned with double force, and poor sufferers were doubly prostrated in consequence. There was no bodily pain, except from a strange hollow cough that in all cases accompanied the complaint, but there was rapid emaciation, hot, burning brow, and hands and feet that scorched like fire, and while some fell into a kind of gentle slumber from which they awoke no more in this world, others died from sheer debility, the mind being clear to the last--nay, even brighter as they neared the bourne from which no traveller ever returns. As the time went on--the days were now getting long again, for spring had returned--matters got even worse. It was strange, too, that the very best and brightest of the crew were the first to be attacked and to die. I do not think there was a dry eye in the ship when the little procession wound its way round the hillside bearing in its unpretending coffin the mortal remains of poor Ted Wilson. All this long cruise he had been the life and soul of the whole crew. No wonder that the words of the beautiful old song _Tom Bowling_ rose to the mind of more than one of the crew of the _Arrandoon_ when Ted was laid to rest: "His form was of the manliest beauty, His heart was warm and soft, Faithful below he did his duty, And now he's gone aloft." Just one week after the burial of Ted Wilson, De Vere, the French aeronaut, was attacked, and in three days' time he was dead. He had never been really well since the journey to the vicinity of the Pole, and the loss of his great balloon was one which he never seemed to be able to get over. He was quite an enthusiast in his profession, and, as he remarked to McBain one day, "I have mooch grief for de loss of my balloon. I had give myself over to de thoughts of mooch pleasant voyaging away up in de regions of de upper air. I s'all soar not again until I reach England." It was sad to hear him, as he lay half delirious on the bed of his last illness, muttering, muttering to himself and constantly talking about the home far away in sunny France that he would never see again. Either the doctor or one or other of our young heroes was constantly in the cabin with him. About an hour before his demise he sent for Ralph. "I vould not," he said, "send for Rory nor for Allan, dey vill both follow me soon. Oh I do not you look sad, Ralph, dere is nothing but joy vere ve are going. Nothing but joy, and sunshine, and happiness." He took a locket from his breast. It contained the portrait of a grey-haired mother. "Bury dis locket in my grave," he said. He took two rings from off his thin white fingers. "For my sister and my mother," he said. He never spoke again, but died with those dear names on his lips. Ralph showed himself a very hero in these sad times of trouble and death. He was here, there, and everywhere, by night and by day; assisting the surgeon and helping Seth to attend upon the wants of the sick and dying; and many a pillow he soothed, and many a word of comfort he gave to those who needed it. The true Saxon character was now beautifully exemplified in our English hero. He possessed that noble courage which never makes itself uselessly obtrusive, which fritters not itself away on trifles, and which seems at most times to lie dormant or latent, but is ever ready to show forth and burn most brightly in the hour of direst need. Sorrows seldom come singly, and one day Stevenson, in making his usual morning report, had the sad tidings to add that cask after cask of provisions had been opened and found bad, utterly useless for human food. McBain got up from his chair and accompanied the mate on deck. "I would not," he said, "express, in words what I feel, Mr Stevenson, before our boys; but this, indeed, is terrible tidings." "It can only hasten the end," said Stevenson. "You think, then, that that end is inevitable?" "Inevitable," said Stevenson, solemnly but emphatically. "We are doomed to perish here among this ice. There can be no rescue for us but through the grave." "We are in the hands of a merciful and an all-powerful Providence, Mr Stevenson," said McBain; "we must trust, and wait, and hope, and do our duty." "That we will, sir, at all events," said the mate; "but see, sir, what is that yonder?" He pointed, as he spoke, skywards, and there, just a little way above the highest mountain-tops, was a cloud. It kept increasing almost momentarily, and got darker and darker. Both watched it until the sun itself was overcast, then the mate ran below to look at the glass. It was "tumbling" down. For three days a gale and storm, accompanied with soft, half-wet snow, raged. Then terrible noises and reports were heard all over the pack of ice seaward, and the grinding and din that never fails to announce the break-up of the sea of ice. "Heaven has not forgotten us," cried McBain, hopefully; "this change will assuredly check the sickness, and perhaps in a week's time we will be sailing southwards through the blue, open sea, bound for our native shores." McBain was right; the hopes raised in the hearts of the men did check the progress of the sickness. When at last the wind fell, they were glad to see that the clouds still remained, and that there were no signs of the frost coming on again. The pieces of ice, too, were loose, and all hands were set to work to warp the ship southwards through the bergs. The work was hard, and the progress made scarcely a mile a day at first. But they were men working for their lives, with new-born hope in their hearts, so they heeded not the fatigue, and after a fortnight's toil they found the water so much more open that by going ahead at full speed in every clear space, a fair day's distance was got over. For a week more they strove and struggled onwards; the men, however, were getting weaker and weaker for want of sufficient food. How great was their joy, then, when one morning the island was sighted on which McBain had left the store of provisions! Boats were sent away as soon as they came within a mile of the place. Sad, indeed, was the news with which Stevenson, who was in charge, returned. The bears had made an attack on the buried stores. They had clawed the great cask open, and had devoured or destroyed everything. Hope itself now seemed for a time to fly from all on board. With a crew weak from want, and with fearful ice to work their way through, what chance was there that they would ever succeed in reaching the open water, or in proceeding on their homeward voyage even as far as the island of Jan Mayen, or until they should fall in with and obtain relief from some friendly ship? They were far to the northward of the sealing grounds, and just as far to the east. McBain, however, determined still to do his utmost, and, though on short allowance, to try to forge ahead. For one week more they toiled and struggled onwards, then came the frost again and all chance of proceeding was at an end. It was no wonder that sickness returned. No wonder that McBain himself, and Allan and Rory, began to feel dejected, listless, weary, and ill. Then came a day when the doctor and Ralph sat down alone to eat their meagre and hurried breakfast. "What prospects?" said Ralph. "Moribund!" was all the doctor said just then. Presently he added-- "There, in the corner, lies poor wee Freezing Powders, and, my dear Ralph, one hour will see it all over with him. The captain and Allan and Rory can hardly last much longer." "God help us, then," said Ralph, wringing his hands, and giving way to a momentary anguish. The unhappy negro boy was stretched, to all appearance lifeless, close by the side of his favourite's cage. Despite his own grief, Ralph could not help feeling for that poor bird. His distress was painful to witness. If his great round eyes could have run over with tears, I am sure they would have done so. I have said before that Cockie was not a pretty bird, but somehow his very ugliness made Ralph pity him now all the more. Nor was the grief of the bird any the less sad to see because it was exhibited in a kind of half ludicrous way. He was not a moment at rest, but he seemed really not to know what he was doing, and his anxious eye was hardly ever withdrawn from the face of the dying boy:--jumping up and down from his perch to his seed-tin and back again, grabbing great mouthfuls of hemp, which he never even broke or tried to swallow, and blowing great sighs over his thick blue tongue. And the occasional sentence, too, the bird every now and then began but never finished,-- "Here's a--" "Did you--" "Come--" All spoke of the anguish in poor Cockie's breast. A faint moaning was heard in the adjoining cabin, and Ralph hurried away from the table, and Sandy was left alone. CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR. A SAILOR'S COTTAGE--THE TELEGRAM--"SOMETHING'S IN THE WIND"--THE GOOD YACHT "POLAR STAR"--HOPE FOR THE WANDERERS. A cottage on a cliff. A cliff whose black, beetling sides rose sheer up out of the water three hundred feet and over; a cliff around which sea-birds whirled in dizzy flight; a cliff in which the cormorant had her home; a cliff against which all the might of the German Ocean had dashed and chafed and foamed for ages. Some fifty yards back from the edge of this cliff the cottage was built, of hard blue granite, with sturdy bay windows--a cottage that seemed as independent of any storm that could blow as the cliff itself was. In front was a neat wee garden, with nicely gravelled walks and edging of box, and all round it a natty railing painted an emerald green. At the back of the cottage were more gravelled walks and more flower garden, with a summer-house and a smooth lawn, from the centre of which rose a tall ship's mast by way of flagstaff, with ratlines and rigging and stays and top complete. Not far off was a pigeon-house on a pole, and not far from that still another pole surmounted by a weather-vane, and two little wooden blue-jackets, that whenever the wind blew, went whirling round and round, clashing swords and engaging in a kind of fanatic duel, which seemed terribly real and terribly deadly for the time being. It was a morning in early spring, and up and down the walk behind the cottage stepped a sturdy, weather-beaten old sailor, with hair and beard of iron-grey, and a face as red as the newest brick that ever was fashioned. He stood for a moment gazing upwards at the strutting fantails. "Curr-a-coo--curr-a-coo," said the pigeons. "Curr-a-coo--curr-a-coo," replied the sailor. "I dare say you're very happy, and I'm sure you think the sun was made for you and you only. Ah! my bonnie birdies, you don't know what the world is doing. You don't--hullo?" "Yes, my dear, you may say hullo," said a cheerful little woman, with a bright, pleasant face, walking up to him, and placing an arm in his. "Didn't you hear me tapping on the pane for you?" "Not I, little wife, not I," said Silas Grig. "I've been thinking, lass, thinking--" "Well, then," interrupted his wife, "don't you think any more; you've made your hair all white with thinking. Just come in and have breakfast. That haddock smells delicious, and I've made some nice toast, and tried the new tea. Come, Silas, come." Away went the two together, he with his arm around her waist, looking as happy, the pair of them, as though their united ages didn't make a deal over a hundred. "Come next month," said Silas, as soon as he had finished his first cup of tea--"come next month, little wife, it will just be two years since I first met the _Arrandoon_. Heigho?" "You needn't sigh, Silas," his wife remarked. "They may return. Wonders never cease." "Return?" repeated Silas, with a broken-hearted kind of a laugh, "Nay, nay, nay, we'll meet them no more in this world. Poor Rory! He was my favourite. Dear boy, I think I see him yet, with his fair, laughing face, and that rogue of an eye of his." Rat-tat. Silas started. "The postman?" he said; "no, it can't be. That's right, little woman, run to the door and see. What! a telegram for me!" Silas took the missive, and turned it over and over in his hand half a dozen times at least. "Why, my dear, who _can_ it be from?" he asked with a puzzled look, "and what _can_ it be about? _Can_ you guess, little wife? Eh? can you?" "If I were you, Silas," said his wife, quietly, "I'd open it and see." "Dear me! to be sure," cried Silas. "I didn't think of that. Why, I declare," he continued, as soon as he had read it, "it is from Arrandoon Castle, and the poor widow, Allan's mother, wants to see me at once. I'm off, little woman, at once. Get out my best things. The blue pilots, you know. Quick, little woman--quick! Bear a hand! Hurrah!" Silas Grig didn't finish that second cup of tea. He was dressed in less than ten minutes, had kissed his wife, and was hurrying away to the station. Indeed, Silas had never in his life felt in such a hurry before. "It'll be like my luck," he muttered, "if I miss this train." But he did not miss it, and it was a fast one, too, a flying train, that every day went tearing along through Scotland, and was warranted to land him at Inverness six hours after he first stepped on board. No sooner was Silas seated than he pulled out the telegram again, and read it over and over at least a dozen times. Then he looked at the back of it, as if it were just possible that some further information might be found there. Then he read the address, and as he could not get anything more out of it he folded it up and replaced it in his pocket, merely remarking, "I'll vow something's in the wind." Silas had bought a newspaper. He had meant to read; he tried to read as hard as ever he had tried to do anything, but it was all in vain. His mind was in too great a ferment, so he threw down the paper and devoted himself to gazing out of the window at the glorious panorama that was passing before him; but if anybody else had been in the same compartment, he or she would have heard this ancient mariner frequently muttering to himself, and the burden of all his remarks was, "Something's in the wind, I'm sure of that!" A fast train? A flying train? Yes, a deal too much so, many would have thought, but she could not fly a bit too fast for Silas. Yet how she did rattle and rush and roar along the lines, to be sure! The din she made only deepening for a moment as she dived under a bridge or brushed past a wayside station, too insignificant by far to waste a thought upon! Now she passes a country village, with rows of trim-built cottages and tidy gardens, with lines for clothes to dry, and fences where children hang or perch and wave their caps at the flying train. Now she shaves past rows of platelayers, who stand at attention or extend their grimy arms like signal yards, while a blue-coated jack-in-a-box waves a white flag from his window to show that all is safe. Now she ploughs through some larger junction, over a whole field of rails that seems to run in every conceivable direction; but she makes her way in safety in a whirl of dust, and next she shrieks as she plunges into the darkness of a long, dreary tunnel. Ah! but she is out again into the glare of the day, and again the telegraph posts go popping past as fast as one could wink. Five miles now on a stretch of level country as straight as crow could fly, through fields and woods and past thriving farms, with far beyond on the horizon hills, hills, hills. 'Tis spring-time, spring changing into summer, summer coming six good weeks before its time. Look, Silas, look! crimson flowers are already peeping red through the greenery of cornfields, drowsy-looking cows are wading knee-deep in grass and buttercups, the braelands are snowed over with the gowan's bloom. Birds are singing in meadow and copse, the yellow furze is blossoming on heathy moorlands. Great black spruces raise their tall heads skywards, and their every branch is tipped with a tassel of tender green; rowan-trees seem studded with roses of a pearly hue, and the feathery larches are hung round with a fringe-work of darkest crimson. Is it not glorious, Silas? is it not all beautiful? Did ever you see a sky more blue before, or cloudlets more fleecy and light? "I'll stake my word," replies Silas, "that something's in the wind." Wilder scenery now, dark, frowning mountains, lonely glens, heathlands, highlands, canons, and tarns, then a long and fertile flat, every sod of which marks a Scottish warrior's grave. Inverness at last! "Boat gone, is it?" cried Silas. "Like my luck. But why didn't she wait for the train? Tell me that, eh?" "Yes, sir; dare say I could, sir." This from an ostler in answer to another query of friend Silas. "Five-and-twenty mile, sir. I've just the horse that'll suit. Three hours to a tick, sir, rough though the road is, sir. I'll be ready in twenty minutes. Thank'ee, sir, much obliged. Now then, Donald, bustle about, will you? Get out the bay mare. Look sharp, gentleman's only got five minutes to feed." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "It can't be Captain Grig already," said Mrs McGregor. "And yet who else can it be?" said Helen Edith. "I'll run out and see," said Ralph's father, who had been spending some weeks at the castle. "Ha! welcome, honest Silas Grig," he cried, rushing up and literally receiving Silas with open arms as he jumped from the high-wheeled dogcart. "A thousand welcomes. Well, I do declare you haven't let the grass grow under your feet. How your horse steams! Take him round, driver, and see to his comfort, then go to the kitchen and see to your own. Old Janet is there. Now, Silas," continued Mr Leigh, "before you go to talk to the ladies, I'll tell you what we have arranged. We have thought well over all you said when you were here in the autumn, and I've chartered a German Arctic cruiser, and we're going to put you in command. She is lying at Peterhead, everything ready, crew and all, stores and all. Our prayers will follow you, dear Captain Grig, and if you find our poor boys, or even bring us tidings of their fate, we will be ever grateful. Nay, nay, but `grateful' poorly expresses my meaning. We will--" "Not another word," cried Silas, "not one single word more, sir, or as sure as my name is Silas Grig I'll clap my fingers in my ears." He shook Mr Leigh's hand as he spoke. "I'll find the boys if they be alive," he said. "I knew, sir, when I got the telegram there was something in the wind. I told my little wife I was quite sure of it. Ha! ha! ha!" Silas was laughing, but it was only to hide the tears with which his eyes were swimming. "When can you start, my dear Silas?" "To-night. At once. Give me a fresh horse and five minutes for a mouthful of refreshment, and off I start; and I'll take command to-morrow before the sun is over the foreyard." "To-night?" cried Mr Leigh, smiling. "No, no, no." "But I say `yo, yo, yo,'" said Silas, "and `yo heave, O,' and what Silas says he means. There! Ah, ladies, how are you? Nay, never cry, Miss McGregor. I'm going straight away to the Arctic Sea, and I'm sure to bring your brother back, and Rory as well, to say nothing of honest Ralph and Peter the piper. So cheer ye up, my little lass, If Silas Grig doesn't come back in company with the bonnie _Arrandoon_, may he never chew cheese again!" There was no getting over the impetuosity of this honest old sailor, but there was withal a freshness and happiness about him, which made every one he talked with feel as hopeful as he was himself. Before dinner was done both Mrs McGregor and her lovely daughter were smiling and laughing as they had not smiled or laughed for months before, and when Silas asked for a song, the latter went quite joyfully to the harp. You see it appeared quite a foregone conclusion with everybody that night, that Silas would find the lost explorers and bring them safely home. The moon rose in all its majesty as nine tolled forth from the clock-tower of the ancient castle. Then Silas said "good-bye," and, followed by many a blessing and many a prayer, the dogcart wound away up through the solemn pine forest, and was soon lost to view. He was just as good as his word. He took command of his new ship--a splendid sea-going yacht--before noon next day. Almost immediately afterwards he summoned both officers and men and mustered them all aft, and somewhat startled them by the following curt speech: "Gentlemen and men of the _Polar Star_, we'll sail to-morrow morning. We touch nowhere until we enter harbour here again. Any one that isn't ready to go can step on shore and stop there. All ready, eh? Bravo, men! You'll find your skipper isn't a bad fellow to deal with, but he means to crack on! No ship that ever sailed 'twixt Pekin and London, no clipper that ever left Aberdeen, or yacht from New York city, ever did such cracking on as I mean to do. Go to your duty. Pipe down." Then Silas Grig inspected the ship. He was pleased with her get-up and her rig-out, only he ordered extra spars and extra sails, and these were all on board ere sundown. "The old man means business," said the first mate to the second. "That he does!" replied the inferior officer. The _Polar Star_ sailed away from Peterhead on the very day that poor Ted Wilson was laid in his grave beneath the eternal snows of Alba. Could Silas have seen the desperate position of the _Arrandoon_ just then, how little hopes he would have entertained of ever reaching her in time to save the precious lives on board! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The doctor was left alone in the saloon of the great ship. The silence that reigned both fore and aft was oppressive even to dismalness. For a moment or two Sandy buried his face in his hands, and tears welled through his fingers. "Oh," he whispered, "it is terrible! The silence of death is all about us! Our men dying forward, our captain doomed, and Allan and Rory. Ay, and poor Ralph will be next; I can see that in his face. Not one of us can ever reach his native land again! I envy-- yes, I envy the dead in their quiet graves, and even wish it were all past--all, all over?" "Doctor!" a kindly hand was laid on his shoulder. Sandy started to his feet, he cared not who saw his face, wet though it was with tears. "Doctor, don't you take on so," said Stevenson. "Speak, man I speak quick! There is hope in your face!" cried the doctor. "There is hope in my heart, too," said the mate--"only a glint, only a gleam; but it is there. The frost is gone; the ice is open again." "Then quick," cried the surgeon, "get up steam! that alone can save the dying. Energy, energy, and something to do. _I_ can do nothing more to save my patients while this hopeless silence lies pall-like around us. Break it, dear mate, with the roar of steam and the rattle of the engine's screw!" "Listen," said the mate. "There goes the steam. Our chief has not been long." Round went the screw once more, and away moved the ship. Poor McBain came staggering from his cabin. Ghastly pale he looked. He had the appearance of one risen from the grave. He clutched Sandy by the shoulder. "We are--under--way?" he gasped. "Yes, yes," said the surgeon. "Homeward bound, captain." "Homeward bound," muttered the captain, pressing his hand on his brow, as if to recall his memory, which for a time had been unseated from her throne. For a minute or two the surgeon feared for his captain's life or reason. "Drink this, dear sir," he said; "be seated, too, you are not over well, and there is much to be done." "Much to be done?" cried McBain, as soon as he had quaffed the medicine. "I'm better. Thank you, good doctor; thank you, Sandy. There is much to be done. Those words have saved your captain's life." Sandy gave a big sigh of relief and hastened away to Rory's cabin. Rory had been lying like a dead thing for hours, but now a new light seemed to come into his eye. He extended his hand to Sandy and smiled. "We are positively under steam again, Sandy?" he said. Sandy, like a wise surgeon, did not tell him the frost was quite gone. Joy kills, and Sandy knew it. "Yes," he said, carelessly, "we'll get down south a few miles farther, I dare say. It is nice, though, isn't it, to hear the old screw rattling round again?" "Why, it is music, it is life?" said Rory. "Sandy, I'm going to be well again soon. I know and feel I am." Then Ralph burst into the cabin. "I say, Sandy," he said, "run and see dear old Allan; he says he is going to get up, and I know he is far, far too weak." Sandy had to pass through the saloon. Freezing Powders was sitting bolt upright in the corner, and Cockie was apparently mad with joy. The bird couldn't speak fast enough, and he seemed bent on choking himself with hemp. "Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter," he was saying, "here's a pretty, pretty, pretty to-do. Call the steward, call the steward. Come on, come on, come on." "Oh, Cockie," Freezing Powders said, "I'se drefful, drefful cold, Cockie. 'Spects I'se gwine to die, Cockie. 'Spects I is--Oh! de-ah, what my ole mudder say den?" "Come, come," cried Sandy, "take this, you young sprout, and don't let me catch you talking about dying. There now, pull yourself together." "I'll try," said the poor boy, "but I 'spects I'se as pale as deaf (death)." CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE. THE RESCUE--HOMEWARD BOUND--ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. I never have been able to learn with a sufficient degree of exactitude whether it was the _Polar Star_ that first sighted the _Arrandoon_, or whether the _Arrandoon_ was the first to catch a glimpse of the _Polar Star_. And with such conflicting evidence before me, I do not see very well how I could. What evidence have I before me, do you ask? Why the logs of the two ships, written by their two captains respectively. I give below a portion of two extracts, both relating to the joyful event. Extract first from the log of the good yacht _Polar Star_:--"June 21st, 18--. At seven bells in the forenoon watch--ice heavy and wind about a south-south-west--caught sight of the _Arrandoon's_ topmasts bearing about a north and by east. Praise God for all His goodness." Extract second, from the log of the _Arrandoon_:--"June 21st, 18--. Seven bells in the forenoon watch--a hail from the crow's-nest, `A schooner among the ice to the south'ard and west of us, can just raise her topmasts, think she is bearing this way.' Heaven be praised, we are saved." Yes, dear reader, the _Arrandoon_ was saved. The news that a vessel was in sight spread through the ship like wildfire; those that were hale and well rushed on deck, the sick tottered up, and all was bustle and excitement, and the cheer that arose from stem to stern reminded McBain of the good old times, a year ago, when every man Jack of his crew was alive and well. It had been a very narrow escape for them, for, although not far from the open water where the _Polar Star_ lay with foreyard aback, they were unable to reach it, being once more frozen in, and had not good Silas appeared at the time he did, probably in a few weeks at most there would not have been a single human being living on board the lordly _Arrandoon_. No sooner had Silas satisfied himself with his own eyes that it was the _Arrandoon_ that lay ice-bound to the nor'ard of him, than he called away the boats and gave orders to load them with the best of everything, and to follow his whaler. His whaler took the ice just as eight bells were struck on the _Polar Star_, and next moment, guided by the fan in the crow's-nest of the yacht, he was hastening over the rough ice towards the _Arrandoon_. McBain and his boys, and the doctor as well, were all on deck, when who should heave round the corner of an iceberg but Captain Silas Grig himself, looking as rosy and ten times more happy than they had last seen him. He was still about fifty yards away, and for a moment or two he stood undecided; it seemed, indeed, that he wished not to walk but to jump or fly the remaining fifty intervening yards. Then he took off his cap, and--Scotch fashion--tossed it as high into the air as he possibly could. "_Arrandoon_, ahoy!" he shouted. "_Arrandoon_, ahoy! Hurrah!" There was not a soul on board that did not run aft to meet Silas as he sprang up the side. Even Freezing Powders, with Cockie on his shoulder, came wondering up, and Peter must needs get out his bagpipes and strike into _The Campbells are coming_. And when Silas found himself once more among his boys, and shaking hands with them all round; when he noticed the pale faces of Allan and Rory, and the pinched visage of the once strong and powerful McBain, and read in their weak and tottering gait the tale of all their sufferings, then it must be confessed that the bluff old mariner had to turn hastily about and address himself to others in order to hide a tear. "Indeed, gentlemen all," said Silas, many, many months after this, "when I saw you all looking so peaky and pale, as I first jumped down on to your quarter-deck, I never felt so near making an old ass o' myself in all my born days!" For three weeks longer the _Arrandoon_ lay among the ice before she got fairly clear, and, consorted by the _Polar Star_, bore up for home. Three weeks--but they were not badly spent--three weeks, and all that time was needed to restore our invalids to robust health. And that only shows how near to death's door they must have been, because to make them well they had the best medicine this world can supply, and Silas Grig was the physician. "Silas Grig! Silas Grig!" cried Rory, one morning at breakfast, about a fortnight after the reunion, "sure you're the best doctor that ever stepped in shoe-leather! No wonder we are all getting fat and rosy again! First you gave us a dose of hope--we got that before you jumped on board; then you gave us joy--a shake of your own honest hand, the sound of your own honest voice, and letters from home. What care I that my tenantry--`the foinest pisintry in the world'--haven't paid up? I've had letters from Arrandoon. What, Ray boy! more salmon and another egg? Just look at the effects of your physic, Dr Silas Grig!" Silas laughed. "But," he said, "there is one thing you haven't mentioned." "Tell us," said Rory: "troth, it's a treat to hear ye talking?" "The drop o' green ginger," said Silas. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Nor were these three weeks spent in idleness, for during that time the whole ship, from stem to stern, was redecorated; and when at last she was once more clear of the ice, once more out in the blue, she looked as bran new and as span new as on the day when she steamed down the wide, romantic Clyde. I do not know any greater pleasure in life than that of being homeward bound after a long, long cruise at sea,-- "Good news from home, good news for me, Has come across the deep blue sea." So runs the song. Good news from home is certainly one of the rover's joys, but how much more joyous it is to be "rolling home, rolling home" to get that good news, eye to eye and lip to lip! Once fairly under way, the weather seemed to get warmer every day. They reached Jan Mayen in a week; they found the rude village deserted, and Captain Cobb they would never be likely to meet again. So they left the island, and on the wings of a favouring breeze bore away for Iceland. Here Sandy McFlail, Doctor of Medicine of the University of Aberdeen, and surgeon of the good ship _Arrandoon_, begged to be left. Ah! poor Sandy was sadly in love with that blue-eyed, fair-haired Danish maiden. He fairly confessed to Rory, who had previously promised not to laugh at him, "that he had never seen a Scotch lassie to equal her, and that if she weren't a `doctor's leddy' before six months were over it would not be his, Sandy McFlail's, fault." "You are quite right, Sandy," said Rory in reply--"quite right; and do you know what it will be, Sandy?" "What?" asked Sandy. "A vera judeecious arrangement," cried Rory, running off before Sandy had a chance of catching him by the ear and making him "whustle." But right fervent were the wishes for the doctor's welfare when he bade his friends adieu. And,-- "You'll be sure to send us a piece o' the bride-cake," said Ralph. "I'm no vera sure," said Sandy, "if it will ever come the length o' bride-cake. But," he added, bravely, "a body can only just try." "Bravo!" cried Allan; "whatever a true man honestly dares he can do." "And it's sure to come right in the end," said Rory. So away went Sandy's boat, and away went the _Arrandoon_, firing the farewell guns, and as gaily bedecked in flags as if it had been Sandy's wedding morning. The _Arrandoon_ sailed nearly all the way home, for a favouring breeze was blowing, and with stunsails set, low and aloft, she looked like some gigantic sea-bird; and bravely, too, the little _Polar Star_ kept her in sight. As for Silas, he did not live on board his own ship at all, but on board the _Arrandoon_. There was so much to be said and to say that they could not spare him. The inhabitants of Glentruim turned out _en masse_ to welcome the wanderers home. It was a day long to be remembered in that part of the Highlands of Scotland. The young chief, Allan McGregor, was not allowed to walk across one inch of his own grounds towards his castle of Arrandoon--no, nor to ride nor to drive; he must even be carried shoulder high, while slogans rent the air, and blue bonnets darkened it, and claymores were drawn and waved aloft, and the dogs all went daft, and danced about, barking at everybody, plainly showing that they had taken leave of their senses for one day, and weren't a bit ashamed of having done so. Behind the procession marched Freezing Powders, with Cockie on his shoulder. The poor bird did not know what to make of all this Highland din, all this wild rejoicing. But he evidently enjoyed it. "Keep it up, keep it up, keep it up?" he cried; "here's a pretty, pretty, pretty to-do! Go on, go on! Come on, come on--ha! ha! ha! ha! Lal de dal de dal lei al!" And off went Cockie into the maddest dance that ever legs of bird performed. And Freezing Powders got frightened at last, and tried to lecture the bird into a quieter state of mind. "I 'ssure you, Cockie," said Freezing Powders, "you is overdoin' it. Try to 'llay your feelin's, Cockie--try to 'llay your feelin's. As sure as nuffin' at all, Cockie, you'll have a drefful headache in de mornin'." But Cockie only bowed and becked and danced and laughed the more, till at last Freezing Powders, looking upon the case as one of desperation, extracted from his pocket a red cotton handkerchief--the same he carried Cockie in when Captain McBain first met him on the Broomielaw--and in this he rolled Cockie as in the days of yore; but even then all the way to the castle Cockie was constantly finding corners to pop his head through, and let every one within hearing know that, though captured, he was as far from being subdued as ever. Poor old Janet was beside herself with joy. She had been preparing pastry and getting ready puddings for days and days. She was fain to wipe her eyes with very joy when she shook hands once more with Ralph and Allan, and her old favourite, Rory. She was a little subdued when she looked at old Seth; she was just a trifle afraid of him, I believe. But she soon became herself again, and finished off by catching up Freezing Powders, Cockie and all, and bearing them off in triumph to the cosiest corner of the kitchen. That same night fires were lit on every hill around Glentruim, and the reflection of them was seen southwards over all the wilds of Badenoch, and northward to the borders of Ross. A few weeks after the return home Rory paid his promised visit to Silas at his little cottage by the sea, his cottage on the cliff-tops. Silas's flag fluttered right gaily in the wind that day, the summer flowers were all in bloom in the garden, and the green paling looked brighter, probably, than ever it had done, for the sun shone as it seldom shines--shone as if it had been paid to shine for the occasion, and the clouds lay low on the horizon, as if they had been paid to keep out of the way for once. The flag fluttered gaily, and the two little blue-jackets on the top of the pole ever and anon made such terrible onslaughts upon each other, that the only wonder was there was a bit of them left, that they did not demolish each other entirely, like the traditional cats of Kilkenny. Silas had gone to the station to meet Rory. Silas was dressed, as he thought, like a landsman. Silas really thought that nobody could tell he was a sailor, because he wore a blue frock-coat and a tall beaver hat. And Silas's little wife was all bustle and nervousness; but Rory had not been in the house half an hour ere all this was gone, and she was quietly happy, with a kind of feeling at her heart that she had known Rory all his life, and had even nursed him when he was quite a little mite. Day and dinner and all passed off right cheerily, and of course with dessert Silas nodded to his little wife, and his little wife opened a bottle of fresh green ginger, and produced the bun--the wonderful bun, which was a pudding one day and a cake the next. Silas kept smirking and nodding so long at Rory over his first drop of green ginger, that Rory knew he was going to say something, and so, by way of encouragement,-- "Out with it, Silas," says Rory. "Only this," says Silas: "Success to the wooing." Well, who else in all the wide world could Rory have taken advice from except from Silas, in one little matter that deeply concerned his future welfare? "Go in and win," had been Silas's advice. "Go in and win, like the man you are. Faint heart never gained fair lady." It is pleasant for me to be able to state that Rory took his old friend's advice to the letter. Now we know that the course of true love never did run smooth, and the course of Rory's wooing proved no exception to the proverb, but everything came right in the end, as Rory himself was fond of observing, and all is well that ends well. Just one year after this visit to Silas, Rory led Helen Edith McGregor to the altar. What a beautiful bride she made--more modest and bonnie than the rose just newly blown, or gowans tipped with dew! Rory and Allan were not greater friends after the wedding than they had been before--that were impossible; but they were now brothers, and Allan made a vow that Rory should make his home in Glentruim. There is a mansion there now as well as a castle, and in it dwell Rory and his wife. Years have passed since the days of which I have been writing; they have not made very much change in our Irish hero. He is still the painter, still the poet, only there is not one only, but two little listeners now, that gaze up round-eyed and wonderingly at their father, whenever he takes up his magical instrument, the violin! Old Ap teaches these little ones to cut boats out of scraps of wood, and to rig small yachts in the summer evenings. The glen and castle both are wonderfully improved. There is some good after all in ambition, if it is an honest one, and some truth, too, in the motto of the Camerons, "Whatever a man dares he can do." Every year Ralph, brave English Ralph, comes to the castle on _the_ twelfth, and always spends a month; and every year Allan and Rory go southwards to Leigh Hall to return the visit. And they never go without taking Silas and McBain with them, so you may be sure these are very happy, very pleasant seasons. What about Seth? Oh, merely this, Ralph offered to take him back to his own country, and to re-instal him as an Arctic Crusoe in his far northern home. "Gentlemen," said Seth, "I'm right sensible of all your kindness, but I guess I'm getting old, and if my young friend here wouldn't mind, I'd prefer leaving my bones in the glen here. Civilisation has kind o' spoiled the old trapper, and he'd feel sort o' lonely now in his old farm. There ain't many b'ars in the glen, I reckon; but never mind, old Seth can still draw a bead on a rabbit." "And so you shall," said Allan. "I'll make you my warren-master, and head of all my keepers." So Seth has settled down to end his days in peace. He dwells in one of the prettiest little Highland cottages that ever you saw. It gets snowed over in winter sometimes, it is true, and that might be looked upon as a drawback; but oh, to see it in summer, when the feathery birches nod green around it and the heather is all in bloom! Peter played a little trick on poor old Seth, which I cannot help recording. "It will never do, you know," Peter told him, "for a Highland keeper on the estate of Glentruim not to wear the kilt." "Guess you're a kind o' right," said Seth, "but, bless you, Peter, my legs ain't o' no consequence, they ain't a bit thicker than old Bran the deerhound's, and I reckon they're just about the same shape." "Well," replied Peter, "I grant you that is a kind of an objection, but then custom is everything, you know." So, lo and behold! one fine summer morning, who should stalk into the castle yard but old trapper Seth arrayed in full Highland costume. No wonder the dogs barked and ran away! no wonder Allan and Rory laughed till their sides ached and they could hardly hold their guns! no wonder old Janet shouted and screamed with merriment, and Cockie whistled shrill, and Freezing Powders nearly went into a fit! No, Seth's legs were but little thicker than Bran's. Seth arrayed in skins from head to heel was passable, but Seth in a kilt!!! Poor Seth! it was somewhat unkind of Peter. However, the trapper never wore a kilt again. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The End. 
2415	----	Transcribed from the 1915 Mills and Boon edition by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org; proofed by Rab Hughes. THE MUTINY OF THE ELSINORE BY JACK LONDON MILLS & BOON, LIMITED 49 RUPERT STREET LONDON, W. _Published 1915_ _Copyright in the United States of America by_ JACK LONDON CHAPTER I From the first the voyage was going wrong. Routed out of my hotel on a bitter March morning, I had crossed Baltimore and reached the pier-end precisely on time. At nine o'clock the tug was to have taken me down the bay and put me on board the _Elsinore_, and with growing irritation I sat frozen inside my taxicab and waited. On the seat, outside, the driver and Wada sat hunched in a temperature perhaps half a degree colder than mine. And there was no tug. Possum, the fox-terrier puppy Galbraith had so inconsiderately foisted upon me, whimpered and shivered on my lap inside my greatcoat and under the fur robe. But he would not settle down. Continually he whimpered and clawed and struggled to get out. And, once out and bitten by the cold, with equal insistence he whimpered and clawed to get back. His unceasing plaint and movement was anything but sedative to my jangled nerves. In the first place I was uninterested in the brute. He meant nothing to me. I did not know him. Time and again, as I drearily waited, I was on the verge of giving him to the driver. Once, when two little girls--evidently the wharfinger's daughters--went by, my hand reached out to the door to open it so that I might call to them and present them with the puling little wretch. A farewell surprise package from Galbraith, he had arrived at the hotel the night before, by express from New York. It was Galbraith's way. Yet he might so easily have been decently like other folk and sent fruit . . . or flowers, even. But no; his affectionate inspiration had to take the form of a yelping, yapping two months' old puppy. And with the advent of the terrier the trouble had begun. The hotel clerk judged me a criminal before the act I had not even had time to meditate. And then Wada, on his own initiative and out of his own foolish stupidity, had attempted to smuggle the puppy into his room and been caught by a house detective. Promptly Wada had forgotten all his English and lapsed into hysterical Japanese, and the house detective remembered only his Irish; while the hotel clerk had given me to understand in no uncertain terms that it was only what he had expected of me. Damn the dog, anyway! And damn Galbraith too! And as I froze on in the cab on that bleak pier-end, I damned myself as well, and the mad freak that had started me voyaging on a sailing-ship around the Horn. By ten o'clock a nondescript youth arrived on foot, carrying a suit-case, which was turned over to me a few minutes later by the wharfinger. It belonged to the pilot, he said, and gave instructions to the chauffeur how to find some other pier from which, at some indeterminate time, I should be taken aboard the _Elsinore_ by some other tug. This served to increase my irritation. Why should I not have been informed as well as the pilot? An hour later, still in my cab and stationed at the shore end of the new pier, the pilot arrived. Anything more unlike a pilot I could not have imagined. Here was no blue-jacketed, weather-beaten son of the sea, but a soft-spoken gentleman, for all the world the type of successful business man one meets in all the clubs. He introduced himself immediately, and I invited him to share my freezing cab with Possum and the baggage. That some change had been made in the arrangements by Captain West was all he knew, though he fancied the tug would come along any time. And it did, at one in the afternoon, after I had been compelled to wait and freeze for four mortal hours. During this time I fully made up my mind that I was not going to like this Captain West. Although I had never met him, his treatment of me from the outset had been, to say the least, cavalier. When the _Elsinore_ lay in Erie Basin, just arrived from California with a cargo of barley, I had crossed over from New York to inspect what was to be my home for many months. I had been delighted with the ship and the cabin accommodation. Even the stateroom selected for me was satisfactory and far more spacious than I had expected. But when I peeped into the captain's room I was amazed at its comfort. When I say that it opened directly into a bath-room, and that, among other things, it was furnished with a big brass bed such as one would never suspect to find at sea, I have said enough. Naturally, I had resolved that the bath-room and the big brass bed should be mine. When I asked the agents to arrange with the captain they seemed non-committal and uncomfortable. "I don't know in the least what it is worth," I said. "And I don't care. Whether it costs one hundred and fifty dollars or five hundred, I must have those quarters." Harrison and Gray, the agents, debated silently with each other and scarcely thought Captain West would see his way to the arrangement. "Then he is the first sea captain I ever heard of that wouldn't," I asserted confidently. "Why, the captains of all the Atlantic liners regularly sell their quarters." "But Captain West is not the captain of an Atlantic liner," Mr. Harrison observed gently. "Remember, I am to be on that ship many a month," I retorted. "Why, heavens, bid him up to a thousand if necessary." "We'll try," said Mr. Gray, "but we warn you not to place too much dependence on our efforts. Captain West is in Searsport at the present time, and we will write him to-day." To my astonishment Mr. Gray called me up several days later to inform me that Captain West had declined my offer. "Did you offer him up to a thousand?" I demanded. "What did he say?" "He regretted that he was unable to concede what you asked," Mr. Gray replied. A day later I received a letter from Captain West. The writing and the wording were old-fashioned and formal. He regretted not having yet met me, and assured me that he would see personally that my quarters were made comfortable. For that matter he had already dispatched orders to Mr. Pike, the first mate of the _Elsinore_, to knock out the partition between my state-room and the spare state-room adjoining. Further--and here is where my dislike for Captain West began--he informed me that if, when once well at sea, I should find myself dissatisfied, he would gladly, in that case, exchange quarters with me. Of course, after such a rebuff, I knew that no circumstance could ever persuade me to occupy Captain West's brass bed. And it was this Captain Nathaniel West, whom I had not yet met, who had now kept me freezing on pier-ends through four miserable hours. The less I saw of him on the voyage the better, was my decision; and it was with a little tickle of pleasure that I thought of the many boxes of books I had dispatched on board from New York. Thank the Lord, I did not depend on sea captains for entertainment. I turned Possum over to Wada, who was settling with the cabman, and while the tug's sailors were carrying my luggage on board I was led by the pilot to an introduction with Captain West. At the first glimpse I knew that he was no more a sea captain than the pilot was a pilot. I had seen the best of the breed, the captains of the liners, and he no more resembled them than did he resemble the bluff-faced, gruff-voiced skippers I had read about in books. By his side stood a woman, of whom little was to be seen and who made a warm and gorgeous blob of colour in the huge muff and boa of red fox in which she was well-nigh buried. "My God!--his wife!" I darted in a whisper at the pilot. "Going along with him? . . . " I had expressly stipulated with Mr. Harrison, when engaging passage, that the one thing I could not possibly consider was the skipper of the _Elsinore_ taking his wife on the voyage. And Mr. Harrison had smiled and assured me that Captain West would sail unaccompanied by a wife. "It's his daughter," the pilot replied under his breath. "Come to see him off, I fancy. His wife died over a year ago. They say that is what sent him back to sea. He'd retired, you know." Captain West advanced to meet me, and before our outstretched hands touched, before his face broke from repose to greeting and the lips moved to speech, I got the first astonishing impact of his personality. Long, lean, in his face a touch of race I as yet could only sense, he was as cool as the day was cold, as poised as a king or emperor, as remote as the farthest fixed star, as neutral as a proposition of Euclid. And then, just ere our hands met, a twinkle of--oh--such distant and controlled geniality quickened the many tiny wrinkles in the corner of the eyes; the clear blue of the eyes was suffused by an almost colourful warmth; the face, too, seemed similarly to suffuse; the thin lips, harsh- set the instant before, were as gracious as Bernhardt's when she moulds sound into speech. So curiously was I affected by this first glimpse of Captain West that I was aware of expecting to fall from his lips I knew not what words of untold beneficence and wisdom. Yet he uttered most commonplace regrets at the delay in a voice provocative of fresh surprise to me. It was low and gentle, almost too low, yet clear as a bell and touched with a faint reminiscent twang of old New England. "And this is the young woman who is guilty of the delay," he concluded my introduction to his daughter. "Margaret, this is Mr. Pathurst." Her gloved hand promptly emerged from the fox-skins to meet mine, and I found myself looking into a pair of gray eyes bent steadily and gravely upon me. It was discomfiting, that cool, penetrating, searching gaze. It was not that it was challenging, but that it was so insolently business- like. It was much in the very way one would look at a new coachman he was about to engage. I did not know then that she was to go on the voyage, and that her curiosity about the man who was to be a fellow-passenger for half a year was therefore only natural. Immediately she realized what she was doing, and her lips and eyes smiled as she spoke. As we moved on to enter the tug's cabin I heard Possum's shivering whimper rising to a screech, and went forward to tell Wada to take the creature in out of the cold. I found him hovering about my luggage, wedging my dressing-case securely upright by means of my little automatic rifle. I was startled by the mountain of luggage around which mine was no more than a fringe. Ship's stores, was my first thought, until I noted the number of trunks, boxes, suit-cases, and parcels and bundles of all sorts. The initials on what looked suspiciously like a woman's hat trunk caught my eye--"M.W." Yet Captain West's first name was Nathaniel. On closer investigation I did find several "N.W's." but everywhere I could see "M.W's." Then I remembered that he had called her Margaret. I was too angry to return to the cabin, and paced up and down the cold deck biting my lips with vexation. I had so expressly stipulated with the agents that no captain's wife was to come along. The last thing under the sun I desired in the pet quarters of a ship was a woman. But I had never thought about a captain's daughter. For two cents I was ready to throw the voyage over and return on the tug to Baltimore. By the time the wind caused by our speed had chilled me bitterly, I noticed Miss West coming along the narrow deck, and could not avoid being struck by the spring and vitality of her walk. Her face, despite its firm moulding, had a suggestion of fragility that was belied by the robustness of her body. At least, one would argue that her body must be robust from her fashion of movement of it, though little could one divine the lines of it under the shapelessness of the furs. I turned away on my heel and fell moodily to contemplating the mountain of luggage. A huge packing-case attracted my attention, and I was staring at it when she spoke at my shoulder. "That's what really caused the delay," she said. "What is it?" I asked incuriously. "Why, the _Elsinore's_ piano, all renovated. When I made up my mind to come, I telegraphed Mr. Pike--he's the mate, you know. He did his best. It was the fault of the piano house. And while we waited to-day I gave them a piece of my mind they'll not forget in a hurry." She laughed at the recollection, and commenced to peep and peer into the luggage as if in search of some particular piece. Having satisfied herself, she was starting back, when she paused and said: "Won't you come into the cabin where it's warm? We won't be there for half an hour." "When did you decide to make this voyage?" I demanded abruptly. So quick was the look she gave me that I knew she had in that moment caught all my disgruntlement and disgust. "Two days ago," she answered. "Why?" Her readiness for give and take took me aback, and before I could speak she went on: "Now you're not to be at all silly about my coming, Mr. Pathurst. I probably know more about long-voyaging than you do, and we're all going to be comfortable and happy. You can't bother me, and I promise you I won't bother you. I've sailed with passengers before, and I've learned to put up with more than they ever proved they were able to put up with. So there. Let us start right, and it won't be any trouble to keep on going right. I know what is the matter with you. You think you'll be called upon to entertain me. Please know that I do not need entertainment. I never saw the longest voyage that was too long, and I always arrive at the end with too many things not done for the passage ever to have been tedious, and . . . I don't play _Chopsticks_." CHAPTER II The _Elsinore_, fresh-loaded with coal, lay very deep in the water when we came alongside. I knew too little about ships to be capable of admiring her lines, and, besides, I was in no mood for admiration. I was still debating with myself whether or not to chuck the whole thing and return on the tug. From all of which it must not be taken that I am a vacillating type of man. On the contrary. The trouble was that at no time, from the first thought of it, had I been keen for the voyage. Practically the reason I was taking it was because there was nothing else I was keen on. For some time now life had lost its savour. I was not jaded, nor was I exactly bored. But the zest had gone out of things. I had lost taste for my fellow-men and all their foolish, little, serious endeavours. For a far longer period I had been dissatisfied with women. I had endured them, but I had been too analytic of the faults of their primitiveness, of their almost ferocious devotion to the destiny of sex, to be enchanted with them. And I had come to be oppressed by what seemed to me the futility of art--a pompous legerdemain, a consummate charlatanry that deceived not only its devotees but its practitioners. In short, I was embarking on the _Elsinore_ because it was easier to than not; yet everything else was as equally and perilously easy. That was the curse of the condition into which I had fallen. That was why, as I stepped upon the deck of the _Elsinore_, I was half of a mind to tell them to keep my luggage where it was and bid Captain West and his daughter good-day. I almost think what decided me was the welcoming, hospitable smile Miss West gave me as she started directly across the deck for the cabin, and the knowledge that it must be quite warm in the cabin. Mr. Pike, the mate, I had already met, when I visited the ship in Erie Basin. He smiled a stiff, crack-faced smile that I knew must be painful, but did not offer to shake hands, turning immediately to call orders to half-a-dozen frozen-looking youths and aged men who shambled up from somewhere in the waist of the ship. Mr. Pike had been drinking. That was patent. His face was puffed and discoloured, and his large gray eyes were bitter and bloodshot. I lingered, with a sinking heart watching my belongings come aboard and chiding my weakness of will which prevented me from uttering the few words that would put a stop to it. As for the half-dozen men who were now carrying the luggage aft into the cabin, they were unlike any concept I had ever entertained of sailors. Certainly, on the liners, I had observed nothing that resembled them. One, a most vivid-faced youth of eighteen, smiled at me from a pair of remarkable Italian eyes. But he was a dwarf. So short was he that he was all sea-boots and sou'wester. And yet he was not entirely Italian. So certain was I that I asked the mate, who answered morosely: "Him? Shorty? He's a dago half-breed. The other half's Jap or Malay." One old man, who I learned was a bosun, was so decrepit that I thought he had been recently injured. His face was stolid and ox-like, and as he shuffled and dragged his brogans over the deck he paused every several steps to place both hands on his abdomen and execute a queer, pressing, lifting movement. Months were to pass, in which I saw him do this thousands of times, ere I learned that there was nothing the matter with him and that his action was purely a habit. His face reminded me of the Man with the Hoe, save that it was unthinkably and abysmally stupider. And his name, as I was to learn, of all names was Sundry Buyers. And he was bosun of the fine American sailing-ship _Elsinore_--rated one of the finest sailing-ships afloat! Of this group of aged men and boys that moved the luggage along I saw only one, called Henry, a youth of sixteen, who approximated in the slightest what I had conceived all sailors to be like. He had come off a training ship, the mate told me, and this was his first voyage to sea. His face was keen-cut, alert, as were his bodily movements, and he wore sailor-appearing clothes with sailor-seeming grace. In fact, as I was to learn, he was to be the only sailor-seeming creature fore and aft. The main crew had not yet come aboard, but was expected at any moment, the mate vouchsafed with a snarl of ominous expectancy. Those already on board were the miscellaneous ones who had shipped themselves in New York without the mediation of boarding-house masters. And what the crew itself would be like God alone could tell--so said the mate. Shorty, the Japanese (or Malay) and Italian half-caste, the mate told me, was an able seaman, though he had come out of steam and this was his first sailing voyage. "Ordinary seamen!" Mr. Pike snorted, in reply to a question. "We don't carry Landsmen!--forget it! Every clodhopper an' cow-walloper these days is an able seaman. That's the way they rank and are paid. The merchant service is all shot to hell. There ain't no more sailors. They all died years ago, before you were born even." I could smell the raw whiskey on the mate's breath. Yet he did not stagger nor show any signs of intoxication. Not until afterward was I to know that his willingness to talk was most unwonted and was where the liquor gave him away. "It'd a-ben a grace had I died years ago," he said, "rather than to a- lived to see sailors an' ships pass away from the sea." "But I understand the _Elsinore_ is considered one of the finest," I urged. "So she is . . . to-day. But what is she?--a damned cargo-carrier. She ain't built for sailin', an' if she was there ain't no sailors left to sail her. Lord! Lord! The old clippers! When I think of 'em!--_The Gamecock_, _Shootin' Star_, _Flyin' Fish_, _Witch o' the Wave_, _Staghound_, _Harvey Birch_, _Canvas-back_, _Fleetwing_, _Sea Serpent_, _Northern Light_! An' when I think of the fleets of the tea-clippers that used to load at Hong Kong an' race the Eastern Passages. A fine sight! A fine sight!" I was interested. Here was a man, a live man. I was in no hurry to go into the cabin, where I knew Wada was unpacking my things, so I paced up and down the deck with the huge Mr. Pike. Huge he was in all conscience, broad-shouldered, heavy-boned, and, despite the profound stoop of his shoulders, fully six feet in height. "You are a splendid figure of a man," I complimented. "I was, I was," he muttered sadly, and I caught the whiff of whiskey strong on the air. I stole a look at his gnarled hands. Any finger would have made three of mine. His wrist would have made three of my wrist. "How much do you weigh?" I asked. "Two hundred an' ten. But in my day, at my best, I tipped the scales close to two-forty." "And the _Elsinore_ can't sail," I said, returning to the subject which had roused him. "I'll take you even, anything from a pound of tobacco to a month's wages, she won't make it around in a hundred an' fifty days," he answered. "Yet I've come round in the old _Flyin' Cloud_ in eighty-nine days--eighty-nine days, sir, from Sandy Hook to 'Frisco. Sixty men for'ard that _was_ men, an' eight boys, an' drive! drive! drive! Three hundred an' seventy-four miles for a day's run under t'gallantsails, an' in the squalls eighteen knots o' line not enough to time her. Eighty-nine days--never beat, an' tied once by the old _Andrew Jackson_ nine years afterwards. Them was the days!" "When did the _Andrew Jackson_ tie her?" I asked, because of the growing suspicion that he was "having" me. "In 1860," was his prompt reply. "And you sailed in the _Flying Cloud_ nine years before that, and this is 1913--why, that was sixty-two years ago," I charged. "And I was seven years old," he chuckled. "My mother was stewardess on the _Flyin' Cloud_. I was born at sea. I was boy when I was twelve, on the _Herald o' the Morn_, when she made around in ninety-nine days--half the crew in irons most o' the time, five men lost from aloft off the Horn, the points of our sheath-knives broken square off, knuckle-dusters an' belayin'-pins flyin', three men shot by the officers in one day, the second mate killed dead an' no one to know who done it, an' drive! drive! drive! ninety-nine days from land to land, a run of seventeen thousand miles, an' east to west around Cape Stiff!" "But that would make you sixty-nine years old," I insisted. "Which I am," he retorted proudly, "an' a better man at that than the scrubby younglings of these days. A generation of 'em would die under the things I've been through. Did you ever hear of the _Sunny South_?--she that was sold in Havana to run slaves an' changed her name to _Emanuela_?" "And you've sailed the Middle Passage!" I cried, recollecting the old phrase. "I was on the _Emanuela_ that day in Mozambique Channel when the _Brisk_ caught us with nine hundred slaves between-decks. Only she wouldn't a- caught us except for her having steam." I continued to stroll up and down beside this massive relic of the past, and to listen to his hints and muttered reminiscences of old man-killing and man-driving days. He was too real to be true, and yet, as I studied his shoulder-stoop and the age-drag of his huge feet, I was convinced that his years were as he asserted. He spoke of a Captain Sonurs. "He was a great captain," he was saying. "An' in the two years I sailed mate with him there was never a port I didn't jump the ship goin' in an' stay in hiding until I sneaked aboard when she sailed again." "But why?" "The men, on account of the men swearin' blood an' vengeance and warrants against me because of my ways of teachin' them to be sailors. Why, the times I was caught, and the fines the skipper paid for me--and yet it was my work that made the ship make money." He held up his huge paws, and as I stared at the battered, malformed knuckles I understood the nature of his work. "But all that's stopped now," he lamented. "A sailor's a gentleman these days. You can't raise your voice or your hand to them." At this moment he was addressed from the poop-rail above by the second mate, a medium-sized, heavily built, clean-shaven, blond man. "The tug's in sight with the crew, sir," he announced. The mate grunted an acknowledgment, then added, "Come on down, Mr. Mellaire, and meet our passenger." I could not help noting the air and carriage with which Mr. Mellaire came down the poop-ladder and took his part in the introduction. He was courteous in an old-world way, soft-spoken, suave, and unmistakably from south of Mason and Dixon. "A Southerner," I said. "Georgia, sir." He bowed and smiled, as only a Southerner can bow and smile. His features and expression were genial and gentle, and yet his mouth was the cruellest gash I had ever seen in a man's face. It was a gash. There is no other way of describing that harsh, thin-lipped, shapeless mouth that uttered gracious things so graciously. Involuntarily I glanced at his hands. Like the mate's, they were thick-boned, broken-knuckled, and malformed. Back into his blue eyes I looked. On the surface of them was a film of light, a gloss of gentle kindness and cordiality, but behind that gloss I knew resided neither sincerity nor mercy. Behind that gloss was something cold and terrible, that lurked and waited and watched--something catlike, something inimical and deadly. Behind that gloss of soft light and of social sparkle was the live, fearful thing that had shaped that mouth into the gash it was. What I sensed behind in those eyes chilled me with its repulsiveness and strangeness. As I faced Mr. Mellaire, and talked with him, and smiled, and exchanged amenities, I was aware of the feeling that comes to one in the forest or jungle when he knows unseen wild eyes of hunting animals are spying upon him. Frankly I was afraid of the thing ambushed behind there in the skull of Mr. Mellaire. One so as a matter of course identifies form and feature with the spirit within. But I could not do this with the second mate. His face and form and manner and suave ease were one thing, inside which he, an entirely different thing, lay hid. I noticed Wada standing in the cabin door, evidently waiting to ask for instructions. I nodded, and prepared to follow him inside. Mr. Pike looked at me quickly and said: "Just a moment, Mr. Pathurst." He gave some orders to the second mate, who turned on his heel and started for'ard. I stood and waited for Mr. Pike's communication, which he did not choose to make until he saw the second mate well out of ear- shot. Then he leaned closely to me and said: "Don't mention that little matter of my age to anybody. Each year I sign on I sign my age one year younger. I am fifty-four, now, on the articles." "And you don't look a day older," I answered lightly, though I meant it in all sincerity. "And I don't feel it. I can outwork and outgame the huskiest of the younglings. And don't let my age get to anybody's ears, Mr. Pathurst. Skippers are not particular for mates getting around the seventy mark. And owners neither. I've had my hopes for this ship, and I'd a-got her, I think, except for the old man decidin' to go to sea again. As if he needed the money! The old skinflint!" "Is he well off?" I inquired. "Well off! If I had a tenth of his money I could retire on a chicken ranch in California and live like a fighting cock--yes, if I had a fiftieth of what he's got salted away. Why, he owns more stock in all the Blackwood ships . . . and they've always been lucky and always earned money. I'm getting old, and it's about time I got a command. But no; the old cuss has to take it into his head to go to sea again just as the berth's ripe for me to fall into." Again I started to enter the cabin, but was stopped by the mate. "Mr. Pathurst? You won't mention about my age?" "No, certainly not, Mr. Pike," I said. CHAPTER III Quite chilled through, I was immediately struck by the warm comfort of the cabin. All the connecting doors were open, making what I might call a large suite of rooms or a whale house. The main-deck entrance, on the port side, was into a wide, well-carpeted hallway. Into this hallway, from the port side, opened five rooms: first, on entering, the mate's; next, the two state-rooms which had been knocked into one for me; then the steward's room; and, adjoining his, completing the row, a state-room which was used for the slop-chest. Across the hall was a region with which I was not yet acquainted, though I knew it contained the dining-room, the bath-rooms, the cabin proper, which was in truth a spacious living-room, the captain's quarters, and, undoubtedly, Miss West's quarters. I could hear her humming some air as she bustled about with her unpacking. The steward's pantry, separated by crosshalls and by the stairway leading into the chart-room above on the poop, was placed strategically in the centre of all its operations. Thus, on the starboard side of it were the state-rooms of the captain and Miss West, for'ard of it were the dining-room and main cabin; while on the port side of it was the row of rooms I have described, two of which were mine. I ventured down the hall toward the stern, and found it opened into the stern of the _Elsinore_, forming a single large apartment at least thirty- five feet from side to side and fifteen to eighteen feet in depth, curved, of course, to the lines of the ship's stern. This seemed a store- room. I noted wash-tubs, bolts of canvas, many lockers, hams and bacon hanging, a step-ladder that led up through a small hatch to the poop, and, in the floor, another hatch. I spoke to the steward, an old Chinese, smooth-faced and brisk of movement, whose name I never learned, but whose age on the articles was fifty-six. "What is down there?" I asked, pointing to the hatch in the floor. "Him lazarette," he answered. "And who eats there?" I indicated a table with two stationary sea-chairs. "Him second table. Second mate and carpenter him eat that table." When I had finished giving instructions to Wada for the arranging of my things I looked at my watch. It was early yet, only several minutes after three so I went on deck again to witness the arrival of the crew. The actual coming on board from the tug I had missed, but for'ard of the amidship house I encountered a few laggards who had not yet gone into the forecastle. These were the worse for liquor, and a more wretched, miserable, disgusting group of men I had never seen in any slum. Their clothes were rags. Their faces were bloated, bloody, and dirty. I won't say they were villainous. They were merely filthy and vile. They were vile of appearance, of speech, and action. "Come! Come! Get your dunnage into the fo'c's'le!" Mr. Pike uttered these words sharply from the bridge above. A light and graceful bridge of steel rods and planking ran the full length of the _Elsinore_, starting from the poop, crossing the amidship house and the forecastle, and connecting with the forecastle-head at the very bow of the ship. At the mate's command the men reeled about and glowered up at him, one or two starting clumsily to obey. The others ceased their drunken yammerings and regarded the mate sullenly. One of them, with a face mashed by some mad god in the making, and who was afterwards to be known by me as Larry, burst into a guffaw, and spat insolently on the deck. Then, with utmost deliberation, he turned to his fellows and demanded loudly and huskily: "Who in hell's the old stiff, anyways?" I saw Mr. Pike's huge form tense convulsively and involuntarily, and I noted the way his huge hands strained in their clutch on the bridge-railing. Beyond that he controlled himself. "Go on, you," he said. "I'll have nothing out of you. Get into the fo'c's'le." And then, to my surprise, he turned and walked aft along the bridge to where the tug was casting off its lines. So this was all his high and mighty talk of kill and drive, I thought. Not until afterwards did I recollect, as I turned aft down the deck, that I saw Captain West leaning on the rail at the break of the poop and gazing for'ard. The tug's lines were being cast off, and I was interested in watching the manoeuvre until she had backed clear of the ship, at which moment, from for'ard, arose a queer babel of howling and yelping, as numbers of drunken voices cried out that a man was overboard. The second mate sprang down the poop-ladder and darted past me along the deck. The mate, still on the slender, white-painted bridge, that seemed no more than a spider thread, surprised me by the activity with which he dashed along the bridge to the 'midship house, leaped upon the canvas-covered long- boat, and swung outboard where he might see. Before the men could clamber upon the rail the second mate was among them, and it was he who flung a coil of line overboard. What impressed me particularly was the mental and muscular superiority of these two officers. Despite their age--the mate sixty-nine and the second mate at least fifty--their minds and their bodies had acted with the swiftness and accuracy of steel springs. They were potent. They were iron. They were perceivers, willers, and doers. They were as of another species compared with the sailors under them. While the latter, witnesses of the happening and directly on the spot, had been crying out in befuddled helplessness, and with slow wits and slower bodies been climbing upon the rail, the second mate had descended the steep ladder from the poop, covered two hundred feet of deck, sprung upon the rail, grasped the instant need of the situation, and cast the coil of line into the water. And of the same nature and quality had been the actions of Mr. Pike. He and Mr. Mellaire were masters over the wretched creatures of sailors by virtue of this remarkable difference of efficiency and will. Truly, they were more widely differentiated from the men under them than were the men under them differentiated from Hottentots--ay, and from monkeys. I, too, by this time, was standing on the big hawser-bitts in a position to see a man in the water who seemed deliberately swimming away from the ship. He was a dark-skinned Mediterranean of some sort, and his face, in a clear glimpse I caught of it, was distorted by frenzy. His black eyes were maniacal. The line was so accurately flung by the second mate that it fell across the man's shoulders, and for several strokes his arms tangled in it ere he could swim clear. This accomplished, he proceeded to scream some wild harangue and once, as he uptossed his arms for emphasis, I saw in his hand the blade of a long knife. Bells were jangling on the tug as it started to the rescue. I stole a look up at Captain West. He had walked to the port side of the poop, where, hands in pockets, he was glancing, now for'ard at the struggling man, now aft at the tug. He gave no orders, betrayed no excitement, and appeared, I may well say, the most casual of spectators. The creature in the water seemed now engaged in taking off his clothes. I saw one bare arm, and then the other, appear. In his struggles he sometimes sank beneath the surface, but always he emerged, flourishing the knife and screaming his addled harangue. He even tried to escape the tug by diving and swimming underneath. I strolled for'ard, and arrived in time to see him hoisted in over the rail of the _Elsinore_. He was stark naked, covered with blood, and raving. He had cut and slashed himself in a score of places. From one wound in the wrist the blood spurted with each beat of the pulse. He was a loathsome, non-human thing. I have seen a scared orang in a zoo, and for all the world this bestial-faced, mowing, gibbering thing reminded me of the orang. The sailors surrounded him, laying hands on him, withstraining him, the while they guffawed and cheered. Right and left the two mates shoved them away, and dragged the lunatic down the deck and into a room in the 'midship house. I could not help marking the strength of Mr. Pike and Mr. Mellaire. I had heard of the superhuman strength of madmen, but this particular madman was as a wisp of straw in their hands. Once into the bunk, Mr. Pike held down the struggling fool easily with one hand while he dispatched the second mate for marlin with which to tie the fellow's arms. "Bughouse," Mr. Pike grinned at me. "I've seen some bughouse crews in my time, but this one's the limit." "What are you going to do?" I asked. "The man will bleed to death." "And good riddance," he answered promptly. "We'll have our hands full of him until we can lose him somehow. When he gets easy I'll sew him up, that's all, if I have to ease him with a clout of the jaw." I glanced at the mate's huge paw and appreciated its anaesthetic qualities. Out on deck again, I saw Captain West on the poop, hands still in pockets, quite uninterested, gazing at a blue break in the sky to the north-east. More than the mates and the maniac, more than the drunken callousness of the men, did this quiet figure, hands in pockets, impress upon me that I was in a different world from any I had known. Wada broke in upon my thoughts by telling me he had been sent to say that Miss West was serving tea in the cabin. CHAPTER IV The contrast, as I entered the cabin, was startling. All contrasts aboard the _Elsinore_ promised to be startling. Instead of the cold, hard deck my feet sank into soft carpet. In place of the mean and narrow room, built of naked iron, where I had left the lunatic, I was in a spacious and beautiful apartment. With the bawling of the men's voices still in my ears, and with the pictures of their drink-puffed and filthy faces still vivid under my eyelids, I found myself greeted by a delicate- faced, prettily-gowned woman who sat beside a lacquered oriental table on which rested an exquisite tea-service of Canton china. All was repose and calm. The steward, noiseless-footed, expressionless, was a shadow, scarcely noticed, that drifted into the room on some service and drifted out again. Not at once could I relax, and Miss West, serving my tea, laughed and said: "You look as if you had been seeing things. The steward tells me a man has been overboard. I fancy the cold water must have sobered him." I resented her unconcern. "The man is a lunatic," I said. "This ship is no place for him. He should be sent ashore to some hospital." "I am afraid, if we begin that, we'd have to send two-thirds of our complement ashore--one lump? "Yes, please," I answered. "But the man has terribly wounded himself. He is liable to bleed to death." She looked at me for a moment, her gray eyes serious and scrutinizing, as she passed me my cup; then laughter welled up in her eyes, and she shook her head reprovingly. "Now please don't begin the voyage by being shocked, Mr. Pathurst. Such things are very ordinary occurrences. You'll get used to them. You must remember some queer creatures go down to the sea in ships. The man is safe. Trust Mr. Pike to attend to his wounds. I've never sailed with Mr. Pike, but I've heard enough about him. Mr. Pike is quite a surgeon. Last voyage, they say, he performed a successful amputation, and so elated was he that he turned his attention on the carpenter, who happened to be suffering from some sort of indigestion. Mr. Pike was so convinced of the correctness of his diagnosis that he tried to bribe the carpenter into having his appendix removed." She broke off to laugh heartily, then added: "They say he offered the poor man just pounds and pounds of tobacco to consent to the operation." "But is it safe . . . for the . . . the working of the ship," I urged, "to take such a lunatic along?" She shrugged her shoulders, as if not intending to reply, then said: "This incident is nothing. There are always several lunatics or idiots in every ship's company. And they always come aboard filled with whiskey and raving. I remember, once, when we sailed from Seattle, a long time ago, one such madman. He showed no signs of madness at all; just calmly seized two boarding-house runners and sprang overboard with them. We sailed the same day, before the bodies were recovered." Again she shrugged her shoulders. "What would you? The sea is hard, Mr. Pathurst. And for our sailors we get the worst type of men. I sometimes wonder where they find them. And we do our best with them, and somehow manage to make them help us carry on our work in the world. But they are low . . . low." As I listened, and studied her face, contrasting her woman's sensitivity and her soft pretty dress with the brute faces and rags of the men I had noticed, I could not help being convinced intellectually of the rightness of her position. Nevertheless, I was hurt sentimentally,--chiefly, I do believe, because of the very hardness and unconcern with which she enunciated her view. It was because she was a woman, and so different from the sea-creatures, that I resented her having received such harsh education in the school of the sea. "I could not help remarking your father's--er, er _sang froid_ during the occurrence." I ventured. "He never took his hands from his pockets!" she cried. Her eyes sparkled as I nodded confirmation. "I knew it! It's his way. I've seen it so often. I remember when I was twelve years old--mother was alone--we were running into San Francisco. It was in the _Dixie_, a ship almost as big as this. There was a strong fair wind blowing, and father did not take a tug. We sailed right through the Golden Gate and up the San Francisco water-front. There was a swift flood tide, too; and the men, both watches, were taking in sail as fast as they could. "Now the fault was the steamboat captain's. He miscalculated our speed and tried to cross our bow. Then came the collision, and the _Dixie's_ bow cut through that steamboat, cabin and hull. There were hundreds of passengers, men, women, and children. Father never took his hands from his pockets. He sent the mate for'ard to superintend rescuing the passengers, who were already climbing on to our bowsprit and forecastle- head, and in a voice no different from what he'd use to ask some one to pass the butter he told the second mate to set all sail. And he told him which sails to begin with." "But why set more sails?" I interrupted. "Because he could see the situation. Don't you see, the steamboat was cut wide open. All that kept her from sinking instantly was the bow of the _Dixie_ jammed into her side. By setting more sail and keeping before the wind, he continued to keep the bow of the _Dixie_ jammed. "I was terribly frightened. People who had sprung or fallen overboard were drowning on each side of us, right in my sight, as we sailed along up the water-front. But when I looked at father, there he was, just as I had always known him, hands in pockets, walking slowly up and down, now giving an order to the wheel--you see, he had to direct the _Dixie's_ course through all the shipping--now watching the passengers swarming over our bow and along our deck, now looking ahead to see his way through the ships at anchor. Sometimes he did glance at the poor, drowning ones, but he was not concerned with them. "Of course, there were numbers drowned, but by keeping his hands in his pockets and his head cool he saved hundreds of lives. Not until the last person was off the steamboat--he sent men aboard to make sure--did he take off the press of sail. And the steamboat sank at once." She ceased, and looked at me with shining eyes for approbation. "It was splendid," I acknowledged. "I admire the quiet man of power, though I confess that such quietness under stress seems to me almost unearthly and beyond human. I can't conceive of myself acting that way, and I am confident that I was suffering more while that poor devil was in the water than all the rest of the onlookers put together." "Father suffers!" she defended loyally. "Only he does not show it." I bowed, for I felt she had missed my point. CHAPTER V I came out from tea in the cabin to find the tug _Britannia_ in sight. She was the craft that was to tow us down Chesapeake Bay to sea. Strolling for'ard I noted the sailors being routed out of the forecastle by Sundry Buyers, for ever tenderly pressing his abdomen with his hands. Another man was helping Sundry Buyers at routing out the sailors. I asked Mr. Pike who the man was. "Nancy--my bosun; ain't he a peach?" was the answer I got, and from the mate's manner of enunciation I was quite aware that "Nancy" had been used derisively. Nancy could not have been more than thirty, though he looked as if he had lived a very long time. He was toothless and sad and weary of movement. His eyes were slate-coloured and muddy, his shaven face was sickly yellow. Narrow-shouldered, sunken-chested, with cheeks cavernously hollow, he looked like a man in the last stages of consumption. Little life as Sundry Buyers showed, Nancy showed even less life. And these were bosuns!--bosuns of the fine American sailing-ship _Elsinore_! Never had any illusion of mine taken a more distressing cropper. It was plain to me that the pair of them, spineless and spunkless, were afraid of the men they were supposed to boss. And the men! Dore could never have conjured a more delectable hell's broth. For the first time I saw them all, and I could not blame the two bosuns for being afraid of them. They did not walk. They slouched and shambled, some even tottered, as from weakness or drink. But it was their faces. I could not help remembering what Miss West had just told me--that ships always sailed with several lunatics or idiots in their crews. But these looked as if they were all lunatic or feeble-minded. And I, too, wondered where such a mass of human wreckage could have been obtained. There was something wrong with all of them. Their bodies were twisted, their faces distorted, and almost without exception they were under-sized. The several quite fairly large men I marked were vacant-faced. One man, however, large and unmistakably Irish, was also unmistakably mad. He was talking and muttering to himself as he came out. A little, curved, lop-sided man, with his head on one side and with the shrewdest and wickedest of faces and pale blue eyes, addressed an obscene remark to the mad Irishman, calling him O'Sullivan. But O'Sullivan took no notice and muttered on. On the heels of the little lop-sided man appeared an overgrown dolt of a fat youth, followed by another youth so tall and emaciated of body that it seemed a marvel his flesh could hold his frame together. Next, after this perambulating skeleton, came the weirdest creature I have ever beheld. He was a twisted oaf of a man. Face and body were twisted as with the pain of a thousand years of torture. His was the face of an ill-treated and feeble-minded faun. His large black eyes were bright, eager, and filled with pain; and they flashed questioningly from face to face and to everything about. They were so pitifully alert, those eyes, as if for ever astrain to catch the clue to some perplexing and threatening enigma. Not until afterwards did I learn the cause of this. He was stone deaf, having had his ear-drums destroyed in the boiler explosion which had wrecked the rest of him. I noticed the steward, standing at the galley door and watching the men from a distance. His keen, Asiatic face, quick with intelligence, was a relief to the eye, as was the vivid face of Shorty, who came out of the forecastle with a leap and a gurgle of laughter. But there was something wrong with him, too. He was a dwarf, and, as I was to come to know, his high spirits and low mentality united to make him a clown. Mr. Pike stopped beside me a moment and while he watched the men I watched him. The expression on his face was that of a cattle-buyer, and it was plain that he was disgusted with the quality of cattle delivered. "Something the matter with the last mother's son of them," he growled. And still they came: one, pallid, furtive-eyed, that I instantly adjudged a drug fiend; another, a tiny, wizened old man, pinch-faced and wrinkled, with beady, malevolent blue eyes; a third, a small, well-fleshed man, who seemed to my eye the most normal and least unintelligent specimen that had yet appeared. But Mr. Pike's eye was better trained than mine. "What's the matter with _you_?" he snarled at the man. "Nothing, sir," the fellow answered, stopping immediately. "What's your name?" Mr. Pike never spoke to a sailor save with a snarl. "Charles Davis, sir." "What are you limping about?" "I ain't limpin', sir," the man answered respectfully, and, at a nod of dismissal from the mate, marched off jauntily along the deck with a heodlum swing to the shoulders. "He's a sailor all right," the mate grumbled; "but I'll bet you a pound of tobacco or a month's wages there's something wrong with him." The forecastle now seemed empty, but the mate turned on the bosuns with his customary snarl. "What in hell are you doing? Sleeping? Think this is a rest cure? Get in there an' rustle 'em out!" Sundry Buyers pressed his abdomen gingerly and hesitated, while Nancy, his face one dogged, long-suffering bleakness, reluctantly entered the forecastle. Then, from inside, we heard oaths, vile and filthy, urgings and expostulations on the part of Nancy, meekly and pleadingly uttered. I noted the grim and savage look that came on Mr. Pike's face, and was prepared for I knew not what awful monstrosities to emerge from the forecastle. Instead, to my surprise, came three fellows who were strikingly superior to the ruck that had preceded them. I looked to see the mate's face soften to some sort of approval. On the contrary, his blue eyes contracted to narrow slits, the snarl of his voice was communicated to his lips, so that he seemed like a dog about to bite. But the three fellows. They were small men, all; and young men, anywhere between twenty-five and thirty. Though roughly dressed, they were well dressed, and under their clothes their bodily movements showed physical well-being. Their faces were keen cut, intelligent. And though I felt there was something queer about them, I could not divine what it was. Here were no ill-fed, whiskey-poisoned men, such as the rest of the sailors, who, having drunk up their last pay-days, had starved ashore until they had received and drunk up their advance money for the present voyage. These three, on the other hand were supple and vigorous. Their movements were spontaneously quick and accurate. Perhaps it was the way they looked at me, with incurious yet calculating eyes that nothing escaped. They seemed so worldly wise, so indifferent, so sure of themselves. I was confident they were not sailors. Yet, as shore-dwellers, I could not place them. They were a type I had never encountered. Possibly I can give a better idea of them by describing what occurred. As they passed before us they favoured Mr. Pike with the same indifferent, keen glances they gave me. "What's your name--you?" Mr. Pike barked at the first of the trio, evidently a hybrid Irish-Jew. Jewish his nose unmistakably was. Equally unmistakable was the Irish of his eyes, and jaw, and upper lip. The three had immediately stopped, and, though they did not look directly at one another, they seemed to be holding a silent conference. Another of the trio, in whose veins ran God alone knows what Semitic, Babylonish and Latin strains, gave a warning signal. Oh, nothing so crass as a wink or a nod. I almost doubted that I had intercepted it, and yet I knew he had communicated a warning to his fellows. More a shade of expression that had crossed his eyes, or a glint in them of sudden light--or whatever it was, it carried the message. "Murphy," the other answered the mate. "Sir!" Mr. Pike snarled at him. Murphy shrugged his shoulders in token that he did not understand. It was the poise of the man, of the three of them, the cool poise that impressed me. "When you address any officer on this ship you'll say 'sir,'" Mr. Pike explained, his voice as harsh as his face was forbidding. "Did you get _that_?" "Yes . . . sir," Murphy drawled with deliberate slowness. "I gotcha." "Sir!" Mr. Pike roared. "Sir," Murphy answered, so softly and carelessly that it irritated the mate to further bullyragging. "Well, Murphy's too long," he announced. "Nosey'll do you aboard this craft. Got _that_?" "I gotcha . . . sir," came the reply, insolent in its very softness and unconcern. "Nosey Murphy goes . . . sir." And then he laughed--the three of them laughed, if laughter it might be called that was laughter without sound or facial movement. The eyes alone laughed, mirthlessly and cold-bloodedly. Certainly Mr. Pike was not enjoying himself with these baffling personalities. He turned upon the leader, the one who had given the warning and who looked the admixture of all that was Mediterranean and Semitic. "What's _your_ name?" "Bert Rhine . . . sir," was the reply, in tones as soft and careless and silkily irritating as the other's. "And _you_?"--this to the remaining one, the youngest of the trio, a dark- eyed, olive-skinned fellow with a face most striking in its cameo-like beauty. American-born, I placed him, of immigrants from Southern Italy--from Naples, or even Sicily. "Twist . . . sir," he answered, precisely in the same manner as the others. "Too long," the mate sneered. "The Kid'll do you. Got _that_?" "I gotcha . . . sir. Kid Twist'll do me . . . sir." "Kid'll do!" "Kid . . . sir." And the three laughed their silent, mirthless laugh. By this time Mr. Pike was beside himself with a rage that could find no excuse for action. "Now I'm going to tell you something, the bunch of you, for the good of your health." The mate's voice grated with the rage he was suppressing. "I know your kind. You're dirt. D'ye get _that_? You're dirt. And on this ship you'll be treated as dirt. You'll do your work like men, or I'll know the reason why. The first time one of you bats an eye, or even looks like batting an eye, he gets his. D'ye get that? Now get out. Get along for'ard to the windlass." Mr. Pike turned on his heel, and I swung alongside of him as he moved aft. "What do you make of them?" I queried. "The limit," he grunted. "I know their kidney. They've done time, the three of them. They're just plain sweepings of hell--" Here his speech was broken off by the spectacle that greeted him on Number Two hatch. Sprawled out on the hatch were five or six men, among them Larry, the tatterdemalion who had called him "old stiff" earlier in the afternoon. That Larry had not obeyed orders was patent, for he was sitting with his back propped against his sea-bag, which ought to have been in the forecastle. Also, he and the group with him ought to have been for'ard manning the windlass. The mate stepped upon the hatch and towered over the man. "Get up," he ordered. Larry made an effort, groaned, and failed to get up. "I can't," he said. "Sir!" "I can't, sir. I was drunk last night an' slept in Jefferson Market. An' this mornin' I was froze tight, sir. They had to pry me loose." "Stiff with the cold you were, eh?" the mate grinned. "It's well ye might say it, sir," Larry answered. "And you feel like an old stiff, eh?" Larry blinked with the troubled, querulous eyes of a monkey. He was beginning to apprehend he knew not what, and he knew that bending over him was a man-master. "Well, I'll just be showin' you what an old stiff feels like, anyways." Mr. Pike mimicked the other's brogue. And now I shall tell what I saw happen. Please remember what I have said of the huge paws of Mr. Pike, the fingers much longer than mine and twice as thick, the wrists massive-boned, the arm-bones and the shoulder-bones of the same massive order. With one flip of his right hand, with what I might call an open-handed, lifting, upward slap, save that it was the ends of the fingers only that touched Larry's face, he lifted Larry into the air, sprawling him backward on his back across his sea-bag. The man alongside of Larry emitted a menacing growl and started to spring belligerently to his feet. But he never reached his feet. Mr. Pike, with the back of same right hand, open, smote the man on the side of the face. The loud smack of the impact was startling. The mate's strength was amazing. The blow looked so easy, so effortless; it had seemed like the lazy stroke of a good-natured bear, but in it was such a weight of bone and muscle that the man went down sidewise and rolled off the hatch on to the deck. At this moment, lurching aimlessly along, appeared O'Sullivan. A sudden access of muttering, on his part, reached Mr. Pike's ear, and Mr. Pike, instantly keen as a wild animal, his paw in the act of striking O'Sullivan, whipped out like a revolver shot, "What's that?" Then he noted the sense-struck face of O'Sullivan and withheld the blow. "Bug- house," Mr. Pike commented. Involuntarily I had glanced to see if Captain West was on the poop, and found that we were hidden from the poop by the 'midship house. Mr. Pike, taking no notice of the man who lay groaning on the deck, stood over Larry, who was likewise groaning. The rest of the sprawling men were on their feet, subdued and respectful. I, too, was respectful of this terrific, aged figure of a man. The exhibition had quite convinced me of the verity of his earlier driving and killing days. "Who's the old stiff now?" he demanded. "'Tis me, sir," Larry moaned contritely. "Get up!" Larry got up without any difficulty at all. "Now get for'ard to the windlass! The rest of you!" And they went, sullenly, shamblingly, like the cowed brutes they were. CHAPTER VI I climbed the ladder on the side of the for'ard house (which house contained, as I discovered, the forecastle, the galley, and the donkey- engine room), and went part way along the bridge to a position by the foremast, where I could observe the crew heaving up anchor. The _Britannia_ was alongside, and we were getting under way. A considerable body of men was walking around with the windlass or variously engaged on the forecastle-head. Of the crew proper were two watches of fifteen men each. In addition were sailmakers, boys, bosuns, and the carpenter. Nearly forty men were they, but such men! They were sad and lifeless. There was no vim, no go, no activity. Every step and movement was an effort, as if they were dead men raised out of coffins or sick men dragged from hospital beds. Sick they were--whiskey-poisoned. Starved they were, and weak from poor nutrition. And worst of all, they were imbecile and lunatic. I looked aloft at the intricate ropes, at the steel masts rising and carrying huge yards of steel, rising higher and higher, until steel masts and yards gave way to slender spars of wood, while ropes and stays turned into a delicate tracery of spider-thread against the sky. That such a wretched muck of men should be able to work this magnificent ship through all storm and darkness and peril of the sea was beyond all seeming. I remembered the two mates, the super-efficiency, mental and physical, of Mr. Mellaire and Mr. Pike--could they make this human wreckage do it? They, at least, evinced no doubts of their ability. The sea? If this feat of mastery were possible, then clear it was that I knew nothing of the sea. I looked back at the misshapen, starved, sick, stumbling hulks of men who trod the dreary round of the windlass. Mr. Pike was right. These were not the brisk, devilish, able-bodied men who manned the ships of the old clipper-ship days; who fought their officers, who had the points of their sheath-knives broken off, who killed and were killed, but who did their work as men. These men, these shambling carcasses at the windlass--I looked, and looked, and vainly I strove to conjure the vision of them swinging aloft in rack and storm, "clearing the raffle," as Kipling puts it, "with their clasp knives in their teeth." Why didn't they sing a chanty as they hove the anchor up? In the old days, as I had read, the anchor always came up to the rollicking sailor songs of sea-chested men. I tired of watching the spiritless performance, and went aft on an exploring trip along the slender bridge. It was a beautiful structure, strong yet light, traversing the length of the ship in three aerial leaps. It spanned from the forecastle-head to the forecastle-house, next to the 'midship house, and then to the poop. The poop, which was really the roof or deck over all the cabin space below, and which occupied the whole after-part of the ship, was very large. It was broken only by the half-round and half-covered wheel-house at the very stern and by the chart-house. On either side of the latter two doors opened into a tiny hallway. This, in turn, gave access to the chart-room and to a stairway that led down into the cabin quarters beneath. I peeped into the chart-room and was greeted with a smile by Captain West. He was lolling back comfortably in a swing chair, his feet cocked on the desk opposite. On a broad, upholstered couch sat the pilot. Both were smoking cigars; and, lingering for a moment to listen to the conversation, I grasped that the pilot was an ex-sea-captain. As I descended the stairs, from Miss West's room came a sound of humming and bustling, as she settled her belongings. The energy she displayed, to judge by the cheerful noises of it, was almost perturbing. Passing by the pantry, I put my head inside the door to greet the steward and courteously let him know that I was aware of his existence. Here, in his little realm, it was plain that efficiency reigned. Everything was spotless and in order, and I could have wished and wished vainly for a more noiseless servant than he ashore. His face, as he regarded me, had as little or as much expression as the Sphinx. But his slant, black eyes were bright, with intelligence. "What do you think of the crew?" I asked, in order to put words to my invasion of his castle. "Buggy-house," he answered promptly, with a disgusted shake of the head. "Too much buggy-house. All crazy. You see. No good. Rotten. Down to hell." That was all, but it verified my own judgment. While it might be true, as Miss West had said, that every ship's crew contained several lunatics and idiots, it was a foregone conclusion that our crew contained far more than several. In fact, and as it was to turn out, our crew, even in these degenerate sailing days, was an unusual crew in so far as its helplessness and worthlessness were beyond the average. I found my own room (in reality it was two rooms) delightful. Wada had unpacked and stored away my entire outfit of clothing, and had filled numerous shelves with the library I had brought along. Everything was in order and place, from my shaving outfit in the drawer beside the wash- basin, and my sea-boots and oilskins hung ready to hand, to my writing materials on the desk, before which a swing arm-chair, leather-upholstered and screwed solidly to the floor, invited me. My pyjamas and dressing-gown were out. My slippers, in their accustomed place by the bed, also invited me. Here, aft, all was fitness, intelligence. On deck it was what I have described--a nightmare spawn of creatures, assumably human, but malformed, mentally and physically, into caricatures of men. Yes, it was an unusual crew; and that Mr. Pike and Mr. Mellaire could whip it into the efficient shape necessary to work this vast and intricate and beautiful fabric of a ship was beyond all seeming of possibility. Depressed as I was by what I had just witnessed on deck, there came to me, as I leaned back in my chair and opened the second volume of George Moore's _Hail and Farewell_, a premonition that the voyage was to be disastrous. But then, as I looked about the room, measured its generous space, realized that I was more comfortably situated than I had ever been on any passenger steamer, I dismissed foreboding thoughts and caught a pleasant vision of myself, through weeks and months, catching up with all the necessary reading which I had so long neglected. Once, I asked Wada if he had seen the crew. No, he hadn't, but the steward had said that in all his years at sea this was the worst crew he had ever seen. "He say, all crazy, no sailors, rotten," Wada said. "He say all big fools and bime by much trouble. 'You see,' he say all the time. 'You see, You see.' He pretty old man--fifty-five years, he say. Very smart man for Chinaman. Just now, first time for long time, he go to sea. Before, he have big business in San Francisco. Then he get much trouble--police. They say he opium smuggle. Oh, big, big trouble. But he catch good lawyer. He no go to jail. But long time lawyer work, and when trouble all finish lawyer got all his business, all his money, everything. Then he go to sea, like before. He make good money. He get sixty-five dollars a month on this ship. But he don't like. Crew all crazy. When this time finish he leave ship, go back start business in San Francisco." Later, when I had Wada open one of the ports for ventilation, I could hear the gurgle and swish of water alongside, and I knew the anchor was up and that we were in the grip of the _Britannia_, towing down the Chesapeake to sea. The idea suggested itself that it was not too late. I could very easily abandon the adventure and return to Baltimore on the _Britannia_ when she cast off the _Elsinore_. And then I heard a slight tinkling of china from the pantry as the steward proceeded to set the table, and, also, it was so warm and comfortable, and George Moore was so irritatingly fascinating. CHAPTER VII In every way dinner proved up beyond my expectations, and I registered a note that the cook, whoever or whatever he might be, was a capable man at his trade. Miss West served, and, though she and the steward were strangers, they worked together splendidly. I should have thought, from the smoothness of the service, that he was an old house servant who for years had known her every way. The pilot ate in the chart-house, so that at table were the four of us that would always be at table together. Captain West and his daughter faced each other, while I, on the captain's right, faced Mr. Pike. This put Miss West across the corner on my right. Mr. Pike, his dark sack coat (put on for the meal) bulging and wrinkling over the lumps of muscles that padded his stooped shoulders, had nothing at all to say. But he had eaten too many years at captains' tables not to have proper table manners. At first I thought he was abashed by Miss West's presence. Later, I decided it was due to the presence of the captain. For Captain West had a way with him that I was beginning to learn. Far removed as Mr. Pike and Mr. Mellaire were from the sailors, individuals as they were of an entirely different and superior breed, yet equally as different and far removed from his officers was Captain West. He was a serene and absolute aristocrat. He neither talked "ship" nor anything else to Mr. Pike. On the other hand, Captain West's attitude toward me was that of a social equal. But then, I was a passenger. Miss West treated me the same way, but unbent more to Mr. Pike. And Mr. Pike, answering her with "Yes, Miss," and "No, Miss," ate good-manneredly and with his shaggy-browed gray eyes studied me across the table. I, too, studied him. Despite his violent past, killer and driver that he was, I could not help liking the man. He was honest, genuine. Almost more than for that, I liked him for the spontaneous boyish laugh he gave on the occasions when I reached the points of several funny stories. No man could laugh like that and be all bad. I was glad that it was he, and not Mr. Mellaire, who was to sit opposite throughout the voyage. And I was very glad that Mr. Mellaire was not to eat with us at all. I am afraid that Miss West and I did most of the talking. She was breezy, vivacious, tonic, and I noted again that the delicate, almost fragile oval of her face was given the lie by her body. She was a robust, healthy young woman. That was undeniable. Not fat--heaven forbid!--not even plump; yet her lines had that swelling roundness that accompanies long, live muscles. She was full-bodied, vigorous; and yet not so full-bodied as she seemed. I remember with what surprise, when we arose from table, I noted her slender waist. At that moment I got the impression that she was willowy. And willowy she was, with a normal waist and with, in addition, always that informing bodily vigour that made her appear rounder and robuster than she really was. It was the health of her that interested me. When I studied her face more closely I saw that only the lines of the oval of it were delicate. Delicate it was not, nor fragile. The flesh was firm, and the texture of the skin was firm and fine as it moved over the firm muscles of face and neck. The neck was a beautiful and adequate pillar of white. Its flesh was firm, its skin fine, and it was muscular. The hands, too, attracted me--not small, but well-shaped, fine, white and strong, and well cared for. I could only conclude that she was an unusual captain's daughter, just as her father was an unusual captain and man. And their noses were alike, just the hint-touch of the beak of power and race. While Miss West was telling of the unexpectedness of the voyage, of how suddenly she had decided to come--she accounted for it as a whim--and while she told of all the complications she had encountered in her haste of preparation, I found myself casting up a tally of the efficient ones on board the _Elsinore_. They were Captain West and his daughter, the two mates, myself, of course, Wada and the steward, and, beyond the shadow of a doubt, the cook. The dinner vouched for him. Thus I found our total of efficients to be eight. But the cook, the steward, and Wada were servants, not sailors, while Miss West and myself were supernumeraries. Remained to work, direct, do, but three efficients out of a total ship's company of forty-five. I had no doubt that other efficients there were; it seemed impossible that my first impression of the crew should be correct. There was the carpenter. He might, at his trade, be as good as the cook. Then the two sailmakers, whom I had not yet seen, might prove up. A little later during the meal I ventured to talk about what had interested me and aroused my admiration, namely, the masterfulness with which Mr. Pike and Mr. Mellaire had gripped hold of that woeful, worthless crew. It was all new to me, I explained, but I appreciated the need of it. As I led up to the occurrence on Number Two hatch, when Mr. Pike had lifted up Larry and toppled him back with a mere slap from the ends of his fingers, I saw in Mr. Pike's eyes a warning, almost threatening, expression. Nevertheless, I completed my description of the episode. When I had quite finished there was a silence. Miss West was busy serving coffee from a copper percolator. Mr. Pike, profoundly occupied with cracking walnuts, could not quite hide the wicked, little, half-humorous, half-revengeful gleam in his eyes. But Captain West looked straight at me, but from oh! such a distance--millions and millions of miles away. His clear blue eyes were as serene as ever, his tones as low and soft. "It is the one rule I ask to be observed, Mr. Pathurst--we never discuss the sailors." It was a facer to me, and with quite a pronounced fellow-feeling for Larry I hurriedly added: "It was not merely the discipline that interested me. It was the feat of strength." "Sailors are trouble enough without our hearing about them, Mr. Pathurst," Captain West went on, as evenly and imperturbably as if I had not spoken. "I leave the handling of the sailors to my officers. That's their business, and they are quite aware that I tolerate no undeserved roughness or severity." Mr. Pike's harsh face carried the faintest shadow of an amused grin as he stolidly regarded the tablecloth. I glanced to Miss West for sympathy. She laughed frankly, and said: "You see, father never has any sailors. And it's a good plan, too." "A very good plan," Mr. Pike muttered. Then Miss West kindly led the talk away from that subject, and soon had us laughing with a spirited recital of a recent encounter of hers with a Boston cab-driver. Dinner over, I stepped to my room in quest of cigarettes, and incidentally asked Wada about the cook. Wada was always a great gatherer of information. "His name Louis," he said. "He Chinaman, too. No; only half Chinaman. Other half Englishman. You know one island Napoleon he stop long time and bime by die that island?" "St. Helena," I prompted. "Yes, that place Louis he born. He talk very good English." At this moment, entering the hall from the deck, Mr. Mellaire, just relieved by the mate, passed me on his way to the big room in the stern where the second table was set. His "Good evening, sir," was as stately and courteous as any southern gentleman of the old days could have uttered it. And yet I could not like the man. His outward seeming was so at variance with the personality that resided within. Even as he spoke and smiled I felt that from inside his skull he was watching me, studying me. And somehow, in a flash of intuition, I knew not why, I was reminded of the three strange young men, routed last from the forecastle, to whom Mr. Pike had read the law. They, too, had given me a similar impression. Behind Mr. Mellaire slouched a self-conscious, embarrassed individual, with the face of a stupid boy and the body of a giant. His feet were even larger than Mr. Pike's, but the hands--I shot a quick glance to see--were not so large as Mr. Pike's. As they passed I looked inquiry to Wada. "He carpenter. He sat second table. His name Sam Lavroff. He come from New York on ship. Steward say he very young for carpenter, maybe twenty- two, three years old." As I approached the open port over my desk I again heard the swish and gurgle of water and again realized that we were under way. So steady and noiseless was our progress, that, say seated at table, it never entered one's head that we were moving or were anywhere save on the solid land. I had been used to steamers all my life, and it was difficult immediately to adjust myself to the absence of the propeller-thrust vibration. "Well, what do you think?" I asked Wada, who, like myself, had never made a sailing-ship voyage. He smiled politely. "Very funny ship. Very funny sailors. I don't know. Mebbe all right. We see." "You think trouble?" I asked pointedly. "I think sailors very funny," he evaded. CHAPTER VIII Having lighted my cigarette, I strolled for'ard along the deck to where work was going on. Above my head dim shapes of canvas showed in the starlight. Sail was being made, and being made slowly, as I might judge, who was only the veriest tyro in such matters. The indistinguishable shapes of men, in long lines, pulled on ropes. They pulled in sick and dogged silence, though Mr. Pike, ubiquitous, snarled out orders and rapped out oaths from every angle upon their miserable heads. Certainly, from what I had read, no ship of the old days ever proceeded so sadly and blunderingly to sea. Ere long Mr. Mellaire joined Mr. Pike in the struggle of directing the men. It was not yet eight in the evening, and all hands were at work. They did not seem to know the ropes. Time and again, when the half-hearted suggestions of the bosuns had been of no avail, I saw one or the other of the mates leap to the rail and put the right rope in the hands of the men. These, on the deck, I concluded, were the hopeless ones. Up aloft, from sounds and cries, I knew were other men, undoubtedly those who were at least a little seaman-like, loosing the sails. But on deck! Twenty or thirty of the poor devils, tailed on a rope that hoisted a yard, would pull without concerted effort and with painfully slow movements. "Walk away with it!" Mr. Pike would yell. And perhaps for two or three yards they would manage to walk with the rope ere they came to a halt like stalled horses on a hill. And yet, did either of the mates spring in and add his strength, they were able to move right along the deck without stopping. Either of the mates, old men that they were, was muscularly worth half-a-dozen of the wretched creatures. "This is what sailin's come to," Mr. Pike paused to snort in my ear. "This ain't the place for an officer down here pulling and hauling. But what can you do when the bosuns are worse than the men?" "I thought sailors sang songs when they pulled," I said. "Sure they do. Want to hear 'em?" I knew there was malice of some sort in his voice, but I answered that I'd like to very much. "Here, you bosun!" Mr. Pike snarled. "Wake up! Start a song! Topsail halyards!" In the pause that followed I could have sworn that Sundry Buyers was pressing his hands against his abdomen, while Nancy, infinite bleakness freezing upon his face, was wetting his lips to begin. Nancy it was who began, for from no other man, I was confident, could have issued so sepulchral a plaint. It was unmusical, unbeautiful, unlively, and indescribably doleful. Yet the words showed that it should have ripped and crackled with high spirits and lawlessness, for the words poor Nancy sang were: "Away, way, way, yar, We'll kill Paddy Doyle for bus boots." "Quit it! Quit it!" Mr. Pike roared. "This ain't a funeral! Ain't there one of you that can sing? Come on, now! It's a topsail-yard--" He broke off to leap in to the pin-rail and get the wrong ropes out of the men's hands to put into them the right rope. "Come on, bosun! Break her out!" Then out of the gloom arose Sundry Buyers' voice, cracked and crazy and even more lugubrious than Nancy's: "Then up aloft that yard must go, Whiskey for my Johnny." The second line was supposed to be the chorus, but not more than two men feebly mumbled it. Sundry Buyers quavered the next line: "Oh, whiskey killed my sister Sue." Then Mr. Pike took a hand, seizing the hauling-part next to the pin and lifting his voice with a rare snap and devilishness: "And whiskey killed the old man, too, Whiskey for my Johnny." He sang the devil-may-care lines on and on, lifting the crew to the work and to the chorused emphasis of "Whiskey for my Johnny." And to his voice they pulled, they moved, they sang, and were alive, until he interrupted the song to cry "Belay!" And then all the life and lilt went out of them, and they were again maundering and futile things, getting in one another's way, stumbling and shuffling through the darkness, hesitating to grasp ropes, and, when they did take hold, invariably taking hold of the wrong rope first. Skulkers there were among them, too; and once, from for'ard of the 'midship house, I heard smacks, and curses, and groans, and out of the darkness hurriedly emerged two men, on their heels Mr. Pike, who chanted a recital of the distressing things that would befall them if he caught them at such tricks again. The whole thing was too depressing for me to care to watch further, so I strolled aft and climbed the poop. In the lee of the chart-house Captain West and the pilot were pacing slowly up and down. Passing on aft, I saw steering at the wheel the weazened little old man I had noted earlier in the day. In the light of the binnacle his small blue eyes looked more malevolent than ever. So weazened and tiny was he, and so large was the brass-studded wheel, that they seemed of a height. His face was withered, scorched, and wrinkled, and in all seeming he was fifty years older than Mr. Pike. He was the most remarkable figure of a burnt-out, aged man one would expect to find able seaman on one of the proudest sailing-ships afloat. Later, through Wada, I was to learn that his name was Andy Fay and that he claimed no more years than sixty-three. I leaned against the rail in the lee of the wheel-house, and stared up at the lofty spars and myriad ropes that I could guess were there. No, I decided I was not keen on the voyage. The whole atmosphere of it was wrong. There were the cold hours I had waited on the pier-ends. There was Miss West coming along. There was the crew of broken men and lunatics. I wondered if the wounded Greek in the 'midship house still gibbered, and if Mr. Pike had yet sewed him up; and I was quite sure I would not care to witness such a transaction in surgery. Even Wada, who had never been in a sailing-ship, had his doubts of the voyage. So had the steward, who had spent most of a life-time in sailing- ships. So far as Captain West was concerned, crews did not exist. And as for Miss West, she was so abominably robust that she could not be anything else than an optimist in such matters. She had always lived; her red blood sang to her only that she would always live and that nothing evil would ever happen to her glorious personality. Oh, trust me, I knew the way of red blood. Such was my condition that the red-blood health of Miss West was virtually an affront to me--for I knew how unthinking and immoderate such blood could be. And for five months at least--there was Mr. Pike's offered wager of a pound of tobacco or a month's wages to that effect--I was to be pent on the same ship with her. As sure as cosmic sap was cosmic sap, just that sure was I that ere the voyage was over I should be pestered by her making love to me. Please do not mistake me. My certainty in this matter was due, not to any exalted sense of my own desirableness to women, but to my anything but exalted concept of women as instinctive huntresses of men. In my experience women hunted men with quite the same blind tropism that marks the pursuit of the sun by the sunflower, the pursuit of attachable surfaces by the tendrils of the grapevine. Call me blase--I do not mind, if by blase is meant the world-weariness, intellectual, artistic, sensational, which can come to a young man of thirty. For I was thirty, and I was weary of all these things--weary and in doubt. It was because of this state that I was undertaking the voyage. I wanted to get away by myself, to get away from all these things, and, with proper perspective, mull the matter over. It sometimes seemed to me that the culmination of this world-sickness had been brought about by the success of my play--my first play, as every one knows. But it had been such a success that it raised the doubt in my own mind, just as the success of my several volumes of verse had raised doubts. Was the public right? Were the critics right? Surely the function of the artist was to voice life, yet what did I know of life? So you begin to glimpse what I mean by the world-sickness that afflicted me. Really, I had been, and was, very sick. Mad thoughts of isolating myself entirely from the world had hounded me. I had even canvassed the idea of going to Molokai and devoting the rest of my years to the lepers--I, who was thirty years old, and healthy and strong, who had no particular tragedy, who had a bigger income than I knew how to spend, who by my own achievement had put my name on the lips of men and proved myself a power to be reckoned with--I was that mad that I had considered the lazar house for a destiny. Perhaps it will be suggested that success had turned my head. Very well. Granted. But the turned head remains a fact, an incontrovertible fact--my sickness, if you will, and a real sickness, and a fact. This I knew: I had reached an intellectual and artistic climacteric, a life-climacteric of some sort. And I had diagnosed my own case and prescribed this voyage. And here was the atrociously healthy and profoundly feminine Miss West along--the very last ingredient I would have considered introducing into my prescription. A woman! Woman! Heaven knows I had been sufficiently tormented by their persecutions to know them. I leave it to you: thirty years of age, not entirely unhandsome, an intellectual and artistic place in the world, and an income most dazzling--why shouldn't women pursue me? They would have pursued me had I been a hunchback, for the sake of my artistic place alone, for the sake of my income alone. Yes; and love! Did I not know love--lyric, passionate, mad, romantic love? That, too, was of old time with me. I, too, had throbbed and sung and sobbed and sighed--yes, and known grief, and buried my dead. But it was so long ago. How young I was--turned twenty-four! And after that I had learned the bitter lesson that even deathless grief may die; and I had laughed again and done my share of philandering with the pretty, ferocious moths that fluttered around the light of my fortune and artistry; and after that, in turn, I had retired disgusted from the lists of woman, and gone on long lance-breaking adventures in the realm of mind. And here I was, on board the _Elsinore_, unhorsed by my encounters with the problems of the ultimate, carried off the field with a broken pate. As I leaned against the rail, dismissing premonitions of disaster, I could not help thinking of Miss West below, bustling and humming as she made her little nest. And from her my thought drifted on to the everlasting mystery of woman. Yes, I, with all the futuristic contempt for woman, am ever caught up afresh by the mystery of woman. Oh, no illusions, thank you. Woman, the love-seeker, obsessing and possessing, fragile and fierce, soft and venomous, prouder than Lucifer and as prideless, holds a perpetual, almost morbid, attraction for the thinker. What is this flame of her, blazing through all her contradictions and ignobilities?--this ruthless passion for life, always for life, more life on the planet? At times it seems to me brazen, and awful, and soulless. At times I am made petulant by it. And at other times I am swayed by the sublimity of it. No; there is no escape from woman. Always, as a savage returns to a dark glen where goblins are and gods may be, so do I return to the contemplation of woman. Mr. Pike's voice interrupted my musings. From for'ard, on the main deck, I heard him snarl: "On the main-topsail-yard, there!--if you cut that gasket I'll split your damned skull!" Again he called, with a marked change of voice, and the Henry he called to I concluded was the training-ship boy. "You, Henry, main-skysail-yard, there!" he cried. "Don't make those gaskets up! Fetch 'em in along the yard and make fast to the tye!" Thus routed from my reverie, I decided to go below to bed. As my hand went out to the knob of the chart-house door again the mate's voice rang out: "Come on, you gentlemen's sons in disguise! Wake up! Lively now!" CHAPTER IX I did not sleep well. To begin with, I read late. Not till two in the morning did I reach up and turn out the kerosene reading-lamp which Wada had purchased and installed for me. I was asleep immediately--perfect sleep being perhaps my greatest gift; but almost immediately I was awake again. And thereafter, with dozings and cat-naps and restless tossings, I struggled to win to sleep, then gave it up. For of all things, in my state of jangled nerves, to be afflicted with hives! And still again, to be afflicted with hives in cold winter weather! At four I lighted up and went to reading, forgetting my irritated skin in Vernon Lee's delightful screed against William James, and his "will to believe." I was on the weather side of the ship, and from overhead, through the deck, came the steady footfalls of some officer on watch. I knew that they were not the steps of Mr. Pike, and wondered whether they were Mr. Mellaire's or the pilot's. Somebody above there was awake. The work was going on, the vigilant seeing and overseeing, that, I could plainly conclude, would go on through every hour of all the hours on the voyage. At half-past four I heard the steward's alarm go off, instantly suppressed, and five minutes later I lifted my hand to motion him in through my open door. What I desired was a cup of coffee, and Wada had been with me through too many years for me to doubt that he had given the steward precise instructions and turned over to him my coffee and my coffee-making apparatus. The steward was a jewel. In ten minutes he served me with a perfect cup of coffee. I read on until daylight, and half-past eight found me, breakfast in bed finished, dressed and shaved, and on deck. We were still towing, but all sails were set to a light favouring breeze from the north. In the chart-room Captain West and the pilot were smoking cigars. At the wheel I noted what I decided at once was an efficient. He was not a large man; if anything he was undersized. But his countenance was broad-browed and intelligently formed. Tom, I later learned, was his name--Tom Spink, an Englishman. He was blue-eyed, fair-skinned, well- grizzled, and, to the eye, a hale fifty years of age. His reply of "Good morning, sir" was cheery, and he smiled as he uttered the simple phrase. He did not look sailor-like, as did Henry, the training-ship boy; and yet I felt at once that he was a sailor, and an able one. It was Mr. Pike's watch, and on asking him about Tom he grudgingly admitted that the man was the "best of the boiling." Miss West emerged from the chart-house, with a rosy morning face and her vital, springy limb-movement, and immediately began establishing her contacts. On asking how I had slept, and when I said wretchedly, she demanded an explanation. I told her of my affliction of hives and showed her the lumps on my wrists. "Your blood needs thinning and cooling," she adjudged promptly. "Wait a minute. I'll see what can be done for you." And with that she was away and below and back in a trice, in her hand a part glass of water into which she stirred a teaspoonful of cream of tartar. "Drink it," she ordered, as a matter of course. I drank it. And at eleven in the morning she came up to my deck-chair with a second dose of the stuff. Also she reproached me soundly for permitting Wada to feed meat to Possum. It was from her that Wada and I learned how mortal a sin it was to give meat to a young puppy. Furthermore, she laid down the law and the diet for Possum, not alone to me and Wada, but to the steward, the carpenter, and Mr. Mellaire. Of the latter two, because they ate by themselves in the big after-room and because Possum played there, she was especially suspicious; and she was outspoken in voicing her suspicions to their faces. The carpenter mumbled embarrassed asseverations in broken English of past, present, and future innocence, the while he humbly scraped and shuffled before her on his huge feet. Mr. Mellaire's protestations were of the same nature, save that they were made with the grace and suavity of a Chesterfield. In short, Possum's diet raised quite a tempest in the _Elsinore_ teapot, and by the time it was over Miss West had established this particular contact with me and given me a feeling that we were the mutual owners of the puppy. I noticed, later in the day, that it was to Miss West that Wada went for instructions as to the quantity of warm water he must use to dilute Possum's condensed milk. Lunch won my continued approbation of the cook. In the afternoon I made a trip for'ard to the galley to make his acquaintance. To all intents he was a Chinese, until he spoke, whereupon, measured by speech alone, he was an Englishman. In fact, so cultured was his speech that I can fairly say it was vested with an Oxford accent. He, too, was old, fully sixty--he acknowledged fifty-nine. Three things about him were markedly conspicuous: his smile, that embraced all of his clean-shaven Asiatic face and Asiatic eyes; his even-rowed, white, and perfect teeth, which I deemed false until Wada ascertained otherwise for me; and his hands and feet. It was his hands, ridiculously small and beautifully modelled, that led my scrutiny to his feet. They, too, were ridiculously small and very neatly, almost dandifiedly, shod. We had put the pilot off at midday, but the _Britannia_ towed us well into the afternoon and did not cast us off until the ocean was wide about us and the land a faint blur on the western horizon. Here, at the moment of leaving the tug, we made our "departure"--that is to say, technically began the voyage, despite the fact that we had already travelled a full twenty-four hours away from Baltimore. It was about the time of casting off, when I was leaning on the poop-rail gazing for'ard, when Miss West joined me. She had been busy below all day, and had just come up, as she put it, for a breath of air. She surveyed the sky in weather-wise fashion for a full five minutes, then remarked: "The barometer's very high--30 degrees 60. This light north wind won't last. It will either go into a calm or work around into a north-east gale." "Which would you prefer?" I asked. "The gale, by all means. It will help us off the land, and it will put me through my torment of sea-sickness more quickly. Oh, yes," she added, "I'm a good sailor, but I do suffer dreadfully at the beginning of every voyage. You probably won't see me for a couple of days now. That's why I've been so busy getting settled first." "Lord Nelson, I have read, never got over his squeamishness at sea," I said. "And I've seen father sea-sick on occasion," she answered. "Yes, and some of the strongest, hardest sailors I have ever known." Mr. Pike here joined us for a moment, ceasing from his everlasting pacing up and down to lean with us on the poop-rail. Many of the crew were in evidence, pulling on ropes on the main deck below us. To my inexperienced eye they appeared more unprepossessing than ever. "A pretty scraggly crew, Mr. Pike," Miss West remarked. "The worst ever," he growled, "and I've seen some pretty bad ones. We're teachin' them the ropes just now--most of 'em." "They look starved," I commented. "They are, they almost always are," Miss West answered, and her eyes roved over them in the same appraising, cattle-buyer's fashion I had marked in Mr. Pike. "But they'll fatten up with regular hours, no whiskey, and solid food--won't they, Mr. Pike?" "Oh, sure. They always do. And you'll see them liven up when we get 'em in hand . . . maybe. They're a measly lot, though." I looked aloft at the vast towers of canvas. Our four masts seemed to have flowered into all the sails possible, yet the sailors beneath us, under Mr. Mellaire's direction, were setting triangular sails, like jibs, between the masts, and there were so many that they overlapped one another. The slowness and clumsiness with which the men handled these small sails led me to ask: "But what would you do, Mr. Pike, with a green crew like this, if you were caught right now in a storm with all this canvas spread?" He shrugged his shoulders, as if I had asked what he would do in an earthquake with two rows of New York skyscrapers falling on his head from both sides of a street. "Do?" Miss West answered for him. "We'd get the sail off. Oh, it can be done, Mr. Pathurst, with any kind of a crew. If it couldn't, I should have been drowned long ago." "Sure," Mr. Pike upheld her. "So would I." "The officers can perform miracles with the most worthless sailors, in a pinch," Miss West went on. Again Mr. Pike nodded his head and agreed, and I noted his two big paws, relaxed the moment before and drooping over the rail, quite unconsciously tensed and folded themselves into fists. Also, I noted fresh abrasions on the knuckles. Miss West laughed heartily, as from some recollection. "I remember one time when we sailed from San Francisco with a most hopeless crew. It was in the _Lallah Rookh_--you remember her, Mr. Pike?" "Your father's fifth command," he nodded. "Lost on the West Coast afterwards--went ashore in that big earthquake and tidal wave. Parted her anchors, and when she hit under the cliff, the cliff fell on her." "That's the ship. Well, our crew seemed mostly cow-boys, and bricklayers, and tramps, and more tramps than anything else. Where the boarding-house masters got them was beyond imagining. A number of them were shanghaied, that was certain. You should have seen them when they were first sent aloft." Again she laughed. "It was better than circus clowns. And scarcely had the tug cast us off, outside the Heads, when it began to blow up and we began to shorten down. And then our mates performed miracles. You remember Mr. Harding--Silas Harding?" "Don't I though!" Mr. Pike proclaimed enthusiastically. "He was some man, and he must have been an old man even then." "He was, and a terrible man," she concurred, and added, almost reverently: "And a wonderful man." She turned her face to me. "He was our mate. The men were sea-sick and miserable and green. But Mr. Harding got the sail off the _Lallah Rookh_ just the same. What I wanted to tell you was this: "I was on the poop, just like I am now, and Mr. Harding had a lot of those miserable sick men putting gaskets on the main-lower-topsail. How far would that be above the deck, Mr. Pike?" "Let me see . . . the _Lallah Rookh_." Mr. Pike paused to consider. "Oh, say around a hundred feet." "I saw it myself. One of the green hands, a tramp--and he must already have got a taste of Mr. Harding--fell off the lower-topsail-yard. I was only a little girl, but it looked like certain death, for he was falling from the weather side of the yard straight down on deck. But he fell into the belly of the mainsail, breaking his fall, turned a somersault, and landed on his feet on deck and unhurt. And he landed right alongside of Mr. Harding, facing him. I don't know which was the more astonished, but I think Mr. Harding was, for he stood there petrified. He had expected the man to be killed. Not so the man. He took one look at Mr. Harding, then made a wild jump for the rigging and climbed right back up to that topsail-yard." Miss West and the mate laughed so heartily that they scarcely heard me say: "Astonishing! Think of the jar to the man's nerves, falling to apparent death that way." "He'd been jarred harder by Silas Harding, I guess," was Mr. Pike's remark, with another burst of laughter, in which Miss West joined. Which was all very well in a way. Ships were ships, and judging by what I had seen of our present crew harsh treatment was necessary. But that a young woman of the niceness of Miss West should know of such things and be so saturated in this side of ship life was not nice. It was not nice for me, though it interested me, I confess,--and strengthened my grip on reality. Yet it meant a hardening of one's fibres, and I did not like to think of Miss West being so hardened. I looked at her and could not help marking again the fineness and firmness of her skin. Her hair was dark, as were her eyebrows, which were almost straight and rather low over her long eyes. Gray her eyes were, a warm gray, and very steady and direct in expression, intelligent and alive. Perhaps, taking her face as a whole, the most noteworthy expression of it was a great calm. She seemed always in repose, at peace with herself and with the external world. The most beautiful feature was her eyes, framed in lashes as dark as her brows and hair. The most admirable feature was her nose, quite straight, very straight, and just the slightest trifle too long. In this it was reminiscent of her father's nose. But the perfect modelling of the bridge and nostrils conveyed an indescribable advertisement of race and blood. Hers was a slender-lipped, sensitive, sensible, and generous mouth--generous, not so much in size, which was quite average, but generous rather in tolerance, in power, and in laughter. All the health and buoyancy of her was in her mouth, as well as in her eyes. She rarely exposed her teeth in smiling, for which purpose she seemed chiefly to employ her eyes; but when she laughed she showed strong white teeth, even, not babyish in their smallness, but just the firm, sensible, normal size one would expect in a woman as healthy and normal as she. I would never have called her beautiful, and yet she possessed many of the factors that go to compose feminine beauty. She had all the beauty of colouring, a white skin that was healthy white and that was emphasized by the darkness of her lashes, brows, and hair. And, in the same way, the darkness of lashes and brows and the whiteness of skin set off the warm gray of her eyes. The forehead was, well, medium-broad and medium high, and quite smooth. No lines nor hints of lines were there, suggestive of nervousness, of blue days of depression and white nights of insomnia. Oh, she bore all the marks of the healthy, human female, who never worried nor was vexed in the spirit of her, and in whose body every process and function was frictionless and automatic. "Miss West has posed to me as quite a weather prophet," I said to the mate. "Now what is your forecast of our coming weather?" "She ought to be," was Mr. Pike's reply as he lifted his glance across the smooth swell of sea to the sky. "This ain't the first time she's been on the North Atlantic in winter." He debated a moment, as he studied the sea and sky. "I should say, considering the high barometer, we ought to get a mild gale from the north-east or a calm, with the chances in favour of the calm." She favoured me with a triumphant smile, and suddenly clutched the rail as the _Elsinore_ lifted on an unusually large swell and sank into the trough with a roll from windward that flapped all the sails in hollow thunder. "The calm has it," Miss West said, with just a hint of grimness. "And if this keeps up I'll be in my bunk in about five minutes." She waved aside all sympathy. "Oh, don't bother about me, Mr. Pathurst. Sea-sickness is only detestable and horrid, like sleet, and muddy weather, and poison ivy; besides, I'd rather be sea-sick than have the hives." Something went wrong with the men below us on the deck, some stupidity or blunder that was made aware to us by Mr. Mellaire's raised voice. Like Mr. Pike, he had a way of snarling at the sailors that was distinctly unpleasant to the ear. On the faces of several of the sailors bruises were in evidence. One, in particular, had an eye so swollen that it was closed. "Looks as if he had run against a stanchion in the dark," I observed. Most eloquent, and most unconscious, was the quick flash of Miss West's eyes to Mr. Pike's big paws, with freshly abraded knuckles, resting on the rail. It was a stab of hurt to me. _She knew_. CHAPTER X That evening the three men of us had dinner alone, with racks on the table, while the _Elsinore_ rolled in the calm that had sent Miss West to her room. "You won't see her for a couple of days," Captain West told me. "Her mother was the same way--a born sailor, but always sick at the outset of a voyage." "It's the shaking down." Mr. Pike astonished me with the longest observation I had yet heard him utter at table. "Everybody has to shake down when they leave the land. We've got to forget the good times on shore, and the good things money'll buy, and start watch and watch, four hours on deck and four below. And it comes hard, and all our tempers are strung until we can make the change. Did it happen that you heard Caruso and Blanche Arral this winter in New York, Mr. Pathurst?" I nodded, still marvelling over this spate of speech at table. "Well, think of hearing them, and Homer, and Witherspoon, and Amato, every night for nights and nights at the Metropolitan; and then to give it the go-by, and get to sea and shake down to watch and watch." "You don't like the sea?" I queried. He sighed. "I don't know. But of course the sea is all I know--" "Except music," I threw in. "Yes, but the sea and all the long-voyaging has cheated me out of most of the music I oughta have had coming to me." "I suppose you've heard Schumann Heink?" "Wonderful, wonderful!" he murmured fervently, then regarded me with an eager wistfulness. "I've half-a-dozen of her records, and I've got the second dog-watch below. If Captain West don't mind . . . " (Captain West nodded that he didn't mind). "And if you'd want to hear them? The machine is a good one." And then, to my amazement, when the steward had cleared the table, this hoary old relic of man-killing and man-driving days, battered waif of the sea that he was, carried in from his room a most splendid collection of phonograph records. These, and the machine, he placed on the table. The big doors were opened, making the dining-room and the main cabin into one large room. It was in the cabin that Captain West and I lolled in big leather chairs while Mr. Pike ran the phonograph. His face was in a blaze of light from the swinging lamps, and every shade of expression was visible to me. In vain I waited for him to start some popular song. His records were only of the best, and the care he took of them was a revelation. He handled each one reverently, as a sacred thing, untying and unwrapping it and brushing it with a fine camel's hair brush while it revolved and ere he placed the needle on it. For a time all I could see was the huge brute hands of a brute-driver, with skin off the knuckles, that expressed love in their every movement. Each touch on the discs was a caress, and while the record played he hovered over it and dreamed in some heaven of music all his own. During this time Captain West lay back and smoked a cigar. His face was expressionless, and he seemed very far away, untouched by the music. I almost doubted that he heard it. He made no remarks between whiles, betrayed no sign of approbation or displeasure. He seemed preternaturally serene, preternaturally remote. And while I watched him I wondered what his duties were. I had not seen him perform any. Mr. Pike had attended to the loading of the ship. Not until she was ready for sea had Captain West come on board. I had not seen him give an order. It looked to me that Mr. Pike and Mr. Mellaire did the work. All Captain West did was to smoke cigars and keep blissfully oblivious of the _Elsinore's_ crew. When Mr. Pike had played the "Hallelujah Chorus" from the _Messiah_, and "He Shall Feed His Flock," he mentioned to me, almost apologetically, that he liked sacred music, and for the reason, perhaps, that for a short period, a child ashore in San Francisco, he had been a choir boy. "And then I hit the dominie over the head with a baseball bat and sneaked off to sea again," he concluded with a harsh laugh. And thereat he fell to dreaming while he played Meyerbeer's "King of Heaven," and Mendelssohn's "O Rest in the Lord." When one bell struck, at quarter to eight, he carried his music, all carefully wrapped, back into his room. I lingered with him while he rolled a cigarette ere eight bells struck. "I've got a lot more good things," he said confidentially: "Coenen's 'Come Unto Me,' and Faure's 'Crucifix'; and there's 'O Salutaris,' and 'Lead, Kindly Light' by the Trinity Choir; and 'Jesu, Lover of My Soul' would just melt your heart. I'll play 'em for you some night." "Do you believe in them?" I was led to ask by his rapt expression and by the picture of his brute-driving hands which I could not shake from my consciousness. He hesitated perceptibly, then replied: "I do . . . when I'm listening to them." * * * * * My sleep that night was wretched. Short of sleep from the previous night, I closed my book and turned my light off early. But scarcely had I dropped into slumber when I was aroused by the recrudescence of my hives. All day they had not bothered me; yet the instant I put out the light and slept, the damnable persistent itching set up. Wada had not yet gone to bed, and from him I got more cream of tartar. It was useless, however, and at midnight, when I heard the watch changing, I partially dressed, slipped into my dressing-gown, and went up on to the poop. I saw Mr. Mellaire beginning his four hours' watch, pacing up and down the port side of the poop; and I slipped away aft, past the man at the wheel, whom I did not recognize, and took refuge in the lee of the wheel- house. Once again I studied the dim loom and tracery of intricate rigging and lofty, sail-carrying spars, thought of the mad, imbecile crew, and experienced premonitions of disaster. How could such a voyage be possible, with such a crew, on the huge _Elsinore_, a cargo-carrier that was only a steel shell half an inch thick burdened with five thousand tons of coal? It was appalling to contemplate. The voyage had gone wrong from the first. In the wretched unbalance that loss of sleep brings to any good sleeper, I could decide only that the voyage was doomed. Yet how doomed it was, in truth, neither I nor a madman could have dreamed. I thought of the red-blooded Miss West, who had always lived and had no doubts but what she would always live. I thought of the killing and driving and music-loving Mr. Pike. Many a haler remnant than he had gone down on a last voyage. As for Captain West, he did not count. He was too neutral a being, too far away, a sort of favoured passenger who had nothing to do but serenely and passively exist in some Nirvana of his own creating. Next I remembered the self-wounded Greek, sewed up by Mr. Pike and lying gibbering between the steel walls of the 'midship-house. This picture almost decided me, for in my fevered imagination he typified the whole mad, helpless, idiotic crew. Certainly I could go back to Baltimore. Thank God I had the money to humour my whims. Had not Mr. Pike told me, in reply to a question, that he estimated the running expenses of the _Elsinore_ at two hundred dollars a day? I could afford to pay two hundred a day, or two thousand, for the several days that might be necessary to get me back to the land, to a pilot tug, or any inbound craft to Baltimore. I was quite wholly of a mind to go down and rout out Captain West to tell him my decision, when another presented itself: _Then are you_, _the thinker and philosopher_, _the world-sick one_, _afraid to go down_, _to cease in the darkness_? Bah! My own pride in my life-pridelessness saved Captain West's sleep from interruption. Of course I would go on with the adventure, if adventure it might be called, to go sailing around Cape Horn with a shipload of fools and lunatics--and worse; for I remembered the three Babylonish and Semitic ones who had aroused Mr. Pike's ire and who had laughed so terribly and silently. Night thoughts! Sleepless thoughts! I dismissed them all and started below, chilled through by the cold. But at the chart-room door I encountered Mr. Mellaire. "A pleasant evening, sir," he greeted me. "A pity there's not a little wind to help us off the land." "What do you think of the crew?" I asked, after a moment or so. Mr. Mellaire shrugged his shoulders. "I've seen many queer crews in my time, Mr. Pathurst. But I never saw one as queer as this--boys, old men, cripples and--you saw Tony the Greek go overboard yesterday? Well, that's only the beginning. He's a sample. I've got a big Irishman in my watch who's going bad. Did you notice a little, dried-up Scotchman?" "Who looks mean and angry all the time, and who was steering the evening before last?" "The very one--Andy Fay. Well, Andy Fay's just been complaining to me about O'Sullivan. Says O'Sullivan's threatened his life. When Andy Fay went off watch at eight he found O'Sullivan stropping a razor. I'll give you the conversation as Andy gave it to me: "'Says O'Sullivan to me, "Mr. Fay, I'll have a word wid yeh?" "Certainly," says I; "what can I do for you?" "Sell me your sea-boots, Mr. Fay," says O'Sullivan, polite as can be. "But what will you be wantin' of them?" says I. "'Twill be a great favour," says O'Sullivan. "But it's my only pair," says I; "and you have a pair of your own," says I. "Mr. Fay, I'll be needin' me own in bad weather," says O'Sullivan. "Besides," says I, "you have no money." "I'll pay for them when we pay off in Seattle," says O'Sullivan. "I'll not do it," says I; "besides, you're not tellin' me what you'll be doin' with them." "But I will tell yeh," says O'Sullivan; "I'm wantin' to throw 'em over the side." And with that I turns to walk away, but O'Sullivan says, very polite and seducin'-like, still a-stroppin' the razor, "Mr. Fay," says he, "will you kindly step this way an' have your throat cut?" And with that I knew my life was in danger, and I have come to make report to you, sir, that the man is a violent lunatic.' "Or soon will be," I remarked. "I noticed him yesterday, a big man muttering continually to himself?" "That's the man," Mr. Mellaire said. "Do you have many such at sea?" I asked. "More than my share, I do believe, sir." He was lighting a cigarette at the moment, and with a quick movement he pulled off his cap, bent his head forward, and held up the blazing match that I might see. I saw a grizzled head, the full crown of which was not entirely bald, but partially covered with a few sparse long hairs. And full across this crown, disappearing in the thicker fringe above the ears, ran the most prodigious scar I had ever seen. Because the vision of it was so fleeting, ere the match blew out, and because of the scar's very prodigiousness, I may possibly exaggerate, but I could have sworn that I could lay two fingers deep into the horrid cleft and that it was fully two fingers broad. There seemed no bone at all, just a great fissure, a deep valley covered with skin; and I was confident that the brain pulsed immediately under that skin. He pulled his cap on and laughed in an amused, reassuring way. "A crazy sea cook did that, Mr. Pathurst, with a meat-axe. We were thousands of miles from anywhere, in the South Indian Ocean at the time, running our Easting down, but the cook got the idea into his addled head that we were lying in Boston Harbour, and that I wouldn't let him go ashore. I had my back to him at the time, and I never knew what struck me." "But how could you recover from so fearful an injury?" I questioned. "There must have been a splendid surgeon on board, and you must have had wonderful vitality." He shook his head. "It must have been the vitality . . . and the molasses." "Molasses!" "Yes; the captain had old-fashioned prejudices against antiseptics. He always used molasses for fresh wound-dressings. I lay in my bunk many weary weeks--we had a long passage--and by the time we reached Hong Kong the thing was healed, there was no need for a shore surgeon, and I was standing my third mate's watch--we carried third mates in those days." Not for many a long day was I to realize the dire part that scar in Mr. Mellaire's head was to play in his destiny and in the destiny of the _Elsinore_. Had I known at the time, Captain West would have received the most unusual awakening from sleep that he ever experienced; for he would have been routed out by a very determined, partially-dressed passenger with a proposition capable of going to the extent of buying the _Elsinore_ outright with all her cargo, so that she might be sailed straight back to Baltimore. As it was, I merely thought it a very marvellous thing that Mr. Mellaire should have lived so many years with such a hole in his head. We talked on, and he gave me many details of that particular happening, and of other happenings at sea on the part of the lunatics that seem to infest the sea. And yet I could not like the man. In nothing he said, nor in the manner of saying things, could I find fault. He seemed generous, broad-minded, and, for a sailor, very much of a man of the world. It was easy for me to overlook his excessive suavity of speech and super-courtesy of social mannerism. It was not that. But all the time I was distressingly, and, I suppose, intuitively aware, though in the darkness I couldn't even see his eyes, that there, behind those eyes, inside that skull, was ambuscaded an alien personality that spied upon me, measured me, studied me, and that said one thing while it thought another thing. When I said good night and went below it was with the feeling that I had been talking with the one half of some sort of a dual creature. The other half had not spoken. Yet I sensed it there, fluttering and quick, behind the mask of words and flesh. CHAPTER XI But I could not sleep. I took more cream of tartar. It must be the heat of the bed-clothes, I decided, that excited my hives. And yet, whenever I ceased struggling for sleep, and lighted the lamp and read, my skin irritation decreased. But as soon as I turned out the lamp and closed my eyes I was troubled again. So hour after hour passed, through which, between vain attempts to sleep, I managed to wade through many pages of Rosny's _Le Termite_--a not very cheerful proceeding, I must say, concerned as it is with the microscopic and over-elaborate recital of Noel Servaise's tortured nerves, bodily pains, and intellectual phantasma. At last I tossed the novel aside, damned all analytical Frenchmen, and found some measure of relief in the more genial and cynical Stendhal. Over my head I could hear Mr. Mellaire steadily pace up and down. At four the watches changed, and I recognized the age-lag in Mr. Pike's promenade. Half an hour later, just as the steward's alarm went off, instantly checked by that light-sleeping Asiatic, the _Elsinore_ began to heel over on my side. I could hear Mr. Pike barking and snarling orders, and at times a trample and shuffle of many feet passed over my head as the weird crew pulled and hauled. The _Elsinore_ continued to heel over until I could see the water against my port, and then she gathered way and dashed ahead at such a rate that I could hear the stinging and singing of the foam through the circle of thick glass beside me. The steward brought me coffee, and I read till daylight and after, when Wada served me breakfast and helped me dress. He, too, complained of inability to sleep. He had been bunked with Nancy in one of the rooms in the 'midship-house. Wada described the situation. The tiny room, made of steel, was air-tight when the steel door was closed. And Nancy insisted on keeping the door closed. As a result Wada, in the upper bunk, had stifled. He told me that the air had got so bad that the flame of the lamp, no matter how high it was turned, guttered down and all but refused to burn. Nancy snored beautifully through it all, while he had been unable to close his eyes. "He is not clean," quoth Wada. "He is a pig. No more will I sleep in that place." On the poop I found the _Elsinore_, with many of her sails furled, slashing along through a troubled sea under an overcast sky. Also I found Mr. Mellaire marching up and down, just as I had left him hours before, and it took quite a distinct effort for me to realize that he had had the watch off between four and eight. Even then, he told me, he had slept from four until half-past seven. "That is one thing, Mr. Pathurst, I always sleep like a baby . . . which means a good conscience, sir, yes, a good conscience." And while he enunciated the platitude I was uncomfortably aware that that alien thing inside his skull was watching me, studying me. In the cabin Captain West smoked a cigar and read the Bible. Miss West did not appear, and I was grateful that to my sleeplessness the curse of sea-sickness had not been added. Without asking permission of anybody, Wada arranged a sleeping place for himself in a far corner of the big after-room, screening the corner with a solidly lashed wall of my trunks and empty book boxes. It was a dreary enough day, no sun, with occasional splatters of rain and a persistent crash of seas over the weather rail and swash of water across the deck. With my eyes glued to the cabin ports, which gave for'ard along the main deck, I could see the wretched sailors, whenever they were given some task of pull and haul, wet through and through by the boarding seas. Several times I saw some of them taken off their feet and rolled about in the creaming foam. And yet, erect, unstaggering, with certitude of weight and strength, among these rolled men, these clutching, cowering ones, moved either Mr. Pike or Mr. Mellaire. They were never taken off their feet. They never shrank away from a splash of spray or heavier bulk of down-falling water. They had fed on different food, were informed with a different spirit, were of iron in contrast with the poor miserables they drove to their bidding. In the afternoon I dozed for half-an-hour in one of the big chairs in the cabin. Had it not been for the violent motion of the ship I could have slept there for hours, for the hives did not trouble. Captain West, stretched out on the cabin sofa, his feet in carpet slippers, slept enviably. By some instinct, I might say, in the deep of sleep, he kept his place and was not rolled off upon the floor. Also, he lightly held a half-smoked cigar in one hand. I watched him for an hour, and knew him to be asleep, and marvelled that he maintained his easy posture and did not drop the cigar. After dinner there was no phonograph. The second dog-watch was Mr. Pike's on deck. Besides, as he explained, the rolling was too severe. It would make the needle jump and scratch his beloved records. And no sleep! Another weary night of torment, and another dreary, overcast day and leaden, troubled sea. And no Miss West. Wada, too, is sea-sick, although heroically he kept his feet and tried to tend on me with glassy, unseeing eyes. I sent him to his bunk, and read through the endless hours until my eyes were tired, and my brain, between lack of sleep and over-use, was fuzzy. Captain West is no conversationalist. The more I see of him the more I am baffled. I have not yet found a reason for that first impression I received of him. He has all the poise and air of a remote and superior being, and yet I wonder if it be not poise and air and nothing else. Just as I had expected, that first meeting, ere he spoke a word, to hear fall from his lips words of untold beneficence and wisdom, and then heard him utter mere social commonplaces, so I now find myself almost forced to conclude that his touch of race, and beak of power, and all the tall, aristocratic slenderness of him have nothing behind them. And yet, on the other hand, I can find no reason for rejecting that first impression. He has not shown any strength, but by the same token he has not shown any weakness. Sometimes I wonder what resides behind those clear blue eyes. Certainly I have failed to find any intellectual backing. I tried him out with William James' _Varieties of Religious Experience_. He glanced at a few pages, then returned it to me with the frank statement that it did not interest him. He has no books of his own. Evidently he is not a reader. Then what is he? I dared to feel him out on politics. He listened courteously, said sometimes yes and sometimes no, and, when I ceased from very discouragement, said nothing. Aloof as the two officers are from the men, Captain West is still more aloof from his officers. I have not seen him address a further word to Mr. Mellaire than "Good morning" on the poop. As for Mr. Pike, who eats three times a day with him, scarcely any more conversation obtains between them. And I am surprised by what seems the very conspicuous awe with which Mr. Pike seems to regard his commander. Another thing. What are Captain West's duties? So far he has done nothing, save eat three times a day, smoke many cigars, and each day stroll a total of one mile around the poop. The mates do all the work, and hard work it is, four hours on deck and four below, day and night with never a variation. I watch Captain West and am amazed. He will loll back in the cabin and stare straight before him for hours at a time, until I am almost frantic to demand of him what are his thoughts. Sometimes I doubt that he is thinking at all. I give him up. I cannot fathom him. Altogether a depressing day of rain-splatter and wash of water across the deck. I can see, now, that the problem of sailing a ship with five thousand tons of coal around the Horn is more serious than I had thought. So deep is the _Elsinore_ in the water that she is like a log awash. Her tall, six-foot bulwarks of steel cannot keep the seas from boarding her. She has not the buoyancy one is accustomed to ascribe to ships. On the contrary, she is weighted down until she is dead, so that, for this one day alone, I am appalled at the thought of how many thousands of tons of the North Atlantic have boarded her and poured out through her spouting scuppers and clanging ports. Yes, a depressing day. The two mates have alternated on deck and in their bunks. Captain West has dozed on the cabin sofa or read the Bible. Miss West is still sea-sick. I have tired myself out with reading, and the fuzziness of my unsleeping brain makes for melancholy. Even Wada is anything but a cheering spectacle, crawling out of his bunk, as he does at stated intervals, and with sick, glassy eyes trying to discern what my needs may be. I almost wish I could get sea-sick myself. I had never dreamed that a sea voyage could be so unenlivening as this one is proving. CHAPTER XII Another morning of overcast sky and leaden sea, and of the _Elsinore_, under half her canvas, clanging her deck ports, spouting water from her scuppers, and dashing eastward into the heart of the Atlantic. And I have failed to sleep half-an-hour all told. At this rate, in a very short time I shall have consumed all the cream of tartar on the ship. I never have had hives like these before. I can't understand it. So long as I keep my lamp burning and read I am untroubled. The instant I put out the lamp and drowse off the irritation starts and the lumps on my skin begin to form. Miss West may be sea-sick, but she cannot be comatose, because at frequent intervals she sends the steward to me with more cream of tartar. I have had a revelation to-day. I have discovered Captain West. He is a Samurai.--You remember the Samurai that H. G. Wells describes in his _Modern Utopia_--the superior breed of men who know things and are masters of life and of their fellow-men in a super-benevolent, super-wise way? Well, that is what Captain West is. Let me tell it to you. We had a shift of wind to-day. In the height of a south-west gale the wind shifted, in the instant, eight points, which is equivalent to a quarter of the circle. Imagine it! Imagine a gale howling from out of the south-west. And then imagine the wind, in a heavier and more violent gale, abruptly smiting you from the north-west. We had been sailing through a circular storm, Captain West vouchsafed to me, before the event, and the wind could be expected to box the compass. Clad in sea-boots, oilskins and sou'wester, I had for some time been hanging upon the rail at the break of the poop, staring down fascinated at the poor devils of sailors, repeatedly up to their necks in water, or submerged, or dashed like straws about the deck, while they pulled and hauled, stupidly, blindly, and in evident fear, under the orders of Mr. Pike. Mr. Pike was with them, working them and working with them. He took every chance they took, yet somehow he escaped being washed off his feet, though several times I saw him entirely buried from view. There was more than luck in the matter; for I saw him, twice, at the head of a line of the men, himself next to the pin. And twice, in this position, I saw the North Atlantic curl over the rail and fall upon them. And each time he alone remained, holding the turn of the rope on the pin, while the rest of them were rolled and sprawled helplessly away. Almost it seemed to me good fun, as at a circus, watching their antics. But I did not apprehend the seriousness of the situation until, the wind screaming higher than ever and the sea a-smoke and white with wrath, two men did not get up from the deck. One was carried away for'ard with a broken leg--it was Iare Jacobson, a dull-witted Scandinavian; and the other, Kid Twist, was carried away, unconscious, with a bleeding scalp. In the height of the gusts, in my high position, where the seas did not break, I found myself compelled to cling tightly to the rail to escape being blown away. My face was stung to severe pain by the high-driving spindrift, and I had a feeling that the wind was blowing the cobwebs out of my sleep-starved brain. And all the time, slender, aristocratic, graceful in streaming oilskins, in apparent unconcern, giving no orders, effortlessly accommodating his body to the violent rolling of the _Elsinore_, Captain West strolled up and down. It was at this stage in the gale that he unbent sufficiently to tell me that we were going through a circular storm and that the wind was boxing the compass. I did notice that he kept his gaze pretty steadily fixed on the overcast, cloud-driven sky. At last, when it seemed the wind could not possibly blow more fiercely, he found in the sky what he sought. It was then that I first heard his voice--a sea-voice, clear as a bell, distinct as silver, and of an ineffable sweetness and volume, as it might be the trump of Gabriel. That voice!--effortless, dominating! The mighty threat of the storm, made articulate by the resistance of the _Elsinore_, shouted in all the stays, bellowed in the shrouds, thrummed the taut ropes against the steel masts, and from the myriad tiny ropes far aloft evoked a devil's chorus of shrill pipings and screechings. And yet, through this bedlam of noise, came Captain West's voice, as of a spirit visitant, distinct, unrelated, mellow as all music and mighty as an archangel's call to judgment. And it carried understanding and command to the man at the wheel, and to Mr. Pike, waist-deep in the wash of sea below us. And the man at the wheel obeyed, and Mr. Pike obeyed, barking and snarling orders to the poor wallowing devils who wallowed on and obeyed him in turn. And as the voice was the face. This face I had never seen before. It was the face of the spirit visitant, chaste with wisdom, lighted by a splendour of power and calm. Perhaps it was the calm that smote me most of all. It was as the calm of one who had crossed chaos to bless poor sea-worn men with the word that all was well. It was not the face of the fighter. To my thrilled imagination it was the face of one who dwelt beyond all strivings of the elements and broody dissensions of the blood. The Samurai had arrived, in thunders and lightnings, riding the wings of the storm, directing the gigantic, labouring _Elsinore_ in all her intricate massiveness, commanding the wisps of humans to his will, which was the will of wisdom. And then, that wonderful Gabriel voice of his, silent (while his creatures laboured his will), unconcerned, detached and casual, more slenderly tall and aristocratic than ever in his streaming oilskins, Captain West touched my shoulder and pointed astern over our weather quarter. I looked, and all that I could see was a vague smoke of sea and air and a cloud-bank of sky that tore at the ocean's breast. And at the same moment the gale from the south-west ceased. There was no gale, no moving zephyrs, nothing but a vast quietude of air. "What is it?" I gasped, out of equilibrium from the abrupt cessation of wind. "The shift," he said. "There she comes." And it came, from the north-west, a blast of wind, a blow, an atmospheric impact that bewildered and stunned and again made the _Elsinore_ harp protest. It forced me down on the rail. I was like a windle-straw. As I faced this new abruptness of gale it drove the air back into my lungs, so that I suffocated and turned my head aside to breathe in the lee of the draught. The man at the wheel again listened to the Gabriel voice; and Mr. Pike, on the deck below, listened and repeated the will of the voice; and Captain West, in slender and stately balance, leaned into the face of the wind and slowly paced the deck. It was magnificent. Now, and for the first time, I knew the sea, and the men who overlord the sea. Captain West had vindicated himself, exposited himself. At the height and crisis of storm he had taken charge of the _Elsinore_, and Mr. Pike had become, what in truth was all he was, the foreman of a gang of men, the slave-driver of slaves, serving the one from beyond--the Samurai. A minute or so longer Captain West strolled up and down, leaning easily into the face of this new and abominable gale or resting his back against it, and then he went below, pausing for a moment, his hand on the knob of the chart-room door, to cast a last measuring look at the storm-white sea and wrath-sombre sky he had mastered. Ten minutes later, below, passing the open cabin door, I glanced in and saw him. Sea-boots and storm-trappings were gone; his feet, in carpet slippers, rested on a hassock; while he lay back in the big leather chair smoking dreamily, his eyes wide open, absorbed, non-seeing--or, if they saw, seeing things beyond the reeling cabin walls and beyond my ken. I have developed an immense respect for Captain West, though now I know him less than the little I thought I knew him before. CHAPTER XIII Small wonder that Miss West remains sea-sick on an ocean like this, which has become a factory where the veering gales manufacture the selectest and most mountainous brands of cross-seas. The way the poor _Elsinore_ pitches, plunges, rolls, and shivers, with all her lofty spars and masts and all her five thousand tons of dead-weight cargo, is astonishing. To me she is the most erratic thing imaginable; yet Mr. Pike, with whom I now pace the poop on occasion, tells me that coal is a good cargo, and that the _Elsinore_ is well-loaded because he saw to it himself. He will pause abruptly, in the midst of his interminable pacing, in order to watch her in her maddest antics. The sight is very pleasant to him, for his eyes glisten and a faint glow seems to irradiate his face and impart to it a hint of ecstasy. The _Elsinore_ has a snug place in his heart, I am confident. He calls her behaviour admirable, and at such times will repeat to me that it was he who saw to her loading. It is very curious, the habituation of this man, through a long life on the sea, to the motion of the sea. There _is_ a rhythm to this chaos of crossing, buffeting waves. I sense this rhythm, although I cannot solve it. But Mr. Pike _knows_ it. Again and again, as we paced up and down this afternoon, when to me nothing unusually antic seemed impending, he would seize my arm as I lost balance, and as the _Elsinore_ smashed down on her side and heeled over and over with a colossal roll that seemed never to end, and that always ended with an abrupt, snap-of-the-whip effect as she began the corresponding roll to windward. In vain I strove to learn how Mr. Pike forecasts these antics, and I am driven to believe that he does not consciously forecast them at all. He _feels_ them; he knows them. They, and the sea, are ingrained in him. Toward the end of our little promenade I was guilty of impatiently shaking off a sudden seizure of my arm in his big paw. If ever, in an hour, the _Elsinore_ had been less gymnastic than at that moment, I had not noticed it. So I shook off the sustaining clutch, and the next moment the _Elsinore_ had smashed down and buried a couple of hundred feet of her starboard rail beneath the sea, while I had shot down the deck and smashed myself breathless against the wall of the chart-house. My ribs and one shoulder are sore from it yet. Now how did he know? And he never staggers nor seems in danger of being rolled away. On the contrary, such a surplus of surety of balance has he that time and again he lent his surplus to me. I begin to have more respect, not for the sea, but for the men of the sea, and not for the sweepings of seamen that are as slaves on our decks, but for the real seamen who are their masters--for Captain West, for Mr. Pike, yes, and for Mr. Mellaire, dislike him as I do. As early as three in the afternoon the wind, still a gale, went back to the south-west. Mr. Mellaire had the deck, and he went below and reported the change to Captain West. "We'll wear ship at four, Mr. Pathurst," the second mate told me when he came back. "You'll find it an interesting manoeuvre." "But why wait till four?" I asked. "The Captain's orders, sir. The watches will be changing, and we'll have the use of both of them, without working a hardship on the watch below by calling it out now." And when both watches were on deck Captain West, again in oilskins, came out of the chart-house. Mr. Pike, out on the bridge, took charge of the many men who, on deck and on the poop, were to manage the mizzen-braces, while Mr. Mellaire went for'ard with his watch to handle the fore-and main-braces. It was a pretty manoeuvre, a play of leverages, by which they cased the force of the wind on the after part of the _Elsinore_ and used the force of the wind on the for'ard part. Captain West gave no orders whatever, and, to all intents, was quite oblivious of what was being done. He was again the favoured passenger, taking a stroll for his health's sake. And yet I knew that both his officers were uncomfortably aware of his presence and were keyed to their finest seamanship. I know, now, Captain West's position on board. He is the brains of the _Elsinore_. He is the master strategist. There is more in directing a ship on the ocean than in standing watches and ordering men to pull and haul. They are pawns, and the two officers are pieces, with which Captain West plays the game against sea, and wind, and season, and ocean current. He is the knower. They are his tongue, by which he makes his knowledge articulate. * * * * * A bad night--equally bad for the _Elsinore_ and for me. She is receiving a sharp buffeting at the hands of the wintry North Atlantic. I fell asleep early, exhausted from lack of sleep, and awoke in an hour, frantic with my lumped and burning skin. More cream of tartar, more reading, more vain attempts to sleep, until shortly before five, when the steward brought me my coffee, I wrapped myself in my dressing-gown, and like a being distracted prowled into the cabin. I dozed in a leather chair and was thrown out by a violent roll of the ship. I tried the sofa, sinking to sleep immediately, and immediately thereafter finding myself precipitated to the floor. I am convinced that when Captain West naps on the sofa he is only half asleep. How else can he maintain so precarious a position?--unless, in him, too, the sea and its motion be ingrained. I wandered into the dining-room, wedged myself into a screwed chair, and fell asleep, my head on my arms, my arms on the table. And at quarter past seven the steward roused me by shaking my shoulders. It was time to set table. Heavy with the brief heaviness of sleep I had had, I dressed and stumbled up on to the poop in the hope that the wind would clear my brain. Mr. Pike had the watch, and with sure, age-lagging step he paced the deck. The man is a marvel--sixty-nine years old, a life of hardship, and as sturdy as a lion. Yet of the past night alone his hours had been: four to six in the afternoon on deck; eight to twelve on deck; and four to eight in the morning on deck. In a few minutes he would be relieved, but at midday he would again be on deck. I leaned on the poop-rail and stared for'ard along the dreary waste of deck. Every port and scupper was working to ease the weight of North Atlantic that perpetually fell on board. Between the rush of the cascades, streaks of rust showed everywhere. Some sort of a wooden pin- rail had carried away on the starboard-rail at the foot of the mizzen- shrouds, and an amazing raffle of ropes and tackles washed about. Here Nancy and half-a-dozen men worked sporadically, and in fear of their lives, to clear the tangle. The long-suffering bleakness was very pronounced on Nancy's face, and when the walls of water, in impending downfall, reared above the _Elsinore's_ rail, he was always the first to leap for the life-line which had been stretched fore and aft across the wide space of deck. The rest of the men were scarcely less backward in dropping their work and springing to safety--if safety it might be called, to grip a rope in both hands and have legs sweep out from under, and be wrenched full-length upon the boiling surface of an ice-cold flood. Small wonder they look wretched. Bad as their condition was when they came aboard at Baltimore, they look far worse now, what of the last several days of wet and freezing hardship. From time to time, completing his for'ard pace along the poop, Mr. Pike would pause, ere he retraced his steps, and snort sardonic glee at what happened to the poor devils below. The man's heart is callous. A thing of iron, he has endured; and he has no patience nor sympathy with these creatures who lack his own excessive iron. I noticed the stone-deaf man, the twisted oaf whose face I have described as being that of an ill-treated and feeble-minded faun. His bright, liquid, pain-filled eyes were more filled with pain than ever, his face still more lean and drawn with suffering. And yet his face showed an excess of nervousness, sensitiveness, and a pathetic eagerness to please and do. I could not help observing that, despite his dreadful sense-handicap and his wrecked, frail body, he did the most work, was always the last of the group to spring to the life-line and always the first to loose the life-line and slosh knee-deep or waist-deep through the churning water to attack the immense and depressing tangle of rope and tackle. I remarked to Mr. Pike that the men seemed thinner and weaker than when they came on board, and he delayed replying for a moment while he stared down at them with that cattle-buyer's eye of his. "Sure they are," he said disgustedly. "A weak breed, that's what they are--nothing to build on, no stamina. The least thing drags them down. Why, in my day we grew fat on work like that--only we didn't; we worked so hard there wasn't any chance for fat. We kept in fighting trim, that was all. But as for this scum and slum--say, you remember, Mr. Pathurst, that man I spoke to the first day, who said his name was Charles Davis?" "The one you thought there was something the matter with?" "Yes, and there was, too. He's in that 'midship room with the Greek now. He'll never do a tap of work the whole Voyage. He's a hospital case, if there ever was one. Talk about shot to pieces! He's got holes in him I could shove my fist through. I don't know whether they're perforating ulcers, or cancers, or cannon-shot wounds, or what not. And he had the nerve to tell me they showed up after he came on board!" "And he had them all the time?" I asked. "All the time! Take my word, Mr. Pathurst, they're years old. But he's a wonder. I watched him those first days, sent him aloft, had him down in the fore-hold trimming a few tons of coal, did everything to him, and he never showed a wince. Being up to the neck in the salt water finally fetched him, and now he's reported off duty--for the voyage. And he'll draw his wages for the whole time, have all night in, and never do a tap. Oh, he's a hot one to have passed over on us, and the _Elsinore's_ another man short." "Another!" I exclaimed. "Is the Greek going to die?" "No fear. I'll have him steering in a few days. I refer to the misfits. If we rolled a dozen of them together they wouldn't make one real man. I'm not saying it to alarm you, for there's nothing alarming about it; but we're going to have proper hell this voyage." He broke off to stare reflectively at his broken knuckles, as if estimating how much drive was left in them, then sighed and concluded, "Well, I can see I've got my work cut out for me." Sympathizing with Mr. Pike is futile; the only effect is to make his mood blacker. I tried it, and he retaliated with: "You oughta see the bloke with curvature of the spine in Mr. Mellaire's watch. He's a proper hobo, too, and a land lubber, and don't weigh more'n a hundred pounds, and must be fifty years old, and he's got curvature of the spine, and he's able seaman, if you please, on the _Elsinore_. And worse than all that, he puts it over on you; he's nasty, he's mean, he's a viper, a wasp. He ain't afraid of anything because he knows you dassent hit him for fear of croaking him. Oh, he's a pearl of purest ray serene, if anybody should slide down a backstay and ask you. If you fail to identify him any other way, his name is Mulligan Jacobs." * * * * * After breakfast, again on deck, in Mr. Mellaire's watch, I discovered another efficient. He was at the wheel, a small, well-knit, muscular man of say forty-five, with black hair graying on the temples, a big eagle- face, swarthy, with keen, intelligent black eyes. Mr. Mellaire vindicated my judgment by telling me the man was the best sailor in his watch, a proper seaman. When he referred to the man as the Maltese Cockney, and I asked why, he replied: "First, because he is Maltese, Mr. Pathurst; and next, because he talks Cockney like a native. And depend upon it, he heard Bow Bells before he lisped his first word." "And has O'Sullivan bought Andy Fay's sea-boots yet?" I queried. It was at this moment that Miss West emerged upon the poop. She was as rosy and vital as ever, and certainly, if she had been sea-sick, she flew no signals of it. As she came toward me, greeting me, I could not help remarking again the lithe and springy limb-movement with which she walked, and her fine, firm skin. Her neck, free in a sailor collar, with white sweater open at the throat, seemed almost redoubtably strong to my sleepless, jaundiced eyes. Her hair, under a white knitted cap, was smooth and well-groomed. In fact, the totality of impression she conveyed was of a well-groomedness one would not expect of a sea-captain's daughter, much less of a woman who had been sea-sick. Life!--that is the key of her, the essential note of her--life and health. I'll wager she has never entertained a morbid thought in that practical, balanced, sensible head of hers. "And how have you been?" she asked, then rattled on with sheer exuberance ere I could answer. "Had a lovely night's sleep. I was really over my sickness yesterday, but I just devoted myself to resting up. I slept ten solid hours--what do you think of that?" "I wish I could say the same," I replied with appropriate dejection, as I swung in beside her, for she had evinced her intention of promenading. "Oh, then you've been sick?" "On the contrary," I answered dryly. "And I wish I had been. I haven't had five hours' sleep all told since I came on board. These pestiferous hives. . . " I held up a lumpy wrist to show. She took one glance at it, halted abruptly, and, neatly balancing herself to the roll, took my wrist in both her hands and gave it close scrutiny. "Mercy!" she cried; and then began to laugh. I was of two minds. Her laughter was delightful to the ear, there was such a mellowness, and healthiness, and frankness about it. On the other hand, that it should be directed at my misfortune was exasperating. I suppose my perplexity showed in my face, for when she had eased her laughter and looked at me with a sobering countenance, she immediately went off into more peals. "You poor child," she gurgled at last. "And when I think of all the cream of tartar I made you consume!" It was rather presumptuous of her to poor-child me, and I resolved to take advantage of the data I already possessed in order to ascertain just how many years she was my junior. She had told me she was twelve years old the time the _Dixie_ collided with the river steamer in San Francisco Bay. Very well, all I had to do was to ascertain the date of that disaster and I had her. But in the meantime she laughed at me and my hives. "I suppose it is--er--humorous, in some sort of way," I said a bit stiffly, only to find that there was no use in being stiff with Miss West, for it only set her off into more laughter. "What you needed," she announced, with fresh gurglings, "was an exterior treatment." "Don't tell me I've got the chicken-pox or the measles," I protested. "No." She shook her head emphatically while she enjoyed another paroxysm. "What you are suffering from is a severe attack . . . " She paused deliberately, and looked me straight the eyes. "Of bedbugs," she concluded. And then, all seriousness and practicality, she went on: "But we'll have that righted in a jiffy. I'll turn the _Elsinore's_ after-quarters upside down, though I know there are none in father's room or mine. And though this is my first voyage with Mr. Pike I know he's too hard-bitten" (here I laughed at her involuntary pun) "an old sailor not to know that his room is clean. Yours" (I was perturbed for fear she was going to say that I had brought them on board) "have most probably drifted in from for'ard. They always have them for'ard. "And now, Mr. Pathurst, I am going down to attend to your case. You'd better get your Wada to make up a camping kit for you. The next couple of nights you'll spend in the cabin or chart-room. And be sure Wada removes all silver and metallic tarnishable stuff from your rooms. There's going to be all sorts of fumigating, and tearing out of woodwork, and rebuilding. Trust me. I know the vermin." CHAPTER XIV Such a cleaning up and turning over! For two nights, one in the chart- room and one on the cabin sofa, I have soaked myself in sleep, and I am now almost stupid with excess of sleep. The land seems very far away. By some strange quirk, I have an impression that weeks, or months, have passed since I left Baltimore on that bitter March morning. And yet it was March 28, and this is only the first week in April. I was entirely right in my first estimation of Miss West. She is the most capable, practically masterful woman I have ever encountered. What passed between her and Mr. Pike I do not know; but whatever it was, she was convinced that he was not the erring one. In some strange way, my two rooms are the only ones which have been invaded by this plague of vermin. Under Miss West's instructions bunks, drawers, shelves, and all superficial woodwork have been ripped out. She worked the carpenter from daylight till dark, and then, after a night of fumigation, two of the sailors, with turpentine and white lead, put the finishing touches on the cleansing operations. The carpenter is now busy rebuilding my rooms. Then will come the painting, and in two or three more days I expect to be settled back in my quarters. Of the men who did the turpentining and white-leading there have been four. Two of them were quickly rejected by Miss West as not being up to the work. The first one, Steve Roberts, which he told me was his name, is an interesting fellow. I talked with him quite a bit ere Miss West sent him packing and told Mr. Pike that she wanted a real sailor. This is the first time Steve Roberts has ever seen the sea. How he happened to drift from the western cattle-ranges to New York he did not explain, any more than did he explain how he came to ship on the _Elsinore_. But here he is, not a sailor on horseback, but a cowboy on the sea. He is a small man, but most powerfully built. His shoulders are very broad, and his muscles bulge under his shirt; and yet he is slender-waisted, lean-limbed, and hollow-cheeked. This last, however, is not due to sickness or ill-health. Tyro as he is on the sea, Steve Roberts is keen and intelligent . . . yes, and crooked. He has a way of looking straight at one with utmost frankness while he talks, and yet it is at such moments I get most strongly the impression of crookedness. But he is a man, if trouble should arise, to be reckoned with. In ways he suggests a kinship with the three men Mr. Pike took so instant a prejudice against--Kid Twist, Nosey Murphy, and Bert Rhine. And I have already noticed, in the dog-watches, that it is with this trio that Steve Roberts chums. The second sailor Miss West rejected, after silently watching him work for five minutes, was Mulligan Jacobs, the wisp of a man with curvature of the spine. But before she sent him packing other things occurred in which I was concerned. I was in the room when Mulligan Jacobs first came in to go to work, and I could not help observing the startled, avid glance he threw at my big shelves of books. He advanced on them in the way a robber might advance on a secret hoard of gold, and as a miser would fondle gold so Mulligan Jacobs fondled these book-titles with his eyes. And such eyes! All time bitterness and venom Mr. Pike had told me the man possessed was there in his eyes. They were small, pale-blue, and gimlet-pointed with fire. His eyelids were inflamed, and but served to ensanguine the bitter and cold-blazing intensity of the pupils. The man was constitutionally a hater, and I was not long in learning that he hated all things except books. "Would you care to read some of them?" I said hospitably. All the caress in his eyes for the books vanished as he turned his head to look at me, and ere he spoke I knew that I, too, was hated. "It's hell, ain't it?--you with a strong body and servants to carry for you a weight of books like this, and me with a curved spine that puts the pot-hooks of hell-fire into my brain?" How can I possibly convey the terrible venomousness with which he uttered these words? I know that Mr. Pike, dragging his feet down the hall past my open door, gave me a very gratifying sense of safety. Being alone in the room with this man seemed much the same as if I were locked in a cage with a tiger-cat. The devilishness, the wickedness, and, above all, the pitch of glaring hatred with which the man eyed me and addressed me, were most unpleasant. I swear I knew fear--not calculated caution, not timid apprehension, but blind, panic, unreasoned terror. The malignancy of the creature was blood curdling; nor did it require words to convey it: it poured from him, out of his red-rimmed, blazing eyes, out of his withered, twisted, tortured face, out of his broken-nailed, crooked talons of hands. And yet, in that very moment of instinctive startle and repulsion, the thought was in my mind that with one hand I could take the throat of the weazened wisp of a crippled thing and throttle the malformed life out of it. But there was little encouragement in such thought--no more than a man might feel in a cave of rattlesnakes or a pit of centipedes, for, crush them with his very bulk, nevertheless they would first sink their poison into him. And so with this Mulligan Jacobs. My fear of him was the fear of being infected with his venom. I could not help it; for I caught a quick vision of the black and broken teeth I had seen in his mouth sinking into my flesh, polluting me, eating me with their acid, destroying me. One thing was very clear. In the creature was no fear. Absolutely, he did not know fear. He was as devoid of it as the fetid slime one treads underfoot in nightmares. Lord, Lord! that is what the thing was, a nightmare. "You suffer pain often?" I asked, attempting to get myself in hand by the calculated use of sympathy. "The hooks are in me, in the brain, white-hot hooks that burn an' burn," was his reply. "But by what damnable right do you have all these books, and time to read 'em, an' all night in to read 'em, an' soak in them, when me brain's on fire, and I'm watch and watch, an' me broken spine won't let me carry half a hundredweight of books about with me?" Another madman, was my conclusion; and yet I was quickly compelled to modify it, for, thinking to play with a rattle-brain, I asked him what were the books up to half a hundredweight he carried, and what were the writers he preferred. His library, he told me, among other things included, first and fore-most, a complete Byron. Next was a complete Shakespeare; also a complete Browning in one volume. A full hall-dozen he had in the forecastle of Renan, a stray volume of Lecky, Winwood Reade's _Martyrdom of Man_, several of Carlyle, and eight or ten of Zola. Zola he swore by, though Anatole France was a prime favourite. He might be mad, was my revised judgment, but he was most differently mad from any madman I had ever encountered. I talked on with him about books and bookmen. He was most universal and particular. He liked O. Henry. George Moore was a cad and a four--flusher. Edgar Saltus' _Anatomy of Negation_ was profounder than Kant. Maeterlinck was a mystic frump. Emerson was a charlatan. Ibsen's _Ghosts_ was the stuff, though Ibsen was a bourgeois lickspittler. Heine was the real goods. He preferred Flaubert to de Maupassant, and Turgenieff to Tolstoy; but Gorky was the best of the Russian boiling. John Masefield knew what he was writing about, and Joseph Conrad was living too fat to turn out the stuff he first turned out. And so it went, the most amazing running commentary on literature I had ever heard. I was hugely interested, and I quizzed him on sociology. Yes, he was a Red, and knew his Kropotkin, but he was no anarchist. On the other hand, political action was a blind-alley leading to reformism and quietism. Political socialism had gone to pot, while industrial unionism was the logical culmination of Marxism. He was a direct actionist. The mass strike was the thing. Sabotage, not merely as a withdrawal of efficiency, but as a keen destruction-of-profits policy, was the weapon. Of course he believed in the propaganda of the deed, but a man was a fool to talk about it. His job was to do it and keep his mouth shut, and the way to do it was to shoot the evidence. Of course, _he_ talked; but what of it? Didn't he have curvature of the spine? He didn't care when he got his, and woe to the man who tried to give it to him. And while he talked he hated me. He seemed to hate the things he talked about and espoused. I judged him to be of Irish descent, and it was patent that he was self-educated. When I asked him how it was he had come to sea, he replied that the hooks in his brain were as hot one place as another. He unbent enough to tell me that he had been an athlete, when he was a young man, a professional foot-racer in Eastern Canada. And then his disease had come upon him, and for a quarter of a century he had been a common tramp and vagabond, and he bragged of a personal acquaintance with more city prisons and county jails than any man that ever existed. It was at this stage in our talk that Mr. Pike thrust his head into the doorway. He did not address me, but he favoured me with a most sour look of disapprobation. Mr. Pike's countenance is almost petrified. Any expression seems to crack it--with the exception of sourness. But when Mr. Pike wants to look sour he has no difficulty at all. His hard-skinned, hard-muscled face just flows to sourness. Evidently he condemned my consuming Mulligan Jacobs's time. To Mulligan Jacobs he said in his customary snarl: "Go on an' get to your work. Chew the rag in your watch below." And then I got a sample of Mulligan Jacobs. The venom of hatred I had already seen in his face was as nothing compared with what now was manifested. I had a feeling that, like stroking a cat in cold weather, did I touch his face it would crackle electric sparks. "Aw, go to hell, you old stiff," said Mulligan Jacobs. If ever I had seen murder in a man's eyes, I saw it then in the mate's. He lunged into the room, his arm tensed to strike, the hand not open but clenched. One stroke of that bear's paw and Mulligan Jacobs and all the poisonous flame of him would have been quenched in the everlasting darkness. But he was unafraid. Like a cornered rat, like a rattlesnake on the trail, unflinching, sneering, snarling, he faced the irate giant. More than that. He even thrust his face forward on its twisted neck to meet the blow. It was too much for Mr. Pike; it was too impossible to strike that frail, crippled, repulsive thing. "It's me that can call you the stiff," said Mulligan Jacobs. "I ain't no Larry. G'wan an' hit me. Why don't you hit me?" And Mr. Pike was too appalled to strike the creature. He, whose whole career on the sea had been that of a bucko driver in a shambles, could not strike this fractured splinter of a man. I swear that Mr. Pike actually struggled with himself to strike. I saw it. But he could not. "Go on to your work," he ordered. "The voyage is young yet, Mulligan. I'll have you eatin' outa my hand before it's over." And Mulligan Jacobs's face thrust another inch closer on its twisted neck, while all his concentrated rage seemed on the verge of bursting into incandescence. So immense and tremendous was the bitterness that consumed him that he could find no words to clothe it. All he could do was to hawk and guttural deep in his throat until I should not have been surprised had he spat poison in the mate's face. And Mr. Pike turned on his heel and left the room, beaten, absolutely beaten. * * * * * I can't get it out of my mind. The picture of the mate and the cripple facing each other keeps leaping up under my eyelids. This is different from the books and from what I know of existence. It is revelation. Life is a profoundly amazing thing. What is this bitter flame that informs Mulligan Jacobs? How dare he--with no hope of any profit, not a hero, not a leader of a forlorn hope nor a martyr to God, but a mere filthy, malignant rat--how dare he, I ask myself, be so defiant, so death-inviting? The spectacle of him makes me doubt all the schools of the metaphysicians and the realists. No philosophy has a leg to stand on that does not account for Mulligan Jacobs. And all the midnight oil of philosophy I have burned does not enable me to account for Mulligan Jacobs . . . unless he be insane. And then I don't know. Was there ever such a freight of human souls on the sea as these humans with whom I am herded on the _Elsinore_? * * * * * And now, working in my rooms, white-leading and turpentining, is another one of them. I have learned his name. It is Arthur Deacon. He is the pallid, furtive-eyed man whom I observed the first day when the men were routed out of the forecastle to man the windlass--the man I so instantly adjudged a drug-fiend. He certainly looks it. I asked Mr. Pike his estimate of the man. "White slaver," was his answer. "Had to skin outa New York to save his skin. He'll be consorting with those other three larrakins I gave a piece of my mind to." "And what do you make of them?" I asked. "A month's wages to a pound of tobacco that a district attorney, or a committee of some sort investigating the New York police is lookin' for 'em right now. I'd like to have the cash somebody's put up in New York to send them on this get-away. Oh, I know the breed." "Gangsters?" I queried. "That's what. But I'll trim their dirty hides. I'll trim 'em. Mr. Pathurst, this voyage ain't started yet, and this old stiff's a long way from his last legs. I'll give them a run for their money. Why, I've buried better men than the best of them aboard this craft. And I'll bury some of them that think me an old stiff." He paused and looked at me solemnly for a full half minute. "Mr. Pathurst, I've heard you're a writing man. And when they told me at the agents' you were going along passenger, I made a point of going to see your play. Now I'm not saying anything about that play, one way or the other. But I just want to tell you, that as a writing man you'll get stuff in plenty to write about on this voyage. Hell's going to pop, believe me, and right here before you is the stiff that'll do a lot of the poppin'. Some several and plenty's going to learn who's an old stiff." CHAPTER XV How I have been sleeping! This relief of renewed normality is delicious--thanks to Miss West. Now why did not Captain West, or Mr. Pike, both experienced men, diagnose my trouble for me? And then there was Wada. But no; it required Miss West. Again I contemplate the problem of woman. It is just such an incident among a million others that keeps the thinker's gaze fixed on woman. They truly are the mothers and the conservers of the race. Rail as I will at Miss West's red-blood complacency of life, yet I must bow my head to her life-giving to me. Practical, sensible, hard-headed, a comfort-maker and a nest-builder, possessing all the distressing attributes of the blind-instinctive race-mother, nevertheless I must confess I am most grateful that she is along. Had she not been on the _Elsinore_, by this time I should have been so overwrought from lack of sleep that I would be biting my veins and howling--as mad a hatter as any of our cargo of mad hatters. And so we come to it--the everlasting mystery of woman. One may not be able to get along with her; yet is it patent, as of old time, that one cannot get along without her. But, regarding Miss West, I do entertain one fervent hope, namely, that she is not a suffragette. That would be too much. Captain West may be a Samurai, but he is also human. He was really a bit fluttery this morning, in his reserved, controlled way, when he regretted the plague of vermin I had encountered in my rooms. It seems he has a keen sense of hospitality, and that he is my host on the _Elsinore_, and that, although he is oblivious of the existence of the crew, he is not oblivious of my comfort. By his few expressions of regret it appears that he cannot forgive himself for his careless acceptance of the erroneous diagnosis of my affliction. Yes; Captain West is a real human man. Is he not the father of the slender-faced, strapping-bodied Miss West? "Thank goodness that's settled," was Miss West's exclamation this morning, when we met on the poop and after I had told her how gloriously I had slept. And then, that nightmare episode dismissed because, forsooth, for all practical purposes--it was settled, she next said: "Come on and see the chickens." And I accompanied her along the spidery bridge to the top of the 'midship- house, to look at the one rooster and the four dozen fat hens in the ship's chicken-coop. As I accompanied her, my eyes dwelling pleasurably on that vital gait of hers as she preceded me, I could not help reflecting that, coming down on the tug from Baltimore, she had promised not to bother me nor require to be entertained. _Come and see the chickens_!--Oh, the sheer female possessiveness of that simple invitation! For effrontery of possessiveness is there anything that can exceed the nest-making, planet-populating, female, human woman?--_Come and see the chickens_! Oh, well, the sailors for'ard may be hard-bitten, but I can promise Miss West that here, aft, is one male passenger, unmarried and never married, who is an equally hard-bitten adventurer on the sea of matrimony. When I go over the census I remember at least several women, superior to Miss West, who trilled their song of sex and failed to shipwreck me. As I read over what I have written I notice how the terminology of the sea has stolen into my mental processes. Involuntarily I think in terms of the sea. Another thing I notice is my excessive use of superlatives. But then, everything on board the _Elsinore_ is superlative. I find myself continually combing my vocabulary in quest of just and adequate words. Yet am I aware of failure. For example, all the words of all the dictionaries would fail to approximate the exceeding terribleness of Mulligan Jacobs. But to return to the chickens. Despite every precaution, it was evident that they had had a hard time during the past days of storm. It was equally evident that Miss West, even during her sea-sickness, had not neglected them. Under her directions the steward had actually installed a small oil-stove in the big coop, and she now beckoned him up to the top of the house as he was passing for'ard to the galley. It was for the purpose of instructing him further in the matter of feeding them. Where were the grits? They needed grits. He didn't know. The sack had been lost among the miscellaneous stores, but Mr. Pike had promised a couple of sailors that afternoon to overhaul the lazarette. "Plenty of ashes," she told the steward. "Remember. And if a sailor doesn't clean the coop each day, you report to me. And give them only clean food--no spoiled scraps, mind. How many eggs yesterday?" The steward's eyes glistened with enthusiasm as he said he had got nine the day before and expected fully a dozen to-day. "The poor things," said Miss West--to me. "You've no idea how bad weather reduces their laying." She turned back upon the steward. "Mind now, you watch and find out which hens don't lay, and kill them first. And you ask me each time before you kill one." I found myself neglected, out there on top the draughty house, while Miss West talked chickens with the Chinese ex-smuggler. But it gave me opportunity to observe her. It is the length of her eyes that accentuates their steadiness of gaze--helped, of course, by the dark brows and lashes. I noted again the warm gray of her eyes. And I began to identify her, to locate her. She is a physical type of the best of the womanhood of old New England. Nothing spare nor meagre, nor bred out, but generously strong, and yet not quite what one would call robust. When I said she was strapping-bodied I erred. I must fall back on my other word, which will have to be the last: Miss West is vital-bodied. That is the key-word. When we had regained the poop, and Miss West had gone below, I ventured my customary pleasantry with Mr. Mellaire of: "And has O'Sullivan bought Andy Fay's sea-boots yet?" "Not yet, Mr. Pathurst," was the reply, "though he nearly got them early this morning. Come on along, sir, and I'll show you." Vouchsafing no further information, the second mate led the way along the bridge, across the 'midship-house and the for'ard-house. From the edge of the latter, looking down on Number One hatch, I saw two Japanese, with sail-needles and twine, sewing up a canvas-swathed bundle that unmistakably contained a human body. "O'Sullivan used a razor," said Mr. Mellaire. "And that is Andy Fay?" I cried. "No, sir, not Andy. That's a Dutchman. Christian Jespersen was his name on the articles. He got in O'Sullivan's way when O'Sullivan went after the boots. That's what saved Andy. Andy was more active. Jespersen couldn't get out of his own way, much less out of O'Sullivan's. There's Andy sitting over there." I followed Mr. Mellaire's gaze, and saw the burnt-out, aged little Scotchman squatted on a spare spar and sucking a pipe. One arm was in a sling and his head was bandaged. Beside him squatted Mulligan Jacobs. They were a pair. Both were blue-eyed, and both were malevolent-eyed. And they were equally emaciated. It was easy to see that they had discovered early in the voyage their kinship of bitterness. Andy Fay, I knew, was sixty-three years old, although he looked a hundred; and Mulligan Jacobs, who was only about fifty, made up for the difference by the furnace-heat of hatred that burned in his face and eyes. I wondered if he sat beside the injured bitter one in some sense of sympathy, or if he were there in order to gloat. Around the corner of the house strolled Shorty, flinging up to me his inevitable clown-grin. One hand was swathed in bandages. "Must have kept Mr. Pike busy," was my comment to Mr. Mellaire. "He was sewing up cripples about all his watch from four till eight." "What?" I asked. "Are there any more?" "One more, sir, a sheeny. I didn't know his name before, but Mr. Pike got it--Isaac B. Chantz. I never saw in all my life at sea as many sheenies as are on board the _Elsinore_ right now. Sheenies don't take to the sea as a rule. We've certainly got more than our share of them. Chantz isn't badly hurt, but you ought to hear him whimper." "Where's O'Sullivan?" I inquired. "In the 'midship-house with Davis, and without a mark. Mr. Pike got into the rumpus and put him to sleep with one on the jaw. And now he's lashed down and talking in a trance. He's thrown the fear of God into Davis. Davis is sitting up in his bunk with a marlin-spike, threatening to brain O'Sullivan if he starts to break loose, and complaining that it's no way to run a hospital. He'd have padded cells, straitjackets, night and day nurses, and violent wards, I suppose--and a convalescents' home in a Queen Anne cottage on the poop. "Oh dear, oh dear," Mr. Mellaire sighed. "This is the funniest voyage and the funniest crew I've ever tackled. It's not going to come to a good end. Anybody can see that with half an eye. It'll be dead of winter off the Horn, and a fo'c's'le full of lunatics and cripples to do the work.--Just take a look at that one. Crazy as a bedbug. He's likely to go overboard any time." I followed his glance and saw Tony the Greek, the one who had sprung overboard the first day. He had just come around the corner of the house, and, beyond one arm in a sling, seemed in good condition. He walked easily and with strength, a testimonial to the virtues of Mr. Pike's rough surgery. My eyes kept returning to the canvas-covered body of Christian Jespersen, and to the Japanese who sewed with sail-twine his sailor's shroud. One of them had his right hand in a huge wrapping of cotton and bandage. "Did he get hurt, too?" I asked. "No, sir. He's the sail-maker. They're both sail-makers. He's a good one, too. Yatsuda is his name. But he's just had blood-poisoning and lain in hospital in New York for eighteen months. He flatly refused to let them amputate. He's all right now, but the hand is dead, all except the thumb and fore-finger, and he's teaching himself to sew with his left hand. He's as clever a sail-maker as you'll find at sea." "A lunatic and a razor make a cruel combination," I remarked. "It's put five men out of commission," Mr. Mellaire sighed. "There's O'Sullivan himself, and Christian Jespersen gone, and Andy Fay, and Shorty, and the sheeny. And the voyage not started yet. And there's Lars with the broken leg, and Davis laid off for keeps--why, sir, we'll soon be that weak it'll take both watches to set a staysail." Nevertheless, while I talked in a matter-of-fact way with Mr. Mellaire, I was shocked--no; not because death was aboard with us. I have stood by my philosophic guns too long to be shocked by death, or by murder. What affected me was the utter, stupid bestiality of the affair. Even murder--murder for cause--I can understand. It is comprehensible that men should kill one another in the passion of love, of hatred, of patriotism, of religion. But this was different. Here was killing without cause, an orgy of blind-brutishness, a thing monstrously irrational. Later on, strolling with Possum on the main deck, as I passed the open door of the hospital I heard the muttering chant of O'Sullivan, and peeped in. There he lay, lashed fast on his back in the lower bunk, rolling his eyes and raving. In the top bunk, directly above, lay Charles Davis, calmly smoking a pipe. I looked for the marlin-spike. There it was, ready to hand, on the bedding beside him. "It's hell, ain't it, sir?" was his greeting. "And how am I goin' to get any sleep with that baboon chattering away there. He never lets up--keeps his chin-music goin' right along when he's asleep, only worse. The way he grits his teeth is something awful. Now I leave it to you, sir, is it right to put a crazy like that in with a sick man? And I am a sick man." While he talked the massive form of Mr. Pike loomed beside me and halted just out of sight of the man in the bunk. And the man talked on. "By rights, I oughta have that lower bunk. It hurts me to crawl up here. It's inhumanity, that's what it is, and sailors at sea are better protected by the law than they used to be. And I'll have you for a witness to this before the court when we get to Seattle." Mr. Pike stepped into the doorway. "Shut up, you damned sea-lawyer, you," he snarled. "Haven't you played a dirty trick enough comin' on board this ship in your condition? And if I have anything more out of you . . . " Mr. Pike was so angry that he could not complete the threat. After spluttering for a moment he made a fresh attempt. "You . . . you . . . well, you annoy me, that's what you do." "I know the law, sir," Davis answered promptly. "I worked full able seaman on this here ship. All hands can testify to that. I was aloft from the start. Yes, sir, and up to my neck in salt water day and night. And you had me below trimmin' coal. I did full duty and more, until this sickness got me--" "You were petrified and rotten before you ever saw this ship," Mr. Pike broke in. "The court'll decide that, sir," replied the imperturbable Davis. "And if you go to shoutin' off your sea-lawyer mouth," Mr. Pike continued, "I'll jerk you out of that and show you what real work is." "An' lay the owners open for lovely damages when we get in," Davis sneered. "Not if I bury you before we get in," was the mate's quick, grim retort. "And let me tell you, Davis, you ain't the first sea-lawyer I've dropped over the side with a sack of coal to his feet." Mr. Pike turned, with a final "Damned sea-lawyer!" and started along the deck. I was walking behind him when he stopped abruptly. "Mr. Pathurst." Not as an officer to a passenger did he thus address me. His tone was imperative, and I gave heed. "Mr. Pathurst. From now on the less you see aboard this ship the better. That is all." And again he turned on his heel and went his way. CHAPTER XVI No, the sea is not a gentle place. It must be the very hardness of the life that makes all sea-people hard. Of course, Captain West is unaware that his crew exists, and Mr. Pike and Mr. Mellaire never address the men save to give commands. But Miss West, who is more like myself, a passenger, ignores the men. She does not even say good-morning to the man at the wheel when she first comes on deck. Nevertheless I shall, at least to the man at the wheel. Am I not a passenger? Which reminds me. Technically I am not a passenger. The _Elsinore_ has no licence to carry passengers, and I am down on the articles as third mate and am supposed to receive thirty-five dollars a month. Wada is down as cabin boy, although I paid a good price for his passage and he is my servant. Not much time is lost at sea in getting rid of the dead. Within an hour after I had watched the sail-makers at work Christian Jespersen was slid overboard, feet first, a sack of coal to his feet to sink him. It was a mild, calm day, and the _Elsinore_, logging a lazy two knots, was not hove to for the occasion. At the last moment Captain West came for'ard, prayer-book in hand, read the brief service for burial at sea, and returned immediately aft. It was the first time I had seen him for'ard. I shall not bother to describe the burial. All I shall say of it is that it was as sordid as Christian Jespersen's life had been and as his death had been. As for Miss West, she sat in a deck-chair on the poop busily engaged with some sort of fancy work. When Christian Jespersen and his coal splashed into the sea the crew immediately dispersed, the watch below going to its bunks, the watch on deck to its work. Not a minute elapsed ere Mr. Mellaire was giving orders and the men were pulling and hauling. So I returned to the poop to be unpleasantly impressed by Miss West's smiling unconcern. "Well, he's buried," I observed. "Oh," she said, with all the tonelessness of disinterest, and went on with her stitching. She must have sensed my frame of mind, for, after a moment, she paused from her sewing and looked at me. Your first sea funeral, Mr. Pathurst? "Death at sea does not seem to affect you," I said bluntly. "Not any more than on the land." She shrugged her shoulders. "So many people die, you know. And when they are strangers to you . . . well, what do you do on the land when you learn that some workers have been killed in a factory you pass every day coming to town? It is the same on the sea." "It's too bad we are a hand short," I said deliberately. It did not miss her. Just as deliberately she replied: "Yes, isn't it? And so early in the voyage, too." She looked at me, and when I could not forbear a smile of appreciation she smiled back. "Oh, I know very well, Mr. Pathurst, that you think me a heartless wretch. But it isn't that it's . . . it's the sea, I suppose. And yet, I didn't know this man. I don't remember ever having seen him. At this stage of the voyage I doubt if I could pick out half-a-dozen of the sailors as men I had ever laid eyes on. So why vex myself with even thinking of this stupid stranger who was killed by another stupid stranger? As well might one die of grief with reading the murder columns of the daily papers." "And yet, it seems somehow different," I contended. "Oh, you'll get used to it," she assured me cheerfully, and returned to her sewing. I asked her if she had read Moody's _Ship of Souls_, but she had not. I searched her out further. She liked Browning, and was especially fond of _The Ring and the Book_. This was the key to her. She cared only for healthful literature--for the literature that exposits the vital lies of life. For instance, the mention of Schopenhauer produced smiles and laughter. To her all the philosophers of pessimism were laughable. The red blood of her would not permit her to take them seriously. I tried her out with a conversation I had had with De Casseres shortly before leaving New York. De Casseres, after tracing Jules de Gaultier's philosophic genealogy back to Schopenhauer and Nietzsche, had concluded with the proposition that out of their two formulas de Gaultier had constructed an even profounder formula. The "Will-to-Live" of the one and the "Will-to- Power" of the other were, after all, only parts of de Gaultier's supreme generalization, the "Will-to-Illusion." I flatter myself that even De Casseres would have been pleased with the way I repeated his argument. And when I had concluded it, Miss West promptly demanded if the realists might not be fooled by their own phrases as often and as completely as were the poor common mortals with the vital lies they never questioned. And there we were. An ordinary young woman, who had never vexed her brains with ultimate problems, hears such things stated for the first time, and immediately, and with a laugh, sweeps them all away. I doubt not that De Casseres would have agreed with her. "Do you believe in God?" I asked rather abruptly. She dropped her sewing into her lap, looked at me meditatively, then gazed on and away across the flashing sea and up into the azure dome of sky. And finally, with true feminine evasion, she replied: "My father does." "But you?" I insisted. "I really don't know. I don't bother my head about such things. I used to when I was a little girl. And yet . . . yes, surely I believe in God. At times, when I am not thinking about it at all, I am very sure, and my faith that all is well is just as strong as the faith of your Jewish friend in the phrases of the philosophers. That's all it comes to, I suppose, in every case--faith. But, as I say, why bother?" "Ah, I have you now, Miss West!" I cried. "You are a true daughter of Herodias." "It doesn't sound nice," she said with a _moue_. "And it isn't," I exulted. "Nevertheless, it is what you are. It is Arthur Symon's poem, _The Daughters of Herodias_. Some day I shall read it to you, and you will answer. I know you will answer that you, too, have looked often upon the stars." We had just got upon the subject of music, of which she possesses a surprisingly solid knowledge, and she was telling me that Debussy and his school held no particular charm for her, when Possum set up a wild yelping. The puppy had strayed for'ard along the bridge to the 'midship-house, and had evidently been investigating the chickens when his disaster came upon him. So shrill was his terror that we both stood up. He was dashing along the bridge toward us at full speed, yelping at every jump and continually turning his head back in the direction whence he came. I spoke to him and held out my hand, and was rewarded with a snap and clash of teeth as he scuttled past. Still with head turned back, he went on along the poop. Before I could apprehend his danger, Mr. Pike and Miss West were after him. The mate was the nearer, and with a magnificent leap gained the rail just in time to intercept Possum, who was blindly going overboard under the slender railing. With a sort of scooping kick Mr. Pike sent the animal rolling half across the poop. Howling and snapping more violently, Possum regained his feet and staggered on toward the opposite railing. "Don't touch him!" Mr. Pike cried, as Miss West showed her intention of catching the crazed little animal with her hands. "Don't touch'm! He's got a fit." But it did not deter her. He was half-way under the railing when she caught him up and held him at arm's length while he howled and barked and slavered. "It's a fit," said Mr. Pike, as the terrier collapsed and lay on the deck jerking convulsively. "Perhaps a chicken pecked him," said Miss West. "At any rate, get a bucket of water." "Better let me take him," I volunteered helplessly, for I was unfamiliar with fits. "No; it's all right," she answered. "I'll take charge of him. The cold water is what he needs. He got too close to the coop, and a peck on the nose frightened him into the fit." "First time I ever heard of a fit coming that way," Mr. Pike remarked, as he poured water over the puppy under Miss West's direction. "It's just a plain puppy fit. They all get them at sea." "I think it was the sails that caused it," I argued. "I've noticed that he is very afraid of them. When they flap, he crouches down in terror and starts to run. You noticed how he ran with his head turned back?" "I've seen dogs with fits do that when there was nothing to frighten them," Mr. Pike contended. "It was a fit, no matter what caused it," Miss West stated conclusively. "Which means that he has not been fed properly. From now on I shall feed him. You tell your boy that, Mr. Pathurst. Nobody is to feed Possum anything without my permission." At this juncture Wada arrived with Possum's little sleeping box, and they prepared to take him below. "It was splendid of you, Miss West," I said, "and rash, as well, and I won't attempt to thank you. But I tell you what-you take him. He's your dog now." She laughed and shook her head as I opened the chart-house door for her to pass. "No; but I'll take care of him for you. Now don't bother to come below. This is my affair, and you would only be in the way. Wada will help me." And I was rather surprised, as I returned to my deck chair and sat down, to find how affected I was by the little episode. I remembered, at the first, that my pulse had been distinctly accelerated with the excitement of what had taken place. And somehow, as I leaned back in my chair and lighted a cigarette, the strangeness of the whole voyage vividly came to me. Miss West and I talk philosophy and art on the poop of a stately ship in a circle of flashing sea, while Captain West dreams of his far home, and Mr. Pike and Mr. Mellaire stand watch and watch and snarl orders, and the slaves of men pull and haul, and Possum has fits, and Andy Fay and Mulligan Jacobs burn with hatred unconsumable, and the small- handed half-caste Chinese cooks for all, and Sundry Buyers perpetually presses his abdomen, and O'Sullivan raves in the steel cell of the 'midship-house, and Charles Davis lies about him nursing a marlin-spike, and Christian Jespersen, miles astern, is deep sunk in the sea with a sack of coal at his feet. CHAPTER XVII Two weeks out to-day, on a balmy sea, under a cloud-flecked sky, and slipping an easy eight knots through the water to a light easterly wind. Captain West said he was almost convinced that it was the north-east trade. Also, I have learned that the _Elsinore_, in order to avoid being jammed down on Cape San Roque, on the Brazil coast, must first fight eastward almost to the coast of Africa. On occasion, on this traverse, the Cape Verde Islands are raised. No wonder the voyage from Baltimore to Seattle is reckoned at eighteen thousand miles. I found Tony, the suicidal Greek, steering this morning when I came on deck. He seemed sensible enough, and quite rationally took off his hat when I said good morning to him. The sick men are improving nicely, with the exceptions of Charles Davis and O'Sullivan. The latter still is lashed to his bunk, and Mr. Pike has compelled Davis to attend on him. As a result, Davis moves about the deck, bringing food and water from the galley and grumbling his wrongs to every member of the crew. Wada told me a strange thing this morning. It seems that he, the steward, and the two sail-makers foregather each evening in the cook's room--all being Asiatics--where they talk over ship's gossip. They seem to miss little, and Wada brings it all to me. The thing Wada told me was the curious conduct of Mr. Mellaire. They have sat in judgment on him and they do not approve of his intimacy with the three gangsters for'ard. "But, Wada," I said, "he is not that kind of a man. He is very hard and rough with all the sailors. He treats them like dogs. You know that." "Sure," assented Wada. "Other sailors he do that. But those three very bad men he make good friends. Louis say second mate belong aft like first mate and captain. No good for second mate talk like friend with sailors. No good for ship. Bime by trouble. You see. Louis say Mr. Mellaire crazy do that kind funny business." All of which, if it were true, and I saw no reason to doubt it, led me to inquire. It seems that the gangsters, Kid Twist, Nosey Murphy, and Bert Rhine, have made themselves cocks of the forecastle. Standing together, they have established a reign of terror and are ruling the forecastle. All their training in New York in ruling the slum brutes and weaklings in their gangs fits them for the part. As near as I could make out from Wada's tale, they first began on the two Italians in their watch, Guido Bombini and Mike Cipriani. By means I cannot guess, they have reduced these two wretches to trembling slaves. As an instance, the other night, according to the ship's gossip, Bert Rhine made Bombini get out of bed and fetch him a drink of water. Isaac Chantz is likewise under their rule, though he is treated more kindly. Herman Lunkenheimer, a good-natured but simple-minded dolt of a German, received a severe beating from the three because he refused to wash some of Nosey Murphy's dirty garments. The two bosuns are in fear of their lives with this clique, which is growing; for Steve Roberts, the ex-cowboy, and the white-slaver, Arthur Deacon, have been admitted to it. I am the only one aft who possesses this information, and I confess I don't know what to do with it. I know that Mr. Pike would tell me to mind my own business. Mr. Mellaire is out of the question. And Captain West hasn't any crew. And I fear Miss West would laugh at me for my pains. Besides, I understand that every forecastle has its bully, or group of bullies; so this is merely a forecastle matter and no concern of the afterguard. The ship's work goes on. The only effect I can conjecture is an increase in the woes of the unfortunates who must bow to this petty tyranny for'ard. --Oh, and another thing Wada told me. The gangster clique has established its privilege of taking first cut of the salt-beef in the meat-kids. After that, the rest take the rejected pieces. But I will say, contrary to my expectations, the _Elsinore's_ forecastle is well found. The men are not on whack. They have all they want to eat. A barrel of good hardtack stands always open in the forecastle. Louis bakes fresh bread for the sailors three times a week. The variety of food is excellent, if not the quality. There is no restriction in the amount of water for drinking purposes. And I can only say that in this good weather the men's appearance improves daily. Possum is very sick. Each day he grows thinner. Scarcely can I call him a perambulating skeleton, because he is too weak to walk. Each day, in this delightful weather, Wada, under Miss West's instructions, brings him up in his box and places him out of the wind on the awninged poop. She has taken full charge of the puppy, and has him sleep in her room each night. I found her yesterday, in the chart-room, reading up the _Elsinore's_ medical library. Later on she overhauled the medicine-chest. She is essentially the life-giving, life-conserving female of the species. All her ways, for herself and for others, make toward life. And yet--and this is so curious it gives me pause--she shows no interest in the sick and injured for'ard. They are to her cattle, or less than cattle. As the life-giver and race- conserver, I should have imagined her a Lady Bountiful, tripping regularly into that ghastly steel-walled hospital room of the midship- house and dispensing gruel, sunshine, and even tracts. On the contrary, as with her father, these wretched humans do not exist. And still again, when the steward jammed a splinter under his nail, she was greatly concerned, and manipulated the tweezers and pulled it out. The Elsinore reminds me of a slave plantation before the war; and Miss West is the lady of the plantation, interested only in the house-slaves. The field slaves are beyond her ken or consideration, and the sailors are the Elsinore's field slaves. Why, several days back, when Wada suffered from a severe headache, she was quite perturbed, and dosed him with aspirin. Well, I suppose this is all due to her sea-training. She has been trained hard. We have the phonograph in the second dog-watch every other evening in this fine weather. On the alternate evenings this period is Mr. Pike's watch on deck. But when it is his evening below, even at dinner, he betrays his anticipation by an eagerness ill suppressed. And yet, on each such occasion, he punctiliously waits until we ask if we are to be favoured with music. Then his hard-bitten face lights up, although the lines remain hard as ever, hiding his ecstasy, and he remarks gruffly, off-handedly, that he guesses he can play over a few records. And so, every other evening, we watch this killer and driver, with lacerated knuckles and gorilla paws, brushing and caressing his beloved discs, ravished with the music of them, and, as he told me early in the voyage, at such moments believing in God. A strange experience is this life on the Elsinore. I confess, while it seems that I have been here for long months, so familiar am I with every detail of the little round of living, that I cannot orient myself. My mind continually strays from things non-understandable to things incomprehensible--from our Samurai captain with the exquisite Gabriel voice that is heard only in the tumult and thunder of storm; on to the ill-treated and feeble-minded faun with the bright, liquid, pain-filled eyes; to the three gangsters who rule the forecastle and seduce the second mate; to the perpetually muttering O'Sullivan in the steel-walled hole and the complaining Davis nursing the marlin-spike in the upper bunk; and to Christian Jespersen somewhere adrift in this vastitude of ocean with a coal-sack at his feet. At such moments all the life on the _Elsinore_ becomes as unreal as life to the philosopher is unreal. I am a philosopher. Therefore, it is unreal to me. But is it unreal to Messrs. Pike and Mellaire? to the lunatics and idiots? to the rest of the stupid herd for'ard? I cannot help remembering a remark of De Casseres. It was over the wine in Mouquin's. Said he: "The profoundest instinct in man is to war against the truth; that is, against the Real. He shuns facts from his infancy. His life is a perpetual evasion. Miracle, chimera and to-morrow keep him alive. He lives on fiction and myth. It is the Lie that makes him free. Animals alone are given the privilege of lifting the veil of Isis; men dare not. The animal, awake, has no fictional escape from the Real because he has no imagination. Man, awake, is compelled to seek a perpetual escape into Hope, Belief, Fable, Art, God, Socialism, Immortality, Alcohol, Love. From Medusa-Truth he makes an appeal to Maya-Lie." Ben will agree that I have quoted him fairly. And so, the thought comes to me, that to all these slaves of the _Elsinore_ the Real is real because they fictionally escape it. One and all they are obsessed with the belief that they are free agents. To me the Real is unreal, because I have torn aside the veils of fiction and myth. My pristine fictional escape from the Real, making me a philosopher, has bound me absolutely to the wheel of the Real. I, the super-realist, am the only unrealist on board the _Elsinore_. Therefore I, who penetrate it deepest, in the whole phenomena of living on the _Elsinore_ see it only as phantasmagoria. Paradoxes? I admit it. All deep thinkers are drowned in the sea of contradictions. But all the others on the _Elsinore_, sheer surface swimmers, keep afloat on this sea--forsooth, because they have never dreamed its depth. And I can easily imagine what Miss West's practical, hard-headed judgment would be on these speculations of mine. After all, words are traps. I don't know what I know, nor what I think I think. This I do know: I cannot orient myself. I am the maddest and most sea- lost soul on board. Take Miss West. I am beginning to admire her. Why, I know not, unless it be because she is so abominably healthy. And yet, it is this very health of her, the absence of any shred of degenerative genius, that prevents her from being great . . . for instance, in her music. A number of times, now, I have come in during the day to listen to her playing. The piano is good, and her teaching has evidently been of the best. To my astonishment I learn that she is a graduate of Bryn Mawr, and that her father took a degree from old Bowdoin long ago. And yet she lacks in her music. Her touch is masterful. She has the firmness and weight (without sharpness or pounding) of a man's playing--the strength and surety that most women lack and that some women know they lack. When she makes a slip she is ruthless with herself, and replays until the difficulty is overcome. And she is quick to overcome it. Yes, and there is a sort of temperament in her work, but there is no sentiment, no fire. When she plays Chopin, she interprets his sureness and neatness. She is the master of Chopin's technique, but she never walks where Chopin walks on the heights. Somehow, she stops short of the fulness of music. I did like her method with Brahms, and she was not unwilling, at my suggestion, to go over and over the Three Rhapsodies. On the Third Intermezzo she was at her best, and a good best it was. "You were talking of Debussy," she remarked. "I've got some of his stuff here. But I don't get into it. I don't understand it, and there is no use in trying. It doesn't seem altogether like real music to me. It fails to get hold of me, just as I fail to get hold of it." "Yet you like MacDowell," I challenged. "Y. . . es," she admitted grudgingly. "His New England Idylls and Fireside Tales. And I like that Finnish man's stuff, Sibelius, too, although it seems to me too soft, too richly soft, too beautiful, if you know what I mean. It seems to cloy." What a pity, I thought, that with that noble masculine touch of hers she is unaware of the deeps of music. Some day I shall try to get from her just what Beethoven, say, and Chopin, mean to her. She has not read Shaw's _Perfect Wagnerite_, nor had she ever heard of Nietzsche's _Case of Wagner_. She likes Mozart, and old Boccherini, and Leonardo Leo. Likewise she is partial to Schumann, especially Forest Scenes. And she played his Papillons most brilliantly. When I closed my eyes I could have sworn it was a man's fingers on the keys. And yet, I must say it, in the long run her playing makes me nervous. I am continually led up to false expectations. Always, she seems just on the verge of achieving the big thing, the super-big thing, and always she just misses it by a shade. Just as I am prepared for the culminating flash and illumination, I receive more perfection of technique. She is cold. She must be cold . . . Or else, and the theory is worth considering, she is too healthy. I shall certainly read to her _The Daughters of Herodias_. CHAPTER XVIII Was there ever such a voyage! This morning, when I came on deck, I found nobody at the wheel. It was a startling sight--the great _Elsinore_, by the wind, under an Alpine range of canvas, every sail set from skysails to try-sails and spanker, slipping across the surface of a mild trade- wind sea, and no hand at the wheel to guide her. No one was on the poop. It was Mr. Pike's watch, and I strolled for'ard along the bridge to find him. He was on Number One hatch giving some instructions to the sail-makers. I awaited my chance, until he glanced up and greeted me. "Good morning," I answered. "And what man is at the wheel now?" "That crazy Greek, Tony," he replied. "A month's wages to a pound of tobacco he isn't," I offered. Mr. Pike looked at me with quick sharpness. "Who is at the wheel?" "Nobody," I replied. And then he exploded into action. The age-lag left his massive frame, and he bounded aft along the deck at a speed no man on board could have exceeded; and I doubt if very many could have equalled it. He went up the poop-ladder three steps at a time and disappeared in the direction of the wheel behind the chart-house. Next came a promptitude of bellowed orders, and all the watch was slacking away after braces to starboard and pulling on after braces to port. I had already learned the manoeuvre. Mr. Pike was wearing ship. As I returned aft along the bridge Mr. Mellaire and the carpenter emerged from the cabin door. They had been interrupted at breakfast, for they were wiping their mouths. Mr. Pike came to the break of the poop, called down instructions to the second mate, who proceeded for'ard, and ordered the carpenter to take the wheel. As the _Elsinore_ swung around on her heel Mr. Pike put her on the back track so as to cover the water she had just crossed over. He lowered the glasses through which he was scanning the sea and pointed down the hatchway that opened into the big after-room beneath. The ladder was gone. "Must have taken the lazarette ladder with him," said Mr. Pike. Captain West strolled out of the chart-room. He said good morning in his customary way, courteously to me and formally to the mate, and strolled on along the poop to the wheel, where he paused to glance into the binnacle. Turning, he went on leisurely to the break of the poop. Again he came back to us. Fully two minutes must have elapsed ere he spoke. "What is the matter, Mr. Pike? Man overboard?" "Yes, sir," was the answer. "And took the lazarette ladder along with him?" Captain West queried. "Yes, sir. It's the Greek that jumped over at Baltimore." Evidently the affair was not serious enough for Captain West to be the Samurai. He lighted a cigar and resumed his stroll. And yet he had missed nothing, not even the absence of the ladder. Mr. Pike sent look-outs aloft to every skysail-yard, and the _Elsinore_ slipped along through the smooth sea. Miss West came up and stood beside me, searching the ocean with her eyes while I told her the little I knew. She evidenced no excitement, and reassured me by telling me how difficult it was to lose a man of Tony's suicidal type. "Their madness always seems to come upon them in fine weather or under safe circumstances," she smiled, "when a boat can be lowered or a tug is alongside. And sometimes they take life--preservers with them, as in this case." At the end of an hour Mr. Pike wore the _Elsinore_ around, and again retraced the course she must have been sailing when the Greek went over. Captain West still strolled and smoked, and Miss West made a brief trip below to give Wada forgotten instructions about Possum. Andy Pay was called to the wheel, and the carpenter went below to finish his breakfast. It all seemed rather callous to me. Nobody was much concerned for the man who was overboard somewhere on that lonely ocean. And yet I had to admit that everything possible was being done to find him. I talked a little with Mr. Pike, and he seemed more vexed than anything else. He disliked to have the ship's work interrupted in such fashion. Mr. Mellaire's attitude was different. "We are short-handed enough as it is," he told me, when he joined us on the poop. "We can't afford to lose him even if he is crazy. We need him. He's a good sailor most of the time." The hail came from the mizzen-skysail-yard. The Maltese Cockney it was who first sighted the man and called down the information. The mate, looking to windwards, suddenly lowered his glasses, rubbed his eyes in a puzzled way, and looked again. Then Miss West, using another pair of glasses, cried out in surprise and began to laugh. "What do you make of it, Miss West?" the mate asked. "He doesn't seem to be in the water. He's standing up." Mr. Pike nodded. "He's on the ladder," he said. "I'd forgotten that. It fooled me at first. I couldn't understand it." He turned to the second mate. "Mr. Mellaire, will you launch the long boat and get some kind of a crew into it while I back the main-yard? I'll go in the boat. Pick men that can pull an oar." "You go, too," Miss West said to me. "It will be an opportunity to get outside the _Elsinore_ and see her under full sail." Mr. Pike nodded consent, so I went along, sitting near him in the stern- sheets where he steered, while half a dozen hands rowed us toward the suicide, who stood so weirdly upon the surface of the sea. The Maltese Cockney pulled the stroke oar, and among the other five men was one whose name I had but recently learned--Ditman Olansen, a Norwegian. A good seaman, Mr. Mellaire had told me, in whose watch he was; a good seaman, but "crank-eyed." When pressed for an explanation Mr. Mellaire had said that he was the sort of man who flew into blind rages, and that one never could tell what little thing would produce such a rage. As near as I could grasp it, Ditman Olansen was a Berserker type. Yet, as I watched him pulling in good time at the oar, his large, pale-blue eyes seemed almost bovine--the last man in the world, in my judgment, to have a Berserker fit. As we drew close to the Greek he began to scream menacingly at us and to brandish a sheath-knife. His weight sank the ladder until the water washed his knees, and on this submerged support he balanced himself with wild writhing and outflinging of arms. His face, grimacing like a monkey's, was not a pretty thing to look upon. And as he continued to threaten us with the knife I wondered how the problem of rescuing him would be solved. But I should have trusted Mr. Pike for that. He removed the boat-stretcher from under the Maltese Cockney's feet and laid it close to hand in the stern-sheets. Then he had the men reverse the boat and back it upon the Greek. Dodging a sweep of the knife, Mr. Pike awaited his chance, until a passing wave lifted the boat's stern high, while Tony was sinking toward the trough. This was the moment. Again I was favoured with a sample of the lightning speed with which that aged man of sixty- nine could handle his body. Timed precisely, and delivered in a flash and with weight, the boat-stretcher came down on the Greek's head. The knife fell into the sea, and the demented creature collapsed and followed it, knocked unconscious. Mr. Pike scooped him out, quite effortlessly it seemed to me, and flung him into the boat's bottom at my feet. The next moment the men were bending to their oars and the mate was steering back to the _Elsinore_. It was a stout rap Mr. Pike had administered with the boat-stretcher. Thin streaks of blood oozed on the damp, plastered hair from the broken scalp. I could but stare at the lump of unconscious flesh that dripped sea-water at my feet. A man, all life and movement one moment, defying the universe, reduced the next moment to immobility and the blackness and blankness of death, is always a fascinating object for the contemplative eye of the philosopher. And in this case it had been accomplished so simply, by means of a stick of wood brought sharply in contact with his skull. If Tony the Greek be accounted an _appearance_, what was he now?--a _disappearance_? And if so, whither had he disappeared? And whence would he journey back to reoccupy that body when what we call consciousness returned to him? The first word, much less the last, of the phenomena of personality and consciousness yet remains to be uttered by the psychologists. Pondering thus, I chanced to lift my eyes, and the glorious spectacle of the _Elsinore_ burst upon me. I had been so long on board, and in board of her, that I had forgotten she was a white-painted ship. So low to the water was her hull, so delicate and slender, that the tall, sky-reaching spars and masts and the hugeness of the spread of canvas seemed preposterous and impossible, an insolent derision of the law of gravitation. It required effort to realize that that slim curve of hull inclosed and bore up from the sea's bottom five thousand tons of coal. And again, it seemed a miracle that the mites of men had conceived and constructed so stately and magnificent an element-defying fabric--mites of men, most woefully like the Greek at my feet, prone to precipitation into the blackness by means of a rap on the head with a piece of wood. Tony made a struggling noise in his throat, then coughed and groaned. From somewhere he was reappearing. I noticed Mr. Pike look at him quickly, as if apprehending some recrudescence of frenzy that would require more boat-stretcher. But Tony merely fluttered his big black eyes open and stared at me for a long minute of incurious amaze ere he closed them again. "What are you going to do with him?" I asked the mate. "Put 'm back to work," was the reply. "It's all he's good for, and he ain't hurt. Somebody's got to work this ship around the Horn." When we hoisted the boat on board I found Miss West had gone below. In the chart-room Captain West was winding the chronometers. Mr. Mellaire had turned in to catch an hour or two of sleep ere his watch on deck at noon. Mr. Mellaire, by the way, as I have forgotten to state, does not sleep aft. He shares a room in the 'midship-house with Mr. Pike's Nancy. Nobody showed sympathy for the unfortunate Greek. He was bundled out upon Number Two hatch like so much carrion and left there unattended, to recover consciousness as he might elect. Yes, and so inured have I become that I make free to admit I felt no sympathy for him myself. My eyes were still filled with the beauty of the _Elsinore_. One does grow hard at sea. CHAPTER XIX One does not mind the trades. We have held the north-east trade for days now, and the miles roll off behind us as the patent log whirls and tinkles on the taffrail. Yesterday, log and observation approximated a run of two hundred and fifty-two miles; the day before we ran two hundred and forty, and the day before that two hundred and sixty-one. But one does not appreciate the force of the wind. So balmy and exhilarating is it that it is so much atmospheric wine. I delight to open my lungs and my pores to it. Nor does it chill. At any hour of the night, while the cabin lies asleep, I break off from my reading and go up on the poop in the thinnest of tropical pyjamas. I never knew before what the trade wind was. And now I am infatuated with it. I stroll up and down for an hour at a time, with whichever mate has the watch. Mr. Mellaire is always full-garmented, but Mr. Pike, on these delicious nights, stands his first watch after midnight in his pyjamas. He is a fearfully muscular man. Sixty-nine years seem impossible when I see his single, slimpsy garments pressed like fleshings against his form and bulged by heavy bone and huge muscle. A splendid figure of a man! What he must have been in the hey-day of youth two score years and more ago passes comprehension. The days, so filled with simple routine, pass as in a dream. Here, where time is rigidly measured and emphasized by the changing of the watches, where every hour and half-hour is persistently brought to one's notice by the striking of the ship's bells fore and aft, time ceases. Days merge into days, and weeks slip into weeks, and I, for one, can never remember the day of the week or month. The _Elsinore_ is never totally asleep. Day and night, always, there are the men on watch, the look-out on the forecastle head, the man at the wheel, and the officer of the deck. I lie reading in my bunk, which is on the weather side, and continually over my head during the long night hours impact the footsteps of one mate or the other, pacing up and down, and, as I well know, the man himself is for ever peering for'ard from the break of the poop, or glancing into the binnacle, or feeling and gauging the weight and direction of wind on his cheek, or watching the cloud-stuff in the sky adrift and a-scud across the stars and the moon. Always, always, there are wakeful eyes on the _Elsinore_. Last night, or this morning, rather, about two o'clock, as I lay with the printed page swimming drowsily before me, I was aroused by an abrupt outbreak of snarl from Mr. Pike. I located him as at the break of the poop; and the man at whom he snarled was Larry, evidently on the main deck beneath him. Not until Wada brought me breakfast did I learn what had occurred. Larry, with his funny pug nose, his curiously flat and twisted face, and his querulous, plaintive chimpanzee eyes, had been moved by some unlucky whim to venture an insolent remark under the cover of darkness on the main deck. But Mr. Pike, from above, at the break of the poop, had picked the offender unerringly. This was when the explosion occurred. Then the unfortunate Larry, truly half-devil and all child, had waxed sullen and retorted still more insolently; and the next he knew, the mate, descending upon him like a hurricane, had handcuffed him to the mizzen fife-rail. Imagine, on Mr. Pike's part, that this was one for Larry and at least ten for Kid Twist, Nosey Murphy, and Bert Rhine. I'll not be so absurd as to say that the mate is afraid of those gangsters. I doubt if he has ever experienced fear. It is not in him. On the other hand, I am confident that he apprehends trouble from these men, and that it was for their benefit he made this example of Larry. Larry could stand no more than an hour in irons, at which time his stupid brutishness overcame any fear he might have possessed, because he bellowed out to the poop to come down and loose him for a fair fight. Promptly Mr. Pike was there with the key to the handcuffs. As if Larry had the shred of a chance against that redoubtable aged man! Wada reported that Larry, amongst other things, had lost a couple of front teeth and was laid up in his bunk for the day. When I met Mr. Pike on deck after eight o'clock I glanced at his knuckles. They verified Wada's tale. I cannot help being amused by the keen interest I take in little events like the foregoing. Not only has time ceased, but the world has ceased. Strange it is, when I come to think of it, in all these weeks I have received no letter, no telephone call, no telegram, no visitor. I have not been to the play. I have not read a newspaper. So far as I am concerned, there are no plays nor newspapers. All such things have vanished with the vanished world. All that exists is the _Elsinore_, with her queer human freightage and her cargo of coal, cleaving a rotund of ocean of which the skyline is a dozen miles away. I am reminded of Captain Scott, frozen on his south-polar venture, who for ten months after his death was believed by the world to be alive. Not until the world learned of his death was he anything but alive to the world. By the same token, was he not alive? And by the same token, here on the _Elsinore_, has not the land-world ceased? May not the pupil of one's eye be, not merely the centre of the world, but the world itself? Truly, it is tenable that the world exists only in consciousness. "The world is my idea," said Schopenhauer. Said Jules de Gaultier, "The world is my invention." His dogma was that imagination created the Real. Ah, me, I know that the practical Miss West would dub my metaphysics a depressing and unhealthful exercise of my wits. To-day, in our deck chairs on the poop, I read _The Daughters of Herodias_ to Miss West. It was superb in its effect--just what I had expected of her. She hemstitched a fine white linen handkerchief for her father while I read. (She is never idle, being so essentially a nest- maker and comfort-producer and race-conserver; and she has a whole pile of these handkerchiefs for her father.) She smiled, how shall I say?--oh, incredulously, triumphantly, oh, with all the sure wisdom of all the generations of women in her warm, long gray eyes, when I read: "But they smile innocently and dance on, Having no thought but this unslumbering thought: 'Am I not beautiful? Shall I not be loved?' Be patient, for they will not understand, Not till the end of time will they put by The weaving of slow steps about men's hearts." "But it is well for the world that it is so," was her comment. Ah, Symons knew women! His perfect knowledge she attested when I read that magnificent passage: "They do not understand that in the world There grows between the sunlight and the grass Anything save themselves desirable. It seems to them that the swift eyes of men Are made but to be mirrors, not to see Far-off, disastrous, unattainable things. 'For are not we,' they say, 'the end of all? Why should you look beyond us? If you look Into the night, you will find nothing there: We also have gazed often at the stars.'" "It is true," said Miss West, in the pause I permitted in order to see how she had received the thought. "We also have gazed often at the stars." It was the very thing I had predicted to her face that she would say. "But wait," I cried. "Let me read on." And I read: "'We, we alone among all beautiful things, We only are real: for the rest are dreams. Why will you follow after wandering dreams When we await you? And you can but dream Of us, and in our image fashion them.'" "True, most true," she murmured, while all unconsciously pride and power mounted in her eyes. "A wonderful poem," she conceded--nay, proclaimed--when I had done. "But do you not see . . ." I began impulsively, then abandoned the attempt. For how could she see, being woman, the "far-off, disastrous, unattainable things," when she, as she so stoutly averred, had gazed often on the stars? She? What could she see, save what all women see--that they only are real, and that all the rest are dreams. "I am proud to be a daughter of Herodias," said Miss West. "Well," I admitted lamely, "we agree. You remember it is what I told you you were." "I am grateful for the compliment," she said; and in those long gray eyes of hers were limned and coloured all the satisfaction, and self-certitude and answering complacency of power that constitute so large a part of the seductive mystery and mastery that is possessed by woman. CHAPTER XX Heavens!--how I read in this fine weather. I take so little exercise that my sleep need is very small; and there are so few interruptions, such as life teems with on the land, that I read myself almost stupid. Recommend me a sea-voyage any time for a man who is behind in his reading. I am making up years of it. It is an orgy, a debauch; and I am sure the addled sailors adjudge me the queerest creature on board. At times, so fuzzy do I get from so much reading, that I am glad for any diversion. When we strike the doldrums, which lie between the north-east and the south-east trades, I shall have Wada assemble my little twenty- two automatic rifle and try to learn how to shoot. I used to shoot, when I was a wee lad. I can remember dragging a shot-gun around with me over the hills. Also, I possessed an air-rifle, with which, on great occasion, I was even able to slaughter a robin. While the poop is quite large for promenading, the available space for deck-chairs is limited to the awnings that stretch across from either side of the chart-house and that are of the width of the chart-house. This space again is restricted to one side or the other according to the slant of the morning and afternoon sun and the freshness of the breeze. Wherefore, Miss West's chair and mine are most frequently side by side. Captain West has a chair, which he infrequently occupies. He has so little to do in the working of the ship, taking his regular observations and working them up with such celerity, that he is rarely in the chart- room for any length of time. He elects to spend his hours in the main cabin, not reading, not doing anything save dream with eyes wide open in the draught of wind that pours through the open ports and door from out the huge crojack and the jigger staysails. Miss West is never idle. Below, in the big after-room, she does her own laundering. Nor will she let the steward touch her father's fine linen. In the main cabin she has installed a sewing-machine. All hand-stitching, and embroidering, and fancy work she does in the deck- chair beside me. She avers that she loves the sea and the atmosphere of sea-life, yet, verily, she has brought her home-things and land-things along with her--even to her pretty china for afternoon tea. Most essentially is she the woman and home-maker. She is a born cook. The steward and Louis prepare dishes extraordinary and _de luxe_ for the cabin table; yet Miss West is able at a moment's notice to improve on these dishes. She never lets any of their dishes come on the table without first planning them or passing on them. She has quick judgment, an unerring taste, and is possessed of the needful steel of decision. It seems she has only to look at a dish, no matter who has cooked it, and immediately divine its lack or its surplusage, and prescribe a treatment that transforms it into something indescribably different and delicious--My, how I do eat! I am quite dumbfounded by the unfailing voracity of my appetite. Already am I quite convinced that I am glad Miss West is making the voyage. She has sailed "out East," as she quaintly calls it, and has an enormous repertoire of tasty, spicy, Eastern dishes. In the cooking of rice Louis is a master; but in the making of the accompanying curry he fades into a blundering amateur compared with Miss West. In the matter of curry she is a sheer genius. How often one's thoughts dwell upon food when at sea! So in this trade-wind weather I see a great deal of Miss West. I read all the time, and quite a good part of the time I read aloud to her passages, and even books, with which I am interested in trying her out. Then, too, such reading gives rise to discussions, and she has not yet uttered anything that would lead me to change my first judgment of her. She is a genuine daughter of Herodias. And yet she is not what one would call a cute girl. She isn't a girl, she is a mature woman with all the freshness of a girl. She has the carriage, the attitude of mind, the aplomb of a woman, and yet she cannot be described as being in the slightest degree stately. She is generous, dependable, sensible--yes, and sensitive; and her superabundant vitality, the vitality that makes her walk so gloriously, discounts the maturity of her. Sometimes she seems all of thirty to me; at other times, when her spirits and risibilities are aroused, she scarcely seems thirteen. I shall make a point of asking Captain West the date of the _Dixie's_ collision with that river steamer in San Francisco Bay. In a word, she is the most normal, the most healthy, natural woman I have ever known. Yes, and she is feminine, despite, no matter how she does her hair, that it is as invariably smooth and well-groomed as all the rest of her. On the other hand, this perpetual well-groomedness is relieved by the latitude of dress she allows herself. She never fails of being a woman. Her sex, and the lure of it, is ever present. Possibly she may possess high collars, but I have never seen her in one on board. Her blouses are always open at the throat, disclosing one of her choicest assets, the muscular, adequate neck, with its fine-textured garmenture of skin. I embarrass myself by stealing long glances at that bare throat of hers and at the hint of fine, firm-surfaced shoulder. Visiting the chickens has developed into a regular function. At least once each day we make the journey for'ard along the bridge to the top of the 'midship-house. Possum, who is now convalescent, accompanies us. The steward makes a point of being there so as to receive instructions and report the egg-output and laying conduct of the many hens. At the present time our four dozen hens are laying two dozen eggs a day, with which record Miss West is greatly elated. Already she has given names to most of them. The cock is Peter, of course. A much-speckled hen is Dolly Varden. A slim, trim thing that dogs Peter's heels she calls Cleopatra. Another hen--the mellowest-voiced one of all--she addresses as Bernhardt. One thing I have noted: whenever she and the steward have passed death sentence on a non-laying hen (which occurs regularly once a week), she takes no part in the eating of the meat, not even when it is metamorphosed into one of her delectable curries. At such times she has a special curry made for herself of tinned lobster, or shrimp, or tinned chicken. Ah, I must not forget. I have learned that it was no man-interest (in me, if you please) that brought about her sudden interest to come on the voyage. It was for her father that she came. Something is the matter with Captain West. At rare moments I have observed her gazing at him with a world of solicitude and anxiety in her eyes. I was telling an amusing story at table yesterday midday, when my glance chanced to rest upon Miss West. She was not listening. Her food on her fork was suspended in the air a sheer instant as she looked at her father with all her eyes. It was a stare of fear. She realized that I was observing, and with superb control, slowly, quite naturally, she lowered the fork and rested it on her plate, retaining her hold on it and retaining her father's face in her look. But I had seen. Yes; I had seen more than that. I had seen Captain West's face a transparent white, while his eyelids fluttered down and his lips moved noiselessly. Then the eyelids raised, the lips set again with their habitual discipline, and the colour slowly returned to his face. It was as if he had been away for a time and just returned. But I had seen, and guessed her secret. And yet it was this same Captain West, seven hours later, who chastened the proud sailor spirit of Mr. Pike. It was in the second dog-watch that evening, a dark night, and the watch was pulling away on the main deck. I had just come out of the chart-house door and seen Captain West pace by me, hands in pockets, toward the break of the poop. Abruptly, from the mizzen-mast, came a snap of breakage and crash of fabric. At the same instant the men fell backward and sprawled over the deck. A moment of silence followed, and then Captain West's voice went out: "What carried away, Mr. Pike?" "The halyards, sir," came the reply out of the darkness. There was a pause. Again Captain West's voice went out. "Next time slack away on your sheet first." Now Mr. Pike is incontestably a splendid seaman. Yet in this instance he had been wrong. I have come to know him, and I can well imagine the hurt to his pride. And more--he has a wicked, resentful, primitive nature, and though he answered respectfully enough, "Yes, sir," I felt safe in predicting to myself that the poor devils under him would receive the weight of his resentment in the later watches of the night. They evidently did; for this morning I noted a black eye on John Hackey, a San Francisco hoodlum, and Guido Bombini was carrying a freshly and outrageously swollen jaw. I asked Wada about the matter, and he soon brought me the news. Quite a bit of beating up takes place for'ard of the deck-houses in the night watches while we of the after-guard peacefully slumber. Even to-day Mr. Pike is going around sullen and morose, snarling at the men more than usual, and barely polite to Miss West and me when we chance to address him. His replies are grunted in monosyllables, and his face is set in superlative sourness. Miss West who is unaware of the occurrence, laughs and calls it a "sea grouch"--a phenomenon with which she claims large experience. But I know Mr. Pike now--the stubborn, wonderful old sea-dog. It will be three days before he is himself again. He takes a terrible pride in his seamanship, and what hurts him most is the knowledge that he was guilty of the blunder. CHAPTER XXI To-day, twenty-eight days out, in the early morning, while I was drinking my coffee, still carrying the north-east trade, we crossed the line. And Charles Davis signalized the event by murdering O'Sullivan. It was Boney, the lanky splinter of a youth in Mr. Mellaire's watch, who brought the news. The second mate and I had just arrived in the hospital room, when Mr. Pike entered. O'Sullivan's troubles were over. The man in the upper bunk had completed the mad, sad span of his life with the marlin-spike. I cannot understand this Charles Davis. He sat up calmly in his bunk, and calmly lighted his pipe ere he replied to Mr. Mellaire. He certainly is not insane. Yet deliberately, in cold blood, he has murdered a helpless man. "What'd you do it for?" Mr. Mellaire demanded. "Because, sir," said Charles Davis, applying a second match to his pipe, "because"--puff, puff--"he bothered my sleep." Here he caught Mr. Pike's glowering eye. "Because"--puff, puff--"he annoyed me. The next time"--puff, puff--"I hope better judgment will be shown in what kind of a man is put in with me. Besides"--puff, puff--"this top bunk ain't no place for me. It hurts me to get into it"--puff, puff--"an' I'm gem' back to that lower bunk as soon as you get O'Sullivan out of it." "But what'd you do it for?" Mr. Pike snarled. "I told you, sir, because he annoyed me. I got tired of it, an' so, this morning, I just put him out of his misery. An' what are you goin' to do about it? The man's dead, ain't he? An' I killed 'm in self-defence. I know the law. What right'd you to put a ravin' lunatic in with me, an' me sick an' helpless?" "By God, Davis!" the mate burst forth. "You'll never draw your pay-day in Seattle. I'll fix you out for this, killing a crazy lashed down in his bunk an' harmless. You'll follow 'm overside, my hearty." "If I do, you'll hang for it, sir," Davis retorted. He turned his cool eyes on me. "An' I call on you, sir, to witness the threats he's made. An' you'll testify to them, too, in court. An' he'll hang as sure as I go over the side. Oh, I know his record. He's afraid to face a court with it. He's been up too many a time with charges of man-killin' an' brutality on the high seas. An' a man could retire for life an live off the interest of the fines he's paid, or his owners paid for him--" "Shut your mouth or I'll knock it out of your face!" Mr. Pike roared, springing toward him with clenched, up-raised fist. Davis involuntarily shrank away. His flesh was weak, but not so his spirit. He got himself promptly in hand and struck another match. "You can't get my goat, sir," he sneered, under the shadow of the impending blow. "I ain't scared to die. A man's got to die once anyway, an' it's none so hard a trick to do when you can't help it. O'Sullivan died so easy it was amazin'. Besides, I ain't goin' to die. I'm goin' to finish this voyage, an' sue the owners when I get to Seattle. I know my rights an' the law. An' I got witnesses." Truly, I was divided between admiration for the courage of this wretched sailor and sympathy for Mr. Pike thus bearded by a sick man he could not bring himself to strike. Nevertheless he sprang upon the man with calculated fury, gripped him between the base of the neck and the shoulders with both gnarled paws, and shook him back and forth, violently and frightfully, for a full minute. It was a wonder the man's neck was not dislocated. "I call on you to witness, sir," Davis gasped at me the instant he was free. He coughed and strangled, felt his throat, and made wry neck-movements indicative of injury. "The marks'll begin to show in a few minutes," he murmured complacently as his dizziness left him and his breath came back. This was too much for Mr. Pike, who turned and left the room, growling and cursing incoherently, deep in his throat. When I made my departure, a moment later, Davis was refilling his pipe and telling Mr. Mellaire that he'd have him up for a witness in Seattle. * * * * * So we have had another burial at sea. Mr. Pike was vexed by it because the _Elsinore_, according to sea tradition, was going too fast through the water for a proper ceremony. Thus a few minutes of the voyage were lost by backing the _Elsinore's_ main-topsail and deadening her way while the service was read and O'Sullivan was slid overboard with the inevitable sack of coal at his feet. "Hope the coal holds out," Mr. Pike grumbled morosely at me five minutes later. * * * * * And we sit on the poop, Miss West and I, tended on by servants, sipping afternoon tea, sewing fancy work, discussing philosophy and art, while a few feet away from us, on this tiny floating world, all the grimy, sordid tragedy of sordid, malformed, brutish life plays itself out. And Captain West, remote, untroubled, sits dreaming in the twilight cabin while the draught of wind from the crojack blows upon him through the open ports. He has no doubts, no worries. He believes in God. All is settled and clear and well as he nears his far home. His serenity is vast and enviable. But I cannot shake from my eyes that vision of him when life forsook his veins, and his mouth slacked, and his eyelids closed, while his face took on the white transparency of death. I wonder who will be the next to finish the game and depart with a sack of coal. "Oh, this is nothing, sir," Mr. Mellaire remarked to me cheerfully as we strolled the poop during the first watch. "I was once on a voyage on a tramp steamer loaded with four hundred Chinks--I beg your pardon, sir--Chinese. They were coolies, contract labourers, coming back from serving their time. "And the cholera broke out. We hove over three hundred of them overboard, sir, along with both bosuns, most of the Lascar crew, and the captain, the mate, the third mate, and the first and third engineers. The second and one white oiler was all that was left below, and I was in command on deck, when we made port. The doctors wouldn't come aboard. They made me anchor in the outer roads and told me to heave out my dead. There was some tall buryin' about that time, Mr. Pathurst, and they went overboard without canvas, coal, or iron. They had to. I had nobody to help me, and the Chinks below wouldn't lift a hand. "I had to go down myself, drag the bodies on to the slings, then climb on deck and heave them up with the donkey. And each trip I took a drink. I was pretty drunk when the job was done." "And you never caught it yourself?" I queried. Mr. Mellaire held up his left hand. I had often noted that the index finger was missing. "That's all that happened to me, sir. The old man'd had a fox-terrier like yours. And after the old man passed out the puppy got real, chummy with me. Just as I was making the hoist of the last sling-load, what does the puppy do but jump on my leg and sniff my hand. I turned to pat him, and the next I knew my other hand had slipped into the gears and that finger wasn't there any more. "Heavens!" I cried. "What abominable luck to come through such a terrible experience like that and then lose your finger!" "That's what I thought, sir," Mr. Mellaire agreed. "What did you do?" I asked. "Oh, just held it up and looked at it, and said 'My goodness gracious!' and took another drink." "And you didn't get the cholera afterwards?" "No, sir. I reckon I was so full of alcohol the germs dropped dead before they could get to me." He considered a moment. "Candidly, Mr. Pathurst, I don't know about that alcohol theory. The old man and the mates died drunk, and so did the third engineer. But the chief was a teetotaller, and he died, too." * * * * * Never again shall I wonder that the sea is hard. I walked apart from the second mate and stared up at the magnificent fabric of the _Elsinore_ sweeping and swaying great blotting curves of darkness across the face of the starry sky. CHAPTER XXII Something has happened. But nobody knows, either fore or aft, except the interested persons, and they will not say anything. Yet the ship is abuzz with rumours and guesses. This I do know: Mr. Pike has received a fearful blow on the head. At table, yesterday, at midday, I arrived late, and, passing behind his chair, I saw a prodigious lump on top of his head. When I was seated, facing him, I noted that his eyes seemed dazed; yes, and I could see pain in them. He took no part in the conversation, ate perfunctorily, behaved stupidly at times, and it was patent that he was controlling himself with an iron hand. And nobody dares ask him what has happened. I know I don't dare ask him, and I am a passenger, a privileged person. This redoubtable old sea-relic has inspired me with a respect for him that partakes half of timidity and half of awe. He acts as if he were suffering from concussion of the brain. His pain is evident, not alone in his eyes and the strained expression of his face, but by his conduct when he thinks he is unobserved. Last night, just for a breath of air and a moment's gaze at the stars, I came out of the cabin door and stood on the main deck under the break of the poop. From directly over my head came a low and persistent groaning. My curiosity was aroused, and I retreated into the cabin, came out softly on to the poop by way of the chart-house, and strolled noiselessly for'ard in my slippers. It was Mr. Pike. He was leaning collapsed on the rail, his head resting on his arms. He was giving voice in secret to the pain that racked him. A dozen feet away he could not be heard. But, close to his shoulder, I could hear his steady, smothered groaning that seemed to take the form of a chant. Also, at regular intervals, he would mutter: "Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, oh dear." Always he repeated the phrase five times, then returned to his groaning. I stole away as silently as I had come. Yet he resolutely stands his watches and performs all his duties of chief officer. Oh, I forgot. Miss West dared to quiz him, and he replied that he had a toothache, and that if it didn't get better he'd pull it out. Wada cannot learn what has happened. There were no eye-witnesses. He says that the Asiatic clique, discussing the affair in the cook's room, thinks the three gangsters are responsible. Bert Rhine is carrying a lame shoulder. Nosey Murphy is limping as from some injury in the hips. And Kid Twist has been so badly beaten that he has not left his bunk for two days. And that is all the data to build on. The gangsters are as close-mouthed as Mr. Pike. The Asiatic clique has decided that murder was attempted and that all that saved the mate was his hard skull. Last evening, in the second dog-watch, I got another proof that Captain West is not so oblivious of what goes on aboard the _Elsinore_ as he seems. I had gone for'ard along the bridge to the mizzen-mast, in the shadow of which I was leaning. From the main deck, in the alley-way between the 'midship-house and the rail, came the voices of Bert Rhine, Nosey Murphy, and Mr. Mellaire. It was not ship's work. They were having a friendly, even sociable chat, for their voices hummed genially, and now and again one or another laughed, and sometimes all laughed. I remembered Wada's reports on this unseamanlike intimacy of the second mate with the gangsters, and tried to make out the nature of the conversation. But the gangsters were low-voiced, and all I could catch was the tone of friendliness and good-nature. Suddenly, from the poop, came Captain West's voice. It was the voice, not of the Samurai riding the storm, but of the Samurai calm and cold. It was clear, soft, and mellow as the mellowest bell ever cast by eastern artificers of old time to call worshippers to prayer. I know I slightly chilled to it--it was so exquisitely sweet and yet as passionless as the ring of steel on a frosty night. And I knew the effect on the men beneath me was electrical. I could _feel_ them stiffen and chill to it as I had stiffened and chilled. And yet all he said was: "Mr. Mellaire." "Yes, sir," answered Mr. Mellaire, after a moment of tense silence. "Come aft here," came Captain West's voice. I heard the second mate move along the deck beneath me and stop at the foot of the poop-ladder. "Your place is aft on the poop, Mr. Mellaire," said the cold, passionless voice. "Yes, sir," answered the second mate. That was all. Not another word was spoken. Captain West resumed his stroll on the weather side of the poop, and Mr. Mellaire, ascending the ladder, went to pacing up and down the lee side. I continued along the bridge to the forecastle head and purposely remained there half an hour ere I returned to the cabin by way of the main deck. Although I did not analyze my motive, I knew I did not desire any one to know that I had overheard the occurrence. * * * * * I have made a discovery. Ninety per cent. of our crew is brunette. Aft, with the exception of Wada and the steward, who are our servants, we are all blonds. What led me to this discovery was Woodruff's _Effects of Tropical Light on White Men_, which I am just reading. Major Woodruff's thesis is that the white-skinned, blue-eyed Aryan, born to government and command, ever leaving his primeval, overcast and foggy home, ever commands and governs the rest of the world and ever perishes because of the too-white light he encounters. It is a very tenable hypothesis, and will bear looking into. But to return. Every one of us who sits aft in the high place is a blond Aryan. For'ard, leavened with a ten per cent, of degenerate blonds, the remaining ninety per cent, of the slaves that toil for us are brunettes. They will not perish. According to Woodruff, they will inherit the earth, not because of their capacity for mastery and government, but because of their skin-pigmentation which enables their tissues to resist the ravages of the sun. And I look at the four of us at table--Captain West, his daughter, Mr. Pike, and myself--all fair-skinned, blue-eyed, and perishing, yet mastering and commanding, like our fathers before us, to the end of our type on the earth. Ah, well, ours is a lordly history, and though we may be doomed to pass, in our time we shall have trod on the faces of all peoples, disciplined them to obedience, taught them government, and dwelt in the palaces we have compelled them by the weight of our own right arms to build for us. The _Elsinore_ depicts this in miniature. The best of the food and all spacious and beautiful accommodation is ours. For'ard is a pig-sty and a slave-pen. As a king, Captain West sits above all. As a captain of soldiers, Mr. Pike enforces his king's will. Miss West is a princess of the royal house. And I? Am I not an honourable, noble-lineaged pensioner on the deeds and achievements of my father, who, in his day, compelled thousands of the lesser types to the building of the fortune I enjoy? CHAPTER XXIII The north-west trade carried us almost into the south-east trade, and then left us for several days to roll and swelter in the doldrums. During this time I have discovered that I have a genius for rifle-shooting. Mr. Pike swore I must have had long practice; and I confess I was myself startled by the ease of the thing. Of course, it's the knack; but one must be so made, I suppose, in order to be able to acquire the knack. By the end of half an hour, standing on the heaving deck and shooting at bottles floating on the rolling swell, I found that I broke each bottle at the first shot. The supply of empty bottles giving out, Mr. Pike was so interested that he had the carpenter saw me a lot of small square blocks of hard wood. These were more satisfactory. A well-aimed shot threw them out of the water and spinning into the air, and I could use a single block until it had drifted out of range. In an hour's time I could, shooting quickly and at short range, empty my magazine at a block and hit it nine times, and, on occasion, ten times, out of eleven. I might not have judged my aptitude as unusual, had I not induced Miss West and Wada to try their hands. Neither had luck like mine. I finally persuaded Mr. Pike, and he went behind the wheel-house so that none of the crew might see how poor a shot he was. He was never able to hit the mark, and was guilty of the most ludicrous misses. "I never could get the hang of rifle-shooting," he announced disgustedly, "but when it comes to close range with a gat I'm right there. I guess I might as well overhaul mine and limber it up." He went below and came back with a huge '44 automatic pistol and a handful of loaded clips. "Anywhere from right against the body up to ten or twelve feet away, holding for the stomach, it's astonishing, Mr. Pathurst, what you can do with a weapon like this. Now you can't use a rifle in a mix-up. I've been down and under, with a bunch giving me the boot, when I turned loose with this. Talk about damage! It ranged them the full length of their bodies. One of them'd just landed his brogans on my face when I let'm have it. The bullet entered just above his knee, smashed the collarbone, where it came out, and then clipped off an ear. I guess that bullet's still going. It took more than a full-sized man to stop it. So I say, give me a good handy gat when something's doing." "Ain't you afraid you'll use all your ammunition up?" he asked anxiously half an hour later, as I continued to crack away with my new toy. He was quite reassured when I told him Wada had brought along fifty thousand rounds for me. In the midst of the shooting, two sharks came swimming around. They were quite large, Mr. Pike said, and he estimated their length at fifteen feet. It was Sunday morning, so that the crew, except for working the ship, had its time to itself, and soon the carpenter, with a rope for a fish-line and a great iron hook baited with a chunk of salt pork the size of my head, captured first one, and then the other, of the monsters. They were hoisted in on the main deck. And then I saw a spectacle of the cruelty of the sea. The full crew gathered about with sheath knives, hatchets, clubs, and big butcher knives borrowed from the galley. I shall not give the details, save that they gloated and lusted, and roared and bellowed their delight in the atrocities they committed. Finally, the first of the two fish was thrown back into the ocean with a pointed stake thrust into its upper and lower jaws so that it could not close its mouth. Inevitable and prolonged starvation was the fate thus meted out to it. "I'll show you something, boys," Andy Fay cried, as they prepared to handle the second shark. The Maltese Cockney had been a most capable master of ceremonies with the first one. More than anything else, I think, was I hardened against these brutes by what I saw them do. In the end, the maltreated fish thrashed about the deck entirely eviscerated. Nothing remained but the mere flesh-shell of the creature, yet it would not die. It was amazing the life that lingered when all the vital organs were gone. But more amazing things were to follow. Mulligan Jacobs, his arms a butcher's to the elbows, without as much as "by your leave," suddenly thrust a hunk of meat into my hand. I sprang back, startled, and dropped it to the deck, while a gleeful howl went up from the two-score men. I was shamed, despite myself. These brutes held me in little respect; and, after all, human nature is so strange a compound that even a philosopher dislikes being held in disesteem by the brutes of his own species. I looked at what I had dropped. It was the heart of the shark, and as I looked, there under my eyes, on the scorching deck where the pitch oozed from the seams, the heart pulsed with life. And I dared. I would not permit these animals to laugh at any fastidiousness of mine. I stooped and picked up the heart, and while I concealed and conquered my qualms I held it in my hand and felt it beat in my hand. At any rate, I had won a mild victory over Mulligan Jacobs; for he abandoned me for the more delectable diversion of torturing the shark that would not die. For several minutes it had been lying quite motionless. Mulligan Jacobs smote it a heavy blow on the nose with the flat of a hatchet, and as the thing galvanized into life and flung its body about the deck the little venomous man screamed in ecstasy: "The hooks are in it!--the hooks are in it!--and burnin' hot!" He squirmed and writhed with fiendish delight, and again he struck it on the nose and made it leap. This was too much, and I beat a retreat--feigning boredom, or cessation of interest, of course; and absently carrying the still throbbing heart in my hand. As I came upon the poop I saw Miss West, with her sewing basket, emerging from the port door of the chart-house. The deck-chairs were on that side, so I stole around on the starboard side of the chart-house in order to fling overboard unobserved the dreadful thing I carried. But, drying on the surface in the tropic heat and still pulsing inside, it stuck to my hand, so that it was a bad cast. Instead of clearing the railing, it struck on the pin-rail and stuck there in the shade, and as I opened the door to go below and wash my hands, with a last glance I saw it pulse where it had fallen. When I came back it was still pulsing. I heard a splash overside from the waist of the ship, and knew the carcass had been flung overboard. I did not go around the chart-house and join Miss West, but stood enthralled by the spectacle of that heart that beat in the tropic heat. Boisterous shouts from the sailors attracted my attention. They had all climbed to the top of the tall rail and were watching something outboard. I followed their gaze and saw the amazing thing. That long-eviscerated shark was not dead. It moved, it swam, it thrashed about, and ever it strove to escape from the surface of the ocean. Sometimes it swam down as deep as fifty or a hundred feet, and then, still struggling to escape the surface, struggled involuntarily to the surface. Each failure thus to escape fetched wild laughter from the men. But why did they laugh? The thing was sublime, horrible, but it was not humorous. I leave it to you. What is there laughable in the sight of a pain-distraught fish rolling helplessly on the surface of the sea and exposing to the sun all its essential emptiness? I was turning away, when renewed shouting drew my gaze. Half a dozen other sharks had appeared, smaller ones, nine or ten feet long. They attacked their helpless comrade. They tore him to pieces they destroyed him, devoured him. I saw the last shred of him disappear down their maws. He was gone, disintegrated, entombed in the living bodies of his kind, and already entering into the processes of digestion. And yet, there, in the shade on the pin-rail, that unbelievable and monstrous heart beat on. CHAPTER XXIV The voyage is doomed to disaster and death. I know Mr. Pike, now, and if ever he discovers the identity of Mr. Mellaire, murder will be done. Mr. Mellaire is not Mr. Mellaire. He is not from Georgia. He is from Virginia. His name is Waltham--Sidney Waltham. He is one of the Walthams of Virginia, a black sheep, true, but a Waltham. Of this I am convinced, just as utterly as I am convinced that Mr. Pike will kill him if he learns who he is. Let me tell how I have discovered all this. It was last night, shortly before midnight, when I came up on the poop to enjoy a whiff of the south- east trades in which we are now bowling along, close-hauled in order to weather Cape San Roque. Mr. Pike had the watch, and I paced up and down with him while he told me old pages of his life. He has often done this, when not "sea-grouched," and often he has mentioned with pride--yes, with reverence--a master with whom he sailed five years. "Old Captain Somers," he called him--"the finest, squarest, noblest man I ever sailed under, sir." Well, last night our talk turned on lugubrious subjects, and Mr. Pike, wicked old man that he is, descanted on the wickedness of the world and on the wickedness of the man who had murdered Captain Somers. "He was an old man, over seventy years old," Mr. Pike went on. "And they say he'd got a touch of palsy--I hadn't seen him for years. You see, I'd had to clear out from the coast because of trouble. And that devil of a second mate caught him in bed late at night and beat him to death. It was terrible. They told me about it. Right in San Francisco, on board the _Jason Harrison_, it happened, eleven years ago. "And do you know what they did? First, they gave the murderer life, when he should have been hanged. His plea was insanity, from having had his head chopped open a long time before by a crazy sea-cook. And when he'd served seven years the governor pardoned him. He wasn't any good, but his people were a powerful old Virginian family, the Walthams--I guess you've heard of them--and they brought all kinds of pressure to bear. His name was Sidney Waltham." At this moment the warning bell, a single stroke fifteen minutes before the change of watch, rang out from the wheel and was repeated by the look- out on the forecastle head. Mr. Pike, under his stress of feeling, had stopped walking, and we stood at the break of the poop. As chance would have it, Mr. Mellaire was a quarter of an hour ahead of time, and he climbed the poop-ladder and stood beside us while the mate concluded his tale. "I didn't mind it," Mr. Pike continued, "as long as he'd got life and was serving his time. But when they pardoned him out after only seven years I swore I'd get him. And I will. I don't believe in God or devil, and it's a rotten crazy world anyway; but I do believe in hunches. And I know I'm going to get him." "What will you do?" I queried. "Do?" Mr. Pike's voice was fraught with surprise that I should not know. "Do? Well, what did he do to old Captain Somers? Yet he's disappeared these last three years now. I've heard neither hide nor hair of him. But he's a sailor, and he'll drift back to the sea, and some day . . . " In the illumination of a match with which the second mate was lighting his pipe I saw Mr. Pike's gorilla arms and huge clenched paws raised to heaven, and his face convulsed and working. Also, in that brief moment of light, I saw that the second mate's hand which held the match was shaking. "And I ain't never seen even a photo of him," Mr. Pike added. "But I've got a general idea of his looks, and he's got a mark unmistakable. I could know him by it in the dark. All I'd have to do is feel it. Some day I'll stick my fingers into that mark." "What did you say, sir, was the captain's name?" Mr. Mellaire asked casually. "Somers--old Captain Somers," Mr. Pike answered. Mr. Mellaire repeated the name aloud several times, and then hazarded: "Didn't he command the _Lammermoor_ thirty years ago?" "That's the man." "I thought I recognized him. I lay at anchor in a ship next to his in Table Bay that time ago." "Oh, the wickedness of the world, the wickedness of the world," Mr. Pike muttered as he turned and strode away. I said good-night to the second mate and had started to go below, when he called to me in a low voice, "Mr. Pathurst!" I stopped, and then he said, hurriedly and confusedly: "Never mind, sir . . . I beg your pardon . . . I--I changed my mind." Below, lying in my bunk, I found myself unable to read. My mind was bent on returning to what had just occurred on deck, and, against my will, the most gruesome speculations kept suggesting themselves. And then came Mr. Mellaire. He had slipped down the booby hatch into the big after-room and thence through the hallway to my room. He entered noiselessly, on clumsy tiptoes, and pressed his finger warningly to his lips. Not until he was beside my bunk did he speak, and then it was in a whisper. "I beg your pardon, sir, Mr. Pathurst . . . I--I beg your pardon; but, you see, sir, I was just passing, and seeing you awake I . . . I thought it would not inconvenience you to . . . you see, I thought I might just as well prefer a small favour . . . seeing that I would not inconvenience you, sir . . . I . . . I . . . " I waited for him to proceed, and in the pause that ensued, while he licked his dry lips with his tongue, the thing ambushed in his skull peered at me through his eyes and seemed almost on the verge of leaping out and pouncing upon me. "Well, sir," he began again, this time more coherently, "it's just a little thing--foolish on my part, of course--a whim, so to say--but you will remember, near the beginning of the voyage, I showed you a scar on my head . . . a really small affair, sir, which I contracted in a misadventure. It amounts to a deformity, which it is my fancy to conceal. Not for worlds, sir, would I care to have Miss West, for instance, know that I carried such a deformity. A man is a man, sir--you understand--and you have not spoken of it to her?" "No," I replied. "It just happens that I have not." "Nor to anybody else?--to, say, Captain West?--or, say, Mr. Pike?" "No, I haven't mentioned it to anybody," I averred. He could not conceal the relief he experienced. The perturbation went out of his face and manner, and the ambushed thing drew back deeper into the recess of his skull. "The favour, sir, Mr. Pathurst, that I would prefer is that you will not mention that little matter to anybody. I suppose" (he smiled, and his voice was superlatively suave) "it is vanity on my part--you understand, I am sure." I nodded, and made a restless movement with my book as evidence that I desired to resume my reading. "I can depend upon you for that, Mr. Pathurst?" His whole voice and manner had changed. It was practically a command, and I could almost see fangs, bared and menacing, sprouting in the jaws of that thing I fancied dwelt behind his eyes. "Certainly," I answered coldly. "Thank you, sir--I thank you," he said, and, without more ado, tiptoed from the room. Of course I did not read. How could I? Nor did I sleep. My mind ran on, and on, and not until the steward brought my coffee, shortly before five, did I sink into my first doze. One thing is very evident. Mr. Pike does not dream that the murderer of Captain Somers is on board the _Elsinore_. He has never glimpsed that prodigious fissure that clefts Mr. Mellaire's, or, rather, Sidney Waltham's, skull. And I, for one, shall never tell Mr. Pike. And I know, now, why from the very first I disliked the second mate. And I understand that live thing, that other thing, that lurks within and peers out through the eyes. I have recognized the same thing in the three gangsters for'ard. Like the second mate, they are prison birds. The restraint, the secrecy, and iron control of prison life has developed in all of them terrible other selves. Yes, and another thing is very evident. On board this ship, driving now through the South Atlantic for the winter passage of Cape Horn, are all the elements of sea tragedy and horror. We are freighted with human dynamite that is liable at any moment to blow our tiny floating world to fragments. CHAPTER XXV The days slip by. The south-east trade is brisk and small splashes of sea occasionally invade my open ports. Mr. Pike's room was soaked yesterday. This is the most exciting thing that has happened for some time. The gangsters rule in the forecastle. Larry and Shorty have had a harmless _fight_. The hooks continue to burn in Mulligan Jacobs's brain. Charles Davis resides alone in his little steel room, coming out only to get his food from the galley. Miss West plays and sings, doctors Possum, launders, and is for ever otherwise busy with her fancy work. Mr. Pike runs the phonograph every other evening in the second dog-watch. Mr. Mellaire hides the cleft in his head. I keep his secret. And Captain West, more remote than ever, sits in the draught of wind in the twilight cabin. We are now thirty-seven days at sea, in which time, until to-day, we have not sighted a vessel. And to-day, at one time, no less than six vessels were visible from the deck. Not until I saw these ships was I able thoroughly to realize how lonely this ocean is. Mr. Pike tells me we are several hundred miles off the South American coast. And yet, only the other day, it seems, we were scarcely more distant from Africa. A big velvety moth fluttered aboard this morning, and we are filled with conjecture. How possibly could it have come from the South American coast these hundreds of miles in the teeth of the trades? The Southern Cross has been visible, of course, for weeks; the North Star has disappeared behind the bulge of the earth; and the Great Bear, at its highest, is very low. Soon it, too, will be gone and we shall be raising the Magellan Clouds. I remember the fight between Larry and Shorty. Wada reports that Mr. Pike watched it for some time, until, becoming incensed at their awkwardness, he clouted both of them with his open hands and made them stop, announcing that until they could make a better showing he intended doing all the fighting on the _Elsinore_ himself. It is a feat beyond me to realize that he is sixty-nine years old. And when I look at the tremendous build of him and at his fearful, man-handling hands, I conjure up a vision of him avenging Captain Somers's murder. Life is cruel. Amongst the _Elsinore's_ five thousand tons of coal are thousands of rats. There is no way for them to get out of their steel- walled prison, for all the ventilators are guarded with stout wire-mesh. On her previous voyage, loaded with barley, they increased and multiplied. Now they are imprisoned in the coal, and cannibalism is what must occur among them. Mr. Pike says that when we reach Seattle there will be a dozen or a score of survivors, huge fellows, the strongest and fiercest. Sometimes, passing the mouth of one ventilator that is in the after wall of the chart-house, I can hear their plaintive squealing and crying from far beneath in the coal. Other and luckier rats are in the 'tween decks for'ard, where all the spare suits of sails are stored. They come out and run about the deck at night, steal food from the galley, and lap up the dew. Which reminds me that Mr. Pike will no longer look at Possum. It seems, under his suggestion, that Wada trapped a rat in the donkey-engine room. Wada swears that it was the father of all rats, and that, by actual measurement, it scaled eighteen inches from nose to the tip of tail. Also, it seems that Mr. Pike and Wada, with the door shut in the former's room, pitted the rat against Possum, and that Possum was licked. They were compelled to kill the rat themselves, while Possum, when all was over, lay down and had a fit. Now Mr. Pike abhors a coward, and his disgust with Possum is profound. He no longer plays with the puppy, nor even speaks to him, and, whenever he passes him on the deck, glowers sourly at him. I have been reading up the South Atlantic Sailing Directions, and I find that we are now entering the most beautiful sunset region in the world. And this evening we were favoured with a sample. I was in my quarters, overhauling my books, when Miss West called to me from the foot of the chart-house stairs: "Mr. Pathurst!--Come quick! Oh, do come quick! You can't afford to miss it!" Half the sky, from the zenith to the western sea-line, was an astonishing sheet of pure, pale, even gold. And through this sheen, on the horizon, burned the sun, a disc of richer gold. The gold of the sky grew more golden, then tarnished before our eyes and began to glow faintly with red. As the red deepened, a mist spread over the whole sheet of gold and the burning yellow sun. Turner was never guilty of so audacious an orgy in gold-mist. Presently, along the horizon, entirely completing the circle of sea and sky, the tight-packed shapes of the trade wind clouds began to show through the mist; and as they took form they spilled with rose-colour at their upper edges, while their bases were a pulsing, bluish-white. I say it advisedly. All the colours of this display _pulsed_. As the gold-mist continued to clear away, the colours became garish, bold; the turquoises went into greens and the roses turned to the red of blood. And the purple and indigo of the long swells of sea were bronzed with the colour-riot in the sky, while across the water, like gigantic serpents, crawled red and green sky-reflections. And then all the gorgeousness quickly dulled, and the warm, tropic darkness drew about us. CHAPTER XXVI The _Elsinore_ is truly the ship of souls, the world in miniature; and, because she is such a small world, cleaving this vastitude of ocean as our larger world cleaves space, the strange juxtapositions that continually occur are startling. For instance, this afternoon on the poop. Let me describe it. Here was Miss West, in a crisp duck sailor suit, immaculately white, open at the throat, where, under the broad collar, was knotted a man-of-war black silk neckerchief. Her smooth-groomed hair, a trifle rebellious in the breeze, was glorious. And here was I, in white ducks, white shoes, and white silk shirt, as immaculate and well-tended as she. The steward was just bringing the pretty tea-service for Miss West, and in the background Wada hovered. We had been discussing philosophy--or, rather, I had been feeling her out; and from a sketch of Spinoza's anticipations of the modern mind, through the speculative interpretations of the latest achievements in physics of Sir Oliver Lodge and Sir William Ramsay, I had come, as usual, to De Casseres, whom I was quoting, when Mr. Pike snarled orders to the watch. "'In this rise into the azure of pure perception, attainable only by a very few human beings, the spectacular sense is born,'." I was quoting. "'Life is no longer good or evil. It is a perpetual play of forces without beginning or end. The freed Intellect merges itself with the World-Will and partakes of its essence, which is not a moral essence but an aesthetic essence . . . " And at this moment the watch swarmed on to the poop to haul on the port- braces of the mizzen-sky-sail, royal and topgallant-sail. The sailors passed us, or toiled close to us, with lowered eyes. They did not look at us, so far removed from them were we. It was this contrast that caught my fancy. Here were the high and low, slaves and masters, beauty and ugliness, cleanness and filth. Their feet were bare and scaled with patches of tar and pitch. Their unbathed bodies were garmented in the meanest of clothes, dingy, dirty, ragged, and sparse. Each one had on but two garments--dungaree trousers and a shoddy cotton shirt. And we, in our comfortable deck-chairs, our two servants at our backs, the quintessence of elegant leisure, sipped delicate tea from beautiful, fragile cups, and looked on at these wretched ones whose labour made possible the journey of our little world. We did not speak to them, nor recognize their existence, any more than would they have dared speak to us. And Miss West, with the appraising eye of a plantation mistress for the condition of her field slaves, looked them over. "You see how they have fleshed up," she said, as they coiled the last turns of the ropes over the pins and faded away for'ard off the poop. "It is the regular hours, the good weather, the hard work, the open air, the sufficient food, and the absence of whisky. And they will keep in this fettle until they get off the Horn. And then you will see them go down from day to day. A winter passage of the Horn is always a severe strain on the men. "But then, once we are around and in the good weather of the Pacific, you will see them gain again from day to day. And when we reach Seattle they will be in splendid shape. Only they will go ashore, drink up their wages in several days, and ship away on other vessels in precisely the same sodden, miserable condition that they were in when they sailed with us from Baltimore." And just then Captain West came out the chart-house door, strolled by for a single turn up and down, and with a smile and a word for us and an all- observant eye for the ship, the trim of her sails, the wind, and the sky, and the weather promise, went back through the chart-house door--the blond Aryan master, the king, the Samurai. And I finished sipping my tea of delicious and most expensive aroma, and our slant-eyed, dark-skinned servitors carried the pretty gear away, and I read, continuing De Casseres: "'Instinct wills, creates, carries on the work of the species. The Intellect destroys, negatives, satirizes and ends in pure nihilism, instinct creates life, endlessly, hurling forth profusely and blindly its clowns, tragedians and comedians. Intellect remains the eternal spectator of the play. It participates at will, but never gives itself wholly to the fine sport. The Intellect, freed from the trammels of the personal will, soars into the ether of perception, where Instinct follows it in a thousand disguises, seeking to draw it down to earth.'" CHAPTER XXVII We are now south of Rio and working south. We are out of the latitude of the trades, and the wind is capricious. Rain squalls and wind squalls vex the _Elsinore_. One hour we may be rolling sickeningly in a dead calm, and the next hour we may be dashing fourteen knots through the water and taking off sail as fast as the men can clew up and lower away. A night of calm, when sleep is well-nigh impossible in the sultry, muggy air, may be followed by a day of blazing sun and an oily swell from the south'ard, connoting great gales in that area of ocean we are sailing toward--or all day long the _Elsinore_, under an overcast sky, royals and sky sails furled, may plunge and buck under wind-pressure into a short and choppy head-sea. And all this means work for the men. Taking Mr. Pike's judgment, they are very inadequate, though by this time they know the ropes. He growls and grumbles, and snorts and sneers whenever he watches them doing anything. To-day, at eleven in the morning, the wind was so violent, continuing in greater gusts after having come in a great gust, that Mr. Pike ordered the mainsail taken off. The great crojack was already off. But the watch could not clew up the mainsail, and, after much vain sing- songing and pull-hauling, the watch below was routed out to bear a hand. "My God!" Mr. Pike groaned to me. "Two watches for a rag like that when half a decent watch could do it! Look at that preventer bosun of mine!" Poor Nancy! He looked the saddest, sickest, bleakest creature I had ever seen. He was so wretched, so miserable, so helpless. And Sundry Buyers was just as impotent. The expression on his face was of pain and hopelessness, and as he pressed his abdomen he lumbered futilely about, ever seeking something he might do and ever failing to find it. He pottered. He would stand and stare at one rope for a minute or so at a time, following it aloft with his eyes through the maze of ropes and stabs and gears with all the intentness of a man working out an intricate problem. Then, holding his hand against his stomach, he would lumber on a few steps and select another rope for study. "Oh dear, oh dear," Mr. Pike lamented. "How can one drive with bosuns like that and a crew like that? Just the same, if I was captain of this ship I'd drive 'em. I'd show 'em what drive was, if I had to lose a few of them. And when they grow weak off the Horn what'll we do? It'll be both watches all the time, which will weaken them just that much the faster." Evidently this winter passage of the Horn is all that one has been led to expect from reading the narratives of the navigators. Iron men like the two mates are very respectful of "Cape Stiff," as they call that uttermost tip of the American continent. Speaking of the two mates, iron- made and iron-mouthed that they are, it is amusing that in really serious moments both of them curse with "Oh dear, oh dear." In the spells of calm I take great delight in the little rifle. I have already fired away five thousand rounds, and have come to consider myself an expert. Whatever the knack of shooting may be, I've got it. When I get back I shall take up target practice. It is a neat, deft sport. Not only is Possum afraid of the sails and of rats, but he is afraid of rifle-fire, and at the first discharge goes yelping and ki-yi-ing below. The dislike Mr. Pike has developed for the poor little puppy is ludicrous. He even told me that if it were his dog he'd throw it overboard for a target. Just the same, he is an affectionate, heart-warming little rascal, and has already crept so deep into my heart that I am glad Miss West did not accept him. And--oh!--he insists on sleeping with me on top the bedding; a proceeding which has scandalized the mate. "I suppose he'll be using your toothbrush next," Mr. Pike growled at me. But the puppy loves my companionship, and is never happier than when on the bed with me. Yet the bed is not entirely paradise, for Possum is badly frightened when ours is the lee side and the seas pound and smash against the glass ports. Then the little beggar, electric with fear to every hair tip, crouches and snarls menacingly and almost at the same time whimpers appeasingly at the storm-monster outside. "Father _knows_ the sea," Miss West said to me this afternoon. "He understands it, and he loves it." "Or it may be habit," I ventured. She shook her head. "He does know it. And he loves it. That is why he has come back to it. All his people before him were sea folk. His grandfather, Anthony West, made forty-six voyages between 1801 and 1847. And his father, Robert, sailed master to the north-west coast before the gold days and was captain of some of the fastest Cape Horn clippers after the gold discovery. Elijah West, father's great-grandfather, was a privateersman in the Revolution. He commanded the armed brig _New Defence_. And, even before that, Elijah's father, in turn, and Elijah's father's father, were masters and owners on long-voyage merchant adventures. "Anthony West, in 1813 and 1814, commanded the _David Bruce_, with letters of marque. He was half-owner, with Gracie & Sons as the other half-owners. She was a two-hundred-ton schooner, built right up in Maine. She carried a long eighteen-pounder, two ten-pounders, and ten six-pounders, and she sailed like a witch. She ran the blockade off Newport and got away to the English Channel and the Bay of Biscay. And, do you know, though she only cost twelve thousand dollars all told, she took over three hundred thousand dollars of British prizes. A brother of his was on the _Wasp_. "So, you see, the sea is in our blood. She is our mother. As far back as we can trace all our line was born to the sea." She laughed and went on. "We've pirates and slavers in our family, and all sorts of disreputable sea-rovers. Old Ezra West, just how far back I don't remember, was executed for piracy and his body hung in chains at Plymouth. "The sea is father's blood. And he knows, well, a ship, as you would know a dog or a horse. Every ship he sails has a distinct personality for him. I have watched him, in high moments, and _seen_ him think. But oh! the times I have seen him when he does not think--when he _feels_ and knows everything without thinking at all. Really, with all that appertains to the sea and ships, he is an artist. There is no other word for it." "You think a great deal of your father," I remarked. "He is the most wonderful man I have ever known," she replied. "Remember, you are not seeing him at his best. He has never been the same since mother's death. If ever a man and woman were one, they were." She broke off, then concluded abruptly. "You don't know him. You don't know him at all." CHAPTER XXVIII "I think we are going to have a fine sunset," Captain West remarked last evening. Miss West and I abandoned our rubber of cribbage and hastened on deck. The sunset had not yet come, but all was preparing. As we gazed we could see the sky gathering the materials, grouping the gray clouds in long lines and towering masses, spreading its palette with slow-growing, glowing tints and sudden blobs of colour. "It's the Golden Gate!" Miss West cried, indicating the west. "See! We're just inside the harbour. Look to the south there. If that isn't the sky-line of San Francisco! There's the Call Building, and there, far down, the Ferry Tower, and surely that is the Fairmount." Her eyes roved back through the opening between the cloud masses, and she clapped her hands. "It's a sunset within a sunset! See! The Farallones!"--swimming in a miniature orange and red sunset all their own. "Isn't it the Golden Gate, and San Francisco, and the Farallones?" She appealed to Mr. Pike, who, leaning near, on the poop-rail, was divided between gazing sourly at Nancy pottering on the main deck and sourly at Possum, who, on the bridge, crouched with terror each time the crojack flapped emptily above him. The mate turned his head and favoured the sky picture with a solemn stare. "Oh, I don't know," he growled. "It may look like the Farallones to you, but to me it looks like a battleship coming right in the Gate with a bone in its teeth at a twenty-knot clip." Sure enough. The floating Farallones had metamorphosed into a giant warship. Then came the colour riot, the dominant tone of which was green. It was green, green, green--the blue-green of the springing year, and sere and yellow green and tawny-brown green of autumn. There were orange green, gold green, and a copper green. And all these greens were rich green beyond description; and yet the richness and the greenness passed even as we gazed upon it, going out of the gray clouds and into the sea, which assumed the exquisite golden pink of polished copper, while the hollows of the smooth and silken ripples were touched by a most ethereal pea green. The gray clouds became a long, low swathe of ruby red, or garnet red--such as one sees in a glass of heavy burgundy when held to the light. There was such depth to this red! And, below it, separated from the main colour-mass by a line of gray-white fog, or line of sea, was another and smaller streak of ruddy-coloured wine. I strolled across the poop to the port side. "Oh! Come back! Look! Look!" Miss West cried to me. "What's the use?" I answered. "I've something just as good over here." She joined me, and as she did so I noted, a sour grin on Mr. Pike's face. The eastern heavens were equally spectacular. That quarter of the sky was sheer and delicate shell of blue, the upper portions of which faded, changed, through every harmony, into a pale, yet warm, rose, all trembling, palpitating, with misty blue tinting into pink. The reflection of this coloured sky-shell upon the water made of the sea a glimmering watered silk, all changeable, blue, Nile-green, and salmon- pink. It was silky, silken, a wonderful silk that veneered and flossed the softly moving, wavy water. And the pale moon looked like a wet pearl gleaming through the tinted mist of the sky-shell. In the southern quadrant of the sky we discovered an entirely different sunset--what would be accounted a very excellent orange-and-red sunset anywhere, with grey clouds hanging low and lighted and tinted on all their under edges. "Huh!" Mr. Pike muttered gruffly, while we were exclaiming over our fresh discovery. "Look at the sunset I got here to the north. It ain't doing so badly now, I leave it to you." And it wasn't. The northern quadrant was a great fen of colour and cloud, that spread ribs of feathery pink, fleece-frilled, from the horizon to the zenith. It was all amazing. Four sunsets at the one time in the sky! Each quadrant glowed, and burned, and pulsed with a sunset distinctly its own. And as the colours dulled in the slow twilight, the moon, still misty, wept tears of brilliant, heavy silver into the dim lilac sea. And then came the hush of darkness and the night, and we came to ourselves, out of reverie, sated with beauty, leaning toward each other as we leaned upon the rail side by side. * * * * * I never grow tired of watching Captain West. In a way he bears a sort of resemblance to several of Washington's portraits. He is six feet of aristocratic thinness, and has a very definite, leisurely and stately grace of movement. His thinness is almost ascetic. In appearance and manner he is the perfect old-type New England gentleman. He has the same gray eyes as his daughter, although his are genial rather than warm; and his eyes have the same trick of smiling. His skin is pinker than hers, and his brows and lashes are fairer. But he seems removed beyond passion, or even simple enthusiasm. Miss West is firm, like her father; but there is warmth in her firmness. He is clean, he is sweet and courteous; but he is coolly sweet, coolly courteous. With all his certain graciousness, in cabin or on deck, so far as his social equals are concerned, his graciousness is cool, elevated, thin. He is the perfect master of the art of doing nothing. He never reads, except the Bible; yet he is never bored. Often, I note him in a deck- chair, studying his perfect finger-nails, and, I'll swear, not seeing them at all. Miss West says he loves the sea. And I ask myself a thousand times, "But how?" He shows no interest in any phase of the sea. Although he called our attention to the glorious sunset I have just described, he did not remain on deck to enjoy it. He sat below, in the big leather chair, not reading, not dozing, but merely gazing straight before him at nothing. * * * * * The days pass, and the seasons pass. We left Baltimore at the tail-end of winter, went into spring and on through summer, and now we are in fall weather and urging our way south to the winter of Cape Horn. And as we double the Cape and proceed north, we shall go through spring and summer--a long summer--pursuing the sun north through its declination and arriving at Seattle in summer. And all these seasons have occurred, and will have occurred, in the space of five months. Our white ducks are gone, and, in south latitude thirty-five, we are wearing the garments of a temperate clime. I notice that Wada has given me heavier underclothes and heavier pyjamas, and that Possum, of nights, is no longer content with the top of the bed but must crawl underneath the bed-clothes. * * * * * We are now off the Plate, a region notorious for storms, and Mr. Pike is on the lookout for a pampero. Captain West does not seem to be on the lookout for anything; yet I notice that he spends longer hours on deck when the sky and barometer are threatening. Yesterday we had a hint of Plate weather, and to-day an awesome fiasco of the same. The hint came last evening between the twilight and the dark. There was practically no wind, and the _Elsinore_, just maintaining steerage way by means of intermittent fans of air from the north, floundered exasperatingly in a huge glassy swell that rolled up as an echo from some blown-out storm to the south. Ahead of us, arising with the swiftness of magic, was a dense slate-blackness. I suppose it was cloud-formation, but it bore no semblance to clouds. It was merely and sheerly a blackness that towered higher and higher until it overhung us, while it spread to right and left, blotting out half the sea. And still the light puffs from the north filled our sails; and still, as the _Elsinore_ floundered on the huge, smooth swells and the sails emptied and flapped a hollow thunder, we moved slowly towards that ominous blackness. In the cast, in what was quite distinctly an active thunder cloud, the lightning fairly winked, while the blackness in front of us was rent with blobs and flashes of lightning. The last puffs left us, and in the hushes, between the rumbles of the nearing thunder, the voices of the men aloft on the yards came to one's ear as if they were right beside one instead of being hundreds of feet away and up in the air. That they were duly impressed by what was impending was patent from the earnestness with which they worked. Both watches toiled under both mates, and Captain West strolled the poop in his usual casual way, and gave no orders at all, save in low conventional tones, when Mr. Pike came upon the poop and conferred with him. Miss West, having deserted the scene five minutes before, returned, a proper sea-woman, clad in oil-skins, sou'wester, and long sea-boots. She ordered me, quite peremptorily, to do the same. But I could not bring myself to leave the deck for fear of missing something, so I compromised by having Wada bring my storm-gear to me. And then the wind came, smack out of the blackness, with the abruptness of thunder and accompanied by the most diabolical thunder. And with the rain and thunder came the blackness. It was tangible. It drove past us in the bellowing wind like so much stuff that one could feel. Blackness as well as wind impacted on us. There is no other way to describe it than by the old, ancient old, way of saying one could not see his hand before his face. "Isn't it splendid!" Miss West shouted into my ear, close beside me, as we clung to the railing of the break of the poop. "Superb!" I shouted back, my lips to her ear, so that her hair tickled my face. And, I know not why--it must have been spontaneous with both of us--in that shouting blackness of wind, as we clung to the rail to avoid being blown away, our hands went out to each other and my hand and hers gripped and pressed and then held mutually to the rail. "Daughter of Herodias," I commented grimly to myself; but my hand did not leave hers. "What is happening?" I shouted in her ear. "We've lost way," came her answer. "I think we're caught aback! The wheel's up, but she could not steer!" The Gabriel voice of the Samurai rang out. "Hard over?" was his mellow storm-call to the man at the wheel. "Hard over, sir," came the helmsman's reply, vague, cracked with strain, and smothered. Came the lightning, before us, behind us, on every side, bathing us in flaming minutes at a time. And all the while we were deafened by the unceasing uproar of thunder. It was a weird sight--far aloft the black skeleton of spars and masts from which the sails had been removed; lower down, the sailors clinging like monstrous bugs as they passed the gaskets and furled; beneath them the few set sails, filled backward against the masts, gleaming whitely, wickedly, evilly, in the fearful illumination; and, at the bottom, the deck and bridge and houses of the _Elsinore_, and a tangled riff-raff of flying ropes, and clumps and bunches of swaying, pulling, hauling, human creatures. It was a great moment, the master's moment--caught all aback with all our bulk and tonnage and infinitude of gear, and our heaven-aspiring masts two hundred feet above our heads. And our master was there, in sheeting flame, slender, casual, imperturbable, with two men--one of them a murderer--under him to pass on and enforce his will, and with a horde of inefficients and weaklings to obey that will, and pull, and haul, and by the sheer leverages of physics manipulate our floating world so that it would endure this fury of the elements. What happened next, what was done, I do not know, save that now and again I heard the Gabriel voice; for the darkness came, and the rain in pouring, horizontal sheets. It filled my mouth and strangled my lungs as if I had fallen overboard. It seemed to drive up as well as down, piercing its way under my sou'wester, through my oilskins, down my tight- buttoned collar, and into my sea-boots. I was dizzied, obfuscated, by all this onslaught of thunder, lightning, wind, blackness, and water. And yet the master, near to me, there on the poop, lived and moved serenely in all, voicing his wisdom and will to the wisps of creatures who obeyed and by their brute, puny strength pulled braces, slacked sheets, dragged courses, swung yards and lowered them, hauled on buntlines and clewlines, smoothed and gasketed the huge spreads of canvas. How it happened I know not, but Miss West and I crouched together, clinging to the rail and to each other in the shelter of the thrumming weather-cloth. My arm was about her and fast to the railing; her shoulder pressed close against me, and by one hand she held tightly to the lapel of my oilskin. An hour later we made our way across the poop to the chart-house, helping each other to maintain footing as the _Elsinore_ plunged and bucked in the rising sea and was pressed over and down by the weight of wind on her few remaining set sails. The wind, which had lulled after the rain, had risen in recurrent gusts to storm violence. But all was well with the gallant ship. The crisis was past, and the ship lived, and we lived, and with streaming faces and bright eyes we looked at each other and laughed in the bright light of the chart-room. "Who can blame one for loving the sea?" Miss West cried out exultantly, as she wrung the rain from her ropes of hair which had gone adrift in the turmoil. "And the men of the sea!" she cried. "The masters of the sea! You saw my father . . . " "He is a king," I said. "He is a king," she repeated after me. And the _Elsinore_ lifted on a cresting sea and flung down on her side, so that we were thrown together and brought up breathless against the wall. I said good-night to her at the foot of the stairs, and as I passed the open door to the cabin I glanced in. There sat Captain West, whom I had thought still on deck. His storm-trappings were removed, his sea-boots replaced by slippers; and he leaned back in the big leather chair, eyes wide open, beholding visions in the curling smoke of a cigar against a background of wildly reeling cabin wall. It was at eleven this morning that the Plate gave us a fiasco. Last night's was a real pampero--though a mild one. To-day's promised to be a far worse one, and then laughed at us as a proper cosmic joke. The wind, during the night, had so eased that by nine in the morning we had all our topgallant-sails set. By ten we were rolling in a dead calm. By eleven the stuff began making up ominously in the south'ard. The overcast sky closed down. Our lofty trucks seemed to scrape the cloud-zenith. The horizon drew in on us till it seemed scarcely half a mile away. The _Elsinore_ was embayed in a tiny universe of mist and sea. The lightning played. Sky and horizon drew so close that the _Elsinore_ seemed on the verge of being absorbed, sucked in by it, sucked up by it. Then from zenith to horizon the sky was cracked with forked lightning, and the wet atmosphere turned to a horrid green. The rain, beginning gently, in dead calm, grew into a deluge of enormous streaming drops. It grew darker and darker, a green darkness, and in the cabin, although it was midday, Wada and the steward lighted lamps. The lightning came closer and closer, until the ship was enveloped in it. The green darkness was continually a-tremble with flame, through which broke greater illuminations of forked lightning. These became more violent as the rain lessened, and, so absolutely were we centred in this electrical maelstrom, there was no connecting any chain or flash or fork of lightning with any particular thunder-clap. The atmosphere all about us paled and flamed. Such a crashing and smashing! We looked every moment for the _Elsinore_ to be struck. And never had I seen such colours in lightning. Although from moment to moment we were dazzled by the greater bolts, there persisted always a tremulous, pulsing lesser play of light, sometimes softly blue, at other times a thin purple that quivered on into a thousand shades of lavender. And there was no wind. No wind came. Nothing happened. The _Elsinore_, naked-sparred, under only lower-topsails, with spanker and crojack furled, was prepared for anything. Her lower-topsails hung in limp emptiness from the yards, heavy with rain and flapping soggily when she rolled. The cloud mass thinned, the day brightened, the green blackness passed into gray twilight, the lightning eased, the thunder moved along away from us, and there was no wind. In half an hour the sun was shining, the thunder muttered intermittently along the horizon, and the _Elsinore_ still rolled in a hush of air. "You can't tell, sir," Mr. Pike growled to me. "Thirty years ago I was dismasted right here off the Plate in a clap of wind that come on just as that come on." It was the changing of the watches, and Mr. Mellaire, who had come on the poop to relieve the mate, stood beside me. "One of the nastiest pieces of water in the world," he concurred. "Eighteen years ago the Plate gave it to me--lost half our sticks, twenty hours on our beam-ends, cargo shifted, and foundered. I was two days in the boat before an English tramp picked us up. And none of the other boats ever was picked up." "The _Elsinore_ behaved very well last night," I put in cheerily. "Oh, hell, that wasn't nothing," Mr. Pike grumbled. "Wait till you see a real pampero. It's a dirty stretch hereabouts, and I, for one, 'll be glad when we get across It. I'd sooner have a dozen Cape Horn snorters than one of these. How about you, Mr. Mellaire?" "Same here, sir," he answered. "Those sou'-westers are honest. You know what to expect. But here you never know. The best of ship-masters can get tripped up off the Plate." "'As I've found out . . . Beyond a doubt," Mr. Pike hummed from Newcomb's _Celeste_, as he went down the ladder. CHAPTER XXIX The sunsets grow more bizarre and spectacular off this coast of the Argentine. Last evening we had high clouds, broken white and golden, flung disorderly, generously, over the western half of the sky, while in the east was painted a second sunset--a reflection, perhaps, of the first. At any rate, the eastern sky was a bank of pale clouds that shed soft, spread rays of blue and white upon a blue-grey sea. And the evening before last we had a gorgeous Arizona riot in the west. Bastioned upon the ocean cloud-tier was piled upon cloud-tier, spacious and lofty, until we gazed upon a Grand Canyon a myriad times vaster and more celestial than that of the Colorado. The clouds took on the same stratified, serrated, rose-rock formation, and all the hollows were filled with the opal blues and purple hazes of the Painted Lands. The Sailing Directions say that these remarkable sunsets are due to the dust being driven high into the air by the winds that blow across the pampas of the Argentine. And our sunset to-night--I am writing this at midnight, as I sit propped in my blankets, wedged by pillows, while the _Elsinore_ wallows damnably in a dead calm and a huge swell rolling up from the Cape Horn region, where, it does seem, gales perpetually blow. But our sunset. Turner might have perpetrated it. The west was as if a painter had stood off and slapped brushfuls of gray at a green canvas. On this green background of sky the clouds spilled and crumpled. But such a background! Such an orgy of green! No shade of green was missing in the interstices, large and small, between the milky, curdled clouds--Nile-green high up, and then, in order, each with a thousand shades, blue-green, brown-green, grey-green, and a wonderful olive-green that tarnished into a rich bronze-green. During the display the rest of the horizon glowed with broad bands of pink, and blue, and pale green, and yellow. A little later, when the sun was quite down, in the background of the curdled clouds smouldered a wine- red mass of colour, that faded to bronze and tinged all the fading greens with its sanguinary hue. The clouds themselves flushed to rose of all shades, while a fan of gigantic streamers of pale rose radiated toward the zenith. These deepened rapidly into flaunting rose-flame and burned long in the slow-closing twilight. And with all this wonder of the beauty of the world still glowing in my brain hours afterward, I hear the snarling of Mr. Pike above my head, and the trample and drag of feet as the men move from rope to rope and pull and haul. More weather is making, and from the way sail is being taken in it cannot be far off. * * * * * Yet at daylight this morning we were still wallowing in the same dead calm and sickly swell. Miss West says the barometer is down, but that the warning has been too long, for the Plate, to amount to anything. Pamperos happen quickly here, and though the _Elsinore_, under bare poles to her upper-topsails, is prepared for anything, it may well be that they will be crowding on canvas in another hour. Mr. Pike was so fooled that he actually had set the topgallant-sails, and the gaskets were being taken off the royals, when the Samurai came on deck, strolled back and forth a casual five minutes, then spoke in an undertone to Mr. Pike. Mr. Pike did not like it. To me, a tyro, it was evident that he disagreed with his master. Nevertheless, his voice went out in a snarl aloft to the men on the royal-yards to make all fast again. Then it was clewlines and buntlines and lowering of yards as the topgallant-sails were stripped off. The crojack was taken in, and some of the outer fore-and-aft handsails, whose order of names I can never remember. A breeze set in from the south-west, blowing briskly under a clear sky. I could see that Mr. Pike was secretly pleased. The Samurai had been mistaken. And each time Mr. Pike glanced aloft at the naked topgallant- and royal-yards, I knew his thought was that they might well be carrying sail. I was quite convinced that the Plate had fooled Captain West. So was Miss West convinced, and, being a favoured person like myself, she frankly told me so. "Father will be setting sail in half an hour," she prophesied. What superior weather-sense Captain West possesses I know not, save that it is his by Samurai right. The sky, as I have said, was clear. The air was brittle--sparkling gloriously in the windy sun. And yet, behold, in a brief quarter of an hour, the change that took place. I had just returned from a trip below, and Miss West was venting her scorn on the River Plate and promising to go below to the sewing-machine, when we heard Mr. Pike groan. It was a whimsical groan of disgust, contrition, and acknowledgment of inferiority before the master. "Here comes the whole River Plate," was what he groaned. Following his gaze to the south-west, we saw it coming. It was a cloud- mass that blotted out the sunlight and the day. It seemed to swell and belch and roll over and over on itself as it advanced with a rapidity that told of enormous wind behind it and in it. Its speed was headlong, terrific; and, beneath it, covering the sea, advancing with it, was a gray bank of mist. Captain West spoke to the mate, who bawled the order along, and the watch, reinforced by the watch below, began dewing up the mainsail and foresail and climbing into the rigging. "Keep off! Put your wheel over! Hard over!" Captain West called gently to the helmsman. And the big wheel spun around, and the _Elsinore's_ bow fell off so that she might not be caught aback by the onslaught of wind. Thunder rode in that rushing, rolling blackness of cloud; and it was rent by lightning as it fell upon us. Then it was rain, wind, obscureness of gloom, and lightning. I caught a glimpse of the men on the lower-yards as they were blotted from view and as the _Elsinore_ heeled over and down. There were fifteen men of them to each yard, and the gaskets were well passed ere we were struck. How they regained the deck I do not know, I never saw; for the _Elsinore_, under only upper- and lower-topsails, lay down on her side, her port-rail buried in the sea, and did not rise. There was no maintaining an unsupported upright position on that acute slant of deck. Everybody held on. Mr. Pike frankly gripped the poop- rail with both hands, and Miss West and I made frantic clutches and scrambled for footing. But I noticed that the Samurai, poised lightly, like a bird on the verge of flight, merely rested one hand on the rail. He gave no orders. As I divined, there was nothing to be done. He waited--that was all--in tranquillity and repose. The situation was simple. Either the masts would go, or the _Elsinore_ would rise with her masts intact, or she would never rise again. In the meantime she lay dead, her lee yardarms almost touching the sea, the sea creaming solidly to her hatch-combings across the buried, unseen rail. The minutes were as centuries, until the bow paid off and the _Elsinore_, turned tail before it, righted to an even keel. Immediately this was accomplished Captain West had her brought back upon the wind. And immediately, thereupon, the big foresail went adrift from its gaskets. The shock, or succession of shocks, to the ship, from the tremendous buffeting that followed, was fearful. It seemed she was being racked to pieces. Master and mate were side by side when this happened, and the expressions on their faces typified them. In neither face was apprehension. Mr. Pike's face bore a sour sneer for the worthless sailors who had botched the job. Captain West's face was serenely considerative. Still, nothing was to be done, could be done; and for five minutes the _Elsinore_ was shaken as in the maw of some gigantic monster, until the last shreds of the great piece of canvas had been torn away. "Our foresail has departed for Africa," Miss West laughed in my ear. She is like her father, unaware of fear. "And now we may as well go below and be comfortable," she said five minutes later. "The worst is over. It will only be blow, blow, blow, and a big sea making." * * * * * All day it blew. And the big sea that arose made the _Elsinore's_ conduct almost unlivable. My only comfort was achieved by taking to my bunk and wedging myself with pillows buttressed against the bunk's sides by empty soap-boxes which Wada arranged. Mr. Pike, clinging to my door- casing while his legs sprawled adrift in a succession of terrific rolls, paused to tell me that it was a new one on him in the pampero line. It was all wrong from the first. It had not come on right. It had no reason to be. He paused a little longer, and, in a casual way, that under the circumstances was ridiculously transparent, exposed what was at ferment in his mind. First of all he was absurd enough to ask if Possum showed symptoms of sea- sickness. Next, he unburdened his wrath for the inefficients who had lost the foresail, and sympathized with the sail-makers for the extra work thrown upon them. Then he asked permission to borrow one of my books, and, clinging to my bunk, selected Buchner's _Force and Matter_ from my shelf, carefully wedging the empty space with the doubled magazine I use for that purpose. Still he was loth to depart, and, cudgelling his brains for a pretext, he set up a rambling discourse on River Plate weather. And all the time I kept wondering what was behind it all. At last it came. "By the way, Mr. Pathurst," he remarked, "do you happen to remember how many years ago Mr. Mellaire said it was that he was dismasted and foundered off here?" I caught his drift on the instant. "Eight years ago, wasn't it?" I lied. Mr. Pike let this sink in and slowly digested it, while the _Elsinore_ was guilty of three huge rolls down to port and back again. "Now I wonder what ship was sunk off the Plate eight years ago?" he communed, as if with himself. "I guess I'll have to ask Mr. Mellaire her name. You can search me for all any I can recollect." He thanked me with unwonted elaborateness for _Force and Matter_, of which I knew he would never read a line, and felt his way to the door. Here he hung on for a moment, as if struck by a new and most accidental idea. "Now it wasn't, by any chance, that he said eighteen years ago?" he queried. I shook my head. "Eight years ago," I said. "That's the way I remember it, though why I should remember it at all I don't know. But that is what he said," I went on with increasing confidence. "Eight years ago. I am sure of it." Mr. Pike looked at me ponderingly, and waited until the _Elsinore_ had fairly righted for an instant ere he took his departure down the hall. I think I have followed the working of his mind. I have long since learned that his memory of ships, officers, cargoes, gales, and disasters is remarkable. He is a veritable encyclopaedia of the sea. Also, it is patent that he has equipped himself with Sidney Waltham's history. As yet, he does not dream that Mr. Mellaire is Sidney Waltham, and he is merely wondering if Mr. Mellaire was a ship-mate of Sidney Waltham eighteen years ago in the ship lost off the Plate. In the meantime, I shall never forgive Mr. Mellaire for this slip he has made. He should have been more careful. CHAPTER XXX An abominable night! A wonderful night! Sleep? I suppose I did sleep, in catnaps, but I swear I heard every bell struck until three-thirty. Then came a change, an easement. No longer was it a stubborn, loggy fight against pressures. The _Elsinore_ moved. I could feel her slip, and slide, and send, and soar. Whereas before she had been flung continually down to port, she now rolled as far to one side as to the other. I knew what had taken place. Instead of remaining hove-to on the pampero, Captain West had turned tail and was running before it. This, I understood, meant a really serious storm, for the north-east was the last direction in which Captain West desired to go. But at any rate the movement, though wilder, was easier, and I slept. I was awakened at five by the thunder of seas that fell aboard, rushed down the main deck, and crashed against the cabin wall. Through my open door I could see water swashing up and down the hall, while half a foot of water creamed and curdled from under my bunk across the floor each time the ship rolled to starboard. The steward brought me my coffee, and, wedged by boxes and pillows, like an equilibrist, I sat up and drank it. Luckily I managed to finish it in time, for a succession of terrific rolls emptied one of my book-shelves. Possum, crawling upward from my feet under the covered way of my bed, yapped with terror as the seas smashed and thundered and as the avalanche of books descended upon us. And I could not but grin when the _Paste Board Crown_ smote me on the head, while the puppy was knocked gasping with Chesterton's _What's Wrong with the World_? "Well, what do you think?" I queried of the steward who was helping to set us and the books to rights. He shrugged his shoulders, and his bright slant eyes were very bright as he replied: "Many times I see like this. Me old man. Many times I see more bad. Too much wind, too much work. Rotten dam bad." I could guess that the scene on deck was a spectacle, and at six o'clock, as gray light showed through my ports in the intervals when they were not submerged, I essayed the side-board of my bunk like a gymnast, captured my careering slippers, and shuddered as I thrust my bare feet into their chill sogginess. I did not wait to dress. Merely in pyjamas I headed for the poop, Possum wailing dismally at my desertion. It was a feat to travel the narrow halls. Time and again I paused and held on until my finger-tips hurt. In the moments of easement I made progress. Yet I miscalculated. The foot of the broad stairway to the chart-house rested on a cross-hall a dozen feet in length. Over-confidence and an unusually violent antic of the _Elsinore_ caused the disaster. She flung down to starboard with such suddenness and at such a pitch that the flooring seemed to go out from under me and I hustled helplessly down the incline. I missed a frantic clutch at the newel-post, flung up my arm in time to save my face, and, most fortunately, whirled half about, and, still falling, impacted with my shoulder muscle-pad on Captain West's door. Youth will have its way. So will a ship in a sea. And so will a hundred and seventy pounds of a man. The beautiful hardwood door-panel splintered, the latch fetched away, and I broke the nails of the four fingers of my right hand in a futile grab at the flying door, marring the polished surface with four parallel scratches. I kept right on, erupting into Captain West's spacious room with the big brass bed. Miss West, swathed in a woollen dressing-gown, her eyes heavy still with sleep, her hair glorious and for the once ungroomed, clinging in the doorway that gave entrance on the main cabin, met my startled gaze with an equally startled gaze. It was no time for apologies. I kept right on my mad way, caught the foot stanchion, and was whipped around in half a circle flat upon Captain West's brass bed. Miss West was beginning to laugh. "Come right in," she gurgled. A score of retorts, all deliciously inadvisable, tickled my tongue, so I said nothing, contenting myself with holding on with my left hand while I nursed my stinging right hand under my arm-pit. Beyond her, across the floor of the main cabin, I saw the steward in pursuit of Captain West's Bible and a sheaf of Miss West's music. And as she gurgled and laughed at me, beholding her in this intimacy of storm, the thought flashed through my brain: _She is a woman_. _She is desirable_. Now did she sense this fleeting, unuttered flash of mine? I know not, save that her laughter left her, and long conventional training asserted itself as she said: "I just knew everything was adrift in father's room. He hasn't been in it all night. I could hear things rolling around . . . What is wrong? Are you hurt?" "Stubbed my fingers, that's all," I answered, looking at my broken nails and standing gingerly upright. "My, that _was_ a roll," she sympathized. "Yes; I'd started to go upstairs," I said, "and not to turn into your father's bed. I'm afraid I've ruined the door." Came another series of great rolls. I sat down on the bed and held on. Miss West, secure in the doorway, began gurgling again, while beyond, across the cabin carpet, the steward shot past, embracing a small writing- desk that had evidently carried away from its fastenings when he seized hold of it for support. More seas smashed and crashed against the for'ard wall of the cabin; and the steward, failing of lodgment, shot back across the carpet, still holding the desk from harm. Taking advantage of favouring spells, I managed to effect my exit and gain the newel-post ere the next series of rolls came. And as I clung on and waited, I could not forget what I had just seen. Vividly under my eyelids burned the picture of Miss West's sleep-laden eyes, her hair, and all the softness of her. _A woman and desirable_ kept drumming in my brain. But I forgot all this, when, nearly at the top, I was thrown up the hill of the stairs as if it had suddenly become downhill. My feet flew from stair to stair to escape falling, and I flew, or fell, apparently upward, until, at the top, I hung on for dear life while the stern of the _Elsinore_ flung skyward on some mighty surge. Such antics of so huge a ship! The old stereotyped "toy" describes her; for toy she was, the sheerest splinter of a plaything in the grip of the elements. And yet, despite this overwhelming sensation of microscopic helplessness, I was aware of a sense of surety. There was the Samurai. Informed with his will and wisdom, the _Elsinore_ was no cat's-paw. Everything was ordered, controlled. She was doing what he ordained her to do, and, no matter what storm-Titans bellowed about her and buffeted her, she would continue to do what he ordained her to do. I glanced into the chart-room. There he sat, leaned back in a screw-chair, his sea-booted legs, wedged against the settee, holding him in place in the most violent rolls. His black oilskin coat glistened in the lamplight with a myriad drops of ocean that advertised a recent return from deck. His sou'wester, black and glistening, was like the helmet of some legendary hero. He was smoking a cigar, and he smiled and greeted me. But he seemed very tired and very old--old with wisdom, however, not weakness. The flesh of his face, the pink pigment quite washed and worn away, was more transparent than ever; and yet never was he more serene, never more the master absolute of our tiny, fragile world. The age that showed in him was not a matter of terrestrial years. It was ageless, passionless, beyond human. Never had he appeared so great to me, so far remote, so much a spirit visitant. And he cautioned and advised me, in silver-mellow beneficent voice, as I essayed the venture of opening the chart-house door to gain outside. He knew the moment, although I never could have guessed it for myself, and gave the word that enabled me to win the poop. Water was everywhere. The _Elsinore_ was rushing through a blurring whirr of water. Seas creamed and licked the poop-deck edge, now to starboard, now to port. High in the air, over-towering and perilously down-toppling, following-seas pursued our stern. The air was filled with spindrift like a fog or spray. No officer of the watch was in sight. The poop was deserted, save for two helmsmen in streaming oilskins under the half-shelter of the open wheel-house. I nodded good morning to them. One was Tom Spink, the elderly but keen and dependable English sailor. The other was Bill Quigley, one of a forecastle group of three that herded uniquely together, though the other two, Frank Fitzgibbon and Richard Oiler, were in the second mate's watch. The three had proved handy with their fists, and clannish; they had fought pitched forecastle battles with the gangster clique and won a sort of neutrality of independence for themselves. They were not exactly sailors--Mr. Mellaire sneeringly called them the "bricklayers"--but they had successfully refused subservience to the gangster crowd. To cross the deck from the chart-house to the break of the poop was no slight feat, but I managed it and hung on to the railing while the wind stung my flesh with the flappings of my pyjamas. At this moment, and for the moment, the _Elsinore_ righted to an even keel, and dashed along and down the avalanching face of a wave. And as she thus righted her deck was filled with water level from rail to rail. Above this flood, or knee- deep in it, Mr. Pike and half-a-dozen sailors were bunched on the fife- rail of the mizzen-mast. The carpenter, too, was there, with a couple of assistants. The next roll spilled half a thousand tons of water outboard sheer over the starboard-rail, while all the starboard ports opened automatically and gushed huge streams. Then came the opposite roll to port, with a clanging shut of the iron doors; and a hundred tons of sea sloshed outboard across the port-rail, while all the iron doors on that side opened wide and gushed. And all this time, it must not be forgotten, the _Elsinore_ was dashing ahead through the sea. The only sail she carried was three upper-topsails. Not the tiniest triangle of headsail was on her. I had never seen her with so little wind-surface, and the three narrow strips of canvas, bellied to the seemingness of sheet-iron with the pressure of the wind, drove her before the gale at astonishing speed. As the water on the deck subsided the men on the fife-rail left their refuge. One group, led by the redoubtable Mr. Pike, strove to capture a mass of planks and twisted steel. For the moment I did not recognize what it was. The carpenter, with two men, sprang upon Number Three hatch and worked hurriedly and fearfully. And I knew why Captain West had turned tail to the storm. Number Three hatch was a wreck. Among other things the great timber, called the "strong-back," was broken. He had had to run, or founder. Before our decks were swept again I could make out the carpenter's emergency repairs. With fresh timbers he was bolting, lashing, and wedging Number Three hatch into some sort of tightness. When the _Elsinore_ dipped her port-rail under and scooped several hundred tons of South Atlantic, and then, immediately rolling her starboard-rail under, had another hundred tons of breaking sea fall in board upon her, all the men forsook everything and scrambled for life upon the fife-rail. In the bursting spray they were quite hidden; and then I saw them and counted them all as they emerged into view. Again they waited for the water to subside. The mass of wreckage pursued by Mr. Pike and his men ground a hundred feet along the deck for'ard, and, as the _Elsinore's_ stern sank down in some abyss, ground back again and smashed up against the cabin wall. I identified this stuff as part of the bridge. That portion which spanned from the mizzen-mast to the 'midship-house was missing, while the starboard boat on the 'midship-house was a splintered mess. Watching the struggle to capture and subdue the section of bridge, I was reminded of Victor Hugo's splendid description of the sailor's battle with a ship's gun gone adrift in a night of storm. But there was a difference, I found that Hugo's narrative had stirred me more profoundly than was I stirred by this actual struggle before my eyes. I have repeatedly said that the sea makes one hard. I now realized how hard I had become as I stood there at the break of the poop in my wind- shipped, spray-soaked pyjamas. I felt no solicitude for the forecastle humans who struggled in peril of their lives beneath me. They did not count. Ah--I was even curious to see what might happen, did they get caught by those crashing avalanches of sea ere they could gain the safety of the fife-rail. And I saw. Mr. Pike, in the lead, of course, up to his waist in rushing water, dashed in, caught the flying wreckage with a turn of rope, and fetched it up short with a turn around one of the port mizzen-shrouds. The _Elsinore_ flung down to port, and a solid wall of down-toppling green upreared a dozen feet above the rail. The men fled to the fife- rail. But Mr. Pike, holding his turn, held on, looked squarely into the wall of the wave, and received the downfall. He emerged, still holding by the turn the captured bridge. The feeble-minded faun (the stone-deaf man) led the way to Mr. Pike's assistance, followed by Tony, the suicidal Greek. Paddy was next, and in order came Shorty, Henry the training-ship boy, and Nancy, last, of course, and looking as if he were going to execution. The deck-water was no more than knee-deep, though rushing with torrential force, when Mr. Pike and the six men lifted the section of bridge and started for'ard with it. They swayed and staggered, but managed to keep going. The carpenter saw the impending ocean-mountain first. I saw him cry to his own men and then to Mr. Pike ere he fled to the fife-rail. But Mr. Pike's men had no chance. Abreast of the 'midship-house, on the starboard side, fully fifteen feet above the rail and twenty above the deck, the sea fell on board. The top of the 'midship-house was swept clean of the splintered boat. The water, impacting against the side of the house, spouted skyward as high as the crojack-yard. And all this, in addition to the main bulk of the wave, swept and descended upon Mr. Pike and his men. They disappeared. The bridge disappeared. The _Elsinore_ rolled to port and dipped her deck full from rail to rail. Next, she plunged down by the head, and all this mass of water surged forward. Through the creaming, foaming surface now and then emerged an arm, or a head, or a back, while cruel edges of jagged plank and twisted steel rods advertised that the bridge was turning over and over. I wondered what men were beneath it and what mauling they were receiving. And yet these men did not count. I was aware of anxiety only for Mr. Pike. He, in a way, socially, was of my caste and class. He and I belonged aft in the high place; ate at the same table. I was acutely desirous that he should not be hurt or killed. The rest did not matter. They were not of my world. I imagine the old-time skippers, on the middle passage, felt much the same toward their slave-cargoes in the fetid 'tween decks. The _Elsinore's_ bow tilted skyward while her stern fell into a foaming valley. Not a man had gained his feet. Bridge and men swept back toward me and fetched up against the mizzen-shrouds. And then that prodigious, incredible old man appeared out of the water, on his two legs, upright, dragging with him, a man in each hand, the helpless forms of Nancy and the Faun. My heart leapt at beholding this mighty figure of a man-killer and slave-driver, it is true, but who sprang first into the teeth of danger so that his slaves might follow, and who emerged with a half-drowned slave in either hand. I knew augustness and pride as I gazed--pride that my eyes were blue, like his; that my skin was blond, like his; that my place was aft with him, and with the Samurai, in the high place of government and command. I nearly wept with the chill of pride that was akin to awe and that tingled and bristled along my spinal column and in my brain. As for the rest--the weaklings and the rejected, and the dark-pigmented things, the half-castes, the mongrel-bloods, and the dregs of long-conquered races--how could they count? My heels were iron as I gazed on them in their peril and weakness. Lord! Lord! For ten thousand generations and centuries we had stamped upon their faces and enslaved them to the toil of our will. Again the _Elsinore_ rolled to starboard and to port, while the spume spouted to our lower-yards and a thousand tons of South Atlantic surged across from rail to rail. And again all were down and under, with jagged plank and twisted steel overriding them. And again that amazing blond- skinned giant emerged, on his two legs upstanding, a broken waif like a rat in either hand. He forced his way through rushing, waist-high water, deposited his burdens with the carpenter on the fife-rail, and returned to drag Larry reeling to his feet and help him to the fife-rail. Out of the wash, Tony, the Greek, crawled on hands and knees and sank down helplessly at the fife-rail. There was nothing suicidal now in his mood. Struggle as he would, he could not lift himself until the mate, gripping his oilskin at the collar, with one hand flung him through the air into the carpenter's arms. Next came Shorty, his face streaming blood, one arm hanging useless, his sea-boots stripped from him. Mr. Pike pitched him into the fife-rail, and returned for the last man. It was Henry, the training-ship boy. Him I had seen, unstruggling, motionless, show at the surface like a drowned man and sink again as the flood surged aft and smashed him against the cabin. Mr. Pike, shoulder-deep, twice beaten to his knees and under by bursting seas, caught the lad, shouldered him, and carried him away for'ard. An hour later, in the cabin, I encountered Mr. Pike going into breakfast. He had changed his clothes, and he had shaved! Now how could one treat a hero such as he save as I treated him when I remarked off-handedly that he must have had a lively watch? "My," he answered, equally off-handedly, "I did get a prime soaking." That was all. He had had no time to see me at the poop-rail. It was merely the day's work, the ship's work, the MAN'S work--all capitals, if you please, in MAN. I was the only one aft who knew, and I knew because I had chanced to see. Had I not been on the poop at that early hour no one aft ever would have known those gray, storm-morning deeds of his. "Anybody hurt?" I asked. "Oh, some of the men got wet. But no bones broke. Henry'll be laid off for a day. He got turned over in a sea and bashed his head. And Shorty's got a wrenched shoulder, I think.--But, say, we got Davis into the top bunk! The seas filled him full and he had to climb for it. He's all awash and wet now, and you oughta seen me praying for more." He paused and sighed. "I'm getting old, I guess. I oughta wring his neck, but somehow I ain't got the gumption. Just the same, he'll be overside before we get in." "A month's wages against a pound of tobacco he won't," I challenged. "No," said Mr. Pike slowly. "But I'll tell you what I will do. I'll bet you a pound of tobacco even, or a month's wages even, that I'll have the pleasure of putting a sack of coal to his feet that never will come off." "Done," said I. "Done," said Mr. Pike. "And now I guess I'll get a bite to eat." CHAPTER XXXI The more I see of Miss West the more she pleases me. Explain it in terms of propinquity, or isolation, or whatever you will; I, at least, do not attempt explanation. I know only that she is a woman and desirable. And I am rather proud, in a way, to find that I am just a man like any man. The midnight oil, and the relentless pursuit I have endured in the past from the whole tribe of women, have not, I am glad to say, utterly spoiled me. I am obsessed by that phrase--a _woman and desirable_. It beats in my brain, in my thought. I go out of my way to steal a glimpse of Miss West through a cabin door or vista of hall when she does not know I am looking. A woman is a wonderful thing. A woman's hair is wonderful. A woman's softness is a magic.--Oh, I know them for what they are, and yet this very knowledge makes them only the more wonderful. I know--I would stake my soul--that Miss West has considered me as a mate a thousand times to once that I have so considered her. And yet--she is a woman and desirable. And I find myself continually reminded of Richard Le Gallienne's inimitable quatrain: "Were I a woman, I would all day long Sing my own beauty in some holy song, Bend low before it, hushed and half afraid, And say 'I am a woman' all day long." Let me advise all philosophers suffering from world-sickness to take a long sea voyage with a woman like Miss West. In this narrative I shall call her "Miss West" no more. She has ceased to be Miss West. She is Margaret. I do not think of her as Miss West. I think of her as Margaret. It is a pretty word, a woman-word. What poet must have created it! Margaret! I never tire of it. My tongue is enamoured of it. Margaret West! What a name to conjure with! A name provocative of dreams and mighty connotations. The history of our westward-faring race is written in it. There is pride in it, and dominion, and adventure, and conquest. When I murmur it I see visions of lean, beaked ships, of winged helmets, and heels iron-shod of restless men, royal lovers, royal adventurers, royal fighters. Yes, and even now, in these latter days when the sun consumes us, still we sit in the high seat of government and command. Oh--and by the way--she is twenty-four years old. I asked Mr. Pike the date of the _Dixie's_ collision with the river steamer in San Francisco Bay. This occurred in 1901. Margaret was twelve years old at the time. This is 1913. Blessings on the head of the man who invented arithmetic! She is twenty-four. Her name is Margaret, and she is desirable. * * * * * There are so many things to tell about. Where and how this mad voyage, with a mad crew, will end is beyond all surmise. But the _Elsinore_ drives on, and day by day her history is bloodily written. And while murder is done, and while the whole floating drama moves toward the bleak southern ocean and the icy blasts of Cape Horn, I sit in the high place with the masters, unafraid, I am proud to say, in an ecstasy, I am proud to say, and I murmur over and over to _myself_--_Margaret_, _a woman_; _Margaret_, _and desirable_. But to resume. It is the first day of June. Ten days have passed since the pampero. When the strong back on Number Three hatch was repaired Captain West came back on the wind, hove to, and rode out the gale. Since then, in calm, and fog, and damp, and storm, we have won south until to- day we are almost abreast of the Falklands. The coast of the Argentine lies to the West, below the sea-line, and some time this morning we crossed the fiftieth parallel of south latitude. Here begins the passage of Cape Horn, for so it is reckoned by the navigators--fifty south in the Atlantic to fifty south in the Pacific. And yet all is well with us in the matter of weather. The _Elsinore_ slides along with favouring winds. Daily it grows colder. The great cabin stove roars and is white-hot, and all the connecting doors are open, so that the whole after region of the ship is warm and comfortable. But on the deck the air bites, and Margaret and I wear mittens as we promenade the poop or go for'ard along the repaired bridge to see the chickens on the 'midship-house. The poor, wretched creatures of instinct and climate! Behold, as they approach the southern mid-winter of the Horn, when they have need of all their feathers, they proceed to moult, because, forsooth, this is the summer time in the land they came from. Or is moulting determined by the time of year they happen to be born? I shall have to look into this. Margaret will know. Yesterday ominous preparations were made for the passage of the Horn. All the braces were taken from the main deck pin-rails and geared and arranged so that they may be worked from the tops of the houses. Thus, the fore-braces run to the top of the forecastle, the main-braces to the top of the 'midship-house, and the mizzen-braces to the poop. It is evident that they expect our main deck frequently to be filled with water. So evident is it that a laden ship when in big seas is like a log awash, that fore and aft, on both sides, along the deck, shoulder-high, life-lines have been rigged. Also, the two iron doors, on port and starboard, that open from the cabin directly upon the main deck, have been barricaded and caulked. Not until we are in the Pacific and flying north will these doors open again. And while we prepare to battle around the stormiest headland in the world our situation on board grows darker. This morning Petro Marinkovich, a sailor in Mr. Mellaire's watch, was found dead on Number One hatch. The body bore several knife-wounds and the throat was cut. It was palpably done by some one or several of the forecastle hands; but not a word can be elicited. Those who are guilty of it are silent, of course; while others who may chance to know are afraid to speak. Before midday the body was overside with the customary sack of coal. Already the man is a past episode. But the humans for'ard are tense with expectancy of what is to come. I strolled for'ard this afternoon, and noted for the first time a distinct hostility toward me. They recognize that I belong with the after-guard in the high place. Oh, nothing was said; but it was patent by the way almost every man looked at me, or refused to look at me. Only Mulligan Jacobs and Charles Davis were outspoken. "Good riddance," said Mulligan Jacobs. "The Guinea didn't have the spunk of a louse. And he's better off, ain't he? He lived dirty, an' he died dirty, an' now he's over an' done with the whole dirty game. There's men on board that oughta wish they was as lucky as him. Theirs is still a- coming to 'em." "You mean . . . ?" I queried. "Whatever you want to think I mean," the twisted wretch grinned malevolently into my face. Charles Davis, when I peeped into his iron room, was exuberant. "A pretty tale for the court in Seattle," he exulted. "It'll only make my case that much stronger. And wait till the reporters get hold of it! The hell-ship _Elsinore_! They'll have pretty pickin's!" "I haven't seen any hell-ship," I said coldly. "You've seen my treatment, ain't you?" he retorted. "You've seen the hell I've got, ain't you?" "I know you for a cold-blooded murderer," I answered. "The court will determine that, sir. All you'll have to do is to testify to facts." "I'll testify that had I been in the mate's place I'd have hanged you for murder." His eyes positively sparkled. "I'll ask you to remember this conversation when you're under oath, sir," he cried eagerly. I confess the man aroused in me a reluctant admiration. I looked about his mean, iron-walled room. During the pampero the place had been awash. The white paint was peeling off in huge scabs, and iron-rust was everywhere. The floor was filthy. The place stank with the stench of his sickness. His pannikin and unwashed eating-gear from the last meal were scattered on the floor: His blankets were wet, his clothing was wet. In a corner was a heterogeneous mass of soggy, dirty garments. He lay in the very bunk in which he had brained O'Sullivan. He had been months in this vile hole. In order to live he would have to remain months more in it. And while his rat-like vitality won my admiration, I loathed and detested him in very nausea. "Aren't you afraid?" I demanded. "What makes you think you will last the voyage? Don't you know bets are being made that you won't?" So interested was he that he seemed to prick up his ears as he raised on his elbow. "I suppose you're too scared to tell me about them bets," he sneered. "Oh, I've bet you'll last," I assured him. "That means there's others that bet I won't," he rattled on hastily. "An' that means that there's men aboard the _Elsinore_ right now financially interested in my taking-off." At this moment the steward, bound aft from the galley, paused in the doorway and listened, grinning. As for Charles Davis, the man had missed his vocation. He should have been a land-lawyer, not a sea-lawyer. "Very well, sir," he went on. "I'll have you testify to that in Seattle, unless you're lying to a helpless sick man, or unless you'll perjure yourself under oath." He got what he was seeking, for he stung me to retort: "Oh, I'll testify. Though I tell you candidly that I don't think I'll win my bet." "You loose 'm bet sure," the steward broke in, nodding his head. "That fellow him die damn soon." "Bet with'm, sir," David challenged me. "It's a straight tip from me, an' a regular cinch." The whole situation was so gruesome and grotesque, and I had been swept into it so absurdly, that for the moment I did not know what to do or say. "It's good money," Davis urged. "I ain't goin' to die. Look here, steward, how much you want to bet?" "Five dollar, ten dollar, twenty dollar," the steward answered, with a shoulder-shrug that meant that the sum was immaterial. "Very well then, steward. Mr. Pathurst covers your money, say for twenty. Is it a go, sir?" "Why don't you bet with him yourself?" I demanded. "Sure I will, sir. Here, you steward, I bet you twenty even I don't die." The steward shook his head. "I bet you twenty to ten," the sick man insisted. "What's eatin' you, anyway?" "You live, me lose, me pay you," the steward explained. "You die, I win, you dead; no pay me." Still grinning and shaking his head, he went his way. "Just the same, sir, it'll be rich testimony," David chuckled. "An' can't you see the reporters eatin' it up?" The Asiatic clique in the cook's room has its suspicions about the death of Marinkovich, but will not voice them. Beyond shakings of heads and dark mutterings, I can get nothing out of Wada or the steward. When I talked with the sail-maker, he complained that his injured hand was hurting him and that he would be glad when he could get to the surgeons in Seattle. As for the murder, when pressed by me, he gave me to understand that it was no affair of the Japanese or Chinese on board, and that he was a Japanese. But Louis, the Chinese half-caste with the Oxford accent, was more frank. I caught him aft from the galley on a trip to the lazarette for provisions. "We are of a different race, sir, from these men," he said; "and our safest policy is to leave them alone. We have talked it over, and we have nothing to say, sir, nothing whatever to say. Consider my position. I work for'ard in the galley; I am in constant contact with the sailors; I even sleep in their section of the ship; and I am one man against many. The only other countryman I have on board is the steward, and he sleeps aft. Your servant and the two sail-makers are Japanese. They are only remotely kin to us, though we've agreed to stand together and apart from whatever happens." "There is Shorty," I said, remembering Mr. Pike's diagnosis of his mixed nationality. "But we do not recognize him, sir," Louis answered suavely. "He is Portuguese; he is Malay; he is Japanese, true; but he is a mongrel, sir, a mongrel and a bastard. Also, he is a fool. And please, sir, remember that we are very few, and that our position compels us to neutrality." "But your outlook is gloomy," I persisted. "How do you think it will end?" "We shall arrive in Seattle most probably, some of us. But I can tell you this, sir: I have lived a long life on the sea, but I have never seen a crew like this. There are few sailors in it; there are bad men in it; and the rest are fools and worse. You will notice I mention no names, sir; but there are men on board whom I do not care to antagonize. I am just Louis, the cook. I do my work to the best of my ability, and that is all, sir." "And will Charles Davis arrive in Seattle?" I asked, changing the topic in acknowledgment of his right to be reticent. "No, I do not think so, sir," he answered, although his eyes thanked me for my courtesy. "The steward tells me you have bet that he will. I think, sir, it is a poor bet. We are about to go around the Horn. I have been around it many times. This is midwinter, and we are going from east to west. Davis' room will be awash for weeks. It will never be dry. A strong healthy man confined in it could well die of the hardship. And Davis is far from well. In short, sir, I know his condition, and he is in a shocking state. Surgeons might prolong his life, but here in a wind-jammer it is shortened very rapidly. I have seen many men die at sea. I know, sir. Thank you, sir." And the Eurasian Chinese-Englishman bowed himself away. CHAPTER XXXII Things are worse than I fancied. Here are two episodes within the last seventy-two hours. Mr. Mellaire, for instance, is going to pieces. He cannot stand the strain of being on the same vessel with the man who has sworn to avenge Captain Somers's murder, especially when that man is the redoubtable Mr. Pike. For several days Margaret and I have been remarking the second mate's bloodshot eyes and pain-lined face and wondering if he were sick. And to- day the secret leaked out. Wada does not like Mr. Mellaire, and this morning, when he brought me breakfast, I saw by the wicked, gleeful gleam in his almond eyes that he was spilling over with some fresh, delectable ship's gossip. For several days, I learned, he and the steward have been solving a cabin mystery. A gallon can of wood alcohol, standing on a shelf in the after- room, had lost quite a portion of its contents. They compared notes and then made of themselves a Sherlock Holmes and a Doctor Watson. First, they gauged the daily diminution of alcohol. Next they gauged it several times daily, and learned that the diminution, whenever it occurred, was first apparent immediately after meal-time. This focussed their attention on two suspects--the second mate and the carpenter, who alone sat in the after-room. The rest was easy. Whenever Mr. Mellaire arrived ahead of the carpenter more alcohol was missing. When they arrived and departed together, the alcohol was undisturbed. The carpenter was never alone in the room. The syllogism was complete. And now the steward stores the alcohol under his bunk. But wood alcohol is deadly poison. What a constitution this man of fifty must have! Small wonder his eyes have been bloodshot. The great wonder is that the stuff did not destroy him. I have not whispered a word of this to Margaret; nor shall I whisper it. I should like to put Mr. Pike on his guard; and yet I know that the revealing of Mr. Mellaire's identity would precipitate another killing. And still we drive south, close-hauled on the wind, toward the inhospitable tip of the continent. To-day we are south of a line drawn between the Straits of Magellan and the Falklands, and to-morrow, if the breeze holds, we shall pick up the coast of Tierra del Fuego close to the entrance of the Straits of Le Maire, through which Captain West intends to pass if the wind favours. The other episode occurred last night. Mr. Pike says nothing, yet he knows the crew situation. I have been watching some time now, ever since the death of Marinkovich; and I am certain that Mr. Pike never ventures on the main deck after dark. Yet he holds his tongue, confides in no man, and plays out the bitter perilous game as a commonplace matter of course and all in the day's work. And now to the episode. Shortly after the close of the second dog-watch last evening I went for'ard to the chickens on the 'midship-house on an errand for Margaret. I was to make sure that the steward had carried out her orders. The canvas covering to the big chicken coop had to be down, the ventilation insured, and the kerosene stove burning properly. When I had proved to my satisfaction the dependableness of the steward, and just as I was on the verge of returning to the poop, I was drawn aside by the weird crying of penguins in the darkness and by the unmistakable noise of a whale blowing not far away. I had climbed around the end of the port boat, and was standing there, quite hidden in the darkness, when I heard the unmistakable age-lag step of the mate proceed along the bridge from the poop. It was a dim starry night, and the _Elsinore_, in the calm ocean under the lee of Tierra del Fuego, was slipping gently and prettily through the water at an eight- knot clip. Mr. Pike paused at the for'ard end of the housetop and stood in a listening attitude. From the main deck below, near Number Two hatch, across the mumbling of various voices, I could recognize Kid Twist, Nosey Murphy, and Bert Rhine--the three gangsters. But Steve Roberts, the cow- boy, was also there, as was Mr. Mellaire, both of whom belonged in the other watch and should have been turned in; for, at midnight, it would be their watch on deck. Especially wrong was Mr. Mellaire's presence, holding social converse with members of the crew--a breach of ship ethics most grievous. I have always been cursed with curiosity. Always have I wanted to know; and, on the _Elsinore_, I have already witnessed many a little scene that was a clean-cut dramatic gem. So I did not discover myself, but lurked behind the boat. Five minutes passed. Ten minutes passed. The men still talked. I was tantalized by the crying of the penguins, and by the whale, evidently playful, which came so close that it spouted and splashed a biscuit-toss away. I saw Mr. Pike's head turn at the sound; he glanced squarely in my direction, but did not see me. Then he returned to listening to the mumble of voices from beneath. Now whether Mulligan Jacobs just happened along, or whether he was deliberately scouting, I do not know. I tell what occurred. Up-and-down the side of the 'midship-house is a ladder. And up this ladder Mulligan Jacobs climbed so noiselessly that I was not aware of his presence until I heard Mr. Pike snarl: "What the hell you doin' here?" Then I saw Mulligan Jacobs in the gloom, within two yards of the mate. "What's it to you?" Mulligan Jacobs snarled back. The voices below hushed. I knew every man stood there tense and listening. No; the philosophers have not yet explained Mulligan Jacobs. There is something more to him than the last word has said in any book. He stood there in the darkness, a fragile creature with curvature of the spine, facing alone the first mate, and he was not afraid. Mr. Pike cursed him with fearful, unrepeatable words, and again demanded what he was doing there. "I left me plug of tobacco here when I was coiling down last," said the little twisted man--no; he did not say it. He spat it out like so much venom. "Get off of here, or I'll throw you off, you and your tobacco," raged the mate. Mulligan Jacobs lurched closer to Mr. Pike, and in the gloom and with the roll of the ship swayed in the other's face. "By God, Jacobs!" was all the mate could say. "You old stiff," was all the terrible little cripple could retort. Mr. Pike gripped him by the collar and swung him in the air. "Are you goin' down?--or am I goin' to throw you down?" the mate demanded. I cannot describe their manner of utterance. It was that of wild beasts. "I ain't ate outa your hand yet, have I?" was the reply. Mr. Pike tried to say something, still holding the cripple suspended, but he could do no more than strangle in his impotence of rage. "You're an old stiff, an old stiff, an old stiff," Mulligan Jacobs chanted, equally incoherent and unimaginative with brutish fury. "Say it again and over you go," the mate managed to enunciate thickly. "You're an old stiff," gasped Mulligan Jacobs. He was flung. He soared through the air with the might of the fling, and even as he soared and fell through the darkness he reiterated: "Old stiff! Old stiff!" He fell among the men on Number Two hatch, and there were confusion and movement below, and groans. Mr. Pike paced up and down the narrow house and gritted his teeth. Then he paused. He leaned his arms on the bridge-rail, rested his head on his arms for a full minute, then groaned: "Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, oh dear." That was all. Then he went aft, slowly, dragging his feet along the bridge. CHAPTER XXXIII The days grow gray. The sun has lost its warmth, and each noon, at meridian, it is lower in the northern sky. All the old stars have long since gone, and it would seem the sun is following them. The world--the only world I know--has been left behind far there to the north, and the hill of the earth is between it and us. This sad and solitary ocean, gray and cold, is the end of all things, the falling-off place where all things cease. Only it grows colder, and grayer, and penguins cry in the night, and huge amphibians moan and slubber, and great albatrosses, gray with storm-battling of the Horn, wheel and veer. * * * * * "Land ho!" was the cry yesterday morning. I shivered as I gazed at this, the first land since Baltimore a few centuries ago. There was no sun, and the morning was damp and cold with a brisk wind that penetrated any garment. The deck thermometer marked 30--two degrees below freezing-point; and now and then easy squalls of snow swept past. All of the land that was to be seen was snow. Long, low chains of peaks, snow-covered, arose out of the ocean. As we drew closer, there were no signs of life. It was a sheer, savage, bleak, forsaken land. By eleven, off the entrance of Le Maire Straits, the squalls ceased, the wind steadied, and the tide began to make through in the direction we desired to go. Captain West did not hesitate. His orders to Mr. Pike were quick and tranquil. The man at the wheel altered the course, while both watches sprang aloft to shake out royals and skysails. And yet Captain West knew every inch of the risk he took in this graveyard of ships. When we entered the narrow strait, under full sail and gripped by a tremendous tide, the rugged headlands of Tierra del Fuego dashed by with dizzying swiftness. Close we were to them, and close we were to the jagged coast of Staten Island on the opposite shore. It was here, in a wild bight, between two black and precipitous walls of rock where even the snow could find no lodgment, that Captain West paused in a casual sweep of his glasses and gazed steadily at one place. I picked the spot up with my own glasses and was aware of an instant chill as I saw the four masts of a great ship sticking out of the water. Whatever craft it was, it was as large as the _Elsinore_, and it had been but recently wrecked. "One of the German nitrate ships," said Mr. Pike. Captain West nodded, still studying the wreck, then said: "She looks quite deserted. Just the same, Mr. Pike, send several of your best-sighted sailors aloft, and keep a good lookout yourself. There may be some survivors ashore trying to signal us." But we sailed on, and no signals were seen. Mr. Pike was delighted with our good fortune. He was guilty of walking up and down, rubbing his hands and chuckling to himself. Not since 1888, he told me, had he been through the Straits of Le Maire. Also, he said that he knew of shipmasters who had made forty voyages around the Horn and had never once had the luck to win through the straits. The regular passage is far to the east around Staten Island, which means a loss of westing, and here, at the tip of the world, where the great west wind, unobstructed by any land, sweeps round and around the narrow girth of earth, westing is the thing that has to be fought for mile by mile and inch by inch. The Sailing Directions advise masters on the Horn passage: _Make Westing_. _Whatever you do_, _make westing_. When we emerged from the straits in the early afternoon the same steady breeze continued, and in the calm water under the lee of Tierra del Fuego, which extends south-westerly to the Horn, we slipped along at an eight-knot clip. Mr. Pike was beside himself. He could scarcely tear himself from the deck when it was his watch below. He chuckled, rubbed his hands, and incessantly hummed snatches from the Twelfth Mass. Also, he was voluble. "To-morrow morning we'll be up with the Horn. We'll shave it by a dozen or fifteen miles. Think of it! We'll just steal around! I never had such luck, and never expected to. Old girl _Elsinore_, you're rotten for'ard, but the hand of God is at your helm." Once, under the weather cloth, I came upon him talking to himself. It was more a prayer. "If only she don't pipe up," he kept repeating. "If only she don't pipe up." Mr. Mellaire was quite different. "It never happens," he told me. "No ship ever went around like this. You watch her come. She always comes a-smoking out of the sou'west." "But can't a vessel ever steal around?" I asked. "The odds are mighty big against it, sir," he answered. "I'll give you a line on them. I'll wager even, sir, just a nominal bet of a pound of tobacco, that inside twenty-four hours we'll he hove to under upper-topsails. I'll wager ten pounds to five that we're not west of the Horn a week from now; and, fifty to fifty being the passage, twenty pounds to five that two weeks from now we're not up with fifty in the Pacific." As for Captain West, the perils of Le Maire behind, he sat below, his slippered feet stretched before him, smoking a cigar. He had nothing to say whatever, although Margaret and I were jubilant and dared duets through all of the second dog-watch. * * * * * And this morning, in a smooth sea and gentle breeze, the Horn bore almost due north of us not more than six miles away. Here we were, well abreast and reeling off westing. "What price tobacco this morning?" I quizzed Mr. Mellaire. "Going up," he came back. "Wish I had a thousand bets like the one with you, sir." I glanced about at sea and sky and gauged the speed of our way by the foam, but failed to see anything that warranted his remark. It was surely fine weather, and the steward, in token of the same, was trying to catch fluttering Cape pigeons with a bent pin on a piece of thread. For'ard, on the poop, I encountered Mr. Pike. It _was_ an encounter, for his salutation was a grunt. "Well, we're going right along," I ventured cheerily. He made no reply, but turned and stared into the gray south-west with an expression sourer than any I had ever seen on his face. He mumbled something I failed to catch, and, on my asking him to repeat it, he said: "It's breeding weather. Can't you see it?" I shook my head. "What d'ye think we're taking off the kites for?" he growled. I looked aloft. The skysails were already furled; men were furling the royals; and the topgallant-yards were running down while clewlines and buntlines bagged the canvas. Yet, if anything, our northerly breeze fanned even more gently. "Bless me if I can see any weather," I said. "Then go and take a look at the barometer," he grunted, as he turned on his heel and swung away from me. In the chart-room was Captain West, pulling on his long sea-boots. That would have told me had there been no barometer, though the barometer was eloquent enough of itself. The night before it had stood at 30.10. It was now 28.64. Even in the pampero it had not been so low as that. "The usual Cape Horn programme," Captain West smiled to me, as he stood up in all his lean and slender gracefulness and reached for his long oilskin coat. Still I could scarcely believe. "Is it very far away?" I inquired. He shook his head, and forebore in the act of speaking to lift his hand for me to listen. The _Elsinore_ rolled uneasily, and from without came the soft and hollow thunder of sails emptying themselves against the masts and gear. We had chatted a bare five minutes, when again he lifted his head. This time the _Elsinore_ heeled over slightly and remained heeled over, while the sighing whistle of a rising breeze awoke in the rigging. "It's beginning to make," he said, in the good old Anglo-Saxon of the sea. And then I heard Mr. Pike snarling out orders, and in my heart discovered a growing respect for Cape Horn--Cape Stiff, as the sailors call it. An hour later we were hove to on the port tack under upper-topsails and foresail. The wind had come out of the south-west, and our leeway was setting us down upon the land. Captain West gave orders to the mate to stand by to wear ship. Both watches had been taking in sail, so that both watches were on deck for the manoeuvre. It was astounding, the big sea that had arisen in so short a time. The wind was blowing a gale that ever, in recurring gusts, increased upon itself. Nothing was visible a hundred yards away. The day had become black-gray. In the cabin lamps were burning. The view from the poop, along the length of the great labouring ship, was magnificent. Seas burst and surged across her weather-rail and kept her deck half filled, despite the spouting ports and gushing scuppers. On each of the two houses and on the poop the ship's complement, all in oilskins, was in groups. For'ard, Mr. Mellaire had charge. Mr. Pike took charge of the 'midship-house and the poop. Captain West strolled up and down, saw everything, said nothing; for it was the mate's affair. When Mr. Pike ordered the wheel hard up, he slacked off all the mizzen- yards, and followed it with a partial slacking of the main-yards, so that the after-pressures were eased. The foresail and fore-lower- and-upper- topsails remained flat in order to pay the head off before the wind. All this took time. The men were slow, not strong, and without snap. They reminded me of dull oxen by the way they moved and pulled. And the gale, ever snorting harder, now snorted diabolically. Only at intervals could I glimpse the group on top the for'ard-house. Again and again, leaning to it and holding their heads down, the men on the 'midship-house were obliterated by the drive of crested seas that burst against the rail, spouted to the lower-yards, and swept in horizontal volumes across to leeward. And Mr. Pike, like an enormous spider in a wind-tossed web, went back and forth along the slender bridge that was itself a shaken thread in the blast of the storm. So tremendous were the gusts that for the time the _Elsinore_ refused to answer. She lay down to it; she was swept and racked by it; but her head did not pay off before it, and all the while we drove down upon that bitter, iron coast. And the world was black-gray, and violent, and very cold, with the flying spray freezing to ice in every lodgment. We waited. The groups of men, head down to it, waited. Mr. Pike, restless, angry, his blue eyes as bitter as the cold, his mouth as much a- snarl as the snarl of the elements with which he fought, waited. The Samurai waited, tranquil, casual, remote. And Cape Horn waited, there on our lee, for the bones of our ship and us. And then the _Elsinore's_ bow paid off. The angle of the beat of the gale changed, and soon, with dreadful speed, we were dashing straight before it and straight toward the rocks we could not see. But all doubt was over. The success of the manoeuvre was assured. Mr. Mellaire, informed by messenger along the bridge from Mr. Pike, slacked off the head-yards. Mr. Pike, his eye on the helmsman, his hand signalling the order, had the wheel put over to port to check the _Elsinore's_ rush into the wind as she came up on the starboard tack. All was activity. Main- and mizzen-yards were braced up, and the _Elsinore_, snugged down and hove to, had a lee of thousands of miles of Southern Ocean. And all this had been accomplished in the stamping ground of storm, at the end of the world, by a handful of wretched weaklings, under the drive of two strong mates, with behind them the placid will of the Samurai. It had taken thirty minutes to wear ship, and I had learned how the best of shipmasters can lose their ships without reproach. Suppose the _Elsinore_ had persisted in her refusal to payoff? Suppose anything had carried away? And right here enters Mr. Pike. It is his task ever to see that every rope and block and all the myriad other things in the vast and complicated gear of the _Elsinore_ are in strength not to carry away. Always have the masters of our race required henchmen like Mr. Pike, and it seems the race has well supplied those henchmen. Ere I went below I heard Captain West tell Mr. Pike that while both watches were on deck it would be just as well to put a reef in the foresail before they furled it. The mainsail and the crojack being off, I could see the men black on the fore-yard. For half-an-hour I lingered, watching them. They seemed to make no progress with the reef. Mr. Mellaire was with them, having direct supervision of the job, while Mr. Pike, on the poop, growled and grumbled and spat endless blasphemies into the flying air. "What's the matter?" I asked. "Two watches on a single yardarm and unable to put a reef in a handkerchief like that!" he snorted. "What'll it be if we're off here a month?" "A month!" I cried. "A month isn't anything for Cape Stiff," he said grimly. "I've been off here seven weeks and then turned tail and run around the other way." "Around the world?" I gasped. "It was the only way to get to 'Frisco," he answered. "The Horn's the Horn, and there's no summer seas that I've ever noticed in this neighbourhood." My fingers were numb and I was chilled through when I took a last look at the wretched men on the fore-yard and went below to warm up. A little later, as I went in to table, through a cabin port I stole a look for'ard between seas and saw the men still struggling on the freezing yard. The four of us were at table, and it was very comfortable, in spite of the _Elsinore's_ violent antics. The room was warm. The storm-racks on the table kept each dish in its place. The steward served and moved about with ease and apparent unconcern, although I noticed an occasional anxious gleam in his eyes when he poised some dish at a moment when the ship pitched and flung with unusual wildness. And now and again I thought of the poor devils on the yard. Well, they belonged there by right, just as we belonged here by right in this oasis of the cabin. I looked at Mr. Pike and wagered to myself that half-a- dozen like him could master that stubborn foresail. As for the Samurai, I was convinced that alone, not moving from his seat, by a tranquil exertion of will, he could accomplish the same thing. The lighted sea-lamps swung and leaped in their gimbals, ever battling with the dancing shadows in the murky gray. The wood-work creaked and groaned. The jiggermast, a huge cylinder of hollow steel that perforated the apartment through deck above and floor beneath, was hideously vocal with the storm. Far above, taut ropes beat against it so that it clanged like a boiler-shop. There was a perpetual thunder of seas falling on our deck and crash of water against our for'ard wall; while the ten thousand ropes and gears aloft bellowed and screamed as the storm smote them. And yet all this was from without. Here, at this well-appointed table, was no draught nor breath of wind, no drive of spray nor wash of sea. We were in the heart of peace in the midmost centre of the storm. Margaret was in high spirits, and her laughter vied with the clang of the jiggermast. Mr. Pike was gloomy, but I knew him well enough to attribute his gloom, not to the elements, but to the inefficients futilely freezing on the yard. As for me, I looked about at the four of us--blue-eyed, gray-eyed, all fair-skinned and royal blond--and somehow it seemed that I had long since lived this, and that with me and in me were all my ancestors, and that their lives and memories were mine, and that all this vexation of the sea and air and labouring ship was of old time and a thousand times before. CHAPTER XXXIV "How are you for a climb?" Margaret asked me, shortly after we had left the table. She stood challengingly at my open door, in oilskins, sou'wester, and sea- boots. "I've never seen you with a foot above the deck since we sailed," she went on. "Have you a good head?" I marked my book, rolled out of my bunk in which I had been wedged, and clapped my hands for Wada. "Will you?" she cried eagerly. "If you let me lead," I answered airily, "and if you will promise to hold on tight. Whither away?" "Into the top of the jigger. It's the easiest. As for holding on, please remember that I have often done it. It is with you the doubt rests." "Very well," I retorted; "do you lead then. I shall hold on tight." "I have seen many a landsman funk it," she teased. "There are no lubber- holes in our tops." "And most likely I shall," I agreed. "I've never been aloft in my life, and since there is no hole for a lubber." She looked at me, half believing my confession of weakness, while I extended my arms for the oilskin which Wada struggled on to me. On the poop it was magnificent, and terrible, and sombre. The universe was very immediately about us. It blanketed us in storming wind and flying spray and grayness. Our main deck was impassable, and the relief of the wheel came aft along the bridge. It was two o'clock, and for over two hours the frozen wretches had laid out upon the fore-yard. They were still there, weak, feeble, hopeless. Captain West, stepping out in the lee of the chart-house, gazed at them for several minutes. "We'll have to give up that reef," he said to Mr. Pike. "Just make the sail fast. Better put on double gaskets." And with lagging feet, from time to time pausing and holding on as spray and the tops of waves swept over him, the mate went for'ard along the bridge to vent his scorn on the two watches of a four-masted ship that could not reef a foresail. It is true. They could not do it, despite their willingness, for this I have learned: _the men do their weak best whenever the order is given to shorten sail_. It must be that they are afraid. They lack the iron of Mr. Pike, the wisdom and the iron of Captain West. Always, have I noticed, with all the alacrity of which they are capable, do they respond to any order to shorten down. That is why they are for'ard, in that pigsty of a forecastle, because they lack the iron. Well, I can say only this: If nothing else could have prevented the funk hinted at by Margaret, the sorry spectacle of these ironless, spineless creatures was sufficient safeguard. How could I funk in the face of their weakness--I, who lived aft in the high place? Margaret did not disdain the aid of my hand as she climbed upon the pin- rail at the foot of the weather jigger-rigging. But it was merely the recognition of a courtesy on her part, for the next moment she released her mittened hand from mine, swung boldly outboard into the face of the gale, and around against the ratlines. Then she began to climb. I followed, almost unaware of the ticklishness of the exploit to a tyro, so buoyed up was I by her example and by my scorn of the weaklings for'ard. Where men could go, I could go. What men could do, I could do. And no daughter of the Samurai could out-game me. Yet it was slow work. In the windward rolls against the storm-gusts one was pinned helplessly, like a butterfly, against the rigging. At such times, so great was the pressure one could not lift hand nor foot. Also, there was no need for holding on. As I have said, one was pinned against the rigging by the wind. Through the snow beginning to drive the deck grew small beneath me, until a fall meant a broken back or death, unless one landed in the sea, in which case the result would be frigid drowning. And still Margaret climbed. Without pause she went out under the overhanging platform of the top, shifted her holds to the rigging that went aloft from it, and swung around this rigging, easily, carelessly, timing the action to the roll, and stood safely upon the top. I followed. I breathed no prayers, knew no qualms, as I presented my back to the deck and climbed out under the overhang, feeling with my hands for holds I could not see. I was in an ecstasy. I could dare anything. Had she sprung into the air, stretched out her arms, and soared away on the breast of the gale, I should have unhesitatingly followed her. As my head outpassed the edge of the top so that she came into view, I could see she was looking at me with storm-bright eyes. And as I swung around the rigging lightly and joined her, I saw approval in her eyes that was quickly routed by petulance. "Oh, you've done this sort of thing before," she reproached, calling loudly, so that I might hear, her lips close to my ear. I shook a denial with my head that brightened her eyes again. She nodded and smiled, and sat down, dangling her sea-boots into snow-swirled space from the edge of the top. I sat beside her, looking down into the snow that hid the deck while it exaggerated the depth out of which we had climbed. We were all alone there, a pair of storm petrels perched in mid air on a steel stick that arose out of snow and that vanished above into snow. We had come to the tip of the world, and even that tip had ceased to be. But no. Out of the snow, down wind, with motionless wings, driving fully eighty or ninety miles an hour, appeared a huge albatross. He must have been fifteen feet from wing-tip to wing-tip. He had seen his danger ere we saw him, and, tilting his body on the blast, he carelessly veered clear of collision. His head and neck were rimed with age or frost--we could not tell which--and his bright bead-eye noted us as he passed and whirled away on a great circle into the snow to leeward. Margaret's hand shot out to mine. "It alone was worth the climb!" she cried. And then the _Elsinore_ flung down, and Margaret's hand clutched tighter for holding, while from the hidden depths arose the crash and thunder of the great west wind drift upon our decks. Quickly as the snow-squall had come, it passed with the same sharp quickness, and as in a flash we could see the lean length of the ship beneath us--the main deck full with boiling flood, the forecastle-head buried in a bursting sea, the lookout, stationed for very life back on top the for'ard-house, hanging on, head down, to the wind-drive of ocean, and, directly under us, the streaming poop and Mr. Mellaire, with a handful of men, rigging relieving tackles on the tiller. And we saw the Samurai emerge in the lee of the chart-house, swaying with casual surety on the mad deck, as he spoke what must have been instructions to Mr. Pike. The gray circle of the world had removed itself from us for several hundred yards, and we could see the mighty sweep of sea. Shaggy gray- beards, sixty feet from trough to crest, leapt out of the windward murky gray, and in unending procession rushed upon the _Elsinore_, one moment overtoppling her slender frailness, the next moment splashing a hundred tons of water on her deck and flinging her skyward as they passed beneath and foamed and crested from sight in the murky gray to leeward. And the great albatrosses veered and circled about us, beating up into the bitter violence of the gale and sweeping grandly away before it far faster than it blew. Margaret forbore from looking to challenge me with eloquent, questioning eyes. With numb fingers inside my thick mitten, I drew aside the ear- flap of her sou'wester and shouted: "It is nothing new. I have been here before. In the lives of all my fathers have I been here. The frost is on my cheek, the salt bites my nostrils, the wind chants in my ears, and it is an old happening. I know, now, that my forbears were Vikings. I was seed of them in their own day. With them I have raided English coasts, dared the Pillars of Hercules, forayed the Mediterranean, and sat in the high place of government over the soft sun-warm peoples. I am Hengist and Horsa; I am of the ancient heroes, even legendary to them. I have bearded and bitten the frozen seas, and, aforetime of that, ere ever the ice-ages came to be, I have dripped my shoulders in reindeer gore, slain the mastodon and the sabre-tooth, scratched the record of my prowess on the walls of deep- buried caves--ay, and suckled she-wolves side by side with my brother- cubs, the scars of whose fangs are now upon me." She laughed deliciously, and a snow-squall drove upon us and cut our cheeks, and the _Elsinore_ flung over and down as if she would never rise again, while we held on and swept through the air in a dizzying arc. Margaret released a hand, still laughing, and pressed aside my ear-flap. "I don't know anything about it," she cried. "It sounds like poetry. But I believe it. It has to be, for it has been. I have heard it aforetime, when skin-clad men sang in fire-circles that pressed back the frost and night." "And the books?" she queried maliciously, as we prepared to descend. "They can go hang, along with all the brain-sick, world-sick fools that wrote them," I replied. Again she laughed deliciously, though the wind tore the sound away as she swung out into space, muscled herself by her arms while she caught footholds beneath her which she could not see, and passed out of my sight under the perilous overhang of the top. CHAPTER XXXV "What price tobacco?" was Mr. Mellaire's greeting, when I came on deck this morning, bruised and weary, aching in every bone and muscle from sixty hours of being tossed about. The wind had fallen to a dead calm toward morning, and the Elsinore, her several spread sails booming and slatting, rolled more miserably than ever. Mr. Mellaire pointed for'ard of our starboard beam. I could make out a bleak land of white and jagged peaks. "Staten Island, the easterly end of it," said Mr. Mellaire. And I knew that we were in the position of a vessel just rounding Staten Island preliminary to bucking the Horn. And, yet, four days ago, we had run through the Straits of Le Maire and stolen along toward the Horn. Three days ago we had been well abreast of the Horn and even a few miles past. And here we were now, starting all over again and far in the rear of where we had originally started. * * * * * The condition of the men is truly wretched. During the gale the forecastle was washed out twice. This means that everything in it was afloat and that every article of clothing, including mattresses and blankets, is wet and will remain wet in this bitter weather until we are around the Horn and well up in the good-weather latitudes. The same is true of the 'midship-house. Every room in it, with the exception of the cook's and the sail-makers' (which open for'ard on Number Two hatch), is soaking. And they have no fires in their rooms with which to dry things out. I peeped into Charles Davis's room. It was terrible. He grinned to me and nodded his head. "It's just as well O'Sullivan wasn't here, sir," he said. "He'd a-drowned in the lower bunk. And I want to tell you I was doing some swimmin' before I could get into the top one. And salt water's bad for my sores. I oughtn't to be in a hole like this in Cape Horn weather. Look at the ice, there, on the floor. It's below freezin' right now in this room, and my blankets are wet, and I'm a sick man, as any man can tell that's got a nose." "If you'd been decent to the mate you might have got decent treatment in return," I said. "Huh!" he sneered. "You needn't think you can lose me, sir. I can grow fat on this sort of stuff. Why, sir, when I think of the court doin's in Seattle I just couldn't die. An' if you'll listen to me, sir, you'll cover the steward's money. You can't lose. I'm advisin' you, sir, because you're a sort of decent sort. Anybody that bets on my going over the side is a sure loser." "How could you dare ship on a voyage like this in your condition?" I demanded. "Condition?" he queried with a fine assumption of innocence. "Why, that is why I did ship. I was in tiptop shape when I sailed. All this come out on me afterward. You remember seem' me aloft, an' up to my neck in water. And I trimmed coal below, too. A sick man couldn't do it. And remember, sir, you'll have to testify to how I did my duty at the beginning before I took down." "I'll bet with you myself if you think I'm goin' to die," he called after me. Already the sailors show marks of the hardship they are enduring. It is surprising, in so short a time, how lean their faces have grown, how lined and seamed. They must dry their underclothing with their body heat. Their outer garments, under their oilskins, are soggy. And yet, paradoxically, despite their lean, drawn faces, they have grown very stout. Their walk is a waddle, and they bulge with seaming corpulency. This is due to the amount of clothing they have on. I noticed Larry, to- day, had on two vests, two coats, and an overcoat, with his oilskin outside of that. They are elephantine in their gait for, in addition to everything else, they have wrapped their feet, outside their sea-boots, with gunny sacking. It _is_ cold, although the deck thermometer stood at thirty-three to-day at noon. I had Wada weigh the clothing I wear on deck. Omitting oilskins and boots, it came to eighteen pounds. And yet I am not any too warm in all this gear when the wind is blowing. How sailors, after having once experienced the Horn, can ever sign on again for a voyage around is beyond me. It but serves to show how stupid they must be. I feel sorry for Henry, the training-ship boy. He is more my own kind, and some day he will make a henchman of the afterguard and a mate like Mr. Pike. In the meantime, along with Buckwheat, the other boy who berths in the 'midship-house with him, he suffers the same hardship as the men. He is very fair-skinned, and I noticed this afternoon, when he was pulling on a brace, that the sleeves of his oil-skins, assisted by the salt water, have chafed his wrists till they are raw and bleeding and breaking out in sea-boils. Mr. Mellaire tells me that in another week there will be a plague of these boils with all hands for'ard. "When do you think we'll be up with the Horn again?" I innocently queried of Mr. Pike. He turned upon me in a rage, as if I had insulted him, and positively snarled in my face ere he swung away without the courtesy of an answer. It is evident that he takes the sea seriously. That is why, I fancy, he is so excellent a seaman. * * * * * The days pass--if the interval of sombre gray that comes between the darknesses can be called day. For a week, now, we have not seen the sun. Our ship's position in this waste of storm and sea is conjectural. Once, by dead reckoning, we gained up with the Horn and a hundred miles south of it. And then came another sou'west gale that tore our fore-topsail and brand new spencer out of the belt-ropes and swept us away to a conjectured longitude east of Staten Island. Oh, I know now this Great West Wind that blows for ever around the world south of 55. And I know why the chart-makers have capitalized it, as, for instance, when I read "The Great West Wind Drift." And I know why the _Sailing Directions_ advise: "_Whatever you do_, _make westing_! _make westing_!" And the West Wind and the drift of the West Wind will not permit the _Elsinore_ to make westing. Gale follows gale, always from the west, and we make easting. And it is bitter cold, and each gale snorts up with a prelude of driving snow. In the cabin the lamps burn all day long. No more does Mr. Pike run the phonograph, nor does Margaret ever touch the piano. She complains of being bruised and sore. I have a wrenched shoulder from being hurled against the wall. And both Wada and the steward are limping. Really, the only comfort I can find is in my bunk, so wedged with boxes and pillows that the wildest rolls cannot throw me out. There, save for my meals and for an occasional run on deck for exercise and fresh air, I lie and read eighteen and nineteen hours out of the twenty-four. But the unending physical strain is very wearisome. How it must be with the poor devils for'ard is beyond conceiving. The forecastle has been washed out several times, and everything is soaking wet. Besides, they have grown weaker, and two watches are required to do what one ordinary watch could do. Thus, they must spend as many hours on the sea-swept deck and aloft on the freezing yards as I do in my warm, dry bunk. Wada tells me that they never undress, but turn into their wet bunks in their oil-skins and sea-boots and wet undergarments. To look at them crawling about on deck or in the rigging is enough. They are truly weak. They are gaunt-cheeked and haggard-gray of skin, with great dark circles under their eyes. The predicted plague of sea-boils and sea-cuts has come, and their hands and wrists and arms are frightfully afflicted. Now one, and now another, and sometimes several, either from being knocked down by seas or from general miserableness, take to the bunk for a day or so off. This means more work for the others, so that the men on their feet are not tolerant of the sick ones, and a man must be very sick to escape being dragged out to work by his mates. I cannot but marvel at Andy Fay and Mulligan Jacobs. Old and fragile as they are, it seems impossible that they can endure what they do. For that matter, I cannot understand why they work at all. I cannot understand why any of them toil on and obey an order in this freezing hell of the Horn. Is it because of fear of death that they do not cease work and bring death to all of us? Or is it because they are slave-beasts, with a slave-psychology, so used all their lives to being driven by their masters that it is beyond their mental power to refuse to obey? And yet most of them, in a week after we reach Seattle, will be on board other ships outward bound for the Horn. Margaret says the reason for this is that sailors forget. Mr. Pike agrees. He says give them a week in the south-east trades as we run up the Pacific and they will have forgotten that they have ever been around the Horn. I wonder. Can they be as stupid as this? Does pain leave no record with them? Do they fear only the immediate thing? Have they no horizons wider than a day? Then indeed do they belong where they are. They _are_ cowardly. This was shown conclusively this morning at two o'clock. Never have I witnessed such panic fear, and it was fear of the immediate thing--fear, stupid and beast-like. It was Mr. Mellaire's watch. As luck would have it, I was reading Boas's _Mind of Primitive Man_ when I heard the rush of feet over my head. The _Elsinore_ was hove to on the port tack at the time, under very short canvas. I was wondering what emergency had brought the watch upon the poop, when I heard another rush of feet that meant the second watch. I heard no pulling and hauling, and the thought of mutiny flashed across my mind. Still nothing happened, and, growing curious, I got into my sea-boots, sheepskin coat, and oilskin, put on my sou'wester and mittens, and went on deck. Mr. Pike had already dressed and was ahead of me. Captain West, who in this bad weather sleeps in the chart-room, stood in the lee doorway of the house, through which the lamplight streamed on the frightened faces of the men. Those of the 'midship-house were not present, but every man Jack of the forecastle, with the exception of Andy Fay and Mulligan Jacobs, as I afterwards learned, had joined in the flight aft. Andy Fay, who belonged in the watch below, had calmly remained in his bunk, while Mulligan Jacobs had taken advantage of the opportunity to sneak into the forecastle and fill his pipe. "What is the matter, Mr. Pike?" Captain West asked. Before the mate could reply, Bert Rhine snickered: "The devil's come aboard, sir." But his snicker was palpably an assumption of unconcern he did not possess. The more I think over it the more I am surprised that such keen men as the gangsters should have been frightened by what had occurred. But frightened they were, the three of them, out of their bunks and out of the precious surcease of their brief watch below. So fear-struck was Larry that he chattered and grimaced like an ape, and shouldered and struggled to get away from the dark and into the safety of the shaft of light that shone out of the chart-house. Tony, the Greek, was just as bad, mumbling to himself and continually crossing himself. He was joined in this, as a sort of chorus, by the two Italians, Guido Bombini and Mike Cipriani. Arthur Deacon was almost in collapse, and he and Chantz, the Jew, shamelessly clung to each other for support. Bob, the fat and overgrown youth, was sobbing, while the other youth, Bony the Splinter, was shivering and chattering his teeth. Yes, and the two best sailors for'ard, Tom Spink and the Maltese Cockney, stood in the background, their backs to the dark, their faces yearning toward the light. More than all other contemptible things in this world there are two that I loathe and despise: hysteria in a woman; fear and cowardice in a man. The first turns me to ice. I cannot sympathize with hysteria. The second turns my stomach. Cowardice in a man is to me positively nauseous. And this fear-smitten mass of human animals on our reeling poop raised my gorge. Truly, had I been a god at that moment, I should have annihilated the whole mass of them. No; I should have been merciful to one. He was the Faun. His bright, pain-liquid, and flashing-eager eyes strained from face to face with desire to understand. He did not know what had occurred, and, being stone-deaf, had thought the rush aft a response to a call for all hands. I noticed Mr. Mellaire. He may be afraid of Mr. Pike, and he is a murderer; but at any rate he has no fear of the supernatural. With two men above him in authority, although it was his watch, there was no call for him to do anything. He swayed back and forth in balance to the violent motions of the _Elsinore_ and looked on with eyes that were amused and cynical. "What does the devil look like, my man?" Captain West asked. Bert Rhine grinned sheepishly. "Answer the captain!" Mr. Pike snarled at him. Oh, it was murder, sheer murder, that leapt into the gangster's eyes for the instant, in acknowledgment of the snarl. Then he replied to Captain West: "I didn't wait to see, sir. But it's one whale of a devil." "He's as big as a elephant, sir," volunteered Bill Quigley. "I seen'm face to face, sir. He almost got me when I run out of the fo'c's'le." "Oh, Lord, sir!" Larry moaned. "The way he hit the house, sir. It was the call to Judgment." "Your theology is mixed, my man," Captain West smiled quietly, though I could not help seeing how tired was his face and how tired were his wonderful Samurai eyes. He turned to the mate. "Mr. Pike, will you please go for'ard and interview this devil? Fasten him up and tie him down and I'll take a look at him in the morning." "Yes, sir," said Mr. Pike; and Kipling's line came to me: "Woman, Man, or God or Devil, was there anything we feared?" And as I went for'ard through the wall of darkness after Mr. Pike and Mr. Mellaire along the freezing, slender, sea-swept bridge--not a sailor dared to accompany us--other lines of "The Galley Slave" drifted through my brain, such as: "Our bulkheads bulged with cotton and our masts were stepped in gold-- We ran a mighty merchandise of niggers in the hold. . . " And: "By the brand upon my shoulder, by the gall of clinging steel, By the welts the whips have left me, by the scars that never heal . . . " And: "Battered chain-gangs of the orlop, grizzled draughts of years gone by . . . " And I caught my great, radiant vision of Mr. Pike, galley slave of the race, and a driver of men under men greater than he; the faithful henchman, the able sailorman, battered and grizzled, branded and galled, the servant of the sweep-head that made mastery of the sea. I know him now. He can never again offend me. I forgive him everything--the whiskey raw on his breath the day I came aboard at Baltimore, his moroseness when sea and wind do not favour, his savagery to the men, his snarl and his sneer. On top the 'midship-house we got a ducking that makes me shiver to recall. I had dressed too hastily properly to fasten my oilskin about my neck, so that I was wet to the skin. We crossed the next span of bridge through driving spray, and were well upon the top of the for'ard-house when something adrift on the deck hit the for'ard wall a terrific smash. "Whatever it is, it's playing the devil," Mr. Pike yelled in my ear, as he endeavoured to locate the thing by the dry-battery light-stick which he carried. The pencil of light travelled over dark water, white with foam, that churned upon the deck. "There it goes!" Mr. Pike cried, as the _Elsinore_ dipped by the head and hurtled the water for'ard. The light went out as the three of us caught holds and crouched to a deluge of water from overside. As we emerged, from under the forecastle- head we heard a tremendous thumping and battering. Then, as the bow lifted, for an instant in the pencil of light that immediately lost it, I glimpsed a vague black object that bounded down the inclined deck where no water was. What became of it we could not see. Mr. Pike descended to the deck, followed by Mr. Mellaire. Again, as the _Elsinore_ dipped by the head and fetched a surge of sea-water from aft along the runway, I saw the dark object bound for'ard directly at the mates. They sprang to safety from its charge, the light went out, while another icy sea broke aboard. For a time I could see nothing of the two men. Next, in the light flashed from the stick, I guessed that Mr. Pike was in pursuit of the thing. He evidently must have captured it at the rail against the starboard rigging and caught a turn around it with a loose end of rope. As the vessel rolled to windward some sort of a struggle seemed to be going on. The second mate sprang to the mate's assistance, and, together, with more loose ends, they seemed to subdue the thing. I descended to see. By the light-stick we made it out to be a large, barnacle-crusted cask. "She's been afloat for forty years," was Mr. Pike's judgment. "Look at the size of the barnacles, and look at the whiskers." "And it's full of something," said Mr. Mellaire. "Hope it isn't water." I rashly lent a hand when they started to work the cask for'ard, between seas and taking advantage of the rolls and pitches, to the shelter under the forecastle-head. As a result, even through my mittens, I was cut by the sharp edges of broken shell. "It's liquor of some sort," said the mate, "but we won't risk broaching it till morning." "But where did it come from?" I asked. "Over the side's the only place it could have come from." Mr. Pike played the light over it. "Look at it! It's been afloat for years and years." "The stuff ought to be well-seasoned," commented Mr. Mellaire. Leaving them to lash the cask securely, I stole along the deck to the forecastle and peered in. The men, in their headlong flight, had neglected to close the doors, and the place was afloat. In the flickering light from a small and very smoky sea-lamp it was a dismal picture. No self-respecting cave-man, I am sure, would have lived in such a hole. Even as I looked a bursting sea filled the runway between the house and rail, and through the doorway in which I stood the freezing water rushed waist-deep. I had to hold on to escape being swept inside the room. From a top bunk, lying on his side, Andy Fay regarded me steadily with his bitter blue eyes. Seated on the rough table of heavy planks, his sea- booted feet swinging in the water, Mulligan Jacobs pulled at his pipe. When he observed me he pointed to pulpy book-pages that floated about. "Me library's gone to hell," he mourned as he indicated the flotsam. "There's me Byron. An' there goes Zola an' Browning with a piece of Shakespeare runnin' neck an' neck, an' what's left of _Anti-Christ_ makin' a bad last. An' there's Carlyle and Zola that cheek by jowl you can't tell 'em apart." Here the _Elsinore_ lay down to starboard, and the water in the forecastle poured out against my legs and hips. My wet mittens slipped on the iron work, and I swept down the runway into the scuppers, where I was turned over and over by another flood that had just boarded from windward. I know I was rather confused, and that I had swallowed quite a deal of salt water, ere I got my hands on the rungs of the ladder and climbed to the top of the house. On my way aft along the bridge I encountered the crew coming for'ard. Mr. Mellaire and Mr. Pike were talking in the lee of the chart-house, and inside, as I passed below, Captain West was smoking a cigar. After a good rub down, in dry pyjamas, I was scarcely back in my bunk with the _Mind of Primitive Man_ before me, when the stampede over my head was repeated. I waited for the second rush. It came, and I proceeded to dress. The scene on the poop duplicated the previous one, save that the men were more excited, more frightened. They were babbling and chattering all together. "Shut up!" Mr. Pike was snarling when I came upon them. "One at a time, and answer the captain's question." "It ain't no barrel this time, sir," Tom Spink said. "It's alive. An' if it ain't the devil it's the ghost of a drownded man. I see 'm plain an' clear. He's a man, or was a man once--" "They was two of 'em, sir," Richard Giller, one of the "bricklayers," broke in. "I think he looked like Petro Marinkovich, sir," Tom Spink went on. "An' the other was Jespersen--I seen 'm," Giller added. "They was three of 'em, sir," said Nosey Murphy. "O'Sullivan, sir, was the other one. They ain't devils, sir. They're drownded men. They come aboard right over the bows, an' they moved slow like drownded men. Sorensen seen the first one first. He caught my arm an' pointed, an' then I seen 'm. He was on top the for'ard-house. And Olansen seen 'm, an' Deacon, sir, an' Hackey. We all seen 'm, sir . . . an' the second one; an' when the rest run away I stayed long enough to see the third one. Mebbe there's more. I didn't wait to see." Captain West stopped the man. "Mr. Pike," he said wearily, "will you straighten this nonsense out." "Yes, sir," Mr. Pike responded, then turned on the man. "Come on, all of you! There's three devils to tie down this time." But the men shrank away from the order and from him. "For two cents . . . " I heard Mr. Pike growl to himself, then choke off utterance. He flung about on his heel and started for the bridge. In the same order as on the previous trip, Mr. Mellaire second, and I bringing up the rear, we followed. It was a similar journey, save that we caught a ducking midway on the first span of bridge as well as a ducking on the 'midship- house. We halted on top the for'ard-house. In vain Mr. Pike flashed his light- stick. Nothing was to be seen nor heard save the white-flecked dark water on our deck, the roar of the gale in our rigging, and the crash and thunder of seas falling aboard. We advanced half-way across the last span of bridge to the fore-castle head, and were driven to pause and hang on at the foremast by a bursting sea. Between the drives of spray Mr. Pike flashed his stick. I heard him exclaim something. Then he went on to the forecastle-head, followed by Mr. Mellaire, while I waited by the foremast, clinging tight, and endured another ducking. Through the emergencies I could see the pencil of light, appearing and disappearing, darting here and there. Several minutes later the mates were back with me. "Half our head-gear's carried away," Mr. Pike told me. "We must have run into something." "I felt a jar, right after you' went below, sir, last time," said Mr. Mellaire. "Only I thought it was a thump of sea." "So did I feel it," the mate agreed. "I was just taking off my boots. I thought it was a sea. But where are the three devils?" "Broaching the cask," the second mate suggested. We made the forecastle-head, descended the iron ladder, and went for'ard, inside, underneath, out of the wind and sea. There lay the cask, securely lashed. The size of the barnacles on it was astonishing. They were as large as apples and inches deep. A down-fling of bow brought a foot of water about our boots; and as the bow lifted and the water drained away, it drew out from the shell-crusted cask streamers of seaweed a foot or so in length. Led by Mr. Pike and watching our chance between seas, we searched the deck and rails between the forecastle-head and the for'ard-house and found no devils. The mate stepped into the forecastle doorway, and his light-stick cut like a dagger through the dim illumination of the murky sea-lamp. And we saw the devils. Nosey Murphy had been right. There were three of them. Let me give the picture: A drenched and freezing room of rusty, paint- scabbed iron, low-roofed, double-tiered with bunks, reeking with the filth of thirty men, despite the washing of the sea. In a top bunk, on his side, in sea-boots and oilskins, staring steadily with blue, bitter eyes, Andy Fay; on the table, pulling at a pipe, with hanging legs dragged this way and that by the churn of water, Mulligan Jacobs, solemnly regarding three men, sea-booted and bloody, who stand side by side, of a height and not duly tall, swaying in unison to the _Elsinore's_ down-flinging and up-lifting. But such men! I know my East Side and my East End, and I am accustomed to the faces of all the ruck of races, yet with these three men I was at fault. The Mediterranean had surely never bred such a breed; nor had Scandinavia. They were not blonds. They were not brunettes. Nor were they of the Brown, or Black, or Yellow. Their skin was white under a bronze of weather. Wet as was their hair, it was plainly a colourless, sandy hair. Yet their eyes were dark--and yet not dark. They were neither blue, nor gray, nor green, nor hazel. Nor were they black. They were topaz, pale topaz; and they gleamed and dreamed like the eyes of great cats. They regarded us like walkers in a dream, these pale-haired storm-waifs with pale, topaz eyes. They did not bow, they did not smile, in no way did they recognize our presence save that they looked at us and dreamed. But Andy Fay greeted us. "It's a hell of a night an' not a wink of sleep with these goings-on," he said. "Now where did they blow in from a night like this?" Mulligan Jacobs complained. "You've got a tongue in your mouth," Mr. Pike snarled. "Why ain't you asked 'em?" "As though you didn't know I could use the tongue in me mouth, you old stiff," Jacobs snarled back. But it was no time for their private feud. Mr. Pike turned on the dreaming new-comers and addressed them in the mangled and aborted phrases of a dozen languages such as the world-wandering Anglo-Saxon has had every opportunity to learn but is too stubborn-brained and wilful-mouthed to wrap his tongue about. The visitors made no reply. They did not even shake their heads. Their faces remained peculiarly relaxed and placid, incurious and pleasant, while in their eyes floated profounder dreams. Yet they were human. The blood of their injuries stained them and clotted on their clothes. "Dutchmen," snorted Mr. Pike, with all due contempt for other breeds, as he waved them to make themselves at home in any of the bunks. Mr. Pike's ethnology is narrow. Outside his own race he is aware of only three races: niggers, Dutchmen, and Dagoes. Again our visitors proved themselves human. They understood the mate's invitation, and, glancing first at one another, they climbed into three top-bunks and closed their eyes. I could swear the first of them was asleep in half a minute. "We'll have to clean up for'ard, or we'll be having the sticks about our ears," the mate said, already starting to depart. "Get the men along, Mr. Mellaire, and call out the carpenter." CHAPTER XXXVI And no westing! We have been swept back three degrees of casting since the night our visitors came on board. They are the great mystery, these three men of the sea. "Horn Gypsies," Margaret calls them; and Mr. Pike dubs them "Dutchmen." One thing is certain, they have a language of their own which they talk with one another. But of our hotch-potch of nationalities fore and aft there is no person who catches an inkling of their language or nationality. Mr. Mellaire raised the theory that they were Finns of some sort, but this was indignantly denied by our big-footed youth of a carpenter, who swears he is a Finn himself. Louis, the cook, avers that somewhere over the world, on some forgotten voyage, he has encountered men of their type; but he can neither remember the voyage nor their race. He and the rest of the Asiatics accept their presence as a matter of course; but the crew, with the exception of Andy Fay and Mulligan Jacobs, is very superstitious about the new-comers, and will have nothing to do with them. "No good will come of them, sir," Tom Spink, at the wheel, told us, shaking his head forebodingly. Margaret's mittened hand rested on my arm as we balanced to the easy roll of the ship. We had paused from our promenade, which we now take each day, religiously, as a constitutional, between eleven and twelve. "Why, what is the matter with them?" she queried, nudging me privily in warning of what was coming. "Because they ain't men, Miss, as we can rightly call men. They ain't regular men." "It was a bit irregular, their manner of coming on board," she gurgled. "That's just it, Miss," Tom Spink exclaimed, brightening perceptibly at the hint of understanding. "Where'd they come from? They won't tell. Of course they won't tell. They ain't men. They're spirits--ghosts of sailors that drowned as long ago as when that cask went adrift from a sinkin' ship, an' that's years an' years, Miss, as anybody can see, lookin' at the size of the barnacles on it." "Do you think so?" Margaret queried. "We all think so, Miss. We ain't spent our lives on the sea for nothin'. There's no end of landsmen don't believe in the Flyin' Dutchman. But what do they know? They're just landsmen, ain't they? They ain't never had their leg grabbed by a ghost, such as I had, on the _Kathleen_, thirty-five years ago, down in the hole 'tween the water-casks. An' didn't that ghost rip the shoe right off of me? An' didn't I fall through the hatch two days later an' break my shoulder?" "Now, Miss, I seen 'em makin' signs to Mr. Pike that we'd run into their ship hove to on the other tack. Don't you believe it. There wasn't no ship." "But how do you explain the carrying away of our head-gear?" I demanded. "There's lots of things can't be explained, sir," was Tom Spink's answer. "Who can explain the way the Finns plays tom-fool tricks with the weather? Yet everybody knows it. Why are we havin' a hard passage around the Horn, sir? I ask you that. Why, sir?" I shook my head. "Because of the carpenter, sir. We've found out he's a Finn. Why did he keep it quiet all the way down from Baltimore?" "Why did he tell it?" Margaret challenged. "He didn't tell it, Miss--leastways, not until after them three others boarded us. I got my suspicions he knows more about 'm than he's lettin' on. An' look at the weather an' the delay we're gettin'. An' don't everybody know the Finns is regular warlocks an' weather-breeders?" My ears pricked up. "Where did you get that word _warlock_?" I questioned. Tom Spink looked puzzled. "What's wrong with it, sir?" he asked. "Nothing. It's all right. But where did you get it?" "I never got it, sir. I always had it. That's what Finns is--warlocks." "And these three new-comers--they aren't Finns?" asked Margaret. The old Englishman shook his head solemnly. "No, Miss. They're drownded sailors a long time drownded. All you have to do is look at 'm. An' the carpenter could tell us a few if he was minded." * * * * * Nevertheless, our mysterious visitors are a welcome addition to our weakened crew. I watch them at work. They are strong and willing. Mr. Pike says they are real sailormen, even if he doesn't understand their lingo. His theory is that they are from some small old-country or outlander ship, which, hove to on the opposite tack to the _Elsinore_, was run down and sunk. I have forgotten to say that we found the barnacled cask nearly filled with a most delicious wine which none of us can name. As soon as the gale moderated Mr. Pike had the cask brought aft and broached, and now the steward and Wada have it all in bottles and spare demijohns. It is beautifully aged, and Mr. Pike is certain that it is some sort of a mild and unheard-of brandy. Mr. Mellaire merely smacks his lips over it, while Captain West, Margaret, and I steadfastly maintain that it is wine. The condition of the men grows deplorable. They were always poor at pulling on ropes, but now it takes two or three to pull as much as one used to pull. One thing in their favour is that they are well, though grossly, fed. They have all they want to eat, such as it is, but it is the cold and wet, the terrible condition of the forecastle, the lack of sleep, and the almost continuous toil of both watches on deck. Either watch is so weak and worthless that any severe task requires the assistance of the other watch. As an instance, we finally managed a reef in the foresail in the thick of a gale. It took both watches two hours, yet Mr. Pike tells me that under similar circumstances, with an average crew of the old days, he has seen a single watch reef the foresail in twenty minutes. I have learned one of the prime virtues of a steel sailing-ship. Such a craft, heavily laden, does not strain her seams open in bad weather and big seas. Except for a tiny leak down in the fore-peak, with which we sailed from Baltimore and which is bailed out with a pail once in several weeks, the _Elsinore_ is bone-dry. Mr. Pike tells me that had a wooden ship of her size and cargo gone through the buffeting we have endured, she would be leaking like a sieve. And Mr. Mellaire, out of his own experience, has added to my respect for the Horn. When he was a young man he was once eight weeks in making around from 50 in the Atlantic to 50 in the Pacific. Another time his vessel was compelled to put back twice to the Falklands for repairs. And still another time, in a wooden ship running back in distress to the Falklands, his vessel was lost in a shift of gale in the very entrance to Port Stanley. As he told me: "And after we'd been there a month, sir, who should come in but the old _Lucy Powers_. She was a sight!--her foremast clean gone out of her and half her spars, the old man killed from one of the spars falling on him, the mate with two broken arms, the second mate sick, and what was left of the crew at the pumps. We'd lost our ship, so my skipper took charge, refitted her, doubled up both crews, and we headed the other way around, pumping two hours in every watch clear to Honolulu." The poor wretched chickens! Because of their ill-judged moulting they are quite featherless. It is a marvel that one of them survives, yet so far we have lost only six. Margaret keeps the kerosene stove going, and, though they have ceased laying, she confidently asserts that they are all layers and that we shall have plenty of eggs once we get fine weather in the Pacific. There is little use to describe these monotonous and perpetual westerly gales. One is very like another, and they follow so fast on one another's heels that the sea never has a chance to grow calm. So long have we rolled and tossed about that the thought, say, of a solid, unmoving billiard-table is inconceivable. In previous incarnations I have encountered things that did not move, but . . . they were in previous incarnations. We have been up to the Diego Ramirez Rocks twice in the past ten days. At the present moment, by vague dead reckoning, we are two hundred miles east of them. We have been hove down to our hatches three times in the last week. We have had six stout sails, of the heaviest canvas, furled and double-gasketed, torn loose and stripped from the yards. Sometimes, so weak are our men, not more than half of them can respond to the call for all hands. Lars Jacobson, who had his leg broken early in the voyage, was knocked down by a sea several days back and had the leg rebroken. Ditman Olansen, the crank-eyed Norwegian, went Berserker last night in the second dog-watch and pretty well cleaned out his half of the forecastle. Wada reports that it required the bricklayers, Fitzgibbon and Gilder, the Maltese Cockney, and Steve Roberts, the cowboy, finally to subdue the madman. These are all men of Mr. Mellaire's watch. In Mr. Pike's watch John Hackey, the San Francisco hoodlum, who has stood out against the gangsters, has at last succumbed and joined them. And only this morning Mr. Pike dragged Charles Davis by the scruff of the neck out of the forecastle, where he had caught him expounding sea-law to the miserable creatures. Mr. Mellaire, I notice on occasion, remains unduly intimate with the gangster clique. And yet nothing serious happens. And Charles Davis does not die. He seems actually to be gaining in weight. He never misses a meal. From the break of the poop, in the shelter of the weather cloth, our decks a thunder and rush of freezing water, I often watch him slip out of his room between seas, mug and plate in hand, and hobble for'ard to the galley for his food. He is a keen judge of the ship's motions, for never yet have I seen him get a serious ducking. Sometimes, of course, he may get splattered with spray or wet to the knees, but he manages to be out of the way whenever a big graybeard falls on board. CHAPTER XXXVII A wonderful event to-day! For five minutes, at noon, the sun was actually visible. But such a sun!--a pale and cold and sickly orb that at meridian was only 90 degrees 18 minutes above the horizon. And within the hour we were taking in sail and lying down to the snow-gusts of a fresh south-west gale. _Whatever you do_, _make westing_! _make westing_!--this sailing rule of the navigators for the Horn has been bitten out of iron. I can understand why shipmasters, with a favouring slant of wind, have left sailors, fallen overboard, to drown without heaving-to to lower a boat. Cape Horn is iron, and it takes masters of iron to win around from east to west. And we make easting! This west wind is eternal. I listen incredulously when Mr. Pike or Mr. Mellaire tells of times when easterly winds have blown in these latitudes. It is impossible. Always does the west wind blow, gale upon gale and gales everlasting, else why the "Great West Wind Drift" printed on the charts! We of the afterguard are weary of this eternal buffeting. Our men have become pulpy, washed-out, sore-corroded shadows of men. I should not be surprised, in the end, to see Captain West turn tail and run eastward around the world to Seattle. But Margaret smiles with surety, and nods her head, and affirms that her father will win around to 50 in the Pacific. How Charles Davis survives in that wet, freezing, paint-scabbed room of iron in the 'midship-house is beyond me--just as it is beyond me that the wretched sailors in the wretched forecastle do not lie down in their bunks and die, or, at least, refuse to answer the call of the watches. Another week has passed, and we are to-day, by observation, sixty miles due south of the Straits of Le Maire, and we are hove-to, in a driving gale, on the port tack. The glass is down to 28.58, and even Mr. Pike acknowledges that it is one of the worst Cape Horn snorters he has ever experienced. In the old days the navigators used to strive as far south as 64 degrees or 65 degrees, into the Antarctic drift ice, hoping, in a favouring spell, to make westing at a prodigious rate across the extreme-narrowing wedges of longitude. But of late years all shipmasters have accepted the hugging of the land all the way around. Out of ten times ten thousand passages of Cape Stiff from east to west, this, they have concluded, is the best strategy. So Captain West hugs the land. He heaves-to on the port tack until the leeward drift brings the land into perilous proximity, then wears ship and heaves-to on the port tack and makes leeway off shore. I may be weary of all this bitter movement of a labouring ship on a frigid sea, but at the same time I do not mind it. In my brain burns the flame of a great discovery and a great achievement. I have found what makes all the books go glimmering; I have achieved what my very philosophy tells me is the greatest achievement a man can make. I have found the love of woman. I do not know whether she cares for me. Nor is that the point. The point is that in myself I have risen to the greatest height to which the human male animal can rise. I know a woman and her name is Margaret. She is Margaret, a woman and desirable. My blood is red. I am not the pallid scholar I so proudly deemed myself to be. I am a man, and a lover, despite the books. As for De Casseres--if ever I get back to New York, equipped as I now am, I shall confute him with the same ease that he has confuted all the schools. Love is the final word. To the rational man it alone gives the super-rational sanction for living. Like Bergson in his overhanging heaven of intuition, or like one who has bathed in Pentecostal fire and seen the New Jerusalem, so I have trod the materialistic dictums of science underfoot, scaled the last peak of philosophy, and leaped into my heaven, which, after all, is within myself. The stuff that composes me, that is I, is so made that it finds its supreme realization in the love of woman. It is the vindication of being. Yes, and it is the wages of being, the payment in full for all the brittleness and frailty of flesh and breath. And she is only a woman, like any woman, and the Lord knows I know what women are. And I know Margaret for what she is--mere woman; and yet I know, in the lover's soul of me, that she is somehow different. Her ways are not as the ways of other women, and all her ways are delightful to me. In the end, I suppose, I shall become a nest-builder, for of a surety nest-building is one of her pretty ways. And who shall say which is the worthier--the writing of a whole library or the building of a nest? The monotonous days, bleak and gray and soggy cold, drag by. It is now a month since we began the passage of the Horn, and here we are, not so well forward as a month ago, because we are something like a hundred miles south of the Straits of Le Maire. Even this position is conjectural, being arrived at by dead reckoning, based on the leeway of a ship hove-to, now on the one tack, now on the other, with always the Great West Wind Drift making against us. It is four days since our last instrument-sight of the sun. This storm-vexed ocean has become populous. No ships are getting round, and each day adds to our number. Never a brief day passes without our sighting from two or three to a dozen hove-to on port tack or starboard tack. Captain West estimates there must be at least two hundred sail of us. A ship hove-to with preventer tackles on the rudder-head is unmanageable. Each night we take our chance of unavoidable and disastrous collision. And at times, glimpsed through the snow-squalls, we see and curse the ships, east-bound, that drive past us with the West Wind and the West Wind Drift at their backs. And so wild is the mind of man that Mr. Pike and Mr. Mellaire still aver that on occasion they have known gales to blow ships from east to west around the Horn. It surely has been a year since we of the _Elsinore_ emerged from under the lee of Tierra Del Fuego into the snorting south-west gales. A century, at least, has elapsed since we sailed from Baltimore. * * * * * And I don't give a snap of my fingers for all the wrath and fury of this dim-gray sea at the tip of the earth. I have told Margaret that I love her. The tale was told in the shelter of the weather cloth, where we clung together in the second dog-watch last evening. And it was told again, and by both of us, in the bright-lighted chart-room after the watches had been changed at eight bells. Yes, and her face was storm- bright, and all of her was very proud, save that her eyes were warm and soft and fluttered with lids that just would flutter maidenly and womanly. It was a great hour--our great hour. A poor devil of a man is most lucky when, loving, he is loved. Grievous indeed must be the fate of the lover who is unloved. And I, for one, and for still other reasons, congratulate myself upon the vastitude of my good fortune. For see, were Margaret any other sort of a woman, were she . . . well, just the lovely and lovable and adorably snuggly sort who seem made just precisely for love and loving and nestling into the strong arms of a man--why, there wouldn't be anything remarkable or wonderful about her loving me. But Margaret is Margaret, strong, self-possessed, serene, controlled, a very mistress of herself. And there's the miracle--that such a woman should have been awakened to love by me. It is almost unbelievable. I go out of my way to get another peep into those long, cool, gray eyes of hers and see them grow melting soft as she looks at me. She is no Juliet, thank the Lord; and thank the Lord I am no Romeo. And yet I go up alone on the freezing poop, and under my breath chant defiantly at the snorting gale, and at the graybeards thundering down on us, that I am a lover. And I send messages to the lonely albatrosses veering through the murk that I am a lover. And I look at the wretched sailors crawling along the spray-swept bridge and know that never in ten thousand wretched lives could they experience the love I experience, and I wonder why God ever made them. * * * * * "And the one thing I had firmly resolved from the start," Margaret confessed to me this morning in the cabin, when I released her from my arms, "was that I would not permit you to make love to me." "True daughter of Herodias," I gaily gibed, "so such was the drift of your thoughts even as early as the very start. Already you were looking upon me with a considerative female eye." She laughed proudly, and did not reply. "What possibly could have led you to expect that I would make love to you?" I insisted. "Because it is the way of young male passengers on long voyages," she replied. "Then others have . . . ?" "They always do," she assured me gravely. And at that instant I knew the first ridiculous pang of jealousy; but I laughed it away and retorted: "It was an ancient Chinese philosopher who is first recorded as having said, what doubtlessly the cave men before him gibbered, namely, that a woman pursues a man by fluttering away in advance of him." "Wretch!" she cried. "I never fluttered. When did I ever flutter!" "It is a delicate subject . . . " I began with assumed hesitancy. "When did I ever flutter?" she demanded. I availed myself of one of Schopenhauer's ruses by making a shift. "From the first you observed nothing that a female could afford to miss observing," I charged. "I'll wager you knew as quickly as I the very instant when I first loved you." "I knew the first time you hated me," she evaded. "Yes, I know, the first time I saw you and learned that you were coming on the voyage," I said. "But now I repeat my challenge. You knew as quickly as I the first instant I loved you." Oh, her eyes were beautiful, and the repose and certitude of her were tremendous, as she rested her hand on my arm for a moment and in a low, quiet voice said: "Yes, I . . . I think I know. It was the morning of that pampero off the Plate, when you were thrown through the door into my father's stateroom. I saw it in your eyes. I knew it. I think it was the first time, the very instant." I could only nod my head and draw her close to me. And she looked up at me and added: "You were very ridiculous. There you sat, on the bed, holding on with one hand and nursing the other hand under your arm, staring at me, irritated, startled, utterly foolish, and then . . . how, I don't know . . . I knew that you had just come to know . . . " "And the very next instant you froze up," I charged ungallantly. "And that was why," she admitted shamelessly, then leaned away from me, her hands resting on my shoulders, while she gurgled and her lips parted from over her beautiful white teeth. One thing I, John Pathurst, know: that gurgling laughter of hers is the most adorable laughter that was ever heard. CHAPTER XXXVIII I wonder. I wonder. Did the Samurai make a mistake? Or was it the darkness of oncoming death that chilled and clouded that star-cool brain of his, and made a mock of all his wisdom? Or was it the blunder that brought death upon him beforehand? I do not know, I shall never know; for it is a matter no one of us dreams of hinting at, much less discussing. I shall begin at the beginning--yesterday afternoon. For it was yesterday afternoon, five weeks to a day since we emerged from the Straits of Le Maire into this gray storm-ocean, that once again we found ourselves hove to directly off the Horn. At the changing of the watches at four o'clock, Captain West gave the command to Mr. Pike to wear ship. We were on the starboard tack at the time, making leeway off shore. This manoeuvre placed us on the port tack, and the consequent leeway, to me, seemed on shore, though at an acute angle, to be sure. In the chart-room, glancing curiously at the chart, I measured the distance with my eye and decided that we were in the neighbourhood of fifteen miles off Cape Horn. "With our drift we'll be close up under the land by morning, won't we?" I ventured tentatively. "Yes," Captain West nodded; "and if it weren't for the West Wind Drift, and if the land did not trend to the north-east, we'd be ashore by morning. As it is, we'll be well under it at daylight, ready to steal around if there is a change, ready to wear ship if there is no change." It did not enter my head to question his judgment. What he said had to be. Was he not the Samurai? And yet, a few minutes later, when he had gone below, I noticed Mr. Pike enter the chart-house. After several paces up and down, and a brief pause to watch Nancy and several men shift the weather cloth from lee to weather, I strolled aft to the chart-house. Prompted by I know not what, I peeped through one of the glass ports. There stood Mr. Pike, his sou'wester doffed, his oilskins streaming rivulets to the floor, while he, dividers and parallel rulers in hand, bent over the chart. It was the expression of his face that startled me. The habitual sourness had vanished. All that I could see was anxiety and apprehension . . . yes, and age. I had never seen him look so old; for there, at that moment, I beheld the wastage and weariness of all his sixty-nine years of sea-battling and sea-staring. I slipped away from the port and went along the deck to the break of the poop, where I held on and stood staring through the gray and spray in the conjectural direction of our drift. Somewhere, there, in the north-east and north, I knew was a broken, iron coast of rocks upon which the graybeards thundered. And there, in the chart-room, a redoubtable sailorman bent anxiously over a chart as he measured and calculated, and measured and calculated again, our position and our drift. And I knew it could not be. It was not the Samurai but the henchman who was weak and wrong. Age was beginning to tell upon him at last, which could not be otherwise than expected when one considered that no man in ten thousand had weathered age so successfully as he. I laughed at my moment's qualm of foolishness and went below, well content to meet my loved one and to rest secure in her father's wisdom. Of course he was right. He had proved himself right too often already on the long voyage from Baltimore. At dinner Mr. Pike was quite distrait. He took no part whatever in the conversation, and seemed always to be listening to something from without--to the vexing clang of taut ropes that came down the hollow jiggermast, to the muffled roar of the gale in the rigging, to the smash and crash of the seas along our decks and against our iron walls. Again I found myself sharing his apprehension, although I was too discreet to question him then, or afterwards alone, about his trouble. At eight he went on deck again to take the watch till midnight, and as I went to bed I dismissed all forebodings and speculated as to how many more voyages he could last after this sudden onslaught of old age. I fell asleep quickly, and awoke at midnight, my lamp still burning, Conrad's _Mirror of the Sea_ on my breast where it had dropped from my hands. I heard the watches change, and was wide awake and reading when Mr. Pike came below by the booby-hatch and passed down my hail by my open door, on his way to his room. In the pause I had long since learned so well I knew he was rolling a cigarette. Then I heard him cough, as he always did, when the cigarette was lighted and the first inhalation of smoke flushed his lungs. At twelve-fifteen, in the midst of Conrad's delightful chapter, "The Weight of the Burden," I heard Mr. Pike come along the hall. Stealing a glance over the top of my book, I saw him go by, sea-booted, oilskinned, sou'westered. It was his watch below, and his sleep was meagre in this perpetual bad weather, yet he was going on deck. I read and waited for an hour, but he did not return; and I knew that somewhere up above he was staring into the driving dark. I dressed fully, in all my heavy storm-gear, from sea-boots and sou'-wester to sheepskin under my oilskin coat. At the foot of the stairs I noted along the hall that Margaret's light was burning. I peeped in--she keeps her door open for ventilation--and found her reading. "Merely not sleepy," she assured me. Nor in the heart of me do I believe she had any apprehension. She does not know even now, I am confident, the Samurai's blunder--if blunder it was. As she said, she was merely not sleepy, although there is no telling in what occult ways she may have received though not recognized Mr. Pike's anxiety. At the head of the stairs, passing along the tiny hall to go out the lee door of the chart-house, I glanced into the chart-room. On the couch, lying on his back, his head uncomfortably high, I thought, slept Captain West. The room was warm from the ascending heat of the cabin, so that he lay unblanketed, fully dressed save for oilskins and boots. He breathed easily and steadily, and the lean, ascetic lines of his face seemed softened by the light of the low-turned lamp. And that one glance restored to me all my surety and faith in his wisdom, so that I laughed at myself for having left my warm bed for a freezing trip on deck. Under the weather cloth at the break of the poop I found Mr. Mellaire. He was wide awake, but under no strain. Evidently it had not entered his mind to consider, much less question, the manoeuvre of wearing ship the previous afternoon. "The gale is breaking," he told me, waving his mittened hand at a starry segment of sky momentarily exposed by the thinning clouds. But where was Mr. Pike? Did the second mate know he was on deck? I proceeded to feel Mr. Mellaire out as we worked our way aft, along the mad poop toward the wheel. I talked about the difficulty of sleeping in stormy weather, stated the restlessness and semi-insomnia that the violent motion of the ship caused in me, and raised the query of how bad weather affected the officers. "I noticed Captain West, in the chart-room, as I came up, sleeping like a baby," I concluded. We leaned in the lee of the chart-house and went no farther. "Trust us to sleep just the same way, Mr. Pathurst," the second mate laughed. "The harder the weather the harder the demand on us, and the harder we sleep. I'm dead the moment my head touches the pillow. It takes Mr. Pike longer, because he always finishes his cigarette after he turns in. But he smokes while he's undressing, so that he doesn't require more than a minute to go deado. I'll wager he hasn't moved, right now, since ten minutes after twelve." So the second mate did not dream the first was even on deck. I went below to make sure. A small sea-lamp was burning in Mr. Pike's room, and I saw his bunk unoccupied. I went in by the big stove in the dining-room and warmed up, then again came on deck. I did not go near the weather cloth, where I was certain Mr. Mellaire was; but, keeping along the lee of the poop, I gained the bridge and started for'ard. I was in no hurry, so I paused often in that cold, wet journey. The gale was breaking, for again and again the stars glimmered through the thinning storm-clouds. On the 'midship-house was no Mr. Pike. I crossed it, stung by the freezing, flying spray, and carefully reconnoitred the top of the for'ard-house, where, in such bad weather, I knew the lookout was stationed. I was within twenty feet of them, when a wider clearance of starry sky showed me the figures of the lookout, whoever he was, and of Mr. Pike, side by side. Long I watched them, not making my presence known, and I knew that the old mate's eyes were boring like gimlets into the windy darkness that separated the _Elsinore_ from the thunder-surfed iron coast he sought to find. Coming back to the poop I was caught by the surprised Mr. Mellaire. "Thought you were asleep, sir," he chided. "I'm too restless," I explained. "I've read until my eyes are tired, and now I'm trying to get chilled so that I can fall asleep while warming up in my blankets." "I envy you, sir," he answered. "Think of it! So much of all night in that you cannot sleep. Some day, if ever I make a lucky strike, I shall make a voyage like this as a passenger, and have all watches below. Think of it! All blessed watches below! And I shall, like you, sir, bring a Jap servant along, and I'll make him call me at every changing of the watches, so that, wide awake, I can appreciate my good fortune in the several minutes before I roll over and go to sleep again." We laughed good night to each other. Another peep into the chart-room showed me Captain West sleeping as before. He had not moved in general, though all his body moved with every roll and fling of the ship. Below, Margaret's light still burned, but a peep showed her asleep, her book fallen from her hands just as was the so frequent case with my books. And I wondered. Half the souls of us on the _Elsinore_ slept. The Samurai slept. Yet the old first mate, who should have slept, kept a bitter watch on the for'ard-house. Was his anxiety right? Could it be right? Or was it the crankiness of ultimate age? Were we drifting and leewaying to destruction? Or was it merely an old man being struck down by senility in the midst of his life-task? Too wide awake to think of sleeping, I ensconced myself with _The Mirror of the Sea_ at the dining-table. Nor did I remove aught of my storm-gear save the soggy mittens, which I wrung out and hung to dry by the stove. Four bells struck, and six bells, and Mr. Pike had not returned below. At eight bells, with the changing of the watches, it came upon me what a night of hardship the old mate was enduring. Eight to twelve had been his own watch on deck. He had now completed the four hours of the second mate's watch and was beginning his own watch, which would last till eight in the morning--twelve consecutive hours in a Cape Horn gale with the mercury at freezing. Next--for I had dozed--I heard loud cries above my head that were repeated along the poop. I did not know till afterwards that it was Mr. Pike's command to hard-up the helm, passed along from for'ard by the men he had stationed at intervals on the bridge. All that I knew at this shock of waking was that something was happening above. As I pulled on my steaming mittens and hurried my best up the reeling stairs, I could hear the stamp of men's feet that for once were not lagging. In the chart-house hall I heard Mr. Pike, who had already covered the length of the bridge from the for'ard-house, shouting: "Mizzen-braces! Slack, damn you! Slack on the run! But hold a turn! Aft, here, all of you! Jump! Lively, if you don't want to swim! Come in, port-braces! Don't let 'm get away! Lee-braces!--if you lose that turn I'll split your skull! Lively! Lively!--Is that helm hard over! Why in hell don't you answer?" All this I heard as I dashed for the lee door and as I wondered why I did not hear the Samurai's voice. Then, as I passed the chart-room door, I saw him. He was sitting on the couch, white-faced, one sea-boot in his hands, and I could have sworn his hands were shaking. That much I saw, and the next moment was out on deck. At first, just emerged from the light, I could see nothing, although I could hear men at the pin-rails and the mate snarling and shouting commands. But I knew the manoeuvre. With a weak crew, in the big, tail- end sea of a broken gale, breakers and destruction under her lee, the _Elsinore_ was being worn around. We had been under lower-topsails and a reefed foresail all night. Mr. Pike's first action, after putting the wheel up, had been to square the mizzen-yards. With the wind-pressure thus eased aft, the stern could more easily swing against the wind while the wind-pressure on the for'ard-sails paid the bow off. But it takes time to wear a ship, under short canvas, in a big sea. Slowly, very slowly, I could feel the direction of the wind altering against my cheek. The moon, dim at first, showed brighter and brighter as the last shreds of a flying cloud drove away from before it. In vain I looked for any land. "Main-braces!--all of you!--jump!" Mr. Pike shouted, himself leading the rush along the poop. And the men really rushed. Not in all the months I had observed them had I seen such swiftness of energy. I made my way to the wheel, where Tom Spink stood. He did not notice me. With one hand holding the idle wheel, he was leaning out to one side, his eyes fixed in a fascinated stare. I followed its direction, on between the chart-house and the port-jigger shrouds, and on across a mountain sea that was very vague in the moonlight. And then I saw it! The _Elsinore's_ stern was flung skyward, and across that cold ocean I saw land--black rocks and snow-covered slopes and crags. And toward this land the _Elsinore_, now almost before the wind, was driving. From the 'midship-house came the snarls of the mate and the cries of the sailors. They were pulling and hauling for very life. Then came Mr. Pike, across the poop, leaping with incredible swiftness, sending his snarl before him. "Ease that wheel there! What the hell you gawkin' at? Steady her as I tell you. That's all you got to do!" From for'ard came a cry, and I knew Mr. Mellaire was on top of the for'ard-house and managing the fore-yards. "Now!"--from Mr. Pike. "More spokes! Steady! Steady! And be ready to check her!" He bounded away along the poop again, shouting for men for the mizzen- braces. And the men appeared, some of his watch, others of the second mate's watch, routed from sleep--men coatless, and hatless, and bootless; men ghastly-faced with fear but eager for once to spring to the orders of the man who knew and could save their miserable lives from miserable death. Yes--and I noted the delicate-handed cook, and Yatsuda, the sail- maker, pulling with his one unparalysed hand. It was all hands to save ship, and all hands knew it. Even Sundry Buyers, who had drifted aft in his stupidity instead of being for'ard with his own officer, forebore to stare about and to press his abdomen. For the nonce he pulled like a youngling of twenty. The moon covered again, and it was in darkness that the _Elsinore_ rounded up on the wind on the starboard tack. This, in her case, under lower-topsails only, meant that she lay eight points from the wind, or, in land terms, at right angles to the wind. Mr. Pike was splendid, marvellous. Even as the _Elsinore_ was rounding to on the wind, while the head-yards were still being braced, and even as he was watching the ship's behaviour and the wheel, in between his commands to Tom Spink of "A spoke! A spoke or two! Another! Steady! Hold her! Ease her!" he was ordering the men aloft to loose sail. I had thought, the manoeuvre of wearing achieved, that we were saved, but this setting of all three upper-topsails unconvinced me. The moon remained hidden, and to leeward nothing could be seen. As each sail was set, the _Elsinore_ was pressed farther and farther over, and I realized that there was plenty of wind left, despite the fact that the gale had broken or was breaking. Also, under this additional canvas, I could feel the _Elsinore_ moving through the water. Pike now sent the Maltese Cockney to help Tom Spink at the wheel. As for himself, he took his stand beside the booby-hatch, where he could gauge the _Elsinore_, gaze to leeward, and keep his eye on the helmsmen. "Full and by," was his reiterated command. "Keep her a good full--a rap- full; but don't let her fall away. Hold her to it, and drive her." He took no notice whatever of me, although I, on my way to the lee of the chart-house, stood at his shoulder a full minute, offering him a chance to speak. He knew I was there, for his big shoulder brushed my arm as he swayed and turned to warn the helmsmen in the one breath to hold her up to it but to keep her full. He had neither time nor courtesy for a passenger in such a moment. Sheltering by the chart-house, I saw the moon appear. It grew brighter and brighter, and I saw the land, dead to leeward of us, not three hundred yards away. It was a cruel sight--black rock and bitter snow, with cliffs so perpendicular that the _Elsinore_ could have laid alongside of them in deep water, with great gashes and fissures, and with great surges thundering and spouting along all the length of it. Our predicament was now clear to me. We had to weather the bight of land and islands into which we had drifted, and sea and wind worked directly on shore. The only way out was to drive through the water, to drive fast and hard, and this was borne in upon me by Mr. Pike bounding past to the break of the poop, where I heard him shout to Mr. Mellaire to set the mainsail. Evidently the second mate was dubious, for the next cry of Mr. Pike's was: "Damn the reef! You'd be in hell first! Full mainsail! All hands to it!" The difference was appreciable at once when that huge spread of canvas opposed the wind. The _Elsinore_ fairly leaped and quivered as she sprang to it, and I could feel her eat to windward as she at the same time drove faster ahead. Also, in the rolls and gusts, she was forced down till her lee-rail buried and the sea foamed level across to her hatches. Mr. Pike watched her like a hawk, and like certain death he watched the Maltese Cockney and Tom Spink at the wheel. "Land on the lee bow!" came a cry from for'ard, that was carried on from mouth to mouth along the bridge to the poop. I saw Mr. Pike nod his head grimly and sarcastically. He had already seen it from the lee-poop, and what he had not seen he had guessed. A score of times I saw him test the weight of the gusts on his cheek and with all the brain of him study the _Elsinore's_ behaviour. And I knew what was in his mind. Could she carry what she had? Could she carry more? Small wonder, in this tense passage of time, that I had forgotten the Samurai. Nor did I remember him until the chart-house door swung open and I caught him by the arm. He steadied and swayed beside me, while he watched that cruel picture of rock and snow and spouting surf. "A good full!" Mr. Pike snarled. "Or I'll eat your heart out. God damn you for the farmer's hound you are, Tom Spink! Ease her! Ease her! Ease her into the big ones, damn you! Don't let her head fall off! Steady! Where in hell did you learn to steer? What cow-farm was you raised on?" Here he bounded for'ard past us with those incredible leaps of his. "It would be good to set the mizzen-topgallant," I heard Captain West mutter in a weak, quavery voice. "Mr. Pathurst, will you please tell Mr. Pike to set the mizzen-topgallant?" And at that very instant Mr. Pike's voice rang out from the break of the poop: "Mr. Mellaire!--the mizzen-topgallant!" Captain West's head drooped until his chin rested on his breast, and so low did he mutter that I leaned to hear. "A very good officer," he said. "An excellent officer. Mr. Pathurst, if you will kindly favour me, I should like to go in. I . . . I haven't got on my boots." The muscular feat was to open the heavy iron door and hold it open in the rolls and plunges. This I accomplished; but when I had helped Captain West across the high threshold he thanked me and waived further services. And I did not know even then he was dying. Never was a Blackwood ship driven as was the _Elsinore_ during the next half-hour. The full-jib was also set, and, as it departed in shreds, the fore-topmast staysail was being hoisted. For'ard of the 'midship-house it was made unlivable by the bursting seas. Mr. Mellaire, with half the crew, clung on somehow on top the 'midship-house, while the rest of the crew was with us in the comparative safety of the poop. Even Charles Davis, drenched and shivering, hung on beside me to the brass ring-handle of the chart-house door. Such sailing! It was a madness of speed and motion, for the _Elsinore_ drove over and through and under those huge graybeards that thundered shore-ward. There were times, when rolls and gusts worked against her at the same moment, when I could have sworn the ends of her lower-yardarms swept the sea. It was one chance in ten that we could claw off. All knew it, and all knew there was nothing more to do but await the issue. And we waited in silence. The only voice was that of the mate, intermittently cursing, threatening, and ordering Tom Spink and the Maltese Cockney at the wheel. Between whiles, and all the while, he gauged the gusts, and ever his eyes lifted to the main-topgallant-yard. He wanted to set that one more sail. A dozen times I saw him half-open his mouth to give the order he dared not give. And as I watched him, so all watched him. Hard-bitten, bitter- natured, sour-featured and snarling-mouthed, he was the one man, the henchman of the race, the master of the moment. "And where," was my thought, "O where was the Samurai?" One chance in ten? It was one in a hundred as we fought to weather the last bold tooth of rock that gashed into sea and tempest between us and open ocean. So close were we that I looked to see our far-reeling skysail-yards strike the face of the rock. So close were we, no more than a biscuit toss from its iron buttress, that as we sank down into the last great trough between two seas I can swear every one of us held breath and waited for the _Elsinore_ to strike. Instead we drove free. And as if in very rage at our escape, the storm took that moment to deal us the mightiest buffet of all. The mate felt that monster sea coming, for he sprang to the wheel ere the blow fell. I looked for'ard, and I saw all for'ard blotted out by the mountain of water that fell aboard. The _Elsinore_ righted from the shock and reappeared to the eye, full of water from rail to rail. Then a gust caught her sails and heeled her over, spilling half the enormous burden outboard again. Along the bridge came the relayed cry of "Man overboard!" I glanced at the mate, who had just released the wheel to the helmsmen. He shook his head, as if irritated by so trivial a happening, walked to the corner of the half-wheelhouse, and stared at the coast he had escaped, white and black and cold in the moonlight. Mr. Mellaire came aft, and they met beside me in the lee of the chart- house. "All hands, Mr. Mellaire," the mate said, "and get the mainsail off of her. After that, the mizzen-topgallant." "Yes, sir," said the second. "Who was it?" the mate asked, as Mr. Mellaire was turning away. "Boney--he was no good, anyway," came the answer. That was all. Boney the Splinter was gone, and all hands were answering the command of Mr. Mellaire to take in the mainsail. But they never took it in; for at that moment it started to blow away out of the bolt-ropes, and in but few moments all that was left of it was a few short, slatting ribbons. "Mizzen-topgallant-sail!" Mr. Pike ordered. Then, and for the first time, he recognized my existence. "Well rid of it," he growled. "It never did set properly. I was always aching to get my hands on the sail-maker that made it." On my way below a glance into the chart-room gave me the cue to the Samurai's blunder--if blunder it can be called, for no one will ever know. He lay on the floor in a loose heap, rolling willy-nilly with every roll of the _Elsinore_. CHAPTER XXXIX There is so much to write about all at once. In the first place, Captain West. Not entirely unexpected was his death. Margaret tells me that she was apprehensive from the start of the voyage--and even before. It was because of her apprehension that she so abruptly changed her plans and accompanied her father. What really happened we do not know, but the agreed surmise is that it was some stroke of the heart. And yet, after the stroke, did he not come out on deck? Or could the first stroke have been followed by another and fatal one after I had helped him inside through the door? And even so, I have never heard of a heart-stroke being preceded hours before by a weakening of the mind. Captain West's mind seemed quite clear, and must have been quite clear, that last afternoon when he wore the _Elsinore_ and started the lee-shore drift. In which case it was a blunder. The Samurai blundered, and his heart destroyed him when he became aware of the blunder. At any rate the thought of blunder never enters Margaret's head. She accepts, as a matter of course, that it was all a part of the oncoming termination of his sickness. And no one will ever undeceive her. Neither Mr. Pike, Mr. Mellaire, nor I, among ourselves, mention a whisper of what so narrowly missed causing disaster. In fact, Mr. Pike does not talk about the matter at all.--And then, again, might it not have been something different from heart disease? Or heart disease complicated with something else that obscured his mind that afternoon before his death? Well, no one knows, and I, for one, shall not sit, even in secret judgment, on the event. * * * * * At midday of the day we clawed off Tierra Del Fuego the _Elsinore_ was rolling in a dead calm, and all afternoon she rolled, not a score of miles off the land. Captain West was buried at four o'clock, and at eight bells that evening Mr. Pike assumed command and made a few remarks to both watches. They were straight-from-the-shoulder remarks, or, as he called them, they were "brass tacks." Among other things he told the sailors that they had another boss, and that they would toe the mark as they never had before. Up to this time they had been loafing in an hotel, but from this time on they were going to work. "On this hooker, from now on," he perorated, "it's going to be like old times, when a man jumped the last day of the voyage as well as the first. And God help the man that don't jump. That's all. Relieve the wheel and lookout." * * * * * And yet the men are in terribly wretched condition. I don't see how they can jump. Another week of westerly gales, alternating with brief periods of calm, has elapsed, making a total of six weeks off the Horn. So weak are the men that they have no spirit left in them--not even the gangsters. And so afraid are they of the mate that they really do their best to jump when he drives them, and he drives them all the time. Mr. Mellaire shakes his head. "Wait till they get around and up into better weather," he astonished me by telling me the other afternoon. "Wait till they get dried out, and rested up, with more sleep, and their sores healed, and more flesh on their bones, and more spunk in their blood--then they won't stand for this driving. Mr. Pike can't realize that times have changed, sir, and laws have changed, and men have changed. He's an old man, and I know what I am talking about." "You mean you've been listening to the talk of the men?" I challenged rashly, all my gorge rising at the unofficerlike conduct of this ship's officer. The shot went home, for, in a flash, that suave and gentle film of light vanished from the surface of the eyes, and the watching, fearful thing that lurked behind inside the skull seemed almost to leap out at me, while the cruel gash of mouth drew thinner and crueller. And at the same time, on my inner sight, was grotesquely limned a picture of a brain pulsing savagely against the veneer of skin that covered that cleft of skull beneath the dripping sou'-wester. Then he controlled himself, the mouth-gash relaxed, and the suave and gentle film drew again across the eyes. "I mean, sir," he said softly, "that I am speaking out of a long sea experience. Times have changed. The old driving days are gone. And I trust, Mr. Pathurst, that you will not misunderstand me in the matter, nor misinterpret what I have said." Although the conversation drifted on to other and calmer topics, I could not ignore the fact that he had not denied listening to the talk of the men. And yet, even as Mr. Pike grudgingly admits, he is a good sailorman and second mate save for his unholy intimacy with the men for'ard--an intimacy which even the Chinese cook and the Chinese steward deplore as unseamanlike and perilous. Even though men like the gangsters are so worn down by hardship that they have no heart of rebellion, there remain three of the frailest for'ard who will not die, and who are as spunky as ever. They are Andy Fay, Mulligan Jacobs, and Charles Davis. What strange, abysmal vitality informs them is beyond all speculation. Of course, Charles Davis should have been overside with a sack of coal at his feet long ago. And Andy Fay and Mulligan Jacobs are only, and have always been, wrecked and emaciated wisps of men. Yet far stronger men than they have gone over the side, and far stronger men than they are laid up right now in absolute physical helplessness in the soggy forecastle bunks. And these two bitter flames of shreds of things stand all their watches and answer all calls for both watches. Yes; and the chickens have something of this same spunk of life in them. Featherless, semi-frozen despite the oil-stove, sprayed dripping on occasion by the frigid seas that pound by sheer weight through canvas tarpaulins, nevertheless not a chicken has died. Is it a matter of selection? Are these the iron-vigoured ones that survived the hardships from Baltimore to the Horn, and are fitted to survive anything? Then for a De Vries to take them, save them, and out of them found the hardiest breed of chickens on the planet! And after this I shall always query that phrase, most ancient in our language--"chicken-hearted." Measured by the _Elsinore's_ chickens, it is a misnomer. Nor are our three Horn Gypsies, the storm-visitors with the dreaming, topaz eyes, spunkless. Held in superstitious abhorrence by the rest of the crew, aliens by lack of any word of common speech, nevertheless they are good sailors and are always first to spring into any enterprise of work or peril. They have gone into Mr. Mellaire's watch, and they are quite apart from the rest of the sailors. And when there is a delay, or wait, with nothing to do for long minutes, they shoulder together, and stand and sway to the heave of deck, and dream far dreams in those pale, topaz eyes, of a country, I am sure, where mothers, with pale, topaz eyes and sandy hair, birth sons and daughters that breed true in terms of topaz eyes and sandy hair. But the rest of the crew! Take the Maltese Cockney. He is too keenly intelligent, too sharply sensitive, successfully to endure. He is a shadow of his former self. His cheeks have fallen in. Dark circles of suffering are under his eyes, while his eyes, Latin and English intermingled, are cavernously sunken and as bright-burning as if aflame with fever. Tom Spink, hard-fibred Anglo-Saxon, good seaman that he is, long tried and always proved, is quite wrecked in spirit. He is whining and fearful. So broken is he, though he still does his work, that he is prideless and shameless. "I'll never ship around the Horn again, sir," he began on me the other day when I greeted him good morning at the wheel. "I've sworn it before, but this time I mean it. Never again, sir. Never again." "Why did you swear it before?" I queried. "It was on the _Nahoma_, sir, four years ago. Two hundred and thirty days from Liverpool to 'Frisco. Think of it, sir. Two hundred and thirty days! And we was loaded with cement and creosote, and the creosote got loose. We buried the captain right here off the Horn. The grub gave out. Most of us nearly died of scurvy. Every man Jack of us was carted to hospital in 'Frisco. It was plain hell, sir, that's what it was, an' two hundred and thirty days of it." "Yet here you are," I laughed; "signed on another Horn voyage." And this morning Tom Spink confided the following tome: "If only we'd lost the carpenter, sir, instead of Boney." I did not catch his drift for the moment; then I remembered. The carpenter was the Finn, the Jonah, the warlock who played tricks with the winds and despitefully used poor sailormen. * * * * * Yes, and I make free to confess that I have grown well weary of this eternal buffeting by the Great West Wind. Nor are we alone in our travail on this desolate ocean. Never a day does the gray thin, or the snow-squalls cease that we do not sight ships, west-bound like ourselves, hove-to and trying to hold on to the meagre westing they possess. And occasionally, when the gray clears and lifts, we see a lucky ship, bound east, running before it and reeling off the miles. I saw Mr. Pike, yesterday, shaking his fist in a fury of hatred at one such craft that flew insolently past us not a quarter of a mile away. And the men are jumping. Mr. Pike is driving with those block-square fists of his, as many a man's face attests. So weak are they, and so terrible is he, that I swear he could whip either watch single-handed. I cannot help but note that Mr. Mellaire refuses to take part in this driving. Yet I know that he is a trained driver, and that he was not averse to driving at the outset of the voyage. But now he seems bent on keeping on good terms with the crew. I should like to know what Mr. Pike thinks of it, for he cannot possibly be blind to what is going on; but I am too well aware of what would happen if I raised the question. He would insult me, snap my head off, and indulge in a three-days' sea-grouch. Things are sad and monotonous enough for Margaret and me in the cabin and at table, without invoking the blight of the mate's displeasure. CHAPTER XL Another brutal sea-superstition vindicated. From now on and for always these imbeciles of ours will believe that Finns are Jonahs. We are west of the Diego de Ramirez Rocks, and we are running west at a twelve-knot clip with an easterly gale at our backs. And the carpenter is gone. His passing, and the coming of the easterly wind, were coincidental. It was yesterday morning, as he helped me to dress, that I was struck by the solemnity of Wada's face. He shook his head lugubriously as he broke the news. The carpenter was missing. The ship had been searched for him high and low. There just was no carpenter. "What does the steward think?" I asked. "What does Louis think?--and Yatsuda?" "The sailors, they kill 'm carpenter sure," was the answer. "Very bad ship this. Very bad hearts. Just the same pig, just the same dog. All the time kill. All the time kill. Bime-by everybody kill. You see." The old steward, at work in his pantry, grinned at me when I mentioned the matter. "They make fool with me, I fix 'em," he said vindictively. "Mebbe they kill me, all right; but I kill some, too." He threw back his coat, and I saw, strapped to the left side of his body, in a canvas sheath, so that the handle was ready to hand, a meat knife of the heavy sort that butchers hack with. He drew it forth--it was fully two feet long--and, to demonstrate its razor-edge, sliced a sheet of newspaper into many ribbons. "Huh!" he laughed sardonically. "I am Chink, monkey, damn fool, eh?--no good, eh? all rotten damn to hell. I fix 'em, they make fool with me." And yet there is not the slightest evidence of foul play. Nobody knows what happened to the carpenter. There are no clues, no traces. The night was calm and snowy. No seas broke on board. Without doubt the clumsy, big-footed, over-grown giant of a boy is overside and dead. The question is: did he go over of his own accord, or was he put over? At eight o'clock Mr. Pike proceeded to interrogate the watches. He stood at the break of the poop, in the high place, leaning on the rail and gazing down at the crew assembled on the main deck beneath him. Man after man he questioned, and from each man came the one story. They knew no more about it than did we--or so they averred. "I suppose you'll be chargin' next that I hove that big lummux overboard with me own hands," Mulligan Jacobs snarled, when he was questioned. "An' mebbe I did, bein' that husky an' rampagin' bull-like." The mate's face grew more forbidding and sour, but without comment he passed on to John Hackey, the San Francisco hoodlum. It was an unforgettable scene--the mate in the high place, the men, sullen and irresponsive, grouped beneath. A gentle snow drifted straight down through the windless air, while the _Elsinore_, with hollow thunder from her sails, rolled down on the quiet swells so that the ocean lapped the mouths of her scuppers with long-drawn, shuddering sucks and sobs. And all the men swayed in unison to the rolls, their hands in mittens, their feet in sack-wrapped sea-boots, their faces worn and sick. And the three dreamers with the topaz eyes stood and swayed and dreamed together, incurious of setting and situation. And then it came--the hint of easterly air. The mate noted it first. I saw him start and turn his cheek to the almost imperceptible draught. Then I felt it. A minute longer he waited, until assured, when, the dead carpenter forgotten, he burst out with orders to the wheel and the crew. And the men jumped, though in their weakness the climb aloft was slow and toilsome; and when the gaskets were off the topgallant-sails and the men on deck were hoisting yards and sheeting home, those aloft were loosing the royals. While this work went on, and while the yards were being braced around, the _Elsinore_, her bow pointing to the west, began moving through the water before the first fair wind in a month and a half. Slowly that light air fanned to a gentle breeze while all the time the snow fell steadily. The barometer, down to 28.80, continued to fall, and the breeze continued to grow upon itself. Tom Spink, passing by me on the poop to lend a hand at the final finicky trimming of the mizzen-yards, gave me a triumphant look. Superstition was vindicated. Events had proved him right. Fair wind had come with the going of the carpenter, which said warlock had incontestably taken with him overside his bag of wind-tricks. Mr. Pike strode up and down the poop, rubbing his hands, which he was too disdainfully happy to mitten, chuckling and grinning to himself, glancing at the draw of every sail, stealing adoring looks astern into the gray of snow out of which blew the favouring wind. He even paused beside me to gossip for a moment about the French restaurants of San Francisco and how, therein, the delectable California fashion of cooking wild duck obtained. "Throw 'em through the fire," he chanted. "That's the way--throw 'em through the fire--a hot oven, sixteen minutes--I take mine fourteen, to the second--an' squeeze the carcasses." By midday the snow had ceased and we were bowling along before a stiff breeze. At three in the afternoon we were running before a growing gale. It was across a mad ocean we tore, for the mounting sea that made from eastward bucked into the West End Drift and battled and battered down the huge south-westerly swell. And the big grinning dolt of a Finnish carpenter, already food for fish and bird, was astern there somewhere in the freezing rack and drive. Make westing! We ripped it off across these narrowing degrees of longitude at the southern tip of the planet where one mile counts for two. And Mr. Pike, staring at his bending topgallant-yards, swore that they could carry away for all he cared ere he eased an inch of canvas. More he did. He set the huge crojack, biggest of all sails, and challenged God or Satan to start a seam of it or all its seams. He simply could not go below. In such auspicious occasions all watches were his, and he strode the poop perpetually with all age-lag banished from his legs. Margaret and I were with him in the chart-room when he hurrahed the barometer, down to 28.55 and falling. And we were near him, on the poop, when he drove by an east-bound lime-juicer, hove-to under upper-topsails. We were a biscuit-toss away, and he sprang upon the rail at the jigger-shrouds and danced a war-dance and waved his free arm, and yelled his scorn and joy at their discomfiture to the several oilskinned figures on the stranger vessel's poop. Through the pitch-black night we continued to drive. The crew was sadly frightened, and I sought in vain, in the two dog-watches, for Tom Spink, to ask him if he thought the carpenter, astern, had opened wide the bag- mouth and loosed all his tricks. For the first time I saw the steward apprehensive. "Too much," he told me, with ominous rolling head. "Too much sail, rotten bad damn all to hell. Bime-by, pretty quick, all finish. You see." "They talk about running the easting down," Mr. Pike chortled to me, as we clung to the poop-rail to keep from fetching away and breaking ribs and necks. "Well, this is running your westing down if anybody should ride up in a go-devil and ask you." It was a wretched, glorious night. Sleep was impossible--for me, at any rate. Nor was there even the comfort of warmth. Something had gone wrong with the big cabin stove, due to our wild running, I fancy, and the steward was compelled to let the fire go out. So we are getting a taste of the hardship of the forecastle, though in our case everything is dry instead of soggy or afloat. The kerosene stoves burned in our state room, but so smelly was mine that I preferred the cold. To sail on one's nerve in an over-canvassed harbour cat-boat is all the excitement any glutton can desire. But to sail, in the same fashion, in a big ship off the Horn, is incredible and terrible. The Great West Wind Drift, setting squarely into the teeth of the easterly gale, kicked up a tideway sea that was monstrous. Two men toiled at the wheel, relieving in pairs every half-hour, and in the face of the cold they streamed with sweat long ere their half-hour shift was up. Mr. Pike is of the elder race of men. His endurance is prodigious. Watch and watch, and all watches, he held the poop. "I never dreamed of it," he told me, at midnight, as the great gusts tore by and as we listened for our lighter spars to smash aloft and crash upon the deck. "I thought my last whirling sailing was past. And here we are! Here we are! "Lord! Lord! I sailed third mate in the little _Vampire_ before you were born. Fifty-six men before the mast, and the last Jack of 'em an able seaman. And there were eight boys, an' bosuns that was bosuns, an' sail-makers an' carpenters an' stewards an' passengers to jam the decks. An' three driving mates of us, an' Captain Brown, the Little Wonder. He didn't weigh a hundredweight, an' he drove us--he drove _us_, three drivin' mates that learned from him what drivin' was. "It was knock down and drag out from the start. The first hour of puttin' the men to fair perished our knuckles. I've got the smashed joints yet to show. Every sea-chest broke open, every sea-bag turned out, and whiskey bottles, knuckle-dusters, sling-shots, bowie-knives, an' guns chucked overside by the armful. An' when we chose the watches, each man of fifty-six of 'em laid his knife on the main-hatch an' the carpenter broke the point square off.--Yes, an' the little _Vampire_ only eight hundred tons. The _Elsinore_ could carry her on her deck. But she was ship, all ship, an' them was men's days." Margaret, save for inability to sleep, did not mind the driving, although Mr. Mellaire, on the other hand, admitted apprehension. "He's got my goat," he confided to me. "It isn't right to drive a cargo- carrier this way. This isn't a ballasted yacht. It's a coal-hulk. I know what driving was, but it was in ships made to drive. Our iron-work aloft won't stand it. Mr. Pathurst, I tell you frankly that it is criminal, it is sheer murder, to run the _Elsinore_ with that crojack on her. You can see yourself, sir. It's an after-sail. All its tendency is to throw her stern off and her bow up to it. And if it ever happens, sir, if she ever gets away from the wheel for two seconds and broaches to . . . " "Then what?" I asked, or, rather, shouted; for all conversation had to be shouted close to ear in that blast of gale. He shrugged his shoulders, and all of him was eloquent with the unuttered, unmistakable word--"finish." At eight this morning Margaret and I struggled up to the poop. And there was that indomitable, iron old man. He had never left the deck all night. His eyes were bright, and he appeared in the pink of well-being. He rubbed his hands and chuckled greeting to us, and took up his reminiscences. "In '51, on this same stretch, Miss West, the _Flying Cloud_, in twenty- four hours, logged three hundred and seventy-four miles under her topgallant-sails. That was sailing. She broke the record, that day, for sail an' steam." "And what are we averaging, Mr. Pike?" Margaret queried, while her eyes were fixed on the main deck, where continually one rail and then the other dipped under the ocean and filled across from rail to rail, only to spill out and take in on the next roll. "Thirteen for a fair average since five o'clock yesterday afternoon," he exulted. "In the squalls she makes all of sixteen, which is going some, for the _Elsinore_." "I'd take the crojack off if I had charge," Margaret criticised. "So would I, so would I, Miss West," he replied; "if we hadn't been six weeks already off the Horn." She ran her eyes aloft, spar by spar, past the spars of hollow steel to the wooden royals, which bent in the gusts like bows in some invisible archer's hands. "They're remarkably good sticks of timber," was her comment. "Well may you say it, Miss West," he agreed. "I'd never a-believed they'd a-stood it myself. But just look at 'm! Just look at 'm!" There was no breakfast for the men. Three times the galley had been washed out, and the men, in the forecastle awash, contented themselves with hard tack and cold salt horse. Aft, with us, the steward scalded himself twice ere he succeeded in making coffee over a kerosene-burner. At noon we picked up a ship ahead, a lime-juicer, travelling in the same direction, under lower-topsails and one upper-topsail. The only one of her courses set was the foresail. "The way that skipper's carryin' on is shocking," Mr. Pike sneered. "He should be more cautious, and remember God, the owners, the underwriters, and the Board of Trade." Such was our speed that in almost no time we were up with the stranger vessel and passing her. Mr. Pike was like a boy just loosed from school. He altered our course so that we passed her a hundred yards away. She was a gallant sight, but, such was our speed, she appeared standing still. Mr. Pike jumped upon the rail and insulted those on her poop by extending a rope's end in invitation to take a tow. Margaret shook her head privily to me as she gazed at our bending royal- yards, but was caught in the act by Mr. Pike, who cried out: "What kites she won't carry she can drag!" An hour later I caught Tom Spink, just relieved from his shift at the wheel and weak from exhaustion. "What do you think now of the carpenter and his bag of tricks?" I queried. "Lord lumme, it should a-ben the mate, sir," was his reply. By five in the afternoon we had logged 314 miles since five the previous day, which was two over an average of thirteen knots for twenty-four consecutive hours. "Now take Captain Brown of the little _Vampire_," Mr. Pike grinned to me, for our sailing made him good-natured. "He never would take in until the kites an' stu'n'sails was about his ears. An' when she was blown' her worst an' we was half-fairly shortened down, he'd turn in for a snooze, an' say to us, 'Call me if she moderates.' Yes, and I'll never forget the night when I called him an' told him that everything on top the houses had gone adrift, an' that two of the boats had been swept aft and was kindling-wood against the break of the cabin. 'Very well, Mr. Pike,' he says, battin' his eyes and turnin' over to go to sleep again. 'Very well, Mr. Pike,' says he. 'Watch her. An' Mr. Pike . . .' 'Yes, sir,' says I. 'Give me a call, Mr. Pike, when the windlass shows signs of comin' aft.' That's what he said, his very words, an' the next moment, damme, he was snorin'." * * * * * It is now midnight, and, cunningly wedged into my bunk, unable to sleep, I am writing these lines with flying dabs of pencil at my pad. And no more shall I write, I swear, until this gale is blown out, or we are blown to Kingdom Come. CHAPTER XLI The days have passed and I have broken my resolve; for here I am again writing while the _Elsinore_ surges along across a magnificent, smoky, dusty sea. But I have two reasons for breaking my word. First, and minor, we had a real dawn this morning. The gray of the sea showed a streaky blue, and the cloud-masses were actually pink-tipped by a really and truly sun. Second, and major, _we are around the Horn_! We are north of 50 in the Pacific, in Longitude 80.49, with Cape Pillar and the Straits of Magellan already south of east from us, and we are heading north-north-west. _We are around the Horn_! The profound significance of this can be appreciated only by one who has wind-jammed around from east to west. Blow high, blow low, nothing can happen to thwart us. No ship north of 50 was ever blown back. From now on it is plain sailing, and Seattle suddenly seems quite near. All the ship's company, with the exception of Margaret, is better spirited. She is quiet, and a little down, though she is anything but prone to the wastage of grief. In her robust, vital philosophy God's always in heaven. I may describe her as being merely subdued, and gentle, and tender. And she is very wistful to receive gentle consideration and tenderness from me. She is, after all, the genuine woman. She wants the strength that man has to give, and I flatter myself that I am ten times a stronger man than I was when the voyage began, because I am a thousand times a more human man since I told the books to go hang and began to revel in the human maleness of the man that loves a woman and is loved. Returning to the ship's company. The rounding of the Horn, the better weather that is continually growing better, the easement of hardship and toil and danger, with the promise of the tropics and of the balmy south- east trades before them--all these factors contribute to pick up our men again. The temperature has already so moderated that the men are beginning to shed their surplusage of clothing, and they no longer wrap sacking about their sea-boots. Last evening, in the second dog-watch, I heard a man actually singing. The steward has discarded the huge, hacking knife and relaxed to the extent of engaging in an occasional sober romp with Possum. Wada's face is no longer solemnly long, and Louis' Oxford accent is more mellifluous than ever. Mulligan Jacobs and Andy Fay are the same venomous scorpions they have always been. The three gangsters, with the clique they lead, have again asserted their tyrrany and thrashed all the weaklings and feeblings in the forecastle. Charles Davis resolutely refuses to die, though how he survived that wet and freezing room of iron through all the weeks off the Horn has elicited wonder even from Mr. Pike, who has a most accurate knowledge of what men can stand and what they cannot stand. How Nietzsche, with his eternal slogan of "Be hard! Be hard!" would have delighted in Mr. Pike! And--oh!--Larry has had a tooth removed. For some days distressed with a jumping toothache, he came aft to the mate for relief. Mr. Pike refused to "monkey" with the "fangled" forceps in the medicine-chest. He used a tenpenny nail and a hammer in the good old way to which he was brought up. I vouch for this. I saw it done. One blow of the hammer and the tooth was out, while Larry was jumping around holding his jaw. It is a wonder it wasn't fractured. But Mr. Pike avers he has removed hundreds of teeth by this method and never known a fractured jaw. Also, he avers he once sailed with a skipper who shaved every Sunday morning and never touched a razor, nor any cutting-edge, to his face. What he used, according to Mr. Pike, was a lighted candle and a damp towel. Another candidate for Nietzsche's immortals who are hard! As for Mr. Pike himself, he is the highest-spirited, best-conditioned man on board. The driving to which he subjected the _Elsinore_ was meat and drink. He still rubs his hands and chuckles over the memory of it. "Huh!" he said to me, in reference to the crew; "I gave 'em a taste of real old-fashioned sailing. They'll never forget this hooker--at least them that don't take a sack of coal overside before we reach port." "You mean you think we'll have more sea-burials?" I inquired. He turned squarely upon me, and squarely looked me in the eyes for the matter of five long seconds. "Huh!" he replied, as he turned on his heel. "Hell ain't begun to pop on this hooker." He still stands his mate's watch, alternating with Mr. Mellaire, for he is firm in his conviction that there is no man for'ard fit to stand a second mate's watch. Also, he has kept his old quarters. Perhaps it is out of delicacy for Margaret; for I have learned that it is the invariable custom for the mate to occupy the captain's quarters when the latter dies. So Mr. Mellaire still eats by himself in the big after-room, as he has done since the loss of the carpenter, and bunks as before in the 'midship-house with Nancy. CHAPTER XLII Mr. Mellaire was right. The men would not accept the driving when the _Elsinore_ won to easier latitudes. Mr. Pike was right. Hell had not begun to pop. But it has popped now, and men are overboard without even the kindliness of a sack of coal at their feet. And yet the men, though ripe for it, did not precipitate the trouble. It was Mr. Mellaire. Or, rather, it was Ditman Olansen, the crank-eyed Norwegian. Perhaps it was Possum. At any rate, it was an accident, in which the several-named, including Possum, played their respective parts. To begin at the beginning. Two weeks have elapsed since we crossed 50, and we are now in 37--the same latitude as San Francisco, or, to be correct, we are as far south of the equator as San Francisco is north of it. The trouble was precipitated yesterday morning shortly after nine o'clock, and Possum started the chain of events that culminated in downright mutiny. It was Mr. Mellaire's watch, and he was standing on the bridge, directly under the mizzen-top, giving orders to Sundry Buyers, who, with Arthur Deacon and the Maltese Cockney, was doing rigging work aloft. Get the picture and the situation in all its ridiculousness. Mr. Pike, thermometer in hand, was coming back along the bridge from taking the temperature of the coal in the for'ard hold. Ditman Olansen was just swinging into the mizzen-top as he went up with several turns of rope over one shoulder. Also, in some way, to the end of this rope was fastened a sizable block that might have weighed ten pounds. Possum, running free, was fooling around the chicken-coop on top the 'midship- house. And the chickens, featherless but indomitable, were enjoying the milder weather as they pecked at the grain and grits which the steward had just placed in their feeding-trough. The tarpaulin that covered their pen had been off for several days. Now observe. I am at the break of the poop, leaning on the rail and watching Ditman Olansen swing into the top with his cumbersome burden. Mr. Pike, proceeding aft, has just passed Mr. Mellaire. Possum, who, on account of the Horn weather and the tarpaulin, has not seen the chickens for many weeks, is getting reacquainted, and is investigating them with that keen nose of his. And a hen's beak, equally though differently keen, impacts on Possum's nose, which is as sensitive as it is keen. I may well say, now that I think it over, that it was this particular hen that started the mutiny. The men, well-driven by Mr. Pike, were ripe for an explosion, and Possum and the hen laid the train. Possum fell away backwards from the coop and loosed a wild cry of pain and indignation. This attracted Ditman Olansen's attention. He paused and craned his neck out in order to see, and, in this moment of carelessness, the block he was carrying fetched away from him along with the several turns of rope around his shoulder. Both the mates sprang away to get out from under. The rope, fast to the block and following it, lashed about like a blacksnake, and, though the block fell clear of Mr. Mellaire, the bight of the rope snatched off his cap. Mr. Pike had already started an oath aloft when his eyes caught sight of the terrible cleft in Mr. Mellaire's head. There it was, for all the world to read, and Mr. Pike's and mine were the only eyes that could read it. The sparse hair upon the second mate's crown served not at all to hide the cleft. It began out of sight in the thicker hair above the ears, and was exposed nakedly across the whole dome of head. The stream of abuse for Ditman Olansen was choked in Mr. Pike's throat. All he was capable of for the moment was to stare, petrified, at that enormous fissure flanked at either end with a thatch of grizzled hair. He was in a dream, a trance, his great hands knotting and clenching unconsciously as he stared at the mark unmistakable by which he had said that he would some day identify the murderer of Captain Somers. And in that moment I remembered having heard him declare that some day he would stick his fingers in that mark. Still as in a dream, moving slowly, right hand outstretched like a talon, with the fingers drawn downward, he advanced on the second mate with the evident intention of thrusting his fingers into that cleft and of clawing and tearing at the brain-life beneath that pulsed under the thin film of skin. The second mate backed away along the bridge, and Mr. Pike seemed partially to come to himself. His outstretched arm dropped to his side, and he paused. "I know you," he said, in a strange, shaky voice, blended of age and passion. "Eighteen years ago you were dismasted off the Plate in the _Cyrus Thompson_. She foundered, after you were on your beam ends and lost your sticks. You were in the only boat that was saved. Eleven years ago, on the _Jason Harrison_, in San Francisco, Captain Somers was beaten to death by his second mate. This second mate was a survivor of the _Cyrus Thompson_. This second mate'd had his skull split by a crazy sea-cook. Your skull is split. This second mate's name was Sidney Waltham. And if you ain't Sidney Waltham . . . " At this point Mr. Mellaire, or, rather, Sidney Waltham, despite his fifty years, did what only a sailor could do. He went over the bridge-rail side-wise, caught the running gear up-and-down the mizzen-mast, and landed lightly on his feet on top of Number Three hatch. Nor did he stop there. He ran across the hatch and dived through the doorway of his room in the 'midship-house. Such must have been Mr. Pike's profundity of passion, that he paused like a somnambulist, actually rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, and seemed to awaken. But the second mate had not run to his room for refuge. The next moment he emerged, a thirty-two Smith and Wesson in his hand, and the instant he emerged he began shooting. Mr. Pike was wholly himself again, and I saw him perceptibly pause and decide between the two impulses that tore at him. One was to leap over the bridge-rail and down at the man who shot at him; the other was to retreat. He retreated. And as he bounded aft along the narrow bridge the mutiny began. Arthur Deacon, from the mizzen-top, leaned out and hurled a steel marlin-spike at the fleeing mate. The thing flashed in the sunlight as it hurtled down. It missed Mr. Pike by twenty feet and nearly impaled Possum, who, afraid of firearms, was wildly rushing and ki- yi-ing aft. It so happened that the sharp point of the marlin-spike struck the wooden floor of the bridge, and it penetrated the planking with such force that after it had fetched to a standstill it vibrated violently for long seconds. I confess that I failed to observe a tithe of what occurred during the next several minutes. Piece together as I will, after the event, I know that I missed much of what took place. I know that the men aloft in the mizzen descended to the deck, but I never saw them descend. I know that the second mate emptied the chambers of his revolver, but I did not hear all the shots. I know that Lars Johnson left the wheel, and on his broken leg, rebroken and not yet really mended, limped and scuttled across the poop, down the ladder, and gained for'ard. I know he must have limped and scuttled on that bad leg of his; I know that I must have seen him; and yet I swear that I have no impression of seeing him. I do know that I heard the rush of feet of men from for'ard along the main deck. And I do know that I saw Mr. Pike take shelter behind the steel jiggermast. Also, as the second mate manoeuvred to port on top of Number Three hatch for his last shot, I know that I saw Mr. Pike duck around the corner of the chart-house to starboard and get away aft and below by way of the booby-hatch. And I did hear that last futile shot, and the bullet also as it ricochetted from the corner of the steel-walled chart-house. As for myself, I did not move. I was too interested in seeing. It may have been due to lack of presence of mind, or to lack of habituation to an active part in scenes of quick action; but at any rate I merely retained my position at the break of the poop and looked on. I was the only person on the poop when the mutineers, led by the second mate and the gangsters, rushed it. I saw them swarm up the ladder, and it never entered my head to attempt to oppose them. Which was just as well, for I would have been killed for my pains, and I could never have stopped them. I was alone on the poop, and the men were quite perplexed to find no enemy in sight. As Bert Rhine went past, he half fetched up in his stride, as if to knife me with the sheath knife, sharp-pointed, which he carried in his right hand; then, and I know I correctly measured the drift of his judgment, he unflatteringly dismissed me as unimportant and ran on. Right here I was impressed by the lack of clear-thinking on any of their parts. So spontaneously had the ship's company exploded into mutiny that it was dazed and confused even while it acted. For instance, in the months since we left Baltimore there had never been a moment, day or night, even when preventer tackles were rigged, that a man had not stood at the wheel. So habituated were they to this, that they were shocked into consternation at sight of the deserted wheel. They paused for an instant to stare at it. Then Bert Rhine, with a quick word and gesture, sent the Italian, Guido Bombini, around the rear of the half-wheelhouse. The fact that he completed the circuit was proof that nobody was there. Again, in the swift rush of events, I must confess that I saw but little. I was aware that more of the men were climbing up the ladder and gaining the poop, but I had no eyes for them. I was watching that sanguinary group aft near the wheel and noting the most important thing, namely, that it was Bert Rhine, the gangster, and not the second mate, who gave orders and was obeyed. He motioned to the Jew, Isaac Chantz, who had been wounded earlier in the voyage by O'Sullivan, and Chantz led the way to the starboard chart-house door. While this was going on, all in flashing fractions of seconds, Bert Rhine was cautiously inspecting the lazarette through the open booby- hatch. Isaac Chantz jerked open the chart-house door, which swung outward. Things did happen so swiftly! As he jerked the iron door open a two-foot hacking butcher knife, at the end of a withered, yellow hand, flashed out and down on him. It missed head and neck, but caught him on top of the left shoulder. All hands recoiled before this, and the Jew reeled across to the rail, his right hand clutching at his wound, and between the fingers I could see the blood welling darkly. Bert Rhine abandoned his inspection of the booby-hatch, and, with the second mate, the latter still carrying his empty Smith & Wesson, sprang into the press about the chart-house door. O wise, clever, cautious, old Chinese steward! He made no emergence. The door swung emptily back and forth to the rolling of the _Elsinore_, and no man knew but what, just inside, with that heavy, hacking knife upraised, lurked the steward. And while they hesitated and stared at the aperture that alternately closed and opened with the swinging of the door, the booby-hatch, situated between chart-house and wheel, erupted. It was Mr. Pike, with his .44 automatic Colt. There were shots fired, other than by him. I know I heard them, like "red-heads" at an old-time Fourth of July; but I do not know who discharged them. All was mess and confusion. Many shots were being fired, and through the uproar I heard the reiterant, monotonous explosions from the Colt's .44 I saw the Italian, Mike Cipriani, clutch savagely at his abdomen and sink slowly to the deck. Shorty, the Japanese half-caste, clown that he was, dancing and grinning on the outskirts of the struggle, with a final grimace and hysterical giggle led the retreat across the poop and down the poop-ladder. Never had I seen a finer exemplification of mob psychology. Shorty, the most unstable-minded of the individuals who composed this mob, by his own instability precipitated the retreat in which the mob joined. When he broke before the steady discharge of the automatic in the hand of the mate, on the instant the rest broke with him. Least-balanced, his balance was the balance of all of them. Chantz, bleeding prodigiously, was one of the first on Shorty's heels. I saw Nosey Murphy pause long enough to throw his knife at the mate. The missile went wide, with a metallic clang struck the brass tip of one of the spokes of the _Elsinore's_ wheel, and clattered on the deck. The second mate, with his empty revolver, and Bert Rhine with his sheath-knife, fled past me side by side. Mr. Pike emerged from the booby-hatch and with an unaimed shot brought down Bill Quigley, one of the "bricklayers," who fell at my feet. The last man off the poop was the Maltese Cockney, and at the top of the ladder he paused to look back at Mr. Pike, who, holding the automatic in both hands, was taking careful aim. The Maltese Cockney, disdaining the ladder, leaped through the air to the main deck. But the Colt merely clicked. It was the last bullet in it that had fetched down Bill Quigley. And the poop was ours. Events still crowded so closely that I missed much. I saw the steward, belligerent and cautious, his long knife poised for a slash, emerge from the chart-house. Margaret followed him, and behind her came Wada, who carried my .22 Winchester automatic rifle. As he told me afterwards, he had brought it up under instructions from her. Mr. Pike was glancing with cool haste at his Colt to see whether it was jammed or empty, when Margaret asked him the course. "By the wind," he shouted to her, as he bounded for'ard. "Put your helm hard up or we'll be all aback." Ah!--yeoman and henchman of the race, he could not fail in his fidelity to the ship under his command. The iron of all his years of iron training was there manifest. While mutiny spread red, and death was on the wing, he could not forget his charge, the ship, the _Elsinore_, the insensate fabric compounded of steel and hemp and woven cotton that was to him glorious with personality. Margaret waved Wada in my direction as she ran to the wheel. As Mr. Pike passed the corner of the chart-house, simultaneously there was a report from amidships and the ping of a bullet against the steel wall. I saw the man who fired the shot. It was the cowboy, Steve Roberts. As for the mate, he ducked in behind the sheltering jiggermast, and even as he ducked his left hand dipped into his side coat-pocket, so that when he had gained shelter it was coming out with a fresh clip of cartridges. The empty clip fell to the deck, the loader clip slipped up the hollow butt, and he was good for eight more shots. Wada turned the little automatic rifle over to me, where I still stood under the weather cloth at the break of the poop. "All ready," he said. "You take off safety." "Get Roberts," Mr. Pike called to me. "He's the best shot for'ard. If you can't get 'm, jolt the fear of God into him anyway." It was the first time I had a human target, and let me say, here and now, that I am convinced I am immune to buck fever. There he was before me, less than a hundred feet distant, in the gangway between the door to Davis' room and the starboard-rail, manoeuvring for another shot at Mr. Pike. I must have missed Steve Roberts that first time, but I came so near him that he jumped. The next instant he had located me and turned his revolver on me. But he had no chance. My little automatic was discharging as fast as I could tickle the trigger with my fore-finger. The cowboy's first shot went wild of me, because my bullet arrived ere he got his swift aim. He swayed and stumbled backward, but the bullets--ten of them--poured from the muzzle of my Winchester like water from a garden hose. It was a stream of lead I played upon him. I shall never know how many times I hit him, but I am confident that after he had begun his long staggering fall at least three additional bullets entered him ere he impacted on the deck. And even as he was falling, aimlessly and mechanically, stricken then with death, he managed twice again to discharge his weapon. And after he struck the deck he never moved. I do believe he died in the air. As I held up my gun and gazed at the abruptly-deserted main-deck I was aware of Wada's touch on my arm. I looked. In his hand were a dozen little .22 long, soft-nosed, smokeless cartridges. He wanted me to reload. I threw on the safety, opened the magazine, and tilted the rifle so that he could let the fresh cartridges of themselves slide into place. "Get some more," I told him. Scarcely had he departed on the errand when Bill Quigley, who lay at my feet, created a diversion. I jumped--yes, and I freely confess that I yelled--with startle and surprise, when I felt his paws clutch my ankles and his teeth shut down on the calf of my leg. It was Mr. Pike to the rescue. I understand now the Western hyperbole of "hitting the high places." The mate did not seem in contact with the deck. My impression was that he soared through the air to me, landing beside me, and, in the instant of landing, kicking out with one of those big feet of his. Bill Quigley was kicked clear away from me, and the next moment he was flying overboard. It was a clean throw. He never touched the rail. Whether Mike Cipriani, who, till then, had lain in a welter, began crawling aft in quest of safety, or whether he intended harm to Margaret at the wheel, we shall never know; for there was no opportunity given him to show his purpose. As swiftly as Mr. Pike could cross the deck with those giant bounds, just that swiftly was the Italian in the air and following Bill Quigley overside. The mate missed nothing with those eagle eyes of his as he returned along the poop. Nobody was to be seen on the main deck. Even the lookout had deserted the forecastle-head, and the _Elsinore_, steered by Margaret, slipped a lazy two knots through the quiet sea. Mr. Pike was apprehensive of a shot from ambush, and it was not until after a scrutiny of several minutes that he put his pistol into his side coat-pocket and snarled for'ard: "Come out, you rats! Show your ugly faces! I want to talk with you!" Guido Bombini, gesticulating peaceable intentions and evidently thrust out by Bert Rhine, was the first to appear. When it was observed that Mr. Pike did not fire, the rest began to dribble into view. This continued till all were there save the cook, the two sail-makers, and the second mate. The last to come out were Tom Spink, the boy Buckwheat, and Herman Lunkenheimer, the good-natured but simple-minded German; and these three came out only after repeated threats from Bert Rhine, who, with Nosey Murphy and Kid Twist, was patently in charge. Also, like a faithful dog, Guido Bombini fawned close to him. "That will do--stop where you are," Mr. Pike commanded, when the crew was scattered abreast, to starboard and to port, of Number Three hatch. It was a striking scene. _Mutiny on the high seas_! That phrase, learned in boyhood from my Marryatt and Cooper, recrudesced in my brain. This was it--mutiny on the high seas in the year nineteen thirteen--and I was part of it, a perishing blond whose lot was cast with the perishing but lordly blonds, and I had already killed a man. Mr. Pike, in the high place, aged and indomitable; leaned his arm on the rail at the break of the poop and gazed down at the mutineers, the like of which I'll wager had never been assembled in mutiny before. There were the three gangsters and ex-jailbirds, anything but seamen, yet in control of this affair that was peculiarly an affair of the sea. With them was the Italian hound, Bombini, and beside them were such strangely assorted men as Anton Sorensen, Lars Jacobsen, Frank Fitzgibbon, and Richard Giller--also Arthur Deacon the white slaver, John Hackey the San Francisco hoodlum, the Maltese Cockney, and Tony the suicidal Greek. I noticed the three strange ones, shouldering together and standing apart from the others as they swayed to the lazy roll and dreamed with their pale, topaz eyes. And there was the Faun, stone deaf but observant, straining to understand what was taking place. Yes, and Mulligan Jacobs and Andy Fay were bitterly and eagerly side by side, and Ditman Olansen, crank-eyed, as if drawn by some affinity of bitterness, stood behind them, his head appearing between their heads. Farthest advanced of all was Charles Davis, the man who by all rights should long since be dead, his face with its wax-like pallor startlingly in contrast to the weathered faces of the rest. I glanced back at Margaret, who was coolly steering, and she smiled to me, and love was in her eyes--she, too, of the perishing and lordly race of blonds, her place the high place, her heritage government and command and mastery over the stupid lowly of her kind and over the ruck and spawn of the dark-pigmented breeds. "Where's Sidney Waltham?" the mate snarled. "I want him. Bring him out. After that, the rest of you filth get back to work, or God have mercy on you." The men moved about restlessly, shuffling their feet on the deck. "Sidney Waltham, I want you--come out!" Mr. Pike called, addressing himself beyond them to the murderer of the captain under whom once he had sailed. The prodigious old hero! It never entered his head that he was not the master of the rabble there below him. He had but one idea, an idea of passion, and that was his desire for vengeance on the murderer of his old skipper. "You old stiff!" Mulligan Jacobs snarled back. "Shut up, Mulligan!" was Bert Rhine's command, in receipt of which he received a venomous stare from the cripple. "Oh, ho, my hearty," Mr. Pike sneered at the gangster. "I'll take care of your case, never fear. In the meantime, and right now, fetch out that dog." Whereupon he ignored the leader of the mutineers and began calling, "Waltham, you dog, come out! Come out, you sneaking cur! Come out!" _Another lunatic_, was the thought that flashed through my mind; another lunatic, the slave of a single idea. He forgets the mutiny, his fidelity to the ship, in his personal thirst for vengeance. But did he? Even as he forgot and called his heart's desire, which was the life of the second mate, even then, without intention, mechanically, his sailor's considerative eye lifted to note the draw of the sails and roved from sail to sail. Thereupon, so reminded, he returned to his fidelity. "Well?" he snarled at Bert Rhine. "Go on and get for'ard before I spit on you, you scum and slum. I'll give you and the rest of the rats two minutes to return to duty." And the leader, with his two fellow-gangsters, laughed their weird, silent laughter. "I guess you'll listen to our talk, first, old horse," Bert Rhine retorted. "--Davis, get up now and show what kind of a spieler you are. Don't get cold feet. Spit it out to Foxy Grandpa an' tell 'm what's doin'." "You damned sea-lawyer!" Mr. Pike snarled as Davis opened his mouth to speak. Bert Rhine shrugged his shoulders, and half turned on his heel as if to depart, as he said quietly: "Oh, well, if you don't want to talk . . . " Mr. Pike conceded a point. "Go on!" he snarled. "Spit the dirt out of your system, Davis; but remember one thing: you'll pay for this, and you'll pay through the nose. Go on!" The sea-lawyer cleared his throat in preparation. "First of all, I ain't got no part in this," he began. "I'm a sick man, an' I oughta be in my bunk right now. I ain't fit to be on my feet. But they've asked me to advise 'em on the law, an' I have advised 'em--" "And the law--what is it?" Mr. Pike broke in. But Davis was uncowed. "The law is that when the officers is inefficient, the crew can take charge peaceably an' bring the ship into port. It's all law an' in the records. There was the _Abyssinia_, in eighteen ninety-two, when the master'd died of fever and the mates took to drinkin'--" "Go on!" Mr. Pike shut him off. "I don't want your citations. What d'ye want? Spit it out." "Well--and I'm talkin' as an outsider, as a sick man off duty that's been asked to talk--well, the point is our skipper was a good one, but he's gone. Our mate is violent, seekin' the life of the second mate. We don't care about that. What we want is to get into port with our lives. An' our lives is in danger. We ain't hurt nobody. You've done all the bloodshed. You've shot an' killed an' thrown two men overboard, as witnesses'll testify to in court. An' there's Roberts, there, dead, too, an' headin' for the sharks--an' what for? For defendin' himself from murderous an' deadly attack, as every man can testify an' tell the truth, the whole truth, an' nothin' but the truth, so help 'm, God--ain't that right, men?" A confused murmur of assent arose from many of them. "You want my job, eh?" Mr. Pike grinned. "An' what are you goin' to do with me?" "You'll be taken care of until we get in an' turn you over to the lawful authorities," Davis answered promptly. "Most likely you can plead insanity an' get off easy." At this moment I felt a stir at my shoulder. It was Margaret, armed with the long knife of the steward, whom she had put at the wheel. "You've got another guess comin', Davis," Mr. Pike said. "I've got no more talk with you. I'm goin' to talk to the bunch. I'll give you fellows just two minutes to choose, and I'll tell you your choices. You've only got two choices. You'll turn the second mate over to me an' go back to duty and take what's comin' to you, or you'll go to jail with the stripes on you for long sentences. You've got two minutes. The fellows that want jail can stand right where they are. The fellows that don't want jail and are willin' to work faithful, can walk right back to me here on the poop. Two minutes, an' you can keep your jaws stopped while you think over what it's goin' to be." He turned his head to me and said in an undertone, "Be ready with that pop-gun for trouble. An' don't hesitate. Slap it into 'em--the swine that think they can put as raw a deal as this over on us." It was Buckwheat who made the first move; but so tentative was it that it got no farther than a tensing of the legs and a sway forward of the shoulders. Nevertheless it was sufficient to start Herman Lunkenheimer, who thrust out his foot and began confidently to walk aft. Kid Twist gained him in a single spring, and Kid Twist, his wrist under the German's throat from behind; his knee pressed into the German's back, bent the man backward and held him. Even as the rifle came to my shoulder, the hound Bombini drew his knife directly beneath Kid Twist's wrist across the up-stretched throat of the man. It was at this instant that I heard Mr. Pike's "Plug him!" and pulled the trigger; and of all ungodly things the bullet missed and caught the Faun, who staggered back, sat down on the hatch, and began to cough. And even as he coughed he still strained with pain-eloquent eyes to try to understand. No other man moved. Herman Lunkenheimer, released by Kid Twist, sank down on the deck. Nor did I shoot again. Kid Twist stood again by the side of Bert Rhine and Guido Bombini fawned near. Bert Rhine actually visibly smiled. "Any more of you guys want to promenade aft?" he queried in velvet tones. "Two minutes up," Mr. Pike declared. "An' what are you goin' to do about it, Grandpa?" Bert Rhine sneered. In a flash the big automatic was out of the mate's pocket and he was shooting as fast as he could pull trigger, while all hands fled to shelter. But, as he had long since told me, he was no shot and could effectively use the weapon only at close range--muzzle to stomach preferably. As we stared at the main deck, deserted save for the dead cowboy on his back and for the Faun who still sat on the hatch and coughed, an eruption of men occurred over the for'ard edge of the 'midship-house. "Shoot!" Margaret cried at my back. "Don't!" Mr. Pike roared at me. The rifle was at my shoulder when I desisted. Louis, the cook, led the rush aft to us across the top of the house and along the bridge. Behind him, in single file and not wasting any time, came the Japanese sail-makers, Henry the training-ship boy, and the other boy Buckwheat. Tom Spink brought up the rear. As he came up the ladder of the 'midship- house somebody from beneath must have caught him by a leg in an effort to drag him back. We saw half of him in sight and knew that he was struggling and kicking. He fetched clear abruptly, gained the top of the house in a surge, and raced aft along the bridge until he overtook and collided with Buckwheat, who yelled out in fear that a mutineer had caught him. CHAPTER XLIII We who are aft, besieged in the high place, are stronger in numbers than I dreamed until now, when I have just finished taking the ship's census. Of course Margaret, Mr. Pike, and myself are apart. We alone represent the ruling class. With us are servants and serfs, faithful to their salt, who look to us for guidance and life. I use my words advisedly. Tom Spink and Buckwheat are serfs and nothing else. Henry, the training-ship boy, occupies an anomalous classification. He is of our kind, but he can scarcely be called even a cadet of our kind. He will some day win to us and become a mate or a captain, but in the meantime, of course, his past is against him. He is a candidate, rising from the serf class to our class. Also, he is only a youth, the iron of his heredity not yet tested and proven. Wada, Louis, and the steward are servants of Asiatic breed. So are the two Japanese sail-makers--scarcely servants, not to be called slaves, but something in between. So, all told, there are eleven of us aft in the citadel. But our followers are too servant-like and serf-like to be offensive fighters. They will help us defend the high place against all attack; but they are incapable of joining with us in an attack on the other end of the ship. They will fight like cornered rats to preserve their lives; but they will not advance like tigers upon the enemy. Tom Spink is faithful but spirit- broken. Buckwheat is hopelessly of the stupid lowly. Henry has not yet won his spurs. On our side remain Margaret, Mr. Pike, and myself. The rest will hold the wall of the poop and fight thereon to the death, but they are not to be depended upon in a sortie. At the other end of the ship--and I may as well give the roster, are: the second mate, either to be called Mellaire or Waltham, a strong man of our own breed but a renegade; the three gangsters, killers and jackals, Bert Rhine, Nosey Murphy, and Kid Twist; the Maltese Cockney and Tony the crazy Greek; Frank Fitzgibbon and Richard Giller, the survivors of the trio of "bricklayers"; Anton Sorensen and Lars Jacobsen, stupid Scandinavian sailor-men; Ditman Olansen, the crank-eyed Berserk; John Hackey and Arthur Deacon, respectively hoodlum and white slaver; Shorty, the mixed-breed clown; Guido Bombini, the Italian hound; Andy Pay and Mulligan Jacobs, the bitter ones; the three topaz-eyed dreamers, who are unclassifiable; Isaac Chantz, the wounded Jew; Bob, the overgrown dolt; the feeble-minded Faun, lung-wounded; Nancy and Sundry Buyers, the two hopeless, helpless bosuns; and, finally, the sea-lawyer, Charles Davis. This makes twenty-seven of them against the eleven of us. But there are men, strong in viciousness, among them. They, too, have their serfs and bravos. Guido Bombini and Isaac Chantz are certainly bravos. And weaklings like Sorensen, and Jacobsen, and Bob, cannot be anything else than slaves to the men who compose the gangster clique. I failed to tell what happened yesterday, after Mr. Pike emptied his automatic and cleared the deck. The poop was indubitably ours, and there was no possibility of the mutineers making a charge on us in broad daylight. Margaret had gone below, accompanied by Wada, to see to the security of the port and starboard doors that open from the cabin directly on the main deck. These are still caulked and tight and fastened on the inside, as they have been since the passage of Cape Horn began. Mr. Pike put one of the sail-makers at the wheel, and the steward, relieved and starting below, was attracted to the port quarter, where the patent log that towed astern was made fast. Margaret had returned his knife to him, and he was carrying it in his hand when his attention was attracted astern to our wake. Mike Cipriani and Bill Quigley had managed to catch the lazily moving log-line and were clinging to it. The _Elsinore_ was moving just fast enough to keep them on the surface instead of dragging them under. Above them and about them circled curious and hungry albatrosses, Cape hens, and mollyhawks. Even as I glimpsed the situation one of the big birds, a ten-footer at least, with a ten-inch beak to the fore, dropped down on the Italian. Releasing his hold with one hand, he struck with his knife at the bird. Feathers flew, and the albatross, deflected by the blow, fell clumsily into the water. Quite methodically, just as part of the day's work, the steward chopped down with his knife, catching the log-line between the steel edge and the rail. At once, no longer buoyed up by the _Elsinore's_ two-knot drag ahead, the wounded men began to swim and flounder. The circling hosts of huge sea-birds descended upon them, with carnivorous beaks striking at their heads and shoulders and arms. A great screeching and squawking arose from the winged things of prey as they strove for the living meat. And yet, somehow, I was not very profoundly shocked. These were the men whom I had seen eviscerate the shark and toss it overboard, and shout with joy as they watched it devoured alive by its brethren. They had played a violent, cruel game with the things of life, and the things of life now played upon them the same violent, cruel game. As they that rise by the sword perish by the sword, just so did these two men who had lived cruelly die cruelly. "Oh, well," was Mr. Pike's comment, "we've saved two sacks of mighty good coal." * * * * * Certainly our situation might be worse. We are cooking on the coal-stove and on the oil-burners. We have servants to cook and serve for us. And, most important of all, we are in possession of all the food on the _Elsinore_. Mr. Pike makes no mistake. Realizing that with our crowd we cannot rush the crowd at the other end of the ship, he accepts the siege, which, as he says, consists of the besieged holding all food supplies while the besiegers are on the imminent edge of famine. "Starve the dogs," he growls. "Starve 'm until they crawl aft and lick our shoes. Maybe you think the custom of carrying the stores aft just happened. Only it didn't. Before you and I were born it was long-established and it was established on brass tacks. They knew what they were about, the old cusses, when they put the grub in the lazarette." Louis says there is not more than three days' regular whack in the galley; that the barrel of hard-tack in the forecastle will quickly go; and that our chickens, which they stole last night from the top of the 'midship-house, are equivalent to no more than an additional day's supply. In short, at the outside limit, we are convinced the men will be keen to talk surrender within the week. We are no longer sailing. In last night's darkness we helplessly listened to the men loosing headsail-halyards and letting yards go down on the run. Under orders of Mr. Pike I shot blindly and many times into the dark, but without result, save that we heard the bullets of answering shots strike against the chart-house. So to-day we have not even a man at the wheel. The _Elsinore_ drifts idly on an idle sea, and we stand regular watches in the shelter of chart-house and jiggermast. Mr. Pike says it is the laziest time he has had on the whole voyage. I alternate watches with him, although when on duty there is little to be done, save, in the daytime, to stand rifle in hand behind the jiggermast, and, in the night, to lurk along the break of the poop. Behind the chart- house, ready to repel assault, are my watch of four men: Tom Spink, Wada, Buckwheat, and Louis. Henry, the two Japanese sail-makers, and the old steward compose Mr. Pike's watch. It is his orders that no one for'ard is to be allowed to show himself, so, to-day, when the second mate appeared at the corner of the 'midship- house, I made him take a quick leap back with the thud of my bullet against the iron wall a foot from his head. Charles David tried the same game and was similarly stimulated. Also, this evening, after dark, Mr. Pike put block-and-tackle on the first section of the bridge, heaved it out of place, and lowered it upon the poop. Likewise he hoisted in the ladder at the break of the poop that leads down to the main deck. The men will have to do some climbing if they ever elect to rush us. I am writing this in my watch below. I came off duty at eight o'clock, and at midnight I go on deck to stay till four to-morrow morning. Wada shakes his head and says that the Blackwood Company should rebate us on the first-class passage paid in advance. We are working our passage, he contends. Margaret takes the adventure joyously. It is the first time she has experienced mutiny, but she is such a thorough sea-woman that she appears like an old hand at the game. She leaves the deck to the mate and me; but, still acknowledging his leadership, she has taken charge below and entirely manages the commissary, the cooking, and the sleeping arrangements. We still keep our old quarters, and she has bedded the new- comers in the big after-room with blankets issued from the slop-chest. In a way, from the standpoint of her personal welfare, the mutiny is the best thing that could have happened to her. It has taken her mind off her father and filled her waking hours with work to do. This afternoon, standing above the open booby-hatch, I heard her laugh ring out as in the old days coming down the Atlantic. Yes, and she hums snatches of songs under her breath as she works. In the second dog-watch this evening, after Mr. Pike had finished dinner and joined us on the poop, she told him that if he did not soon re-rig his phonograph she was going to start in on the piano. The reason she advanced was the psychological effect such sounds of revelry would have on the starving mutineers. * * * * * The days pass, and nothing of moment happens. We get nowhere. The _Elsinore_, without the steadying of her canvas, rolls emptily and drifts a lunatic course. Sometimes she is bow on to the wind, and at other times she is directly before it; but at all times she is circling vaguely and hesitantly to get somewhere else than where she is. As an illustration, at daylight this morning she came up into the wind as if endeavouring to go about. In the course of half an hour she worked off till the wind was directly abeam. In another half hour she was back into the wind. Not until evening did she manage to get the wind on her port bow; but when she did, she immediately paid off, accomplished the complete circle in an hour, and recommenced her morning tactics of trying to get into the wind. And there is nothing for us to do save hold the poop against the attack that is never made. Mr. Pike, more from force of habit than anything else, takes his regular observations and works up the _Elsinore's_ position. This noon she was eight miles east of yesterday's position, yet to-day's position, in longitude, was within a mile of where she was four days ago. On the other hand she invariably makes nothing at the rate of seven or eight miles a day. Aloft, the _Elsinore_ is a sad spectacle. All is confusion and disorder. The sails, unfurled, are a slovenly mess along the yards, and many loose ends sway dismally to every roll. The only yard that is loose is the main-yard. It is fortunate that wind and wave are mild, else would the iron-work carry away and the mutineers find the huge thing of steel about their ears. There is one thing we cannot understand. A week has passed, and the men show no signs of being starved into submission. Repeatedly and in vain has Mr. Pike interrogated the hands aft with us. One and all, from the cook to Buckwheat, they swear they have no knowledge of any food for'ard, save the small supply in the galley and the barrel of hardtack in the forecastle. Yet it is very evident that those for'ard are not starving. We see the smoke from the galley-stove and can only conclude that they have food to cook. Twice has Bert Rhine attempted a truce, but both times his white flag, as soon as it showed above the edge of the 'midship-house, was fired upon by Mr. Pike. The last occurrence was two days ago. It is Mr. Pike's intention thoroughly to starve them into submission, but now he is beginning to worry about their mysterious food supply. Mr. Pike is not quite himself. He is obsessed, I know beyond any doubt, with the idea of vengeance on the second mate. On divers occasions, now, I have come unexpectedly upon him and found him muttering to himself with grim set face, or clenching and unclenching his big square fists and grinding his teeth. His conversation continually runs upon the feasibility of our making a night attack for'ard, and he is perpetually questioning Tom Spink and Louis on their ideas of where the various men may be sleeping--the point of which always is: _Where is the second mate likely to be sleeping_? No later than yesterday afternoon did he give me most positive proof of his obsession. It was four o'clock, the beginning of the first dog-watch, and he had just relieved me. So careless have we grown, that we now stand in broad daylight at the exposed break of the poop. Nobody shoots at us, and, occasionally, over the top of the for'ard-house, Shorty sticks up his head and grins or makes clownish faces at us. At such times Mr. Pike studies Shorty's features through the telescope in an effort to find signs of starvation. Yet he admits dolefully that Shorty is looking fleshed-up. But to return. Mr. Pike had just relieved me yesterday afternoon, when the second mate climbed the forecastle-head and sauntered to the very eyes of the _Elsinore_, where he stood gazing overside. "Take a crack at 'm," Mr. Pike said. It was a long shot, and I was taking slow and careful aim, when he touched my arm. "No; don't," he said. I lowered the little rifle and looked at him inquiringly. "You might hit him," he explained. "And I want him for myself." * * * * * Life is never what we expect it to be. All our voyage from Baltimore south to the Horn and around the Horn has been marked by violence and death. And now that it has culminated in open mutiny there is no more violence, much less death. We keep to ourselves aft, and the mutineers keep to themselves for'ard. There is no more harshness, no more snarling and bellowing of commands; and in this fine weather a general festival obtains. Aft, Mr. Pike and Margaret alternate with phonograph and piano; and for'ard, although we cannot see them, a full-fledged "foo-foo" band makes most of the day and night hideous. A squealing accordion that Tom Spink says was the property of Mike Cipriani is played by Guido Bombini, who sets the pace and seems the leader of the foo-foo. There are two broken- reeded harmonicas. Someone plays a jew's-harp. Then there are home-made fifes and whistles and drums, combs covered with paper, extemporized triangles, and bones made from ribs of salt horse such as negro minstrels use. The whole crew seems to compose the band, and, like a lot of monkey-folk rejoicing in rude rhythm, emphasizes the beat by hammering kerosene cans, frying-pans, and all sorts of things metallic or reverberant. Some genius has rigged a line to the clapper of the ship's bell on the forecastle-head and clangs it horribly in the big foo-foo crises, though Bombini can be heard censuring him severely on occasion. And to cap it all, the fog-horn machine pumps in at the oddest moments in imitation of a big bass viol. And this is mutiny on the high seas! Almost every hour of my deck-watches I listen to this infernal din, and am maddened into desire to join with Mr. Pike in a night attack and put these rebellious and inharmonious slaves to work. Yet they are not entirely inharmonious. Guido Bombini has a respectable though untrained tenor voice, and has surprised me by a variety of selections, not only from Verdi, but from Wagner and Massenet. Bert Rhine and his crowd are full of rag-time junk, and one phrase that has caught the fancy of all hands, and which they roar out at all times, is: "_It's a bear_! _ It's a bear_! _ It's a bear_!" This morning Nancy, evidently very strongly urged, gave a doleful rendering of _Flying Cloud_. Yes, and in the second dog-watch last evening our three topaz- eyed dreamers sang some folk-song strangely sweet and sad. And this is mutiny! As I write I can scarcely believe it. Yet I know Mr. Pike keeps the watch over my head. I hear the shrill laughter of the steward and Louis over some ancient Chinese joke. Wada and the sail-makers, in the pantry, are, I know, talking Japanese politics. And from across the cabin, along the narrow halls, I can hear Margaret softly humming as she goes to bed. But all doubts vanish at the stroke of eight bells, when I go on deck to relieve Mr. Pike, who lingers a moment for a "gain," as he calls it. "Say," he said confidentially, "you and I can clean out the whole gang. All we got to do is sneak for'ard and turn loose. As soon as we begin to shoot up, half of 'em'll bolt aft--lobsters like Nancy, an' Sundry Buyers, an' Jacobsen, an' Bob, an' Shorty, an' them three castaways, for instance. An' while they're doin' that, an' our bunch on the poop is takin' 'em in, you an' me can make a pretty big hole in them that's left. What d'ye say?" I hesitated, thinking of Margaret. "Why, say," he urged, "once I jumped into that fo'c's'le, at close range, I'd start right in, blim-blam-blim, fast as you could wink, nailing them gangsters, an' Bombini, an' the Sheeny, an' Deacon, an' the Cockney, an' Mulligan Jacobs, an' . . . an' . . . Waltham." "That would be mine," I smiled. "You've only eight shots in your Colt." Mr. Pike considered a moment, and revised his list. "All right," he agreed, "I guess I'll have to let Jacobs go. What d'ye say? Are you game?" Still I hesitated, but before I could speak he anticipated me and returned to his fidelity. "No, you can't do it, Mr. Pathurst. If by any luck they got the both of us . . . No; we'll just stay aft and sit tight until they're starved to it . . . But where they get their tucker gets me. For'ard she's as bare as a bone, as any decent ship ought to be, and yet look at 'em, rolling hog fat. And by rights they ought to a-quit eatin' a week ago." CHAPTER XLIV Yes, it is certainly mutiny. Collecting water from the leaders of the chart-house in a shower of rain this morning, Buckwheat exposed himself, and a long, lucky revolver-shot from for'ard caught him in the shoulder. The bullet was small-calibre and spent ere it reached him, so that he received no more than a flesh-wound, though he carried on as if he were dying until Mr. Pike hushed his noise by cuffing his ears. I should not like to have Mr. Pike for my surgeon. He probed for the bullet with his little finger, which was far too big for the aperture; and with his little finger, while with his other hand he threatened another ear-clout, he gouged out the leaden pellet. Then he sent the boy below, where Margaret took him in charge with antiseptics and dressings. I see her so rarely that a half-hour alone with her these days is an adventure. She is busy morning to night in keeping her house in order. As I write this, through my open door I can hear her laying the law down to the men in the after-room. She has issued underclothes all around from the slop-chest, and is ordering them to take a bath in the rain-water just caught. And to make sure of their thoroughness in the matter, she has told off Louis and the steward to supervise the operation. Also, she has forbidden them smoking their pipes in the after- room. And, to cap everything, they are to scrub walls, ceiling, everything, and then start to-morrow morning at painting. All of which serves to convince me almost that mutiny does not obtain and that I have imagined it. But no. I hear Buckwheat blubbering and demanding how he can take a bath in his wounded condition. I wait and listen for Margaret's judgment. Nor am I disappointed. Tom Spink and Henry are told off to the task, and the thorough scrubbing of Buckwheat is assured. * * * * * The mutineers are not starving. To-day they have been fishing for albatrosses. A few minutes after they caught the first one its carcase was flung overboard. Mr. Pike studied it through his sea-glasses, and I heard him grit his teeth when he made certain that it was not the mere feathers and skin but the entire carcass. They had taken only its wing- bones to make into pipe-stems. The inference was obvious: _starving men would not throw meat away in such fashion_. But where do they get their food? It is a sea-mystery in itself, although I might not so deem it were it not for Mr. Pike. "I think, and think, till my brain is all frazzled out," he tells me; "and yet I can't get a line on it. I know every inch of space on the _Elsinore_, and know there isn't an ounce of grub anywhere for'ard, and yet they eat! I've overhauled the lazarette. As near as I can make it out, nothing is missing. Then where do they get it? That's what I want to know. Where do they get it?" I know that this morning he spent hours in the lazarette with the steward and the cook, overhauling and checking off from the lists of the Baltimore agents. And I know that they came up out of the lazarette, the three of them, dripping with perspiration and baffled. The steward has raised the hypothesis that, first of all, there were extra stores left over from the previous voyage, or from previous voyages, and, next, that the stealing of these stores must have taken place during the night-watches when it was Mr. Pike's turn below. At any rate, the mate takes the food mystery almost as much to heart as he takes the persistent and propinquitous existence of Sidney Waltham. I am coming to realize the meaning of watch-and-watch. To begin with, I spend on deck twelve hours, and a fraction more, of each twenty-four. A fair portion of the remaining twelve is spent in eating, in dressing, and in undressing, and with Margaret. As a result, I feel the need for more sleep than I am getting. I scarcely read at all, now. The moment my head touches the pillow I am asleep. Oh, I sleep like a baby, eat like a navvy, and in years have not enjoyed such physical well-being. I tried to read George Moore last night, and was dreadfully bored. He may be a realist, but I solemnly aver he does not know reality on that tight, little, sheltered-life archipelago of his. If he could wind-jam around the Horn just one voyage he would be twice the writer. And Mr. Pike, for practically all of his sixty-nine years, has stood his watch-and-watch, with many a spill-over of watches into watches. And yet he is iron. In a struggle with him I am confident that he would break me like so much straw. He is truly a prodigy of a man, and, so far as to- day is concerned, an anachronism. The Faun is not dead, despite my unlucky bullet. Henry insisted that he caught a glimpse of him yesterday. To-day I saw him myself. He came to the corner of the 'midship-house and gazed wistfully aft at the poop, straining and eager to understand. In the same way I have often seen Possum gaze at me. It has just struck me that of our eight followers five are Asiatic and only three are our own breed. Somehow it reminds me of India and of Clive and Hastings. And the fine weather continues, and we wonder how long a time must elapse ere our mutineers eat up their mysterious food and are starved back to work. We are almost due west of Valparaiso and quite a bit less than a thousand miles off the west coast of South America. The light northerly breezes, varying from north-east to west, would, according to Mr. Pike, work us in nicely for Valparaiso if only we had sail on the _Elsinore_. As it is, sailless, she drifts around and about and makes nowhere save for the slight northerly drift each day. * * * * * Mr. Pike is beside himself. In the past two days he has displayed increasing possession of himself by the one idea of vengeance on the second mate. It is not the mutiny, irksome as it is and helpless as it makes him; it is the presence of the murderer of his old-time and admired skipper, Captain Somers. The mate grins at the mutiny, calls it a snap, speaks gleefully of how his wages are running up, and regrets that he is not ashore, where he would be able to take a hand in gambling on the reinsurance. But the sight of Sidney Waltham, calmly gazing at sea and sky from the forecastle- head, or astride the far end of the bowsprit and fishing for sharks, saddens him. Yesterday, coming to relieve me, he borrowed my rifle and turned loose the stream of tiny pellets on the second mate, who coolly made his line secure ere he scrambled in-board. Of course, it was only one chance in a hundred that Mr. Pike might have hit him, but Sidney Waltham did not care to encourage the chance. And yet it is not like mutiny--not like the conventional mutiny I absorbed as a boy, and which has become classic in the literature of the sea. There is no hand-to-hand fighting, no crash of cannon and flash of cutlass, no sailors drinking grog, no lighted matches held over open powder-magazines. Heavens!--there isn't a single cutlass nor a powder- magazine on board. And as for grog, not a man has had a drink since Baltimore. * * * * * Well, it is mutiny after all. I shall never doubt it again. It may be nineteen-thirteen mutiny on a coal-carrier, with feeblings and imbeciles and criminals for mutineers; but at any rate mutiny it is, and at least in the number of deaths it is reminiscent of the old days. For things have happened since last I had opportunity to write up this log. For that matter, I am now the keeper of the _Elsinore's_ official log as well, in which work Margaret helps me. And I might have known it would happen. At four yesterday morning I relieved Mr. Pike. When in the darkness I came up to him at the break of the poop, I had to speak to him twice to make him aware of my presence. And then he merely grunted acknowledgment in an absent sort of way. The next moment he brightened up, and was himself save that he was too bright. He was making an effort. I felt this, but was quite unprepared for what followed. "I'll be back in a minute," he said, as he put his leg over the rail and lightly and swiftly lowered himself down into the darkness. There was nothing I could do. To cry out or to attempt to reason with him would only have drawn the mutineers' attention. I heard his feet strike the deck beneath as he let go. Immediately he started for'ard. Little enough precaution he took. I swear that clear to the 'midship- house I heard the dragging age-lag of his feet. Then that ceased, and that was all. I repeat. That was all. Never a sound came from for'ard. I held my watch till daylight. I held it till Margaret came on deck with her cheery "What ho of the night, brave mariner?" I held the next watch (which should have been the mate's) till midday, eating both breakfast and lunch behind the sheltering jiggermast. And I held all afternoon, and through both dog-watches, my dinner served likewise on the deck. And that was all. Nothing happened. The galley-stove smoked three times, advertising the cooking of three meals. Shorty made faces at me as usual across the rim of the for'ard-house. The Maltese Cockney caught an albatross. There was some excitement when Tony the Greek hooked a shark off the jib-boom, so big that half a dozen tailed on to the line and failed to land it. But I caught no glimpse of Mr. Pike nor of the renegade Sidney Waltham. In short, it was a lazy, quiet day of sunshine and gentle breeze. There was no inkling to what had happened to the mate. Was he a prisoner? Was he already overside? Why were there no shots? He had his big automatic. It is inconceivable that he did not use it at least once. Margaret and I discussed the affair till we were well a-weary, but reached no conclusion. She is a true daughter of the race. At the end of the second dog-watch, armed with her father's revolver, she insisted on standing the first watch of the night. I compromised with the inevitable by having Wada make up my bed on the deck in the shelter of the cabin skylight just for'ard of the jiggermast. Henry, the two sail-makers and the steward, variously equipped with knives and clubs, were stationed along the break of the poop. And right here I wish to pass my first criticism on modern mutiny. On ships like the _Elsinore_ there are not enough weapons to go around. The only firearms now aft are Captain West's .38 Colt revolver, and my .22 automatic Winchester. The old steward, with a penchant for hacking and chopping, has his long knife and a butcher's cleaver. Henry, in addition to his sheath-knife, has a short bar of iron. Louis, despite a most sanguinary array of butcher-knives and a big poker, pins his cook's faith on hot water and sees to it that two kettles are always piping on top the cabin stove. Buckwheat, who on account of his wound is getting all night in for a couple of nights, cherishes a hatchet. The rest of our retainers have knives and clubs, although Yatsuda, the first sail-maker, carries a hand-axe, and Uchino, the second sail-maker, sleeping or waking, never parts from a claw-hammer. Tom Spink has a harpoon. Wada, however, is the genius. By means of the cabin stove he has made a sharp pike-point of iron and fitted it to a pole. To-morrow be intends to make more for the other men. It is rather shuddery, however, to speculate on the terrible assortment of cutting, gouging, jabbing and slashing weapons with which the mutineers are able to equip themselves from the carpenter's shop. If it ever comes to an assault on the poop there will be a weird mess of wounds for the survivors to dress. For that matter, master as I am of my little rifle, no man could gain the poop in the day-time. Of course, if rush they will, they will rush us in the night, when my rifle will be worthless. Then it will be blow for blow, hand-to-hand, and the strongest pates and arms will win. But no. I have just bethought me. We shall be ready for any night-rush. I'll take a leaf out of modern warfare, and show them not only that we are top-dog (a favourite phrase of the mate), but _why_ we are top-dog. It is simple--night illumination. As I write I work opt the idea--gasoline, balls of oakum, caps and gunpowder from a few cartridges, Roman candles, and flares blue, red, and green, shallow metal receptacles to carry the explosive and inflammable stuff; and a trigger-like arrangement by which, pulling on a string, the caps are exploded in the gunpowder and fire set to the gasoline-soaked oakum and to the flares and candles. It will be brain as well as brawn against mere brawn. * * * * * I have worked like a Trojan all day, and the idea is realized. Margaret helped me out with suggestions, and Tom Spink did the sailorizing. Over our head, from the jiggermast, the steel stays that carry the three jigger-trysails descend high above the break of the poop and across the main deck to the mizzenmast. A light line has been thrown over each stay, and been thrown repeatedly around so as to form an unslipping knot. Tom Spink waited till dark, when he went aloft and attached loose rings of stiff wire around the stays below the knots. Also he bent on hoisting- gear and connected permanent fastenings with the sliding rings. And further, between rings and fastenings, is a slack of fifty feet of light line. This is the idea: after dark each night we shall hoist our three metal wash-basins, loaded with inflammables, up to the stays. The arrangement is such that at the first alarm of a rush, by pulling a cord the trigger is pulled that ignites the powder, and the very same pull operates a trip- device that lets the rings slide down the steel stays. Of course, suspended from the rings, are the illuminators, and when they have run down the stays fifty feet the lines will automatically bring them to rest. Then all the main deck between the poop and the mizzen-mast will be flooded with light, while we shall be in comparative darkness. Of course each morning before daylight we shall lower all this apparatus to the deck, so that the men for'ard will not guess what we have up our sleeve, or, rather, what we have up on the trysail-stays. Even to-day the little of our gear that has to be left standing aroused their curiosity. Head after head showed over the edge of the for'ard-house as they peeped and peered and tried to make out what we were up to. Why, I find myself almost looking forward to an attack in order to see the device work. CHAPTER XLV And what has happened to Mr. Pike remains a mystery. For that matter, what has happened to the second mate? In the past three days we have by our eyes taken the census of the mutineers. Every man has been seen by us with the sole exception of Mr. Mellaire, or Sidney Waltham, as I assume I must correctly name him. He has not appeared--does not appear; and we can only speculate and conjecture. In the past three days various interesting things have taken place. Margaret stands watch and watch with me, day and night, the clock around; for there is no one of our retainers to whom we can entrust the responsibility of a watch. Though mutiny obtains and we are besieged in the high place, the weather is so mild and there is so little call on our men that they have grown careless and sleep aft of the chart-house when it is their watch on deck. Nothing ever happens, and, like true sailors, they wax fat and lazy. Even have I found Louis, the steward, and Wada guilty of cat-napping. In fact, the training-ship boy, Henry, is the only one who has never lapsed. Oh, yes, and I gave Tom Spink a thrashing yesterday. Since the disappearance of the mate he had had little faith in me, and had been showing vague signs of insolence and insubordination. Both Margaret and I had noted it independently. Day before yesterday we talked it over. "He is a good sailor, but weak," she said. "If we let him go on, he will infect the rest." "Very well, I'll take him in hand," I announced valorously. "You will have to," she encouraged. "Be hard. Be hard. You must be hard." Those who sit in the high places must be hard, yet have I discovered that it is hard to be hard. For instance, easy enough was it to drop Steve Roberts as he was in the act of shooting at me. Yet it is most difficult to be hard with a chuckle-headed retainer like Tom Spink--especially when he continually fails by a shade to give sufficient provocation. For twenty-four hours after my talk with Margaret I was on pins and needles to have it out with him, yet rather than have had it out with him I should have preferred to see the poop rushed by the gang from the other side. Not in a day can the tyro learn to employ the snarling immediacy of mastery of Mr. Pike, nor the reposeful, voiceless mastery of a Captain West. Truly, the situation was embarrassing. I was not trained in the handling of men, and Tom Spink knew it in his chuckle-headed way. Also, in his chuckle-headed way, he was dispirited by the loss of the mate. Fearing the mate, nevertheless he had depended on the mate to fetch him through with a whole skin, or at least alive. On me he has no dependence. What chance had the gentleman passenger and the captain's daughter against the gang for'ard? So he must have reasoned, and, so reasoning, become despairing and desperate. After Margaret had told me to be hard I watched Tom Spink with an eagle eye, and he must have sensed my attitude, for he carefully forebore from overstepping, while all the time he palpitated just on the edge of overstepping. Yes, and it was clear that Buckwheat was watching to learn the outcome of this veiled refractoriness. For that matter, the situation was not being missed by our keen-eyed Asiatics, and I know that I caught Louis several times verging on the offence of offering me advice. But he knew his place and managed to keep his tongue between his teeth. At last, yesterday, while I held the watch, Tom Spink was guilty of spitting tobacco juice on the deck. Now it must be understood that such an act is as grave an offence of the sea as blasphemy is of the Church. It was Margaret who came to where I was stationed by the jiggermast and told me what had occurred; and it was she who took my rifle and relieved me so that I could go aft. There was the offensive spot, and there was Tom Spink, his cheek bulging with a quid. "Here, you, get a swab and mop that up," I commanded in my harshest manner. Tom Spink merely rolled his quid with his tongue and regarded me with sneering thoughtfulness. I am sure he was no more surprised than was I by the immediateness of what followed. My fist went out like an arrow from a released bow, and Tom Spink staggered back, tripped against the corner of the tarpaulin-covered sounding-machine, and sprawled on the deck. He tried to make a fight of it, but I followed him up, giving him no chance to set himself or recover from the surprise of my first onslaught. Now it so happens that not since I was a boy have I struck a person with my naked fist, and I candidly admit that I enjoyed the trouncing I administered to poor Tom Spink. Yes, and in the rapid play about the deck I caught a glimpse of Margaret. She had stepped out of the shelter of the mast and was looking on from the corner of the chart-house. Yes, and more; she was looking on with a cool, measuring eye. Oh, it was all very grotesque, to be sure. But then, mutiny on the high seas in the year nineteen-thirteen is also grotesque. No lists here between mailed knights for a lady's favour, but merely the trouncing of a chuckle-head for spitting on the deck of a coal-carrier. Nevertheless, the fact that my lady looked on added zest to my enterprise, and, doubtlessly, speed and weight to my blows, and at least half a dozen additional clouts to the unlucky sailor. Yes, man is strangely and wonderfully made. Now that I coolly consider the matter, I realize that it was essentially the same spirit with which I enjoyed beating up Tom Spink, that I have in the past enjoyed contests of the mind in which I have out-epigrammed clever opponents. In the one case, one proves himself top-dog of the mind; in the other, top-dog of the muscle. Whistler and Wilde were just as much intellectual bullies as I was a physical bully yesterday morning when I punched Tom Spink into lying down and staying down. And my knuckles are sore and swollen. I cease writing for a moment to look at them and to hope that they will not stay permanently enlarged. At any rate, Tom Spink took his disciplining and promised to come in and be good. "Sir!" I thundered at him, quite in Mr. Pike's most bloodthirsty manner. "Sir," he mumbled with bleeding lips. "Yes, sir, I'll mop it up, sir. Yes, sir." I could scarcely keep from laughing in his face, the whole thing was so ludicrous; but I managed to look my haughtiest, and sternest, and fiercest, while I superintended the deck-cleansing. The funniest thing about the affair was that I must have knocked Tom Spink's quid down his throat, for he was gagging and hiccoughing all the time he mopped and scrubbed. The atmosphere aft has been wonderfully clear ever since. Tom Spink obeys all orders on the jump, and Buckwheat jumps with equal celerity. As for the five Asiatics, I feel that they are stouter behind me now that I have shown masterfulness. By punching a man's face I verily believe I have doubled our united strength. And there is no need to punch any of the rest. The Asiatics are keen and willing. Henry is a true cadet of the breed, Buckwheat will follow Tom Spink's lead, and Tom Spink, a proper Anglo-Saxon peasant, will lead Buckwheat all the better by virtue of the punching. * * * * * Two days have passed, and two noteworthy things have happened. The men seem to be nearing the end of their mysterious food supply, and we have had our first truce. I have noted, through the glasses, that no more carcasses of the mollyhawks they are now catching are thrown overboard. This means that they have begun to eat the tough and unsavoury creatures, although it does not mean, of course, that they have entirely exhausted their other stores. It was Margaret, her sailor's eye on the falling barometer and on the "making" stuff adrift in the sky, who called my attention to a coming blow. "As soon as the sea rises," she said, "we'll have that loose main-yard and all the rest of the top-hamper tumbling down on deck." So it was that I raised the white flag for a parley. Bert Rhine and Charles Davis came abaft the 'midship-house, and, while we talked, many faces peered over the for'ard edge of the house and many forms slouched into view on the deck on each side of the house. "Well, getting tired?" was Bert Rhine's insolent greeting. "Anything we can do for you?" "Yes, there is," I answered sharply. "You can save your heads so that when you return to work there will be enough of you left to do the work." "If you are making threats--" Charles Davis began, but was silenced by a glare from the gangster. "Well, what is it?" Bert Rhine demanded. "Cough it off your chest." "It's for your own good," was my reply. "It is coming on to blow, and all that unfurled canvas aloft will bring the yards down on your heads. We're safe here, aft. You are the ones who will run risks, and it is up to you to hustle your crowd aloft and make things fast and ship-shape." "And if we don't?" the gangster sneered. "Why, you'll take your chances, that is all," I answered carelessly. "I just want to call your attention to the fact that one of those steel yards, end-on, will go through the roof of your forecastle as if it were so much eggshell." Bert Rhine looked to Charles Davis for verification, and the latter nodded. "We'll talk it over first," the gangster announced. "And I'll give you ten minutes," I returned. "If at the end of ten minutes you've not started taking in, it will be too late. I shall put a bullet into any man who shows himself." "All right, we'll talk it over." As they started to go back, I called: "One moment." They stopped and turned about. "What have you done to Mr. Pike?" I asked. Even the impassive Bert Rhine could not quite conceal his surprise. "An' what have you done with Mr. Mellaire!" he retorted. "You tell us, an' we'll tell you." I am confident of the genuineness of his surprise. Evidently the mutineers have been believing us guilty of the disappearance of the second mate, just as we have been believing them guilty of the disappearance of the first mate. The more I dwell upon it the more it seems the proposition of the Kilkenny cats, a case of mutual destruction on the part of the two mates. "Another thing," I said quickly. "Where do you get your food?" Bert Rhine laughed one of his silent laughs; Charles Davis assumed an expression of mysteriousness and superiority; and Shorty, leaping into view from the corner of the house, danced a jig of triumph. I drew out my watch. "Remember," I said, "you've ten minutes in which to make a start." They turned and went for'ard, and, before the ten minutes were up, all hands were aloft and stowing canvas. All this time the wind, out of the north-west, was breezing up. The old familiar harp-chords of a rising gale were strumming along the rigging, and the men, I verily believe from lack of practice, were particularly slow at their work. "It would be better if the upper-and-lower top-sails are set so that we can heave to," Margaret suggested. "They will steady her and make it more comfortable for us." I seized the idea and improved upon it. "Better set the upper and lower topsails so that we can handle the ship," I called to the gangster, who was ordering the men about, quite like a mate, from the top of the 'midship-house. He considered the idea, and then gave the proper orders, although it was the Maltese Cockney, with Nancy and Sundry Buyers under him, who carried the orders out. I ordered Tom Spink to the long-idle wheel, and gave him the course, which was due east by the steering compass. This put the wind on our port quarter, so that the _Elsinore_ began to move through the water before a fair breeze. And due east, less than a thousand miles away, lay the coast of South America and the port of Valparaiso. Strange to say, none of our mutineers objected to this, and after dark, as we tore along before a full-sized gale, I sent my own men up on top the chart-house to take the gaskets off the spanker. This was the only sail we could set and trim and in every way control. It is true the mizzen-braces were still rigged aft to the poop, according to Horn practice. But, while we could thus trim the mizzen-yards, the sails themselves, in setting or furling, were in the hands of the for'ard crowd. Margaret, beside me in the darkness at the break of the poop, put her hand in mine with a warm pressure, as both our tiny watches swayed up the spanker and as both of us held our breaths in an effort to feel the added draw in the _Elsinore's_ speed. "I never wanted to marry a sailor," she said. "And I thought I was safe in the hands of a landsman like you. And yet here you are, with all the stuff of the sea in you, running down your easting for port. Next thing, I suppose, I'll see you out with a sextant, shooting the sun or making star-observations." CHAPTER XLVI Four more days have passed; the gale has blown itself out; we are not more than three hundred and fifty miles off Valparaiso; and the _Elsinore_, this time due to me and my own stubbornness, is rolling in the wind and heading nowhere in a light breeze at the rate of nothing but driftage per hour. In the height of the gusts, in the three days and nights of the gale, we logged as much as eight, and even nine, knots. What bothered me was the acquiescence of the mutineers in my programme. They were sensible enough in the simple matter of geography to know what I was doing. They had control of the sails, and yet they permitted me to run for the South American coast. More than that, as the gale eased on the morning of the third day, they actually went aloft, set top-gallant-sails, royals, and skysails, and trimmed the yards to the quartering breeze. This was too much for the Saxon streak in me, whereupon I wore the _Elsinore_ about before the wind, fetched her up upon it, and lashed the wheel. Margaret and I are agreed in the hypothesis that their plan is to get inshore until land is sighted, at which time they will desert in the boats. "But we don't want them to desert," she proclaims with flashing eyes. "We are bound for Seattle. They must return to duty. They've got to, soon, for they are beginning to starve." "There isn't a navigator aft," I oppose. Promptly she withers me with her scorn. "You, a master of books, by all the sea-blood in your body should be able to pick up the theoretics of navigation while I snap my fingers. Furthermore, remember that I can supply the seamanship. Why, any squarehead peasant, in a six months' cramming course at any seaport navigation school, can pass the examiners for his navigator's papers. That means six hours for you. And less. If you can't, after an hour's reading and an hour's practice with the sextant, take a latitude observation and work it out, I'll do it for you." "You mean you know?" She shook her head. "I mean, from the little I know, that I know I can learn to know a meridian sight and the working out of it. I mean that I can learn to know inside of two hours." Strange to say, the gale, after easing to a mild breeze, recrudesced in a sort of after-clap. With sails untrimmed and flapping, the consequent smashing, crashing, and rending of our gear can be imagined. It brought out in alarm every man for'ard. "Trim the yards!" I yelled at Bert Rhine, who, backed for counsel by Charles Davis and the Maltese Cockney, actually came directly beneath me on the main deck in order to hear above the commotion aloft. "Keep a-runnin, an' you won't have to trim," the gangster shouted up to me. "Want to make land, eh?" I girded down at him. "Getting hungry, eh? Well, you won't make land or anything else in a thousand years once you get all your top-hamper piled down on deck." I have forgotten to state that this occurred at midday yesterday. "What are you goin' to do if we trim?" Charles Davis broke in. "Run off shore," I replied, "and get your gang out in deep sea where it will be starved back to duty." "We'll furl, an' let you heave to," the gangster proposed. I shook my head and held up my rifle. "You'll have to go aloft to do it, and the first man that gets into the shrouds will get this." "Then she can go to hell for all we care," he said, with emphatic conclusiveness. And just then the fore-topgallant-yard carried away--luckily as the bow was down-pitched into a trough of sea-and when the slow, confused, and tangled descent was accomplished the big stick lay across the wreck of both bulwarks and of that portion of the bridge between the foremast and the forecastle head. Bert Rhine heard, but could not see, the damage wrought. He looked up at me challengingly, and sneered: "Want some more to come down?" It could not have happened more apropos. The port-brace, and immediately afterwards the starboard-brace, of the crojack-yard--carried away. This was the big, lowest spar on the mizzen, and as the huge thing of steel swung wildly back and forth the gangster and his followers turned and crouched as they looked up to see. Next, the gooseneck of the truss, on which it pivoted, smashed away. Immediately the lifts and lower-topsail sheets parted, and with a fore-and-aft pitch of the ship the spar up-ended and crashed to the deck upon Number Three hatch, destroying that section of the bridge in its fall. All this was new to the gangster--as it was to me--but Charles Davis and the Maltese Cockney thoroughly apprehended the situation. "Stand out from under!" I yelled sardonically; and the three of them cowered and shrank away as their eyes sought aloft for what new spar was thundering down upon them. The lower-topsail, its sheets parted by the fall of the crojack-yard, was tearing out of the bolt-ropes and ribboning away to leeward and making such an uproar that they might well expect its yard to carry away. Since this wreckage of our beautiful gear was all new to me, I was quite prepared to see the thing happen. The gangster-leader, no sailor, but, after months at sea, intelligent enough and nervously strong enough to appreciate the danger, turned his head and looked up at me. And I will do him the credit to say that he took his time while all our world of gear aloft seemed smashing to destruction. "I guess we'll trim yards," he capitulated. "Better get the skysails and royals off," Margaret said in my ear. "While you're about it, get in the skysails and royals!" I shouted down. "And make a decent job of the gasketing!" Both Charles Davis and the Maltese Cockney advertised their relief in their faces as they heard my words, and, at a nod from the gangster, they started for'ard on the run to put the orders into effect. Never, in the whole voyage, did our crew spring to it in more lively fashion. And lively fashion was needed to save our gear. As it was, they cut away the remnants of the mizzen-lower-topsail with their sheath- knives, and they loosed the main-skysail out of its bolt-ropes. The first infraction of our agreement was on the main-lower-topsail. This they attempted to furl. The carrying away of the crojack and the blowing away of the mizzen-lower-topsail gave me freedom to see and aim, and when the tiny messengers from my rifle began to spat through the canvas and to spat against the steel of the yard, the men strung along it desisted from passing the gaskets. I waved my will to Bert Rhine, who acknowledged me and ordered the sail set again and the yard trimmed. "What is the use of running off-shore?" I said to Margaret, when the kites were snugged down and all yards trimmed on the wind. "Three hundred and fifty miles off the land is as good as thirty-five hundred so far as starvation is concerned." So, instead of making speed through the water toward deep sea, I hove the _Elsinore_ to on the starboard tack with no more than leeway driftage to the west and south. But our gallant mutineers had their will of us that very night. In the darkness we could hear the work aloft going on as yards were run down, sheets let go, and sails dewed up and gasketed. I did try a few random shots, and all my reward was to hear the whine and creak of ropes through sheaves and to receive an equally random fire of revolver-shots. It is a most curious situation. We of the high place are masters of the steering of the _Elsinore_, while those for'ard are masters of the motor power. The only sail that is wholly ours is the spanker. They control absolutely--sheets, halyards, clewlines, buntlines, braces, and down-hauls--every sail on the fore and main. We control the braces on the mizzen, although they control the canvas on the mizzen. For that matter, Margaret and I fail to comprehend why they do not go aloft any dark night and sever the mizzen-braces at the yard-ends. All that prevents this, we are decided, is laziness. For if they did sever the braces that lead aft into our hands, they would be compelled to rig new braces for'ard in some fashion, else, in the rolling, would the mizzenmast be stripped of every spar. And still the mutiny we are enduring is ridiculous and grotesque. There was never a mutiny like it. It violates all standards and precedents. In the old classic mutinies, long ere this, attacking like tigers, the seamen should have swarmed over the poop and killed most of us or been most of them killed. Wherefore I sneer at our gallant mutineers, and recommend trained nurses for them, quite in the manner of Mr. Pike. But Margaret shakes her head and insists that human nature is human nature, and that under similar circumstances human nature will express itself similarly. In short, she points to the number of deaths that have already occurred, and declares that on some dark night, sooner or later, whenever the pinch of hunger sufficiently sharpens, we shall see our rascals storming aft. And in the meantime, except for the tenseness of it, and for the incessant watchfulness which Margaret and I alone maintain, it is more like a mild adventure, more like a page out of some book of romance which ends happily. It is surely romance, watch and watch for a man and a woman who love, to relieve each other's watches. Each such relief is a love passage and unforgettable. Never was there wooing like it--the muttered surmises of wind and weather, the whispered councils, the kissed commands in palms of hands, the dared contacts of the dark. Oh, truly, I have often, since this voyage began, told the books to go hang. And yet the books are at the back of the race-life of me. I am what I am out of ten thousand generations of my kind. Of that there is no discussion. And yet my midnight philosophy stands the test of my breed. I must have selected my books out of the ten thousand generations that compose me. I have killed a man--Steve Roberts. As a perishing blond without an alphabet I should have done this unwaveringly. As a perishing blond with an alphabet, plus the contents in my brain of the philosophizing of all philosophers, I have killed this same man with the same unwaveringness. Culture has not emasculated me. I am quite unaffected. It was in the day's work, and my kind have always been day- workers, doing the day's work, whatever it might be, in high adventure or dull ploddingness, and always doing it. Never would I ask to set back the dial of time or event. I would kill Steve Roberts again, under the same circumstances, as a matter of course. When I say I am unaffected by this happening I do not quite mean it. I am affected. I am aware that the spirit of me is informed with a sober elation of efficiency. I have done something that had to be done, as any man will do what has to be done in the course of the day's work. Yes, I am a perishing blond, and a man, and I sit in the high place and bend the stupid ones to my will; and I am a lover, loving a royal woman of my own perishing breed, and together we occupy, and shall occupy, the high place of government and command until our kind perish from the earth. CHAPTER XLVII Margaret was right. The mutiny is not violating standards and precedents. We have had our hands full for days and nights. Ditman Olansen, the crank-eyed Berserker, has been killed by Wada, and the training-ship boy, the one lone cadet of our breed, has gone overside with the regulation sack of coal at his feet. The poop has been rushed. My illuminating invention has proved a success. The men are getting hungry, and we still sit in command in the high place. First of all the attack on the poop, two nights ago, in Margaret's watch. No; first, I have made another invention. Assisted by the old steward, who knows, as a Chinese ought, a deal about fireworks, and getting my materials from our signal rockets and Roman candles, I manufactured half a dozen bombs. I don't really think they are very deadly, and I know our extemporized fuses are slower than our voyage is at the present time; but nevertheless the bombs have served the purpose, as you shall see. And now to the attempt to rush the poop. It was in Margaret's watch, from midnight till four in the morning, when the attack was made. Sleeping on the deck by the cabin skylight, I was very close to her when her revolver went off, and continued to go off. My first spring was to the tripping-lines on my illuminators. The igniting and releasing devices worked cleverly. I pulled two of the tripping-lines, and two of the contraptions exploded into light and noise and at the same time ran automatically down the jigger-trysail-stays, and automatically fetched up at the ends of their lines. The illumination was instantaneous and gorgeous. Henry, the two sail-makers, and the steward--at least three of them awakened from sound sleep, I am sure--ran to join us along the break of the poop. All the advantage lay with us, for we were in the dark, while our foes were outlined against the light behind them. But such light! The powder crackled, fizzed, and spluttered and spilled out the excess of gasolene from the flaming oakum balls so that streams of fire dripped down on the main deck beneath. And the stuff of the signal-flares dripped red light and blue and green. There was not much of a fight, for the mutineers were shocked by our fireworks. Margaret fired her revolver haphazardly, while I held my rifle for any that gained the poop. But the attack faded away as quickly as it had come. I did see Margaret overshoot some man, scaling the poop from the port-rail, and the next moment I saw Wada, charging like a buffalo, jab him in the chest with the spear he had made and thrust the boarder back and down. That was all. The rest retreated for'ard on the dead run, while the three trysails, furled at the foot of the stays next to the mizzen and set on fire by the dripping gasolene, went up in flame and burned entirely away and out without setting the rest of the ship on fire. That is one of the virtues of a ship steel-masted and steel-stayed. And on the deck beneath us, crumpled, twisted, face hidden so that we could not identify him, lay the man whom Wada had speared. And now I come to a phase of adventure that is new to me. I have never found it in the books. In short, it is carelessness coupled with laziness, or vice versa. I had used two of my illuminators. Only one remained. An hour later, convinced of the movement aft of men along the deck, I let go the third and last and with its brightness sent them scurrying for'ard. Whether they were attacking the poop tentatively to learn whether or not I had exhausted my illuminators, or whether or not they were trying to rescue Ditman Olansen, we shall never know. The point is: they did come aft; they were compelled to retreat by my illuminator; and it was my last illuminator. And yet I did not start in, there and then, to manufacture fresh ones. This was carelessness. It was laziness. And I hazarded our lives, perhaps, if you please, on a psychological guess that I had convinced our mutineers that we had an inexhaustible stock of illuminators in reserve. The rest of Margaret's watch, which I shared with her, was undisturbed. At four I insisted that she go below and turn in, but she compromised by taking my own bed behind the skylight. At break of day I was able to make out the body, still lying as last I had seen it. At seven o'clock, before breakfast, and while Margaret still slept, I sent the two boys, Henry and Buckwheat, down to the body. I stood above them, at the rail, rifle in hand and ready. But from for'ard came no signs of life; and the lads, between them, rolled the crank-eyed Norwegian over so that we could recognize him, carried him to the rail, and shoved him stiffly across and into the sea. Wada's spear- thrust had gone clear through him. But before twenty-four hours were up the mutineers evened the score handsomely. They more than evened it, for we are so few that we cannot so well afford the loss of one as they can. To begin with--and a thing I had anticipated and for which I had prepared my bombs--while Margaret and I ate a deck-breakfast in the shelter of the jiggermast a number of the men sneaked aft and got under the overhang of the poop. Buckwheat saw them coming and yelled the alarm, but it was too late. There was no direct way to get them out. The moment I put my head over the rail to fire at them, I knew they would fire up at me with all the advantage in their favour. They were hidden. I had to expose myself. Two steel doors, tight-fastened and caulked against the Cape Horn seas, opened under the overhang of the poop from the cabin on to the main deck. These doors the men proceeded to attack with sledge-hammers, while the rest of the gang, sheltered by the 'midship-house, showed that it stood ready for the rush when the doors were battered down. Inside, the steward guarded one door with his hacking knife, while with his spear Wada guarded the other door. Nor, while I had dispatched them to this duty, was I idle. Behind the jiggermast I lighted the fuse of one of my extemporized bombs. When it was sputtering nicely I ran across the poop to the break and dropped the bomb to the main deck beneath, at the same time making an effort to toss it in under the overhang where the men battered at the port-door. But this effort was distracted and made futile by a popping of several revolver shots from the gangways amidships. One _is_ jumpy when soft-nosed bullets putt-putt around him. As a result, the bomb rolled about on the open deck. Nevertheless, the illuminators had earned the respect of the mutineers for my fireworks. The sputtering and fizzling of the fuse were too much for them, and from under the poop they ran for'ard like so many scuttling rabbits. I know I could have got a couple with my rifle had I not been occupied with lighting the fuse of a second bomb. Margaret managed three wild shots with her revolver, and the poop was immediately peppered by a scattering revolver fire from for'ard. Being provident (and lazy, for I have learned that it takes time and labour to manufacture home-made bombs), I pinched off the live end of the fuse in my hand. But the fuse of the first bomb, rolling about on the main deck, merely fizzled on; and as I waited I resolved to shorten my remaining fuses. Any of the men who fled, had he had the courage, could have pinched off the fuse, or tossed the bomb overboard, or, better yet, he could have tossed it up amongst us on the poop. It took fully five minutes for that blessed fuse to burn its slow length, and when the bomb did go off it was a sad disappointment. I swear it could have been sat upon with nothing more than a jar to one's nerves. And yet, in so far as the intimidation goes, it did its work. The men have not since ventured under the overhang of the poop. That the mutineers were getting short of food was patent. The _Elsinore_, sailless, drifted about that morning, the sport of wind and wave; and the gang put many lines overboard for the catching of mollyhawks and albatrosses. Oh, I worried the hungry fishers with my rifle. No man could show himself for'ard without having a bullet whop against the iron-work perilously near him. And still they caught birds--not, however, without danger to themselves, and not without numerous losses of birds due to my rifle. Their procedure was to toss their hooks and bait over the rail from shelter and slowly to pay the lines out as the slight windage of the _Elsinore's_ hull, spars, and rigging drifted her through the water. When a bird was hooked they hauled in the line, still from shelter, till it was alongside. This was the ticklish moment. The hook, merely a hollow and acute-angled triangle of sheet-copper floating on a piece of board at the end of the line, held the bird by pinching its curved beak into the acute angle. The moment the line slacked the bird was released. So, when alongside, this was the problem: to lift the bird out of the water, straight up the side of the ship, without once jamming and easing and slacking. When they tried to do this from shelter invariably they lost the bird. They worked out a method. When the bird was alongside the several men with revolvers turned loose on me, while one man, overhauling and keeping the line taut, leaped to the rail and quickly hove the bird up and over and inboard. I know this long-distance revolver fire seriously bothered me. One cannot help jumping when death, in the form of a piece of flying lead, hits the rail beside him, or the mast over his head, or whines away in a ricochet from the steel shrouds. Nevertheless, I managed with my rifle to bother the exposed men on the rail to the extent that they lost one hooked bird out of two. And twenty-six men require a quantity of albatrosses and mollyhawks every twenty-four hours, while they can fish only in the daylight. As the day wore along I improved on my obstructive tactics. When the _Elsinore_ was up in the eye of the wind, and making sternway, I found that by putting the wheel sharply over, one way or the other, I could swing her bow off. Then, when she had paid off till the wind was abeam, by reversing the wheel hard across to the opposite hard-over I could take advantage of her momentum away from the wind and work her off squarely before it. This made all the wood-floated triangles of bird-snares tow aft along her sides. The first time I was ready for them. With hooks and sinkers on our own lines aft, we tossed out, grappled, captured, and broke off nine of their lines. But the next time, so slow is the movement of so large a ship, the mutineers hauled all their lines safely inboard ere they towed aft within striking distance of my grapnels. Still I improved. As long as I kept the _Elsinore_ before the wind they could not fish. I experimented. Once before it, by means of a winged- out spanker coupled with patient and careful steering, I could keep her before it. This I did, hour by hour one of my men relieving another at the wheel. As a result all fishing ceased. Margaret was holding the first dog-watch, four to six. Henry was at the wheel steering. Wada and Louis were below cooking the evening meal over the big coal-stove and the oil-burners. I had just come up from below and was standing beside the sounding-machine, not half a dozen feet from Henry at the wheel. Some obscure sound from the ventilator must have attracted me, for I was gazing at it when the thing happened. But first, the ventilator. This is a steel shaft that leads up from the coal-carrying bowels of the ship beneath the lazarette and that wins to the outside-world via the after-wall of the chart-house. In fact, it occupies the hollow inside of the double walls of the afterwall of the chart-house. Its opening, at the height of a man's head, is screened with iron bars so closely set that no mature-bodied rat can squeeze between. Also, this opening commands the wheel, which is a scant fifteen feet away and directly across the booby-hatch. Some mutineer, crawling along the space between the coal and the deck of the lower hold, had climbed the ventilator shaft and was able to take aim through the slits between the bars. Practically simultaneously, I saw the out-rush of smoke and heard the report. I heard a grunt from Henry, and, turning my head, saw him cling to the spokes and turn the wheel half a revolution as he sank to the deck. It must have been a lucky shot. The boy was perforated through the heart or very near to the heart--we have no time for post-mortems on the _Elsinore_. Tom Spink and the second sail-maker, Uchino, sprang to Henry's side. The revolver continued to go off through the ventilator slits, and the bullets thudded into the front of the half wheel-house all about them. Fortunately they were not hit, and they immediately scrambled out of range. The boy quivered for the space of a few seconds, and ceased to move; and one more cadet of the perishing breed perished as he did his day's work at the wheel of the _Elsinore_ off the west coast of South America, bound from Baltimore to Seattle with a cargo of coal. CHAPTER XLVIII The situation is hopelessly grotesque. We in the high place command the food of the _Elsinore_, but the mutineers have captured her steering-gear. That is to say, they have captured it without coming into possession of it. They cannot steer, neither can we. The poop, which is the high place, is ours. The wheel is on the poop, yet we cannot touch the wheel. From that slitted opening in the ventilator-shaft they are able to shoot down any man who approaches the wheel. And with that steel wall of the chart-house as a shield they laugh at us as from a conning tower. I have a plan, but it is not worth while putting into execution unless its need becomes imperative. In the darkness of night it would be an easy trick to disconnect the steering-gear from the short tiller on the rudder-head, and then, by re-rigging the preventer tackles, steer from both sides of the poop well enough for'ard to be out of the range of the ventilator. In the meantime, in this fine weather, the _Elsinore_ drifts as she lists, or as the windage of her lists and the sea-movement of waves lists. And she can well drift. Let the mutineers starve. They can best be brought to their senses through their stomachs. * * * * * And what are wits for, if not for use? I am breaking the men's hungry hearts. It is great fun in its way. The mollyhawks and albatrosses, after their fashion, have followed the _Elsinore_ up out of their own latitudes. This means that there are only so many of them and that their numbers are not recruited. Syllogism: major premise, a definite and limited amount of bird-meat; minor premise, the only food the mutineers now have is bird-meat; conclusion, destroy the available food and the mutineers will be compelled to come back to duty. I have acted on this bit of logic. I began experimentally by tossing small chunks of fat pork and crusts of stale bread overside. When the birds descended for the feast I shot them. Every carcass thus left floating on the surface of the sea was so much less meat for the mutineers. But I bettered the method. Yesterday I overhauled the medicine-chest, and I dosed my chunks of fat pork and bread with the contents of every bottle that bore a label of skull and cross-bones. I even added rough-on- rats to the deadliness of the mixture--this on the suggestion of the steward. And to-day, behold, there is no bird left in the sky. True, while I played my game yesterday, the mutineers hooked a few of the birds; but now the rest are gone, and that is bound to be the last food for the men for'ard until they resume duty. Yes; it is grotesque. It is a boy's game. It reads like Midshipman Easy, like Frank Mildmay, like Frank Reade, Jr.; and yet, i' faith, life and death's in the issue. I have just gone over the toll of our dead since the voyage began. First, was Christian Jespersen, killed by O'Sullivan when that maniac aspired to throw overboard Andy Fay's sea-boots; then O'Sullivan, because he interfered with Charles Davis' sleep, brained by that worthy with a steel marlin-spike; next Petro Marinkovich, just ere we began the passage of the Horn, murdered undoubtedly by the gangster clique, his life cut out of him with knives, his carcass left lying on deck to be found by us and be buried by us; and the Samurai, Captain West, a sudden though not a violent death, albeit occurring in the midst of all elemental violence as Mr. Pike clawed the _Elsinore_ off the lee-shore of the Horn; and Boney the Splinter, following, washed overboard to drown as we cleared the sea- gashing rock-tooth where the southern tip of the continent bit into the storm-wrath of the Antarctic; and the big-footed, clumsy youth of a Finnish carpenter, hove overside as a Jonah by his fellows who believed that Finns control the winds; and Mike Cipriani and Bill Quigley, Rome and Ireland, shot down on the poop and flung overboard alive by Mr. Pike, still alive and clinging to the log-line, cut adrift by the steward to be eaten alive by great-beaked albatrosses, mollyhawks, and sooty-plumaged Cape hens; Steve Roberts, one-time cowboy, shot by me as he tried to shoot me; Herman Lunkenheimer, his throat cut before all of us by the hound Bombini as Kid Twist stretched the throat taut from behind; the two mates, Mr. Pike and Mr. Mellaire, mutually destroying each other in what must have been an unwitnessed epic combat; Ditman Olansen, speared by Wada as he charged Berserk at the head of the mutineers in the attempt to rush the poop; and last, Henry, the cadet of the perishing house, shot at the wheel, from the ventilator-shaft, in the course of his day's work. No; as I contemplate this roll-call of the dead which I have just made I see that we are not playing a boy's game. Why, we have lost a third of us, and the bloodiest battles of history have rarely achieved such a percentage of mortality. Fourteen of us have gone overside, and who can tell the end? Nevertheless, here we are, masters of matter, adventurers in the micro- organic, planet-weighers, sun-analysers, star-rovers, god-dreamers, equipped with the human wisdom of all the ages, and yet, quoting Mr. Pike, to come down to brass tacks, we are a lot of primitive beasts, fighting bestially, slaying bestially, pursuing bestially food and water, air for our lungs, a dry space above the deep, and carcasses skin-covered and intact. And over this menagerie of beasts Margaret and I, with our Asiatics under us, rule top-dog. We are all dogs--there is no getting away from it. And we, the fair-pigmented ones, by the seed of our ancestry rulers in the high place, shall remain top-dog over the rest of the dogs. Oh, there is material in plenty for the cogitation of any philosopher on a windjammer in mutiny in this Year of our Lord 1913. * * * * * Henry was the fourteenth of us to go overside into the dark and salty disintegration of the sea. And in one day he has been well avenged; for two of the mutineers have followed him. The steward called my attention to what was taking place. He touched my arm half beyond his servant's self, as he gloated for'ard at the men heaving two corpses overside. Weighted with coal, they sank immediately, so that we could not identify them. "They have been fighting," I said. "It is good that they should fight among themselves." But the old Chinese merely grinned and shook his head. "You don't think they have been fighting?" I queried. "No fight. They eat'm mollyhawk and albatross; mollyhawk and albatross eat'm fat pork; two men he die, plenty men much sick, you bet, damn to hell me very much glad. I savve." And I think he was right. While I was busy baiting the sea-birds the mutineers were catching them, and of a surety they must have caught some that had eaten of my various poisons. The two poisoned ones went over the side yesterday. Since then we have taken the census. Two men only have not appeared, and they are Bob, the fat and overgrown feebling youth, and, of all creatures, the Faun. It seems my fate that I had to destroy the Faun--the poor, tortured Faun, always willing and eager, ever desirous to please. There is a madness of ill luck in all this. Why couldn't the two dead men have been Charles Davis and Tony the Greek? Or Bert Rhine and Kid Twist? or Bombini and Andy Fay? Yes, and in my heart I know I should have felt better had it been Isaac Chantz and Arthur Deacon, or Nancy and Sundry Buyers, or Shorty and Larry. * * * * * The steward has just tendered me a respectful bit of advice. "Next time we chuck'm overboard like Henry, much better we use old iron." "Getting short of coal?" I asked. He nodded affirmation. We use a great deal of coal in our cooking, and when the present supply gives out we shall have to cut through a bulkhead to get at the cargo. CHAPTER XLIX The situation grows tense. There are no more sea-birds, and the mutineers are starving. Yesterday I talked with Bert Rhine. To-day I talked with him again, and he will never forget, I am certain, the little talk we had this morning. To begin with, last evening, at five o'clock, I heard his voice issuing from between the slits of the ventilator in the after-wall of the chart- house. Standing at the corner of the house, quite out of range, I answered him. "Getting hungry?" I jeered. "Let me tell you what we are going to have for dinner. I have just been down and seen the preparations. Now, listen: first, caviare on toast; then, clam bouillon; and creamed lobster; and tinned lamb chops with French peas--you know, the peas that melt in one's mouth; and California asparagus with mayonnaise; and--oh, I forgot to mention fried potatoes and cold pork and beans; and peach pie; and coffee, real coffee. Doesn't it make you hungry for your East Side? And, say, think of the free lunch going to waste right now in a thousand saloons in good old New York." I had told him the truth. The dinner I described (principally coming out of tins and bottles, to be sure) was the dinner we were to eat. "Cut that," he snarled. "I want to talk business with _you_." "Right down to brass tacks," I gibed. "Very well, when are you and the rest of your rats going to turn to?" "Cut that," he reiterated. "I've got you where 1 want you now. Take it from me, I'm givin' it straight. I'm not tellin' you how, but I've got you under my thumb. When I come down on you, you'll crack." "Hell is full of cocksure rats like you," I retorted; although I never dreamed how soon he would be writhing in the particular hell preparing for him. "Forget it," he sneered back. "I've got you where I want you. I'm just tellin' you, that's all." "Pardon me," I replied, "when I tell you that I'm from Missouri. You'll have to show _me_." And as I thus talked the thought went through my mind of how I naturally sought out the phrases of his own vocabulary in order to make myself intelligible to him. The situation was bestial, with sixteen of our complement already gone into the dark; and the terms I employed, perforce, were terms of bestiality. And I thought, also, of I who was thus compelled to dismiss the dreams of the utopians, the visions of the poets, the king-thoughts of the king-thinkers, in a discussion with this ripened product of the New York City inferno. To him I must talk in the elemental terms of life and death, of food and water, of brutality and cruelty. "I give you your choice," he went on. "Give in now, an' you won't be hurt, none of you." "And if we don't?" I dared airily. "You'll be sorry you was ever born. You ain't a mush-head, you've got a girl there that's stuck on you. It's about time you think of her. You ain't altogether a mutt. You get my drive?" Ay, I did get it; and somehow, across my brain flashed a vision of all I had ever read and heard of the siege of the Legations at Peking, and of the plans of the white men for their womenkind in the event of the yellow hordes breaking through the last lines of defence. Ay, and the old steward got it; for I saw his black eyes glint murderously in their narrow, tilted slits. He knew the drift of the gangster's meaning. "You get my drive?" the gangster repeated. And I knew anger. Not ordinary anger, but cold anger. And I caught a vision of the high place in which we had sat and ruled down the ages in all lands, on all seas. I saw my kind, our women with us, in forlorn hopes and lost endeavours, pent in hill fortresses, rotted in jungle fastnesses, cut down to the last one on the decks of rocking ships. And always, our women with us, had we ruled the beasts. We might die, our women with us; but, living, we had ruled. It was a royal vision I glimpsed. Ay, and in the purple of it I grasped the ethic, which was the stuff of the fabric of which it was builded. It was the sacred trust of the seed, the bequest of duty handed down from all ancestors. And I flamed more coldly. It was not red-brute anger. It was intellectual. It was based on concept and history; it was the philosophy of action of the strong and the pride of the strong in their own strength. Now at last I knew Nietzsche. I knew the rightness of the books, the relation of high thinking to high-conduct, the transmutation of midnight thought into action in the high place on the poop of a coal- carrier in the year nineteen-thirteen, my woman beside me, my ancestors behind me, my slant-eyed servitors under me, the beasts beneath me and beneath the heel of me. God! I felt kingly. I knew at last the meaning of kingship. My anger was white and cold. This subterranean rat of a miserable human, crawling through the bowels of the ship to threaten me and mine! A rat in the shelter of a knot-hole making a noise as beast-like as any rat ever made! And it was in this spirit that I answered the gangster. "When you crawl on your belly, along the open deck, in the broad light of day, like a yellow cur that has been licked to obedience, and when you show by your every action that you like it and are glad to do it, then, and not until then, will I talk with you." Thereafter, for the next ten minutes, he shouted all the Billingsgate of his kind at me through the slits in the ventilator. But I made no reply. I listened, and I listened coldly, and as I listened I knew why the English had blown their mutinous Sepoys from the mouths of cannon in India long years ago. * * * * * And when, this morning, I saw the steward struggling with a five-gallon carboy of sulphuric acid, I never dreamed the use he intended for it. In the meantime I was devising another way to overcome that deadly ventilator shaft. The scheme was so simple that I was shamed in that it had not occurred to me at the very beginning. The slitted opening was small. Two sacks of flour, in a wooden frame, suspended by ropes from the edge of the chart-house roof directly above, would effectually cover the opening and block all revolver fire. No sooner thought than done. Tom Spink and Louis were on top the chart- house with me and preparing to lower the flour, when we heard a voice issuing from the shaft. "Who's in there now?" I demanded. "Speak up." "I'm givin' you a last chance," Bert Rhine answered. And just then, around the corner of the house, stepped the steward. In his hand he carried a large galvanized pail, and my casual thought was that he had come to get rain-water from the barrels. Even as I thought it, he made a sweeping half-circle with the pail and sloshed its contents into the ventilator-opening. And even as the liquid flew through the air I knew it for what it was--undiluted sulphuric acid, two gallons of it from the carboy. The gangster must have received the liquid fire in the face and eyes. And, in the shock of pain, he must have released all holds and fallen upon the coal at the bottom of the shaft. His cries and shrieks of anguish were terrible, and I was reminded of the starving rats which had squealed up that same shaft during the first months of the voyage. The thing was sickening. I prefer that men be killed cleanly and easily. The agony of the wretch I did not fully realize until the steward, his bare fore-arms sprayed by the splash from the ventilator slats, suddenly felt the bite of the acid through his tight, whole skin and made a mad rush for the water-barrel at the corner of the house. And Bert Rhine, the silent man of soundless laughter, screaming below there on the coal, was enduring the bite of the acid in his eyes! We covered the ventilator opening with our flour-device; the screams from below ceased as the victim was evidently dragged for'ard across the coal by his mates; and yet I confess to a miserable forenoon. As Carlyle has said: "Death is easy; all men must die"; but to receive two gallons of full-strength sulphuric acid full in the face is a vastly different and vastly more horrible thing than merely to die. Fortunately, Margaret was below at the time, and, after a few minutes, in which I recovered my balance, I bullied and swore all our hands into keeping the happening from her. * * * * * Oh, well, and we have got ours in retaliation. Off and on, through all of yesterday, after the ventilator tragedy, there were noises beneath the cabin floor or deck. We heard them under the dining-table, under the steward's pantry, under Margaret's stateroom. This deck is overlaid with wood, but under the wood is iron, or steel rather, such as of which the whole _Elsinore_ is builded. Margaret and I, followed by Louis, Wada, and the steward, walked about from place to place, wherever the sounds arose of tappings and of cold- chisels against iron. The tappings seemed to come from everywhere; but we concluded that the concentration necessary on any spot to make an opening large enough for a man's body would inevitably draw our attention to that spot. And, as Margaret said: "If they do manage to cut through, they must come up head-first, and, in such emergence, what chance would they have against us?" So I relieved Buckwheat from deck duty, placed him on watch over the cabin floor, to be relieved by the steward in Margaret's watches. In the late afternoon, after prodigious hammerings and clangings in a score of places, all noises ceased. Neither in the first and second dog- watches, nor in the first watch of the night, were the noises resumed. When I took charge of the poop at midnight Buckwheat relieved the steward in the vigil over the cabin floor; and as I leaned on the rail at the break of the poop, while my four hours dragged slowly by, least of all did I apprehend danger from the cabin--especially when I considered the two-gallon pail of raw sulphuric acid ready to hand for the first head that might arise through an opening in the floor not yet made. Our rascals for'ard might scale the poop; or cross aloft from mizzenmast to jigger and descend upon our heads; but how they could invade us through the floor was beyond me. But they did invade. A modern ship is a complex affair. How was I to guess the manner of the invasion? It was two in the morning, and for an hour I had been puzzling my head with watching the smoke arise from the after-division of the for'ard-house and with wondering why the mutineers should have up steam in the donkey-engine at such an ungodly hour. Not on the whole voyage had the donkey-engine been used. Four bells had just struck, and I was leaning on the rail at the break of the poop when I heard a prodigious coughing and choking from aft. Next, Wada ran across the deck to me. "Big trouble with Buckwheat," he blurted at me. "You go quick." I shoved him my rifle and left him on guard while I raced around the chart-house. A lighted match, in the hands of Tom Spink, directed me. Between the booby-hatch and the wheel, sitting up and rocking back and forth with wringings of hands and wavings of arms, tears of agony bursting from his eyes, was Buckwheat. My first thought was that in some stupid way he had got the acid into his own eyes. But the terrible fashion in which he coughed and strangled would quickly have undeceived me, had not Louis, bending over the booby-companion, uttered a startled exclamation. I joined him, and one whiff of the air that came up from below made me catch my breath and gasp. I had inhaled sulphur. On the instant I forgot the _Elsinore_, the mutineers for'ard, everything save one thing. The next I know, I was down the booby-ladder and reeling dizzily about the big after-room as the sulphur fumes bit my lungs and strangled me. By the dim light of a sea-lantern I saw the old steward, on hands and knees, coughing and gasping, the while he shook awake Yatsuda, the first sail- maker. Uchino, the second sail-maker, still strangled in his sleep. It struck me that the air might be better nearer the floor, and I proved it when I dropped on my hands and knees. I rolled Uchino out of his blankets with a quick jerk, wrapped the blankets about my head, face, and mouth, arose to my feet, and dashed for'ard into the hall. After a couple of collisions with the wood-work I again dropped to the floor and rearranged the blankets so that, while my mouth remained covered, I could draw or withdraw, a thickness across my eyes. The pain of the fumes was bad enough, but the real hardship was the dizziness I suffered. I blundered into the steward's pantry, and out of it, missed the cross-hall, stumbled through the next starboard opening in the long hall, and found myself bent double by violent collision with the dining-room table. But I had my bearings. Feeling my way around the table and bumping most of the poisoned breath out of me against the rotund-bellied stove, I emerged in the cross-hall and made my way to starboard. Here, at the base of the chart-room stairway, I gained the hall that led aft. By this time my own situation seemed so serious that, careless of any collision, I went aft in long leaps. Margaret's door was open. I plunged into her room. The moment I drew the blanket-thickness from my eyes I knew blindness and a modicum of what Bert Rhine must have suffered. Oh, the intolerable bite of the sulphur in my lungs, nostrils, eyes, and brain! No light burned in the room. I could only strangle and stumble for'ard to Margaret's bed, upon which I collapsed. She was not there. I felt about, and I felt only the warm hollow her body had left in the under-sheet. Even in my agony and helplessness the intimacy of that warmth her body had left was very dear to me. Between the lack of oxygen in my lungs (due to the blankets), the pain of the sulphur, and the mortal dizziness in my brain, I felt that I might well cease there where the linen warmed my hand. Perhaps I should have ceased, had I not heard a terrible coughing from along the hall. It was new life to me. I fell from bed to floor and managed to get upright until I gained the hall, where again I fell. Thereafter I crawled on hands and knees to the foot of the stairway. By means of the newel-post I drew myself upright and listened. Near me something moved and strangled. I fell upon it and found in my arms all the softness of Margaret. How describe that battle up the stairway? It was a crucifixion of struggle, an age-long nightmare of agony. Time after time, as my consciousness blurred, the temptation was upon me to cease all effort and let myself blur down into the ultimate dark. I fought my way step by step. Margaret was now quite unconscious, and I lifted her body step by step, or dragged it several steps at a time, and fell with it, and back with it, and lost much that had been so hardly gained. And yet out of it all this I remember: that warm soft body of hers was the dearest thing in the world--vastly more dear than the pleasant land I remotely remembered, than all the books and all the humans I had ever known, than the deck above, with its sweet pure air softly blowing under the cool starry sky. As I look back upon it I am aware of one thing: the thought of leaving her there and saving myself never crossed my mind. The one place for me was where she was. Truly, this which I write seems absurd and purple; yet it was not absurd during those long minutes on the chart-room stairway. One must taste death for a few centuries of such agony ere he can receive sanction for purple passages. And as I fought my screaming flesh, my reeling brain, and climbed that upward way, I prayed one prayer: that the chart-house doors out upon the poop might not be shut. Life and death lay right there in that one point of the issue. Was there any creature of my creatures aft with common sense and anticipation sufficient to make him think to open those doors? How I yearned for one man, for one proved henchman, such as Mr. Pike, to be on the poop! As it was, with the sole exception of Tom Spink and Buckwheat, my men were Asiatics. I gained the top of the stairway, but was too far gone to rise to my feet. Nor could I rise upright on my knees. I crawled like any four- legged animal--nay, I wormed my way like a snake, prone to the deck. It was a matter of several feet to the doorway. I died a score of times in those several feet; but ever I endured the agony of resurrection and dragged Margaret with me. Sometimes the full strength I could exert did not move her, and I lay with her and coughed and strangled my way through to another resurrection. And the door was open. The doors to starboard and to port were both open; and as the _Elsinore_ rolled a draught through the chart-house hall my lungs filled with pure, cool air. As I drew myself across the high threshold and pulled Margaret after me, from very far away I heard the cries of men and the reports of rifle and revolver. And, ere I fainted into the blackness, on my side, staring, my pain gone so beyond endurance that it had achieved its own anaesthesia, I glimpsed, dream-like and distant, the sharply silhouetted poop-rail, dark forms that cut and thrust and smote, and, beyond, the mizzen-mast brightly lighted by our illuminators. * * * * * Well, the mutineers failed to take the poop. My five Asiatics and two white men had held the citadel while Margaret and I lay unconscious side by side. The whole affair was very simple. Modern maritime quarantine demands that ships shall not carry vermin that are themselves plague-carriers. In the donkey-engine section of the for'ard house is a complete fumigating apparatus. The mutineers had merely to lay and fasten the pipes aft across the coal, to chisel a hole through the double-deck of steel and wood under the cabin, and to connect up and begin to pump. Buckwheat had fallen asleep and been awakened by the strangling sulphur fumes. We in the high place had been smoked out by our rascals like so many rats. It was Wada who had opened one of the doors. The old steward had opened the other. Together they had attempted the descent of the stairway and been driven back by the fumes. Then they had engaged in the struggle to repel the rush from for'ard. Margaret and I are agreed that sulphur, excessively inhaled, leaves the lungs sore. Only now, after a lapse of a dozen hours, can we draw breath in anything that resembles comfort. But still my lungs were not so sore as to prevent my telling her what I had learned she meant to me. And yet she is only a woman--I tell her so; I tell her that there are at least seven hundred and fifty millions of two-legged, long-haired, gentle-voiced, soft-bodied, female humans like her on the planet, and that she is really swamped by the immensity of numbers of her sex and kind. But I tell her something more. I tell her that of all of them she is the only one. And, better yet, to myself and for myself, I believe it. I know it. The last least part of me and all of me proclaims it. Love _is_ wonderful. It is the everlasting and miraculous amazement. Oh, trust me, I know the old, hard scientific method of weighing and calculating and classifying love. It is a profound foolishness, a cosmic trick and quip, to the contemplative eye of the philosopher--yes, and of the futurist. But when one forsakes such intellectual flesh-pots and becomes mere human and male human, in short, a lover, then all he may do, and which is what he cannot help doing, is to yield to the compulsions of being and throw both his arms around love and hold it closer to him than is his own heart close to him. This is the summit of his life, and of man's life. Higher than this no man may rise. The philosophers toil and struggle on mole-hill peaks far below. He who has not loved has not tasted the ultimate sweet of living. I know. I love Margaret, a woman. She is desirable. CHAPTER L In the past twenty-four hours many things have happened. To begin with, we nearly lost the steward in the second dog-watch last evening. Through the slits in the ventilator some man thrust a knife into the sacks of flour and cut them wide open from top to bottom. In the dark the flour poured to the deck unobserved. Of course, the man behind could not see through the screen of empty sacks, but he took a blind pot-shot at point-blank range when the steward went by, slip-sloppily dragging the heels of his slippers. Fortunately it was a miss, but so close a miss was it that his cheek and neck were burned with powder grains. At six bells in the first watch came another surprise. Tom Spink came to me where I stood guard at the for'ard end of the poop. His voice shook as he spoke. "For the love of God, sir, they've come," he said. "Who?" I asked sharply. "Them," he chattered. "The ones that come aboard off the Horn, sir, the three drownded sailors. They're there, aft, sir, the three of 'em, standin' in a row by the wheel." "How did they get there?" "Bein' warlocks, they flew, sir. You didn't see 'm go by you, did you, sir?" "No," I admitted. "They never went by me." Poor Tom Spink groaned. "But there are lines aloft there on which they could cross over from mizzen to jigger," I added. "Send Wada to me." When the latter relieved me I went aft. And there in a row were our three pale-haired storm-waifs with the topaz eyes. In the light of a bull's-eye, held on them by Louis, their eyes never seemed more like the eyes of great cats. And, heavens, they purred! At least, the inarticulate noises they made sounded more like purring than anything else. That these sounds meant friendliness was very evident. Also, they held out their hands, palms upward, in unmistakable sign of peace. Each in turn doffed his cap and placed my hand for a moment on his head. Without doubt this meant their offer of fealty, their acceptance of me as master. I nodded my head. There was nothing to be said to men who purred like cats, while sign-language in the light of the bull's-eye was rather difficult. Tom Spink groaned protest when I told Louis to take them below and give them blankets. I made the sleep-sign to them, and they nodded gratefully, hesitated, then pointed to their mouths and rubbed their stomachs. "Drowned men do not eat," I laughed to Tom Spink. "Go down and watch them. Feed them up, Louis, all they want. It's a good sign of short rations for'ard." At the end of half an hour Tom Spink was back. "Well, did they eat?" I challenged him. But he was unconvinced. The very quantity they had eaten was a suspicious thing, and, further, he had heard of a kind of ghost that devoured dead bodies in graveyards. Therefore, he concluded, mere non- eating was no test for a ghost. The third event of moment occurred this morning at seven o'clock. The mutineers called for a truce; and when Nosey Murphy, the Maltese Cockney, and the inevitable Charles Davis stood beneath me on the main deck, their faces showed lean and drawn. Famine had been my great ally. And in truth, with Margaret beside me in that high place of the break of the poop, as I looked down on the hungry wretches I felt very strong. Never had the inequality of numbers fore and aft been less than now. The three deserters, added to our own nine, made twelve of us, while the mutineers, after subtracting Ditman Olansen, Bob and the Faun, totalled only an even score. And of these Bert Rhine must certainly be in a bad way, while there were many weaklings, such as Sundry Buyers, Nancy, Larry, and Lars Jacobsen. "Well, what do you want?" I demanded. "I haven't much time to waste. Breakfast is ready and waiting." Charles Davis started to speak, but I shut him off. "I'll have nothing out of you, Davis. At least not now. Later on, when I'm in that court of law you've bothered me with for half the voyage, you'll get your turn at talking. And when that time comes don't forget that I shall have a few words to say." Again he began, but this time was stopped by Nosey Murphy. "Aw, shut your trap, Davis," the gangster snarled, "or I'll shut it for you." He glanced up to me. "We want to go back to work, that's what we want." "Which is not the way to ask for it," I answered. "Sir," he added hastily. "That's better," I commented. "Oh, my God, sir, don't let 'm come aft." Tom Spink muttered hurriedly in my ear. "That'd be the end of all of us. And even if they didn't get you an' the rest, they'd heave me over some dark night. They ain't never goin' to forgive me, sir, for joinin' in with the afterguard." I ignored the interruption and addressed the gangster. "There's nothing like going to work when you want to as badly as you seem to. Suppose all hands get sail on her just to show good intention." "We'd like to eat first, sir," he objected. "I'd like to see you setting sail, first," was my reply. "And you may as well get it from me straight that what I like goes, aboard this ship."--I almost said "hooker." Nosey Murphy hesitated and looked to the Maltese Cockney for counsel. The latter debated, as if gauging the measure of his weakness while he stared aloft at the work involved. Finally he nodded. "All right, sir," the gangster spoke up. "We'll do it . . . but can't something be cookin' in the galley while we're doin' it?" I shook my head. "I didn't have that in mind, and I don't care to change my mind now. When every sail is stretched and every yard braced, and all that mess of gear cleared up, food for a good meal will be served out. You needn't bother about the spanker nor the mizzen-braces. We'll make your work lighter by that much." In truth, as they climbed aloft they showed how miserably weak they were. There were some too feeble to go aloft. Poor Sundry Buyers continually pressed his abdomen as he toiled around the deck-capstans; and never was Nancy's face quite so forlorn as when he obeyed the Maltese Cockney's command and went up to loose the mizzen-skysail. In passing, I must note one delicious miracle that was worked before our eyes. They were hoisting the mizzen-upper-topsail-yard by means of one of the patent deck-capstans. Although they had reversed the gear so as to double the purchase, they were having a hard time of it. Lars Jacobsen was limping on his twice-broken leg, and with him were Sundry Buyers, Tony the Greek, Bombini, and Mulligan Jacobs. Nosey Murphy held the turn. When they stopped from sheer exhaustion Murphy's glance chanced to fall on Charles Davis, the one man who had not worked since the outset of the voyage and who was not working now. "Bear a hand, Davis," the gangster called. Margaret gurgled low laughter in my ear as she caught the drift of the episode. The sea-lawyer looked at the other in amazement ere he answered: "I guess not." After nodding Sundry Buyers over to him to take the turn Murphy straightened his back and walked close to Davis, then said very quietly: "I guess yes." That was all. For a space neither spoke. Davis seemed to be giving the matter judicial consideration. The men at the capstan panted, rested, and looked on--all save Bombini, who slunk across the deck until he stood at Murphy's shoulder. Under such circumstances the decision Charles Davis gave was eminently the right one, although even then he offered a compromise. "I'll hold the turn," he volunteered. "You'll lump around one of them capstan-bars," Murphy said. The sea-lawyer made no mistake. He knew in all absoluteness that he was choosing between life and death, and he limped over to the capstan and found his place. And as the work started, and as he toiled around and around the narrow circle, Margaret and I shamelessly and loudly laughed our approval. And our own men stole for'ard along the poop to peer down at the spectacle of Charles Davis at work. All of which must have pleased Nosey Murphy, for, as he continued to hold the turn and coil down, he kept a critical eye on Davis. "More juice, Davis!" he commanded with abrupt sharpness. And Davis, with a startle, visibly increased his efforts. This was too much for our fellows, who, Asiatics and all, applauded with laughter and hand-clapping. And what could I do? It was a gala day, and our faithful ones deserved some little recompense of amusement. So I ignored the breach of discipline and of poop etiquette by strolling away aft with Margaret. At the wheel was one of our storm-waifs. I set the course due east for Valparaiso, and sent the steward below to bring up sufficient food for one substantial meal for the mutineers. "When do we get our next grub, sir?" Nosey Murphy asked, as the steward served the supplies down to him from the poop. "At midday," I answered. "And as long as you and your gang are good, you'll get your grub three times each day. You can choose your own watches any way you please. But the ship's work must be done, and done properly. If it isn't, then the grub stops. That will do. Now go for'ard." "One thing more, sir," he said quickly. "Bert Rhine is awful bad. He can't see, sir. It looks like he's going to lose his face. He can't sleep. He groans all the time." * * * * * It was a busy day. I made a selection of things from the medicine-chest for the acid-burned gangster; and, finding that Murphy knew how to manipulate a hypodermic syringe, entrusted him with one. Then, too, I practised with the sextant and think I fairly caught the sun at noon and correctly worked up the observation. But this is latitude, and is comparatively easy. Longitude is more difficult. But I am reading up on it. All afternoon a gentle northerly fan of air snored the _Elsinore_ through the water at a five-knot clip, and our course lay east for land, for the habitations of men, for the law and order that men institute whenever they organize into groups. Once in Valparaiso, with police flag flying, our mutineers will be taken care of by the shore authorities. Another thing I did was to rearrange our watches aft so as to split up the three storm-visitors. Margaret took one in her watch, along with the two sail-makers, Tom Spink, and Louis. Louis is half white, and all trustworthy, so that, at all times, on deck or below, he is told off to the task of never letting the topaz-eyed one out of his sight. In my watch are the steward, Buckwheat, Wada, and the other two topaz- eyed ones. And to one of them Wada is told off; and to the other is assigned the steward. We are not taking any chances. Always, night and day, on duty or off, these storm-strangers will have one of our proved men watching them. * * * * * Yes; and I tried the stranger men out last evening. It was after a council with Margaret. She was sure, and I agreed with her, that the men for'ard are not blindly yielding to our bringing them in to be prisoners in Valparaiso. As we tried to forecast it, their plan is to desert the _Elsinore_ in the boats as soon as we fetch up with the land. Also, considering some of the bitter lunatic spirits for'ard, there would be a large chance of their drilling the _Elsinore's_ steel sides and scuttling her ere they took to the boats. For scuttling a ship is surely as ancient a practice as mutiny on the high seas. So it was, at one in the morning, that I tried out our strangers. Two of them I took for'ard with me in the raid on the small boats. One I left beside Margaret, who kept charge of the poop. On the other side of him stood the steward with his big hacking knife. By signs I had made it clear to him, and to his two comrades who were to accompany me for'ard, that at the first sign of treachery he would be killed. And not only did the old steward, with signs emphatic and unmistakable, pledge himself to perform the execution, but we were all convinced that he was eager for the task. With Margaret I also left Buckwheat and Tom Spink. Wada, the two sail- makers, Louis, and the two topaz-eyed ones accompanied me. In addition to fighting weapons we were armed with axes. We crossed the main deck unobserved, gained the bridge by way of the 'midship-house, and by way of the bridge gained the top of the for'ard-house. Here were the first boats we began work on; but, first of all, I called in the lookout from the forecastle-head. He was Mulligan Jacobs; and he picked his way back across the wreck of the bridge where the fore-topgallant-yard still lay, and came up to me unafraid, as implacable and bitter as ever. "Jacobs," I whispered, "you are to stay here beside me until we finish the job of smashing the boats. Do you get that?" "As though it could fright me," he growled all too loudly. "Go ahead for all I care. I know your game. And I know the game of the hell's maggots under our feet this minute. 'Tis they that'd desert in the boats. 'Tis you that'll smash the boats an' jail 'm kit an' crew." "S-s-s-h," I vainly interpolated. "What of it?" he went on as loudly as ever. "They're sleepin' with full bellies. The only night watch we keep is the lookout. Even Rhine's asleep. A few jolts of the needle has put a clapper to his eternal moanin'. Go on with your work. Smash the boats. 'Tis nothin' I care. 'Tis well I know my own crooked back is worth more to me than the necks of the scum of the world below there." "If you felt that way, why didn't you join us?" I queried. "Because I like you no better than them an' not half so well. They are what you an' your fathers have made 'em. An' who in hell are you an' your fathers? Robbers of the toil of men. I like them little. I like you and your fathers not at all. Only I like myself and me crooked back that's a livin' proof there ain't no God and makes Browning a liar." "Join us now," I urged, meeting him in his mood. "It will be easier for your back." "To hell with you," was his answer. "Go ahead an' smash the boats. You can hang some of them. But you can't touch me with the law. 'Tis me that's a crippled creature of circumstance, too weak to raise a hand against any man--a feather blown about by the windy contention of men strong in their back an' brainless in their heads." "As you please," I said. "As I can't help pleasin'," he retorted, "bein' what I am an' so made for the little flash between the darknesses which men call life. Now why couldn't I a-ben a butterfly, or a fat pig in a full trough, or a mere mortal man with a straight back an' women to love me? Go on an' smash the boats. Play hell to the top of your bent. Like me, you'll end in the darkness. And your darkness'll be--as dark as mine." "A full belly puts the spunk back into you," I sneered. "'Tis on an empty belly that the juice of my dislike turns to acid. Go on an' smash the boats." "Whose idea was the sulphur?" I asked. "I'm not tellin' you the man, but I envied him until it showed failure. An' whose idea was it--to douse the sulphuric into Rhine's face? He'll lose that same face, from the way it's shedding." "Nor will I tell you," I said. "Though I will tell you that I am glad the idea was not mine." "Oh, well," he muttered cryptically, "different customs on different ships, as the cook said when he went for'ard to cast off the spanker sheet." Not until the job was done and I was back on the poop did I have time to work out the drift of that last figure in its terms of the sea. Mulligan Jacobs might have been an artist, a philosophic poet, had he not been born crooked with a crooked back. And we smashed the boats. With axes and sledges it was an easier task than I had imagined. On top of both houses we left the boats masses of splintered wreckage, the topaz-eyed ones working most energetically; and we regained the poop without a shot being fired. The forecastle turned out, of course, at our noise, but made no attempt to interfere with us. And right here I register another complaint against the sea-novelists. A score of men for'ard, desperate all, with desperate deeds behind them, and jail and the gallows facing them not many days away, should have only begun to fight. And yet this score of men did nothing while we destroyed their last chance for escape. "But where did they get the grub?" the steward asked me afterwards. This question he has asked me every day since the first day Mr. Pike began cudgelling his brains over it. I wonder, had I asked Mulligan Jacobs the question, if he would have told me? At any rate, in court at Valparaiso that question will be answered. In the meantime I suppose I shall submit to having the steward ask me it daily. "It is murder and mutiny on the high seas," I told them this morning, when they came aft in a body to complain about the destruction of the boats and to demand my intentions. And as I looked down upon the poor wretches from the break of the poop, standing there in the high place, the vision of my kind down all its mad, violent, and masterful past was strong upon me. Already, since our departure from Baltimore, three other men, masters, had occupied this high place and gone their way--the Samurai, Mr. Pike, and Mr. Mellaire. I stood here, fourth, no seaman, merely a master by the blood of my ancestors; and the work of the _Elsinore_ in the world went on. Bert Rhine, his head and face swathed in bandages, stood there beneath me, and I felt for him a tingle of respect. He, too, in a subterranean, ghetto way was master over his rats. Nosey Murphy and Kid Twist stood shoulder to shoulder with their stricken gangster leader. It was his will, because of his terrible injury, to get in to land and doctors as quickly as possible. He preferred taking his chance in court against the chance of losing his life, or, perhaps, his eyesight. The crew was divided against itself; and Isaac Chantz, the Jew, his wounded shoulder with a hunch to it, seemed to lead the revolt against the gangsters. His wound was enough to convict him in any court, and well he knew it. Beside him, and at his shoulders, clustered the Maltese Cockney, Andy Fay, Arthur Deacon, Frank Fitzgibbon, Richard Giller, and John Hackey. In another group, still allegiant to the gangsters, were men such as Shorty, Sorensen, Lars Jacobsen, and Larry. Charles Davis was prominently in the gangster group. A fourth group was composed of Sundry Buyers, Nancy, and Tony the Greek. This group was distinctly neutral. And, finally, unaffiliated, quite by himself, stood Mulligan Jacobs--listening, I fancy, to far echoes of ancient wrongs, and feeling, I doubt not, the bite of the iron-hot hooks in his brain. "What are you going to do with us, sir?" Isaac Chantz demanded of me, in defiance to the gangsters, who were expected to do the talking. Bert Rhine lurched angrily toward the sound of the Jew's voice. Chantz's partisans drew closer to him. "Jail you," I answered from above. "And it shall go as hard with all of you as I can make it hard." "Maybe you will an' maybe you won't," the Jew retorted. "Shut up, Chantz!" Bert Rhine commanded. "And you'll get yours, you wop," Chantz snarled, "if I have to do it myself." I am afraid that I am not so successfully the man of action that I have been priding myself on being; for, so curious and interested was I in observing the moving drama beneath me that for the moment I failed to glimpse the tragedy into which it was culminating. "Bombini!" Bert Rhine said. His voice was imperative. It was the order of a master to the dog at heel. Bombini responded. He drew his knife and started to advance upon the Jew. But a deep rumbling, animal-like in its _sound_ and menace, arose in the throats of those about the Jew. Bombini hesitated and glanced back across his shoulder at the leader, whose face he could not see for bandages and who he knew could not see. "'Tis a good deed--do it, Bombini," Charles Davis encouraged. "Shut your face, Davis!" came out from Bert Rhine's bandages. Kid Twist drew a revolver, shoved the muzzle of it first into Bombini's side, then covered the men about the Jew. Really, I felt a momentary twinge of pity for the Italian. He was caught between the mill-stones, "Bombini, stick that Jew," Bert Rhine commanded. The Italian advanced a step, and, shoulder to shoulder, on either side, Kid Twist and Nosey Murphy advanced with him. "I cannot see him," Bert Rhine went on; "but by God I will see him!" And so speaking, with one single, virile movement he tore away the bandages. The toll of pain he must have paid is beyond measurement. I saw the horror of his face, but the description of it is beyond the limits of any English I possess. I was aware that Margaret, at my shoulder, gasped and shuddered. "Bombini!--stick him," the gangster repeated. "And stick any man that raises a yap. Murphy! See that Bombini does his work." Murphy's knife was out and at the bravo's back. Kid Twist covered the Jew's group with his revolver. And the three advanced. It was at this moment that I suddenly recollected myself and passed from dream to action. "Bombini!" I said sharply. He paused and looked up. "Stand where you are," I ordered, "till I do some talking.--Chantz! Make no mistake. Rhine is boss for'ard. You take his orders . . . until we get into Valparaiso; then you'll take your chances along with him in jail. In the meantime, what Rhine says goes. Get that, and get it straight. I am behind Rhine until the police come on board.--Bombini! do whatever Rhine tells you. I'll shoot the man who tries to stop you.--Deacon! Stand away from Chantz. Go over to the fife-rail." All hands knew the stream of lead my automatic rifle could throw, and Arthur Deacon knew it. He hesitated barely a moment, then obeyed. "Fitzgibbon!--Giller!--Hackey!" I called in turn, and was obeyed. "Fay!" I called twice, ere the response came. Isaac Chantz stood alone, and Bombini now showed eagerness. "Chantz!" I said; "don't you think it would be healthier to go over to the fife-rail and be good?" He debated the matter not many seconds, resheathed his knife, and complied. The tang of power! I was minded to let literature get the better of me and read the rascals a lecture; but thank heaven I had sufficient proportion and balance to refrain. "Rhine!" I said. He turned his corroded face up to me and blinked in an effort to see. "As long as Chantz takes your orders, leave him alone. We'll need every hand to work the ship in. As for yourself, send Murphy aft in half an hour and I'll give him the best the medicine-chest affords. That is all. Go for'ard." And they shambled away, beaten and dispirited. "But that man--his face--what happened to him?" Margaret asked of me. Sad it is to end love with lies. Sadder still is it to begin love with lies. I had tried to hide this one happening from Margaret, and I had failed. It could no longer be hidden save by lying; and so I told her the truth, told her how and why the gangster had had his face dashed with sulphuric acid by the old steward who knew white men and their ways. * * * * * There is little more to write. The mutiny of the _Elsinore_ is over. The divided crew is ruled by the gangsters, who are as intent on getting their leader into port as I am intent on getting all of them into jail. The first lap of the voyage of the _Elsinore_ draws to a close. Two days, at most, with our present sailing, will bring us into Valparaiso. And then, as beginning a new voyage, the _Elsinore_ will depart for Seattle. * * * * * One thing more remains for me to write, and then this strange log of a strange cruise will be complete. It happened only last night. I am yet fresh from it, and athrill with it and with the promise of it. Margaret and I spent the last hour of the second dog-watch together at the break of the poop. It was good again to feel the _Elsinore_ yielding to the wind-pressure on her canvas, to feel her again slipping and sliding through the water in an easy sea. Hidden by the darkness, clasped in each other's arms, we talked love and love plans. Nor am I shamed to confess that I was all for immediacy. Once in Valparaiso, I contended, we would fit out the _Elsinore_ with fresh crew and officers and send her on her way. As for us, steamers and rapid travelling would fetch us quickly home. Furthermore, Valparaiso being a place where such things as licences and ministers obtained, we would be married ere we caught the fast steamers for home. But Margaret was obdurate. The Wests had always stood by their ships, she urged; had always brought their ships in to the ports intended or had gone down with their ships in the effort. The _Elsinore_ had cleared from Baltimore for Seattle with the Wests in the high place. The _Elsinore_ would re-equip with officers and men in Valparaiso, and the _Elsinore_ would arrive in Seattle with a West still on board. "But think, dear heart," I objected. "The voyage will require months. Remember what Henley has said: 'Every kiss we take or give leaves us less of life to live.'" She pressed her lips to mine. "We kiss," she said. But I was stupid. * * * * * "Oh, the weary, weary months," I complained. "You dear silly," she gurgled. "Don't you understand?" "I understand only that it is many a thousand miles from Valparaiso to Seattle," I answered. "You won't understand," she challenged. "I am a fool," I admitted. "I am aware of only one thing: I want you. I want you." "You are a dear, but you are very, very stupid," she said, and as she spoke she caught my hand and pressed the palm of it against her cheek. "What do you feel?" she asked. "Hot cheeks--cheeks most hot." "I am blushing for what your stupidity compels me to say," she explained. "You have already said that such things as licences and ministers obtain in Valparaiso . . . and . . . and, well . . . " "You mean . . . ?" I stammered. "Just that," she confirmed. "The honeymoon shall be on the _Elsinore_ from Valparaiso all the way to Seattle?" I rattled on. "The many thousands of miles, the weary, weary months," she teased in my own intonations, until I stifled her teasing with my lips. 
43659	----	[Illustration] [Illustration] THE OLD WOMAN WHO LIVED IN A SHOE Or There's No Place Like Home by AMANDA M. DOUGLAS Author of "In Trust," "The Kathie Stories," etc. Boston Lee and Shepard, 47 Franklin Street New York Charles T. Dillingham. 678 Broadway Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1874, by William F. Gill & Co., In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. In Remembrance OF _MANY PLEASANT HOURS SPENT AT WOODSIDE_, This Story OF LOVE AND FAITH, OF WORK AND WAITING, AND THE GENTLE VIRTUES THAT ARE NONE THE LESS HEROIC FOR BLOOMING IN THE CENTRE OF THE HOME CIRCLE, _IS DEDICATED TO THE HAPPY HOUSEHOLD_ OF MR. and MRS. A. C. NEUMANN. * * * * * * THE DOUGLAS NOVELS. BY MISS AMANDA M. DOUGLAS. _Uniform Volumes. Price $1.50 Each._ FLOYD GRANDON'S HONOR. "Fascinating throughout, and worthy of the reputation of the author."--_Philadelphia Methodist._ WHOM KATHIE MARRIED. Kathie was the heroine of the popular series of Kathie Stories for young people, the readers of which were very anxious to know with whom Kathie settled down in life. Hence this story, charmingly written. LOST IN A GREAT CITY. "There is the power of delineation and robustness of expression that would credit a masculine hand in the present volume, and the reader will at no stage of the reading regret having commenced its perusal. In some parts it is pathetic, even to eloquence."--_San Francisco Post._ THE OLD WOMAN WHO LIVED IN A SHOE. "The romances of Miss Douglas's creation are all thrillingly interesting."--_Cambridge Tribune._ HOPE MILLS; or, Between Friend and Sweetheart. "Amanda Douglas is one of the favorite authors of American novel-readers."--_Manchester Mirror._ FROM HAND TO MOUTH. "There is real satisfaction in reading this book, from the fact that we can so readily 'take it home' to ourselves."--_Portland Argus._ NELLY KINNARD'S KINGDOM. "The Hartford Religious Herald" says, "This story is so fascinating, that one can hardly lay it down after taking it up." IN TRUST; or, Dr. Bertrand's Household. "She writes in a free, fresh, and natural way; and her characters are never overdrawn."--_Manchester Mirror._ CLAUDIA. "The plot is very dramatic, and the _dénoûment_ startling. Claudia, the heroine, is one of those self-sacrificing characters which it is the glory of the female sex to produce."--_Boston Journal._ STEPHEN DANE. "This is one of this author's happiest and most successful attempts at novel-writing, for which a grateful public will applaud her."--_Herald._ HOME NOOK: or, the Crown of Duty. "An interesting story of home-life, not wanting in incident, and written in forcible and attractive style."--_New York Graphic._ SYDNIE ADRIANCE; or, Trying the World. "The works of Miss Douglas have stood the test of popular judgment, and become the fashion. They are true, natural in delineation, pure and elevating in their tone."--_Express, Easton, Penn._ SEVEN DAUGHTERS. The charm of the story is the perfectly natural and home-like air which pervades it. _Sold by all booksellers, and sent by mail, postpaid, on receipt of price._ LEE & SHEPARD, Publishers, Boston. * * * * * * CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. PAGE. JOE'S GRAND DISCOVERY 7 CHAPTER II. PLANNING IN THE TWILIGHT 22 CHAPTER III. A CHANCE FOR FLOSSY 36 CHAPTER IV. THE IDENTICAL SHOE 52 CHAPTER V. GOOD LUCK FOR JOE 68 CHAPTER VI. FORTUNES AND MISFORTUNES 84 CHAPTER VII. THE OLD TUMBLER, AFTER ALL 103 CHAPTER VIII. FLORENCE IN STATE 120 CHAPTER IX. FOURTH OF JULY 137 CHAPTER X. WHICH SHOULD SHE CHOOSE? 154 CHAPTER XI. OUT OF THE OLD HOME-NEST 172 CHAPTER XII. JOE'S FORTUNE 191 CHAPTER XIII. FROM GRAY SKIES TO BLUE 209 CHAPTER XIV. A FLOWER-GARDEN INDOORS 225 CHAPTER XV. HOW CHARLIE RAN AWAY 244 CHAPTER XVI. ALMOST DISCOURAGED 262 CHAPTER XVII. LOST AT SEA 282 CHAPTER XVIII. A SONG IN THE NIGHT 299 CHAPTER XIX. IN THE OLD HOME-NEST AGAIN 317 CHAPTER XX. WHEREIN THE OLD SHOE BECOMES CROWDED 337 CHAPTER XXI. HOW THE DREAMS CAME TRUE 352 CHAPTER XXII. CHRISTMASTIDE 366 THERE'S NO PLACE LIKE HOME. CHAPTER I. JOE'S GRAND DISCOVERY. Hal sat trotting Dot on his knee,--poor little weazen-faced Dot, who was just getting over the dregs of the measles, and cross accordingly. By way of accompaniment he sang all the Mother Goose melodies that he could remember. At last he came to,-- "There was an old woman who lived in a shoe: She had so many children she didn't know what to do; To some she gave broth without any bread,"-- and Harry stopped to catch his breath, for the trotting was of the vigorous order. "And a thrashing all round, and sent them to bed!" finished Joe, thrusting his shaggy head in at the window after the fashion of a great Newfoundland dog. Dot answered with a piteous cry,--a sort of prolonged wail, heart-rending indeed. "Serve you right," said Joe, going through an imaginary performance with remarkably forcible gestures. "For shame, Joe! You were little once yourself, and I dare say cried when you were sick. I always thought it very cruel, that, after being deprived of their supper, they should be"-- "Thrashed! Give us good strong Saxon for once, Flossy!" Flossy was of the ambitious, correct, and sentimental order. She had lovely light curls, and soft white hands when she did not have to work too hard, which she never did of her own free will. She thought it dreadful to be so poor, and aspired to a rather aristocratic ladyhood. "I am sorry you were not among them," she replied indignantly. "You're a hard-hearted, cruel boy!" "When the thrashings went round? You're a c-r-u-e-l girl!" with a prodigious length of accent. "Why, I get plenty of 'em at school." "'Trot, trot, trot. There was an old woman'--what are you laughing at, Joe?" and Hal turned red in the face. "I've just made a brilliant discovery. O my poor buttons! remember Flossy's hard labor and many troubles, and do not _bust_! Why, we're the very children!" At this, Joe gave a sudden lurch: you saw his head, and then you saw his heels, and the patch on the knee of his trousers, ripped partly off by an unlucky nail, flapped in the breeze; and he was seated on the window-sill right side up with care, drumming both bare heels into the broken wall. He gave a prolonged whistle of satisfaction, made big eyes at Dot, and then said again,-- "Yes, we are the _very_ children!" "What children? Joe, you are the noisiest boy in Christendom!" "Flossy, the old woman who lived in a shoe is Granny, and no mistake! I can prove it logically. Look at this old tumble-down rookery: it is just the shape of a huge shoe, sloping gradually to the toe, which is the shed-end here. It's brown and rusty and cracked and patched: it wants heeling and toeing, and to be half-soled, greased to keep the water out, and blacked to make it shine. It was a famous seven-leaguer in its day; but, when it had lost its virtue, the giant who used to wear it kicked it off by the roadside, little dreaming that it would be transformed into a cabin for the aforesaid old woman. And here we all are sure enough! Sometimes we get broth, and sometimes we don't." Dot looked up in amazement at this harangue, and thrust her thumbs in her mouth. Hal laughed out-right,--a soft little sound like the rippling of falling water. "Yes, a grand discovery! Ladies and gentlemen of the nineteenth century, I rise to get up, to speak what I am about to say; and I hope you will treasure the words of priceless wisdom that fall from my lips. I'm not backward about coming forward"-- Joe was balancing himself very nicely, and making tremendous flourishes, when two brown, dimpled hands scrubbed up the shock of curly hair, and the sudden onslaught destroyed his equilibrium, as Flossy would have said, and down he went on the floor in crab fashion, looking as if he were all arms and legs. "Charlie, you midget! just wait till I catch you. I haven't the broth, but the other thing will do as well." But Charlie was on the outside; and her little brown, bare feet were as fleet as a deer's. Joe saw her skimming over the meadow; but the afternoon was very warm, and a dozen yards satisfied him for a race, so he turned about. "Joe, you might take Dot a little while, I think," said Hal beseechingly, as Joe braced himself against the door-post. "I've held her all the afternoon." "She won't come--will you, Dot?" But Dot signified her gratification by stretching out her hands. Joe was a good-natured fellow; and, though he might have refused Hal easily, he couldn't resist Dot's tender appeal, so he took her on his shoulder and began trotting off to Danbury Cross. Dot laughed out of her sleepy eyes, highly delighted at this change in the programme. "Oh, dear!" and Hal rubbed his tired arms. "I shouldn't think grandmother would know what to do, sure enough! What a host of us there are,--six children!" "I'm sure I do my best," said Flossy with a pathetic little sniff. "But it's very hard to be an orphan and poor." "And when there are six of us, and we are all orphans, and all poor, it must be six times as hard," put in Joe with a sly twinkle. Then he changed Dot from her triumphal position on his shoulder to a kind of cradle in his arms. Her eyelids drooped, and she began to croon a very sleepy tune. Hal looked out of the window, over to the woods, where the westward sun was making a wonderful land of gold and crimson. Sometimes he had beautiful dreams of that softened splendor, but now they were mercenary. If one could only coin it all into money! There was poor grandmother slaving away, over at Mrs. Kinsey's,--she should come home, and be a princess, to say the very least. "I guess I'll clear up a bit!" said Hal, coming down from the clouds, and glancing round at the disorderly room. "Granny will be most tired to death when her day's work is done. Flossy, if you wouldn't mind going in the other room." Flossy gathered up her skirts and her crocheting, and did not take the invitation at all amiss. Then Hal found the stubby broom, and swept the floor; dusted the mantle, after removing an armful of "trash;" went at the wooden chairs, that had once been painted a gorgeous yellow with green bars; and cleared a motley accumulation of every thing off of the table, hanging up two or three articles, and tucking the rest into a catch-all closet. A quaint old pitcher, that had lost both spout and handle, was emptied of some faded flowers, and a fresh lot cut,--nothing very choice; but the honeysuckle scented the room, and the coxcombs gave their crimson glow to the top of the pyramid. "Why, Mrs. Betty," said Joe, "you've made quite a palace out of your end of the shoe, and this miserable little Dot has gone to sleep at last. Shall I put her in the cradle, or drop her down the well?" Hal smiled a little, and opened the door. It was the best room, quite large, uncarpeted, but clean; and though the bed was covered with a homemade spread, it was as white as it could be. The cradle was not quite as snowy; for the soiled hands that tumbled Dot in and out left some traces. To get her safely down was a masterpiece of strategy. Joe bumped her head; and Hal took her in his arms, hushing her in a low, motherly fashion, and pressing his brown cheek to hers, which looked the color of milk that had been skimmed, and then split in two, and skimmed again. She made a dive in Hal's hair with her little bird's claw of a hand, but presently dropped asleep again. "I guess she'll take a good long nap," whispered Hal, quite relieved. "I'm sure she ought," sighed Florence. Hal went back to his housekeeping. He was as handy as a girl, any day. He pulled some radishes, and put them in a bowl of cold water, and chopped some lettuce and onions together, the children were all so fond of it. Then he gleaned the raspberries, and filled the saucer with currants that were not salable. Joe, in the meanwhile, had gone after Mrs. Green's cows. She gave them a quart of milk daily for driving the cows to and from the pasture, and doing odd chores. "If you see the children, send them home," had been Hal's parting injunction. "Grandmother will soon be here." She came before Joe returned. The oddest looking little old woman that you ever saw. Florence, at fourteen, was half a head taller. Thin and wrinkled and sunburned; her flaxen hair turning to silver, and yet obstinately full of little curls; her blue eyes pale and washed out, and hosts of "crows'-feet" at the corners; and her voice cracked and tremulous. Poor Grandmother Kenneth! She had worked hard enough in her day, and was still forced to keep it up, now that it was growing twilight with her. But I don't believe there was another as merry a houseful of children in all Madison. Joe's discovery was not far out of the way. The old woman, whose biography and family troubles were so graphically given by Mother Goose, died long before our childhood; but I think Granny Kenneth must have looked like her, though I fancy she was better natured. As for the children, many and many a time she had not known what to do with them,--when they were hungry, when they were bad, when their clothes were worn out and she had nothing to make new ones with, when they had no shoes; and yet she loved the whole six, and toiled for them without a word of complaint. Her only son, Joe, had left them to her,--a troublesome legacy indeed; but at that time they had a mother and a very small sum of money. Mrs. Joe was a pretty, helpless, inefficient body, who continually fretted because Joe did not get rich. When the poor fellow lay on his death-bed, his disease aggravated by working when he was not able, he twined his arms around his mother's neck, and cried with a great gasp,-- "You'll be kind to them, mother, and look after them a little. God will help you, I know. I should like to live for their sakes." A month or two after this, Dot was born. Now that her dear Joe was dead, there was no comfort in the world; so the frail, pretty little thing grieved herself away, and went to sleep beside him in the churchyard. The neighbors made a great outcry when Grandmother Kenneth took the children to her own little cottage. "What could she do with them? Why, they will all starve in a bunch," said one. "Florence and Joe might be bound out," proposed another. A third was for sending them to the almshouse, or putting them in some orphan asylum; but five years had come and gone, and they had not starved yet, though once or twice granny's heart had quaked for fear. Every one thought it would be such a blessing if Dot would only die. She had been a sight of trouble during the five years of her life. First, she had the whooping cough, which lasted three times as long as with any ordinary child. Then she fell out of the window, and broke her collar-bone; and when she was just over that, it was the water-pox. The others had the mumps, and Dot's share was the worst of all. Kit had the measles in the lightest possible form, and actually had to be tied in bed to make him stay there; while it nearly killed poor Dot, who had been suffering from March to midsummer, and was still poor as a crow, and cross as a whole string of comparisons. But Granny was patient with it all. The very sweetest old woman in the world, and the children loved her in their fashion; but they seldom realized all that she was doing for them. And though some of her neighbors appreciated the toil and sacrifice, the greater part of them thought it very foolish for her to be slaving herself to death for a host of beggarly grandchildren. "Well, Hal!" she exclaimed in her rather shrill but cheery voice, "how's the day gone?" "Pretty well: but you're tired to death. I suppose Mrs. Kinsey's company came, and there was a grand feast?" "Grand! I guess it was. Such loads of pies and puddings and kettles of berries and tubs of cream"-- Granny paused, out of breath from not having put in any commas. "Ice-cream, you mean? Freezers, they call 'em." "You do know every thing, Hal!" And granny laughed. "I can't get all the new-fangled names and notions in my head. There was Grandmother Kinsey, neat as a new pin, and children and grandchildren, and aunts and cousins. But it was nice, Hal." The boy smiled, thinking of them all. "Half of the goodies'll spile, I know. Mrs. Kinsey packed me a great basket full; and, Hal, here's two dollars. I'm clean tuckered out." "Then you just sit still, and let me 'tend to you. Dot's asleep; and if I haven't worried with her this afternoon! That child ought to grow up a wonder, she's been so much trouble to us all. Joe's gone after the cows, and Florence is busy as a bee. Oh, what a splendid basket full! Why, we shall feast like kings!" With that Hal began to unpack,--a plate full of cut cake, biscuits by the dozen, cold chicken, delicious slices of ham, and various other delicacies. "We'll only have a few to-night," said Hal economically. "'Tisn't every day that we have such a windfall. I'll put these out of the children's sight; for there they come." The "children" were Charlie and Kit, with barely a year between; Kit being seven, and Charlie--her real name was Charlotte, but she was such a tomboy that they gave her the nickname--was about eight. Hal was ten, and Joe twelve. "Children," said Hal, "don't come in till you've washed yourselves. Be quiet, for Dot is asleep." Thus admonished, Charlie did nothing worse than pour a basin of water over Kit, who sputtered and scolded and kicked until Hal rushed out to settle them. "If you're not quiet, you shall not have a mouthful of supper; and we've lots of goodies." Kit began to wash the variegated streaks from his face. Charlie soused her head in a pail of water, and shook it like a dog, then ran her fingers through her hair. It was not as light or silken as that of Florence, and was cropped close to her head. Kit's was almost as black as a coal; and one refractory lock stood up. Joe called it his "scalp-lock waving in the breeze." "Now, Charlie, pump another pail of water. There comes Joe, and we'll have supper." Charlie eyed Joe distrustfully, and hurried into the house. Hal hung up Granny's sun-bonnet, and placed the chairs around. "Come, Florence," he said, opening the door softly. "My eyes!" ejaculated Joe in amaze. "Grandmother, you're a trump." "Joe!" exclaimed Hal reproachfully. Joe made amends by kissing Granny in the most rapturous fashion. Then he escorted her to the table in great state. "Have you been good children to-day?" she asked, as they assembled round the table. "I've run a splinter in my toe; and, oh! my trousers are torn!" announced Kit dolefully. "If you ever had a whole pair of trousers at one time the world would come to an end," declared Joe sententiously. "Would it?" And Kit puzzled his small brain over the connection. "And Charlie preserves a discreet silence. Charlie, my dear, I advise you to keep out of the way of the ragmen, or you will find yourself on the road to the nearest paper-mill." Florence couldn't help laughing at the suggestion. "Children!" said their grandmother. Full of fun and frolic as they were, the little heads bowed reverently as Granny asked her simple blessing. She would as soon have gone without eating as to omit that. "I really don't want any thing," she declared. "I've been tasting all day,--a bit here and a bit there, and such loads of things!" "Tell us all about it," begged Joe. "And who was there,--the grand Panjandrum with a button on the top. Children's children unto the third and fourth generation." "O Joe! if you only wouldn't," began Granny imploringly. "No, I won't, Granny;" and Joe made a face as long as your arm, or a piece of string. "Of course I didn't see 'em all, nor half; but men and women and children and babies! And Grandmother Kinsey's ninety-five years old!" "I hope I'll live to be that old, and have lots of people to give me a golden wedding," said Charlie, with her mouth so full that the words were pretty badly squeezed. "This isn't a golden wedding," said Florence with an air of dignity: "it's a birthday party." "Ho!" and Joe laughed. "You'll be,-- 'Ugly, ill-natured, and wrinkled and thin, Worn by your troubles to bone and to skin.'" "She's never been much else," rejoined Flossy, looking admiringly at her own white arm. "I'm not as old as you!" And Charlie flared up to scarlet heat. "Oh! you needn't get so vexed. I was only thinking of the skin and bone," said Florence in a more conciliatory manner. "Well, I don't want to be a 'Mother Bunch.'" "No fear of you, Charlie. You look like the people who live on some shore,--I've forgotten the name of the place,--and, eat so many fish that the bones work through." Charlie felt of her elbows. They were pretty sharp, to be sure. She was very tall of her age, and ran so much that it was quite impossible to keep any flesh on her bones. "Hush, children!" said grandmother. "I was going to tell you about the party. Hal, give me a little of your salad, first." The Kinseys had invited all their relations to a grand family gathering. Granny told over the pleasant and comical incidents that had come under her notice,--the mishaps in cooking, the babies that had fallen down stairs, and various entertaining matters. By that time supper was ended. Florence set out to take some lace that she had been making to a neighbor; Hal washed the dishes, and Charlie wiped them; Joe fed the chickens, and then perched himself astride the gate-post, whistling all the tunes he could remember; Kit and Charlie went to bed presently; and Hal and his grandmother had a good talk until Dot woke up, strange to say quite good-natured. "Granny," said Hal, preparing a bowl of bread and milk for his little sister, "some day we'll all be grown, and you won't have to work so hard." "Six men and women! How odd it will be!" returned Granny with a smile shining over her tired face. "Yes. We'll keep you like a lady. You shall have a pretty house to live in, and Dot shall wait upon you. Won't you, Dot?" Dot shook her head sagely at Granny. And in the gathering twilight Hal smiled, remembering Joe's conceit. Granny looked happy in spite of her weariness. She, foolish body, was thinking how nice it was to have them all, even to poor little Dot. CHAPTER II. PLANNING IN THE TWILIGHT. It was a rainy August day, and the children were having a glorious time up in the old garret. Over the house-part there were two rooms; but this above the kitchen was kept for rubbish. A big wheel, on which Granny used to spin in her younger days, now answered for almost any purpose, from a coach and four, to a menagerie: they could make it into an elephant, a camel, or a hyena, by a skilful arrangement of drapery. There were several other pieces of dilapidated furniture, old hats, old boots, a barrel or two of papers; in fact, a lot of useless traps and a few trophies that Joe had brought home; to say nothing of Charlie's endless heaps of trash, for she had a wonderful faculty of accumulation; herbs of every kind, bundles of calamus, stacks of "cat-tails," the fuzz of which flew in every direction with the least whiff of wind. The "children" had been raising bedlam generally. Joe was dressed in an old scuttle-shaped Leghorn bonnet and a gay plaid cloak, a strait kind of skirt plaited on a yoke. Granny had offered it to Florence for a dress, but it had been loftily declined. Kit was attired as an Indian, his "scalp-lock" bound up with rooster feathers; and he strutted up and down, jabbering a most uncouth dialect, though of what tribe it would be difficult to say. Charlie appeared in a new costume about every half-hour, and improvised caves in every corner; though it must be confessed Joe rather extinguished her with his style. He could draw in his lips until he looked as if he hadn't a tooth in his head, and talk like nearly every old lady in town. Such whoops and yells and shouts as had rung through the old garret would have astonished delicate nerves. In one of the bedrooms Granny was weaving rag-carpet on a rickety loom, for she did a little of every thing to lengthen out her scanty income; but the noise of that was as a whiff of wind in comparison. At last they had tried nearly every kind of transformation, and were beginning to grow tired. It was still very cloudy, and quite twilight in their den, when Florence came up stairs, and found them huddled around the window listening to a wonderful story that Joe made up as he went along. Such fortunes and adventures could only belong to the Munchausen period. "Dear!" exclaimed Florence, "I thought the chief of the Mohawks had declared war upon the Narragansetts, and everybody had been scalped, you subsided so suddenly. You've made racket enough to take off the roof of the house!" "It's on yet," was Joe's solemn assurance. "O Joe!" begged Charlie: "tell us another story,--something about a sailor who was wrecked, and lived in a cave, and found bags and bags of money!" "That's the kind, Charlie. Flo, come on and take a seat." "Where's Dot?" "Here in my arms," replied Hal; "as good as a kitten; aren't you, Dot?" Dot answered with a contented grunt. "Oh, let's all tell what we'd like to do!" said Charlie, veering round on a new tack. "Flo'll want to be Cinderella at the king's ball." Florence tumbled over the pile of legs, and found a seat beside Hal. "Well, I'll lead off," began Joe with a flourish. "First, I'm going to be a sailor. I mean to ship with a captain bound for China; and hurra! we'll go out with a flowing sea or some other tip-top thing! Well, I guess we'll go to China,--this is all suppos'n, you know; and while I'm there I'll get such lots of things!--crape-shawls and silks for you, Flossy; and cedarwood chests to keep out moths, and fans and beautiful boxes, and a chest of tea, for Granny. On the way home we shall be wrecked. You'll hear the news, and think that I'm dead, sure enough." "But how will Flo get her shawls?" asked Charlie. "Oh, you'll hear presently! That's way in the end. I shall be wrecked on an island where there's a fierce native chief; and first he and his men think they'll kill me." Joe always delighted in harrowing up the feelings of his audience. "So I offer him the elegant shawls and some money"-- "But I thought you lost them all in the wreck!" interposed quick-brained Charlie. "Oh, no! There's always something floats ashore, you must remember. Well, he concluded not to kill me, though they have a great festival dance in honor of their idols; and I only escape by promising to be his obedient slave. I find some others who have been cast on that desolate shore, and been treated in the same manner. The chief beats us, and makes us work, and treats us dreadfully. Then we mutiny, and have a great battle, for a good many of the natives join us. In the scrimmage the old fellow is killed; and there's a tremendous rejoicing, I can tell you, for they all hate him. We divide his treasure, and it's immense, and go to live in his palace. Well, no boat ever comes along; so we build one for ourselves, and row to the nearest port and tell them the chief is dead. They are very glad, for he was a cruel old fellow. Then we buy a ship, and go back for the rest of our treasures. We take a great many of the beautiful things out of the palace, and then we start for home, double-quick. It's been a good many years; and, when I come back, Granny is old, and walking with a cane, Florence married to a rich gentleman, and Dot here grown into a handsome girl. But won't I build a stunning house! There'll be a scattering out of this old shoe, I tell you." "Oh, won't it be splendid!" exclaimed Charlie, with a long-drawn breath. "It's just like a story." "Now, Hal, it's your turn." Hal sighed softly, and squeezed Dot a little. "I shall not go off and be a sailor"-- "Or a jolly young oysterman," said Joe, by way of assistance. "No. What I'd like most of all"--and Hal made a long pause. "Even if it's murder, we'll forgive you and love you," went on tormenting Joe. "O Joe, don't!" besought Florence. "I want to hear what Hal will choose, for I know just what I'd like to have happen to me." "So do I," announced Charlie confidently. "I don't know that I can have it," said Hal slowly; "for it costs a good deal, though I might make a small beginning. It's raising lovely fruit and flowers, and having a great hot-house, with roses and lilies and dear white blossoms in the middle of the winter. I should love them so much! They always seem like little children to me, with God for their father, and we who take care of them for a stepmother; though stepmothers are not always good, and the poor wicked ones would be those who did not love flowers. Why, it would be like fairy-land,--a great long hot-house, with glass overhead, and all the air sweet with roses and heliotrope and mignonette. And it would be so soft and still in there, and so very, very beautiful! It seems to me as if heaven must be full of flowers." "Could you sell 'em if you were poor?" asked Charlie, in a low voice. "Not the flowers in heaven! Charlie, you're a heathen." "I didn't mean that! Don't you suppose I know about heaven!" retorted Charlie warmly. "Yes," admitted Joe with a laugh: "he could sell them, and make lots of money. And there are ever so many things: why, Mr. Green paid six cents apiece for some choice tomato-plants." "When I'm a man, I think I'll do that. I mean to try next summer in my garden." "May I tell now?" asked Charlie, who was near exploding with her secret. "Yes. Great things," said Joe. "I'm going to run away!" And Charlie gave her head an exultant toss, that, owing to the darkness, was lost to her audience. Joe laughed to his utmost capacity, which was not small. The old garret fairly rang again. Florence uttered a horrified exclamation; and Kit said,-- "I'll go with you!" "Girls don't run away," remarked Hal gravely. "But I mean to, and it'll be royal fun," was the confident reply. "Where will you go? and will you beg from door to door?" asked Joe quizzically. "No: I'm going out in the woods," was the undaunted rejoinder. "I mean to find a nice cave; and I'll bring in a lot of good dry leaves and some straw, and make a bed. Then I'll gather berries; and I know how to catch fish, and I can make a fire and fry them. I'll have a gay time going off to the river and rambling round, and there'll be no lessons to plague a body to death. It will be just splendid." "Suppose a bear comes along and eats you up?" suggested Joe. "As if there were any bears around here!" Charlie returned with immense disdain. "Well, a snake, or a wild-cat!" "I'm not afraid of snakes." "But you'd want a little bread." "Oh! I'd manage about that. I do mean to run away some time, just for fun." "You'll be glad to run back again!" "You see, now!" was the decisive reply. "Florentina, it is your turn now. We have had age before beauty." Florence tossed her soft curls, and went through with a few pretty airs. "I shouldn't run away," she said slowly; "but I'd like to _go_, for all that. Sometimes, as I sit by the window sewing, and see an elegant carriage pass by, I think, what if there should be an old gentleman in it, who had lost his wife and all his children, and that one of his little girls looked like--like me? And if he should stop and ask me for a drink, I'd go to the well and draw a fresh, cool bucketful"-- "From the north side--that's the coldest," interrupted Joe. "Hush, Joe! No one laughed at you!" "Laugh! Why, I am sober as an owl." "Then I'd give him a drink. I wish we could have some goblets: tumblers look so dreadfully old-fashioned. I mean to buy _one_, at least, some time. He would ask me about myself; and I'd tell him that we were all orphans, and had been very unfortunate, and that our grandmother was old"-- "'Four score and ten of us, poor old maids,-- Four score and ten of us, Without a penny in our _puss_, Poor old maids,'" sang Joe pathetically, cutting short the _purse_ on account of the rhyme. "O Joe, you are too bad! I won't tell any more." "Yes, do!" entreated Hal. "And so he liked you on account of the resemblance, and wanted to adopt you." "Exactly! Hal, how could you guess it?" returned Florence, much mollified. "And so he would take me to a beautiful house, where there were plenty of servants, and get me lovely clothes to wear; and there would be lots of china and silver and elegant furniture and a piano. I'd go to school, and study music and drawing, and never have to sew or do any kind of work. Then I'd send you nice presents home; and, when you were fixed up a little, you should come and see me. And maybe, Hal, as you grew older, he would help you about getting a hot-house. I think when I became a woman, I would take Dot to educate." "I've heard of fairy godmothers before, but this seems to be a godfather. Here's luck to your old covey, Florrie, drunk in imaginary champagne." "Joe, I wish you wouldn't use slang phrases, nor be so disrespectful." "I'm afraid I'll have to keep clear of the palace." "Oh, if it only could be!" sighed Hal. "I think Flo was meant for a lady." Florence smiled inwardly at hearing this. It was her opinion also. "Here, Kit, are you asleep?" And Joe pulled him out of the pile by one leg. "Wake up, and give us your heart's desire." Kit indulged in a vigorous kick, which Joe dodged. "It'll be splendid," began Kit, "especially the piano. I've had my hands over my eyes, making stars; and I was thinking"-- "That's just what we want, Chief of the Mohawk Valley. Don't keep us in suspense." "I'm going to save up my money, like some one Hal was reading about the other day, and buy a fiddle." A shout of laughter greeted this announcement, it sounded so comical. Kit rubbed his eyes in amazement, and failed to see any thing amusing. Then he said indignantly,-- "You needn't make such a row!" "But what will you do with a fiddle? You might tie a string to Charlie, and take her along for a monkey; or you might both go round singing in a squeaky voice,-- 'Two orphan boys of Switzerland.'" "You're real mean, Joe," said Kit, with his voice full of tears. "Kit, I'll give you the violin myself when I get rich," Florence exclaimed in a comforting tone, her soft hand smoothing down the refractory scalp-lock; "but I would say violin, it sounds so much nicer. And then you'll play." "Play!" enunciated Kit in a tone that I cannot describe, as if that were a weak word for the anticipated performance. "I'd make her talk! They'd sit there and listen,--a whole houseful of people it would be, you know; and when I first came out with my fiddle,--violin. I mean,--they would look at me as if they thought I couldn't do much. I'd begin with a slow sound, like the wind wailing on a winter night,--I guess I'd have it a storm, and a little lost child, for you can make almost any thing with a violin; and the cries should grow fainter and fainter, for she would be chilled and worn out; and presently it should drop down into the snow, and there'd be the softest, strangest music you ever heard. The crowd would listen and listen, and hold their breath; and when the storm cleared away, and the angels came down for the child, it would be so, so sad"--and there was an ominous falter in Kit's voice, "they couldn't help crying. There'd be an angel's song up in heaven; and in the sweetest part of it all, I'd go quietly away, for I wouldn't want any applause." "But you'd have it," said Hal softly, reaching out for the small fingers that were to evoke such wonderful melody. "It almost makes me cry myself to think of it! and the poor little girl lost in the snow, not bigger than Dot here!" "Children!" called Granny from the foot of the stairs, "ain't you going to come down and have any supper? I've made a great pot full of mush." There was a general scrambling. Hal carried Dot in his arms, for she was fast asleep. Two or three times in the short journey he stopped to kiss the soft face, thinking of Kit's vision. "Oh, we've been having such a splendid time!" announced Charlie. "All of us telling what we'd like to do; and, Granny, Joe's going to build you an _elegant_ house!" with a great emphasis on the word, as Charlie was not much given to style, greatly to the sorrow and chagrin of Florence. Granny gave a cheerful but cracked treble laugh, and asked,-- "What'll he build it of, my dear,--corn-cobs?" "Oh, a _real_ house! He's going to make lots of money, Joe is, and get shipwrecked." Granny shook her head, which made the little white curls bob around oddly enough. "How you do mix up things, Charlie," said Joe, giving her a poke with his elbow. "You're a perfect harum-scarum! I don't wonder you want to live in the woods. Go look at your head: it stands out nine ways for Sunday!" Charlie ran her fingers through her hair, her usual manner of arranging it. "Granny, here's this little lamb fast asleep. She's grown to be one of the best babies in the world;" and Hal kissed her again. He had such a tender, girlish heart, that any thing weak or helpless always appealed to him. Their sleek, shining Tabby had been a poor, forlorn, broken-legged kitten when he found her; and there was no end to the birds and chickens that he nursed through accidents. But for a fortnight Dot had been improving, it must be confessed, being exempt from disease and broken bones. "Poor childie! Just lay her in the bed, Hal." There was a huge steaming dish of mush in the middle of the table; and the hungry children went at it in a vigorous manner. Some had milk, and some had molasses; and they improvised a dessert by using a little butter, sugar, and nutmeg. They spiced their meal by recounting their imaginary adventures; but Granny was observed to wipe away a few tears over the shipwreck. "It was all make believe," said Joe sturdily. "Lots of people go to sea, and don't get wrecked." "But I don't want you to go," Granny returned in a broken tone of voice. "Pooh!" exclaimed Joe, with immense disdain. "Don't people meet with accidents on the land? Wasn't Steve Holder killed in the mill. And if I was on the cars in a smash-up, I couldn't swim out of that!" Joe took a long breath, fancying that he had established his point beyond a cavil. "But sailors never make fortunes," went on Granny hesitatingly. "Captains do, though; and it's a jolly life. Besides, we couldn't all stay in this little shanty, unless we made nests in the chimney like the swallows; and I don't know which would tumble down first,--we or the chimney." Charlie laughed at the idea. "I shall stay with you always, Granny," said Hal tenderly. "And Dot, you know, will be growing into a big girl and be company for us. We'll get along nicely, never fear." Some tears dropped unwittingly into Granny's plate, and she didn't want any more supper. It was foolish, of course. She ought to be thankful to have them all out of the way and doing for themselves. Here she was, over fifty, and had worked hard from girlhood. Some day she would be worn out. But, in spite of all their poverty and hardship, she had been very happy with them; and theirs were by no means a forlorn-looking set of faces. Each one had a little beauty of its own; and, though they were far from being pattern children, she loved them dearly in spite of their faults and roughnesses. And in their way they loved her, though sometimes they were great torments. And so at bed-time they all crowded round to kiss the wrinkled face, unconsciously softened by the thought of the parting that was to come somewhere along their lives. But no one guessed how Granny held little Dot in her arms that night, and prayed in her quaint, fervent fashion that she might live to see them all grown up and happy, good and prosperous men and women, and none of them straying far from the old home-nest. I think God listened with watchful love. No one else would have made crooked paths so straight. CHAPTER III. A CHANCE FOR FLOSSY. The vacation had come to an end, and next week the children were to go to school again. Florence counted up her small hoard; for though she did not like to sweep, or wash dishes, she was industrious in other ways. She crocheted edgings and tidies, made lamp-mats, toilet-sets, and collars, and had earned sixteen dollars. Granny would not have touched a penny of it for the world. So Florence bought herself two pretty delaine dresses for winter wear, and begged Granny to let Miss Brown cut and fit them. Florence had a pretty, slender figure; and she was rather vain of it. Her two dresses had cost seven dollars, a pair of tolerably nice boots three and a half, a plaid shawl four, and then she had indulged in the great luxury of a pair of kid gloves. It had come about in this wise. Mrs. Day had purchased them in New York, but they proved too small for her daughter Julia. She was owing Florence a dollar; so she said,-- "Now, if you have a mind to take these gloves, Florence, I'd let you have them for seventy-five cents. I bought them very cheap: they ask a dollar and a quarter in some stores;" and she held them up in their most tempting light. Florence looked at them longingly. "They are lovely kid, and such a beautiful color! Green is all the fashion, and you have a new green dress." There was a pair of nice woollen gloves at the store for fifty cents; and although they were rather clumsy, still Florence felt they would be warmer and more useful. "I don't know as I can spare you the dollar now," continued Mrs. Day, giving the dainty little gloves a most aggravating stretch. "I'd like to have them," said Florence hesitatingly. "I suppose your grandmother won't mind? Your money is your own." Now, Mrs. Day knew that it was wrong to tempt Florence; but the gloves were useless to her, and she felt anxious to dispose of them. "Grandmother said I might spend all my money for clothes," was the rather proud reply. "Kid gloves always look so genteel, and are so durable. You have such a pretty hand too." "I guess I will take them," Florence said faintly. So Mrs. Day gave her the gloves and twenty-five cents. Florence carried them home in secret triumph, and put them in _her_ drawer in Granny's big bureau. She had not told about them yet; and sometimes they were a heavier burden than you would imagine so small a pair of gloves could possibly be. Joe had earned a little odd change from the farmers round, and bought himself a pair of new trousers and a new pair of boots; while Hal had been maid-of-all-work in doors, and head gardener out of doors. "Just look at these potatoes!" he said in triumph to Granny. "There's a splendid binful, and it'll last all winter. And there'll be cabbage and pumpkins and marrow-squash and Lima beans, and lots of corn for the chickens. The garden has been a success this summer." "And you've worked early and late," returned Granny in tender triumph. "There isn't such another boy in the State, I'll be bound!" And she gave him the fondest of smiles. "But the best of all is Dot. She's actually getting fat, Granny; and she has a dimple in her cheek. Why, she'll be almost as pretty as Flossy!" Granny gave the little one a kiss. "She's as good as a kitten when she is well," was the rejoinder, in a loving tone. Kit and Charlie still romped like wild deers. They had made a cave in the wood, and spent whole days there; but Charlie burned her fingers roasting a bird, and went back to potatoes and corn, that could be put in the ashes without so much risk. The old plaid cloak had been made over for a school-dress, and Charlie thought it quite grand. Kit and Hal had to do the best they could about clothes. "Never mind me, Granny," Hal said cheerfully; though he couldn't help thinking of his patched Sunday jacket, which was growing short in the sleeves for him. So on Saturday the children scrubbed and scoured and swept, and made the place quite shine again. Hal arranged the flowers, and then they all drew a restful breath before the supper preparations began. "There's Mrs. Van Wyck coming!" and Charlie flew up the lane, dashing headlong into the house, to the imminent peril of her best dress, which she had been allowed to put on for an hour or two. "Mrs. Van Wyck!" Granny brushed back her bobbing flaxen curls, washed Dot's face over again with the nearest white cloth, which happened to be Flossy's best handkerchief that she had been doing up for Sunday. "Oh!" the young lady cried in dismay, and then turned to make her prettiest courtesy. Mrs. Van Wyck was very well off indeed, and lived in quite a pretentious cottage,--villa she called it; but, as she had a habit of confusing her V's and W's, Joe re-christened it the Van Wyck Willow. "Good-afternoon, Mrs. Kenneth. How d'y do, Florence?" Florence brought out a chair, and, with the most polite air possible, invited her to be seated. Mrs. Van Wyck eyed her sharply. "'Pears to me you look quite fine," she said. Florence wore a white dress that was pretty well outgrown, and had been made from one of her mother's in the beginning. It had a good many little darns here and there, and she was wearing it for the last time. She had tied a blue ribbon in her curls, and pinned a tiny bouquet on her bosom. She looked very much dressed, but that was pretty Flossy's misfortune. Mrs. Van Wyck gathered up her silk gown,--a great staring brocade in blue and gold, that might have been her grandmother's, it looked so ancient in style. "I've come over on some business," she began, with an important air and a mysterious shake of the head. Granny sat down, and took Dot upon her lap. Kit and Charlie peered out of their hiding-places, and Joe perched himself upon the window-sill. "How do you ever manage with all this tribe?" And Mrs. Van Wyck gave each of them a scowl. "There's a houseful," returned Granny, "but we _do_ get along." "Tough scratching, I should say." "And poor pickings the chickens might add, if they had _such_ an old hen," commented Joe _soto voce_. "There'd be something worse than clucking." Hal couldn't help laughing. Mrs. Van Wyck was so ruffled and frilled, so full of ends of ribbon about the head and neck, that she did look like a setting hen disturbed in the midst of her devotions. "Them children haven't a bit of manners," declared Mrs. Van Wyck, in sublime disregard of syntax. "Trot off, all of you but Florence: I have something to say to your grandmother." Joe made a somerset out of the window, and placed himself in a good listening position; Hal went out and sat on the doorstep; and Charlie crawled under the table. "I don't see how you manage to get along with such a houseful. I always did wonder at your taking 'em." "Oh! we do pretty well," returned Granny cheerily. "They're growing big enough to help themselves a little. Why don't you bind Joe out to some of the farmers. Such a great fellow ought to be doing something besides racing round and getting into mischief." Joe made a series of such polite evolutions, that Hal ran to the gate to have a good laugh without being heard. "He's going to school," said Granny innocently. "They all begin on Monday." "Going to school?" And Mrs. Van Wyck elevated her voice as if she thought them all deaf. "Why, _I_ never went to school a day after I was twelve year old, and my father was a well-to-do farmer. There's no sense in children having so much book-larnin'. It makes 'em proud and stuck up, and good for nothing. "Oh! where's that dog? Put him out! Put him out! I can't bear dogs. And the poorer people are, the more dogs they'll keep." Joe, the incorrigible, was quite a ventriloquist for his years and size. He had just made a tremendous ki-yi, after the fashion of the most snarling terrier dog, and a kind of scrabbling as if the animal might be under Mrs. Van Wyck's feet. "Oh, my! Take the nasty brute away. Maybe he's full of fleas or has the mange"-- "It is only Joe," explained Florence, as soon as she could put in a word. "I'd Joe him, if I had him here! You're a ruining of these children as I've always said; and you may thank your stars if Joe escapes the gallows. I've positively come on an errand of mercy." "Not for Joe," declared the owner of the name with a sagacious shake of the head, while Mrs. Van Wyck paused for breath. "Yes. Not one of them'll be worth a penny if they go on this way. Now, here's Florence, growing up in idleness"-- "She keeps pretty busy," said Granny stoutly. "Busy! Why, you've nothing for her to do. When I was a little girl, my mother made me sit beside her, and sew patchwork; and before I was twelve year old I had finished four quilts. And she taught me the hymn,-- 'Satan finds some mischief still For idle hands to do.'" "They always learn a verse for Sunday," said Granny deprecatingly. "But you let 'em run wild. I've seen it all along. I was a talkin' to Miss Porter about it; and says I, 'Now, I'll do one good deed;' and the Lord knows it's needed." Everybody listened. Joe from the outside made a pretence of picking his ears open with the handle of a broken saucepan. "Florence is getting to be a big girl, and it's high time she learned something. As I was a sayin' to Miss Porter, 'I want just such a girl; and it will be the making of Florence Kenneth to fall into good hands.'" "But you don't mean"--and Granny paused, aghast. "I mean to make the child useful in her day and generation. It'll be a good place for her." Mrs. Van Wyck nodded her head until the bows and streamers flew in every direction. Granny opened her eyes wide in surprise. "What do you want of her, Mrs. Van Wyck?" Charlie peeped out from between the legs of the table to hear, her mouth wide open lest she should lose a word. "Want of her?" screamed the visitor. "Why, to work, of course! I don't keep idle people about me, I can tell you. I want a girl to make beds, and sweep, and dust, and wash dishes, and scour knives, and scrub, and run errands, and do little chores around. It'll be the making of her; and I'm willing to do the fair thing." Granny was struck dumb with amazement. Florence could hardly credit her ears. Hal sprang up indignantly, and Joe doubled his fists as if he were about to demolish the old house along with Mrs. Van Wyck. "Yes. I've considered the subject well. I always sleep on a thing before I tell a single soul. And, if Florence is a good smart girl, I'll give her seventy-five cents a week and her board. For six dollars a month I could get a grown girl, who could do all my work." Granny looked at Florence in helpless consternation; and Florence looked at Granny with overwhelming disdain. "Well! why don't you answer?" said the visitor. She had supposed they would jump at the offer. "I don't expect to go out doing housework, Mrs. Van Wyck," said Florence loftily. "Hoity-toity! how grand we are! I've never been above doing my own housework; and I could buy and sell the whole bunch of you, a dozen times over." "Florence wouldn't like it, I'm afraid," said Granny mildly. "A fine way to bring up children, truly! You may see the day when you'll be thankful to have a home as good as my kitchen." There was a bright red spot in Florence's cheeks. "Mrs. Van Wyck," Florence began in a quiet, ladylike manner, although she felt inclined to be angry, "grandmother is right: I should not like it. I have no taste for housework; and I can earn more than you offer to give by doing embroidering and crocheting. Through the six weeks of vacation I earned sixteen dollars." "Fancy work! What is the world coming to? Children brought up to despise good, honest employment." "No, I don't despise it," amended Florence; "but I do not like it, and I think it a hard way of earning a little money. If I can do better, of course I have the right." Granny was amazed at the spirit Florence displayed. "You'll all be paupers on the town yet, mark my words. Flaunting round in white dresses and ribbons, and"-- She glanced around for some further vanity to include in her inventory. "I am sure we are obliged to you," said Granny mildly. "But Florence"-- "Yes, Florence is too good to work. There's no sense in such high-flown names. I'd have called her plain Peggy. She must curl her hair, and dress herself--oh my lady, if I had you, you'd see!" And Mrs. Van Wyck arose in great wrath, her streamers flying wildly. "You'll remember this when you come to beggary,--refusing a good home and plenty. Your grandmother is a foolish old woman; and you're a lazy, shiftless, impudent set! I wash my hands of the whole lot." "I'm sorry," began Granny. "There's no use talking. I wouldn't have the girl on any account. I can get her betters any day. You'll come to no good end, I can tell you!" With that, Mrs. Van Wyck flounced out; but at the first turn tumbled over Kit, who had rolled himself in a ball on the doorstep. Down she went, and Joe set up a shout. Hal couldn't help laughing, and Charlie ran to pull out Kit. "You good-for-nothing, beggarly wretches!" While she was sputtering and scrambling about, Joe began a hideous caterwauling. "Drat that cat! Pity I hadn't broken his neck! And my second-best bonnet!" Kit hid himself in his grandmother's gown, sorely frightened, and a little bruised. [Illustration] "It's the last time I'll ever step inside of this place. Such an awful set of children I never did see!" To use Joe's expressive phraseology, she "slathered" right and left, her shrill voice adding to the confusion. Granny watched the retreating figure with the utmost bewilderment. "The mean old thing!" began Florence, half crying. "Why, I couldn't stand her temper and her scolding, and to be a common kitchen-girl!" "She meant well, dear. In my day girls thought it no disgrace to live out." "Wasn't it gay and festive, Granny? I believe I've burst every button, laughing; and you'll have to put a mustard plaster on my side to draw out the soreness. And oh, Kit, what a horrible yell you gave! How could you be the ruin of that second best bonnet?" "'Twasn't me," said Kit, rubbing his eyes. "But she most squeezed the breath out of me." "Flossy, here is your fortune, and your coach-and-four. My dear child, I hope you will not be too much elated, for you must remember"-- "'Satan finds some mischief still,' &c." Joe whisked around, holding Dot's apron at full length in imitation of a streamer. "I wonder if she really thought I would go. Scouring and scrubbing, and washing dishes. I'd do with one meal a day first." "She is a coarse, ill-bred woman," said Hal; "not a bit like Mrs. Kinsey." "We will not be separated just yet," exclaimed Granny, with a sigh for the time that must come. "And I don't mean to live out," was the emphatic rejoinder of Florence. "My dear, you mustn't be too proud," cautioned Granny. "It isn't altogether pride. Why should I wash dishes when I can do something better?" "That's the grit, Flossy. I'll bet on you!" "O Joe! don't. I wish you would learn to be refined. Now, you see all Mrs. Van Wyck's money cannot make her a lady." Joe put on a solemn face; but the next moment declared that he must keep a sharp look out, or some old sea-captain would snap him up, and set him to scrubbing decks, and holystoning the cable. And yet they felt quite grave when the fun was over. Their merry vacation had ended, and there was no telling what a year might bring forth. "I think I should like most of all to be a school-teacher," Florence declared. "You'll have to wait till you're forty. Who do you s'pose is going to mind a little gal?" "Not you; for you never mind anybody," was the severe reply. Florence felt quite grand on the following day, attired in her new green delaine, and her "lovely" gloves. Granny was so busy with the others that she never noticed them; and Florence quieted her conscience by thinking that the money was her own, and she could do what she liked with it. She kept self generally in view, it must be admitted. Mrs. Van Wyck's overture was destined to make quite a stir. She repeated it to her neighbors in such glowing terms that it really looked like an offer to adopt Florence; and she declaimed bitterly against the pride and the ingratitude of the whole Kenneth family. Florence held her head loftily, and took great pains to contradict the story; and Joe became the stoutest of champions, though he teased her at home. "But it's too bad to have her tell everybody such falsehoods; and, after all, three dollars a month would be very low wages. Why, Mary Connor gets a dollar a week for tending Mrs. Hall's baby; and she never scrubs or scours a thing!" Truth to tell, Florence felt a good deal insulted. But the whole five went to school pretty regularly. Hal was very studious, and Florence also, in spite of her small vanities; but Joe was incorrigible everywhere. Florence gained courage one day to ask Mr. Fielder about the prospect of becoming a teacher. She was ambitious, and desired some kind of a position that would be ladylike. "It's pretty hard work at first," he answered with a smile. "But how long would I have to study?" "Let me see--you are fourteen now: in three years you might be able to take a situation. Public schools in the city are always better for girls, for they can begin earlier in the primary department. A country school, you see, may have some troublesome urchins in it." Florence sighed. Three years would be a long while to wait. "I will give you all the assistance in my power," Mr. Fielder said kindly. "And I may be able to hear of something that will be to your advantage." Florence thanked him, but somehow the prospect did not look brilliant. Then she thought of dressmaking. Miss Brown had a pretty cottage, furnished very nicely indeed; and it was her boast that she did it all with her own hands. She kept a servant, and dressed quite elegantly; and all the ladies round went to her in their carriages. Then she had such beautiful pieces for cushions and wonderful bedquilts,--"Though I never take but the least snip of a dress," she would say with a virtuous sniff. "I have heard of people who kept a yard or two, but to my mind it's downright stealing." There was a drawback to this picture of serene contentment. Miss Brown was an old maid, and Florence hoped devoutly that would never be her fate. And then Miss Skinner, who went out by the day, was single also. Was it the natural result of the employment? CHAPTER IV. THE IDENTICAL SHOE. They did pretty well through the fall. Joe came across odd jobs, gathered stores of hickory-nuts and chestnuts; and now and then of an evening they had what he called a rousing good boil; and certainly chestnuts never tasted better. They sat round the fire, and told riddles or stories, and laughed as only healthy, happy children can. What if they were poor, and had to live in a little tumble-down shanty! Sometimes Joe would surprise them with a somerset in the middle of the floor, or a good stand on his head in one corner. "Joe," Granny would say solemnly, "I once knowed a man who fell that way on his head off a load of hay, and broke his back." "Granny dear, 'knowed' is bad grammar. When you go to see Florence in her palace, you must say knew, to rhyme with blew. But your old man's back must have grown cranky with rheumatism, while mine is limber as an eel." "He wasn't old, Joe. And in my day they never learned grammar." "Oh, tell us about the good old times!" and Hal's head was laid in Granny's lap. The children were never tired of hearing these tales. Days when Granny was young were like enchantment. She remembered some real witch stories, that she was sure were true; and weddings, quiltings, husking-bees, and apple-parings were full of interest. How they went out sleigh-riding, and had a dance; and how once Granny and her lover, sitting on the back seat, were jolted out, seat and all, while the horses went skimming along at a pace equal to Tam O'Shanter's. And how they had to go to a neighboring cottage, and stay ever so long before they were missed. "There'll never be such times again," Joe would declare solemnly. Florence would breath a little sigh, and wonder if she could ever attain to beaux and merriment, and if any one would ever quarrel about dancing with her. How happy Granny must have been! Dot had a dreadful cold, and Granny an attack of rheumatism; but they both recovered before Christmas. Every one counted so much on this holiday. All were making mysterious preparations. Joe and Hal and Florence had their heads together; and then it was Granny and Florence, or Granny and Hal. "I don't dare to stir out," said Joe lugubriously, "lest you may say something that I shall not hear." Hal killed three fine young geese. Two were disposed of for a dollar apiece, and the third he brought to the kitchen in triumph. "There's our Christmas dinner, and a beauty too!" he announced. Hal had sold turkeys and chickens enough to buy himself a good warm winter coat. Granny had a little extra luck. In fact, it was rather a prosperous winter with them; and there was nothing like starvation, in spite of Mrs. Van Wyck's prediction. They all coaxed Granny to make doughnuts. Joe dropped them in the kettle, and Hal took them out with the skimmer. How good they did smell! Kit and Charlie tumbled about on the floor, and were under everybody's feet; while Dot sat in her high chair, looking wondrous wise. "How'll we get the stockings filled?" propounded Joe, when the supper-table had been cleared away. They all glanced at each other in consternation. "But where'll you hang 'em?" asked Kit after a moment or two of profound study. "Some on the andirons, some on the door-knob, some on the kettle-spout, and the rest up chimney." "I say, can't we have two?" was Charlie's anxious question. "Lucky if you get one full. What a host of youngsters! O Granny! did you know that last summer I discovered that you were the old woman who lived in a shoe?" "O Joe! don't;" and Hal raised his soft eyes reproachfully. Granny laughed, not understanding Hal's anxiety. "Because I had so many children?" "Exactly; but I think you are better tempered than your namesake." Granny's eyes twinkled at this compliment. "It was an awful hot day, and Dot was cross enough to kill a cat with nine lives." "But she's a little darling now," said Hal, kissing her. "I think the sand-man has been around;" and he smiled into the little face with its soft drooping eyes. "Yes, she ought to be in bed, and Kit and Charlie. Come, children." "I want to see what's going to be put in my stocking," whined Charlie in a very sleepy tone. "No, you can't. March off, you small snipes, or you will find a whip there to-morrow morning." That was Joe's peremptory order. They had a doughnut apiece, and then went reluctantly. Charlie was very sure that she was wider awake than ever before in her life, and could not get asleep if she tried all night. Kit didn't believe that morning would ever come. Hal put on Dot's nightgown, and heard her say, "Now I lay me down to sleep;" while Joe picked up the cat, and irreverently whispered,-- "Now I lay me down to sleep, All curled up in a little heap. If I should wake before 'tis day, What do you s'pose the doctor'd say?" "O Joe!" remonstrated Granny. "That's Tabby's prayers. Tabby is a high principled, moral, and intellectual cat. Now go to sleep, and dream of a mouse." Tabby winked her eyes solemnly, as if she understood every word; and it's my firm belief that she did. Then Granny, Florence, Joe, and Hal sat in profound thought until the old high clock in the corner struck nine. "Well," said Joe, "what are we waiting for?" Hal laughed and answered,-- "For some one to go to bed." "What is to be done about it?" Florence looked wise, and said presently,-- "We'll all have to go in the other room except the one who is to put something in the stockings." "That's it. Who will begin?" "Not I," rejoined Joe. "I don't want to be poked down into the toe." "And I can't have my gifts crushed," declared Florence. "Hal, you begin." Hal was very cheerful and obliging. Granny lighted another candle, and the three retired. He disposed of his gifts, and then called Joe. Joe made a great scrambling around. One would think he had Santa Claus himself, and was squeezing him into the small stocking, sleigh, ponies, and all. "Now, Granny, it's your turn." Granny fumbled about a long while, until the children grew impatient. Afterward Florence found herself sorely straitened for room; but she had a bright brain, and what she could not put inside she did up in papers and pinned to the outside, giving the stockings a rather grotesque appearance, it must be confessed. There they hung in a row, swelled to dropsical proportions, and looking not unlike stumpy little Dutchmen who had been beheaded at the knees. "Now, Granny, you must go to bed," said Joe with an air of importance. "And you must promise to lie there until you are called to-morrow morning,--honor bright!" Granny smiled, and bobbed her flaxen curls. "Now," exclaimed Florence, bolting the middle door so they would be sure of no interruption. Joe went out to the wood-shed, and dragged in a huge shoe. The toe was painted red, and around the top a strip of bright yellow, ending with an immense buckle cut out of wood. "Oh, isn't it splendid!" exclaimed Florence, holding her breath. "That was Hal's idea, and it's too funny for any thing. Granny could crawl into it head first. If we haven't worked and conjured to keep Kit and Charlie out of the secret, then no one ever had a bit of trouble in this world." Joe laughed until he held his sides. It was a sort of safety escape-valve with him. "H-u-s-h!" whispered Hal. "Now, Flossy." Florence brought a large bundle out of the closet. There were some suppressed titters, and "O's," and "Isn't it jolly?" "Now you must tie your garters round the bedpost, put the toe of your shoes toward the door, and go to bed backward. That'll make every thing come out just right," declared Joe. "Oh, dear! I wish it was morning!" said Hal. "I want to see the fun." "So don't this child. I must put in some tall snoring between this and daylight." They said good-night softly to each other, and went off to bed. Joe was so full of mischief, that he kept digging his elbows into Hal's ribs, and rolling himself in the bedclothes, until it was a relief to have him commence the promised snoring. With the first gray streak of dawn there was a stir. "Merry Christmas!" sang out Joe with a shout that might have been heard a mile. "Hal and Kit"-- "Can't you let a body sleep in peace?" asked Kit in an injured tone, the sound coming from vasty deeps of bedclothes. Joe declared they always had to fish him out of bed, and that buckwheat cakes was the best bait that could be used. "Why, it's Christmas. Hurrah! We're going to have a jolly time. What do you suppose is in your stocking?" That roused Kit. He came out of bed on his head, and commenced putting his foot through his jacket sleeve. "I can't find my stockings! Who's got 'em?" "The fellow who gets up first always takes the best clothes," said Joe solemnly. With that he made a dive into his. It was the funniest thing in the world to see Joe dress. His clothes always seemed joined together in some curious fashion; for he flung his arms and legs into them at one bound. "Oh, dear! Don't look in my stocking, Joe. You might wait. I know you've hidden away my shoe on purpose." With this Kit sat in the middle of the floor like a heap of rains, and began to cry. Hal came to the rescue, and helped his little brother dress. But Joe was down long before them. He gave a whoop at the door. "Merry Christmas!" exclaimed Florence with a laugh, glad to think she had distanced him. "Merry Christmas! The top o' the mornin' to you, Granny! Long life and plenty of 'praties and pint.' Santa Claus has been here. My eyes!" Hal and Kit came tumbling along; but the younger stood at the door in amaze, his mouth wide open. "Hush for your life!" But Kit had to make a tour regardless of his own stocking, while Joe brandished the tongs above his head as if to enforce silence. Hal began to kindle the fire. Charlie crept out in her nightgown, with an old shawl about her, and stood transfixed with astonishment. "Oh, my! Isn't that jolly? Doesn't Granny know a bit?" "Not a word." "Mrs. McFinnegan," said Joe through the chink of the door, "I have to announce that the highly esteemed and venerable Mr. Santa Claus, a great traveller and a remarkably generous man, has made a call upon you during the night. As he feared to disturb your slumbers, he left a ball of cord, a paper of pins, and a good warm night-cap." Florence was laughing so that she could hardly use buttons or hooks. Dot gave a neglected whine from the cradle. "Is Granny ready?" Hal asked as she came out. "She's just putting on her cap." Hal went in for a Christmas kiss. Granny held him to her heart in a fond embrace, and wished the best of every thing over him. "Merry Christmas to you all!" she said as Hal escorted her out to the middle of the room. Joe went over on his head, and then perched himself on the back of a chair. The rest all looked at Granny. "Is this really for me?" she asked in surprise, though the great placard stared her in the face. The children set up a shout. Kit and Charlie paused, open-mouthed, in the act of demolishing something. "Why, I never"-- "Tumble it out," said Joe. "This great shoe full"-- Florence handed the first package to Granny. She opened it in amaze, as if she really could not decide whether it belonged to her or not. There was a paper pinned on it, "A Merry Christmas from Mrs. Kinsey." A nice dark calico dress-pattern, at which Granny was so overcome that she dropped into the nearest chair. Next a pair of gloves from Joe; a pretty, warm hood from Mrs. Howard, the clergyman's wife; a bowl of elegant cranberry sauce from another neighbor; a crocheted collar from Florence, and then with a big tug-- "Oh!" exclaimed Granny, "is it a comfortable, or what?" A good thick plaid shawl. Just bright enough to be handsome and not too gay, and as soft as the back of a lamb. "Where did it come from?" Granny's voice trembled in her excitement. "From all of us," said Florence. "I mean, Joe and Hal and me. We've been saving our money this ever so long, and Mrs. Kinsey bought it for us. O Granny!"-- But Granny had her arms around them, and was crying over heads golden and brown and black; and Hal, little chicken-heart, was sobbing and smiling together. Joe picked a big tear or two out of his eye, and began with some nonsense. "And to keep it a secret all this time! and to make this great shoe! There never was such a Christmas before. Oh, children, I'm happier than a queen!" "What makes you cry then, Granny?" asked Charlie. "But oh! wasn't it funny? And if it only had runners it would make a sleigh. Look at the red toe." They kissed dozens of times, and inspected each other's gifts. Florence had made each of the boys two dainty little neckties, having begged the silk from Miss Brown. Charlie and Kit had a pair of new mittens, Joe and Hal a new shirt with a real plaited bosom, and a host of small articles devised by love, with a scarce purse. But I doubt if there was a happier household in richer homes. It was a long while before they had tried every thing, [Illustration] tasted of all their "goodies," and expressed sufficient delight and surprise. Dot was taken up and dressed, and Kit found that she fitted into the shoe exact. Her tiny stocking was not empty. They all laughed and talked; and it was nine o'clock before their simple breakfast was ready. Joe had to take a turn out to see some of the boys; Florence made the beds, and put the room in order; and Hal kept a roaring fire to warm it up, so that they might have a parlor. Kit and Charlie were deeply interested in the shoe; and Granny had to break out every now and then in surprise and thankfulness. "A shawl and hood and gloves and a dress! Why, I never had so many things at once, I believe; and how hard you must all have worked! I don't see how you could save so much money!" "It's better than living with Mrs. Van Wyck," returned Florence with pardonable pride. "Embroidering is real pretty work, and it pays well. Mrs. Howard has asked me to do some for a friend of hers." "You're a wonder, Florence, to be sure. I can't see how you do 'em all so nice. But my fingers are old and clumsy." "They know how to make pies and doughnuts," said Kit, as if that was the main thing, after all. They went to work at the dinner. It was to be a grand feast. Joe kept the fire brisk; while Hal waited upon Granny, and remembered the ingredients that went to make "tip-top" dressing. "It is a pity you were not a Frenchman," said Florence. "You would make such a handy cook." Hal laughed, his cheeks as red as roses. "I couldn't keep house without him," appended Granny. There was a savory smell of roasting goose, the flavor of thyme and onions, which the children loved dearly. Charlie and Kit went out to have a good run, and came back hungry as bears, they declared. Joe went off to see some of the boys, and compare gifts. Though more than one new sled or nice warm overcoat gave his heart a little twinge, he was too gay and happy to feel sad very long; and, when he had a royal ride down hill on the bright sleds that flashed along like reindeers, he returned very well content. Florence sighed a little as she arranged the table. Three kinds of dishes, and some of them showing their age considerably. If they were all white it wouldn't be so bad. She did so love beauty! But when the goose, browned in the most delicious manner, graced the middle dish, the golden squash and snowy mound of potatoes, and the deep wine color of the cranberries lent their contrast, it was quite a picture, after all. And when the host of eager faces had clustered round it, one would hardly have noticed any lack. They were all in the gayest possible mood. Hal did the carving. The goose was young and tender, and he disappeared with marvellous celerity. Wings, drumsticks, great juicy slices with crisp skin, dressing in abundance; and how they did eat! For a second helping they had to demolish the rack; and Charlie wasn't sure but picking bones was the most fun of all. "Hal, you had better go into the poultry business," said Joe, stopping in the midst of a spoonful of cranberry. "I've been thinking of it," was the reply. "I should think he was in it," said Charlie slyly. Joe laughed. "Good for you, Charlie. They must feed you on knives at your house, you're so sharp. But I have heard of people being too smart to live long, so take warning." Charlie gave her head a toss. "Why wouldn't it be good?" pursued Joe. "People do make money by it; and I suppose, before very long, we must begin to think about money." "Don't to-day" said Granny. "No, we will not worry ourselves," rejoined Hal. One after another drew long breaths, as if their appetites were diminishing. Dot sat back in her high chair, her hands and face showing signs of the vigorous contest, but wonderfully content. "Now the pie!" exclaimed Joe. Florence gathered up the bones and the plates, giving Tabby, who sat in the corner washing her face, a nice feast. Then came on the Christmas pie, which was pronounced as great a success as the goose. "Oh, dear!" sighed Joe. "One unfortunate thing about eating is, that it takes away your appetite." "It is high time!" added Florence. They wouldn't allow Granny to wash a dish, but made her sit in state while they brought about order and cleanliness once more. A laughable time they had; for Joe wiped some dishes, and Charlie scoured one knife. Afterward they had a game at blind-man's-buff. Such scampering and such screams would have half frightened any passer-by. They coaxed Granny to get up and join; and at last, to please Hal, she consented. If Joe fancied he could catch her easily, he was much mistaken. She had played blind-man's-buff too many times in her young days. Such turning and doubling and slipping away was fine to see; and Charlie laughed so, that Joe, much chagrined, took her prisoner instead. "Granny, you beat every thing!" he said. "Now, Charlie." Charlie made a dive at the cupboard, and then started for the window, spinning round in such a fashion that they all had to run; but even she was not fleet enough. After that, Kit and Florence essayed; and Joe, manoeuvring in their behalf, fell into the trap himself, at which they all set up a shout. "I'm bound to have Granny this time," he declared. Sure enough, though he confessed afterwards that he peeped a little; but Granny was tired with so much running: and, as the short afternoon drew to a close, they gathered round the fire, and cracked nuts, washing them down with apples, as they had no cider. "It's been a splendid Christmas!" said Charlie, with such a yawn that she nearly made the top of her head an island. "I wonder if we'll all be here next year?" said Joe, rather more solemnly than his wont. "I hope so," responded Granny, glancing over the clustering faces. Dot sat on Hal's knee, looking bright as a new penny. She, too, had enjoyed herself amazingly. But presently the spirit of fun seemed to die out, and they began to sing some hymns and carols. The tears came into Granny's eyes, as the sweet, untrained voices blended so musically. Ah, if they could always stay children! Foolish wish; and yet Granny would have toiled for them to her latest breath. "Here's long life and happiness!" exclaimed Joe, with a flourish of the old cocoanut dipper. "A merry Christmas next year, and may we all be there to see!" Ah, Joe, it will be many a Christmas before you are all there again. CHAPTER V. GOOD LUCK FOR JOE. "Hooray!" said Joe, swinging the molasses jug over his head as if it had been a feather, or the stars and stripes on Fourth of July morning. "O Joe!" "Flossy, my darling, you are a poet sure; only poetry, like an alligator, must have feet, or it will lose its reputation. Here's your 'lasses, Granny; and what do you think? Something has actually happened to me! Oh, my! do guess quick!" "You've been taken with the 'lirium"--and there Charlie paused, having been wrecked on a big word. "Delirium tremen_jous_. Remember to say it right hereafter, Charlie." Charlie looked very uncertain. "Maybe it's the small-pox," said Kit, glancing up in amazement. "Good for you!" and Joe applauded with two rather blue thumb-nails. "But it's a fact. Guess, Granny. I'm on the high road to fortune. Hooray!" With that, Joe executed his usual double-shuffle, and a revolution on his axis hardly laid down in the planetary system. He would have said that it was because he was not a heavenly body. "O Joe, if you were like any other boy!" "Jim Fisher, for instance,--red-headed, squint-eyed, and freckled." "He can't help it," said Hal mildly. "He is real nice too." "You're not going"--began Granny with a gasp. "Yes, I'm going"--was the solemn rejoinder. "Not to sea!" and there came a quick blur in Hal's eyes. "Oh, bother, no! You're all splendid at guessing, and ought to have a prize leather medal. It's in Mr. Terry's store; and I shall have a dollar and a half a week! Good by, Mr. Fielder. Adieu, beloved grammar; and farewell, most fragrant extract of cube-root, as well as birch-oil. O Granny! I'm happy as a big sunflower. On the high road to fame and fortune,--think of it!" "Is it really true?" asked Florence. "Then, I won't need to go for any thing," appended Charlie. "No; but you'll have to draw water, and split kindlings, and hunt up Mrs. Green's cows." "In Mr. Terry's store! What wonderful luck, Joe!" Granny's delight was overwhelming. All along she had experienced a sad misgiving, lest Joe should take a fancy to the sea in real earnest. "Yes. It's just splendid. Steve Anthony's going to the city to learn a trade. He had a letter from his uncle to-day, saying that he might start right away. I thought a minute: then said I, 'Steve, who's coming here?' 'I don't know,' said he. 'Mr. Terry'll have to look round.' 'I'm your boy,' said I, 'and no mistake.' And with that I rushed in to Mr. Terry, and asked him. He gave me some columns of figures to add up, and questioned me a little, and finally told me that I might come on Monday, and we'd try for a week." "There's Joe's fortune," said Hal, "and a good one too. You will not need to go to sea." There was an odd and knowing twinkle in Joe's merry hazel eye, which showed to an observing person that he was not quite sound on the question. "Tate Dotty;" and two little hands were outstretched. "O Dot! you're a fraud, and more trouble to me than all my money." With that, Joe sat her up on his shoulder, and she laughed gleefully. Granny lighted a candle, and began to prepare for supper. While Charlie set the table, Granny brought out the griddle, and commenced frying some Indian cakes in a most tempting manner. Joe dropped on an old stool, and delighted Dot with a vigorous ride to Banbury Cross. Kit stood beside him, inhaling the fragrance of the cakes, and wondering at the dexterity with which Granny turned them on a slender knife. "I don't see how you do it. Suppose you should let 'em fall?" "Ho!" said Charlie, with a sniff of disdain. "Women always know how." "But they can't come up to the miners," suggested Joe. "They keep house for themselves; and their flapjacks are turned,--as big as Granny's griddle here." "One cake?" "Yes. That's where the art comes in." "They must take a shovel," said Charlie. "No, nor a knife, nor any thing." With that Joe shook his head mysteriously. "With their fingers," announced Kit triumphantly. "My mother used to bake them in a frying-pan," said Granny. "Then she'd twirl it round and round, and suddenly throw the cake over." "There!" Kit gave a nod as much as to say, "Beat that if you can." "That isn't a circumstance," was Joe's solemn comment. "But how then?" asked Charlie, who was wound up to a pitch of curiosity. "Why, _they_ bake them in a pan too, and twirl it round and round, and then throw it up and run out of doors. The cake goes up chimney, and comes down on the raw side, all right, you see, and drops into the pan before you can count six black beans." "Oh, I don't believe it!" declared Charlie. "Do you, Granny?" "They'd have to be pretty quick," was the response. "You see, a woman never could do it, Charlie," Joe continued in a tormenting manner. "But, Charlie, a miner's cabin is not very high; and the chimney is just a great hole in the roof," explained Hal. "'Tory, 'tory," said Dot, who was not interested in the culinary art. "O Dotty! you'll have a piece worn off the end of my tongue, some day. It's high time you were storing your mind with useful facts; so, if you please, we will have a little English history." "What nonsense, Joe! As if she could understand;" and Florence looked up from her pretty worsted crocheting. "To be sure she can. Dot comes of a smart family. Now, Midget;" and with that he perched her up on his knee. Charlie and Kit began to listen. "'When good King Arthur ruled the land, He was a goodly king: He stole three pecks of barley-meal To make a bag pudding.'" "I don't believe it," burst out Charlie. "I was reading about King Arthur"-- "And he was a splendid cook. Hear his experience,-- 'A bag pudding the king did make, And stuffed it well with plums; And in it put great lumps of fat, As big as my two thumbs.'" Dot thought the laugh came in here, and threw back her head, showing her little white teeth. "It really wasn't King Arthur," persisted Charlie. "It is a fact handed down to posterity. No wonder England became great under so wise and economical a rule; for listen-- 'The king and queen did eat thereof, And noblemen beside; And what they could not eat that night, The queen next morning fried,'-- as we do sometimes. Isn't it wonderful?" "Hunnerful," ejaculated Dot, wide-eyed. "I hope you'll take a lesson, and"-- "Come to supper," said Granny. Irrepressible Charlie giggled at the ending. They did not need a second invitation, but clustered around eagerly. "I'm afraid there won't be any left to fry up in the morning," said Joe solemnly. After the youngsters were off to bed that evening, Joe began to talk about his good fortune again. "And a dollar and a half a week, regularly, is a good deal," he said. "Why, I can get a spick and span new suit of clothes for twelve dollars,--two months, that would be; and made at a tailor's too." "The two months?" asked Florence. "Oh! you know what I mean." "You will get into worse habits than ever," she said with a wise elder-sister air. "I don't ever expect to be a grand gentleman." "But you _might_ be a little careful." "Flo acts as if she thought we were to have a great fortune left us by and by, and wouldn't be polished enough to live in state." "The only fortune we shall ever have will come from five-finger land," laughed Hal good-naturedly. "And I'm going to make a beginning. I do think it was a streak of luck. I am old enough to do something for myself." "I wish I could find such a chance," said Hal, with a soft sigh. "Your turn will come presently," Granny answered, smiling tenderly. Joe went on with his air-castles. The sum of money looked so large in his eyes. He bought out half of Mr. Terry's store, and they were to live like princes,--all on a dollar and a half a week. Granny smiled, and felt proud enough of him. If he would only keep to business, and not go off to sea. So on Friday Joe piled up his books, and turned a somerset over them, and took a farewell race with the boys. They were all sorry enough to lose him. Mr. Fielder wished him good luck. "You will find that work is not play," he said by way of caution. Early Monday morning Joe presented himself bright as a new button. He had insisted upon wearing his best suit,--didn't he mean to have another soon? for the school clothes were all patches. He had given his hair a Sunday combing, which meant that he used a comb instead of his fingers. Mr. Terry was much pleased with his promptness. A regular country store, with groceries on one side and dry goods on the other, a little sashed cubby for a post-office, and a corner for garden and farm implements. There was no liquor kept on the premises; for the mild ginger and root beer sold in summer could hardly be placed in that category. Joe was pretty quick, and by noon had mastered many of the intricacies. Old Mr. Terry was in the store part of the time,--"father" as everybody called him. He was growing rather childish and careless, so his son instructed Joe to keep a little watch over him. Then he showed him how to harness the horse, and drove off with some bulky groceries that he was to take home. "All things work together for good, sonny," said Father Terry with a sleepy nod, as he sat down by the stove. "What things?" "All things," with a sagacious shake of the head. This was Father Terry's favorite quotation, and he used it in season and out of season. The door opened, and Mrs. Van Wyck entered. She gave Joe a sharp look. "So _you're_ here?" with a kind of indignant sniff. "Yes. What will you have?" There was a twinkle in Joe's eye, and an odd little pucker to his lips, as if he were remembering something. "You needn't be so impudent." "I?" and Joe flushed in surprise. "Yes. You're a saucy lot, the whole of you." With that Mrs. Van Wyck began to saunter round. "What's the price of these cranberries?" "Eighteen cents," in his most respectful tone. "They're dear, dreadful dear. Over to Windsor you can get as many as you can carry for a shillin' a quart." Joe was silent. "Say sixteen." "I couldn't," replied Joe. "If Mr. Terry were here"-- "There's Father Terry." She raised her voice a little. "Father Terry, come and look at these cranberries. They're a poor lot, and you'll do well to get a shillin' a quart." Joe ran his fingers through them. Plump and crimson, very nice he thought for so late in the season. "I don't s'pose I'd get more'n two good quarts out of three. They'll spile on your hands. Come now, be reasonable." Father Terry looked undecided. Joe watched him, thinking in his heart that he ought not fall a penny. "Say a shillin'." The old man shook his head. "Well, fifteen cents. I want three quarts, and I won't give a penny more." The old gentleman studied Joe's face, which was full of perplexity. "Well," he said with some reluctance. Joe measured them. Mrs. Van Wyck gave each quart a "settle" by shaking it pretty hard, and Joe had to put in another large handful. "Now I want some cheese." The pound weighed two ounces over. "You can throw that in. Mr. Terry always does." "How much?" "Twenty-three cents." "No: you can't fool me, youngster. I never pay more than twenty cents." "I'm sure Mr. Terry told me that it was twenty-three." Father was appealed to again, and of course went over to the domineering enemy. Then two pounds of butter passed through the same process of cheapening. Joe began to lose his temper. Afterward a broom, some tape and cotton, and finally a calico dress. "Now, here's three dozen eggs for part pay. They're twenty-four cents a dozen." "Why, that's what we sell them for," said astonished Joe, mentally calculating profit and loss. "Oh! they've gone up. Hetty Collins was paid twenty-five over to Windsor. I'd gone there myself if I'd had a little more time." "I wish you had," ejaculated Joe inwardly. She haggled until she got her price, and the settlement was made. "She's a regular old screwer," said Joe rather crossly. "I don't believe it was right to let her have those things in that fashion." "All things work together for good." "For _her_ good, it seems." Father Terry went back to his post by the stove. Joe breathed a little thanksgiving that Flossy was not Mrs. Van Wyck's maid-of-all-work. Joe's next customer was Dave Downs, as the boys called him. He shuffled up to the counter. "Got any _reel_ good cheese?" "Yes," said Joe briskly. "Let's see." Joe raised the cover. Dave took up the knife, and helped himself to a bountiful slice. "Got any crackers?" "Yes," wondering what Dave meant. "Nice and fresh?" "I guess so." "I'll take three or four." "That will be a penny's worth." When Dave had the crackers in his hand he said, raising his shaggy brows in a careless manner,-- "Oh! you needn't be so perticelar." Then he took a seat beside Father Terry, and munched crackers and cheese. "Cool enough," thought Joe. Old Mrs. Skittles came next. She was very deaf, and talked in a high, shrill key, as if she thought all the world in the same affliction. She looked at every thing, priced it, beat down a cent or two, and then concluded she'd rather wait until Mr. Terry came in. At last she purchased a penny's worth of snuff, and begged Joe to give her good measure. After that two customers and the mail. Father Terry bestirred himself, and waited upon a little girl with a jug. Joe was rather glad to see Mr. Terry enter, for he had an uncomfortable sense of responsibility. "Trade been pretty good, Joe?" with a smile. "I've put it all down on the slate, as you told me." "Hillo! What's this!" A slow stream of something dark was running over the floor back of the lower counter. "Oh, molasses!" and with a spring Joe shut off the current, but there was an ominous pool. "I did not get that: it was"--and Joe turned crimson. "Father. We never let him go for molasses, vinegar, oil, or burning fluid. He is sure to deluge us. Run round in the kitchen, and get a pail and a mop." "It's my opinion that this doesn't work together for good," said Joe to himself as he was cleaning up the mess. "So you had Mrs. Skittles?" exclaimed Mr. Terry with a laugh. "And Mrs. Van Wyck. Why, Joe!" "She beat down awfully!" said Joe; "and she wanted every thing thrown in. Mr. Terry"-- "She called on father, I'll be bound. But she has taken off all the profits; and then to make you pay twenty-four cents for the eggs." "I'd just like to have had my own way. If you'll give me leave"-- "You will have to look out a little for father. He's getting old, you know; and these sharp customers are rather too much for him." "I'll never fall a penny again;" and Joe shook his head defiantly. "You will learn by degrees. But it is never necessary to indulge such people. There's the dinner-bell." Dave Downs had finished his crackers and cheese, and now settled himself to a comfortable nap. Joe busied himself by clearing up a little, giving out mail, and once weighing some flour. Then he discovered that he had scattered it over his trousers, and that with the molasses dabs it made a not very delightful mixture. So he took a seat on a barrel-head and began to scrub it off; but he found it something like Aunt Jemima's plaster. "Run in and get some dinner, Joe," said Mr. Terry after his return to the store. "But I was going home," replied Joe bashfully. "Oh! never mind. We will throw in the dinner." So Joe ran around, but hesitated at the door of Mrs. Terry's clean kitchen. She was motherly and cordial, however, and gave him a bright smile. "I told Mr. Terry that you might as well come in here for your dinner. It is quite a long run home." "You are very kind," stammered Joe, feeling that he must say something, in spite of his usual readiness of speech deserting him. "You ought to have an apron, Joe, or a pair of overalls," she said kindly. "You will find grocery business rather dirty work sometimes." "And my best clothes!" thought Joe with a sigh. But the coffee was so delightful, and the cold roast beef tender as a chicken. And Joe began to think it was possible for a few things to work together for good, if they were only the right kind of things. Altogether he went home at night in very good spirits. "But my trousers will have to go in the wash-tub, Granny," he exclaimed. "I believe I wasn't cut out for a gentleman, after all." "O Joe, what a sight! How could you?" "It was all easy enough. If you'd had molasses to scrub up, and flour to get before it was dry, you would have found the sticking process not at all difficult. And oh! Mrs. Van Wyck came in." Florence flushed a little at this. "Yes, wait till I show you." With that, Joe sprang up, and wrapped Granny's old shawl about him, and began in his most comical fashion. In a moment or two the children were in roars of laughter. "I don't know as it is quite right, Joe dear," interposed Granny mildly, "to make fun of any one." "My conscience don't trouble me a bit;" for now he was in a high glee. "I owe her a grudge for making me pay twenty-four cents for eggs. And, Granny, when you come to the store, don't beat me down a penny on any thing; nor ask me to throw in a spool of cotton nor a piece of tape, nor squeeze down the measure. I wonder how people can be so mean!" "Rich people too," added Florence in an injured tone of voice, still thinking of Mrs. Van Wyck's overture. "There's lots of funny folks in the world," said Joe with a grave air. "But I like Mr. Terry, and I mean to do my very best." "That's right;" and Granny smiled tenderly over the boy's resolve. "And I'll put on my old clothes to-morrow. Who knows but I may fall into the mackerel-barrel before to-morrow night?" Kit laughed at this. "They'll have to fish you out with a harpoon, then." "Oh! I might swim ashore." The next day Joe improved rapidly. To be sure, he met with a mishap or two; but Mr. Terry excused him, and only charged him to be more careful in future. And Father Terry administered his unfailing consolation on every occasion. But on Saturday night Joe came home in triumph. "There's the beginning of my fortune," he said, displaying his dollar and a half all in hard cash. For that was a long while ago, when the eagle, emblem of freedom, used to perch on silver half-dollars. CHAPTER VI. FORTUNES AND MISFORTUNES. "I think I'll go into business," said Hal one evening, as he and Granny and Florence sat together. They missed Joe so much! He seldom came home until eight o'clock; and there was no one to stir up the children, and keep the house in a racket. "What?" asked Granny. "I am trying to decide. I wonder how chickens would do?" "It takes a good deal to feed 'em," said Granny. "But they could run about, you know. And buckwheat is such a splendid thing for them. Then we can raise ever so much corn." "But where would you get your buckwheat?" asked Florence. "I was thinking. Mr. Peters never does any thing with his lot down here, and the old apple-trees in it are not worth much. If he'd let me have it ploughed up! And then we'd plant all of our ground in corn, except the little garden that we want." "What a master hand you are to plan, Hal!" Granny's face was one immense beam of admiration. "I want to do something. It's too hard, Granny, that you should have to go out washing, and all that." Hal's soft brown eyes were full of tender pity. "Oh! I don't mind. I'm good for a many day's work yet, Hal." "I hope some of us will get rich at last." Florence sighed softly. "I thought you were going to have a green-house," she said. "I'm afraid I can't manage the green-house now, though I mean to try some day. And I noticed old Speckly clucking this morning." "But we haven't any eggs," said Granny. "I could get some." "How many chickens would you raise?" asked Florence. "Well, if we should set the five hens,--out of say sixty-four eggs we ought to raise fifty chickens; oughtn't we, Granny?" "With good luck; but so many things happen to 'em." "And if I could clear thirty dollars. Then there's quite a good deal of work to do in the summer." "I shall soon be a fine lady, and ride in my carriage," Granny commented with a cheerful chirrup of a laugh. "Mrs. Kinsey's chickens are splendid," said Florence. "Yes. Shall I get some eggs, and set Speckly?" "It's rather airly to begin." "But I'll make a nice coop. And eggs are not twenty-four cents a dozen." Hal finished off with a quiet smile at the thought of Mrs. Van Wyck. So he went to Mrs. Kinsey's the next morning, and asked her for a dozen of eggs, promising to come over the first Saturday there was any thing to do, and work it out. "I'll give you the eggs," she said; "but we will be glad to have you some Saturday, all the same." So old Speckly was allowed to indulge her motherly inclinations to her great satisfaction. Hal watched her with the utmost solicitude. In the course of time a tiny bill pecked against white prison walls; and one morning Hal found the cunningest ball of soft, yellow down, trying to balance itself on two slender legs, but finding that the point of gravity as often centred in its head. But the little fellow winked oddly, as much as to say, "I know what I'm about. I'll soon find whether it is the fashion to stand on your head or your feet in this queer world." One by one the rest came out. Hal had a nice coop prepared, and set Mrs. Speckly up at housekeeping. Dot caught one little "birdie," as she called it, and, in running to show Granny, fell down. And although Dot wasn't very heavy, it was an avalanche on poor "birdie." He gave two or three slow kicks with his yellow legs, and then was stiff for all time. "Hal's boofer birdie," said Dot. "See, Danny!" "O Dot! what have you done?" "Him 'oont 'alk;" and Dot stood him down on the doorstep, only to see him tumble over. "Oh, you've killed Hal's birdie! What will he say?" "I 'ell down. Why 'oont him run, Danny?" What could Granny do? Scolding Dot was out of the question. And just then Hal came flying up the road. Granny had seen the fall, and explained the matter. "But she mustn't catch them! You're a naughty little Dot!" Dot began to cry. "Poor little girl!" said Hal, taking her in his arms. "It is wrong to catch them. See, now, the little fellow is dead, and can never run about any more. Isn't Dot sorry? She won't ever touch Hal's birdies again, will she?" So Dot promised, and Hal kissed her. But she carried the dead birdie about, petting it with softest touches, and insisting upon taking it to bed with her. One more of the brood met with a mishap, but the other ten throve and grew rapidly. By the time the next hen wanted to set, Hal had a dozen eggs saved. He asked Farmer Peters about the lot. It was just below their house, between that and the creek, a strip of an acre and a half perhaps. The old trees were not worth much, to be sure; and Mr. Peters never troubled himself to cultivate the plot, as it was accounted very poor. "Yes, you may have it in welcome; but you won't git enough off of it to pay for the ploughin'?" "I'm going to raise chickens; and I thought it would be nice to sow buckwheat, and let them run in it." "Turnin' farmer, hey? 'Pears to me you're makin' an airly beginnin'." Hal smiled pleasantly. "You'll find chickens an awful sight o' bother." "I thought I'd try them." "Goin' to garden any?" "A little." "Hens and gardens are about like fox an' geese. One's death on the other. But you kin have the lot." So Hal asked Abel Kinsey to come over and plough. In return he helped plant potatoes and drop corn for two Saturdays. By this time there was a third hen setting. House-cleaning had come on, and Granny was pretty busy. But she and Hal were up early in the morning garden-making. The plot belonging to the cottage was about two acres. Hal removed his chicken-coops to the lot, and covered his young vegetables with brush to protect them from incursions,--pease, beans, lettuce, beets, and sweet-corn; and the rest was given over to the chickens. "I am going to keep an account of all that is spent for them," he said; "and we will see if we can make it pay." When Joe had saved three dollars, he teased Granny to let him order his clothes. "I don't like running in debt, Joe," she said with a grave shake of the head. "But this is very sure. Mr. Terry likes me, and I shall go on staying. There will be four dollars and a half to pay down by the time they are done, and in five weeks I can earn the rest." "How nice it seems!" said Hal. "You and Flo earn a deal of money." Flo gave a small sniff. She wanted some new clothes also. And Kit and Charlie were going to shreds and patches. Charlie, indeed, was shooting up like Jack's bean-stalk, Joe declared, being nearly as tall as Hal. She was wild as a colt, climbed trees, jumped fences, and wouldn't be dared by any of the boys. "I'm sure I don't know what you'll come to," Granny would say with a sigh. Joe carried his point, and ordered his clothes; for he insisted that he could not think of going to Sunday school until he had them. It was quite an era in his life to have real store clothes. He felt very grand one day when he went to Mr. Briggs the tailor, and selected the cloth. There were several different patterns and colors; but he had made up his mind that it should be gray, just like Archie Palmer's. He was so dreadfully afraid of being disappointed, that he dropped in on Friday to see if they were progressing. There was the jacket in the highest state of perfection. "But the pants?" he questioned. "Never you mind. Them pants'll be done as sure as my name's Peter Briggs." "All right," said Joe; and he ran on his way whistling. "Kit," he announced that evening, "I've just found out a good business for you." "What?" and Kit roused himself. "You shall be a tailor. I was thinking to-day how you would look on the board, with your scalp-lock nodding to every stitch." "I won't," said Kit stoutly; and he gave a kick towards Joe's leg. "It's a good business. You will always have plenty of cabbage." "You better stop!" declared Kit. "It will be handy to have him in the house, Granny. He can do the ironing by odd spells. And on the subject of mending old clothes he will be lovely." With that Kit made another dive. Granny gave a sudden spring, and rescued the earthen jar that held the cakes she had just mixed and set upon the stove-hearth. "O Kit! Those precious pancakes! We are not anxious to have them flavored with extract of old shoes." "Nor to go wandering over the floor." Kit looked sober and but half-awake. "Never mind," said Granny cheerily. "You mustn't tease him so much, Joe." "Why, I was only setting before him the peculiar advantages of this romantic and delightful employment;" and with that, Joe executed a superior double-shuffle quickstep, accompanied by slapping a tune on his knee. "You'd do for a minstrel," said Kit. Joe cleared his voice with a flourish, and sang out,-- "I'd be a tailor, Jolly and free, With plenty of cabbage, And a goose on my knee. Monday would be blue, Tuesday would be shady, Wednesday I'd set out To find a pretty lady." "Much work you would do in that case," commented Florence. "It's time to go to bed, children," said Granny. "Yes," Joe went on gravely. "For a rising young man, who must take time by the fore-lock, or scalp-lock, and who longs to distinguish himself by some great and wonderful discovery, there's nothing like,-- 'Early to bed, and early to rise, To make a man healthy, wealthy, and wise.'" With that Joe was up stairs with a bound. "Joe!" Charlie called in great earnest. "Well?" "You better take a mouthful of Granny's rising before you go." "Good for you, Charlie; but smart children always die young. Granny, won't you put a stone on Charlie's head for fear?" Hal said his good-night in a tenderer manner. They were all wonderfully interested in Joe's clothes; and, though it was always later on Saturday night when he reached home, they begged to sit up, but Kit took a nap by the chimney-corner with Tabby. Granny sat nodding when they heard the gay whistle without. "Hurrah! The country's safe!" exclaimed Joe. "Get out your spectacles, all hands." "You act as if you never had any thing before, Joe," said Florence, with an air of extreme dignity. "But these are real 'boughten' clothes," said Joe, "and gilt buttons down the jacket. I shall feel like a soldier-boy. Just look now." The bundle came open with a flourish of the jack-knife. All the heads crowded round, though the one candle gave a rather dim light. Such exclamations as sounded through the little room, from every voice, and in almost every key. "But where are the trousers?" asked Hal. "The trousers?--why"-- Granny held up the beautiful jacket. There was nothing else in the paper. "Why--he's made a mistake. He never put them in, I am sure." "You couldn't have lost 'em?" asked Granny mildly. "Lost them--and the bundle tied with this strong twine! Now, that's mean! I'll have to run right back." Off went Joe like a flash. He hardly drew a breath until his hand was on Mr. Brigg's door-knob. "Well, what now, Joe?" asked the astonished Mr. Briggs. "You didn't put in the trousers!" "Didn't? Dan done 'em up. Dan!" Dan emerged from a pile of rags under the counter, where he was taking a snooze. "You didn't put in Joe's trousers." "Yes I did." "No you didn't," said Joe, with more promptness than politeness. Dan began to search. A sleepy-looking, red-headed boy, to whom Saturday night was an abomination, because his father was always in the drag, and cross. "I'm sure I put 'em in. Every thing's gone, and they ain't here." "Look sharp, you young rascal!" "He has lost 'em out." "Lost your grandmother!" said Joe contemptuously; "or the liberty pole out on the square! Why, the bundle was not untied until after I was in the house." "Dan, if you don't find them trousers, I'll larrup you!" Poor Dan. Fairly wide awake now, he went tumbling over every thing piled on the counter, searched the shelves, and every available nook. "Somebody's stole 'em." Dan made this announcement with a very blank face. "I know better!" said his father. "You are sure you made them, Mr. Briggs," asked Joe. "Sure!" in a tone that almost annihilated both boys. "If you don't find 'em!" shaking his fist at Dan. Dan began to blubber. Joe couldn't help laughing. "Let me help you look," he said. Down went a box of odd buttons, scattering far and wide. "You Dan!" shouted his father, with some buttons in his mouth, that rendered his voice rather thick. "Just wait till I get at you. I have only six buttons to sew on." "They're not here, Mr. Briggs," exclaimed Joe. "Well, I declare! If that ain't the strangest thing! Dan, you've taken them trousers to the wrong place!" A new and overwhelming light burst in upon Dan's benighted brain. "That's it," said Joe. "Now, where have you taken them?" "I swow!" ejaculated the youth, rubbing his eyes. "None o' your swearin' in this place!" interrupted his father sternly. "I'm a strictly moral man, and don't allow such talk in my family." "Tain't swearin'," mumbled Dan. Mr. Briggs jumped briskly down from the board, with a pair of pantaloons in one hand, and a needle and thread in the other. Dan dodged round behind Joe. "You took 'em over to Squire Powell's, I'll be bound!" Another light was thrown in upon Dan's mental vision. "There! I'll bet I did." "Of course you did, you numskull! Start this minute and see how quick you can be gone." "I will go with him," said Joe. So the two boys started; and a run of ten minutes--a rather reluctant performance on Dan's part, it must be confessed--brought them to Squire Powell's. There was no light in the kitchen; but Joe beat a double tattoo on the door in the most scientific manner. "Who's there?" asked a voice from the second story window. "Dan Briggs!" shouted Joe. "Guess not," said the squire. The sound was so unlike Dan's sleepy, mumbling tone. "There was a mistake made in some clothes," began Joe, nothing daunted. "Oh, that's it! I will be down in a minute." Pretty soon the kitchen-door was unlocked, and the boys stepped inside. "I didn't know but you sent these over for one of my girls," said the squire laughingly. "They were a _leetle_ too small for me. So they belong to you, Joe?" "Yes, sir," said Joe emphatically, laying hold of his precious trousers. "Look sharper next time, Dan," was the squire's good advice. "I wish you'd go home with me, Joe," said Dan, after they had taken a few steps. "Father'll larrup me, sure!" "Maybe that will brighten your wits," was Joe's consoling answer. "But, Joe--I'm sure I didn't mean to--and"-- "I'm off like a shot," appended Joe, suiting the action to the word; and poor Dan was left alone in the middle of the road. "Why, what _has_ happened, Joe?" said Granny as he bounced in the kitchen-door. "Such a time as I've had to find 'them trousers,' as Mr. Briggs calls them! Dan had packed them off to Squire Powell's!" "That Dan Briggs is too stupid for any thing," commented Florence. "There's time to try them on yet," Joe exclaimed. "Just you wait a bit." Joe made a rush into the other room. "Don't wake up Dot," said Hal. "Oh! I'll go as softly as a blind mouse." "There, Granny, what do you think of that?" "You want a collar and a necktie, and your hair brushed a little," said Florence with critical eyes. "But aren't they stunners!" Granny looked at him, turned him round and looked again, and her wrinkled face was all one bright smile. For he was so tall and manly in this long jacket, with its narrow standing collar, and the trousers that fitted to a charm. "Oh," said Hal with a long breath, "it's splendid!" "You bet! When I get 'em paid for, Hal, I'll help you out." Florence sighed. "O Flo! I can't help being slangy. It comes natural to boys. And then hearing them all talk in the store." "Wa-a!" said a small voice. "Wa-a-a Danny!" "There!" exclaimed Hal; and he ran in to comfort Dot. But Dot insisted upon being taken up, and brought out to candle-light. The buttons on Joe's jacket pleased her fancy at once, and soothed her sorrow. "I must say, Dot, you are a young woman of some taste," laughed Joe. "Granny," said Kit, after sitting in deep thought, and taking a good chew out of his thumb, "when Joe wears 'em out, can you cut 'em over for me?" "O Kit! Prudent and economical youth! To you shall be willed the last remaining shreds of my darling gray trousers, jacket, buttons and all." They had a grand time admiring Joe. Charlie felt so sorry that she wasn't a boy; and Flo declared that "he looked as nice as anybody, if only he wouldn't"-- "No, I won't," said Joe solemnly. Granny felt proud enough of him the next day when he went to church. Florence was quite satisfied to walk beside him. "I wish there was something nice for you, Hal," said Granny in a tone of tender regret. "My turn will come by and by," was the cheerful answer. For Hal took the odds and ends of every thing, and was content. "They're a nice lot of children, if I do say it myself," was Granny's comment to Dot. "And I'm glad I never let any of them go to the poor-house or be bound out, or any thing. We'll all get along somehow." Dot shook her head sagely, as if that was her opinion also. The story of Joe's Saturday night adventure leaked out; and poor Dan Briggs was tormented a good deal, the boys giving him the nickname of Trousers, much to his discomfort. Joe discovered, like a good many other people, that whereas getting in debt was very easy, getting out of debt was very hard. He went along bravely for several weeks, and then he began to find so many wants. A new straw hat he _must_ have, for the weather was coming warm, and they had such beauties at the store for a dollar; and then his boots grew too rusty, so a pair of shoes were substituted. He bought Dot a pretty Shaker, which she insisted upon calling her "Sunny cool Shaker." She was growing very cunning indeed, though her tongue was exceedingly crooked. Hal laughed over her droll baby words; and Kit's endeavor to make her say tea-kettle was always crowned with shouts of laughter. Joe succeeded pretty well at the store, but occasionally all things did not work together for good. His margin of fun was so wide that it sometimes brought him into trouble. One day he inadvertently sold old Mrs. Cummings some ground pepper, instead of allspice. That afternoon the old lady flew back in a rage. "I'll never buy a cent's wuth of this good-for nothin', car'less boy!" she ejaculated. "He does nothin' but jig around the store, and sing songs. An' now he's gone and spiled my whole batch of pies." "Spoiled your pies?" said Mr. Terry in astonishment. "Yes, spiled 'em! Four as good pies as anybody in Madison makes. Green apple too!" "Why, I never saw your pies!" declared Joe. "I'd like to make you eat 'em all,--to the last smitch!" and she shook her fist. "But what did he do?" questioned Mr. Terry. "That's what I'm tryin' to tell you. I run in this mornin' and bought two ounces of allspice; for I hadn't a speck in the house. Seth's so fond of it in apple-pies. Well, I was hurryin' round; an' I lost my smell years ago, when I had the influenzy, so I put in the allspice; an' sez I at dinner, 'Seth, here's the fust green-apple pies. I don't believe a soul in Madison has made 'em yet! They're nice an' hot.' With that he tasted. 'Hot!' sez he, 'hot! I guess they air, and the've somethin' more'n fire in 'em too!' 'What's in 'em?' sez I; and sez he, 'Jest you taste!' an' so I did, an' it nigh about burnt my tongue off. 'Why,' sez I, 'it's pepper;' an' Seth sez, 'Well, if you ain't smart!' That made me kinder huffy like; an' then I knew right away it was this car'less fellow that's always singin' an' dancin' and a standin' on his head!" Mrs. Cummings had to stop because she was out of breath. Joe ducked under the counter, experiencing a strong tendency to fly to fragments. "I am very sorry," returned Mr. Terry. "It must have been a mistake;" and he tried to steady the corners of his mouth to a becoming sense of gravity. "No mistake at all!" and she gave her head a violent jerk. "Some of his smart tricks he thought he'd play on me. Didn't I see him a treatin' Dave Downs to loaf-sugar one day; an' bime by he gave him a great lump of salt!" Mr. Terry had heard the story of the salt, and rather enjoyed it; for Dave was always hanging round in the way. "And he jest did it a purpose, I know. As soon as ever I tasted that pepper, I knew 'twas one of his tricks. And my whole batch of pies spil't!" "No," said Joe, in his manly fashion: "I didn't do it purposely, Mrs. Cummings. I must have misunderstood you." "Pepper an' allspice sound so much alike!" she said wrathfully. "Well, we will give you a quarter of allspice," Mr. Terry returned soothingly. "That won't make up for the apples, an' the flour, an' the lard, an' all my hard work!" "We might throw in a few apples." "If you're goin' to keep that boy, you'll ruin your trade, I can tell you!" Still she took the allspice and the apples, though they had plenty at home. "You must be careful, Joe," said Mr. Terry afterward. "It will not do to have the ill-will of all the old ladies." Joe told the story at home with embellishments; and Hal enjoyed it wonderfully, in his quiet way. CHAPTER VII. THE OLD TUMBLER, AFTER ALL. Hal's chickens prospered remarkably. Five motherly hens clucked to families of black-eyed chicks; and, out of fifty-eight eggs, he only lost seven. So there were fifty-one left. They made some incursions in his garden, to be sure; but presently every thing grew so large that it was out of danger. There was plenty of work to do on Saturdays. Picking cherries and currants for the neighbors, and the unfailing gardening. It seemed to Hal that weeds had a hundred lives at least, even if you did pull them up by the roots. Sometimes he managed to get a little work out of Kit and Charlie, but they invariably ended by a rough-and-tumble frolic. Florence succeeded admirably with her embroidering. She managed to earn some pretty dresses for herself, and added enough to Hal's store to enable him to purchase a suit of clothes, though they were not as grand as Joe's. Hal and Granny took a wonderful sight of comfort sitting on the doorstep through the summer evenings, and talking over old times. Granny would tell how they did when his father, her own dear Joe, was alive, and how pretty his mother had been. "Flo's a good deal like her," she would always say; "only Flo's wonderful with her fingers. She can do any thing with a needle." "Flo's a born genius," Hal would reply admiringly. "But I'm afraid Charlie'll never learn to sew." "I can sew better myself," was Hal's usual comment. And it was true. Hal had a bedquilt nearly pieced, which he had done on rainy days and by odd spells. I expect you think he was something of a girl-boy. But then he was very sweet and nice. Florence stood by the gate one afternoon, looking extremely lovely in her blue and white gingham, and her curls tied back with a bit of blue ribbon. Dot had been in the mud-pie business; and, if it had proved profitable, she would no doubt have made a fortune for the family. "Go in the house this minute, and get washed," commanded Florence. "What a naughty, dirty child you are!" Then a carriage passed by very slowly. A young man was driving, and two ladies sat on the back seat. They looked as if they were going to halt. Florence's heart was in her mouth. She drew herself up in her most stately attitude. The young man turned; and the lady nearer her beckoned. Florence stepped out slowly. She thought, with some pride, that, if they wanted a drink, she _had_ a goblet to offer them. "My little girl," said the lady, in a soft, clear voice, "can you direct us to a blacksmith's?" "There is one on this road, rather more than a quarter of a mile farther." "Thank you." The other lady leaned over, and studied Florence. She had a worn, faded, and fretful look; but some new expression lighted up her sallow face. "Oh," she sighed, "what a beautiful girl! Now, if I had a daughter like that! I wonder if she lives in that forlorn old rookery?" "A princess in disguise;" and the young man laughed. "She was unusually lovely. At her age I had just such hair. But ah, how one fades!" The straggling auburn hair, very thin on the top, hardly looked as if it had once been "like fine spun gold." "The trial of my life has been _not_ having a daughter." Mrs. Duncan had heard this plaint very often from her half-sister, who had married a widower nearly three times her age. He had made a very liberal provision for her during her life, but at her death the fortune reverted to his family again. She had always bewailed the fact of having no children; but boys were her abomination. Mrs. Duncan's house was too noisy, with its four rollicking boys; but now that George was growing to manhood he became rather more endurable. "I do not believe the child could have belonged there," she commenced again. "Because she was so pretty?" asked George. "She doesn't look like a country girl." "But some country girls are very handsome," said Mrs. Duncan. "They do not possess this air of refinement generally. And did you observe that she answered in a correct and ladylike manner?" "Aunt Sophie is captivated. A clear case of love at first sight. Why not adopt _her_?" "It would be a charity to take her out of that hovel, if it is her home." "I shouldn't think of such a thing now, Sophie, with your poor health," said her sister. There are some natures on which the least contradiction or opposition acts instantly, rousing them to a spirit of defiance. For several years Mrs. Duncan had urged her sister to adopt a child; but she had never found one that answered her requirements. She was not fond of the trouble of small children. Now that Mrs. Duncan had advised contrarywise, Mrs. Osgood was seized with a perverse fit. "I am sure I need a companion," she returned with martyr-like air. "Take a young woman then, who can be a companion." "Here is the blacksmith's," announced George. "I suppose you will have to find some place of refuge;" and he laughed again gayly. "Where can we go?" George held a short conversation with the smith. "My house is just opposite, and the ladies will be welcome," the latter said. "It will take me about half an hour to repair your mishap." George conducted them thither. The good woman would fain have invited them in; but they preferred sitting on the vine-covered porch. Mrs. Osgood asked for a glass of water. O Florence! if you had been there! It happened after a while, that George and his mother walked down the garden. Mrs. Green felt bound to entertain this stranger cast upon her care, as she considered it. Mrs. Osgood made some inquiries presently about the house they had passed, with a small stream of water just below it. "Why, that's Granny Kenneth's," said Mrs. Green. "And who is the child,--almost a young lady?" "Why, that must be Florence. Did she have long yeller curls? If she was my gal she should braid 'em up decently. I wouldn't have 'em flyin' about." "And who is Florence?" Mrs. Osgood's curiosity must have been very great to induce her to listen to the faulty grammar and country pronunciations. But she listened to the story from beginning to end,--Joe, and Joe's wife, and all the children, figuring largely in it. "And if Granny Kenneth'd had any sense, she would a bundled 'em all off to the poor-house. One of the neighbors here did want to take Florence; but law! what a time they made! She's a peart, stuck-up thing!" If Florence had heard this verdict against all her small industries and neatnesses and ladylike habits, her heart would have been almost broken. But there are a great many narrow-minded people in this world, who can see no good except in their own way. Mrs. Osgood made no comments. Presently the carriage was repaired, and the accidental guests departed. They had a long ride yet to take. George asked if there was any nearer way of getting to Seabury. "There's a narrer road just below Granny Kenneth's,--the little shanty by the crick. It's ruther hard trav'lin', but it cuts off nigh on ter three miles." "I think we had better take it," said George. "Even that will give us a five-miles drive." So they passed the cottage again. This time Hal was feeding the chickens; Kit and Charlie swinging upon an old dilapidated apple-tree; and Florence sat by the open window, sewing. "There's your princess!" exclaimed George with a laugh. Florence colored a little at beholding the party again. Mrs. Duncan had come to Seabury, a rather mountainous place, remarkable for its pure air, for the sake of her youngest son, Arthur, who had been ill with a fever. Mrs. Osgood took an odd fancy to accompany her. The seven years of her widowhood had not been happy years, though she had a house like a palace. When she first laid off mourning, she tried Newport and Saratoga; but somehow she did not succeed in making a belle of herself, and that rather mortified her. Then she sank into invalidism; which tried everybody's patience sorely. Leaning back in the carriage now, she thought to herself, "Yes, if I only _had_ some one of my own! Sister Duncan never did understand me, or appreciate the delicacy of my constitution. Her nerves have been blunted by those great rude boys. And that girl looks so refined and graceful,--she would make a pleasant companion I am sure. But I should want to take her away from her family: I never could consent to any intimacy with them." She ventured to broach her subject to Mrs. Duncan the next day. Perhaps Mrs. Duncan had grown rather impatient with her sister's whims and fancies; and she discouraged the plan on some very sensible grounds. Mrs. Osgood felt like a martyr. Yet the opposition roused her to attempt it. One day, a week afterward perhaps, she hired a carriage, and was driven over to Madison. George had gone back to the city, so there was no question of having him for escort. Granny Kenneth was much surprised at the appearance of so fine a lady. She seized Dot, and scrubbed her face, her usual employment upon the entrance of any one. Mrs. Osgood held up her ruffled skirts as if afraid of contamination. "Is your granddaughter at home?" was asked in the most languid of voices. "Flo, you mean? No: she hasn't come from school yet. Do walk in and wait--that is--I mean--if you please," said Granny a good deal flustered, while the little gray curls kept bobbing up and down. "Here's a clean cheer;" and she gave one a whiff with her apron. Poor Flossy. She had tried so hard to correct Granny's old-fashioned words and pronunciations. "Thank you. Miss Florence embroiders, I believe." "Yes, she works baby-petticoats, and does 'em splendid." And then Granny wondered if she, the fine lady, had any work for Florence. "How glad Flo'll be, and vacation coming so soon," she thought in the depth of her tender old soul. "And she's a genius at crochetin'! The laces and shawls and hoods she's knit are a real wonder. They didn't do any thing of the kind in my young days." "You must find it pretty hard to get along," condescended Mrs. Osgood. "Yes; but the Lord allers provides some way. Joe's gone in a store,--Mr. Terry's. He's next to Florence," went on Granny in sublime disregard of her pronoun. Mrs. Osgood took an inventory of the little room, and waited rather impatiently. Then she asked for a glass of water. O Granny! how could you have been so forgetful! To take that old, thick, greenish glass tumbler when Flossy's choice goblet stood on the shelf above! And then to fill it in the pail, and let the water dribble! Granny wondered whether it would be polite to entertain her or not. But just then there was a crash and a splash; and Dot and the water-pail were in the middle of the floor. "Here's a chance!" exclaimed Kit, pausing in the doorway. "Give us a hook and line, Granny: Dot's mouth is just at an angle of ten degrees, good for a bite." "A wail, sure enough!" said Charlie. "Wring her out, and hang her up to dry." "Oh, dear!" and Granny, much disconcerted, sat Dot wrong side up on a chair, and the result was a fresh tumble. It was Hal who picked her up tenderly,--poor wet baby, with a big red lump on her forehead, and dismal cries issuing from the mouth that seemed to run all round her head. "Stay out there till I wipe up," said Granny to the others. "Then I'll get Dot a dry dress. I never did see such an onlucky child--and company too. What _will_ Flo say!" For Florence came tripping up the path, knitting her delicate brows in consternation. "Never you mind. There's a lady in the parlor who's been waitin'. Oh, my! what did I do with that floor-cloth?" "A lady?" "Yes: run right along." Luckily the door was shut between. Florence gave her curls a twist and a smoothing with her fingers, took off her soiled white apron, pulled her dress out here and there, stepped over the pools of water, and entered. Mrs. Osgood admired her self-possession, and pitied the poor child profoundly. The flush and partial embarrassment were very becoming to her. That lady did not mean to rush headlong into her proposal. She broke the ground delicately by inquiring about the embroidering; and Florence brought some to show her. "Who taught you?" she asked in surprise. "No one;" and Florence colored a little. "I did not do the first as neatly, but it is quite easy after one is fairly started." "I really do not see how you find time, with going to school;" and this persevering industry did touch Mrs. Osgood's heart. "I cannot do very much," answered Florence with a sigh. "But it will soon be vacation." "How old are you?" "I shall be fifteen the last of this month." "What a family your grandmother has on her hands!" "Yes. If my father had lived, it would have been very different." A touching expression overspread Florence's face, and made her lovelier than ever in Mrs. Osgood's eyes. "She certainly _is_ very pretty," that lady thought; "and how attractive such a daughter would be in my house! I should live my young life over again in her." For Mrs. Osgood had found that the days for charming young men were over, and prosy middle-aged people were little to her taste. No woman ever clung to youth with a greater longing. "What do you study at school?" she asked. "Only the English branches. I have been thinking of--of becoming a teacher," said Florence hesitatingly. "You would have a poor opportunity in this little town." "I might go away;" and Florence sighed again. "You have never studied music, I suppose." "No: I have had no opportunity," returned Florence honestly enough. "Do you sing?" "Yes. And I love music so very, very much! I do mean to learn by and by, if it is possible." "I wish you would sing something for me,--a little school-song, or any thing you are familiar with." Florence glanced up in amazement; and for a few moments was awkwardly silent. "I should like to hear your voice. It is very pleasant in talking, and ought to be musical in singing." Florence was a good deal flattered; and then she had the consciousness that she was one of the best singers in school. So she ran over the songs in her own mind, and selected "Natalie, the Maid of the Mill," which she was very familiar with. She sang it beautifully. Florence was one of the children who are always good in an emergency. She was seldom "flustered," as Granny expressed it, and always seemed to know how to make the best of herself. And, as she saw the pleasure in Mrs. Osgood's face, her own heart beat with satisfaction. "That is really charming. A little cultivation would make your voice very fine indeed. What a pity that you should be buried in this little town!" "Do you think--that I could--do any thing with it?" asked Florence in a tremor of delight. "I suppose your grandmother would not stand in the way of your advancement?" questioned Mrs. Osgood. "Oh, no! And then if I _could_ do something"-- Florence felt that she ought to add, "for the others," but somehow she did not. She wondered if Mrs. Osgood was a music-teacher, or a professional singer. But she did not like to ask. "There is my carriage," said Mrs. Osgood, as a man drove slowly round. "I am spending a few weeks at some distance from here, and wished to have you do a little flannel embroidery for me. When will your vacation commence?" "In about ten days,--the first of July." "I wish to see you when we can have a longer interview. I will come over again then." Mrs. Osgood rose, and shook out her elegant grenadine dress, much trimmed and ruffled. On her wrists were beautiful bracelets, and her watch-chain glittered with every movement. Then she really smiled very sweetly upon the young girl; and Florence was charmed. Some dim recollection passed over her mind. "Oh!" she said, "were you not in a carriage that stopped here some days ago. Another lady and a young gentleman"-- "Yes," answered Mrs. Osgood, pleased at being remembered. "And, my dear, I took a great fancy to you that day. You are so different from the majority of country girls, that it is a pity you should have no better chance." The longing and eloquent eyes of Florence said more than words. "Yes. I will see you again; and I may, perhaps, think of something to your advantage." There was a mode of egress through this "best-room," though Granny had brought her guest in by the kitchen way. Florence opened the door now. "What a lovely, graceful child!" thought Mrs. Osgood; and she scrutinized her from head to feet. Florence watched the carriage out of sight in a half-dream. How long she would have stood in a brown study is uncertain; but Granny came in to get some dry clothes for Dot. "What _did_ she want of you?" exclaimed Charlie, all curiosity. "And what were you singing for? Oh, my! wasn't she splendid?" "You sang like a bird," said Hal in wide-eyed wonder as well. "Did she ask you?" "Of course. You don't suppose I would offer to sing for a stranger,--a lady too?" "Did she like it?" "Yes. She thought I might--that is, if I had any opportunity--oh, I wish we _were_ a little richer!" and Florence burst into a flood of hysterical tears. "I wish we were;" and Hal gave her hand a soft squeeze. "If you could learn to play on the melodeon at church, and give music-lessons"-- The vision called up a heaven of delight to poor Flossy. "But what _did_ she want?" asked Granny in a great puzzle, putting Dot's foot through the sleeve of her dress, and tying the neck-string in garter fashion. "I do believe she is a singer herself. Maybe she belongs to a company who give concerts; but then she was dressed so elegantly." "They make lots of money," said Kit with a sagacious nod of the head. "It's what I'm going to be, only I shall have a fiddle." "And a scalp-lock." Charlie pulled this ornamentation to its fullest height, which was considerable, as Kit's hair needed cutting. "Oh! suppose she was," said Hal. "And suppose she wanted to take Flossy, and teach her music,--why, it's like your plan, you know, only it isn't an old gentleman; and I don't believe she has any little girls,--I mean a little girl who died. Did she ask for a drink, Granny?" "Yes; and then Dot pulled over the water-pail. Oh, my! if I haven't put this dress on upside down, and the string's in a hard knot. Whatever shall I do? And, Flossy, I forgot all about the gobler. I took the first thing that came to hand." "Not that old tumbler with a nick in the edge? And it is _goblet_. I do wish you'd learn to call things by their right names!" exclaimed Florence in vexation. "It's the very same, isn't it?" began Charlie, "only, as Hal said, it isn't an old gentleman. Oh, suppose it _should_ come true! And if Kit _should_ have a fiddle like black Jake." "And if you _should_ run away," laughed Hal. "I don't believe you can find a better time than this present moment. Kit, you had better go after the cows." Charlie started too, upon Hal's suggestion. Florence gave a little sniff, and betook herself to the next room. Oh, dear! How poor and mean and tumbled about their house always was! No, not _always_, but if any one ever came. Dot chose just that moment to be unfortunate; and then that Granny should have used that forlorn old tumbler. She doubted very much if the lady would ever come again. So Flossy had a good cry from wounded vanity, and then felt better. Hal took Dot out with him to feed the chickens, and Granny prepared the table. Still Florence's lady was the theme of comment and wonder for several days, although the child insisted that she only came to get some embroidering done. All further speculations seemed too wild for sober brains. "But it is so odd that she asked you to sing," said Hal. "And I do believe something will come of it." Florence gave a little despairing sniff. CHAPTER VIII. FLORENCE IN STATE. Mrs. Osgood leaned back in the carriage,--it was the very best that Seabury afforded,--and, looking out on the pleasant sunshine and waving trees, considered the subject before her. _If_ she took Florence, she would have a governess in the house, and go on as rapidly as possible with the finishing process. Music should be the first thing: the child _did_ have a lovely voice, and such fair, slender hands! In a year she would be quite presentable. How vexed all the Osgood nieces would be! They were continually hinting at visits, and would be delighted at having Aunt Osgood take them up. But somehow she had a grudge against her husband's relatives, because the property reverted to them in the end. And then she fancied herself riding out with this beautiful daughter by her side, or stopping at hotels where every one would wonder "who that lovely girl could be!" And Florence would certainly be most grateful for the change. It was a deed of charity to rescue the poor child from the life before her, with no better prospect than that of a school-teacher. She certainly had some ideas and ambitions beyond her sphere. School closed presently, and the children were wild with delight. They had a great time on examination day, and Florence acquitted herself finely. Mr. Fielder was very proud of her. "If you can go to school another year, and improve as much," he said, "I can almost promise you a very good situation." Flossy's dream in respect to her elegant lady was fading, and she came back to humbler prospects quite thankfully. What Granny was to do with the children through vacation she hardly knew. "Oh, you needn't worry!" said Charlie consolingly. "Kit and me are going out in the woods; and we'll build a stunning log-hut, or make a cave"-- "O Charlie, if you would be a little more careful! Kit and I." "I can't be always bothering! Mr. Fielder almost wears me out, so you might let me have a little rest in vacation. 'For spelling is vexation, And writing is bad: Geography it puzzles me, And grammar makes me mad.'" With that Charlie perched herself on the gate-post, and began to whistle. "If Charlie only _had_ been a boy!" groaned Florence. On Monday of the first week they washed. Florence assisted; but she hurried to get herself dressed in the afternoon, for fear some one _might_ come. And then she wondered a little what she ought to do. Embroidering and fancy work appeared to be dull just now; and she would have two months in which she _might_ earn considerable money, if it only came. For, with all her small vanities and particular ways, she was not indolent. On Tuesday they began their ironing at an early hour. There were Florence's pretty dresses and aprons, nothing very costly, but a dainty ruffle here and there added to the general grace. These same ruffles were a great trouble to some of the old ladies in Madison, "who didn't see how Granny Kenneth could let Florence waste her time in such nonsense while _she_ slaved herself to death!" Florence had twisted her hair in a knot, and her dress was rather the worse for wear; but she worked away cheerfully. Her pile of clothes was decreasing very fast. Suddenly a sound of carriage-wheels startled her; and, glancing up, she uttered a frightened exclamation. "O Granny! it's the lady again, and I look like a fright! What shall I do? Won't you go and ask her in? and you look dreadful too! Put on your other sacque. There! I'll run and tidy up a bit." She made a snatch at the brush and comb, and hurried up in the boys' room. "Oh, dear! How red I am in the face! It's too bad;" and she felt tempted to cry, but she knew that would only make matters worse. So she let down her shining hair, brushed it out, and wound it round her fingers in curls. Then Granny came plodding up stairs. "I told her you were busy, but that you'd be ready in a few minutes," she explained. "Why didn't you think to bring up one of my clean dresses?" "To be sure! which one?" "The pink calico, I guess. Oh! and the braided white apron." Down went Granny. Ah! many a step had she taken for these children, weary ones, and yet cheerfully done. Would they ever think of it? Florence was not long in making herself neat and presentable, but the flushed face still troubled her. She viewed herself critically in the cracked glass, and then ran down, pausing to fan a few moments with the cape of an old sun-bonnet, the nearest thing at hand. "_Do_ I look decent, Granny?" she said apprehensively. "To be sure you do, and nice too." Granny's eyes expressed her admiration. Florence ventured in timidly, and the lady inclined her head. "I am sorry that I have kept you waiting so long, but it was unavoidable;" and the child made a little halt to wonder if her long word sounded well. "I suppose I took you somewhat by surprise. Are you very busy to-day?" "Not very," answered Florence at random, her heart beating violently. "And quite well? but I hardly need ask the question." "I am always well, thank you," with a touch of grace. "How fortunate! Now, I have such wretched health, and my nerves are weak beyond description." Florence gave a glance of quick sympathy, not unmixed with admiration. There was something very romantic about the languid lady. "If you are quite at liberty," Mrs. Osgood began, "I should like to have you drive out with me. I have a great deal to say to you, and we shall not be interrupted." Florence could hardly credit her hearing. To be asked to ride with so grand a lady! "Oh!" and then she paused and colored. "Would you like to go?" "Very, very much indeed;" and the young face was full of pleasure. "Well, get yourself ready; and, if you will send your grandmother to me, I will explain." Florence felt as if she were in a dream. Then she wondered what she ought to wear. She had a pretty light gray dress and sacque for "Sunday best," and a new white dress; but her visitor's dress was gray, and that decided her. So she took the articles out of the old-fashioned wardrobe, and summoned Granny. Granny was dazed. "Where is she going to take you?" she asked in helpless astonishment. "I don't know. She will tell you, I suppose." "But, Flo, I have _heerd_ of girls being kidnapped or something;" and Granny's face turned pale with fear. "Nonsense!" returned Flossy with a toss of the curls. She could not even trouble herself about Granny's mispronunciation just then. "You don't know"-- "I guess she won't eat me up. Any how, I am going." Florence uttered this with a touch of imperiousness. Granny felt that she would have little influence over her, so she entered the room where the guest was seated. "Mrs. Kenneth," the lady began in her most impressive and gracious manner, "when I was here a few days ago, I took a great fancy to your granddaughter. My name is Osgood; and I am staying at Seabury with my sister, Mrs. Duncan. And although you may hesitate to trust Florence with a stranger, she will be quite safe, I assure you; and if you are willing, therefore, I should like to take her out for a few hours. I have some plans that may be greatly to the child's advantage, I think." "You'll be sure to bring her back," asked Granny in a spasm of anxious terror, which showed in her eyes. "Why, certainly! My poor woman, I cannot blame you for this carefulness;" for the worn face with its eagerness touched Mrs. Osgood. "My brother-in-law, Mr. Duncan, is a well-known merchant in New York; and I think you will confess when I return Florence this afternoon, that the ride has been no injury to her." Granny could make no further objections, and yet she did not feel quite at ease. But Florence entered looking so bright and expectant, that she had not the heart to disappoint her, so she kept her fears to herself. "You must not feel troubled," Mrs. Osgood deigned to say, as she rose rather haughtily. "You will find my promises perfectly reliable." "You needn't finish my pieces," Florence whispered softly to Granny at the door. "I shall be back time enough; and if the fire is out I'll wait till to-morrow They are my ruffled aprons, and"-- Mrs. Osgood beckoned her with a smile and an inclination of the head. Florence felt as if she were being bewitched. Granny watched her as she stepped into the carriage. [Illustration] "If she'd been born a lady she couldn't act more like one. It's a great pity"-- A few tears finished Granny's sentence. All the others were more content with their poverty than Florence. So she went back to her ironing with a heart into which had crept some strange misgiving. Hal was out; Joe never came home to dinner; so Granny gave the children a piece of bread all round, and kept going steadily on until the last ruffled apron had been taken out of the pile. Very long indeed the hours seemed. Oh, if any harm should befall her beautiful, darling Flossy! Poor Joe, in his grave, had loved her so well! Flossy meanwhile was having a most delightful time. "I am going to take you to Salem," Mrs. Osgood said, after Florence had begun to feel quite at home with her. "We will have our dinner at the hotel." Salem was the county town,--quite a pretentious place, with some broad, straight streets, several banks, and, indeed, a thriving business locality. Florence had been there twice with Mrs. Kinsey. Mrs. Osgood began to question the child about herself. Florence told over her past life, making the best, it must be confessed, of the poverty and discomforts. And yet she seemed to take rather hardly the fact of such a lot having fallen upon her. Mrs. Osgood was secretly pleased with her dissatisfaction. "I wonder how you would like to live with me?" she questioned. "I think I should enjoy having some one that I could make a companion of--as one never can of a servant." Flossy's heart beat with a sudden delight, and for the first moment she could hardly speak. "I live a short distance from New York, on the banks of the Hudson: at least, my house is there, but I travel a great deal. It would be very pleasant to have a--a friend of one's own,"--Mrs. Osgood was not _quite_ sure that it was best or wisest to say child. "Oh, it would be very delightful! If I could"--and the child's eyes were aglow with delight. "There are so many of you at home, that your grandmother would not miss one. Besides, I could do a great many nice things for you." "It is like a dream!" and Flossy thought of her wild day-dream. "And I could sew as well as embroider; and oh! I _would_ try to make myself useful," she said eagerly. Mrs. Osgood smiled. She had taken a strange fancy to this child, and enjoyed her look of adoration. They talked it over at some length, and Flossy listened with delight to the description of the beautiful house. This was altogether different from Mrs. Van Wyck's affair. Presently they arrived at the hotel. Mrs. Osgood ordered the horses to be cared for, and then entered the parlor. "Can we have a private room?" she asked with an air that Florence thought extremely elegant. "And then our dinner"-- "Will you have it brought up to your room?" "Oh, no! Perhaps I had better give my order now," and there was a languid indifference in her tone. "Yes, it would be better," replied the brisk waitress. "Well, we will have some broiled chicken, I think--are you fond of that, Florence? and vegetables--with some lobster salad and relishes." Florence had a wonderful deal of adaptiveness, and she almost insensibly copied Mrs. Osgood. They went up to the room, and refreshed themselves with a small ablution, for the riding had been rather dusty. Florence shook out her beautiful curls, and passed her damp fingers over them. "What lovely hair!" exclaimed Mrs. Osgood with a sigh: it was a habit of hers, as if every thing called up some past regret. "When I was a young girl, mine was the admiration of everybody. You would hardly think it now." "Were you ill?" asked Florence, feeling that she was expected to say something sympathizing. "My health has been wretched for years. Mr. Osgood was sick a long while, and I had so much trouble! His people were not very kind to me: they tried to make him leave the property away from me, and then they attempted to break the will. There's so much selfishness in this world, my dear!" Florence experienced a profound sympathy for Mrs. Osgood, and was quite ready to espouse her cause against any one. Already she felt in some way constituted her champion. But, as Mr. Osgood left no children, he thought it quite just that his property should go back to his own family after Mrs. Osgood's death. And, to confess the truth, he had not found his wife quite perfection. There were not many people in the dining-room when they entered. They had one end of the long table, and the colored waiter was most polite and solicitous. One by one their little dishes came on, and the broiled chicken had a most appetizing flavor. Florence acquitted herself very creditably. She was not awkward with her silver fork, and allowed herself to be waited upon with great complacency. Mrs. Osgood was wonderfully pleased, for she was watching every action. How had the child acquired so many pretty ways? By the time they reached home again it was agreed, if grandmother made no objection, that Florence should spend a month at Seabury with Mrs. Osgood. This was the better arrangement the lady thought; for, if she changed her mind, in that case she could draw back gracefully. Granny was much relieved to see them return. Mrs. Osgood deigned to enter the cottage again, and explained the matter to old Mrs. Kenneth. Florence seconded the plan so earnestly, that it was quite impossible to refuse. And somehow Granny felt very much bewildered. "Can you be ready next week?" asked Mrs. Osgood. Florence questioned Granny mutely with her eyes; but, seeing that her senses were going astray, answered for herself. "Monday, then, I will come over for you. And now, my child, good-by. I hope you have had a pleasant day." Florence thanked her again and again. Mrs. Osgood's heart was really touched. "What does she want you to do?" asked Granny, absently trying to thread the point of her darning-needle. "Why,--I'm sure I don't know;" and Flossy fell into a brown study. "To wait upon her, I suppose, and sew a little, and--I like her so much! We had an elegant dinner at Salem, and ice-cream for dessert. O Granny, if one only _could_ be rich!" "Yes," rejoined Granny with a sigh. "Tell us all about it," said open-mouthed Charlie. "Mrs. Green saw you riding by; and maybe she didn't make a time! She said you put on more airs than all Madison." "It is nothing to her," bridled Flossy. "But what _did_ you have? Lots of goodies?" "Yes, indeed. Silver forks and damask napkins and finger-bowls." "Finger-bowls?" That grandeur was altogether above Charlie's capacity. "You need not look so amazed." "What do you do with 'em." "Why, there's a piece of lemon floating round on the top; and you dip in the ends of your fingers, and wipe them on the napkin." "But can't you eat the lemon? That's what I'd do." "It would be very ill-bred." "Hum!" and Charlie's nose was elevated. "As if I'd care!" "You would if you were out with refined people." "Oh, my! How aristocrockery you are getting!" and Charlie gave a prolonged whistle, and stood on one foot. Flossy sighed a little over the supper-table. How nice it would be to live at a hotel, and have a servant to wait upon one! But every thing here was so dreadfully common and poor. And, though Flossy would have scorned the idea of living out as a servant, she fancied a position of companion or ladies' maid would be rather agreeable than otherwise. Hal was very much interested in her day's adventure. He seemed to understand it better than any of the others, and she could talk to him without the fear of being laughed at. They still sat in the moonlight, when suddenly a sharp click was heard, and a report that made them all scream. Joe, the good-for-nothing, laughed. "Wasn't that gay? Hurrah for Fourth of July!" "Is it you?" asked Granny, who had thrown her apron over her head to keep her from being shot. "And is it a musket, or a cannon?" "Why don't you frighten us all to death?" said Florence indignantly. "Oh, it's a pistol!" exclaimed Hal. "O Joe! and you'll be shot all to pieces before to-morrow night," bewailed Granny. "I'm so afraid of guns and fire-crackers! I once knew a little boy who had his hand shot off." "If he could only have had it shot on again. I mean to try that way, like the man who jumped into the bramble-bush. Or wouldn't it do to shoot the pistol off instead of my fingers." "Is it yours for good, Joe?" and Charlie's head was thrust over Hal's shoulders. "A real pistol! Let me see it." "Yes, it's mine. I bought it to keep Fourth of July with." "Why, I forgot all about Fourth of July," said Charlie in an aggrieved tone. "And I haven't a cent!" "Bad for you, Charlie." "Won't you let me fire off the pistol?" "Oh, don't!" implored Granny. "Just once more. It was splendid! I was fast asleep on the floor, and it woke me up." "Good for the pistol," said Joe. "I'll try it in the morning when you are asleep." They all had to handle the pistol, and express their opinions. Joe had bought it of Johnny Hall, for a dollar, as Johnny, in turn, wanted to buy a cannon. And the remaining half-dollar of his week's wages had been invested in fireworks. Granny sighed. But boys would be boys, and Fourth of July only came once a year. "There's to be an oration on the green, and the soldiers will be out, and it'll be just jolly! Hurray! And a holiday in the middle of the week! Mr. Terry said I needn't come to the store at all." "There'll be some music, won't there?" asked Kit. "A drum and a bass-viol, I guess. But it would be royal to go over to Salem, and hear the brass band." "What's a brass band?" was Kit's rather puzzled inquiry. "What a goose! Why, a brass band is--horns and things." "What kind of horns?" for Joe's explanation lacked lucidity. "Oh, bother! Kit, you'll burn up the ocean some day with your brightness." "Cornets," said Hal; "and something like a flute, and cymbals, and ever so many instruments." "Did you ever see 'em?" "No, but I've read about them." Kit chewed his thumb. It was one of his old baby habits. "Now I am going to load her again," said Joe, in a peculiarly affectionate tone. "It's as light as day out here." "But, Joe, if you _should_ shoot some one, or your fingers, or put your eyes out!" "Never you mind, Granny. Boys go ahead of cats for lives." Granny put her apron over her head again, and then ran in to Dot. "Bang!" "Nobody wounded," laughed Joe, "and only two or three slightly killed. The country is safe, Granny, this great and _gelorious_ country, over which the eagle waves his plumes, and flaps his wings, and would crow if he could. My soul is filled with enthusiasm,--I feel as if I should _bust_, and fly all round! There's that miserable Dot lifting up her voice." The racket had broken her slumbers, and then the children were implored to be quiet. Joe went to bed, in order to be able to get up good and early. Charlie thought she should sleep with her clothes on, so as to save the trouble of dressing. Kit sat in the moonlight chewing his thumb, and wondering if he could manage to get over to Salem to-morrow. If he could only hear that music! CHAPTER IX. FOURTH OF JULY. The children were up at the peep of dawn. Granny was awakened by something that seemed not unlike the shock of an earthquake; but Flossy, rubbing her eyes, said with a sigh,-- "Oh, dear! Joe has begun with his pistol the first thing! What does possess boys to be so noisy!" Charlie, perched astride the gate-post, her clothes considerably tumbled, and her hair unkempt, thought it splendid. "If Joe would only let her fire _once!_ Just as soon as she had a dollar she meant to buy a pistol of her own. It would always be good to keep away robbers!" Joe laughed uproariously. "Robbers indeed! There's nothing to steal here, unless it's some of the youngsters. You'd be sure to go first, Charlie!" "I shall be thankful when Fourth of July is over," said Granny in a troubled voice, while Joe was singing,-- "But children are not pigs, you know, And cannot pay the rint;" but at that remark so derogatory to patriotism, he bridled up at once. "Fourth of July's as good as Saint Patrick, or any other man. Who would be so base and ignoble of soul, and stingy of powder, as not to celebrate his birthday! when the country stretches from the north pole to the south, and is kept from bursting only by the centrifugal forces of the equator"-- Hal's rooster finished the speech by his longest and loudest crow. "Good for you! You've some patriotism, I see. You are not craven of soul, if powder doesn't come in your way. Granny, when can we have breakfast? I'm about famished with all my speech-making." Hal fed his crowd of chickens, and amused Dot, who did not quite enjoy being deprived of her morning nap. Presently they were summoned to their meal. "I'm going over to the store," announced Joe. "I want to see the Declaration of Independence read by the American eagle, and the salute fired by the Stars and Stripes, while the militia climb up their muskets and give three cheers." "Are they going to do that?" asked Charlie. "Granny, can't I go too?" "You must put on a clean dress." "Oh, dear! when I slept in mine too, so as to be ready," Charlie exclaimed, broken-hearted. "Won't you wait, Joe?" "I can't bother with girls," returned Joe. Charlie lamented her hard fate, but emerged from the hands of Florence quite a respectable looking child. Kit spent some time in adorning himself, and trying to smooth his refractory scalp-lock. He had been very quiet all the morning. "Now that they are off we can have a little peace," said Florence. Granny sighed. They were a great bother and torment, to be sure; but, after all, it was good to have the merry, noisy crew, safe and sound, and she should be glad when they returned. Hal's tastes inclined neither to fire-crackers nor sky-rockets. So he went into the garden, and began to look after his rather neglected vegetables. The chickens made bad work, it must be confessed, though the attractions of their buckwheat field were pretty strong, and Hal ingeniously repaired the fence with brush; but now and then there would be a raid. The Lima beans were doing beautifully, the corn looked promising; and, altogether, he thought the prospect was fair. Then he met with a delightful surprise. "O Granny!" and he rushed into the house. "Just think,--three of my grape-vines have beautiful long shoots on them. I haven't looked in ever so long, for I thought they didn't mean to grow. Come and see." There they were, sure enough. Hal had set out some cuttings from the neighbors, but he had been almost discouraged with their slow progress. "That's a Concord, and that's a Hartford Prolific. Don't they look lovely in their soft, pinkish green! Why, I feel as if I could give them all a hug. I'll have to put a lattice round, for fear of the chickens." So he went to work. Dot wanted to help, and brought him useless sticks, while she carried off his hammer and lost his nails. But when she looked up at him with the sweetest little face in the world, and said, "Ain't Dotty 'mart? Dotty help 'ou," he could not scold her. The dinner was rather quiet. None of the stray youngsters made their appearance. Afterward Florence dressed herself, and went to see Netty Bigelow, her dearest school-friend, and imparted to her that she was going to Seabury next Monday, to stay a month with a very elegant lady, and that she would live at a hotel. Then she described her ride to Salem, and the dinner. "Oh, how nice it must have been!" said Netty. "You are the luckiest girl I ever did know, Florence Kenneth." "I just wish I was as rich as Mrs. Osgood. It seems to me that poor people cannot be very happy." "I don't know," Netty returned thoughtfully. "The Graysons do not seem _very_ happy." "But I never saw such mean, disagreeable girls; and they are not dressed a bit pretty. If there's any thing in school they always want their share, but they never treat." "And we are poor," continued Netty; "but I'm sure we are happy." Florence felt that her friend could hardly understand the degree of happiness that she meant. She was rather out-growing her youthful companions. About mid-afternoon Hal took a walk over to the store. The old rusty cannon of Revolutionary memory had been fired on the green, the speeches made, and the small crowd dispersed. Nearly everybody had gone to Salem; but a few old stagers still congregated at the store, it being general head-quarters. Hal picked Charlie out of a group of children, in a very dilapidated condition. Her once clean dress was soiled, torn, and burned; her hands gave the strongest evidence that dust entered largely into the composition of small people; and her face was variegated by perspiration and dabs from these same unlucky hands. "O Charlie! you look like a little vagabond!" exclaimed Hal in despair. "I'm ashamed of you!" "But I've had such fun, and cakes and candies and fire-crackers and torpedoes! I wish Fourth of July would keep right straight along. I burned one of my fingers, but I didn't mind," declared the patriotic girl. "Where's Kit?" "I don't know. Joe was round this morning, but I guess he went to Salem." "You must come home with me now." "O Hal! we haven't found all the 'cissers' yet. They're almost as good as fire-crackers." Several of the children were burrowing in the grass and sand for "fusees,"--crackers that had failed to explode to the full extent of their powder. They broke them in two and relighted them. Hal was inexorable; so Charlie cried a little, and then bade her dirty companions a sad farewell. "Oh!" exclaimed Granny, as they came marching up the path, "what a sight! And your Sunday best dress, Charlie!" "Well," sniffed Charlie with a crooked face, though there were no tears to give it effect, "I'm sure I didn't want to put it on. I hate to be dressed up! Something always happens to your Sunday clothes. I couldn't help tearing it, and Jimmy Earl set off a cracker right in my lap"-- "Well, I'm glad it wasn't your eyes," said Granny thankfully. And then she took the forlorn pyramid of dirt and disorder up stairs, where she had a good scrubbing, and was re-arrayed in a more decent fashion. Anybody else would have scolded, but Granny was so glad to have her back safe and sound. Her heart was sorely anxious about Kit and Joe. She let the supper stand on the table, and they all sat on the doorstep in the moonlight; for Dot had taken a nap in the afternoon, and was bright as a new penny. And she fancied, as many mothers and grandmothers have before now, that shocking accidents had happened, and maybe they would be maimed and crippled for life. Presently they came straggling along, and Granny uttered a cry of relief. "Oh!" she said, "are you all here? Haven't you lost your hands, nor your fingers, nor"-- "Nor our noses, and not even our tongues," laughed Joe. "Here we are, pistol and all." "O Kit! where have you been? I was a most worried to death; and you look tuckered out." For Kit was pale to ghostliness as he stood there in the moonlight. "Where do you think I found him,--the small snipe? Way over to Salem!" "O Kit! did you see the fireworks and the soldiers?" exclaimed Charlie breathlessly. Kit sank down on the doorstep. "Walked all the way over there, and hadn't a penny!" "How could you Kit, without saying a word?" exclaimed Granny in a tone of mild reproach. "I could have given you a little money," said Hal tenderly. "And it's a mercy that you didn't get run over, or shot to pieces, or trampled to death in the crowd"-- "O Granny! don't harrow up our feelings," said Joe. "I was afraid you wouldn't let me go," began Kit, at the first available opportunity for slipping in a word. "And I didn't walk quite all the way there,--a man came along, and gave me a ride. I wanted to hear the music so much! The soldiers were splendid, Charlie; some of 'em with great white feathers in their hats and swords and beautiful horses and coats all over gold"-- "Wonderful hats," suggested Joe with a twinkle; for Kit had gone on with small regard to commas or accent. "They all know what I mean!" said Kit rather testily. "Don't plague him," interposed Hal. "About the music, Kit?" "Oh! I can't half tell you;" and Kit gave a long sigh. "There were drums and fifes, and those clappers--I don't remember what you called 'em, but I liked it best when the men were horning with their horns"-- Joe gave a loud outburst, and went over on his head. "Well," said Kit much aggrieved, "what are you laughing about?" "Horning! That is good! You had better write a new dictionary, Kit. It is a decided improvement upon 'toot,' and must commend itself to Flossy's attention for superior elegance. There, my dear, give me a vote of thanks;" and Joe twitched Flossy's long curls. "I don't know what you call it, then," said Kit rather sulkily. "They blew on the horns," Hal rejoined in his soothing tone, that was always a comfort in times of disturbance; "and the cornets, wind-instruments, I believe, though I don't know the names of them all. It must have been delightful." "Oh, it was! I shut my eyes, and it seemed as if I was floating on a sea, and there were all the waves beating up and down, and then a long soft sound like the wind blowing in and shaking it all to echoes. I was so sorry when they stopped. They all went into the hotel, I guess it was. By and by I wandered off a little ways, and sat on a stoop; and some one was playing on a piano. That was beautiful too. I'd like to crawl inside of something, as the fairies do, and just live there and listen forever." "And then I found him, hungry and tired, and bought him some cake," interrupted Joe. "We waited to see the fireworks, and rode home in Mr. Terry's wagon. But for that I guess he'd been sitting on the stoop yet." "And you haven't tasted a mouthful of supper!" exclaimed Granny; "and I a listenin' here, and never thinkin' of it." "I'm not much hungry," said Joe. "I was treated a time or two by the boys." But he thought he wouldn't tell that he had taken up his week's wages in advance, and spent it all. Fourth of July did not come but once a year, and a body ought to have a good time. Poor Joe had discovered, much to his chagrin, that a dollar and a half would not work wonders. It seemed to him at first that he never could get his suit of clothes paid for; then it was a hat, a pair of shoes, some cheap summer garments; and he never had a penny for Hal or any one else. In fact, he began to think that he would make more money working round for the farmers. But then the store was steady employment. He gave Charlie a glowing account of the fireworks, while Kit was eating a bowl of bread and milk; then they were glad to tumble into bed. "I'm thankful it's all over, and their arms and legs are safe, and their eyes not blown out," said Granny with fervent gratitude. Kit was pretty tired the next day, and Joe found it rather hard to make all things work together for good. Granny shed a few tears over Charlie's "best dress," and wondered how she could patch it so as to look decent. Florence, in the mean while, was much occupied with her own plans. She could hardly wait for Monday to come, and proposed to do the usual washing on Saturday, so there wouldn't be any "muss" around when Mrs. Osgood called. She was neat as a new pin as she sat awaiting her visitor. Her clothes had been looked over, and the best selected. There was nothing to pack them in, however, except a small, moth-eaten hair trunk, or a dilapidated bandbox; and the latter was Florence's detestation. "I can do them up in a paper," she said; and Charlie was sent to scour the neighborhood for the required article. Mrs. Osgood and Mrs. Duncan came together. The latter lady had laughed a little at her sister's plan at first; but, when she found it was really serious, thought it would be as well for her to try it a month. Mrs. Duncan was rather exclusive, and had a horror of crowds of poor people's children. "It would be so much better to take some one who had no relatives," she said. "I shall not adopt the whole family, you may be sure," was the response. Some of Mrs. Duncan's prejudices were surmounted by the general order and tidiness to which Florence had reduced matters; and she was wonderfully well-bred, considering her disadvantages. "I shall keep her for a month, while I remain at Seabury; and, if I should want her afterward, we can make some new arrangements," Mrs. Osgood explained. "I shall see, of course, that she has ample remuneration." Florence colored. Living with such a grand lady seemed enough, without any pay. "What are you crying for, Granny?" she asked as she followed her into the kitchen. "How ridiculous! Why, it is just as if I were going away upon a visit; and you wouldn't be sorry then." "It isn't because I'm sorry;--but--none of you have ever been away afore"-- Florence knitted her brows. How foolish to make such a fuss! "There are so many of us, that we're like bees in a hive. You ought to be glad to have me go. And I dare say I shall ride over some day"-- "To be sure. But every one is missed." Florence kissed the children all round, and was much mortified at the bundle tied up in a newspaper. "If I get any money, I mean to buy a travelling-bag," she commented internally. "Tate me too," exclaimed Dot, clinging to Florence's dress: luckily her hands were clean. "Oh! you can't go, Dotty: Charlie will show you the beautiful chickens." Dot set up a fearful cry, and wriggled herself out of Charlie's arms, and Granny took her. Florence hurried through her good-bys, and was glad to leave the confusion behind. Granny indulged in a little cry afterward, and then went to her ironing. Of course they must all flit from the old hive some time. She could hardly persuade herself that Florence was fifteen,--almost a young lady. Joe and Hal wanted to hear all the particulars that evening. Charlie dilated grandly on the magnificence of the ladies. "It's real odd," said Joe. "Flossy always wanted to be a lady; and maybe this is a step towards it. I wonder if I shall ever get to sea!" "Oh, don't!" exclaimed Granny in a pitiful voice. When Mrs. Green heard the news, she had to come over. "I don't suppose they'd ever thought on't, if it hadn't been for me," she exclaimed. "They stopped to my house while their wagon was bein' mended, and the sickly lookin' one seemed to be terribly interested in your folks; so, thinks I, if I can do a good turn for a neighbor it's all right; and I spoke a word, now and then, for Florence,--though it's a pity her name hadn't been Mary Jane. I never did approve of such romantic names for children. And I hope Florence will be a good girl, and suit; for the Lord knows that you have your hands full!" Charlie ran wild, as usual, through vacation. In one of her long rambles in the woods she found a hollow tree with a rock beside it, and her fertile imagination at once suggested a cave. She worked very industriously to get it in order; brought a great pile of leaves for a bed, and armsful of brush to cook with, and then besought Kit to run away and live in the woods. Kit tried it for one day. They had some apples and berries, and a piece of bread taken from the pantry when Granny wasn't around. They undertook to fish, but could not catch any thing; though Charlie was quite sure, that, if Joe would lend her his pistol, she could shoot a bird. "Anyhow, we'll have a fire, and roast our apples," said Charlie, undaunted. "But it's awful lonesome, I think. S'pose we don't stay all night: Granny'll be worried." "Pooh!" returned Charlie with supreme disdain. So she lighted her fire. The twigs crackled and blazed, and the flame ran along on the ground. "Isn't it splendid!" she exclaimed, "Why, it's almost like fireworks! Oh, see, Kit! that dead tree has caught. We'll have a gay old time now." Alas! Charlie's "gay old time" came to an ignoble end. Some one rushed through the woods shouting,-- "Hillo! What the mischief are you at? Don't you know any better than to be setting the woods on fire?" It was Mr. Trumbull, looking angry enough. He bent the burning tree over, and stamped out the blaze; then poked the fire apart, and crushed the burning fragments into the soft ground. A dense smoke filled the little nook. "Whose work is this? You youngsters deserve a good thrashing, and I've half a mind to take your hide off." With that he caught Kit by the arm. "He didn't do it," spoke up courageous Charlie. "He never brought a leaf nor a stick; and you sha'n't thrash him!" "What's he here for, then?" "I brought him." "And did you kindle the fire?" "Yes," said Charlie, hanging her head a little. "What for? Didn't you know that you might burn the woods down, in such a dry time? Why, I could shut you up in jail for it." That frightened Charlie a good deal. "I didn't mean to--do any harm: we thought--we'd have a little fun"--came out Charlie's answer by jerks. "Fine fun! Why, you're Granny Kenneth's youngsters! I guess I'll have to march you off to jail." "Oh, let Kit go home!" cried Charlie with a great lump in her throat. "It wasn't his fault. He didn't even want to come." Something in the child's air and frankness touched Mr. Trumbull's heart, and caused him to smile. He had a houseful of children at home, every one of whom possessed a wonderful faculty for mischief; but this little girl's bravery disarmed his anger. "I want to explain to you that a fire like this might burn down a handsome piece of woodlands worth thousands of dollars. All these large trees are sent to the sawmill, and made into boards and shingles and various things. So it would be a great loss." "I'm very sorry," returned Charlie. "I didn't know it would do any harm." "If I don't take you to jail this time, will you promise never to do it again?" Charlie shivered a little at her narrow escape. "I surely wouldn't," she said very soberly. By this time Mr. Trumbull had the fire pretty well out. "Well, don't ever let me catch you at it again, or you will not get off so easily. Now trot home as fast as you can." Charlie paused a moment, tugging at the cape of her sun-bonnet. "I'm glad you told me about burning up the woods," she said. "I didn't think of that." Mr. Trumbull laughed pleasantly. So the two walked homeward, Charlie in a more serious frame of mind than usual. "I tell you, Kit," she began at length, "out West is the place to have a cave, and fires, and all that Hal had a book about it. Sometimes children are kidnapped by Indians, and live in their tents, and learn how to make bead-bags and moccasins"-- "I don't want to go;" and Kit gave his slender shoulders a shrug. "They scalp you too." "But they wouldn't me. I should marry one of the chiefs." Then, after a rather reflective pause, "I'm glad we didn't burn down Mr. Trumbull's woods: only I guess he wasn't in earnest when he said he would put me in jail." But for all that she begged Kit not to relate their adventure to Granny, and perplexed her youthful brain for a more feasible method of running away. The house seemed very odd without Florence. The children's small errors passed unrebuked; and they revelled in dirt to their utmost content. For what with working out a day now and then, getting meals, patching old clothes, and sundry odd jobs, Granny had her poor old hands quite full. But she never complained. CHAPTER X. WHICH SHOULD SHE CHOOSE? The reality at Seabury far exceeded Florence Kenneth's expectations. The hotel was really finer than that at Salem. And then, instead of being maid, she found here a woman who waited upon Mrs. Osgood, arranged her hair, kept her dresses in order, and did the small errands. What was she to do, then? Not very much, it seemed. She read aloud, and Florence was an undeniably good reader; she embroidered a little, went every day for a ride, and absolutely sat in the parlor. It was rather embarrassing at first. "I have decided," Mrs. Osgood said to her sister, a few days afterward. "The child has a very sweet temper, and a most affectionate nature; and then she is so lovely. A perfect blonde beauty! In two years she will be able to enter society. Mrs. Deering declared yesterday that her voice was remarkable." "I hope you will not spoil her completely. She has a good share of vanity, I perceive." "It is only proper pride: the child is well-born. I know her mother must have been a lady, and Kenneth is not a common name." "I am sure I hope your _protégée_ will prove a comfort." Then Mrs. Osgood announced her plans to Florence, who was literally overwhelmed. To be adopted by so rich a lady, to have an elegant home, and become skilled in all accomplishments--was it not a dream,--her wild, improbable dream? To Florence Mrs. Osgood was an angel. True, she had seen her rather pettish, and sometimes she scolded Martha, and gave way to hysterical spasms; but these were minor faults. She drew the child to her with the sweet and not-forgotten arts of her faded girlhood, and was pleased with the sincere homage that had in it so much of wonder. Florence would love her like a daughter. "I cannot promise to leave you a fortune," she said, "but while I live you shall have every thing. I was treated very unjustly by Mr. Osgood's will; though I know he was influenced by his relatives, who grudge me every penny. They would be very glad to have some of their children live at Roselawn: I christened the place myself on account of the roses." "How beautiful it must be!" exclaimed Florence, enchanted. "It _is_ a handsome place. You would have a governess, and be taught music and French and drawing, and be introduced everywhere as my daughter. If I had one, I fancy she would look something like you, for I was called very pretty in my younger days;" and Mrs. Osgood sighed. "I can never be grateful enough," said Florence. "I shall want you to love me a great deal,--just as if I were your own mother. And when you are grown you must make me your confidant. You will marry brilliantly, of course; but you must promise that it will not be without my consent." "I shall never want to leave you!" declared Florence impulsively, kissing the thin hands. "It will be such a luxury to have your affection. My life has always been so lonely. Very few people can understand my sensitive nature, but I trust you will be able to." There was some other points not so congenial. When they came to these, Florence's heart shrank a little. For, if she chose Mrs. Osgood, the group at home must drop out of her life completely. There could be no visiting, no corresponding. Poor Florence! This was a cloud upon her bright visions. "I shall write to your grandmother occasionally to let her know that you are well; but, as my daughter, you will be in such an entirely different sphere, that the slightest intimacy would be unwise." What should she do? Would Granny think her cruel and ungrateful? Mrs. Osgood proposed to take her back to Madison to spend a few days in which to decide. As for her, it hardly appeared possible to her that the child could hesitate. And now that she had enjoyed this little taste of luxury, poverty would seem all the more repulsive. They drove over one morning. Luckily, Granny was in very tolerable order; but, oh the difference! She was so glad to see Florence, that she kissed and cried over her a little. "I want to have a talk with your grandmother," Mrs. Osgood said; and Florence betook herself to the kitchen. How dreadfully poor and mean every thing looked! Mrs. Osgood went straight about the business in hand. She described her offer in the most glowing terms, and held out all its advantages. It would relieve Mrs. Kenneth from much care and anxiety, give her one less to struggle for; and then Florence would have the position for which Nature had fitted her. Not one thing was forgotten. Granny listened like one in a dream. Flossy to be a rich lady's daughter,--to ride in a carriage, to have a piano, and be dressed in silk! Could it be true? "But oh! I can't give her up," moaned Granny. "She was poor Joe's first-born, and such a sweet, pretty baby! There never was one on 'em that I could spare." "I wish you would take counsel with some friend. I think this opportunity for Florence is too good to be thrown away." "I don't know, I'm sure. You are very kind and generous. But to part with my poor darling." The lady rose at length. "I shall leave Florence here for three days," she said. "In the mean while consider the subject well, and do not stand in the way of the child's welfare." Florence was very sorry to part with Mrs. Osgood. She walked out to the gate, and lingered there, clinging to the slender hand, and at last being kissed tenderly. "Think earnestly of my proposal. On Saturday I shall come for my answer," said Mrs. Osgood. The lady had not much fear. She knew that money was all-potent in this world; and it was quite absurd to suppose that a pretty girl would prefer toil and poverty in this hovel, to luxury and ease with handsome surroundings. "Oh dear!" and Granny's arms were around Flossy's neck. "I can't let you go away forever. And I am sure you don't want to," scanning the fair face with her fond and eager eyes. "Granny, I don't know what to say. I should so like to have an education, and to be--oh! don't cry so. If every one thinks I ought not to go,"--and Flossy's lip quivered. "I am a foolish old body," sobbed Granny. "I'm not worth minding, my dear." "Fossy tum home. What 'ou ky?" said Dot, tugging at Granny's dress. "If we could see you once in a while." Florence felt the last to be an impossibility. She had a keen perception of the difference in station, and the nameless something that Granny could not be brought to see. "You would hear about me," she said softly. Granny went back to her ironing. Florence offered to help, and arranged her own light table. But it was uncomfortable this hot summer day, and her tender hand felt as if it was blistered. She consoled herself by relating the experiences of the past month, and inwardly sighing for the luxurious life. Granny was not so stupid but that she could see the direction of the child's desires. "I don't wonder that you liked it; and she couldn't help loving you, even if I do say it. Why, a queen might be proud of you! If we knew some one to ask." "There is Mr. Howard," Florence suggested. "Sure enough. He would see all sides of it. We'll go over after the work is done;" and Granny tried to smile a little lightness into her sad face. Charlie had gone to pull weeds for a neighbor, Hal was out also, so there was only Kit to dinner. After that was out of the way, and Dot had her nap, they made themselves ready for their call. Florence tried her best to make a lady out of Granny. A queer little old woman she was, and would be to the end of the chapter. Her bonnet was dreadfully old-fashioned, and her gingham dress too short for modern requirements. Her wrinkled hands were as brown as berries, and she never _would_ wear gloves in the summer. Then, after she was all ready, she surreptitiously tied on her black alpaca apron; at which Flossy gave a sigh of despair. The parsonage was a pretty little nest, half-covered with vines, and shaded by a great sycamore. Dolly and Fred Howard were playing on the grass, and Dot started for the small group instantly. "O Mrs. Kenneth! how do you do? What a stranger you are! And here is Florence, fresh as a rose! I heard that you had run away, my child. Come and sit in the shade here: it is cooler than within doors. Mary, here are some visitors." Mrs. Howard gave them a cordial welcome, and insisted that Granny should lay aside her bonnet. She inquired if Florence had enjoyed her month at Seabury, and if she was not glad to get back again. Granny twisted her apron-strings, and glanced at the young girl uneasily. Of course she must begin somehow, but there was a great sinking at her heart. "Flossy's had a chance," she began; and then the strings were untied. "We thought we'd come and ask a little advice. It's hard tellin' what's for the best;" and Granny looked as if she might break down into a cry. "A chance for an education?" asked Mrs. Howard. "No: it's--to go for good. Flossy, you tell. I am not much of a hand at getting things straight," murmured Granny. Florence told the story in a very ladylike fashion, giving it the air of a romance. "Why, Florence, that is quite an adventure. And she wants to adopt you?" Mrs. Howard exclaimed, much interested. "Do you know any thing about this Mrs. Osgood?" asked Mr. Howard. Florence used her limited knowledge to its fullest extent. "Oh! I believe I know something about Mrs. Duncan. Dr. Carew was attending the boy. I have heard him speak of them all. Isn't Mrs. Osgood something of an invalid,--rather full of whims?" "She is not very strong," Florence admitted. "But it is a remarkable offer," rejoined Mrs. Howard. "And to have one of the family so well provided for, seems like an especial providence." "But to have her go away," said Granny. "To give her up, and never see her again!" "That does seem unkind. Perhaps it would not be quite as bad as that." Mr. Howard studied Florence attentively for a few moments. He had always considered her rather above her station. "It certainly is a generous proposal, granting every thing to be as represented. Florence will receive a superior education, and be raised above the care and drudgery of life. Yet she may have to devote many of her best years to Mrs. Osgood; and ministering to an invalid is wearisome work. It is taking her entirely away from her family, to be sure; but, putting aside love, she might never be able to help along much. Women are not extravagantly remunerated; and, if she went away to teach school, she could not do much more than take care of herself. And there would be a partial separation." Florence gave Mr. Howard a look of relief and thankfulness. "I don't want to keep her from doing whatever will be best," said Granny tremulously. "There are Joe and Hal to help along,--smart boys both. And though your strong and tender arms have kept the little flock together these many years, they will wear out by and by. And, if any accident befell you, it would be well to have some of them provided for. The important question seems to be whether what Florence can do at home will compensate for what she must relinquish. The entire separation appears to me rather unjust. You said that Mrs. Osgood proposed that you should take counsel of some one: suppose I should go to Seabury, and talk the matter over with her?" "Oh, if you would!" said Florence beseechingly. She felt that Mr. Howard was on her side, though she did not quite understand why. "Yes," rejoined Granny, catching at a straw. "You could tell her how it is,--poor Joe's children, every one on 'em so precious to me. I never had much learnin'; but I love 'em for father and mother both, and I can't bear to think of their going away. Ah, well! it's a world full of trouble, though they've always been good to me, poor dears." Mrs. Howard turned away her face to hide her tears, and presently left them to get a slice of nice fresh cake and a glass of milk for her guests. Her heart really ached for Granny. So it was settled that Mr. Howard would go over to Seabury, and learn all the particulars of the offer. Granny was very thankful indeed. Soon after, they picked up Dot, and started homeward. "You rather approve of it," Mrs. Howard said to her husband, watching the retreating figures, and smiling at Dot, who pulled at every wayside daisy-head. "Florence has her heart set upon it, that is plain to see." "And yet it seems ungrateful in her." "It would be nobler for her to stay with Granny, and help rear the others. Yet that is more than one can reasonably expect of pretty young girlhood." "She is industrious, and has many excellent points but she is a good deal ashamed of the poverty." "I wonder whether she would be any real assistance? She has a good deal of vanity, and love of dress; and no doubt she would spend most of her money upon herself. Then, in some mood of dissatisfaction, she might marry unwisely, and perhaps be more trouble than comfort to Granny. If Mrs. Osgood is in earnest, Florence would at least receive an education that might fit her for a nice position in case Mrs. Osgood tired of her." "And the life at home is not a great delight to her," said Mr. Howard with a smile. "But whether I would like to give up my brothers and sisters"-- "Florence is peculiar. Ten years from this time she may love them better than she does now." There was a noisy time in the "Old Shoe" that night. They were all so glad to have Flossy back again. Kit played on imaginary fiddles; Charlie climbed on her chair, and once came tumbling over into her lap; Hal watched her with delight, and thought her prettier than ever; Joe whistled and sang, and told her all that had occurred in the store, pointing his stories with an occasional somerset, or standing on his head to Dot's great satisfaction. "Well, that is really margaret-nificent," declared Joe, flourishing Granny's old apron on the broomstick. "Flossy, you are in luck! It is all due to your winning ways and curly hair." "If I go"--with a sad little sigh. "Go? why, of course you will! She'd be a great goose; would she not, Granny? 'Washing and ironing I daily have to do; Baking and brewing I must remember too; Three small children to maintain: Oh, how I wish I was single again!'" sang Joe with irresistible drollery. Granny laughed; but she winked her eyes hard, and something suspicious shone in them. "It would be splendid, and no mistake! To think of having a piano, and learning French, and riding in a carriage--'A coach and four and a gold galore!' And then pretty Peggy we should"-- Joe made a great pause, for something stuck in his throat. "But couldn't we ever see you?" asked Charlie. An awesome silence fell over the little group. "If you could come and see us once in a while," said Hal softly. "We would not so much mind not going _there_"-- "I'd run away and visit her," announced daring Charlie. "I'd hide about in the woods until I saw her some day, and then"-- "They'd set the dog on you." "Hum! As if I was afraid of a dog, Joe Kenneth! I'd snap my fingers in his face, and ask him what he had for breakfast. Then I'd come back home and tell you all about it." "The breakfast, or the dog?" "Joseph, I am afraid you are getting in your dotage," said Charlie with a shake of the head. "But, if I started to, I know I'd find Florence." "It is rather cruel," said Joe sturdily. "I don't see why she should want to take you entirely away from us." "We cannot look at it just as the lady does," said Hal's mild voice. "I suppose she thinks, if she does so much for Flossy, that she ought to have a good deal of love in return." "She is ashamed of us because we are poor. But maybe if we managed to get along, and grow up nicely--she wouldn't feel so--so particular about it." "I don't believe she would," exclaimed Florence. "You see, people are so different; and--I'm sure I've always wanted you to have nice manners." "So you have, Flossy," declared Joe. "And you were meant for a lady." Hal and Granny sat on the doorstep after the rest had gone to bed, crying a little, and yet finding some comfort. "It would be so nice for Florence!" Hal said in his pleading tone. "She would always have to work here, and not learn music and all those lovely things. And she has such a beautiful voice, you know, and such pretty hands, and nice, dainty ways"-- "But never to see her again!" groaned Granny. "I think we shall see her,--some time. Perhaps Mrs. Osgood might die: she is not very well, and Flossy might come back to us. Oh, yes, Granny, I do believe we shall see her again!" "I've loved you all so much!" "And we should always love you, even if we went to Japan. Then, if Flossy should have to work hard, and be unhappy, we might be sorry that we kept her out of any thing so nice." "I do believe you are right, Hal; only it's so hard to think of not seeing her again." "I'll try to make it up, dear. You will always have me." The soft young lips kissed those that quivered so piteously, and smoothed the wet, wrinkled cheek. "We'll pray about it, Granny. Somehow it seems as if God made these things plain after a while; and it is in his hands. He hears the ravens cry, poor, hungry little birdies; and he must care for us. He will watch over Florence." "O Hal, you talk like a minister! Maybe you will be one some day. And it is so sweet to have you, dear boy!" "I shall never be half good enough," he said solemnly. He crept up to his room, but laid awake a long while, watching the stars, and thinking. Florence resolved the next day that she would not go, and braced herself to martyr-like endurance. But oh, how mean and poor every thing appeared by contrast! Charlie in rags,--you never could keep Charlie in whole clothes; Dot playing in the dirt, for, though you washed her twenty times an hour, she would not stay clean; the shabby, old fashioned, tumble-down cottage,--no, Mrs. Osgood never would want any of these wild Arabs visiting her. So she shed many quiet tears. Perhaps it would be best to make the sacrifice, hard as it was. Granny saw it all. Her old eyes were not blind, and her heart smote her for something akin to selfishness. Poor, aching heart. "Flossy," she said, over her heart-break, "if Mr. Howard is satisfied, I think you had better go." "I have about decided to give it up. Perhaps it is my _duty_ to stay." Granny scanned the face eagerly, but found there no cheerful and sweet self-denial. "I've been thinking it over"--her voice broken and quavering. "Perhaps it will be best. Though I don't like to part with you, for your poor father"--and Granny's inconsequent speech ended in tears. "I'll stay home then, and do what I can; only it seems as if there were so many of us,--and the place so little, and I can't help being different, and liking music and education, and a nice orderly house"-- "No, you can't help it. Poor Joe--your father I mean--liked 'em all too. I've sometimes thought that maybe, if he'd gone away, he might have been a gentleman. He'd a master voice to sing. And God will watch over you there, and not let you come to harm. Oh, dear!" Granny covered her face with her apron, and cried softly. Mr. Howard called that evening. He had been quite favorably impressed with Mrs. Osgood's proposal. "Her connections are all reputable people," he said; "and I think she means to treat Florence like a daughter. She can give her many advantages, and she is strongly attached to her already. But she _is_ exclusive and aristocratic. She wants Florence all to herself. Still, she has made one concession: she will allow her to write home once a year." "And then I could tell you every thing!" exclaimed Florence overjoyed. "But she is resolved not to permit any visiting. To be sure, time may soften this condition; yet, if Florence goes, she ought to abide by her promise." "Yes," answered the child meekly. "It does seem a remarkable opportunity. I do not know as it would be wise to refuse." Ah, if one _could_ know what was for the best! The days flew by so rapidly, there was so much talking, but never any coming to a conclusion. Joe was loudly on Florence's side. So was Hal, for that matter; but from more thoughtful motives. And Granny was too conscientious to stand in the way of the child's advancement, much as she loved her, and longed to keep her. Then, on Friday evening they sat on the old stone doorstep, a sad group, going over the subject in low, sad tones, the pain of parting already in their voices. Granny's vehemence had subsided. Hal had Florence's soft hand in his, Kit's head was in her lap, and Charlie sat at her feet. Should she go? When all the mists and glamor of desire cleared away, as they did now in the calm star-light, with God watching up above, she felt that it would be nobler and truer to remain with them, and share the poverty and the trials. For to have them ill, dying perhaps, without looking upon their dear faces, with no last words or last kisses to remember, was more than she could bear. Would it not seem selfish to go off to luxury and indolence, when they must struggle on with toil and care and poverty? "Oh!" she exclaimed, going to Granny's arms, with a sob. "I believe I cannot leave you when it comes to absolute parting. We have been happy, in spite of the troubles and wants. I should miss you all so much! And, if I could get to be a teacher, I might help a little." Granny held her to her heart, and kissed the wet face again and again. "My dear darling, God bless you!" she said brokenly. Flossy thought herself a very heroic girl. There was a great lump in her throat, and she could not utter another word. It was a born princess turning her back on the palace. Hal and Joe eyed each other inquisitively. It was the noblest thing she could do, but would it be the wisest? CHAPTER XI. OUT OF THE OLD HOME-NEST. But then it all looked so different by daylight! The old rickety house, the noisy children, the general shabbiness, and the life of hard work and dissatisfaction, stretching out interminably. For, to the eyes of fifteen, it seems a long way to fifty; and roses are so much more tempting than thorns! Hal found her out in the garden crying. "Dear Flossy," he began tenderly, "I think you had better go, after all. When the parting is over, Granny will be reconciled, and understand that it is for the best." "But I ought to stay at home and help," she sobbed. "If I could do both"-- "That is not possible;" and Hal tried to smile away the tears in his eyes. "It looks so--so foolish not to be able to make up one's mind." "It is a hard case, and there is so much on Mrs. Osgood's side." "Hal, what would you do?" and Florence glanced up earnestly. "My darling, I think you want to go, and that you would always be unhappy and regretful if you staid. We can't help all our feelings and wants and tastes; and it seems as if you were born for a lady. That is natural too." "But I do love you all, and dear Granny"-- "We shall never doubt that," he answered re-assuringly. "We shall often sit on the old doorstep, and talk about you, and try to imagine you in the beautiful house, with the pictures and the piano, and all the nice things you will be learning. It will be just lovely for us too. Then you can write every summer." "And perhaps I shall come back when I am a woman!" At this Florence brightened wonderfully, but after a moment said, "You don't think it very selfish, Hal?" "My dear, no," replied brave little Hal. "I am sure it would be a great trial for me to give up any thing so splendid." "If you would only tell Granny--again." Hal nodded; for he couldn't say any more just then. Granny wiped the tears out of her old eyes with the corner of her checked apron, and trod upon the cat, stretched out upon the floor, who added her pathetic howl to the fund of general sorrow. So it came to pass, when Mrs. Osgood made her appearance, Florence was quite elegant and composed. The lady was very, very gracious. She expatiated on the great advantage this step would be to Florence, the pleasure to _her_, and the relief to Granny to know that one of her flock was provided for. Of course, she understood it was hard to part with her; but they had so many left, that in a little while they would hardly miss her. Then they _would_ hear about her, and no doubt come to rejoice in her good fortune. Indeed, by the time Mr. Howard arrived, she had talked them into quite a reasonable frame of mind. She promised to treat her like a daughter, educate her handsomely; so that, in case of her death, Florence would be able to take care of herself. If, at the end of the first year, she should feel unwilling to remain, Mrs. Osgood would not oppose her return. Granny was calm, but very grave, while these preliminaries were being discussed. Hal kept swallowing over great sobs that wrenched his heart at every breath. The agreement was concluded and signed. "Now, my dear, put on your hat," said Mrs. Osgood in her sweetest tone. "Brief partings are the kindest; are they not, Mr. Howard? I am much obliged for your assistance in this matter; and you must permit me to offer you a small donation for your pretty little church." Granny's tears streamed afresh; but Hal managed her with delicate tenderness. Florence kissed them all many times. Dot wanted to go in the "boofer wagon;" while Kit and Charlie looked on, with tearful, wondering eyes, not half understanding the importance of the step. Then--she was driving away. One last, long look. Was that the waving of her pretty white hand? Their eyes were too dim to see. "It seems to me that she will come back to the old house some time," said Hal, breaking the sad silence. Granny turned away, and shut herself in the best room. For a long while they heard nothing of her. But God was listening to the heart-broken prayer, which he answered in his own time and his own way. "So Flossy's gone!" exclaimed Joe soberly that night. "I can't make it seem a bit real. Air-castles don't generally turn into the substantial. After the king's ball I guess she will come home in glass slippers, and we will have her giving us loads of good advice. It is so sure to be true, Granny, that we can afford to take a little comfort meanwhile." Granny did not laugh as usual. Kit chewed his thumb vigorously, and saw piles of violins in the distance. But they confessed to being very lonesome on Sunday. Charlie declined wearing Flossy's second-best hat; for she insisted that she "felt it in her bones" that Florence would return, which Joe declared was incipient rheumatism, and that she must take a steam-bath over the spout of the tea-kettle. Yet secretly in his heart he had greater faith in the mythical sea-captain who was to take him off with flying colors. About a month afterwards they received a letter from Mrs. Osgood. Joe displayed the handsome monogram in great triumph, and begged Mr. Terry to let him run home with it at noon. They all crowded round him with eager eyes. "It's Granny's letter," he said, handing it to her. "Read it, Hal," she rejoined tremulously. Mrs. Osgood gave a delightful account of Florence; declaring that she already loved her as a mother, and, the homesickness being over, she was studying industriously. There was no doubt but that she would make a very fine musician; and it was extremely fortunate that such talent could be rescued in time to make the most of it. Then Florence added a few words, to say that she was very happy, and that it seemed like fairy-land, every thing was so beautiful. She enclosed a gift for them all, and said good-by until next year. They felt then how surely they were divided; yet they all rejoiced in Flossy's good fortune. Mr. and Mrs. Howard were very kind; but I think Hal's tender love did more towards comforting Granny than all the rest. She kept telling herself that it was foolish to grieve; yet there was a dumb ache way down in the poor old heart, an empty corner where one birdling had flown out of the home-nest. The affair had created quite an excitement in Madison. Joe pictured it in the most gorgeous style, and made Mrs. Osgood an actual fairy godmother. Mrs. Van Wyck, who still held a little grudge against her, insisted that it was not half as grand as the Kenneths represented it. "Now, Mr. Howard," she said at one of the parsonage gatherings, "is it really true? Did this woman adopt that flyaway Kenneth girl, or only take her as a sort of servant? And is she so very rich?" "Mrs. Osgood is a lady of means and position, and is connected with some of the most reliable people in New York. She has legally adopted Florence, and I was a witness to the agreement. It certainly was a rather remarkable event." "Well, she's nothing but a bunch of vanity, anyhow. She'll make one of the high-flyers, without a grain of sense, and I dare say elope with the coachman. I wish the woman joy of her bargain;" and Mrs. Van Wyck set her cap-streamers in violent motion. Autumn came on apace. Poor Granny was grievously perplexed when she entered the clothing-campaign. Florence's fertile brain and handy fingers were sorely missed. Granny did her best; but the tasty touches the child was wont to add, that transformed the commonest garb into certain prettiness, were lacking now. Still, Charlie thought it a godsend to have so many clothes all at once, having fallen heir to Flossy's discarded heritage. "Granny!" exclaimed Hal, rushing in breathless one afternoon, "Mr. Kinsey says he will take all my chickens to market! Isn't that splendid? He is going on Friday, and again next Tuesday; and he showed me how to make a crate to pack them in. Now is the very time, he says." "But we'll have to kill 'em, Hal!" exclaimed Granny aghast. "To be sure: that's the hard part of it, isn't it;" and Hal looked sober. "They seem a'most like human beings. They patter round after Dot, and talk to her in their queer fashion, and eat out of her hand. But, then, we couldn't keep them all through the winter." "We shall save the pets. There are some that I could not spare. But you must not grow chicken-hearted, Granny;" and he laughed softly at her. "Deary me! Somehow I can't bear to part with any thing any more. What a foolish old cretur!" "The dearest old creature in the world!" and Hal kissed her. "I wouldn't have you changed a mite, except, that, when you were almost a hundred, I'd like to set you back so that we could keep you always." "I sha'n't be worth it, Hal;" and she shook her head. "I shall have to stay home from school on Tuesday. I am quite anxious to know what our fortune will be, and whether it has paid." For Hal had gone back to school, as there seemed no business opening for him. Mr. Terry had raised Joe's wages; and, one way and another, they managed to get along quite comfortably. Hal tried to make up for the absence of Florence, and comforted Granny in many tender, girlish ways. He would pull her cap straight, and find her glasses and her thimble, two things that were forever going astray. Then he borrowed books from one and another to read aloud evenings; and, though Granny sat in the chimney-corner and nodded, she always declared that it was the loveliest thing in the world, and that she didn't believe but Hal would write a book some day himself, he was so powerful fond of them. To Charlie and Kit this was a great enjoyment. Indeed, it seemed as if in most things they listened more readily than they ever had to Florence. Dear, sweet-souled Hal! Your uses and duties in the world were manifold. And yet it tries our faith to see such fine gold dropped into the crucible. Is it those whom the Lord loveth? They had a great time on Thursday. Joe was up early in the morning, as he thought there was some fun in making an onslaught upon the army of chickens; so when Hal and Granny stepped over the threshold, they saw a great pile of decapitated fowls. "Why, Hal, you'll make a mint of money!" exclaimed Joe. "I suppose you mean to put it in government bonds." Hal only laughed. But he and Granny were busy as bees all day. About four o'clock Mr. Kinsey came over to see how the packing progressed. "There are just two dozen," said Hal; "and I shall have two dozen again next week." "They're beauties too! Why, I believe they go ahead of mine. You've plucked them nicely. Poultry's pretty high this year; retailing at twenty-five and twenty-eight, I heard." They weighed them, and then laid them snugly in the crate; plump and yellow, looking almost good enough to eat without a pinch of salt, Mr. Kinsey said. "Now I shall send them all over to the station, and they'll go through in the freight-train. Jim will soon be here with the wagon." Joe and Hal counted up the possible profit that evening. They had raised, with all their broods, sixty-five chickens. The actual outlay for food had been seventeen dollars; and Hal had sold eggs to the value of two dollars and a half. "It's better than keeping store, I do believe!" ejaculated Joe. "Hal, you have a genius for farming." "Does raising chickens prove it?" "If a hundred of corn-meal costs two fifty, what will the biggest chanticleer in the lot come to? There's a question for you, Granny." "Why, it would depend on--how much he weighed," said Granny cautiously. "Oh, no! it would depend on how you cooked him. In my kitchen he'd come to pot-pie, according to the double rule of a good hot fire." "You won't sell 'em all, Hal?" said Charlie anxiously. "No: we will have a little Thanksgiving for ourselves." Granny sighed. They all knew of whom she was thinking,--a sweet, fair face dropped out of the circle. Now that Flossy was gone, they remembered only her pleasant qualities; and it seemed as if Joe did not care half so much for making a noise when she was not here to be teased. Mr. Kinsey did not return until Saturday, but he came over with a smiling face. "Royal luck for you, Hal!" he said in his hearty tone. "I've half a mind to make you guess, and keep all that is over." "But I might guess high;" and a bright smile brought sunshine into the boy's face. "Try it, then." "Thirty dollars," ventured Hal, rather hesitatingly. "Though I don't believe it _is_ as much as that." "Thirty-two dollars; and the same man has spoken for your next lot. They were about the handsomest chickens in the market." "Oh! isn't that splendid?" said Hal. "Why, I can hardly believe it!" "There's the money. I've always observed that there's no eye-salve like money;" and Mr. Kinsey laughed. "You ought to have something for your trouble." "No, my fine little fellow. I shall only take out the freight. I'm glad to see you so energetic; and I do hope you will prosper as well in every thing you undertake." Hal thanked Mr. Kinsey again and again, and insisted that he should come over and do some work for the farmer; but that gentleman only laughed. "Have your second lot ready on Tuesday evening," said he, as he wished them good-day. The next was still more of a success, for they netted thirty-four dollars. Hal was overjoyed. "That certainly is 'bully!' our dear Flossy to the contrary," declared Joe. "Why, I'm so glad that I could stand on my head or the tip of my little finger. What _will_ you do with it all? Granny, was there ever so much money in this old house? It's lucky that I have a pistol to keep guard." Granny smiled, but a tear crept to the corner of her eye. "Now let us reckon it all up," said Hal. "Here is my book." Every item had been put down in the most systematic manner. They made a list of the expenses, and added the column, then subtracted it from the whole sum. "Forty-seven dollars!" "All that clear!" asked Granny in amaze. "Yes. Isn't it wonderful?" Joe could hold in no longer; but took a tour over the chairs, as if they had been a part of the flying trapeze. Hal's eyes were as large as saucers,--small ones. "I wouldn't a' believed it! But you've been very ekernomical, Hal, and used every thing, and raised so much corn"-- "And the buckwheat-field was so nice for them! If we can only keep them comfortable through the winter, and have them lay lots of eggs!" "It's astonishing how contrary they are when eggs are scarce," said Joe gravely. "What do you suppose is the reason, Charlie?" "Forty-seven dollars!" said Charlie, loftily ignoring the last remark. "Enough to buy me a fiddle," Kit remarked. "It will have to buy a good many things," said Hal. "I am so very, very thankful for it." Granny insisted that Hal should have a suit of clothes, and finally persuaded him into buying a complete outfit. That took twenty-three dollars. Then some boots for Kit, shoes for Charley, a pretty dress for Dot, a barrel of flour, and there was very little of it left. "But it was really magnificent!" said Hal with a sigh of pleasure. "I shall try it again next year, if you don't mind the trouble, Granny." Granny said that she should not. Their Christmas festival was quiet compared to the last one. Flossy had helped make them gay then, and there had been the wonderful shoe. Would any thing ever be quite as brilliant again? "It almost seems as if Flossy was dead, doesn't it?" Hal said softly to granny. "And yet I suppose she has had lots of presents, and is--very--happy." "God keep her safely," answered Granny. Before spring some changes came to Madison. Grandmother Kinsey died, having reached a good old age; and Mr. Kinsey resolved to put his pet project into execution,--removing to the West, and farming on a large scale. Everybody was very sorry to have them go. It seemed to Granny as if she were losing her best friend. Ah! by and by the world would look very wide and desolate. But the Kenneths had a little recompense for their loss. In casting about for a parting gift to Hal, fortune seemed to put an excellent one right in his way. In having some dealings with Farmer Peters, he took the small piece of land that Hal had made so profitable, and deeded it to the boy. "It is not much," he said; "but it may help along a little. I only wish you were going out West with me. That's the place for boys!" Hal almost wished that he could. "But you will come and visit us some day, I know. You are a brave, ambitious little chap, and deserve to prosper. I hope you will, indeed." Hal was a good deal astonished, and wonderfully thankful for his gift. To think of being actual owner of some land! "You beat the Dutch for luck, Hal! I never did see any thing like it," was Joe's comment. All Madison bewailed the Kinseys. They were some of the oldest settlers, and it was like removing a landmark. Mrs. Kinsey did not forget Granny, but sent her many useful articles in the way of old clothes, and some furniture that would have brought but a trifle at auction, yet served to quite renovate the little cottage. But when Granny tried to thank her kind friend, Mrs. Kinsey said,-- "I've always been glad to do what I could; for when I thought of you at your age, taking charge of all those little ones, it seemed as if every one ought to stand by you. And they will be a comfort to you, I know. God will not let you go without some reward." Granny wiped the tears from her eyes, and answered brokenly. One and another were dropping out of her world. She had hardly recovered from this blow when one night Joe came home in high glee. "The luck's changed, Hal!" he said in his laughing, breezy voice. "Just guess"-- "More wages?" "No indeed! Better still, a great sight. If you have tears, please wring out your pocket-hand_kerchers_, and prepare to shed 'em! Slightly altered from Shakspeare. I'm going to sea! Hip, hip, hurrah!" Joe swung his old hat so hard that crown and brim parted, the crown landing on the mantle-piece. "Couldn't have done better if I'd tried. I'm a dead shot, for certain!" "Going to sea?" Granny came out at that. "Yes. A cousin of Mr. Terry's has been visiting there; and we have struck up a friendship and a bargain,--Cap'n Burton. He owns a sloop that goes to Albany and around, and wants a boy who can keep books a little, and all that. It's just as jolly as a lark!" It was plain to be seen that Joe no longer stood in awe of Florence's ladylike reprimands. Granny's eyes grew larger and larger. She fairly clutched Joe's arm as she gasped,-- "Going--to sea!" "Yes, Granny. Don't get solemn new, as if you thought a shark would devour me the first thing,--body and boots. You know it always _was_ my idea, and this is real splendid! And there's no more danger than driving Mr. Terry's grocery-wagon." "But you might get drownded," Granny said awesomely. "Tell you what I'll do, Granny. Tie a rope to my leg, and fasten it to the mast. Then you know, if I fall overboard, I can haul in. There isn't a bit of danger. Why, Capt. Burton's been all his life. There, don't cry. You are the dearest old grandmother that ever was; but we can't stay under your wing forever." "You have not made your bargain?" asked Hal, surprised that another dream should come true. "Well,--almost. He's coming down here in the morning to have a talk with Granny. He will give me ten dollars a month and found, which mean, tea and fish and baccy." "Oh!" said Hal, "you won't chew tobacco?" "Sailors always do. But ten dollars a month _is_ better than eight, and my board thrown in. I'm going, Granny." Granny sighed. It was useless to endeavor to talk Joe out of his project; and so she might as well keep silence. Capt. Burton came the next morning. He had taken a wonderful fancy to Joe, and was very anxious to engage him. "He's just the kind of lad that I need," exclaimed the captain. "I want some one who is handy, and quick in figgers; who can keep my accounts for me, as my eyes are getting rather poor; and do arrants; and I've taken a 'mazing liking to him. I'll keep a good watch over him; and he can come home once in a while." "How far do you go?" asked Granny. "To Albany, mostly. Now and then I take a trip around Long Island, or up the Sound. Your boy has taken a 'mazing fancy to the sea; and he will never be satisfied until he's had a taste of salt water, in my 'pinion." "No, that I won't!" declared Joe stoutly. "We haul off in the winter 'bout three months; which'll give him a holiday. Sence he hankers after it so, you better consent, I think. Cousin Terry will tell you that I ain't a hard master." What could Granny say? Nothing but cry a little, look up Joe's clothes, and kiss him a hundred times, or more, after the fashion of Mrs. Malloy and her dear Pat. Joe was so delighted, that he could hardly "hold in his skin," as he said to Kit, who sagely advised him not to get into a cast-iron sweat,--Kit's chronic fear on remarkable occasions. There was not much time for consideration. In two days Joe was off, bag and baggage, whistling, "The girl I left behind me." And so the gay household thinned out. They missed Joe terribly. To be sure, vacation commenced after a while; and Kit and Charlie were in mischief continually, or in rags: Granny hardly knew which was worse. They had some glowing letters from Joe, who didn't believe there was any thing finer in Europe than New York and the Hudson River. Capt. Burton was a "jolly old tar;" and nautical phrases were sprinkled about thick as blackberries. Mr. Terry offered the place in the store to Hal, who consulted awhile with Granny. "I think I could make as much money by working round, and raising chickens, and all that; and then I could go to school. I believe I should like it better; and there is so much that I want to learn!" "But you know a master sight now, Hal," said Granny in admiration. So the proposal was very kindly declined. Charlie thought Fourth of July was "awful dull" this year. She lamented Joe loudly. "If she had only been a boy!" said Hal regretfully. The latter part of July, Joe came home for a flying visit. It seemed as if he had grown taller in this brief while. His curly hair had been cropped close; and he was brown as an Indian. Charlie made herself a perpetual interrogation-point; and Joe told her the most marvellous yarns that ever were invented. She soon learned every thing about the sloop, and wished that she could be a sailor, but finally comforted herself by thinking that she _might_ marry a sea-captain. Then, to crown all, they had a letter from Florence. It was written on tinted paper, and had a beautiful monogram in green and gold. She was very well, very happy; had grown a little taller than Mrs. Osgood; and was studying every thing. She could play quite well, and read French, and went to dancing-school, besides lovely little parties. Then the house was so elegant! She had never been homesick at all. Perhaps she thought it would be wrong to wish to see them; for that was never once expressed. "But I am glad she is happy," said Granny, striving to be heroic. CHAPTER XII. JOE'S FORTUNE. Hal's chickens were a success again, though it cost more for him to get them to market this fall. And, since eggs seemed to be a very profitable speculation, they concluded to winter over quite a number, mostly spring broods. Hal enlarged their house; as he had a wonderful gift, Granny declared, for building. And a very nice place it was, I can assure you. Granny still wove rag-carpets and the like, and now and then helped a neighbor at house-cleaning; but she had not worked out so much since the Kinseys went away. It troubled Hal to have her do it at all. "When I get a little older, you never shall, Granny," he would say, giving her a fond hug; and she would answer,-- "You're a great blessing, Hal. Whatever should I have done without you?" Dot grew nicely, though she was still "small for her size." Joe said. But now she kept quite well; and she was as fair as a lily, with tiny golden curls that never seemed to grow long. There the resemblance to Florence ceased. She was such an odd, old-fashioned little thing! and reminded Hal more of Granny than any one else. "It would be sweet to have her a baby always, now that she is well, and doesn't cry all the time," said Hal. "I'm sorry to have her lose all her crooked baby words. Joe use to laugh so over 'pety poket,' and 'poky hontis,' and 'umbebella tause it wained.' Dear, dear! shall we ever have such nice, gay times again, Granny, when there wasn't any thing but mush and molasses for supper, and a crowd of hungry children?" Granny sighed at the remembrance. "And yet it is a comfort to grow up, and be able to do something for you." Hal studied hard, and spent much of his leisure time in reading. Charlie was wilder than a hawk, combining Joe's love of mischief with perfect lawlessness. Mr. Fielder tried every motive of reward, and every method of punishment; and Charlie cried one moment, but laughed the next, and, what was infinitely more aggravating, made all the children laugh. If every thing else failed her, she could draw funny faces on her slate, that set every one in a titter. And then she climbed trees, jumped fences, or perched herself on a post, and made Fourth-of-July orations. She could talk Irish with a true national screech and whoop, or broken German as if she had just come over; she could make "pigs under the gate," cats in a terrible combat, and a litter of puppies under your feet that would absolutely frighten you. Nobody could see what Granny Kenneth would do with Charlie. Florence, now, had been a lady; but Charlie was a regular wild Indian. She could work like a Trojan, but she did not like it; and as for sewing--well, there was no word that could describe the performance. With all her faults, she had a warm, tender side to her character. She fought Kit's battles, and always came off triumphant. She was never cruel to any thing smaller and weaker than herself; and I think no one ever could remember her telling a lie. But as Dot said in her sage way, with a solemn shake of the head,-- "She was the worstest child we had." Joe came home the latter part of December as important as the Great Mogul himself. _We_ had been selling out the old craft, and were bargaining for a regular little beauty,--a trading-vessel to make trips between New York and the West Indies, Cuba, and all those places. The boys opened their eyes at that. Joe Kenneth actually going to Havana, to be feasted continually upon oranges, figs, cocoanuts, and bananas! Why, it was wonderful! incredible! There _was_ nothing like being a sailor, and travelling all over the world. Joe took upon himself the tallest kind of airs, confused the boys with his flying-jib and spanker and mizzen-mast and capstan and larboard and starboard, and forty other things that he knew all about, and they didn't. And then the frolics and tricks, the sailors' yarns, the storms and dangers, held them all spell-bound. Indeed, I don't believe Joe ever knew so much again in all his life. Capt. Burton followed him about a week later. "The Morning Star" had been purchased, and was being repaired a little. The captain's principal errand in Madison was to see Granny Kenneth. "Joe and me gets along tip-top," he said. "He's a sailor all over: there isn't a hair in his head but loves salt water. And I'm as glad to have him as he is to go; but, as we were making a new bargain all round, it wouldn't 'a been the thing not to come here and have a talk with you." "Yes," replied Granny with a bob of her curls, though for her life she could not have told to what she was assenting. "It's just here, you see. If the lad means to be a sailor, he can't have a much better chance. He's smart and quick in figgers, which suits me to a shaving; and I'd like to take him for the next two years. I'll give twelve dollars a month, beginning now, and look after him as if he'd a been my own son. I had a lad once,--about like him. It all came back when I was at Cousin Terry's last winter, watching him, so full of pranks and tricks, and with a smile and a pleasant word for everybody. My Dick was jest so. I took him on a trip with me, for he had a hankerin' after the sea; but his poor mother she most grieved herself sick. There wa'n't no gals to comfort her. He was all we had. So I left him home next time. I can jest see him, with the tears shining in his eyes, and a' choking over his good-by; and then how he turned round and put his face right between his mother's neck and shoulder, so's I shouldn't see him cry. Well, when I came back my poor Dick was dead and buried." Granny gave a little sob, and Capt. Burton drew the back of his hand across his eyes. "Yes, 'twas a fever. His poor mother was 'most crazy. So I tried to comfort her. 'Sweetheart,' said I, 'God is all over, on the sea as well as the land, and he's brought our Dick into a better port, though we can't understand it jest now in our grief. If we didn't know there was a wiser hand than ours in it, we couldn't bear it; but that will help to cheer a bit. But it was a hard blow." Capt. Burton wiped his eyes, and cleared the huskiness from his voice. "So I took a 'mazing fancy to this lad; and I'm proud to say I like him better'n better. He's trusty, for all his fun and nonsense, and bright as steel. So, if you'll agree, I will promise to do my best, and put him along as fast as I can, so that by the time he's a man he will be able to manage a craft of his own. He's a smart lad." Granny was glad to hear the good report; and as for the bargain,--why, there was nothing to do but to consent. She did not know as it would be any worse to have Joe go to Cuba than to Albany. "It won't be as bad," said he. "Why, I can come home every time that we're in port unloading. It's the most splendid streak of luck that I ever heard of. And, Granny, I'm bound to go to China some day." Granny consented inwardly, with a great quaking of the heart. "And you'll have the green-house, Hal! Wasn't it funny that we should plan it all up in the old garret?" Hal's eyes sparkled with a distant hope. "Can't girls _ever_ go to sea?" asked Charlie. "Oh, yes! they can go to see their friends and take tea, or go to Europe if they have money enough." "I did not mean that!" she said with contempt. "Tell you what, Charlie," and there was a sly twinkle in Joe's eye: "there is something that you can do if you would like to be a boy." "What?" and Charlie was on tiptoe. "Why, there's a kind of mill somewhere; and they put girls in it, and grind 'em all up fine, and they come out boys!" "O Joe!" "Fact," said Joe solemnly. "I wonder--if--'twould--hurt much?" and Charlie considered on her powers of endurance. That was too much for Joe, and even Hal joined the laugh. "I knew it wasn't true," said Charlie, red with anger and disappointment. "But I do hate to be a girl, and you having all the fun and going everywhere." "Well, you can run away. There is a bright opening for your future." "You see if I don't!" returned Charlie. So Joe went off again in capital spirits. At Capt. Burton's suggestion he told Granny that he meant to give her half his pay; which she, simple soul, thought the noblest thing in the world. "I mean to do a good deal for you by and by, Granny. I'll be a captain some day, and make oceans of money." "It is nice to have Joe settled and in good hands," Hal said after he was gone. "And I hope we'll all be an honor to you, Granny." "You've been a comfort since the day you were born," was Granny's tremulous answer. They found Joe's six dollars a month a great help; and then the two were missed out of the dish, as well as the household circle. Hal still kept to his thoughtful ways, reading and studying, and planning how he should make his wants and his opportunities join hands. For somehow he did mean to compass the green-house. Joe's letters and stories were wonderfully entertaining. He began to lose the boy's braggadocio: indeed, the facts themselves were interesting enough, without much embellishment. One by one the islands came in for a share. Moro Castle and all the old Spanish fortifications, the natives who were so new and peculiar, the different modes of life, the business, the days and nights of listless, lovely sailing, the storms and dangers, gave a great variety to his life. Now and then he brought them some choice fruits; and, while Charlie and Kit devoured them, Hal used to sit and listen to the description of orange-groves, and how pine-apples and bananas grew. It was something to have been on the spot, and looked at them with your own eyes,--ever so much better than a book. Thus the months and years ran on. Joe was past sixteen, tall, and, though not thin, had a round, supple look, and could dance a break-down to perfection. He did not practise standing on his head quite so much, but I dare say he could have done it with equal grace. He was just as droll and as merry as ever; and you would always be able to tell him by the twinkle in his fun-loving eye. In fact, Joe Kenneth was "somebody" at Madison. Hal was much smaller of his age. Charlie began to evince symptoms of shooting up into a May-pole, and being all arms and legs. She was still thin, lanky indeed, and always burned as brown as a berry, except a few weeks at mid-winter; and her eyes looked larger than ever; while her hair was cropped close,--she would have it so, and, to her great disgust, it seemed as if it was actually turning red. "Because you always ran in the sun so much," Hal would say. They heard from Flossy, who was happy and prosperous,--a great lady indeed. She had elegant dresses, and went to grand parties, had created a sensation at Saratoga, been to Niagara Falls, and expected to spend the winter at Fifth-avenue Hotel. Ah, how far she had drifted beyond them! They could not cross the golden river that flowed between. Did she ever long for them a little? Would she be glad to drop down upon them in all her glory and beauty, and be kissed by the dear old lips that prayed daily and nightly for her welfare? There came some quite important changes to Madison. A new railroad was projected, that would shorten the distance to the intervening cities, and bring it within an hour's ride from the great emporium, New York. Then began a great era of activity. Streets were laid out around the station; quite an extensive woollen-mill was put in operation, which caused an influx of population. The old sawing-mill was enlarged, so great became the demand for lumber; the Kinsey farm was divided into building-lots, some rather elegant mansions were raised, and a new church erected. The Kenneth place was rather out of range of all this. "But our little farm may be quite valuable by and by," declared Hal. "It would be astonishing, Granny, if you were to become a rich woman before you died." "I'll have to live a good long while;" and Granny gave her cracked but still pleasant little laugh. Joe remained nearly two years and a half with Capt. Burton, when the crowning good fortune of his life, as he thought it, occurred. This was nothing less than an opportunity to go to China, his great ambition. It almost broke Granny's heart. To have him away two or three months had appeared a long while; but when it came to be years-- "Of course I shall return," declared Joe. "Did you ever hear of a fish being drowned, or a bad penny that didn't come back? And then for a silk gown, Granny, and a crape shawl! You shall have one if you are a hundred years old, and have to hobble around with a crutch." "I'd rather have you than a hundred silk gowns." "And I expect you to have me. The very handsomest grandson in the family. If you are not proud of me, Granny, I shall cut you off with a shilling, and wear a willow garland all the days of my life, in token of grief." So he kept them laughing to the latest moment; and, after all, it was not so very different from the other partings. But he declared, if Granny didn't live to see him come home, he never should be able to forgive her. Hal actually went down to New York to see him off, and had a pleasant visit with Mrs. Burton. It was a great event in the boy's life. "I didn't think there ever could be quite such a splendid place!" he said on his return. "And the great beautiful bay, with its crowds and crowds of shipping, looking like flocks of birds in the distance; but the people almost frightened me, for it seemed as if one could never get out of the tangle. Then the park is just like fairy-land. And I found a place where a man buys cut-flowers, especially all kinds of beautiful white ones. And, Granny, one _could_ make a good deal of money with a hot-house." "I hope you'll have it," Granny answered; though, truth to tell, she had no very clear ideas upon the subject, except that Hal of all others deserved to have his dream come true. Hal had treated himself to a book on gardening, and another on floriculture. He was fifteen now,--a steady, industrious little chap; and the farmers round were very glad to have him when they were in a hurry or ran short of help. For Hal had a good many very sensible ideas, and sometimes quite astonished the country people who went on in the same groove as their fathers and grandfathers. To be sure, they laughed and pooh-poohed a little; but, when his plans proved more fortunate in some respect, they admitted that he had an old head on young shoulders. "I'm going to have some nice hot-beds for next spring," he said to Granny. "I'm sure I can sell early lettuce and radishes, and some of those things." So he worked on, spending his leisure days in improving his own little garden-spot. The place had begun "to blossom like a rose," dear Joe said. There were honeysuckle and roses trained over the house, making it a pretty little nest, in spite of want of paint and a general tumbling into decay. Over the kitchen part crept clusters of wisteria; and in front there were two mounds of flowers, making the small dooryard bright and attractive. The chickens had to be kept by themselves, on Hal's farm. Every day he felt thankful for that little plot of ground. Mr. Terry was glad to take all their eggs, for Hal managed that they should be large and choice. "And if I should have a hot-house by the time Joe comes back, it will be just royal!" Granny smiled. Poor dear Hal! One day he was working out in the hayfield, gay as a lark; and Farmer Morris said his boys did as much again work when Hal was there. The last load was going home. Hal mounted to the top, calling merrily to the group, when the horses gave a sudden start. It seemed as if he only slid down, and the distance was not very great; but he lay quite still. They waited for a laugh or a shout, and then ran; but Hal's face was over in the grass. Great brawny Sam lifted him up, uttering a sharp cry; for Hal was deathly white, and could not stand. A deep groan escaped the lips that had laughed with gladness only a moment ago, and were now drawn to a thin blue line. They crowded round with awe-stricken faces. "Oh, he isn't dead!" "No, I guess not;" and Sam's voice had a quiver in it, as if tears were not far off. "O father, father!" Mr. Morris hurried to the spot. "Poor Hal! Let's take him home, and send for a doctor. I wouldn't had it happen for a hundred dollars! It'll about kill his grandmother." Hal gave another groan, but did not open his eyes. "Can't we rig up some kind of a litter? for, if he's hurt much, it will never do to carry him by hand. Run get a shutter, Sam. Dick, go and bring a hatful of water. Poor boy! I'd rather it had been one of my own." Dick flew to the brook, and brought back some water, with which they bathed the small white face. Then Sam made his appearance, with a shutter on his shoulder. "Raise him softly, so. Dick, run after Dr. Meade as fast as you can go. We'll take him home." They lifted him with tender hands; but both soul and body were unconscious of pain. Sam brushed away some tears with his shirt-sleeve, and Farmer Morris spread his linen coat over the silent figure. It was some distance to Mrs. Kenneth's. Charlie was firing stones at a mark; but she rushed to the gate and screamed, "Granny, Granny!" When Granny Kenneth saw them with their burden, a speechless agony seized every pulse. She could not even utter a cry. "He isn't dead," Farmer Morris hurried to say. "But it's a sad day's work, and I'd a hundred times rather it had been my Dick." "O Hal, my darling! The greatest comfort your poor old Granny had! No, I can't have him die. Oh! will God hear us, and pity me a little? I've had a sight o' troubles in my day, but this"-- They laid him on Granny's bed, and washed his face with camphor, feeling of the limp wrists, and chafing the cold hands. A little quiver seemed to run along the lips, deepening into a shudder, and then a groan which they were thankful to hear. "No, he isn't dead. Thank God for that!" Fortunately Dr. Meade was at home, and he lost no time in coming over immediately. Mr. Morris and the doctor stripped off Hal's clothes, and began to examine the limbs. The arms were all right,--ankles, knees, ah, what was this! Hal opened his eyes, and uttered an excruciating cry. Granny rocked herself to and fro, her poor old brain wild with apprehension, for his pain was hers. "The trouble's here,--in the thigh. Not a break, I hope; but it's bad enough!" Bad enough they found it,--a severe and complicated fracture, and perhaps internal injuries. "Do your best, doctor," said Mr. Morris. "I'm going to foot this bill; and if any thing'll save him"-- He sent Sam back for some articles that they needed, and tried patiently to understand the full extent of the injury. Part of the time Hal was unconscious. And after a long while they laid him on his back, bandaged, but more dead than alive. "My wife will come over and stay with you," Mr. Morris said to Granny. "She's a master hand at nursing." Dot hid herself in the shadow of Granny's skirts, clinging fast with her little hands; and Kit and Charlie huddled in the corner of the kitchen window-sill, crying softly. No one wanted any supper, except the chickens, who asked in vain. All night Granny prayed in her broken, wandering way. God had her own dear Joe up in heaven. Flossy was gone; little Joe was on the wide ocean; and how could she live without her precious Hal! Not but what he was good enough to be an angel, only--only--and the poor heart seemed breaking. God listened and answered. The August weather was hot and sultry; and Hal had to battle with fever, with dreadful languor and mortal pain. He used to think sometimes that it would be blessed to die, and have a little rest, but for Granny's sake!-- After the first fortnight the danger was over, and the case progressing fairly. Hal's back had received some injury, that was evident, and recovery would be tedious. But Granny was so thankful to have him any way. Everybody was very kind. Mr. and Mrs. Howard came often; the Terrys sent in many luxuries; Sam Morris drew a cord of wood, sawed, split, and piled it; and there was nothing wanting. But Hal lay there white and wan, his fingers growing almost as thin as Dot's little bird's claws. "I can't understand why it had to happen to you, Hal," Granny would exclaim piteously. "Now, if it had been Charlie, who is always sky-larking round; but you, the very best one of 'em all!" Hal would sigh. He couldn't exactly understand it, either. But somehow--God was so much greater than them all; and he _did_ keep watch, for it was better to be lying here than in the churchyard yonder. Mr. Fielder had gone away, and Hal felt the loss sorely. He was a little afraid of Mr. Howard, and could not seem to talk of his plans and his flowers, and ask any question that puzzled him; though Mr. Howard kindly sent him entertaining books, and used to drop in for a chat now and then. September passed. Hal was still unable to sit up, and he began to grow weary of the confinement. "Granny," he said one day, "I believe I'll have to be a girl, and learn to make myself useful. I could knit a little once, or I might sew patchwork. There is no one to laugh at me." "Dear heart, so you shall," replied Granny. So she cut him out a pile of pretty bright calicoes begged of the dressmaker. And then he knit Charlie a pair of yarn mittens, and crocheted some edging for Dot's white apron. Indeed, Dot was a great comfort to him. She used to climb up on his bed with her "Red Riding Hood," or "Mother Goose Melodies," and read him stories by the hour. Then she would twine her fingers in his soft brown hair to make him "pretty," as she said, and cuddle him in various ways, always ending with a host of kisses and, "Dotty so sorry for you, Hal!" For she was still a little midget, and cried so dreadfully the first day she went to school that they let her stay home. Hal had taught her a great deal; but she was so shy that she would hardly say a word to a stranger. Charlie began to improve a little, it must be confessed; though she had fits of abstraction, when she salted the pan of dish-water in the closet, and threw the knives and forks out of doors, and one day boiled the dish-cloth instead of the potatoes, which Hal fancied must be army-soup; and sometimes, without the slightest apparent cause, she would almost laugh herself into hysterics. "What _is_ the matter?" Granny would ask. "Are you out of your head?" And Charlie would answer, "I was only thinking." "I'd like to get inside of her brain, and see what was there," Hal would sometimes remark. The chickens had to be made ready and taken to market this year without any of Hal's assistance. And then he began to wonder if he ever would get well? Suppose he did not? CHAPTER XIII. FROM GRAY SKIES TO BLUE. They were pretty poor, to be sure,--poor as in the hardest of times. There were the chickens, and Granny could make a bit of broth for Hal; but Kit and Charlie raced like deers, and had appetites. After Granny bought them clothes and shoes, the funds were rather low. Hal guessed at it all, but Granny never made any complaints. He had begun a tidy in red-and-white diamond-shaped blocks; but it seemed to grow upon his hands; and one day when Dot called it a beautiful _bedcrilt_, for her tongue still had a few kinks in it, a new idea crept into his brain. "Do you think it would make a pretty spread?" he asked Mrs. Howard rather timidly, during a call. "Why, it would, to be sure, and so serviceable! It is a bright idea, Hal." "Do you suppose I could sell it?" "If you want to--yes." "I can't do any thing else," said Hal with a sigh; "and if I have to stay here all winter." For Hal's back was so weak that he could only be bolstered up in the bed, and he had not walked a step yet. Mrs. Howard thought a moment, then said,-- "Finish it Hal, and I will see that it is sold." So Hal went on hopefully. Granny bewailed the fact that she had done nothing all the fall to help along. They missed their allowance from Joe; but they had heard from him in his usual glowing and exuberant fashion. Mrs. Howard took a trip around Madison one morning, and held sundry mysterious conferences with some of her neighbors, returning home quite well pleased. "I am so glad I thought of it!" she said to her husband; and he answered, "So am I, my dear." One afternoon early in December she went over to Mrs. Kenneth's. Dot had been clearing up under Hal's instructions, and they looked neat as a pin. After she found that her visitor intended to remain, Granny put on a fresh calico dress and a clean cap; and they had a nice old-fashioned time talking, which Hal enjoyed exceedingly. Mrs. Howard had brought a basket full of various luxuries,--some nice cold tongue, and part of a turkey, besides jellies and cake. Quite a little feast, indeed. Hal begged them to have tea in the best room, where he lay; and he enjoyed it almost as much as if he could have sat up to the table. Kit and Charlie were delighted with the feast. Then they settled every thing again, and Granny stirred the fire. The wind whistled without, but within it was bright and cheerful. Hal felt very happy indeed. It seemed as if God's strong arms were about him, helping him to bear the weariness, as he had been strengthened to bear pain. Presently there was a tramping up the path, and a confusion of voices. "Some one is coming;" and Hal raised himself. "I am almost sorry--we were having such a nice, quiet time." A knock at the door, which Granny opened. Kit, in the glowing chimney-corner, rubbed his eyes; and it would have been hard to tell which was the sleepiest, he or the old gray cat. "O-o-h!" exclaimed Charlie; and then she darted to Hal. "A whole crowd of 'em!" A crowd, sure enough. It was something of a mystery to know how they were going to get in that small place. There was Dr. and Mrs. Meade, Mr. Howard, Mr. and Mrs. Morris, and the boys, all the Terrys,--indeed, half Madison, Hal thought. Mrs. Howard laughed a little at Hal's puzzled face. "Oh!--I guess"-- Granny in the other room was quite overcome. Parcels and bags and boxes, shaking of hands, and clattering of tongues. "It isn't exactly Christmas, Hal," began Mr. Morris; "but Santa Claus does sometimes lose his reckoning. So we thought we'd all drop in." "And give me a surprise-party," said Hal. "Exactly. Why, you look quite bright, my boy!" Hal was bright enough then, with cheeks like roses, and lustrous eyes. Dr. Meade sat him up in the bed. One and another came to shake hands, and say a pleasant word; and in a few moments the whole group were laughing and talking. There was skating already over on the pond, the boys told him; they were going to have a Christmas exhibition; Jim Terry had received a letter from Joe; and all the small gossip that sounds so pleasant when one is shut within doors. Then Mrs. Howard brought out the bedspread. None of the boys laughed at Hal, you may be sure; and the older people thought it quite wonderful. Mrs. Morris declared that she'd really like to have it. "It is for sale," said Hal with a little flush. "Let's take shares!" exclaimed Sam. "Now's your chance, mother: how much will you give?" "A right good plan," returned Mrs. Meade. After a little discussion they adopted it. There were twenty-six people who subscribed a dollar; and then the slips of paper were arranged for drawing. The younger portion were considerably excited; and Hal's face was in a glow of interest. So they began. One after another took his or her chance; and, when it was through, they all opened their slips of paper, looking eagerly at each other. Clara Terry blushed scarlet; and Sam's quick eyes caught the unusual brilliancy. For the cream of the affair was, that Clara expected to be married in a few weeks. Dr. Meade guessed also, and then they had a good laugh. Hal was delighted. "It went to the right one," said Mr. Morris. "So much towards housekeeping, Clara." "I shall always think of Joe as well as you," she said in a soft whisper to Hal, holding the thin fingers a moment. After that they had a pleasant time singing. Hal was very fond of vocal music. It seemed to him about the happiest night of his life. Then the crowd began to disperse. "I have thought of something new, Hal," said Dr. Meade. "I sent to New York this morning for a small galvanic battery, to try if electricity will not help you. We shall have you around yet: do not be discouraged." "Everybody is so kind"--and Hal's voice quivered. "This has been a lovely surprise party." After they were gone Charlie began to count up the spoils; and every exclamation grew longer and louder. There was a large ham, a fine turkey, tea and coffee and butter, flour, rice, farina, cake and biscuit, a bag of apples, and some cans of fruit. "We shall live like kings," said Granny, with a little sound in her voice that might have been a sob or a laugh. "And only this morning I was a wondering how we _should_ get along." "And twenty-six dollars. Why, it is almost as good as being a minister, and having a donation-party." "God doesn't forget us, you see," said Hal with great thankfulness. He finished the spread a few days afterward, and sent it to Miss Clara; and then Mrs. Meade brought him the materials to make her one. The fracture had united; but there seemed such a terrible weakness of the muscles in Hal's back, that Dr. Meade had become rather apprehensive. But, after using electricity a few weeks, there _was_ an improvement. And one day Hal balanced himself upon two crutches. "That's red hot!" ejaculated Charlie. "O Charlie! worthy follower of Joe, what will you do when you get to be a young lady?" "Oh, dear! I wish I didn't have to be one;" and Charlie began to cry. "I'll wear a big stone on top of my head." "I am afraid it is too late. You are as tall as Granny now." Hal gained slowly. All this time he was thinking what he should do? for he had a presentiment that he might never be very strong again. No more working around on farms; and, though there were some sedentary trades in cities, he would meet with no chance to attain to them. So he must have the green-house. By spring he was able to go about pretty well. But he looked white as a ghost, quite unlike the round rosy Hal of other days. "Kit," said he, "you'll have to be my right-hand man this summer. Maybe by another Christmas we might have the violin." "O Hal! I'd work from morning till night," and the eager eyes were luminous. "Well, we'll see." Charlie was seized with a helpful fit also. After the garden was ploughed, they all planted and hoed and weeded; and, as it was an early season, they had some quite forward vegetables. One day Hal went over to Salem, and invested a few dollars in tuberoses, besides purchasing some choice flower-seeds. Then he stopped into a small place where he had noticed cut-flowers, and began to inquire whether they ever bought any. "All I can get," said the man. "Flowers are coming to be the rage. People think they can't have weddings or funerals without them." "But you want white ones mostly?" "White ones for funerals and brides. There are other occasions, though, when colored ones are worth twice as much, and as much needed." "You raise some?" said Hal. "All I can. I have a small green-house. Come in and see it. Did you think of starting in the business?" Hal colored, and cleared his voice of a little tremble. "I believe I shall some time," he said. The green-house was not very large, to be sure, now quite empty, as the flowers were out of doors. "I wonder how much such a place would cost?" Hal asked with some hesitation. "About a thousand dollars," replied the man, eying it rather critically. "Have you had any experience with flowers?" "Not much;" and Hal sighed. A thousand dollars! No, he could never do any thing like that. "The best way would be to study a year or two with a florist." "I suppose so." Hal was quite discouraged, for that appeared out of his power as well. "There is not so great a demand for flowers in summer, you know; but in winter they are scarce, and bring good prices. Still, some of the choicer kinds sell almost any time; fine rosebuds, heliotrope, and such things." After a little further talk, Hal thanked the man, and said good-by with a feeling of disappointment. A hot-house was quite beyond his reach. However, he did mean to have some early vegetable beds for another spring--if nothing happened, he said to himself, remembering his last summer's plans. Not that he was idle, either. He did a good deal in the lighter kinds of gardening. The new houses required considerable in the way of adornment; and Dr. Meade spoke a good word for him whenever opportunity offered. He had so much taste, besides his extravagant love for flowers; and then he had studied their habits, the soil they required, the time of blossoming, parting, or resetting. And it seemed as if he could make any thing grow. Slips of geranium, rose-cuttings, and indeed almost every thing, flourished as soon as he took it in hand. The new railroad brought them in direct and easy communication with another city, Newbury. Hal took a journey thither one day, and found a florist and nurseryman who conducted operations on quite an extensive scale. But still it was expensive in the start. He had thought of mortgaging the place; but the little money he could raise in that way would hardly be sufficient; and then, if he was not prosperous, they might lose their little home. At midsummer they heard some wonderful news about Florence. Mrs. Osgood wrote that she was going to marry very fortunately, a gentleman of wealth and position. She sent love to them, but she was very much engrossed; and Mrs. Osgood said they must excuse her not writing. She enlarged considerably upon Florence's brilliant prospect, and appeared to take great pleasure in thinking she had fitted her for the new position. "Oh!" said Granny with a sigh, "we've lost her now. She will be too rich and grand ever to come back to us." "I don't know," returned Hal. "She did owe Mrs. Osgood a good deal of gratitude; and it was right for her to be happy and obedient when she was having so much done for her. But now she may feel free"-- "She has forgotten us, Hal: at least, she doesn't want to remember;" and Granny wiped her eyes. "I can't quite believe it. She had a good heart, and she did love us. But maybe it's best anyway. We have been unfortunate"-- Hal's voice trembled a little. Granny rocked to and fro, her old method of composing her mind when any thing went wrong. And, though she could not bear to blame Flossy, there was a soreness and pain in the old heart,--a little sting of ingratitude, if she had dared to confess it. "Hal," said Dr. Meade one day, "they are going to start a new school over at the cross-roads. It's a small place, and probably there will not be more than twenty or thirty scholars,--some of the mill-children. If you would like to teach it, I am pretty sure that I could get it for you." "Oh, if I could!" and Hal's eyes were all alight. "To be sure you can. The salary is very small"--and Dr. Meade made a long pause. "Even a little would help along," was Hal's reply, his heart beating with a strange rapidity. "There can't be any appropriation made for it, you see, as there will be no election till spring. But four hundred dollars have been subscribed, and the committee had a fancy that they might get a lady for that." "I'd take it," said Hal. Four hundred dollars looked like quite a fortune to him. "It may get up to four hundred and fifty, though I would not like to promise. It _is_ a small sum." "But there's always Saturday to yourself, and nights and mornings," was Hal's hopeful reply. "Well, I will propose you, then. I shall be on the examining committee." "How kind you are!" and Hal's smile was most grateful. Still Hal was in so much doubt about his good fortune that he didn't say a word to Granny until the examination was over and he was sure of the appointment. "It's just royal, isn't it?" and his eyes danced with delight. "I was wondering what we should do this winter, when there would be no gardening, unless I went to work in one of the mills." "And you'd like this better? O Hal! it does seem as if the good God was watching over us, and always sent something along in the right time." "He does, Granny, I am sure." "For, when we were nearly out last winter, there was that splendid surprise-party. I never can get over it, Hal. And your _bew_tiful quilt, that I don't believe another boy in the world could have done. O Hal! you're such a comfort!" And Granny wiped her poor old eyes. The first pea-vines were pulled up; and then Hal began to prepare for his spring bed. It was vacation; and Charlie and Kit went into the experiment with a great deal of zeal. First Hal dug two trenches about twelve feet long, and four feet apart. He laid in these the stones the children brought in a wagon that he had manufactured for Dot a long while before. He piled them up like a wall, sifted sand between them, and then banked up the outside, making one edge considerably higher than the other. Around it all, at the top, he put a row of planking about twelve inches high, and fixed grooves for the sashes to slide across. Then he lowered the ground inside, and enriched it with manure, making quite a little garden-spot. Charlie wanted to have something planted right away; and she did put in surreptitiously some peas, morning-glories, and a few squash-seed. "I don't know but we might make another," said Hal, surveying it with a good deal of pride. "Oh, do!" exclaimed Charlie. "It's such fun!" Kit didn't mind, if Hal would only tell him a story now and then. Mozart's childhood that he had read in a stray copy of an old magazine, fragments of Mendelssohn, and all the floating incidents he could recall of Ole Bull. When these were exhausted, Hal used to draw a little upon his imagination. They had a wonderful hero named Hugo, who was stolen by gypsies when he was a little boy, and wandered around in the German forest for years, meeting with various adventures, and always playing on a violin to solace himself when he was cold, or tired, or hungry, or beaten. And, though Hal often declared that he couldn't think of any thing more, Kit pleaded so wistfully with his luminous blue eyes and soft voice, that Hugo would be started upon his travels again. When the frames were done, Hal went to see Mr. Sherman, the carpenter at Madison, to find what the sashes would cost. "There's an odd lot up in the loft," he said to the boy. "They are old-fashioned; and nobody seems to want any thing of that kind, except now and then for a kitchen. I'll sell 'em cheap, if you can make 'em answer." So they were sent down to the Kenneths. Hal worked over them a few days, and found that he could make them serviceable, only there would not be quite enough. He was very handy; and soon fitted them in their places. "Now, that's what I call smart," exclaimed Mr. Sherman. "Why, Hal! you'd make a good carpenter. Tell you what I'll do. I'm in an awful hurry; and, if you'll come over and work for me a spell, we will quit square." Hal was delighted, and accepted at once. "How lucky it all comes round, Granny!" he said in a gratified tone. "And I've been thinking"-- "I'll be bound it's a bright idea;" and Granny gave her little chirruping laugh. "I was considering about the loom-room, Granny. You'll never weave any more carpets; it's too hard work: and then Mr. Higgins wants to set up in the business. He asked me about our loom the other day." "No, I sha'n't never weave no more;" and Granny sighed, not at the confusion of negatives, but at the knowledge that old things were passing away. "And it would make such a beautiful flower-room, lying to the south and west!" Joe would have said, "What! the loom?" But dear, rollicking Joe was not there to catch anybody tripping in absence of mind. "So it would. Yes, you shall have it, Hal." For Granny would have given him her two eyes, if it would have done him any good, and been satisfied to be led about by a dog and a string all the rest of her life. They ran up stairs to survey. The afternoon sun was shining in at the windows, covering half the floor. "Oh, it _would_ be splendid! We can put up a little stove here; and I can have it for a kind of study besides. And a room full of flowers!" The tears fairly stood in Hal's eyes. There was not much time to lose; for in ten days school would begin. And now Hal considered what he must do. The windows came almost down to the floor, the ceiling being low. But it would not do to have all the flowers stand on a level, as the sun would not reach them alike. And then a brilliant idea occurred to Hal. He went over to Mr. Sherman's, and gathered some pieces of joist that had been sawed off, and thrown by as nearly useless. He found eight that he made of a length, about three feet high, and bespoke a number of rough hemlock-boards. Out of these he made a sort of counter, with the joists for support; and then, nailing a piece all round, he had quite a garden-bed. This was to stand back from the windows, and have slips and various seeds planted in it. Charlie and Kit helped bring up the soil to fill it. Then Hal bought, for a trifle, a lot of old butter-tubs and firkins that Mr. Terry was not sorry to be rid of. He sawed them down just the height he wanted; and they made very good flower-pots for some of the larger plants. They were so beautiful, that it would be a shame to leave them out to perish in the cold blasts. "And somehow they seem just like children to me," he said, his brown eyes suffused with tenderness. On the last Saturday he cast up his accounts, and took a small inventory. "We shall have potatoes and vegetables for winter; and we have a barrel of flour, and a hundred of meal, besides lots of corn for the chickens; then my salary will be a little more than thirty-six dollars a month, counting eleven months; and fifty dollars for our poultry." "Why, we'll be as rich as kings!" was Granny's delighted reply. "You're a wonderful boy, Hal!" "And if I could sell some flowers! Anyhow, there will be the spring things. It does look a little like prosperity, Granny." "I'm so thankful!" and Granny twisted up her apron in pure gratitude. "Charlie had better go to school again. I wish she could learn to be a teacher; for she never will like to sew." "No," replied Granny, with a solemn shake of the head. "And she is getting to be such a large girl! Well, I suppose something will come. It has to all of us." CHAPTER XIV. A FLOWER-GARDEN IN DOORS. Hal went to school bright and early the first Monday in September. It was about a mile to the place called the "Cross-roads," because from there the roads diverged in every direction. An old tumble-down house had been put in tolerable order, and some second-hand desks and benches arranged in the usual fashion. Just around this point, there was quite a nest of cottages belonging to the mill workmen. The children straggled in shyly, eying the new master. Rather unkempt, some of them, and with not very promising faces, belonging to the poorer class of German and English; then others bright and tidy, and brimming over with mirthful smiles. By ten o'clock sixteen had assembled. Hal gave them a short address, made a few rules, and attempted to classify them. They read and spelled a little, at least those who were able, when the bell on the factory rang out the hour of noon. Three new ones came after dinner. Hal labored faithfully; but it _was_ a relief to have the session close. Before the week ended, however, the prospect became more inspiriting. There were twenty-three scholars, and some whom it would be a pleasure to teach. But, after all, it was not as delightful as working among the flowers,--the dear, beautiful children who gave only fragrance and loveliness continually. He had been so tired every night, that he could do nothing but rest; and so he was glad to have Saturday come. "It seems early to take them in," he said, surveying the garden so full of glory. "But there is a good deal to do; and I shall have only one day in the week." Kit took the wheelbarrow, and trundled off to the woods for some more good soil; for Hal had to be economical, since he could not afford to buy every thing. They were out of debt, and had a little money,--very little indeed; but there were some pears and grapes to sell. Hal's Concord and Rogers hybrid had done beautifully; and two of the new-comers in Madison had offered to take all he had, at ten cents a pound. "I could get more in the city," he said; "but there would be the time and trouble of going. And grapes are heavy too: it doesn't take many bunches to weigh a pound; and ten pounds come to a dollar." But on this day he went at his roses. He had obtained quite a number of slips of hybrid monthlies, mostly tea-roses; and they were doing nicely. Some had blossomed once, and others were just showing bud. These he meant to transplant to his bed up stairs. Careful and patient, he took up the most of them so nicely, that I don't believe they knew they were moved, until they began to look around for their companions. Dot ran up stairs and down, and was most enthusiastic. "It will be _so_ lovely to have a garden in the house!" was her constant ejaculation. By noon he had all the small roses in,--five white ones, four pink, and about a dozen of different shades of deep velvety red. In this soil he had used an abundance of powdered charcoal. Then came half a dozen young heliotropes. "Now, I am going to save the rest of the space, and shall plant sweet-alyssum and candytuft, and some mignonette. I guess we have done about enough for one day," he said to Granny and Dot. Charlie and Kit were lolling under the trees, resting from their labors. Now and then they had a merry outburst; but Charlie had grown strangely quiet. She would sit lost in thought for hours together, unless some one spoke to her; and then she would take to reading in the same absorbed manner. "Hal," she said one evening, "what do you know of drawing?" "A little more than the old woman who could not tell a cow from a rosebud;" and Hal smiled with quiet humor. "I wish some one would teach me!" "They do not have any drawing at school?" "No, only at the academy. Belle Hartman is learning; but I don't care any thing about flowers and such." Faces and grotesque situations were Charlie's passion. She could see the ludicrous side so quickly! "You might practise at home, evenings." "But paper costs a good deal. Oh, I wish I had some money!" "Well Charlie, be patient. Something may come around by and by." "Oh, dear!" and Charlie sighed. "I wish some one would come along and adopt me; but then I'm not handsome, like Flossy. I suppose she is having a splendid time. It seems to me that she might write just a little word." Hal thought so too. As the months went on, he began to feel bitterly disappointed. Ah! if they could but see her once,--their beautiful Florence. Through the course of the month Hal managed to get his flowers in very nice order,--several fuchsia that were in splendid bloom, two large heliotropes, an elegant and thrifty monthly carnation, and a salvia that was a glory in itself. But alas! that drooped and withered: so Hall trimmed it down. Besides this, some rose and balm geraniums, a tub full of callas, and ten of his tuberoses, that he had saved for winter blossoming. The other two had been a source of untold comfort to him. Then he had an exquisite safrano, and two chromatilla roses. "Why it's quite a green-house," he said delightedly. "Now, if I can only make them blossom all winter!" The first spare Saturday he went over to Salem to see Mr. Thomas. He was rather diffident, and did not like to explain his economical arrangements, but said that he was likely to have some flowers for sale. Mr. Thomas took him through his green-house again; and, though there were a great many more plants, Hal thought he could show almost as much bloom. "I'll take your flowers," he promised, "provided you do not have too many, and if we could manage it this way: sometimes I receive a large order nearly a week beforehand, and I could let you know, in order that you might bring me all you had which were really fine. And, to be frank with you, I cannot afford to pay as much as you might get at Newbury or New York." "I should like to know some of the prices," Hal remarked. "It depends a good deal upon the demand and the season; but prices never vary a great deal." They went round, and Hal learned a good deal in the course of his tour. "Do you know of any place in Newbury where I could dispose of flowers?" he asked. "There is a Mr. Kirkman,--one brother keeps a confectionery, and the other supplies flowers. But perhaps I may be able to do as well by you. However, I will give you his card." Hal and Mr. Thomas parted very good friends; and the florist gave him some valuable advice. "That fellow will succeed," he said to himself, watching Hal's retreating figure. "His whole soul is in the flowers; and he blushes over them as if they were a sweetheart. Looks pale and delicate, though." Truth to tell, Hal had been working pretty hard. The school _was_ a great tax upon him; and the labor with his plants had been severe. Kit and Granny tried to save him all they could in the way of getting in winter vegetables, and looking after the chickens. Ten days after his visit to Salem, he received a little note from Mr. Thomas on this wise. "Bring me on Thursday morning, if you have them, three dozen roses, assorted colors, heliotrope, and fine sprays of fuchsia, if yours are still in bloom." "F. THOMAS." Hal was delighted. Through September they had managed to get along on the proceeds of their garden, and the fruit; but his first month's pay had to go for clothes. It almost broke Granny's heart to take it. "Why, I shall earn some more!" Hal exclaimed with his gay laugh. "It is just what it is for, Granny, to spend. I'm thankful to be able to earn it." It was the middle of October now; and there had been some severe frost already. Tender out-doors plants were a mass of blackened ruins. "You will have to go over for me, Charlie," said Hal, "because I cannot leave school. The stage starts at nine." Charlie was in ecstasies. She rose by daylight on Thursday morning, to curl her hair, Kit said; and could hardly wait for Hal to cut and pack the flowers. "I am sure I shall be left!" she declared twenty times at least. Hal thought of it all the way to school. It seemed different from any other earnings, and gave him an exquisite pleasure. His own lovely darlings, his dream actually coming to pass. Charlie was superbly generous, and left the stage at the Cross-roads, when she might have ridden half a mile farther. The children were just being dismissed: so she rushed in full of excitement. "O Hal! he said they were lovely, and the carnations magnificent. He wondered how you raised them. They were a great deal prettier than his." Hal blushed like a girl. He had sent the carnations at a venture. "And here's the bill and the money." Charlie was as proud as if it had been her own. Hal's fingers trembled as he opened it. There they all were:-- Three dozen Roses $1.50 Two dozen Heliotrope .75 Fuchsias .75 One dozen Carnations .48 ----- $3.48 "Oh!" exclaimed Hal with a glad cry: "it's just splendid! And he liked them all?" "Yes. There's going to be a great wedding in Salem. Such hosts and hosts of flowers! And Jim Street took me for fifteen cents!" "So there's more than three dollars profit," Hal returned. "Now you must run home, Charlie, and get some dinner. I have not enough for two." "I don't see why I can't stay. I should like to see your school, Hal, when all the children are in." "But Granny will be troubled. Yes, you had better go, Charlie. You have been so good this morning, that you must not spoil it all. And then she'll be glad to hear." Charlie went reluctantly. Granny was overjoyed The three dollars looked as large to her as a hundred would have to many a one. Hal could hardly wait until four o'clock. He hurried home, and ran up stairs; but the poor flowers had been shorn of their crown of glory. "I can't bear to look at 'em," said Granny with a quiver in her voice. "The poor dear things, that seemed jest like human creeturs! I used to talk to 'em every time I came in." "But they'll soon be lovely again; and it pleases me so much to think that I can make a little money. I shall have the green-house some day; and you won't have any thing to do but walk round in it like a queen." Granny smiled. Every plan of Hal's was precious to her. The heliotrope appeared to be the better for the pruning; and some of the tuberoses shot up a tall spike for buds. Then Hal had a few demands from the neighbors round. Mr. Thomas's next call was early in November, when he asked Hal to bring all the flowers that were available. It being Saturday morning, he went in with them himself, and became the happy recipient of five dollars and a quarter. Then he took a ramble in a bookstore, and, being attracted by the first few pages of "Charles Auchester," purchased the book. Kit went nearly wild over it. Hal read it aloud; and he held his breath at the exquisite description of Charles's first concert, and the tenderness and sweetness of the Chevalier. Though part of it was rather beyond their comprehension, they enjoyed it wonderfully, nevertheless. The little room up stairs became quite a parlor for them. The stove kept it nice and warm; and they used to love to sit there evenings, inhaling the fragrance, and watching the drowsy leaves as they nodded to each other: it seemed to Hal that he had never been so happy in the world. He ceased to long for Florence. They did very well on their chickens this year, clearing forty dollars. Granny thought they were quite rich. "You ought to put it in the bank, Hal! it's just a flow of good luck on every side." And, when he received his pay for November, he actually did put fifty dollars in the bank, though there were a hundred things he wanted with it. The latter part of December Hal's flowers began to bloom in great profusion. The alyssum and candytuft came out, and the house was sweet with tuberoses. There being more than Mr. Thomas wanted, he took a box full to Newbury one Saturday morning, and found Mr. Kirkman, to whom the flowers were quite a godsend. Eight dollars! Hal felt richer than ever. He had set his heart upon buying some Christmas gifts. At first he thought he would break the fifty dollars; but it was so near the end of the month that he borrowed a little from Dr. Meade instead. He came home laden with budgets; but both Kit and Charlie were out, fortunately. "Now, Granny, you _will_ keep the secret," he implored. "Don't breathe a hint of it." Very hard work Granny found it. She chuckled over her dish-washing; and, when Dot asked what was the matter, subsided into an awful solemnity. But Wednesday morning soon came. They all rushed down to their stockings, which Kit and Charlie had insisted upon hanging up after the olden fashion. Stockings were empty however, as Santy Claus' gifts were rather unwieldy for so small a receptacle. Kit started back in amazement. A mysterious black case with a brass handle on the top. "O Hal! you are the dearest old chap in the world; a perfect darling, isn't he Granny? and I never, never can thank you. I've been thinking about it all the time, and wondering--oh, you dear, precious fiddle!" Kit hugged it; and I am not sure but he kissed it, and capered around the room as if he had lost his senses. Charlie's gift was a drawing-book, a set of colored pencils, and a new dress; Granny's a new dress; and Dot's a muff and tippet, a very pretty imitation of ermine. How delighted they all were! Kit could hardly eat a mouthful of breakfast. Granny gave them a royal dinner. Altogether it was almost as good as the Christmas with "The old woman who lived in a shoe." Yet there were only four of them now. How they missed the two absent faces! Shortly after this they had a letter from Joe. He had actually been at Canton, seen John Chinaman on his native soil in all the glory of pigtail and chop-stick. Such hosts of funny adventures it would have been hard to find even in a book. He meant to cruise around in that part of the world until he was tired, for he was having the tallest kind of sport. February was very pleasant indeed. Hal stirred up the soil in his cold frames, and planted some seeds. His flowers were still doing very well, the slips having come forward beautifully. On the whole, it had proved a rather pleasant winter, and they had been very happy. Granny declared that she was quite a lady. No more weaving carpet, or going out to work,--nothing but "puttering" about the house. She was becoming accustomed to the care of the flowers, and looked after them in a manner that won Hal's entire heart. Easter was to fall very early. Mr. Thomas had engaged all Hal's flowers, and begged him to have as many white ones as possible. So he fed the callas on warm water, with a little spirits of ammonia in it, and the five beautiful stalks grew up, with their fairy haunt of loveliness and fragrance. Dot used to look at them twenty times a day, as the soft green turned paler and paler, bleaching out at last to that wonderful creamy white with its delicate odor. Outside he transplanted his heads of lettuce, sowed fresh seeds of various kinds, and began to set slips of geranium. On cold or stormy days they kept the glass covered, and always at night. It was marvellous, the way every thing throve and grew. It seemed to Hal that there was nothing else in the world so interesting. Kit had begun to take lessons on his violin; but he soon found there was a wide difference between the absolute drudgery of rudiments, and the delicious dreams of melody that floated through his brain. Sometimes he cried over the difficulties, and felt tempted to throw away his violin; then he and Hal would have a good time with their beloved Charles Auchester, when he would go on with renewed courage. After Easter the flowers looked like mere wrecks. Hal cut most of the roses down, trimmed the heliotrope and fuchsias, and planted verbenas. His pansies, which had come from seed, looked very fine and thrifty, and were in bud. So he mentioned that he would have quite a number of bedding-plants for sale. Indeed, the fame of Hal's green-house spread through Madison. It was a marvel to everybody, how he could make plants grow in such a remarkable fashion, and under not a few disadvantages. But he studied the soil and habits minutely; and then he had a "gift,"--as much of a genius for this, as Kit's for music, or Charlie's for drawing. But with these warm spring days Hal grew very pale and thin. It seemed to him sometimes as if he could not endure the peculiar wear and anxiety of the school. There were thirty-five scholars now; and, although he tried to keep respectable order, he found it very hard work. He had such a tender, indulgent heart, that he oftener excused than punished. His head used to ache dreadfully in the afternoon, and every pulse in his body would throb until it seemed to make him absolutely sore. The gardening and the school were quite too much. "Granny," said Charlie one evening, "I am not going to school any more." Granny opened her eyes in surprise. "I am going to work." "To work?" It was astonishing to hear Charlie declare such sentiments. "Yes,--in the mill." "What will you do?" "Sarah Marshall began last fall: it's cleaning specks and imperfections out of the cloth; not very hard, either, and they give her four and a half a week." "That's pretty good," said Granny. "Yes. I shall have to do something. I hate housework and sewing, and--I want some money." "I'm sure Hal's as good as an angel." "I don't want Hal's. Goodness knows! he has enough to do, and it's high time I began to think about myself." Granny was overwhelmed with admiration at Charlie's spirit and resolution, yet she was not quite certain of its being proper until she had asked Hal. "I wish she wanted to learn dressmaking instead, or to teach school; but she isn't proud, like Flossy. And now she is growing so large that she wants nice clothes, and all that." Yet Hal sighed a little. Charlie somehow appeared to be lacking in refinement. She had a great deal of energy and persistence, and was not easily daunted or laughed out of any idea. "Though I think she will make a nice girl," said Hal, as if he had been indulging in a little treason. "We have a good deal to be thankful for, Granny." "Yes, indeed! And dear, brave Joe such a nice boy!" Hal made a few inquiries at the mill. They would take Charlie, and pay her two dollars a week for the first month, after that by the piece; and, if she was smart, she could earn three or four dollars. So Charlie went to work with her usual sturdiness. If they could have looked in her heart, and beheld all her plans, and known that she hated this as bitterly as washing dishes or mending old clothes! On the first of June, Hal took an account of stock. They had been quite fortunate in the sale of early vegetables. The lettuce, radishes, and tomato-plants had done beautifully. For cut-flowers he had received fifty-two dollars; for bedding-plants,--scarlet and other geraniums, and pansies,--the sum had amounted to over nine dollars; for vegetables and garden-plants, eleven. They had not incurred any extra expense, save the labor. "To think of that, Granny! Almost seventy-five dollars! And on such a small scale too! I think I could make gardening pay, if I had a fair chance." Dr. Meade admitted that it was wonderful, when he heard of it. "I'm not sure that a hot-house would pay here in Madison, but you could send a great many things to New York. Any how, Hal, if I were rich I should build you one." "You are very kind. I shouldn't have done as well, if it had not been for you." "Tut, tut! That's nothing. But I don't like to see you growing so thin. I shall have to prepare you a tonic. You work too hard." Hal smiled faintly. "You must let gardening alone for the next six weeks. And the school isn't the best thing in the world for you." "I've been very thankful for it, though." "If you stay another year, the salary must be raised. Do you like it?" "Not as well as gardening." "Well, take matters easy," advised the good doctor. The tonic was sent over. Hal made a strong fight against the languor; but the enemy was rather too stout for him. Every day there was a little fever; and at night he tossed from side to side, and could not sleep. Granny made him a "pitcher of tea," her great cure-all,--valerian, gentian, and wild-cherry,--in a pitcher that had lost both handle and spout; and, though he drank it to please her, it did not appear to help him any. It seemed to him, some days, that he never could walk home from school. Now and then he caught a ride, to be sure; but the weary step after step on these warm afternoons almost used up his last remnant of strength. "Now," said Dr. Meade when school had ended, "you really must begin to take care of yourself. You are as white as if you had not an ounce of blood in your whole body. No work of any kind, remember. It is to be a regular vacation." Hal acquiesced from sheer inability to do any thing else. The house was quiet; for Dot never had been a noisy child since her crying-days. She was much more like Florence, except the small vanities, and air of martyrdom, that so often spoiled the elder sister's sacrifices,--a sweet, affectionate little thing, a kind of baby, as she would always be. Her love for Hal and Granny was perfect devotion, and held in it a strand of quaintness that made one smile. She could cook quite nicely; and sewing appeared to come natural to her. Hal called her "Small woman," as an especial term of endearment. But they hardly knew what to make of Charlie. Instead of launching out into gayeties, as they expected (for Charlie was very fond of finery), she proved so economical, that she was almost stingy. She gave Granny a dollar a week; and they heard she was earning as much as Sarah Marshall already. In fact, Charlie was a Trojan when she worked in good earnest. "What are you going to do with it all?" Hal would ask playfully. "Maybe I'll put it in the bank, or buy a farm." "Ho!" said Kit. "What would you do with a farm?" "Hire it out on shares to Hal." "You are a good girl, Charlie; and it's well to save a little 'gainst time o' need." Which encomium of Granny's would always settle the matter. Hal did not get better. Dr. Meade wanted him to go to the seaside for a few weeks. "I cannot afford it," he said; "and I shouldn't enjoy it a bit alone. I think I shall be better when cool weather comes. These warm days seem to melt all the strength out of me." "Well, I hope so." Hal hoped so too. He was young; and the world looked bright; and then they all needed him. Not that he had any morbid thoughts of dying, only sometimes it crossed his mind. He had never been quite so well and strong since the accident. For Granny's sake and for Dot's sake. He loved them both so dearly; and they seemed so peculiarly helpless,--the one in her shy childhood, the other on the opposite confine. He wanted to make Granny's life pleasant at the last, when she had worked so hard for all of them. But God would do what was best; though Hal's lip quivered, and an unbidden tear dropped from the sad eye. O Florence! had you forgotten them? CHAPTER XV. HOW CHARLIE RAN AWAY. "Where is Charlie?" asked Hal as they sat down to the supper-table one evening. "She didn't go to work this afternoon, but put on her best clothes, and said she meant to take a holiday." "Well, the poor child needed it, I am sure. To think of our wild, heedless, tomboy Charlie settling into such a steady girl!" "But Charlie always was good at heart. I've had six of the best and nicest grandchildren you could pick out anywhere, if I do say it myself." Granny uttered the words with a good deal of pride. "Yes," said Kit: "we'll be a what-is-it--crown to your old age." Granny laughed merrily. "Seven children!" appended Kit. "You forgot my fiddle." "Eight children!" said Dot. "You forgot Hal's flowers." Hal smiled at this. "I may as well wash the dishes," exclaimed Dot presently. "I guess Charlie will stay out to tea." After that they sat on the doorstep in the moonlight, and sang,--Dot with her head in Hal's lap, and Hal's arm around Granny's shoulder. A very sacred and solemn feeling seemed to come to them on this evening, as if it was a time which it would be important to remember. "I do not believe Charlie means to come home to-night," Hal said when the clock struck ten. "But she has on her best clothes. She wouldn't wear 'em to the mill." So they waited a while longer. No Charlie. Then they kissed each other good-night, and began to disperse. Hal looked into the deserted flower-room, which was still a kind of library and cosey place. The moonlight lay in broad white sheets on the floor, quivering like a summer sea. How strange and sweet it was! How lovely God had made the earth, and the serene heaven above it! Something on the table caught his eye as he turned,--a piece of folded paper like a letter. He wondered what he had left there, and picked it up carelessly. "_To Granny and Hal._" Hal started in the utmost surprise. An unsealed letter in Charlie's handwriting, which had never been remarkable for its beauty. He trembled all over, and stood in the moonlight to read it, the slow tears coming into his eyes. Should he go down and tell them? Perhaps it would be better not to alarm them to-night. Occasionally, when it had rained, Charlie spent the night with some of the girls living near the mill: so Granny would not worry about her. O brave, daring, impulsive Charlie! If you could have seen the pain in Hal's heart! He brought the letter down the next morning. "How queer it is that Charlie stays!" said Dot, toasting some bread. "O Hal! what's the matter?" "Nothing--only--You'll have to hear it sometime; and maybe it will all end right. Charlie's gone away." "Gone away!" echoed Granny. "Yes. She left a letter. I found it last night in the flower-room. Let me read it to you." Hal cleared his throat. The others stood absolutely awe-stricken. "DEAR GRANNY AND HAL,--You know I always had my heart set on running away; and I'm going to do it now, because, if I told you all my plans, you would say they were quite wild. Perhaps they are. Only I _shall_ try to make them work; and, somehow, I think I can. I have sights of courage and hope. But, O Granny! I couldn't stay in the mill: it was like putting me in prison. I hated the coarse work, the dirt, the noise, and the smells of grease, and everybody there. Some days I felt as if I must scream and scream, until God came and took me out of it. But I wanted to earn some money; and there wasn't any other way in Madison that I should have liked any better. I've had this in my mind ever since I went to work. "I can't tell you all my plans,--I don't even know them myself,--only I am going to try; and, if I cannot succeed, I shall come back. I have twenty-five dollars that I've saved. And, if I have good luck, you'll hear that too. Please don't worry about me. I shall find friends, and not get into any trouble, I know. "I am very sorry to leave you all; but then I kissed you good-by,--Hal and Kit this morning, when I said it softly in my heart; and Dot and you, dear Granny, when I went away. I had it all planned so nicely, and you never suspected a word. I shall come back some time, of course. And now you must be happy without me, and just say a tiny bit of prayer every night, as I shall for you, and never fret a word. Somehow I feel as if I were a little like Joe; and you know he is doing beautifully. "Good-by with a thousand kisses. Don't try to find me; for you can't, I know. I'll write some time again. Your own queer, loving. "CHARLIE." "Well, that's too good!" said Kit, breaking the silence of tears. "Charlie has the spunk--and a girl too!" "Oh!" sobbed Granny, "she don't know nothing; and she'll get lost, and get into trouble." "No, she won't, either! I'll bet on Charlie. And she was saving up her money for that, and never said a word!" Kit's admiration was intense. "It's about the drawing; and she has gone to New York, I am almost sure," said Hal. "Don't cry, Granny; for somehow I think Charlie will be safe. She is good and honest and truthful." "But in New York! And she don't know anybody there"-- "Maybe she has gone to Mrs. Burton's. I might write and see. Or there is Clara Pennington--they moved last spring, you remember. I'm pretty sure we shall find her." Hal's voice was strong with hope. Now that he had to comfort Granny, he could see a bright side himself. "And she has some money too." "She'll do," said Kit decisively. "And if that isn't great! She coaxed me to run away once and live in the woods; but I think this is better." "Did you do it?" asked Dot. "Yes. We came near setting the woods on fire; and didn't we get a jolly scolding! Charlie's a trump." So they settled themselves to the fact quite calmly. Charlie had taken the best of her clothes, and would be prepared for present emergencies. Before the day was over, they had another event to startle them. Dr. Meade tied his old horse to the gate-post, and came in. Granny was taking a little rest in the other room; and Dot was up stairs, reading. "Better to-day, eh?" said the doctor. "I believe I do feel a little better. I have not had any headache or fever for several days." "You'll come out bright as a blue-bird next spring." "Before that, I hope. School commences next week." "Then you have heard--nothing?" "Was there any thing for me to hear?" Hal looked up anxiously; and the soft brown eyes, in their wistfulness, touched the doctor's heart. "They've served you and me a mean trick, Hal," began the doctor rather warmly. "Some of it was my fault. I told the committee that you would not take it next year under five hundred dollars." "It's worth that," said Hal quietly. "Yes, if it is worth a cent. Well, Squire Haines has had a niece staying with him who has taught school in Brooklyn for eight or ten years,--a great, tall sharp kind of a woman; and she was willing to come for the old salary. She's setting her cap for Mrs. Haines's brother, I can see that fast enough. The squire, he's favored her; and they've pushed the matter through." "Then Miss Perkins has it!" Hal exclaimed with a gasp, feeling as if he were stranded on the lee-shore. "Exactly. And I don't know but it is best. To tell the truth, Hal, you are not strong, and you did work too hard last year. You want rest; but you'll never be able to go into the battle rough and tumble. I may as well tell you this." "Do you think I shall never"--Hal's lip quivered. "The fall gave you a great shock, you see; and then the confinement in school was altogether wrong. You want quiet and ease; and I do think this flower-business will be the very thing for you. I've been casting it over in my mind; and I have a fancy that another spring I'll be able to do something for you. Keep heart, my boy. It's darkest just before the dawn, you know." "You are so kind!" and the brown eyes filled with tears. "It will all come out right, I'm pretty sure. This winter's rest will be just the thing for you. Now, don't fret yourself back to the old point again; for you have improved a little. And, if you want any thing, come to me. We all get in tight places sometimes." Hal repeated this to Dot and Granny; and when Kit came home he heard the "bad news," over which he looked very sober. "But then it might be worse," said Hal cheerily; for he was never sad long at a time. "We have almost a hundred dollars, and I shall try to make my flowers more profitable this winter." And the best of all was, Hal _did_ begin to feel better. The terrible weakness seemed to yield at last to some of the good doctor's tonics, his appetite improved, and he could sleep quite well once more. At this juncture Kit found an opening. "They'll take me in the melodeon-factory over at Salem," he announced breathlessly one evening. "Mr. Briggs told me of it, and I went to see. I can board with Mr. Halsey, the foreman; and oh, can't he play on the violin! He will go on teaching me, and I can have my board and four dollars a month." "Well, I declare!" ejaculated Granny. "What next?" "Then you won't have me to take care of this winter. I'm about tired of going to school, and that's nice business. I can come home every Saturday night." "Yes," said Hal thoughtfully. "I do believe Mr. Halsey's taken a great liking to me. He wants you to come over, Hal, and have a talk." So Hal went over. The prospect appeared very fair. Kit had some mechanical genius; but building melodeons would be much more to his taste than building houses. "It has a suggestion of music in it," laughed Hal. So the bargain was concluded. About the middle of September, Kit started for Salem and business. But oh, how lonely the old house was! All the mirth and mischief gone! It seemed to Granny that she would be quite willing to go out washing, and weave carpets, if she could have them all children once more. There was plenty of room in the Old Shoe now. One bed in the parlor held Dot and Granny. No cradle with a baby face in it, no fair girl with golden curls sewing at the window. Tabby sat unmolested in the chimney-corner. No one turned back her ears, or put walnut-shells over her claws; no one made her dance a jig on her hind-legs, or bundled her in shawls until she was smothered, and had to give a pathetic m-i-a-o-u in self-defence. Oh, the gay, laughing, tormenting children! Always clothes to mend, cut fingers and stubbed toes to doctor, quarrels to settle, noises to quell, to tumble over one here and another there, to have them cross with the measles and forlorn with the mumps, but coming back to fun again in a day or two,--the dear, troublesome, vanished children! Many a time Granny cried alone by herself. It was right that they should grow into men and women; but oh, the ache and emptiness it left in her poor old heart! And it seemed as if Tabby missed them; for now and then she would put her paws on the old window-seat, stretching out her full length, and look up and down the street, uttering a mournful cry. One day Dot brought home a letter from the store directed to Hal. "Why, it's Charlie!" he said with a great cry of joy and confusion of person. "Dear old Charlie!" He tore it open with hasty, trembling fingers. "DEAR HAL AND GRANNY,--I'm like Joe, happy as a big sunflower! I can't tell you half nor quarter; so I shall not try, but save it all against the time I come home; for I _am_ coming. Every thing is just splendid! It wasn't so nice at first, and one day I felt almost homesick; but it came out right. Oh, dear! I want to see you so, and tell you all the wonderful things that have happened to me,--just like a story-book. I think of you all,--Hal in his school, Granny busy about the house, Dot, the little darling, sweet as ever, and a whole roomful of flowers up-stairs, and Kit playing on his violin. Did you miss me much? I missed the dear old home, the sweet kisses, and tender voices; but some day I shall have them again. I never forget you a moment; but oh, oh, oh! That's all I can say. There are not words enough to express all the rest. Don't forget me; but love me just the same. A thousand kisses to all you children left in the old shoe, and another thousand to Granny. "Your own dear CHARLIE." Hal's eyes were full of tears. To tell the truth, they had a good crying-time before any of them could speak a word. "Dear, brave Charlie! She and Joe are alike. Granny, I don't know but they are the children to be proud of, after all." "Where is she?" asked Granny, wiping her nose violently. "Why, there isn't a bit of--address--to it; and the post-mark--begins with an N--but all the rest is blurred. She means to wait until she comes home, and tell us the whole story; and she will not give us an opportunity to write, for fear we will ask some questions. She means to keep up her running away." They were all delighted, and had to read the letter over and over again. "She must be in New York somewhere, and studying drawing. I've a great mind to write at a venture." "And she will come home," crooned Granny softly. "I'm glad she thinks us all so happy and prosperous," said Hal. I shall have to tell you how it fared with Charlie and not keep you waiting until they heard the story. She had indeed followed out her old plan. Child as she was, when she went to work in the mill she crowded all her wild dreams down in the depths of her heart. No one ever knew what heroic sacrifices Charlie Kenneth made. She was fond of dress, and just of an age when a bright ribbon, a pretty hat, and a dozen other dainty trifles, seem to add so much to one's happiness. But she resolutely eschewed them all. Week by week her little hoard gained slowly, every day bringing her nearer the hour of freedom. She planned, too, more practically than any one would have supposed. And one evening she smuggled a black travelling-bag into the house, hiding it in a rubbish-closet until she could pack it. She seized her opportunity at noon, to get it out unobserved; and, putting it in an out-of-the-way corner, dragged some pea-brush over it, that gave it the look of a pile of rubbish. Then she dressed herself, and said her good-bys gayly, but with a trembling heart, and went off to take her holiday. Charlie tugged her bag to the depot, and bought a ticket for Newbury. Then she seated herself in great state, and really began to enjoy the adventure. She wondered how people could spend all their lives in a little humdrum place like Madison. At Newbury she bought a ticket for New York. Then she sat thinking what she should do. A family by the name of Wilcox had left Madison two years before, and gone to New York. The mother was a clever, ignorant, good-hearted sort of woman, of whom Charlie Kenneth had been rather fond in her childish days. Mary Jane, the daughter, had paid a flying visit to Madison that spring, and Charlie had heard her describe the route to her house in Fourteenth Street. This was where she purposed to go. The cars stopped. The passengers left in a crowd, Charlie following. If they were going to New York, she would not get lost. So the ferry was crossed in safety. Then she asked a policeman to direct her to City Hall. A little ragged urchin pestered her about carrying her bag, but it was too precious to be trusted to strangers. She saw the Third-avenue cars; but how was she to get to them? The street seemed blocked up continually. By and by a policeman piloted her across, and saw her safely deposited in the car. Charlie paid her fare, and told the conductor to stop at Fourteenth Street; but, after riding a while, she began to look out for herself. What an endless way it was! and where _did_ all the people come from? Could it be possible that there were houses enough for them to live in? Ah! here was her corner. She turned easterly, watching for the number. There was Mrs. Wilcox's frowsy head at the front basement window; and Charlie felt almost afraid to ring at the front-door, so she tried that lowly entrance. "Come in," said a voice in response to her knock. It was evident she had grown out of Mrs. Wilcox's remembrance, so she rather awkwardly introduced herself. "Charlie Kenneth! The land sakes! How you have growed! Why, I'm right glad to see you. How is Granny and all the children, and all the folks at Madison?" Charlie "lumped" them, and answered, "Pretty well." "Did you come down all alone? And how did you find us? Mary Jane'll be powerful glad to see you. Ain't you most tired to death luggin' that heavy bag? Do take off your things, and get rested." Charlie complied. Mrs. Wilcox went on with her endless string of questions, even after she rose to set the supper-table. "And so Florence is married. Strange you've never heard about her. She's so rich and grand that I s'pose she don't want to remember poor relations. And Hal's been a teachin' school! Why, you're quite gettin' up in the world." Mary Jane soon made her appearance. A flirting, flippant girl of sixteen, rather good-looking, and trimmed up with ribbons and cheap furbelows. She appeared glad to see Charlie, and all the questions were asked over again. Then Mr. Wilcox came in, washed his hands and face, and they sat down to supper. Before they were half through, Tom and Ed came tumbling in, full of fun and nonsense. "Boys, be still!" said their father; which admonition they heeded for about the space of ten seconds. Mary Jane rose from the table as soon as she had finished her supper. "Charlie'll sleep with me, of course," she said. "Bring your bag and your things up stairs, Charlie." Charlie followed her to the third story,--a very fair-sized room, but with an appearance of general untidiness visible everywhere. "You can hang up your clothes in that closet," indicating it with her head. "Did you go to work in the mill, Charlie?" "Yes." "Didn't you like it?" "Not very much," slowly shaking out her clean calico dress. "I shouldn't, either. What did you earn?" "Sometimes four dollars and a half." "I earn six, week in and week out. Then I do a little overwork every day, which gives me Saturday afternoon. Charlie, why don't you stay?" Mary Jane was taking down her hair, and turned round suddenly. "I thought I would;" and Charlie blushed. "I've saved up a little money, enough to pay my board for a few weeks, until I can find something to do." "Flower-making is first-rate. Some of the girls earn ten dollars a week. I've only been at it a year, you see. They pay a dollar a week while you're learning. Shall I try to get you in?" "I don't know yet," was the hesitating answer. "What makes you wear your hair short, Charlie?" "Why--I like it so. It's no trouble." "But it's so childish!" Mary Jane was arranging a wonderful waterfall. On the top of this she hung a cluster of curls, and on the top of her head she tied in a bunch of frizettes with a scarlet ribbon. "Now, that's what I call stylish;" and she turned round to Charlie. "If I was you, I'd let my hair grow; and, as soon as it is long enough to tie in a little knot, you can buy a waterfall." Charlie was quite bewildered with these manifold adornments. Then Mary Jane put on a white dress, a red carved ivory pin and ear-rings, and presented quite a gorgeous appearance. "Charlie, I've been thinking--why can't you board here? I pay mother two dollars a week, and you could just as well have part of my room. Mother wanted me to let the boys have it, because there were two of them; but I wanted plenty of room. Yes: it would be real nice to have you here. I'll ask mother. I know you can find something to do." A great load seemed lifted from Charlie's heart. Then they went down to the next floor. The boys had the hall bedroom, and the back room was used by the heads of the family. There were two large pantries between, and then a front parlor. Charlie was quite stunned; for the place appeared fully as gorgeous as Mary Jane. A cheap Brussels carpet in bright colors, the figure of which ran all over the floor; two immense vases on the mantle, where grotesque Chinese figures were disporting on a bright green ground; a rather shabby crimson plush rocker; and some quite impossible sunsets done in oil, with showy wide gilt frames. Mrs. Wilcox had purchased them at auction, and considered them a great bargain. Then Mary Jane, with a great deal of giggling and blushing, confessed to Charlie that she had a beau. "A real nice young man," clerk in a dry-goods store, Walter Brown by name, and that he came almost every evening. "You can't help liking him," was the positive assertion. "I wish you didn't have short hair, nor look so much like a little girl; for you are as tall as I am." Which was very true; but Charlie felt herself quite a child, and very much startled at the idea of beaux. Mary Jane took out some embroidery, and did not deign to revisit the kitchen. A trifle after eight Mr. Brown made his appearance, looking neat as a pink, and nearly as sweet with perfume. For the first time in her life, Charlie was painfully bashful. When he proposed a walk to an ice-cream saloon, she would fain have remained at home; but Mary Jane over-ruled. The walk was quite pleasant, and the cream a positive treat. Charlie said some very bright things, which Mr. Brown appeared to consider exceedingly funny. Then they rambled around a while; and when they returned, Mary Jane lingered at the hall-door to have a little private talk, while Charlie ran up stairs. Mrs. Wilcox sat in the parlor fanning herself, and eagerly questioned the child as to where they had been, and how she liked New York. Tired and excited, Charlie went to bed at last; but she could not sleep. The strange place, the tinkle of the car-bells, the noises in the streets, and, most of all, her own thoughts, kept her wakeful. She could hardly believe that she had achieved her great ambition, and actually run away. On the whole, it was rather comical. Had they found her letter yet? What did Hal and Granny think? Would they be very much worried? And if she only _could_ find out something about pictures, and begin to work in good earnest at the right thing. It was as much to her as the flowers were to dear Hal. God bless and keep them all! CHAPTER XVI. ALMOST DISCOURAGED. Charlie was really tired on Friday, and did not feel equal to making any effort; so she assisted Mrs. Wilcox with the housework, and tidied up Mary Jane's room until one would hardly have known it. But every thing seemed so strange and new. Late in the afternoon she gained courage to say,-- "Did Mary Jane tell you, Mrs. Wilcox, that--I'd like to stay?" "Yes. And so you _really_ came to York to get something to do! I s'pose there's such a host of you at home!" Charlie swallowed over a lump in her throat. Perhaps she was not a little glad that Mrs. Wilcox did not suspect her unorthodox manner of leaving Madison. "I mean to find something to do. And if you would board me"-- "Now, Charlie Kenneth! first you stay and make a visit, and see what you can find, before you talk of payin' board. Thank Heaven! I never begrudged any one a meal's vittles or a night's sleep. Your poor old grandmother's slaved herself half to death for you, and I'm glad to see you have some spunk." "Then, you'll let me stay?" and a soft flush of relief stole over Charlie's face. "Stay!" rather indignantly. "No one ever heard of Hannah Wilcox turnin' people out o' doors. Your Granny has done more than one good turn for me." "But I've saved some money to pay my board"-- "I won't take a cent of it till you get to work, there, now! Jest you never fret yourself a word. It'll all come right, I know." "I'm very much obliged," said Charlie, feeling as if she would like to cry. "Mary Jane spoke of a chance of getting you at the flowers. It's light, easy work,--I tell her jest like play. But you must have a visit first." On Saturday Mary Jane came home at noon. "I do think Charlie Kenneth's earned a holiday," said Mrs. Wilcox. "I couldn't begin to tell the things that girl's done this mornin'. Swept and dusted, and helped me clean the closet"-- "Then you're in clover, mother;" and Mary Jane laughed. "I never could bear to do housework." "A great kind of a wife you'll make." "That will be some one else's look out;" and Mary Jane tossed her head in a curiously satisfied manner. They took a promenade on Broadway in the afternoon. Charlie was delighted; and the shop-windows entertained her beyond description. They bought some trifles,--a pair of gloves, a collar, and a ribbon or two,--and Charlie found that money absolutely melted away. She had spent four dollars. She summoned courage to question Mary Jane a little, but found her exceedingly ignorant on the great topic that absorbed her. "I believe girls do color photographs in some places, but then you'd have to know a good deal to get a situation like that. I guess only rich girls have a chance to learn drawing and painting." "But when it comes natural," said Charlie slowly. "Well, I'll ask _him_;" and Mary Jane smiled, and nodded her head. "_He_ knows most every thing." "Are you going to marry him?" Charlie asked innocently, understanding the pronoun. "Oh, I don't know!" with a toss of the head. "I mean to have some fun first. Some girls have lots of beaux." Charlie colored. She had not the judgment or the experience to assist her in any sort of analysis; but she _felt_ that these Wilcoxes were very different from their household. They had always been poor, lived in an old tumble-down cottage, with a bed in the parlor; were a noisy, frolicksome, romping set; given to slang, Flossy's great abhorrence; and yet--there was a clean, pure element in them all,--a kind of unconscious refinement. Florence's fine-ladyisms had not been entirely useless or wasted. Refinement was the idea floating so dimly through Charlie's brain. In after years she understood the force of Hal's example, and the many traits Joe had laughed at as being girlish. But now she could only feel that there was a great gulf between her and Mary Jane; that the latter could _not_ enter into her hopes and ambitions. However, Charlie's drawings were brought to Mr. Brown for inspection. "Why, you're a regular genius!" he exclaimed in surprise. Charlie colored with delight, and every nerve seemed to expand with precious hope. "It is a great pity that you are not a man." "Why?" and Charlie opened her large eyes wonderingly. "Because then you could do something with your talent. All these comic pictures in papers are designed by men; and they sometimes travel about, writing descriptions of places, and drawing little sketches to go with them. It is capital business." "That is what I should like;" and Charlie's face glowed. "But girls and women never do it. It's altogether out of their sphere. You see, that is one of the disadvantages." Mr. Brown uttered this dogmatically. "But if they know how, and can do it"-- "They couldn't travel about alone, running into dangers of all kinds. And it is just here. Now, some of these sketches are as good as you see in the papers; but no one would think of buying them of a woman, because it is men's work." Charlie winked the tears out of her eyes. The argument was crushing, for she could not refute the lameness of the logic; and she had always felt sore about being a girl. "They teach women to draw and paint down here at Cooper Institute," he said presently. "But I suppose it costs a good deal?" and Charlie sighed. "Yes." "These things are for rich people," said Mary Jane with an air of authority. Charlie could not summon heart to question further: besides, she had some ideas in her brain. Maybe she _might_ sell her pictures to some newspaper. Any how, she would try. She began the week with this determination. On Monday she dressed herself carefully, and gave her face a rather rigorous inspection. It _did_ look very little-girlish. And somehow she wished her hair wasn't short, and that she could be handsome. Who ever heard of such dark eyes and light hair, such a peculiar tint too,--a kind of Quaker-drab; not golden nor auburn nor chestnut. Well, she was as she grew, and she couldn't help any of it. By dint of inquiring now and then, she found her way about pretty well. Her first essay was in the office of an illustrated paper. The man listened to her story with a peculiar sharp business air, and merely said,-- "No: we don't want any thing of the kind." Charlie felt that she could not say another word, and walked out. She stood a long while looking in the window of a print-shop, and at last ventured again. This person was less brusque. "My little girl," he said, "we never do any thing with such matters. We buy our pictures, printed or painted, or engravings, as the case may be, from all parts of the world. Many of them are copies from different artists well known to fame. It costs a great deal for the plate of a picture." Which explanation was quite unintelligible to Charlie. She rambled on until she came to a bookstore. There being only a boy within, she entered. "Do you ever buy any pictures for books?" she asked. "Books allus have pictures in 'em," was the oracular reply. "But who makes them?" "Why, engravers, of course;" with supreme astonishment at her ignorance. "And they--do the thinking,--plan the picture, I mean?" "What?" asked the boy, as if Charlie had spoken Greek. "Some one must have the idea first." He could not controvert it, and stared about helplessly. "Are there any lady engravers?" "No, I guess not;" scratching his head. "And who makes these little pictures of children like this girl teaching the dog to read, and this one with the flowers?" "Oh, I know what you want!" exclaimed the boy. "We gets 'em down in Ann Street. There's some girls working in the place. Do you know where Ann Street is?" Some of Charlie's old humor cropped out. "No, nor Polly Street, nor Jemima Street." The boy studied her sharply, but preserved a sullen silence, strongly suspecting that he was being laughed at. "Will you please tell me?" quite meekly. "And--the man's name." The boy found a card, and directed her. Charlie trudged on with a light heart. The place was up two flights of very dirty steps. Mr. Balcour had gone out to dinner, and she was rather glad of an excuse to rest. In the adjoining room there were three girls laughing and chatting. Now, if she could come here to work! When Mr. Balcour entered, Charlie found him a very pleasant-looking man. She made known her errand with but little hesitation. "It is something of a mistake," was the smiling answer. "My business is coloring prints, flower-pieces, and all that. Sometimes they are sent to me, but these little things I buy by the hundred or thousand, and color them; then picture-dealers, Sunday-schools, &c., come in here to purchase." With that he displayed cases of birds, flowers, fancy scenes, and tiny landscapes. "Oh, how beautiful they are!" and she glanced them over with delight. "I should like to do them!" "Do you know any thing about water-coloring?" "No;" rather hesitatingly, for she was not at all certain as to the precise nature of water-coloring. "I keep several young ladies at work. It requires taste, practice, and a certain degree of genius, artistic ability." "I meant the first thought of the picture," said Charlie, blushing. "Some one must know how it is to be made." "Yes, certainly." "If you would look at these"-- She opened her parcel, and spread them before him. "Did you do them?" He asked the question in astonishment. "Yes," was Charlie's simple reply. He studied her critically, which made her warm color come and go, and she interlaced her fingers nervously. "My child, this first thought, as you call it, is designing. You have a very remarkable genius, I should say. How old are you?" "Fifteen." "You have had some instruction!" Charlie concluded it would be wiser to say that she had, for there was the drawing-book and Hal. "You wish to do this for a living?" he asked kindly. "Oh, if I could! I like it so much!" and there was a world of entreaty in Charlie's tone. Mr. Balcour had to laugh over some of the drawings, for the faces were so spirited and expressive. "I will tell you the very best thing for you to do. Enter the School of Design for women. The arrangements, I believe, are very good; that is, there is a chance to earn something while you are studying." "Oh!" Charlie's face was fairly transfigured. Mr. Balcour thought her a wonderfully pretty girl. "It is at Cooper Institute, Third Avenue and Seventh or Eighth Street. I really do not know any thing about it, except that it does profess to assist young students in art." "I am so much obliged to you;" and Charlie gave him a sweet, grateful smile. "I should like to hear a little about you!" he said; "and I hope you will succeed. Come in some time and let me know. Do you live in the city?" "No; but I am staying with some friends on Fourteenth Street." "Not far from Cooper Institute, then." "No, I can easily find it." They said good-by; and Charlie threaded her way up to City Hall with a heart as light as thistle-down, quite forgetting that she had missed her dinner. Then, by car, she went up to Cooper Institute. And now what was she to do? I told you that Charlie had a great deal of courage and perseverance. And then she was so earnest in this quest! She inquired in a china-store, and was directed up stairs. It was very odd indeed. First she stumbled into a reading-room, and was guided from thence to the art-gallery by a boy. The pictures amused and interested her for quite a while. One lady and two gentlemen were making copies. By and by she summoned courage to ask the lady which was the school, or study-room. "School of Design?" "Yes," timidly. "It is closed." Charlie's countenance fell. "When will it be open?" "About the first of October." The child gave a great sigh of disappointment. "Were you thinking of entering?" "I wanted to see--if I could." "Have you painted any?" "No: but I have been drawing a little." "You are rather young, I think." Then the lady went on with her work. Charlie turned away with tears in her eyes. A whole month to wait! Mrs. Wilcox plied her with questions on her return, but Charlie was not communicative. After a night's rest she felt quite courageous again. She would see what could be done about engraving. Poor Charlie! There were no bright spots in this day. Everybody seemed cross and in a hurry. One man said coarsely,-- "You needn't tell me you did them things by yourself. You took 'em from some picturs." So she came home tired and dispirited. Mary Jane had a crowd of gay company in the evening, and Charlie slipped off to bed. Oh, if she could only give Dot a good hug, and kiss Hal's pale face, and hear Granny's cracked voice! Even the horrible tuning of Kit's fiddle would sound sweet. But to be here,--among strangers,--and not be able to make her plans work. Charlie turned her face over on the pillow, and had a good cry. After all, there never could be anybody in this world half so sweet as "The old woman who lived in a shoe!" On Wednesday it rained. Charlie was positively glad to have a good excuse for staying within doors. She helped Mrs. Wilcox with her sewing, and told her every thing she could remember about the people at Madison. "How strange it must look,--and a railroad through the middle of it! There wa'n't no mills in my time, either. And rows of houses, Mary Jane said. She'd never 'a' known the place if it hadn't been for the folks. Dear, dear!" Mary Jane came home in high feather that night. "I found they were taking on some girls to-day, Charlie; and I spoke a good word for you. You can come next Monday. I don't believe you'll make out much with the pictures." "You were very good;" but Charlie's lip quivered a little. "It will be ever so nice to have company up and down! and you'll like it, I'm sure." Mary Jane, being of a particularly discursive nature, was delighted to have a constant listener. "Well, that was better than nothing," Charlie thought. She might work a while, and perhaps learn something more definite about the School of Design. "For I'll never give it up, never!" and Charlie set her resolute red lips together, while her eyes glanced into the future. The following morning was so lovely, that she felt as if she must have a walk. She put on her white dress and sacque, and looked as fresh as a rose. She would go over on Broadway, where every thing was clean and lovely, and have a delightful time looking at the shop-windows and the beautiful ladies. It was foolish to take her pictures along, and yet she did it. They really appeared a part of her life. On and on she sauntered, enjoying every thing with the keenest relish. The mellow sun, the refreshing air that had in it a crisp flavor, the cloudless sky overhead, and the bright faces around, made her almost dance with gladness. She stood for a long while viewing some chromos in a window,--two or three of children, which were very piquant and amusing, and appealed to her love of fun. Obeying her impulse she entered, and stole timidly around. Two gentlemen were talking, and one of the faces pleased her exceedingly. A large, fair, fresh-complexioned man, with curly brown hair, and a patriarchal beard, snowy white, though he did not appear old. A young fellow came to her presently, and asked if there was any thing he could show her. "I should like to see the gentleman--when he is--disengaged." That speech would have done credit to Florence. The youth carried the message, and the proprietor glanced around. Not the one with the beautiful beard, and Charlie felt rather disappointed. They talked a while longer, then he came forward. "You wished to see me?" Charlie turned scarlet to the tips of her fingers, and stammered something in an absurdly incoherent fashion. "Oh! you did not interrupt me--particularly," and he smiled kindly. "What can I do for you?" "Will you tell me--who made the first design--for--those pictures in the window,--the children, I mean?" "Different artists. Two, I think, are by ladies." "And how did they get to do it? I mean, after they made the sketch, who painted it?" "Those are from the original paintings. The artist had the thought, and embodied it in a sketch." "But suppose no one wanted to buy it?" "That _has_ happened;" and he smiled again. "Why? Have you been trying your hand at pictures?" "Yes," answered Charlie in great doubt and perplexity. "Only mine are done in pencil. If you would look at them." Charlie's eyes were so beseeching, that he could not resist. She opened her small portfolio,--Hal's handiwork. The gentleman glanced over two or three. "Did you do these yourself?" "Yes;" and Charlie wondered that she should be asked the question so frequently. "Who taught you?" "My brother, a little; but I think it comes natural," said Charlie in her earnestness, knowing no reason why she should not tell the truth. "Darol, here is a genius for you!" he exclaimed, going back to his friend. Charlie watched them with throbbing heart and bated breath. She was growing very sensitive. "That child!" "Come here, little girl, will you?" said Mr. Darol, beckoning her towards them. "Who put the faces in these?" "I did;" and the downcast lids trembled perceptibly. "How long have you been studying?" "Oh! I could always do that," answered Charlie. "I used to in school. And some of them are just what did happen." "This,--Mr. Kettleman's troubles?" and he scrutinized her earnestly. "There was a man working in the mill whose name was Kettleman, and he always carried a dinner-kettle. But I thought up the adventures myself." Charlie uttered this very modestly, and yet in a quiet, straightforward manner, that bore the impress of sincerity. The first picture was Mr. Kettleman purchasing his kettle. A scene in a tin-shop; the seller a round, jolly fellow, about the shape of a beer-cask; and Mr. Kettleman tall and thin, with a long nose, long fingers, and long legs. He was saying, "Will it hold enough?" The faces _were_ capital. In the second Mrs. Kettleman was putting up her husband's dinner. There were piles and piles of goodies; and his cadaverous face was bent over the mass, the lips slightly parted, the nose longer than ever, and asking solemnly, "Can you get it all in, Becky?" The third showed a group of laughing men round a small table, which was spread with different articles. One fellow held the pail up-side-down, saying, "The last crumb." The head of Mr. Kettleman was just in sight, ascending the stairs. Lastly the kettle tied to a dog's tail. Mr. Kettleman in the distance, taller, thinner, and exceedingly woebegone, watching his beloved but unfortunate kettle as it thumped over the stones. There were many irregularities and defects, but the faces were remarkable for expression. Mr. Darol laughed heartily. "How old are you?" asked Mr. Wentworth, glancing curiously at the slender slip of a girl. "Fifteen." "You don't look that." "You have a wonderful gift," said Mr. Darol thoughtfully. "Oh, that is real!" exclaimed Charlie eagerly, as they turned to another. "My brother was in a store once, and sold some pepper for allspice. The woman put it in her pie." "So I should judge from her husband's face;" and they both laughed again, and praised Charlie to her heart's content. By degrees Mr. Darol drew Charlie's history from her. She did not conceal her poverty nor her ambition; and her love for her one talent spoke eloquently in every line of her face. "My child, you have a remarkable genius for designing. The school at Cooper Institute will be just the place for you. Wentworth, I think I shall take her over to Miss Charteris. What is your name, little one?" "Charlie Kenneth." "Charlie?" in amaze. "It was Charlotte, but I've always been called Charlie." "Just the name for you! Miss Charlie, you have a world of energy and spirit. I know you will succeed. And now it would give me great pleasure to take you to the studio of an artist friend." The tears came into Charlie's eyes: she couldn't help it, though she tried to smile. "Oh!" with a tremulous sob, "it's just like a dream. And you are so good! I'd go with one meal a day if I could only draw pictures!" And Charlie was lovely again, with her face full of smiles, tears, and blushes. Earnest, piquant, and irregular, she was like a picture herself. It seemed to Charlie that in five minutes they reached Miss Charteris's studio; and she stood in awe and trembling, scarcely daring to breathe. For up to this date she had hardly been able to believe that any woman in the world besides Rosa Bonheur had actually painted pictures. "I have brought you a new study, Miss Charteris. A romance and a small young woman." "Well, Paul Darol! I don't believe there is your equal in the world for picking up the lame and the halt and the blind, and the waifs and strays. What now?" and Miss Charteris laughed with such a musical ripple that Charlie turned and answered her with a smile. "First look at these, and then let me tell you a story." "Very fair and vigorous sketches;" and Miss Charteris glanced curiously at Charlie. Then Mr. Darol began with the story, telling his part first, and calling in Charlie to add sundry helps to the other. "And so, you see, I ventured to try your good temper once more, and bring her to you." "What shall I do,--paint her? She might sit for a gypsy girl now, but in ten years she will be a handsome woman. What an odd, trustful child! This promises better than some of your discoveries." "Well, help me to get her into the School of Design, and make a successful genius of her. She is too plucky for any one to refuse her a helping hand." Miss Charteris began to question Charlie. She had a vein of drollery in her own nature; and in half an hour Charlie was laughing and talking as if she had known her all her lifetime. What pleased Mr. Darol most was her honesty and unflinching truth. She told of their poverty and struggles, of the love and the fun they had shared together; but there was a little tremor in her voice as she said, "We had one sister who was adopted by a rich lady." The matter was soon settled, being in the right hands. Charlie was registered as a pupil at the school; and Miss Charteris taught her to re-touch photographs, and found her an opportunity to do a little work. It was something of a hardship to go on boarding with Mrs. Wilcox; but they were so fond of her, and so proud of what they could not understand! So you do not wonder, I fancy, that Charlie's letter should be such a jubilate. Ah, if she could only earn a little money to take back with her! She saw Miss Charteris and Mr. Darol quite often. He was like a father, but sweeter and dearer than any one's father she had ever known. When she went home, she meant to coax Hal to return with her, just for the pleasure of meeting such splendid people; "for he is the best of all of us," she used to say to Miss Charteris. Ah, Charlie, if you dreamed of what was happening in the Old Shoe! CHAPTER XVII. LOST AT SEA. The autumn was unusually warm and pleasant, without any frost to injure the flowers until the middle of October. Hal enlarged his green-house arrangements, and had a fine stock of tuberoses. He had learned a good deal by his experiments of the past year. He had been careful not to overwork; since he was improving, and took every thing moderately. But at last it was all finished,--the cold frames arranged for spring, the plants housed, the place tidy and in order. The loss of the school had been a severe disappointment to Hal. He was casting about now for some employment whereby he might earn a little. If Mr. Sherman would only give him a few days' work, now and then, they could get along nicely; for Granny was a most economical manager, and, besides, there was eighty dollars in the bank, and a very small family,--only three of them. Hal came home one day, and found Granny sitting over a handful of fire, bundled in a great shawl. Her eyes had a frightened look, and there was a blue line about her mouth. "Why. Granny dear, what is the matter?" he asked in alarm, stooping over to kiss the cold wrinkled cheek. "I d-d-don't know," the teeth chattering in the attempt to speak. "I b-b-lieve I've got a chill!" "Oh, so you have, poor dear child!" and Hal was as motherly as the old gray hen outside. "You must go to bed at once. Perhaps you had better bathe your feet, and have a bowl of hot tea." "And my head aches so! I'm not used to having headache, Hal." She said this piteously, as if she fancied Hal, who could do every thing in her opinion, might exorcise the pain. "I'm very sorry, dear," stroking the wrinkled face as if she had been a baby. "Now I'll put some water on to heat." "O Hal, I'm so cold! 'Pears to me I never shall be warm again." "Yes, when I get you snug in the bed, and make you some nice tea. What shall it be,--pennyroyal?" "And a little feverfew." Hal kissed the cold, trembling lips, and went about his preparations. The water was soon hot; and he put a little mustard in the pail with it, carrying it to the bedside in the other room, and leading poor Granny thither. The place was steaming presently with the fragrance of pennyroyal. Hal poured it off into a cool bowl, and gave Granny a good drink, then tucked her in the bed, and spread the shawl over her; but still she cried in her pitiful voice,-- "I'm so cold, Hal!" After the rigor of the chill began to abate, a raging fever set in, and Granny's mind wandered a little. Then Hal was rather alarmed. Granny had never been down sick a day in her life, although she was not so very robust. "Dot, darling, you must run for Dr. Meade," Hal said, as the child came home from school. "Granny is very ill, I am afraid." Dr. Meade was away, and did not come until eight in the evening. "I fear it is going to be a run of fever, Hal," he began gravely. "At her time of life too! But we'll do the best we can. There is considerable fever about." Hal drew a long breath of pain. "You will be the best nurse in the world, Hal;" and the doctor smiled, placing his hand on the boy's shoulder re-assuringly. Hal winked away some tears. They lay quite too close to the surface for a man's nature. "I'll leave her some drops, and be in again in the morning. Don't worry, my dear boy." Granny could hardly bear to have Hal out of sight, and wanted to keep hold of his hand all the time. Dot prepared the supper, but they could taste nothing beyond a cup of tea. "Dot," he said, "you must go up stairs and sleep in my bed to-night. I shall stay here to watch Granny." "But it will be so--lonesome!" with her baby entreaty. "It is best, my darling." So Dot kissed him many times, lingering until after the clock struck ten, when Hal said,-- "My birdie's eyes will be heavy to-morrow." Granny was worse the next day. Indeed, for the ensuing fortnight her life seemed vibrating in the balance. Everybody was very kind, but she could bear no one besides Hal. Just a little delirious occasionally, and going back to the time when they were all babies, and her own dear Joe lay dying. "I've done my best for 'em, Joe," she would murmur. "I've never minded heat nor cold, nor hard work. They've been a great blessing,--they always were good children." For Granny forgot all Charlie's badness, Joe's mischief, and Dot's crossness. Transfigured by her devotion, they were without a fault. Ah, how one tender love makes beautiful the world! Whatever others might think, God had a crown of gold up in heaven, waiting for the poor tired brow; and the one angel would have flown through starry skies for her, taking her to rest on his bosom, but the other pleaded,-- "A little longer, for the children's sake." At last the fever was conquered. Granny was weak as a baby, and had grown fearfully thin; but it was a comfort to have her in her right mind. Still Hal remarked that the doctor's face had an anxious look, and that he watched him with a kind of pitying air. So much so, that one day he said,-- "You think she _will_ get well, doctor?" "There is nothing to prevent it if we can only keep up her appetite." "I always feed her," returned Hal with a smile, "whether she is willing to eat or not." "You are a born nurse, as good as a woman. Give her a little of the port wine every day." Then the doctor turned to the window, and seemed to glance over towards the woods. "Quite winterish, isn't it? When have you heard from Joe?" "Not in a long time. Letters do not come so regularly as they used. I think we have not had one since August. But he writes whenever he can, dear Joe. The last time we received three." "Yes," in a kind of absent way. When Dr. Meade started to go, he kept his hand for several minutes on the door-latch, giving some unimportant directions. "God bless you, Hal!" he said in a strained, husky tone, "and give you grace to bear all the trials of this life. Heaven knows, there are enough of them!" What did the doctor mean? Hal wondered eagerly. That evening Mr. and Mrs. Terry dropped in for a friendly call. "When did you hear from Joe last?" asked Mr. Terry. "In August." "Wasn't expecting him home, I suppose?" "Not until next summer. Has any one heard?" and there was a quiver in Hal's voice. "I don't know of any one who has had a letter;" and Mr. Terry appeared to be measuring his words. "Joe was a nice bright lad, just as full of fun as an egg is full of meat. Cousin Burton took a wonderful fancy to him; though I suppose he'd have gone off to sea, any way. If it had not been Burton, it would have been some one else." "Yes. Joe always had his heart set upon it." "Father and Joe used to get along so nicely. We never had a boy we liked better. He was a brave, honest fellow." It seemed almost as if Mrs. Terry wiped a tear from her eye. But Granny wanted to be raised in the bed, and some way Hal couldn't think until after they were gone. He was thankful to see the doctor come in the next morning. "Oh!" he exclaimed in a low tone, "you were talking of Joe yesterday: has anybody heard from him, or about him?" The hand that clasped the doctor's arm trembled violently. "Hal, be calm," entreated the doctor. "I cannot! Oh, you _do_ know,--and it's bad news!" "My dear boy--O Hal!" and he was folded in the doctor's arms. "Tell me, tell me!" in a yearning, impatient tone, that seemed to crowd its way over sobs. "God knows it could not have hurt me more if it had been one of my own! But he was a hero--to the last. There isn't a braver young soul up in heaven, I'll answer for that. Here--it's in the paper. I've carried it about with me three days, old coward that I've been, and not dared to tell you. But it's all over the village. Hush,--for Granny's sake. She must not know." Hal dropped on the lounge that he and Granny had manufactured with so much pride. He was stunned,--dead to every thing but pain, and that was torturing. The doctor placed the paper in his hands, and went into the other room to his patient. Yes, there it was! The words blurred before his eyes; and still he read, by some kind of intuition. "The Argemone" had met with a terrific storm in the Indian Ocean; and, though she had battled bravely, winds and waves had proved too strong. All one night the men had labored heroically, but in vain; and when she began to go down, just at dawn, the life-boats were filled, too few, alas! even if there were safety in them. Nothing could exceed the bravery and coolness of the young second mate. The captain lay sick below; the first mate and the engineer were panic-stricken; but this strong, earnest voice had inspired every one through the fearful night. When it was found that some must be left behind, he decided to stay, and assisted the others with a courage and presence of mind that was beyond all praise. The smile that illuminated his face when he refused to step into the already overladen boat was like the smile of an angel. They who saw it in the light of the gray dawn would never forget. One boat drifted in to Sumatra, the other was picked up by a passing vessel. But the few who remained must have perished in any case, and among them no name so deserving of honor as that of Joseph Kenneth. Hal read it again and again. Joseph Kenneth! Was that dear, laughing Joe, with his merry eyes, and the sauciest trick of winking in the corner of one; little Joe who had stood on his head, played circus, and, with the aid of a few old shawls, been lion, tiger, elephant, and camel; dear Joe, who had cuddled up in bed cold winter nights and almost smothered him,--Hal; who had made ghosts out of the bolster, and frightened Kit half to death! Why did he think of these foolish things now? Oh, this brave Joseph Kenneth never could be their little Joe! God surely would not give Granny this pain and anguish to bear at the last! A hand was laid on Hal's shoulder. "Oh! it can't be true"-- "There's just one chance out of a thousand. Hal, it seems to me the saddest thing I ever heard, and yet so grand. You see what the passengers said of him. Ah, I think he did not need to knock long at St. Peter's gate!" The doctor wiped his eyes. "But--never to have him--come back"-- "He has drifted into a better port, my dear boy: that must be our comfort. We shall all cross the river by and by; and it is never so hard for the one who goes, as for those who stay and bear the pain and loneliness. And some time it will be sweet to remember that he gave his brave young life for others." Hal's eyes were tearless, and there was a hard, strained look in his face. "Don't tell Granny now. She couldn't bear it." "No;" and Hal's voice was full of pathetic grief. "And oh, Hal, be comforted a little! I know there is an overwhelming anguish in it; but for the sake of those still left"-- "Yes." Hal's ashen lips quivered. The doctor brushed away the soft hair tumbled about his forehead, and held the cold hand in his. "God has some balm for every ache, my boy." Hal sat there until Granny called for something, every moment growing more incredulous. But a heavy weight hung about his heart, even though he refused to believe. It seemed as if there could not be despairing certainty before to-morrow. When Kit came home on Saturday night, and just threw his arms around Hal's neck, sobbing as if his heart had broken, it gave a strange reality to the grief and sorrow. "I heard it on Monday,--the loss of 'The Argemone.' How proud Joe was of her! And my heart's been aching for you every day. The cruel thing of it all is, never to have him come home again." Dot had to be taken into confidence then; but she was a discreet little thing, and quite to be trusted. She did not suffer so deeply, for Joe was only a pleasant dream to her; and she tried to comfort Hal with her sweet, winsome ways. Granny _did_ improve slowly. She began to sit up in the rocking-chair, walk to the window and look out, and occasionally smile, in her faint, wan fashion. They would never hear the merry chirruping laugh again, Hal thought. But all the details of life had to be gone through with, as usual. There was the poultry to be prepared for market; for this source of their income could not be overlooked. In fact, Hal and Dot were not quite as economical managers as Granny; and then every thing was very high. They required more luxuries in sickness, and Hal would not stint. But, when this was gone, there would be the money for the flowers, and their little hoard in the bank still remained unbroken. It was not any fear of want that troubled Hal. The old dreams and ambitions seemed to be slipping away. Sometimes even the idea of attaining to a green-house failed to charm; though he still loved his flowers passionately, and they comforted him as nothing else could have done. One day Granny thought of Joe. "Have we had a letter since my illness?" she asked. "No," answered Hal faintly. "Not since--let me see,--it was August." Hal made no reply. "Why--it's strange! He never did such a thing before! Hasn't any one heard?" "I believe not." Hal turned his head, and went on with some writing. "Seems to me you take it pretty easy," said Granny, a little vexed. "Joe never was the one to forget his home folks. Hal, something's happened: mark my words!" Poor Hal brushed away a tear. Then Granny gave Dot a mysterious confidence, and asked her to inquire of Mr. Terry. "He always wrote to them, and they must know." Dot said, in return, that they had not received a letter. Granny then began to worry in desperate earnest, and besieged every visitor with questions and surmises. Hal was in a sore strait. Of course she must know sometime. She made herself so nearly sick, that Dr. Meade saw the danger and harm, and felt that she had better know the truth. "Will you tell her?" faltered Hal. He undertook the sorrowful office. Tenderly, kindly, and yet it was a cruel wound. "Oh, it cannot be!" she cried. "God wouldn't take him from me now that I'm old and sick and helpless! Let me see the paper." They complied with her request, but the doctor had to read it. Her old eyes could not see a word. "Oh, oh! Drowned in the sea! And I never wanted him to go! My poor darling! who was always so bright, so happy, and who loved his poor old Granny so well! Let me go back to bed now: I don't want to live. They're all up in heaven,--_my_ Joe, and little Joe, and poor Dora. There is no use of staying here." Hal soothed her with fondest love and caresses; but nothing could change the longing in her heart, the weary look in the eyes that seemed to be discerning the shore beyond, and the sad voice with its one refrain, "Poor, dear Joe!" After that she failed rapidly. Hal scarcely left her. She used to ask him to read all the old letters over again, from the first boyish pride that so exulted in the trip to Albany. And she would recall some act of tenderness, or a gay prank at which they all had laughed. One evening Hal felt unusually weary. There had been a warm rain for two days, with most un-December-like weather. A fire felt absolutely uncomfortable. He generally slept down on the lounge now, to be near if Granny wanted any thing. Before retiring he paid his flower-room a visit. Every thing was doing splendidly. So far business had not been very brisk; but that morning he had received an order for the next week,--Christmastide,--for all the flowers he could cut. "Dear sweet children," he said, talking softly to himself. "If I could only have put some in _his_ coffin, and on his grave! but to think of him lying in the sea, with the endless music over his head, and the shells tangled in his hair. O Joe! it doesn't seem a bit true, and I never can make it so." Yet he knew in his heart that it was; and he tried to remember that Joe was up in heaven, past all pain and care, ready to welcome them as they came, one by one,--Granny first. It would be easier to give her up, because she was going to be with darling Joe. He left the door against the hall open, it was so warm; then he took a last look at Granny, and dropped on his couch. It was a long while before he fell asleep, and then he slumbered soundly. Once he awoke with a shiver, and reached out for the blanket he had thrown off earlier in the night. The light in the window roused him at length. How oddly it looked, and oh, how cold! Why, the panes were frosted with a thousand fairy devices! And then Hal sprang up, hurried into his clothes, and ran to the flower-room. The windows were white with frost, and the thick papers rolled to the top. Worst of all, the fire had gone out! For a moment Hal stood in blank despair. His beautiful buds that were to be out in a few days, his tender, delicate plants! How had it happened? There must have been more ashes in the bottom of the stove than he thought; and the fire, being weak, had not kindled at all. He tore it out with eager hands. Not a spark remained. The stove was as cold as a stone. But there was no time to waste in grief. Hal kindled his fire, and then began to drench his plants. Something might be saved. Presently Dot's little feet pattered up the stairs. "How we all slept!" she said. "And oh, dear! its as cold as Greenland, after the beautiful summer weather. But Hal, dear, what is the matter?" "My fire went out." "Will it hurt the plants?" "Some of them;" and his voice had a great tremble in it. "Oh, it is too bad, Hal! doesn't every thing seem to happen to us?" and tears sprang to the fond eyes. Hal gave a long, pained sigh. "Can't you save any of them?" "Yes: some, I think. It might have been worse." Dot kissed him tenderly,--it was all she could do. Then she ran down, and began to prepare breakfast. The sun was rising; and Hal dropped the papers to keep it dark for the present, and allowed his fire to come on gradually. At first he began to take hope, for the flowers held up their heads crisply. Alas! by noon they showed signs of drooping; and before night the buds of the tuberoses began to be slightly discolored. Poor Hal could have cried out of pure sorrow. He loved them all so dearly, and it almost seemed to him as if they suffered as well. But the next day the ruin was plainly established. He went about with his scissors, clipping here and there. The heliotrope displayed a mass of blackened clusters; but it could be trimmed for new blossoming. Many of the more forward, choice rosebuds were ruined but the plants were not deeply injured. The bouvardias were quite spoiled; but the mignonette and alyssum were unharmed. Hal cut a few the day before Christmas, and sent them over to Mr. Thomas. It was such a sore loss and disappointment, that it hung around him like a heavy burden. They had been counting on the money with so much pleasure. "Never mind," exclaimed Dot cheerfully. "We will not have any extra Christmas. Granny will not be able to sit up, and there'll be no one home but Kit." Hal brushed away a tear. To tell the truth, he felt miserably lonesome, and sick at heart. Every day the sense of loss grew upon him. He had given up hope for Granny; though she was no worse, and perhaps had improved a little in appetite. But then she did not care to get well. And the faces lost out of the home group made such a sad break. They had received two more hopeful little notes from Charlie; but, if she was happy and prosperous, would she not be weaned away, like the one other. Joe, in his deep sea-grave, had always been tender and true. "Christmas isn't much to us now," Hal answered, recalling the old gayety. "Yet it is too bad to put such black shadows in your life, my darling." "The sun has never been so bright for me, you know," Dot said, in her sweet, soft voice, in which there was not a touch of complaint. "It seems as if the path had grown shady before I came to it, so I don't miss the gayety. And, while I can have you and Granny, I'll be quite satisfied." "You are a comfort and a treasure. I'm so glad to have _you_, Dot, though you were a wee baby and always sick. Now and then a neighbor used to say,--'What a blessing it would be if that child should die!' But Granny never thought so." Dot nestled closer. The morning had been cloudy, and about ten o'clock it commenced snowing. They did their housework, and prepared their simple dinner. "I had resolved to go to town to-day, and buy some Christmas," said Hal. "I believe we never were quite so blue before." "I don't suppose Kit will be able to get home this evening," Dot said slowly. "No." "Then we'll keep it by ourselves, Hal. It will not be so very bad." "But to have no little gifts,--and Granny sick in bed"-- "It will not be a merry Christmas for us, dear; but there may be something pleasant in it." Hal sighed sorrowfully. Oh, for the sweet, lost childhood! CHAPTER XVIII. A SONG IN THE NIGHT. It snowed steadily all day; and evening closed around them in the midst of this soft, noiseless storm. The roads were beginning to be blocked up, the houses were hooded in ermine, and no one passed by the windows. Not a soul had been in that day. So, after the lamp was lighted, they drew closer together. Hal read a while from a book of poems that Mrs. Howard had lent him. "It is nearly bed-time," he said at length. "I don't feel a bit sleepy." "Hal," began Granny, stretching out her thin hand, "don't leave me. I feel so strange." "Worse, my own dear?" "Not in pain, but sort of restful, as if I'd come to something--no, I'm not afraid, Hal. I've been praying all along that I might die, and maybe it's coming. I'm a poor old body, not worth much,--and Joe's _there_, you know." She gave her head a feeble nod. Hal swallowed over a great sob. "When will it be Christmas?" "To-morrow." "Maybe I'll be up among the angels,--a poor, ignorant, foolish old body like me! It's wonderful to think of! But Joe'll be there, to take his dear Granny by the hand, and keep her from stumbling, and making mistakes, and doing all the things that would shame or vex any one. And Christ loved us all, you know. He died for us. I think I've understood it better since Joe stood there on the ship, refusing to get into the boat lest he might swamp it. He died for some one: not in _that_ fashion, for he didn't have any sins to bear, and wasn't reviled and wounded; but still he gave his sweet life,--his dear life that was so much to me." Dot crept up to the bed. "After I'm gone you and Dot'll love each other. It will be sad for a little while, but God will remember you, and bring you comfort. I've cried to him a' many times, when it's been dark all round; and, when all other friends fail, you'll find him true and strong. I've done the best I could. It's been poor enough; but then I never had learnin' and all that to help me. I took you when you were all little chaps, motherless and fatherless, and I've tried to keep you together. But they've strayed off, Hal. There's only you and Dot to give Granny a last kiss." Dot was sobbing on Granny's pillow. "Don't, deary, don't," in her quivering, entreating voice. "We must all die some time. God knows when it's best. And I ain't of any use now, my work's all done. I'd like to see 'em all again, Hal,--dear little things; only I never can believe they are all men and women. And, if Flossy comes back, give her my love. She was so pretty, with her long golden curls! I don't wonder the grand lady liked her. And Charlie,--Charlie was such a good girl all last summer, working like a woman! Yes--if I could only see 'em once more!" Hal wiped away his fast falling tears. It seemed too hard that Granny's unselfish life should not be crowned at the last. To die here, almost alone! "You remember the old Christmas, Hal? The last time we were all together! Ah, how sweet it was! And the presents, and the old shoe full!" Granny's voice sunk to a tremble of delight. "It was so happy, so merry! All of 'em laughing and talking, and their bright pretty faces full of fun. But--maybe--I'll see 'em all in heaven. Don't cry, Dot." Hal drew her to his breast, and soothed her with tender kisses. Then he sat down in the old rocker, and took her on his knee. "There never was such a Christmas, never! I was so glad to have you all, so proud of you! And I've done my best"-- "Yes, Granny, God, who watches over all things, will bear witness to that. You were mother and father to us. And how you have toiled and worried and made sacrifices, how you have loved us, will all be written in the Great Book. I'm glad you are going to have a reward there." "I shall see Joe." Then she was quiet for a long while. "I can't remember any thing about the Christmas," said Dot with much perplexity. "Tell her, Hal. I'll listen; and it will seem all fresh again," pleaded Granny in a faint, far-off voice. "You were such a weeny little thing, and couldn't talk plain; but then you had always been sick." "And cross," Kit says. "You did use to cry--sometimes; and then at others you were like a little lamb. All children cry occasionally." Dot felt, somehow, as if she had not outgrown the trick yet; but the tears fell close to Hal's heart. "But about the Christmas?" "Oh, yes!" Then Hal began. The preparations beforehand, the secrecy and plotting, the stockings stuffed to overflowing, and the wildest of merriment the next morning. It appeared to Dot that she could see it like a picture. "And O Hal, that we should be so lonely now! Hasn't God let us slip out of his mind for a little while?" "I think not, my darling." "But how _can_ you always believe? Why did God let Joe die, when we wanted him so much; and Flossy go away? And all the other things,--the sweet pretty flowers that were frozen?" "My dear child, we cannot answer the questions. Trials always appear very hard to those who have them to bear; but maybe God gives us one to save us from some other that would be a great deal harder. And with it there is grace to endure." "As when you were hurt. I wonder that you could be so patient, Hal!" and the little arms crept up around his neck. "It was part my nature, you know. I used to be sorry at school, that I wasn't like the other boys; for, somehow, I never _was_: but, when God knew what I would have to bear, he made me patient, and almost girlish, loving to stay in the house, and all that. If I'd been like Joe, I should have fretted sorely when I found I should never be able to go to sea. He was so full of life and energy, you know, so ambitious, that it would almost have killed him. It was best to have it happen to me." Dot sighed, her small brain being greatly puzzled. "But I don't see why every one cannot be happy and prosperous. Isn't there enough to go round to all?" "God knows best. And, when it troubles me sorely, I think of the little Christ-child, who was born eighteen hundred years ago, all goodness and sweetness and meekness, and of the trials he had to bear for our sakes. All the lowly life, the reviling, the unbelief, the persecution, the being homeless, and sometimes almost friendless, and at the last the shameful death. We shall never have all that, my darling; and so we ought to bear our lesser sorrows patiently." Dot made no answer. "My darling," said Hal, glancing at the clock, "ought you not to go to bed? It is almost midnight." "And you?" reaching up to kiss the dear face. "I am going to stay here by Granny." Dot looked into his face with great awe. "Hal, I've never seen any one die; but I want to stay too. There's only just you and I; and she'll want us to kiss her for the last time, when the angels come." Hal pressed the little face in his trembling hands, but could not deny the wistful eyes. Then he rose, and looked at Granny. She had fallen into a peaceful slumber. It did not seem as if she could die just then; and yet, at this hour of rejoicing, some souls were slipping out of the world. He came back to his seat, and to his little sister. Dot's head was pillowed on his knee, and presently she began to drowse. Poor little bairn! So he kept his vigil by himself, thinking over the old days, when they were all here. Oh, if Granny could have seen them once more! If the brave and lovely men and women could come back to the old home-nest, all outgrown,--and he smiled sadly to himself,--just to clasp each other's hands, and glance into each other's eyes, to speak some word of comfort and blessing, to smooth the path of the dear heart yonder, who had given herself for them without stint or grudging, a holier sacrifice than even a mother's love. His mind was sorely troubled when he thought of Florence. Since childhood she had "lain in the roses and lilies of life." They had borne the burden and sorrow, the trials, the deprivations, days of toil, nights of anxious care about the future. And it seemed as if none of them had been especially prospered. She had gone to luxury at a bound. Where was she to-night? Did any remembrance of them ever cross her soul, amid her wealth and pleasure? Poor Joe again! It was the sad refrain to which his life would be forever set, like a strain of minor music. He loved Joe so dearly! There was such a soreness, such an aching and longing in his heart, that it sometimes seemed as if he could stretch out his arms, and search among the tangled seaweed until he found Joe, and lift him out of his cold bed. One bright dream broken off in the middle. There had been so much to take up his attention this winter, that he had hardly felt anxious for Charlie. Her cheerful little notes were like stray sunbeams, and she _had_ promised to come back. Ah, if it could only be in time to say good-by to Granny! Now and then he shut his eyes, and breathed a tender prayer,--that God would keep them all; that, no matter how far they strayed from each other, they might never stray from him. The lamp burned dimly in the room beyond. Granny still slept peacefully, and Dot's baby hand was fast clasped in his. All was still to awesomeness. Even the storm without must have ceased. "Hal," called the dear voice. Gently as he laid Dot down, the movement woke her. "Give me a little drink, Hal, please," Granny asked. He brought her some wine. "I wonder if there is any thing that I could eat?" "I left some chicken-broth on the stove to keep warm, and there is a little jelly." "I've had such a nice sleep, Hal! I feel so rested! It was almost like being in heaven, for Joe seemed to have his arms around my neck. Is it morning?" "Almost." "Oh!" exclaimed Dot, "it is clear and beautiful, with hosts of stars! I wonder if any shepherd watches them and thinks"-- "'In Bethlehem of Judea,'" said Granny in a chanting tone. "'Unto you is born a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.'" "How strange it seems! Christmas morning!" Hal brought the chicken and the jelly. Granny ate remarkably for her. Then he placed his fingers on her pulse. It certainly _was_ stronger. "I do think she is better," he said to Dot, who had followed him to the kitchen. "O Hal! maybe she won't die. I never saw anybody"-- "She was nervous last night, thinking so much of Joe," rejoined Hal softly in the pause that Dot did not finish. "I'm so glad to have her better!" "Children," Granny said when they came back, "it is Christmas morning, and you ought to sing. Everybody keeps Christmas." Dot glanced up in tearful surprise. What was she thinking of,--angels in heaven? "They sang on the plains of Judea, you know." An awesome chill crept over Hal. Was this the change that sometimes preceded the last step over the narrow river? Had Granny received that solemn call? "Sing," she said again. "Some of the bright Christmas hymns." Hal's heart was throbbing up to his throat. He did not know whether he could trust his voice. "What shall it be, Dot?" She thought a moment. "'Wonderful Night,'" she answered. "But, oh! I feel more like crying. I can't help it." The two voices rose tremblingly in the beautiful carol. "Wonderful night, Wonderful night! Angels and shining immortals, Thronging the heavenly portals, Fling out their banner of light. Wonderful, wonderful night!" They sang until they forgot sorrow and toil and poverty, and the great fear that overshadowed them. The soft voice of the child Dot growing stronger, and the pain in Hal's slipping away, changing into faith and trust. For, as he sung, he grew wonderfully calm, even hopeful. "It's like heaven, children! I've been thinking it all over, and God _does_ know best. If they were all here, it would be harder for me to go." The two kissed each other amid fast falling tears. When they glanced up again a faint streak of dawn stole in at the window. "How strange!" exclaimed Dot. "We have not been to bed at all, only I had a nap on your knee." Then very softly,-- "Merry Christmas, Hal." "Merry Christmas to you, my little darling." Then Hal looked at the fires, and hurried them up a trifle. How lovely it was without! Over the whole earth lay a mantle of whitest ermine. Tree and shrub were robed in fleecy garments,--arrayed for this Christmas morning. As the sun began to quiver in the east they sparkled with a thousand gems. It seemed like the beginning of a new life. Why, he could not tell, but he never forgot the feeling of solemn sweetness that stole over him as he stood by the window in the flower-room, looking over to the infinite, fancying that earth and heaven met this morning; the fine gold of the one blending with the snowy whiteness of the other. So pure was the soul of the little child born eighteen hundred years ago. Within, it was all fragrance and beauty. The plains of the Orient could not have been more odorous in that early dawn. Unconsciously he hummed over two or three lines,-- "Midnight scarcely passed and over, Drawing to this holy morn; Very early, very early-- Christ was born." They went about their simple homely duties, as if some unbidden guest had entered, whose presence filled the space out of which a dear face had vanished. "Granny _is_ better, I am sure," Dot said, preparing some breakfast for her. "I am so thankful!" "Listen to the church-bell! How faintly it comes ploughing through the snow; but oh, how sweet! Hal, I can't help feeling happy. I wonder if it is wrong, when we were so sad last night?" Something floated through Hal's brain,--"Sorrow may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning." He brushed a tear away from his eye; but it was tenderness rather than sorrow. While Dot was cooking her dainty breakfast, Hal took a turn at shovelling snow, clearing the old doorstep, and part of the path. It made his cheeks rosy, and the fresh crisp air took the tired look out of his eyes. "Granny has been asking for you," Dot said, as he came in. He warmed his hands, and entered the room. Dot lingered by the window, glancing up and down the unbroken road. Not a sound anywhere. It absolutely seemed to her as if a little bird ought to come out of the snowy trees, and sing. Something attracted her attention,--a man striding along, muffled up to the ears, looking this way and that, as if considering how best to extricate himself from the last plunge, and make another. No, it was not Dr. Meade,--no one for them thus early in the morning. Still she looked, and smiled a little. The strong, manful tread was good to behold. When he reached the house, he paused, appeared to be considering, then wheeled about. She laughed this time. He placed his hand on the gate-post, and leaped over. It was such a boyish, agile spring! In the path he stamped off the snow, came straight to the door, and knocked. Dot started, and opened it. A tall, laughing fellow, with a bronze brown beard and swarthy cheeks, lighted with a healthful glow of crimson. What was there so oddly familiar in the laughing eyes? For an instant he did not speak. Dot began to color with embarrassment, and half turned to summon Hal. "Oh, it's Dot, little Dot! And you have forgotten me!" The rich, ringing voice electrified Hal. He made a rush in a blind, dazed way; for the room swam round, and it seemed almost as if he were dying. "Oh, it isn't Joe! dear old Joe!" And then Hal felt the strong arms around him. The glowing cheek was against his, and there were tears and kisses, for Hal was crying like a baby. I've done my best with him, I want you to observe; but I'm afraid he will be a "girl"-boy to the end. But nothing ever was so sweet as that clasp; and Joe's love on this side of the shining river seemed the next best thing to the infinite love beyond. "Oh, I can't believe it!" he sobbed. "Did God raise you from the sea, Joe? for we heard"-- "Yes," with a great tremble in the tone. "It's just like being raised from the dead. And oh, Hal, God only knows how glad I am to come back to you all!" Hal hid his face in the curly beard, and tried to stop the tears that _would_ flow in spite of his courageous efforts. There was a call from the other room,--a wild, tender cry,--and the next instant Joe was hugging Granny to his throbbing, thankful heart. You could hear nothing but the soft sobs that sounded like summer rain, blown about by the south wind. Ah, how sweet, how satisfying! What was poverty and care and trouble and loss, so long as they had Joe back again? "Oh!" cried Granny, "I'm willing to die now. I've seen him, my darling!" "Why, Granny, that would be blackest ingratitude. Here I've lived through all my narrow escapes, and they have been enough to kill any ten men, and, by way of welcome, you talk of dying. Why, I'll run back, and jump into the sea!" "She has been very sick," said Hal. "But she means to get well now. Dear old Granny! We couldn't keep house without you." They knew well enough then that it was Joe, and not a Christmas ghost; for no one ever did have such a rich merry voice, such a ringing laugh, and oh, the dear bright eyes, shining like an April sky! Granny looked him all over. How he had changed! A great strong, splendid fellow, whose smiling face put new hope into one. "I almost feel as if I could get well," she said weakly. "Of course you will; for, Granny, I have the silk gown, and we'll have just the jolliest time there has ever been in this little shanty. But where are all the rest?" "Kit is at work in Salem, and he meant to come home last night; but I suppose the storm prevented." "It was terrible! I've travelled night and day to reach home by Christmas. And last night, when the trains had to go at a snail's pace, or were snowed in, I couldn't stand it, so I took a sleigh; but we lost the road, and twenty other things; and then the horse gave out: it was such fearful, wearing work. And, when I came in sight of Terry's old store, I wouldn't stop, but trudged on afoot; for I wanted you to know, first of all, that I was safe and alive." "It's just like a dream; and oh, Joe, the merriest Christmas there ever can be!" "Where's that midget of a Charlie?" "Ran away! It's very funny;" and Hal smiled, with tears in his eyes. "But you know where she is?" "I think she is in New York,--I'm pretty sure; and she has promised to come home." "Well, that beats my time! Ran away! She threatened to do it, you know. And here I've forgotten all about little Dot! You don't deserve to be kissed nor made much of, you small woman, when you never gave me a word of welcome, but, instead, a cold, unfriendly stare. You don't remember Joe, who broke his delicate constitution carrying you round on his back to keep you from crying." With that he caught her up, and perched her on the edge of Granny's bed. She was very shy, and turned a brilliant scarlet. This great strange fellow their dear, sweet Joe? She could not believe it! "And you really were not drowned," said Granny, still anxious. "Not exactly," with a droll twinkle of the eye. "We heard"-- "Yes, the brave little 'Argemone' went down, and she was a beauty. But such a frightful storm! You can form no idea of it. Some day I'll tell you all. Our time is too precious for the long story now." "And you wouldn't get in the boat," said Granny, her pale washed-out eyes alight with pride. "There were three young fellows of us besides the sick captain, and we had no wives nor babies; so it seemed right that we should give the others the first chance. It was a miracle that they were saved. I never thought they would be. We lashed ourselves to some timbers, and trusted the winds and waves. What those days and nights were I can never tell you! I know now what that brave old soldier and sailor, St. Paul, meant when he said, 'A day and a night have I been in the deep.'" Hal gave the sun-browned hand a tender squeeze. "An Arabian trading vessel picked us up at last. We thought Jack was dead, but after a long while he revived. We were all perfectly exhausted. I could send no word, and then I resolved to come home just as soon as I could. I fancied you would hear of the loss. Did that make Granny ill?" "No, she was sick before." "But I'll get well now," she rejoined humbly. "I didn't want to, you know. Heaven seemed so much better." Joe bent over and kissed her, wondering if he ever could repay the tender love. "Have you ever heard from"-- There was no need of a name. "She was married more than a year ago. I wrote that to you. There have been no tidings since." "Are you going to have any breakfast?" asked Dot. "My muffins will be spoiled." "Yes, indeed! I'm hungry as a bear. Granny, shall I carry you out?" She laughed in her old cracked, tremulous fashion, good to hear. To Hal it seemed the beginning of a new life. "I guess I'll lie still and think a bit, for I can't make it true. It's just as if we watched for him last night, Hal, and to-day is a day of great joy." Dot's coffee and muffins were delightful. Then she broiled over a little of the chicken that had been left from the day before, and they had quite a sumptuous breakfast. "How odd it seems to have Dot any thing but a baby!" laughed Joe. "It's quite ridiculous for her to set up housekeeping. Small young woman, you can't impose upon me." "But she is royal at it;" and Hal gave her a fond smile. "Now tell me all that has happened: I'm crazy to know. I believe I've not heard a word in six or eight months," declared Joe. So Hal went back to the summer,--losing the school, Charlie's running away, Granny's illness, Kit's going to Salem, the mishap of the flowers, even the vigil of last night, when they believed Granny dying. "But it _will_ be a merry Christmas," Joe said with a great tremble in his voice. "And you can never guess how glad I am to be safe and alive, to comfort you all. Dear, dear Granny!--the best and bravest heart in the wide world, and the most loving." CHAPTER XIX. IN THE OLD HOME-NEST AGAIN. They sat over their breakfast, and talked a long while. And then, after another glimpse at Granny, they went up to see the flowers, which had begun to recover rapidly from their misfortune. "Why, Hal, it's a perfect little green-house, and oh, how fragrant! There are some tuberoses coming out. What an awful shame about that cold night! So you have wrecks on the land as well as on the sea?" "I don't mind now. Your return makes up for all the misfortunes. We will have enough for some bouquets to-day;" and Hal's face was one grateful smile. "And what will we have for dinner?" asked Dot. "It ought to be a feast. I wonder if Kit will get home in time? Oh, I'll tell you! we will not have our dinner until about three." "Sensible to the last, Dot. Why, it is almost ten now; and our breakfasts have just been swallowed." "We will have some chickens," exclaimed Hal. "And a cranberry pie." "Who is to make it,--you, or Hal?" laughed Joe. "He used to be my very dear Mrs. Betty. I don't know how we should ever have lived without him. Hal, I must confess that there's some rare good fortune in store for me. I had to stop a while in New York; and to think I should stumble over one of the very men who was last to leave 'The Argemone.' And he tells such a marvellous story! I suppose every thing looked different out there in the storm and darkness and night, with death staring us in the face; for, after all, I only did my duty, and our poor captain lying sick too! I don't mean ever to go very far away while--while Granny lives; but there's nothing like the sea for me!" "Oh!" exclaimed Hal, with a soft little sigh. "Well, the upshot of it was, that they, the owners, and this Mr. Parker, made me take a little gift,--five hundred dollars. I know where I can get enough more to build a real green-house. You see, the fall off the hay-wagon did for you; and you'll never be a great hulking fellow like me, fit to take the rough and tumble of life." Hal clasped the arm that was thrown protectingly around him. "No, you'll never be very strong; and you shall have the green-house. That will set you up for old age even." "Dear, noble Joe!" "Not half as noble as you. I often used to think of you, Hal, out there, miles and miles away, amid all manner of strange sights; and it was my one comfort that you'd always stand by Granny. What comrades you have been! And after this, you see, I shall be able to do my share." Hal winked away some tears. "Here's where we used to sleep. Oh! did you dream then that I'd be so tall I should have to go round, bowing my head to every doorway, just as if I believed in Chinese idols? And here's the old garret, where we dreamed our dreams. Hal, my darling, I'm glad to see every old board and crack and crevice in this blessed place!" They went down presently. Joe stole off to Granny again, while Hal and Dot went about their household affairs. Hal soon had a couple of chickens for roasting. Dot made some savory dressing, stirred up her fire, baked her pie first, and then put the chickens in the oven. Hal shovelled away the snow, and took out two beautiful heads of celery, crisp and creamy. Dr. Meade dropped in. You may imagine his rejoicing. They made him promise over and over again, that he would not tell a single soul in Madison. They wanted this dear Christmas Day to themselves. "He's a hero to be proud of, Granny," exclaimed the doctor delightedly. "Such a great stalwart fellow, with a beard like a Turk, and a voice like an organ! Why, he overtops us all! Dot, if I were in your place, I should give his pockets a wide berth; for he could stow away such a weeny thing before your disconsolate friends would miss you." Dot laughed, as if she wasn't much afraid. "The excitement has not hurt Granny?" queried Hal. "No, indeed! It's better than quarts of my tonics, and gallons of port wine. She only wanted a good strong motive to give the blood a rush through her veins." "I was quite afraid last night." "She'll weather it through, and come out in the spring like a lark. O Hal, my dear boy, God is wonderful! 'And so He bringeth them to the haven where they would be.'" "Yes. I've been thinking of it all the morning." "Merry Christmas, everybody. Not a word will I say." Joe was still watching by the window, when another sleigh stopped, and a brisk little figure sprang out, running up the walk. He opened the door. "Hillo!" he cried. "Here comes Kit, scalp-lock, fiddle, and all." "Oh!" in the utmost wonder and amazement, glancing around as if suddenly bereft of his senses. "Oh, it isn't Joe, raised out of the sea! It can't be!" "Pity the poor fishes," said Joe comically. "Think of the banquet to which they might have asked all their relations." And then Kit was in his arms, crying and laughing; and, if Joe's head had not been securely fastened, it never could have stood the pressure. "Oh, dear darling old Joe! How were you saved? What _did_ Granny say?" And then the little goose had to go and cry over Granny. "You have really achieved a fiddle," exclaimed Joe at length. "Kit, my dear, you are on the high road to fame." "Not very _high_," returned Kit. "But it's splendid to have. Hal gave it to me, and I can play quite well." "We shall have to give a party some day,--a golden wedding for Granny." "Or a golden Christmas. O Joe! I can't believe it a bit. I was awfully disappointed last night when it stormed, and they said I shouldn't come home. I thought how lonely Dot and Hal would be this morning." The two smiled at each other, remembering the Christmas hymns in the gray dawn. Dot's dinner began to diffuse its aroma around the room. What with boiling and baking, she had her hands full. "Let us put both tables together," she said to Hal "It will give us so much more room. And it's to be a regular feast." "Over the prodigal son," rejoined Joe. "Kit, here, who spends his substance in fiddles and riotous living." "No: it is Dot who does the latter." Dot laughed. "You will not complain, when I ask you to share the riotous living," she said. The tables were set out, and Dot hunted up the best cloth. White enough it was too. Then the plates: how many were there? For somehow her wits seemed to have gone wool-gathering, and she had a misgiving lest some of them might disappear. "Oh!" Kit gave a great cry, dashed open the door, and flew down the walk, his scalp-lock flying, until he went head first into a snowbank. "Kit's demented, and there's a girl at the bottom of it," said Joe. "O Kit! you've gone the way of mankind early." "It's Charlie!" almost screamed Dot, following as if she had been shot out of a seventy-four pounder. "Charlie! Oh, what a blessed, blessed Christmas!" They dragged Charlie in,--not by the hair of her head, for that was hardly long enough. Charlie, in a pretty brown dress and cloak, a squirrel collar and muff, a jaunty hat with green velvet bands and a green feather. She was quite tall, and not so thin; and a winter of good care had completed the bleaching process commenced at the mill. She was many shades fairer, with a soft bloom on her cheek, while her mouth no longer threatened to make the top of her head an island. "O Hal! and where's Granny? And"-- She paused before Joe. "Why, Charlie, you're grown so handsome that you really don't know your poor relations." "It's Joe! What a great giant! Oh! when did he come?" "And we thought him drowned," said Dot, half crying. "We heard it ever so long ago! It was so splendid to have him come back!" "Shut the door," exclaimed Hal. "Why, I thought it was dreadful cold," said Kit, glancing round at the wide open door. "Cold isn't any word for it! If we had a cast-iron dog we should have to tie him to the stove-leg to keep his hair from freezing off. It's lucky I wear a wig." "You're the same old Joe," said Charlie, laughing. "But where have you been, Charlie?" "In New York. I've such lots and lots to tell you. But oh, I must see Granny!" So Granny had to be hugged and kissed, and everybody went to look. They all talked and laughed and cried in the same breath; and nobody knew what was said, only they were all there together again, and Granny was alive. "I intended to come home yesterday, but it stormed so fearfully; and to-day there were so many detentions, that I began almost to despair. But I had some Christmas for darling Granny, and I couldn't wait. See here,"--and Charlie began to search her pockets energetically. "Fifty dollars, Granny; and I earned it all my own self, besides ever so much more. And I'm going to be a--a"-- "Genius," said Kit. "Hooray for Charlie!" "It's all about the pictures. Mr. Darol sold some designs for me, and I wanted Granny to have the money; but I never dreamed that she had been sick. And did you miss me much? I never told Mr. Darol about it until yesterday. I suppose it wasn't right. And oh! Granny, I'm sorry if I've given you the least mite of pain; but all the time I've been as happy as Joe's big sunflower." "We shall set Granny crazy," said thoughtful Hal. "Oh, my dinner!" and Dot flew to the stove-oven like the "moon-eyed herald of dismay." There was no damage done. The chickens were browned to a turn. She took them out on a dish, and made her gravy, and then Hal came to help with the vegetables. Potatoes, onions, carrots stewed with milk dressing, cranberry sauce, celery,--altogether a fit repast for anybody's Christmas dinner. "If Granny could only come?" "I've been thinking that we might take her up a little while at dessert. She asked to sit up before Charlie came. What a day of excitement!" "O Hal! it's all lovely. And I can't help thinking how good God was _not_ to let her die in the night, when we were to have such a happy day. He saw it, with the angels keeping Christmas around him; didn't he, Hal?" said little Dot. "Yes, my darling." "And I'm so full of joy! I can't help crying every other minute! And to think of that magnificent Charlie earning fifty dollars!" Hal went to summon the "children," and explain to Granny, that if she would be very quiet, and take a good rest, she might get up when the dessert was brought on. The old woebegone look had vanished from her face, and the faded eyes held in their depths a tender brightness. She assented rather unwillingly to the proposal, for she could hardly bear them out of her sight an instant. Hal closed the door between, but she begged him to open it again. "I'd like to hear you talk. I'll lie still, and never say a word." A happy group they were, gathered round the table. Dot was perched up at the head, and Hal took the opposite end, to do the carving. They had time, then, to look round and see how pretty Charlie was growing. The contact with refinement, and, in a certain sense, society, had improved her very much. If any thing, she had grown still farther out of the Wilcox sphere. Then she had to tell her story. "You really don't mean Mary Jane Wilcox?" interrupted Joe. "Why, we used to go to school together!" "I never thought of them," said Hal, "when I was considering where I could write. Then Granny was taken sick, and the bad news about Joe,--and somehow I had a fancy that you were safe." "Mrs. Wilcox has been like a mother. She _is_ good, and I do like her; but, somehow, she is not our kind, after all. But oh, if you could only see Mr. Darol! I am going to stay a whole week, and he is coming out here. I told them all about you, Hal." Hal colored a little. "I'm glad I went, and made a beginning. There is ever so much hard work before me; but it is what I like. I am actually studying wood engraving. And Miss Charteris found me some work to do in my leisure time. She is as lovely as she can be, and a real artist. Think of her getting five hundred dollars for a picture!" "And if you should ever do that!" said Kit admiringly. "No: I haven't that kind of genius. But they all do say that my talent for designing is remarkable; and I shall be able to earn a good deal of money, even if I do not get as much at one time. I'm so glad, and so thankful!" They all looked at brave Charlie; and, somehow, it didn't seem as if she were the little harum-scarum, who never had a whole dress for six consecutive hours, who ran around bare-headed and bare-footed, and was the tint of a copper-colored Indian. Why, she was almost as elegant as Flossy, but with a nobler grace. There was nothing weak about her. You felt that she would make a good fight to the end, and never go astray in paths of meanness, deceit, or petty pride. Then they had to tell what had happened to them. She had all the rejoicing over Joe, without any of the pain and anguish. For, now that he was here, she could not imagine the bitter tears which had been the portion of the household. How gay they were! There was no china on the table, no silver forks, no cut-glass goblets; but the dinner was none the less enjoyable. There never were such roasted chickens, nor such cranberry sauce, nor such celery! And certainly never such glad and loving hearts. The sorrows and successes drew them the more closely together. What if Granny had let them stray off years ago, to forget and grow cold! Ah! she had her reward now. Every year after this it would pour in a golden harvest. "We will have our dessert in style," said Hal. "Kit, please help take off the dishes, for I know Dot must be tired." "I will too," responded Charlie promptly. They gathered up the fragments, and carried them in the pantry, took away the dishes, brushed off the cloth, and then came the crowning glories. First, two beautiful bouquets, with a setting of crisp, fragrant geranium leaves; then a dish of apples, rosy-cheeked and tempting. "It is fortunate that I made a good large pie," said Dot with much complacency. Hal bundled Granny in a shawl; but, before he could help her out of bed, Joe's strong arms had borne her to the kitchen. Hal brought the rocking-chair, and they made her comfortable with pillows. They all, I think, saw a strange beauty in her on this Christmas Day. The little silvery curls,--they always _would_ curl; the pale, wrinkled face; the faded eyes, with their youth and glory a thing of the past; the feeble, cracked voice; the trembling hands,--all beautiful in their sight. For the hands had toiled, the voice had comforted, the lips had kissed away pains and griefs. Every furrow in the face was sacred. What watching and anxiety and unfaltering labor they bespoke! Dot poured her a cup of tea: then she proceeded to cut the pie. "Dot, you are a royal cook!" exclaimed Joe. "We have discovered your special genius." It was very delightful. Granny had a little slice, and added her praises to the rest so lavishly bestowed. "There never was but one such Christmas. If I were a boy, I should pronounce it 'red-hot,'" laughed Joe. "I'm almost sorry to outgrow the boyish tricks and slang." "And you can't cool it," appended Kit, with a melancholy shake of the head. "If there was one face more," began Granny slowly. Yes, just one was needed to complete the group. The sun stole softly out of the window. The happy day was drawing to a close. Would life, too, draw to a close without her? "Hark!" exclaimed Dot. For the merry jingle of sleigh-bells ceased suddenly. Was it some unwelcome guest to break in upon the sanctity of their twilight hour? A knock at the door. Charlie, being the nearest, opened it. A lady dressed in deep mourning, and a tall, fine-looking gentleman. She certainly had never seen either of them before. The veil was raised. Oh, that face, with all its fairness and beauty; the golden hair, the lustrous eyes! They all knew then. "O Granny, Granny!" and Florence was kneeling at her grandmother's feet, kissing the wasted hands, her sad, pathetic voice broken with sobs. "I had to come: I couldn't stay away. I've been selfish and ungrateful, and God has punished me sorely. And, when I turned to him in my sorrow, he brought before me all my neglect, my pride, my cruelty. O Granny! can it be forgiven?" "There's nothing to forgive, child." She kissed the sweet, wet face. At that moment she forgot every thing save that this darling had come back. "Yes, there is so much, so much! You don't know. For, after I was married, I might have come. Edmund was tender and noble. This is my husband, Mr. Darol." She rose as she uttered this, and made a gesture with her outstretched hand. Mr. Darol bowed. "This is my dear grandmother Edmund; and these are my brothers and sisters. It is so long since I have seen any of you, that you seem strangers to me." There was a peculiar silence in the room. "Oh!" with a low, imploring cry,--"have you no welcome for me? Have I forfeited _all_ regard, all remembrance?" Hal came round to her side; but she was so stately and beautiful, that he felt almost awed. "It is Hal, I know. Oh! take me back in your midst: for only yesterday I buried my little baby; and I know now the sense of loss that I entailed upon you." They all crowded round her then. Not one had forgotten darling Flossy. Kisses and fond clasps. They were so glad to take her into their circle. "This is Joe," she said, "and Kit, and Dot. O Charlie! to see you all once more! and to have you all alive! For I have been haunted with a terrible fear lest some of you might have fallen out of the old home-chain. Not a break, thank God!" Then she brought them to her husband. Oh, how wild she had been when she fancied that she _might_ be ashamed of them!--this group of brave, loving faces, full of the essential elements of nobility. Ah, Florence, if you had known all their deeds of simple heroism! Charlie helped her take off her wrappings. She had not changed greatly, except to grow older and more womanly. "Granny has been ill!" she exclaimed in quick alarm. "Yes, nearly all winter. But she is better now. O Flossy, I am so glad you came to-day!" and Hal's soft eyes swam in tears. "It was Christmas. I could not help thinking of the dear old Christmas when we were all together. O Hal! if you could know all my shame and sorrow!" "Joe," said Granny feebly, "will you take me back to bed? I'm tired again. I'm a poor old body at the best. Then you can come and sit round me." "Shall I send the driver away?" asked Mr. Darol of Florence. "Yes: I can't leave them to-night. You will not mind?"-- She glanced around as she uttered this, as if apologizing for the poor accommodations. "No, I shall not mind," in a grave tone. Granny was carried to bed again. Hal shook up the pillow, and straightened the spreads. Joe laid her in tenderly, saying, as he kissed her,-- "You have us all home again in the old shoe!" The room was neat and orderly; poor, to be sure, but with a cheerful air. Hal brought in the flowers, and Kit some chairs, and they made quite a party. "But think of the dishes!" whispered housewifely Dot. "And not a clean one for morning, we've used so many. But, oh! wasn't it elegant? And Florence is a real lady!" "We had better slip out, and look after our household gods," Hal murmured in return. Before they were fairly in the business, Charlie joined them. "Let me help too," she said. "I don't hate to wash dishes quite as much as I used; and I am so happy to-night that I could do almost any thing!" They were a practical exemplification of the old adage. Many hands did make light work. In a little while they had their house in order. "But what a family!" exclaimed Dot. "Where are we to put them all?" "I've been thinking. Florence and her husband can have my room, and we will make a bed for Kit and Joe in the flower-room. They won't mind it, I guess." "Dot can sleep with Granny, and I can curl up in any corner for to-night," said Charlie. "Hal never had a wink of sleep last night. We talked and sang Christmas hymns, and Granny thought that she would not live." Charlie gave a sad sigh. "You are angels, both of you," she answered. "And when Mr. Darol comes,--oh! isn't it funny that Florence's husband should have the same name? I wonder"-- Charlie was off into a brown study. "Oh!" she exclaimed, "isn't it odd? Florence's name is Darol, and there is my Mr. Darol. Why, I do believe they look something alike,--Flossie's husband, I mean." To which rather incoherent statement no one was able to reply. "Perhaps we had better put my room in order," suggested Hal, returning to the prose of housekeeping. Dot found some clean sheets and pillow-cases. Charlie followed them, and assisted a little. The bed was freshly made, a clean napkin spread over the worn washstand, towels as white as snow, and every thing neat, if not elegant. "Though, of course, it will look very common to Flossy," said Dot with a sigh. "I feel almost afraid of her, she is so grand." "But she isn't a bit better than we are," returned Charlie stoutly. "I think Hal is really the noblest of the lot, and the most unfortunate. But I told Mr. Darol all about the green-house, Hal!" Hal colored. Charlie was a warm and courageous champion. Then they went down stairs. Florence still sat at the head of Granny's bed, and had been crying. Hal remembered his hard thoughts of Flossy the night before with a pang of regret; for, though they had been poor and burdened with cares, death had not come nigh _them_, but had taken Florence's first-born in the midst of her wealth and ease. Charlie went round to them. "Florence," she began a little timidly, "do you live in New York?" "Yes." "I've been there since the last of August." "You?" returned Florence in surprise. "What are you doing?" "Studying at the School of Design." "Why, Charlie! how could you get there?" "It was very strange. I almost wonder now if it really did happen to me. You see, I worked in the mill, and saved up some money; and then I went to New York. You remember Mrs. Wilcox, don't you? I've been boarding there. And, while I was trying to find out what I must do, I met a Mr. Paul Darol, who is a perfect prince"-- "O Florence! we have heard all this story," interrupted Mr. Darol. "It is the little girl for whom Uncle Paul sold the designs. She wanted some money to take home, you know. He never mentioned the name." "Then he is your uncle," said Charlie, quite overwhelmed at her success. "Yes; and you are a brave girl, a genius too. Florence, I'm proud enough of this little sister. Why didn't Uncle Paul think,--but you don't look a bit alike." And this was Charlie! Here were the brothers and sisters of whom she had felt secretly ashamed! Joe, the dear, noble fellow; Hal, tender and devoted; heroic Charlie; ambitious Kit; and fond little Dot. Oh! instead, _she_ was the one for whom they needed to blush,--her own selfish, unworthy soul, that had stood aloof the past year, when she might have come to their assistance. How it humbled her! She even shrank away from her husband's eyes. "I think Granny is growing weary," Hal said presently, glancing at the pallid cheek. "She has had a great deal of excitement to-day; and now, if you will come up stairs and look at my flowers, we can let her have a little rest." They all agreed to the proposal. So Hal gave her a composing draught; and, though Joe was fain to stay, Granny sent him away with the others. They had all been so good, that she, surely, must not be selfish; and, truth to tell, a little quiet would not come amiss. For, happy dream! she _had_ lived to see them all come back. What more could she ask? That she might recover her health, and feast on their smiles and joyousness; and she prayed humbly to God that it might be so, in his great mercy. CHAPTER XX. WHEREIN THE OLD SHOE BECOMES CROWDED. They trooped up the narrow stairs. Why, the old loom-room looked like a palace! Hal had made some very pretty brackets out of pine, and stained them; and they were ranged round the wall, upholding a pot of flowers or trailing vines, and two or three little plaster casts. Here were some bookshelves, the table surmounted by a very passable writing-desk, Hal's construction also. But the flowers were a marvel. "Hal's dream was a green-house," exclaimed Florence. "But I don't see how you found time for it all"-- "It has been profit as well as pleasure," said Hal with a little pride. "Last winter I sold a quantity of flowers, and, in the spring, bedding-plants and garden vegetables." "Oh!" returned Florence, choking back the sobs, "do you remember one summer day, long, long ago, when we all told over what we would like to have happen to us? And it has all come about." "Even to my fiddle," said Kit. "And my running away," appended Charlie with great satisfaction. Hal brought in some chairs. "We're going to sit in the corner on the floor," said Charlie; and the three younger ones ranged themselves in a small group. Florence and her husband walked round to view the flowers, guided by Joe. "You appear to have wonderful success," remarked Mr. Darol. "These tuberoses are very fine." "They were frosted about ten days ago, and have hardly recovered. That is, I lost most of my blossoms." "Oh, what a pity!" "And all our Christmas money," said Dot softly. "No matter," returned Charlie. "You can have all of mine. I meant every penny of it for Granny." "And now I want to hear what you have been doing all these years. I know it was my own act that shut me out of your joys and sorrows; but if you will take me back"--and the voice was choked with tears. Hal pressed the soft hand. "You will find Edmund a brother to you all," she went on. "It is my shame, that after my marriage, knowing that I could come any time, I hesitated to take the step." "It is a poor old house," exclaimed Hal tremulously. "But holds more love and heroism than many grander mansions," Mr. Darol said in his deep, manly tone. "Florence is right: I should like to be a brother to you all. I honored Charlie before I fancied that I should ever have a dearer claim." "And I've been a sort of black sheep," returned Charlie frankly. "Hal and Joe are the heroes in this family." "It is so wonderful to have Joe safe!" "And to think how sad we were last night," Dot began. "We did not expect any one to help us keep Christmas but Kit." "O Dot! tell me all about it," said Charlie eagerly. "I do like to hear it so. And how Joe came home." Dot was a little shy at first; but presently she commenced at Hal's losing the school, Granny's sickness, Joe's shipwreck, the trouble and sorrow that followed in succession, the misfortune of the flowers, and then she came to the night when Granny wanted to die and go to heaven. Only last night; but oh, how far off it appeared! She told it very simply, but with such unconscious pathos that they were all crying softly Florence leaned her head on her husband's shoulder, hiding her face. "And I never knew a word of it!" exclaimed Charlie with the quiver of tears in her voice. "I didn't want to tell you about my going, for fear you'd worry over me, or, if I should be disappointed, you would feel it all the more keenly. But I never thought any thing sad could happen to you." "I should like to hear the first part of Charlie's adventures," said Mr. Darol. "How did she come to know that she had a genius?" "She used to be punished enough in school for drawing comical faces," answered Joe. "Little did Mr. Fielder think that you would make an artist!" "But I planned then to run away and live in the woods. I believe I once took you off, Kit." "Yes; and we were threatened with the jail, weren't we, because we made a fire. But how you did talk, Charlie! You were always splendid on the fighting side." "I was made to go right straight ahead," said Charlie. "And, if I had been afraid, I should never have done any thing." "And we want to hear how you did it," pursued Mr. Darol. So Charlie related her trials and perplexities, her fruitless journeys, and her vain endeavors, until she met Mr. Paul Darol, who seemed to understand just what she wanted. "I don't see how you had the courage," Florence remarked. "And if I'd only known you were there, Charlie!" Charlie shrugged her shoulders. Now that the fight had been made, and terminated successfully, she was rather glad to have gone into it single-handed: not from any vanity, but a kind of sturdy independence that had always characterized Charlie Kenneth. And then they rambled farther back, to the time of Hal's sad accident. Perhaps the most truly noble thing about them was their fearlessness and honesty. They were not ashamed of the poverty and struggle: there was no petty deceit or small shams to cover the truth. Ah, what heroic lives they had all been, in a simple way! For it is not only in great matters that men and women must fight: it is the truth and endurance and perseverance which they bring into every-day events that moulds character. Not a poor, false, or useless soul among them, unless it was hers, Florence thought. Hal stole down a time or two to see Granny, who had fallen into a peaceful sleep. And presently the old clock struck ten. Dot and Kit were nodding. "I am going to put you in our old room," Hal said to Florence. "It is the best I can do." "No: let me sit up and watch with Granny." "That is not at all necessary. Last night she was nervous. I fancy she was haunted by a dim impression of impending change, and thought it must mean death. Instead, it was the dearest of joys." "O Hal! I don't feel worthy to come among you. Not simply because I chose to go away, to have luxury and ease and idleness, while you were in want and sorrow; for in those old days I thought only of myself. But, a few months after I was married, Mrs. Osgood died, and I was quite free to choose. Don't shrink away from me Hal, though the cowardice has in it so much of vile ingratitude. I had not the courage to be true to my secret longings. She had filled my weak soul with her beliefs; and I persuaded myself that my debt to her was greater than that to my own kindred." "O Florence, hush! let it all go, since you _have_ come back," pleaded unselfish Hal. "And then my precious baby came. Hardly four months ago. He had your tender eyes, Hal; and they used to reproach me daily. But I made a hundred excuses and delays. And then God took him, to let me feel what a wrench the soul endures when its cherished ones are removed. All these years I have been like one dead to you, without the sweet comfort of those who know their treasures are safe in heaven. When we came back from _his_ grave yesterday, I told Edmund my deeper shame and anguish, my disloyalty to those who had the first claim. And if any of you had been dead, if I could never have won Granny's forgiveness, ah, how heavy my burden would have proved!" "But we all consented to your going," Hal said, longing to comfort her. "Because you knew how weak and foolish I was, with my sinfully ambitious longings. And oh, if my husband had been less noble!" "You shall not so blame yourself on this blessed Christmas night. Is there not to be peace on earth, and tenderness and good will for all? And it seems as if you never could have come back at a more precious moment." Hal, foolish boy, cried a little in her arms. It was so sweet to have her here. After a while the children were all disposed of. Hal apologized to Joe for the rather close and fragrant quarters. "Don't worry, old comrade. When you've slept on a whale's backbone, or a couple of inches of tarred rope, you take any thing cheerfully, from a hammock to a bed of eider down." Kit cuddled in his arms. Dear old Joe was the best and bravest of heroes to him. Hal threw himself on the lounge, covered with shawls and overcoats, for the bedclothes were insufficient to go around. He laughed softly to himself. Such a houseful as this the "Old Shoe" had never known before. What was poverty and trouble now? A kind of ghostly phantom, that vanished when one came near it. Why, he had never felt so rich in all his life! Granny was none the worse the next morning for her excitement. Dot bathed her face, combed out the tiny silver curls, and put on a fresh wrapper. Charlie helped get breakfast, though she was not as deft-handed as Dot. The two tables were set again; and, when they brought Granny out, she was more than proud of her family. That seemed to be a gala-day for all Madison. When the news was once started, it spread like wild-fire. Joe Kenneth wasn't drowned after all, but had come back safe, a great, tall, handsome fellow. Florence had returned with her fine-looking husband; and wild, queer Charlie had actually been transformed into the family beauty. "There never was a finer set of children in Madison," said Mr. Terry, clearing his voice of a little huskiness. "And to think they're Joe Kenneth's poor orphans! I tell you what! Granny Kenneth has been one woman out of a thousand. Didn't everybody say she had better let the youngsters go to the poor-house. And now they're a credit to the town. Think of Joe being praised in the papers as he was! That went to my heart,--his giving up a chance for life to some one else. He's a brave fellow, and handsome as a picture. There isn't a girl but would jump at the chance of marrying him. He will be a captain before he is five years older, mark my words." Dr. Meade was brimful of joy also. He kissed Charlie, and laughed at her for running away, and was much astonished to find how fortunate she had been But Joe was everybody's idol. "I think some of you ought to be spared," exclaimed the good doctor. "I don't see where you were all stowed last night. I have two or three rooms at your service; and, indeed, am quite willing to take you all in. But, anyhow, Kit and Joe might come for lodgings." "We put them in the flower-room," said Charlie. "Which accounts for their blooming appearance, I suppose;" and the doctor pinched Charlie's ear. Between themselves, they had endless talks. It seemed as if all the stories would never get told. And, strangely enough, they came to pity poor Flossy, who, among them all, had the only lasting sorrow. Charlie took to Mr. Darol at once; and before the day ended they were all fast friends. "I think yours is a most remarkable family," he said to Florence. "There is not one of the children but what you might be proud of anywhere." "I am so glad you can love them!" and the grateful tears were in her eyes. "And, when we return home, it seems as if we ought to take Charlie. There she will have just the position she needs." "O Edmund! I don't deserve that you should be so good to me. I was longing to ask it. But I have been so weak and foolish!" "My darling, that is past. I will say now, that my only misgiving about you has been the apparent forgetfulness of old family ties. But I knew you were young when you left your home, and that Mrs. Osgood insisted upon this course; besides, I never could tell how worthy they were of fond remembrance." "And did not dream that I could be so basely ungrateful!" she answered in deepest shame. "I abhor myself: I have forfeited your respect." "Hush, dear! Let it all be buried in our child's grave. Perhaps his death was the one needful lesson. And now that we have found them all, we must try to make amends." Florence sobbed her deep regret, nestling closely to his heart. "Your brother Hal interests me so much! It seems that he will always feel the result of his accident in some degree, on account of a strained tendon. He has such a passionate love for flowers, and the utmost skill in their care and culture. But he ought to have a wider field for operations." "Oh!" she said, "if we could help him. Charlie has worked her way so energetically, that she only needs counsel and guidance. Kit and Dot are still so young!" "I don't wonder Uncle Paul was attracted. There is something very bright and winsome about Charlie. I had to laugh at her naïve confession of being a black sheep." "She used to be so boyish and boisterous! not half as gentle as dear Hal." "But it seems to be toned down to a very becoming piquancy;" and he smiled. "How very odd that she should have met your uncle!" Florence said musingly. "How surprised he will be!" Dr. Meade came over again that evening, and insisted upon the boys accepting his hospitality; so Joe and Kit were packed into the sleigh, and treated sumptuously. Granny continued to improve, and could sit up for quite a while. She enjoyed having them all around her so much! It was like the old time, when the gay voices made the house glad. And so the days passed, busy, and absolutely merry. Charlie and Florence helped cook, and Joe insisted upon showing how he could wash dishes. On Sunday they all went to church except Dot,--Granny would have it so. On Monday Mr. Darol came. Charlie had given him very explicit directions, but she was hardly expecting him so soon. Sitting by the window she saw him coming down the street in a thoughtful manner, as if he were noting the landmarks. "O Mr. Darol!" and she sprang to the door, nearly overturning Dot. "Yes: you see I have been as good as my word. How bright you look! So there was nothing amiss at home?" "Indeed there was! but, in spite of it, we have all been so happy! For everybody came home at Christmas, even Joe, whom they thought drowned. This is my little sister Dot. And oh, this is my brother Hal!" Mr. Darol clasped the hand of one, and gave the other a friendly pat on the soft golden hair. "I dare say Charlie has told you all about me: if she has not she is a naughty girl. Why"-- For in the adjoining room sat Florence, close to Granny's chair. No wonder he was amazed. "That's Florence, and you've seen her before. And Mr. Edmund Darol is here," went on Charlie in a graciously explanatory manner. "They are my brothers and sisters," said Florence with a scarlet flush. He looked at her in deep perplexity. "Mrs. Osgood adopted Florence," Charlie interposed again. "It was all her fault; for she would not allow the relation to be kept up, and"-- "This is your grandmother?" he interrupted almost sharply, feeling unconsciously bitter against Florence. "This is dear Granny." He took the wrinkled hand, not much larger than a child's, for all it had labored so long and faithfully. "Mrs. Kenneth," he said, "I am proud to make your acquaintance. One such child as Charlie would be glory enough." Charlie fairly danced with delight to see Granny so honored in her old days. And as for the poor woman, she was prouder than a queen. "You've been so good to _her_!" she murmured tremulously, nodding her head at Charlie. "She is a brave girl, even if she did run away. I have used my best efforts to make her sorry for it." "But oh! Mr. Darol, the work was all undone as soon as I came home. For when I found them sick, and full of trouble, it seemed so good to be able to take care of myself, that I think running away the most fortunate step of my whole life." "I am afraid that we shall never bring you to a proper state of penitence;" and he laughed. "You were so good to her!" said Granny again, as if she had nothing but gratitude in her soul. "It was a great pleasure to me. But I never dreamed that I had made the acquaintance of one of your family before." "He will never like me so well again," thought Florence; "but that is part of my punishment. I have been full of pride and cowardice." Mr. Darol made himself at home in a very few moments, for he was interested beyond measure. "It _is_ a poor place," ruminated Charlie, glancing round; "but we cannot help it, I'm sure. All of us have done our best." Then she dismissed the subject with her usual happy faculty, and became wonderfully entertaining; so much so, indeed, that, when Mr. Darol glanced at his watch, he said,-- "In about half an hour my train goes down to the city. I have not said half that I wanted to. I have not seen your brother Joe, nor the hot-house; and what am I to do?" "Stay," replied Charlie; and then she colored vividly. "Our house is so small that it will not hold any more; but Dr. Meade has already taken in Kit and Joe, and he is just splendid!" Mr. Darol laughed. "Are there any hotel accommodations?" "Oh, yes! at the station." "Then I think I will remain; for my visit isn't half finished, and I am not satisfied to end it here." Charlie was delighted. After that they went up to the flower-room. It seemed to improve every day, and was quite a nest of sweets. "So Miss Charlie hasn't all the family genius," said Mr. Darol. "It is not every one who can make flowers grow under difficulties." "They were nipped a little about the middle of the month. One night my fire went out." "And it blighted the flowers he meant to cut in a few days," explained Charlie, "so that at first there did not seem a prospect of a very merry Christmas." And Charlie slipped her hand within Mr. Darol's, continuing, in a whisper, "I can never tell you how glad I was to have the money. It was like the good fortune in a fairy story." He looked at the beaming, blushing face with its dewy eyes. Ah! he little guessed, the day he first inspected Charlie Kenneth's drawings, that all this pleasure was to arise from a deed of almost Quixotic kindness. Yet he wondered more than ever how she had dared to undertake such a quest. Strangely courageous, earnest, and simple-hearted, with the faith of a child, and the underlying strength of a woman,--it seemed as if there might be a brilliant and successful future before her. And this delicate brother with a shadow in his eyes like the drifts floating over an April sky,--he, too, needed a friend to give him a helping hand. Who could do it better than he, whose dearest ones were sleeping in quiet, far-off graves? CHAPTER XXI. HOW THE DREAMS CAME TRUE. Charlie insisted upon Mr. Darol remaining to supper; and he was nothing loth. "Dear me!" exclaimed Dot, "we shall have to echo the crow's suggestive query,-- 'The old one said unto his mate, "What shall we do for food to _ate_?"'" "Make some biscuit or a Johnny-cake," said Charlie, fertile in expedients. "Dot, I've just discovered the bent of your budding mind." "What?" asked the child, tying on a large apron. "Keeping a hotel. Why, it's been elegant for almost a week!--a perfect crowd, and not a silver fork or a goblet, or a bit of china; rag-carpet on the floor, and a bed in the best room. Nothing but happiness inside and out! Even the ravens haven't cried. You see, it isn't money, but a contented mind, a kitchen apron, a saucepan, and a genius for cooking." "But you must have something to cook," was Dot's sage comment. "True, my dear. Words of priceless wisdom fall from your young lips,--diamonds and pearls actually! Now, if you will tell me what to put in a cake"-- "A pinch of this, and a pinch of that," laughed Dot. "I am afraid to trust your unskilful hands; so you may wait upon me. Open the draught, and stir the fire: then you may bring me the soda and the sour milk, and beat the eggs--oh, there in the basket!" "Dot, my small darling, spare me! I am in a hopeless confusion. Your brain must be full of shelves and boxes where every article is labelled. One thing at a time." "The fire first, then." Dot sifted her flour, and went to work. Charlie sang a droll little song for her, and then set the table. Their supper was a decided success. Edmund came in, and was delighted to see his uncle. There was hero Joe, gay as a sky-full of larks. It didn't seem as if any of them had ever known trouble or sorrow. Even Granny gave her old chirruping laugh. The next day they had some serious talks. Hal and Mr. Darol slipped into a pleasant confidence. "I've been thinking over your affairs with a good deal of interest," he said. "It seems to me that you need a larger field for profitable operations. I should not think Madison quite the place for a brilliant success. You need to be in the vicinity of a large city. And, since three of the others will be in New York principally, it certainly would be better for you. Would your grandmother object to moving?" "I don't know," Hal answered thoughtfully. "Floriculture is becoming an excellent business. Since you have such a decided taste for it, you can hardly fail. I should recommend Brooklyn, Jersey City, or Harlem. Besides the flowers, there is a great demand for bedding-plants. You haven't any other fancy?" and he studied Hal's face intently. Hal's lip quivered a moment. "It was my first dream, and I guess the best thing that I can do. I could not endure hard study, or any thing like that. Yes, I have decided it." "I wish you would make me a visit very soon, and we could look around, and consider what step would be best. You must forgive me for taking a fatherly interest in you all. I love young people so much!" Hal's eyes sparkled with delight. He did not wonder that Charlie had told her story so fearlessly to him. "You are most kind. I don't know how to thank you." "You can do that when you are successful;" and he laughed cordially. They had all taken Flossy's husband into favor, and their regard was fully returned by him. Indeed, they appeared to him a most marvellous little flock. As for Florence, the awe and strangeness with which she had first impressed them was fast wearing off. As her better soul came to light, she seemed to grow nearer to them, as if the years of absence were being bridged over. Fastidious she would always be in some respects, but never weakly foolish again. She had come to understand a few of the nobler truths of life, learned through suffering,--that there was a higher enjoyment than that of the senses, or the mere outward uses of beauty. They all appreciated the manner in which she made herself at home. They gave her the best they had, to be sure; and she never pained them by any thoughtless allusion to her luxuries. She had not lost her old art with the needle, and Dot's dresses were renovated in such a manner that she hardly knew them. Granny would never allow her to regret her going with Mrs. Osgood. "It was all right," she would say cheerfully. "The good Lord knew what was best. I don't mind any of it now,--the losses and crosses, the sorrows and sicknesses, and all the hard work. Your poor father would be glad if he could see you, and I've kept my promise to him. So don't cry, dearie. If you hadn't gone away, I shouldn't 'a' known how sweet it was to have you come back." Florence and Mr. Darol made their preparations to return. They decided to take Charlie back with them, and install her in her new home; though Charlie did not exactly like the prospect of having her visit abridged. "I meant to stay all this week," she said decisively. "I cannot have another vacation until next summer." "But you will go back with me to my sad house, and help me to forget my baby's dead face," Florence returned beseechingly. "O Charlie! I do mean to be a true and fond sister to you if you will let me." So Charlie consented; though she would much rather have staid, and had a "good time" with Dot and Hal. "If Florence was not here, I should like to perch myself on a chair-back, and whistle 'Hail Columbia' to all the world. Dear old shoe! What sights of fun we have had in it! I am rather sorry that I'll soon be a woman. Oh, dear! You always _do_ have some trouble, don't you?" "Charlie, Charlie!" and Dot shook her small forefinger. Joe was going too. "But I shall be back in a few days," he said to Granny. "O Joe! if you wouldn't go to sea any more,--and when you've been a'most drowned"-- "O Granny! best mother in the world, do not feel troubled about me. We are a family of geniuses, and I am the duckling that can't stay brooded under mother-wings. It's my one love, and I should be a miserable fish if you kept me on dry land. I have been offered a nice position to go to Charleston; and as I am not rich, and have not the gout, I can't afford to retire on a crust. But you'll see me every little while; and you'll be proud enough of me when I get to be a captain." Granny felt that she could not be any prouder of him if he was a king. There was a great thinning-out again. Kit bemoaned the lonesomeness of the place; but Dot's housewifely soul was comforted with the hope of a good clearing-up time. In two days Joe returned. "Florence is as elegant as a queen," he reported; "not the grandest or richest, but every thing in lovely style. Charlie went wild over the pictures. And there are great mirrors, and marble statues, and carpets as soft as spring-hillsides. You never imagined, Granny, that one of us would attain to such magnificence, did you?" Granny listened in wide-eyed wonder, and bobbed her little curls. "And Darol's a splendid fellow! Flossy always did have the luck!" That night Hal and Joe slept in the old room, which Joe declared seemed good. "We had a long talk about you, Hal. Mr. Paul Darol is wonderfully interested in you. He is just as good and generous as he can be, and has two beautiful rooms at a hotel. You know, in the old dream, it was Flossy who was to meet with a benevolent old gentleman: instead, it has been Charlie, the queer little midget. What a youngster she has been!" "She is as good as gold." "Mr. Darol thinks her the eighth wonder of the world. But he wants you to have the green-house; and I said I intended to help you to it. When he found that we did not mean to take any thing as a gift, he offered to loan the whole amount, to be paid as you were prospered." "How very, very generous!" said Hal with a long breath. "It _was_ most kind; but you cannot do much here. I believe I like the Brooklyn project best." "I wonder if Granny would consent to leave Madison?" "I think she will. You see, I can spend a good deal of time with you then." Joe was to start again the middle of January. Granny fretted at first; but dear, merry Joe finally persuaded her that it was the best thing in the world. Hal could not help shedding a few quiet tears, but then they had a glowing letter from Charlie. She and Florence had actually been to call on Mrs. Wilcox in their own carriage. They had taken her and Mary Jane a pretty gift; and Mrs. Wilcox was, to use her own expression, "clear beat." And Charlie declared that she was living like a princess. She could come home, and spend almost any Sunday with them. While Hal was considering how best to inform Granny of the new project, circumstances opened the way. In the march of improvement at Madison, an old lane was to be widened, and straightened into a respectable street; and one end of it would run through the old Kenneth cottage. Poor old Shoe! Its days were numbered. But there were no more rollicking children to tumble in and out of windows, or transform the dusty garret into a bedlamic palace. And yet Granny could not be consoled, or even persuaded. "I never could take root anywhere else, Hal, dear," she said, shaking her head sadly. "But the old house has been patched and patched; it leaks everywhere; and a good, strong gust of wind might blow it over. We should not want to be in the ruins, I'm sure. Then, Granny, think of being so near all the children!" Granny was very grave for several days; but one evening she said with a tremor in her voice,-- "Hal dear, I am a poor old body, and I shall never be worth any thing again. I don't know as it makes much difference, after all, if you will only promise to bring me back, and lay me alongside of my dear Joe." Hal promised with a tender kiss. Dr. Meade used to bundle Granny up in shawls, and take her out in his old-fashioned gig; and, by the time Joe came back, he declared she was a good deal better than new, and the dearest grandmother in the world. I think she was, myself, even if she was little and old and wrinkled, and had a cracked voice. They formed a great conspiracy against her, and took her to New York. She never could see how they did it; and Joe insisted that it was "sleight-of-hand," he having learned magic in China. It was very odd and laughable to see her going round Florence's pretty home, leaning on Dot's shoulder, and listening, like a child, to the descriptions of the pictures and bronzes, and confusing the names of different things. But Dot declared that it was right next door to heaven; and, for sweet content, it might have been. Charlie almost went wild. It seemed, indeed, as if Florence could never do enough to make amends for her past neglect. Edmund Darol treated Granny with the utmost respect and tenderness. He never tired of hearing of their youthful frolics and fun; but Charlie's running away seemed the drollest of all. Mr. Paul Darol, or Uncle Paul as he had insisted upon being to all the children, took Hal under his especial protection. They visited green-houses, talked with florists, read books, and began to consider themselves quite wise. Then they looked around for some suitable places. At Jersey City they found the nucleus of a hot-house, and a very fair prospect; but, on the outskirts of Brooklyn, they found a pretty cottage and some vacant lots, that appeared quite as desirable. "Indeed, the neighborhood is much better," said Mr. Darol. "Green-houses could soon be put up, and by fall you might be started in business. I think the sooner the better." Hal's brown eyes opened wide in astonishment. "Yes," continued Mr. Darol, with an amused expression, "Joe and I have quite settled matters. He allows me _carte blanche_ for every thing; and, being arbitrary, I like to have my own way. When you decide upon a location, I will take care that it shall be placed within your power." "You are so good! but I couldn't, I wouldn't dare"--And somehow Hal could not keep the tears out of his eyes. "I think this Brooklyn place the most desirable. It is on a horse-car route, and near enough to Greenwood to attract purchasers thither. I'll buy the place, and turn it over to you with a twenty-years' mortgage, if you like. You see, I am not giving you any thing but a chance to do for yourself." Hal and Joe talked it over that evening. "How good everybody is to us!" said Hal. "There was Mrs. Howard, when I was so ill, and the Kinseys, while they were in Madison, and Dr. Meade, and"-- "Mrs. Van Wyck, who snubbed Flossy, and prophesied that I should come to the gallows. Hal, dear old chap, we have had ups and downs, and been poor as church-mice; but it is all coming around just right. And I'd take the place: I know you will succeed." "But eight thousand dollars; and the green-houses, and the plants afterward"-- "Why, I'd be responsible for the place myself. The property would be worth a fortune in twenty years or so. And, with Mr. Darol to hold it, there wouldn't be the slightest risk." "But if I should not live"-- "Nonsense! I'll come in and administer. I'll be thinking about your epitaph. Mine is already stored away for use:-- 'From which it is believed, The unfortunate bereaved Went to sea, and was promiscuously drownded.'" "Now, isn't that pathetic?" "O Joe! you are too bad!" "It's a sign of long life, my dear. I have had to be worse than usual, to balance your account." Everybody said Hal must have the place. Mr. Darol actually purchased it, and took Dot over to see the cottage. It was not very large, but sufficiently roomy for them, and had only been tenanted for a year; a pretty parlor and sitting-room, with a nice large kitchen, and abundance of closets. The chambers up stairs were very pleasant, and commanded a beautiful view. "Will it do for you, O morsel of womankind?" asked Mr. Darol. "I propose to buy you a dog, and call you Mother Hubbard." Dot laughed, and blushed, and expressed her satisfaction. Then Hal declared they must return to Madison, and he would consider what could be done. "You can count on me for three hundred a year," said Joe with his good-by. They wanted Granny to remain with Florence, but she would not: so they returned together. Oh, poor little cottage! The chimney over the "best room" had blown down in a March gale, and the roof leaked worse than ever. The street was surveyed, and staked out; and, oddest of all, Mr. Howard had received a call to Brooklyn. "I suppose we must go," said Granny. "Dot needs a pretty home, and this isn't"-- "The palaces have spoiled us," said Dot. "Think of having hot and cold water in your kitchen without a bit of fuss; and a bath-room, and the work so easy that it is just like playing at housekeeping. Why, Granny, you and I would have the nicest time in the world!" Mrs. Meade had cared for the flowers while Hal was away, though they missed his loving hand. But he decided that it would be best to sell them all out, and dispose of the place as soon as he could. The township offered him three hundred dollars for the ground they needed; and presently Hal found a purchaser for the remainder, at twelve hundred dollars. By the time of Joe's next return Hal was ready to take a fresh start. One thousand was paid down; and Joe promised three hundred of the interest every year, and as much more as he could do. Mr. Darol was to superintend the erection of the green-house,--two long rows, joined by a little square at the end, a kind of work-room, which could be opened or closed at pleasure. They were built on the back part of the two lots, and the space in front was to remain a summer-garden. The street had a lovely southern exposure, while a great elm-tree shaded the house. They all came back to the Old Shoe for a farewell visit. It was June, and they had supper out of doors; for, somehow, half the neighborhood had invited itself. Everybody was sorry to lose Hal and Granny; and everybody thought it wonderful that the Kenneths had prospered, and had such luck. Then Florence took Granny and Dot to a pretty seaside resort, where Charlie was to join them. Kit and Hal were to pack up whatever household treasures were worth saving, and afterward domesticate themselves with their brother-in-law. Good-by, Old Shoe! Tumble down at your will. There is no more laughing or crying or scolding or planning for you to hear,--no tender children's voices singing Sunday-evening hymns in the dusk, no little folded hands saying reverent prayers. O old house, brown and rusty and dilapidated! there has been much joy under your roof; many prayers answered, many sorrows, and some bitter tears, that God's hand wiped away. Every crumbling board has some tender memories. And, as Hal and Kit sit on the old stone step for the last time, their hands are clasped tightly, their eyes are full of tears, and neither can trust his voice to speak. Good-by! The birds said it, the wandering winds said it, the waving grasses, and the rustling trees. You have had your day, old house, and the night has come for you. CHAPTER XXII. CHRISTMASTIDE. Hal watched the hot-houses with strange delight. They seemed to him on a most magnificent scale. The boiler was put in, the pipes laid, the force-pump and coal-bins arranged; then the stands of steps, rising higher, the wide ledge by the window for small plants and slips, lattices for vines, hooks for hanging-baskets, and every thing in complete order. When Charlie rejoined Granny, Florence came back for a brief stay. She and Edmund went over to the cottage, and measured and consulted; and the result was, that one morning it looked wonderfully as if some one was moving in. Hal ran to inform them of their mistake. The carpet-men said they had their orders, and wouldn't budge an inch. Down went carpets and oil-cloths. Such a hammering, and knocking-about, and unrolling! Kit stood it as long as he could: then he went out of doors, perched himself on a pile of stone, and played on his beloved fiddle. The next day there was another raid. This time it was furniture. Florence and Edmund soon made their appearance. "Oh!" exclaimed Hal. "It is to be our gift," began Edmund. "Florence wished it so much! She feels that she took her pleasure when you were all toiling and suffering, and is better satisfied to make some amends. Besides, we have an interest in Dot and grandmother." "And I am only going to put in the principal things," explained Florence. "There are so many that you will prefer to select yourselves." The parlor and library, or sitting-room, were carpeted alike. The furniture was in green, with here and there a bright article to relieve it; a pretty book-case and writing-table, a _console_ for Dot's small traps, easy-chairs in abundance, and every thing as pretty as it could be. The dining-room and kitchen were plain, but home-like, with an old-fashioned Boston rocker for Granny. But the three sleeping-rooms up stairs were perfect little gems,--Hal's in black-walnut, Granny's in quaint chestnut, and Dot's in pale green with a pretty green and white carpet to match. "Why, I shall want them to come home right away!" exclaimed Hal. "O Flossy!" "Dear, brave Hal! God has been good to us all. Only love me a little in return." The last of August, Hal's household returned. He and Kit had provided for them a gorgeous supper, with the best china, and a bouquet at each plate. Granny could hardly believe her eyes or her senses. Dot and Charlie ran wild, and made themselves exclamation points in every doorway. "Oh! Oh! Oh!" "And the surprise!" "And so beautiful!" "That I should ever live to see it!" said Granny. They explored every nook and corner and closet. "I like it so much," said old-fashioned little Dot, "because it isn't too grand. For, after all, we are not rich. And it was so thoughtful of Florence to choose what was simply pretty instead of magnificent!" "Look at the goblets," said Charlie with a solemn shake of the head. "Dot, if any nice old gentleman comes along, be sure to give him a drink out of them, and put this K round where he can see it." "The whole eighteen, I suppose, one after another," returned Dot drolly. "I shall paint you some pictures," Charlie began presently; "and, Dot, when I get to earning money in good earnest, I'll buy a piano. I used to think I did not care much about it, and I never _could_ learn; but sometimes, when Florence sits and plays like an angel, I can't help crying softly to myself, though you wouldn't believe I was such a goose. And, if you learn to play, it will be a great comfort to Hal." "Yes," said Dot, crying out of pure sympathy. They commenced housekeeping at once. Charlie was to remain with them until the term commenced. "Isn't it a delight to have such splendid things to work with?" exclaimed Dot. "Why, Granny, don't you believe we have been spirited away to some enchanted castle?" Granny laughed, and surely thought they had. Hal, meanwhile, was stocking his green-houses. Loads of sand and loam had to be brought; piles of compost and rubble standing convenient; and the two boys worked like Trojans. And then the journeys to florists, that seemed to Hal like traversing realms of poesy and fragrance. Great geraniums that one could cut into slips, roses, heliotrope, heaths, violets, carnations, fuchsias; indeed, an endless mass of them. Hal's heart was in his throat half the time with a suffocating sense of beauty. It was such a pleasure to arrange them! He used to handle them as if they were the tenderest of babies. Watering and ventilation on so large a scale was quite new to him; and he went at his business with a little fear and trembling, and devoted every spare moment to study. Mr. Darol had paid the bills as they had been presented. One day Hal asked to see them. The request was evaded for a while; but one evening, when he was dining with Mr. Darol, he insisted upon it. "Very well," returned Mr. Darol smilingly. "Here they are: look them over and be satisfied. Very moderate, I think." The hot-house had cost thirteen hundred dollars; soil, and various incidentals, one hundred more; flowers, three hundred. "Seventeen hundred dollars," said Hal in a grave and rather tremulous tone. "And seven thousand on the house." "The mortgage is to remain any number of years, you know. Joe has arranged to pay part of the interest. And the conditions of these"--gathering them up, and turning toward Hal, who was leaning against the mantle, rather stupefied at such overwhelming indebtedness. "Well?" he said with a gasp that made his voice quiver. "This," and Mr. Darol laughed genially. Hal saw a blaze in the grate, and stood speechless. "It is my gift to you. Not a very large business capital, to be sure; but you can add to it from time to time." "O Mr. Darol!" "My dear Hal, if you knew the pleasure it has been to me! I don't know why I have taken such a fancy to you all, unless it is for the sake of the children I might have had; but that is an old dream, and the woman who might have been their mother is in her grave. You deserve all this, and more." The tears stood in Hal's eyes, and he could not trust his voice. How dark every thing had looked only a little year ago! _Could_ he ever be thankful enough? And that it should all come through such a ridiculous thing as Charlie's running away! "I am confident that you will prosper. And I expect you all to like me hugely, in return. When I take Dot and Charlie to operas, I shall look to you to provide the flowers." "A very small return," said Hal. But he went home as if he had been a tuft of thistle-down on a summer-breeze. Ferry-boat and horse-car were absolutely glorified. And when he reached the little cottage with lights in every window, and the dear ones awaiting him, he could only clasp his arms around them, and kiss them. But they knew the next morning what had flushed his face, and made his eyes so lustrous. "Ah, I told you he was a prince!" declared Charlie in triumph. And then Hal's work commenced in earnest. Every morning he spent in his green-house, and began experiments of propagating, that were so interesting to him. Kit assisted, and Dot ran in every hour or two, to see how they prospered. Kit had come across a German musician, hardly a square off, who was giving him lessons, and who used to wax very enthusiastic over him. There had been quite a discussion as to what should be done with him. "Why, he must go to school," declared brother Edmund. "He's a mere child yet; but he has a wonderful talent for music, it must be admitted." "He might become an organist," said Florence. "That gives a man a position." Somehow she did not take cordially to the violin. Kit consented to go to school. "But to give up my dear, darling old fiddle! It's mean, when the rest of you have had just what you wanted,--been adopted, and gone to sea, and had green-houses, and all that!" said Kit, half-crying, and jumbling his sentences all together. "You shall keep the fiddle," said Granny. "I like it." Florence also proposed that Granny should have a servant. At this Granny was dismayed. "A servant! Why, do you suppose I am going to set up for a queen, because Hal has his beautiful hot-house,--an old woman like me?" "But Dot ought to go to school, and then it would be too much for you." "I am going to study at home," returned Dot with much spirit. "I haven't any genius: so I shall keep house, and help Hal with his flowers. And the work isn't any thing. A woman comes in to do the washing and ironing." "And Hal is handy as a girl. No: I'd rather stay as we are," Granny said, with more determination than she had shown in her whole life. Florence had to leave them "as they were." The simple, homely duties of every-day life were not distasteful to them. If Granny could not have been useful, the charm would have gone out of life for her. Joe was delighted with every thing, and told Granny that if he wasn't so tall he should surely stand on his head, out of pure joy. He was to make his head-quarters with them when he was at home. Miss Charteris had been added to their circle of friends, and enjoyed the quaint household exceedingly. Hal was an especial favorite with her, and she took a warm interest in his flowers. In October, Hal began to have a little business. Baskets and stands were sent in to be arranged for winter; and now and then some one strayed in, and bought a pot of something in bloom. He began to feel quite like a business-man. His five hundred dollars had served to defray incidental expenses, and put in coal and provisions for the winter, leaving a little margin. If he could get his sales up to regular expenses, he thought he should be content for the present. He took a trip to Madison one day. The cottage was nothing but a heap of crumbling boards. Had they ever lived there, and been so happy? "It'll never be the same place again," said Granny, listening to the summer's improvements. "I am glad we came away. I couldn't have seen the old house torn down. Maybe it's the flowers here, and the children, that makes it seem like home to me; but most of all I think it must be you, dear Hal. And so I'm satisfied, as the good Lord knows." Her caps were a trifle more pretentious, and her gowns more in modern style; but she was Granny still, and not one of them would have had her changed. When she sat in her rocking-chair, with her hands crossed in her lap, Hal thought her the prettiest thing in the house. "Hooray!" exclaimed Kit, rushing home one evening out of breath, and covered with snow. "What _do_ you think? Granny, you could never guess!" "I never was good at guessing," returned Granny meekly. "Something wonderful! Oh, a new fiddle!" said Dot. "No: and Hal won't try. Well"--with a long breath--"I'm going--to play--at a concert!" "Oh!" the three exclaimed in a breath. "And it's the oddest thing," began Kit, full of excitement. "You see, there's to be a concert given in New York, to help raise funds to give the newsboys, and other homeless children, a great Christmas dinner. Mr. Kriessman has it in hand; and, because it's for boys, he wants me to play--all alone." "O Kit! you can't," said Hal. "When you faced the audience, it would seem so strange, and you would lose your courage." "No I wouldn't, either! I'd say to myself, 'Here's a dinner for a hungry boy,' and then I wouldn't mind the people. Mr. Kriessman is sure I can do it; and I've been practising all the evening. A real concert! Think of it. Oh, if Joe can only be here!" Dot put her arms round his neck, and kissed him. Hal winked his eyes hard, remembering the old dreams in the garret. He went to see Mr. Kriessman the next day. "The boy is a genius, I tell you, Mr. Kenneth," said the enthusiastic professor. "He will be a great man,--you see, you see! He has the soul, the eyes, the touch. He fail!" and an expression of lofty scorn crossed the fair, full face. "But he has had so little practice"-- "It will all be right. You see, you see! Just leave him to me. And he is so little!" Hal smiled. Kit did not bid fair to become the family giant, it was true. Not a moment did the child lose. Dot declared that he could hardly eat. Charlie was in high delight when she heard of it; for Mr. Darol was going to take her and Miss Charteris. Hal hardly knew whether he dared venture, or not. But Joe did come just in the nick of time, and insisted that everybody should go, ordering a carriage, and bundling Dot and Granny into it; poor Granny being so confused that she could hardly make beginning or end of it. And, when they were seated in the great hall that was as light as day, she glanced helplessly around to Joe. "Never you mind, Granny! I'm not a bit afraid," he whispered. "He will fiddle with the best of them." 'The wonderful boy violinist,' it said on the programme. "If he should not be so wonderful," thought Hal quietly, with a great fear in his soul. He could not tell what should make him so nervous. Mr. Darol came and spoke to them. "Isn't it odd?" he said with a laugh. "Why, I never dreamed of it until Charlie told me! I wouldn't have missed it for any thing." The concert began. There was an orchestral overture, then a fine quartet, a cornet solo, and so they went on. Hal followed the programme down. Then he drew a long breath, and looked neither to the right nor the left. That little chap perched up on the stage, Kit? making his bow, and adjusting his violin, and--hark! It was not the story of the child lost in the storm, but something equally pathetic. Mr. Kriessman had made a fortunate selection. Curiosity died out in the faces of the audience, and eagerness took its place. Ah, what soft, delicious strains! Was it the violin, or the soul of the player? Not a faltering note, not a sign of fear; and Hal laughed softly to himself. On and on, now like the voice of a bird, then the rustle of leaves, the tinkle of waters, fainter, fainter, a mere echo,--a bow, and he was gone. There was a rapturous round of applause. It nearly subsided once, then began so vehemently that it brought Kit out again. But this time he was the gayest little fiddler that ever played at an Irish fair. People nodded and smiled to each other, and felt as if they must dance a jig in another moment. Joe bent over to Granny. "Isn't that gay?" he asked. "Kit has beaten the lot of us. Granny, if you are not proud of him, I'll take you straight home, and keep you on bread and water for a month." Proud of him! Why, Granny sat there crying her old eyes out from pure joy. Her darling little Kit! "Dot," exclaimed Mr. Darol as they were going out, "we shall hear of you as an actress next. I never knew of such wonderful people in my life." "Oh, it was magnificent!" said Charlie. "And the applause!" "That I should have lived to see the day!" "Why, Granny, it would have been very unkind of you if you had not," declared Joe solemnly. How they all reached home, they never exactly knew. They laughed and cried, and it was almost morning before they thought of going to bed. But the notices next day were as good as a feast. There could be no doubt now. Hal understood that from henceforth Kit and his fiddle would be inseparable. It was "born in him," as Joe said. As for Kit, he hardly knew whether he were in the body, or out of the body. Hal and Dot set about making up accounts the day before Christmas. The three-months' proceeds had been two hundred and sixty dollars; pretty fair for a beginning, and a whole green-house full of flowers coming into bloom. He was on the high road to prosperity. So he fastened his glasses, put on his coal, and arranged his heat cut-offs for the night, and came into the house. There were Dot and Kit and Charlie, and the supper waiting. "And there is the six-months' interest," said Hal. "Next year we can let up a little on dear, generous Joe. And to-night is Christmas Eve." Joe rushed in. "What do you think, Granny? I've just come from Flossy's. They have a beautiful little boy named Hal Kenneth,--a real Christmas gift, and no mistake. Here's to your namesake, Hal; though, try his best, he can never be half as good as you." I do believe poor, foolish Hal had his eyes full of tears, thinking of Flossy's great joy. But Charlie and Kit cheered in a tremendous fashion. After the supper was cleared away, they sat in a little circle, and talked. There always was so much to say, and Joe liked nothing half so well as to hear of every event that had transpired in his absence. They all kept such a warm interest in each other! Somehow they strayed back to the last Christmas, and the "songs in the night." "Sing again," besought Granny. Dot's birdlike voice was first to raise its clear notes. One hymn was dearer than all the rest. The music quivered a little when they came to this verse, as if tears and heart-throbs were not far off:-- "Wonderful night! Sweet be thy rest to the weary! Making the dull heart and dreary Laugh with a dream of delight. Wonderful, wonderful night!" And then a tender silence fell over them. They clasped each other's hands softly, and the breaths had a strangled sound. Granny alive, Joe raised from the dead, Kit some day to be a famous musician! Joe crept up to Granny, and kissed her wrinkled face. Somehow it seemed as if the furrows began to fill out. "Oh," he said huskily, "there's nothing in the world so wonderful, nor so sweet, nor so precious as 'The Old Woman who lived in a Shoe!' When I think of her love, her patient toil, her many cares, and the untiring devotion with which she has labored for us all, I feel that we can never, never repay her. O Granny!" "I've been glad to have you all, God knows. There wasn't one too many." Not one of the loving arms that encircled her could have been spared. There she sat enthroned, a prouder woman to-night, poor old Granny Kenneth, than many a duchess in a blaze of diamonds. Fair Florence; laughing Joe, with his great, warm heart; sweet, tender Hal; racketing Charlie; Kit, with his scalp-lock waving in the breeze; and dear little Dot,--jewels enough for any woman, surely! Ah, children! love her with the best there is in your fresh young souls. Make the paths smooth for her weary feet, remembering the years she has trudged on the thorny highway of life for your sakes. When the eyes grow dim, bring the brightest in your lives to glorify her way. Cling to her, kiss warmth into the pale lips; for when she has gone to heaven it will seem all too little at the best. True, she will reap her reward there; but it is sweet to have a foretaste of it in your smiles, as well. Dear Granny, who has made toil heroic, and old age lovely, and out of whose simple, every-day existence have blossomed the roses that still render this old world bright and glorious,--Love, Labor, Faith! THE DOUGLAS NOVELS. BY MISS AMANDA M. DOUGLAS. _Uniform Volumes. Price $1.50 Each._ FLOYD GRANDON'S HONOR. "Fascinating throughout, and worthy of the reputation of the author."--_Philadelphia Methodist._ WHOM KATHIE MARRIED. Kathie was the heroine of the popular series of Kathie Stories for young people, the readers of which were very anxious to know with whom Kathie settled down in life. Hence this story, charmingly written. LOST IN A GREAT CITY. "There is the power of delineation and robustness of expression that would credit a masculine hand in the present volume, and the reader will at no stage of the reading regret having commenced its perusal. In some parts it is pathetic, even to eloquence."--_San Francisco Post._ THE OLD WOMAN WHO LIVED IN A SHOE. "The romances of Miss Douglas's creation are all thrillingly interesting."--_Cambridge Tribune._ HOPE MILLS; or, Between Friend and Sweetheart. "Amanda Douglas is one of the favorite authors of American novel-readers."--_Manchester Mirror._ FROM HAND TO MOUTH. "There is real satisfaction in reading this book, from the fact that we can so readily 'take it home' to ourselves."--_Portland Argus._ NELLY KINNARD'S KINGDOM. "The Hartford Religious Herald" says, "This story is so fascinating, that one can hardly lay it down after taking it up." IN TRUST; or, Dr. Bertrand's Household. "She writes in a free, fresh, and natural way; and her characters are never overdrawn."--_Manchester Mirror._ CLAUDIA. "The plot is very dramatic, and the _dénoûment_ startling. Claudia, the heroine, is one of those self-sacrificing characters which it is the glory of the female sex to produce."--_Boston Journal._ STEPHEN DANE. "This is one of this author's happiest and most successful attempts at novel-writing, for which a grateful public will applaud her."--_Herald._ HOME NOOK; or, the Crown of Duty. "An interesting story of home-life, not wanting in incident, and written in forcible and attractive style."--_New-York Graphic._ SYDNIE ADRIANCE; or, Trying the World. "The works of Miss Douglas have stood the test of popular judgment, and become the fashion. They are true, natural in delineation, pure and elevating in their tone."--_Express, Easton, Penn._ SEVEN DAUGHTERS. The charm of the story is the perfectly natural and home-like air which pervades it. _Sold by all booksellers, and sent by mail, postpaid, on receipt of price._ LEE & SHEPARD, Publishers, Boston. SOPHIE MAY'S "GROWN-UP" BOOKS. _Uniform Binding. All Handsomely Illustrated. $1.50._ JANET, A POOR HEIRESS. "The heroine of this story is a true girl. An imperious, fault-finding, unappreciative father alienates her love, and nearly ruins her temper. The mother knows the father is at fault, but does not dare to say so. Then comes a discovery, that she is only an adopted daughter; a forsaking of the old home; a life of strange vicissitudes; a return; a marriage under difficulties; and a discovery, that, after all, she is an heiress. The story is certainly a very attractive one."--_Chicago Interior._ THE DOCTOR'S DAUGHTER. "Sophie May, author of the renowned Prudy and Dotty books, has achieved another triumph in the new book with this title just issued. She has taken 'a new departure' this time, and written a new story for grown-up folks. If we are not much mistaken, the young folks will want to read it, as much as the old folks want to read the books written for the young ones. It is a splendid story for all ages."--_Lynn Semi-Weekly Recorder._ THE ASBURY TWINS. "The announcement of another work by this charming and popular writer will be heartily welcomed by the public. And in this sensible, fascinating story of the twin-sisters, 'Vic' and 'Van,' they have before them a genuine treat. Vic writes her story in one chapter, and Van in the next, and so on through the book. Van is frank, honest, and practical; Vic wild, venturesome, and witty; and both of them natural and winning. At home or abroad, they are true to their individuality, and see things with their own eyes. It is a fresh, delightful volume, well worthy of its gifted author."--_Boston Contributor._ OUR HELEN. "'Our Helen' is Sophie May's latest creation; and she is a bright, brave girl, that the young people will all like. We are pleased to meet with some old friends in the book. It is a good companion-book for the 'Doctor's Daughter,' and the two should go together. Queer old Mrs. O'Neil still lives, to indulge in the reminiscences of the young men of Machias; and other Quinnebasset people with familiar names occasionally appear, along with new ones who are worth knowing. 'Our Helen' is a noble and unselfish girl, but with a mind and will of her own; and the contrast between her and pretty, fascinating, selfish little Sharley, is very finely drawn. Lee & Shepard publish it."--_Holyoke Transcript._ QUINNEBASSET GIRLS. "The story is a very attractive one, as free from the sensational and impossible as could be desired, and at the same time full of interest, and pervaded by the same bright, cheery sunshine that we find in the author's earlier books. She is to be congratulated on the success of her essay in a new field of literature, to which she will be warmly welcomed by those who know and admire her 'Prudy Hooks.'" _Sold by all booksellers and newsdealers, and sent by mail, postpaid, on receipt of price._ LEE & SHEPARD, Publishers, Boston. * * * * * * Trancriber's note: Some missing punctuation has been inserted. The oe-ligature has been expanded to "oe." Page 12 The repeated word "the" has been deleted Page 12 honsysuckle is now honeysuckle Page 33 onimous is now ominous Page 141 retty is now pretty Page 156 slighest is now slightest Page 283 "I b-b-leive is now lieve Page 340 weren't me is now weren't we 
26057	----	MARJORIE BY Justin Huntly McCarthy _Author of_ "IF I WERE KING" _Oh Marjorie, my world's delight Your yellow hair is angel-bright, Your eyes are angel-blue. I thought, and think, the sweetest sight Between the morning and the night Is just the sight of you._ New York R. H. RUSSELL 1903 COPYRIGHT, 1903, BY R. H. RUSSELL First Impression, March, 1903 [Illustration] To ANTHONY HOPE CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. MY APOLOGY 1 II. LANCELOT AMBER 7 III. THE ALEHOUSE BY THE RIVER 15 IV. A MAID CALLED BARBARA 29 V. LANCELOT LEAVES 38 VI. THE GENTLEMAN IN BLUE 54 VII. CAPTAIN MARMADUKE'S PLAN 62 VIII. THE COMPANY AT THE NOBLE ROSE 68 IX. THE TALK IN THE DOLPHIN 72 X. SHE COMES DOWN THE STAIRS 81 XI. A FEAST OF THE GODS 87 XII. MR. DAVIES'S GIFTS 91 XIII. TO THE SEA 100 XIV. THE SEA LIFE 105 XV. UTOPIA HO! 113 XVI. I MAKE A DISCOVERY 117 XVII. A VISITATION 126 XVIII. THE NIGHT AND MORNING 134 XIX. HOW SOME OF US GOT TO THE ISLAND 145 XX. A BAD NIGHT 155 XXI. RAFTS 163 XXII. WE LOSE CORNELYS JENSEN 168 XXIII. WE GET TO THE ISLAND 179 XXIV. FAIR ISLAND 190 XXV. THE STORY FROM THE SEA 205 XXVI. THE BUSINESS BEGINS 214 XXVII. AN ILL TALE 232 XXVIII. WE DEFY JENSEN 241 XXIX. THE ATTACK AT LAST 249 XXX. OUR FLAG COMES DOWN 261 XXXI. A PIECE OF DIPLOMACY 268 XXXII. THE SEA GIVES UP ITS QUICK 280 XXXIII. THE LAST OF THE SHIP 290 MARJORIE CHAPTER I MY APOLOGY What I have written may seem to some, who have never tossed an hour on salt water, nor, indeed, tramped far afield on dry land, to be astounding, and well-nigh beyond belief. But it is all true none the less, though I found it easier to live through than to set down. I believe that nothing is harder than to tell a plain tale plainly and with precision. Twenty times since I began this narrative I have damned ink and paper heartily after the swearing fashion of the sea, and have wished myself back again in my perils rather than have to write about them. I was born in Sendennis, in Sussex, and my earliest memories are full of the sound and colour and smell of the sea. It was above all things my parents' wish that I should live a landsman's life. But I was mad for the sea from the first days that I can call to mind. My parents were people of substance in a way--did well with a mercer's shop in the Main Street, and were much looked up to by their neighbours. My mother always would have it that I came through my father of gentle lineage. Indeed, the name I bore, the name of Crowninshield, was not the kind of name that one associates usually with a mercer's business and with the path in life along which my father and mother walked with content. There certainly had been old families of Crowninshields in Sussex and elsewhere, and some of them had bustled in the big wars. There may be plenty of Crowninshields still left for aught I know or care, for I never troubled my head much about my possible ancestors who carried on a field gules an Eastern crown or. I may confess, however, that in later years, when my fortune had bettered, I assumed those armes parlantes, if only as a brave device wherewith to seal a letter. Anyway, Crowninshield is my name, with Raphael prefixed, a name my mother fell upon in conning her Bible for a holiname for me. So, if my arms are but canting heraldry, I carry the name of an archangel to better them. I was an only son, and my parents spoilt me. They had some fancy in their heads that I was a weakling, and needed care, though I had the strength of a colt and the health a sea-coast lad should have, so they did not send me to a school. Yet, because they set a store by book-learning--which may have its uses, though it never charmed me--I had some schooling at home in reading, writing, and ciphering. My father sought to instil into me an admiration for the dignity of trade, because he wished me to become a merchant in time, with mayhap the Mayoralty in perspective. I liked the shop when I was little, and thought it a famous place to play in, lurking down behind its dark counter as in a robbers' den, and seeing through the open door of the parlour at the back of the shop my mother knitting at her window and the green trees of the garden. I liked, too, the folds of sober cloth and coloured prints, and the faces of folk when they came in to buy or cheapen. Even the jangle of the bell that clattered at the shop door when we put it to at meal times pleased my ears, and has sounded there many times since and softly in places thousands of miles away from the Main Street. I do not know how or why, but the cling-clang of that bell always stirred strange fancies in my mind, and strange things appeared quite possible. Whenever the bell went tinkle I began to wonder who it was outside, and whether by chance they wanted me, and what they might want of me. But the caller was never better than some neighbour, who needed a button or a needle. The great event of my childhood was my father's gift to me of an English version of Monsieur Galland's book, 'The Arabian Nights' Entertainments.' Then the tinkle of the shop bell assumed a new significance. Might not Haroun al Raschid himself, with Giafar, his vizier, and Mesrour, his man, follow its cracked summons, or some terrible withered creature whom I, and I only, knew to be a genie in disguise, come in to catch me by the shoulder and sink with me through the floor? Those were delicious terrors. But what I most learnt from that book was an unconquerable love for travel and an unconquerable stretching to the sea. When I read in my book of Sinbad and his Seven Voyages I would think of the sea that lay so near me, and wish that I were waiting for a wind in a boat with painted hull and sails like snow and my name somewhere in great gold letters. I would wander down to the quays and watch the shipping and the seamen, and wonder whence they came and where they went, and if any one of them had a roc's egg on board. I was very free for a child in those days, for my parents, still fretting on my delicacy, rarely crossed me; and, indeed, I was tame enough, partly from keeping such quiet, and well content to be by myself for the hour together. But, when I had lived in this wise until I was nearly fifteen, my father and my mother agreed that I needed more book-learning; and, since they were still loath to send me to school, they thought of Mr. Davies, the bookseller, of Cliff Street. He was a man of learning. His business was steady. He had leisure, and was never pressed for a penny, or even for a guinea. It was agreed that I should go every day for a couple of afternoon hours, to sit with him and ply my book, and become a famous scholar. Poor Mr. Davies! he never got his will of me in that way, and yet he bore me no grudge, though it filled him with disappointment at first. There was a vast deal of importance for me, though I did not dream it at the time, about my going to take my lessons of Mr. Davies, of Cliff Street. For if I had not gone I should never have got that tincture of Latin which still clings to me, and which a world of winds and waters has not blown or washed from my wits; nor, which is far more important, should I ever have chanced upon Lancelot Amber; and if I had not chanced upon Lancelot Amber I should have lost the best friend man ever had in this world, and missed seeing the world's fairest woman. CHAPTER II LANCELOT AMBER Mr. Davies was a wisp of a man, with a taste for snuff and for snuff-coloured garments, and for books in snuffy bindings. His book-shop in Cliff Street was a dingy place enough, with a smell of leather and paste about it, and if you stirred a book you brought enough snuffy dust into the air to make you sneeze for ten minutes. But his own room, which was above the shop, was blithe enough, and it was there I had my lessons. Mr. Davies kept a piping bullfinch in it, and a linnet, and there was a little window garden on the sill, where tulips bloomed in their season, and under a glass case there was a plaster model of the Arch of Titus in Rome, of which he was exceedingly proud, and which I thought very pretty, and at one time longed to have. Mr. Davies was a smooth and decent scholar, and when he was dreamy he would shove his scratch back from his forehead and shut his eyes and recite Homer or Virgil by the page together, while Lancelot and I listened open-mouthed, and I wondered what pleasure he got out of all that rigmarole. The heroes of Homer and of Virgil seemed to me very bloodless, boneless creatures after my kings and wizards out of Mr. Galland's book; even Ulysses, who was a thrifty, shifty fellow enough, with some touch of the sea-captain in him, was not a patch upon my hero, Sindbad of Bagdad, from whose tale I believe the Greek fellow stole half his fancies, and those the better half. I remember still clearly the very first afternoon when I presented myself at Mr. Davies's shop in Cliff Street. He told me I was very welcome, assured me that on that day I crossed the threshold of the Muses' Temple, shook me warmly by the hand, and then, all of a sudden, as if recollecting himself, told me to greet my class-fellow. A lad of about mine own age came from the window and held out his hand, and the lad was Lancelot Amber. I have seen many gracious sights in my time, but only one so gracious as that sudden flash of Lancelot Amber upon my boyish vision. As he came forward with the afternoon sunlight strong upon him he looked like some militant saint. There is a St. George in our church, and there is a St. Michael too, both splendid in coat-armour and terrible with swords, but neither of them has ever seemed to me half so heroic or half so saintly as the boy Lancelot did that morning in Mr. Davies's parlour. He was tall of his years, with fair hair curling about his head as I have since seen hair curling in some of the old Pagan statue-work. The boy came forward and shook hands with me in friendly fashion, with a friend's grip of the fingers. I gave him the squeeze again, and we both stood for a moment looking at each other silently, as dogs over-eye one another on a first meeting. How little it entered into either of our brains that moment of the times that we should stand together, and the places and the trials and perils that we should endure together. We were only two lads standing there in a snug first-floor room, where yellow parrots sprawled on the painted wall, and a mild-mannered gentleman with a russet wig motioned us to sit down. Our life ran in current for long enough. We sat together at Mr. Davies's feet--I am speaking metaphorically, for in reality we sat opposite to him--and we thumbed our Cordery and our Nepos together, and made such progress as our natures and our application permitted. Mine, to be honest, was little enough, for I hated my grammar cordially. Lancelot was not like me in this, any more than in bodily favour; he was keen of wit and quick of memory; he was quick in learning, yet as modest as he was clever, for he never sought in any way to lord it over me because I, poor dunce, was not of such nimble parts as himself. It was the hardest task in the world for me to keep my eyes and my fancy upon the pages of my book. My eyes were always straying from the print, first to the painted parrots on the walls, and then, by natural succession, to the window. Once there, my fancy would put on free wings, and my thoughts would stray joyously off among the salt marshes, where the pools shone in the sunlight and a sweet air blew. Or I would stand upon the downs and look along the curve of cliffs, and note the ships sailing round the promontory, and the flashes of the sea beyond, and feel in fancy the breeze blowing through my hair, and puffing away all the nonsense I had been poring over in the room. At such times I would quite forget myself, and sit staring into vacancy, till Mr. Davies, lifting his nose from his volume, would note my absence and call on me by name, and thump his desk, and startle me with some question on the matter we were supposed to have in hand. A mighty matter, truly, the name of some emperor or the date of some campaign--matter infinitely less real than the name of the ship that was leaving the harbour or the sunlight on the incoming sail. And I would answer at random and amiss, and earn reproof. Yet there were things which I knew well enough, too, and could have given him shrewd and precise answers concerning them. Lancelot Amber was never much my companion away from Mr. Davies's room. His father, whose name he perpetuated, had been a simple, gentle gentleman and scholar who had married, as one of his kin counted it, beneath him, because he had married the woman he loved. The woman he loved was indeed of humble birth, but she made him a fair wife and a good, and she bore him two children, boy Lancelot and girl Marjorie, and died for the life of the lass. Her death, so I learned, was the doom of Lancelot Amber the elder, and there were two babes left in the wood of the world, with, like the children in the ballad, such claims upon two uncles as blood might urge and pity supplement. These two uncles, as Lancelot imagined them to me, were men of vastly different stuff and spirit, as you may sometimes find such flaming contrasts in families. The elder, Marmaduke Amber, used the sea, and was, it seems, as fine a florid piece of sea flesh as an island's king could wish to welcome. His brother, Nathaniel, had been a city merchant, piling up moneys in the Levant trade, and now lived in a fine house out in the swelling country beyond Sendennis, with a fine sea-view. Him I had seen once or twice; a lean monkey creature with a wrinkled walnut of a face and bright, unkind eyes. He was all for leaving the boy of three and the girl of two to the small mercies of some charity school, but the mariner brother gathered the two forlornlings to his great heart, and with him they had lived and thriven ever since. Now it seems Captain Marmaduke was on a voyage to the Bermudas and taking the maid with him, while the boy, to better his schooling and strengthen his body with sea air, was sent to Sendennis to stay with his other uncle, Nathaniel Amber, now, to all appearance, reconciled to the existence of his young relative. This uncle, as I gathered, did not at first approve overmuch of Lancelot taking lessons in common with a single mercer's son, but Mr. Davies, I believe, spoke so well of me that the arrangement was allowed to hold. But after lesson hours were done Lancelot had always to go back to his uncle's, and though I walked part of the way, or all the way, with him most days of the week, I was never bidden inside those doors. Lancelot told me that he had more than once besought leave to bring me in, but that the old gentleman was obdurate. So, save in those hours of study in the parrot-papered room, I saw but little of Lancelot. I never expected to be asked inside the doors of the great house where Lancelot's days were passed, and I did not feel any injustice in the matter. I was only a mercer's son, while Lancelot derived of gentlefolk, and it never entered into my mind to question the existing order of things, or to wish to force my way into places where I was not wanted. Excellent gentlemen on the other side of the Atlantic have made very different opinions popular from the opinions that prevailed with me in my youth. Indeed, I myself have now been long used to associate with the great folk of the earth, and have found them in all essential matters very much like other men. I have had the honour of including more than one king amongst my acquaintances, and have liked some and not liked others, just as if they were plain Tom or Harry. But in the days of my youth I should have as soon expected to be welcomed at St. James's as to be welcomed in the great house where Lancelot's uncle lived. CHAPTER III THE ALEHOUSE BY THE RIVER. Three years after I went to learn under Mr. Davies, of Cliff Street, my father died. I remember with a kind of terror still, through all these years, when death of every kind has been so familiar to me, how the news of that death came upon me. I had no realisation of what death meant till then. I had heard of people dying, of course; had watched the black processions creeping, plumed and solemn, along the streets to the churchyard; had noted how in any circle of friends now one and now another falls away and returns to earth. I knew that all must die, that I must die myself, as I knew a lesson got by heart which has little meaning to the unawakened ear. But now it came on me with such a stabbing knowledge that for a little while I was almost crazy with the grief and the fear. But the sorrow, like all sorrows, lessened with time. There was my mother to cheer; there was my schooling to keep; there was the shop to look after. My father had thriven well enough to lay by a small store, but my mother kept the shop on, partly for the sake of my father, whose pride it was, partly because it gave her something to occupy her widowed life, and partly because, as Mr. Davies pointed out to her, there would be a business all ready for me when I was old enough to step into it. In the meantime my life was simple enough. When I was not taking my schooling with Lancelot I was tending the shop with mother; and when I was doing neither of these things I was free to wander about the town much as I pleased. Our town was of a tidy size, running well back from the sea up a gentle and uneven acclivity, which made all the streets that stemmed from the border slightly steep, and some of them exceedingly so. Upon the coast line, naturally enough, lay the busiest part of the hive; a comely stretch of ample docks and decent wharves along the frontage of the town, and, straggling out along the horns of the harbour, a maze of poorer streets, fringed at the waterside with boozing-kens, low inns, sailors' lodging-houses, and crimperies of all kinds. There were ticklish places for decent folk to be found in lying to right and left of the solemn old town--aye, and within ten minutes' walk of the solemn old market-square, where the effigy of Sir William Wallet, the goodly and godly Mayor of many years back, smiled upon the stalls of the hucksters and the fine front of the town-hall. If you strayed but a little way from the core of the town you came into narrow, kinkled streets, where nets were stretched across from window to window drying; and if you persevered you came, by cobbly declivities, to the bay shore, and to all the odd places that lay along it, and all the odd people that dwelt therein. Of course, with the inevitable perversity of boyhood, it was this degenerate quarter of the town which delighted me. I cared nothing, I am sorry to say, for the fine-fronted town-hall, nor for the solemn effigy of Sir William Wallet. I had not the least desire ever to be a functionary of importance in the building, ever to earn the smug immortality of such a statue. I am sorry to say the places I cared for were those same low-lived, straggling, squalid, dangerous regions which hung at one end of respectable little Sendennis like dirty lace upon a demure petticoat. In the early days of my acquaintance with those regions I must confess that I entered them with a certain degree of fear and trembling; but after a while that feeling soon wore off, when I found that no one wanted to do me any harm. Indeed, the dwellers in those parts were generally too much occupied in drinking themselves drunk and sleeping themselves sober to note an unremarkable lad like me. As for their holiday time, they passed it so largely in quarrelling savagely, and occasionally murderously, amongst themselves that they had scant leisure to pay any heed to me. For the rest, these Sendennis slums were not conspicuously evil. You will find just the same places in any seaport town, great or little, in the kingdom. But there was one spot in Sendennis which I do not think that it would be easy to match in any other town, although, perhaps to say this may be but a flash of provincial pride on my part. A good way from the town, and yet before the river fairly widens into an estuary, there stood a certain hostel, or inn, which it was my joy and my sorrow to haunt. It stood by the water's edge in a kind of little garden of its own; a dreary place, where a few sickly plants tried to hold their own against neglect and the splashings of rinsed glasses. There was a wooden terrace at the back of this place--the back overlooked the river, while the front was on the by-road--and here the habitual revellers, the haunters, whose scored crosses lent the creaking shutters an unnatural whiteness over their weather-beaten surface, dark with age and dirt, loved to linger of a summer evening, and ply the noggin and fill the pipe. There was an old fiddler, a kind of Orpheus of the slums, who would sometimes creep in there and take his post in a corner and begin to play, happy if the mad lads threw him halfpence, or thrust a half-drained tankard under his tearful old nose: happy, too, if they did not--as they often did--toss the cannikin at him out of mere lightness of heart and drunkenness of wit. He used to play the quaintest old tunes, odd border-side ballad airs, that seemed to go apace with blithe country weddings and decent pastoral merry-makings of all kinds, and to be strangely out of suits with that brotherhood of rakehells, smugglers, and desperadoes who gambled and drank, and swore and quarrelled, while the poor old fellow worked his catgut. Lord, Lord, how the memory of it all comes back upon me while I write! I have but to close my eyes, and my fancy brings me back to that alehouse by the river, to a summer's eve with its golden shafts falling on the dingy woodwork and lending it a pathetic glory, upon the shining space of dwindled water in the middle of its banks of glistening mud, and there in the corner the pinched old rogue in his ragged bodygear scraping away at 'Barbara Allen,' or 'When first I saw thy face,' or 'The Bailiff's Daughter of Islington,' while the leering rascals in the pilot coats and the flap-eared caps huddled together over their filthy tables, and swigged their strong drink and thumbed their greasy cards and swore horribly in all the lingoes of Babel. One such summer evening surges up before me with a crimson smear across its sunlight. There was a Low Country fellow there, waist deep in schnapps, and a Finlander sucking strong beer like a hog. Meinheer and the Finn came to words and blows, and I, who was sitting astride of the railing staring, heard a shrill scream from the old man and a rattle as he dropped his fiddle, and then a flash and a red rain of blood on the table as my Finn fell with a knife in him, the Hollander's knife, smartly pegged in between the left breast and the shoulder. I declare that, even in my excitement at that first sight of blood drawn in feud, my boyish thought was half divided between the drunken quarrel and the poor old fiddler, all hunched together on the ground and sobbing dry-eyed in a kind of ecstasy of fear and horror. I heard afterwards that he had a son knifed to his death in a seaman's brawl, and never got over it. As for the Finn, they took him home and kept it dark, and he recovered, and may be living yet for all I know to the contrary, and a perfect pattern to the folk in Finland. That inn had a name, stranger I have never heard; and a sign, stranger I have never seen; though I have wandered far and seen more than old Ulysses in the school-book ever dreamt of. It was called the Skull and Spectacles; and if its name was at once horrible and laughable, its sign was more devilish still. For instead of any painted board, swinging pleasantly on fair days and creaking lustily on foul, there stood out over the inn door a kind of bracket, and on that bracket stood a human skull, so parched and darkened by wind and weather that it looked more fearful than even a _caput mortuum_ has a right to look. On the nose of this grisly reminder of our mortality some wag--or so I suppose, but perhaps he was a cynic--had stuck a great pair of glassless barnacles or goggles. It was a loathly conceit, and yet it added vastly to the favour of the inn in the minds of those wildings that haunted it. Must I add that it did so in mine too, who should have known better? If it had not been for the fascination of that sign, perhaps I might have kept better company, and never done what I did do, and never written this history. When first I happened upon the Skull and Spectacles it attracted me at once. Its situation, in the middle of that wilderness of mouldering wharves, decaying gardens, and tumble-down cottages, was in itself an invitation to the eye. Then the devilish mockery of its sign was an allurement. It looked like some fantastical tavern in a dream, and not a thing of real timber. The oddness of the place tickled my adventurous palate, the loathsomeness of the sign gripped me hardly by the heart and made my blood run icily for an instant. Who does not recall to mind moments and places when he seems to have stepped out of the real living world into some grey, uncanny land of dreams, where the very air is thick and haunted with some quality of unknown fear and unknown oppression? So it seemed to me when I first saw the Skull and Spectacles with its death's-head smirking welcome and the river mud oozing about its timbers. But the place piqued me while it frightened me, and I pulled my courage together like a coat, buttoned it metaphorically about me, and entered. Like many another enterprise upon which we enter with a beating heart, the preface was infinitely more alarming than the succeeding matter. There was no one in the bar-parlour when I entered save a sailor, who was sleeping a drunken, stertorous sleep in a corner. From the private parlour beyond, when I entered, a man came out, a burly seafaring man, who asked me shortly, but not uncivilly, what I wanted. I called for a jug of ale. He brought it to me without a word, together with a hunch of bread, set them before me, and left me alone again, going into his snuggery at the back, and drawing the door after him jealously. I sat there for some little time, sipping my ale and munching my bread--and indeed the ale was excellent; I have never tasted better--and looking at the grimy wall, greasy with the rubbings of many heads and shoulders, scrawled all over with sums, whose addition seemed to have mightily perplexed the taproom arithmeticians, and defiled with inscriptions of a foul, loose-witted, waterside lubricity that made me blush and feel qualmish. But I found a furtive enjoyment in the odd place, and the snoring sailor, and the low plashing of the estuary against the decaying timbers, and the silence of solitude all around. Presently the door was pushed open; but before anyone could come in I was made to jump from my seat in a kind of terror, for a voice sang out sharply just above my head and startled me prodigiously. 'Kiss me--kiss me--kiss me--kiss me!' the strange voice screamed out. 'Kiss me on the lips and eyes and throat! kiss me on the breast! kiss me--kiss me--kiss me!' I turned up my eyes and noted above my head what I had not seen before--a cage swinging from the rafters, and in it a small green parrot, with fiery eyes that glowed like blazing rubies. It went rattling on at an amazing rate, adjuring its hearers to kiss it on all parts of the body with a verbal frankness that was appalling, and with a distinctness which even pricked the misty senses of the slumberer, who peevishly turned in his sleep and stuttered out a curse at me to keep still. As the human voice called me back from my contemplation of that infernal old bird my lowered eyes looked on the doorway. The door was wide open, and a girl stood framed in the gap, gazing at me. Lord, how the blood rushed into my face with wonder and delight, for I thought then that I had never seen anything before so beautiful! Indeed, I think now that of that kind of beauty she was as perfect as a woman could wish to be, or a man could wish to have her. She smiled a little into my crimson, spell-bound face, wished me good-morning pleasantly, gave a kind of little whistle of recognition to the bird, who never left off screaming and yelling his vociferous desire for kisses, and then, swinging the door behind her, crossed the floor, and, passing into the parlour, disappeared from my gaze. Immediately the parrot's clamour came to a dead pause. The semi-wakened sailor dropped into his sodden snooze again, and all was quiet. I waited for some little time with my eyes on the parlour door, but it did not open again; and as no one came in from outside, and I needed no more either of drink or victual, I felt that I must needs be trudging. So I drained my can to the black eyes of my beauty, clucked at the parrot, who merely swung one crimson eye round as if he were taking aim and glared ferociously, signed a farewell to the parlour door, and passed out into the world again. The Skull and Spectacles had gained a devoted customer. Ah, me! I went there a world of times after that. I am afraid my poor mother thought me a sad rogue, for I would slip away from the shop for a whole afternoon together, on the plea of needing a walk; but my walk always led me to that terrible inn. I soon became a familiar figure to its ill-favoured master and his beautiful niece. The landlord of the Skull and Spectacles had been a seaman in his youth, and told tales of the sea to guests who paid their score. He had a cadet brother who was a seaman still, and who drifted out of longshore knowledge for great gaps of time, and came back again liker to mahogany than he had been before, a thought more abundant in blasphemy, and a great deal richer in gold pieces with the heads of every king in Christendom stamped upon them. It was this wanderer's daughter who made the place my paradise. She was a tall, largely made girl, of a dark favour, with eyes of black fire, and with a warm, Spanish kind of skin, olive-toned with rich reds under, and the whitest, wonderfullest teeth, and a bush of black hair that was a marvel. She would let it down often enough, and it hung about her body till it reached the back of her knees. Lord knows who her mother was. I never knew, and she said she never knew. Her father brought her home much as he had brought the parrot home, but I could never think other than that she was the child of some Spanish woman he had wooed, and, it is to be hoped, wedded, though I doubt if he were of that temper, on his travels in the South Americas. A very curious thing it was to watch that girl go in and out among the scoundrelly patrons of the Skull and Spectacles, listening to their devil's chatter in all the lingoes of earth, and yet in a kind of fashion keeping them at a distance. She would bandy jokes with them of the coarsest kind, and yet there was not a man of all the following who would dare to lay a rude hand on her or even to force a kiss from her against her will. Every man who clinked his can at that hostelry knew well enough that her father, when he was ashore, or her uncle, when the other was afloat, would think nothing of knifing any man who insulted her. I need hardly say that my association with the Skull and Spectacles greatly increased in me my longing for the adventurous life. The men who frequented the inn had one and all the most marvellous tales to tell. Their tales were not always commendable; they were tales of pirates, of buccaneers, of fortunes made in evil wise and spent in evil fashion. But it was not so much the particulars as the generalities of their talk that delighted me. I loved to hear of islands where the cocoa trees grew, and where parrots of every hue under heaven squealed and screamed in the tropic heat; where girls as graceful as goddesses and as yellow as guineas wore robes of flaming feathers and sang lullabies in soft, impossible tongues; lands of coral and ivory and all the glories of the earth, where life was full of golden possibilities and a world away from the drab respectability of a mercer's life in grey Sendennis. I grew hungrier and thirstier for travel day after day. I had heard of seamen in a shipwrecked craft suffering agonies of thirst and being taunted by the fields of water all about them, to drink of which was madness and death. I felt somewhat as if I were in like case, for there I lived always in the neighbourhood, always in the companionship of the sea and of seafaring folk, and yet I was doomed to dwell at home and dance attendance upon the tinkling of the shop bell. But my word was my word all the same, and my love for my mother, I am glad to think, was greater after all than my longing to see far lands. CHAPTER IV A MAID CALLED BARBARA I suppose the Skull and Spectacles was not quite the best place in the world for a lad of my age, and perhaps for some lads it might have been fruitful of evil. But I found then, and have found all through my life, an infinite deal of entertainment in studying the ways and humours of all kinds of fellowships, without of necessity accommodating myself to the morals or the manners of the company. I have been very happy with gipsies on a common, though I never poisoned a pig or coped a nag. I have mixed much with sailors of all kinds, than whom no better fellows--the best of them, and that is the greater part--exist on earth, and no worse the worse; and yet I think I have not been stained with all the soils of the sea. I have been with pirates, and thieves, and soldiers of fortune, and gentlemen of blood, and highway robbers; and once I supped with a hangman--off boiled rabbit and tripe, an excellent alliance in a dish--and all this without being myself either pirate, highwayman, or yet hangman. It is not always a man's company, but mostly a man's mind, that makes him what he is or is not. If a man is going to be a pitiful fellow and sorry knave, I am afraid you will not save him by the companionship of a synod of bishops; nor will you spoil a fine fellow if he occasionally rubs shoulders with rogues and vagabonds. The girl at the Skull and Spectacles was kind to me, partly, perhaps, because I differed somewhat from the ordinary ruck of customers of the Skull and Spectacles. Had it been known that that crazy, villainous old alehouse contained such a pearl, I make no doubt that the favour of the place would have gone up, and its customers improved in outward seeming, if not in inward merits or morals. The gallants of the town--for we had our gallants even in that tranquil seaport--would have been assailed by a thirst that naught save Nantz and schnapps and strong ale of the Skull and Spectacles could assuage, and the gentlemen of the Chisholm Hunt would have discovered that the only way after a run with the harriers was through the vilest part of the town and among the oozy timbers of the wharves which formed the kingdom of the Skull and Spectacles. [Illustration: "SHE HAD ALWAYS A PLEASANT SMILE FOR ME WHEN I CAME."] But few of the townspeople knew of the Skull and Spectacles. It never thought to stretch its custom into the higher walks of life. It throve on its own clients, its high-booted, thick-bearded, shaggy-coated seamen, whose dealings with the sea were more in the way of smuggling, buccaneering, scuttling, and marooning than in honest merchandise or the service of the King. These sea-wolves liked the place famously, and would have grievously resented the intrusion of the laced waistcoats of the provincial dandies or the scarlet jackets of the Chisholm Hunt. So the Skull and Spectacles went its own way, and a very queer way, too, unheeded and unheeding. How the girl and I got to be so friendly I scarcely know. It is like enough that I thought we were more friendly than we really were, and that the girl took my boyish homage with more indifference than I guessed for. She had always a pleasant smile for me when I came, and she was always ready to pass a pleasant word or two with me, even on the days when the business in the place was at its heaviest, and when the room was choking fit to burst with the shag-haired sea-fellows. But there were times, too, better times for me, or worse, it may be, when the Skull and Spectacles was almost deserted; when all its wonted customers were away smuggling, or buccaneering, or cutting throats, or crimping, or following whatever was their special occupation in life. In such lonely times the girl was willing enough to spend half an hour or more in speech with me. Of course, I fell in love with her, like the donkey that I was, and worshipped the rotting boards of the Skull and Spectacles because she was pleased to walk upon them. Her speech was all of strange lands, and it fed my frenzy as dry wood feeds a fire. Her people were all sea-people, her talk was all sea-talk, her words were all sea-words. It was a strange rapture to me to sit and listen while she spoke of the things that were dearest to my heart and to watch her while she spoke. Then I used to feel a wild, foolish longing, which I had never the courage to carry out, to tell her how beautiful she was--as if she needed to be told that by me!--and how madly I loved her. All of which I very profoundly thought and believed, but all of which--for I was a shy lad with women-kind--I kept very devoutly to myself. I wonder if the girl had any idea of my devotion. I thought she had; I felt sure that my love must be as patent to her as it was to myself, and that she must needs prize it a little. I believe, indeed, that I never talked to her very much during those happy times when she would come out on to the creaking terrace and speak to me of the things which she never seemed to weary of--the sea, and ships, and seamen. As for me, who would not have wearied of any theme that gave her pleasure, had it even been books and lessons, I was overjoyed that my sea longings could help me on with her. Then her black eyes would follow the river's course to where the estuary widened to the sea, and search the horizon and point out to me the sails that starred it here and there, and sometimes say with a laugh: 'Perhaps one of those is my ship.' But when I asked her what was her ship she would smile and shake her head and say nothing; and once, when I asked her if it was her father's ship, she laughed loudly and said yes, it was her father's ship she longed for. So late spring slipped into early summer; and, as the year grew kinder, so every day my boy's heart grew hotter with its first foolish passion. Somewhere about the middle of June, as I knew, her birthday was; and in view of that saint's day of my calendar I had hoarded my poor pocket money to buy her a little toy from the jeweller in the Main Street, whose show seemed to me more opulent than the treasures of Aladdin. The day found me all of a tremble. I had sat up half the night looking at my token and kissing it a thousand times. It was a little locket that was fashioned like a heart, and on the one side her name was engraved, and on the other mine, for I thought by this to show what I dared not say. It was early when I stole from our shop, little less than ten, and I calculated that I would look in at Mr. Davies's on my way back and make some excuse for my truancy, and so be back in time for noonday dinner; and I knew if I were a little late my mother would forgive me. Lord, how I ran along the quays! I seemed to fly, and yet the road seemed endless. As I ran I noted that some new ships had entered the night before, and men on the wharves were busy unloading, and sailors were lounging round with that foreign air which Jack always has after a cruise. When I got to the Skull and Spectacles the landlord was standing before his door smoking. As he saw me he nodded, and when I asked for Barbara, saying I had a message for her, he told me she was upstairs, and added something which I did not stay to hear. I bounded up the crazy stairs with a beating heart. I was all on fire with excitement at the thought of offering her a gift; my blood seemed to be turned to quicksilver, and to race through its channels with a feverish swiftness. There was a gallery at the head of the stairs, a gallery on to which looked the doors of the guest-rooms of the inn--rooms where bearded men from over sea sometimes passed a night when they were uncertain where to journey next, or when they were too much pleased with the liquor of the Skull and Spectacles to leave it before morning. As I swung round the stairs into the gallery I thought for a moment that it was empty, as it lay before me dark and uninviting. Then from the far end came the sound of voices, laughter, and laughing expostulation--this last in a woman's voice that I knew too well. While I stood staring, not understanding, and bewildered by a sudden and wholly meaningless alarm, one of the doors at the end of the gallery that was just ajar swung open, and Barbara slipped from it, laughing, breathless, with tumbled hair and crimson cheeks. A man sprang after her and caught her, unreluctant, in his arms. I see the scene now as vividly as I saw it then with my despairing boyish eyes. The great strong man had his arms close about her; her dark hair was all about her face and over her shoulders as she flung her head back to meet the great red mouth that was seeking hers. I have seen since pictures of satyrs embracing nymphs, and whenever I see them I cannot stay a shudder running through me as I think of that dim, creaking gallery and the dishevelled girl and the strong man and the tearful, trembling lad who beheld their passion. I suppose a painter would have admired the group they made; she with her body eagerly flung forward and her beautiful face all on fire with warm animal emotion; he, big and amber-bearded, his great mouth crushed against hers as if he wanted to absorb her life, and his arms about her pliant body, at once yielding and resisting in its reckless disarray. But I was not a painter--only a longshore mooncalf--and my eyes swam and my tongue swelled till I thought it would stick between my teeth as those of poor rogues do on the gallows, and I was chickenish enough to wish to blubber. And while I stood there, stockish and stupid, the pair became aware of me. I do not think I made any noise, but their eyes dropped from each other and turned on me, and the man scowled a little, without loosening his hold, but the woman, no whit troubled, flung one arm away from her lover's neck and held out her hand to me, with a laugh, and greeted me merrily. 'Why, it's little Raphael!' she said, laughing the words into the yellow beard of the sea-thief who clipped her, and again she nodded at me, in no ways discomposed by the strangeness of her position. But I, poor fool, could not bear it, and I turned and ran down the stairs as if the Devil himself were after me. CHAPTER V LANCELOT LEAVES There was a place upon the downs to which it was often my special delight to betake me--a kind of hollow dip between two humps of hills, where a lad might lie warm in the windiest weather and look straight out upon the sea, shining with calm or shaggy with storm, and feel quite as if he were alone in the world. To this place I now sped half unconsciously, my face, I make no doubt, scarlet with passion and shame, and my eyes well-nigh blinded with sudden up-springing of tears. How I got to my hollow I do not know, but I ran and ran and ran, with my blood tingling, heedless of all the world, until at last I found myself tumbling down over its ridged wall or rampart of hummocks and dropping, with a choking moan, flat on my face in an agony of despair. There I lay in the long grasses, sobbing as if my heart would break. Indeed, I thought that it was breaking; that life was over for me; that sunrise and sunset and the glory of the stars had no further part to play for me; and that all that was left for me was to die, and be put into a corner somewhere and speedily forgotten. Troops of bitter thoughts came surging up over my brain. My mood of mind and state of body were alike incomprehensible and terrible to me. It was a very real agony, that fierce awakening to the realities of life, to love and passion, and blinding jealousy and despair, and all the rest of the torments that walk in the train of a boy's first love. I wallowed there a long time, making a great mark in the soft grasses, as if I sought to measure myself for an untimely grave. The strong afternoon sun drove on his way westward, and still I lay there, writhing and whimpering, and wondering, perhaps, a little inwardly that the sky did not fall in and crush me and the wicked world altogether. A boy's mind is a turbulent place enough, and stuffed pretty often with a legion of wicked thoughts, which take possession of his fancy long before evil words and evil deeds have struck up their alliance. Yet even the most foul-mouthed boy thinks, I believe, nobly, or with a kind of nobility, of his first love, and a clean-hearted lad offers her a kind of bewildering worship. I was a clean-hearted lad, and I had worshipped Barbara; and now my worship was over and done with, and I made sure that my heart was broken. I do not know how long I lay there, with whirling brain and bursting heart, but presently I felt the touch of a hand on my shoulder. I had heard no one coming, and under ordinary conditions I might have been a thought startled by the unexpected companionship; but just now I was too wretched for any other emotion, and I merely lay passive and indifferent. The hand declined with a firmer pressure and gently shook my shoulder, and then a voice--Lancelot Amber's voice--called softly to me asking me what I was doing there and what ailed me. I always loved Lancelot's voice: it seemed to vary as swiftly as wind over water with every thought, and to run along all the chords of speech with the perfection of music in a dream. Whenever I read that saying of St. Paul's about the tongue of men and of angels I am reminded of Lancelot's voice, and I feel convinced that of such is the language of the courts of heaven, and that if St. Paul had talked like Lancelot he would have won the most sceptical. The sound of his voice soothed me then, as far as it was possible for anything to soothe me, and I shifted slightly to one side and looked up at him furtively and crossly, my poor face all blubbered with tears and smeared with mire where I had lain grovelling. Bit by bit I told him my story. I was in the temper for a confession, and ready to tell my tale to anyone with wit enough to coax it from me. Perhaps it did not seem so much of a tale in the telling, though to my mind it was then as terrible as the end of the world itself and the unloosening of the great deep. So I hunched myself up on my left elbow, and, staring drearily at Lancelot through my tears, I whimpered out my sorrows; and he listened with a smileless face. When I had done, and my quavering broke off with a sob, he was silent for a while, looking straight before him beyond the meadow edges into the yellowing sky. Then he turned and looked at me with a brotherly pity that was soothing to my troubled senses, and he spoke to me with a softness of voice that seemed in tune with the dying day and my drooping spirits. 'After all,' he said, 'you have not lost much, Raphael. She is but a light o' love, and you were built for a better mate.' Truly, though I scarcely noted it at the time, it was gracious and quick-witted of him to assume that I was of a lover's age with the great lass of the Skull and Spectacles, and unconsciously it tickled my torn vanity. But part of his speech angered me, and I took fire like tinder. Swinging myself round on my elbow, I glanced savagely into Lancelot's face of compassion. 'You lie!' I growled, 'you lie! She is a queen among women, and there is no man in all the world worthy of her!' Then--for I saw him smile a little--I struck out at him. I am thankful to think that I was too wild and weary to strike either true or hard, and my foolish hand just grazed his cheek and touched his shoulder as he stooped; and then, turning away again, I fell into a fresh storm of sobbing. Lancelot remained by my side, gently indifferent to my fury, gently tender with my sorrow. After a while he turned me round reluctant, and looked very gravely into my tear-stained face. We were but a brace of lads, each on the edge of life, and as I look back on that page of my history I cannot help but shudder at the contrast between us, I bellowing like a gaby at the ache of my first calf-love--and yet indeed I was hurt, and hardly--and he so sweet and restrained and sane, weighing the world so wisely in his young hands. 'I am very sorry for you, Raphael,' he said, and his voice was so clear and strong that for the moment it comforted me as a cordial will comfort a sick man, against my will. 'I am very sorry for you, and because of my sorrow for you and because of my love for you I will give you a gift that I would part with to no other in the world. Women are not all alike, and therefore I will give you a talisman to help you to think well of women.' I suppose it would have diverted an elder to hear him, so slim and simple, discoursing so sweetly and reasonably on a theme on which few of us at the fag end of our days are ever able to utter one sensible syllable, but Lancelot always seemed to me wise beyond his time, so I listened, although dully enough and I fear sullenly. He slipped his hand into his breast and drew forth a small object which he held shut in his hand while he again discoursed to me. 'What I am going to give you, Raphael, is the little picture of a lass who is in my eyes a thing of Heaven's best making. For loyalty, honour, courage, truth, faith, she is an unmatchable maid. I have known her all the days of my life and never found a flaw in her.' Then he opened his hand and I saw that it held a picture, an oval miniature in a fine gold frame. My mind was all on fire for the black eyes of piratical Barbara and my blood was tingling to a gipsy tune, but as I stared at the image in my comrade's palm my mind was arrested and my fancy for the instant fixed. For it showed the face of a girl, a child of Lancelot's age or a little under, and through my tears I could perceive the sweetness of the countenance and its likeness to my friend in the fair hair and the fine eyes. 'This is my sister, this is Marjorie,' Lancelot said slowly. 'She has the truest soul, the noblest heart in all the world. I think it will help you to have it and to look on it from time to time, as it always helps me when I am away from her.' As he spoke he pushed the picture gently into my unresisting fingers and closed them over it. 'My sister Marjorie is a wonderful girl,' he said, with a bright smile. He was silent for a little while as if musing upon her and then his tender thoughts returned to me. 'Come away, Raphael,' he said. 'Let us be going home. The hour is late, and your mother may be anxious; and you have her still, whatever else you may have lost.' The grace of his voice conquered me. I rose at the word, staggering a little as I gained my feet, for passion and grief had torn me like devils, and I was faint and bewildered. He slipped his arm into mine and led me away, supporting me as carefully as if I were a woman whom his solicitude was aiding. We exchanged no word together as we went along the downs and through the fields. As we came to the town, however, he paused by the last stile and spoke to me. 'Dear heart!' he said, 'but I am sorry for all this--more sorry than I can say; for I am going away to-morrow.' The words shook me from myself and my apathy. I gazed in wonder and alarm into his face. 'I am going away,' he said, 'and that's how I chanced to find you. For I waited in vain for you at Mr. Davies's, and sought you at your home and found you missing; and then I thought of this old burrow of yours, and here, as good luck would have it, I found you.' I could only gasp out 'Going away?' in a great amazement. 'I must go away,' he said. 'My uncle that was at sea is in London, with Marjorie, and has sent for me. He needs me, and I am so much beholden to him that I should have to go, even if I were not bound to him by blood and duty, and indeed I long to see my Marjorie.' 'How long will you be away?' I gasped. 'I do not know,' he answered; 'but it is only a little world after all, and we shall meet again some time, and soon, be sure of that. If not, why, then this parting was well made.' This last was a quotation from one of his poets and play-makers, as I found afterwards, for the words stuck in my memory, and I happened on them later in a printed book. But indeed I did not think the parting was well made at all, and I shook my head dismally, for I knew he only said so to cheer me. He laughed and tossed his brown locks. 'London is not the end of the world,' he said. 'I hope to go further afield than that before I die. But near or far, summer or winter, town or country, we are friends for ever. No distance can divide, no time untie our friendship.' Here he wrung me by the hand, and I, with this new sorrow on top of the old--that was new but two hours ago--could only sob and say: 'O Lancelot!' and tremble. I suppose I looked giddy, as if I were about to faint, for he caught me in his strong arms and propped me up a minute. 'Come, come!' he said; 'take heart. To-day is not to-morrow yet. I will go in with you to your mother's and spend an hour with you before I say good-bye.' Then he gently led me by the arm, and we went into the town and along the evening streets till we came to the little shop, and there at the door we found my mother, looking anxious. Lancelot made my excuses, saying that he had kept me, and telling my mother of his speedy departure. My mother, who loved Lancelot, was almost as grieved as I. But he, in his bright way, cheered us; he came in, and would take supper with us; and though it was a doleful meal, he went on as if it were a merry one, talking and laughing, and telling us tales of the great city and its wonders, and all he hoped to see and do there. And so a sad hour went by, and then he rose and said he must go and give a hand to the packing of his belongings, for he was leaving by the early coach and would not have a moment in the morning. And then he kissed my mother and kissed me, and went away and left us both crying. There were tears in his own eyes as he stepped out into the summer twilight, but he turned to look back at us, and waved his hat and called out good-bye with a firm voice. A sullen blackness settled down upon me after Lancelot's departure. I was minded to rise early in the morning to see him off by the coach, but I was so tired with crying and complaining that when I fell asleep I slept like a log, and did not wake until the morning sun was high and the coach had been long gone. Well, it was all the better, I told myself savagely. He had gone out of my life for good, and I should see no more of him. I had lost in the same hour my love and my friend. I would make up my mind to be lonely and pay no heed. As for the picture he gave me, what good to me was the face of that fair girl? Lancelot's sister Marjorie was a gentlewoman, born and bred, as my lost Lancelot was a gentleman. What could she or he really have to do with the mercerman in the dull little Sussex town? Marjorie had a beautiful face, if the limner did not lie--and indeed he did not--and I could well believe that as lovely a soul as Lancelot lauded shone through those candid eyes. But again, what was it to me and my yardwand? So I hid the picture away in a little sweet-scented cedar-wood box that I had, and resolved to forget Lancelot and Lancelot's sister, and everything else in the world except my blighted youth and my blighted hopes. I reasoned as a boy reasons who thinks that the world has come to an end for him after his first check, and who has no knowledge as yet of the medicine of time. My mother had but a vexatious life of it with me, for I was silent and melancholy; and though I never, indeed, offended her by uncivil word or deed, yet the sight of my dreary visage must have been a sore trial to her, and the glum despondency with which I accepted all her efforts to cheer me from my humours must have wrung her heart. Poor dear! She thought, I believe, that it was only grief for Lancelot which touched me so; and once, after some days of my ill-temper, she asked me if I would like to run up to London and see my friend. But I shook my head. I had made up my mind to have done with everything; to stay on there to the end, morosely resigned to my lot. To make myself more sure in isolation I even took the letter which came from Lancelot but a few days after his departure, in which he told me where his uncle's house was, and bade me write to him there, and burnt it in the flame of a candle. As I tossed the charred paper out into the street I thought to myself that now indeed I was alone and free to be miserable in my own way. And I was miserable, and made my poor mother miserable; and acted like the selfish dog I was, like the selfish dog that every lad is under the venom of a first love-pang. I went no more to the Skull and Spectacles; I saw my beautiful tyrant no more. One day I drifted along in the familiar direction, came to the point where I could see the evil-favoured inn standing alone in the dreary waste, hesitated for a moment, and then, as the image of the girl in the sailor's arms surged up before my mind, I turned and ran back as hard as I could into the town. But if I went that way no more, I drifted about in other ways helplessly and foolishly enough. I would spend hours upon hours mooning among the downs and on the cliffs, and sometimes I would sit on some bulkhead by the quays and look at the big ships, and wish myself on board one of them and sailing into the sunset. Love for my mother kept me from going to the devil, but my love for her was not strong enough to put a brave face upon my trouble, and I was not man enough to do my best to make her life light for her. But no trouble of this kind does endure for ever, and by the end of a year the poison had in a great degree spent itself, and with my recovery from my love-ache there grew up in my mind a disdain of my behaviour. As I saw my mother's visage peaked with pity I grew to be heartily ashamed of myself, and to resolve honestly and earnestly to make amends. I disliked tending shop more bitterly than ever. But there was the shop, and it was dear to my mother's heart; and so I buckled to, if not with a will, at least with the semblance of a will, and did my best to become as good a mercer as another. Two things, however, I would not do. I would not enter into correspondence with Lancelot, and I would not go any more to Master Davies's house. Lancelot wrote again and yet again to me. But I served the second letter as I had served the first, and the third as I had served the second. I did, indeed, scrawl some few lines of reply to this last letter, bidding him somewhat bluntly to leave me in peace; that my bed had been made for me, and that I must needs lie upon it, and that I did not wish to be vexed in my slumber. It was a rude and foolish letter, I make no doubt; but I wrote it with a decent purpose enough, for I was desperately afraid that I could not hold to my resolutions and to my way of life if I kept in communication with Lancelot, and was haunted by the thoughts of his more fortunate stars. Lancelot wrote back to me with his invariable sweetness and gentleness, saying that he hoped time would make me amends; and after that I heard no more from him, and he seemed to have passed out of my life for good and all. As for Mr. Davies, he too seemed to belong to the old life from which I had cut myself adrift, and so I went to his shop no more; and as he was a home-keeping bookworm, he but seldom stirred abroad. And thus, though we dwelt in the same town, I may fairly say that I never saw him from month's end to month's end. The days slip by swiftly in an unnoticeable kind of way in a town like Sendennis. It was but a sluggish place, for all its sea-bustle, in the days that now lie far behind me. Our shop lay in the quietest part of the town, and we took no note of time. Ours was a grey, lonely life. We had friends, of course, whose names and ways I have long since forgotten, but we saw little of them, partly because my mother learnt after a while that I hated all company, and would take no part in any of the junketings of our neighbours. I might have made an apt mercer in time, but I do not know, and I do not love to linger over the two years I spent in the trial. For though I did my duty fairly well, both by my mother and by the shop, and though my love-ache had dulled almost to nothing, my passion to go abroad was as hot as ever, and I thought it a shame that my twenty years had no better business, and my life no other aim, than to wear out its strength behind a counter. Let those two years go by. One evening I was sitting with my mother in the little parlour behind the shop, she knitting, I think, or sewing--I am not sure which--and I with my legs thrust out before me and my hands in my pockets, outwardly idling and inwardly cursing at my destiny. Every now and then my mother glanced at me over the edge of her work and sighed; but it may have been, and I hope it was, because she found her task a difficult one. Suddenly the bell at the front door tinkled. In my younger days I used to fancy that every ring of that same cracked bell brought some message from the outer world for me. Well, here was the message at last, though I never dreamt of it, but just sat stupidly, with my fingers touching my pocket seams. CHAPTER VI THE GENTLEMAN IN BLUE My mother glanced up from her work at me. I knew that her look asked me if I had heard the bell, and if I would not go to the door in answer; and, though I felt lazy, I was not base enough to ignore that appeal. So I lurched up from my chair and swung through the little shop and flung the door wide open, a thought angrily, for I had been deep in my brown study and was stupidly irritated at being jarred from it. I half expected, so far as I expected anything, to see some familiar neighbour, with the familiar demand for a twist of tape or a case of needles, so that I confess to being not a little surprised and even startled by what my eyes did rest upon. The doorway framed a wholesome picture of a middle-aged comely gentleman. I see the stranger now in my mind's eye as I saw him then with my bodily vision--a stoutly made, well set-up man of a trifle above the middle height, in a full-skirted blue coat; a gold-laced hat upon his powder, and a gold-headed cane in his hand. The florid face was friendly, and shrewd too, lined all over its freshness with little lines of experience and wisdom and knowledge of the world, and two honest blue eyes shone straight at me from beneath bold black eyebrows. It was certainly a most unfamiliar figure in the framework of our shop door, and I stood and stared at it, somewhat unmannerly, for a space of several seconds. After a while, finding that I still barred his way and said nothing, the stranger smiled very good-humouredly; and as he smiled I saw that his teeth were large and white and sound. 'Well, young sir,' he said pleasantly, 'are you Master Raphael Crowninshield?' I told him that was my name. 'Then I should like to exchange a word or two with you,' he said; 'can we be private within?' I answered him that there was no one inside but my mother, and I begged him to step into the little parlour. The stout gentleman nodded. 'Your mother?' he said. 'Very good; I shall be delighted to have the honour of making madam's acquaintance: bring me to her.' I led the way across the shop and up the two low steps into the little parlour, where my mother, who had heard every word of this dialogue, had laid aside her sewing, and now rose as the stranger approached and dropped him a curtsey. 'Be seated, madam, I beg,' said the stranger. 'I have a word or two to say to your son hereby, but first'--here he paused and addressed himself to me--'prithee, lad, step to the door a moment and wait till I call for you. Your mother and I have our gossip to get over.' There was something so commanding in the kindliness of the stranger's manner and voice that I made no hesitation about obeying him; so I promptly rose and made for the shop, drawing close the door of the parlour behind me. I stood awhile at the outer door, looking listlessly into the street, and wondering what the blue gentleman could have to say to my mother and to me. Even now I can recall the whole scene distinctly, the windy High Street, with its gleams of broken sunlight on the drying cobbles--for it had rained a little about noon, and the black clouds were only now sailing away towards the west and leaving blue and white sky behind them. I can see again the signs and names of the shops opposite, can even recall noting a girl leaning out of a window and a birdcage in an attic. When the door of the parlour behind me opened for the blue-coated gentleman I noted that my mother stood with a pale face and her hands folded. He beckoned me to him and clapped his hand on my shoulder, and though he laid it there gentle enough, I felt that it could be as heavy as the paw of a bear. 'My lad,' he said, gazing steadily into my face with his china-blue eyes, 'your good mother and I have been talking over some plans of mine, and I think I have induced her to see the advantage of my proposals. Am I right or am I wrong in assuming you have stowed away in your body a certain longing for the wide world?' I suppose my eyes brightened before my lips moved, for he cut me short with: 'There, that's all right; never waste a word when a wink will do. Now, am I right or am I wrong in supposing that you have a good friend whose name is Lancelot Amber?' I was determined that I would speak this time, and I almost shouted in my eagerness to say 'Yes.' 'That will be a good voice in a hurricane,' the blue gentleman said approvingly. Then he began again, with the same formula, which I suppose pleased his palate. 'Am I right or am I wrong in assuming that he has told you of a certain old sea-dog of an uncle of his whose name is Marmaduke Amber?' I nodded energetically, for after his comment I thought it best to hold my tongue. 'Very good. Now, am I right or am I wrong in supposing that you feel pretty sure at this moment that you are looking upon that same old sea-dog, Marmaduke Amber?' This time I smiled in good earnest at his fantastic fashion of self-introduction, observing which the blue gentleman swayed me backwards and forwards several times with his right hand, and I felt that if I had been an oak of the forest he would have swayed me just as easily, while he said with a kind of approbative chuckle: 'That's right--a very good lad; that's right--a very smart lad.' Then he suddenly lifted his hand, and I, unprepared for the removal of my prop, staggered against the counter, while he put another question. 'And what do you think Marmaduke Amber wants with you?' I shook my head, and said I could not guess. 'Why, to make a man of you, to be sure,' the gentleman answered. 'You are spoiling here in this hen-coop. Now, Lancelot loves you like a brother, and I love Lancelot like a father, and I am quite prepared to take you to my heart for Lancelot's sake, for he is scarce likely to be deceived in you. You must know that I am going to embark upon a certain enterprise--of which more hereafter. Now, the long and the short of it is that Lancelot is coming with me, and he wants to know, and I want to know, if you will come too?' 'If I would come too!' My heart seemed to stand still for joy at the very thought. Why, here was the chance I was longing for, dreaming of, day and night; here was a great ship waiting to carry me on that wrinkled highway of my boyish ambition; here was the change from the little life of a little town into the great perils and brave existence of the sea; here was a good-bye to love and sorrow, and the putting on of manhood and manly purposes! Would I not come! My lips trembled with delight and my speech faltered, and then I glanced at my mother. She was very pale and sad, and at the sight my joy turned to sorrow. She saw the change on my face, and she said, very quietly and resolutely: 'I have given my consent, my dear son, to your going hence. Perhaps it is for the best.' 'Mother,' I said, turning towards her with a choking voice, 'indeed--indeed it is for the best. I should only mope here and fret, and come to no good, and give you no pride in me at all. I must go away; it will not be for long; and when I come back I shall have forgotten my follies and learnt wisdom.' Lord, how easy we think it in our youth to learn wisdom! 'And you will be proud to see me, and love me better than ever, for I shall deserve it better.' Then my mother wrung her hands together and sighed, and tried to speak, but she could not; and she turned away from us and moved further back into the room. I made a step forward, but the stranger caught me by the shoulder, and swinging me round, guided me to the door; and at the door we stood in silence together for some seconds, staring out into the street. 'Have patience, lad,' he whispered into my ear; 'it is a good woman's weakness, and it will pass soon. She knows and I know that it is best for you to go.' I could say nothing, for my heart was too full with the joy of going and with grief for my mother's grief. But I felt in my soul that I must go, or else I should never come to any good in this world, which, after all, would break my mother's heart more surely and sadly. Presently we heard her voice, a little trembling, call on Mr. Amber by his name, and we went slowly back together. Already, as I stood by that stalwart gentleman and timed my step to his stride, I began to feel as if I had known him all my life, and had loved him as we love some dear kin. I do not know how I can quite express what I then felt, and felt ever after, in his company--a kind of exultation, such as martial music stirs in any manly bosom, or as we draw in from the breath of some brave ballad. It would be impossible, surely, to feel aught but courageous in such cheerful, valiant, self-reliant fellowship. CHAPTER VII CAPTAIN MARMADUKE'S PLAN Seated in the back parlour, with his chair tilted slightly back, Captain Marmaduke Amber set forth his scheme to us--perhaps I should say to me, for my mother had heard it all, or most of it, already, and paid, I fancy, but little heed to its repetition. For all the attention I paid, I gained, I fear me, but a very vague idea of Captain Marmaduke's purpose. I was far too excited to think of anything clearly beyond the fact that I was actually going a-travelling, and that the jovial gentleman with the ruddy face and the china-blue eyes was my good angel. Still, I gathered that Captain Amber would be a colonist--a gentleman-adventurer; after a new fashion, and not for his own ends. It was, indeed, a kind of Utopia which Captain Amber dreamt of founding in a far corner of the world, beneath the Southern Cross. The Captain had taken it into his gallant head that the old world was growing too small and its ways too evil for its people, and that much might be done in the way of the regeneration of human society under softer surroundings and beneath purer skies. His hope, his belief, was that if a colony of earnest human beings were to be founded, established upon true principles of justice and of virtue, it might set an example which would spread and spread until at last it should regenerate the earth. It was a noble scheme indeed, prompted by a kindly and honourable nature, and I must say that it sounded very well as the periods swelled from Captain Amber's lips. For Captain Amber was a scholar and a gentleman as well as a man of action, and he spoke and wrote with a certain florid grace that suited him well, and that impressed me at the time very profoundly. It seemed to me that Captain Amber was not merely one of the noblest of men--which indeed he was, as I was to learn often and often afterwards--but also one of the wisest, and that his scheme of colonisation was the scheme of a statesman and a philosopher. How precisely the thing was to be done, and why Captain Marmaduke seemed so confident of finding a new Garden of Eden or Earthly Paradise at the other end of the world, I did not rightly comprehend then; nor, indeed, have I striven much to comprehend since. But I gathered this much--that Captain Marmaduke had retired from the service to carry out his fancy; that he had bought land of the Dutch in the Indies; that he had plenty of money at his command; and that the enterprise was all at his charges. One thing was quite certain--Captain Marmaduke had got a ship, and a good one too, now riding at anchor in Sendennis harbour; and in Sendennis Captain Marmaduke only meant to stay long enough to get together a few more folk to complete his company and his colony. I was to come along, not as a colonist, unless I chose, but as a kind of companion to Lancelot, to learn all the tricks of the sailor's trade, and to return when Captain Marmaduke, having fairly established his colony, set out on his return voyage. For it seemed that if I had forgotten, or seemed to have forgotten, Lancelot, he had not forgotten me, but had carried me in his thoughts through all the months that had grown to years since last we met. Thus, when Captain Amber first began to carry out his dream of a colony, Lancelot begged him to give me a share in the adventure. For Lancelot remembered well my hunger and thirst for travel, and had sworn to help me to my heart's desire. And it seemed to him that in this enterprise of his uncle's lurked my chance of seeing a little of the world. Captain Amber, who loved Lancelot better than any being in the world save one, promised that if I were willing, and seemed a lad of spirit, I should go along with Lancelot and himself to help build the colony at the butt end of the world. As the ship was to sail from Sendennis--that being Captain Amber's native place--he promised Lancelot that he would seek me out, and see if I pleased him, and if the plan pleased me. And I, on fire with the thought of getting away from Sendennis and feeling the width of the world--all I wanted to know was how soon we might be starting. 'A fortnight is our longest delay,' the Captain said; 'we sail sooner if we can. Report yourself to me to-morrow morning between eleven and noon. You will find me at the Noble Rose. You know where that is, I suppose?' Now, as the Noble Rose was the first inn in Sendennis, and one that the town was proud of, I naturally knew of its whereabouts, though I was not so well acquainted with it as with a certain other and more ill-favoured hostelry that shall be nameless. The Noble Rose was in favour with the country gentry and the gentlemen of the Chisholm Hunt, and it would scarcely have welcomed a tradesman's son within its walls as readily as the rapscallion Skull and Spectacles did. But I felt that I should be welcomed anywhere as the friend of Captain Marmaduke Amber, for as a friend I already began to regard him. So I assured him that I would duly present myself to him at the Noble Rose on the morrow, between eleven of the clock and noon. 'That's right, lad,' he said; and then, turning to my mother, he took her worn hand in his strong one, and, to my surprise and pleasure, kissed it with a reverential courtesy, as if she had been a Court lady. As Captain Marmaduke turned to go I caught at his hand. 'Where is Lancelot?' I asked; 'is he here in Sendennis?' For in the midst of all the joy and wonder of this sea business my heart was on fire to see that face again. Captain Marmaduke laughed. 'If he were in Sendennis at this hour he would be here, I make no doubt. He is in London, looking after one or two matters which methought he could manage better than I could. But he will be here in good time, and it is time for me to be off. Remember, my lad, to-morrow,' and with a bow for my mother and a bear's grip for me he passed outside the shop, leaving my mother and me staring at each other in great amazement. But for all my amazement the main thought in my mind was of a certain picture of a girl's face that lay, shrined in a cedar-wood box, hidden away in my room upstairs. And so it happened that though my lips were busy with the name of Lancelot my brain was busy with the name of Marjorie. CHAPTER VIII THE COMPANY AT THE NOBLE ROSE The next morning I was up betimes; indeed, I do not think that I slept very much that night, and such sleep as I did have was of a disturbed sort, peopled with wild sea-dreams of all kinds. In my impatience it seemed to me as if the time would never come for me to keep my appointment with Captain Marmaduke; but then, as ever, the hands of the clock went round their appointed circle, and at half-past eleven I was at my destination. The Noble Rose stood in the market square. It was a fine place enough, or seemed so to my eyes then, with its pillared portal and its great bow-windows at each side, where the gentlemen of quality loved to sit of fine evenings drinking their ale or their brandy, and watching the world go by. In the left-hand window as I came up I saw that the Captain was sitting, and as I came up he saw me and beckoned me to come inside. With a beating heart I entered the inn hall, and was making for the Captain's room when a servant barred my way. 'Now then, where are you posting to?' he asked, with an insolent good-humour. 'This is a private room, and holds private company.' 'I know that,' I answered, 'but it holds a friend of mine, whom I want to see and who wants to see me.' The man laughed rudely. 'Very likely,' he said, 'that the company in the Dolphin are friends of yours,' and then, as I was still pressing forward, he put out his hand as if to stay me. This angered me; and taking the knave by the collar, I swung him aside so briskly that he went staggering across the hall and brought up ruefully humped against a settle. Before he could come at me again the door of the Dolphin opened, and Captain Marmaduke appeared upon the threshold. He looked in some astonishment from the rogue scowling on the settle to me flushed with anger. 'Heyday, lad,' he said, 'are you having a bout of fisticuffs to keep your hand in?' 'This fellow,' I said, 'tried to hinder me from entering yonder room, and I did but push him aside out of my path.' 'Hum!' said Captain Marmaduke, ''twas a lusty push, and cleared your course, certainly. Well, well, I like you the better, lad, for not being lightly balked in your business.' And therewith he led me into the Dolphin. There was a sea-coal fire in the grate, for the day was raw and the glow welcome. Beside the fire an elderly gentleman sat in an arm-chair. He had a black silk skull-cap on his head, and his face was wrinkled and his eyes were bright, and his face, now turned upon me, showed harsh. I knew of course that he was Lancelot's other uncle, he who would never suffer that I should set foot within his gates. Indeed, his face in many points resembled that of his brother--as much as an ugly face can resemble a fair one. There was a likeness in the forehead and there was a likeness in the eyes, which were something of the same china-blue colour, though of a lighter shade, and with only cold unkindness there instead of the genial kindness of the Captain's. A man stood on the other side of the open fireplace, a man of about forty-five, of something over the middle height and marvellously well-built. He was clad in what, though it was not distinctly a seaman's habit, yet suggested the ways of the sea, and there was a kind of foppishness about his rig which set me wondering, for I was used to a slovenly squalor or a slovenly bravery in the sailors I knew most of. He was a handsome fellow, with dark curling hair and dark eyes, and a dark skin that seemed Italian. I have heard men say that there is no art to read the mind's complexion in the face. These fellows pretend that your villain is often smooth-faced as well as smooth-tongued, and pleases the eye to the benefit of his mischievous ends. Whereas, on the other hand, many an honest fellow is damned for a scoundrel because with the nature of an angel he has the mask of a fiend. In which two fancies I have no belief. A rogue is a rogue all the world over, and flies his flag in his face for those who can read the bunting. He may flatter the light eye or the cold eye, but the warm gaze will find some lurking line by the lip, some wryness of feature, some twist of the devil's fingers in his face, to betray him. And as for an honest man looking like a rogue, the thing is impossible. I have seen no small matter of marvels in my time--even, as I think, the great sea serpent himself, though this is not the time and place to record it--but I have never seen the marvel of a good man with a bad man's face, and it was my first and last impression that the face of Cornelys Jensen was the face of a rogue. CHAPTER IX THE TALK IN THE DOLPHIN Captain Marmaduke presented me to the two men, while his hand still rested on my shoulder. 'Brother,' he said, 'this is Master Ralph Crowninshield, of whom you have often heard from Lancelot.' 'Aye,' said the old man, looking at me without any salutation. 'Aye, I have heard of him from Lancelot.' Captain Marmaduke now turned towards the other man, who had never taken his eyes off me since I entered the room. 'Cornelys Jensen, here is Master Ralph Crowninshield, your shipmate that is to be.' Cornelys Jensen came across the room in a couple of swinging strides and held out his hand to me. Something in his carriage reminded me of certain play-actors who had come to the town once. This man carried himself like a stage king. We clasped hands, and he spoke. 'Salutation, shipmate.' Then we unclasped, and he returned to his post by the fireplace with the same exaggeration of action as before. The old man broke a short silence. 'Well, Marmaduke, why have you brought this boy here?' The Captain motioned me to a seat, which I took, and sat back himself in his former place. 'Because the boy is going with me, and I thought that you might have something to say to him before he went.' 'Something to say to him?' The old man repeated the words like a sneer, then he faced on me again and addressed me with an unmoving face. 'Yes, I have something to say to you. Young man, you are going on a fool's errand.' Captain Marmaduke laughed a little at this, but I could see that he was not pleased. 'Come, brother, don't say that,' he said. 'But I do say it,' the old gentleman repeated. 'A fool's errand it is, and a fool's errand it will be called; and it shall not be said of Nathaniel Amber that he saw his brother make a fool of himself without telling him his mind.' 'I can always trust you for that, Nathaniel,' said the Captain gravely. The old man went on without heeding the interruption. 'A fool's errand I call it, and shall always call it. What a plague! can a man find moneys and a tall ship and stout fellows, and set them to no better use than to found a Fool's Paradise with them at the heel of the world? Ships were made for traffic and shipmen for trade, and not for such whimsies.' The Captain frowned, but he said nothing, and tapped the toes of his crossed boots with his malacca. But Cornelys Jensen, advancing forward, put in his word. 'Saving your presence, Master Nathaniel,' he said, 'but is not this a most honourable and commendable enterprise? What better thing could a gallant gentleman do than to found such a brotherhood of honest hearts and honest hands as Captain Marmaduke here proposes?' The frown faded from the Captain's face, and a pleased flush deepened its warm colour. It is a curious thing that men of his kidney--men with an unerring eye for a good man--have often a poor eye for a rogue. It amazed me to see my Captain so pleased at the praisings of Cornelys Jensen. But I was to find out later that he was the easiest man in the world to deceive. 'Spoken like a man, Cornelys; spoken like a true man,' he said. 'I must ever speak my mind,' said Cornelys Jensen. 'I may be a rough sea-fellow, but if I have a thing to say I must needs spit it out, whether it please or pain. And I say roundly here, in your honour's presence, that I think this to be a noble venture, and that I have never, since first I saw salt water, prepared for any cruise with so much pleasure.' Which was indeed true, but not as he intended my Captain to take it, and as my Captain did take it. 'Well,' grumbled Nathaniel, 'you are a pair of fools, both of you,' and as he spoke he glanced from one to the other with those little shrewd eyes of his, looking at my Captain first and then at Cornelys. Young as I was, and fresh to the reading of the faces of crafty men, I thought that the look in his eyes--for his face changed not at all--was very different when they rested on the brown face of Cornelys Jensen than when they looked on the florid visage of my good patron. He glanced with contempt upon his kinsman, but I did not see contempt in the gaze he fixed upon Cornelys, who returned his gaze with a steady, unabashed stare. 'Yes,' the old man went on, 'you are a pair of fools, and a fool and his money is a pithy proverb, and true enough of one of you. But it is well sometimes to treat a fool according to his folly, and so, if you are really determined upon this adventure----' He paused, and looked again at the Captain and again at Cornelys Jensen. Cornelys Jensen remained perfectly unmoved. The Captain's face grew a shade redder. 'I am,' he said shortly. 'Very well, then,' said the old gentleman; 'as you are my brother, I must needs humour you. You shall have the moneys you need----' 'Now that's talking,' interrupted the Captain. 'Although I know it is a foolhardy thing for me to do.' 'You get good enough security, it seems to me,' said the Captain, a thought gruffly. 'Maybe I do,' said Nathaniel, 'and maybe I do not. Maybe I have a fancy for my fine guineas, and do not care to part with them, however good the security may be.' 'Lord, how you chop and change!' said the Captain. 'Act like a plain man, brother. Will you or will you not?' 'I have said that I will,' said Nathaniel slowly. I could see that for some reason it amused him to irritate his brother by his reluctance and by his slow speech. The ancient knave knew it for the surest way to spur him to the enterprise. 'When can I have the money?' asked the Captain. 'Not to-day,' said Nathaniel slowly, 'nor yet to-morrow.' 'Why not to-morrow? It would serve me well to-morrow.' 'Very well,' said Nathaniel with a sigh; 'to-morrow it shall be, though you do jostle me vilely.' 'Man alive! I want to be off to sea,' said the Captain. 'The sooner we are off the better,' interpolated Jensen; and once again I noted that Nathaniel shot a swift glance at him through his half-closed lids. 'You are bustling fellows, you that follow the sea life,' said Nathaniel. 'Well, it shall be to-morrow, and I will have all the papers made ready and the money in fat bags, and you will have nothing to do but to sign the one and to pocket the other. And now I must be jogging.' The Captain made no show of staying him. Nathaniel moved towards the door slowly, weighing up upon his crutched stick. 'Farewell, Marmaduke!' he said. He took the Captain's hand, but soon parted with it. Then he looked at me. 'Good-day, young fellow,' he said. 'Do not forget that I told you you went on a fool's errand.' I drew aside to make way for him, and he left the room without a look or a word for Cornelys Jensen. In another minute I saw him through the window hobbling along the street. He looked malignant enough, but I did not know then how malignant a thing he was. I was ever a weak wretch at figures and business and finance, but it was made plain to me later that Master Nathaniel had so handled Master Marmaduke in this matter of the lending of moneys, that if by any chance anything grave were to happen to Master Marmaduke and to the lad Lancelot and the lass Marjorie all that belonged to Captain Marmaduke would swell the wealth of his brother. And here were Captain Marmaduke and Lancelot and Marjorie all going to sea together and going in company of Cornelys Jensen. And I know now that Master Nathaniel knew Cornelys Jensen very well. But I did not know it then or dream it as I turned from the window and looked at the handsome rascal, who seemed agog to be going. 'Shall you need me longer, Captain?' Jensen asked. 'There is much to do which should be doing.' 'Nay,' said the Captain, 'you are free, for me. I know that there is much to do, and I know that you are the man to do it. But I shall see you in the evening.' Jensen saluted the Captain, nodded to me, and strode out of the room. Then the Captain sat me down and talked for some twenty minutes of his plan and his hope. If I did not understand much, I felt that I was a fortunate fellow to be in such a glorious enterprise. I wish I had been more mindful of all that he said, but my mind was ever somewhat of a sieve for long speeches, and the dear gentleman spoke at length. Presently he consulted his watch. 'The coach should be in soon,' he said. 'Let us go forth and await it.' We went out of the Dolphin together into the hall, and there we came to a halt, for he had thought upon some new point in his undertaking, and he began to hold forth to me upon that. I can see the whole place now--the dark oak walls, the dark oak stairs, and my Captain's blue coat and scarlet face making a brave bit of colour in the sombre place. The Noble Rose is gone long since, but that hall lives in my memory for a thing that just then happened. CHAPTER X SHE COMES DOWN THE STAIRS From the hall of the Noble Rose sprang an oak staircase, and at this instant a girl began to descend the stairs. She was quite young--a tall slip of a thing, who scarcely seemed nineteen--and she had hair of a yellow that looked as if it loved the sun, and her eyes were of a softer blue than my friend's. I knew that at last I looked on Marjorie, Lancelot's Marjorie, the maid whose very picture had seemed farther from me than the farthest star. Her face was fresh, as of one who has enjoyed liberally the open air, and not sat mewed within four walls like a town miss. I noted, too, that her steps as she came down the stairs were not taken mincingly, as school-girls are wont to walk, but with decision, like a boy. Indeed, though she was a beautiful girl, and soon to make a beautiful woman, there was a quality of manliness in her which pleased me much then and more thereafter. There is a play I have seen acted in which a girl goes to live in a wood in a man's habit. I have thought since that she of the play must have showed like this girl, and indeed I speak but what I know when I say that man's apparel became her bravely. Now, as she came down the stairs she was clad in some kind of flowered gown of blue and white which set off her fair loveliness divinely. She carried some yellow flowers at her girdle; they were Lent lilies, as I believe. This apparition distracting my attention from the Captain's words, he wheeled round upon his heel and learnt the cause of my inattention. Immediately he smiled and called to the maiden. 'Come here, niece; I have found you a new friend.' She came forward, smiling to him, and then looked at me with an expression of the sweetest gravity in the world. Surely there never was such a girl in the world since the sun first shone on maidens. 'Lass,' said the Captain, 'this is our new friend. His name is Raphael Crowninshield, but, because I think he has more of the man in him than of the archangel, I mean to call him Ralph.' The girl held out her hand to me in a way that reminded me much of Lancelot. As I took her hand I felt that my face was flaming like the sun in a sea-fog--no less round and no less red. I was timid with girls, for I knew but few, and after my misfortune I had shunned those few most carefully. She was not shy herself, though, and she did not seem to note my shyness--or, if she did, it gave her no pleasure to note it, as it would have given many less gracious maidens. Her hand was not very small, but it was finely fashioned--a noble hand, like my Captain's and like Lancelot's; a hand that gave a true grasp; a hand that it was a pleasure to hold. 'Shall I call you Ralph or Raphael?' she said. My face grew hotter, and I stammered foolishly as I answered her that I begged she would call me by what name she pleased, but that if it pleased my Captain to call me Ralph, then Ralph I was ready to be. 'Well and good, Ralph,' she said. We had parted hands by this time, but I was still staring at her, full of wonder. 'This boy,' said the Captain, 'goes with us in the Royal Christopher. We will find our New World together. He is a good fellow, and should make a good sailor in time.' As the Captain spoke of me and the girl looked at me I felt hotter and more foolish, and could think of nothing to say. But even if I could have thought of anything to say I had no time to say it in, for there came an interruption which ended my embarrassment; a horn sounded loudly, and every soul in Sendennis knew that the coach was in. In a moment everything was changed. The Captain took his hand from my shoulder; the girl took her gaze from my face. There was a clatter of wheels, a trampling of horses' hoofs. The coach had drawn up in front of the inn door. We three--my Captain, the girl, and myself--ran across the hall and out on the portico. There was the usual crowd about the newly arrived coach; but there was only one person in the crowd for whom we looked, and him we soon found. A lithe figure in a buff travelling coat swung off the box-seat, and Lancelot was with us again. He had an arm around the girl's neck, and kissed her with no heed of the people; he had a hand clasped between the two hands of the Captain, who squeezed his fingers fondly. Then he looked at me, and leaving his kindred he caught both my hands in both his, while his joy shone in his eyes. 'Raphael, my old Raphael, is it you?' he said; 'but my heart is glad of this.' I wrung his hands. I could scarcely speak for happiness at seeing him again. 'You must not call him Raphael any more,' the girl said demurely. 'He is to be Ralph now, for all of us, so my uncle says.' 'Is that so?' said Lancelot, looking up at the Captain. 'Well, we must obey orders, and indeed I would rather have Ralph than Raphael. 'Tis less of an outlandish name.' Then we all laughed, and we all came back into the hall of the inn together. I watched Lancelot with wonder and with pride. He had grown amazingly in the years since I had seen him, and carried himself like a man. He was handsomer than ever I thought, and liker to our island's patron saint. As he stripped off his travelling coat and stood up in the neat habit of a well-to-do town gentleman, he looked such a cavalier as no woman but would wish for a lover, no man but desire for a friend. 'Lads and lass,' said Captain Amber, 'it will soon be time to dine. We have waited dinner for this scapegrace'--and he pinched Lancelot's ear--'so get the dust of travel off as quickly as may be, and we will sit down with good appetite.' At these words I made to go away, for I did not dream that I was to be of the party; but the Captain, seeing my action, caught me by the arm. 'Nay, Ralph,' he said, 'you must stay and dine with us. You are one of us now, and Lancelot must not lose you on this first day of fair meeting.' I was indeed glad to accept, for Lancelot's sake. But there was another reason in my heart which made me glad also, and that reason was that I should see the girl again who was my Captain's darling, the sister whom Lancelot had kissed. So I said that I would come gladly, if so be that I had time to run home and tell my mother, lest she might be keeping dinner for me. 'That's right, lad, that's right. Ever think of the feelings of others.' My Captain was always full of moral counsels and maxims of good conduct, but they came from him as naturally as his breath, and his own life was so honourable that there was nothing sanctimonious in his way or his words. As I was about to start he begged me to assure my mother that if she would join them at table he would consider it an honour. I thanked him with tears in my eyes, and saluting them all I left the inn quickly, with the last sweet smile of that girl's burning in my memory. CHAPTER XI A FEAST OF THE GODS I sped through the streets to our house as swiftly, I am sure, as that ancient messenger of the Pagan gods--he that had the wings tied to his feet that he might travel the faster. My dear mother was rejoiced at the Captain's kindness, but she would by no means hear of coming with me. She bade me return with speed, that I might not keep the company waiting, and to thank the Captain for her with all my heart for his kindness and condescension. When I got back to the Noble Rose I found our little company all assembled in the Dolphin. No one stayed my entrance this time, for though the same fellow that I had tussled with before saw me enter he made no objection this time, and even saluted me in a loutish manner; for I was the Captain's friend, and as such claimed respect. Lancelot was leaning against the mantelpiece, and Marjorie and my Captain were sitting by plying him with questions and listening eagerly to his answers. Lancelot had drawn off his travelling boots and spruced himself, and looked a comely fellow. When I entered he broke off in what he was saying to clasp my hand again, while the Captain rang for dinner, expressing as he did so the civilest regrets at my mother's absence. Then we all sat to table and dined together in the pleasantest good-fellowship. Never shall I forget that dinner, not if I live to be a hundred--which is not unlikely, for I come of a long-lived race by my mother's side, and winds and waters have so toughened me that I ought to last with the best of my ancestors. There was a Latin tag Mr. Davies used to tease me with about the Feasts of the Gods. Feasts of the Gods, forsooth! They could not compare, I'll dare wager, with that repast in the Dolphin Room of the Noble Rose, on that crisp spring day when I and the world were younger. I might well be excused, a raw provincial lad, if I did feel shyish in the presence of such gentlefolk. But they were such true gentlefolk that it was impossible for long not to feel at ease in their society. So when I learnt that Lancelot had not changed one whit in his love for me, and when I found that not the Captain alone, but his beautiful niece too, did everything to make me feel happy and at home--why, it would have been churlish of me not to have aided their gentleness by making myself as agreeable as might be. [Illustration: "HE BROKE OFF IN WHAT HE WAS SAYING TO CLASP MY HAND."] The Captain had so much to say of his scheme or dream, and we were so content to listen like good children, that we did not rise from table till nigh three o'clock. It was such a happy dream, and so feelingly depicted by the Captain, that it never occurred to me for a moment to doubt in any wise its feasibility, or to feel aught but sure that I was engaged in the greatest undertaking wherein man had ever shared. When we did part at last, on the understanding that I was to attend upon the Captain daily, I shook hands with Marjorie as with an old friend. I was for shaking hands with Lancelot, too, but he would not hear of it. He would walk home with me, he said; he could not lose me so soon after finding me again. So we issued out of the Noble Rose together, arm-in-arm, in very happy mind. We walked for a few paces in silence, the sweet silence that often falls upon long-parted friends when their hearts are too full for parley. Then Lancelot asked me suddenly 'Is she not wonderful?' and I could answer no more than 'indeed,' for she seemed to me the most wonderful creature the world had ever seen, which opinion I entertain and cherish to this very day and hour. 'Is she not better than her picture in little?' he questioned, and again I had no more to say than 'indeed,' though I would have liked to find other words for my thoughts. By this time we had come to the way where I should turn to my home, but here Lancelot would needs have it that we should go and visit Mr. Davies's shop in the High Street. I must say that this resolve somewhat smote my conscience, for it was many a long day since I had crossed Mr. Davies's threshold; but I would not say Lancelot nay, and so we went our ways to the High Street and Mr. Davies's shop. And indeed I am glad we did so. CHAPTER XII MR. DAVIES'S GIFTS Mr. Davies did not seem at all surprised to see us when we entered, and he turned round and faced us. The poor little man had lived so long among his musty books that the real world had become as it were a kind of dream to him, wherein people came like shadows and people went like shadows, and where still the battered battalions of his books abided with him. But he seemed very well pleased to see us, and shook us both warmly by the hands and called us by our right names, without confounding either of us with the other, and had us into his little back parlour and pressed strong waters upon us, all very hospitably. Of the strong waters Lancelot and I would have none, for in those days I never touched them, nor did Lancelot. I never drank aught headier than ale in the time when I used to frequent the Skull and Spectacles, and as for Lancelot, who was a gentleman born and used to French wines, he had no relish for more ardent liquors. Then he begged we would have a dish of tea, of which he had been given a little present, he said, of late; and as it would have cut him to the heart if we had refused all his proffers, we sat while he bustled about at his brew, and then we all sipped the hot stuff out of porcelain cups and chatted away as if the world had grown younger. Mr. Davies was full of curiosity about our departure and the Captain's purpose, and did not weary of putting questions to us, or rather to Lancelot, for he soon found that I knew but little of our business beyond the name of the ship. To be sure, I do not think that Lancelot really knew much more about it than I did, but he could talk as I never could talk, and he made it all seem mighty grand and venturesome and heroic to the little bookseller. When we rose Mr. Davies rose with us and followed us into the shop, when he insisted that each of us should have a book for a keepsake. He groped along his shelves, and after a little while turned to us with a couple of volumes under his arm. Mr. Davies addressed Lancelot very gravely as he handed him one of the volumes. 'Master Lancelot,' he said, 'in giving you that book I bestow upon you what is worth more than a king's ransom--yea, more than gold of Ophir and peacocks and ivory from Tarshish, and pearls of Tyre and purple of Sidon. It is John Florio's rendering of the Essays of Michael of Montaigne, and there is no better book in the world, of the books that men have made for men, the books that have no breath of the speech of angels in them. Here may a man learn to be brave, equable, temperate, patient, to look life--aye, and the end of life--squarely in the face, to make the most and best of his earthly portion. Take it, Master Lancelot; it is the good book of a good and wise gentleman, and in days long off, when I am no more, you may remember my name because of this my gift and be grateful.' Then he turned to me and handed me the other book that he had been hugging under his arm. 'For you, my dear young friend,' he said, 'I have chosen a work of another temper. You have no bookish habit, but you have a gallant spirit, and so I will give you a gallant book.' He opened the volume, which was a quarto, and read from its title-page in his thin, piping voice, that always reminded me somewhat of his own old bullfinch. 'A New, Short, and Easy Method of Fencing; or, the Art of the Broad and Small Sword, Rectified and Compendiz'd, wherein the practice of these two weapons is reduced to so few and general Rules that any Person of indifferent Capacity and ordinary Agility of Body may in a very short time attain to not only a sufficient Knowledge of the Theory of this art, but also to a considerable adroitness in practice, either for the Defence of his life upon a just occasion, or preservation of his Reputation and Honour in any Accidental Scuffle or Trifling Quarrel. By Sir William Hope of Balcomie, Baronet, late Deputy-Governor of the Castle of Edinburgh.' I should not have carried such a string of words in my memory merely from hearing Mr. Davies say them over once. But they and the book they spoke of became very familiar to me afterwards, and I know it and its title by root of heart. Lancelot thanked him for us both in well-chosen words, such as I should never have found if I had cudgelled my brains for a fortnight. Then we wrung Mr. Davies's hands again, and he wished us God-speed, and we came out again into the open street, where the day had now well darkened down. As we walked along the High Street with our books under our arms Lancelot gave me many particulars concerning his uncle's scheme and his means for furthering it. It would appear that Captain Marmaduke had for some time cherished the notion of an ideal colony. The thought came originally into his head, so Lancelot fancied, from his study of such books as the 'Republic' of Plato and the 'Utopia' of Sir Thomas More, works I had then never heard of, and have found no occasion since that time to study. But, as I gathered from Lancelot, they were volumes that treated of ideal commonwealths. Captain Amber's first idea, it appeared, was to establish his little following in one of His Majesty's American colonies. But while he was in the Low Countries he had heard much of those new lands at the end of the world, wherein the Dutch are so much interested, and it seems that the Dutch Government, in gratitude to him for some services rendered, were willing to make him a concession of land wherein to try his venture. At least I think, as well as I can remember, that this was so; I know that somehow or other the Dutch Government was mixed up in the matter. What further resolved Captain Amber to go so far afield was, it seems, the friendship he had formed while at Leyden with Cornelys Jensen. This Jensen was a fellow of mixed parentage, a Dutch father and an English mother, who had followed the sea all his life, and knew, it seemed, very intimately those parts of the world whereto Captain Amber's thoughts were turned. Jensen was such a plausible fellow, and professed to be so enraptured with Captain Amber's enterprise, that the Captain's heart was quite won by the fellow, and from that time out he and Cornelys Jensen were hand and glove together in the matter. Very valuable Jensen proved, according to the Captain; full of experience, expeditious, and a rare hand at the picking up of stout fellows for a crew. I found that Lancelot did not hold him in such high regard as his uncle did, but that out of respect for Captain Amber's judgment he held his peace. As for the Captain's brother Nathaniel, his whole share in the enterprise consisted in the advancing of moneys, on those ungentle terms I have recorded, upon the broad lands and valuables which made my Captain a man of much worldly gear. Lancelot brought me to my door, we still talking of this and of that. Lancelot came within for a little while and kissed my mother, who hung on his neck for a moment and then cried a little softly, while Lancelot spoke to her with those words of grave encouragement which seemed beyond his years. Then he wished us good-night, and I saw him to the door, and stood watching his tall form stepping briskly up the street in the clear starlight. The girl I spoke of but now, she in the play-book who lived like a man in the greenwood, says--or bears witness that another said--that none ever loved who loved not at first sight. This was true in my case. For that unhappy business with the girl Barbara, though it was love sure enough, was not such gracious love as that day entered into me and has ever since dwelt with me. Of course I had much to tell my mother and she listened, as interested as a child in a fairy tale to all that had been said and done in the Noble Rose. But most of all she seemed surprised to hear that a girl was going to sea with us. She questioned me suddenly when I had made an end of my story: 'What do you think of this maid Marjorie, Raphael?' I felt at the mention of her name that the blood ran red in my face and I was glad to think that the light in the room was not bright enough to betray me, for I felt shy and angry at my shyness and knew that my cheeks flamed for both reasons. But I tried to say unconcernedly that truly Captain Amber was much blessed in such a niece and Lancelot in such a sister. Yet while I answered I felt both hot and cold, as I have felt since with the ague in the Spanish Islands. We spoke no more of Marjorie that evening but at night I lay long hours awake thinking of her, and when at last I fell asleep I slipped into dreams of her, with her yellow hair, and the yellow flowers in her girdle and the kindness of Heaven in her steadfast eyes. There are many kinds of love in the world, as there are many kinds of men and many kinds of women, but my love for Marjorie Amber was of the best kind that a man can feel, and it made a man of me. I have lived a wild life and a vagrant life, I know; but, anyway, my way of life has been a clean way. I have never been a brawler nor a sot, and I have never struck a man to his hurt unless when peril forced me. I have never fought in wantonness or bad blood, but only out of some necessity that would not be said nay to. And, indeed, there have been times when I have let a man live to my own risk. So I hope when my ghost meets elsewhere with the ghosts of my enemies that they will offer me their shadowy fingers in proof that they bear me no malice and are aware that all was done according to honourable warfare. There is the blood of no vindictive death upon my fingers. What blood there is was blood spilt honestly, in a gentlemanly way, in a soldierly way; and there is a blessed Blood that will cleanse me of its stain. That I can make this boast I owe in all thankfulness to two women. To my mother first, and then to the girl who came to me at the very turn of my life. If I can say truthfully that year in and year out my life has been a fairly creditable one for a man that has followed fortune by sea and by land the Recording Angel must even set it down to the credit of Marjorie. CHAPTER XIII TO THE SEA From that out the days ran by with a marvellous swiftness. There was much to do daily; in my humble way I had to get my sea-gear ready, which kept my dear mother busy; and every day I was with Captain Marmaduke and Lancelot and Marjorie, and every day we all worked hard to get ready for the great voyage and to bring our odd brotherhood together. It certainly was a strange fellowship which Captain Amber had gathered together to sail the seas in the Royal Christopher. Most of them were quiet folk of the farming favour, well set up, earnest, with patient faces. There were men who had been old soldiers; there were men who had served with Captain Amber. These were to be the backbone of his colony. Some brought wives, some sisters; altogether we had our share of women on board, about a dozen in all, including the woman whose care it was to wait upon the Captain's niece. But I did not see a great deal of them, for they lay aft, and it was my Captain's pleasure that I should dwell in his part of the ship; and he himself, though he carried them to a new world and to warmer stars, did not mingle much with them on shipboard. For my Captain had his notion of rank and place, as a man-at-arms should have. He passed his wont in admitting me to his intimacy, and that was for Lancelot's sake. As for the hands, the finding of them had been, it would seem, chiefly entrusted to the hands of Cornelys Jensen. I saw nothing of them until the day we sailed. What I saw of them then gave me no great pleasure, for several reasons. Many of them were fine-looking fellows enough. All were stalwart, sea-tested, skilled at their work; most seemed jovial of blood and ready to tackle their work cheerily. Some of them were known to me by sight and even by name, for Cornelys Jensen had culled them from the sea-dogs and sea-devils who drank and diced at the Skull and Spectacles. That was not much; many good seamen were familiars of the Skull and Spectacles. But what I misliked in them was the regard they seemed to pay to the deeds and words of Cornelys Jensen. It was but natural, indeed, that they should pay him regard, seeing that he was the second in command after Captain Amber. But it seemed to me then, or perhaps I imagine--judging by the light of later times--that it seemed to me then that their behaviour showed that they looked upon Jensen rather than my Captain as the centre of authority in the ship. Certainly most of them were more of the kidney of Cornelys Jensen than of Marmaduke Amber. I ventured to break something of my thought to Captain Amber, but he laughed at me for my pains, saying that Jensen was a proper man and very trustworthy, and a man with a better eye for a good seaman than any other man in the kingdom. So I had no more to say, and Cornelys Jensen went his own way and collected his own following unhindered. Whatever I might think of the crew, there was but one thought for the ship. A finer than the Royal Christopher at that time I had never seen of her kind and size. She was a large ship of the corvette kind, with something of the carack and something of the polacca about her. We boast greatly of our progress in the art of putting tall ships together, and, if we go on at the rate at which, according to some among us, we are going, Heaven only knows where it will end, or with what kind of marine monsters we shall people the great deep. But I cannot think that we have done or ever shall do much better in shipbuilding than we did in the days when I was young. The hands of the clock wheeled in their circle, and the day came when all was ready and we were to sail. I was leaning over the side, looking at the downs and the town where I had lived all my life, and which, perhaps, I might never see again. My mother was by my side, and we were talking together as people talk who love each other when a parting is at hand. All of a sudden I became aware of a boat that was pulling across the water in the direction of our ship. It contained a man and a woman, and when it came alongside I saw who the man and the woman were, and saw that they were known to me; and for a moment my heart stood still, and I make no doubt that my face flushed and paled. For the woman was that girl Barbara who had made the Skull and Spectacles so dear and so dreadful to me, and the man was that red-bearded fellow who had clipped her closely in his arms on the day when I went there for the last time. The man who was rowing the boat was none other than the landlord of the Skull and Spectacles, Barbara's uncle. I drew back before they had noticed me, and I drew my mother away with me. The pair came on board, but I kept my back turned, and they went aft without noting me. It would seem as if Cornelys Jensen had been but waiting for them to set sail, for now he gave the order that all should leave the ship who were not sailing with her. Then there was such sobbings and embracings and hand-claspings ere the relatives and friends who were staying on shore got down the side into the craft that was waiting for them. My mother and I parted somehow, and I saw her safely into the dinghy which I had chartered for her benefit, handled by a waterside fellow whom I knew well for a steady oar. Everything then seemed to happen with the quickness of a dream. One moment I seemed to see her sitting in the stern of the boat, waving her handkerchief to me; then next there came a rush of tears, that blotted out everything, my mother and the town and all; the next, as it seemed to me, though of course the interval was longer, we were cutting the water with a fair wind, and the downs and the cliffs seemed to be racing away from us. The Royal Christopher had set sail for its haven at the other end of the world. CHAPTER XIV THE SEA LIFE The fair weather with which we were favoured during the early part of our voyage made the time very delightful and very instructive to me. Indeed, I learnt more during those happy weeks of matters that are proper for a man to know than I had even guessed at in the whole course of my life. For the Captain, who was an accomplished swordsman, and Lancelot, who was a promising pupil, were at great pains to teach me the use both of the small sword and the broadsword, at which they exercised me daily upon the deck. Captain Amber had a great regard for Sir William Hope of Balcomie's book, wherein I made my daily study, and he or Lancelot would make me practise all that I read. I was ever apt at picking up all things wherein strength and skill counted for more than book-learning, and I am glad to think that they found me an apt pupil. Indeed, before we had got half-way on our journey I was almost as pretty a swordsman as Lancelot, and the Captain used often to declare that in time I should be better than he himself was. But this, of course, he said only to encourage me, for indeed I think I have never seen a better master of his weapon than Captain Amber, and neither I nor Lancelot ever came near him in that art. Captain Amber was my teacher in other things than swordcraft. He set himself with a patience that knew no limit to make me learn such things as are useful in the sea life, and indeed he found me an apter pupil than poor Mr. Davies had ever been able to make of me. He was himself versed in the mathematical sciences, in navigation, in astronomy, dialling, gauging, gunnery, fortification, the use of the globes, the projection of the sphere upon any circle, and many another matter essential for the complete sailor, soldier, or navigator and adventurer of any kind. He instructed me further in matters military, for, as he said, a stout man should be able to serve God and his King as well by land as by sea. So he put me through a rare course of martial education, discoursing to me very learnedly on the principles of fortification as they are expounded by the ingenious Monsieur Vauban, and showing me, in the plans of many and great towns, both French and German, to what perfection their defence may be carried. He showed me how to handle a musket and a pike, and the manage of the half-pike joined to the musket, and instructed me in the drilling of troops and in the forming of a brigade after the Swedish method, for which he had a particular affection. He harangued me much upon the uses of artillery, illustrating what he said by the example of the ship's cannon, until I felt that I should only need a little practice to become a master gunner. And he set forth to me by precept--for here he had no chance of example--drill of cavalry and the importance of that arm in war, and promised me that I should learn to ride when we had reached our Arcadia. In all these exercises Lancelot, whose cabin I shared, took his part. He knew so much more than I did that I feel very sure that my companionship in these studies was but a drag upon him. Yet he never betrayed the least impatience with me or with my more sluggish method of acquiring knowledge. Now, as always, he was my true friend. If every day taught me more to admire Captain Marmaduke, every day bade me the more and more to congratulate myself upon being blessed with such a comrade as Lancelot. Nevertheless, the best part of the business was the presence of Marjorie. She was a true child of the sea. She loved it as if she had been such a mermaiden as old poets fable. She had sailed with her uncle ever since she was a little girl. She was as good a sailor as her brother, and took foul weather as gallantly as fair. For it was not all smooth sailing, for all our luck. There were squalls and there were storms; but the Royal Christopher rode the billows bravely, and Marjorie faced the storm as fearlessly as the oldest hand on board. There was one wild night, when we rose and fell in a fury of wind. She must needs be on deck, so I fastened her to one of the masts with a rope and held on next to her while we watched the war of the elements. The rain was strong, and it soaked all the clothes on her body to a pulp; and her long hair floated on the wind, and sometimes flapped across my face and made my blood tingle. She stuck to her post like a man--or, let me say in her honour, like a woman--watching the strife, and every now and then she would put her lips close to my ear--for the screaming of the wind whistled away all words that were not so spoken--and would bid me note some wonder of sky or water. For by this time we were great friends, Marjorie and I, and she always treated me as if I were some kinsman of her house instead of what I was, a poor adventurer in the dawn of his first adventure. She liked me I knew from the start because Lancelot liked me, and because she trusted in Lancelot with the same implicit faith that he addressed to her. And where she liked she liked wholly, as a generous man might, giving her friendship freely in the firm clasp of her hand, in the keen, even greeting of her eyes. It was a strange grace for me to share in that wonderful fellowship of brother and sister, and I joyed in my fortune and shut my mind against any thought of the sorrow that might come to me from such sweet intercourse. For I knew from the first as I have said that I loved her, and I knew, too, that it would be about as reasonable to fall in love with a star or a dream. Those gentry who write verses, find, as I believe, a kind of bitter satisfaction in recording their pains in rhyme, but for me there was no such solace. Yet on that driving night, in that high wind, I would have rejoiced to be apprenticed to the poets' guild and skilled to make some use that might please her of the dumb thoughts that troubled me. As it was it was she who seemed to speak with the speech of angels and I who listened mumchance. She had the rarest gifts and graces for gladdening our voyage. She could sing, and she could play a guitarra that she had brought from Spain; and often of fair evenings, when we sat out on the deck, she would sing to us ballads in Spanish and French, and then for me, who was unlettered, she would sing old English ditties, such as 'Barbara Allen' and 'When first I saw your face,' and many canzonets from out of Mr. William Shakespeare's plays, which she always held in high esteem, and I would sit and listen in a rapture. Once, a long while after, when that Spanish tongue had become as familiar to me as it was then unfamiliar, I remember falling into a brawl with a stout fellow in Spain, and getting, as luck would have it, the better of the business, and being within half a mind of ramming my knife into his throat; for my blood was up, and the fellow had meant to kill me if he had had the chance. But even as I made to strike, he, looking up at me, and as cool as if I were doing him a favour, began to sing very softly to himself just one of those very Spanish songs that Marjorie used to sing of summer evenings on the deck of the Royal Christopher. And as he sang so, waiting death, in that instant all my rage vanished, and I put aside my weapon and held out my hand to him, and asked his forgiveness and asked his friendship. The man looked amazed, as well he might; and it was lucky for me that he did not seize the chance to stab me unawares. But he did not, and we shook hands and parted, and he went his ways never witting that he owed his life to the fairest woman in the whole wide world--at least, that I have ever seen, and I have seen many and many in my time. There were two on that ship with whom I did not wish to have any dealings, namely, Barbara and the red-bearded man, Hatchett by name, who was now her husband. However, I saw but little of them, for they kept to their own part of the ship. Barbara knew me again, of course, and we saluted each other when we met, as it was of course inevitable that we should meet on board ship. But we did not meet often, and I was glad to find that I felt no pang when the rare meetings did take place. That folly had wholly gone. There--I have written those words, but I have no sooner written than I repent them. It is not a folly for a boy to be honestly in love, as I was in love with Barbara. I was silly, if you please--a moon-struck, calf-loving idiot, if you like--but in all that hot noon of my madness there never was an unclean thought in my mind nor an unclean prompting of the body. However, all that was past and done with. My liver was washed clean of that passion; it had not left a spot upon my heart. I have only loved two women in all my life, and when the second love came into my life that first fancy was dead and buried, and no other fancy has ever for a moment arisen to trouble my happiness. CHAPTER XV UTOPIA HO! I have purposely left out of these pages the record of the voyage. One such voyage is much like another, and though it was all new to me it would not be new to others. I might like to dwell again upon the first land we made, the Island of St. Jago, where we had civil entertainment of a Portuguese gentleman and of a negro Romish priest, with a merry heart and merry heels. My mother would have loved to go marketing in that place, for I bought no less than one hundred sweet oranges for half a paper of pins, and five fat hens for the other half of the paper. I could talk of our becalms and our storms and our crossing the Line, and of our trouble with the travado-wind. But as I do not wish to weary with the repetition of an oft-told tale, I will say no more of our voyage until we came to the Cape which is so happily named of Good Hope. It was a very wonderful voyage for me; it would not seem a very wonderful voyage to others, who have either made it themselves or who know out of book knowledge all and more than all that I could tell them. But I may say that I was a very different lad when we came to the Cape from the lad who had got on board of the Royal Christopher so many months earlier. I was but a pale-faced boy when I sailed, only a landsman, and no great figure as a landsman. But when we came to the Cape I was so coloured by the winds and the suns and the open life that my face and hands were well-nigh of the tint of burnished copper. I had always been a fairly strong lad; but now my strength was multiplied many times, and, thanks to my dear master, my skill to use that strength was marvellously advanced. Which proved to be of infinite service to me and others better than myself by-and-by. We stayed some little time at Cape Town; how long now I do not closely remember, but, as I think, a matter of four weeks or more. For the Captain had some old friends amongst the Dutch colony, and there were certain matters of revictualling the ship to be thought of, and Lancelot longed for a little shooting and hunting. For my part, I was by no means loth to tread the soil again, for, though I love the sea dearly, I have no hatred for firm earth as other seamen have, but look upon myself as a kind of amphibious animal, and like the land and the water impartially. And there was a great joy and wonder to me to see a new country and a new town--I, who knew of no other town than Sendennis, and knew no more of London than of Grand Cairo, or of the capital of the Mogul. I remember that we stayed some days under the roof of a leading Dutch merchant of the place, who entertained us very handsomely, and that his brother, who was a somewhat younger man than he, and who spoke our English tongue well, took Lancelot and me many times a-shooting and a-fishing, and that we had some rare and savage sport. For the town is but a small one, and there is excellent sport to be had well-nigh at its back doors, as it were. I should have loved dearly to have wandered inward far inland towards the great mountains, for I heard wonderful tales, both from the Dutchmen and their black men, of treasures that the bowels of these mountains were said to hold. Of course that was out of the question, with the Royal Christopher waiting for her fate; but the tales fired me with memories of those Eastern tales that I have told you of, and I longed to out-rival Master Sindbad. I cannot conscientiously affirm that I was sorry to leave Cape Town, and the wines that the Dutch settlers made, and the amazing Hottentots, and the other marvels of that my first experience of strange distant countries. We were all the better for our rest, Marjorie and Captain Amber, Lancelot, the colonists, the crew, and, in a word, all our fellowship. But we were all eager to be on the way again, for very different reasons. Captain Amber, because he was keen to place his foot upon his Land of Promise; Lancelot, because he wished what his uncle wished; Marjorie, because she wished to be with Lancelot; I myself, much out of eager, restless curiosity for new places and new adventures. For I was so simple in those days that the mere crossing of the seas seemed to me to be an adventure, a thing that I came later to regard as no more adventurous than the hiring of a hackney-coach. But in my heart I knew that the main reason for my bliss in boarding the Royal Christopher lay in the closer intimacy it gave me with maid Marjorie. In the little kingdom of the ship, where all in a sense were friends and adventurers together, there was less than on land to remind me that for me to dream myself her lover went far to prove me lunatic. So I was blithe to be afloat again. As for Cornelys Jensen, we were to learn soon enough in what direction lay his pleasure to be ploughing the high seas again. CHAPTER XVI I MAKE A DISCOVERY I have been brief with our adventure so far, because it only began to be adventurous after we had left the Cape leagues behind us. Up to that time, though the voyage was full of wonders for me, it was but one voyage with another for those who use the sea. But when the adventure did begin it began briskly, and having once made a beginning it did not make an end for long enough, nor without great changes of fortune. Yet it began, as a big business often does begin, in a very little matter. One night, somewhat late, Captain Amber wished for a word with Jensen. Yet, as it was not the Dutchman's watch, and he might be sleeping, Captain Amber bade me go to his cabin--for Jensen, being a man of consideration upon the ship, had a cabin to himself--to see if he were stirring, commanding me, however, if he were resting, not to arouse him. Jensen's cabin lay amidships, and as I proceeded warily because of the Captain's caution, I came to it quietly and listened at the door before lifting my finger to knock. As I did so I noticed that the door was not fastened. Whoever had drawn it to had not latched it, and it lay open just a chink, through which a line of light showed from within. Thinking that if I peeped through this chink I might learn if Jensen were astir or no, I put my eye to it and saw what I saw. The cabin was not a very large one, and though the lamp that swung from the ceiling gave forth but a dim light, yet it was enough to enable me to see very clearly all that there was to see. At the first blush, indeed, there seemed to be nothing out of the way to witness. At the further end of the cabin two men were sitting at a table together, with a chart before them. Nearer to me, and in front of the men, a woman stood, and held up for their inspection a piece of needlework. The two men were Cornelys Jensen and William Hatchett; the woman was Barbara Hatchett. It might have made a very pleasing example of domestic peace but for one queer fact, which notably altered its character. The needlework at which women are wont to labour is nine times out of ten white work or brightly-coloured work. Women are like the best kind of birds, and love snowy plumage or feathers that are bravely tinted. But the work with which Barbara Hatchett was occupied was neither white nor coloured, but black--the deepest, darkest black. Now there was no cause as yet, thank Heaven! for man or woman to mourn on board of the Royal Christopher, and there was no need for Mistress Barbara to deal with mourning. So I marvelled, but even as I marvelled I noted, as she shifted her position slightly and shook out the black stuff over her knees, that it was not all and only black. There was white work in it too, a kind of patch or pattern of white work in the midst which I could not make out, for the stuff was still bunched up in the woman's hands. But now, as I watched, I saw her shake it out over her knees for the others to view, and I saw that the thing she displayed was a large square of black worsted, and that in the centre were sewn some pieces of white material into a very curious semblance. For that semblance was none other than the likeness of a grinning human skull, with two cross-bones beneath it--just such an effigy as I had seen many times on the tombstones in the churchyard at Sendennis. [Illustration: "HELD UP FOR THEIR INSPECTION A PIECE OF NEEDLEWORK."] It was not, however, of the tombstones at Sendennis that I thought just then. No; that ugly image in the girl's fingers carried my fancy back to the place where I had first seen her--to the hostelry of the Skull and Spectacles--and I fancied somehow, I scarce knew why, that the work of Barbara's fingers had some connection with her father's inn. Only for a second or so did I think this, but in honest truth that was my first, my immediate belief, and it brought me no thought of fear, no thought of danger with it. I was only conscious of wondering vaguely to what service this sad piece of handicraft could be put, when suddenly, in a flash, my intelligence took fire, and I knew what was intended; and I felt my knees give way and my heart stand still with horror. The thing I was looking at, the ill-favoured thing that was hanging from my old love's hand, was none other than a flag of evil omen--a pirate's flag, the barbarous piece of bunting that they call the Jolly Roger. There could be no doubt of that--no doubt whatever. I had heard of that flag and read of it, and now I was looking at it with my own eyes; and a light seemed to be let in upon my mind, and I trembled at the terror it brought with it. That piece of handicraft meant murder; meant outrage; meant violence of all kinds to those that were so dear to me--to those who were all unconscious of their imminent doom. For I was as sure now as if those three had told it to me with their own lips that I had come upon a conspiracy. The red-haired ruffian and the black-haired ruffian were in a tale together; their purpose was to seize the poor Royal Christopher that sailed on so gentle an errand and make her a pirate ship, with that devil's ensign flying at her forepeak. My soul sickened in my body at the thought of the women-kind at the mercy of these desperadoes. There was one name ever in my heart, and as I thought of that name I shivered as if the summer night had suddenly been frozen. I believe that if I had had a brace of pistols with me I should have taken my chance of sending those two villains out of the world with a bullet apiece, so clearly did their malignity betray itself to my observation. But I was unarmed, and even if I had been I might have missed my aim--though this I do not think likely, in that narrow place, and with my determination steadying my hand--and, moreover, I had no notion as to how many of the ship's crew were sworn to share in the villainy. Besides, I have never killed a man in cold blood in my life, and on that night so long ago I had never lifted hand and weapon against any man, and had only once in my life seen blood spilt murderously. But I stayed there, with my heart drumming against my ribs and my breath coming in gasps that seemed to me to shake the ship's bulk, staring hard at the two men and the woman with her work. She held out the banner at arm's length, and looked down at it lovingly, as women are wont to look at any piece of needlework that they have taken pains over with pleasure in the pains. I had seen women smile over their work many and many a time--good women that have worked for their kin, mothers that have laboured to fashion some bit of bodygear for a cherished child--and I have always thought that the smile upon their faces was very sweet to see. But in this case there was the same smile upon the woman's face as she looked upon her unholy handiwork, and there was something terrible in the contrast between that look of housewifely satisfaction and the job upon which it was bestowed. Many an evil sight have I seen, but never, as I think, anything so evil as this sight of that beautiful face smiling over the edge of that hideous thing, the living radiant visage above that effigy of death. The black flag covered her like a pall, ominously. 'Well,' she said, 'is it well done?' She spoke in a low tone, but I could hear what she said quite well where I crouched. Cornelys Jensen nodded his head approvingly. The red-bearded man spoke. 'Time it was done, too, and that we should be setting to work. I am sick of this waiting.' 'Patience, my good fellow, patience,' said Cornelys Jensen. 'All in good time. Trust Cornelys Jensen to know the time to act. The fiddle is tuned, friend. I shall know when to play the jig.' 'My feet ache for the dancing,' the red beard growled. Barbara laughed; dropping her hands, she drew the black flag close to her, so that it fell all in folds about her body and draped her from throat to toe. Her beauty laughed triumphantly at the pair from its sable setting. 'Put that thing away,' said Jensen. 'You have done your work bravely, Mistress Hatchett, and Bill may be well proud of you.' He clapped his hand as he spoke on Red Beard's shoulder, and the fool's face flushed with pleasure. Barbara laughed, and slowly folded the flag up square by square into a small compass. Jensen took it from her when she had finished and put it into a locker, which he closed with a key that he took from his pocket. I began to find my position rather perilous. It was high time for me to take my departure, before the conspirators became aware of my whereabouts. It would not trouble either of the men a jot to ram a knife into my ribs and to jerk me overboard ere the life was out of me. And then what would become of my dear ones, and of all the honest folk on board, with no one to warn them of their peril? I drew back very cautiously, creeping along the passage and holding my breath, stepping as gingerly as a cat on eggs, for fear of making any sound that should betray me. As I crept along I kept asking myself what I was to do. The first course that came to my mind was to go to Captain Marmaduke and tell him of what I had seen. But then, again, I did not know, and he did not know, how many there were of crew or company tarred with Jensen's brush, and I asked myself whether it would not first be more prudent to consult with Lancelot. For I knew that with Captain Marmaduke the first thing he would do would be to accuse Jensen to his face, without taking any steps to countermine him, and then we should have the hornets' nest about our ears with a vengeance. But while I was creeping along in the dark, straining my ears for every sound that might suggest that Jensen or Hatchett were following me, and while my poor mind was anxiously debating as to the course I ought to pursue, that came to pass which settled the question in the most unexpected manner. CHAPTER XVII A VISITATION My agitations were harshly interrupted. There came a crash out of the silence, and before I could even ask myself what it meant I was flung forward and my legs were taken from under me. I pitched on to a coil of rope, luckily for me, or I might have come to worse hurt, and I had my hands extended, which in a measure broke the force of my fall. But I rapped my head smartly against the wall of the passage--never had I more reason in my life to be grateful for the thickness of my skull--and for a few moments I lay there in the darkness, dizzy--indeed, almost stunned--and scarcely realising that there was the most horrible grinding noise going on beneath me, and that the ship seemed to be screaming in every timber. I could have only lain there for a few seconds, for no human clamour had mingled with the sound of the ship's agony when I staggered to my feet. My head was aching furiously, and my right wrist was numb from the fall, but my senses had now come back to me, and I knew that some great calamity had befallen the ship. In desperation I pulled myself together and ran with all speed, heedless of the darkness, to the end of the passage where the ladder was, and so up it and on to the deck. The weather was fair, and a moon like a wheel made everything as visible as if it were daytime. The decks shone silver and the sky was as blue as I have ever seen it; but the sea, as far as eye could reach, appeared to be wholly covered with a white froth, which rose and fell with the waves like a counterpane of lace upon a sleeper. All that there was to see I saw in a single glance; in another second the deck was full of people. Captain Marmaduke came on deck clad only in his shirt and breeches, and Lancelot was by his side a moment after in like habit. At first the sailors rushed hither and thither in alarm and confusion, but Cornelys Jensen brought them to order in a few moments, while Hatchett and half a dozen of the men proceeded to reassure the passengers and to keep them from crowding on to the deck. All this happened in shorter time than I can take to set it down, and yet after a fashion, too, it seemed endless. Captain Marmaduke rushed up to the watch and caught him by the shoulder. 'What have you done?' he said; 'you have lost the ship!' The man shook himself away from the Captain's hand. 'It was no fault of mine,' he said between his teeth. 'I took all the care I could. I saw all this froth at a distance, and I asked the steersman what it was, and he told me that it was but the sea showing white under the light of the moon.' Captain Marmaduke gave a little groan of despair. 'What is to be done?' he asked. 'Where are we?' 'God only knows where we are,' the man answered, still in that sullen, shamefaced way. 'But for sure we are fast upon a bank that I never heard tell of ere this night.' As they were thus talking, and all around were full of consternation, I saw that Marjorie had come up from below and was standing very still by the companion head. She had flung a great cloak on over her night-rail, and though her face was pale in the moonlight she was as calm as if she were in church. When I came nigh her she asked me, in a low, firm voice, what had happened. I told her all that I knew--how the ship had by mischance run on some bank through the whiteness of the moonlight misleading the steersman. With another woman, maybe, I should have striven to make as light as possible of the matter, but with Marjorie I knew that there was no such need. I told her all that had chanced and of the peril we were in, as I should have done to a man. [Illustration: "SHE HAD FLUNG A GREAT CLOAK ON."] When I had done speaking she said very quietly: 'Is there any hope for the ship?' I shook my head. 'I am very much afraid----' I began. She interrupted me with a little sigh, and stepped forward to where Captain Marmaduke stood giving his orders very composedly. Lancelot was busy with Jensen in reassuring the women-folk and getting the men-folk into order. I must say that they all behaved very well. With many of the men, old soldiers and sailors as they were, it was natural enough to carry themselves with coolness in time of peril, but the women showed no less bravely. This, indeed, was largely due to the example set them by Barbara Hatchett, who acted all through that wild hour as a sailor's daughter and a sailor's wife should act. Her composure and her loud, commanding voice and encouraging manner did wonders in soothing the women-kind, and in putting out of their heads the foolish thoughts which lead to foolish actions. Marjorie went up to Lancelot and laid her hand upon his sleeve. He looked at her with the smile he always gave when he greeted her, and he spoke to her as he might have spoken if he and she had been standing together on the downs of Sendennis instead of on that nameless reef in that nameless danger. 'Well, dear,' he said, 'what is it?' 'What do you wish me to do?' she asked. 'Comfort the women-folk, dear,' he answered. Then, catching sight as the wind moved her cloak of her night-rail, he added quickly: 'Run down and dress first.' 'Is there truly time?' 'Aye, aye, time and to spare. We may float the ship yet, God willing. Do as I bid you.' She lingered for a moment, and said softly: 'If anything should happen, let me be next you at the last.' I was standing near enough to hear, and the tears came into my eyes. Lancelot caught his sister's hand and pressed it as he would have pressed the hand of a comrade. Then she turned away and slipped silently below. I am glad to remember that good order prevailed in the face of our common peril. Our colonists, men and women, kept very quiet, and the sailors, under Cornelys Jensen, acted with untiring zeal. I must say to his credit that Jensen proved a cool hand in the midst of a misfortune which must have come as a special misfortune to himself. It is a curious fact, and I know not how to account for it, unless by the smart knock on my head and the confusion of events that followed upon it, but all memory of what I had seen and heard In Jensen's cabin had slipped from my mind. No--I will not say all memory. While I watched him working, and while I worked with him, my head--which still ached sorely after my tumble--was troubled, besides its own pain, with the pain of groping after a recollection. I knew that there was something in my mind which concerned Cornelys Jensen, something which I wanted to recall, something which I ought to recall, something which I could not for the life of me recall. What with my fall, and the danger to the ship, and the strain of the toil to meet that danger, that page of my memory was folded over, and I could not turn it back. I have heard of like cases and even stranger; of men forgetting their own names and very identity after some such accident as mine. All I had forgotten was the evil scene in Jensen's cabin, the three evil schemers, their evil flag. I was a pretty skilled seaman now, thanks to my Captain's patience and my own eagerness, and I was able to lend a hand at the work with the best. The first thing we did was to throw the lead, and sorry information it yielded us. For we found that we had forty-eight feet of water before the vessel and much less behind her. It was then proposed that we should throw our cannon overboard, in the hope that when our ship was lightened of so much heavy metal she might by good hap be brought to float again. I remember as well as yesterday the face of Cornelys Jensen when this determination was arrived at. He saw that it must be done, but the necessity pricked him bitterly. 'There's no help for it,' he said aloud to Hatchett, with a sigh. Captain Marmaduke took the expression, as I afterwards learnt, as one of pity for him and his ship and her gear of war. But it set me racking my tired brain again for that lost knowledge about Jensen which would have made his meaning plain to me. It was further decided to let fall an anchor, but while the men were employed upon this piece of work the conditions under which we toiled changed greatly for the worse. Black clouds came creeping up all round the sky, which blotted out the moonlight and changed all that white foam into curdling ink, and with the coming of these clouds the wind began to rise, at first little and moaningly, like a child in pain, and then suddenly very loudly indeed, until it grew to a great storm, that brought with it sheets of the most merciless rain that I had then ever witnessed. Now, indeed, we were in dismal case, wrapped up as we were in all the horrors of darkness, of rain and of wind, which added not merely a gloom to our situation, but vastly increased danger. For our ship, surrounded as she was with rocks and shoals, though she might have lain quiet enough while the sea was calm, now before the fury of the waves kept continually striking, and I could see that the fear of every man was that she would shortly go to pieces. CHAPTER XVIII THE NIGHT AND MORNING It seemed such a heart-breaking thing to be hitched in that place, so immovable, while the seas were slapping us and the wind so foully misbehaving, that I declare I could have wept for bitterness of spirit. But it was no time for weeping; we had other guesswork on hand, and we buckled to our work with a will. We agreed that the straightest course open to us was to cut away the mainmast, and this we promptly set about doing. There are few sadder sights in the world than to see stout fellows striving with all their strength to hew down the mainmast of a goodly ship. The fall of a great tree in a forest preaches its sermon, but not with half the poignancy of a noble mast which men who love their vessel are compelled to cast overboard. As the axes rose and fell it seemed to me as if their every stroke dealt me a hurt at the heart. As the white wood flew it would not have surprised me if blood had followed upon the blow--as I have read the like concerning a tree in some old tale--so dear was the ship to me. A man's first ship is like a man's first love, and grips him hard, and he parts from neither without agony. When at last our purpose was accomplished, and the mast swayed to its fall, I could have sat me down and blubbered like a baby. And yet in another moment, so strange is the ordering of human affairs and so much irony is there in the lessons of life, we who were all ready to weep for the loss of our mainmast would have been only too glad to say good-bye to it. For while its fall augmented the shock, and made us in worse case that way, we were not lightened of it for all our pains, for it was so entangled with the rigging that we could not for all our efforts get it overboard. We were now in sheer desperation, for it did not seem as if we could ever get our ship free, but must needs bide there in our agony until she broke and gave us all to the waters. But a little after there came a gleam of hope, for the furious wind and rain abated, and finally fell away altogether, and at last the longest night I had ever known came to an end, and the dawn came creeping up to the sky as I had often seen it come creeping when I awakened early lying on my bed in Sendennis. Oh, the joy to hail the daylight again, and yet what a terrible condition of things the daylight showed to us! There was our ship stuck fast on the bank; there was her deck all encumbered with the fallen mast and the twisted ropes and the riven sails. Every man's face was as white as a dish, and there was fear in every man's eyes. Nor was it longer possible to pacify all the women-folk or the children, now that the daylight showed them the full extent of their disaster, and every now and then they would break forth into cries or fits of sobbing which were pitiful to hear. Marjorie did much to calm their terrors, as did Barbara Hatchett, both of whom showed very brave and calm; and, indeed, the only pleasing memory of all that time of terror is the thought of those two women, the one in all the pride of her dark beauty, the other in all the glory of her fair loveliness, moving about like ministering angels amongst all those people whom the sudden peril of death had made so fearful and so helpless. The beautiful woman and the beautiful maid--none on board had braver hearts than they! You may imagine with what eagerness we scanned the sea for any sight of land. But though Captain Amber searched the whole horizon with his spy-glass, we could find nothing better than an island which lay off from us at a distance of about two leagues, and what seemed to be a smaller island, which lay further from us. This did not offer any great promise of refuge to us, but as it was apparently the only hope we had we all strove to make the best of it, and to pretend to be greatly rejoiced at the sight of even so much land. Captain Amber immediately ordered Hatchett to man one of the ship's boats and to make for those islands to examine them, a task that now presented no difficulty, for the wind had fallen away and the sea was smooth as it had been turbulent. I would fain have gone with the boat for the sake of the change, for I was sick at heart of the moaning and the groaning of the poor wretches on board, but Captain Amber did not send me, and I had no right to volunteer; and, besides, I was still troubled by a confused sense of something that I had to tell him; some danger that I was instinctively seeking to ward off from him--and from her. There was something piteous in the sight of that single boat creeping slowly across the sea towards those distant islands, and I watched it as it grew smaller and smaller, until it was little more than a mere speck upon the waters. Everything depended for us upon the fortunes of that boat, upon the tidings that it might bring back to us. I am proud to say that my thoughts went out across that sea to the home where my mother was, who prayed day and night for her boy's safety, and that my lips repeated that prayer she had taught me while I supplicated Heaven with all humility of heart, if it were His will, to bring us out of that peril. We spent the time during the boat's absence in clearing the decks as well as we might, in renewing our efforts to pacify our women-kind, and in fresh attempts, which, however, were unavailing, to get our mast overboard. Captain Amber had gathered together those of his men who were old soldiers, and, having addressed them in a stirring speech, which made my blood beat more warmly, he set them to various tasks in preparation for what now appeared to be inevitable--our leaving the ship. The brave fellows behaved as obediently as if they had been on parade, as courageously as if they had been going into action. They were picked men of fine mettle, and they were yet to be tested by severer tests, and to stand the test well. At about nine o'clock or a little later the boat returned. We could see it, of course, a long way off, as it made its course towards us, but none of those on board made any sign to us, which we took, and rightly, too, to be a sign of no great cheer. Then our hopes, which had begun to run a little higher, ebbed away again, and we waited in silence for the boat to come alongside and for Hatchett to climb on board and to make his report to Captain Marmaduke. This he did in private, Captain Marmaduke taking him a little apart, while we all looked on and hungered for the news. We had not long to wait, and when it came it was not so bad as we had feared, if it was not so good as some of us had hoped for. Captain Amber came forward to the middle of the deck, where everybody was assembled waiting for the tidings. 'Friends and companions,' he said, 'our explorers report that yonder island is far from inhospitable. It is not covered by the sea at high water, as we feared at first; it is much larger than it seems to us at this distance; there will be ample room for us all during the short time that we may have to abide there before we sight a ship. I must indeed admit to you that the coast is both rocky and full of shoals, and that the landing thereupon will not be without its difficulties, and even its dangers, but we came out prepared to face difficulties and dangers if needs were, and these shall not dismay us. As for the further island, we may learn of that later.' He looked very gallant as he said all this, standing there with the morning sunlight shining upon his brave face and upon his fine coat--for by this time he was fully habited and in his best, as beseemeth the leader of an expedition when about to disembark upon an unfamiliar shore. All around him had listened in silence while he spoke, but now, at the close, some of the soldier-fellows set up a kind of cheer in answer to his speech. It was not very much of a cheer, but it was better than nothing in our dismal case. It served to set our bloods tingling a little, so Lancelot and I caught it up, and kept it up too, with the whole strength of our lungs, till the example spread, and soon we had every man on deck huzzaing his best, while Cornelys Jensen and Hatchett swung their caps and lifted their voices with the best. It was a strange sound, that hearty British cheer ringing out through that lonely air; it was a strange sight, all those stout fellows marshalled as best they might on the sloping deck and fanning their scanty hopes into a flame with shouting, while the ruined mast, thrust over the side, pointed curiously enough straight in the direction of those islands whose hospitable qualities we were soon to try. It was soon decided, after a brief conference between Captain Amber and Cornelys Jensen, that we should transfer our company as fast as might be to the near island, for there was no knowing when the smooth weather might shift again and how long our Royal Christopher would hold together if the waves, which were now lapping against its sides, grew angrier. It was resolved that the most pressing business was to send on shore at once the women and children and such sick people as we had on board, for these, as was but natural, were the most troublesome for us to deal with in our difficulty, being timorous and noisy with their fears, and setting a bad example. So when it was about ten of the clock, or maybe later, for the time slipped by rapidly, we got loose our shallop and our skiff and lowered them into the water, and got most of the women and the children and the sick folk into them and sent them off, poor creatures, across the waste of waters to the islands. Barbara Hatchett went with them, for her firmness and courage served rarely to keep them quiet and inspire them with some little fortitude. As for Marjorie, she would by no means leave the ship so long as Lancelot was on board, so she stayed with us, at which I could not help in my heart being glad, in spite of the danger that there was to everyone who stuck by the ship. While these first boat loads were away we on board made efforts for the provisioning of our new home, getting up the bread and such viands as we could, and packing them in as portable a manner as might be for the next journey. But by this time unhappily we began to be threatened by a fresh trouble. No sooner were we free from the women-folk and the children, whose presence had hampered us so sorely, than a far more pressing vexation came upon us. For certain of the sailors, who up to this point had behaved well enough, suddenly flung aside their good behaviour. They had got at the wine, of which, unhappily, in the first confusion of our mischance no care had been taken, and many of them were roaring drunk, and capable of doing little service beyond shouting and cursing at one another. When Cornelys Jensen saw this he did his best to prevent them, and though some of them were too sullen to obey him, he did at last contrive with threats and oaths to keep such of the sailors as were still sober away from the liquor. By this time Lancelot, facing the new danger, got from his uncle the key of the storeroom where the arms were kept, and served out weapons to all those on board who had been soldiers and who loved Captain Amber. A pretty body of men they made, each with a musket on his shoulder, a hanger by his side, and a brace of pistols in his belt. They were all reliable men--many of them, indeed, had experienced religion, and had in them something of the old Covenanting spirit, which had worked such wonders under General Cromwell. I could see that Cornelys Jensen was very ill-pleased with this act on our part, but he could say nothing, for the thing was done before he could say or do aught to prevent it, and very fortunate it was that we had done so betimes, for now Captain Marmaduke had under him a body of sober, disciplined, well-armed men, who would obey him and stand by him to the last extremity. I myself had slung a hanger by my side and thrust a brace of pistols into my girdle, and I believe that I well-nigh rejoiced in the peril which gave me the chance to carry those weapons and to make, as I fancied, so brave a show. Lancelot armed himself too in like fashion, for he served as second in command of our little troop under Captain Amber. For my part, I held no rank indeed in the little army, but I looked upon myself as a kind of _aide-de-camp_ to my Captain. With half a dozen of those men we gathered together all the cases of wine that had been brought out and placed them back in the spirit room, over which we mounted two men as guard. It was idle to try and lock the door, for the lock had been shattered, possibly when we ran aground, and would not hold. But we locked the door of the room where our weapons and ammunition were, and placed another guard there. I think many of the sailors were mightily annoyed at this action of ours, and gladly would have resented it. But there was nothing they could do just then, and though Cornelys Jensen was more savage than any of them, he wore a smooth face, and kept them in check by his authority. Though we did not dream of it then, it was a mighty blessing for us, that same shipwreck, for if it had not come about just when it did worse would have happened. As matters now stood, our little party--for it was becoming pretty plain that there were two parties in the ship--was well-armed, while the sailors had no other weapons than their knives. CHAPTER XIX HOW SOME OF US GOT TO THE ISLAND But between our need for watchfulness and the drunkenness of many of the crew the time slipped away without our doing as much as we should have done under happier conditions. Thanks to the confusion that their wantonness had caused, we did but make three trips in all to the island in that day, in which three trips we managed to send over about fifty persons, with some twenty barrels of bread and a few casks of water. Had we been wiser we should have sent more water, for we could not tell how distressed we might become for want of it on the shore if we did not find any spring of fair water on the island. However, I am recording what we did, and not what we ought to have done, and I can assure my friends that if ever they find themselves in such straits as we were in that night and day they will have reason to be thankful if they manage to keep all their wits about them, and to conduct their affairs with the same wisdom that they, as I make no doubt, display in less pressing hours. For myself, my wits were still wool-gathering, still were striving to remember something which for the life of me I could not manage to remember. It was well-nigh evening, and twilight was making the distant land indistinct, when Hatchett came back from the last of those three voyages with very unpleasant tidings--that it was no use for us to send over any more provisions to the island, as those who had been disembarked there were only wasting that which they had already received. Indeed, Hatchett painted a gloomy picture of the conduct of those colonists who were now on shore, declaring that they had cast all discipline and decorum to the winds, and that they needed stern treatment if they were to be prevented from breaking out into open mutiny. There were, of course, a great variety of folk among our colonists, and many of them were weak and foolish creatures enough, as there always will be weak and foolish creatures in any community of human beings until the human race grows into perfection, as some philosophers maintain that it will. Now, it certainly was precisely this element in our little society that had been shipped off to the island, for, with the women and children, it was the men who were most womanlike in their noise, or most childlike in their fears, whose safety we had first ensured. From what our Captain knew of these people, well-meaning enough under ordinary conditions, but timorous and foolish under conditions such as we now were in, he guessed that disorganisation and disturbance might be likely enough. Therefore he resolved, and his resolve was approved both by Hatchett and by Jensen, that he would go over himself to the island and restore order among the malcontents. Now I will confess that when I heard of this my heart sank, for I took it for granted that Marjorie would go with Captain Marmaduke, and indeed it seemed only right that she should go rather than remain upon the Royal Christopher with only a parcel of rough men aboard her, and those rough men sorely divided in purpose, and each division mistrustful of the other. All through those long hours of shipwreck sorrow my spirits had been cheered by the sight of her beauty and the example of her calm. She weathered the calamity with the bravest temper; never cast down, never assuming a false elation, but bearing herself in all just as a true man would like the woman he loved to bear herself in stress and peril. I have read of a maid in France ages back who raised armies to drive my ancestors out of her fatherland and I think that maid must have looked as my maid did and had the same blessed grace to inspire courage and love and service. So when I thought that Marjorie was about to quit the ship I felt such a sudden wrench at my heart as made me feel sick and dizzy, like a man about to faint. The water came into my eyes with the saltness of the sea, and words without meaning--words of pain, and grief, and longing--seemed to seek a form at my lips and then to perish without a breath. But at last, with an effort, I shook myself free of my stupor. I might never see her again, I told myself; this might be our latest parting, there on that wretched deck, in that crowd of faces painted with fear and fury, with the sullen sea about us which would so soon divide us. Come what might come of it, I swore that I would say my say and not carry the regret of a fool's silence to my grave. For though my heart seemed to beat like the drums of a dozen garrisons, I made my way across the slippery deck to where the girl stood, for the moment alone, with the wind flapping her hair about and blowing her gown against her. She was looking out at the island when I came close, and there was so much noise aboard and beyond that she did not hear my coming till I stood beside her, and called her name into her ear. Then she turned her pale face to me, and small blame to her to look pale in those terrors; but her eyes had all their brightness, and there was no sign of fear in them or on her lips. I thought her more beautiful than ever as she stood there, so calm in all that savage scene of ruin, so brave at a time when stout men shook with fear. 'Marjorie,' I said, 'I want to tell you something. I hope in God's mercy that we may meet again, but God alone knows if we ever shall. And so I want to tell you that, whatever happens to me, sick or well, in danger or out of it, I am your servant, and that your name will be in my heart to the end.' She had heard me in quiet, but there was a wonder in her face as she listened to the words I stumbled over. In fear to be misunderstood, I spoke again in an agony. 'Marjorie,' I said, 'dear Marjorie, I should never have dared to tell you but for this hour. But I may never see you again, and I love you.' And then I lost command of myself and my words, and begged her incoherently to forgive me, and to think kind thoughts of me if this were indeed farewell. She was silent for a moment, and there came no change over her face. Then she said softly: 'Why do you tell me this now? Is there some new danger?' I stared at her in wonder. 'Marjorie,' I cried, 'Marjorie, are you not going to leave the ship?' She shook her head. 'I stay with Lancelot,' she answered quietly. 'It is an old promise between us. Where he is I abide. That is our compact.' I cannot find any words for the fulness of joy that flooded my heart as Marjorie spoke. I would still be near her; the ruined ship remain a sacred dwelling. But in my error I had blundered, overbold, and I tried to explain confusedly. 'Marjorie,' I said, 'I thought you were going and I dared to tell you the truth. It is the truth indeed, but I should not have told it.' She held out her hand to me with a kind smile as I clasped it. 'We are good friends,' she said. 'You and I and Lancelot. Let us remember nothing but that, that we are good friends, we three. I always think well of you; always deserve that I shall think well of you. Be always brave and good and God bless you!' She let go my hand as she spoke and I turned away and left her, stirred by a thousand joys and fears and wonders. By this time Captain Amber had made all his preparations, albeit with no small reluctance, to quit the ship. He picked out some ten of his men from those that had served him of old and that were now equipped as men of war. Then he formally entrusted to Lancelot the ship and the lives of all aboard her. Marjorie, who now came to him, he kissed very tenderly, making no attempt to urge her to accompany him. He knew the two so well and their love and loyalty each to the other. Then he took me by the hand and bade me serve Lancelot as I would serve him, which I faithfully and gladly promised to do, and so he went over the side into the skiff, with his men and Hatchett, and the sailors that were handling the skiff, and made his way towards the island. It was now that a thing came to pass which relieved my mind of a care only to increase our anxieties. When the skiff was a little way from the ship my Captain, looking back to where we lay, drew from his pocket his kerchief, which was a big and brightly-coloured kerchief, such as men love who follow the sea, and waved it in our direction as a signal of farewell, and, no doubt, of encouragement. Now, I cannot quite tell the train of thought which the sight of that action aroused in my mind, but I think that it was something after this fashion. The waving of that kerchief reminded me of the waving of a flag, and the moment that the word flag came into my mind I suddenly remembered what it was that I had been trying to remember through all those weary hours. As in a mirror I saw again the interior of Jensen's cabin and the beautiful face of Barbara, smiling as she stooped over her hideous standard. I saw again that vile black flag, and as the picture painted itself upon my brain the consciousness of our peril came upon me in all its strength. Without a doubt, the first thing to do was to tell Lancelot what I knew. It was too late now to tell the Captain. Even if he were not too far to see and understand such signals as we might make to him to return, it would not do to let Jensen and the rest of the crew know that we had fathomed their treachery. So I argued the matter to myself. It was certain that Jensen had no notion that I was any sharer in his dark secret, for though I could read in his face his dislike, I could see there no distrust of us. The first thing to be done was to break the bad news to Lancelot. I drew Lancelot aside and told him what I had seen. At first he was amazed and incredulous; amazed because I had not warned Captain Amber before, and incredulous because, when I explained my forgetfulness through my fall and the hurt to my head, he would needs have it that I imagined the whole matter. But I was so confident in my tale that I shook his disbelief--at least, so far that he declared himself willing to take all possible precautions. As matters stood we seemed to be in the better case. We had well-trained, well-armed men on our side; we had the supply of arms and ammunition in our care and under our guard; if the sailors were more numerous than we, they were practically unarmed. It was clear to both Lancelot and myself that the shipwreck, which had seemed so great a misfortune, was really the means of averting a more terrible calamity. We could not doubt that the intention of Jensen and his accomplices had been to seize the ship suddenly, taking us unawares when we were asleep, cutting most of our throats, very likely, and, after seizing upon the supply of arms, overawing such of the colonists and others as should be unwilling to convert the noble Royal Christopher into a pirate ship. CHAPTER XX A BAD NIGHT Now our Captain had not been very long gone when the fair weather proved as fitful as a woman's mood, and the smiling skies grew sullen. That same moaning of the wind which we had heard with such terror on the preceding evening began to be heard again, and its sound struck a chill into all our hearts. The evening sky waxed darker, and the water that had been placable all day grew mutinous and mounted into waves--not very mighty waves, indeed, but big enough to make us all fearsome for the safety of our ship, for where the Royal Christopher was, perched upon that bank of ill omen, the force of the water was always greatest in any agitation, and there was ever present to our minds the chance that she might go to pieces before some sudden onslaught of the sea. In the face of that common peril we all forgot our watchfulness of each other, and Jensen and the sailors worked as earnestly to do all they could for the safety of our vessel as on our side Lancelot and I and the stout fellows under our command worked. It was in all this trouble and hubbub that Marjorie showed herself to be the gallantest girl in the world. She was resolved to stay with Lancelot, but she was no less resolved to hamper him not at all by her presence. So when I came at dusk to the Captain's cabin to consult with Lancelot, who had shifted his quarters thither, I found his sister with him, but very changed in outward seeming. For she had slipped on a sea-suit of Lancelot's and her limbs were hid in a pair of seaman's boots and her fair hair coiled out of sight under a seaman's cap, and in this sea change she made the fairest lad in the world and might have been my Lancelot's brother to a hasty eye. She had a mind, she said, to play the man till fortune mended, and vowed to take her share of work with the best of us. At which Lancelot smiled sweetly and commended her wisdom in changing her rig, and as for me I would have adored her more than before, had that been possible, to find her so adaptable to danger. But there was little for her to do save to encourage us with her comradeship, and that she did bravely through it all, acting as any boy messmate might, and taking her place so naturally and simply in those hours of trial that it was not until later that I thought how strangely and how rarely she carried herself and how quietly she played her part. [Illustration: "HER FAIR HAIR WAS COILED OUT OF SIGHT UNDER A SEAMAN'S CAP."] I shall never forget that terrible night on board the ship, with the waves smacking our poor sides, that groaned at every blow, and the wind moaning through the ruined rigging in a kind of sobbing way, as if all the elements were joining in a requiem for our foredoomed lives. There was never a moment when we could be sure that the next might not be our last; never a moment when we could not tell that the next wave might not sweep the ship with riven timbers into hopeless wreck, and plunge us poor wretches into the stormy seas to struggle for a few seconds desperately and unavailingly for our lives. Through all that dismal night there was but little for us to do, and so I passed a portion of my time in the cabin fortifying my heart with the perusal of the book Mr. Davies gave me. I did not on that night neglect the thoughts of religion. Indeed, if I had been of a mind to, which Heaven be praised I was not, I could not have very well done so. For among our people there was a reverend man, one Mr. Ephraim Ebrow, whom extreme poverty had tempted to accompany Captain Amber's party, and this excellent man was at all times ready to deliver an exhortation, or to favour us with readings from the Holy Book. He was truly one of the Church Militant, and came of an old fanatique stock, and in moments of danger he was as gallant and as calm as any seasoned adventurer. He had a very fine voice, and it was no slight pleasure to hear him put up a prayer, or deliver a sermon, or read out chapters of the Scriptures in the authorised version. He himself, because he was no mean scholar, was wont to search the Scriptures from a Hebrew copy which he always carried with him. On this night he read to us many portions of the Scriptures, and got us to pray with him, and did many things of the kind that went to stay our alarm and strengthen our trust in the merciful wisdom of Providence. But that I found balm in the Holy Word was no reason why I should not find courage also from the plain words of a plain swordsman. So I read in my book by the light of a ship's lantern, and tried to give my thoughts to the exercise of weapons. While I was reading thus in the cabin the door swung ajar, for ever since the accident the furniture of the ship was all put out of gear. Presently I heard the tramping of feet along the passage, and then the door was pushed open and Cornelys Jensen stood in the doorway and stared at me. I lifted my eyes and stared back at him. 'This is a wise way of passing the time,' he said with a sneer. 'Book-learning, forsooth, when the ship may go to pieces every instant.' The tone of his voice galled me, and I answered him angrily, perchance rashly. 'I am no bookman,' I said. 'But there is nothing to do at this hour, and I feel no need for sleep.' For we had divided the night in watches, but I was wakeful as a hare that is being chased, and could not close my eyes to any purpose. 'Nay,' said I, 'there are worse things than reading a good book. Where is your black flag, Master Jensen?' You should have seen how, just for a moment, he glared at me. He was armed, of course, and I think at that moment that he was sorely minded to take my life. But I had a pistol on the table, and my hand lay on the pistol, and the muzzle pointed across the table very straightly in the direction of Cornelys Jensen. Then the angry look fell away from his face, and he broke into long, low laughter, moving his head slowly up and down, and fixing me very keenly with his bright eyes. 'You are a smart lad,' he said at last. 'What the plague have you to do with my black flag?' 'What have you to do with it were a question more to the point,' I answered him, and I make no doubt now that in speaking as I did I was doing a very foolish thing. But I was only a boy, and inexperienced, and indeed all my life I have been given to blurting out things that mayhap I had better have kept to myself. He laughed again. 'Nay,' he said, 'it is one of my most treasured possessions. I hauled it down with mine own hands from a pirate ship in my youth, when we captured the bark of that nefarious sea rover Captain Anthony. I have carried it with me for luck ever since, and it has always brought me luck--always till now.' Then he nodded his head again slowly twice or thrice. 'I will give it to you if you wish, Master Ralph,' he said; 'I will give it to you for luck.' 'I do not want it,' I said angrily, being somewhat confused with the turn things had taken. 'I am not superstitious for luck.' Which indeed was not true, for I never met a seaman yet who was not superstitious; but I was wrathful, and I knew not what to say. 'Very well,' he said, 'very well. But you are welcome to it if you wish.' Then he went out of the cabin without another word and drew the door behind him. I sat still for some seconds listening to the sound of his departing footstep. Now I was bitterly vexed with myself. I had done a vain thing. I had put Jensen upon his guard by showing him that I knew something at least of his purposes, and I had put it into his power to offer a very ready explanation of suspicious circumstances. Indeed, how was I to know that what he said was not true? There was nothing whatever on the face of it unlikely, and if he told such a story to Captain Marmaduke, why, it was ten chances to one that Captain Marmaduke would implicitly believe in him. For there was no doubt about it, Captain Marmaduke had a great regard for Cornelys Jensen. There was nothing for it but to tell Lancelot of what Jensen had said, and I did this with all dispatch. My statement had at least the effect of convincing Lancelot that I had in very fact seen what I had described to him about the flag. But I could see that Jensen's explanation had its effect upon him very much as I felt sure that it would have its effect upon Captain Marmaduke. Lancelot had nothing like the same regard for Jensen that his uncle had, but I knew that he did follow his uncle's lead in trusting him. 'You see, Ralph,' he said to me, 'this is a very likely story. Jensen is an old sailor. My uncle has told me a thousand times that he has served against pirates in his youth. What more natural than that he should preserve such a trophy of his prowess as the captured flag of some such villain as that same Captain Anthony, of whom I have often heard? But we will be watchful none the less, and well on our guard.' I could see that Lancelot did not share my fears as regarded Jensen, although he was troubled by the mutinous carriage of certain of the crew. I know that I was very apprehensive and unhappy, and that it seemed to me as if that night would never end. CHAPTER XXI RAFTS When the day did break at last it brought no great degree of comfort with it. We were surrounded by a yellow, yeasty sea, and the air was so thick that the islands on which our lives depended seemed but shapeless shadows in the distance. Still the wind had abated somewhat, but the swell was very strong, and we were without any means of attempting to leave the vessel. When it was quite morning, and the sky cleared a little, we saw the skiff, with the Captain on board, beating about on the water and trying to make for us. But in this he was not able to succeed, for the waves were running so high that it would have been quite impossible either to bring the skiff alongside or to get on board our vessel if he had done so. We could see the Captain standing up in the bows of the boat and signalling to us, and it made our hearts sick to be able to see him and to be unable to know what he wanted or what we ought to do. At this moment one of the men--he was the ship's carpenter, and a decent, honest sort of fellow--said that he was a very good swimmer, and that he thought he could reach the skiff in that way. He was so very confident of his own powers that though we were somewhat unwilling to let him risk his life, he did in the end prevail upon Lancelot to let him make the attempt. The man stripped and was into the sea in a moment, fighting bravely with the billows that buffeted him. It was a good sight to see him slowly forging his way through that yellow, clapping water; it is always a good sight to see a strong man or a brave man doing a daring thing for the sake of other people. We watched his body as he swam; he was but a common man, but his skin seemed as white as a woman's in that foul spume, and his black hair, which he wore long, streamed in a rail upon the water as a woman's might. But I do not think the woman ever lived who could swim as that man swam. We watched him grow smaller and smaller, and most of us prayed for him silently as he fought his way through the waters. At last we saw that he had reached the skiff, and we could see that he was being pulled over the side. Then there came a long interval--oh, how long it seemed to us, as we watched the leaping waves and the distant skiff that leaped upon them, and wondered if the man's strength would carry him back again to us! By-and-by--it was not really such a very long time, but it seemed like centuries--Lancelot, who was looking through his spy-glass, said that the man was going over the skiff's side again. Then we all held our breaths and waited. So it was; the fellow was swimming steadily back to us. It was plain enough to see that he was sorely fatigued, and that he was husbanding his strength, but every stroke that he gave was a steady stroke and a true stroke, and every stroke brought him a bit nearer to where we lay. And at last his black head was looking up at us beneath our hull, and in another second he had caught a rope and was on the deck again, dripping like a dog, and hard pushed for lack of breath. Lancelot gave him a measure of rum with his own hands, and by-and-by his wind came back to him, and he found his voice to speak as he struggled into his clothes. What he had to tell was not very cheering. He had given Captain Amber a faithful picture of our perils and our privations, and Captain Amber had made answer that he was sorry for us with all his heart, and only wished that he was in the danger with us. Which we knew very well to be true, though, indeed, the good gentleman was in scarcely less danger himself. His orders to us were that we should with all speed construct rafts by tying together the planks of which we had abundance, and that we should embark upon these rafts and so try to make the shallop and the skiff, which would bear us in safety to the islands. It was not tempting to make rafts and trust them and ourselves upon them to the sea that was churning and creaming beneath us, but it seemed to be well-nigh the only thing to do, and it was the Captain's orders, and we prepared to set to work and execute his commands. But we had scarce begun to tie a couple of planks together before it was plain that our labour would be in vain. For even while the man had been telling his tale the weather had grown much rougher, and we could see that the skiff was unable to remain longer near to us, but had to turn back for her own safety to the islands. I felt very sure that Captain Amber must be in anguish, having thus to leave us, his dear Lancelot and some seventy of his sailors and followers, on board a vessel that might cease to be a vessel at any moment. Now we were in very desperate straits indeed, and some of us seemed tempted to give ourselves over to despair. If it had not been for the steadiness of those that were under Lancelot, I feel sure that the most part of the sailors would have paid no further heed to Jensen's counsels, but would have incontinently drunk themselves into stupor or madness, and so perished miserably. But our men, if they were resigned to their fate, were resolved to meet it like Christians and stout fellows, and as we were the well-armed party the others had, sullenly enough, to fall in with our wishes. And Lancelot's wishes were that all hands should employ themselves still in the making of those rafts, so that if the weather did mend we should be able to take advantage of the improvement ere it shifted again. Though the water was beating up in great waves all about us, we were so tightly fixed upon our bank that we were well-nigh immovable, and it was possible for us to work pretty patiently and persistently through all the dirty weather. But though we worked hard and well, it took up the fag-end of that day and the whole of the next to get our two rafts ready for the sea, which was by that time more ready for them, as the storm had again abated. CHAPTER XXII WE LOSE CORNELYS JENSEN It was on the night when we had well-nigh finished our two rafts that a very unexpected thing happened--a thing which I took at the time to be a piece of good fortune, but which, as it happened, proved to be a misfortune for some of us. The unexpected event was, namely, that we lost Cornelys Jensen; and this was the way in which the thing came about. The nights during that spell of foul weather were very dark and moonless, not because there was no moon, though she was now waning into her last quarter, but because of the quantity of clouds that muffled up the face of the heavens and hid the moon and the stars from us. But we made shift as well as we could, working hard all the time that the daylight lasted, and giving up the night to the rest we were all in such sore need of. Of course, the usual discipline of the ship was preserved, the usual watches set, and all observed exactly as if Captain Amber himself had been aboard, for, though the Royal Christopher was sadly shaken, she was still uninjured as to her inward parts, and we were all able to sleep under cover and out of the way of wind or weather. On the night before the weather mended, although it was not my watch and I was below in my cabin, I found that I could not sleep. The air was close and oppressive, full of a heat that heralded, though I did not know it, the coming of a spell of fine weather. I was feverish and distressed of body, and tossed for long enough in my hammock, trying very hard to get to sleep; but, though I was tired as a dog, the grace of sleep would not come to me. At last, in very desperation, I resolved to continue the struggle no longer. If I could not sleep I could not, and there was an end of it. I would go on deck and get there a little air to cool my hot body. So up on deck I went and looked about me. All was quiet, all was dark. Here and there a ship's lanthorn made a star in the gloom; the ship seemed like a black rock rising out of blackness. I could hear the tread of the watch; I could hear the noisy lapping of the water. There was no wind, there was no moon; the air seemed to be thick and choking. I felt scarcely more refreshed than I had been in my cabin, but as I had come up I thought that I might as well stay up for a bit and have the benefit of whatever air there was. So I made my way cautiously in the darkness to the side of the vessel, and, leaning upon the bulwark, looked out over the sea, and fell to thinking of Marjorie and of my love for her and all its hopelessness. Presently I heard voices. Those who spoke drew nearer and nearer to me, and I soon recognised the speakers as Lancelot and Cornelys Jensen. At the spot where I was standing a great pile of boxes and water barrels had been raised for transfer to the rafts, and I, being on the one side of this pile, was invisible to them as they approached, and would have been passed unnoticed had the night been brighter than it was. I could almost hear what they were saying; I am certain that I heard Jensen utter my name. I came out of the shadow, or rather out of my corner--for it was all shadow alike--and called out Lancelot's name. Lancelot called back to me, and then I heard Jensen wish him good-night and turn and tramp heavily down the stairs that led below. He seemed to tramp very heavily, heavier than was his wont, for he was a light, alert man, even when his biggest sea-boots were on him, as I make no doubt they now were. Lancelot joined me, and I drew him with me into the place where I had been standing, after first casting a glance around the deck to see that no one was within hearing. All seemed deserted, save for the distant walk of the watch. We leaned over the bulwark together and began to talk. I asked him what Jensen had been saying to him. He told me that Cornelys had come to him and expressed great surprise and anger at the doubts which he believed, from my manner and from some words that I had uttered, I entertained of him. It seemed that he had said again to Lancelot what he had said to me about the flag; that he insisted that there was no mystery at all about the matter, but that he was proud of its possession and superstitious as to its luck, and that he never was willingly parted from it. At the same time he offered to give it Lancelot, as he had already offered to give it me, if Lancelot was minded or wishful to take possession of it; an offer which Lancelot had refused. I could see from Lancelot's manner that he was largely convinced of the integrity of Jensen, and I must confess that Jensen's conduct had given him grounds for confidence, and that I had very little in the way of reasonable argument to shake that confidence. Still, I made bold to be somewhat importunate with Lancelot. When he spoke of his uncle's trust in Jensen's integrity, when he urged the value of Jensen's services to us on the voyage, and the way in which he had kept the sailors under control at the first symptom of mutiny, I had, it must be confessed, little to say in reply that could seriously damage Jensen's character. But I was so thoroughly convinced of the man's treachery that I argued hotly, and it may be that as I grew hot I raised my voice a trifle, which is a way of mine; and, indeed, my voice is never a good whispering voice. I entreated Lancelot, at all events, to have a very watchful eye upon Jensen, and I urged that on the first symptom of anything in the least like double-dealing he should place Jensen under arrest. Lancelot listened to me very patiently. He was impressed by my earnestness, and at last promised that he would scrutinise Jensen's actions very narrowly, and that if he saw anything that was at all suspicious in his demeanour he would immediately take steps to render him harmless. At this I pressed Lancelot's hand warmly, and was about to leave him and go below when I fancied that I heard steps stealing away from us very softly, from the other side of the pile of barrels and boxes by which we stood. I whipped out of my corner and round the pile in an instant, but there was no one there, and I could neither see nor hear anything suspicious. Lancelot declared that I was as suspicious as an old maid of her neighbour's hens. I echoed his laughter as well as I could, but I went below again with a heavy heart, for I was oppressed with a sense of danger which I dreaded the more because it seemed to lurk in darkness. I had laid me down again with no very great hope of sleep, but I had no sooner laid my head upon its pillow than I fell into a most uneasy slumber, in which all my apprehensions and all our perils seemed to be multiplied and magnified a hundredfold. A nightmare terror brooded upon my breast. Suddenly I imagined, in the swift changes of my dream, that we were sinking, and that the vessel was going to pieces with great crashes. I awoke with a start, to find that the noises of my dream were being continued into my waking life. The deck above was noisy with trampling feet and confused cries. For a moment I sat up, dizzy with surprise, and unable to realise whether I was awake or asleep. Then I pulled my wits together, and was on deck in a trice. I caught hold of a sailor who was hurrying rapidly by, and asked him what was the matter. He answered me that there was a man overboard, and that they were doing all they could to save him by casting over the side spars and timbers that would float, in the hope that he might be able to catch one of them. The deck was all confusion, men running hither and thither, and some hanging over the bulwarks and peering into the darkness, in the vain hope of catching a glimpse of their drowning comrade. We had not a boat to lower, save only the little dinghy, which would not have lived a minute in such a sea. When I found somebody who could tell me what had happened this was what I learnt. A man had fallen overboard; the watch had heard the splash as the body fell into the water, and a wild cry that followed upon the splash; a sailor had shouted out his warning of 'Man overboard!' and the cry had roused the whole ship. Up to this point nobody seemed to have any idea who the missing man was, but when Lancelot, who was immediately on deck, though he had but just gone to lie down, had commanded silence, and the men were gathered about him on the deck, the sailor who had first made the alarm was found and questioned. This sailor said that he saw a man standing at the vessel's side at a place where, when the mast fell, the bulwark had been torn away and had left a gaping wound in the ship's railings; that as he, surprised at seeing a man there, came nearer to try and ascertain what he was doing, the man staggered, flung up his arms--here the man who was narrating these things to us flung up his hands in imitation--and then went over the side with a great splash and a great cry. He believed that the man was none other than Cornelys Jensen. When Lancelot and I heard the name of Cornelys Jensen upon the man's lips we looked involuntarily at each other, and I make certain that we both grew pale. That the man of whom we had been talking not an hour before in such different terms should have thus suddenly been taken out of our lives came like a shock to us both. Further investigation confirmed the accuracy of the man's statement. The roll was called over, and every man answered to his name except Cornelys Jensen. His cabin was at once searched, but he was not in it, and it was evident that he had made no attempt to sleep there that night, for his hammock was undisturbed. On the table lay a folded sheet of paper, which Lancelot took up and opened. It contained only these words: 'Your doubts have driven me to despair.' These words had apparently been followed by some other words, the beginning of a fresh sentence, but, whatever they were, they were so scrawled over with the pen that their meaning was as effectually blotted out as if they had never been written. Of course, all efforts to rescue the unhappy man were unavailing. There was really nothing that we could do save to cast pieces of spar and plank overboard in the faint hope that some one of them might come in the drowning man's way and enable him to keep afloat till daylight, if by any chance his purpose of self-slaughter--for so it seemed to me--had changed with his souse into the water. The night was pitchy black, and the waves were running a tremendous pace, so that there really seemed to be little likelihood of the strongest swimmer keeping himself long afloat; but we did our best and hoped our hardest, even those of us who, like myself, disliked and distrusted Cornelys Jensen profoundly. Though Lancelot said little to Marjorie beyond the bare news of what had happened I could see that he took the disappearance of Jensen and that little scrawl we found in his cabin badly to heart. He was convinced at once that Jensen had committed suicide, driven thereto by the suspicions that we had formed of him; and, indeed, though I tried to console Lancelot as well as I could, it did look very like it, and I must confess that I felt a little guilty. For though I still thought that the grounds upon which I had formed my suspicions of the man were reasonable grounds, and justified all my apprehensions, still I could not resist an uncomfortable feeling that perhaps, after all, I might have misjudged the man, and that in any case I was the instrument--the unwitting instrument, but still the instrument none the less--of sending a fellow-creature before his Maker with the stigma of self-slaughter upon his soul. So certainly Lancelot and I passed a very unhappy night, what there was left of it; and when the dawn came we scanned the sea anxiously in the faint hope that we might see something of the missing man. But, though the sea was far quieter than it had been for many hours, there was no trace of any floating body upon it, and it became only too clear to our minds that, for some cause or other, Cornelys Jensen had indeed killed himself. I could only imagine that the man was really crazed, although we did not dream of such a thing, and that the perils and privations through which we had passed, and against which he seemed to bear such a bold front, had in fact completed the unhinging of his wits, and that my accusations, acting upon a weakened mind, had driven him in his frenzy to destroy himself. To be quite candid, though I was sufficiently sorry for the man, I was still dogged enough in my own opinion of his character as to think that, if it was the will of Providence that he should so perish, at all events the Royal Christopher was no loser by his loss. CHAPTER XXIII WE GET TO THE ISLAND Even if we had lost a better man than Jensen it would have been our duty none the less to work hard the next day to get our rafts ready and fit for sea. Very few men are indispensable to their fellows, and certainly, as far as making the rafts was concerned, it would have been far more serious if Abraham Janes, the carpenter, had taken it into his head to throw himself overboard than that Cornelys Jensen had taken it into his head to do so. Yet, in a manner, too, we missed Cornelys Jensen. He was an able man, full of all kinds of knowledge, and he had a domineering way with the seamen which they seemed to recognise and to obey unflinchingly. These fellows, for the most part, took the tidings of his death very indifferently. Some of them seemed to miss him as a trained dog might miss his master. Some, again, seemed scarcely to miss him at all. One or two, and especially the fellow who saw the death and the manner of it, seemed to take the matter very greatly to heart, and to go about with a sad brow and a sullen eye in consequence. As for Lancelot and myself, I must say that we soon grew to accept his loss with composure. There was so much to do that there would have been little time for a greater grief than either of us could honestly wear. The weather was mending hourly, and the rafts were making rapid progress. By the end of that day they were finished and ready for the sea. By this time, so strange are the chops and changes of the weather in that part of the world, the sea and sky were as gentle as on a summer's day. I have heard the phrase 'as smooth as a mill-pond' applied to salt water many a thousand times, but never, indeed, with so much truth as if it had been applied to the ocean that day. It lay all around us, one tranquillity of blue, and above it the heavens were domed with an azure fretted here and there with fleeces of clouds, even as the water was fretted here and there with laces of foam. In the clear air we could see the islands ahead of us sharply dark against the sky, and as we watched them our longing to be at them, to tread dry land again, was so great as to be almost unbearable. Those who have lived on shore all their lives can form little or no idea of the way in which the thoughts of a man who is tasting the terrors of shipwreck for the first time turn to a visible land, and how they burn within him for longing to walk upon turf or highway once again in his jeopardised life. Now, the rafts that we had constructed were by no means ill-fashioned. That ship's carpenter, Abraham Janes, was a man of great parts in his trade. I never in my life saw a handier man at his tools or a defter at devices of all kinds. The poor old Royal Christopher had timber enough and to spare for the planks that were to make our rafts, and we had a great plenty of idle rope aboard in the rigging wherewith our fallen mast was entangled. So there was no lack of material, and when our men saw that there was really and truly a prospect of escape there was no lack of willing hands to work. So by the end of the time I have already specified we had two large and serviceable rafts ready to try their fortunes upon the ocean that was now so tempting in its calm. It was a matter of some little surprise to us who were on board the ship that with the calm weather Captain Amber made no further attempt to come out to us. But there was no sign of a sail upon the water, although we watched it eagerly through the spy-glass; and we were sorely puzzled to imagine what could have happened to our leader, for that he could be forgetful of or indifferent to our danger it was impossible to believe. The rafts being now ready and the weather so propitious, nothing was left for us but to commit them, with ourselves and all our belongings, to the water, in the hope of making the shore with them. They were each of them capable of holding our whole number and a quantity of such stores as were left on board. These latter, therefore, divided into two equal parts, we proceeded to put upon the rafts as quickly as we could, together with as many barrels of water as we had. Each of the rafts carried a stout mast and sail, and in the absence of any wind could be propelled slowly over such a smooth water as that which now lay around us by means of oars. The stores and water barrels we adjusted in such a way as to preserve as nicely as might be the balance of the rafts. We effected the transfer of our stores and provisions with very little difficulty, and embarked all our party, also without any difficulty whatever. In obedience to Lancelot's resolution, which he had privately communicated to me beforehand, we divided our forces into two parties. That is to say, half of the sailors were set on each raft, and with each raft half of our armed men; for though we had little or no apprehension now that there would be any trouble with the sailors, we still deemed it best to let them see very plainly that we were and meant to be the masters. I went on the one raft, Lancelot--and of course Marjorie with him--upon the other, and when all was ready we pushed away from the Royal Christopher and trusted ourselves and our fortunes to our new equipages. There was happily little danger, even little difficulty, about the enterprise. The rafts were well made; they rode on the waters like corks. What little wind there was blew towards the islands, and the sea was as placid as a lake, so that the men could use their big oars easily enough. It was indeed slow work to paddle these great rafts along, but it was quite unadventurous, so that I have little or nothing to record of note concerning our journey. Little by little the Royal Christopher grew smaller and smaller behind us, with her great mast sticking out so sadly over her side; little by little the island loomed larger and larger on our view. At last, after a couple of hours that were the most pleasurable we had passed for many days, we came close to the island, and could see that the colonists were all crowded together upon the beach, waiting to receive us. The island was very large, rocky, and thickly wooded, and the coast was rocky too, and the water very shoaly, which made me understand how difficult landing must have been in the stormy weather. But now, with the sea so fair and the weather so fine, we had little or no difficulty in getting ashore, and with the eager assistance of the colonists were soon able to effect the landing of all our stores and belongings. Our first great surprise on our arrival was to see no sight of Captain Amber amongst those who were gathered upon the beach to receive us. But his absence was soon explained in reply to our anxious inquiries. It seemed that a great spirit of discontent prevailed among the colonists upon that island, and that they upbraided Captain Amber very bitterly for being the cause of their misfortunes: as is the way with weak-spirited creatures, who have not the heart to bear a common misfortune courageously. To make a long story short, they insisted that he must needs endeavour to find some means of rescue for them by getting into the sea track and persuading some ship to come to their aid and take them from the island; which certainly was a disconsolate place enough, especially for people who were always ready to make a poor mouth over everything that did not please them. As the sailors who were with Captain Amber sided with the colonists in this matter, he had no choice but to consent; and as his vessel was fairly sea-worthy, he and his people had departed, in the hope of meeting some ship to bring all succour. Captain Marmaduke was, it seems, most loath to depart while we were in such a plight on board of the Royal Christopher; but there was no help for it, for his men were almost in open mutiny, and would have carried him on board would he or no. So he had sailed away and the colonists were all hopeful, in their silly, simple way, that he would soon return in a great ship and carry them to a land as lovely as a dream, where all their wishes would be fulfilled for the asking, and where each man would have his bellyful of good things without the working for it. For that was, it seems, the notion most of these fellows had in their heads of poor Captain Amber's Utopia. I had begun to perceive by this time that a very large number of those that had come out with Captain Amber aboard of the Royal Christopher were but weak-spirited creatures, and such as might be called fair-weather friends. So long as all was going well and there was a prospect before them of a prosperous future and everything they wanted, they were supple enough and loud to laud the good gentleman who was conveying them to comfort. But with the break in our luck their praises and their patience went in a whiff, and they showed themselves to be such a parcel of wrong-headed, grumbling, disheartened and dispiriting knaves as ever helped to shake a good man's courage. They were as ready to imprecate Captain Amber now as they had been to load him with praises before, and in this they were supported by all the worser sort--and these were the greater part--among the sailors that had stayed with the colonists. But with Lancelot's arrival upon the island he soon put a stop to all loudly expressed grumbling--or at least to all grumbling that was loudly expressed in his hearing. There were some good fellows amongst the colonists, and the old soldiers were staunch and sturdy fellows, who adored Captain Amber, and Lancelot after him. So, as we had these with us, we made the grumblers keep civil tongues in their heads, aye and work too to the bettering of our conditions. The first party had made themselves some huts and now we made more for ourselves who were new-comers, with tents of a kind out of sail-cloth that we had brought from the ship, and for Lancelot a large double hut covered with some of this same cloth for him and Marjorie to dwell in. And, Lord! what a joy it was to see how Marjorie bestirred herself making herself as good a lieutenant to Lancelot as Captain's heart could desire. But we were all so busy that in those hours on that island I seldom had speech with her, for my care was chiefly with those discontented and weaklings who were so eager to complain and make mischief. It seemed to me then that the best man of all that pack was the woman Barbara Hatchett. For while the colonists were making poor mouths over their plight and piping as querulously as sparrows after rain, and while the sailors were for the most part sour and sullen, Barbara took her lot with cheerfulness, and had smiles and smooth words for everybody and everything. She had even smiles and smooth words with me, who had exchanged no speech with her beyond forced greeting for this many a day. For she came up to me laughing once, at a time when I stood alone and was, indeed, thinking of Marjorie who was busy in her hut at some task that Lancelot had set her. Barbara began to banter with me in a way that seemed strange with her, saying that I was fickle like all my sex, that I was sighing for fair hair now, who had doted on black locks a few years ago, and much more idle talk to the same want of purpose. At last she asked me bluntly if I had loved her once, and when I answered yes, she asked me if I loved her still, now that she was a married woman; and without giving me time to answer she said that she had a kindness for me, and would do me a good turn yet for the sake of old days when she came to be queen. I was vexed with her for the vanity and importunity of her mirth, and to stop her words I asked her bluntly if she had ever seen a black flag. But my question had no effect to disconcert her gaiety. 'You mean the black flag of poor Jensen?' she said; and when I nodded she began to pity Jensen for his belief in his trophy, which, after all, had brought him no more luck than a sea grave; and then she went on with shrillish laughter to tell me that she had begged it of him to give her to make into a petticoat, 'For it would have made a bonny petticoat, would it not?' she said suddenly, coming to a sharp end and looking me earnestly in the face. I was at a loss what to say, being so flustered by her carriage and her words, which seemed to make it plain to me that I had sorely misjudged the dead man. But I said nothing, and moved a little way from her; and she, seeing my disinclination, laughed again, and then 'God blessed' me with a vehemence and earnestness that, as I thought, meant me more harm than good. But after that she turned and went back to the rest of the women, and I could see her going from one to the other, soothing and comforting them, and showing them how to make the best of their bitter commons on the island. And as I watched her I wondered; but I had little time for watching or for wondering. CHAPTER XXIV FAIR ISLAND For the nonce I will make bold to leave Captain Marmaduke sailing the seas and to occupy myself solely with the fate of those who were encamped on the island, and chiefly of Marjorie and Lancelot and thereby myself who had the good fortune to be with them to the end of the enterprise. And, oh, as I think of Marjorie in those days it is ever with fresh wonder and delight and infinite gratitude to Heaven for the privilege to have seen her. She seemed just a boy with boys, she with Lancelot and me, and she wore her boyish weed with a simple straightforward ease that made it somehow seem the most right and natural thing in the world. But that was ever her way; whatever she did seemed fit and good, and that not merely to my eyes who loved her, but, as I think, to most. And she was very helpful in mind and body, always eager to bear her share in any work that was toward, and in council advising wisely without assertion. It might seem at first blush a handicap for adventurers to have a girl on their hands, but we did not find it so, only always, save for the peril in which the maid was, a gain and blessing. And so to our fortunes. You must know that from the further coast of our island--the further from our wreck, I mean--we could discern the outlines of other islands, the nearest of which appeared to be within but a few hours' sail. It was plain, therefore, that we were, very fortunately for us, cast away in the neighbourhood of a considerable archipelago, and that we had every reason on the whole to rejoice at our condition instead of bewailing it. Now, though the island we were on was in many ways fair and commodious, we were not without confidence that another island, which lay a little further off, as it might be a couple of hours' sail, would serve us even in better stead, and at least we resolved to explore it. So Lancelot and Marjorie and I, with some thirty of our own men, resolved to cross over in the shallop boat which had conveyed the first party to the island while the weather was still fair, taking with us a great plenty of arms and implements, canvas and abundance of provisions, as well as a quantity of lights and fireworks, which we had saved from the ship, and which Lancelot thought might be useful for many purposes. It was agreed between us and the colonists that if we found the new island better than the old we were to make great bonfires, the smoke of which could not fail to be seen from the first island, or Early Island, as we came to call it. This they should take as a signal to come with all speed to the new camping-ground. You must not think it strange that we set out upon this expedition thoughtlessly and leaving the other folk unprotected. For, in the first place, there were a goodly number of the colonists--as many in number as the sailors; and, in the second place, the sailors were not so well-armed as many of the colonists were, having nothing but their knives and a few axes. Furthermore, as Cornelys Jensen was not among them, and as it seemed most unlikely that the purpose, if purpose he had, would hold with his fellows now that there was, as it were, no ship to seize, we felt that there could be no danger to our companions in leaving them while we went on our voyage of exploration. So you will please to bear in mind how matters now stood. There was Captain Marmaduke in the skiff, who had sailed away from us to seek succour for us all. There was on the island with which we had first made acquaintance the majority of our colonists--men, women and children, together with the greater part of the sailors--under the authority of Hatchett. There were, further, Lancelot and Marjorie and myself and our thirty men, who had gone off in the shallop to explore the adjacent islands in the hope of finding a better resting-place for our whole party. As for Cornelys Jensen, I took him to be at the bottom of the sea. We had arranged that during our absence the administration of the colony should be vested in a council, of whom the Reverend Mr. Ebrow was one and Hatchett another, for, as the leading man among sailors, he could not be overlooked, and I mistrusted him no more now that Jensen was gone. Certain of the soldierly men and two or three of the most cool-headed amongst the colonists made up the total of this council, whose only task would be to apportion the fair share of labour to each man in making the island as habitable a place as might be till our return. For, after all, it was by no means certain that we should have better luck with the near island, and in any case it was well to be prepared for all emergencies. It was late on the second day of our arrival at the island that Lancelot and Marjorie and I with our companions set off on our expedition. We followed the coast-line of our island a long while, keeping a sufficiently wide berth for fear of the shoals. When we had half circumnavigated it there lay ahead of us the island for which we were making. It lay a good way off, and, as the day was very fine and still, it seemed nearer to us than it proved to be. As far as we could judge at that distance, it seemed to be a very much larger island than the one which we had just left; and so indeed it proved to be. The shallop was a serviceable vessel, and ran bravely before the wind on the calm sea. Had the wind been fully in our favour we should have made the island for which we were steering within the hour; but it blew slightly across our course, compelling us to tack and change our course often, so that it was a good two hours before we were close to our goal. When we came close enough we saw that the island seemed in all respects to be a more delectable spot than that island on which chance had first cast us. There was a fine natural bay, with a strand of a fine, white, and sparkling sand such as recalled to me the aspect of many of the little bays and creeks in the coast beyond Sendennis, and in the recollection brought the tears into my mouth, not into my eyes. From this strand we could see that the land ran up in a gentle elevation that was very thickly wooded. Beyond this again rose in undulating succession several high hills, that might almost be regarded as little mountains, and these also seemed to be densely clothed with trees. Marjorie declared that the place looked in its soft greenness and the clean whiteness of its shore a kind of Earthly Paradise, and indeed our hearts went out to it. I found afterwards, from conversation with my companions, that every man of us felt convinced on our first close sight of Fair Island, as we afterwards called it, that we should find there abundance of water and all things that we needed which could reasonably be hoped for. We came, after a little coasting, to a small and sheltered creek, into which it was quite easy to carry our vessel. The creek ran some little way inland, with deep water for some distance, so here we beached the shallop and got off and looked about us. Although by this time the day was grown somewhat old, we were determined to do at least a measure of exploring then and there, and ascertain some, at least, of the resources of our new territory. There was, of course, the possibility that we might meet with wild animals or with still wilder savages, but we did not feel very much alarm about either possibility. For we were a fairly large party; we were all well-armed, and well capable of using our weapons. Each of us carried pistols and a hanger, Marjorie with the rest, she being as skilful in their use as any lad of her age might be. For my own part I always wore in my coat pocket a little pistol Lancelot had given me, that looked like a toy, but was a marvel of mechanism and precision. Weaponed as we were, we had come, moreover, into that kind of confidence which comes to those who have just passed unscathed through grave peril, a confidence which is, as it were, a second wind of courage. It would not do, of course, to leave our boat unprotected, so it was necessary to tell off by lot a certain number of our men to stay with it and guard it. All the men were so eager for exploration that those upon whom the lots fell to remain behind with the shallop made rather wry faces; but Lancelot cheered them by telling them that theirs was a position to the full as honourable as that of explorers, and that in any case those who looked after the boat one day should be relieved and go with the exploring party on the next day, turn and turn about. This satisfied them, and they settled down to their duty in content. It was agreed upon that in case of any danger or any attack, whether by savages or by wild beasts--for in those parts of the world there might well be monstrous and warlike creatures--they were to make an alarm by blowing upon a horn which we had with us, and by firing a shot. It was to be their task while we were away to prepare a fire for our evening meal. We had our supply of provisions and of water with us, but those of us who were to explore had very good hopes that we should bring back to the skiff not merely the good news that we had found water, but also something in the way of food for our supper. Lancelot, for one, expressed his confidence that there must be game of various kinds in so thickly a wooded place, and when Lancelot expressed an opinion I and the others with me always listened to it like Gospel. Luckily for us, we soon found one and then another spring of fresh water. But it took us a matter of three days to explore that island thoroughly, for it was very hilly, and in many parts the woods were well-nigh impenetrable in spite of our axes. Most of the trees and shrubs had at this time either blossoms or berries on them, red, white, and yellow, that filled the air with sweet and pungent odours. It was a large island, and on the other side of the ridge of hills which rose up so sharply from the place where we first landed the land stretched almost level for a considerable distance before it dropped again in low cliffs to the sea. Part of this plain was grass-grown land, not unlike English down land, but in other parts the grass grew in great tufts as big as a bush, intermixed with much heath, such as we have on our commons in England; part of it was thickly grown with all manner of bright flowers and creeping plants, that knotted themselves together in such an entanglement that it was very hard to cut a path. We had need to go carefully here, for suspicion of snakes. We found no sign of savage wild beasts, though of harmless ones there were plenty, some of which made very good meat. As for savages, we saw none; and as far as we could make out we were the only human beings upon the island. Yet Lancelot, who was wonderfully quick at noting things, thought that he detected signs here and there which went to show that we were not the first men who had ever explored it. There were few land fowls--only eagles of the larger sort, but five or six sorts of small birds. There were waterfowl in abundance of many varieties, with shellfish to our hands, and good fish for the fishing, so between the sea and the land we were in no fear of want of victual, which cheered us very greatly. We had rigged up some rough tents with our canvas, one apart for Marjorie and one for me and Lancelot, and half a dozen for our men, and altogether our condition had fair show of comfort, and to me indeed seemed full of felicity. Until we had thoroughly explored the island we did not deem it wise to make our promised communication with the former island. But as soon as we had pretty well seen all that there was to be seen, we thought that, the time still being fair, we could scarcely do better than get our fellow-adventurers over. Our men were therefore set to work collecting as large a quantity of fuel as might be, and in clearing a path to the summit of the nearest hill, from which we might set off our bonfire to the best advantage. Our men were all dispersed about the island busy at this business, and Marjorie was in her tent, taking at her brother's entreaty the rest she would never have allowed herself. It was a very hot day, and Lancelot and I, who had been collecting firewood on the near slope of the hill, but a few yards from the creek where our craft was beached, were lying down for a brief rest under a tree and talking together of old times. The sight of a small gaudy parrot, of which there was an abundance in the island, had sent our memories back to that parlour of Mr. Davies's where we had first met, and where there were parrots on the wall, and so we chatted very pleasantly. By-and-by our talk flagged a little, for we grew drowsy with the heat, and our eyes closed and we fell into dozes, from which we would lazily wake up to enjoy the warm air and the bright sunlight and the vivid colours of everything about us, sea and sky and trees and flowers and grasses. I remember very well musing as I lay there upon the strangeness of disposition which leads men to pine out their lives in the mean air of smoky cities, with all their hardship and their unloveliness, when the world has so many brave places only waiting for bold spirits to come and dwell therein. Boylike, I had forgotten all the perils which I had undergone before ever I came to Fair Island. I was only conscious of the delicious appearance of the place, of our good fortune in finding so fair a haven; and if only Captain Marmaduke and my mother had been with us I think I could have been very well content to pass the remainder of my days upon that island, which seemed to me to the full as enchanted as any I had read of in the Arabian tales. I had dropped into a kind of sleep, in which I dreamt that I was Sindbad the Sailor, when I was awakened by a light step and the sound of a soft voice. I looked up and saw that Marjorie was bending over Lancelot, who was sitting up by me. She held him by the arm and pointed out across the sea. 'Don't you see something out there?' she asked, speaking quite low, as she always did when excited by anything. Lancelot and I followed the direction of her gaze and her outstretched finger, and discerned very far away upon the sea a small black object. It lay between us and the island we had left, but somewhat to the right of it. 'What is it?' I asked. 'That's just what I want to know,' said Marjorie. 'How if it should be savages?' The very thought was disquieting. We had grown so secure that we had almost forgotten the possibility of such dangers; but now, at Marjorie's words, the possibilities came clearly back to me. Captain Marmaduke had told us many a time stories about savages and their war canoes and their barbarous weapons, and it was very likely indeed that what we saw was a boat filled with such creatures creeping across the sea to attack us. It moved very slowly across the smooth waters, and there was a strong bright sun, which played upon the surface of the water very dazzlingly, which added to our difficulty in understanding the floating object. But as it came slowly nearer we saw that it must be some kind of vessel, for we distinguished what was clearly a mast with a sail, though, as there was very little wind that morning, the sail hung idly by the mast. A little later we were able to be sure that what we saw was a kind of raft, with, as I have said, a mast and sail, but that its propulsion came from some human beings who were aboard it, and who were causing its slow progress with oars. By this time I had got out a spy-glass from our tent; and then Lancelot gave a cry of amazement, for he recognised in the new-comers certain of those colonists our companions whom we had left behind on the hither island. There were five of them on board, all of whom Lancelot named to us, and as he named them, Marjorie and I, looking through the glass in turns, were able to recognise them too. By-and-by they saw us too, for one of them stood up on the raft, and stripping off his shirt waved it feebly in the air as a signal to us, a signal which we immediately answered by waving our kerchiefs. It takes a long time to tell, but the thing itself took longer to happen, for it must have been fully an hour after we first noted the raft before it came close to the shore of our island. As soon as it was within a couple of boats' lengths Lancelot and I, in our impatience and our anxiety to aid, ran into the water, which was shallow there, for the beach sloped gently, and was not waist high when we reached the voyagers, so that we had no fear of sharks. The new-comers were huddled together on as rudely fashioned a raft as it had ever been my lot to see, and had it not been for the astonishing tranquillity of the sea it is hard to believe that they could have made a hundred yards without coming to pieces. They all leaped into the water now, and between us we ran the crazy raft on to the beach, Lancelot and I doing the most part of the work, for the poor wretches that had been on board of her seemed to be sorely exhausted and scarcely able to speak as they splashed and staggered through the shallow water to the shore, where Marjorie was waiting anxiously for us. They did speak, however, when once they were safely on dry land and had taken each a sip from our water-bottles, for all their throats were parched and swollen with thirst. It was a terrible tale which they had to tell, and it made us shiver and grow sick while they told it. I will tell it again now, not, indeed, in their words, which were wild, rambling, and disconnected, but in my own words, making as plain a tale of it as I can, for indeed it needs no skill to exaggerate the horror of it. CHAPTER XXV THE STORY FROM THE SEA In few words, it came to this. The sailors on the island had proved themselves to be as bloody villains as had ever fed the gallows. They had taken the unhappy colonists by surprise and had massacred them, all but the women and the children. As for the women--poor things!--it would have been better for them if they had been killed with the others, but their lives were spared for greater sorrows. Those who told us that tale were all that were left, they said, of the unhappy company. They had escaped by mere chance to the woods, and had fashioned with their axes the rough raft and oars which had conducted them at last to us and to temporary safety. This was their first raw story. Horrid as it was it took a stronger horror when one of the men shouted a curse at Cornelys Jensen. 'Cornelys Jensen!' I cried. 'Cornelys Jensen--Cornelys Jensen is dead, and the seas have swallowed him.' The man who had uttered his name gave a great groan. 'Would to Heaven they had,' he said. 'But Heaven has not been so merciful. That tiger still lives and lusts for blood.' Marjorie and Lancelot and I glanced at each other in amazement, and the same thought crossed all our minds--that fear and grief had crazed the unhappy man who was speaking to us. But he, reading something of our thoughts in our eyes, turned to his fellows for confirmation, and confirmation they readily gave. Cornelys Jensen was alive. Cornelys Jensen was on the island. Cornelys Jensen was the instigator of the massacre, the bloodiest actor in the bloody work. Here was indeed amazing tidings, and we cried to know more, but the men had no more to tell. They had no knowledge of how Cornelys Jensen made his appearance upon the island; all they knew was that he did appear, and that his appearance was the signal for a display of weapons on the part of the sailors on his side and the massacre of all the unhappy wretches who were not inclined to his piratical purposes. The colonists seemed to have made no sort of stand for their lives. Indeed, it would appear that they were taken quite unawares, and that the most were struck down before they had time to act in their own defence. As for the miserable wretches who told us this tale, they had fled to the woods when the wicked business began, and the murderers either lost count of them or imagined that they must perish miserably of famine in the forest. Indeed, they must have so perished if it had not occurred to one of them, who had his wits a little more about him than the others, to suggest the manufacture of a raft, whereby they might make the attempt to reach the island, where, as they guessed, we, with our well-armed fellows, were safely settled. 'For,' as the man argued, 'we risk death either way. If we stop here we must either perish among these trees for lack of sustenance or must creep back to the piratical camp with little other hope than a stroke from a hanger, or tempt the seas in the hope of friends and safety.' So they fashioned a raft as well as they could out of a number of fallen trees, which they fastened together with natural ropes made of the long creeping plants that abounded, and that were as tough and as endurable as ever was rope that was weaved out of honest hemp. They found enough timber for their craft among the fallen tree trunks, and they had the less difficulty in their work that one of their number was Janes, who had his saw in his belt at the moment of their flight to the woods. Long before they finished telling their tale our men, who were scattered abroad in the woods, came tumbling down to us at the sound of the horn, that Lancelot wound to summon them, and gathered in horror around their unhappy comrades. As for me, I was so amazed at the news that Cornelys Jensen was alive that I stood for awhile like one stunned, and could say nothing, but only stare at those pale faces and wonder dumbly. When after awhile the power of speech did return to me I strove with many questions to find out how Jensen was thus restored to life and to evil deeds, but as to that they none of them knew anything. If the marvel of Jensen's reappearance was the greatest marvel, marvel only second to it was how the sailors who obeyed him came to have weapons for their business. As to that, again, the fugitives could give no help. The sailors had arms, every man of them, muskets and pistols and cutlasses, and had used them with deadly effect. It was all a mystery that made our senses sick to think upon. Of one thing the fugitives were very positive--that Jensen and his murderers would very soon make a descent upon our island, in the hope of surprising us unawares and killing us. For now they were very numerous, and at least as well-armed as we were, and would make very formidable enemies. The only wonder was that they had not already attempted it, but the men believed that the villains were so engrossed in a swinish orgie after their triumph as to be heedless of time or prudence. So here were we--but thirty-two men in all, not counting these fugitives--and with one woman, though so brave an one--in urgent peril. It was fortunate for us all that in Lancelot's youth there was an alliance of courage with skill which would have done credit to a general of fifty. I was not much in those days in the way of giving advice, but I was strong and active, and ready to obey Lancelot in all things, which was what was most wanted of me in that juncture. We had every reason to be confident in the fidelity and courage of the men who were with us, and our confidence was not misplaced. The first thing to be done was to settle the fugitives in the utmost comfort we could afford them. We put them to rest in one of our tents we had built, and gave to each of them a taste of strong waters, after which we urged them to sleep if they could, adding, to encourage them in that effort, that the sooner their bodies were refreshed by rest and food the better they would be able to bear their part in resisting the common enemy. This argument had great weight with the men, who were very willing to be of help, but too hopelessly worn out just then to be of the smallest aid to us or the smallest obstacle to our enemies. Indeed, the poor fellows were so broken with fear and suffering that I think they would have slept if they had heard that Cornelys Jensen, with all his pack, had landed upon the island. As it was, in a very few minutes all of them were lying in a row and sleeping soundly. I could almost have wept as I looked upon them lying there so quiet and so miserable, and thought of all the high hopes with which they had entered upon the adventure that had proved so disastrous for them and so fatal for so many of their companions. Having thus disposed of them, our next course was to take such steps as we could towards strengthening our position. To begin with, we hauled our boat further up the creek than she now was, for it would be a terrible misfortune to us if anything were to happen to her, seeing that on her depended any chance we had of leaving the island if we were so far pushed as to have to make the attempt. Our position was not an easy one to attack as it stood, coming, as the attack must, from the island we had left, for of an attack in our rear we had no danger. Even if Cornelys Jensen were able to get to the back of our island, it would take him an intolerable time to make his way through the well-nigh impenetrable woods that lay between us. On our front we felt confident that the attack would come, and we felt further confident that, even if it was made with the full force of ruffians that Jensen had at his command, we ought to be able to repulse it, and to prevent the scoundrels from effecting a landing. For though the news that they were thoroughly equipped with the weapons and munitions of war was wofully disheartening news, still, as we were well-armed ourselves, it did not altogether discourage us. They might be very well two to one, but two to one is no such great odds when the larger party has to effect a landing upon an open place held by resolute men and well weaponed. It was, in Lancelot's judgment, our first duty to erect a sort of fort or stockade upon the beach, wherein we could take shelter if we were really hard pressed, and wherein we could store for greater safety our stores and ammunition from our skiff. We had set up several huts along the shore of the creek for habitation and for storage of our goods. But they would have offered no protection in case of an attack, being but mere shells hurriedly put together, and intended merely as temporary shelters from possible foul weather. Lancelot's scheme was to enclose all these buildings in a strong wall, and to connect that fort by another wall with the spot at which our skiff was beached. There was no great difficulty in the construction of such a stockade in itself. Timber enough and to spare was to be had for the chopping, and we had thirty odd pairs of arms and sufficient axes to make that a matter of no difficulty. Nor was there any difficulty as regards the building of such a fort, for Lancelot's knowledge of military matters made him quite capable of planning it out according to the most approved methods of fortification. We set to work upon the stockade at once, and soon were chopping away for dear life, even Marjorie wielding a light axe, and wielding it well. Many hands, it is said, make light work, and there were enough of us to make the business move pretty quickly. Choosing trees with trunks of a middling thickness, we soon had a great quantity cut down and made of the length that was needed. These we proceeded to set up in the places that Lancelot had marked out, but first we dug deep trenches in the ground so as to ensure their being firmly established, Marjorie taking her share of the spade work with a will. We had not done very much before Abraham Janes, the carpenter, came out of the hut and joined us. He declared that he was now well refreshed, and that he wished to bear his part in the labour; and indeed we were very glad to let him do so, because he was an exceedingly skilful workman, and very ready with the use of saw and hatchet. CHAPTER XXVI THE BUSINESS BEGINS With toil we set up the front of our stockade and a portion of the sides of the parallelogram. It was all loopholed for our musketry, and was firm and strong, being carefully stiffened behind by cross beams and shored up with buttresses of big logs in a manner that, if not thoroughly workmanlike, was at least satisfactory from the point of strength, which was just then our main consideration. Our palisade was about double the height of a man, and in the centres, both front and back, there was a gate, that was held in its place when shut by heavy bars of wood which fitted into holes cut to receive them. Ere set of sun we had our outworks completed, and found ourselves the possessors of a very creditable stockade, which under ordinary conditions ought, if properly manned and well supplied with ammunition, to resist the attack of a very much greater number than the defending party. It was still in our mind to run out a palisade that should connect our stronghold with the place where the skiff lay, but it was too late, and we were now too exhausted to think of that, for we had worked at our task ever since we had got the alarm, and it was really impossible for us to do more in that work. But before we rested we conveyed from our boat all our stores and all our arms and ammunition--of which latter, indeed, we had no great quantity, a matter which we had not heeded before, but which now gave us great trouble. We brought in abundance of water, and we had ample provisions, which the island itself had in chief part offered to us, so that we could hold our own very well for a time in case it came to a siege. Our hope, however, was that we might be able to prevent the pirates from effecting a landing at all. When we went to seek rest for the night we took care to set good guard and to keep strict watch, for a night attack was possible, if it was not very likely. Though we were all very tired, both bodily and mentally, by reason of the labour of our hands and the strain upon our minds, I do not think that any of us found sleep very easy to come at first. I only know that I lay on my back and stared up at the stars--for the night was too hot to sleep under cover--for long enough. At last I fell asleep, and through sleep into a fitful feverish dream, which chopped and changed from one place and subject to another; but at last it settled down into one decided dream--and that was a good dream, for it was a dream of Marjorie. It seemed that I was walking with her along the downs beyond Sendennis, not far from that place where Lancelot found me blubbering in years gone by, and that I was telling her that I loved her, and that she let me hold her hand while I told her, which showed that she was not averse to my tale, and that when I had done she turned and looked me full in the face, and there was love--love for me--in her eyes. Then I awoke suddenly and found it was full day, and that Marjorie was bending over me. For the moment I did not recollect where I was, and stared in surprise at the great wooden paling by which we were surrounded. Then recollection of the whole situation came back to me in a flash, and I leapt to my feet. All around me the men were making preparations for the morning meal, or were engaged in looking to their weapons, testing the sharpness of a cutlass or seeing to the priming of a matchlock. The big door of the stronghold was open, and through it I could see the white beach and the sea-edge, where Lancelot stood scanning the horizon with the spy-glass. The sun was very bright, and I could hear the parrots screaming away in the woods behind us. 'Come outside, Ralph,' said Marjorie. 'I want to speak with you.' We went out together through the gate into the open, and walked slowly a little way in the direction of the sea. Both of us looked, naturally enough, to that island where our enemies lay. Presently we halted and stood in silence a few minutes, and then Marjorie spoke. 'Ralph,' she said quietly, 'you are my friend, I believe.' I had it in my heart to cry wild words to her; to tell her again that I loved her then and for ever, but though the words tingled on my lips they never took life and sound. For Marjorie was looking at me so steadfastly and sadly with a strange gravity in the angel-blue of her eyes that I could not speak what she might not wish to hear. So I simply nodded my head and held out my hand and caught hers and clasped it close. 'Ralph,' she said again. 'We fight for the right, but right is not always might, and our enemies may overpower us. If they do--' here I thought she paled a little, but her voice was as firm as ever--'if they do, I want you to promise me one promise.' I suppose the look in my face assured her that there was nothing she could ask of me that I would not obey, for she went on without waiting for me to speak: 'I have the right to ask you because of some words you once said to me, words which I remember. If the worst comes you must kill me. Hush'--for I gave a groan as she spoke. 'That must be. I have heard enough to know that I must not live if our enemies triumph. If I were alone I should kill myself; if you were not here I should have to ask Lancelot, but you are here and I would rather it happened by your hand.' It was strange to stand on that quiet shore by that quiet sea and look into that beautiful face and listen to that beautiful voice and hear it utter such words. But my heart thrilled with a wild pride at her prayer. 'I will do your bidding,' I said, and she answered 'I thank you.' We might have been talking of nothing in particular so even were our voices and so simple was our speech. I pressed her hand and let it go. Then, swiftly, she came a little nearer and took my face in her dear hands and kissed me on the forehead, and there are no words in the world sweet enough or sacred enough to interpret my thoughts in that moment. Then she moved away and made to go towards Lancelot, but even as she did so I saw him turn and run towards us along the beach. As soon as he joined us he bade Marjorie go to our hut and blow the horn to bring our people together. After that she was to wait in her own shelter till he came for her. She obeyed him unquestioningly, as she always did in those days of danger, and for a moment Lancelot and I were alone. 'Here they come,' he said very tranquilly. 'See for yourself.' And he handed the spy-glass to me. As I put it to my eye he added: 'I can't understand where they get their rig from.' Neither could I. As I looked through the glass I could see that two boats were coming slowly towards us, and that each boat was full of men. It was surprising enough to see them coming in boats, but it was not that which had chiefly surprised either Lancelot or me. Our wonder was caused by the fact that all the men in the boats were clad in scarlet coats, scarlet coats that looked very bright and clean and new. 'Can these be our men at all?' I asked of Lancelot in amazement. I could not for the life of me conceive what other men they could be, but the sight of all those scarlet coats filled me with astonishment. Lancelot took the spy-glass from me again without replying, and looked long and patiently at the approaching boats. 'Yes,' he said at last, 'they are our men sure enough, for I see the face of Jensen among them. But how on earth has he contrived to deck out all his gang of rascals in the likeness of soldiers?' He paused for a moment; then added thoughtfully: ''Tis our Providence that the Royal Christopher lost her cannon. Yonder stronghold would be no better than so much pasteboard against a couple of the ship's guns.' We had no time for further converse. The sound of the horn had rallied our party, and soon the whole of our men were gathered about us, staring over the sea at those two moving blots of scarlet. I cast an anxious glance at the face of each man of our little party, and when I had finished I did not feel anxious any more. I could see by the face of every man that he meant to fight and to fight his best. Lancelot lost no time in getting the men into order and in arranging exactly what was to be done. It was curious, perhaps, although I did not think it curious then, that these men should have accepted so unquestioningly Lancelot's command over them. But they were old soldiers, who had promised to obey Captain Amber, and he had himself devolved his command upon Lancelot. And so, until Lancelot went stark staring mad, which he was not in the least likely to do, they were perfectly prepared to obey him. I should not be adhering to the spirit of truthfulness which I have observed in setting down these my early experiences if I did not confess that I faced the fact of coming conflict with very mingled emotions. This was the very first time that I had ever seen human beings about to close in bloody strife. Here I found myself standing up with arms in my hands, ready to take away the life of a fellow-creature--to take away the lives of several fellow-creatures, if needs must. Moreover, I knew very well that there were plenty of chances of my getting knocked on the head in this my first scrimmage, and I trembled a little inwardly--though not, as I believe, outwardly--at the thought of my promise to Marjorie. And yet even with that thought a new courage came into my heart. For I immediately resolved that, come what might, I would endeavour to carry myself in such a manner as Marjorie would have me carry myself, namely, as an honest man should, fighting to the best of his ability for what he believed to be the right cause, and not making too much of a fuss about it. And that resolve nerved me better than a dram of spirits would have done, and I set aside the flask from which I had been on the point to help myself. I do not know if Lancelot felt like that in any degree, and I never presumed to question him on the point afterwards, as there are some topics upon which gentlemen cannot approach each other, however great the degree of intimacy may be between them. But he certainly carried himself as composedly as if we were standing in a ball-room before the dancing began. It is true that he had been brought up to understand the military life and the use of arms, and he had seen a battle fought in the Low Countries, and had fought a duel himself in France with some uncivil fellow. He never looked handsomer, brighter, more gallant than then, and his faded sea-clothes became him as well as the richest gala suit or finest uniform that courtier or soldier ever wore. He had an exquisite neatness of his person ever, and had contrived every day upon that island to shave himself, so that while most of his fellows bore bristling beards, and my own chin was as raspy as a hedgehog, he might have presented himself at the Court of St. James's, so spruce was his appearance. When all was ready Lancelot drew up his men very soldierly and made them a little speech. He bade them bear in mind that the men who were about to attack us were not merely our own enemies, but the King's; and not merely the King's enemies, but Heaven's, because, being pirates, they sinned against the laws of Heaven as well as the laws of earth. He bade them be sure that they need look for no mercy from such fellows, and that therefore it behoved every man of them to fight his best, both for his own sake and for the sake of his companions; but also he conjured them, if the victory went with them, not to forget that even those pirates were made in God's image, albeit vilely perverted, and that it was our duty as Christians and as soldiers to show them more mercy than they would deal out to us. He ended by reminding them that they were Englishmen, and that a portion of England's honour and glory depended upon the way in which they carried themselves that day. To all of which they listened attentively, every man standing steady as if on parade. When Lancelot had quite finished he pulled off his hat and swung it in the air, calling upon them to huzza for the King. Then there went up from our band such a cheer as did my heart good. The island rang for the first time in its life to the huzzaing with which those stout fellows greeted the name of the King. Again and yet again their voices shook the silence with that manly music, and I, while I shouted as loud as the rest of them, glowed with pride to think that courage and loyalty were the same all the world over. Nothing has ever made me prouder than the courage of that knot of men about to engage in a doubtful conflict in a nameless place with a gang of devils, and gallantly cheering for their King before beginning it. Those men in scarlet must have heard that cheer and been not a little amazed by it. I dare say that by this time Cornelys Jensen had seen us through his spy-glass. If so, how he must have cursed at our readiness and at the sight of our stockade! It was decided by Lancelot that the first thing to do was to prevent the pirates from landing. If they succeeded by untoward chance in effecting a landing, then all of us who were lucky enough to be left alive were to retreat with all speed to the stronghold and fasten ourselves in there. To this end the gate was left open, and in the charge of two men, whose duty it would be to swing it to and bolt it the moment the last of our men had got inside. A few men were left inside the stockade, including the fugitives, to whom we had given arms. The main body of our men were drawn up along the beach, with their muskets ready. Between these and the stockade a few men were thrown out to cover our retreat, if retreat there had to be. It was anxious work to watch the advance of those two boats with their scarlet crews over that tranquil tropic sea. The water was smooth, as it had been now for days, and their coming was steady and measured. As had been the case ever since we made Fair Island, there was almost no wind, so that their sails were of little service, but their rowing was excellent, as the rowing of good seamen always is. And, villains though they were, those underlings of Jensen's were admirable sailors. When they were quite near we could recognise the faces of the fellows in the two boats. Cornelys Jensen was in the first boat, and he was dressed out as sumptuously as any general of our army on a field day. For though every man jack of them in the two boats was blazing in scarlet, and though that scarlet cloth was additionally splendid with gold lace, the cloth and the cut of Jensen's coat were finer and better than those of the others, and it was adorned and laced with far greater profusion. With his dark face and evil expression he looked, to my mind, in all his finery more like my lady's monkey in holiday array than man, pirate, or devil, although he was indeed all three. Every man in those two boats was decked out in scarlet cloth and gold lace--except one. Every man in those two boats was heavily armed with muskets, pistols and cutlasses--except one. The exception was a man who sat by the side of Jensen. He was clad in black, and his face was very pale, and there was an ugly gash of a raw wound across his forehead. I could see that his hands were tied behind him, and in the wantonness of power Jensen had laid his own bare hanger across the prisoner's knees. I knew the captive at once. He was the Reverend Mr. Ebrow, who had so strengthened us by his exhortation during our peril on board the Royal Christopher. When Lancelot saw whom they had with them and the way that those villains treated their captive I noted that his face paled, and that there came a look into his eyes which I had not often seen there, but which meant no good for Jensen and his scum if Lancelot got the top of them. For Lancelot was a staunch Churchman and a respecter of ministers of God's Word, and as loyal to his religion as he was to his King. There was one face which I missed out of those boatloads of blackguards, a face which I had very confidently expected to find most prominent amongst them. When I missed it in the first boat I made sure that I should find it in the second, and probably in the place of command; but it was not there either, very much to my surprise. At that crisis in our affairs, at that instant of peril to my life, I was for the moment most perturbed, or at least most puzzled by the fact that I could not find this familiar face among the collection of scarlet-coated scoundrels who were creeping in upon us. The face that I was looking for was a face that would have gone well enough too with a scarlet coat, for it was a scarlet face in itself. I looked for that red-haired face which I had seen for the first time leering at me over Barbara's shoulders on the last day that ever I set foot within the Skull and Spectacles. I was looking for the face of Jensen's partner in treason--Hatchett. By this time our enemies had come to within perhaps ten boats' lengths of Fair Island. All this time they had kept silence, and all this while we had kept silence also. But now, as if Lancelot had made up his mind exactly at what point he would take it upon him to act, we assumed the defensive. For Lancelot gave the command to make ready and to present our pieces, and his words came from his lips as clearly and as composedly as if he were only directing some drilling on an English green. In a moment all our muskets were at the shoulder, while Lancelot called out to the pirates that if they rowed another inch nearer he would give the order to fire. Our men were steady men, and, though I am sure that more than one of them was longing to empty his piece into the boats, all remained as motionless as if on parade. The pirate boats came to a dead stop, and I could see that all the men who were not busy with the oars were gripping their guns. But Jensen kept them down with a gesture. Then, as the boats were steady, he rose to his feet and waved a white handkerchief in sign that he wished for parley. It was part of the foppishness of the fellow that the handkerchief was edged with lace, like a woman's or a grandee's. Lancelot called out to him to know what he wanted. Jensen shouted back that he wished to parley with us. Lancelot promptly made answer that he needed no parley, that he knew him and his crew for traitors, murderers, and pirates, with whom he would have no dealings save by arms. At those bold words of his we could see that the fellows in the scarlet coats were furious, and we could guess from their gestures that many of them were urging Jensen to attack us at once, thinking, no doubt, that they might return our fire and, being able to effect a landing before we could reload, might cut us to pieces. But, whatever their purposes were, Jensen restrained them, and it was a marvel to see the ease with which he ruled those savages. He again addressed himself to Lancelot, warning him that it would be for his peace and the peace of those who were with him to come to some understanding with the invaders. And at last, having spoken some time without shaking Lancelot's resolve, Jensen asked if he would at least receive an envoy upon the island. Lancelot was about to refuse again when something crossed his mind, and he shouted back to Jensen to know whom he would send. Jensen, who had probably divined his thoughts, clapped his hand upon the shoulder of that prisoner of his who sat by his side all in black, and called out to Lancelot that he proposed to send the parson as his envoy. To this Lancelot agreed, but I saw that he looked anxious, for it crossed his mind, as he afterwards told me, that this proposition might merely serve as an excuse for the pirate boats to come close, and so give them a better chance of attacking us. However, the pirates made no such attempt. It may be that Jensen, who was quick of wit, guessed Lancelot's thought. The boats remained where they were. We saw the reverend gentleman stand up. One of Jensen's fellows untied his hands, and then without more ado Jensen caught the poor man up by his waistband and straightway flung him into the sea. A cry of anger broke from Lancelot's lips when he saw this, for he feared that the man might drown. But he was a fair swimmer, and the distance was not so great, so within a few seconds of his plunge he found his depth and came wading towards us with the water up to his middle, looking as wretched as a wet rat, while all the rogues in the boats laughed loud and long at the figure he cut. [Illustration: "LANCELOT RUSHED FORWARD INTO THE WATER."] Lancelot rushed forward into the water to give him his hand, and so drew the poor fellow on to the dry land and amongst us again. The first thing he did was to assure us--which was indeed hardly necessary, considering his cloth and his character--that he was in no wise leagued with the pirates, but simply and solely a prisoner at their mercy, whose life they had preserved that he might be of use to them as a hostage. Lancelot called out to the pirate boats to withdraw further back, which they did after he had passed his word that he would confer with them again in a quarter of an hour, after he had heard what their envoy had to say. When they had withdrawn out of gunshot, their scarlet suits glowing like two patches of blood on the water, then Lancelot, still bidding our line to be on guard against any surprise, withdrew with me and the clergyman and two or three of our friends a little way up the beach. And there we called upon Mr. Ebrow to tell us all that he had to tell. CHAPTER XXVII AN ILL TALE It was an ill tale which he had to tell, and he told it awkwardly, for he was not a little confused and put about, both by his wound and by his treatment at the hands of those people. We gave him somewhat to eat and drink, and he munched and sipped between sentences, for he had not fared well with the pirates. We would have given him a change of raiment, too, after his ducking, but this he refused stiffly, saying that he was well enough as he was, and that a wetting would not hurt him. And he was indeed a strong, tough man. Much of what he had to tell us we knew, of course, already--of the appearance of Jensen on the island, of the attack upon the colonists and the massacre of the most part of them. He himself had got his cut over the head in the fight, a cut that knocked him senseless, so that by the time he came to again the business was over and the pirates were masters of the island. But he was able to tell us the thing we most wanted to know, the thing which the fugitives could give us no inkling of, and that was how it came to pass that Jensen, whom we all deemed dead and drowned, should have come so calamitously to life again. It was, it seemed, in this wise. Jensen, who united a madman's cunning to a bad man's daring, saw that my suspicions of him might prove fatal to his plans. Those plans had indeed been, as I had guessed, to seize the Royal Christopher and make a pirate ship of her, with himself for her captain; and to that end he had manned the ship with men upon whom he could rely, many of whom had been pirates before, all of whom were willing to go to any lengths for the sake of plunder and pleasure. But so long as our party were suspicious of him, and had arms in readiness to shoot him and his down at the first show of treachery, it was plain to a simpler man that his precious scheme stood every chance of coming to smoke. He guessed, therefore, that if we could be led to believe that he was dead and done with our suspicions would be lulled, and he would be left with a fair field to carry out his plan. To that end he devised a scheme to befool us, and, having primed his party as to his purpose, he carried it out with all success. It was no man's body that went overboard on that night, but merely a mighty beam of wood that one of Jensen's confederates cast over the vessel's side just before he raised the cry of 'Man overboard!' Jensen himself was snugly concealed in the innermost parts of the ship, where he lay close, laughing in his sleeve at us and our credulity. After we left he came out of his hole and made his way to Early Island, as agreed upon with his companions, who, on his arrival, butchered the most of the colonists. One mystery was disposed of. So was the other mystery--how Jensen and his men came to be so well-armed and so gaily attired. When our expedition was preparing, Captain Marmaduke commissioned Jensen to buy a store of all manner of agricultural and household implements and utensils for the use of the young colony. Now, as such gear was not likely to be of service to Jensen in his piracies, he was at pains to serve his own ends while he pretended to obey the Captain's commands. He had therefore made up and committed to the hold a quantity of cases which professed to contain what the Captain had commanded. But never a spade or pick, never a roasting-jack or flat-iron, never a string of beads or a mirror for barter with natives was to be found in all those boxes. If our colony had ever by any chance arrived at their goal they would have found themselves in sore straits for the means of tilling the earth and of cooking their food. The boxes contained instead a great quantity of arms, such as muskets and pistols and cutlasses, together with abundance of ammunition in the shape of powder, bullets and shot. Others of those boxes contained goodlier gear, for Jensen was a vain rogue as well as a clever rogue, and dearly loved brave colours about him and to make a gaudy show. I believe that it was a passion for power and the pomp that accompanies power more than anything else which drove him to be a pirate, and that if he could have been, say, a great Minister of State, who is, after all, often only another kind of pirate, he might have carried himself very well and been looked upon by the world at large as a very decent, public-spirited sort of fellow. I have known men in high office with just such passion for display and dominion as Jensen, and I do not think that there is much to choose between him and them in that regard. So sundry of those lying boxes were loaded with gay clothing, such as those scarlet coats with which we had now made acquaintance, and which were fashioned on the pattern of those of the bodyguard of His Majesty, only much more flauntingly tricked out with gold lace and gilded buttons. It added a shade of darkness to the treachery of this scoundrel that he should thus presume to parade himself in a parody of such a uniform. But besides all this there was yet another secret which those same false coffers concealed. He had dealings with shipbuilders at Haarlem, who were noted for their ingenuity and address, and this firm had built for him two large skiffs, which were made in such a fashion that the major part of them could be taken to pieces and the whole packed away in a small space with safety and convenience for his purpose. These vessels were as easily put together as taken to pieces, and were as serviceable a kind of boat as ever vessel carried. And so there was the rascal well prepared to make sure of our ship. It makes my heart bleed now, after all these years, to think how the fellow deceived my dear patron, and how the Royal Christopher went sailing the seas with that secret in her womb, and that we all walked those decks night after night and day after day, and never suspected the treason that lay beneath our feet. But we never did suspect it, and when the time came for us to leave the ship in a hurry we had little thought in our minds of taking agricultural implements or household gear or articles of barter with us. So they lay there snugly in the hold, and Jensen with them, and Jensen was busy and happy in his wicked way in getting at them, and in laughing as he did so over our folly in being deceived by him. It seems that after the departure of Lancelot and our little party certain of the sailors, as agreed upon beforehand, made their way back to the ship, and in the dead of night transported the greater quantity of the weapons and ammunition. They put the skiffs together, too, and lowered them over the side. The camp had gone to rest when Jensen, shrieking like a fiend, leaped from his concealment among the trees and gave the signal for attack. The butchery was brief. The few men who were armed found that their weapons had been rendered useless, but even if their murderers had not taken that precaution their victims could have made no sort of a stand. They were taken by surprise. The horrible cries that the pirates made as they rushed from their ambush helped to dishearten the colonists, for they took those noises for the war-cries of savages, and they yielded to the panic. A very few escaped from the slaughter, and hid themselves in the woods in the centre of the island. The manner of their escape I have already related. It seemed from what the parson now told us that Jensen made little effort to pursue them, feeling confident that they must perish miserably from hunger and thirst, if not from wild beasts, in the jungle. The first use Jensen made of his triumph was to bring over to the island from the wreck everything that he believed to be needful for the comfort and adornment of his person and the persons of his following. All the arms and ammunition that his malign thoughtfulness had provided, all the fine clothes that he had hidden away, all the store of wines and strong waters that still remained upon the ship were carefully disembarked and brought to Early Island. He dressed himself and his followers up in the smart clothes that we had seen, called himself king of the island, made his companions take a solemn oath of allegiance to him and sign it with their blood, and then they all gave themselves up to an orgie. For, bad as all this was to tell and to listen to, there was still worse to be told and heard. To treachery and bloodshed were added treachery and lust. The cup of Jensen's iniquity was more than full. It ran over and was spilt upon the ground, crying out to Heaven for vengeance. There were, as you know, women among our colonists--not many, but still some, the wives of some of the settlers, the daughters and sisters of others. None of these were hurt when Jensen and his fellow-fiends made their attack--none of them, unhappily for themselves, were killed. My cheeks blazed with shame and wrath as I listened to what the parson had to say, and if Jensen had been before me I would have been rejoiced to pistol him with my own hand. The women were parcelled out among the men as the best part of their booty. There was not a wickeder place on God's earth at that hour than the island, and its sins, as I thought, should be blotted out by a thunderbolt from Heaven. Yet there is something still worse to come, as I take it. In all this infamy Jensen reserved for himself the privilege of a deeper degree of infamy. For he told Hatchett, it seems, that he must give up Barbara, and when Hatchett laughed in his face Jensen shot him dead where he stood and took her by force. Such was the terror the man inspired that no one of all his fellows presumed to avenge Hatchett, or even to protest against the manner of his death. As for the woman, as for Barbara, she was a strong woman, and she loved Hatchett with all her heart, and she fought, I believe, hard. But if she was strong, Jensen was stronger, and merciless. He had everything his own way at the island; he had his arts of taming people, and the parson told me that he had tamed Barbara. I have had to set these wrongs down here for the sake of truth, and to justify our final deeds against Jensen and his gang. I have set them down as barely and as briefly as possible, for there are some things so terrible that they scarcely bear the telling. I cannot be more particular; the whole bad business was hideous in the extreme, with all the hideousness that could come from a mind like Jensen's--a mind begotten of the Bottomless Pit. But in all my sorrow I was grateful to Heaven that Marjorie had not been left upon that other island. Better for her to die here by the hand of the man who loved her than to have been on that island at the mercy of such men. Thank God, thank God, thank God! I said to myself again and again. I could say nothing more, I could think nothing more, only thank God, thank God! CHAPTER XXVIII WE DEFY JENSEN That unhappy Barbara! Her sin had found her out indeed. She was a wicked woman, for she had been part and parcel in the treason, she had been hand and glove with the traitors. But she did not mean such wickedness to the women-folk, and she did what she had done for her husband's sake, thinking that he would be a pirate king and she his consort. This was what she meant when she had called herself a queen. With such falsehoods had Jensen stuffed the ears of the man and his wife, snaring them to their fate. As I had loved her once, so I pitied her now. She had shared in a great crime, but it would be hard to shape a greater penalty for her sin. By the time that the parson had finished his story we who were listening to him felt dismal, and we looked at each other grimly. 'What is the first thing to be done?' Lancelot said softly, more to himself than as really asking any advice upon the matter from us. 'Fire a volley upon those devils when they draw near, and so rid the earth of them,' I suggested. Lancelot shook his head. 'They are under the protection of a flag of truce----' he began, when I interrupted him hotly. 'What right,' I raged at him, 'what right have such devils to the consideration of honourable warfare and of honourable men?' Lancelot sighed. 'None whatever; but that does not change us from being honourable men and from carrying on our contest according to the rules of honourable warfare. They are devils, ruffians, what you will, but we--we are gentlemen, and we have passed our word. We cannot go back from that.' I know very well that I blushed a fiery red, from rage against our enemy and shame at Lancelot's reproof. But I said nothing, and Mr. Ebrow spoke. 'Mr. Amber,' he said, clasping Lancelot's hand as he spoke, 'you are in the right, in the very right, as a Christian soldier and a Christian gentleman. Their hour will come without our anticipating it.' And then he wrung my hand warmly, in token that he understood my feelings too, and did not overmuch blame me. 'One thing at least is certain,' said Lancelot. 'You must not return to the mercies of those villains.' Mr. Ebrow drew himself stiffly up. He was wet and weary, and the ugly cut on his forehead did not add to the charm of his rugged face, but just at that moment he seemed handsome. 'Mr. Amber,' he said, 'I passed my word to those men that I would return after I had given you their message, and I will keep my word.' 'But,' said Lancelot, 'they will kill you!' 'It is possible,' said the man of God calmly. 'It is very probable. But I have in my mind the conduct of the Roman Regulus. Should I, who am a minister of Christ, be less nice in my honour than a Pagan?' 'Nay, but if we were to restrain you by force?' asked Lancelot. 'Mr. Amber,' Ebrow answered, 'it was your duty just now to administer a reproof to your friend; I hope you will not force me to reprove you in your turn. I have given my word, and there is an end of it; and if you were to hold me by the strong hand I should think you more worthy to consort with those pirates than with me.' It was now Lancelot's turn to blush. Then he gripped Mr. Ebrow's hand. 'I beg your pardon,' he said, and there were tears in his eyes as he spoke. 'You have taught me a noble lesson.' Mr. Ebrow seemed as if he would be going, but I stayed him. 'Reverend sir,' said I, 'may I make so bold as to ask what is this message that you have to deliver to us?' For, as a matter of fact, we had so plied him with questions, and he had been so busy in answering us, that he had not as yet delivered to us the pirates' message, of which he was the spokesman. There came a spot of colour on his grey jaws as I spoke. 'True. I fear I make but a poor intermediary,' he said. 'The pirates propose, in the first place, that you make common cause with them, and recognise the authority of Cornelys Jensen as your captain, in the which case Cornelys Jensen guarantees you your share of the spoiling of the Royal Christopher, and in future a fitting proportion of whatever profits may come from their enterprises.' 'I suppose you do not expect us to consider that proposition?' said Lancelot. Mr. Ebrow almost smiled. 'No, indeed,' he said, 'and I do but discharge my promise in repeating it to you. I must tell you too that he added that he was wishful to make your sister his wife.' There came into Lancelot's eyes the ugliest look I ever saw there, and for myself I know not how I looked, I know only how I felt, and I will not put my feelings into words. I suppose Mr. Ebrow understood us and our silence, for he went on with his embassy. 'In the second place, then, they call upon you to swear that you will take no part against them, and will, on the contrary, do your endeavour to protect them in case they should be attacked by other forces.' 'That also needs no consideration,' said Lancelot. Mr. Ebrow nodded. 'Of course not, of course not. Then, in the third place, they call upon you to throw down your weapons and to surrender yourselves to them as prisoners of war, in which case they pledge themselves to respect your lives and preserve you all as hostages for their own safety.' 'And if we refuse even this offer,' Lancelot asked, 'what is to happen then?' 'In that case,' said Mr. Ebrow, 'they declare war against you; they will give you no quarter----' 'Let them wait till they are asked!' I broke in; but Lancelot rested his hand restrainingly upon my arm. 'As for the matter of quarter,' he said, 'it may prove in the end more our business to give it than to seek for it. Quarter we may indeed give in this sense, that even those villains shall not be killed in cold blood if they are willing to surrender. But every man that we take prisoner shall most assuredly be tried for his life for piracy and murder upon the high seas. Will you be so good as to tell those men from me that if they at once surrender the person of Cornelys Jensen and their own weapons they shall be treated humanely, kept in decent confinement, and shall have the benefit of their conduct when the time for trial comes? But this offer will not hold good after to-day, and if they attempt again to approach the island they shall be fired upon.' 'Well and good, sir,' said Mr. Ebrow. 'Have you anything more to say, for my masters did but give me a quarter of an hour, and I feel sure that my time must be expired by now?' 'Only this,' answered Lancelot, 'that if they want to fly their black flag over this island they must come and take it from us.' I never saw Lancelot look more gallant, with courage and hope in his mien, and the soft wind fretting his hair. But the brightness faded away from his face a moment after as he added: 'It grieves me to heart, sir, that you have to return to those ruffians.' Mr. Ebrow extended his hand to Lancelot with a wintry smile. 'It is my duty. I do but follow my Master's orders, to do all in His Name and for His glory.' He wrung Lancelot's hand and mine, and the hand of every man in our troop. He gave us his blessing, and then, turning, walked with erect head to the sea. As soon as the pirates saw him coming they rowed their boat a little nearer in, when they rested on their oars, while we stood to our guns and the parson waded steadily out into the deeper water. When he reached their boat they dragged him on board roughly, and we could see from their gestures and his that he was telling them the result of the interview with us. The telling did not seem to give any great satisfaction to the villains, and least of all to Jensen, for he struck the parson a heavy blow in the face with his clenched hand that felled him, tumbling down among the rowers. Then Jensen turned and shook his fist in our direction, and shouted out something that we could not hear because of the distance and the slight wind. It seemed to me as if for a moment Jensen had a mind to order his boats to advance and try to effect a landing, and I wished this in my heart, for I was eager to come to blows with the villains, and confident that we should prove a match for them. But it would seem as if discretion were to prevail with them, in which, indeed, they were wise, for to attempt to land even a more numerous force in the face of our well-armed men would have been rash and a rough business. We saw the boats sweep round and row rapidly away, and we watched those scarlet coats dwindle into red spots in the distance. CHAPTER XXIX THE ATTACK AT LAST In what I am going to tell there will be little of Marjorie for a while, for sorely against her will we refused to rank her as a fighting man and made her keep within shelter, though busy in many ways making ready for the inevitable attack. Nothing happened on the next day or the next to disturb our quiet and the beauty of the weather. For all that was evident to the contrary we might very well have been the sole inhabitants of that archipelago, the sole children of those seas, with Marjorie for our queen. We did not hope, however, nor indeed did we wish, that we had heard the last of our enemies. There was a moment even when Lancelot considered the feasibility of our making an attack upon Early Island in the hope of rescuing some of the captives. But the plan was only suggested to be dismissed. For every argument which told against their attempting to make an attack upon us told with ten times greater force against our making an attack upon them. They outnumbered us; they were perhaps better armed. The odds were too heavily against us. But our hearts burnt within us at the thought of the captives. We had evidently come in for one of those spells of fine weather which in those regions so often follow upon such a storm as had proved the undoing of the Royal Christopher. If the conditions had been different our lives would have been sufficiently enviable. Fair Island deserves its name; we had summer, food and water; so far as material comfort went, all was well with us. But mere material comfort could not cheer us much. We were in peril ourselves; we were yet more concerned for the peril of Captain Amber, of whose fortunes and whose whereabouts we knew absolutely nothing. If he failed to meet a ship he was to return to Early Island. What might not be his fate? To diminish in some degree the chance of this catastrophe, we resolved to erect some signal on the highest point of Fair Island, in the hope that it would have the result of attracting his attention and leading him to suppose that the whole of the ship's company were settled down there. There was no difficulty in the making of such a signal. We had a flag with us in the boat, and all that it was necessary to do was to fix it to the summit of one of the tall trees that crowned the hill which sprang from the centre of Fair Island. In a few hours the flag was flying gallantly enough from its primitive flag-staff, a sufficiently conspicuous object even with a gentle breeze to serve, as we hoped, our turn. In the two days that followed upon the visit of the pirates we were busy victualling the stockade and supplying it with water, looking to our arms and ammunition, and, which was of first importance, in building a strong fence, loopholed like the stockade. This fence or wall led down to where our boat lay, and enabled us to protect it from any attempt of the pirates to carry it off or to destroy it. In work of this kind the eight-and-forty hours passed away as swiftly as if they had been but so many minutes. On the afternoon of the third day all our preparations were completed, and I was convinced that within that stockade our scanty force could keep the pirates at bay for a month of Sundays, so long as they did not succeed in getting sufficiently close to employ fire as a means of forcing an entrance. But though I felt cheered I noticed that there was no corresponding cheerfulness in Lancelot's face. He never looked despondent, but he looked dissatisfied. I drew him aside and asked what troubled him. 'The moon troubles me,' he answered. 'The moon!' I said in astonishment. 'Yes,' he answered, 'the moon--or rather, the absence of the moon. Last night was the moon's last night, and to-night we shall be in darkness after sunset. It is under cover of that darkness that, some time or another, to-night or another night, sooner or later, the pirates will make an attempt to land. For you may be sure that they have not forgotten us, and that they would be glad enough to pull down yonder flag.' I felt in my heart that what Lancelot said was true enough, but I tried to put a bold face upon it. 'After all,' I said, 'the darkness will be as bad for them as it is for us.' 'No,' Lancelot said; 'they can steer well enough by the stars. If I thought that they could get round to the back of the island and fall upon us that way, I should feel that we were in a very bad case indeed. But of that I have no fear. There is no place for landing in that part, and if there were they would find it hard enough to force their way through the woods. No, no; they will come as they came before.' I asked him what he thought was the best thing to do. He replied that the only thing was to keep a very sharp look-out, and to fight hard if it came to fighting, a pithy sentence, which seemed to me to sum up the whole art of war--at least, so far as we were concerned who dwelt on Fair Island. To make assurance doubly sure, however, Lancelot did during the day place a man by the flag-staff, from which point, as the hill ran up into a high peak, he would be able to sweep the sea in all directions. With regard to the night, Lancelot showed me how fortunate it was that he had brought the fireworks with us, as, at a pinch, in the darkness, we could get a gleam of light for a minute by firing them. I was getting so unstrung by all these alarms and watchings that I began to wish that the pirates would come once for all that we might have done with them. For I had confidence in our side and the certainty of its winning which was scarcely logical, maybe, but which, after all, I think is a great deal better than feeling suspicious of the strength of one's own side or speculative as to the merits of one's own cause. How often afterward, in other places and amid perils as great, or indeed ten times greater, have I remembered that night with all its agony of expectation! The main part of our little garrison was ensconced in the stockade and sleeping, or seeking to sleep, for every man of us knew well enough that he needed to have all his energies when the struggle came, and that the more rest he got beforehand the better the fighting trim he would be in afterward. We had sentinels posted at different points along that portion of the coast where landing was possible, and though we had been grateful to it before for being such an easy place to land upon, we could almost have wished in our hearts now that it had been less easy of access. In front of the stockade, but some considerable distance from it, and on the sloping land that was nigh to the beach, we had thrown up a kind of intrenchment, behind which we could kneel and fire, and under whose cover we hoped to be able to make a good account of assailants. I was on guard here at night, and I paced up and down in front of it thinking of all the chances that had happened since I sailed in the Royal Christopher; and I pleased myself by recalling every word that Marjorie had said to me, or in thinking of all the words that I should like to say to her. Suddenly my thoughts were brought from heaven to earth by a sound as of a splash in the water. It might have been but a sweep of a sea-bird's wing as it stooped and wheeled in its flight over the sea, but it set my pulses tingling and all my senses straining to hear more and to see something. The sea that lay so little away from me was all swallowed up in darkness. I could see nothing to cause me alarm. The quiet of the night seemed to breathe a deep peace that invited only to thoughts of sleep. But I was as wide awake as a startled hare, and I listened with all my ears and peered into the blackness. Was it my heated fancy, I asked myself, or did I indeed hear faint sounds coming to me from where the sea lay? I whistled softly a note something like our English starling's--a signal that had been agreed upon between Lancelot and me. In a very few seconds he was at my side. As I told him of my suspicions Lancelot peered into the darkness, listening very carefully, and now both he and I felt certain that we could hear sounds, indistinct but regular, coming from the sea. 'They are doing what I thought they would,' Lancelot whispered to me. Lancelot's voice had this rare quality, that when he whispered every syllable was as clear as if he were crying from the housetops. 'They have chosen this dark night to attack us, and they are rowing with muffled oars. We must do our best to give them a wild welcome. It is well we have those fireworks; they will serve our turn now.' He slipped away from my side and was swallowed up in the darkness. But he soon came back to my side. 'All is ready,' he said. He had been from man to man, and now every one was at his post. The bulk of our little body crouched down behind the breastwork while four men were stationed by the open gates of the stockade to allow us to make our retreat there. Those who were behind the breastwork knew that when Lancelot gave the word they were to fire in the direction of the sea. Lancelot had his lights ready, and we waited anxiously for the flare. The seconds seemed to lengthen out into centuries as we lay there, listening to those sounds growing louder, though even at their loudest they might very well have escaped notice if one were not watching for them. At last they came to an end altogether, and we could just catch a sound as of a succession of soft splashes in the water. Lancelot whispered close to my ear: 'They are getting out in the shallow water to draw their boats in. We shall have a look at them in an instant.' While I held my breath I was conscious that Lancelot was busy with his flint and steel. His was a sure hand and a firm stroke. I could hear the click as he struck stone and metal together; there was a gleam of fire as the fuse caught, and then in another instant one of his fireworks rose in a blaze of brightness. It only lasted for the space of a couple of seconds, but in that space of time it showed us all that we had to see and much more than we wished to see. As our meteor soared in the air the space in front of us was lit with a light as clear as the light of dawn, though in colour it was more like that of the moon--at least, as I have seen her rays represented often enough since in stage plays. Before us the sea rippled gently against the sand, and in the shallows we saw the pirates as clearly as we had seen them on the day when they first came to the island. There were now three boatloads of them, and the boats were more fully manned than before. Many of the men were still in the boats, but the greater part were in the water, barelegged, and were stealthily urging the boats ashore. They were doing the work quietly, and made little noise. It was the strangest sight I had ever seen, this sight of those men in their scarlet coats, that looked so glaring in that blue light, with their gleaming weapons, all moving towards us with murder in their minds. In their amazement at the flame the pirates paused for an instant, and in that instant Lancelot gave the order we itched for. 'Fire!' Then the silence was shattered by the discharge of our pieces in a steady volley. All the island rang with the report, and at that very instant the rocket on its home curve faded and went out with a kind of wink, and darkness swallowed us all up again. But what darkness! The darkness had been still; now it was full of noises. The echo of the report of our volley rang about us; from the woods came clamour, the screaming and chattering of wakened birds, and we could even hear the brushing of their wings as they flew from tree to tree in their terror. But in front of us the sounds were the most terrible of all; the splashing of bodies falling into the water, the shrieks of wounded men, the howls and curses of the astonished and infuriated enemy. We could not tell what hurt we had done, but it must have been grave, for we had fired at close range, and we were all good marksmen. But we could not hope that we had crippled our invaders, or done much toward equalising our forces. For, as it had seemed in that moment of illumination, we were outnumbered by well-nigh two to one. There was no need to fire another light; it was impossible that we could hope to hold our own in the open, and our enemies would be upon us before we had time to reload, so there was nothing for it but to retreat to the stockade with all speed. Lancelot gave the order, and in another instant we were racing for the stockade, bending low as we ran, for the pirates had begun to fire in our direction. But their firing was wild, and it hit none of us; and it stopped as suddenly as it began, for they soon perceived that it was idle waste of powder and ball in shooting into the darkness. Luckily for us, we knew every inch of our territory by heart, and could make our way well enough to the stockade in the gloom, while we could hear the pirates behind splashing and stumbling as they landed. But as they were taken aback by the suddenness of our assault and its result, they were not eager to advance into the night, and, as I guessed, waited awhile after landing from their boats. As for us, we did not pause until we had passed, every one of us, between the gates of our stockade, and heard them close behind us, and the bar fall into its place. The first thing I saw in the dim light was the face of Marjorie, fair in its pale patience. She had a pistol in her hand, and I knew why she held it. CHAPTER XXX OUR FLAG COMES DOWN We lay still inside our fortalice for awhile, listening, as well as the throbbing of our pulses would allow, to try and hear what our invaders were doing. We could hear the sound of their voices down on the beach, and the splashing they made in the water as they dragged their dead or wounded comrades out of the water and hauled their boats close up to the shore. But beyond this we heard nothing, though the air was so still, now that the screaming of the birds had died away, that we felt sure that we must hear the sound of any advance in force. Lancelot whispered to me that it was possible that they might put off their assault until daybreak. They were in this predicament, that if they lit any of the lights which we made no doubt they carried, in order to ascertain the plight that they were in, they would make themselves the targets for our muskets. But the one thing certain was that, under the control of a man like Jensen, they would most certainly not rest till they tried to get the better of us. That Jensen himself was not among the disabled we felt confident, for Lancelot, who had a fine ear, averred that he could distinguish the sound of Jensen's voice down on the beach, which afterward proved to be so, for Jensen, unable to distinguish in the darkness the amount of injury that his army had sustained, was calling over from memory the name of each man of his gang. Every pirate who answered to his name stated the nature of his wounds, if he had any. Those who made no answer Jensen counted for lost, and of these latter there were no less than three. There was something terrible in the sense of a darkness that was swarming with enemies. We were not wholly in obscurity inside our enclosure, for we had a couple of the boat's lanterns, which shed enough light to enable us to see each other, and to look to our weapons, without allowing any appreciable light to escape between the timbers of our fortification. Soon all our muskets were loaded again. Lancelot appointed one of the men who came to us on the raft, and who was still too weak for active service, as a loader of guns, that in case of attack we could keep up a steady firing. Happily for us, our supply of ammunition was tolerably large. For some time, however, we were left in peace. The blackness upon which the pirates had counted as an advantage had proved their bane. So there was nothing for them to do but to wait with what patience they could for the dawn. The dawn did come at last, and I never watched its coming with more anxiety. Often and often in those days when I believed myself to be fathom-deep in love I used to lie awake on my bed and watch the dawn filling the sky, and find in its sadness a kind of solace for mine own. For a sick spirit there is always something sad about the breaking of the day. Perhaps, if I had been like those who know the knack of verses, I should have worked off my ill-humours in rhyme, and slept better in consequence, and greeted the dawn with joy. Wonder rather than joy was in my mind on this morning as the sky took colour and the woods stirred with the chatter of the birds. For the pirates had disappeared! Their boats lay against the beach, but there was, as it seemed to us at first, no visible sign of their masters. We soon discovered their whereabouts, however. They had groped, under cover of night, to the woods, and we soon had tokens of their presence. For by-and-by we could hear them moving in the wood, and could catch the gleam of their scarlet coats and the shine upon their weapons. In the wood they were certainly safe from us, if also we were, though in less measure, safe from them. As I have said, the wooded hill ran at a sharp incline at some distance from the place where we had set up our stockade, so we were not commanded from above, and, no matter how high the pirates climbed, they could not do us a mischief in that way by firing down on to us. They did climb high, but with another purpose, for presently we saw, with rage in our eyes and hearts, one bit of business they were bent on. Our flag fluttered down like a wounded bird, and it made me mad to think that it was being hauled down by those rascals, and that we had no art to prevent them. Could we do nothing? I asked Lancelot impatiently. Could we not make a sortie and destroy the boats that lay down there all undefended? But Lancelot shook his head. The way to the sea was doubtless covered by our enemies in the wood. We should only volunteer for targets if we attempted to stir outside our stockade. There was nothing for it but to wait. I think that it must have enraged the pirates to find us so well protected that there was no means of taking us unawares or of creeping in upon us from the rear. With the daylight they essayed to hurt us by firing from the hill; but from the lie of the ground their shots did us no harm, either passing over our heads or striking the wall of our stronghold and knocking off a shower of splinters, but doing no further damage. We, on the contrary, were able to retaliate, firing through our loopholes up the slope at the red jackets in the woods, and with this much effect, that soon the scarlet rascals ceased to show themselves, and kept well under cover. We felt very snug where we were, and fit to stand a siege for just so long as our victuals and water held out. Then, if the pirates remained upon the island, famine would compel us to a sortie in the hope of clearing them from the woods, an adventure in which our chances of success seemed to kick the balance. But it did not come to that. About an hour before noon those of us who were at the loopholes saw the shine of a scarlet coat among the trees on the nearest slope, but before there was time to aim a musket something white fluttered above it. It was, as it proved, but a handkerchief tied to a ramrod, but it was a flag of truce for all that, and a flag of truce is respected by gentlemen of honour, whoever carries it. When the white flag had fluttered long enough for him who held it to make sure that it must have been seen by us, the bearer came out from the cover of the wood and walked boldly down the slope. For all the distance the sharp-sighted among us knew him at once for Cornelys Jensen, and it came into my mind that perhaps Lancelot might refuse to accept him as an emissary. Lancelot, however, said nothing, but stood quietly waiting while the man came nearer. But when he came within pitch of voice Lancelot called out to him to come to a halt. Jensen stopped at once and waited till Lancelot again called out to him to ask what he wanted. Jensen replied that he came under the protection of a flag of truce; that he wished to come to terms with Captain Amber--for so he called him--if it were by any means possible; that he was alone and unarmed, and trusted himself to our honour. Thereupon Lancelot called back to him to come nearer, and he would hear what he had to say. We had driven some great nails that we had with us into one of the posts of our wall to serve as a kind of ladder, and by these nails Lancelot lifted himself to the top of the palisade, and sat there waiting for Jensen's approach. I begged him not to expose himself, but he answered that there was no danger, so long as Jensen remained within short range of half a dozen of our guns, that the fellows in the woods would make himself a target. And so he sat there as coolly as if he were in an ingle, whistling 'Tyburn Tree' softly to himself as Jensen drew near. CHAPTER XXXI A PIECE OF DIPLOMACY When Jensen was within a few feet of the stockade he halted, and saluted Lancelot with a formal gravity that seemed grotesque under the circumstances. I will do the rascal this justice, that he looked well enough in his splendid coat, though his carriage was too fantastical--more of the stage player than the soldier. Lancelot, looking down at the fellow without returning his salutation, asked him what he wanted. 'Come, Captain Amber,' said Jensen boldly, 'you know what I want very well. I want to come to terms. Surely two men of the world like us ought to be able to make terms, Captain Amber.' 'I do not carry the title of Captain,' Lancelot answered, 'and I have no more in common with you than mere life. My only terms are the unconditional surrender of yourself and your accomplices. In their case some allowance may be made. In yours--none!' Jensen shrugged his shoulders and smiled with affability at Lancelot's menaces. 'The young cock cackles louder than the old cock ever crowed,' he said; but he said it more good-humouredly than sneeringly, and it was evident that he was more than willing to propitiate Lancelot. 'We ought to make terms, for we are both at a loose end here, and might at least agree not to annoy each other. For you see, Lieutenant--if you will take that title--that as you judge you shall be judged. If you have no terms for us we will have no terms for you.' It was a proof of his own vanity that he thus thrust a title upon Lancelot, thinking to please him, for when Lancelot, calling him by his surname, told him again that he had no terms to make with him, he drew himself up with an offended air and said: 'I call myself Captain Jensen, if you please.' 'It does not please me,' Lancelot retorted, 'to call you anything but a pirate and a rogue. Go back to your brother rogues at once!' To my surprise, Jensen kept his temper, and seemed only hurt instead of angry at Lancelot's attack. 'Hot words,' he said quietly, 'hot words. Upon my honour, you do me wrong, Lieutenant Amber, for I persist in respecting the courtesies of war. I wish with all my heart that we could agree, but if we cannot we cannot, and there's an end of it. But there is another matter I wish to speak about.' He paused, as if waiting for permission, and when Lancelot bade him be brief, he went on: 'We have one among us who is more inclined to your party than to mine. I mean your reverend friend Parson Ebrow.' For my part I was glad to hear that the poor man was still alive, for I feared that the pirates had killed him after their first attempt. But I saw Lancelot's face flush with anger, and his voice shook as he called out that if any harm came to Mr. Ebrow he would hold every man of the gang responsible for his life. 'Harm has come to him already,' Jensen answered; 'but not from us, but from you, his friends. He was hurt in the boats last night by your fire.' At this Lancelot gave a groan, and we all felt sick and sorry, while Jensen, who knew that we could hear, though he could only see Lancelot, smiled compassionately. 'Do not be alarmed,' he said. 'The godly man is not mortally wounded. Only his face, which was always far from comely, has not been bettered by a shot that travelled across the side of the left cheek from jaw to ear. Now, another man in my place, Lieutenant, knowing the store you set by the parson, might very well use him to drive a bargain with you. He is no friend of ours, and the use upon him of a little torture might induce you to think better of the terms you deny.' Lancelot grew pale, and he made as if he would speak, but Jensen delayed him with a wave of the arm. 'Pray let me conclude, Lieutenant Amber,' he went on. 'Another man, having such a hostage, might use him pretty roughly. But I am not of that kidney. I want to fight fair. The reverend gentleman is no use to me. We want no chaplain. He is a friend of yours, and if we win the day some of you will be glad of his ghostly offices. But he is in our way, and I cannot answer for the temper of my people if he exhorts us any more. So I shall be heartily obliged if you will take him off our hands and relieve me of the responsibility of his presence.' I had listened to this, as you may believe, in some amazement, and Lancelot seemed no less surprised. 'What do you mean?' he asked; and Jensen answered him: 'I mean what I say. You can have your parson. Two of my men, with this flag, will bring him down, for the poor gentleman is too feeble to walk alone from loss of blood, and leave him in your charge. After that we will send no more messages, but fight it out as well as we can till one or other wins the day.' He took off his hat as he spoke and made Lancelot a bow; and this time Lancelot returned his salutation. 'I can only thank you for your offer,' Lancelot said, 'and accept it gladly. If I cannot change my terms, at least be assured that this charity shall be remembered to your credit.' 'I ask no more,' Jensen replied; 'and you shall have your man within the half-hour.' With that he clapped his hat proudly upon his head again, and turning on his heel marched away in a swaggering fashion, while Lancelot slipped down again into the shelter of the house. In a few minutes Jensen's red coat had disappeared among the trees, and then we all turned and stared at each other. 'The devil is not so black as he is painted, after all,' Lancelot said to me, 'if there is a leaven of good in Cornelys Jensen. But I shall be heartily glad to have Mr. Ebrow among us, for if the worst come it will be better to perish with us than to lie at their mercy.' I did not altogether relish Lancelot's talk about our perishing, for I had got it into my head that we were more than a match for the pirates, with all their threats and all their truculence, and my friend's readiness to face the possibility of being victims instead of victors dashed my spirits. But I thought of Marjorie, and felt that we must win or--and then my thoughts grew faint and failed me, but not my promise and my resolve. We had not waited very long after Jensen's departure when we saw signs of the fulfilment of his promise. Three men came out of the wood where he had entered, two in scarlet and one in black. We could see that the two men in scarlet were supporting the man in black, who seemed to be almost unable to move, and as the three drew nearer we could see, at first with a spy-glass and soon without, that he in the middle had his face all bound about with bloody cloths. At this sight all our hearts grew hot with anger and pity, and there was not one of us that did not long to be the first to reach out a helping hand to the parson. We could see, as the group came nearer, that Jensen's men were not handling their captive very tenderly. Though his limbs seemed so weak that his feet trailed on the ground, they made shift to drag him along at a walk that was almost a trot, as if their only thought was to be rid as soon as possible of their burden, whose moanings we could now plainly hear as he was jerked forward by his escort. It seemed such a shocking thing that a man so good and of so good a calling should be thus maltreated that, to speak for myself, it called for all my sense of the obligations of a white flag to stay me from sending a bullet in the direction of his cowardly companions. I could see that Lancelot was as much angered as I, by the pallor of his face and the way in which he clenched his hands. However, in a few seconds more the pirates had hauled their helpless prisoner to within a few feet of our fortress. Then, to the increase of our indignation, they flung him forward with brutal oaths, so that he fell grovelling on his injured face just in front of our doorway, and while he lay prone one of the ruffians dealt him a kick which made him groan like a dog. After they had done this the two red-jackets drew back a few paces and waited, according to the agreement, laughing the while at the plight of the clergyman. In a moment, obedient to a word from Lancelot, a dozen hands lifted the beam and swung the door back. Lancelot sprang forward, followed hard by me, to succour our unhappy friend; and between us we lifted him from the ground, though with some effort, for he seemed quite helpless and senseless with his ill-treatment and the fall, and unable to give us the least aid in supporting him. Jensen's two brutes jeered at us for our pains, bidding us mind our sermon-grinder and the like, with many expletives that I shall not set down. Indeed, their speech and behaviour so discredited their mission that it would have jeopardised their safety, for all their flag of truce, with a commander of less punctiliousness than Lancelot. But he, without paying heed to their mutterings, propped the prisoner up stoutly, and carried him, huddled and trailing, toward the stockade. As we moved him he moaned feebly, and kept up this moaning as we carried him inside the stockade and drew him toward the most sheltered corner to lay him down. My heart bled for the parson in his weakness, with his head all swathed in bloody bandages, and I shuddered to think what his face would be like when we took off those coverings. I turned to pile some coats together for him to rest upon, but I was still looking at him as he hung helpless against Lancelot, when, in a breath, before my astounded eyes, the limp form stiffened, and Mr. Ebrow, stiff and strong, flung himself upon Marjorie and caught her in his arms. Quickly though the act was done, I still had time to think that Mr. Ebrow's calamities had turned his brain, and to feel vexation at the increase to our difficulties with a mad-man in our midst. In the next instant I saw that Mr. Ebrow was squatting on the ground behind Marjorie, sheltered by her body, which he held pinioned to his with his left arm, while his right hand held a pistol close to her forehead. Then a voice that was not the voice of Mr. Ebrow called out that Marjorie was his prisoner, and that if any man moved to rescue her he would blow the girl's brains out. And the voice that made these threats was the voice of Cornelys Jensen! I cannot tell you how astounded we were at this sudden turn in our fortunes. Our garrison, taken by surprise, had left their posts every man, and stood together at one end of our parallelogram. Lancelot stood still and white as a statue. I leant against the wall and gasped for breath like a man struck silly. Marjorie lay perfectly still in the grasp of her enemy, and Jensen's eyes between the bandages seemed to survey the whole scene with a savage sense of mastery. He was so well protected where he crouched by Marjorie's body that no one dared to fire, or, indeed, for the moment, to do anything but stare in stupefaction. The stroke was so sudden, the change so unexpected, the dash so bold, that we were at a disadvantage, and for a space no one moved. In a loud voice Jensen called upon every man to throw down his weapons, swearing furiously that if they did not do so he would kill Marjorie. Marjorie, on her part, though she could not free herself from Jensen's hold--for Jensen had the clasp and the hold of a bear--cried out to them bravely to do their duty, and defend the place, and pay no heed to her. But the men were not of that temper; they were at a loss; they feared Jensen, and this display of his daring unnerved them. They stood idly in a mass, while I, from where I stood, could see through the open door, to which no one else paid any heed, Jensen's men coming out of the wood, with only a few hundred yards of level ground between them and us. I was cumbered, as I told you, with some sea-coats, that I had caught up to make a couch for Mr. Ebrow, and as I held them to me with my left arm, they almost covered me from neck to knee. Now, in my pocket I carried the little pistol that Lancelot had given me, and in my first moment of surprise my right hand had involuntarily sought it out. Now, I was not much of a shot, and yet in a moment I made my mind up what I would do. I would, under cover of the coats, which I clutched to me, fire my piece through my pocket at Jensen, trusting to God to straighten the aim and guide the bullet. In that moment I took all the chances. If I hit Jensen, who was somewhat exposed to me where I stood, all would be well. If I missed him and he at once killed Marjorie, or if, missing him, I myself wounded or killed Marjorie, I knew that at least I should be doing as Marjorie would have me do, and in either of these cases we could despatch Jensen and have up our barricade again before help would come to him. All this takes time to tell, but took no time in the thinking, and my finger was upon the trigger when, in the providence of God, something happened which altered every purpose--Jensen's and the others', and mine. There came a great crash through the air loud as immediate thunder, with a noise that seemed to shake heaven above and earth below us. Every one of us in that narrow place knew it for the roar of a ship's gun. CHAPTER XXXII THE SEA GIVES UP ITS QUICK The clatter of that reverberation altered in a trice the whole conditions of our game. Jensen, in his surprise, looked up for a moment, and in that moment I had flung myself upon him, and his pistol, going off, spent its bullet harmlessly in the skies. In another second he had knocked me to the ground with a force that nearly stunned me; but before he could use another weapon twenty hands were upon him, and twenty weapons would have ended him but for Lancelot's command to take him alive. In a trice we had flung our door in its place and swung the beam across, and there we were, none the worse for our adventure, with the chief of our enemies fast prisoner in our hands. Already the pirates were scouring back into the woods, and though certain of our men had the presence of mind to empty their muskets after them, and bring down the two rogues who had carried the sham Ebrow to us, most of us were occupied in peering through the loopholes on the other side of the fortress at a blessed sight. Not half a mile away rode the ship that had fired the shot; the smoke of the discharge was still in the air about her. She was a frigate, and she flew the Dutch flag. You may imagine with what a rapture we saw that frigate and that flag. It could only mean succour, and we were sick at heart to think that we had no flag with us to fly in answer. But we waited and watched with beating hearts behind our walls, and presently we could see that a boat was lowered and that men came over the side and filled it, and then it began to make for Fair Island as fast as stroke of oar could carry it. With a cry of joy Lancelot thrust his spy-glass into my hand, crying out to me that Captain Amber was on board the boat. And so indeed he was, for I had no sooner clapped the glass to my eye than there I saw him, sitting in the stern in his brave blue coat, and at the sight of him my heart gave a great leap for joy. We opened our seaward gate at once, and in a moment Marjorie and Lancelot and I were racing to the strand, followed by half a dozen others, leaving the stockade well guarded, and orders to shoot Jensen on the first sign of any return of the pirates from the woods. Though, indeed, we felt pretty sure that they would make no further attempt against us, having lost their leader, and being now menaced by this new and unexpected peril. As the boat drew nearer shore Lancelot tied a handkerchief to the point of his cutlass and waved it in the air, and at sight of it the figure in blue in the stern raised his hat, and the men rowing, seeing him do this, raised a lusty cheer, and pulled with a warmer will than ever, so that in a few more minutes their keel grated on the sand. Captain Amber leaped out of the boat like a boy, splashing through the water to join us, while the Dutch seamen hauled the boat up and stared at us stolidly. Captain Amber clasped Marjorie's hand and murmured to himself 'Thank God!' while tears stood in his china-blue eyes, and were answered, for the first time that I ever saw them there, by tears in Marjorie's. Next he embraced Lancelot, and then he turned to me and wrung my hand with the same heartiness as on that first day in Sendennis, and it seemed to me for the moment as if that strand and island and all those leagues of land and water had ceased to be, and I were back again in the windy High Street, with my mother's shop-bell tinkling. Only for a moment, however. There was no time for day-dreams. Hurriedly we told Captain Amber all that we had to tell. Much of the ugly story we found that he knew, and how he knew you shall learn later. Our immediate duty was to secure the pirates who were still at large on the island, and this proved an easy business. For the Dutch commander, who claimed the authority of his nation for all that region, sent one of his men with a flag of truce, accompanied by one of us for interpreter, to let them know that if they did not surrender unconditionally he would first bombard the wood in which they sheltered, and then land a party of men, who would cut down any survivors without mercy. As there was no help for it, the pirates did surrender. They came out of the woods, a sorry gang, and laid down their arms, and with the help of the Dutchmen, who lent us irons, we soon had the whole band manacled and helpless. So there was an end of this most nefarious mutiny. With Cornelys Jensen fast in fetters the heart of the business would have been broken even without help from the sea. There was no man of all the others who was at all his peer, either for villainy or for enterprise and daring. Even if there had been, the pirates would have had no great chance, while, as it was, their case had no hope in it, and they succumbed to their fate in a kind of sullen apathy. Honest men had triumphed over rogues once more in the swing of the world's story, as I am heartily glad to believe that in the long run they always have done and always will do, until the day when rogues and righteous meet for the last time. We soon heard of all that had happened to Captain Marmaduke after he left the Royal Christopher--or rather, after he had been forced to put forth from Early Island. It had been Captain Marmaduke's intention to make for Batavia, in the certainty of finding ships and succour there. By the good fortune of the fair weather, his course, if slow by reason of the little wind, was untroubled; and by happy chance, ere he had come to the end, he sighted the Dutch frigate, and spoke her. The Dutch captain consented to carry Captain Amber back to the wreck. On their arrival at Early Island they found the place in the possession of a few half-drunken mutineers, who were soon overpowered, and they learnt the tale of Jensen's treachery from the lips of the captive women. It was then that they sailed for Fair Island, with the women and prisoners on board, and arrived just in time to serve us the best turn in the world. There was nothing for us now to do but to ship off our prisoners to Batavia in the frigate, where they would be dealt with by Dutch justice, and be hanged with all decorum, in accordance with the laws of civilised States. We were to go with the frigate ourselves, for at Batavia it was our Captain's resolve to buy him a new ship and so turn home to his own people and his own country, and try his hand no more at colonies, which was indeed the wisest thing he could do. Let me say here that to our great satisfaction we found Mr. Ebrow in the woods, tied nearly naked to a tree, alive and well, if very weak; but without a complaint on his lips or in his heart. I was one of the earliest to go aboard the frigate, and the first sight I saw on her decks was a group of women huddled together in all the seeming of despair. These were the victims of the pirates' lust, and as they sat together they would wail now and then in a way that was pitiful to hear. But there was one woman who sat a little apart from the others and held her head high, and this woman was Barbara Hatchett. I scarce knew if I should approach her or no, but when she saw me, which was the moment I came aboard, she made me a sign with her head, and I at once went up to her. All the warm colour had gone out of her dark face, and the fire had faded from her dark eyes, but she was still very beautiful in her misery, and she carried herself grandly, like a ruined queen. As I looked at her my mind went back to that first day I ever saw her and was bewitched by her, and then to that other day when I found her in the sea-fellow's arms and thought the way of the world was ended. And for the sake of my old love and my old sorrow my heart was racked for her, and I could have cried as I had cried that day upon the downs. But there were no tears in the woman's eyes, and as I came she stood up and held out her hand to me with an air of pride; and I am glad to think that I had the grace to kiss it and to kneel as I kissed it. 'Well, Ralph,' she said, 'this is a queer meeting for old friends and old flames. We did not think of this in the days when we watched the sea and waited for my ship.' I could say nothing, but she went on, and her voice was quite steady: 'This is a grand ship, but it is not my ship. My ship came in and my ship went out, and the devil took it and my heart's desire and me.' She was silent for a moment, and then she asked me what the boats were bringing from the island. I told her that they were conveying the prisoners aboard to be carried to trial at Batavia. She heard me with a changeless face, as she looked across the sea where the ship's boats were making their way to the ship, and after awhile she asked me if I thought that we were bound to forgive our enemies and those who had used us evilly. I was at a loss what to answer, but I stammered out somewhat to the effect that such was our Christian duty. The words stuck a little in my throat, for I did not feel in a forgiving mood at that moment. 'So Mr. Ebrow tells us,' she went on softly. Mr. Ebrow had been sent on board at once, and had immediately devoted himself, sick and weak though he was, to ministrations among the unhappy women. 'So Mr. Ebrow says, and he is a good man, and ought to know best. Shall I forgive, Ralph, shall I forgive?' There was to me something infinitely touching in the way in which she spoke to me, as if she felt she had a claim upon me--the claim that a sister might have upon a brother. I told her that Mr. Ebrow, being a man of God, was a better guide and counsellor than I, but that forgiveness was a noble charity. Indeed, I was at a loss what to say, with my heart so wrung. 'Well, well,' she said, 'let us forgive and forget,' and--for there was no restraint upon the movements of the woman--she moved toward the side, where they were lifting the manacled prisoners on board. Jensen was in the first batch, but not the first to be brought on board, and he carried himself sullenly, with his eyes cast down, and seemed to notice nothing as he was brought up on the deck. The prisoners were so securely bound that no especial guard was placed over them during the process of taking them from the boats, and so, before I was aware of it, Barbara had slipped by me and between the Dutch sailors, and was by Jensen's side. For the moment I thought that she had come to carry out her promise of forgiveness; but Jensen lifted his face, and I saw it, and saw that it was writhed with a great horror and a great fear. And then I saw her lift her hand, and saw a knife in her hand, and the next moment she had driven it once and twice into his breast by the heart, and Jensen dropped like a log, and his blood ran over the deck. Then she turned to me, and her face was as red as fire, and she cried out, 'Forgive and forget!' and so drove the knife into her own body and fell in her turn. It was all done so swiftly that there was no time for anyone to lift a hand to interfere, and when we came to lift them up they were both dead. This was the end of that beautiful woman, and this the end of Cornelys Jensen. He should have lived to be hanged; it was too good a death for him to die by her hand; but I can understand how it seemed to her hot blood and her wronged womanhood that she could only wash out her shame by shedding her wronger's blood. May Heaven have mercy upon her! CHAPTER XXXIII THE LAST OF THE SHIP It was many a weary month before we saw Sendennis again, but we did see it again. For Captain Marmaduke was so dashed by the untoward results of his benevolence and the failure of his scheme that he saw nothing better to do than to turn homeward, after mending his fortunes by the sale of the greater part of his Dutch plantations. A portion, however, he set apart and made over as a settlement for the remnant of the colonists, who, having got so far, had no mind to turn back, and as an asylum for the wretched women. With the aid of the Dutchmen we got the Royal Christopher off her reef and made shift to tow her into harbourage at Batavia, and there Captain Amber sold her and bought another vessel, wherein we made the best of our way back to England, with no further adventures to speak of. At Sendennis I had the joy to find my mother alive and well, and the wonder to find that my birth-place seemed to have grown smaller in my absence, but was otherwise unchanged. And at Sendennis the best thing happened to me that can happen to any man in the world. For one morning, soon after our home-coming, I prayed Marjorie to walk with me a little ways, and she consented, and we went together outside the town and into the free sweet country. We fared till we came to that place where Lancelot once had found me, drowned in folly, and there I showed Marjorie the picture that Lancelot had given me, the picture of her younger self. And somehow as she took it from my hands and looked at it there came a little tremor to her lips and my soul found words for me to speak. I told her again that I loved her, that I should love her to the end of my days. I do not remember all I said; I dare say my words would show blunderingly enough on plain paper, but she listened to them quietly, looking at the sea with steady eyes. When I had done she stood still for a little, and then answered, and I remember every word she said. 'We are young, you and I, but I do not believe we are changeable. I feel very sure that you have spoken the truth to me; be very sure that I am speaking the truth to you. I love you!' And so for the first time our lips met and the glory came into my life. I sailed the seas and made my fortune and married my heart's desire, and we roved the world together year after year, and always the glory staying with me in all its morning brightness. All my life long I have hated parting from friends, parting from familiar faces and familiar places. Yet by the course which it has pleased Providence to give to my life it has been my lot to have many partings, both with well-loved men and women and with well-loved lands and dwellings. It is the plague of the wandering life, pleasant as it is in so many things, that it does of necessity mean the clasping of so many hands in parting, that it does of necessity mean the saying of so many farewells. Yet, after all, parting is the penalty of man for his transgression, and the most stay-at-home, lie-by-the-fire fellow has his share with the rest. Thus the philosopher by temperament, like my Lord Chesterfield, takes his friendships and even his loves upon an easy covenant, and the religious accept in resignation, and the rest shift as best they can. And so I hold out my hand and wish you good luck and God-speed! THE END 
21455	----	Dick Cheveley, His Adventures and Misadventures, by W.H.G Kingston. ________________________________________________________________________ Dick is the teenage son of an early nineteenth century vicar in England. The boy has a passionate desire to go to sea, but his family, especially his Aunt Deb, oppose this. One reason is that if he were to go as a midshipman he would be required to have at least fifty pounds a year to keep appearances up, and that money wasn't available. He forms a friendship with another boy, Mark, who gets into trouble for being a poacher. Dick peaches on the local smugglers, who imprison him, and he is nearly killed by them. Wandering out of curiosity round the decks of a ship that is about to sail he falls through a hatchway, and right down into the lower hold. When he comes to the ship is at sea, and the hold is battened down. It takes him several weeks before he can attract attention. But the captain is a horrible man, and some of the crew are not much better. Eventually Dick jumps ship by stealing a ship's dinghy, and lands on a tiny rocky islet. The dinghy is lost in a storm. Eventually Dick is rescued and is taken back to his home town, where he vows never to go to sea again. The story was written as a cautionary tale to advise boys like Dick never to go to sea as a stowaway, which is effectually what Dick did, and was inspired by a real case, in which the boy was found dying after only thirteen days at sea. ________________________________________________________________________ DICK CHEVELEY, HIS ADVENTURES AND MISADVENTURES, BY W.H.G KINGSTON. Preface. So extraordinary are the adventures of my hero, Master Richard Cheveley, son of the Reverend John Cheveley, vicar of the parish of S--, in the county of D---, that it is possible some of my readers may be inclined to consider them incredible, but that they are thoroughly probable the following paragraph which appeared in the evening edition of the _Standard_ early in the month of November, 1879, will, I think, amply prove. I have no fear that any sensible boys will be inclined to follow Dick's example; but if they will write to him at Liverpool, where he resides, and ask his advice, as a young gentleman did mine lately, on the subject of running away to sea, I am very sure that he will earnestly advise them to stay at home; or, at all events, first to consult their fathers or mothers, or guardians, or other relatives or friends before they start, unless they desire to risk sharing the fate of the hapless stowaway here mentioned:-- "A shocking discovery was made on board the National steamer _England_, which arrived in New York from Liverpool on the 29th October. In discharging the cargo in the forehold a stowaway was found in a dying state. He had made the entire passage of thirteen days without food or drink. He was carried to the vessel's deck, where he died." My young correspondent, in perfect honesty, asked me to tell him how he could best manage to run away to sea. I advised him, as Mr Richard Cheveley would have done, and I am happy to say that he wisely followed my advice, for I have since frequently heard from him. When he first wrote he was an entire stranger to me. He has had more to do with this work than he supposes. I have the pleasure of dedicating it to him. WILLIAM H G KINGSTON. CHAPTER ONE. Some account of my family, including Aunt Deb--My father receives an offer--A family discussion, in which Aunt Deb distinguishes herself-- Her opinions and mine differ considerably--My desire to go to sea haunts my dreams--My brother Ned's counsel--I go a-fishing in Leighton Park--I meet with an accident--My career nearly cut short--A battle with a swan, in which I get the worst of it--A courageous mother--Mark Riddle to the rescue--An awkward fix--Mark finds a way out of it--Old Roger's cottage--The Riddle family--Roger Riddle's yarns and their effect on me--Mark takes a different view--It's not all gold that glitters--The model--My reception at home. We were all seated round the tea-table, that is to say, my father and mother, my five sisters, and three of my elder brothers, who were at home--two were away--and the same number of young ones, who wore pinafores, and last, but not least, Aunt Deb, who was my mother's aunt, and lived with us to manage everything and keep everybody in order, for this neither my father nor mother were very well able to do; the latter nearly worn out with nursing numerous babies, while my father was constantly engaged in the duties of the parish of Sandgate, of which he was incumbent. Aunt Deb was never happy unless she was actively engaged in doing something or other. At present she was employed in cutting, buttering, or covering with jam, huge slices of bread, which she served out as soon as they were ready to the juvenile members of the family, while my eldest sister, Mary, was presiding at the tea-tray, and passing round the cups as she filled them. When all were served, my father stood up and said grace, and then all fell to with an eagerness which proved that we had good appetites. "I say, Aunt Deb, Tom Martin has lent me such a jolly book. Please give me another slice before you sit down. It's all about Anson's voyage round the world. I don't know whether I shall like it as well as `Robinson Crusoe' or `Captain Cook's Voyages,' or `Gulliver's Travels,' or the `Life of Nelson,' or `Paul Jones,' but I think I shall from the look I got of it," I exclaimed, as Aunt Deb was doing what I requested. "I wish, Dick, that you would not read those pestiferous works," she answered, as, having given me the slice of bread, she sat down to sip her tea. "They are all written with an evil intent, to make young people go gadding about the world, instead of staying contentedly at home doing their duty in that state of life to which they are called." "But I don't understand why I should not be called to go to sea," I replied; "I have for a long time made up my mind to go, and I intend to try and become as great a man as Howe, or Nelson, or Collingwood, or Lord Cochrane, or Sir Sidney Smith. I've just to ask you, Aunt Deb, what England would be without her navy, and what the navy would be unless boys were allowed to go into it?" "Stuff and nonsense, you know nothing about the matter, Dick. It's very well for boys who have plenty of interest, for sons of peers or members of parliament, or judges or bishops, or of others who possess ample means and influence, but the son of a poor incumbent of an out of the way parish, who knows no one, and whom nobody knows, would remain at the bottom of the tree." "But you forget, Aunt Deb, that there are ways of getting on besides through interest. I intend to do all sorts of dashing things, and win my promotion, through my bravery. If I can once become a midshipman I shall have no fear about getting on." "Stuff and nonsense!" again ejaculated Aunt Deb, "you know nothing about the matter, boy." "Don't I though," I said to myself, for I knew that my father, who felt the importance of finding professions for his sons according to their tastes, had some time before written to Sir Reginald Knowsley, of Leighton Park,--"the Squire," as he used to be called till he was made a baronet, and still was so very frequently, asking him to exert his influence in obtaining an appointment for me on board a man-of-war. This Sir Reginald had promised to do. Aunt Deb, however, had made many objections, but for once in a way my father had acted contrary to her sage counsel, and as he considered for the best. Still Aunt Deb had not given in. "You'll do as you think fit, John," she observed to him, "but you will repent it. Dick is not able to take care of himself at home, much less will he be so on board a big ship among a number of rough sailors. Let him remain at school until he is old enough to go into a counting-house in London or Bristol, where he'll make his fortune and become a respectable member of society, as his elder brother means to be, or let him become a master at a school, or follow any course of life rather than that of a soldier or a sailor." I did not venture to interrupt Aunt Deb, indeed it would have been somewhat dangerous to have done so, while she was arguing a point, but I had secretly begged my father to write to Sir Reginald as he had promised, assuring him that I had set my heart on following a naval career, and that it would break if I was not allowed to go to sea. This took place, it will be understood, some time before the evening of which I am now speaking. Aunt Deb suspected that my father was inclined to favour my wishes, and this made her speak still more disparagingly than ever of the navy. Tea was nearly over when the post arrived. It only reached us of an evening, and Sarah, the maid, brought in a large franked letter. I at once guessed that it was from Sir Reginald Knowsley, who was in London. I gazed anxiously at my father's face as he read it. His countenance did not, however, exhibit any especial satisfaction. "Who is it from?" asked my mother, in a languid voice. "From Sir Reginald," he replied. "It is very kind and complimentary. He says that he has had great pleasure in doing as I requested him. He fortunately, when going down to the Admiralty, met his friend Captain Grummit, who has lately been appointed to the `Blaze-away,' man-of-war, and who expressed his willingness to receive on board his ship the son of any friend of his, but--and here comes the rub--Captain Grummit, he says, has made it a rule to take no midshipmen unless their parents consent to allow them fifty pounds a year, in addition to their pay. This sum, the Captain states, is absolutely necessary to enable them to make the appearance he desires all his midshipmen to maintain. Fifty pounds a year is a larger sum, I fear, than my purse can supply," observed my father when he had read thus far. "I should think it was, indeed!" exclaimed Aunt Deb. "Fifty pounds a year! Why, that's nearly half of my annual income. It would be madness, John, to make any promise of the sort. Suppose you were to let him go, and to stint the rest of his brothers and sisters by making him so large an allowance--what will be the result, granting that he is not killed in the first battle he is engaged in, or does not fall overboard and get drowned, or the ship is not wrecked, and he escapes the other hundred and one casualties to which a sailor is liable? Why, when he becomes a lieutenant he'll marry to a certainty, and then he'll be killed, and leave you and his mother and me, or his brothers and sisters, to look after his widow and children, supposing they are able to do so." "But I shall have a hundred and twenty pounds full pay, and ninety pounds a year half-pay," I answered; "I know all about it, I can tell you." "Ninety pounds a year and a wife and half-a-dozen small brats to support on it," exclaimed Aunt Deb in an indignant tone. "The wife is sure to be delicate, and know nothing about housekeeping, and she and the children will constantly be requiring the doctor in the house." "But you are going very far ahead, Aunt Deb, I haven't gone to sea yet, or been made a lieutenant, and if I had, there's no reason why I should marry." "There are a great many reasons why you should not," exclaimed Aunt Deb. "I was going to say that there are many lieutenants in the navy who have not got wives, and I do not suppose that I shall marry when I become one," I answered. "It seems pretty certain that you will never be a lieutenant or a midshipman either, if it depends upon your having an allowance of fifty pounds a year, for where that fifty pounds is to come from I'm sure I don't know," cried my aunt. "As it is, your poor father finds it a difficult matter to find food and clothing for you all, and to give you a proper education, and unless the Bishop should suddenly bestow a rich living on him, he, at all events, could not pay fifty pounds a year, or fifty shillings either, so I would advise you forthwith to give up this mad idea of yours, and stay quietly at school until a profitable employment is found for you." I looked up at my father, feeling that there was a good deal of truth in what Aunt Deb said, although I did not like the way she said it. "Your aunt only states what is the case, Dick," said my father. "I should be glad to forward your views, but I could not venture, with my very limited income, to bind myself to supply you with the sum which Sir Reginald says is necessary." "Couldn't you get Sir Reginald to advance the money?" I inquired, as the bright idea occurred to me; "I will return it to him out of my pay and prize-money." Aunt Deb fairly burst out laughing. "Out of your pay, Dick?" she exclaimed. "Why fifty pounds is required over and above that pay you talk of, every penny of which you will have to spend, and supposing that you should not be employed for a time, and have to live on shore. Do you happen to know what a midshipman's half-pay is? Why just nothing at all and find yourself. You talk a good deal of knowing all about the matter, but it's just clear that you know nothing." "I wish, my dear Dick, that we could save enough to help you," said my mother, who was always ready to assist us in any of our plans; "but you know how difficult I find it to get even a few shillings to spend." My mother's remark soothed my irritated feelings and disappointment, or I should have said something which might not have been pleasant to Aunt Deb's ears. We continued talking on the subject, I devising all sorts of plans, and arguing tooth and nail with Aunt Deb, for I had made up my mind to go to sea, and to go I was determined by hook or by crook; but that fifty pounds a year was, I confess, a damper to my hopes of becoming a midshipman. If I could have set to work and made the fifty pounds, I would have done my best to do so, but I was as little likely to make fifty pounds as I was to make fifty thousand. Aunt Deb also reminded my father that it was not fifty pounds a year for one year, but fifty pounds for several years, which he might set down as three hundred pounds, at least, of which, through my foolish fancy, I should be depriving him, and my mother, and brothers, and sisters. There was no denying that, so I felt that I was defeated. I had at length to go to bed, feeling as disappointed and miserable as I had ever been in my life. To Ned, the brother just above me in age, who slept in the same room, I opened my heart. "I am the most miserable being in the world!" I exclaimed. "I wish that I had never been born. If it had not been for Aunt Deb father would have given in, but she hates me, I know, and always has hated me, and takes a pleasure in thwarting my wishes. I've a great mind to run off to sea, and enter before the mast just to spite her." Ned, who was a quiet, amiable fellow, taking much after our kind mother, endeavoured to tranquillise my irritated feelings. "Don't talk in that way, Dick," he said in a gentle tone. "You might get tired of the life, even if you were to go into the navy; but, perhaps, means may be found, after all, to enable you to follow the bent of your wishes. All naval captains may not insist on their midshipmen having an allowance of fifty pounds a year; or, perhaps, if they do, some friend may find the necessary funds." "I haven't a friend in the world," I answered. "If my father cannot give me the money I don't know who can. I know that Aunt Deb would not, even if she could." "Cheer up, Dick," said Ned; "or rather I would advise you to go to sleep. Perhaps to-morrow morning some bright idea may occur which we can't think of at present. I've got my lessons to do before breakfast, so I must not stop awake talking, or I shall not be able to arouse myself." I had begun taking off my clothes, and Ned waited until he saw me lie down, when he put out the candle, and jumped into bed. I continued talking till a loud snore from his corner of the room showed me that he was fast asleep. I soon followed his example, but my mind was not idle, for I dreamed that I had gone to sea, become a midshipman, and was sailing over the blue ocean with a fair breeze, that the captain was talking to me and telling me what a fine young sailor I had become, and that he had invited me to breakfast with him, and had handed me a plate of buttered toast and a fresh-laid egg; when, looking up, I saw his countenance suddenly change into that of Aunt Deb. "Don't you wish you may get it?" he said. "Before you eat that, go on deck and see what weather it is." Of course I had to go, when to my astonishment I found the ship rolling and pitching; the foam-covered seas tossing and roaring; the officers shouting and bawling, ordering the men to take in sail. Presently there came a crash, the masts went by the board, the seas dashed over the ship, and I found myself tumbling about among the breakers, until it seemed almost in an instant I was thrown on the beach, where I lay unable to crawl out of the way of the angry waters, which threatened every moment to carry me off again. In vain I tried to work my way up the sands with my arms and legs. Presently down I came, to find myself sprawling on the floor. "What can have made all that row?" exclaimed Ned, starting up, awakened by the noise of my falling out of bed. "I thought I was shipwrecked," I answered. "I'm glad you are not," said Ned. "So get into bed again, and if you can go to sleep, dream of something else." Feeling somewhat foolish, I did as he advised, but I had first to put my bed-clothes to rights, for I had dragged them off with me to the floor. It was no easy matter, although I was assisted by the pale light of early morning, which came through the chinks of the shutters. In a short time afterwards Ned again got up to go to his books, for he, being somewhat delicate, was studying under our father, while I, who had been sent to school, had just come home for the holidays. I had a holiday task, but had no intention of troubling myself about it at present. I was, therefore, somewhat puzzled to know what to do. While I was dressing, it occurred to me that I would go over to Leighton Park with my rod, to try the ponds, hoping to return with a basket of fish. I might go there and get an hour's fishing, and be back again before breakfast. I tried to persuade Ned to accompany me, but he preferred to stick to his books. "Much good may they do you," I answered, rather annoyed. "Why can't you shut them up for once in a way. It's a beautiful morning, and by going early we are sure to have plenty of sport, and you can learn your lessons just as well after breakfast." "Not if I had been out three or four hours fishing, and came home wet and dirty; and I want to get my studies over while the day is young, and the air fresh and pure. I can read twice as well now as I shall be able after breakfast." "Well, if you are so unsociable, I must go by myself," I said, getting down my rod from the wall on which it hung with my fishing-tackle and basket. Swinging the latter over my shoulder I crept noiselessly out of the room and down stairs. No one was stirring, so I let myself out by a back door which led into the garden. Even our old dog "Growler" did not bark, for he was, I suppose, taking his morning snooze after having been on the watch all night. Before setting off I had to get some bait. I found a spade in the tool-house and proceeded with it to a certain well-known heap in the corner of the kitchen garden, full of vivacious worms of a ruddy hue, for which fish of all descriptions had a decided predilection. Even now, whenever I smell a similar odour to that which emanated from the heap, the garden and its surroundings are vividly recalled to my mind. I quickly filled a box, which I kept for the purpose, with wriggling worms. It had a perforated lid, and contained damp moss. "I ought to have thought of getting these fellows yesterday and have given them time to clean themselves," I said to myself. "They'll do, notwithstanding, although they will not prove as tough as they ought." Shouldering my rod I made my way out of the garden by a wicket gate, and proceeded across the fields on which it opened towards Leighton Park. The grass was wet with dew, the air was pure and fresh, almost cold; the birds were singing blithely in the trees. A lark sprang up before me, and rose into the blue air, warbling sweetly to welcome the rising sun, which he could see long before its rays glanced over the ground on which I was walking. I could not help also singing and whistling, the bright air alone being sufficient to raise my spirits. I hurried away, as I was eager to begin fishing, for I wanted the fish in the first place, and I knew in the second that Ned would laugh at me if I came back empty handed. The pond to which I was going, although supplied by the same stream which fed the ornamental piece of water in the neighbourhood of the Hall, was at a distance from it, and was accessible without having to pass through the grounds. It was surrounded by trees, and one side of the bank was thickly fringed by sedges which extended a considerable way into the water. It served as a preserve for ducks and wild fowl of various descriptions, and was inhabited also by a number of swans, who floated gracefully over its calm surface. As they were accustomed to depend upon their own exertions for a subsistence, they generally kept at a distance from strangers, and I had never been interrupted by them when fishing. I made my way to a spot where I knew that the water was deep, and where I had frequently been successful in fishing. It was a green bank, which jutted out into a point, with bushes on one side, but perfectly free on the other. I quickly got my rod together, and my hook baited with a red wriggling worm. I did not consider that the worm wriggled because it did not like to be put on the hook, but if I had been asked I should have said that it was rather pleased than otherwise at having so important a duty to perform as catching fish for my pleasure. I had a new float, white above and green below, which I thought looked very pretty as I threw my line out on the water. Up it popped at once, there being plenty of lead. Before long it began to move, gliding slowly over the surface, then faster and faster. I eagerly held my rod ready to strike as soon as it went down; now it moved on one side, now on the other. I knew that there was a fish coquetting with the bait, trying perhaps to suck off the worm without letting the hook run into its jaws. Before long down went the float, and I gave my rod a scientific jerk against the direction in which the float was last moving, when to my intense satisfaction I felt that I had hooked a fish, but whether a large or a small one I could not at first tell. I wound up my line until I had got it of a manageable length, then drew it in gradually towards the bank. I soon discovered that I had hooked a fine tench. It was so astonished at finding itself dragged through the water, without any exertion of its fins, that it scarcely struggled at all, and I quickly hauled it up on the bank. It was three-quarters of a pound at least, one of the largest I had ever caught. It was soon unhooked and placed safely in my basket. As I wanted several more I put on a fresh worm, and again threw my line into the water. Some people say there is no pleasure in float-fishing, but for me it always had a strange fascination, that would not have been the case, if I could have seen through the water, for I believe the interest depends upon not knowing what size or sort of fish has got hold of the hook, when the float first begins to move, and then glides about as I have described, until it suddenly disappears beneath the surface. I caught four or five fine tench in little more than twice as many minutes. I don't know why they took a fancy to bite so freely that fine bright morning. Generally they take the hook best of a dull, muggy day, with a light drizzling rain, provided the weather is warm. After I had caught those four fish, I waited for fully ten minutes more without getting another bite; at last, I came to the conclusion that only those four fish had come to that part of the pond. There was another place a little further on, free of trees and bushes, where I could throw my line without the risk of its being caught in the bushes above my head; I had not, however, generally gone there. Tall sedges lined the shore, and water-lilies floated on the greater part of the surface and its immediate neighbourhood. It was also somewhat difficult to get at, owing to the dense brushwood which covered the ground close to it. I waited five minutes more, and then slinging my basket behind my back, I made my way to the spot I have described. After catching my line two or three times in the bushes, and spending some time in clearing it, I reached the bank and unslinging my basket quickly, once more had my float in the water. The ground, which was covered with moss rather than grass, sloped quietly down to the water, and was excessively slippery. As I held my rod, expecting every moment to get a bite, I heard a low whistling sound coming from the bushes close to me. At first I thought it was produced by young frogs, but where they were I could not make out. I observed that several of the swans I have before mentioned were floating on the surface not far off. Now one, now another would put down its long neck in search of fish or water insects. Presently one of them caught sight of me, and came swimming rapidly towards the extreme point of the bank. In an instant it landed, and half-flying, half-running over the ground, came full at me through the bushes. To retreat was impossible, should it intend to attack me, but I hoped it would not venture to do so. Before, however, I had any time for considering the matter, it suddenly spread its powerful wings, with one of which it dealt me such a blow, that before I could recover I was sent down the slippery bank, and plunged head over heels into the water. In my fright I let go my rod, but instinctively held out my hands to grasp whatever I could get hold of. The swan, not content with its first success, came after me, when, by some means or other. I caught hold of it by one of its legs. To this day I don't know how it happened. The water was deep, and I had very little notion of swimming, and having once got hold of something to support myself I was not inclined to let go, while the swan was as much astonished at being seized hold of as I was. I shouted and bawled for help, although, as no one was likely to be at the pond at that early hour, or passing in the neighbourhood, there was little chance of obtaining assistance. Away flew the swan, spreading out her broad wings to enable her to rise above the surface. Instead of seeking the land, to my horror, she dragged me right out towards the middle of the pond; while the other swans, alarmed at seeing the extraordinary performance of their companion, flew off in all directions. Fortunately I was able to keep my head above the surface, but was afraid of getting a kick from the other leg of the swan as she struck the water with it to assist herself in making her onward way, but as I held her captive foot at arm's length, fortunately she did not touch me. I dared not let go with one of my hands, or I should have tried to seize it. Whether it was instinct or not which induced her to carry me away from her nest I cannot tell, but that seemed to be her object. I felt as if I was in a horrid dream, compelled to hold on, and yet finding myself dragged forward against my will. The pond was a long and narrow one, but it seemed wider than it had ever done before. The swan, instead of going across to the opposite bank, took a course right down the centre. My shouts and shrieks must have filled her with alarm. On and on she went flapping her huge wings. I knew that my life depended upon being able to hold fast to her foot, but my arms were beginning to ache, and it seemed to me that we were still a long way from the end. When we got there, I could not tell what she might do. Perhaps, I thought, she might turn round and attack me with beak and wings, when, exhausted by my struggles, I should be unable to defend myself. Still I dared not venture to let go. I heartily wished that I had been a good swimmer, because then, when we got near the end, I might have released her and struck out, either for one side or the other. As it was, my safety depended on being dragged by her to the shore. She frequently struck the water with her wings. Showers of spray came flying over my head, which prevented me from seeing how near I was to it. At last I began to fear that I should be unable to hold on long enough. My arms ached, and my hands felt cramped, still the love of life induced me not to give in. I shouted again and again. Presently I heard a shout in return. "Hold on, young fellow. Hold on, you'll be all right." This encouraged me, for I knew that help was at hand. Suddenly, as I looked up, I saw the tops of the trees, and presently afterwards I found the swan was trying to make her way up the bank, while my feet touched the muddy bottom. I had no wish to be dragged through the bushes by the swan, so, as I was close to the shore, I let go, but as I did so, I fell utterly exhausted on the bank, and was very nearly slipping again into the water. The swan, finding herself free after going a short distance, closed her wings, and recollecting, I fancy, that I had been the cause of her alarm, came rushing back with out-stretched neck, uttering a strange hissing sound, preparing, as I supposed, to attack me. I was too much exhausted to try and get up and endeavour to escape from her. Just as she was within a few feet of me, I saw a boy armed with a thick stick spring out from among the bushes, and run directly towards her. A blow from his stick turned her aside, and instead of making for me, she again plunged into the water, and made her way over the surface in the direction from which we had come. "I am very much obliged to you, my fine fellow, for driving off the swan, or I suppose the savage creature would have mauled me terribly, had she got up to me." "Very happy to have done you a service, master; but it didn't give me much trouble to do it. However, I would advise you not to stop here in your wet clothes, for the mornings are pretty fresh, and you'll be catching a bad cold." "Thank you," I said, "but I do not feel very well able to walk far just yet." "Have you got far to go home?" he asked. I told him. "Well, then, you had better come home with me to my father's cottage. It is away down near the sea, and he'll give you some hot spirits, and you can turn into my bed while your clothes are drying." I was very glad to accept his proposal, for I did not at all fancy having to go home all dripping, to be laughed at by my brothers, and to get a scolding from Aunt Deb into the bargain, for I knew she would say it was all my own fault, and that if I had not been prying into the swan's nest, the bird would not have attacked me. I did not, however, wish to lose my rod and basket of fish, and I thought it very probable that if I left them, somebody else would carry them off. I asked my new friend his name. "Mark Riddle," he answered. "Before I go I must get back my rod and basket of fish; it won't take us long. Would you mind coming with me?" "No, master, I don't mind; but I would advise you to be quick about it." Mark helped me up, and as I soon got the use of my legs, we ran round outside the trees as fast as we could go. The basket of fish was safe enough on the bank, but the rod was floating away at some distance. "Oh dear, oh dear. I shall never be able to get it," I exclaimed. "What! Can't you swim, master?" asked Mark. I confessed that I was afraid I could not swim far enough to bring it in. "Well, never you mind. I'll have it in a jiffy," and stripping off his clothes he plunged into the water and soon brought in the rod. "There's a fish on the hook I've a notion," he said, as he handed me the butt end of the rod. He was right, and as he was dressing, not taking long to rub himself dry with his handkerchief, I landed a fine fat tench. "That belongs to you," I said. "And, indeed, I ought to give you all the fish I have in my basket." "Much obliged, master; but I've got a fine lot myself, which I pulled out of the pond this morning, only don't you say a word about it, for the Squire, I've a notion, doesn't allow us poor people to come fishing here." I assured Mark that I would not inform against him, and having taken my rod to pieces and wound up my line, I said that I was ready to set out. Mark by that time was completely dressed. Just as we were about to start I saw the swan--I suppose the same one which had dragged me across the pond--come swimming back at a rapid rate towards where we were standing, in the neighbourhood, as I well knew, of her nest. Whether or not she fancied we were about to interfere with her young, we could not tell, but we agreed that it was well to beat a retreat. We accordingly set off and ran on until we reached the further end of the pond, when Mark, asking me to stop a minute, disappeared among the bushes, and in a few minutes returned with a rough basket full of fine tench, carp, and eels. I had a notion that some night-lines had assisted him to take so many. I did not, however, ask questions just then, and once more we set off running. Wet as I was, I was very glad to move quickly, not that I felt particularly cold, for the sun had now risen some way above the trees, and as there was not a breath of air, his rays warmed me and began to dry my outer garments. I must have had a very draggled look, and I had no wish to be seen by any one at home in that condition. In little more than a quarter of an hour we came in sight of a cottage situated below a cliff on the side of a ravine, opening out towards the sea. A stream which flowed from the Squire's ponds running through it. "That is my home, and father will be right glad to see you," said Mark, pointing to it. A fine old sailor-like man with a straw hat and round jacket came out of the door as we approached, and began to look about him in the fashion seafaring men have the habit of doing when they first turn out in the morning, to ascertain what sort of weather it is likely to be. His eyes soon fell on Mark and me as we ran down the ravine. "Who have you got with you, my son?" he asked. "The young gentleman from the vicarage. He has had a ducking, and he wants to dry his clothes before he goes home; or maybe he'd call it a swanning, seeing it was one of those big white birds which pulled him in, and towed him along from one end of the pond to the other, eh, master? What's your name?" "Richard," I replied, "though I'm generally called Dick," not at all offended at my companion's familiarity. "You are welcome, Master Dick, and if you like to turn into Mark's bed, or put on a shirt and pair of trousers of his, we'll get your duds dried before the kitchen fire in a jiffy," said the old sailor. "Come in, come in; it doesn't do to stand out in the air when you are wet through with fresh water." I gladly entered the old sailor's cottage, where I found his wife and a young daughter, a year or two older than Mark, busy in getting breakfast ready. I thought Nancy Riddle a nice-looking pleasant-faced girl, and her mother a good-natured buxom dame. As I had no fancy for going to bed I gladly accepted a pair of duck trousers and a blue check shirt belonging to Mark, and a pair of low shoes, which were certainly not his. I suspected that they were Nancy's best. I quickly took off my wet things in Mark's room, and getting into dry ones, made my appearance in the room which served them for parlour, kitchen, and hall, where I found the table spread, with a pot of hot tea, cups and saucers, a bowl of porridge, a loaf of home-made bread, and a pile of buttered toast, to which several of Mark's freshly caught fish were quickly added. I offered mine to Mrs Riddle, but she answered-- "Thank you kindly, but you had better take them home to your friends, they'll be glad of them, and we've got a plenty, as you see." I was very thankful to get a cup of scalding tea, for I was beginning to feel somewhat chilly, though Mrs Riddle made me sit near the fire. A saucer of porridge and milk, followed by some buttered toast and the best part of a tench, with a slice or two of bread soon set me up. Nancy, however, now and then got up and gave my clothes a turn to dry them faster--a delicate attention which I duly appreciated. Mr Riddle, who was evidently fond of spinning yarns, as most old sailors are, narrated a number of his adventures, which greatly interested me, and made me more than ever wish to go to sea. Mark had already made a trip in a coaster to the north of England, and I was much surprised to hear him say that he had had enough of it. "It is not all gold that glitters," he remarked. "I fancied that I was to become a sailor all at once, instead of that I was made to clean out the cabin, attend on the skipper, and wash up the pots and the pans for the cook, and be at everybody's beck and call, with a rope's-end for my reward whenever I was not quick enough to please my many masters." "That's what most youngsters have to put up with when they first go to sea," remarked his father. "You should not have minded it, my lad." I found that Mark's great ambition was to become the owner of a fishing-boat, when he could live at home and be his own master. He was fonder of fishing than anything else, and when he could not get out to sea he passed much of his time with his rod and lines on the banks of the Squire's ponds, or on those of others in the neighbourhood. He did not consider it poaching, as he asserted he had a perfect right to catch fish wherever he could find them, and I suspect that his father was of the same opinion, for he did not in any way find fault with him. When breakfast was over Mark exhibited with considerable pride a small model of a vessel which he and his father had cut out of a piece of pine, and rigged in a very perfect manner. I was delighted with her appearance, and said I should like to have a similar craft. "Well, Master Cheveley, I'll cut one out for you as soon as I can get a piece of wood fit for the purpose," said the old sailor; "and when Mark and I have rigged her I'll warrant she'll sail faster than any other craft of her size which you can find far or near." "Thank you," I answered, "I shall be very pleased to have her; and perhaps we can get up a regatta, and Mark must bring his vessel. I feel sure he or I will carry off the prize." As I wanted to get home, dreading the jobation I should get from Aunt Deb for not making my appearance at prayer-time, I begged my friends to let me put on my own clothes. They were tolerably dry by this time, though the shoes were still wet, but that was of no consequence. "Well, Master Dick, we shall always be glad to see you. Whenever you come this way give us a call," said the old sailor, as I was preparing to wish him, his wife and daughter good-bye. I shook hands all round, and Mark accompanied me part of the way home. I parted from him as if he had been an old friend, indeed I was really grateful to him for the way in which he had saved my life, as I believed he had done, when he drove off the enraged swan. CHAPTER TWO. Aunt Deb's lecture, and what came of it--My desire to go to sea still further increases--My father, to satisfy me, visits Leighton Hall--Our interview with Sir Reginald Knowsley--Some description of Leighton Hall and what we saw there--The magistrate's room--A smuggler in trouble--The evidence against him, and its worth--An ingenious plea-- An awkward witness--The prisoner receives the benefit of the doubt-- Sir Reginald consults my father, and my father consults Sir Reginald-- My expectations stand a fair chance of being realised--The proposed crusade against the smugglers--My father decides on taking an active part in it--I resolve to second him. On reaching home, the first person I encountered was Aunt Deb. "Where have you been, Master Dick?" she exclaimed, in a stern tone, "you've frightened your poor father and mother out of their wits. They have been fancying that you must have met with some accident, or run off to sea." "I have been fishing, aunt," I answered, exhibiting the contents of my basket, "this shows that I am speaking the truth, though you look as if you doubted my word." "Ned said you had gone out fishing, but that you promised to be back for breakfast," she replied, "it has been over half an hour or more, and the things have been cleared away, so you must be content with a mug of milk and a piece of bread. The teapot was emptied, and we can't be brewing any more for you." "Thank you, aunt. I must, as you say, be content with the mug of milk and piece of bread you offer me," I said, with a demure countenance, glad to escape any questioning. "I shall have a better appetite for dinner, when I hope you will allow these fish to be cooked, and I fancy that you will find them very good, I have seldom caught finer." "Well, well, go in and get off your dirty shoes, you look as if you had been wading into the pond, and remember to be home in good time another day. While I manage the household, I must have regularity; the want of it throws everybody out, though your father and mother do not seem to care about the matter." Glad to escape so easily, I hurried away. My father had gone out to visit a sick person who had sent for him. My brothers and sisters were engaged in their various studies and occupations, and my mother was still in her room. Jane, the maid, by Aunt Deb's directions, brought me the promised mug of milk and piece of bread, and I, without complaint, ate a small piece of the one, and drank up the contents of the other, and then said I had had enough, and could manage to go on until dinner-time. It did not strike me at the time that I was guilty of any deception, though I really was; but I was afraid if I mentioned my visit to Roger Riddle's cottage, the rest of my adventures in the morning would come out, and so said nothing about the matter. When my father came home, I told him that I was sorry for being so late, but considering the fine basket of fish I had brought home, it would add considerably to the supply of provisions for the family, and hoped he would not be angry with me. "No, Dick, I am not angry," he said, "but Aunt Deb likes regularity, and we are in duty bound to yield to her wishes." "I wish that Aunt Deb were at Jericho," I muttered to myself, "and I should not have minded saying the same thing aloud to my brothers and some of my sisters, for we most of us were heartily tired of her interference with all family arrangements, and were frequently on the verge of rebellion, but my father paid her so much deference, that we were afraid of openly breaking out." Finding that my father was disengaged, I followed him into the study, and again broached the subject of going to sea. "Couldn't you take me to Squire Knowsley, and talk the matter over with him," I said. "You can tell him that 50 pounds a year is a large sum for you to allow me, and perhaps he may induce Captain Grummit to take me, although I may not have the usual allowance. I promise to be very economical, and I would be ready to make any sacrifice rather than not go afloat." "Sir Reginald came back yesterday, I find," said my father. "You know, Dick, I am always anxious to gratify your wishes, and as I do not see any objection to your proposal, we will set off at once to call on him; perhaps he will do as you desire. If he does not, it will show him how anxious you are to go to sea, and he may assist you in some other way." I was very grateful to my father, and thanked him for agreeing to my proposal. "It won't do, however, for you to go in your present untidy condition," he remarked; "go and put on your best clothes, and by that time I shall be ready to set off." I hurried to my room, and throwing my clothes down on my bed, rigged myself out in the best I possessed. I also, as may be supposed, put on dry socks and shoes. It did not occur to me at the time, that the condition of the clothing I threw off was likely to betray my adventure of the morning. I went down stairs and set off with my father. We had a pleasant walk, although the weather was rather hot, and in the course of about an hour arrived at Leighton Park. Sir Reginald, who was at home, desired that we should at once be admitted to his study, or rather justice-room, in which he performed his magisterial duties. It was a large oak room, the walls adorned with stags' horns, foxes' brushes, and other trophies of the chase, with a couple of figures in armour in the corner, holding candelabra in their hands. On the walls were hung also bows and arrows, halberds, swords, and pikes, as well as modern weapons, and they were likewise adorned with several hunting pictures, and some grim portraits of the Squire's ancestors. On one side was a bookcase, on the shelves of which were a few standard legal works, with others on sporting subjects, veterinary, falconry, horses and dogs, and other branches of natural history. Sir Reginald himself, a worthy gentleman, with slightly grizzled hair and a ruddy countenance, was seated at a writing-table covered with a green cloth, on which was a Bible and two or three other books, and writing materials. He rose as we entered, and received us very courteously, begging my father and me to take seats near him on the inner side of the table. "You will excuse me, if any cases are brought in, I must attend to them at once. I never allow anything to interfere with my magisterial duties. But do not go away. I'll dispose of them off-hand, and shall be happy to continue the conversation. I want to have a few words with you, Mr Cheveley, upon a matter of importance, to obtain your advice and assistance. By-the-bye, you wrote to me a short time ago about a son of yours who wishes to enter the naval service. This is, I presume, the young gentleman," he continued, looking at me, "Eh! My lad? And so you wish to become a second Nelson?" "I wish to enter the navy, Sir Reginald, but don't know whether I shall ever become an admiral; my ambition is at present to be made a midshipman," I answered boldly. "I am very ready to forward your wishes, although it is not so easy a matter as it was a few years ago during the war time. I spoke to my friend Grummit, who has just commissioned the `Blaze-away,' and he expressed his willingness to take you. I think I wrote to you, Mr Cheveley, on the subject." "That is the very matter on which I am anxious to consult you, Sir Reginald," said my father. "You mentioned that Captain Grummit insists on all his midshipmen having an allowance from their friends of 50 pounds a year, and although that does not appear to him probably, or to you, Sir Reginald, a large sum, it is beyond the means of a poor incumbent to furnish, and I am anxious to know whether Captain Grummit will condescend to take him with a smaller allowance." "I am sorry to say he told me that he made it a rule to receive no midshipman who had not at least that amount of private property to keep up the respectability of his position," answered Sir Reginald, "and from what I know of him, I should think he is not a man likely to depart from any rule he may think fit to make. However, my dear Mr Cheveley, I will communicate with him, and let you know what he replies. If he still insists on your son having 50 pounds a year, we must see what else can be done. Excuse me for a few minutes, here come some people on business." Several persons who had entered the hall, approached the table. One of them, a dapper little gentleman in black, with a bundle of papers in his hand, took a seat at one end, and began busily spreading them out before him. At the same time two men, whom I saw were constables, brought up a prisoner, who was dressed as a seafaring man, handcuffed. "Whom have you got here?" asked Sir Reginald, scrutinising the prisoner. "Please, your honour, Sir Reginald, we took this man last night assisting in running contraband goods, landed, as we have reason to believe, from Dick Hargreave's boat the `Saucy Bess,' which had been seen off the coast during the day between Milton Cove and Rock Head." "Ah, I'm glad you've got one of them at last. We must put a stop to this smuggling which is carried on under our noses to the great detriment of the revenue. What became of the rest of the crew, and the men engaged in landing the cargo?" "Please, your worship, the cargo was sprighted away before we could get hold of a single keg or bale, and all the fellows except this one made their escape. The `Preventive' men had been put on a wrong scent, and gone off in a different direction, so that we were left to do as best we could, and we only captured this one prisoner with a keg on his shoulders, making off across the downs, and we brought him along with the keg as evidence against him." "Half a loaf is better than no bread, and I hope by the punishment he will receive to induce others now engaged in smuggling to abandon so low a pursuit. What is your name, prisoner?" "Jack Cope, your worship," answered the smuggler, who looked wonderfully unconcerned, and spoke without the slightest hesitation or fear. "Well, Mr Jack Cope, what have you to say for yourself to induce me to refrain from making out a warrant to commit you to gaol?" asked the magistrate. "Please, your worship, I don't deny that I was captured as the constables describe with a cask on my shoulders, for I had been down to the sea to fill it with salt water to bathe one of my children whose limbs require strengthening, and I was walking quietly along when these men pounced down upon me, declaring that I had been engaged in running the cargo of the `Saucy Bess,' with which I had no more to do than the babe unborn." "A very likely story, Master Cope. You were caught with a keg on your shoulders; it's very evident that you were unlawfully employed in assisting to run the cargo of the vessel you spoke of, and I shall forthwith make out the order for your committal to prison." "Please, your worship, before you do that, I must beg you to examine the keg I was carrying, for if it contains spirits I am ready to go; but if not, I claim in justice the right to be set at liberty." "Have you examined the keg, men," said the squire, "to ascertain if it contains spirits?" "No, your worship, we would not venture to do that, seeing that t'other day when one of the coastguard broached a keg to see whether it had brandy or not he got into trouble for drinking the spirits." "For drinking the spirits! He deserved to be," exclaimed Sir Reginald. "However, that is not the point. Bring the keg here, and if you broach it in my presence you need have no fear of the consequences. There can be little doubt that we shall be able to convict this fellow, and send him to gaol for twelve months. I wish it to be understood that I intend by every means in my power to put a stop to the proceedings of these lawless smugglers, who have so long been carrying on this illegal traffic with impunity in this part of the country." Jack Cope, who had kept a perfectly calm demeanour from the time he had been brought up to the table, smiled scornfully as Sir Reginald spoke. He said nothing, however, as he turned his glance towards the door. In a short time a revenue man appeared carrying a keg on his shoulders. "Place it on the table," said Sir Reginald. "Can you swear this is the keg you took from the prisoner?" he asked of the constable. "Yes, your worship. It has never been out of our custody since we captured it," replied the man. "And _I_, too, can swear that it is the same keg that was taken from me!" exclaimed the bold smuggler in a confident tone. "Silence there, prisoner," said Sir Reginald, "You are not to speak until you are desired. Let the cask be broached." A couple of glasses and a gimlet had been sent for. The servant now brought them on a tray. One of the officers immediately set to work and bored a couple of holes in the head and side of the cask. The liquid which flowed out was bright and sparkling. The officer passed it under his nose, but made no remark, though I thought his countenance exhibited an odd expression. "Hand it here," said Sir Reginald. "Bah!" he exclaimed, intensely disgusted, "why, it's salt water." "I told you so, your worship," said Jack Cope, apparently much inclined to burst into a fit of laughter. "You'll believe me another time, I hope, when I said that I had gone down to the seaside to get some salt water for one of my children; and I think you'll allow, your worship, that it is salt water." "You are an impudent rascal!" exclaimed Sir Reginald, irritated beyond measure at the smuggler's coolness. "I shall not believe you a bit the more. I suspect that you have played the officers a trick to draw them away from your companions, and though you escape conviction this time, you will be caught another, you may depend upon that; and you may expect no leniency from me. Set the prisoner at liberty, there is no further evidence against him." "I hope, Sir Reginald, that I may be allowed to carry my keg of salt water home," said the smuggler demurely. "It is my property, of which I have been illegally deprived by the officers, and I demand to have it given to me back." "Let the man have the keg," said Sir Reginald in a gruff voice. "Is there any other case before me?" "No, your worship," replied his clerk. And Jack Cope carried off his cask of salt water in triumph, followed by the officers and the other persons who had entered the hall. I had observed that Jack Cope had eyed my father and me as we were seated with the baronet, and it struck me that he had done so with no very pleasant expression of countenance. "These proceedings are abominable in the extreme, Mr Cheveley," observed the justice to my father. "We must, as I before remarked, put an effectual stop to them. You have a good deal of influence in your parish, and I must trust to you to find honest men who will try and obtain information, and give us due notice when a cargo is to be run." "I fear the people do not look upon smuggling as you and I do, Sir Reginald," observed my father. "The better class of my parishioners may not probably engage in it, but the _very_ best of them would think it dishonourable to act the part of informers. I do not believe any bribe would induce them to do so." "Perhaps not, but you can place the matter before them in its true light. Show them that they are acting a patriotic part by aiding the officers of the law in putting a stop to proceedings which are so detrimental to the revenue of the country. If they can be made to understand the injury which smuggling inflicts on the fair trader, they may see it in a different light from that in which they at present regard it. The Government requires funds to carry on the affairs of the nation, and duties and taxes must be levied to supply those funds. We should show them that smuggling is a practice which it is the duty of all loyal men to put a stop to." "I understand your wishes, Sir Reginald, and agree with you that energetic measures are necessary; and you may depend upon my exerting myself to the utmost." "My great object, at present, is to capture the `Saucy Bess.' The revenue officers afloat will, of course, do their duty; but she has so often eluded them that my only hope is to catch her while she is engaged in running her cargo. I will give a handsome reward to any one who brings reliable information which leads to that desirable result." "I am afraid that, although one or two smugglers may be captured, others will soon take their places; as while the present high duties on spirits, silks, and other produce of France exist, the profit to be made by smuggling will always prove a temptation too strong to be resisted," observed my father. "If the smugglers find that a vigilant watch is kept on this part of the coast they will merely carry on their transactions in another part." "At all events, my dear Mr Cheveley, we shall have the satisfaction of knowing that we have done our duty in removing what I consider a disgrace to our community," observed Sir Reginald. "As to lowering the duties, that is what I will never consent to. I shall always oppose any scheme of the sort while I hold my place in Parliament. I feel that I am bound to preserve things as they are, and am not to be moved by the brawling cries of demagogues." "Of course, Sir Reginald, you understand these things better than I do. I have never given my mind to politics, and have always been ready to record my vote in your favour, and to induce as many as possible of my parishioners to follow my example." All this time I had been sitting on the tenter-hooks of expectation, wondering if my father would again refer to the subject which had induced him to pay a visit to the baronet. "I must wish you good morning, Sir Reginald," he said, rising. "You will, I feel sure, not forget your promise regarding my son Dick, and if Captain Grummit cannot take him, I trust that you will find some other captain who does not insist on his midshipmen having so large an allowance." "Of course, my dear Mr Cheveley, of course," said the baronet, rising; "although it did not strike me as anything unreasonable. Yet I am aware how you are situated with a numerous family and a comparatively small income; and, believe me, I will not lose an opportunity of forwarding the views of the young gentleman. Good morning, my dear Mr Cheveley, good morning," and nodding to me, he bowed us out of the hall. "I hope Sir Reginald will get me a berth on board some other ship," I said to my father, as we walked homeward. "He seems wonderfully good-natured and condescending." "I don't feel altogether satisfied as to that point," answered my father, who knew the baronet better than I did. CHAPTER THREE. The crusade against the smugglers--Sir Reginald's measures--The "Saucy Bess"--My father's sermon, and its effects in different quarters--Ned and I visit old Roger Riddle--Mr Reynell's picnic and how we enjoyed it--Roger Riddle tells the story of his life--Born at sea--The pet of the ship--Stormy times--Parted from his mother--His first visit to land--Loses his parents. Day after day went by and nothing was heard from Sir Reginald Knowsley about my appointment as a midshipman. Aunt Deb took care to remark that she had no doubt he had forgotten all about me. This I shrewdly suspected was the case. If he had forgotten me, however, he had not forgotten the smugglers, for he was taking energetic steps to put a stop to their proceedings, though it was whispered he was not always as successful as he supposed. Whenever I went to the village I heard of what he was doing, yet from time to time it was known that cargoes had been run while only occasionally an insignificant capture was made, it being generally, as the saying is, a tub thrown to a whale. The "Saucy Bess" appeared off the coast, but it was when she had a clean hold and no revenue officer could touch her. She would then come into Leighton bay, which was a little distance to the westward of the bar, and drop her anchor, looking as innocent as possible; and her hardy crew would sit with their arms folded, on her deck, smoking their pipes and spinning yarns to each other of their daring deeds, or would pace up and down performing the fisherman's walk, three steps and overboard. On two or three occasions I caught sight of them from the top of a rocky cliff which formed one side of the little bay, and I acknowledge that I had a wonderful longing to go on board and become better acquainted with the sturdy looking outlaws, or rather, breakers of the law. As, however, I could find no boat in the bay to take me alongside, and as I did not like to hail and ask them to allow me to pay them a visit, I had to abandon my design. My father was busy in his way in carrying out the wishes of the baronet. He spoke to a number of his parishioners, urging them to assist in putting a stop to the proceedings of the smugglers, and endeavouring to impress upon them the nefarious character of their occupation. More than once he got into the wrong box when addressing some old sea dog, who would curtly advise him to mind his own business, the man he was speaking to probably being in league with the smugglers. He said and did enough indeed to create a considerable amount of odium against himself. He went so far as one Sunday to preach a sermon in which he unmistakably alluded to smuggling as one of the sins certain to bring down condign punishment on those engaged in it. Sir Reginald Knowsley, who had driven over, as he occasionally did, to attend the service, waited for my father in the porch, and complimented him on his sermon. "Excellent, Mr Cheveley, excellent," he exclaimed, "I like to hear clergymen speak out bravely from the pulpit, and condemn the sins of the people. If the smugglers persist in carrying on their nefarious proceedings, they will now do it with their eyes open, and know that they are breaking the laws of God and man. I was delighted to hear you broach the subject. I expect some friends in a few days, and I hope that you will give me the pleasure of your company at dinner. I have some capital old port just suited to your taste, and I will take care to draw your attention to it. Good-bye, my dear Mr Cheveley, good-bye; with your aid I have no doubt smuggling will, in a short time, be a thing of the past;" and the squire walked with a dignified pace to his carriage and drove off, not regarding the frowning looks cast at him by some of his fellow-worshippers. As I afterwards went through the churchyard I passed several knots of persons talking together, who were making remarks of a very different character to those I have spoken of on the sermon they had just heard. They were at no pains to lower their voices even as they saw me. "I never seed smuggling in the Ten Commandments, an' don't see it now," remarked a sturdy old fisherman, who was looked upon as a very respectable man in the village. "What has come over our parson to talk about it is more than I can tell." "The parson follows where the squire leads, I've a notion," remarked another seafaring man, who was considered an oracle among his mates. "He never said a word about it before the squire took the matter up. Many's the time we've had a score of kegs stowed away in his tool-house, and if one was left behind, if he didn't get it I don't know who did." On hearing this I felt very much inclined to stop and declare that my father had never received a keg of spirits, or a bribe of any sort, for I was very sure that he would not condescend to that, though I could not answer for the integrity of John Dixon, our old gardener, who had been, on more than one occasion, unable to work for a week together; and although his wife said that he was suffering from rheumatics, the doctor remarked, with a wink, that he had no doubt he would recover without having much physic to take. Some of the men were even more severe in their remarks, and swore that if the parson was going to preach in that style, they would not show their noses inside the church. Others threatened to go off to the methodists' house in the next village, where the minister never troubled the people with disagreeable remarks. I did not tell my father all I had heard, as I knew it would annoy him. It did not occur to me at the moment that he had introduced the subject for the sake of currying favour with Sir Reginald, indeed I did not think such an idea had crossed his mind. He was greatly surprised in the afternoon, when the service was generally better attended than in the morning, to find that only half his usual congregation was present. When he returned home, after making some visits in the parish, on the following Tuesday, he told us he suspected from the way he had been received that something was wrong, but it did not occur to him that his sermon was the cause of offence. I, in the meantime, was spending my holidays in far from a satisfactory manner. My elder brothers amused themselves without taking pains to find me anything to do, while Ned was always at his books, and was only inclined to come out and take a constitutional walk with me now and then. My younger brothers were scarcely out of the nursery, and I was thus left very much to my own resources. I bethought me one day of paying the old sailor Roger Riddle a visit, and perhaps getting his son Mark to come and fish with me. I told Ned where I was going, and was just setting off when he called out-- "Stop a minute, Dick, and I will go with you; I should like to make the acquaintance of the old sailor, who, from your account, must be something above the common." I did not like to refuse, at the same time I confess that I would rather have gone alone, as I knew that Ned did not care about fishing, and would probably want to stop and talk to Roger Riddle. I was waiting for him outside in front of the house, when a carriage drove up full of boys, with a gentleman who asked me if my father was at home. I recognised him as a Mr Reynell, who lived at Springfield Grange, some five or six miles inland. Two of the boys were his sons, whom I knew; the others, he told me, were their cousins and two friends staying with them. "We are going to have a picnic along the shore, and we want you and your brother to come and join us," said Harry Reynell, the eldest of the two. Ned came out directly afterwards, and said he should be very happy to go. "Can't you get any of your friends to go also? The more the merrier." There were two or three other boys whom I knew staying with an aunt in the village, and I offered to run down and ask them. "By all means," said Harry, "we have provisions enough, so that they need not stop to get anything; but I'm afraid we cannot stow them all away; if it's not very far off we may go on foot." "It is no distance to the prettiest part of the coast," I replied; "and I know a capital spot where we can pick up shells and collect curiosities of all sorts, if any of you have a fancy for that sort of thing." "That will do," said Harry Reynell; "go and fetch your friends, and we will walk together." I accordingly ran down the village to Mrs Parker's, whose nephews were at home. We formed a tolerably numerous party. As my father was unable to go, Mr Reynell was the only grown-up person among us. The spot I had fixed upon was not far from Roger Riddle's cottage. As I had been thinking of him, I proposed asking the old sailor and Mark to join our party. From the account I gave to Mr Reynell of Roger Riddle, he did not object to this. As Harry Reynell, his brother, and friends were good-natured merry fellows, we had a pleasant time as we walked or ran along, laughing and singing, and playing each other tricks. We soon left Mr Reynell behind, but he told us not to mind him, as he should soon catch us up. The carriage followed with the prog, but as the road was in many places heavy, it did not move as fast as we did. We at length reached the spot I had proposed, a small sandy bay, with cliffs on either side, out of which bubbled a stream of sparkling cold water, with rocks running out into the sea. "This will do capitally," said Harry. "See, the whole beach is covered with beautiful shells, and there may be sea anemones and echini, and star-fish, and all sorts of marine creatures." Having surveyed the place, we heard Mr Reynell shouting out to us to carry down the baskets of pies, tarts, cold ham, and chicken, plates, knives and forks. While the rest of the party were so engaged, I ran on to invite old Roger. I found him and Mark within. "Much obliged to the young gentlemen, but I've had my dinner," he answered; "however, I'll come and have a talk with them, if you think they'll like it. May be, I'll spin them a yarn or two, which will do to pass the time while they are sniffing in the breezes, which they don't get much of while they are away up the country." "You'll come as soon as you can," I answered, "for they will be disappointed if you don't take a tart or two and a glass of wine." "Never fear, I'll come before long," said old Roger. Mark, however, looked as if he would have no objection to taste some of the good things in our hampers, so he very readily agreed to accompany me. We found the cloth spread out on the smooth dry sand, and covered with pies and other dainties, and the plates and the knives and forks. Mr Reynell was engaged in making a huge salad in a wooden bowl. I introduced Mark in due form. "Come and sit down," said Harry to him in a kind way which soon made him feel quite at home. I don't know whether he had much of a dinner before, but he did ample justice to the good things which our friends had brought. We had nearly finished before old Roger made his appearance. "Your servant, gentlemen all," he said, making a bow with his tarpaulin; "Master Dick here has asked me to come, saying it was what you wished, or I would not have intruded on you." "Very pleased to see you, Mr Riddle," said Harry, who did the honours of the feast, "sit down, and have some of this cherry pie, you will find it very nice, and, for a wonder, the juice hasn't run out." Harry chose the largest plate, and filled it with fully a third of the pie. "Thank you, young gentleman; I may take a snack of that sort of thing;" and the old sailor set to work, his share of the pie rapidly disappearing, as he ladled up the cherries with his spoon. "Take a glass of cider now, Mr Riddle," said Harry, handing him a large tumbler, which the old sailor tossed off, and had no objection to two or three more. Meantime the tide had been rising, and no sooner was dinner over, than we had to pack up and beat a rapid retreat. We soon washed the plates and dishes in the water as it rose, and Ned packed them up. The expectations of those of our party who hoped to pick up shells, and collect sea curiosities were thus disappointed. "Never mind, lads," said old Roger; "Master Dick here tells me that you would like to hear a yarn or two; the grass here, as much as there is of it, is dry enough," and Mr Riddle seated himself on the bank, while we all gathered round him. Mr Reynell placed himself at a little distance, although within earshot, when he took out his sketchbook to make a drawing of the scene. "None of you young gentlemen have ever been to sea, I suppose?" continued the old sailor. "I dare say you fancy it all sunshine and smooth sailing, and think you'd like to go and be sailors, and walk the deck in snowy-white trousers and kid gloves. I have known some who have taken that notion into their heads, and have been not a little disappointed when they got afloat, to find that they had to dip their fists into the tar-bucket, to black down the rigging, and swab up the decks, though some of them made not bad sailors after all. If any of you young gentlemen think of leading a seafaring life, you must be prepared for ups and downs of all sorts, heavy gales, and rough seas, shipwrecks and disasters. You'll be asking how I came to go to sea, perhaps you may think I ran off, as some silly lads have done, but I didn't do that. If I had run, it would have been ashore, seeing as how I was born at sea. It happened in this wise:--My father, Bob Riddle, was bo'sun's mate of the old `Goliath,' of eighty guns, and as in those days two or three women were allowed on board line-of-battle ships to attend to the sick, and to wash and mend clothes, provided the captains did not object; so my mother, Nancy Riddle, who loved her husband in a way which made her ready to go through fire and water for his sake, got leave to accompany him to sea. She made herself wonderfully useful on board, and won the hearts of all the men and officers too, who held her in great respect, while the midshipmen just simply adored her; indeed, I've heard say that she saved the lives of several who were sick of fever by the careful way in which she nursed them. She had had no children, and I've a notion that if she had known what was going to happen, like a wise woman she would have remained on shore, but as the ship was in the East India station, and she wanted her boy to be British born, for she guessed she was going to have a boy, she had no help for it but to remain on board and take her chance. The `Goliath' had just been in action, and beaten off two of the enemy's ships which wanted to take her but couldn't, when she was caught in a regular hurricane, and had to run before it under bare poles. During that time I came into this world of troubles. I can't say that I remember anything about it, but I've been in many a typhoon and hurricane since then, with the big foaming seas roaring, the wind whistling and howling in the rigging, the blocks rattling, the bulkheads creaking and groaning, and the ship rolling and pitching and tumbling about in a way which made it seem wonderful that wood and iron could hold together. It wasn't exactly under such circumstances that the wife even of a boatswain's mate would have chosen to bring a puling infant into the world. The doctor thought that mother would have died, and, as there was no cow on board, that I should have shared her fate, but she got through it and nursed me, and I throve amazingly, so that in six months I was as big as most children of a year or more old. Before the ship was ordered home, I could chew bacon and beef, and toddle about the decks. Of course I was made much of by officers and crew. Mother rigged me out in a regular cut seaman's dress. The midshipmen taught me the cutlass exercise, and to ride a goat the captain bought as much for my use as his own. For'ard my education was equally well attended to, and I don't remember when I couldn't dance a hornpipe--double shuffle and all--or sing a dozen sea songs, some of them sounding rather strange, I've a notion, coming from juvenile lips. All went on smoothly till the ship was paid off, and my early friends were scattered to the four winds of heaven. My father, who felt like a fish out of water when ashore, soon obtained another berth, with the same rating on board the `Victorious,' seventy-four, but he had great difficulty in getting leave for my mother to accompany him, and if another woman who was to have gone hadn't fallen ill just in the nick of time, he would have had to sail without her. I was smuggled on board instead of a monkey shipped by the crew, which fell overboard and was drowned. It was some weeks before the captain found out that I wasn't the monkey he had given the men leave to take. When the first lieutenant at length reported to him that I was a human being without a tail, he was very angry, and father was likely to have got into trouble. Still as he had done nothing against the articles of war, which don't make mention of taking babies to sea, he couldn't be flogged with his own cat. The captain then swore that he would put mother and me ashore at the first port we touched at; but the men, among whom I had many friends, begged hard that we might be allowed to remain, and when he saw me scuttling about the rigging in a hairy coat and a long tail, laughing heartily, he relented, and as he got a hint that the men would become very discontented if he carried his threat into execution, father was told that he would say nothing more about the matter. Soon afterwards the captain fell ill, and mother nursed him in a way no man could have done, so that he had reason to be thankful that he had allowed mother and me to remain on board. The `Victorious' became one of the best disciplined and happiest ships in the service, all because she had a real live plaything on board. She fought several bloody actions. During one of them, when we were tackling a French eighty-gun ship, I got away from mother, who was with the other women in the cockpit attending to the wounded, and slipped up on deck, where before long I found father. `Here I am,' I said, `come to see the fun. When are you going to finish off the mounseers?' The round shot were flying quickly across the decks, and bullets were rattling on board like hail, for though the French were getting the worst of it, they were, as they always do, dying game. `Get below, boy, get below!' shouted father, `what business have you here?' As I didn't go, he seized me by the arm, and dragged me to the hatchway, in spite of my struggles and cries. `I want to see the fight. I want to see the mounseers licked,' I cried out. `Let me go, father; let me go!' Just then there was a shout from the upper deck, `The enemy has struck--the enemy has struck!' Father let me go, and up I ran and cheered, and waved my hat among the men with as hearty good will as any of them. When I saw the men shaking hands with each other, I ran about, and, putting out my tiny fist, shook their hands also, exclaiming, `We've licked the mounseers, haven't we? I knew we would. Hoora! Hoora!' This amused the men greatly, and they called me a plucky little chap, though I certainly could not boast of having contributed to gain the victory, as I was considerably too young to act the part even of a powder-monkey. We had lost a good many officers and men, some of whom I saw stretched on the deck, and wondered what had come over them, as they did not move or speak. As long as the `Victorious' remained in commission, I continued with my father and mother aboard her; but when she was paid off, an order came out, prohibiting women from going to sea on board men-of-war, and mother, greatly to her grief, had to live on shore. It was now a question whether I should accompany my father or stay with my mother and get some book-learning, of which I was as yet utterly ignorant, as I did not even know my letters. I was scarcely old enough to be rated as a ship's boy, though father would have liked to take me with him, but mother said she could not lose us both, and, fortunately for me, father consented to leave me with her. As the `Victorious' was paid off at Plymouth, mother remained there, and father soon afterwards got his warrant as boatswain to the `Emerald' sloop-of-war, ordered out on the West India station. This was the first time I had been on shore, except for a few days when the `Goliath' was paid off, during the whole of my life, and I did not find it very easy to get accustomed to the ways of shore-going people. At first I did not at all like them. There was no order or regularity, and I missed more than anything the sound of the bell striking the hours and half-hours day and night. However, I got accustomed to things by degrees. I was sent to school, where I gained a good character for regularity and obedience, just because I had been trained to it, do ye see. I couldn't bear not to be there at the exact time, and I never thought of disobeying the orders of these under whose authority I was placed. I also was diligent, and thus made good progress in my studies. I might have become a scholar had I remained at school, but after I had been there about two years, when I got home one day I found mother leaning back in her chair, in a fit, it seemed to me, and the parson of the parish, who had a letter in his hand, trying to rouse her up. As soon as I came in, he bade me run for the doctor, who lived not far off. He came at once with a woman, a neighbour of ours, and while they were attending to mother, the parson, sitting down, placed me between his knees, and looking kindly in my face, said that he had some bad news to tell me, which he had got in a letter from the West Indies. It was that my brave father was dead, carried off by the yellow fever which has killed so many fine fellows on that station. My mother was a strong and hearty woman, and any one would have supposed that it would have taken a great deal to kill her; but, notwithstanding her robust appearance, she had gentle and tender feelings, and though for my sake she wished to live, within a year she died of a broken heart for the loss of my father and I was left an orphan." CHAPTER FOUR. Roger Riddle continues his story--Goes to sea as a man-o'-war's-man-- His voyages--The Mediterranean--Toulon--Chasing the enemy--Caught in a trap--A hard fight for it--Escape of the frigate--Corsica--Martello Bay--The tower and its gallant defenders--Its capture--Origin of its name--San Fiorenzo--Convention redoubt--What British tars can do-- Capture of the "Minerve"--The taking of Bastia--Nelson loses an eye--"Jackass" frigates--Toulon again--More fighting--The advantage of being small--Prepare to repel boarders--The colours nailed to the mast--The chase--Never despise your enemy--Teneriffe--Attack on Santa Cruz--Nelson loses his arm--Abandonment of the enterprise--What people call glory--The Hellespont--The captain steers his own ship--The island of Cerigotto--Breakers ahead--The ship strikes--The value of discipline--Their condition on the rock--The ship goes to pieces-- Their chances of escape--The gale--A brave captain--A false hope--The effects of drinking sea-water--Water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink--Reduced to extremities--They lose their brave captain and first lieutenant--They construct a raft--Cowardice of the Greek fishermen--The rescue of the survivors--Fresh adventures--The Dardanelles--Fire!--An awful spectacle--Destruction of the ship-- Reason to be thankful--A father's love--How they took a Spanish sloop-o'-war--The ruse and how it succeeded--Between two fires--Good and bad captains--Roger quits the navy--Becomes mate of a merchantman and retires on his laurels--His marriage and settlement--Our picnic breaks up. "Mother had a good many friends, old shipmates of hers and father's, but most of them having families of their own were not able to do much for me. I was now, however, big enough to go to sea, and of course there was no question but that I should be a sailor. England had been at peace for some time, but she and France were once more at loggerheads, and ships were fitting out with all despatch at every port in the kingdom. There was no difficulty therefore in finding a ship for me, and an old messmate of father's, Andrew Barton, having volunteered on board the `Juno' frigate, of thirty-two guns, took me with him. He was rated as captain of the maintop and I as ship's boy, having to do duty as powder-monkey. I quickly found myself at home, and those who didn't know that I had been to sea before, wondered how well I knew my way everywhere about the decks and aloft. I soon took the lead among the other boys, many of them much bigger and older than myself. `Why, one would suppose that you had been born at sea,' said Tom Noakes, a big hulking fellow, who never could tell which was the stem, and which the stern. `And so I was,' I answered. I then told him how many storms and battles I had been in, and all that I remembered about my early life. This made my messmates treat me with wonderful respect, and they never thought of playing me the tricks they did each other. "Our frigate was bound out to the Mediterranean to join the fleet under Lord Hood. She was, I should have said, commanded by Captain Samuel Hood, a relation of the Admiral's. We knew that we should have plenty of work to do. When we sailed, it was understood that an English force had possession of Toulon, which was besieged by the republicans, who had collected a large army round the city, but it was supposed that they would be kept at bay by the English and royalists. We had been cruising off Toulon, when we were despatched to Malta to bring up supernumeraries for the fleet. We were detained, however, at the island for a considerable time, by foul winds. At length we sailed, and steered direct for Toulon. We arrived abreast of the harbour one evening, some time after dark. The captain, anxious to get in, as we had no pilot on board, nor any one acquainted with the dangers of the place, stood on, hoping by some means or other, to find his way. The officers with their night-glasses were on the look-out for our ships, but they were nowhere to be seen. Our captain, however, concluded that as a strong easterly wind had been blowing, they had run for shelter into the inner harbour. We accordingly shortened sail, and stood on, under our topsails. As at last several ships could be distinguished, it was supposed that we were close up to the British fleet. We soon afterwards made out a brig, and in order to weather her, the driver and topsail were set. As we were tacking under the brig's stern, some one on board her hailed, but not being able to make out what was said, Captain Hood shouted, `This is His Britannic Majesty's frigate "Juno."' `Viva,' cried the voice from the brig, and after this we heard the people on board her jabbering away among themselves. At last one of them shouted out, `Luff, luff.' The captain on this, ordered the helm to be put down, but before the frigate came head to wind, she grounded. The breeze, however, was light, and the water perfectly smooth, and the sails were clewed up and handed. While this was being done, we saw a boat pull away from the brig, towards the town. Before the men aloft had left the yards, a sudden flaw of wind drove the ship's head off the bank, when her anchor was let go, and she swung head to wind. Her heel, however, was still on the shoal, and the rudder immovable. To get her off, the launch was hoisted out, and the kedge anchor with a hawser, was put into her. While we were engaged in hauling the frigate off the shoal, a boat appeared coming down the harbour, and being hailed some one in her answered `Ay, ay.' She quickly came alongside, and the crew, among whom were two persons apparently officers, hurried on deck; one of the latter addressed our captain, and said he came to inform him that according to the regulations of the port, the frigate must go to the other part of the harbour, and perform ten days' quarantine. The Frenchmen, who were supposed to be royalists, were jabbering away together, when one of our midshipmen, a sharp young fellow, cried out, `The chaps have national cockades in their hats.' The moon which shone out brightly just then, threw a gleam of light on the Frenchmen's hats, and the three colours were distinctly seen. They finding that they were discovered, coolly said in French, so I afterwards heard, `Make yourselves easy, the English are good people, we will treat you kindly. The English fleet sailed away some time ago.' "`We are prisoners, caught like rats in a trap!' cried the men from all parts of the ship. The entrance to the harbour is guarded by heavy forts on either side, between which we had run some distance, and their guns pointed down on our decks might sink us before we could get outside again. The officers, on hearing the report, hurried aft, scarcely able to believe that it was true. They found, however, on seeing the Frenchmen, that there was no doubt about the matter. Just then a flaw of wind came down the harbour, when our third lieutenant, Mr Webbley, hurrying up to the captain, said, `I believe, sir, if we can get her under sail, we shall be able to fetch out.' `We will try it at all events!' cried the captain; `send the men to their stations, and hand those French gentlemen below.' The mounseers, on finding that they were not yet masters of the ship, began to bluster and draw their sabres, but the marines quickly made them sound another note, and in spite of their `_Sacres_!' they were hurried off the deck under a guard. The men flew aloft, and in three minutes every sail was set, and the yards braced up for casting. The frigate was by this time completely afloat, the cable was cut; her head paid off, the sails filled, and away she stood from the shore. The wind freshening, she quickly gathered way. The launch and the French boat were cut adrift, and we had every hope of escape. Directly we began to loose sails, we saw lights appear in the batteries, and observed a stir aboard the brig. She soon afterwards opened fire on us, as did the fort on the starboard bow, and in a short time every fort which could bring a gun to bear on us, began to blaze away. We were now, however, going rapidly through the water, but there was a chance of our losing a topmast, as the shot came whistling through our sails, between our rigging. The wind shifting, made it seem impossible that we could get out without making a tack, but our captain was not a man to despair, and I am pretty sure that there was no one on board who would have given in, as long as the frigate was afloat. Fortunately the wind again shifted and blew in our favour. Blocks and ropes came falling from aloft, we could see the holes made in the canvas, by the shot passing through them. Several of the masts and spars were badly wounded, and two thirty-six pound shot came plump aboard, but no one was hurt. As soon as the hands came from aloft, they were ordered to their quarters, and we began firing away in return at the forts, as well as at the impudent little brig, which we at length silenced. As may be supposed, we gave a right hearty cheer when we saw the shot the Frenchmen were firing at us fall far astern, and we found that we were well clear of the harbour. We made sail for Corsica, where we found a squadron under Commodore Linzee, engaged in attempting to drive the French from that island. The first expedition in which we took part was to Martello Bay. It was guarded by a strong round tower, to which the same name had been given. The troops to the number of fourteen hundred, were landed the same evening, and while they took possession of a height, which overlooked the tower, we, and the `Fortitude' frigate were ordered to attack it from the sea. The `Fortitude' got the worst of it, for the French turned their fire chiefly on her, while for three hours we kept blazing away, without producing any visible effect. Some guns had been got up by the troops to the height, and by the use of hot shot they managed to set on fire some bass junk which lined the parapet. At last the gallant little garrison had to give in, when it was found, that they numbered only thirty-three men, and had but one six and two sixteen pounders; yet so well did they work their guns, and so strong was the tower, that they had held it for nearly two days against a large body of troops and our two frigates. During the time the `Fortitude' had lost six killed, and fifty-six wounded. Three of her lower-deck guns had been dismounted, and she had been set on fire by the red-hot shot discharged at her, besides other damages. The tower, I believe, took its name from the myrtles growing on the shores of the bay. In consequence of the way this little tower had held out, the government had a number of similar towers built on the English coast, which were called after the original, `Martello' towers. We next attacked a fortification called the Convention redoubt, which was considered the key to the town of San Fiorenzo. The redoubt was commanded by a rocky hill, rising to the height of seven hundred feet above the level of the sea. As it was nearly perpendicular at its summit, it was considered inaccessible, but British sailors had to show the Frenchmen that where goats could find a foothold they could climb. "Looking up at the hill, it certainly did appear as if no human being could reach the summit. Not only, however, did our men get up there, but they carried several eighteen-pounders with them. On the right there was a descent of many hundred feet, down which a false step would have sent them headlong, and on the left were beetling rocks, while along the path they had to creep, only one man could pass at a time. The pointed rocks, however, served to make fast the tackle by which the guns were hoisted. To the astonishment of the Frenchmen, the eighteen-pounders at length began firing down upon their redoubt, which was then stormed by the troops, and quickly carried. Part of the garrison were made prisoners, but a good number managed to scamper off on the opposite side. We, however, took possession of a fine thirty-eight-gun frigate, called the `Minerve,' which the Frenchmen had sunk, but which we soon raised and carried off with us. She was then added to the British navy, and called the `San Fiorenzo,' and was the ship on board which King George the Third used often to sail when he was living down at Weymouth. She also fought one or more actions when commanded by Sir Harry Neale, one of the best officers in the service. However, young gentlemen, these things took place so long ago that I don't suppose you will care much to hear about them." "Oh, yes, we do. Please go on!" cried out several voices from among us. "It is very interesting, we could sit here all day and listen to you." "If that is the case, I'll go ahead to please you," said old Riddle. "In those days we didn't let grass grow on our ship's bottoms. Soon after we left San Fiorenzo we took Bastia, the seamen employed on shore being commanded by Captain Nelson, of the `Agamemnon.' After we had besieged it for thirty-seven days the garrison capitulated, we having lost a good many officers and seamen killed and wounded. "We next attacked Calvi, which we took with the loss of the gallant Captain Serocold and several seamen killed, and Captain Nelson and six seamen wounded. It was here Captain Nelson had his right eye put out. I saw a good deal of service while on board the `Juno.' Whilst still on the station I was transferred with Andrew Barton and others, to the `Dido,' twenty-eight-gun frigate, commanded by Captain Towry. These small craft used to be called `Jackass' frigates, but the `Dido' showed that she was not a `Jackass' at all events. Soon after I joined her she and the `Lowestoff,' thirty-two-gun frigate, were despatched by Admiral Hotham to reconnoitre the harbour of Toulon. We were on our way, when, one evening, we discovered standing towards us two large French frigates. We made the private signal, when, supposing that we were the leading frigates of the fleet, they both wore and stood away. We chased them all night, but in the morning, when they discovered that there were only two frigates, and both much smaller than themselves, they tacked and stood towards us. One of the Frenchmen was the `Minerve,' of forty guns, and the other the `Artemise,' of thirty-six guns. When the `Minerve' was about a mile away from us, on the weather bow, and ahead of her consort, she wore, and then hauling up on the larboard tack, to windward, commenced firing at us. I was still, you will understand, only a powder-monkey. My business was to bring the powder up from the magazine in a tub, upon which I had to sit till it was wanted to load the guns. Still, I could see a good deal that was going forward through the ports; besides which I heard from the men what was taking place. My old messmate, Tom Noakes, had joined the `Dido.' He was now seated on his tub next to me--the biggest powder-monkey I ever knew. Poor Tom was not at all happy. He said that we smaller fellows had only half the chance of being killed that he had, as a shot might pass over our heads which would take his off. I tried to console him by reminding him that there were a good many parts of the ship where no shots were likely to pass, and that he had less chance of being hit than the men who had to stand up to their guns all the time. We stood on till the `Minerve' was on our weather beam, when we could see her squaring away her yards, and presently the breeze freshening, she bore down upon our little frigate with the evident intention of sinking us. So she might have done with the greatest ease, but having fired our broadside just as her flying jibboom was touching our mainyard, we bore up, and her bow struck our larboard quarter. So great was the shock, that for the moment many thought we were going down, but instead of that our frigate was thrown athwart the `Minerve's' hawse, her bowsprit becoming entangled in our mizen rigging. The Frenchmen immediately swarmed along their bowsprit, intending to board us. Our first lieutenant then shouted for `boarders to repel boarders,' but as the French crew doubled ours, we should have found it a hard matter to do that. Fortunately the Frenchman's bowsprit broke right off, carrying away our mizen-mast, and with it the greater number of our assailants, who failed to regain their own ship. With our mizen-mast of course went our colours, but that the Frenchmen might not suppose that we had given in, Harry Barling, one of our quarter-masters, getting hold of a Union Jack, nailed it to the stump of the mizen-mast. All this time, you must understand, we had been blazing away at each other as fast as we could bring our guns to bear. The `Minerve' at last ranged ahead clear of us, but we continued firing, till the `Lowestoff,' seeing how hard pressed we were, came up to our assistance, and tackled the Frenchman. In a few minutes, so actively did she work her guns, that she had knocked away the enemy's foremast and remaining topmast. As the `Minerve' could not now possibly escape, we threw out a signal to the `Lowestoff' to chase the `Artemise,' which instead of coming to the assistance of her consort was making off. She however had the heels of us, and we therefore, returning again, attacked the `Minerve,' which, on her mizen-mast being shot away, hauled down her colours. We had our boatswain and five seamen killed, two officers and thirteen men wounded. The `Lowestoff' had no one hurt, and so, although she certainly contributed to the capture of the prize, we gained the chief credit for the action, which, considering the difference in size between our frigate and the Frenchman, we certainly deserved. But in those days we didn't count odds. We thought that we had only to see the enemy to thrash him. Even our best captains, however, sometimes made a mistake. "I afterwards belonged to the `Terpsichore' frigate, Captain Richard Bowen, which formed one of a squadron under Lord Nelson, who was then Sir Horatio, to attack Santa Cruz, in the Island of Teneriffe. The squadron consisted of three seventy-fours and one fifty-gun ship--which afterwards joined us--three frigates, and the `Fox' cutter. It was some time before we could get up to the place. At last we managed to embark nearly seven hundred seamen and Marines in the boats of the squadron, nearly two hundred on board the `Fox' and others, including a detachment of Royal Artillery, in some captured boats. Sir Horatio himself took the command. Shoving off from the ship some time after midnight, we pulled in for the town. The plan was to make a dash for the mole, and then to fight our way forward along it, we fully believing that the enemy would run as soon as we appeared. When the leading boats, under the command of Captains Freemantle and Bowen, had got within half gunshot of the mole head, the enemy took the alarm, and immediately opened fire on us from forty heavy guns. A hot fire it was, I assure you. The `Fox' cutter, crowded with men, was sunk by the heavy shot which struck her, and nearly a hundred of those on board perished. I was in the `Terpsichore's' barge with my brave captain, when, just before she reached the mole, a shot struck her, and down she went, drowning seven of my shipmates; but the captain, with the rest of us, managed to get on shore. In spite of the hot fire with which we were met from the mole head, we succeeded in effecting a landing, and drove the enemy before us. Having spiked the guns which had done us so much mischief, we advanced along the mole, led by Captain Bowen, and our first lieutenant, Mr Thorpe. Here we encountered a tremendous fire of musketry from the Citadel and houses, so that the greater number of our party were either killed or wounded. Our brave leader, Captain Bowen, was among the first who fell, and soon afterwards Lieutenant Thorpe was killed. Nearly all the rest of the officers were killed or wounded. It being found at last that there was no chance of success, we were ordered to fall back. "We had neither seen nor heard anything of Sir Horatio who would have been certain, had not something happened to him, to have been ahead. We now learned that just as he was landing and about to draw his sword, he had been struck by a shot on the elbow, and that he had been carried on board his ship by the few men who remained in the boat, the rest having landed. One of them, John Lovell, who I knew well, as soon as he saw the Admiral wounded, took the shirt from his own back, and tore it into strips, to bandage up his shattered arm. In the meanwhile we were waiting for the arrival of Captains Trowbridge and Waller with another squadron of boats. They however missed the mole head, but though some landed to the southward of it, in consequence of the heavy surf breaking on the shore, others put back. Captain Trowbridge, not finding the Admiral and the other officers he expected to meet there, sent a sergeant to summon the Citadel to surrender. The poor fellow did not return, having probably been shot. The scaling-ladders had also been lost in the surf. When morning broke we altogether mustered only 340 men. Every street in the place was defended by artillery, and we heard that a large force of 8000 men was advancing. The enterprise had therefore to be abandoned. Captain Trowbridge proposed to the Governor that we should re-embark with our arms, and he engaged that the squadron should not further molest any of the places in the Canary Islands. These terms were agreed to. We obtained also permission to purchase such provisions as we required. The affair was a disastrous one. We gained nothing, for besides 150 men killed or drowned, among whom were several brave officers, we had upwards of 100 wounded, and the Admiral lost his right arm. "People call this sort of thing `Glory,' but for my part I could not make out what advantage we expected to gain, or what business we had to go there at all." "I say, Mr Riddle, were you ever shipwrecked?" sang out one of the old sailor's auditors, who was getting rather tired of the long yarn about his battles with which he had been indulging us. "Bless you, young gentlemen, that I have, well-nigh a score of times I might say. Some time after this I belonged to the `Nautilus' sloop of war, commanded by Captain Farmer. We belonged to the squadron of Admiral Lewis, then cruising in the Hellespont, when we were ordered to England with despatches of the utmost importance. We had a fresh breeze from the north-east as we threaded our way through the numerous islands of that sea. When at length we got off the island of Anti Milo, the Greek pilot we had with us declared he knew nothing of the coast to the westward. As, however, our captain was anxious to make a quick passage for the sake of the despatches, he determined to try and pilot her himself. Though the weather looked threatening, we sailed at sunset from Anti Milo, and shaped a course for Cerigotto. As the night grew on the wind increased to a heavy gale, torrents of rain fell, the thunder roared and rattled, the flashes of lightning were as vivid as I ever saw in my life. Sometimes it was almost brighter than day, then pitchy dark. The captain had just given orders to close reef the topsails, intending to bring the ship to till daylight, when a bright flash of lightning showed us the Island of Cerigotto right ahead, about the distance of a mile or so. Now, knowing his position, the captain resolved to run on, believing all danger past. The watch below was ordered to turn in. Those who remained on deck stowed themselves away under shelter of the hammock nettings. "We of course kept a bright look-out, though it was not supposed that we had anything to fear. Except the officer of the watch, the rest had gone below--the captain and master probably to examine the chart--when the look-out on the forecastle shouted out `Breakers ahead!' `Put the helm a lee!' cried the officer of the watch. Almost before the order could be obeyed we felt a shock which lifted us off our feet, and sent those below out of their hammocks. We knew too well that the ship was ashore. In one instant the sea struck the ship, now lifting her up and then dashing her down upon the rocks with tremendous force. It seemed like a fearful dream. Almost in a moment the main-deck was burst in, and soon afterwards the lee bulwarks were carried away. The captain and officers did their best to maintain discipline. The first thing to be done was to lower the boats, but before they could be got into the water they were all either stove or washed away, and knocked to pieces on the rocks. Only a whale-boat of no great use was launched by the boatswain and nine other hands. As soon as they got clear of the rocks they lay on their oars, but it would have been madness in them to come back, as the boat already contained as many people as she could carry with safety. The captain accordingly ordered her to pull towards the Island of Pauri, in the hope that assistance might there be obtained for us. The ship continued to strike heavily. Every instant I expected that she would go to pieces, when one and all of us would have been lost. About twenty minutes after she struck the mainmast fell over the side towards a rock, which we could distinguish rising above the water, followed by the foremast and mizen-mast. Hoping that the rock would afford us more security than the ship herself, I, with others, made my way towards it, though at no little risk of being carried off by the seas. On reaching it we shouted to the rest to come on, as at any moment the ship might go to pieces. The whole crew followed our example. Many parts of the rock itself were scarcely above water. It seemed, as far as we could judge, to be about 400 yards long, and half as many wide. Here all hands collected, for as yet none had been washed away or lost, but many of the people had no clothing on, or only just their shirts, in which they had turned out of their hammocks. We had not a scrap of food, and we knew that it might be some hours before the whale-boat could bring us assistance. Scarcely had we reached the rock when we knew by the crashing, rending sounds, and the loud thundering noise, as the planks and timbers were dashed against it, that our stout little ship had gone to pieces. When day dawned we saw the foaming sea covered on all sides with fragments of the wreck, while several of our shipmates were discovered clinging to spars and planks, they having returned to the ship in the hopes of obtaining either food or clothing. It was known to the captain and officers that we were about twelve miles from the nearest island. There was but little chance of the boat getting back to us during the day. We secured a flag which had been washed up. This we hoisted to the end of a spar, and fixed it in the highest part of the rock. The day was bitterly cold, many of the men were almost perished for want of clothing. The officers made inquiries if any man had a flint. At last one was found. At the same time a small keg of powder which had been floating about was thrown up. The powder, though damp, served instead of tinder. We were able to get a fire alight. It gave us some occupation to collect fuel, though at the risk of being carried away by the seas, as they rolled up on the rock. We got also a quantity of canvas, and with this, and the help of some planks, we put up a tent, which afforded us some shelter. Though we had no food to cook, the fire warmed us, and enabled us to dry our clothes. We kept it burning all night in the hope that it would serve as a beacon. Another night passed away. In the morning we saw to our joy a boat pulling towards us. She was our own whale-boat, with the boatswain and four hands; but they brought no food nor water, as they found neither one nor the other on the Island of Pauri. The boatswain tried to persuade our captain to leave the rock, but he refused to desert us; so he ordered the boatswain to take ten men and make the best of his way to Cerigotto, and to return as soon as possible with assistance. "We had been badly enough off before. Matters now grew worse, the wind again increasing to a heavy gale, which sent the seas washing nearly over the rock. We should have all of us been carried away, if we had not secured ropes round a point which rose higher than the rest. I don't like, even now, to think of that night. The cries and groans of my poor shipmates still ring in my ears. Now one man sank down, now another. The cold was terrible, even to those who, having been on watch, were well clothed. In the morning, several of our number were missing, and others lay dead on the rock. We were looking out for the whale-boat, when a sail was seen standing directly down for us. In our eagerness to get off, we began to form rafts of the spars and planks we had collected. As the ship approached, she hove-to and lowered a boat, which came towards us till almost within pistol-shot, when her crew rested on their oars, and looked at us earnestly. Who they were we could not tell. The man at the helm waved his hat, and then, seeming suspicious of our character, steered back to the ship. In vain we waved and shouted, the fellows paid no attention to us. To our bitter disappointment, we saw the boat hoisted up, when the ship again made sail. We were now in despair. I'd before felt somewhat hungry and thirsty, but till now never knew what real thirst was. Some of the men drank salt water, but that only made them worse. "Another day came to an end. Fortunately the weather had moderated, and we tried to keep ourselves warm by huddling close together. Death was now making rapid progress amongst us. Those who had drunk salt water went raving mad, and threw themselves into the sea; others died of exhaustion, among them our captain, and first lieutenant. I never expected to see another day, when, the voice of the boatswain hailed us. The cry was at once raised for `water! Water!' but to our bitter disappointment, he told us he had brought none, as he could only get some earthen jars, in which it was impossible to bring it through the surf. He said, however, that a large vessel would arrive the next morning, with provisions and water. The thought of this kept up our spirits. When daylight returned, we eagerly looked out for the expected vessel, but she didn't appear, and all that day we had to wait in vain. More of our people died. It seemed a wonder that any of us should have survived, suffering so terribly from hunger and thirst as we were. Some attempted to satisfy their hunger in a way too horrible to describe. All day long we were on the look-out, expecting the boats to appear which the boatswain said would come, but hour after hour passed. I can tell you they were the most dreadful hours I ever remember. To remain longer on the rock seemed impossible. It was agreed therefore next day to build a raft on which we might reach some shore or other. It would be better, we thought, to die afloat than on that horrible spot. As soon as daylight broke we set to work, lashing together all the larger spars we could find, but our strength was not equal to the task. Still we contrived to make a raft. At length we launched it, but scarcely was it in the water, when the sea knocked it to pieces. Many of our poor fellows rushed in to try and secure the spars, and several of them were swept away by the current. Unable to render help, we saw them perish before our eyes. In the afternoon the whale-boat again came to us, but the boatswain told us that he had been unable to get the Greek fishermen to put to sea while the gale continued. He brought us neither food nor water, though many of us thought he might have managed to bring off some of the goats and sheep from the island. Even if we had eaten them raw, they would have assisted to keep body and soul together. I had hitherto kept up, but at last I lay down, unable to move hands or feet, or to raise my head from the rock. During the night many more of my unhappy shipmates died. I was lying on the rock, just conscious enough to know that the day had returned, when, I heard some one sing out, `The boats are coming! The boats are coming!' I raised my head and tried to get up on my knees. Looking out, I saw four fishing vessels with the whale-boat pulling towards us. I can't tell you the joy we felt. Many of us who had before been unable to move, sat up, some few even were able to stand on their feet, while we made an attempt to cheer, as the boats drew near. They brought us water and food. Our second lieutenant, now commanding officer, would allow only a small portion to be given to each man at a time, and thus saved us from much suffering. When our strength was a little restored, we were carried on board the boats, which at once made sail for Cerigotto, where we were landed in the evening. Of our complement of one hundred and twenty-two people, only sixty-four remained. When I think of all we went through, it seems surprising that any of us should have lived to reach the shore. We were treated in the kindest way by the people of the island. After staying with them for eleven days, at the end of which time most of us had somewhat recovered our strength, we proceeded to Cerigo, and thence sailed for Malta. There have, I'll allow, been more terrible shipwrecks. Few people, however, have suffered as much as we did during the six days we were on the rock, without food or water. As soon as I was recovered, I was drafted on board the `Ajax,' seventy-four, commanded by Captain Sir Henry Blackwood. We lay off the mouth of the Dardanelles, forming one of the squadron of Vice-Admiral Sir John Duckworth. I'm fond of old England, as I hope all of you young gentlemen are, but I must own that the spot where we lay is a very beautiful one. "It had just gone four bells in the first watch, and all hands except those on duty were asleep, when we were roused up by the cry of fire! Directly afterwards the drum beat to quarters, and the guns were fired, as signals of distress. A boat was also sent off with one of the lieutenants and a midshipman, to summon assistance from the other ships. We all stood ready to obey the orders we might receive. The captain and one of the officers at once went down to the cockpit, from which clouds of smoke were bursting out. They quickly had to beat a retreat. We then, forming a line, passed the buckets along full of water, to pour down upon the seat of the fire, as far as it could be discovered. So dense was the smoke, that several of the men who were closest and whose duty it was to heave the water, were nearly suffocated. It was soon evident that the flames had the mastery of the ship. The carpenter endeavoured to scuttle the after part, but had to abandon the attempt. In less than fifteen minutes after the alarm had been given, the flames raged with such fury, that it was impossible to hoist out the boats. "The jolly-boat alone had been lowered by the captain's orders, directly he came on deck. The fire was now bursting up through the main hatchway, dividing the fore from the after part of the ship. The captain accordingly ordered all hands forward. There we were nearly six hundred human beings huddled together on the forecastle, bowsprit, and sprit-sail yard, while the after part, from the mainmast to the taffrail, was one mass of fire. Smoke in thick columns was now rising from all parts of the ship, while the flames crackled and hissed, then they caught some of the poor fellows who had taken refuge in the tops. Some kept silent, but others shrieked aloud for mercy. Above the roar of the flames, and the cries of the men, the sound of the guns could be heard when they went off as the fire reached them. Captain Blackwood retained his composure and cheered us up by reminding us, that the boats of the squadron would soon arrive. They came at last. It was no easy matter to get on board. Many of the men jumped into the sea, in their eagerness to reach them. Others stood, shouting and shrieking to them to come nearer. I, at last seeing a boat which had not as yet taken many men aboard her, and thinking it was time to save myself, leapt overboard, and was soon picked up. Many who had imitated my example were of necessity left swimming or floating, and would have perished had not other boats arrived and saved them. The ship's cable had some time before this been burnt through. All this while she was drifting towards the island of Tenedos--now her stern, now her broadside alternately presented to the wind. One of the men in the boat had been hurt. I took his oar. I found that the boat I was aboard of belonged to the `Saint George,' and was under the command of Lieutenant Willoughby. As soon as we fell in with another boat, we put the rest of the people on board her, and rowed back again, to try and save some more. This we succeeded in doing. The third time we returned to our burning ship. Just then she rounded-to, and we saw several men hanging by ropes under her head. The brave Lieutenant resolved to rescue these poor fellows before she again fell off. Straining at our oars, we dashed up to her, and succeeded in taking all of them on board, but before we could get clear of the ship she again fell off, carrying us with her, and as she surged through the water nearly swamping us. At the same time flames reached the shank and stopper, when her remaining bower anchor fell over her sides, very nearly right down upon us. Just then, the cable caught our outer gunwale, over which it ran, apparently one sheet of fire. The flames were at the same time raging above our heads, and rushing out from her bow-ports. Our destruction seemed certain; we might have left the boat to try and save ourselves by swimming, but we were too much exhausted to try and reach any of the other boats; all we could do was to try and keep the flames from off our own. Just as we had given up all expectation of escape, the anchor took the ground, and though the cable was nearly burnt through, it had strength sufficient to check the ship's head, which enabled us to clear ourselves; though we were somewhat scorched, no one was otherwise much hurt. In a short time the wreck drifted on shore on the north side of the island of Tenedos, where she blew up with a tremendous explosion, which must have been heard miles away. We who were saved had reason to be thankful, but of the ship's company two hundred and fifty perished that night by fire or water, including several of the officers, together with the greater number of the midshipmen, who, being unable to swim, were drowned before they could reach the boats. There were three women on board, one of whom was saved by following her husband down a rope from the jibboom. The boatswain had two sons on board. When the alarm of fire was given, he had rushed down, and bringing up one of them, had thrown him into the sea, where he was picked up by the jolly-boat. He then descended for the other, but never returned, being, as several of the midshipmen probably were, suffocated by the dense smoke rising from that part of the ship. I could go on into the middle of next year, as the saying is, telling you of my shipwrecks and adventures, but I have a notion that you would get tired of listening before I had brought my yarn to an end." "Oh, no! No! Go on, Mr Riddle, go on, go on!" we shouted out. "Well, then, young gentlemen, I'll just tell you the way we once took a Spanish sloop-of-war. "I belonged at the time to the `Niobe' frigate out in the West Indies. We had been cruising for some weeks without taking a prize, when we captured a Spanish merchant schooner, after a long chase. From some of her crew our captain learnt that a Spanish corvette, of twenty guns, lay up a harbour in Cuba. He determined to cut her out. He had intended sending the boats away for that service, when our second lieutenant, as gallant an officer as ever stepped, proposed to take in our prize under Spanish colours, and running alongside the corvette, to capture her by boarding. Having shifted the prisoners to the frigate, the second lieutenant, with three midshipmen and thirty volunteers, I being one of them, went on board the schooner. There were batteries on either side, with heavy guns which would have opened fire upon us had it for a moment been suspected what we really were. The lieutenant and one of the midshipmen blackened their faces, and rigged themselves out in check shirts and handkerchiefs bound round their heads. The rest of the crew wanted to do the same, but the lieutenant would only allow me and another man to rig up as he had done, and regular blackamoors we made of ourselves. We laughed, I can tell you, as we looked at each other and talked the nigger lingo, so that even if a boat had come alongside they would not have discovered who we were. We had besides a real black and mulatto on board belonging to our crew. The rest of the people were sent below, with their cutlasses and pistols ready for the moment they were wanted. Everything was prepared by the time we got near the mouth of the harbour. The midshipman, a fine young fellow, taking the helm, the lieutenant sat on the companion-hatch smoking a cigarette, and Sutton, the other man, and I, with the mulatto and negro, lolled about the deck with our arms folded. On we stood close under the batteries, which, if we had been discovered, would have sunk us in pretty quick time, but as the schooner was very well-known in the harbour, her real character was not suspected. As soon as we got inside the harbour, we saw the corvette anchored right in the centre. The breeze headed us. That would be all in our favour, we knew, when we had to come out again. We made four or five tacks, taking care not to do things too smartly. The lieutenant turned his eye every now and again on the batteries. I think he expected, as I can tell you I did, that the Spaniards would before long smell a rat, and begin blazing away at us. They seemed, however, to have no suspicion, and we were allowed to beat up the harbour without being interfered with. We had got nearly up to the corvette, when we saw two or three boats coming off from the shore towards us. We well knew that if they got alongside they would soon find out that the schooner had changed hands. We could see only a few people on the deck of the corvette, and the rest of her crew we guessed were either below or gone ashore. In the latter case we hoped soon to master her. As the boats drew near us the breeze freshened, and the lieutenant ordering the helm to be put down, we luffed up alongside the corvette, before those on board suspected what we were about to do. No sooner did they discover what we were up to, than they began shouting and shrieking, some running to the guns, others to get hold of muskets and cutlasses, while numbers of the crew came swarming up from below. Several officers made their appearance. We didn't give them much time, you may be sure, to defend themselves, before, led by our brave lieutenant, we threw ourselves upon their deck, and were soon slashing away with our cutlasses. But few of them stopped to meet us, so completely did we surprise them, but leaped below faster than they had come up. The officers for a few seconds held out, but they were quickly disarmed and placed under a couple of sentries in the after part of the poop. Three or four hands only had been left on board the schooner, and the lieutenant at once ordered her to lead the way down the harbour, while the corvette's cable was cut and the topsails loosed. We had made such quick work of it, that the soldiers in the fort didn't discover what had happened until the corvette was under way, with her topsails and courses set, following the schooner. They then began to open a hot fire on us and the schooner, but the breeze freshening, we made such good way, that they could not get a proper range; their shot, however, came pretty thickly on board, passing through the sails, cutting away a rope now and then, and several times hulling us, but not a man was hurt. As soon as we could get some powder and shot from below, we fired in return, though there was but little use in doing that, you may be sure. We gave three hearty cheers when we at last got clear of the harbour, and sailed away with our prize for Jamaica, accompanied by our frigate. Our lieutenant and all engaged gained great credit for the way the enterprise had been accomplished. "Had I been a wise man, I should have stuck to the navy; but soon after this, I had the misfortune to belong to a ship commanded by a very different sort of officer to any I had before served under. If ever there was a hell afloat she was one. Well-nigh a quarter of the crew at a time were on the black list. Not a day passed that one or more were not flogged. At last, two other men and I, when off the coast of America, leaped into a boat alongside and made for the shore. If we had been caught, we should have been well-nigh flayed alive. So we took good care to keep in hiding till the ship had sailed. I afterwards shipped on board an American merchantman, but I would not join Uncle Sam's navy on any account. I can't say that I found myself in a perfect paradise, and I was not sorry, after two or three years, to get on board an English merchant vessel. I became mate of her, and in one way or another saved money enough to buy my cottage here, with a boat and nets, and to settle down with my wife and family. I mustn't keep you any longer, young gentlemen, listening to what befell me in the meantime; but if you'll pleasure me by coming here another day, I'll go on with my yarn." "Thank you, my friend," said Mr Reynell, getting up, "it's time for all of us to be returning home, but I am very sure these young gentlemen will be very much obliged to you, if we can manage to make another excursion here, to listen to some more of your adventures." While some of us gathered round the old sailor, asking him questions, the rest were employed carrying the baskets of provisions to the carriage, which set off on its return, we soon afterwards following on foot. Although many of the party declared that they had no wish to go to sea, the accounts I had heard only strengthened my desire to become a sailor, and I determined more resolutely than ever to use every means to accomplish my object. CHAPTER FIVE. I form plans against the smugglers--Ned's brotherly advice--I continue to visit old Riddle--He presents me with a cutter--My first lessons in sailing--Reception of my present at home--Aunt Deb again gives her opinion--A present in return--Sudden disappearance of Mark, which leads to a further expression of sentiments on the part of Aunt Deb--I visit Leighton Hall--My interview with the Squire--I obtain permission to visit Mark in prison--"Better than doing nothing"--I console Old Roger--"A prison's a bad place for a boy"--Returning homewards, I unexpectedly gain some important information--The barn--The smuggler's conference--Rather too near to be pleasant--I contrive to escape--Am pursued and captured by the smugglers, but finally released--Aunt Deb's disapproval of my friendship for Mark Riddle. I have taken up so much space in describing the adventures of old Riddle, that I must be as brief as I can with my own. Although I had been inclined to think smugglers very fine fellows, I had lately heard so much against them that I began to consider it would be a very meritorious act if I could gain information which might lead to the capture of some of them; besides which, I flattered myself Sir Reginald would be so highly pleased at my conduct that he would exert himself more than he at present seemed inclined to do, to obtain me an appointment as midshipman on board a man-of-war. I kept my ideas to myself; I didn't venture to mention them even to the old sailor, as I suspected that if not actually in league with the smugglers, he was friendly to them. I thought it better also to say nothing about it to my father, for although I knew that he would be pleased should I succeed, he might very naturally dread the danger I should have to run in my undertaking. How to set about the matter was the difficulty. I had no intention of acting a treacherous part, or to try to become friendly with the smugglers, for the purpose of betraying them. My plan was to hunt about to try and find out their hiding-places, and where any cargoes were to be run; then to give information to the baronet. The only person to whom I confided my plan was Ned, under a promise of secrecy. He tried to dissuade me, pointing out that it was a very doubtful proceeding at the best, and that, should I succeed, the smugglers would be sure to take vengeance on me. "They will either shoot you or carry you off to sea, and drown you, or put you on board some outward-bound ship going to the coast of Africa, or round Cape Horn; and it may be years before you get back, if you ever return at all," said Ned. Still his arguments didn't prevail with me, and I only undertook to be cautious. Had he not given his promise to keep my intentions secret, he would, I suspect, have told our father or Aunt Deb, and effectual means would have been taken to prevent me from carrying out my plan. A considerable time passed by, and although I was on the watch, I could gain no information regarding the proceedings of the smugglers. During this period I paid several visits to old Riddle, who always seemed glad to see me. I was highly delighted one day when he presented me with a cutter, which he had carved out and rigged expressly for me. It was about two feet long and of a proportionable width, fitted with blocks, so that I could lower or hoist up the sails, and set such canvas as the wind would allow. The inside was of a dark salmon colour, the bottom was painted and burnished to look like copper, while the rest was of a jet black. Altogether I was highly delighted with the craft--the first I had ever possessed--and I only wished she was large enough to enable me to go aboard her, so that I might sail in her. Near old Rogers' house was a lagoon of considerable length and breadth, filled by the sea at high tide. It was open to all winds, and was thus a capital place for sailing a model. He and Mark at once accompanied me to it, and they having trimmed the sails, and placed the rudder in the proper position, the model vessel went as steadily as if the ship had had a crew on board. When she had finished her voyage across the lagoon, the old sailor, taking her out, showed me how to trim the sails. I then, carrying her back to the place whence she started, set her off myself. I had fancied that I could make her sail directly before the wind; but he explained the impossibility of doing this without a person on board to steer, as she would have a tendency to luff up to the wind. He evidently took a pleasure in teaching me, and I didn't grow weary of learning, so that at the end of the first day I fancied I could manage my little craft to perfection. I called her "The Hope." He promised to have the name painted on her stern by the next day I came. I went almost day after day for a week or more. At last old Roger declared I could sail "The Hope" as well as he could. Sometimes Mark came with me, but he didn't take as much interest in the amusement as I did, he being more accustomed to practical sailing; besides which he had other employments into which he didn't think fit to initiate me. As I before said, he frequently went fishing on the Squire's ponds, and from a light fowling-piece which I saw in his room, together with several nets and other contrivances for catching game, I suspected that he also spent some of his time in the Squire's preserves. I didn't like to hint to him that I had any suspicion on the subject. When he saw my eyes directed towards a gun, he observed-- "I sometimes go out wild-duck shooting in the winter. My gun is not large enough for the purpose, so when I can contrive to get up close enough I now and then kill a bird or two." "I should think your gun was more suitable for killing partridges or hares or pheasants," I remarked. "Ah, yes, so it may be; but then pheasants and partridges and hares are game, and I should run the risk of being hauled up before the Squire if I were to bag any." He laughed in a peculiar way as he spoke. I tried to get information from him about the smugglers; but if he knew anything he held his tongue, evidently considering it wiser not to trust me. At last, as I wanted to show my cutter to Ned, my sister, and the rest, I told old Roger that I should like to carry it home. To this he raised no objection. "You'll find her rather a heavy load, Master Dick," he said. "However, you can rest on your way. I advise you to stow the sails first, so that if you meet a breeze they will not press against you." I did as he advised me, lowered the mainsail and stowed it as he had shown me how to do, and lowered the foresail and jib. Mark had gone out that morning and had not returned, or he would have helped me, I had no doubt. Wishing old Roger, Mrs Roger, and Nancy good-bye, I set out. Sometimes I carried the cutter on one shoulder, sometimes on the other, and then under my arm; but before I got half way I began to wish that there was a canal between old Roger's cottage and the vicarage. My arms and shoulders ached with the load. After resting some time, I once again started and managed at last to get home. "The Hope" just as I had expected, met with general admiration from my brothers and sisters. They were much astonished to see me unfurl the sails, and all wished to come and see her sail. I promised to give them that pleasure, provided they would undertake to carry the cutter between them. Aunt Deb was the only person who turned up her nose at seeing my model. "Mr Riddle might have thought of some other present to give the boy," she observed; "there was no necessity indeed for his giving a present at all. Dick's head is already too much turned towards sea matters, and this will only make him think of them more than ever. I shall advise your father to return the vessel to the old sailor, with the request that he will dispose of it to some one else. In my opinion, it was very wrong of him to make such a present without first asking leave." I thought it better to say nothing, and Aunt Deb didn't carry out her intentions. My mother, who was always generously inclined, gave me leave to take a few pots of jam in return. A few days afterwards Ned and I, and two of my sisters, set out to carry our present. They had been interested in what I had told them about the old sailor and his pretty daughter, and wanted to see them. On our arrival they received us in a friendly way, and Mrs Riddle and Mary hurried to place chairs for my sisters. They thanked us much for the present we had brought. I observed that they all looked graver than usual. I inquired for Mark. "He hasn't come home since yesterday evening," answered his father. "I don't fancy that any harm has befallen him; but still I can't help thinking all sorts of things. If he doesn't come back soon, I must set out to look for him." I found that Mark had taken his gun, and said that he was going along the shore to get a shot at a gull, but it was not as yet the season for wild fowl to visit the coast. Still I could not help fancying that old Roger knew more about Mark's intended proceedings than he thought fit to tell me. It struck me that perhaps the smugglers had something to do with the matter. Had I been alone I should have offered to have accompanied him; but he didn't ask me, and indeed seemed to wish that we should take our departure. Telling my sisters, therefore, that it was time to go home, we wished the family good-bye, and set out on our return. At tea that evening my sisters mentioned the disappearance of Mark. "Depend upon it that boy has got into mischief of some sort," observed Aunt Deb; "though I never saw him that I know of, I am very sure from the remarks Dick has made that he is a wild monkey, and a very unfit companion for a young gentleman." I defended Mark, and asserted that it was just as likely that he had met with some accident. "At all events, I intend to go over to-morrow morning, and inquire what has happened to him," I said. "I don't remember making any remarks which would lead you Aunt Deb, to suppose that he was otherwise than a well-conducted fellow. He seems much attached to his family, and they're evidently very fond of him." "Perhaps his father spoils him as other parents are apt to do," remarked Aunt Deb, glancing at the Vicar. "The sooner you break off your intimacy with him the better in my opinion--and now you are aware of my sentiments." The latter was a remark Aunt Deb usually made at the conclusion of an argument, by which she intended it to be understood that her opinion was not to be disputed. Next morning, without waiting for breakfast, taking only a crust of bread and a cup of milk, I set off, anxious to learn what had happened to my friend Mark. On nearing the cottage I saw Mary at the door. "Oh! Master Dick, I'm so glad you're come," she exclaimed. "Father and mother are in a great taking. Mark has got into trouble. When he went out yesterday evening he met Jack Quilter and Tom Bass, and they persuaded him to go shooting where he ought not to have gone, and all three were caught by Sir Reginald's keepers. They had a fight for it, and Quilter and Bass knocked one of the keepers down, and would have treated him worse if Mark had not interfered. Three other keepers coming up, they were all carried off to the Hall, where they have been locked up ever since. Father only heard of it yesterday evening after you went. He at once set off to try and see Sir Reginald, and he only got back late last night, or rather this morning, so he has only just now got up. He said that the Squire was very savage with him, and threatened to send Mark off to sea. It was with great difficulty that father got leave to see Mark, who told him how he had saved the keeper's life, but the Squire would not believe it, and said that he had been caught poaching, and must take the consequences." "I'm very sorry to hear this," I said to Mary; "but don't despair of your brother getting off. I'll ask my father to plead for him; and if he won't do that, I'll go myself and tell the Squire what a capital fellow Mark is. It would be a shame to send him to sea against his will, although he might be ready enough to go of his own accord." After I had talked the matter over with Mary for some time, I went into the cottage, where I found Mrs Riddle looking very downcast, and soon afterwards old Roger made his appearance. He repeated what Mary had said, and added that he intended to engage the services of Lawyer Roe to defend Mark, though the expenses would be greater than he could well bear. I was afraid, however, that Lawyer Roe could do nothing for Mark, taken as he had been with a gun in his hands, in Sir Reginald's preserves, should the baronet resolve to prosecute. I again offered to go off at once to see Sir Reginald. I however much doubted that my father would undertake the mission, especially as Aunt Deb would endeavour to persuade him to have nothing to do with the matter. Mrs Riddle and Mary pressed me to take some breakfast, which they had just prepared, and as by this time I was very hungry, I gladly accepted their invitation. As it was important to get early to the Hall, directly breakfast was over I started, resolved to employ every means I could to get Mark liberated. It didn't occur to me that probably Sir Reginald would pay no attention to my request, or that he would consider my interference as a piece of impertinence. I made up my mind to speak boldly and forcibly, and felt very confident that I should gain my object. Old Roger accompanied me part of the way, but he thought it was better not to be seen near the Hall, lest it should be supposed I had been influenced by him. I was but a little fellow, it must be remembered, and without any experience of the world, or my hopes would not have risen so high. "Never fear, Mr Riddle," said I, as I parted from the old sailor. "I'll manage, by hook or by crook, to get Mark set free, so tell Mrs Riddle and Mary to keep up their spirits." When I reached the Hall, I walked boldly up to the front porch, and gave a sturdy pull at the bell. A powdered footman opened the door. In a firm voice I asked to see Sir Reginald. "He is at breakfast." "Then say Mr Richard Cheveley has called, and begs to see him on an important matter." The footman gave an equivocal smile down at me, and went into the breakfast-room at one side of the Hall. I heard a lady's voice say-- "Oh! Do let him come in." The servant reappearing, showed me into the breakfast-room, in which several ladies were at one end of a well-covered table. Lady Knowsley was seated, presiding at the tea-urn, with several young ladies on either side, and Sir Reginald at the foot. I made my bow as I entered. Lady Knowsley held out her hand without rising, and Sir Reginald turned partly round in his chair and gave me a nod, then went on eating his breakfast, while the young ladies smiled. The footman placed a chair for me in a vacant place at the table. "You have had a long walk, and must be ready for breakfast," said Lady Knowles, in a kind tone. "Thank you, I took some on my way," I answered, not wishing to loose time by having to repeat an operation I felt that I could not perform in the presence of so many young ladies with my accustomed appetite. "You must have got up another appetite by this time," observed Sir Reginald. "Come youngster! Here is an egg and some ham. Julia, cut him a slice of bread, and Lady Knowles will supply you with tea. Fall to, now, and let me see what sort of a man you are." Thus pressed, I was compelled to eat what was set before me, which I did without any great difficulty. Sir Reginald was too polite to ask me the object of my visit till I had finished. He pressed me to take more, but I declined, and I then told him that I had heard that Mark Riddle had been taken poaching with some other lads who had led him astray. "That is your opinion, Master Cheveley," observed Sir Reginald, with a laugh; "why the fellow is the most arrant young poacher in the neighbourhood. My people have been aware of it for a long time, but have hitherto been unable to capture him." "I hope that they are mistaken, Sir Reginald," I observed; "I have seen a good deal of Mark Riddle, and his father is a very fine old sailor." "He may be that, although I have reason to believe that he is, besides, as determined a smuggler as any on the coast, though he is too cunning to be caught," answered the baronet. "No, no, Master Cheveley; young Mark must be sent to prison unless he is allowed as a favour to go to sea instead." I was determined not to be defeated, notwithstanding what the baronet had said. I still pleaded for Mark, and the ladies, who are generally ready to take the weaker side joined with me. "Suppose he is guilty. He is very young. If he would promise not to poach again, will it not be kind to let him off?" said Lady Knowles. "It would be kinder to give him a lesson which he will not forget," said Sir Reginald; "notwithstanding all his promises, he would be certain to poach again. He might end by killing a keeper, and have to be sent to the gallows, as has been the fate of many. Poachers and smugglers must be put down at all costs." In spite of my intention to persevere, I found that I hadn't the slightest chance of moving the feelings of the baronet. I, however, supported by the ladies, got leave to pay Mark a visit, and I learned from them that he and the other men were not to be sent off to prison until the following day, when the constables would come to carry them away. I stayed for some time, the young ladies chatting pleasantly with me, till at length thinking that I ought to take my departure, I asked to be allowed to go to Sir Reginald's study, to obtain an order for me to visit Mark. "I'll get it for you," said Miss Julia; "we all feel compassion for the poor lad, who has evidently been led astray by bad companions." In a short time she returned, with an order to the constable in charge of the prisoners. Thanking her very much, and wishing her and her sisters and Lady Knowles good-bye, I hastened round to the back of the house, where the lock-up room was situated. The constable, on seeing the order, admitted me without hesitation. "Well, Master Dick, this is kind of you to come and see me when I'm in trouble," said Mark, immediately stretching out his hand. "From what I hear, it will go hard with me." I asked him if he could not prove that he had been misled by others, and would promise not to go poaching again. "No; that I can't, either one or the other," he answered promptly. "I went of my own free will, and if I was let out, as long as I had a gun and powder and shot, I should go and make use of it. But I don't want to go to prison; and if I'm sent to sea, I should like to choose how and when I am to go." "You must find it very dull work sitting here all day, having nothing to do," I remarked. "Would you like to make some blocks? I have got some wood and a sharp knife, with a saw and file, in my pocket. It will be better than doing nothing." Mark gave a sharp look in my face, and said-- "Yes, that I should. I never like to have my hands idle. You shall have the blocks for your cutter when I have finished them." Thinking only of the amusement it would afford Mark, I handed him out the necessary tools, and promised to obtain some more wood for him to work on should he be sent to prison. The other two men were lying down, apparently asleep, while I paid my visit to Mark. They took no notice of me. After I left, instead of going directly home, I returned to old Roger, that I might report the ill-success of my visit to Sir Reginald. "I feared it would be so from the first," said Roger. "A prison is a bad place for a boy, and I'd rather he had been sent off to sea." "I'll ask my father to try what he can do, though I'm afraid he'll not be more successful than I have been." "Do, Master Dick," said Mrs Riddle. "We should not let any stone remain unturned. I would not have our Mark sent to prison for anything. It would be the ruin of the boy." I of course promised to do my best. It was getting late in the day, for I had spent a considerable time at the Hall, and a further period had been occupied in getting to old Roger's cottage. Mrs Riddle insisted on my stopping to take tea, and as I had had no dinner I was very glad to accept her invitation. I remained on afterwards for some time, talking to the old sailor, so that it was pretty late when I at length set out to return home. As I had told Ned where I was going I knew that they would not be anxious about me, and therefore did not hurry my steps. I had got about half way, when feeling tired I sat myself down to rest, with my back against the side of an old barn, at a spot whence I could obtain a good view of the sea. I sat for some time watching the vessels passing up and down channel, and observing a few boats putting out for their night's fishing from Leighton Cove. The weather was warm, and I was sheltered from the light breeze which blew off the land. I had been on foot all day since early dawn, and very naturally became drowsy. Instead of at once jumping up I sat on, and in consequence fell fast asleep. When I awoke I found that the sun had set, and that the daylight was fast departing. I was just going to get up, when I heard voices proceeding from the inside of the barn. Though not intending to play the part of an eavesdropper, I could not help listening to what they said. The men spoke in low voices, so that I didn't catch everything, but I heard enough to convince me that the speakers were smugglers arranging a spot where a cargo was to be run the first night when there would be no moon, and the wind blowing off shore. As far as I could make out, it was to be close to where I then was. Below me was a little sandy bay, where the boats could come ashore even should there be a heavy sea running outside. One of the speakers, whom I knew to be Ned Burden, lived in a cottage hard by, and he was to show a light in his window should the coast be clear. At present the weather was far too favourable for their purpose, but they counted on a change in four or five days. At last I heard them fix on the following Wednesday. I was afraid of moving lest the smugglers should hear me, and I knew that if they discovered my whereabout they would look upon me as a spy, especially as everybody was aware of the way my father, had been speaking against smuggling. Still they went on talking, and I heard some more of their designs. In order to draw off the Revenue-men from the spot, it was proposed to set one or two hayricks on fire at a large farm near Sandgate, when it was supposed that they would collect to try and extinguish the flames, so as to prevent the fire communicating with the other surrounding ricks. As this was sure to be no easy work, it was calculated that the smugglers would have time to run the cargo, and carry the goods away into the interior. It was an opportunity I had long been looking for. I could now, by giving the information I possessed, secure the favour of Sir Reginald, and thus induce him to further my object. I sat on, scarcely daring to breathe, lest I should be heard, and heartily wishing that the men would go away. They had evidently, however, met there for the purpose of discussing various subjects. Ned Burden probably didn't wish to go far from home, and apparently was unwilling to receive his visitors in his own cottage. He had therefore fixed upon this spot. At last I began to think that they intended to spend the night there. I heard footsteps approaching, and I now feared that I should be discovered; but the new comers followed the path which led to the opposite side of the barn to that where I was sitting. I judged by the voices that there were three of them. They once more went over the matters that the others had before discussed, having apparently no fear of being overheard. They all spoke in their ordinary voices, only occasionally dropping them. "Now is the time," I thought, "of making my escape; while they are talking they will not hear me, and I may creep away to a distance without being discovered." I put my plan into execution. The men continued talking on; their voices sounded fainter and fainter as I got farther away from the barn. Fancying that I was safe, I at last rose to my feet, intending to run as fast as my legs could carry me. Scarcely, however, had I began to move forward, when I heard a shout, followed by the sound of footsteps. I fully expected, should the smugglers fancy that I had overheard them to get a knock on the head if I was overtaken. I had always been tolerably fleet of foot, and as I had no desire to be so treated, I set off running as hard as I could. I hadn't got far, however, before I fancied I heard some one coming. In a short time I was nearly certain of it, but I didn't stop to listen. In daylight I should have had no difficulty in keeping ahead of my pursuers, but the ground was rough, and I had to turn aside to avoid bushes and rocks. Still the impediments in my way would also assist to stop them, and I didn't despair of escaping. I had to cross over a ridge, at the top of which I was exposed to view. I had just reached it, when I heard some one shout. "You may shout as loud as you like," thought I, "but I'm not going to stop in consequence." Down the hill I rushed, hoping soon to find shelter, so as to be able to turn off to one side or the other, and thus to evade my pursuers. I knew that a little way on was a lane which led directly to the village, and that if I could once get into it I might run on without much chance of being overtaken. I could see before me a thick hedge, through which I should have to get into the lane. I was making my way towards it, when down I came into a deep ditch or watercourse, the existence of which I had forgotten. It was perfectly dry, but I was severely hurt by the fall, and for some seconds I lay unable to move. I soon, however, recovered, and attempted to scramble out on the opposite side. But the bank was steep, and the top was above my reach. I fancied that it would be lower farther down, and ran or rather scrambled on in that direction. It didn't occur to me at the time that it would be wiser to remain perfectly still, when my pursuers, if they were continuing the chase, would have passed me unobserved in the darkness. I at last reached a part where the bank was broken away, and began climbing up, when I heard footsteps close to me; and, as I gained the top, I saw a man coming along at full speed on the opposite side. I determined, however, not to be caught if I could help it; but to my dismay, when I began to run, I found that I had sprained my ankle. This, though it didn't stop me altogether, prevented me from running as fast as before; but if I could get through the hedge I thought that I might keep ahead, or that the smugglers would not venture to follow me. To ascertain how far off they were I gave a glance over my shoulder. This was fatal to my success, for my foot caught in a low bush and down I came. In vain I endeavoured to regain my feet. Next instant I found myself in the grasp of two men. "Hulloa! Youngster; what made you try to get away from us?" asked one of them, in an angry tone. "I am on my way home, and wish to get there as soon as possible," I answered. "Who are you?" asked the man. I told him without hesitation. "And your father has joined Sir Reginald and the other squires about here in persecuting the smugglers." "I don't see what that has to do with my being in a hurry to get home," I replied. "Maybe not; but we want to know where you were lying hid just before you took to running," said the other man. "I was not lying hid anywhere," I answered. "I was going along from paying a visit to Roger Riddle, after seeing his son Mark, who was caught by the Squire's keepers, and accused of poaching, when being tired I sat down to rest and fell asleep." "Whereabouts were you sleeping?" asked the smuggler. "On the ground," I answered. "So I suppose," said the man, with a laugh. "But whereabouts on the ground?" "Not far from the old barn, to the best of my recollection; but it was too dark when I started to make out where I had been." This answer seemed to satisfy my interrogator. I was afraid that he would inquire every moment whether I had heard the conversation going on within the building. "Well, my lad," he said, "take care you don't shove your nose into places where you're not wanted. If you're a friend of old Riddle's, I don't suppose you'll have any ill-feeling against the smugglers. So now, good-night. You would have saved us a long run if you hadn't been in such a hurry to get home." Thankful to escape so easily, I told the men I was sorry to have given them so much trouble. They accompanied me to a gate not far off, over which I climbed into the lane. I then, as fast as my sprained ankle would let me, made the best of my way home. I found that my family had been somewhat alarmed at my non-appearance. My father, who always took matters coolly, accepted my excuses, but Aunt Deb scolded me roundly for having played truant. "What business had you to go to trouble Sir Reginald about that young scapegrace Riddle?" she asked, in her usual stern manner. "He'll consider that you and your friend are alike. He'll not be far wrong either. You have lost all chance, if you ever had one, of interesting Sir Reginald in your favour. You may as well give up all hope at once of being a midshipman. Now I suppose you want some supper, though you don't deserve it. You're always giving trouble to Betsy in coming home at irregular hours." "Thank you," I said, "I'm not so very hungry. I'll go into the kitchen and get some bread and cheese; that is all I want before I go to bed." So thus I made my escape. I had no opportunity that night of informing my father of what I had heard, but when we went to our room I gave Ned an account of my adventures. "I would advise you, Dick, not to interfere in the matter," said Ned. "It's all very well for our father to preach against smuggling; the smugglers themselves don't mind it a bit; but were he to take any active measures they would very likely burn the house down, or play us some other trick which would not be pleasant." Notwithstanding what Ned said, I determined to inform Sir Reginald of what I had heard, still hoping that by so doing I should gain his favour. CHAPTER SIX. I revisit the baronet--My information and its worth--Am somewhat taken aback at my reception--Well out of it--Mark's escape--Old Riddle's gratitude--A night of adventure--The run--Night attack on Kidbrooke Farm--The fire--My curiosity overcomes my prudence--The struggle on the beach--The luck of the "Saucy Bess," and ill-luck of Mark--I am again captured by the smugglers--Buried in a chest--My struggle for freedom, and its result--A vault in the old mill--My explorations in the vault. The next morning I found my father in his study before breakfast. I told him of my having overheard the smugglers arranging the plans for running a cargo shortly, and asked him whether he wished me to let Sir Reginald know. "You are in duty bound to do so," he answered. "At the same time you must take care it is not known that you gave the information. He'll certainly be pleased, and will be more inclined than before to assist you. You had better set off directly breakfast is over, and I will write a note for you to deliver, which will be an excuse for your appearance at the Hall. Do not say anything about the matter to any one else, as things that we fancy are known only to ourselves are apt to get abroad." I followed my father's advice, and said nothing during breakfast. As soon as it was over I set out. Aunt Deb saw me, and shouted out, asking me where I was going; but pretending not to hear her, I ran on. I suspect I made her very irate. I noted the people I met on my way, and among others I encountered Ned Burden. He looked hard at me, but said nothing beyond returning my "Good morning, Mr Burden," with "Good morning, Master Dick," and I passed on. I looked back shortly afterwards for a moment, and saw that he had stopped, and was apparently watching me. As soon as I reached the Hall I gave my father's note to a servant, saying that I was waiting to see Sir Reginald. In a short time the man came back and asked me to follow him into the study. "Well, Master Richard Cheveley," remarked the baronet, without inviting me to sit down, "I wonder you have the face to show yourself here after what has occurred." "What have I done, sir?" I asked with astonishment. "Connived or assisted at the escape of the poachers I had shut up in my strong room yesterday evening, waiting the arrival of the constables to convey them to prison." "I beg your pardon, Sir Reginald. You must be under a mistake," I exclaimed. "I have in no way assisted any poachers to escape. I merely yesterday, with your permission, visited the boy Mark Riddle. He had been captured with two persons much older than himself, and he was, I believe, led astray by them." "You, or somebody else, left them some tools--a file and a small saw-- with which they managed to cut away a bar in the strong room and effect their escape. Here are the instruments, which they must have dropped as they were getting off. Do you recognise them?" As Sir Reginald was speaking I recollected giving the knife and file and saw to Mark, that he might amuse himself by cutting out some blocks. When I saw them I at once acknowledged them as mine, telling the baronet my object in giving them to Mark. "It was thoughtless, to say the least of it, and a very suspicious circumstance, young gentleman," remarked Sir Reginald. "Have they not been retaken?" I inquired, anxious to know what had become of my friend Mark. "No, there is but little chance of that," he answered, in a tone of vexation. "Now, let me know what you have come about. Your father gives no reason for your visit." Without claiming any merit, I at once gave a clear account of all I had heard on the previous evening. Sir Reginald appeared much interested, and his manner became more friendly than at first. "I am ready to believe that you had no intention to assist young Riddle to escape," he said at last, after taking notes of all I told him. "Now return home, and keep your own counsel." I confess that I was secretly very glad Mark had made his escape. I hoped that he would return to his father, and keep in hiding till the affair had blown over, and also give up poaching for the future. I wanted as soon as possible to go and see the old sailor, and learn what had become of Mark, but I knew that my father would be expecting me; and accordingly, after leaving the Hall, went directly home. My father complimented me more than I deserved on the way I had conducted the matter. I didn't tell him just then of my having unintentionally assisted Mark and the other poachers to make their escape. "If the smugglers and their cargo are taken, you will deservedly have the credit of the affair, and Sir Reginald will, I hope, feel bound to assist you as you desire," he observed. I had to wait till the next day to go over and see old Roger. I almost expected to find that Mark had returned home, and was concealed in the house; but none of his family knew anything about him, except that he had escaped from Sir Reginald's strong room. They all thanked me warmly for the assistance I had given him, and of which they had heard by some means or other. They would not believe that I had had no intention, when I lent him my knife and other things, of helping him to get out. I took care to return home at an early hour, as I had no wish to encounter Ned Burden or the other men on the way. I waited somewhat impatiently for the result of the information I had given. I was very sure the baronet would take the necessary steps for capturing the smugglers. The weather, which had for a long time been fine, now completely changed. A strong westerly gale sprung up, the sky was clouded over, and as there was no moon the nights were very dark. The evening on which I had heard the smugglers propose to run the cargo arrived. I should have been wise to have gone to bed at the regular hour, as if I had had nothing to do in the matter. Instead of that, as soon as Ned was asleep I slipped on my clothes and went out by the back door, which I carefully closed behind me. As soon as I got clear of the village, and could see to a distance, I turned my eyes towards Kidbrooke Farm, which the smugglers had planned to attack in order to draw off the coastguard-men from the spot where the cargo was to be run. In a few minutes I observed a bright light burst forth from the surrounding darkness, and rapidly increase until it assumed the appearance of a huge bonfire. I then knew that the outlaws had carried out the first part of their plan, as I concluded they would the second. It seemed to me that the whole farm and all the stacks would speedily be in a blaze. Eager to see the fire, I ran towards the farm. On getting nearer, the hum of human voices showed me that a number of people had assembled, some of whom were engaged in throwing water over the stacks, others in pulling down the burning one. As I got up to them, I found that they were mostly labourers from Leighton, together with those belonging to the farm, with a few of the villagers from Sandgate. There were, I remarked, none of the revenue-men present, by which I concluded that they had not been drawn away from the coast, as the smugglers expected they would be. Precautions having been taken in time, and there being plenty of hands to extinguish the flames, the fire didn't communicate to the other ricks; and, as far as I could see, even a portion of the first was saved. It would have been better for me had I returned home and gone to bed again; but I was curious to know if the "Saucy Bess" had succeeded in running her cargo, or whether Sir Reginald had acted on the information I had given him, and had sent the coastguard-men to watch for the smugglers and capture them. Without stopping, therefore, in the neighbourhood of the burning rick, I hurried away towards the spot at which I had heard Ned Burden and his companions propose to run the cargo. I must have been running on for twenty minutes or so when I heard a pistol-shot fired; it was succeeded by two or three others. This made me more than ever eager to ascertain what was going forward. I doubled my speed. The path was tolerably good, and I knew the way. All the time I had not met a single person. After some time I heard more shouts, sounding much nearer, and cries mingled with the clashing of cutlasses, so it seemed to me. I had no doubt that the coastguard-men and the smugglers were having a desperate fight, the latter endeavouring to defend their property, and the former to capture it. Which would succeed in their object seemed doubtful. I pictured the whole scene, though as yet I could see nothing. This I was eager to do, forgetting that bullets flying about were no respecters of persons. At last I reached the top of a cliff overlooking the bay, whence I could see a lugger, which I guessed to be the "Saucy Bess," with her sails loose, a short distance from the shore, and two or three boats near her; while on the sands were a number of men, who from their movements, and the babel of tongues arising from the spot, were evidently struggling. That the revenue-men had the best of it, I had no doubt. It appeared to me that they had captured part of the cargo, and some of the smugglers, and that others were endeavouring to rescue their comrades. That this was the case I had little doubt, when I saw the lugger's head turned seawards, and presently she disappeared in the gloom of night I was now satisfied that Sir Reginald had acted on the information I had given him, and that he would find it had been correct. I was at last about to return home, when, just as I reached a lane leading from the cliffs, I heard footsteps close to me, and, turning round, saw three men approaching. Whoever they were I thought it better to keep out of their way, and began to run. But they must have seen me, and at once made chase. I could easily have kept ahead, but unfortunately stepping into a deep rut, I stumbled, and before I got under weigh again the men were upon me. "Where are you bound for, youngster?" cried one of them, whom I recognised by the voice to be Ned Burden. "I came to see what was going forward," I answered. "Not the first time you have done that, young gentleman," said one, in an angry voice. "We know who you are. Somebody gave information about the run which was to be made to-night, and putting two or three things together no one will doubt that it was you. Shall we heave him over the cliffs, or what shall we do with him, mates?" "Let us take him along with us, at all events," said one of the other men. "If he has spoiled our plans to-night, he deserves to be knocked on the head." "Spoilt our plans indeed he has," said Burden; and he presently detailed to his companions how he had caught me listening at the old barn, and how, not supposing that I had heard anything of importance, he had let me go. I could not deny this, and I saw that it would be useless to attempt to defend myself. My captors, without more ado, proceeded to tie my arms behind my back, and to bind a handkerchief over my eyes. "Remember, youngster," said Burden, "if you shout out or utter a word we'll send a bullet through your head." From the fierce way in which he spoke I thought he was very likely to do this. I did not tell him that I knew who he was, as I was sure that this would only make matters worse for me. I did not, however, believe that they really meant to kill me; but what they would do was more than I could guess. Two of them taking me one by each arm led me along the road, without wasting another word on me. They walked very fast indeed. Had they not supported me I should have fallen several times. Every moment I thought they would stop. I tried to ascertain in what direction they were leading me, but very soon lost all means of doing so. At length they made me sit down on what I supposed was a bank. I tried to judge from what quarter the wind was blowing, but the spot was sheltered, and sometimes it blew on one cheek and sometimes on the other. I could hear the roar of the waves, by which I knew that I could be at no great distance from the shore. While one of them held me tightly by the arm, the others withdrew to a distance to consult as to how they should proceed. After a time they came back, and we continued our march at the same rate as before. On and on we went. I was getting very tired, and would gladly have again sat down. When I complained, the men laughed at me. "You'll soon have time enough to rest yourself, youngster," said one of them. "You may consider yourself fortunate that things are no worse with you." Finding that it would be useless to say anything more, I held my tongue. I must own that I now bitterly regretted having interfered against the smugglers. They were fully convinced that I had done so, and I could not defend myself. I had heard of the fearful punishment that they had at times inflicted on informers; and even should they spare my life, I thought it too probable that they would ship me off to some distant part of the world, or shut me up in a cavern or some other place from which I could not make my escape. It seemed to me that several hours had passed since I was captured, and that it must now be broad daylight; but the bandage was so tightly secured over my eyes that I could not move it with my eyebrows, nor could I, from my arms being fastened behind my back, get my hands free to do so. Again and again I begged my captors to listen to me and loosen my arms, as the ropes hurt me. When I declared that I could go no farther, one of the men answered fiercely:-- "We'll soon see that, youngster." He gave me a prod with the point of a knife or cutlass, I could not tell which. It showed me that they were not likely to treat me very ceremoniously. "I must make the best of a bad matter, I suppose," I thought, and did not attempt to stop. Suddenly the men brought up, and then turning sharp round told me to lift my feet, and I found that we were walking up some wooden steps. This I could judge of by the sound made by our feet. Then we went along a level floor. Presently, after passing through two or three doorways, as I supposed, we descended also by wooden steps, till I felt convinced, by the closeness of the atmosphere, that we had reached a vault. "You may make yourself comfortable here, young gentleman, for the rest of your life," said one of the men, with a hoarse laugh. "I've a notion that you'll not again be inclined to go and inform against poor fellows who are carrying on their business without wishing to do you or any one else harm." "Stay; that jacket of his, and his waistcoat, are a great deal too good for him," observed another man. And forthwith, having released my arms, they took off the garments they spoke of. My first impulse, on getting my hands free, was to try and get the bandage from my eyes, but one of the men caught hold of my hands and prevented me from accomplishing my object. I, however, clutched hold of my clothes with the other, unwilling to give them up; but they quickly mastered me, leaving me only my shirt and trousers. I now began to fear that they intended some serious violence. In vain I struggled; I felt myself lifted up by the shoulders and feet, and placed on a rough board. As I now had my hands free, I immediately tore off the bandage. A gleam of light, which came from one side, showed me that I was in what appeared to be a large chest, placed on its side; but before I could turn myself round the lid was shut down, and I heard the men securing it. I was thus imprisoned in, so far as I could tell, a living tomb. I shouted and shrieked, and tried to force open the lid. My captors were holding it on the outside, and it seemed to me were driving in screws. I could hear them talking outside, but what they said I could not make out. Could it be possible that they intended to leave me here to perish by hunger? The act would be too diabolical for the worst of wretches to think of, and yet what other reason could they have for shutting me up in such a place? Finding that I could not release myself, I thought I would try to move their feelings. "I am very sorry if I have brought you or any others into trouble," I said. "If you'll ask Roger Riddle, he'll tell you that I have no ill-feeling towards smugglers. I was the means of getting his son Mark out of prison. If you keep me here you'll make my father and mother very miserable, for they won't know what has become of me. You can't be so cruel, surely." The men went talking on. I was sure they heard me, though they made no answer. It then occurred to me that perhaps they had shut me up in the chest for the purpose of carrying me on board a vessel, and that I should then be set free and enjoy the light of heaven and the warmth of the sun. Then I recollected having read how cruelly boys are treated on board ship, and that if I were sent under such circumstances I should have to lead a dog's life at the best. Well, it was some consolation to have reason to hope that I was not to be murdered as I at first feared, or to be kept shut up in this horrible vault for an indefinite period, when I might be forgotten, and possibly be allowed to die of starvation. These thoughts passed rapidly through my mind. As soon as I grew calm, I listened to ascertain what the men were about. As far as I could judge, in a short time they quitted the vault, and I was left alone. I listened and listened. No sound could I hear. A sufficient amount of air came through the chinks in the chest, and enabled me to breathe without difficulty. I had no notion of staying where I was without some endeavour to extricate myself. I knew that after a time I should grow weak from want of food. I was in total darkness, and the chest, for so I supposed it, was large enough to enable me to move about. It struck me, as I was feeling round the sides, that it was perhaps a bunk, such as is fitted on board ship for the men to sleep in. If my captors had not taken away my jacket I should have had my knife, and I might then, I thought, have cut my way out; but they left me without any means of effecting my purpose. The only way of freeing myself was to knock out by main strength either the top or one side of the bunk or chest. I feared that if I at once commenced doing this the noise I should have to make would attract the attention of my jailers. I therefore lay still for some time, listening attentively. Not a sound of any description reached my ears. I thought that it must now be day, though no light penetrated into the vault. If it had I should have seen it, I thought, through the chinks of the chest. It was very roughly put together, and this circumstance gave me better hope of being able to force it open. At length I determined to commence operations, and placing myself on my back, with one hand to defend my head, and one foot against the end, I struck out with the other on the part above me. A cracking sound encouraged me to go on. Each time I struck out the planks appeared to move slightly. I used so much force that every nerve in my body was jarred, and I was afraid of laming myself. Notwithstanding that, I persevered, stopping every now and then to listen, lest my captors should return; but as no one came I was satisfied that they had gone away, and now redoubled my efforts. Several loud cracks were the result; and at length, to my intense satisfaction, the planks above me fell off, shattered by my foot. I was thankful for my success. At all events I should not have to die shut up in a chest. But I was very far from being free. Getting up on my feet I thrust my head through the hole I had made, and tore back the broken pieces of plank. Had I possessed a light I should have seen how next to proceed, but I was still in total darkness. I could not tell what I might find outside the chest. Moving carefully I climbed out, moving about with my feet to find the ground, which was lower I thus ascertained than the bottom of the chest, but how much lower I could not tell. I therefore held tight on with my hands while I let myself down, and I then discovered that it had been placed on another chest of about the same size; but I had to move very cautiously, as there might be still some lower depth beneath my feet, though I didn't think that very likely. The ground was dry and hard, without either bricks or flagstones. This I found out by stopping down and touching it with my hand. I now began to move on very carefully, feeling my way from chest to chest. I discovered in my progress not only chests, but casks and bales. I had little doubt, therefore, that I had been conveyed to the smugglers' store, but where it was situated I was totally unable to surmise. That it was some way inland I thought probable, as I could not hear the sound of the surf breaking on the sea shore, which I thought I should have done had I been near the coast. I tried to think if I recollected any building which it was at all probable would be thus used by the smugglers. There were, I at last remembered, two mills not far from the coast, but one was in the possession of too respectable a farmer to allow any lawless proceedings to be carried on in his premises. The other was an old windmill that had been abandoned the last two or three years; two of the arms had fallen down, and the whole building was in a very ruinous and tottering condition. The property I had heard was in Chancery, the exact meaning of which I didn't understand, but knew no one was ever seen about the place, and that the villagers from the neighbouring hamlet were unwilling to approach it after dark, there being a report that it was haunted by a headless miller, who had been killed while in a fit of drunkenness by his own machinery. Could this be the place, I thought. The idea didn't make me feel more comfortable, not that I had any strong belief in ghosts or other spirits walking the earth in bodily shape; but yet I didn't feel perfectly certain that such beings did not exist, and I confess to having had an indefinite dread of seeing the headless miller appear out of the darkness surrounded by a blue light. I tried to banish the idea, and felt much more at my ease. I suddenly recollected that although I was in darkness it was daylight outside, and that the headless miller was possibly resting quietly in his grave in the churchyard a mile away. One thing I had to do, and that was to get out of my prison as soon as possible. I felt round and round the vault. My great object was to discover the steps by which my captors and I had descended, but to my dismay I could not find them. Either they had been drawn up through a trap-door above, or we had come through a door in the side of the vault which had been closed by them when they went out. I searched and searched in vain for such a door, one side consisting of a blank wall partly of stone and partly of perpendicular timbers, which I concluded supported the superstructure. This made me more certain than before that I was in a vault beneath the old mill. I was in hopes by this time that the smugglers had gone away, and that I should thus be able to make my escape without interruption. How to do so was the question. I remembered that we had descended the building by steps to the bottom of the vault. I concluded, therefore, that the roof must be a considerable height above my head. There were numerous boxes, chests, and bales, as far as I could judge, in the vault, and if I had had light I should have found, I thought, little difficulty in piling one upon another, and thus reaching the top; but in the dark this was a difficult and hazardous undertaking. I could scarcely expect to place them with sufficient evenness to make a firm structure, and they might, after I had got up some distance, topple down again with me under them, and perhaps an arm or a leg broken. Still I could think of no other way of getting out. I again felt about, and tried to lift some chests and bales, but they were mostly too heavy for my strength; I might, however, discover some which I could tackle. It must be remembered that all this time I was perfectly ignorant of my surroundings. I was, indeed, in the position of a blind man suddenly placed in a position which he had never before visited without any one to give him a description of the scenery. The only knowledge that I had obtained of the vault was from the sense of touch. I now determined to take a further survey, if so I could call it, of my prison, to start from a certain point to feel my way round, and reach as high as I could, to extend my arms, and to grope along the floor from one side to the other. One point I considered was to my advantage. My captors would suppose that I was shut up in the chest, and would therefore not have taken much trouble to secure the outlet to the vault. Probably, indeed, they had gone away, as they would certainly avoid being seen in the neighbourhood of the old mill during daylight. I didn't suppose that they intended to murder me, and I therefore expected that they would come back again at night to bring me some food, or perhaps to carry me off and ship me on board some vessel, for such I was convinced was their intention. I must therefore effect my escape before nightfall. The necessity of obtaining food would alone induce me to do this, though as yet I did not feel very hungry. Serious as the situation was, I did not give way to despair. I could not believe that I was doomed to die, but how my deliverance was to be effected was more than I could tell. Again starting from the chest in which I had been shut up, and which I could distinguish by the short fragments of the top, I continued groping my way round and round the vault. My first object was to try and find the door, which I was persuaded existed, as I thought I had previously missed it. Any one who has played at blind man's buff may have a faint idea of my situation. Only the objects round me remained stationary, whereas in the game people run away from the blinded person, and he has to try and catch them as they run round him. I had the advantage over the blinded man in the game. I was sure that in time I should gain a knowledge of my locality. Time, however, was precious, and it would not do for me to delay my search. I would have given anything for a tinder-box and flint and steel, so that I might light up the vault even for a few seconds; but as that was not to be had, I tried to make use of my other senses. Stretching out my arms and feet as I went along, touching one place with my left hand, while I felt about my head as far as I could reach straight out with my right; I then brought my left up to the spot my right had last touched, and so I went on. Occasionally my right foot struck against a bale or chest which extended beyond the others above it. Had there been an opening in the pile of goods I was sure that I could not have missed it. For the supposed door I searched in vain, and at length came to the conclusion that the only entrance to the vault was from the roof above. It did not occur to me that there might be one above my reach by which my captors might have made their exit with the assistance of a short ladder. Though I had moved slowly, what with the exercise I had taken during the night, and the efforts I had made to get out of the chest, I felt very tired; and, discovering a bale of convenient height, I sat down to rest myself, and to consider with such calmness as I could command, what I should next do. CHAPTER SEVEN. A prisoner in the vault--The headless miller--I continue my explorations--My perilous position--My further attempts at escape--The recess--An unexpected shower-bath--A glimpse of light--I escape from the vault, but not from prison--A lower chamber in Old Grime's mill-- The result of my further endeavours to escape--My signal of distress-- The Revenue-men--My rescue--The search for the smugglers' goods--My hunger relieved--On guard--Meeting with my father--The last of old Grime's mill. Strange as it may seem, I fell asleep. How long my eyes had been closed I could not tell. I fancied I heard the voices of people coming down through the roof. A door directly opposite to me opened, through which a pale light streamed, when what was my amazement to see "Old Grimes" the miller dressed in his short frock, his iron-grey hair streaming over his shoulders, and holding on his head with both hands, proving that it could not retain its position without such assistance. He glared at me with his saucer-eyes; his lips moved, but what he said I could not make out. Had he approached I thought I would have spoken to him and asked what he wanted, but he did not advance beyond the doorway. Presently he faded from my sight. The light grew dimmer and dimmer. I thought that I got up and tried to make a straight course for the door; but when I reached the wall opposite I could not find it, and so groped my way back to my seat. It was not until fully a minute after I was awake that I became aware that I had been dreaming. I was soon convinced that the vision of Old Grimes was a mere dream, but I was not quite so well satisfied about the voices I had heard. I listened, expecting to hear them again, but all was silent as before. I now got up, resolving to try and make my way out. Though I had not previously experienced any inconvenience from the want of breakfast, I began to feel excessively hungry; and if I had come across a package of hams or tongues, or a cask of salted herrings, I should have eaten them raw with considerable satisfaction. The more hungry I felt the more desperate I became. I at last fixed on a place for commencing operations. There appeared to be more woodwork there than anywhere else, or else the chests were piled upon each other. At all events they would afford me a foothold. That I might have less chance of slipping I had kicked off my boots, supposing that I could easily find them again. I climbed up and up. Of course I had to move very cautiously, not leaving go with one hand until I had a firm grasp of some fixed object with the other. I got up a considerable distance, and pressing against a board, it gave way, and a tremendous crash followed, as if a number of boxes filled with bottles had fallen to the ground. Putting up my hand, I felt a beam above my head; could it be one of the rafters, or the roof? I was for some time afraid to move, lest I should fall headlong down. I passed my hand along the beam, but could not reach the floor it supported. I now tried to crawl cautiously along on the top of the woodwork or the pile of chests, for I could not determine which they were. Every now and then I stopped and stretched out my hand, but could feel nothing above me. I must again beg my readers to try and picture to themselves my unpleasant position. The only wonder to myself is that I kept up my spirits. I did not forget that any moment something might give way below me, and that I might pitch down to the floor of the vault on my head. I had gone on some way, when, stretching out my hand, I discovered nothing beyond me. I was on the very edge of the erection. The only thing I could do was to go back the way I had come, or to descend to the floor. Fearing that I should be unable to pass the spot where I had thrown over the cases, I resolved to adopt the latter alternative. I bethought me that if I had had a pole it would have assisted me greatly to discover the trap-door leading to the vault. It was easier to climb up than to climb down, as I could not feel with my feet as I could with my hands. The attempt, however, must be made. Having got to the edge of the plank and ascertained that it was secure, I gradually let myself down, when I found myself resting on another plank or the edge of a chest, I could not tell which. Let any one try in the dark to do what I was attempting to do, and it will be found no easy matter. Could I have stood securely, I might have crouched down till I could have got hold of the plank on which my foot rested, but there was scarcely room for that, and if I let go the plank above me I might tumble over on my back; yet there was no other way of descent, so holding on with my left hand I tried to find something which I might grasp with my right lower down. My satisfaction was considerable when my hand came in contact with the rope-handle of a large chest. It appeared to be secure, and holding it I was able to stoop down and fix my other hand on the ledge on which my feet rested. One stage of my descent was thus accomplished. I now held the ledge tight with both hands, let my legs slip off, and felt about with my feet for another resting-place. For some seconds I was swinging about, holding on by my hands. There might be another ledge not half an inch below my feet. I stretched down my toes to the utmost. I could not discover it. Should I let go I might have a serious fall. I worked my way on, hoping to be more fortunate. At last my feet struck against the end of a chest, and after making a little further exertion I found that it was secure, and that I could venture to stand upon it. I was still uncertain how far I was off the ground; all the difficulty I experienced arose from being in darkness. I could probably, I knew, have scrambled over the whole of the building with perfect ease had there been light. I might already be close to the ground, but at the same time I might be many feet above it, and I therefore could not venture to step down without going through the same process as before. Leaning on my elbows, I stretched my arms along the top of the chest. I slipped off, and unexpectedly found my feet touch the ground. I was too eager to escape to allow myself time to rest after my exertions. I once more began to search round the vault, hoping to find an oar, a boat's mast or spar, or somewhat that might serve my purpose. I felt about in vain; indeed it was not likely that the smugglers should have placed such things in the vault. I at last reached the part where the boxes or chests, as I supposed they were, rested, and I began to stumble among them. The region in which I had spent the last two or three hours was considerably disarranged. I fancied that I knew every part, and now I was completely thrown out in my calculations. One chest stood up on end on another. I feared, should I move it, that I might bring others down on my head. I should have liked to have put them all back in their places, but that was impossible. By great care I made my way among them; when I at last reached the walls, it was the part I had not before examined. How I could have passed it I could not account for, unless I had been prevented reaching it by the chests piled up in front, and which I had displaced. As I was extending my arms my hands touched what felt like a wooden latch. There was no doubt about it; it was the latch of a door. I lifted it up and pulled it towards me. The door opened, but all was dark within the recess. I felt sure that it must be the entrance to the vault. I was going to step forward when it occurred to me that it might lead to a lower vault and that I should be precipitated into an unknown depth should I move without feeling my way. I knelt down, extending my hands, when they touched the ground as far as I could reach. This satisfied me that my first conjecture was correct. Cautiously feeling my way, I stepped forward and explored the recess as I had the larger vault. Contrary to my expectation, I could discover no ladder. I was thus no nearer to my deliverance than before. I felt round and round this smaller vault, without being able to decide as to its object. That it was the entrance to the vault I thought very likely. I wished that I could find out the height of the roof, and of what it was composed. It seemed probable that it was lower than that of the larger vault. I thought that I might drag in some of the smaller chests and place one on another against the wall and climb up. I made my way accordingly back to the large vault, in search of some which I could move. In going along my foot struck an object on the ground. It was a long spar--the very thing I was in search of. I supposed it had fallen down with the boxes, having either been placed upon them or assisting to support them. It appeared, as far as I could judge, to be twelve or fourteen feet long, and was thick enough to enable me to swarm up it, and thus to serve the purpose of a ladder. I first tried to reach the roof of the large vault with it, but it was not long enough, though I lifted it as high as I could; and then carrying it in my hands went back to the recess, and, eager to ascertain the height, I struck upwards. It at once met with resistance, not as I supposed, from a beam or vaulted roof, but from some soft object. That soft object must be removed. I poked and poked again and again, now in one part, now in another, when suddenly down came a shower of powder, which, before I could make my escape, covered me from head to foot. I was certain that it was, from the smell and feel, flour, though old and musty. The flour filled my nose, eyes, and mouth, nearly suffocating me. I, however, willingly endured this dry shower-bath, for as it fell a glimpse of light came through a hole which I had burst in the upper part of the sack, which had evidently been drawn across the trap leading to the vault for the purpose of concealing it. I worked away with my pole until I had pretty nearly emptied the sack of flour, and then, with a little more exertion, I brought the whole down, and had a clear view upwards. For a minute or so my eyes, long accustomed to darkness, were so dazzled with the light that I could not make out anything distinctly. They were, besides, so full of flour that it took me some time to clear them. After this I did not delay in endeavouring to get out of the vault. Having placed the upper end of the pole against the corner of the trap, I tried to swarm up it. At first my exertions made the pole slip, and I ran the risk of having a disagreeable fall; but descending, I placed the half rotten sack with some of the flour round the foot, and then drew in several pieces of wood, with which I further secured it. I now made another determined effort to climb up it by twining my arms and legs round it. With considerable effort I succeeded in catching hold of the edge or sill of the trap, and then getting up my knees I was out of the vault, but not out of prison. I was, however, far better off than before. Instead of darkness, I had light--instead of a close vault, an airy chamber, on the lower floor of which sacks of flour had evidently been kept. There were no regular windows, but only a few slits high up above my head to admit light and air. The door was securely closed. The room was in much better order than I should have supposed from the generally ruinous appearance of the building from the outside. Of course, having thus far freed myself, I did not despair of getting out by some means or other. I was in a hurry to do so lest the smugglers should come back, and thrust me back into my prison, or treat me even worse. Looking round the room I observed an opening on one side opposite the windows. It struck me that if I could get to it I might make my way into the main part of the building. Once there, there could be no difficulty in escaping. In the last few minutes I had forgotten my hunger, but it again came upon me; and as I had no other food, I thought I would try some of the flour, which would stay my appetite, even though eaten raw. I believe that a person eating nothing else for several days would make himself ill, if he did not die. I made a hole in one of several sacks leaning against the wall, and which had been there probably since the occupant's death. It was excessively musty, but hunger prevented me from being particular, and rolling it up into little balls I swallowed several in rapid succession. Having eaten on till I had sated my appetite, I hauled up the pole with which I had made my escape from the vault below. I then placed it against the foot of the small door high up in the wall. It was sufficiently long. But then the thought occurred to me, will the door be closed so that I shall be unable to open it? That point must be settled by experiment; so having assured myself that the upper end would not slip, I began to ascend. It was not at all an easy task, and I did not feel satisfied that it would not give way. Up and up I went, remembering what my father often used to say, that "fortune favours the brave." I gained the top, and holding on to the sill beneath the door, pressed against it. It moved, and, contrary to my expectation, opened. It was a difficult matter notwithstanding to get in; but I managed at last to get my knee on the sill, and then creeping forward I found myself in a gallery in the main part of the mill, in the centre of which was the shaft and the machinery for working the grindstones beneath. I ran round the gallery till I came to a ladder leading to the floor below, expecting that I should find the main door open. It was firmly closed and locked, so that I could not get out. This was a disappointment. Having in vain tried to find any other outlet, I ran up the steps again to the gallery, looked out of one of several windows to ascertain if I could reach the ground by any of the woodwork; but the height was too great to allow me to drop out without danger of breaking my legs. I observed several people in the distance passing along by a path which led by the foot of a hill on which the mill was situated. My first thought was that they were smugglers; but then I recollected that such characters were not likely to be abroad in a body during daylight, and the glitter of the gold lace round the cap of one of them convinced me that they were the revenue-men. I shouted at the top of my voice. Hungry and faint as I was, it did not sound as loud as usual. They did not hear me. I was afraid they would go on. Again and again I shouted. One of the men turned his head. Having no handkerchief, in a moment I stripped off my shirt, and waved it wildly out of the window. The men saw it, and came hurrying up the hill. "Who are you, youngster?" shouted one of the men as they came near. "Master Cheveley, son of the Vicar of Sandgate," I answered. "Why, he looks more like the ghost of a miller," said one of the men. "How did you get up there?" inquired the first speaker a head boatman in charge of the party. "I got up out of a vault where the smugglers put me," I answered. "Make haste and come in, for I'm almost starved." "Here's a door," cried the head boatman; "but I say, mates, it's locked. Is there no other way in?" he shouted. "None that I know of," I answered. "I have been trying to open the door, but could not." "We'll see what we can do," said the man. And he with two others placing their shoulders to it quickly sent it flying inward shattered into fragments, the rotten wood giving way before their sturdy shoves. I ran down to meet them. The head boatman, a strong seamanlike-looking man, at once began to question me as to what had happened. I told him as briefly as I could adding-- "But, I say, I'm desperately hungry, as I've only had some lumps of musty flour to eat for several hours, and thirsty too. I shall faint if I don't have some food." "We'll get you that, youngster; and then you must try and show us the way into the vault," said the speaker. "We may get a better haul than we've had for many a day if it should prove one of the smugglers' hiding-places." He then directed one of the men to run down to the next farmhouse and bring up some bread and cheese, or anything else he could obtain, and a jug of milk, or if that was not to be procured, some water. I thanked him, begging the man to make haste, for now that the excitement was over I could scarcely stand. "Do you know you are whitened all over?" he asked. "You look as if you had come out of a flour-bin!" I had for the moment forgotten how I must have looked. The man good-naturedly began to brush the flour off my clothes and hair, and one of them lent me his handkerchief to wipe my face. They inquired what had become of my jacket and waistcoat. I told them how the smugglers had taken them from me. "Perhaps the fellows may have hidden them somewhere about here. They wouldn't like to have the things found on them. Jenkins and Brown, do you go and search all round. Maybe we'll come upon another opening into the vault." The two men hurried off to obey the orders they had received, while the others examined the mill; and the chief boatman sat by me fanning my face, for he evidently thought me in a bad way. The time appeared very long since the man had started for the provisions, but I believe he was not absent many minutes. I was thankful when he returned, bringing a basket with some eggs, and ham, and cheese, and some delicious bread, and a bottle of milk. I fell to immediately like a hungry wolf, and felt very much better by the time I had finished. "We'll keep the remainder in case you want any more, my lad. And now we must get you to show us the way into the vault," said the officer. I was quite ready to do this, for I confess that I had a bitter feeling against the smugglers on account of the treatment I had received. We soon reached the trap which had been covered over by the sacks of flour. The men looked down, not quite liking to descend into the darkness. The spar by which I had got up was still in its place. I offered to go down first, but this the chief boatman would not allow, and he and another man at once lowered themselves to the bottom. It was, however, so dark beyond the smaller vault, that they declared they could see nothing, and they had to wait until a man was sent to the farm for a lantern. We then too descended, but as the lantern only dimly lighted up the vault, I could scarcely believe that it was the same place in which I had spent so many hours. I had fancied that it was of immense size and height, and crowded with piles of boxes, and bales, and casks. Instead of this there were only a few old packing-cases, in one of which I found I had been shut up. There were besides about a dozen bales, most of them apparently damaged, and what the revenue-men considered of more value, nearly half-a-hundred small casks of spirits, and some boxes of tobacco. These had been covered over with planks. I had not felt them on my exploring expeditions in the dark. The revenue-men were well satisfied with their haul, as they called it, though they had thought that it was possible they might find some articles of value. As I was anxious to return home to relieve the anxiety of my father and mother, I begged the chief boatman to let me do so at once. "We cannot let you go alone; some of these smugglers might meet you and give you a clout on the head for having shown us their hiding-place. Wait a bit until I can send one of the men with you. We must first get these casks up. We can't spare a hand at present, as one of the men must go on to the station to give information of our find, and to procure some carts for carrying the things away." In hunting about the men had discovered a coil of rope and some blocks, which had evidently been used for lowering the casks into the vault. The seamen were not long in fitting up a tackle to hoist them out. While one of the men was sent off as proposed, the rest worked away with a will. In a short time the chief contents of the vault were hoisted up and rolled outside. "Here's a job for you, my lad," said the chief boatman. "You stay by these things, and give us notice if you see any suspicious characters coming, while we get up the remainder." This task I gladly undertook, for I was heartily sick of the vault where I had spent so many unpleasant hours, and glad to breathe the fresh air outside. I sat down on the cask, nibbling away at some of the contents of the basket, for my appetite had returned. At last a drowsiness stole over me, and slipping off the cask, against which I placed my back, I fell fast asleep. I was awakened by hearing some one shouting, and looking up I saw a person running towards me. I sprang to my feet, when what was my surprise to see my father, who rushed forward, and at the joy of seeing him I leaped into his arms. "Why, Dick, my boy," he exclaimed, "we have been in fearful anxiety about you. How have you got into this plight? Where have you been? What has happened?" I answered him as fast as I could. "I won't find fault with you now, though you had no business to steal out of the house at night. You have had a narrow escape. Though the ruffians who carried you off and put you into the vault might not have intended to leave you to starve, they most probably would have been unable to return. Several have been captured, and so hot is the hue and cry after the rest that they would have been afraid to come back to the spot to bring you food, or to carry you off, as you fancy they intended to do." The chief boatman now came out of the mill, and was evidently well pleased to hand me over to my father, who thanked him for the attention he had paid me. Just as we were setting off the carts arrived with a party of revenue-men, armed to the teeth, to carry off the smugglers' goods, for it was thought likely that a rescue might be attempted. We had got to no great distance, when on looking back I saw a cloud of smoke issuing from the old building. It increased in density, and presently flames burst out. "Could they have set the place on fire?" "Not intentionally," said my father; "but it is very evident that the mill is burning, and from the nature of the materials of which it is composed there is not the slightest chance of its escaping destruction." Tired as I was, I persuaded him to go back to see what had happened. As we got nearer the building we saw that the whole of it was enveloped in flame. The revenue-men were busily engaged in loading the carts. They had soon found that any attempt to save the mill would be useless, and that they would only run the risk of losing their lives. We were at some short distance when a tremendous roar was heard, the ground shook beneath our feet, and the whole building came toppling down, a vast heap of burning ruins; while planks, and beams, and masses of earth, were thrown up into the air, showing that an explosion had taken place in the vault where I had been confined. No one suspected that any casks of powder had been deposited there, but that such was the case there was no doubt. I had now reason to be very thankful that I had not found a tinder-box, for I should certainly have tried to light a fire in the vault, and probably the sparks would have communicated to the powder. How the fire originated no one could tell, but I suspected that one of the men had lit his pipe, and that the ashes had fallen out upon some loose grains of powder. We, as well as the revenue-men, had a narrow escape from being crushed by the ruins which fell close to us. Such was the end of Old Grime's mill. CHAPTER EIGHT. My reception at home--Aunt Deb again gives her advice--My father and I pay another visit to Leighton Hall--Our guard--Interview with Sir Reginald--A score that was not settled to my satisfaction--My awkward position--My father receives a threatening letter--Aunt Deb decides on action--Preparations for my departure--The journey in the coach--Our fellow-travellers--A false alarm--My aunt's character further comes out--Our arrival at Liverpool--Our reception--Mr Butterfield--I explore Liverpool--My first visit to the "Emu"--I gain some information--I lose my way--Aunt Deb's anxiety on my account--A small difficulty well got out of--I pay another visit to the "Emu"--My ideas as to officers and seamanship receive a somewhat rude check--I make the acquaintance of Gregory Growles--I lose my cutter--"Thief! Thief!"--I speak to Mr Butterfield as to my going to sea--His opinions on the subject--He makes me a kind offer--Matters still unsettled--A reference to Aunt Deb. My father supported me as we walked home; for, now that the excitement was over, I felt so exhausted that without his assistance I could not have got along. Before we had got far, however, we fortunately fell in with some of the people who had been sent by my father to look for me. They, taking me in their arms, saved me from the necessity of making further exertions. As we went on we met several seafaring men, boatmen and others, who I thought scowled at me as I passed. The news of the capture of the goods having got abroad, it had been reported that I had given the information. My mother and sisters received me affectionately. To my satisfaction I found that Aunt Deb was out in the village. On her return, having heard some account of my adventures, looking at me sternly she said-- "Well, Master Richard; and so you have been continuing your foolish pranks, and throwing us all out of our wits. Depend upon it, nephew, you'll come to a bad end if you don't manage to act with more discretion during your future course in life." I felt too tired just then to reply to Aunt Deb's remarks as I should have liked to do. I merely said-- "I could not help being carried off by the smugglers; and as I have been the means of getting a good many of them captured, and also of enabling the revenue-men to seize their stores, I hope that Sir Reginald will now feel anxious to reward me by obtaining for me the appointment I have so long wished for." "If it suits Sir Reginald's convenience he may do so," said my aunt. "We shall see; we shall see." I had to give an account of my adventures to every one in the house, and I was very thankful when I was able to go to bed, feeling no inclination to put myself in the way of going through any fresh adventures. Next morning, after breakfast, I asked my father if he would accompany me to Leighton Park, that I might make another appeal to Sir Reginald. "You'll only get a flea in your ear, John," remarked Aunt Deb. "Sir Reginald will just consider you troublesome. You are much more likely to succeed if you let him alone." My father, however, for a wonder, ventured to differ with Aunt Deb, and agreed to take me to see the baronet. He had become, I found, very anxious about my safety, being convinced that the smugglers would, if they had the opportunity, punish me severely for having interfered in their affairs. This made him more than ever anxious to get me away from home. Not satisfied that even during the walk to Leighton Park we might not be attacked, he directed old Thomas, the gardener, to arm himself with a blunderbuss and a brace of pistols, and to follow, keeping us always in sight. He didn't think it would become him as a minister of the gospel to carry fire-arms through his own parish, and he was afraid to entrust them to me. "Remember, Thomas, that if you see any smugglers come near, you are to march up and point your blunderbuss at their heads." "You may be sure, sir, as I'll do that," answered Thomas. "I have been a man of peace all my life, but I'm ready to fight in your cause, and I believe the Lord will forgive me if I kill any one." "I don't think there is much chance of that," said my father. "Your appearance with your blunderbuss loaded up to the muzzle will be sufficient to deter any of the ruffians from attacking us." We set out together. Thomas gradually dropped behind to the required distance. As we walked along I looked every now and then over my shoulder to be sure that he was following, for I had an uncomfortable feeling that the smugglers would be on the watch for me. We, however, reached the park without any adventure. Sir Reginald kept us waiting longer than usual before we were admitted into his presence. "Well, Mr Cheveley, we have succeeded at last in giving a blow to the smugglers which will put a stop to their proceedings for some time to come at all events. Though the `Saucy Bess' got off, we captured some of her crew and several of the men assisting them." "I congratulate you, Sir Reginald," said my father; "and I ventured to call on you to explain that my son Richard has rendered considerable service to the cause. It was through him that information of the intended run the other night was obtained, and he also discovered one of the smugglers' hiding-places, `Grime's Mill,' and was the means of enabling the revenue-men to capture a considerable store of their contraband goods." Sir Reginald smiled. "I'm glad to hear this," he observed; "for to say the truth, I have had strong doubts as to your son's connexion with the smugglers. He is intimate, I find, with an old sailor, Roger Riddle, who though too cunning to be caught is known to aid and abet them in their proceedings. By his means young Mark Riddle, who is both smuggler and poacher, made his escape from my lock-up room only last week. Had it not been for my respect for you, I could not have passed the matter over, and I am happy now to be able to set the services you say he has rendered against his former conduct. I am the more willing to do this as young Riddle was taken just as he landed from the `Saucy Bess,' and we shall now get rid of him, as he will be either committed to prison for two years or sent off to sea to serve his Majesty for seven years." I was very sorry when I heard this, but of course did not express my feelings to Sir Reginald. My father looked rather uncomfortable; he was a nervous man, and Sir Reginald always awed him. He, however, mustered courage to proceed. "I hope, Sir Reginald, that my son's good conduct will induce you to interest yourself in his favour, and that you will forward his views by exerting yourself to obtain the appointment he so greatly desires. I am very anxious to get him away from the neighbourhood, as I am afraid the smugglers, who are aware that he has been instrumental in the capture of their friends and goods, will revenge themselves on his head. I dare not let him leave the house alone, and even coming here I was obliged to bring an armed attendant for his protection." "I have told you, Mr Cheveley, that I consider his late conduct is a set-off against his unpardonable proceeding. I will, however, remember his wish; and, should an opportunity occur, will forward his views. I must now wish you good morning, for my time is much occupied with my magisterial and parliamentary duties, and you must excuse me." The baronet prepared to bow us out of the room. He shook hands with my father, who took the hint and backed towards the door, and gave me only a formal nod, without allowing a smile to irradiate his features. We found old Thomas waiting at the hall door with his blunderbuss on his shoulder. My father walked on with hurried steps some distance, not uttering a word. At last he said-- "To what did Sir Reginald allude when he talked of your connexion with young Riddle?" I told him how Mark had been seized and locked up and how I had unintentionally assisted him to escape. "I believe what you say, Richard; but you can't be surprised at the baronet being annoyed, and I'm afraid from his tone that we must not expect much from him." We had got about two-thirds of the way home when we saw three men coming towards us, one of whom I recognised as Burden. I had not yet told my father that I believed him to be one of the men who had shut me up in the old mill. He started as he saw me, and then scanned me narrowly, as if uncertain whether it could really be myself. Though I knew that old Thomas and his blunderbuss were close behind us, I felt very uncomfortable, as I could not tell how the men might be inclined to act. Mustering courage at last, I looked Burden in the face. My father nodded to him and the other men, as he was accustomed to do to his parishioners. They hesitated for a moment, and then passed on. I looked back and saw them watching old Thomas, but they didn't speak to him, and he trudged sturdily after us without paying them any attention. "I wonder what was the matter with Burden?" asked my father, as we got to some distance. I then told him it was my belief that he was one of my captors. "We can't prove it, even if he were," said my father. "He deserves punishment, but the law is expensive and uncertain, and I should prefer letting him alone." As far as I could tell the matter was likely to rest here. I lost a jacket and waistcoat, but was not otherwise the worse for my adventure. The next day, however, a letter came by the post addressed to my father, at the top of which was a death's head and cross-bones, very rudely drawn, and beneath it the words:-- "Informers must look out for what informers deserve. The young master who got off t'other day must look out for squalls. He has been and dug his own grave, and in it he'll lie before long; so he had better say his prayers. He won't have long to say them. This comes from one who knows him. John Grimes." My father turned pale when he read the letter. Aunt Deb insisted on seeing it, and then my mother wished to read the contents. She almost fainted. "This is terrible," she exclaimed. "Yet, surely, the smugglers will not have the barbarity to injure a mere boy like Dick." "I'm not so certain of that," said Aunt Deb. "Warnings ought not to be neglected. I have long been contemplating paying a visit to my second cousin, Godfrey Butterfield, who is now a flourishing merchant at Liverpool. I'll write and say that I am coming, and bringing with me one of my nephews. I shall not wait for an answer, but will set off immediately; for I'm certain I shall be welcome." When Aunt Deb said this I saw a smile on the countenance of my elder sisters and brothers, who had not been so much affected by the threatening letter as the rest of the family. "I'll post the letter at once, and we will set off this evening. What do you say, John?" My father at once agreed to Aunt Deb's proposal. "Thank you!" exclaimed my mother. "I shall be much more at my ease when Dick is out of the reach of these terrible men." Aunt Deb wrote and despatched her letter, and the rest of the morning was employed in making preparations for the journey. Ned had to give up one of his jackets and waistcoats, which exactly fitted me, and my other things were quickly packed in a small chest. I also unrigged and did up the cutter which Roger Riddle had given me, as I fancied I should have an opportunity of sailing it at Liverpool. I made Ned also promise to go and call on the old man, and to tell him how sorry I was to hear that Mark had been sent off to sea, and how much I regretted not being able to wish him good-bye before I went. We had some distance to drive before we reached the town at which the coach stopped. My father at once sent off for a postchaise, and old Thomas went on the box, armed as before with a blunderbuss and a couple of horse-pistols. As we drove through the village Aunt Deb made me sit back, while she leant forward as if there was no one else inside. Whether or not this precaution was necessary I don't know; but at all events we reached our destination without being stopped by highwaymen. There were two places vacant in the coach, and although I should have preferred going outside, Aunt Deb insisted on my remaining with her. The other passengers were fat old women, who eat apples and drank gin-and-water for supper, and then snored, and sneezed, and groaned all night long. I know that I wished myself anywhere but where I was. The old ladies talked of highwaymen, coaches stopped, and passengers murdered, till they talked themselves into a state of nervous fear. One or the other was constantly poking her head out of the window, and declaring that she saw a man galloping after the coach with a blunderbuss over his shoulder. However, as the guard gave no signal, I was very sure that their imaginations had conjured up the robber. "Pray, ladies, do sit quiet," at length exclaimed Aunt Deb, who being a strong-minded woman was not influenced by similar fears. "It will be time enough to cry out if a highwayman does come to demand our purses, and we'll hope that the guard will shoot him dead before he has had time to open the door." "Oh! How dreadful!" shrieked out one of the ladies. "I would sooner let him have everything he asked for than see a handsome highwayman shot." "Fiddle-de-dee about a handsome highwayman," said Aunt Deb, in a scornful tone. "They're ugly ruffians, and miserable arrant cowards to boot. If one does venture to stop the coach, I'll not give him any of my property as long as I have hands to defend it." Notwithstanding Aunt Deb's remarks, our fellow-travellers continued in the same state of alarm the greater part of the night, and to comfort themselves took further sips of gin; until, becoming perfectly fuddled, they dropped off to sleep. I almost wished that a highwayman would appear, to see how Aunt Deb would behave; but morning at length dawned, and I fell asleep, nor did I wake till the coach stopped for breakfast. We travelled on all day with the same unpleasant companions, and I was glad to find that we were to go no farther that night. I remember that I dropped off to sleep before supper was over, and was very unwilling to get up the next morning when Aunt Deb called me. The fear of offending her, notwithstanding, made me jump out of bed and hurry on my clothes, and I was in time to take my seat in the coach, which came up soon after breakfast. She still refused to let me go outside, and I had to endure another day's misery, shut up with her and a lady and a fat gentleman, who took snuff and snored, and nearly tumbled over me in his sleep, and a young woman with a baby, who at intervals kept up a chorus of squalls, which considerably aggravated my respected aunt; and I really thought that, if she had given way to her feelings, she would have tossed it out of the window. As sublunary troubles always do, the journey came to an end, and the coach deposited us at the door of Mr Butterfield, Aunt Deb's cousin. The worthy merchant--a bald-headed, rosy-faced gentleman, of large proportions, who wore brown cloth knee-breeches, large silver buckles, a flowered waistcoat of ample length, with a snowy neckcloth, and a frilled shirt, a coat of the same hue as his unmentionables--received us, as he descended the steps, with a cordiality I little expected. "Glad to see you, Cousin Deb, though times have changed since you and I played hide-and-seek in our great-aunt's garden. You have shot up in one direction and I have grown in the other considerably. And this is John Cheveley's boy, is he? You are welcome to Liverpool, lad. We'll see what we can make of you here. Plant you on a high stool, and set you quill-driving. Are you a good hand at figuring? We don't value the Latin and Greek most lads have crammed into their heads to the exclusion of all other useful knowledge. Pounds, shillings, and pence are what we have to do with in our commercial city." Thus the old gentleman ran on without even waiting for me to answer. He then conducted us to our bedchambers; and as soon as we had washed our hands we descended to the supper-room, where the board was amply spread. He did not again allude to the high stool and quill-driving, but his remark had made a deep impression on my mind. There was nothing I hated so much as the thought of being shut up in a counting-house. He asked me if I was accustomed to go out alone, and satisfied on that score from what Aunt Deb and I said, he told me that I might amuse myself the next morning by exploring Liverpool, provided I took good note of the way home. This was just what I thought of doing, and to my relief Aunt Deb said she would be too tired to go out. Accordingly the next morning, after breakfast, I got ready to sally forth. Mr Butterfield had gone to his office, and did not see me. I in reality cared very little for exploring the town, and accordingly inquired my way to the river. Instead of the stream I expected to find I saw a broad expanse of water, with vessels of all rigs and sizes in spacious docks, or moored alongside the quays. I was going along the quay when I saw a large ship taking in cargo. Making my way on till I got astern of her, I observed that she was called the "Emu." I walked up and down admiring her amazingly. "Now if I can't go on board a man of war, and wear a cockade and a dirk by my side, I should like to take a voyage in a ship like that. What a magnificent craft! What proud fellows the captain and officers must be to belong to that ship. I wonder whether the captain would like me as a midshipman? The crew--I can fancy how they sit on the forecastle and sing `Rule Britannia,' `Poor Tom Bowling,' `One night it blew a hurricane.' Happy chaps! I should like to belong to her. I think I'll go on board and ask the captain to take me. "Mr Butterfield evidently intends that I should go into his counting-house. Dreadful work to have to set on a high stool, to dot and carry one, and to scribble away all day. I could not stand it. It would kill me. It was bad enough to have to go to school, and then we had a good many play-hours; but in these stuffy, musty, dark offices, I have heard that they have only half-an-hour for dinner, and work away till ten o'clock at night. That sort of life would never suit me. "Yes, I'll go and see the captain, and I'll tell him that I was intended for the navy, that I should have become an admiral some day, and that will make him treat me with consideration." Such were my cogitations as I stood, with my hands in my pockets, gazing at the "Emu." When it came to the point I felt somewhat nervous about going to speak to the captain. Perhaps he would not treat me with the respect I should desire. He might not have a vacant berth, and I could scarcely expect a stranger to make a place for me. At last, after walking backwards and forwards very often, I ascended a plank which led me to the gangway in the after part of the ship, and stepped on board. For some time, all the men being occupied in hoisting in cargo, no one took notice of me. I was thinking that I must go and speak to the captain if I were to speak to him at all, when one of the men coming aft asked me what I wanted. "I wish to see the captain of this ship," I said. "He is not on board, and is not likely to be until she sails," he replied. "Do you bring any message for him? If you do, you had better see the second mate." "No thank you," I replied; "I want to see the captain," in as important a tone as I could command. "Well, then, you may find the captain at the ship-broker's in Dale Street." This threw me out, for I knew that the second mate would not have power to receive me on board, and I did not like the thought of having to confront the captain in an office full of clerks. I therefore, losing courage, turned round and walked on shore again. Still I could not tear myself from the ship, but continued pacing backwards and forwards, now taking a look at her lofty masts and spars, now at her hull freshly painted, now at the men working at the cranes and tackles hoisting in cargo. While I was thus engaged a sailor-like man, who I supposed was an officer, stopped near me. "Please, sir," I said, "could you tell me where that ship is going to?" "Yes, my lad. She's bound out by Cape Horn into the Pacific, and up the west coast of America, and perhaps to go across to Australia, and may be away for two or three years." "Thank you, sir," I said. "She's a very fine ship." "As to that there are many finer, but she's a tidy craft in her way," remarked the seaman, turning on his heel. "Now that is just the sort of voyage I should like to make. To double great Cape Horn. What a grand idea! And visit the country of the Incas and Peruvians, and the wonderful coral islands of the Pacific. I am much inclined to ask Mr Butterfield if he can get me on board her. Perhaps she's one of his ships, and I shall then very likely come back as a mate. I might have to remain a long time in the navy before I became a lieutenant, and after all perhaps one might enjoy a much more independent life in the merchant service. "Yes, I'll ask the old gentleman; but then I'm afraid Aunt Deb will interfere. She doesn't want me to go to sea, and she'll say all sorts of things to prevent him doing what I wish. There's nothing like trying, however; and if he agrees, I must get him to obtain Aunt Deb's consent to my going. I'm sure my father won't make any objection." Having arrived at this conclusion, I was now eager to get back to have a talk with Mr Butterfield. I forgot that he was not likely to leave his office till much later in the day. I had become desperately hungry also, and as I had come out without any money in my pocket, I was unable to buy a bun or a roll to appease my appetite. I set off, fancying that I should have no difficulty in finding my way, but I wandered about for a couple of hours or more before I succeeded in getting back to Mr Butterfield's house. Aunt Deb received me with a frown. "Now where have you been all this time?" she asked. "I've had luncheon an hour or so, or more. I suppose the servant has cleared the things away, and you can't expect her to bring them up again for your pleasure." "Thank you, Aunt Deb," I answered. "But I'll just run and see." To my infinite satisfaction, on going into the parlour I found the table still covered with roast beef, and pies, tarts, and puddings; for Mr Butterfield liked the good things of this life, and wished his friends to enjoy them also. Didn't I tuck in. I often afterwards thought of that luncheon; it presented itself to me in my dreams; I recollected it with longing affection during my waking hours. I helped myself to two or three glasses of wine to wash down the food. With a sigh of regret I felt that I could eat no more. I then stowed myself away in a comfortable arm-chair in the corner of the room, and very naturally fell fast asleep. I had a dim recollection of seeing Aunt Deb come into the room to look for me, but as I didn't speak, she left the room supposing that I had gone out of the house to take another walk. When I awoke Martha was laying the things for dinner. "Why, Master Cheveley, Miss Deborah has been asking for you for ever so long," she said. "You had better go and see her, for she's in a dreadful taking, I can assure you." I knew Aunt Deb too well to venture into her presence under the circumstances if I could avoid it, so I ran into my room, washed my hands, and brushed my hair, so as to present myself in a respectable state before Mr Butterfield. I watched for him till he went into the drawing-room, and then followed. Aunt Deb had not yet come down. I was thinking of asking him about my going to sea on board the "Emu." He didn't give me the opportunity, but he at once questioned me as to what I had seen in the city. "You think Liverpool a very fine place?" he remarked. "Yes, sir, a very fine place indeed," I answered boldly. But when he came to inquire where I had been, and what part I admired most, I was nonplussed, and had nothing to say about the matter. My thoughts had been entirely occupied with the docks and the shipping. "Ah, yes, Liverpool has become an important port; superior to Bristol, or Hull; and some day we shall be equal to London, we flatter ourselves." I thought this would be a good opportunity of telling him how fond I was of the sea, and that I hoped he would let me go on board one of his ships, when just at that moment Aunt Deb entered. She began scolding me for having absented myself so long from her, but Mr Butterfield interfered. "The lad naturally wishes to see a new place, where he may spend some time perhaps. So don't be too hard on him, Cousin Deborah." We soon went down to dinner, and Aunt Deb said no more. I ate as many of the good things as I could, but after so large a luncheon I had less room than usual. Mr Butterfield placed my moderation to the score of my modesty. "Come, come, lad, eat away," he said. "These things were given to us for our benefit, and can't fail to do us good." I at last had to give in, letting Martha take away my plate with a large portion of its contents untasted. I should have liked to have remained to talk to Mr Butterfield when Aunt Deb retired, but she insisted on my coming up, afraid that the old gentleman in his hospitality would be giving me more wine than would be good for me. I had thus no opportunity of talking to him alone. The following morning I begged leave to go out again. Mr Butterfield willingly consented, though Aunt Deb observed that I should be better employed at home summing and writing. "He'll have enough of that by-and-by. In the meantime he can learn his way about the city," said the old gentleman. I thanked him very much, and he went away to his office. Going into my room, I bethought me that I would take my cutter down to the river and give her a sail. It took me some time, however, to step the mast and set up the rigging. As soon as this was done, not thinking it necessary to see Aunt Deb first, I started off, carrying the little vessel under my arm. The boys in the streets, I thought, admired her exceedingly. It made me feel that I was a nautical character amid the seafaring population. Though I didn't exactly recollect the way, after making various turnings, I found myself at the quay where the "Emu" lay. "Now," I thought to myself, "I'll go on board, and if I can't see the captain, I'll have a talk with the crew. They'll perceive by my cutter that I'm not a greenhorn, and I can offer to show them what I know by explaining how I sail her." With more confidence than I had felt on the previous day, I walked up the plank. I could nowhere see the captain, nor any other officer, and therefore turned towards the spot where the men were at work taking in the cargo. "Well, boy, what do you want?" inquired a rough, surly-looking old seaman, who was handling a large case? "I have come to see the ship; and as I like her, I think of getting the captain to take me as an officer," I answered, with as much confidence as I could assume. "Officer!" the old sailor answered, with a hoarse laugh. "You an officer, jackanapes; why we should want a cow on board to give you milk." "What is your name?" I asked, determined not to be put down. "Gregory Growles," answered the seaman. "Well, look, Gregory Growles, if that's your name, I understand sailing this cutter as well as you do," and I began to explain how I was wont to navigate her according to Riddle's instructions. I then announced the names of the ropes and sails. Gregory Growles, with his arms akimbo, and several of the other seamen, stood listening to me, evidently highly amused. When I had finished, they all laughed in chorus. "You know the ABC, maybe, of seamanship; but, look here, just tell us the names of some of the ropes and spars of this ship." I looked about exceedingly puzzled, for I could not give the name of one of them. "I thought so," said Growles. "You had better go to school again, and learn a little more before you think of topping the officer over us." "I only want to become a midshipman," I said; "I could soon learn when I got to sea." "We have no midshipmen on board the `Emu,'" said Growles. "Come, youngster, clear out of this, for we have to go on working, and you're in the way." Abashed, I retired to the after part of the deck, followed by the derisive laughter of the seamen, who went on, as before, hauling and hoisting in the cargo. I walked about, examining various things on the deck, and looking into the cabin, and thinking what a fine place it was, for it was handsomely furnished, and how I should like to be its occupant. No one took any further notice of me, and at last I unwillingly returned on shore. I looked out for a place to sail my vessel, but the landing-place was crowded with boats, and it struck me that if I let her go I should find it impossible to recover her. I had, therefore, to carry her about all day without any advantage, and my arms ached, though I held her sometimes under one arm and sometimes under another, and occasionally placed her on my shoulder. Several boys asked me what I would take for her, and one or two begged that I would let them examine her. At last one biggish fellow snatched her off my shoulder. I tried to recover her, but another tripped me up. Getting up, I made chase, but the thief, turning sharp round the corner, disappeared. I shouted in vain for him to come back. My cutter was gone. There was no one to whom I could appeal for help--no watchman, no constable. Some persons I met said it was a great shame, but they didn't help me. Others only laughed, and observed that such things were very common. I waited about. A number of boys joined me and shouted "Thief! Thief!" but, as may be supposed, I could not find him, and had to return home very disconsolate at my loss. That evening, much to my satisfaction, Aunt Deb had a bad headache, and could not make her appearance at dinner. This gave me an opportunity of speaking to Mr Butterfield. "I should be happy to further your views, my lad, but I have promised your Aunt Deborah to take you into my counting-house, and I have only been waiting a day or two until a boy has left, whose place I intend you to fill. You'll begin low down, but by perseverance and industry you will, in the course of a few years, rise to a respectable position. Many lads fancy they would like to go to sea, and bitterly repent it afterwards. You will have a far more comfortable life on shore, and the position of an English merchant is as honourable a one as a man could desire to follow." These remarks didn't at all suit my taste. I thanked Mr Butterfield, but told him that my heart had long been set on going to sea, and that I didn't expect to be happy in any other calling. "That's what many lads say, but afterwards find out that they have made a very great mistake," he remarked. "But they don't all do that, or we should have no sailors," I argued. I then told him that I had been on board the "Emu," which, I concluded, would sail in a few days, and that I should much like to go in her. "She's not my vessel," he answered, "though I know something of the captain. He is a good sailor, though he is not the man under whom I should wish to place a lad. However, when your aunt is better, I'll talk the matter over with her; and should she consent, then I'll see what can be done." I fancied that I had made some way; and, in spite of the loss of my cutter, I went to bed more contented in my mind than I had been for some time. CHAPTER NINE. Mr Butterfield's office--My future prospects--I again visit the "Emu"--Aunt Deb's good advice--I rebel--All sailors are not beggars-- My next visit to the "Emu"--Shall I stow myself away?--Conflicting ideas--Looking over the ship, I meet with an accident--Once more a prisoner--The hold of the "Emu"--Not a stowaway--My possible fate--No bones broken--"The blue above and the blue below"--Perseverance conquers all difficulties--On the high seas--Sea-sick--On the kelson-- I give way to despair--"Help! Help!"--The yarn of Sam Switch's ghost--I feel the pangs of hunger--I review my past life--Never say die--Water, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink--My efforts meet with some success. Aunt Deb made her appearance at the breakfast-table, but nothing was said about my plans for the future. As soon as I had finished, Mr Butterfield, looking at his watch, told me to run out for a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes, and said that when I came back he would take me down with him to his office. "I shall not keep you there," he remarked; "you will afterwards come back to your aunt, who will probably find something for you to do." I obeyed, and as soon as I got out of the house I ran off in the direction of the country. I wanted to see green fields and hedges and trees. I enjoyed the fresh air and exercise, and was longer away than I intended. On my return I found Mr Butterfield waiting for me at the door. "Punctuality is the soul of business. Remember that," he remarked. "You have kept me waiting for ten minutes. Come along." I begged pardon, saying that the time had passed faster than I had expected. He walked along with sedate steps, for he was not given to rapid locomotion, his gold-headed cane heavily striking the ground as he went. He had not spoken since we left the house, and I felt that I was passing from the position of a guest to that of a junior clerk. Still, not being overwhelmed with bashfulness at any time, and as I was anxious to know what had passed between him and Aunt Deb regarding my future career, I looked up and asked him. "Your aunt will communicate her wishes to you," he answered. "You will see presently the sort of work you will be expected to perform in my office. Let me tell you that many lads would consider themselves fortunate if they had the opportunity I am ready to give you." He said no more. His manner, it struck me, was far less cordial than it had been, and I could not help thinking that I was indebted for this to Aunt Deb, who had probably given him an account of my adventures at home. Now I am bound to say that I consider Mr Butterfield was right; but I did not think so at the time. We at length reached Water Street, and entered the office of Tallow, Candlemas, and Co. It was a dingy-looking place, consisting of a small outer room, the walls covered over with posters announcing the sailing of ships and other information. In it was an enclosed space, behind which sat on high stools two venerable-looking clerks, busily engaged in writing. Speaking a few words to them, Mr Butterfield passed on to an inner room, where, at a long desk running from one side to the other were arranged eight or ten persons of various ages, all scribbling away as fast as their pens could move. Their thin and pallid faces did not prepossess me in favour of the life they were leading. At the farther end, in a darker corner, was a vacant stool. "That will be your place, Richard, when you come here to-morrow or next day," said Mr Butterfield. "You will gradually rise, till one day I may hope to see you one of my head clerks." I looked askance at the dark corner, and I then scanned the faces of the occupants of the other seats. I could say nothing likely to please Mr Butterfield, and I therefore kept silence. "You will begin work on Monday. Now go back to your aunt, who wishes to have you with her for the present." I longed to say, "I thought, sir, you were going to talk to my aunt about my going to sea;" but before I could speak, Mr Butterfield, turning round, walked into his private office and left me standing by myself and looking, I felt, very foolish. As I did not wish to undergo a long inspection from the younger clerks, who were peering at me from over the desks, I passed out, breathing more freely when I found myself in the open street. Of course I ought to have returned home; but instead of that I made my way down to the docks to amuse myself as before, by looking at the vessels. I was not long in finding out the "Emu." She was now considerably lower in the water, having apparently got most of her cargo on board, although there were still some bales and packages lying alongside ready to be shipped. I had a great longing to go on board and try to see the captain, and to ask him if he would take me. I could see no one, however, whom I could imagine to be the captain; and I therefore, after walking up and down the quay for some time, and looking at a number of other vessels, guessed by my hunger that it must be near luncheon-time, and took my way homewards. On entering the house I met Aunt Deb, who was coming down into the dining-room, by which I knew that I was not late. "I am glad to find that you are more punctual than usual, Dick," she said. "You will soon, I hope, become regular in your habits. Follow the example of so excellent a man as my cousin, Godfrey Butterfield. You are pleased with your excellent prospects in his office, I hope?" To this remark I made no reply, but said, "I thought, Aunt Deb, that Mr Butterfield was going to speak to you about my wish to go to sea. He told me that he would do so, and that he would have no difficulty in getting me on board a ship." "Fiddle-de-dee about going to sea!" replied Aunt Deb. "My cousin did speak to me on the subject, and I told him at once that I would never consent to your doing so, and that I felt sure your father would not do so either. What! To throw away the brilliant prospects which through my means have been opened out to you? What! Desert your family and me, your affectionate aunt, and the kind friend who so generously consents to become your patron from the regard he has for me? What! Go and run all the risks of a turbulent ocean, and perhaps lose your life, and cause sorrow to those who have an affection for you, merely to gratify an insane fancy? No, Dick--no! I told my cousin Godfrey Butterfield, at once, that if he had any regard for me he would never encourage you in so mad a proceeding; and I begged him, as soon as possible, to give you employment in his office, so as to turn your mind away from the silly ideas you have entertained." "I'm not at all obliged to you, Aunt Deb, for what you have done," I said, my choler rising. "It was no idle fancy in my mind, but my fixed resolution to become a sailor; and a sailor I'll be, notwithstanding your opposition." "Hoity-toity!" exclaimed Aunt Deb, who was not accustomed to be set at defiance. "You will understand, Dick, that you were placed in my charge, and must obey my directions; and that I intend you to go into Mr Butterfield's office, and to work hard there, so that you may do credit to my recommendation some day, and render support to your family. In case of your father's death, what would become of you all? I, who have devoted my life to your family, should have the charge of their maintenance." "Sailors are not beggars, and I should very likely make as much money by going to sea as by any other means." "Fiddle-de-dee," again exclaimed Aunt Deb; "eat your luncheon, and don't talk nonsense." As I was very hungry, I obeyed her, but at first I felt as if the food I put in my mouth would choke me. Ultimately, however, I was able to get on as well as usual. Aunt Deb's behaviour to me during the next few days did not contribute to reconcile me to my proposed lot. She kept me working at writing and adding up long columns of figures, not failing to scold me when I made mistakes. I pictured to myself my future dreary life--to have to sit in a dull office all day, and then to have to come home with no other society than that of Mr Butterfield and Aunt Deb as long as she remained at Liverpool. I knew nobody at Liverpool, and did not see how I was to form any acquaintances of my own. After luncheon, on Saturday, Aunt Deb, in consideration, she said, of my diligence, allowed me to go and take a walk by myself, as she felt indisposed to leave the house. I very naturally wandered down to the docks to have a look at the "Emu" before she sailed, and to inspect any other vessels that might take my fancy. I much missed my cutter yacht, as I found there existed places where I could have sailed her. I had spent some time in walking about, when I again got back to the quay where the "Emu" was moored. As I was pacing to and fro, I thought of the high stool in the dark corner of Mr Butterfield's office; the dreary, dreary days I was doomed to sit there; the dull, dull evenings in the society of Aunt Deb and her cousin, and the not more lively Sundays, with attendances at three services, for Aunt Deb was very strict in this respect. Hapless fate, with nothing better to expect than a head clerkship. The business I knew I should detest. Then I thought of the free life on the ocean, the strange lands I should visit, the curious people I should see, and the liberty I fancied I should enjoy. As I had had a fair education, and knew that I could master navigation, I expected without difficulty to work my way up till I became an officer, and then to have the command of such a fine ship myself, just such a one as the "Emu." But how was I to get to sea? Mr Butterfield positively refused to obtain an appointment for me without the consent of Aunt Deb and that of my father, and I was confident such would not be given. Would the captain take me without further introduction, if I should offer myself? I had sense enough to know that that was very unlikely. Suddenly the idea seized me, should I stow myself away on board, and not appear until the ship had sailed out to sea? I had a notion, notwithstanding, that this would not be a wise proceeding. I should certainly not be treated as an officer, and should very probably be sent forward to become a drudge to the crew. Still, what other chance had I to get to sea? I thought and thought. Well, I'll go on board at all events. The blue Peter was flying at the masthead, besides which there was a board announcing that she would sail with the morning's tide. It was the custom, in those days especially, for merchantmen to sail on a Sunday. The stages leading on board had been removed, with the exception of a single plank to the gangway. My longing to go on board increasing, I indulged it. None of the crew were moving about aft. The officers, if any were on board, were, I supposed, in their cabins. I looked forward, where I saw a few of the crew, who were preparing for their supper. The cook just then made his appearance from the caboose with a large bowl containing a smoking mess of some sort. I had never been below on board ship. I thought I should like to look round and see what sort of place the hold was. The tackle which had been used for lowering the cargo was not yet unrove, and hung over the main hatchway, which had been left open for stowing some goods which, as it turned out, had not yet arrived. Seeing that no one was observing me, I seized the rope, and swung myself down till my head disappeared below the coamings of the hatchway. Now at this place space had been left to permit of the lower hold being reached. The rope I grasped was not as long as I thought it was, and suddenly the end slipped through my fingers, and down I fell, hurting myself so much that I was unable to rise. Afraid of calling out for assistance, I lay there for some time, till the pain increased so much that I fainted away. When I came to my senses, what was my horror to find myself in total darkness, and on lifting up my hand as high as I could reach I discovered that some planks had been placed across the aperture through which I had fallen, and I was shut in. Though I had been doubtful about acting the stowaway, here I was, shut up against my will. Had I carried out the idea which occurred to me, I intended to have done it in a very different fashion, as I expected to find some comfortable place where I might obtain air, if not light and access to the store-room and water-casks. I had no notion of running the risk of starving myself, having had sufficient experience of the uncomfortable sensations accompanying inanition when I was shut up in the mill. I had thought myself very badly off then, but I was now in a much worse condition, and suffering great pain, and, as far as it appeared to me, with more than one limb broken. I tried to move, to ascertain whether this was the case. First I moved one arm, and then another. They were sound, though they hurt me. Then I tried my right leg, and then my left. They were certainly unfractured. I was doubtful about one of my ankles. It pained me more than any other part of my body. I drew it up and felt it all over. It was tender to the touch, but none of the bones appeared to be out of their places. This examination occupied some time. I did not call out for fear of the consequences. The pain which had hitherto prevented me thinking about what would follow now decreased, and I began to consider the awkward position in which I was placed. I tried to persuade myself that I had not positively intended to act the part of a stowaway. I could not but know that I had thought about it, yet I had only gone below for the sake of seeing the hold of a ship. I could say that when I was discovered, with a tolerably clear conscience, so I fancied. Should I be discovered? That was the question. For what I could tell I might be entombed beneath the cargo and be unable to get out till I was starved to death. The thought was too dreadful for contemplation, and I tried to put it from me. I remembered how I had escaped from the old mill and the way I got out without any one to help me. "Perseverance conquers all difficulties," I said to myself as I said then. My situation in some respects was very similar, only on that occasion I had expected, on obtaining my freedom, to meet my friends, and now I should find myself confronted by a rough crew and an irate captain, who might send me on shore, and, for what I could tell, have me put into jail if there was time for doing so. I had, at first, no idea of the size of the place in which I was shut up. I only knew that I could touch the boards above my head by extending my hand when sitting upright. I thereby knew that there would not be room for me to stand. I now crawled about and ascertained that I was in a tolerably wide place, extending fore and aft and from side to side. I was, in fact, in the lower hold or bottom of the ship, far, far down beneath a mass of cargo. How long I had been there was also a mystery to me. I might have remained in a fainting state only for a few minutes, or hours might have passed. I knew that I began to feel hungry, though I had had an ample luncheon--for on Saturdays Mr Butterfield dined early--which showed that I could not be very much hurt, and that I must have been some considerable time on board. I had, however, as I intended to stay out till dark, put a couple of buns, which I had bought at a pastrycook's, into my pocket. I refrained, as yet, from eating them, not knowing how long I might have to remain below. I thought that it must now be night, and as I supposed the crew would be asleep forwards and the captain and officers aft, they would not hear me, even if I shouted out at the top of my voice. I therefore concluded that it would be foolish to exhaust myself uselessly. "I'll wait for daylight, when they're moving about, and I shall have a better chance of making myself heard," I thought. The place where I lay was dry and clean, though it smelt horribly of tar and other odours from which the hold of a vessel is seldom free, and was besides disagreeably close. After a considerable period had elapsed, and when the pain had much gone off, a drowsiness stole over me, and having got into a comfortable position, I fell fast asleep. I think I must have awoke at intervals, for I remember hearing a curious rippling sound beneath me. It must have had a lulling effect, for I dropped off again. The next time I woke I heard not only a rippling sound, but a dashing of water against the sides, and presently the ship began to pitch slowly and gently. The idea at once occurred to me that I must be at sea. If so, it was where I had long wished to be, though the circumstances accompanying my entrance into a naval life differed greatly from such as I had intended them to be. Could it then be daylight?--if so, I had been much longer below than I had calculated on. The ship, I remembered, was to sail with the morning tide. That might have meant one or two o'clock, for how the tides ran I didn't know. There must have been time, at all events, for her to get away from the wharf, and to descend the Mersey. In that case the day must now be well advanced. Probably, I thought, the ship has had a fair wind, and with a favourable tide must have got rapidly along. I could not sing:-- "I'm on the sea, I'm on the sea, I am where I would ever be; With the blue above, and the blue below, In silence wheresoe'er I go." Silence there certainly was, but instead of the blue above and the blue below, there was pitchy darkness. The long sleep and the perfect rest had taken away all the pain which I had at first felt, except an uncomfortable sensation in one of my ankles. When I was fairly aroused I again began to feel very hungry, so I ate one of my buns. I could have bolted the other, but I was becoming wonderfully prudent, and I knew that if I did so I might have nothing else to eat. All this time I had remained perfectly silent, for the reasons I have before given. I had become accustomed to the atmosphere, and I suppose that some fresh air must have come through some unseen apertures which enabled me to breathe without difficulty. It was sufficiently close, however, to make me feel drowsy, and having eaten the bun, I again dropped off to sleep. I awoke with a horrible nausea, such as I had never before experienced. The sensations I experienced in the old vault were nothing to it. The air there, as I mentioned, was perfectly pure, besides which I was then upon solid ground; now I felt an unpleasant movement, sometimes a sort of plunging forward, then a rise and fall, and then a rolling from side to side, though being close to the keel I didn't experience this so much as if I had been on deck. It was quite sufficient, however, to make me feel terribly sick. Oh how wretched I was! Didn't I repent of having gone down into the hold. I would ten thousand times sooner have been perched on the highest stool in the darkest corner of Mr Butterfield's counting-house than have been where I was. I was too miserable to cry out. I only wished that the ship would strike a rock and go down, and thus terminate my misery. I need not describe what happened. For hours I was prostrate; but at length the feeling of sickness wore off, and I again became not only hungry but thirsty in the extreme. I would have given anything for a draught of water; but how was I to obtain it. One thing I felt was, that if I could not I should die. Though I was hungry I could not masticate the smallest portion of my bun, but I tried to arouse myself and began once more to move about. As I did so my hand came in contact with what appeared to be a large cask. I felt it all over. Yes, I was certain of it. It must be one of the ship's water-casks stowed in the lower tier. I thought I might possibly find some outlet through which I might make my way into the upper part of the ship, but none could I discover. I was, in reality, right down on the kelson, though I didn't know what it was called at the time. It is just above the keel, the object of it being to strengthen the vessel lengthways, and to confine the floors in their proper position. It is placed above the cross-pieces and half-floors, and a bolt is driven right through all into the main keel. The half-floors, it must be understood, are not united in the centre, but longitudinally on either side. Of course I was not aware of this at the time. All that I knew was, that I was down in the bottom of the ship in a horrible dark confined space, where I should be starved to death or suffocated could I not find some way out. Again and again I made the attempt, but in every direction met with obstructions. Stretching out my arms, I found I could touch each side of my prison. Resolute as I had hitherto been, I at length gave way to despair, and shrieked and shouted for help. I bawled till my voice was hoarse and my strength exhausted; then I sat down in a state of apathy, resigned to my fate. But the love of life soon returned. I got up and crawled to the further end of my prison-house, where I met with some stout boarding which effectually prevented my further progress. After this I turned round and crawled to the other end along the kelson, but was stopped by a strong bulkhead. Once more I stopped to listen, half expecting to hear the sailors making their way down to the hold to ascertain whence my shouts and cries proceeded, but no sound except the creaking of the bulkheads reached my ears. "I won't give in yet," I said to myself; "perhaps the crew are on deck or in the fore part of the ship, and the officers in their cabins, and my voice could not reach them; but somebody must, before long, be coming into the hold, and then, if I shout at the top of my voice, I cannot fail to be heard." The question, however, was, when would any one come down? I had no means of ascertaining, though the steward must be getting up provisions, or the boatswain or carpenter stores from their store-room, and yet no sound might reach me, or perhaps my voice might not penetrate as far as where they were at work. Still, there was nothing like trying. Placing my hands to my sides, I shouted out, "Help, help! I'm shut up below. I shall die if you don't let me out. Oh, do come, sailors. Don't you hear me? Help! Help! Help!" Then I gave way to a loud roar of agony and despair. After this I stopped for a few minutes listening as before, then putting my hands to my mouth, as if by so doing I should increase the loudness of my voice, I shouted with all the strength of my lungs. Suddenly the idea occurred to me that the sailors would hear my voice, but not knowing whence it proceeded would fancy the ship was haunted and would be in a dreadful fright. Strange as it may seem the thought amused me, and I gave way to an hysterical laugh. "Now I'll warrant not one of them will like to come below on account of the supposed ghost. They will be spinning all sorts of yarns to each other about hobgoblins appearing on board." Old Riddle had spun several such yarns, and they came to my recollection. One was about a boy named Sam Smitch. Sam was the dirtiest fellow on board, and could never understand what cleanliness meant. He was constantly, therefore, being punished. That didn't mend his ways, and he was a nuisance to all the crew, who, of course, gave him a frequent taste of the rope's-end and bullied him in all sorts of ways. At last Sam declared that he would jump overboard and end his misery. The men laughed at him, and said that he hadn't the courage to do it. "Haven't I?" said Sam, "you'll see that I'll do it, and my blood will be upon your heads." Still none would believe that Sam would do away with himself, till one morning his jacket and hat were found in the head, and when the ship's company was mustered at divisions, Sam didn't answer to his name. He was searched for everywhere, but could not be discovered, and at length it became very evident to all that Sam must have put his threat into execution and thrown himself overboard during the night. Whether any of the men recollected that it was their cruelty that had driven him to this act of desperation I can't say, but probably it didn't much trouble their consciences; they only considered he was a fool for his pains. Two or three days passed away, when Sam Smitch was well-nigh forgotten. One night, however, one of the carpenter's crew was going along the lower-deck, when he saw a figure in white gliding past him in the distance. The figure for a moment turned its head, when, as the light of the lantern fell on it, he recognised the face of Sam Smitch. It was more than his nerves could stand, and he bolted like a shot up the ladder. Night after night some one of the crew had a similar occurrence to relate, till one and all were convinced that the ship was haunted by Sam Smitch's ghost. At last the men, gallant fellows as they were, were afraid to go below even when sent on duty. Many of them swore that even when in their hammocks they had seen Sam Smitch's ghost gliding noiselessly about the deck. The whole crew were in a very nervous state, and many were actually placed on the sick list by the doctor. At last the circumstance reached the ear of the purser, who happened not to be a believer in ghosts. "Whew!" he exclaimed, when he heard it; "that accounts for the mysterious disappearance of some of my stores." He informed the first lieutenant, who placed a watch in the neighbourhood where the ghost had appeared. The next night, in bodily form, the ghost of Sam Smitch was captured, dirtier than ever, but yet fat and sleek, though rather pallid. Not, however, till he was brought on deck, to be well scrubbed under the superintendence of the master at arms, were the crew convinced that the ghost was no ghost at all, but that dirty Sam, fool as he was, had been bamboozling them effectually, while he enjoyed his ease and plenty to eat below with nothing to do. It is curious that this yarn should have occurred to me, but I suppose it did so from my case being somewhat similar to that of Sam Smitch, only he had voluntarily stowed himself away and had plenty to eat, while I was shut up against my will without a particle of food, except the buns I had in my pockets. It served also to draw me for a few minutes from the thoughts of my own misfortunes. The exertion of shouting increased the thirst I had already begun to feel. I was at the same time very hungry, but when I again tried to eat a piece of my remaining bun I could not get down the mouthful. I became rapidly more and more thirsty. The sea-sickness had worn off, but I felt more thoroughly uncomfortable in my inside than I had ever before done in my life. If any of my readers have at any time suffered from thirst, they will understand my sensations better than I can describe them. My mouth and throat felt like a dust-bin, and my tongue like the end of a burnt stick. I moved my mouth about in every possible way to try and produce some saliva, but so dry were my lips that they only cracked in the attempt. I had scarcely hitherto believed that I should die, but now so terrible were my sensations that I didn't expect to live many hours unless I should be released. I thought over my past life. The numberless wrong and foolish things I had done came back to my recollection, while not a single good deed of any sort occurred to me. I thought of how often I had vexed my father and mother, how impudent I had been to Aunt Deb, how frequently unkind and disagreeable to my brothers and sisters. I tried to be very sorry for everything, but all the time I was conscious that I was not as sorry as I ought to have been. Exhausted by my efforts as well as by my hunger and thirst, I lay stretched upon the kelson till I had, I suppose, somewhat recovered. Once more I said to myself, "It will not do to give in; out of this I must get." I managed again to get on my feet, feeling about in all directions. As I was doing so my hands touched what appeared to me like the side of a large cask. I was certain of it. I could make out the hoops which went round the cask, and the intervening spaces. Suddenly it occurred to me that it was one of the water-casks of the ship stowed in the lower tier. I put my ear to it, and as the ship rolled I could hear the water move about. I felt, however, very much like the fellow I had read about at school, who was placed when dying of thirst in the midst of water which remained up to his chin, but into which he could never get his mouth. Here was the water, but how I was to reach it was the question. I felt about in the hope that some moisture might be coming through; even a few drops would help to cool my parched tongue, though I could have drunk a gallon without stopping, but the cask was strong and perfectly dry outside. I considered whether it would be possible to knock a hole in the cask, but I had no instrument for the purpose, and should not have had strength to use it even if I had found it. It was indeed tantalising to hear the water washing to and fro, and yet not be able to obtain a drop. By chance I happened to put my hands in my pockets, which always contained a knife, bits of string, and all sorts of things. Suddenly I recollected that I had been making a stand for my cutter before she was stolen, and that I had had a gimlet to bore holes in the wood. To my joy I found that I had fixed a cork on the end of it and had thrust it into my pocket. There it was. I might, by boring a hole in the cask, reach the water. How anxiously I clutched the gimlet. How fearful I was that in attempting to bore a hole I might break it. Feeling as far as I could judge for the centre of the cask, I began boring a hole, using the greatest care. At length the gimlet went right through. As I drew it forth I put it to my mouth. It was wet. How deliciously cool it felt. I then applied my mouth to the hole, but bitter was my disappointment when no water came out. I sucked and sucked at the hole, and then I blew into it, but with no satisfactory result. I was again almost driven to despair. I tried the hole with the gimlet. It passed through it, and the iron was again wet. "What a fool!" I exclaimed, just then recollecting that to get liquor out of a cask two holes are necessary, the one to serve as a vent-hole to let in the air and the other to let out the liquid. I accordingly set to work and began boring a hole as high as I could reach above the former one. I soon accomplished my task, and as the air rushed in the water from the lower hole rushed out. I eagerly applied my mouth to it and sucked and sucked away until I was almost choked. Still I didn't feel as if I had had enough. How delicious was the sensation as it wetted my lips, moistened my mouth, and flowed down my parched throat. I felt very much like a pitcher being filled at a fountain. The hole was small, so that only a thin stream came out. It was fortunate for me that it was no larger, or I believe that I should have killed myself by over-drinking. Not until I had withdrawn my mouth did I recollect that I must find some means of stopping the flow of water. Feeling in my pocket, I found some pieces of wood, one of which I thought I could form into a plug. In doing so I nearly cut my fingers. After a time I succeeded, and shutting up my knife, I knocked the plug I had made in with the handle. The vent-hole was not so important to stop, so I let it alone. I was now able to eat my remaining bun, though I recollected that it was the last article of food I possessed. I afterwards took another pull at the water-cask. I had no longer any fear of suffering from thirst, which was some comfort, but I had serious apprehensions about the means of obtaining food, should I fail to make my escape from my prison. I was, however, wonderfully hopeful. I remembered how I had fed myself on the musty flour in the old mill. I kept up my spirits, in the hopes of finding something to eat among the cargo. I was aware that few edibles were exported from England, our teeming population consuming the whole produce of the country, and as much more as they can get. I could not tell all this time whether it was night or day, as I had no means of calculating how long I had been in the ship's hold. Had I been told that a week or more had passed, I should not have been surprised, the time appeared to me so long. I now began to feel excessively sleepy, and creeping about until I discovered where the planks, if not soft, were less rough than in other parts, I lay down, and in a few seconds was fast asleep. CHAPTER TEN. Dreamland--A vision of home--Strange proceedings of my brother Ned-- Roughish weather--I make a slight progress--A ray of light--The cargo--The wooden case--A disappointment--In darkness again--A welcome draught--My bed--My slumbers interrupted by ugly visitors--I determine to catch some rats--My further efforts at escape--My ill-success--My conscience troubles me, but I succeed in quieting it--My visions-- Tantalising Aunt Deb and Mr Butterfield--The conference of the rats-- Their opinion of mankind--Their grievances and proposed remedies--A sneeze and its effects. My slumbers were far from tranquil. I think, indeed, that sometimes I must have been half awake, for I was convinced that creatures were running over me; but when I put my hand out they escaped. Then I began to dream, and I fancied I was at home again in my own room. How I got there I could not tell. Suddenly my brother jumped out of bed, and began scrambling about the room, overturning the chairs and table, and then got behind the chest of drawers, and sent them down with a loud crash to the ground, laughing heartily as he did so. It was very unlike his mode of proceeding, as he was the quietest and best conducted member of the family. When he got tired of this sort of amusement he began pulling the bed about, and lifting it from side to side. Naturally I expected to be tumbled out. I begged him to let me alone, as I had gone through a great deal of fatigue, and wished to be quiet. But he would not listen to me, and only shook the bed more violently than before. Losing patience, I was going to jump up and seize him, when I awoke. I found that the movement was real, for the ship was rolling and pitching more heavily than she had before done, and I could hear the bulkheads creaking, and the timbers complaining, and the heels of the mast working, and the dull sound of the water dashing against the sides of the ship. There was still less chance than ever of being heard should I again shout out, so I refrained from exhausting my strength by the exercise of my voice. So much did the stout ship tumble about that I could not attempt to make another exploring expedition. I therefore lay still, waiting till the ship would again be quiet. I didn't know then that a storm sometimes lasts for days, and that I might be starved to death before it was over. Though the bun and draught of cold water had somewhat satisfied my appetite, I again began to feel hungry, though not so hungry as I might have been without them. Having nothing to eat, I went off again to sleep. When I once more roused up I began to think of the astonishment and alarm my disappearance would cause to Aunt Deb and Mr Butterfield. Would they have any suspicion of what had become of me? Perhaps they would fancy that I had fallen off the quay into the river; but then Aunt Deb would most likely insinuate that such was not to be my case. I confess that any anxiety she might feel didn't trouble me, but I regretted the anxiety my disappearance would cause my parents, and brothers and sisters at home. However I could not help it, so I put the thought from me. Hunger at last induced me to make another attempt to escape, in spite of the way the ship was tumbling about. I fancied that one of the bulkheads against which I had come was not so stout and strong as the others. I thought I would try and force my way through, but with only my hands how was that to be done. Whilst creeping about I shoved my legs or arms into any opening I came across. In doing so I kicked against some object which moved. I worked my foot on till I came to the end of it, and then contrived to draw from under one of the casks what proved to be a handspike, which had probably on some occasion dropped down into the hold. I can't express the satisfaction the possession of this instrument gave me. I felt it all over, and tried its strength by a blow on the kelson, for at first I was afraid it might be rotten. It proved sound. Armed with it I returned to the bulkhead, against which I determined to make my attack. Standing as firmly as I could, I dealt blow after blow as high up as I was able to reach. I suspected that had it not been for the noises which were constantly issuing from all parts of the ship the sound of my blows would have been heard. At last, to my joy, I felt something give way. This encouraged me to proceed. On feeling with my hands I found that I was working against a small upright door, which opened, I concluded, into another part of the hold. I redoubled my efforts, and getting in the handspike worked away till the door yielded still more. This further encouraged me to proceed, but the operation took me a long time. Occasionally no progress was made, but, like the dropping of water on a hard rock, ultimately prevailed. Now one nail was drawn, now another, and I was sure that the door was giving way. A strong man would with one or two wrenches have forced it open. Weak as I was for want of food, it now seems surprising to me that my exertions should have produced any effect. I had begun at the top. By working the handspike lower and lower down I by degrees tore away the door, or as I may more properly say the panel, as there were no hinges that I could discover. I was exerting all my strength in another effort when it gave way, and down I fell with my head almost through the aperture I had made. A faint light which came down from an opening far-away revealed the sort of place I was in. Had I not been so long accustomed to darkness I don't think that its strength would have been sufficient for me to discover the objects around. I made out several bales, cases, and packages, stowed tightly together; but still I failed to see any outlet. After recovering from my fall, by which I was somewhat hurt, I crept out, endeavouring to move some of the huge packages; but I did so in vain. I tried one and then another, but they did not yield to the utmost efforts I could make. Though I could not move the packages, I determined to try if any of them contained something edible. I first felt the packages. I was convinced they were bales of canvas or loose cloth. At last I came upon a wooden case. This I hoped might prove to be full of biscuits or hams. I accordingly got out my knife, expecting by patience to make a hole sufficiently large to admit my hand. As I was completely in the dark I had to be very cautious not to cut myself or break my knife, an accident which I knew was very likely to occur, I cut out, therefore, only a small piece at a time. Then I felt with my left hand to ascertain how I had got on. The case was very thick, and it must have taken me a couple of hours or more before I could make a hole an inch square. Even then I was not through it. I cut and cut away, till to my satisfaction my knife went through. I now made fast progress, and before long, as I ran in the blade it struck against a hard substance. Still I went on, and at last found to my bitter regret that the case contained iron goods of some sort. In spite of all the care I had taken I had much blunted my knife, and I was afraid I might not be able to make a hole in any other case I might find. I was ready to cry with vexation, but it would be of no use to do that, so I shut up my knife until I could discover some promising package to attack. I felt about in vain for another case. By this time the faint light I had observed had faded away, and I thus knew that evening had come on. I had had only two buns all this time. Unless I could get some food I fancied that I must die. Though I had nothing to eat I had plenty to drink, and to refresh myself I returned to the part of the ship out of which I had clambered. I soon discovered the water-cask, to which, pulling out the plug, I eagerly applied my mouth. The huge draught of water I swallowed greatly refreshed me, and prevented me feeling the pangs of hunger. I now went back once more to that part of the hold to which I had just gained access. Feeling about, I came upon a piece of canvas, and I thought to myself that it would somewhat add to my comfort could I make use of it to sleep on. I dragged it out, and found that it was of sufficient size for my purpose. The exertions I had made had greatly exhausted my strength. I should have lain down on the packages, but when I felt about I found that they would not form an easy couch. There was no room to stretch myself, and they were secured by hard ropes. Besides this I thought it possible that from the working of the ship some of them might slip out of their places, and come down upon me. I therefore dragged the piece of canvas into the lower part of the hold, and, stretching it under one of the water-casks, lay down to rest, intending before long to be up again and at work. I quickly dropped off to sleep, but was soon awakened by feeling some creatures crawling over me. That they were rats I could have no doubt, from their weight and the loud thud they made as they jumped off and on the kelson. I lay perfectly quiet. Now I felt a fellow running up my leg--now scrambling over my body. But the rogues did not venture near my hands, their instinct telling them that they would have their necks wrung if they did so. My object was to catch one or two of them, and, disgusting as the idea would have been at any other time, I determined if I could to get hold of one forthwith to eat him. I had often grumbled at home of having on a Monday morning to consume the dry bread which had remained over from the previous week. This system had commenced on the arrival of Aunt Deb, who would not allow a scrap of food to be lost, and she therefore persuaded my mother to give up the hot rolls which we previously had for breakfast on that day. It was the first of the many reforms introduced by our respected aunt which didn't endear her to us. The rats continued their gambols. Now I felt a fellow perched on my leg--now he would run along my arm, and before I could lift up my hand he was off again. I kept my feet covered up in the canvas, for I had no wish to have them nibbling at my toes. Somehow or other none of them came near my face, or I should certainly have caught one. At length I jumped up determined to make chase, but the moment I moved they were off in all directions. Perhaps they thought they had a hungry enemy to deal with. I felt about everywhere, thinking I might find one of them stowed away under a cask, or in some hole or corner, but they had gone off, like imps of darkness as they were, at sunrise. I wished more than ever for light. I thought that I could then infinitely better have endured my confinement. Fortunately for me, the ship must have been well cleaned out before the cargo was taken on board; and as she was as tight as a bottle, there was no bilge-water in her. Had there been, I could not have existed so long far down in the depths of her hold. The chase after the rats had aroused me, and I felt less inclination than before to sleep, so I got up, resolved to have another search for food of some sort. I was not very particular. A pound of tallow candles would have been welcome as a meal. I did not stop to consider whether I could have digested them. They would at all events have allayed the gnawing of hunger. I remembered reading of people suffering from hunger when navigating the ocean in open boats, and how much a flying-fish, or a booby, or a lump of rancid grease, had contributed to keep body and soul together. But neither booby nor flying-fish could I possibly obtain. I tried to think of all the various articles with which the ship was likely to be freighted. During my numerous visits to the quay alongside which she had been moored, I had had the curiosity to try and ascertain the contents of the packages about being hoisted on board. I had in some places observed large packages of raisins, dried figs, and hams, and kegs of butter, and dried fish, but they were being landed. I had, however, seen no things of the same description alongside the "Emu." Still, unless I searched I was sure not to find; so, again crawling through the opening I had made, I once more began to feel my way about, and to try every package I could reach. The cases I felt were all rough and strong. The packages were covered with a stout material, showing the nature of the goods within. Again I tried to move some of them so that I might make my way onwards, but I found as before that they were all firmly jammed in their proper positions. It was difficult to divine how the space I had got into had been left vacant. I might have spent two or three hours in the search, for of course I was obliged to move slowly and with the greatest caution to avoid knocking my head against any object, or falling down again and injuring myself. I no longer felt any pain from my sprained ankle. The enforced rest I had given it had contributed to restore it to use. How little those on deck supposed that a human being was creeping about so far down beneath their feet. Before I gave in I tried another case, which seemed more promising than any of those I had hitherto discovered. I got out my knife. I carved and cut, feeling each little chip as I got it off; the case was of soft deal, so that I had no great difficulty in cutting it, but I did so without much hope of reaching food after all, and began to feel that I should have to fall back on raw rat for supper. That was if I could manage to catch the said rat. As before, I was disappointed. I got into the case, but could only feel a mass of hay serving to pack china or crockeryware of some sort. I had had hopes of success, and I could not help feeling much disappointed. The desire of sleep, which I had for some time thrown off, returned, and I crept back to the spot which I had selected for my couch. I wrapt myself up in the canvas, taking care to guard my feet, and putting one hand over my nose, and the other under me, so that the rats should not be able to nibble any of my extremities, which I thought it likely they would try to do. I hoped, however, that if they made the attempt I should be more successful in catching one. For some time hunger prevented me from going to sleep. Again I thought over my past life--my childhood's days--the time I spent at school--my various companions--my chums and enemies--the tricks I had played--the canings and floggings I had received--for instruction at that period was imparted with a much larger proportion of the _fortiter in re_ than of the _suaviter in modo_. I used then to wish heartily to get away from school, but now I would very gladly have found myself back there again, even with the floggings in prospect, provided I could be sure of an ample breakfast, even though that breakfast might have consisted of larded bread and sugarless tea. Though I had often had quarrels with my brothers and sisters, I would willingly have entered into a compact never to quarrel again. I would gladly have endured one of the longest lectures Aunt Deb had ever given me, repeated ten times over, always provided I was sure of obtaining a lump of bread and cheese after it. I would thankfully have listened to the driest of some of my father's dry sermons, with the expectation of obtaining a cold dinner on my return home from church. But I knew that regrets were unavailing, and that as I had made my bed so I must lie in it. I thought and thought till my thoughts became confused. The sound of voices struck on my ear. People were talking in whispers all round me, but I could not distinguish what they said. Then even the consciousness of where I was faded from me, and I was fast asleep. Even when I was sleeping I still suffered the painful sensations of hunger. I was tantalised by seeing in my dreams tables spread out, sometimes for breakfast, and at others for dinner or supper. My brothers and sisters were seated round them, laughing and talking merrily, and eating the good things with excellent appetite. Once Mr Butterfield brought me a bowl of turtle-soup, and assuring me of its excellence, ladled it into his mouth before my eyes, and then disappeared with a hop, skip, and a jump. In the same way Aunt Deb appeared with a plate of crumpets, her favourite dish, and swallowed them one after the other, making eyes at me all the time they vanished down her throat. This done, she went off waltzing round and round the room, till she popped up the chimney. I cannot now remember one-tenth of the sensations which presented themselves to my imagination, showing, as I opine, that the stomach is in intimate connexion with the brain. Among others, by-the-bye, I fancied I was wandering about the streets of Liverpool, looking into cookshops and eating-houses, where people were engaged devouring food, which they in the most provoking manner held up to me on the ends of their forks, and instead of allowing me to take it, put it down their own throats. Again all was a blank. Silence reigned around; when suddenly a faint light streamed across the space before me, and I saw armies of rats tripping from all directions and assembling not five feet from my nose. Over the casks and bales and packages they streamed in countless numbers, whisking their tails, leaping and tumbling over each other; some making somersaults, others playing at leapfrog. Numbers climbed up from beneath the kelson; some came from the fore part of the ship, others from aft. "Why, she must be perfectly overrun with the brutes," I thought. "I wonder how any human being can exist on board. It's surprising that they should never molest me." They were merry fellows. I could not help laughing at the curious antics they played. Presently I heard a voice shout "Silence!" A buck rat had seated himself on the top of a plank, which I had not before observed. Much to my surprise he held a note-book in his hand, and opening it began to read. He was too keen-sighted, I suppose, to require spectacles, though how he managed to see in that light I could not tell. "Silence!" he again cried; and he then shouted at the top of his voice, which was somewhat squeaky for an orator, "Friends, Romans, countrymen,--Lend me your ears." I thought this a very odd way for a rat to commence an oration. As he spoke, all the rats, cocking up their ears, sat on their tails--some on the tops of the casks, others round and below me. "Thank you for the attention you seem inclined to pay me, brother rats," he continued. "I wish to impress on your minds the serious fact that we, as a race, have been maligned, abused, hunted, and ill-treated in all varieties of ways. We have had traps set for us, and although we are not often caught in them, it serves to exhibit the malice of our enemies. Adding insult to injury, they have, as I have only lately discovered, designated us in one of their popular dictionaries as troublesome vermin of the mouse kind. Why should they not have described us as rodents of graceful form, endowed with wonderful sagacity and activity to which the smaller animal called the mouse is allied? These human beings have also the audacity to malign our character, to insinuate that we are fickle and undependable, besides being fierce and savage. Thus, when one of their own race changes sides, they say that the wretched biped has `ratted,' Not content with abusing us, they make savage war against our race by every cruel mode they can devise. They chase us with cats and dogs. Not that we care much for the cats, who seldom venture into our haunts; but those horrid, keen-scented terriers, are, it must be confessed, justly to be dreaded. Still more so are those cunning little ferrets which insinuate themselves into our abodes. The hatred of our enemies is exhibited in their use. Nowhere are we safe from them. They make their way through the narrowest crevices, dive down to the lowest depths we can reach, disturb our domestic happiness, watch for us on our hunting expeditions, and rout us out of our securest strongholds. This fearful persecution is originated, aided, and abetted by our malignant persecutors, who, besides the traps I have already spoken of, even attempt our destruction by mixing poison in the food they leave in our way. We have only the melancholy satisfaction of creeping beneath the boardings of their rooms, there to die, and to allow our decaying bodies to fill the air with noxious odours. Friends, Romans, countrymen," he went on, repeating his former curious style of address, "we have met to devise means to assert our rights among created beings, and to revenge ourselves for the injuries we have for so many centuries of the world's history suffered. We are now decidedly in the majority on board this ship. We hold possession of her chief strongholds. Her captain, officers, and crew exist only on sufferance; so then, brother rats and sister rats, young and old, as it is our glorious privilege to belong to a free republic, express your opinions without fear. It is my business to note and record them." Directly the speaker ceased, even for a moment, the rats began frisking and whisking about, biting at one another's tails and leaping over one another, till he again shouted "Silence!" "Has no one any opinion to offer?" he asked. On this a grave-looking rat from the top of a cask answered, "Yes, I have an idea, which I'll propound as soon as those frolicsome young fellows at the bottom of the hold will keep quiet." On this the president again cried out, "Be quiet, you young rascals, or I'll singe your whiskers. Now, Brother Snout, let us hear what your idea happens to be," he said, turning to the rat on the top of the cask. The last-mentioned rat accordingly spoke, curiously using the same expressions as the former one had done. "Friends, Romans, countrymen: we are resolved on revenge. Revenge is sweet. Is it not so?" To which all the rats, in chorus, shouted out "Yes, yes." "But the mode in which we shall execute our vengeance is the question. Now I have an idea--a bright idea. I propose that we should sharpen our teeth, and having sharpened them, that we should begin to gnaw a hole in the bottom of this ship. We can make our way, as we know by experience, through the stoutest cases. Why should we not do so through whole planks? `Perseverance conquers all difficulties.' It will undoubtedly take time, but if we all work together and with a will we may bore not only one hole, but a thousand holes, when to a certainty the water will rush in and carry the captain, officers, and crew, our cruel tyrants, to the bottom, and our vengeance will be complete. So, brother rats, is not mine a bright idea, a grand idea, a superb idea? Who will second me?" There was silence. When a grey-headed rat from the further end of the platform, lifting himself up, rose in his eagerness not only on his legs but on his tail, and said-- "Brethren and sisters. Has it not occurred to you that when we have succeeded--should we be so foolish as to make the attempt--in cutting holes through the ship's bottom, we ourselves should be involved in the same catastrophe as the captain, officers, and crew? When the water rushes in, what will become of us? Why, we should be whirled round and round, and to a certainty become the first victims, perhaps the only ones, for there are boats on deck by which the captain, officers, and crew may make their escape, if they don't happen to be loaded up with all sorts of lumber so that they can't be cleared in time." "Ah, but I have a resource for that. Let us first nibble holes in the boats; it will be good practice, and we should succeed in the course of the night in effecting our purpose," exclaimed the previous speaker. "Brother Snout, with all due deference to your opinion, you are talking nonsense," said the grey-headed orator. "To my certain knowledge there are two dogs on board--one a Newfoundland, the other a terrier; I don't much care for the big fellow, but the terrier would be at us, let the night be ever so dark, and a good many of our race would lose the number of their mess. Let me observe, in the politest way possible, that your plan is not worth the snuff of a candle." The orator on the top of the cask was thus effectually shut up. "Has no one else an opinion to give?" asked the president. "I have," exclaimed a ferocious-looking rat with long whiskers, which he twirled vigorously as he sat upright. "I propose that we marshal our forces, one division to march aft to the captain and officers, and the other to the part where the crew are berthed. That at a given signal we set upon them and let the blood out of their jugulars. We shall thus gain the mastery of the ship, and be able to enjoy unlimited freedom." "General Whiskerandos, your remarks savour very much of war, but pardon me remarking, very little of wisdom," remarked the aged orator. "You have omitted to mention several important matters. In the first place, let me observe that the crew of a ship never sleep all at one time. Supposing a complete victory were gained over those below, the rest would discover the cause of their death, and would wage ruthless war against us. And what about the terrier? He sleeps at the door of the captain's cabin. He would not be idle, depend on that. He would be delighted to encounter our leading column. It would be rare fun to him, but a disastrous circumstance for us. Let me advise you, Brother Whiskerandos, that your idea is a foolish one. Suppose just for one moment that we should succeed, and that we should put to death every human being on board, what would become of the ship? She would float about unless dashed on the rocks by a hurricane till, her timbers and planks rotting, the water would rush in and she would go to the bottom." "That suggestion seems to be disposed of. Is it not?" asked the president. "I have a proposal to make," exclaimed an aldermanic old rat, sitting up on the top of a chest. "I suggest a course of proceeding which cannot fail of success, and will, at the same time, be pleasant and agreeable to ourselves. We will sally forth and eat up all the provisions in the ship, cut holes in the water-casks and let out all the water. We will commence at the bottom, working our way upwards, so that we shall not run the risk of having our proceedings discovered. What we can't eat we will destroy, so that those wretched mortals triumphing in their strength and intelligence will be deprived of the means of sustaining life, and must succumb before long to inevitable death; and we whom they have despised and ill-treated will gain possession of the ship and be our own masters, and sail in whatever direction we may please. The kingdom will be our own. We shall be lords of all we survey, and there will be no one to interfere with our proceedings." "What about Nero and Pincher?" asked a small rat with a squeaky voice. "What will become of them, Brother Doublechops?" "When provisions run short they will to a certainty be killed and eaten by the bipeds," answered the stout orator. "I shall watch for the result with intense interest, and have made up my mind to have a nibble at their livers and other bits of their insides. It will afford me intense satisfaction to eat a portion of those who have destroyed if not devoured so many of our race." "Oh! Brother Doublechops, oh! Brother Doublechops you are talking nonsense," said the aged orator, who was evidently one of the most influential rats of the assembly. "If, as I before observed, we were to kill the captain, officers, and crew, what's to become of the ship without any one to navigate her? She can't steer a course for harbour, and would remain tossed by the waves and blown about by the winds till she met the fate I before described, and went down to the bottom, carrying us with her." "Has no one a further proposal to make?" inquired the president. Nobody answered; even the squeaky voice of the little rat, who looked as if he had no end of suggestions to offer, was silent. A murmur of rattish voices filled the air. "Friends, Romans, citizens, again I ask you all to lend me your ears," exclaimed the president, at which all the rats put on a look of profound attention. "You have heard the proposals offered as well as the answers made to them. To me, speaking with due deference to the opinion of others, the proposals appear to be the most insane, foolish, and impracticable that could have been devised by rattish brains. Here we are, cut off from all connexion with the dry land and the whole race of rats. It is very clear that we can't navigate this ship into harbour by ourselves. If we sink her we ensure our own destruction. If we kill the captain, officers, and crew by any of the means hinted at, we are equally certain ultimately to suffer. Here we are, and here inexorable fate dooms us to remain till we once more get alongside the shore and a plank from the ship enables us during the dark hours of night to effect our escape. Let us, therefore, like wise rats, in the meantime, be content with our condition, and enjoy at our ease the provisions with which the ship is stored." "Granted, Mr President, that your remarks are correct," exclaimed Whiskerandos, who had before spoken, "I have still an idea which has long been hatching in my brain. I suggest that we wait until the ship reaches port and is moored securely alongside, when we will attack her planks both tooth and nail, and by boring holes in her bottom let in the water and make our escape." Loud cheers followed this suggestion. No one waited to hear what the president said. It was sufficiently encouraging to suit the minds of the most fiercely disposed, while the more timid were pleased with it as it indefinitely put off the time of action. I had been an interested listener to all that was said, and was very thankful that the rats had arrived at this conclusion. At first I was afraid that they might decide on attempting to sink the ship, and though I might have tried to prevent them, yet should they have attacked me with overwhelming numbers I might have found it impossible to contend with them. I cared little for their projects of sinking the ship in harbour. I hoped before then to have made my escape. They had hitherto curiously enough not discovered me, and I hoped that I should be able to remain concealed, as I dreaded a conflict with the savage creatures now surrounding me in countless numbers. I remained perfectly quiet, scarcely daring even to breathe. Suddenly I was seized with a fit of sneezing. At the first sternutation the rats jumped up and looked about them, evidently considerably alarmed. Again I sneezed, when off they scampered, disappearing like greased lightning, as our American cousins say, through countless crevices and holes and other openings I had not before perceived. The light which had during the time pervaded the hold, faded away, and I was left in total darkness. It was sometime before I could persuade myself that what I had seen and heard had been only conjured up by my imagination, though I had no doubt that real rats had been running about in the neighbourhood, and had given rise to my dream. CHAPTER ELEVEN. The hold of the "Emu"--Further attempts at escape--The storm ceases--A rat hunt--Slippery customers--Oh, for a trap!--My ingenuity exercised--Caught at last--My repugnance to rat's flesh--Hunger needs no sauce--My subsequent impressions--Cannibal rats--My solitary life-- The rats grow cautious--The crate--I make a welcome discovery--A fresh expedition--As black as a nigger--Things might be worse. Day and night to me were the same. My dreams having been troubled-- which was very natural considering the circumstances--I did not feel inclined to go to sleep, so I once more got up to try if I could find some food. I first took a draught of water. Indeed, had it not been for that, I could not have existed so long. Carefully putting in the plug, for I dreaded exhausting my store, I groped my way back to the opening I had lately discovered. I knew my position by feeling for the holes I had made in the cases. As no light reached me, I knew it was either night or that the hatch had been put on. I was puzzled to decide which was the case. I listened for the sound of human voices. None reached my ear. My hunger had become ravenous. Food I must have, or I should perish. I felt conscious that I was much weaker. I again tried to make myself heard, shouting and shrieking as loud as I could, but my voice was faint though shrill, more like that of a puny infant than a stout boy. I was becoming desperate. I first crept in one direction, then in another, trying to force my way between the bales and other packages, but to no avail. Everywhere I was stopped by some impediment I could not remove. The storm, I concluded, had ceased, as the ship was comparatively quiet, so that I was less afraid than before of being jammed up between the heavy packages and turned into a pancake. I felt about in every crevice for the possibility of finding something to eat. I cared not what it was, provided I could get my teeth into it. I remembered that rats often dragged away bits of food into their holes to devour at leisure, and I would gladly have found such a store. The idea that I might do so encouraged me to proceed. If I could get out of my confined space I knew that I should have a better chance of falling in with food, but how to get out was the question. I crept back for the handspike, and tried to move some of the bales, but all my efforts were unavailing. I then, carrying the handspike with me, went to the bulkhead at the other end of my prison, and endeavoured by repeated blows to knock in a plank. They were all too stout to give way to my apparently feeble efforts. I fancied that the blows must resound through the ship, and that the crew would come below to ascertain what produced the noise, but I waited and waited in vain. At last I went back to my couch, and sat down to consider what was to be done. I knew that as I grew weaker both my strength and wits would decrease, and that I should be less capable of exerting myself. After sitting quiet for some time, I heard the rats again running about. Frequently they passed close to me, but when I darted out my hands they slipped by them. Once I caught a fellow by the tail, but he wriggled it out of my fingers, and another whose nose I must have touched gave me a sharp nip and then bounded away. At last I thought I would form a trap with my knife. Near me was a square case close to which I heard the rats frequently passing. I felt and discovered that there was a small opening between it and the large package. I had some string in my pocket, and my plan was to hang up my knife by the string, the lower end of which I hung close to the hole, while I passed the upper end over my finger. I thus hoped that when a rat should be running in or out of the hole it might be stopped long enough by the string to allow the knife to descend. My first attempt was not successful. Down fell the knife, but when I felt about for the rat which I had expected to have been transfixed, it had gone. I tried again, but once more the rat escaped me. I began to fear that the creatures would discover my device, and take some other route when they wished to emerge from their hiding-places. Still I knew that perseverance conquers all difficulties. I was convinced that my plan might succeed. Why it had before failed I could not tell. Perhaps I held the knife too high up, and the rat had got away before it had time to descend. I now held the knife rather lower down. Several times I replaced the knife, but always found it exactly before the spot. Again it fell, when I heard a loud squeak, and sprang down on my hands and knees in a moment, and caught the handle of the knife, which was moving rapidly along the plank. The blade had entered the side of a fat rat. The creature made an attempt to bite me, but I squeezed it by the neck. It lay dead in my hands. At first even my hunger could not overcome my disgust at the thought of eating the creature. I carried it by the tail to let the blood stream out of the body, and went to the butt, where I took a draught of water, hoping to put off the moment when I should find my teeth in its flesh. But hunger called loudly; I could resist no longer, and having cut off its head, I skinned it as well as I could in the dark. Then stripping the flesh from the bones, I put a morsel of it in my mouth. It tasted infinitely better than I could have expected. There was no rankness, no disagreeable flavour. I wondered how I could have had so much objection to eating raw rat. I scraped the bones clean. As there were undoubtedly plenty more in the hold, though not so many as I had seen in my dream, I hoped that I should have been able to supply myself amply with game. I was now sorry that I had thrown away the head and the entrails, as they might have served me for bait to catch more. I therefore hunted about till I discovered the head, on the point, I suspect, of being seized by another rat, for I heard the creature scamper off as I put my hand upon my prize. The entrails must have been devoured, for I could not find them. My success encouraged me to try and catch another rat in the same way as before. I, however, somewhat changed my mode of proceeding. I fastened the head to the end of the string, and hung up the knife directly over it, by a small splinter which I stuck lightly into the crevice of the case. My expectation was that, when the rat pulled at the head of its slaughtered fellow, the knife would fall and transfix it. I had to wait for some time listening to the sound of the rats' footsteps. At length down came the knife, but no squeak followed, and I found it lying where it had fallen. I began to fear that the first rat had been killed by chance, and that my clever device could not be depended on. Though the keen edge of my appetite had worn off, I knew that I should very soon be again hungry, and I therefore wanted, before I went to sleep, to catch another rat. I was aware that I must be moderate in my banquets, as I guessed that rat's flesh was not likely to prove very wholesome; but I no longer felt, as I had previously done, that I should be starved to death. I am afraid that I could boast of very few good qualities, but I possessed at all events that of perseverance. Perhaps I had gained it during my experience as a fisherman, when I used to sit for hours by the side of a pond waiting for a bite, and seldom failed to get one at last. I therefore again hung up my knife. I can't tell how often it fell, but at last I caught one rat much as I had done the first, though at the expense of a bite on the thumb. By this time I was again hungry, and very soon had the rat's flesh between my teeth. To those who have not suffered as I had, my proceeding must appear very disgusting, but I would only advise any fellow who thinks so to try what he would do after going without food for three or four days. I certainly, during that time, had had nothing but two buns and unlimited draught of cold water. The cold water and the long spells of sleep I had enjoyed. I believe in reality that I was much longer than four days after I had finished the last bun, but I will not be positive, lest people should doubt the fact. The greater part of the time, however, was spent in sleep. My rat-dream, as I call it, might have occupied several hours, for I have not put down half of what I heard said, nor described the curious antics I saw, as I supposed, of the rats' play. I have since recollected that the words with which the president began his speech were those used by Mark Antony at the commencement of his oration over the dead body of Caesar, which I learnt at school. After eating the second rat I felt greatly revived, and resolved to continue my explorations, but a drowsiness came over me before I made my way to the further end of the hold. I returned to my couch and lay down to sleep. It would be a good opportunity of sounding the praises of sleep, and if I were a poet I might indulge my fancy and produce something wonderfully novel; but as I never wrote a line in my life worthy of being called poetry, I will not inflict anything of this sort on my friends. I was becoming wonderfully accustomed to my solitary life. Having rolled myself in the old sail, I closed my eyes with as much sense of security as I should have done in my own bed at home. I had ceased to think of my friends there, or of Aunt Deb and Mr Butterfield. I could not go on for ever troubling myself with thoughts of the anxiety my disappearance must have caused them. An intensely selfish feeling--for such I knew that it was--possessed me. My only thought was how I could get out of my prison, and if I could not succeed, how I might provide myself with food. I had no longer any fear of the rats. I had become their master. I looked upon them as the owner of an estate does on his hares and rabbits. The hold was my preserve, and I considered that I had a right to as many as I could catch. I must proceed faster in my narrative than I have hitherto been going, and must omit some of my wakings and sleepings and hunts for rats and searches for more palatable food. The rats, after I had killed four or five, had become cautious. They are at all times cunning fellows, and must have discovered my mode of trapping them. The ship all this time was gliding on with tolerable smoothness, and on some occasions, by putting my ear down to the planks, I could hear the rippling of the water. At other times, I guessed by the dashing of the sea against the sides, that there was a strong breeze. I knew also, by the steadiness of the movement, that the ocean was tolerably calm. I should have liked to have known where we had got to. I could only guess that we were bound for South America, and that we were holding a southerly course. I had made several exploring expeditions in search of food, when I discovered close to the bulkhead what seemed to me like a strong crate. By some chance or other I had not before put my hands upon it. I now moved them all over it, and at one place came to a space into which I could thrust my fingers. The board seemed loose. I tugged and tugged away till off it came with a crackling sound, and down I came. I picked myself up, happily not the worse for my tumble, and eagerly inserted my hand into the crate. There appeared to be several articles within, but what they were I could not make out. I had to take off another board before I could get hold of them. This I did, fixing my foot firmly so as not to fall back again, and after exerting myself for some time, the board gave way. The first thing I laid hold of was a small keg. It seemed too heavy to contain biscuits, but I was nearly sure that there was something eatable within. I tried to open it with my knife, but nearly broke the blade in the attempt. That would have been an irreparable misfortune. My hands next came in contact with a thick glass bottle with a large mouth to it. I was too eager to ascertain the contents of the keg and bottle to continue my search. I therefore carried them down to my sleeping-place, where I had left the handspike, and there soon broke in the head of the cask. It contained some small, round, hard and greasy fruit, I eagerly tasted one. They were olives. I knew this because Mr Butterfield a few days before gave me some at dessert. I then thought them very bitter and nasty, but as I saw him eating them I nibbled at two or three. In the end I liked them rather better than at first, or rather, I didn't dislike them so much. Having eaten half-a-dozen, I was very glad that I had found them. They were at all events a change from rat's flesh. I next took the bottle in hand, and with my knife scraped away the sealing-wax with which it was covered. Instead of trying to force out the cork I cut into it until I had made a hole big enough to insert my fingers, when I pulled it out. The bottle contained pickles. These, though they would not satisfy hunger would render the food I was doomed to live upon more palatable and wholesome. Having put them away in the most secure place I could think of, I returned to the crate. By tearing off another plank I found that I could creep inside. It contained all sorts of things, apparently thrown in before the vessel began to be loaded to be out of the way, and afterwards forgotten. I came across two or three old brooms or scrubbing-brushes, a kettle with the spout broken, several large empty bottles, and other things I cannot enumerate. At last, when I thought I had turned everything over, my hand came against another cask, considerably larger than the first. I dragged it out. It was not so heavy as I should have supposed it would be from its size. It was too big to carry, so I rolled it along before me. From the first I fancied it must contain biscuits, but I was almost afraid to too soon congratulate myself on my good fortune. A few blows with the handspike shattered the top, and eagerly plunging in my hand, to my intense satisfaction I drew forth a captain's biscuit. I ate it at once and thought it deliciously sweet, though it was in reality musty and mouldy. I had now a store of food to last me for days, and even weeks, should I not obtain my liberation, provided I used the strictest economy. All I wanted was fresh air. To obtain that, supposing I could not work my way out or make myself heard, was now my chief object. Before setting out on another expedition, I placed my provisions where I hoped the rats would not be able to get at them, after carefully corking down the bottles of pickles and the jar of olives, and closing the keg of biscuits. I thought it very likely that the rats would try to make their way through the latter, but I intended to examine it frequently to ascertain whether they had commenced operations. I had been turning in my mind a better means of catching the rats than the one I had before adopted. I thought and thought over the matter, but could not arrive at any conclusion. Being no longer pressed by hunger, I was less in a hurry than I should have been had I only rats' flesh to depend on. I pined for fresh air, but at the same time I was most inconvenienced for want of light. I was, however, already able to find my way about in a wonderful manner. I had pictured in my mind's eye all the objects around, and had the whole of my prison mapped out clearly in my brain, as I supposed it to exist. Perhaps it was not exactly according to reality. There were the kelson and the stout ribs of the ship, the planking over them, the water-butts on either side, the stout bulkheads. At one end my bed-place; the opening which I had formed at the other end, the bales, the packing-cases, the casks, and last of all the crate. Into this last I intended soon again to return, in the faint hope that I might force my way through it into some upper region. It was, I judged from the ease with which I had torn off the planks, old and rotten, and I could not therefore suppose that any heavy weight had been placed above it. I should have observed that I had reason to congratulate myself the ship was new and well caulked, and that not a leak existed throughout her length, for had any bilge-water been in her the stench would have been insufferable, and would soon either have deprived me of life or produced a serious sickness. As it was, considering what ships' holds generally are, the air was comparatively pure, and I did not suffer much from the confinement. The fact I have mentioned would account for the number of rats in the hold, for being sagacious animals they are said always to desert a ship likely to go down. Probably, being inconvenienced by the water in the regions to which they are quickly driven when discovered, they take their departure on the earliest opportunity. I have known ships to founder with rats on board, so that they cannot be said to be a preventative to such a disaster. I now set out on another expedition. As I got through the hole in the bulkhead a brighter light than I had before enjoyed came down into the open space, not directly, however, but through the various crevices among the numerous casks and cases piled up in the hold, so that I was able to distinguish the objects around me more clearly than I had hitherto done. I could not have read a book, but I could see my hands as I held them up before me, and they were as black as those of a negro. Probably my face was much in the same condition. I knew that my feet and my clothes also were begrimed with dirt. Strange as it may seem, I was so busy in taking a survey of the locality, that I forgot to shout out, for as the light came down my voice would certainly have been heard, as without doubt one of the hatches had been opened. My impulse was to take the opportunity of working my way upwards. I saw the crate close against the bulkhead and the place where I had torn off the plank. I eagerly scrambled in that direction, but could see no way over it. I must get inside, as I first intended. I thought then, if I could force off the top, I might make my way through it to an upper stratum of the cargo. I did as I proposed. In vain I tried with my back and hands to force up the top. I had forgotten to bring the handspike. It occurred to me that with that as a lever I should succeed. I returned for it. The atmosphere I fancied had already become fresher, or at all events the foul air had escaped, and its place had been supplied by purer air through unseen openings. The light, dim as it was, which my eyes had enjoyed for a short period, made the darkness of the hold still darker. My senses were for a few moments confused, and for some time I searched in vain for the handspike. I was sure, however, that I remembered where I had left it. At last my hand touched the instrument, and I dragged it back to the scene of my intended operations. As I reached the spot, what what was my dismay to find all in darkness. The hatch, had been replaced, and I had lost the opportunity of making myself heard. Only then did it occur to me that I ought, immediately on seeing the light, to have shouted out. My wits, generally keen enough, were, I suspect, becoming somewhat confused. I had so long been accustomed to do things with the greatest deliberation, that I had lost the impulse to prompt action which was otherwise natural to me. I now shouted, but it was too late, no one heard me. The seamen had gone to their usual occupations at a distance from the hatchway. For some minutes I sat down, vexed with my stupidity and dilatoriness. On recovering myself I resolved never again to lose a similar opportunity. I had for so long worked in the dark, that I was not to be deterred from carrying out my intention. Armed with the handspike, I entered the crate. I first felt in each corner, to try and find an opening in which I could insert the end of my implement. Not one was to be found. I next drove it against the ends of the planks; they were too firmly nailed down to yield. I next knocked away in the centre, hoping that one of the planks might prove rotten, and that I should be able to force it upwards. Again I was disappointed, and at last, tired with the exertions I had made, I was obliged to abandon the attempt; but I did not give it up altogether. I resolved, as soon as I had regained my strength and stretched my limbs, which had become cramped from being so long in a confined position, to set to work once more. I had been employed, I fancy, three or four hours; it may have been longer. At all events, I had become very hungry, and with a store of food near at hand I could not resist the temptation of eating. I accordingly retired to my berth and sat down. I had not contrived to catch a rat, so I had to content myself with a musty biscuit and a dozen olives for dinner, washed down by a copious draught of water. I was thankful for the food, though it could not be called a luxurious banquet. CHAPTER TWELVE. Still in the hold--Conscience again troubles me--My new food and its effect on my health--I picture to myself the crew on deck--Rather warm--Another storm--My sufferings and despair--A cold bath--I lose my stock of provisions--The rats desert me--The storm subsides--My fancy gives itself rein. Days, possibly weeks, may have passed by; I had no means of calculating the time. The ordinary sounds from the deck did not reach my ear, or I might have heard the bells strike, or the voice of the boatswain summoning the watch below on deck. I scarcely like to describe this part of my adventures, for fear that they should not be believed. I have since read of similar accounts of young stowaways being shut down in the hold of ships, but whether they were true or not I cannot say. Perhaps they were written with the purpose of deterring boys running off to sea. If so, they had a good object in view, for from my own experience I can say that a more mad or foolish act a silly youth cannot commit. A sailor's life is not without its attractions; but to enjoy it he must have a good conscience, and be able to feel that he went to sea with his parents' or friends' consent; and then when disaster occurs, he has not bitterly to repent having acted contrary to their wishes. For my own part I tried to persuade myself that I was an unwilling stowaway, that I had only gone on board to take a look into the hold; but conscience whispered to me over and over again, "You know you thought of hiding yourself, and thus getting away to sea in spite of your Aunt Deb, and the kind old gentleman who was ready to do what he considered best for your advancement in life." I tried to silence conscience by replying, "I didn't intend it, I should never have actually concealed myself in the hold if I could have helped it. I am simply an unfortunate individual, who is undergoing all this suffering through no fault of his own. Though I had no wish to become a merchant, I would, with all the contentment I could muster, have taken my seat in Mr Butterfield's office, and done my duty to the best of my ability." Though I said this to myself over and over again, I found it more convenient to satisfy conscience and to think only of the present. I had plenty to do, much of my time being spent in endeavouring to catch rats. I seldom killed more than one in a day, though occasionally I was more successful. I ate them without the slightest disgust, taking some of the pickles at the same time with a piece of biscuit, my dessert consisting of three or four olives. I was afraid of exhausting my supply, or I could have swallowed many more. The rats' flesh was tolerably tender. I suspect that I generally caught the young ones, for at length I caught one which must have been the father, or grandfather for that matter, of the tribe, as he was so tough that it was only with considerable difficulty I could masticate him. This food, however unattractive according to the usual ideas, must be wholesome, for I kept my health in an extraordinary manner. I was much indebted for this, I believe, to the olives, which prevented my being attacked by that horrible disease, scurvy. I was not aware at the time of its existence, but I have since witnessed its horrible ravages among crews insufficiently supplied with antiscorbutics, or who have neglected the ordinary precautions against it. I every day made excursions to try and effect my liberation. The crate must have had something weighty on the top of it, I thought, or I should have been able to force it open. It had hitherto resisted all my efforts, though I frequently spent an hour within it. The ship all this time was gliding on smoothly, and I supposed was making a prosperous passage. I occasionally pictured to myself what was going on over my head, canvas spread below and aloft, the ship under her courses, topsails, topgallant sails and royals with studdingsails rigged out on either side. The sea glittering in the rays of the sun, the sky bright, the captain and officers walking the deck or reading in their cabins. The crew lolling about with folded arms, smoking their pipes or spinning yarns. I forgot that some of them would be employed in spinning very different sorts of yarns to what I fancied, and that chief mates are not apt to allow man to spend their time with their arms folded, doing nothing. On and on sailed the ship. The atmosphere was becoming sensibly warmer. I supposed that we should soon get into a tropical climate, and that then I might find it disagreeably hot even down below. But I didn't allow myself to think of the future, as I was beginning to abandon all hope of working my way out. My desire now was that the ship might reach a port in safety, and begin to discharge her cargo; when I should have the chance of liberating myself. I did not, however, abandon altogether my efforts, and the exercise I thus took every day contributed to keep me in health. During the time I was sitting down and not sleeping, I employed myself in repeating all the English poetry and Latin speeches I had learnt, and sometimes I even attempted to sing the sea songs of which I had been so fond--"Cease, rude Boreas," "One night it blew a hurricane," "Come, all ye jolly sailors bold," "Here a sheer hulk lies poor Tom Bowling," and many others; but my voice was evidently not in singing trim, and I failed to do what Orpheus might have accomplished, to charm the rats from their hiding-places. The sea continued calm for some time; at all events I felt no movement to indicate that it was otherwise; but whether the ship was moving fast or slowly I could not tell. I expected that she would continue her steady progress to the end of the voyage. I had gone to sleep, and I now generally slept on for eight or ten hours at a stretch, so I could not say whether it was night or day. All was the same to me. Suddenly I was awakened by a fearful uproar, and I found myself jerked off my sleeping-place on to the hard boards. From the noises I heard I fancied the ship must be going to pieces, or that the masts were falling. She heeled over so much on one side it seemed impossible that the water-butts could keep their positions, and I thought every instant I should be crushed to death by the one on the weather side falling upon me. A fearful storm was raging. My ears were deafened by the dashing of the fierce waves, and the howling and whistling of the wind, which reached me even down where I was; and by the incessant creaking of the bulkheads. Crash succeeded crash; the whole cargo seemed to be tossed about, now to one side now to the other. I could feel the ship rise to the summit of a sea, and then plunge down again to the depths below. I had hitherto retained my composure, but I now almost gave way to despair. It seemed that the ship, stout as she was, would not be able to survive the fierce contest in which she was engaged with the raging elements. Not for a moment was she quiet; now she appeared to be rolling as if she would roll the masts out of her, had they not already gone; now she surged forward and went with a plunge into the sea, which made her quiver from stem to stern. I thought that ribs and planks could not possibly hold together. I expected every moment to be my last. It would have been bad enough to have had to endure this on deck, surrounded by my fellow-creatures--down in the dark hold it was terrible. I now wonder that my senses did not desert me, but matters had not yet come to their worst. I dared not move, for fear of being dashed against the casks. There I lay helpless and almost hopeless, while the violence of the movements increased. I did not feel sick, as before. Terror banished all other sensations. Suddenly I heard a loud crash close to me, and I found myself nearly overwhelmed by a strong rush of water. The instinct to live made me spring to my feet, for I should have been drowned had I remained where I was. I fully believed that the side of the ship had been forced in, and that before many seconds had passed I and all on board would be carried down to the bottom of the sea. Still I endeavoured to escape from the water, which in large masses came rushing against me, though my efforts would have been utterly useless had what I had supposed occurred. I made frantic efforts to escape out of the way of the torrent, and endeavoured to reach the only opening I was aware of by which I might escape if I could find egress to the upper deck. In my hurry, not using the caution I had generally exercised, I ran my head against a cask with so much force that I fell back senseless on the kelson. There I lay unable to rise, and believing that the water would soon cover me up and terminate my sufferings. I was not altogether senseless; I should have been saved much wretchedness and suffering had I been so. I continued to feel the violent motion of the ship; to hear the uproar, the crashing of the cargo, the casks and chests being hurled against each other. I expected that the bulkhead near me, which had hitherto served as my protection, would give way, and that some of the huge cases would be hurled down upon me; but I had no strength to shriek out, and lay silent and motionless. Suddenly the rush of water ceased, and I heard only a little washing about beneath me. This surprised me greatly. I began to recollect that it must have been impossible that the side of the ship should have been smashed in, or the water would have continued entering with as much force as at first. This idea made me fancy that matters might not be so bad as I had at first supposed. By slow degrees I recovered my courage. "The ship is not going to sink, I may yet survive," I thought, and I got up to try and ascertain the cause of the rush of water. I was not long in doing this. In groping my way about I came upon one of the huge butts, which, from the large fracture I felt in its side, had evidently burst and let out the whole of its contents. It was fortunately not the water-cask from which I drew my supplies of the necessary element, but I guessed that it would prove ultimately of serious consequence to the crew, who would probably be depending on it when their stock in the other part of the ship had been exhausted. Still that at the time did not give me much concern. I was wet through, bruised, and exceedingly uncomfortable. I feared, too, that as one butt had given way, the others might before long follow its example, and that I should then have no water on which to support my life. Having made this discovery, I crept back to my sleeping-place. As I had no other means of drying my clothes, I took them off and wrung them out, then wrapped myself in the sail, which being in a higher position had only been slightly wetted by the splash of the water. Unpleasant as my life was, this altogether was the most miserable period of my existence in the hold of the "Emu." I thought that the storm would never end. Hour after hour the ship went plunging and rolling on, every timber shaking and quaking, my heart beating I must confess in sympathy. Regrets were useless. My only consolation now was that should the ship in the meantime not founder or be driven on the rocks, this state of things must come to an end. I tried to forget where I was and what was happening and to bring my senses into a state of stupor. I would willingly have gone to sleep, but that seemed impossible. I was mistaken, however. After some time, in spite of the violent movements and the terrific uproar, I began to doze off, and an oblivion of all things, past and present, came over me. It was sent in mercy, for I do not think I could otherwise have endured my sufferings. When I awoke to the present matters had not improved, so I endeavoured, and successfully, to go to sleep again. This occurred several times. At last, in spite of my painful feelings, I found that I had become very hungry, and to my surprise my clothes, which I had hung up against the bulkhead on some nails stuck in the upper part, were very nearly dry. I put them on, unwilling to be without garments should I be discovered. I had no rats in store, so intended to make my meal off biscuits and olives. I put my hand down to where I had stowed them, when what was my dismay not to be able to find either the cask of biscuits or the jars of olives and pickles. I felt about in all directions, hoping that I had made a mistake as to their position. I was at length convinced that they had gone. I then recollected that the chief volume of water out of the butt must have washed them away. Still they could not be far off. I lay down on the kelson and felt about with my hand on every side. My search for a moment was in vain. At last I picked up an olive, and then another. My fear was that the jar was broken. What if the pickles and biscuits had shared the same fate? That this was the case was too probable, and if so my stock of provisions, would be spoiled, if not lost altogether. After further search I came upon the jar broken in two. It was especially strong, so that the bottle of pickles would have had no chance of escaping. I had fortunately my handkerchief, and I managed to pick up several olives, which I put into it. Creeping along I came at last upon the pickle-bottle, and nearly cut my hand in feeling for it. A few pickles were near it. I drew them out of the water which had escaped from the butt. Their flavour I guessed would be gone and all the vinegar which was so cooling and refreshing; but almost spoiled as they were, I was glad to recover them. I found, however, scarcely a fourth of the olives and pickles. The loss of the biscuits was the most serious. They, if long in the water, would be mashed up into a pulp, and perhaps dispersed throughout the bottom of the ship. The sooner I could recover whatever remained the better. I ate three or four olives and a piece of pickle to stay the gnawings of hunger, and went on with my search. The ship, it must be remembered, was all this time rolling to and fro. I searched and searched, my hopes of recovering the biscuits in a form fit to be eaten growing fainter and fainter; still I knew that the keg, either entire or broken, must be somewhere within my prison-house, for so I must call it. I stopped at last to consider in what direction it could have been thrown. Perhaps being lighter and of larger bulk than the other things, it might have been jerked farther off, and rolling away got jammed in the casks or cases. My search proved to me that it could not be close beneath the kelson; I therefore felt backwards and forwards everywhere I could get my hand. I tried to recollect whether I had, when last taking a biscuit out, fixed on the head tightly or not. Having smashed it in, in order to broach the cask, it was not very easy to do so, and I had an unpleasant feeling that I had put on the top only sufficient to prevent the rats jumping down into the inside. If so, the chance of the biscuits having escaped was small indeed. At length I touched the cask, which had been thrown from one end of the hold to the other. It was on its side. With trembling eagerness I put in my hand. Alas! Only a few whole biscuits and a few broken ones remained. These I transferred to my pocket-handkerchief with the olives and pickles, for fear of losing them. The remainder must be somewhere on the way. I tried back in a direct line, but could not find even a mashed biscuit. I then recollected that the cask had probably been jerked from side to side before it had found its last resting-place. It was a wonder that any of its contents remained in it. Without loss of time, I enlarged the field of my search, and picked up several large pulpy masses which had once been biscuit. They were too precious to be thrown away. I put them into the bottom of the cask. I got back also several bits, which, though wet, had not lost their consistency. I was grateful for them; for though they would not keep, they would assist me to prolong existence for some few days. I ate some of the pulp, and a couple of olives to enable me to digest it. The other pieces of biscuit and the olives and pickles had been, I suppose, washed away out of my reach, for I felt about in every direction, but could lay my hands on nothing more. It may be supposed that the exertions I had made were not very fatiguing, but it must be remembered that the ship was tossing about all this time, and that I had to hold on with one hand while I felt with the other, to prevent myself from being jerked about and battered and bruised. As it was, I slipped and tumbled several times, and hurt myself not a little. I therefore crawled back to my couch, and rolled myself up in the sail, to go to sleep. I had not for some time been annoyed by the rats, who I suspect sat quaking and trembling in their nests as much alarmed as I was, and possibly more so, and I was amused at thinking that they must have heartily regretted having come to sea, and wished themselves safe back on shore in the houses or barns from which they had emigrated. I hoped, however, that when the storm was over they would come forth again, and give me the opportunity of catching them. I expected that it would quickly cease, but in this I was disappointed. There came a lull, and the ship did not toss about as much as before. I was contemplating getting up and making an excursion among the cargo, supposing that I might do so without much risk, when I was again thrown off my couch by a sudden lurch; and from the sounds I heard, and the violent pitching and rolling, I had good reason to suppose that the hurricane was once more raging with redoubled force. With the greatest difficulty I crawled back to my couch, and drawing the canvas round me, tried to retain my position. Every minute I imagined that one or the other water-butts would give way, and that I should be either crushed by its falling on me, or half-drowned by its contents. Then I thought what would be my fate should the fearful buffeting the ship was receiving cause her to start a plank. The water would rush in, and before I could possibly make my escape to a higher level I should be drowned, even should the ship herself keep above water, and that I thought was not very likely. I had read enough about shipwrecks and disasters at sea to be aware that such a circumstance sometimes occurs. The end of a plank called a butt occasionally starts away from the timber to which it has been secured, and the water pressing its way in, opens the plank more and more, till the sea comes in like a mill-sluice; and unless the damage is at once discovered, and a thrummed sail is got over the spot, there is little chance of a ship escaping from foundering. When a butt starts from the fore end, and she is going rapidly through the water, her destruction is almost certain, as a plank is rapidly ripped off, and no means the crew possess can prevent it. Though I had heard crashing noises which had made me fear that the masts had been carried overboard, yet I judged from the movement of the ship that they were standing. She was seldom on an even keel, but when she heeled over it was always on one side. As yet all the strain to which she had been subjected had produced no leaks, as far as I could judge from the small quantity of water in the hold, and that was chiefly what had come out of the butt. Had I not put the remnants of the olives and biscuits in my pockets I should have starved. When hunger pressed, I took a small portion, sufficient to stop its gnawings. I suffered chiefly from thirst, as I was afraid of getting up to go to the water-butt, lest I should be thrown over to the opposite side after I had drawn out the spile, before I could catch any water as it spouted out, and that much of it would be lost. I felt the necessity of economising my store, for I so mainly depended on it for existence, as it enabled me to subsist on a much smaller quantity of food than I could have done without it. At length I could bear my tortures no longer, but getting up, cautiously crawled towards the butt, stopping to hold on directly I felt the ship beginning to give a lurch. I must again observe, that close down to the keel as I was, I felt this much less severely than I should have done at a higher level. I went on, until I believed that I was close to the butt, then waiting for another lurch. Directly it had taken place, I drew myself carefully up, and searched about for the spile. I found it, and drew it out, and let the water spout out into my mouth. How I enjoyed the draught. It restored my strength and sadly flagging spirits. I stopped to breathe, and then again applied my mouth to the hole. I should have been wiser had I refrained, for before I could drive in the spile I was hove right away to the opposite side of the hold, almost into the opening of the water-butt which had burst. I could hear the water rushing out, and it was some time before I could recover myself sufficiently to crawl back to try and stop it. I was almost wet through before I could accomplish this, though I had to mourn the loss of no small quantity of the precious fluid. My purpose accomplished, I made my way back to my couch. Hours passed by. Sometimes I would fancy that the storm was never to end. In my disordered imagination, I pictured to myself the ship, officers, and crew under some dreadful doom, destined to be tossed about on the wide Atlantic for months and years, then perhaps to be dismasted and lie floating motionless in the middle of the Sargasso Sea, of which I had read, where the weeds collect, driven by the current thrown off by the gulf-stream, till they attain sufficient thickness for aquatic birds to walk over them. I remembered the description that Mr Butterfield had given me of the captain of the "Emu." I thought, perhaps, that he had committed some dreadful crime, and was being thus punished for it. The only one of the crew whom I remembered, Gregory Growles, was certainly a bad specimen of humanity. Perhaps, though pretending to be honest traders, they were pirates; and even when I had obtained my liberty they would not scruple to make me walk the plank, should my presence be inconvenient. I cannot, however, describe the hundred-and-one gloomy ideas which I conjured up. How far they were from the truth time only was to show. The ship continued her eccentric proceedings with more or less violence. The tempest roared above my head. Crashing sounds still rose from the cargo which had shifted, and which it appeared to me must ere long be smashed to atoms. The worst of the matter was, that I had no one to blame but myself. Had I been seized and shut up in the hold by a savage captain, I should have felt myself like a martyr, and been able to lay my sufferings on others. When I was able to reflect more calmly on my situation, I remembered that the storm must inevitably some day or other come to an end. I had read of storms lasting a week, or even a fortnight, and sometimes longer, but if I could hold out to its termination, as by means of the biscuits and olives I might do, I hoped that I should at last effect my liberation. I must not, however, take up more time by further describing the incidents of this memorable portion of my existence. CHAPTER THIRTEEN. Still in the hold--Dreamland again--Chicken-pie--Return of the rats--I improve my plans for catching them--Two rats at one meal--My state of mind--"Mercy! Mercy!"--While there's life there's hope--I recommence my exertions to get out of the hold with some success--Purer air--My weakness returns--I recover my strength--Still no outlet--I perform my ablutions--My desire to live at all hazards returns--"Where ignorance is bliss 'tis folly to be wise"--The yarn of Toney Lawson--The evil effects of getting drunk--The "Viper"--Toney obliged to give in-- Toney's thoughts of escape--The fate of the "Viper" determines the question--Toney's wonderful escape. Perhaps one of the most painful circumstances connected with my imprisonment was the impossibility of calculating how the time went by. I remember that I suddenly awoke after dreaming that I was at a jolly picnic with old friends near Roger Riddle's cottage. That the cloth was spread with pies and tarts, a cold sirloin of beef, a dish of fowls, and a tempting ham, and that we were eating and drinking, and laughing and singing, in the merriest way possible. I had just had the breast and wing of a chicken and a slice of ham placed on my plate, and was running over to get the mustard-pot, when to my surprise it became covered with feathers, and off it flew. I was jumping up to catch hold of it, not wishing thus to lose my dinner, but instead found myself in total darkness, and gradually came to the disagreeable consciousness that I was in the hold of the "Emu," and that I had only a few small biscuits and three olives remaining of my stock of provisions, independent of the pickles in the corner of my handkerchief. The ship, however, was perfectly quiet. The gale must have ceased some time before, to allow the sea to go down. By putting my ears to the planks I could catch the sound of a gentle ripple as she glided along, but no other noise was to be heard. The bulkheads had ceased to creak, the masts to complain, the cargo to crash, and all was perfectly quiet overhead. My hunger showed me that I must have been a long time asleep, and I could not resist the temptation of eating the remainder of my biscuits and olives. I had thus only the pickles to exist on, unless I could catch some rats with which to eat them. I took a draught of water, and then sat down to consider the plans I had before thought of to trap my game. One occurred to me as the most feasible. Though I could not see I could feel, and my idea was to form a bag with a piece of the canvas, and give it a small mouth so contrived that I could close it suddenly with a string. Among the articles in my pocket was a stock of string of various thicknesses; I found on measuring it that I had not only sufficient to make the bag, but enough to gather in the mouth with an additional piece to hold in my hand. My gimlet would serve as an awl or sailmaker's needle, though not an efficient substitute. I had been so long accustomed to the darkness that I fancied I could pass the string through the holes I had made without difficulty. My hunger was an incentive to perseverance. With my knife I first of all cut a piece off my canvas of sufficient size for my purpose. I am sure that I could not have done it so well at any time before, had I attempted to perform the operation in the dark. I then turned in the edges, and passing the string through the holes I had made, united the two sides. Sometimes I could not get the string through without another boring, at others I succeeded at the first attempt, tying the string at each stitch. It was a slow operation, but the result was beyond my most sanguine expectations. I had a long, thickish piece of hard twine, which I devoted to the mouth of the bag. I had to make the holes for these with great regularity, so as not to leave an opening large enough for a rat to jump out at. I worked on without stopping till my task was accomplished, as I was anxious to ascertain whether it would answer the object I had in view. While I was working I heard the rats running about, and two or three knocked their noses against my feet, showing that they had again come out of their holes, and were either hunting for food or gambolling for their pleasure. I had, however, retained a small piece of biscuit in my pocket, which, although I longed to eat it up, I had sufficient resolution to devote as a bait to the rats. Placing myself near the shattered butt, which seemed to be the spot most numerously frequented by them, I put down the bag with my foot at one end of it, holding the string in my hands, and leaving only a very small opening, which I could close of a sudden. I waited eagerly. Rats ran about near my feet, leapt over the bag, and skipped and frolicked, uttering squeaks of delight. Still none came actually into the bag. At last one more curious than his fellows poked his nose into the opening. I felt him running along inside, having discovered a biscuit within. With a sudden jerk I quickly closed the mouth of the bag. I felt about with my fingers, and soon came upon Master Rat inside. As I didn't wish to give him the opportunity of biting me, I grasped him tightly by the neck, and squeezed out his life. After drawing him out, I again put down the bag to tempt some more of his kindred, while I held him up by the tail. In a few minutes I felt others approaching, curious to explore the interior of the bag. I again gave a sudden jerk, and found that I had caught no less than three, who, as they felt themselves drawn up, began fighting and biting at each other, and would, I believe, had I not speedily put them out of existence, have been like the Kilkenny cats, and left only their tails behind them. I had now ample food, though not of the character most people would have desired, and had also a bag to keep it in. I soon disposed of the first rat, with which I ate some small pieces of pickle as a relish, and I must confess that I enjoyed my meal amazingly. To me it appeared of a peculiarly delicate character. I could have eaten another rat with perfect satisfaction, but I considered it prudent to wait, so as not to give myself a surfeit. Before long, however, I was again hungry, and on this occasion I ate two rats with some small pieces of pickle and drank a pint or more of water. I now felt sufficiently strong to recommence my attempt at escape. I was prepared for difficulties of all sorts, as I knew that the cargo had been much displaced during the storm. I have so often described my journeys to and fro, that I am afraid of becoming wearisome, but I must mention what now took place. As I made my way along I tumbled over several things which had not been there before, and had evidently been thrown out of their places by a violent jerk of the ship. At last I got to the bulkhead through which with such infinite pains I had previously made my way. What was my dismay to find it stopped! Human hands could certainly not have put the obstacles there that I found. As I was feeling about I discovered a huge case of some sort which had been thrown down from above, and stopped up the way. It was not likely that my strength would be able to remove it. After feeling about to ascertain if there was any opening at the side or top through which I might squeeze myself, and finding none, I returned for my handspike, thinking that I would at all events try to force the case on one side or the other. It was so large, however, that when making the attempt I could not move it in the slightest degree, and after trying in all ways, I had to abandon the enterprise. I had been sensible of the greater closeness of the atmosphere, and I had now no doubt that the case prevented the air which descended from above from circulating through the hold as it before had done. The temperature also, I had no doubt, was increasing as the ship got into more southern latitudes, and I had some fears of being stewed alive. I was already streaming with perspiration from my efforts. I was, indeed, in a weak state, which was but natural, so that I was unable to undergo any exertion without feeling far more exhausted than I had previously done. Sick and weary, I returned to my resting-place. I was seriously afraid of falling really ill. If I did so, what hope could I have of escaping? The olives and pickles and biscuits, which had hitherto preserved me in health were exhausted. Rats' flesh might serve to keep me alive for a few days, but alone would certainly be very unwholesome. I was already beginning to feel a repugnance to eating it. Perhaps this was in consequence of my having devoured two rats at one meal. My chief refreshment was cold water, and that I found a great luxury. I must have swallowed prodigious quantities of it, still the butt held out; though, if my imprisonment lasted much longer, that also must come to an end. I had never heard of hydropathy, but I was heartily willing to sing its praises, and I have ever since been a resolute water-drinker. I lay down to rest after my exertions, but my cogitations were not of an agreeable character. I was in different moods. Sometimes I thought that I would abandon all further attempts at escaping, and yield to my fate; then I would shout out as loudly as my weak voice would allow: "Help! Help! I am dying! Help! Help! Will any one come to take me out of this place? Mercy! Mercy!" Finally a more courageous spirit animated me. "I'll not yield while I have life!" I exclaimed. "I'll cut my way with my knife through case after case, and draw out the contents so that I may make a passage through them." I got up, feeling resolute and bold, taking my knife and my handspike with me. I had no means of sharpening the blade of my knife except on a hard piece of oak, and that was not very effectual. On reaching the place where the opening had been, I felt all over the side of the chest. It didn't feel to be as even and regular as I had expected to find it. I began at once to use my knife, so as to cut a hole into the centre. As I pressed against it, the plank yielded slightly. The operation must inevitably be a long one, so instead of cutting on I took the handspike, and dealt several blows as hard as I could strike. The first blow I struck produced a creaking sound. I renewed my efforts. The plank began to give way. I struck again and again. The side flew inwards. I then struck about so as to knock off the splinters. I crept through the opening thus made, and from the articles I then found I was convinced that it was the old crate through which I had before made my way, and which had fallen down in front of the opening. I was sure of this when I found that I could creep out through the smaller fracture on the opposite side. Still I was not free. No light permeated between the bales and packages. I felt about, but could not recognise any of the things with which I was before acquainted. Many of the packages appeared so placed that I might, without great care, bring them down on myself. Still, being thus far free, I determined to persevere. I thought that if I could once more get near the hatchway, I might be able to shout and make myself heard. I tried in all directions to find an opening. At last I thought that I discovered one at the spot from which the crate had fallen. I clambered up one huge bale, then got on another, and I was then on a higher level than I had been since I first fell into the hold. I was rejoiced at the prospect of liberating myself, when a faintness came over me, and I sank down on the top of the bale. As I thus lay I pictured to myself the crew above me going through their usual avocations. I fancied that I could even hear their footsteps on the deck, as they walked about or hauled at the ropes. I was sensible of a gentle movement of the ship, which instead of tumbling furiously about, was gliding on, rising and falling slowly to the sea. The air was purer than that in the part from which I had made my way, and I could breathe more freely. Had my strength been sufficient I should have again shouted, as I felt sure I must have been heard, but when I attempted to raise my voice it failed me altogether. I could scarcely utter an articulate sound. I tried again and again, but in vain. I was conscious that I was becoming weaker and weaker. One thing I was determined on, and that was not to return to the dreadful hold. I looked back at it with horror, and I shuddered to think of the amount of rats' flesh I had eaten. Yet in many respects I was not better off than before. I had not found any food. My position might be perilous in the extreme, for I could not tell what was around me. I might, should a sudden breeze come on, be thrown back again to the bottom of the hold. For some time I could not move, or exert my mental or physical powers. I again thought that I was going to die; but I was not really so weak as I supposed, for at length, a desire to live returning, I raised myself and tried once more to work my outward way. I could find no outlet, and as my voice had failed me, I was unable to shout, but I could manage to move about. I was very thirsty, and notwithstanding my previous resolution not to return to the lower part of the hold, I thought the wisest thing I could do was to go down and get a draught of water. I believed that I could easily find my way. I let myself down off one bale and then another, till I came to the crate. I crept through it, and curiously enough I felt as if I had returned home. I walked up to the water-cask as if it had been an old friend, with delight, and took a draught of water. It was cool and refreshing, and revived me greatly. I felt hungry; I had hoped never again to eat another rat, but the keenness of my appetite overcame my scruples, and I took one out of the bag. I even thought of placing the bag ready to catch some more. I, however, only ate one of the creatures, though not without difficulty, in spite of my hunger. I then bathed my face and washed my hands, to look a little more respectable should I ere long make my appearance among the crew. For this purpose I withdrew the spile, and allowed the fresh water to trickle first over my hands, and then over my face. This still further refreshed me, and I wished that I had performed a similar operation oftener. Had I not suspected that the water at the bottom of the hold must have been by this time very foul, I should have taken off my clothes and had a bath. I refrained, however, from doing this, and contented myself with the pleasant sensation of feeling cleaner than I had been for a long time. I suspect that had I had a looking-glass placed before me, I should not have known myself. On feeling my arms and legs, they seemed like those of a skeleton; my cheeks were hollow, and my hair long and tangled. The rat which I had last eaten had dulled the sense of hunger. I felt a peculiar sensation afterwards, which convinced me more than ever that I could not long exist on rats' flesh. I fancy that I might have been wrong. It was night when I made my last attempt to get upwards, so I thought that I would take a sleep and renew my efforts in the daytime, when I should have a better chance of attracting notice should I get near the hatchway. I accordingly lay down to rest, hoping that it would be the last time I should have to sleep in the hold. I took only short snatches of sleep. When I awoke I lay for some time without moving, and could not help thinking over and over again of the events which had occurred since I left the quay at Liverpool. I knew that the end of my confinement must be approaching in some form or other; I should either die, or be restored to the open air. In spite of the wretched condition to which I had been reduced, I had a strong wish to live. I especially wanted to go back to assure Aunt Deb that I had not intentionally run away, and also to relieve the minds of my father and mother, and brothers and sisters, of the anxiety I believed they must have felt on my account. Suddenly also I remembered with painful distinctness the remarks Mr Butterfield had made respecting Captain Longfleet, the commander of the "Emu," and his ruffianly crew. Certainly their appearance was not in their favour; and old Growles, who had received me so surlily, was not a good specimen of British seamen. What if the ship should prove to be a pirate, instead of an honest trader? I had heard of the crews of vessels, fitted out at Liverpool, assisting slavers on the coast of Africa in carrying out their nefarious trade, some committing all sorts of atrocities. Should the "Emu" prove to be one of these, even if I were not hove overboard, I might be sold as a slave in the Spanish possessions, perhaps to labour in the mines among the hapless Indians, who are thus employed by their cruel taskmasters. "Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise," and I should have been much less anxious had I not heard so much about such things. I remembered especially a yarn old Riddle told me one day about a messmate of his, Toney Lawson. I may as well try to give the yarn in his own words, though that may be a hard matter, and I can scarcely hope to do full justice to his narrative. "Toney, d'ye see, was once on a time knocking about Plymouth, after he had been paid off from the ship he last sailed in, when who should he meet but Joe Gubbins, who had served with him for many years gone by. Joe had always been a wild slip of a fellow when he was a youngster. "Said Joe to Toney, `What are you doing in these 'ere parts, old Ship?' "Toney told him how he had been paid off and had pretty well emptied his pockets of shiners, and was thinking that before long he must join another craft. "`That's just what I was a thinking of too, so just step in here, mate, and we'll have a talk about the matter over a glass or two,' and he pointed to the door of a public-house which stood temptingly open to entice passers-by. "Toney was not one of those chaps to get drunk on every occasion, but he had no objection to good liquor when it came in his way. So, intending to pay for what he had, he went in with Joe. Joe boasted of a craft he had served aboard--a privateer, he called her. She had taken no end of prizes, and had made every one on board her as rich as Jews, only somehow or other they didn't keep their money as well as Jews did, `and that's the reason why my pockets ain't lined as well as they were a few weeks ago,' observed Joe. Toney, who was a steady sort of a man, didn't quite like the account Joe gave of the `Viper's' cruise Joe was talking about. "`Why, to my mind, she's no better than a bloodthirsty pirate,' he said. "Joe laughed. `You're too particular, mate,' said he. `'Tain't no worse than many another crew afloat.' "However, he didn't press the point any longer, but emptying his glass, called upon Toney to drink up his, and ordered more and more liquor in, when Toney said he would not take another drop. At last Toney didn't know what happened except that he found himself slipping off from his seat on to the sandy floor, and could not, for the life of him, get up again. He thought it would be better to go to sleep where he was, so he coiled himself away to have a snooze. When he woke he tried to recollect what had happened. "He remembered that he had been sitting with Joe Gubbins, and that he somehow or other got down on the floor, so he felt about, thinking he was there still. But all was dark; and instead of a sandy floor and the legs of the tables and chairs, his hand touched only some hard pitchy planks. He stretched out his arm as high as he could, and found that there was a deck close above him. He crawled along, and came right against a bulkhead. He knew then that he must be on board a craft of some sort. He was not a man to make a fuss about nothing; and as he was still only half awake, he thought he might as well turn round and go to sleep again. "When he roused up a second time, he felt the vessel moving to the heave of the sea. He had been too long afloat not to know that she was making good way through the water with a fresh breeze. As he was getting somewhat hungry, he didn't want to be any longer down in the hold. He thought it was time to sing out and let those on board know where he was. Having a good pair of lungs of his own, he shouted pretty lustily, but no one came near him, nor hailed him. "`This seems a curious job,' he said to himself; `have they taken me for a bale of goods and hove me down here to stay till they discharge cargo?' "Presently he heard the sound of a gun fired overhead; right aft, he judged, for he knew well enough by the movements of the vessel which way she was going. Then another, and another followed; then came a cheer, though he heard it but faintly down where he was. The guns again went off. He guessed that the craft he was on board of was being chased, and that the cheer was given because the crew had knocked away some of the enemy's spars. He could hear two or three shots strike the hull of the vessel, so he knew that they were not having the game all to themselves. Being fond of fighting, he wished that he was on deck to take his share in it. There was no use wishing without trying to get out, but whichever way he moved he found a strong bulkhead. "Though he kicked with all his might he could not start a plank. He tried again and again, till every muscle in his body ached. At last he had to give it up. His temper was not growing very sweet, as may be supposed. He began to think whether it was Joe Gubbins that had brought him aboard, for he didn't come of his own accord, of that he was certain. He vowed that he would pay Joe off whenever he fell in with him. At last the firing ceased. He felt, by the quiver running through every plank and timber that the craft was carrying as much sail as she could bear. There was no more cheering, and he could not tell whether she had got away altogether, or was still trying to escape from a big enemy. He tried to fancy why he was kept down there all this time. He supposed that he had been forgotten by whoever brought him aboard. He could not tell whether the vessel was a king's ship or a privateer, but that she was not a merchantman he was pretty sure. Perhaps, if she was a man-of-war, or a privateer, she was being chased by a Frenchman, but if she was a pirate she was more likely to be running from an English frigate than any other. Still it was not likely that a pirate would venture into Plymouth Sound. "In either case Toney didn't relish the thoughts of being captured. In one there would be a French prison in store for him, and in the other a man-of-war captain would not believe that he had been brought aboard against his will, and would declare that he had stowed himself away to escape. At last he got so hungry that he began to fear he should be starved to death. He tried another shout. His voice didn't reach those on deck. He knew by this time that it must be night. Having nothing better to do, he was going off to sleep when he heard a bolt withdrawn from the outside, and a light streamed in to where he lay. "`Who are you?' he asked, springing up and knocking his head against the deck above him with a force which sent him backwards. "`I'm coming to see how you're getting on, mate,' answered his visitor. "`Badly enough,' said Toney, `I'm as hungry as a shark, and don't like being shut up down here. Who are you?' "`I've been sent down here to ask if you'll, like a wise man, join this craft. She wants hands, and as you're well-known to be a good seaman, you'll get a good berth aboard.' "`I never join a craft unless I know what sort of a captain and messmates I'm a-going to have,' said Toney. "`There are times when a man mustn't be over particular,' said his visitor. `You're a fool if you don't say yes, so just come on deck and sign articles. You'll learn all about this craft afterwards.' "`No, no,' said Toney; `I never buy a pig in a poke. Tell me what? Want to know, then I'll tell you whether I'll join or not.' "`You'll join, whether you like it or not,' said his visitor with a growl. `You've chosen to come aboard, and we don't allow idlers.' "`I didn't choose to come aboard,' said Toney. `Somebody brought me aboard when I was obfuscated, I suppose, and I'll have a reckoning with that somebody before long.' "`If that's your notion you'll stay where you are,' said his visitor, and he slammed the door and bolted it. "Toney was a determined fellow, but there was one thing he couldn't stand, and that was hunger. He got worse and worse. He could not sleep, and he could not shout out. By the time his visitor came again he was as meek as a lamb. "`Are you going to join or are you not?' was the question. "`I give in,' said Toney. "`Come along then,' said his visitor. "Toney crawled out and up the ladder of the main hatchway. He found that he was on board a brigantine, a rakish-looking craft, with several officers standing aft by the captain, and a numerous crew, among whom he saw Joe Gubbins. He couldn't help lifting his fist and shaking it at Joe, who stood with a brazen face looking as if the threat could not be intended for him. "`Are you hungry, my man?' asked an officer, whom he supposed to be the captain. "`Can't say but what I am,' said Toney. "`Then there'll be plenty of grub for you when you've signed these articles.' "`Should like to know what they are, sir,' said Toney. "`There's the book; you may read them,' said the captain. `Put your name down at the bottom of the page.' "Now Toney was no great hand at reading or writing. He could just manage to scrawl his name. He tried to make out what the articles were about, but it was more than he could do. "`Come, my man, are you ready for your grub?' asked the captain. "Toney felt as if he should drop if he didn't get something to eat, and just then a whiff from the galley came across his nose. He took the pen and managed to write his name, in a fashion. "`That'll do, my man,' says the captain. `You're now one of the crew, and under my orders. We've pretty strict discipline aboard here. There's the yard-arm, and there's the sea alongside.' "Toney was now allowed to go forward and enjoy a good blow out, which he much needed. He felt more like himself afterwards. He soon showed that there was not a better seaman aboard. "Nothing particular occurred to show the character of the vessel. Joe kept out of his way until he got into a better temper, and they became very good friends again. They ran to the southward till they were in the latitude of the Guinea Coast, when they fell in with a craft, into which they discharged part of their cargo in exchange for some bags of gold. They now carried on in a strange way, chasing several vessels, capturing some and taking their cargoes out of them, in spite of what their crews could say, afterwards putting them on board a Spanish or a Portuguese craft and getting doubloons in exchange. Their guns and their numerous crew made resistance impossible. They were wonderfully successful in their proceedings, until one day they fell in with a British frigate and had to up stick and run for it. The African coast had become too hot for them, so they stood away for the Caribbean Sea and Spanish Main. Here they carried on worse than before. The crews of all vessels which resisted were made to walk the plank, and the vessels, after everything had been taken out worth having, were sent to the bottom. "Toney, being an honest man, could not stand this; but he knew that, being tarred with the same brush, if taken he would share the fate of the rest. He determined to cut and run on the first opportunity. A strict watch was kept on him; and Joe, who knew his thoughts, hinted that the yard-arm would be his fate if he made the attempt and failed. Still he was resolved to try and get off, but the matter was settled for him in a way he little expected. The brigantine, during a heavy gale one night, was struck by lightning and blew up, Toney and two others only finding themselves floating among the wreck. Joe Gubbins was one of these. Toney managed to get hold of the mainmast and clambered into the top, where he got his legs out of the water and was trying to help Joe Gubbins, when Joe, with a shriek, disappeared. The other man shared the same fate. Toney expected to die, but the next day he was picked up by an English sloop-of-war; and as he took care not to give a very clear account of the craft he had been aboard of, he was allowed to enter as one of her crew. Here he met Roger Riddle, to whom he gave the account of his adventure." I thought to myself perhaps the "Emu" is employed in the same sort of trade as the "Viper," and if so, I shall be as badly off as Toney Lawson. CHAPTER FOURTEEN. The hold--My provisions become exhausted--A fresh attempt at escape-- Pressed by hunger, I persevere--The spar-deck--Not out yet--A ray of light--My prostrate condition--My mind gives way--A curious trio--The main hatchway--Fresh difficulties arise--A last effort--I am rescued-- Ghost of a ghost--I make a new friend and meet with an old one--The crew of the ship--My new quarters--I receive a piece of advice from my new friend--Mark's adventures, and how he came aboard the "Emu"--Poor Jack Drage--Mark gets into trouble. The recollection of Toney Lawson's adventure didn't tend to make me feel any more comfortable than before. I could scarcely hope to be as well off as he was, or to have so fortunate an escape. My provisions being exhausted, I was aware that I must soon get out of the hold or perish, yet I didn't anticipate much satisfaction from obtaining my liberty. No time was, however, to be lost, and I therefore nerved myself up for a fresh struggle. Feeling that I had my knife about me, and having put on my shoes, I prepared to make a desperate attempt to effect my escape. I crawled on through the crate, and once more attempted to climb up over the packages into the main hold. I tried to do this in several directions, but I found no opening so promising as the one which I had before explored. My weakness prevented me from making the exertions that were required to force my way between the bales. I was in momentary fear of falling down a crevice, and being jammed to death. My situation in some respects was infinitely worse than that of Toney Lawson, who was bolted in, but then people knew where he was. No one on deck was aware of my deplorable condition. Still I crawled on, resolved to succeed. While feeling about, I discovered a space between three or four bales. I crept in very much as a rat does into his hole, only he knows where he is going. I could not tell whether I should get through or have to force my way out again legs first. Still the cravings of hunger induced me to venture. On I crept, when on putting up my hand I found that there was nothing above me which I could touch, so that I was able to stand upright, though there might be some depth in front down which I might fall. I moved with the greatest caution. It turned out, however, that they were only bales piled one upon another, and that I was standing in a sort of well. Still there were stepping-places, and with the ropes which bound the bales I was able to work my way upwards. Higher and higher I got. I could now distinctly hear the footsteps of the men on the deck, which I guessed, therefore, could be no great distance above me. The ship must have been moving calmly along, and I was thus preserved from being jerked off from the place to which I was clinging. I still moved on till I reached a part of the hold filled chiefly, it appeared to me, with large packing-cases and casks. I was almost on a level floor. It might have been the spar-deck. Wearied with the fatigue I had undergone, I sat down on a box to rest. I could now distinctly hear not only the tread of the men's feet, but their voices. They were the first human voices which had reached my ears for days, or rather weeks. I tried to shout to attract their attention, but my voice had completely failed me. Not a sound could I utter. I felt that I had not strength to move an inch further. Twice I made the attempt, and had to sink back again on my seat. I was gazing upward, the only direction from which help could come, when a ray of light streamed right upon me. Forgetting my weakness, I started up. It must come, I knew, from the partly open hatchway, or from a fracture in the hatch itself. This I afterwards found to have been the case, the fracture being covered up with a tarpaulin, which had at that instant been removed. Again I endeavoured to shout out, but my voice was not under the control of my will. No sounds issued from my mouth. I stretched out my hands in an imploring attitude, fancying that I should be seen. I attempted to make my way directly under the opening, but ere I could reach it I sank down utterly exhausted. I had never before been so completely prostrated. I didn't lose my senses, but all physical power had deserted me. I could scarcely move my hands or feet; still I thought that the hatch must be again opened before long, and that I could not fail to be discovered. I earnestly prayed that help might be sent me. How it was to come I could not tell. Notwithstanding what was before me, I still desired to be set free. Although I was not sleeping, strange fancies filled my brain. I saw people flit about in the darkness, suddenly coming into the light, and then disappearing. Some were people I knew, and others were strangers. Aunt Deb and Mr Butterfield came by, tripping it lightly, holding each other's hands, he in a bob wig with a sword by his side, she in high-heeled red shoes and a cap decked with flowers and ribbons. She smiled and ogled, as if about to dance a minuet. I almost laughed as I saw them, they appeared so vivid and real. Then Captain Longfleet came upon the scene as I fancied him, dressed in a cocked-hat and feathers, a long sword buckled to his side, high boots, a red coat, and a waistcoat braided with gold. I fancy that I must have seen some picture of the sort of a pirate captain to cause him thus to be presented to my imagination. He walked about flourishing his sword till he met Aunt Deb, to whom, instead of cutting her head off, as I thought he was about to do, he made a profound bow, and then vanished. Many other figures quite as bizarre and unnatural appeared before me. I mention these trivial circumstances to show the state of my mind. I had been so long by myself that I must be pardoned if I appear egotistical. Again all was quiet. I lay for some time, if not unconscious, with very little power of thought. I was afraid that another night would come on, and that I should have to endure my sufferings for some hours longer, if death did not put an end to them. I could still hear the tread of the men's feet, and even the voices of the officers, shouting their orders. How I wished that I could shout also, for then I knew I should be heard. I tried once more to move, and managed to drag myself on till I got directly under the hatchway. Although I could not shout, to my surprise I heard myself groaning. There being light sufficient to enable me to observe objects, my eye fell upon a loose piece of wood. I grasped it with all my remaining strength, and began beating away on the top of a cask, which proved to be empty from the sound which emanated from it. I beat on and on, but no notice appeared to be taken of the noise I was making. I was too ill and weak to reason on the subject, but I remembered hearing a loud voice shouting out some orders. Presently there came a tramp of feet overhead, backwards and forwards and from side to side they seemed to run. The crew were evidently engaged in shortening or making sail, which it was I was unable to tell. I had sense enough remaining to know that whilst this was going forward on deck it was not likely that notice would be taken of my feeble knocking, for feeble it was, though it sounded loud to me. Presently I felt a greater movement than I had experienced for some time, and the ship heeled over on one side. My fear was that the cases on which I lay might be again shifted, and that I might be thrown down to some lower depth of the hold, with bales and casks above me. Of course I am describing what I fancied might happen, not what was likely to occur. I now guessed that a number of the crew must have gone aloft to shorten sail, and that even if they had heard the noise they would not have had time to ascertain what had caused it. I now more than ever feared that, before I could be liberated, I should become utterly exhausted, and should fall into a swoon from which I might never recover. I was too weak to pray, or any longer exert myself. Still my senses did not altogether desert me. I lay on my back, looking up towards the hatchway. The ship heeled over more and more. To me, who had been accustomed to live so long down near the keel, it appeared at a frightful angle, and I though, she would go over altogether. Again I heard voices shouting out orders, and the crew, I supposed, went aloft to take in more sail. I was afraid that another storm was coming on. Fearful would be the consequences to me if such should be the case. Presently I heard something dragged over the hatchway. The ray of light which had hitherto tended to keep up my waning spirits was obscured. A tarpaulin had been placed over the hatchway. Perhaps the crew were about to batten down the hatches. In vain I tried, while this was going forward, to strike the cask. I had not sufficient strength to do it. A fearful faintness was coming over me. Perhaps the movement of the ship contributed to this. I think I must have fainted, for I cannot recollect what happened. I had no strength to hold on or to grasp the stick, and might have been thrown helplessly about like a shuttlecock till life was extinct. I fancy that some time must have passed. When I recovered my senses, my first impulse was to feel for the stick. It was close to me. I had power to grasp it. The top of the chest on which I lay was perfectly level, but I expected to find it heeling over as before. Instead of that, no movement took place. The ship was apparently gliding forward on an even keel. The storm had ceased, or probably the ship had only been struck by a sudden squall, which had passed over. My first impulse was again to try and strike the cask and to shout out, but I could only utter a few low groans. I managed, however, to give some blows on the cask, which resounded through the hold. The noise was loud enough, I fancy, to be heard on deck, or indeed in every part of the ship. I beat on and on. Presently the tarpaulin was drawn off, and I heard some feet moving directly above me. A voice said distinctly, "Below! What's that?" Almost immediately the hatch was removed, and as I looked up a flood of light burst down upon me. For some seconds I could see nothing. Gradually I made out a number of human faces peering down through the hatchway. "Why, what can that be?" exclaimed one of the men. "Ghost of a ghost," cried another. "It can't be a live thing," said a third. "Why, Jack, I do believe it's a boy," exclaimed a fourth; "we must get him up whatever he is, but how could he have come there?" Presently a ladder was let down. None of the men seemed inclined to descend, evidently having some doubts as to my character, till the last speaker, calling the others cowards, came down. Instead of at first reviving me, the effect of the fresh air was to make me faint away. When I recovered I found myself lying on the deck, surrounded by a number of strange faces. A seaman--the one who, I suppose, had brought me up--was supporting me and applying a wet cloth to my head and shoulders, while another, kneeling down, was examining my countenance. "Why, youngster, how did you come aboard here? Where have you been ever since we sailed from the Mersey?" he asked. Too weak to answer, I could only stretch out my hand and then point to my lips, to show that I wanted food and water. "If you've been down in the hold all these weeks, no wonder that you want something to eat," he remarked. Still he didn't move, or propose to obtain any refreshment for me. As my lack-lustre eyes looked up at him, I recognised Gregory Growles, the old seaman to whom I had at first spoken with my cutter under my arm. No wonder that he didn't recollect me in my present forlorn and dirt-begrimed condition. At last the seaman against whom I leant told one of his messmates to get me some water. With indifference, if not unwillingness, the man did as requested, and going to the water-butt on deck brought me a mugful, which I greedily drank. "By the feel of his ribs he wants something more substantial than water," observed my friend. "We must get the poor young chap into a berth, and feed him up, or he'll be slipping his cable. There doesn't seem to be much life in him now." "That will be seen." "What business had he to stow himself away, and make us all fancy that a ghost was haunting the ship?" cried Growles, in a surly way. "We shall hear what the captain has to say to him. To my notion, as he's made his bed, so he'll have to lie on it." "Come, come, mate, it would be hard lines for the poor young chap if he were left to die, without any of us trying to bring him through. I, for one, can't stand by doing nothing, so just one of you lend a hand here, and we'll put him into my berth, and get the cook to make some broth for him," said the kind-hearted seaman. While he was speaking, a person, who was evidently one of the officers, came forward and expressed his surprise at seeing me, and inquired why he hadn't been informed of my having been discovered? The men replied, that I had only just been found and brought on deck, and that they thought I was dying. "It would have saved trouble to have hove him overboard before he came to himself," said the mate, with a careless laugh. "The captain doesn't allow of stowaways, and we don't want any aboard here." He said this, I suppose, to frighten me, indifferent to the consequences. "He's very bad, sir," said my friend, touching his hat, "and, maybe, it won't much matter what is done with him; but if you'll give me leave, I'll take him below to my berth, after we've washed off the dirt that sticks to him. He wants food more than anything else to bring him round, and when he's himself we can make some use of him at all events. We want a boy forward very badly, and he'll be worth his salt, I've a notion." "You may do what you like with him, Tom Trivett," answered the officer, "only don't let us be bothered with him. We've trouble enough with young Riddle, the mutinous young rascal. He'll have to look out for himself, if he don't mind." The officer was the third mate of the ship, who happened just then to have charge of the deck. He made further inquiries about how I had been found, and asked the men whether they had before known of my being on board? Trivett replied that they were entirely ignorant as to how I had come into the ship, but that hearing peculiar noises, they lifted the hatch, and that he had gone down and discovered me. "We shall hear by-and-by what he has to say for himself. In the meantime, Trivett, take care of him, and I'll let the captain know he's been found. He's the ghost you fellows have been frightened about," said the mate. "We were no more frightened than he was," I heard some of the men utter, "but who could tell where all those strange noises we heard came from when any of us went down into the hold. He's precious ready to call us cowards, but he was more frightened than we were. Why, he would never go down unless he had a couple of hands with him." While this was going on, Tom Trivett continued swabbing my head and neck. When the mate walked aft he called to the cook to bring him a bucket of warm water from the caboose, as well as a lump of soap, a scrubbing-brush, and a piece of canvas. The sun was shining brightly, and the air was warm, so that I did not feel the exposure so much as it might have been felt. Tom forthwith set about to scrape me clean, taking his own pocket-comb to disentangle my matted hair after he had washed it. The operation, though somewhat hazardous, greatly refreshed me. Before it was concluded, Julius Caesar, the black cook, who had some tender spot in his heart, brought out a basin of soup, from which Trivett fed me as tenderly as a nurse would a young child. This still further revived me. "You shall have some more, boy, when I have done a-cleaning you," said Tom. The rest of the crew sat round making remarks, but not even offering to assist their shipmate, evidently perfectly indifferent as to what happened to me, though perhaps curious to see whether I should revive under the treatment to which I was being subjected. Judging by the colour of the water after I had been washed in it, I must have been as black as a coal. I rather think Julius Caesar must have fancied that I was one of his own race, and must have been greatly astonished at seeing a blackamoor washed white. When the operation was concluded, Growles again came and had a look at me. "Why, I do believe it's none other than the young chap who came aboard us at Liverpool," he exclaimed. "I thought as when I saw him so often that he was up to something, but never fancied that he was going to stow himself away, or I should have been on the watch for him. Well, he'll have to pay pretty smartly for the trick he has played us." My friend Tom took no notice of this and similar remarks made by others of the crew; but after having again fed me, he called to a stout-looking lad who was coming forward from the companion-hatchway to assist in carrying me to his berth under the topgallant forecastle. The lad, without hesitation, did as he was directed, and took up my legs, while Tom lifted me by the arms. As I was being carried along, my eyes turned towards the lad who was stepping backwards, when I at once recognised him as Mark Riddle, though he looked very different to the smart young chap he was when I last saw him, and he evidently did not know me. "Can't you find a shirt and a pair of trousers for the poor fellow?" cried Tom; "his own want washing terribly." Mark ran aft, and in a short time returned with the garments, in which Tom clothed me. Notwithstanding the food which had been given me, I was still too weak to speak. He and Tom lifted me into an upper bunk on the starboard side. As he did so, I stretched out my hand and seized his, which I pressed between my bony fingers. I could just say, "Thank you, Mark." He looked at me very hard, but still did not seem to have a suspicion who I was. This was not surprising, as he did not even know that I had gone to Liverpool. I was so altered, that even my mother would scarcely have recognised me. He, however, asked Tom Trivett who I was. Tom replied that I was a young stowaway, but that he knew no more about me than did the man in the moon. "Go and fetch the remainder of the broth," I heard Tom say. "A little more will do him good, and then if he gets a sound sleep he'll come round, I have a notion." "If he does, it will only be to lead a dog's life," murmured Mark, as he left to get the broth. Tom stood by me arranging the blankets, and trying to make me comfortable till Mark returned with some soup, with some biscuits and rice floating in it. Though I could drink the liquid, it was with difficulty that I could masticate the latter, but I managed to get down a few pieces. "He has eaten enough now," said Tom; "but, I say, Mark," he whispered, "you keep an eye on him whenever you can, so that none of the fellows play him any tricks. They'd do so, though they knew he was dying, out of devilry." "Aye, aye," answered Mark. "They shan't hurt the poor young chap if I can help it, though I've enough to do to keep clear of them myself." "Well, we shall be three now, and shall be better able to stand up against them," said Tom. I heard no more; for after taking the food a drowsiness crept over me, and I fell into a sound sleep. When I awoke I was in the dark, and felt very much more comfortable than I had for a long time. At first I fancied that I was down in the hold, but the loud snoring and groaning of the men in the neighbouring bunks made me remember what had happened. I felt about, and was soon convinced that I was in Tom Trivett's bunk, in a clean shirt and trousers, and a blanket over me. I heard the watch below turn out, the others shortly afterwards came in, but no one took any notice of me. When the latter were fast asleep I heard some one come into the berth and stop near my bunk. "Who's that?" I asked. "Glad to see you can speak again, my lad," said the person whom by his voice I knew to be Tom Trivett. "Do you feel better?" "Yes, thank you," I answered. "You've saved my life, and I'm very grateful to you." "Don't talk o' that, lad," he said, "it's not much good I can do in the world, but I couldn't bear to see you allowed to die from neglect, though I'm afraid there are hard times coming for you. You're among as rough a lot as ever sailed on the salt ocean, and that's saying a good deal. I want to give you a piece of advice; I mayn't have another chance of giving it. Don't be in a great hurry to get well, for though the fellows, bad as they are, won't have the cruelty to ill-treat you while you're sick, as soon as you come round they'll be down upon you, and you'll find that they'll give you more kicks than ha'pence. However, you must not mind them. Don't attempt to retaliate, for they're too many for you. Above all things don't grow sulky as poor Mark did, and has ever since well-nigh had his life knocked out of him. Now I must go on deck as it's my watch, but remember what I have said." I again thanked Tom, and just as he was going I asked him if he could get me any more food. "I'll try and get you something as soon as the cook turns out; but he's asleep in his bunk, and at this hour it would be a difficult job to find any. I'll tell Mark, however, to ask him when he wakes, though I'd advise you to go off to sleep again." Saying this, Tom left the berth, and I once more closed my eyes. I was awakened by the men turning out. The light streamed in at the door, showing me that it was morning. In consequence of the advice I received from Tom, I kept quiet and pretended to be asleep. Soon afterwards I saw Mark Riddle standing by my side. "Tom told me you're hungry, boy," he said; "so I managed to get something for you from the pantry. I hope it won't be discovered, or the third mate will be giving me a rope's-ending." He had brought me a captain's biscuit and a slice of ham, with a tin mug of water. "I'll bring you a cup of hot coffee," he said, handing me the food. Hungry as I was I could not help exclaiming, "What, don't you know me, Mark?" He looked at me very hard, still not remembering me. "No, I don't think I ever saw you before," he answered; "but how do you happen to know my name?" "I didn't think I was so changed," I said. "I'm Dick Cheveley." "Dick Cheveley!" he cried out, looking at me still harder; "Dick Cheveley on board this ship! And yet it must be; and are you really Dick Cheveley?" "I don't believe I'm anybody else, though I have sometimes fancied I must be." "Yes, yes, I see you're Master Cheveley," cried Mark, "though I can't say I feel much happier to see you for your own sake, though I'm right glad for mine to have you with me," taking my hand and grasping it. "Oh, Master Cheveley, what did bring you aboard?" I briefly told him while I was discussing the food he brought me. "It's a bad business for you, Master Dick," he said; "but the only thing now to be done is to make the best of it. They're a precious bad lot, and the captain and officers are no better. I've made up my mind to run as soon as I can, and I'd advise you to do the same." "That I certainly will when I have somewhere to run to, but at present it seems we should have to run overboard," I answered. "We must wait until we get into harbour. We shall have to touch at a good many places, and if we keep our wits about us we shall manage it one way or another." "We'll talk about that by-and-by, but tell me how you happened to be here. I heard that you had been sent on board a man-of-war," I said. "So I was, and I wish I had remained aboard her, too; but as I had been sent against my will, I cut and run on the first chance I got. She was the `Beagle' sloop of war. We were ordered to cruise on the Irish coast. We were not far off the town of Belfast, when a boat's crew to which I belonged pulled ashore under charge of a mid-shipmite. While he went into a house to deliver a message, I ran off as fast as my legs could carry me. I at last reached a cottage in which there was a whiteheaded old fellow, a girl, and two young men. I told them that I had been pressed and ill-treated, and was trying to make my escape from the cruelty of the English. The young men said at once that they would protect me, and would answer that I should not be retaken. The old man warned them that they were playing a dangerous game, and said that he would have nothing to do with the business, advising them to take me back to the boat. The girl, however, pleaded for me, and observed that now I had run, my punishment would be ten times greater, and that it would be cruel and inhospitable to refuse me shelter. She prevailed on her old grandfather. That evening the young men took me down aboard a little `hooker,' which they said was just going to sail for Liverpool, and that if I liked I could go in her. Her cargo, they said, was timber and fruit, but turned out to be faggots and potatoes. I knew that at Liverpool there was no chance of being discovered, and I at once agreed. We reached the Mersey in a couple of days. As ill-luck would have it, I landed close to where the `Emu' was getting ready for sea. Knowing that I could not venture to return home, I went on board and asked if a boy was wanted. The first mate at once said yes, as one of the apprentices had cut and run and could not be found. I thought I was in good luck, but we hadn't been to sea many days before I found that I had fallen out of the frying-pan into the fire. The other apprentice, poor Jack Drage, told me that he had been kicked and cuffed from the first moment that he had stepped on board, and that if he had had any friends on shore, he'd have taken French leave as the other had done. Things had grown worse instead of better, and he was already weary of his life. I advised him not to give in; that in time things must mend; but he was a poor-hearted fellow and only wrung his hands and cried, declaring that he was utterly miserable. I did my best to keep up his spirits, but it was all of no use. One night during a gale we had soon after sailing, he disappeared. Whether he had thrown himself overboard into the sea, or been knocked overboard no one could tell. Of course it was entered in the log that he had been knocked overboard. In my opinion he sacrificed his life rather than endure his miseries. I told the first mate so, and he knocked me down. The next time he called me a sulky rascal, but I answered that I was not going to do away with myself like Jack Drage, and that I would make a complaint of him to the British Consul whenever we touched at a port. On this he knocked me down again. I know that I was taken with the sulks, and for days afterwards didn't speak to him or any one else; but as I had no wish to be killed, I did what I was ordered to do, and got on somewhat better. Ever since that not a day passes that I don't get a kick or have a marline-spike hove at my head by either the officers or men forward. They're all very much alike for that matter, except Tom Trivett, and he's as good a fellow as ever lived. He has a hard life of it, for the men are always playing him tricks; and the officers spite him, and are constantly making him do dirty jobs which no able seaman should be called on to perform. But, I say, I mustn't stand talking here any longer, or I shall be suspected of being your friend. Don't let any one find out that we know each other, and we shall get on all the better. I'll tell Tom Trivett, and he'll bring you the coffee if I can't manage it; meanwhile you stay quiet in the bunk, even if you feel well enough to get up." "There is no chance of my being able to do that for some days," I answered, "for I don't think I could stand if I were to try." Mark now left me, and I fell back nearly exhausted from having talked so long to him. After some time Tom appeared with a basin of hot black coffee, with some biscuit floating in it. "Can't I have a little milk?" I asked. "We've not any cows on board here," he answered with a laugh; "and there are no dairies in the Atlantic, unless Daddy Neptune happens to keep sea-cows." "You must have thought me very silly to ask for milk," I said, as I ate up the sopped biscuit, and drank the hot coffee, which was well sweetened with sugar. "It shows you are something of a greenhorn, lad," he answered, laughing, "but no wonder your wits aren't of the brightest after having been shut up in the dark so long; you shall have something else by-and-by. Remember what I told you; don't be getting well too soon, that's all." CHAPTER FIFTEEN. My convalescence--Julius Caesar befriends me--We pass the Cape de Verde Islands--Our hopes of a change of diet disappear--My turn at last--A severe discipline--Captain Longfleet--"Please, sir, I couldn't help it"--"There goes the baby and his nurse"--Caesar's sympathy--How I owed my life to Tom Trivett--Bad food--"It makes me sick to cook it"--The deputation to the captain--The discontent increases among the crew--Crossing the line--"What ship is that?"--We receive a visit from Daddy Neptune and his court--Rough play, and what it might have come to. I intended to take the advice of my friend and not get well too soon, but in reality there was no malingering in the case, for I remained too low and weak to get out of my bed. Tom Trivett all the time, having given up his berth to me, slept in a far more uncomfortable bunk right forward, but never uttered a word of complaint, or tried to induce me to turn out. His was true Samaritan charity, and I was grateful to him. He even, I knew, tried to influence the rest of the crew for good, but did not succeed. They let him alone, which was all he could expect of them. The third mate, who knew I was there, never came near me to inquire how I was getting on. Mark paid me a visit whenever he could venture to do so, and brought me my food when Tom was on duty. The only other man who was kind to me was Julius Caesar, the black cook, and he frequently sent me wholesome messes which he had concocted for my special benefit; but he had to charge Mark and Tom not to let the other men see them, lest they should be gobbled up on their way. Mark told me this, for Julius Caesar himself never came to have a look at me. "If I come, den dey say I friend of his--it worse for him." Both Mark and Caesar slept in the larboard berth, so that they had no business in the one I occupied. I should explain that the space under the topgallant forecastle was divided by a bulkhead running fore and aft into parts forming separate cabins, one called the starboard, and the other the larboard berths, with bunks built up on both sides, one above another, or rather, in two stories, to explain myself better. In moderate weather they were tolerably comfortable, but with the sun beating down on the deck they were fearfully hot. In a gale of wind, as the seas dashed against the bows or she pitched into them, the noise and movement were tremendous. However, to that I in time got accustomed. Sometimes the decks and upper works leaked, and the water coming in wetted the clothes and bedding. However, in other respects they were better than the forepeak in a flush-decked ship, which is generally close and hot, full of horrible odours, and totally destitute of ventilation, and often wet into the bargain, from unseen leaks which are not of sufficient consequence to trouble the officers, as they do not affect the safety of the ship. At length, one day Tom told me that we were within sight of the Cape de Verde Islands, at which he believed the captain intended to call. He was very glad, he said, of this, as he hoped to be able to get me a supply of oranges and limes, which he thought would do me more good than anything else. The very name of fruit made my mouth water, and I thought I would give a great deal just to have one good suck at an orange. Great was my disappointment, therefore, when shortly afterwards Mark came in, and said that a strong north-easterly wind had sprung up, and that we were standing away from the islands, but that the captain, he believed, intended to put into Rio de Janeiro. "I must wait patiently till we get there," I said. "I hope it won't take us long." "We have to pass through the horse latitudes, and to cross the line first, and Rio is some way to the south of that, so I'm afraid you must suck your fingers instead of oranges," he answered. I was now rapidly getting better, and I began to pine for fresh air and exercise. "You'll be wiser to stay where you are, Master Dick," said Mark. "No one believes that you're a gentleman's son, and if they did I'm very sure it would make very little difference. I should, perhaps, benefit by your getting about, as you would have all the dirty work to do which now falls to my lot. It's only surprising that the captain has allowed you to remain so long in the berth, for he knows that you're aboard, though he takes no notice of you. Still I'd advise you, as long as you can, to stay where you are." I had not long the opportunity. Two days afterwards the third mate came into the berth with a short, knotted rope in his hand. "Come, youngster, you have been long enough malingering here," he exclaimed; "I find the cook has been serving out no end of good grub to you, and you've done nothing for it. We don't want idlers aboard the `Emu;' show a leg there pretty smartly." I attempted to rise. Tom had washed and dried my clothes. I got hold of my trousers, and slipt my legs into them. When I attempted to stand upright, my knees gave way and down I sank. At the same moment the mate's colt descended on my back. I was taken so completely by surprise that I shrieked out with pain. I tried to lift myself up by the supports of the bunk, and succeeded in getting on my feet. "I thought I'd cure you. Do you want another dose of this rope?" "Oh! No, sir! No, sir! Don't! I'll dress as fast as I can," I called out. The moment I let go I felt that I must slip down again. Still the fear of another lash made me exert myself in a way I could not otherwise have done, and I tried very hard to put on my waistcoat and jacket, and to tie my handkerchief, by sitting down on a lower bunk. "Now, come along!" said the mate; "the captain wants to speak to you." I attempted to walk, but as I tottered on my knees again failed me, and I should have fallen had not the mate caught me by the shoulders and dragged me along the deck. It was a severe discipline, but it was effective, for the air and the necessity of moving quickly brought back strength to my limbs, and by the time I reached the quarterdeck I was able to keep my feet, though I should have fallen had not the mate still held me. We there found the captain pacing to and fro. On turning he stopped when he saw me. "Is this the young stowaway, Mr Huggins?" he asked, eyeing me very sternly. "What business had you to come aboard, boy, without leave?" "Please, sir, I couldn't help it," I said, and I told him that when merely intending to look round the ship I had fallen into the hold. "A likely story, youngster, which I don't intend to believe. You came on board to please yourself, and now you'll learn to please me, and do the work you're set to do." "I'll do my best, sir," I answered, for I saw he was not a man to be trifled with; "but I am not fit for much at present." "You contrived to live down in the hold in an extraordinary manner--how did you manage it?" I told him in a few words. "Another likely story," he remarked. "In other words, you stole the ship's provisions as long as you could get at them, or you had an accomplice who kept you fed--he'll be made to smart for it." On hearing this, I began to tremble for the consequences to Mark. Though the captain didn't mention his name, I guessed that he pointed at him. I was much inclined to say who I was, and to speak of Mr Butterfield, but shame prevented me, and the captain made no inquiries on the subject. "Now go forward," he said; "look out sharp, get back your strength, and make yourself useful." He turned on his heel, not deigning to hold any further conversation with so insignificant a person as he considered me. The mate let me go. I tried to walk, but staggered like a drunken man, and could only just manage to reach the side, and catch hold of a belaying-pin. I remained there until the captain turned round, when, afraid of his looks, I once more set off to make my way along the deck, the mate taking no trouble to help me, while the crew jeered and laughed at me; till Tom Trivett, who had been at work on the other side, crossing over, took my arm and led me along to the forehatch, where he bade me sit down. "There goes the baby and his nurse," said one of the men. "Tom will be getting him some pap presently," said another--at which they laughed in chorus. The third mate, seeing Tom standing over me, ordered him back to his work. Mark made an attempt to join me, but was sent to perform some task or other, and I was left alone and forlorn to endure the gibes of my hardhearted shipmates. Caesar, however, came out of his caboose, and whispered as he passed-- "Neber you mind, Dick, as long dey only use der tongue." He grinned and pointed with his finger, so that the rest fancied that he was only mocking me as they were. Notwithstanding this, the fresh air and the necessity of exerting myself did me good, and after I had taken some food that Caesar brought me when the men went into their berth to dinner, I felt quite another creature. At nightfall I was allowed to slink into my bunk, of which Tom still refused to deprive me. "I'm very well where I am. I'm accustomed to it, and you are not, Dick," he said, when I begged him to let me change places. The next day I was still better, and after this I rapidly recovered my strength, notwithstanding the cuffs and kicks and rope's-endings I frequently received, and the hard work I had to perform. My clothes were soon again as dirty as they were when I came out of the hold, and torn and tattered besides. "Never mind, Dick," said Tom; "I'll rig you out in a suit of mine, which I'll cut down to suit you when we get into colder latitudes. It doesn't much matter about having old clothes now the weather is so hot." Mark regretted that he could not help me, as he had only the clothes he stood up in, which would have been almost as bad as my own had they not been of stronger material, and thus held out better. Though the rest of the crew ill-treated Mark and me, and Tom also when they had the chance, the captain and officers tyrannised over them in the most brutal fashion. It was no unusual occurrence for the first mate to heave a handspike at one of the men when he did not go about his work in a way to please him, and both captain and mates swore at the men on all occasions in the most fearful way. At first I was horrified, but in time I got as much accustomed to it as they were, and was only thankful that the oaths were not accompanied by a rope's-ending. All this time the discipline was really very slack, and the men behaved to each other as they pleased, and never failed to neglect their duty whenever the mates' eyes were off them. Still they resented, notwithstanding, the treatment they received, growling fiercely, if not loudly, when the quality of their provisions had begun to fall off. At first the food had been pretty good, but it now became worse and worse, and the men swore that they would stand it no longer. At last, when some rancid pork had been served out with musty peas and weevilly biscuits, the men went aft in a body, headed by the boatswain, Sass Jowler, and Growles, who were deputed to be spokesmen, to the quarterdeck, where the captain was walking. "I axes you, Captain Longfleet, whether you think this ere stuff is fit food for British seamen?" said the boatswain, holding up a piece of the pork at the end of a two-pronged fork. "It makes um sick to cook it," said Caesar, who was standing behind the rest. "And I wants to know, in the name of the crew, whether this 'ere biscuit as is all alive with maggots, is the stuff we poor fellows forward should be made to put into our mouths?" cried Growles. "What's that you're talking about, you mutinous rascals?" cried the captain; "stop a bit, and I'll answer you." Saying this, he sprang back into the cabin, and while the men stood staring at the door without advancing, he reappeared with a pistol in the one hand and a cutlass in the other. I observed that he had a second pistol in his belt. "You know I never miss my aim, you scoundrels. The first man that utters a word on the subject I'll shoot through the head. The food's good enough for better men than you, so be off forward, and let this be the last time I hear any complaint. If not, look out for squalls." The men stood irresolute, and no one liked to run the chance of having a pistol-bullet sent through his head. "Are you going, you villains?" thundered the captain, pointing his pistol at the boatswain. He used a good many other stronger expletives, which need not be repeated. The boatswain was a bold fellow, but his courage gave way, and he stepped back. The others, overawed by the determined manner of the captain, imitated the example of their leader, knowing that the pistol might be turned towards any one who stood his ground, and together they retreated forward, tumbling over each other in their endeavour to put as wide a distance as possible between themselves and their now furious commander. For my part, I felt a greater amount of respect for him than I had ever done before. His eye did not for a moment quail, his arm appeared as firm as iron. Had he shown the slightest hesitation, the men, in the temper they were in, would have been upon him, and he would have lost his authority. Mark and I remained at one side of the deck, where we happened to be at the time. Tom Trivett had not come aft, having refused to take any part in the affair, whereby he gained still greater ill-will than before from his shipmates. The discontent which had thus shown itself, though kept down for a time, was by no means quelled. We had to eat the food, bad as it was, though perhaps not altogether as bad as the samples exhibited to the captain. The third mate came forward much oftener than before, and tried hard to win back the men into something like good-humour, but his efforts were unavailing. "You see, Mr Simmons, as how we poor fellows have got to work hard, and except we gets good grub we can't do it," I heard the boatswain remark in an insinuating tone; "it's very hard lines for us to have to eat rancid pork and weevilly bread, when we knows well enough that the captain and mates has good grub in the cabin. Share and share alike, and we sha'n't complain. But we must abide by it till the ship gets into harbour, and then we suppose that the captain will be getting good stores aboard and will serve out fresh meat and vegetables." "Oh! Of course he'll do that," said Mr Simmons, pleased, as he thought, at having brought the men to reason. "You know Captain Longfleet is a just man, though he's a determined one, and won't stand nonsense. Everything will go well, I hope, by-and-by." I should have observed that our boatswain held a very different position among the crew to that occupied by a warrant officer on board a man-of-war. He was merely one of the men, and was so called from certain duties he had to perform, and was a sort of link between the officers and the crew. We were now in the tropics. When there was a breeze the heat was supportable enough, but when it fell calm we could scarcely bear our clothes on, and went about in shirts and trousers, with bare feet, and were glad to have the opportunity of getting into the shade. The pitch boiled up out of the seams, and old Growles declared that he could cook a beefsteak on the capstan-head, if he only had a beefsteak to cook. The heat did not improve the temper of the men, and the ship became to Mark and me a regular hell afloat. Matters were almost as bad with Tom Trivett, but he could hold his own better than we could. One day Mark came to me. "I say, Dick," he exclaimed--a common fate had made us equal, and he had long ago dropped the master--"I've been hearing that to-morrow we're to cross the line. I wonder what sort of place we shall get into on t'other side; as far as I can make out, it's a kind of bar, and those who go over it for the first time have to pay toll to old Daddy Neptune, who is coming aboard to collect his dues." I was surprised that Mark had never heard of the line, and so I tried to explain to him what it was. As to Neptune coming on board, I knew that that was all nonsense, and so I told him. During that evening and the next morning some of the men were busily engaged in their berth, into which they allowed no one but themselves to enter. Soon after noon the captain, having taken his observations, gave notice that we were about to cross the line. Mark and I had been sent aft, when we heard a voice hail as if from under the bows. "What ship is that?" "The `Emu,'" answered the captain, who with the officers was standing on the poop. "Where did you come from, and for what port are you bound?" asked the voice. "From Liverpool, and we're bound to Rio and round Cape Horn," answered the captain. "All right, Captain Longfleet; with your leave my wife and I will pay you a visit and bring some of our children and attendants, and if you have any youngsters who have not crossed the line before, we shall have a word to say to them." "You're welcome, Father Neptune, for I suppose no one else would be desirous of giving me a call out in these seas." It was amusing to observe Mark's look of astonishment when immediately afterwards a party of grotesque figures appeared clambering over the bows. The first was an old fellow with a long white beard, a gold paper crown on his head, and a sceptre in his hand, and dressed in a flowing robe painted all over with curious devices. With him came a huge woman, also wearing a crown and garments of many colours, a necklace of huge beads and a couple of clasp-knives hanging down from either side of her face to serve as ear-rings; another figure followed them equally curiously dressed, with a basin under one arm, a pair of sailmaker's shears hanging round his neck, and a piece of rusty hoop shaped like a razor in his hand. A fourth person, tall and gaunt, was seen in a cocked-hat, a thick cane in one hand, and a box of pills of large proportions in the other. Following them came a party of monsters in green dresses with long tails, and heads covered by oakum wigs. The captain, wishing to humour the men, shouted out-- "Glad to see your majesty on board my ship. You're welcome to come aft and look out for any of those whose acquaintance you have not before made." On this the whole gang came tramping aft. Mark and I saw that their eyes were fixed upon us. We had no place to fly to but up the mizen rigging. We made the attempt, but were quickly caught by some of the monsters, who managed to climb up in spite of their tails. The barber had in the meantime placed a huge tub on the deck, and a couple of small casks. On these we were compelled to sit down, when he immediately with a paint-brush began to daub our faces over with the contents of a bucket of grease. He then drew out his razor, and scraped us in the most cruel fashion, taking off the skin at every stroke. The doctor in the meanwhile, with mock solemnity, felt our pulses, and then observing that we were terribly sick, crammed one of the boluses out of his box into our mouths, and forced it down with his tarry finger. "A bath would do them good," he growled out. We were seized, and soused head over heels in a tub till we were well-nigh drowned. In vain we struggled and shrieked. Every time we opened our mouths the barber shoved his brush into them, and the monsters then ducked our heads under water to wash them out, as they said. More dead than alive we were at last allowed to go, but had scarcely strength left to crawl away. Tom Trivett was next dragged aft, though he declared that he had often crossed the line. Daddy Neptune refused, however, to believe him, protesting that he had never seen his face in those parts before. Though he fought bravely he was overpowered, and was even worse treated than we had been, the monsters, aided by the doctor and barber and Mrs Neptune, holding his arms and legs. The captain and officers all the time in no way interfered, but seemed to enjoy the cruel sport. They wished, indeed, to allow the sailors to take their full fling according to their barbarous fancies. Mark and I, seeing how our friend was treated, attempted to go to his rescue, but we had better have remained quiet, both for his sake and our own, for we were cuffed and kicked even worse than before, and with difficulty again made our escape. A double allowance of grog was served out, which made the men even more savage than before; and when they were tired of ill-treating us they took to rough play among themselves. Daddy Neptune's crown was torn off, his sceptre broken in two, his wife was despoiled of her finery; the doctor's hat and spectacles shared the same fate; he was made to swallow his own pills, and the barber had his brush nearly shoved down his throat. They would have come to serious blows had not the captain ordered them to knock off and return to their duty. The mates, with boats' stretchers in their hands, had to rush in among them before they could be induced to desist. Not until a breeze sprang up, and they were ordered aloft to make sail, were they brought into anything like order. For days afterwards Mark and I limped about the deck, with aching heads and sore faces, and Tom Trivett could with difficulty get through his duty. This relaxation of discipline had no good effect on the men. They still grumbled and growled as much as ever at every meal over the food served out to them. CHAPTER SIXTEEN. Land ho!--Cape Frio--The Sugar-loaf Mountain--The Castle of Santa Cruz--The harbour of Rio de Janeiro--A taste of fruit--We receive some passengers--A gale springs up--Man overboard--Poor Tom Trivett-- Captain Longfleet's inhumanity--Mark and I are treated worse--I overhear a conversation--A proposed mutiny--The plot--Differences will arise--Who's to be captain?--I determine to reveal the plot--I consult with Mark--Our determination--Southern latitudes--The Southern Cross-- The Falkland Islands--Mark escapes, but I am retaken--Highland blood-- Mark's probable fate--A battle with an albatross. "Land ho!" was shouted from the masthead. In a short time we came off Cape Frio, a high, barren, almost insular, promontory, which runs into the Atlantic to the eastward of Rio de Janeiro. We stood on, the land appearing to be of a great height behind the beach, till we came in sight of the Sugar-loaf Mountain; the light land wind preventing us from entering the harbour, we had to stand off and on during the night. "Well, I've made up my mind to get a precious good tuck out," I heard old Growles say to the boatswain; "I suppose the skipper will order a good store of provisions aboard after the talk we had with him the other day." "Not so sure of that, old ship," said the boatswain; "but if he doesn't, he'd better look out for squalls, as he said to us." The other men were rejoicing in the expectation of a hearty meal and wholesome food, and so indeed were Mark and I; for we were not better off than the rest, except that Mark occasionally got some pickings at the captain's table, and now and then, when he could manage it, brought me some. Next morning a sea-breeze setting in, we stood towards the harbour, and as the fog lifted, several small islands near its mouth came into sight, and the Sugar-loaf Mountain loomed up high on the left, while on the right we saw the battlements of the Castle of Santa Cruz, which stands at the foot of the mountain. As we passed under the guns of the fortress, we were hailed by a stentorian voice, which came out from among the stone-built walls, but the speaker was not seen. "What ship is that? Where do you come from? How many days out?" The captain answered the questions through his speaking-trumpet as we glided by. We at length came to an anchor about a mile from the city of Rio de Janeiro, in one of the most beautiful and picturesque harbours in the world. I can't stop to describe it, or the fine-looking city, or the curiously-shaped boats filled with black, brown, and white people, though the whites were decidedly in the minority; indeed some of them could be only so called by courtesy. To our disappointment no one was allowed to go on shore. The captain and second mate almost immediately took a country boat and pulled for the landing-place. "I suppose they intend to send us off some grub," said old Growles, in a voice loud enough for them to hear; but they took no notice, and pulled on. We waited in anxious expectation for the arrival of the provisions, but no boats appeared. It looked very much as if the captain had forgotten our necessities. At last a small one came alongside with fruit and vegetables, which those who had money eagerly purchased. I had a few shillings remaining in my pocket, but Mark had nothing, and I insisted on buying enough for him and myself. Mark declined taking them from me, saying he could do very well without them; but I pressed him, and we discussed a couple of dozen oranges between us. How delicious they tasted! We both felt like different creatures. Those of the crew who had money were put into much better humour, but the rest were more sulky than ever. In the evening the boats brought off some fresh water, but no provisions. When the captain came on board at night we learnt that he had refused to purchase any, on account of their high price. Whether this was the case or not I don't know, but it made the men very angry. Next day he went on shore again, returning in the afternoon with four gentlemen, whom we heard were going as passengers round to Columbia River, in North America. We soon found, from hearing them speak, that they were Scotch, and of this I had no doubt when I learned their names, which were McTavish, McDonald, McKay, and Fraser. Their vessel had been wrecked off Cape Frio, and notwithstanding the character borne by Captain Longfleet, they were glad to have an opportunity of continuing their voyage in the "Emu." Just before daybreak a small boat came alongside with fruit and vegetables; but they were all for the cabin, and the crew were none the better for them. Next morning we sailed at daybreak with a land wind, followed by three or four other vessels, some bound round Cape Horn, others to cross the Atlantic. They were still in sight when it came on to blow very hard. In a short time a sea got up which made the ship tumble about in a way I had not experienced since I had been down in the hold. The captain stood on, wanting to keep ahead of the other vessels. The topmasts bent like willow wands, and every moment looked as if they would go over the sides. We carried on, however, until it was nearly dark, when he ordered the hands aloft to reef sails. I had not as yet been ordered to perform this duty, but Mark was as active as any one. He and Tom were on the lee fore-topsail yard-arm. Two reefs had already been taken in when the sail had to be closely reefed. It was now quite dark. The operation was being performed, when there was a cry from forward of "A man overboard!" To round the ship to might have been hazardous; but the second mate, who was the best of the officers, at once shouted out for volunteers to lower the boat. "Hold hard," says the captain; "I'll not have the hands thrown away for a careless, useless lubber who can't hold fast." I had run aft when I heard some one say that the man who had gone was Tom Trivett. Without waiting for orders I hove overboard an oar and a hen-coop, with half-a-dozen cackling hens in it, which not having been properly secured, had fetched away. In my excitement I was proceeding to throw some spars and other articles into the sea, when the captain, catching sight of me, ordered me to desist. "Let the fellow drown," he exclaimed; "it's his own fault, and it'll be a lesson to the rest of you." Though the men had no love for Tom Trivett, bad as they were these remarks greatly enraged them. "He cares no more for our lives than he does for that of a dog. It would have been just the same if any of us had gone," exclaimed several of them. The passengers were very indignant at the captain's barbarity. Two of them had been ready to go in the boat, and they all declared that the seaman might have been saved if proper efforts had immediately been made. I heard the captain in a peremptory tone tell them to hold their tongues, as they knew nothing about the matter. He was captain of the ship, and would act as he thought fit, and not endanger her safety for the sake of a single man who was not worth his salt. I deeply grieved for Tom since I discovered that he had been my firm friend, and I truly believed that I owed my life to him. Had it been daylight we might have watched to see whether he had got hold of any of the things thrown overboard, but almost immediately after he fell he was lost to view. The gale lasted only a short time. We made sail again as soon as we could, and quickly lost sight of the other vessels. Now that Tom Trivett had gone, my position became harder than ever, as I had no friend to stand up for me. I had often been protected by him when the others were inclined to bully me, and thus escaped many a cuff and kick. Julius Caesar was the only person who befriended me, and he didn't dare to do so openly. He often, indeed, appeared to be bullying me worse than the rest. I had been ordered to assist in cleaning his pots and pans, and sweeping out the caboose. Whenever the rigging had to be blacked down I was sent to do it, and was called to perform all the dirty jobs. The men, knowing I was a gentleman's son, took pleasure in seeing me thus employed. Mark would willingly have helped me, but he was always sent aft to some other work when seen near me. I would gladly have changed places with him, but he told me that he was as badly off as I was forward, for he got as much kicked about by the captain and officers as I was by the men. I had no one to talk to, for I could seldom get the opportunity of saying much to him. I felt that I had not a friend aboard. The men, when they had exhausted a few fresh provisions which they themselves had purchased, again began to grumble at the bad quality of their food. They took care, however, to say nothing when the third mate was forward, but they went about their duty in a manner which it seemed surprising he did not observe. One evening, being my watch below, still feeling the effect of the rough handling I had endured, I had crept into my berth to be out of the way of my persecutors. Mark, as usual, was attending to his duties in the cabin. I had fallen asleep, when I was awakened by hearing some men speaking close to me, though it was too dark to see who they were, and even if they had looked into my berth they would not have discovered me; but I recognised the voices of old Growles and the boatswain, and two other men, who were the worst of the crew and the leading spirits for bad on board. I was not much alarmed, though I scarcely dared to breathe for fear of attracting their notice. I cannot repeat all they said, for they frequently made allusions which they knew that each other understood; but I heard enough to convince me that they were hatching a plot to overpower the officers and passengers, and to take the vessel into Buenos Aires, or some other place on the banks of the River Plate. One of the men proposed killing them and throwing them overboard. Old Growles suggested that they should be put into a boat and allowed to shift for themselves, just as their officers were treated by the mutineers of the "Bounty." The boatswain said that he thought the best way of treating them would be to put them on shore on some desert island far-away to the southward, seldom visited by ships, so that they could not make their escape. "But they'll die of hunger, if you do that," remarked another man. "They'll die, at all events, so it matters little," answered the boatswain. "Our business is to get rid of them, and either to go cruising on our own account, or to sell the ship at a Spanish port to the westward, and enjoy ourselves on what we get for her." "Dead men tell no tales," muttered the first speaker. "Heave them overboard at once, and we shall be done with them." "I'm not for that sort of thing," said old Growles. "I shouldn't like to see their white faces as they dropped astern; they'd be haunting us, depend on that." The boatswain and the others laughed. "Who's to take the ship round Cape Horn, if we do away with the officers?" asked one of the men. "I know enough navigation for that," said the boatswain, "it won't be a long job." "Then I suppose you intend to turn captain. Is that it?" said another man. "We don't want no captain aboard." "If the ship was caught in a squall, you'd soon be calling out for some one to command you. Call me what you will, there's no man, except myself, knows how to navigate the ship when the officers are gone." "I sees what you are after, boatswain," said old Growles. "We should be just getting rid of one captain, and having another like him in his place. We must all be free and equal aboard, or it'll never do. I propose that one is captain one day, and one another; and that you, if you can, or any one else, shall navigate the ship. Otherwise one man's as good as another, to my mind, and knows as well as you how to make or shorten sail." "Well, I don't see how that can tell one way or the other," said the boatswain, who evidently didn't like the turn the conversation was taking. To me it seemed that the villains were ready for any mischief, but had not wit enough to carry it out. I lay as quiet as a mouse, scarcely venturing to breathe, for I knew that they would not scruple to put an end to me should they discover me, and fancy that I was awake and had overheard them. I determined, should I be found out, to pretend to be fast asleep. They talked on for some time longer, till all hands were summoned on deck to shorten sail. I was considering, as well as I could, what I had better do. The captain and officers had ill-treated me, but that was no reason I should allow them to be murdered, if I could in any way warn them of the danger, while the guiltless passengers must be saved at all costs. I thought that if I told Captain Longfleet, he would treat my statement as a cock-and-bull story, and declare I had been dreaming. Probably I should be sent off with a kick and a cuff, and the crew would hear that I had informed against them. I thought, however, that I would tell the second mate, who was better disposed, and far more sensible than the rest of the officers. Then it occurred to me that I had better consult Mark first, and hear what he thought. Perhaps he would consider it wiser to speak to one of the passengers, three of whom were determined-looking men. The fourth, Mr Alexander Fraser, was much younger, and I liked his appearance. He had given me a kind nod sometimes when I went aft. Their presence prevented the captain and officers from ill-treating Mark and me as much as usual. We were therefore inclined to regard them with a friendly spirit. I finally came to the conclusion to tell Mr Fraser what I had heard, if I could get the opportunity of speaking to him out of hearing of the rest of the crew, though that might be difficult. I knew that, after all, I must be guided by circumstances. The would-be mutineers talked on, and might have talked on for a whole watch, had not all hands been summoned on deck to shorten sail. I waited till they had gone up the rigging, and then crept out. The ship had been struck by a squall. Sheets were flying, blocks rattling, officers shouting, and a number of the men on deck pulling and hauling, made a hubbub so that I escaped aft unperceived, and was able to join Mark at one of the ropes it was his duty to attend to. As there was no one near, I was able to tell him by snatches what I had heard. "I'm not surprised," he answered. "The villains would murder their own mothers or grandmothers if they could gain anything by it; but I only doubt whether they will venture to attack the captain." "Still, we must let one of the officers know, or else their blood will be upon our heads. I propose warning Mr Fraser, or one of the other gentlemen," I observed. "That will do," said Mark. "Either you or I may find a chance to speak to one of them; but there's no time to be lost, for we can't say at what moment these ruffians may take it into their heads to carry out their villainous designs. We must be careful, however, that they don't suspect us of giving the information, or they might heave us overboard some dark night without ceremony." Some time was occupied in taking in the canvas, but in the course of an hour the squall passed off, and we had again to make sail. While this was being done, Mark and I had time to discuss the matter. That night, while it was my watch, I managed to get aft, where I found a person walking the deck, occasionally stopping and gazing at the bright stars overhead, the southern cross and others so different from those of the northern hemisphere. I waited till he had gone right aft out of earshot of the man at the wheel. I knew by his figure that it was Mr Fraser, so I went boldly up to him. "I have got something to say to you," I whispered. "It's of great consequence. I mustn't speak loud." I then briefly told him that I had heard the men propose to get rid of the officers and passengers in some way or other. "I've already heard something of this from your young messmate, but I'm very incredulous about it," he answered. "Pray don't be that, sir," I said. "Your life, and the lives of many others besides, depends on your believing the truth of what I say and taking measures to protect yourselves;" and I then told him more circumstantially what I had heard. He now seemed to listen attentively, and evidently considered that there was something in what I had said. "I'm very much obliged to you for the information you have given, and I'll consult my friends on the subject," he answered. "The captain seems to be a man who will know well how to deal with the villains, if what you say is true. We'll tell him what has come to our ears." "Indeed what I say is true," I exclaimed with energy. "They may be upon you at any moment, while you are unprepared." "Well, laddie, I'll lose no time," said Mr Fraser; and, afraid that if we remained much longer we might be observed by some of the men, I crept forward under the shadow of the bulwarks. I waited anxiously during the remainder of the watch to see what would occur; but as the men turned in, I was thankful to find that they had no intention of carrying out their project that night, and it was not likely that they would do anything in the daytime, when their movements would be observed by the officers. My only fear was that they might have seen Mark and me talking to Mr Fraser, and might have their suspicions aroused. If so, Mark and I would run, I knew, great risk of being knocked on the head as soon as darkness again came on. I therefore kept a sharp look out whilst I was on deck during the night, though I had an uncomfortable feeling that I might possibly be smothered in my sleep, or that Mark might be treated in the same way. Daylight, however, returned without anything having occurred. On meeting Mark, I expressed my fears to him. "Do you know, Dick, I was thinking of the same thing, and I have made up my mind to cut and run on the first opportunity, and I advise you to do the same thing. Indeed, I should not be happy if I left you behind; in truth, I would not run unless you promise to desert also." "That I will, with all my heart, though I don't think that Mr Fraser and the other gentlemen are likely to allow themselves to be taken by surprise, or to neglect putting the officers on their guard." "They can't protect us; and the men, if they find themselves even suspected, will certainly think that we informed on them." Whenever we had the opportunity, Mark and I discussed our plans for escaping. As far as we could judge, the officers and passengers were at their ease, and didn't act as if they thought any mutiny would occur. As the weather was now getting cold, the passengers had an excuse for coming on deck in their cloaks; and one day, when Mr Fraser's blew aside, I observed that he had a brace of pistols in his belt. They also brought their rifles on deck, and amused themselves by firing at passing birds, sometimes at porpoises, sharks, and other monsters of the deep who showed their backs above water. I guessed at last, by the looks of the men, that they saw that the passengers were on their guard. Even the third mate didn't come forward as he had been accustomed to do; and at night, what was very unusual, there were two officers on deck at a time. We had now contrary winds and thick weather, which greatly delayed us for several days. No observations were taken. One morning land was discovered on the weather bow, which, the captain said, was the coast of South America, and he carefully kept along shore in order to pass between the Falkland Islands and the main land; but at noon, when a meridian observation had been obtained, he found that what he had at first supposed to be the main land was in reality the Falkland Islands. We had for many days been sailing entirely by dead reckoning, while the current had set us out of our course. As we had not taken a full supply of water on board at Rio, and, owing to the bursting of the butt, which had frightened me so much, we had less on board than usual, the captain steered for one of the islands, where he knew that it could be obtained. We came to an anchor about half a mile from the shore just at sunset. As it would take the crew the whole day to get water, which had to be rolled down in small casks to the beach and brought on board, the passengers expressed their intention of making a shooting excursion on shore to kill some wild cattle--of which there are numbers in the island--or any other animals or birds they might fall in with. As the captain had no objection to having a supply of beef without cost to himself, he agreed to let them have a boat the next morning to take them on shore. They asked for one or two of the men to carry the meat. The captain said that they could not be spared, but finally told them that they could take Mark and me, as we were of little use on board. "Now," whispered Mark, "is our opportunity. If there are cattle, we shall have some meat to live on; and I propose that we hide ourselves away, so that when the gentlemen return on board we shall be missing." The captain, we were sure, would not take the trouble to look for us. I agreed, provided that from the appearance of the island we should have the chance of obtaining food and shelter; if not, we might die of starvation, and it would be better to endure our miseries, and the danger we ran of our lives, for a short time longer than to do that. "Well, as to that we must see about it," answered Mark. Soon after, our watch being over, we turned into our respective bunks. I didn't feel altogether comfortable, not knowing what the men might do to us. For some time I lay awake, for I wanted to be on the watch, lest any trick should be attempted, but at length dropped off to sleep. As we were in harbour, only an anchor watch was kept, and I was allowed to have my night's rest out, from which I rose fresh and ready for anything some time before daybreak. Mark, who had gone aft to call the gentlemen, returned with an order for me to get ready to go in the boat. Sufficient provisions for the party were put into the boat; and the gentlemen, taking their rifles and pistols with them, and with their swords at their sides, we shoved off, the boat being partly laden with empty water-casks. As there was not room for Mark and me forward, we sat aft with the gentlemen, when Mr Fraser talked in a friendly way to Mark and me. I saw the men eyeing us savagely at this; and I thought to myself at the moment, "Those villains suspect that we have had something to do in putting the gentlemen on their guard." I answered Mr Fraser, however, and he went on talking to me. We landed not far from where the casks were to be filled with water. The gentlemen then, taking their guns, divided the provisions between themselves and us, and we set off towards the interior of the island, where we hoped to meet with the wild cattle. There was nothing attractive in its appearance. Here and there were low scrubby woods, and the country generally was covered with thick patches of tussack grass, which, at a distance, gave it the appearance of being green and fertile. Between the patches, the soil was dry and sandy, so that it cost us much fatigue to make our way over it. We had seen plenty of wild cattle, but the gentlemen had not yet succeeded in killing any. They winded us on all occasions on our approach, and scampered off beyond the limit of rifle range. At last the gentlemen agreed to separate by going in small parties, and thus hoped to get nearer to the creatures. Mr Fraser invited Mark to go with him, and Mr McTavish took me; the other two gentlemen went together. Before starting they deposited their provisions inside of a hollow in a high bank, which, from its position, was easily to be found, and they agreed to return to dinner. If any one of the party killed an animal, he was to summon the rest to carry the meat. The object of the gentlemen was to kill as many animals as they could; for, as the weather was cool, it was hoped that the meat would last until we were well round Cape Horn. The island was of good size, but still there did not appear to be much risk of our losing our way. Mr Fraser, who was the most active of the party, said that he should go to the further end of the island and work his way back; that he was determined to kill some birds, if he couldn't knock over a cow. "Remember," whispered Mark to me, "that I shall slip away; and you do the same, and come and join me." To this I agreed. Mr McTavish and I went away to the right. We had been looking out for cattle for some time when we heard two shots, and from the top of a hill we saw the two other gentlemen, standing by a couple of cattle they had shot. "Come, Dick," said Mr McTavish; "though we cannot boast of killing a beast ourselves, we must go and help them." I thought that this would be a good opportunity to escape, and while he went down one side of the hill I proposed running down the other. I was just going when he caught sight of me. "Hillo, youngster, where are you going to?" he cried out; and he came after me evidently with no intention of letting me escape. On getting up with me, he inquired, "What made you try to run off? Come, tell me as we go along." He spoke very kindly. At last I confessed that I had determined to run away from the ship in consequence of the ill-treatment I had received. "You would have been starved to death in the midst of plenty," he said in a kind tone. "Had the island been fertile, and you could have supported yourself, I, for one, would never have hindered you, for I have observed the way the officers and men behave to you. But for the future I think we can prevent that. I have a notion that we owe our lives to you and your messmate, and we're grateful to you for it; so come along, and don't again attempt to run away." He spoke so kindly that at last I promised to follow his advice, hoping that Mr Fraser would also have prevented Mark from hiding himself, and would induce him to come back likewise. The gentlemen fired several shots to attract Mr Fraser's attention, but none were heard in return. They, in the meantime, cut up the animals and loaded themselves with as much as they could stagger under. The rest they covered up closely with the hides so as to keep the flies off, proposing to send some of the men for it. With our loads we returned to the place where we had left our dinner. As we were all very hungry we didn't wait for Mr Fraser, but set to at once, expecting that he and Mark would appear before we had finished. We waited, however, for some time, the gentlemen lighting their pipes to enjoy a smoke. "I'm afraid that young companion of yours has bolted, and that Fraser is delayed by looking for him," observed Mr McTavish. "We can't delay much longer if we're to save the flesh," said Mr McDonald. "Fraser knows what he's about; he will easily make his way down to the beach by the landing-place in the morning, and we must send a boat on shore for him." As the day was advancing the others agreed to this proposal; and, leaving the remainder of our provisions for Mr Fraser and Mark, we set off. It was almost dark as we approached the harbour, and I began to fear that the crew would have taken the opportunity of attacking the officers--perhaps would have got the ship under weigh, and left us to our fate. I didn't, however, mention my fears to any one. I was greatly relieved when I made out through the gloom the ship at anchor, and soon after, the boat close to the beach. Old Growles answered Mr McDonald's hail. I observed that my companions had examined their pistols and reloaded their rifles, so that they would be on their guard should any treachery be attempted. On arriving on board, the captain received the gentlemen in a somewhat surly way, and inquired why Mr Fraser had not returned. Mr McDonald replied, that we had waited for him, and that he had not appeared; but they expected that he would turn up on the beach on the following morning; if not, they proposed going in search of him. "There won't be time for that," said Captain Longfleet. "We have got all the water we require on board to-night. If passengers choose to go on shore and not return at the time they are told to do, they must take the consequences." Mr McDonald's Highland blood was up in a moment. "You have made a great mistake if you suppose that we will allow our friend to be deserted. We intend to go on shore to-morrow, and must beg to take two or three of your men with us, to ascertain what has become of Fraser and his young companion," he exclaimed. "We shall see who commands this ship," cried the captain, turning on his heel and entering the cabin, outside of which this scene took place. This was nuts to the crew, who must have perceived that if there was division aft they had a good chance of succeeding in their project. Next morning, at daybreak, the hands were turned up to get the ship under weigh. Directly after, Mr McDonald and the other gentlemen came on deck. "We protest against this proceeding, Captain Longfleet," he exclaimed. "I told you that if Mr Fraser chooses to absent himself at the time I was prepared to sail, he must take the consequences. It may delay us a whole day if we send to search for him," answered the captain. "If it delays us a week we must look for him till he's found," exclaimed Mr McDonald, drawing a pistol. "Get the ship under weigh at your peril." Bold as Captain Longfleet was, he quailed under the eye of the determined fur trader. "Hurrah! There's our friend," cried Mr McTavish. "We must send a boat for him, and that will settle this dispute, I hope." "A boat shall not leave the ship," cried Captain Longfleet. "I can't spare the men." "I say again, get the ship under weigh at your peril," said Mr McDonald, stepping a pace towards the captain. None of the officers or crew attempted to interfere. Those of the latter who were near only stood observing the scene and grinning their satisfaction. "Are you going to send a boat?" again asked Mr McDonald. Just then another shot was fired. "I'll do as you wish," replied the captain; "but I tell you it's more than your friend deserves." "I will go in her," said Mr McDonald. "No, you can't do that. I will send my own men; for what I know, you may delay the boat," answered the captain. "It matters not, provided Fraser and the lad return," said Mr McTavish, who was inclined to conciliatory measures. The captain now directed three of the hands to go in the smallest boat which was large enough for the purpose, while the rest were ordered to loose sails and heave up the anchor. While these precautions were going forward I observed the gentlemen watching the boat through their telescopes. She reached the shore, and after a short delay was seen returning. I looked out anxiously for Mark, hoping that after the account I had received of the island that Mr Fraser would have brought him back. Great was my grief and disappointment when I did not see him in the boat. Still I hoped that the passengers would induce the captain to send a party on shore to look for him. I intended to ask Mr McTavish to obtain leave for me to go, for I knew that if Mark heard my voice shouting for him he would come out of his hiding-place. No sooner had Mr Fraser stepped on board than the boat was hoisted up. On this I ran off to ask Mr McTavish to insist on the ship being delayed to allow of a search for Mark. "We'll do what we can, my laddie," he answered; "though the captain doesn't appear to be in the humour to grant any requests." As Mr Fraser greeted his friends, I heard him say that he had missed Mark, and supposed, after searching for him for some time, that he had joined one of our parties; and that at length he had made his way to the beach, having satisfied his hunger with some of the provisions we had left behind. It was night when he had come near the harbour; and as he knew the boat would have returned, he formed himself a nest under a bank with some tussack grass and slept soundly till daylight. When he found that Mark had not returned, he was as eager as Mr McDonald to go in search of him, but all they could say would not move Captain Longfleet. "He is one of my crew, and you have no business to interfere with him," he answered. Mr McDonald replied, that he could not but say that this was the case, but that the lad had accompanied them, and they felt themselves answerable for his safe return. The captain, however, would not listen, but continued shouting out his orders to the men, who obeyed them with more alacrity than usual. I could not help thinking that they rejoiced at having thus easily got rid of Mark. For my own part I regretted not having run away also, and shared his fate, whatever that might have been. Had the distance not been so great, I should, even now, have jumped overboard and tried to join him. But the attempt would have been equivalent to suicide, and I dared not make it. Away stood the ship out of the harbour, leaving my old friend all alone on the desert island. I pictured to myself his horror and disappointment at not seeing me; the miseries and hardships he might endure for want of food and companionship, and his too probable early death. I went about my duty in a disconsolate mood. I had now no friend to talk to. Not one of the men appeared to pity me. Even Julius Caesar uttered no word of comfort. We soon lost sight of the Falkland Islands and shaped a course to round Cape Horn. The ship was now surrounded by albatrosses, penguins, and pintado birds. Several were shot, and others taken with a hook and bait. An enormous albatross was thus hauled in, and being brought on deck fought bravely for some time before it could be killed. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. South Sea whaler--I write a letter home, and how far it got on its way there--The Earl of Lollipop--Mr McTavish saves me from a flogging--My prospects somewhat improve--Another storm--We lose another man--A struggle for life--Tierra del Fuego--Cape Horn--In the Pacific--The coast of Patagonia, and how we nearly got wrecked--Juan Fernandez-- Robinson Crusoe's Island--I again determine to run away, but am prevented by an offer I receive--"Shark! Shark!"--A narrow escape-- Valparaiso--Callao--Paita--The Sandwich Islands--The king and his court--Royal guests--Some queer dishes--Pooah--Am again prevented from deserting--Columbia River at last--A glimpse of freedom--A farewell dinner--An untoward incident--Once more a prisoner--My captors' fears my only safety--My friends give up the search--At sea again--My release--"Dis curious ship." We had left the island for some days, when we fell in with a homeward-bound South Sea whaler. As the ocean was calm, and the wind light, her captain came on board and politely offered to convey any message or letters home. "Now," I thought, "will be an excellent opportunity of returning home. I'm sick of this life, and shall be glad to go back to Mr Butterfield's office and the high stool, and listen to Aunt Deb's lectures." How to accomplish my purpose was the difficulty. I went up to the captain of the whaler. "I'm a gentleman's son," I said; "I came off to sea unintentionally, and I want to go home again." He gave a loud "Whew!" as I said this. "I can't take you, my lad, without your captain's leave," he answered. "If he gives it, I shall be happy to do so." Captain Longfleet just then came out of the cabin. "I don't know how he came on board, but here he is and here he'll remain," he said, as the captain of the whaler spoke to him. "Go forward," he said to me, "and think yourself fortunate to escape a flogging for your impudence." However, I persevered, and turning to Mr McTavish, asked him kindly to say a word for me. Captain Longfleet in reply told him that he had no business to interfere. "I've lost one boy through you gentlemen, and I'm not going to lose another," he answered. In vain Mr McDonald and the other gentlemen spoke to him; he replied in his usual rough way. "I'm sorry, my lad, that I can't take you out of the ship without your captain's permission," said the whaling captain; "but if you'll get a letter scribbled off, I'll undertake to post it." I had neither paper, pens, nor ink, but Mr McTavish, hearing what was said, instantly brought me some, and I ran off into the berth to write it, hoping that I should be there undisturbed. I had great difficulty in penning the letter; and while I was kneeling down at the chest, old Growles came in and mocked at me, and another fellow asked me whether I was sending a love-letter to my dearie, and a third gave me a knock on the elbow, which spattered the ink over the paper and nearly upset the ink-bottle. Still I wrote on. "Ship `Emu,' somewhere off Cape Horn. "My dear Father,--I didn't intend to run away, but tumbled down into the hold and was carried off. When I came to myself I found that I was at sea, and could not get out of my prison. I lived there for I don't know how many days, till, when almost dead, I was released. I have been treated worse than a dog ever since by the captain, officers, and men. He's a terrible tyrant and brute, and if it had not been for Mark Riddle--whom, wonderful to say, I found on board the ship--he and his mates would have been knocked on the head and hove overboard. "I would much rather be seated on the high stool in Mr Butterfield's office than where I am. I wanted to return home, but the captain wouldn't let me. I intend, however, to run on the first opportunity, and to get back if I can. I tried to get away in the Falkland Islands, but was prevented. Mark succeeded, and was left behind. Whether he'll manage to live there I don't know, but I hope he will, and get back to Sandgate one of these days, I have no time to write more; so with love to mother, and my brothers and sisters, and even to Aunt Deb-- "I remain your affectionate son-- "Richard Cheveley." "PS--Please tell old Riddle all about his son." I hurriedly folded this letter, and addressed it to the Reverend John Cheveley, Sandgate, England; and having no wax, I sealed it with a piece of pitch which I hooked out of a seam in the deck. I rushed out, intending to give it into the hands of the captain of the whaler; but what was my dismay to see his boat pulling away from the ship. I shouted and waved my letter, thinking that he would return; but at that moment the third mate snatched the letter out of my hand, and waved to the men in the boat to pull on. I turned round, endeavouring to recover the letter, but instead got a box on the ear. I made another snatch at it. "What's this about, you young rascal?" shouted the captain; "give me the letter, Simmons. You'll try next to take it out of my hands, I suppose." In spite of all my efforts to regain it, the mate handed the letter to the captain, who, looking at the superscription, at once tore it open. He glanced at the commencement and end. "So you pretend to be a gentleman's son, you young scapegrace," he exclaimed. "You'll not get me to believe such a tale. Why, bless my heart, the last voyage I had a fellow who was always writing to the Earl of Lollipop, and signing himself his son. The men called him My Lord. He was made to black down the rigging, notwithstanding, and polish up the pots and pans. He was found at last to be a chimney-sweeper's son." I was convinced that the captain said this to be heard by the passengers, and to try and throw discredit on me, as they were already inclined to treat me kindly, through seeing that I was at all events a boy of education; and from the service I had already rendered them in giving them warning of the crew's design. I was in hopes that the captain would let me have my letter back, but to my dismay he again looked at it and read it. I saw a thunder-cloud gathering on his brow; his lips quivered with rage; I cannot repeat the terms he applied to me. "And so, you young anatomy, you dare to call me a tyrant and a brute," he shouted out in a hoarse voice; "to write all sorts of lies of me to your friends at home. You see that yard-arm. Many a fellow has been run up for a less offence. Look out for yourself. If the crew don't finish you off before the voyage is over, I'll make you wish you had never set foot on the deck of the `Emu.'" "I wish I never had," I exclaimed. "What! You dare speak to me," roared the captain. "Here, Mr Simmons, take this mutinous young rascal and give him three dozen. We'll keel-haul him next, if that doesn't bring him into order." Here the passengers interfered. Mr McTavish declared that he would not stand by and let me be unjustly punished. "If it were not for young Cheveley, where should we be by this time, Captain Longfleet?" he asked. "You know as well as we do what was intended. If your mate attempts to touch him, he must take the consequences." The captain was silent for some minutes. Perhaps some sense of what was right overcame his ill-feeling. "Let him go, Simmons," he said, turning to the mate. "It's lucky for you, boy, that this letter was not sent," he said, looking at me. He tore it up and threw the fragments overboard. "Remember that the next time you write home, I intend to have a look at your letter. You may let your friends know where you are, but you can't accuse me of carrying you away from home." As the captain turned from me, I thought that the best thing I could do was to go forward. I saw two of the men, who had been within earshot while the captain was speaking, eyeing me with no friendly glances. I looked as innocent as I could; but weary though I was, when it was my watch below I was almost afraid lest I should never awake again in this world. When I was forward the men treated me as badly as ever, but I found the conduct of the captain and officers towards me greatly improved, owing to the influence of the passengers. I had frequently to go into the cabin to assist the steward, who, though he often gave me a slight cuff, never did so in the presence of my friends. Knowing that I had those on board interested in me, I bore my sufferings and annoyances with more equanimity than before. I one day, unknown to Captain Longfleet, had the opportunity of giving my father's address to Mr McTavish. He promised to write home from the first place at which we touched. It would be useless for me to attempt writing, as my letter would, I knew, be seen and taken from me. This was some comfort. I can but briefly relate the incidents of the voyage. While still to the southward of Cape Horn, the appearances of another heavy storm came on. The lighter canvas was instantly handed. Almost in an instant a heavy sea got up, into which the ship violently pitched as she forced her way ahead. The flying jib having been carelessly secured, the gaskets, or small ropes which bound it to the jibboom, gave way. Two hands were immediately sent out to make it fast. While they were thus employed, a tremendous sea struck the bows. One of the men, old Growles, scrambled on to the bowsprit, to which he held on like grim death, but before the other man could follow his example, the jibboom was carried away and he with it. I saw the poor fellow struggling amid the foaming seas. The captain did not on this occasion refuse to try to save him. The ship was hove-to, and pieces of timber, an empty cask, and a hen-coop, were hove overboard to give him the chance of escaping. He failed to reach any of them. Mr McTavish and two of the men and I were on the point of jumping into the jolly-boat to go to his rescue, but the captain shouted out in no gentle terms, ordering us to desist, and asked us if we wished to lose our lives also. This, if we had made the attempt, we should certainly have done. The boat could not have lived many moments in such a sea. For fully ten minutes the poor fellow was observed buffeting with the waves, but he at length disappeared. The ship was kept away, and we stood on our course. We soon afterwards perceived the snow-capped mountains of Tierra del Fuego rearing their majestic heads, and looking down on the raging waters below them. The weather soon after moderated, and as we sighted Cape Horn the captain ordered the topgallant and royal masts to be got up, and the lighter sails to be set. With a gentle breeze from the eastward we rounded the dreaded Cape, and found ourselves in the Pacific. I heard some of the men say that they had never passed Cape Horn in such fine weather. Whales, and porpoises in countless numbers, were playing round us, and if we had had harpoons and gear on board we might have captured many of the former and filled up our ship with oil. We were not destined, however, to enjoy the fine weather long. Another gale came on and nearly drove us on the western coast of Patagonia, carrying away our bulwarks, and doing much other damage. When within about five or six miles of the coast the wind shifted, and we once more stood off the land. We sighted the far-famed island of Juan Fernandez, the scene of Robinson Crusoe's adventures, or rather those of the real Alexander Selkirk. The ship was hove-to when we were about two miles off shore, and the pinnace and jolly-boat were sent to obtain wood and water. The passengers taking the opportunity of going also, I slipped into the boat with Mr McTavish, without being perceived by the captain. The second mate, who had charge of the boat, did not inquire whether I had leave. I was not aware till the moment before that the boat was going. There was no time for consideration; but the hope seized me that I might manage to make my escape and remain on the island. If Robinson Crusoe lived there, so might I. A solitary life would be infinitely better, I thought, than the existence I was doomed to live on board. I said nothing to Mr McTavish, for fear he should try to prevent me. We found when approaching the shore that a heavy sea was breaking over it, and that it would be impossible to land. We soon, however, discovered that we had entered the wrong bay, and pulling out again, we got into another, where the landing was less difficult, though not free from danger. While some of the party remained on the beach to fill the water-casks and to draw a seine which had been brought to catch fish, I accompanied Mr McTavish and the other gentlemen into the interior. The island appeared to be one vast rock split into various portions. We pushed on up a deep valley. At the bottom ran a stream of fine water, from which the water-casks were filled. The valley, scarcely a hundred yards wide at the entrance, gradually widened. We climbed up the wild rocks, ascending higher and higher, startling a number of goats, which scrambled off leaping from crag to crag; some of them fine-built old fellows with long beards, who looked as if they must have been well acquainted with Robinson Crusoe himself. We frequently had to turn aside to avoid cascades, which came rushing down the mountain's side. Sometimes we were involved in the thickest gloom, and then again we emerged into bright sunlight as we gained a higher elevation. The appearance of the country was picturesque in the extreme, though it didn't tempt me to make it my residence for the remainder of my life; and then again, I considered that there must be other parts of a more gentle character where Robinson Crusoe must have resided. I had been often looking about, considering how I might accomplish my object, when Mr McTavish said, "I know what you are thinking about, Cheveley, but for your own sake I do not intend you to succeed; and even if it were otherwise, I am bound to see you safe on board the boat. So come along. You mustn't play me any trick." "Well, I did think that I should like to stop here and live as Robinson Crusoe did. Perhaps I might give an account of my adventures when I got home," I answered. "The chances are that you would be starved, or break your neck, or die of some disease, and never get home; so I intend to keep an eye on you, my laddie," said my friend, in a good-natured tone. "Besides this, my friends and I propose to induce Captain Longfleet to set you at liberty when we reach the Columbia River, and you can either wait at the fort till you can hear from your father, making yourself useful there as a clerk, or you can turn fur-hunter, and lead a life which I believe would be to your taste." "I'm very much obliged to you, sir," I said, "and accept your offer, and will not attempt to run away." After a tiring excursion we got back to the boats just as they were about to shove off. We after this touched at Massafuero, an island mountain rising abruptly from the sea, surrounded by a narrow slip of beach. Here we obtained a vast quantity of fish and a few goats. The abundance of food contributed much to tranquillise the minds of the crew, and also, I suspect, to prevent them from carrying their plans into execution. One day when we were becalmed, several of the crew who could swim jumped overboard to take a bathe, and as I was a good swimmer I did the same, and got farther than the rest from the ship. While I was sporting about, I heard the dreadful cry of "Shark, shark!" The rest of the men quickly making for the side, clambered on board. I was swimming towards the ship, when I saw a dark fin rising between her and me. I knew what it indicated, for I had seen several sharks before. To gain the ship without encountering the monster seemed impossible. I therefore, instead of swimming on, stopped and trod water, beating the surface with my hands, and shouting out. I saw some of the men leaning over the sides with ropes. Presently there was a shout. One of the men had lowered a rope with a bowling knot into the water, when the shark in its course round the ship ran its head and upper fin between it. At this moment it was secured to the cathead, and before the brute could get free it was hoisted on deck. I now darted forward, and seizing a rope which hung over the side hauled myself up. As I saw the monster floundering on deck, I was thankful that he had not caught me in his jaws. "You have had a narrow escape, my laddie," observed Mr McTavish. "It will be a lesson to you not to swim about in these latitudes." Not many other incidents worth relating occurred for some time. We touched at Valparaiso, where we discharged some of our cargo, and afterwards at Callao, where we got rid of a still larger quantity. We also put into Paita farther north. As goods brought in English vessels were subject to a very high duty, or were altogether prohibited, they were smuggled on shore. Had I been so disposed I might on two or three occasions have made good my escape, but I was relying on the promise of Mr McTavish. From the coast of Peru we steered to the Sandwich Islands, of which I should like to give a description. We there took on board three of the natives, to supply the place of the men who had been lost. The king and a brace of queens, besides several chiefs and a number of white men, visited the ship. The king and his brown consorts came in a large double canoe, formed by lashing two canoes together separated by bars. Each canoe was paddled by twenty or thirty men. On the bars was raised a kind of seat, on which the ladies reposed. Raised considerably higher than his consorts was a sort of throne placed on the top of a large arm-chest full of muskets, and on this his Sandwich Island Majesty was seated in regal state. In front of him stood a dark-skinned native, carrying a handsome silver hanger in imitation of the sword-bearers of European monarchs; behind the king sat a boy holding a basin of dark-brown wood, in which his Majesty ever and anon spat abundantly. Instead of a crown the king's head was covered by an old beaver hat. His coat was of coarse woven cloth of ancient cut, with large metal buttons. His waistcoat was of brown velvet, which had once been black, while a pair of short, tight, and well-worn velveteen pantaloons, worsted stockings, and thick-soled shoes covered his lower extremities. His shirt and cravat had been once probably white, but had attained the hue of his own swarthy skin. On coming on deck he shook hands with every one he met between the gangway and cabin, assuring them of his affection. I had to attend at the dinner, to which the royal party were invited. The ladies, however, had to sit aside, the king taking his place at the table at the right hand of the captain, while the minister, who carried his saliva bowl, squatted behind him. He ate voraciously, and washed down the solids with numerous glasses of Madeira. He drank the health of each person present, finishing well-nigh three decanters of his favourite wine. As soon as the king, the captain, passengers, and first mate had risen, the ladies were allowed to approach their dinner, which had been cooked on shore, and was now placed on the table. It consisted of a couple of roast dogs, several dishes of small fish, and a white mixture called pooah, of the consistency of flummery. The steward and I could scarcely keep our countenances as we saw them dipping the two forefingers of the right hand into the pooah, and after turning them round in the mixture until they were covered with three or four coats, by a dexterous twist rapidly transfer the food to their open mouths, when, with one smack of their lips, their fingers were cleared. Their dress consisted of a cloth worn over the shoulders--a long piece of cloth wrapped in several folds--round the waist and reaching to their knees. The king spent a part of the afternoon in going over the ship, and measuring her from stem to stern, while the ladies played draughts and beat their antagonists hollow. There were a number of English and other white men settled on the island. Two acted as the king's chief counsellors, and took an active part in all the affairs of the country, many of them having become very rich. I may here remark, that the daughter and granddaughter of one of these gentlemen afterwards became Queen of the Sandwich Islands. The country, as far as I could see, appeared to be highly cultivated. The people in their habits and customs presented a curious mixture of savagery and civilisation. As I gazed on the shore on which I was not permitted to set foot, I considered whether I could not manage to get away and offer my services to the king, as I was better educated than most of those about him. I thought that I should probably rise to the highest dignities of the State; perhaps become his prime minister, his commander-in-chief, or admiral of his fleet, but I found that I was too strictly watched by old Growles and the boatswain to accomplish my object. Had Mark been with me, I had little doubt but that we should have managed to escape. I at last asked Mr McTavish if he would take me on shore. "No, no, my laddie, I know what is running in your mind," he said. "The natives would be too ready to assist, and I might find it difficult to prevent your being carried off and stowed away till the ship sails. You may fancy that your life would be a very pleasant one, but I know what it is to live among savages. You would, in course of time, have a brown wife given to you, and, unwilling to leave her, you would become a banished man from home and country. Follow the plan I at first proposed. If you will remain with us you will in the course of a few years make your fortune, and be able to return home and enjoy it." I felt that the advice given was sound, and I promised Mr McTavish not to try and run away while we remained at the Sandwich Islands. He said that the next day he would take me on shore if the captain would give me leave. Shortly after, however, we went out of harbour. We had a quick passage to the entrance of the Columbia River. A dangerous bar runs across the mouth of it, so that the captain was unwilling to enter until we had a fair wind and a favourable tide. Boats were sent ahead to sound. While thus engaged a canoe, followed by a barge, were seen coming off. The canoe, which was paddled by six naked savages, and steered by an old Indian chief, was soon alongside, but as they could not understand a word we said we could gain no information till the barge arrived, when our passengers greeted a number of their friends who had come off in her. The ship now entered the river, and came to an anchor off a fort which had been erected by the fur-traders. I never felt more happy in my life, believing that my sufferings were over, and that I should regain my liberty. I hoped that Mr McTavish and his friends would at once go on shore and take me with them; but as it was late in the day, and they heard that the accommodation in the fort was limited, they accepted the captain's pressing invitation to remain with their friends on board till next morning. A more sumptuous repast than I had yet seen was prepared. The captain produced his best wine in abundance. The steward and I had to wait at table. The captain, when giving me my orders, spoke in a far more conciliatory tone than he had ever done before. "I suppose he wishes to make amends to me for his past conduct, and to show my friends that he has no ill-will towards me," I thought. The wine flowed freely, and hilarity and good-humour prevailed for some time, till a remark was made by one of the officers of the ship which offended a gentleman from the shore. His Highland blood being up he hove a glass of wine in the face of the mate, telling him that the bottle should follow if he didn't apologise. This the mate did, in a somewhat humble fashion, at the request of the captain, and order was restored. The wine continued to flow freely; songs were sung and speeches made, and every one appeared to be talking at once at the top of their voices. The captain at last ordered me to go on deck with a message to the second mate, who was the officer of the watch, and to come back and let him know how the ship was riding. He said this in a loud voice so that every one might hear. I could not find the mate aft, so, supposing that he had gone forward to examine the cable, I was making my way in that direction when suddenly I found myself seized. A cloth was shoved into my mouth, and another bound over my eyes, so that I was unable to see or cry out, and I was carried down the main hatchway in the strong arms of a man whose voice I had been unable to recognise, though I fancied that he was either Growles or the boatswain. In vain I struggled to get free. On reaching, as I supposed, the spar-deck, another man bound my arms and my legs, and I was then carried still farther down into the hold, when I was shoved into some place or other, a door was shut and locked on me, and I found myself alone. I was very nearly suffocated with the cloth in my mouth, but I managed after much exertion to work it out. Having done this, I was inclined to shout; but I feared that if I did so old Growles would return and put it back, and perhaps ill-treat me into the bargain. I therefore thought it wiser to remain silent, and to try and get the handkerchief off my eyes. I lay quiet for some time to recover my breath. Though I could not move to feel about, I was convinced, by the closeness of the atmosphere, that I was in a small place--probably in a compartment of the boatswain's store-room. My next object was to get the handkerchief off my eyes, to ascertain if any light penetrated my place of confinement. It was a difficult matter to do this without hurting myself, but I tried, by turning over and rubbing the knot at the back of my head against the boards on which I lay, to work it upwards, though at the expense of making a sore place, so tightly was it secured. At last I succeeded in getting it off. All was dark, as I had expected. The next task I undertook was to free my arms. This was a far more difficult undertaking. I made up my mind to bite through the ropes if I could get my teeth into them; but that, after many attempts, I found to be impossible. I avoided, as much as I could, drawing them tighter round my wrists. I endeavoured, by making one of my hands as small as I could, to draw it out of the knot, but again and again I was obliged to desist. Still I recollected how I had before escaped from the hold, as well as from the mill, and I repeated to myself, "Fortune favours the persevering." I had been on foot for a number of hours; and, wearied by the exertions I had lately made, I at last began to feel very sleepy, and shortly dropped off into an uncomfortable slumber. I was awakened by a gruff voice, which I recognised as that of the boatswain. "Gregory, I do believe the young rascal is dead," he said. "It may save a world of trouble if he is," answered old Growles; "for those passengers are making a precious fuss about him. If he was to get ashore, he'd be telling tales. We can say he died in his sleep, and let them have his body, which will show how it happened." "Not if he's black in the face. Here, hand the lantern, and let's have a look." All this time I was afraid to open my eyes, or even to breathe; and I thought that, if I could sham being dead, they would carry me on deck, and I would then soon show them the contrary. I guessed that I must have rolled over with my face away from the door, so that they couldn't see it. Presently I felt a hand placed on my shoulder to draw me round. I let them move me as they liked, and I knew, from the light which I saw through my eyelids, that the rays of a lantern were cast on me. I flattered myself that I was succeeding very well, till I heard the boatswain remark-- "People don't die with their eyes shut." Then a hand was placed on my face, and old Growles observed-- "The young chap's as alive as I am; he's quite warm. Rouse up, Dick, you rascal! But take care you don't sing out, or it'll be the worse for you." Still I endeavoured to make them believe I was really dead. It was a satisfaction to find that they were casting off the lashings from my arms and legs; but when one of them lifted up my arm I let it fall down again, like that of a dead person. This seemed to puzzle them, and old Growles gave me a cruel pinch on the arm. Though I didn't cry out, I had the greatest difficulty not to flinch. He then bent back one of my fingers. It was a wonder he didn't break it. Not able to endure the pain, I cried out. "I thought so," he said, with a low laugh. "You can't play your tricks off on us, youngster," said the boatswain, "and you'll gain nothing by it." I said nothing, but looked up at him as if I had just awakened out of a sleep or a trance. "Now mind you," he continued, "if you shout out or make any noise, we'll gag you and leave you to starve; but if you keep quiet you shall have some food, and you won't be worse off than when you were shut up before in the hold." "What are you going to do with me?" I asked. "That's not for you to know," answered the boatswain. "We're not going to kill you, for fear you should haunt the ship, not for any love to you. We could have made away with you long ago, if we had thought fit. We're not going to let you go ashore, and let you give a bad name to the ship and us. We know who 'peached to the captain, and you may think yourself fortunate that you were not dropped overboard next night. Will you promise to keep quiet?" I knew that I was in the hands of unscrupulous ruffians, whose fears alone prevented them from doing away with me; so there was no use holding out. I therefore said that I would make no noise if they would unlash my arms and legs and bring me some food. I found that I was in the place I had supposed--a big locker which had been cleaned out to make room for me. It smelt horribly of tar and rancid grease, and coils of small rope and balls of twine, mats, cans, pots, and brushes, up in the corners, showed me what was usually stowed in it. "Shall we trust the young rascal?" asked the boatswain of his companion. "He daren't break his word," answered Growles; "he knows what he'll get if he does." Thereupon they unlashed my arms and legs. I considered for a moment whether I could spring past them and gain the deck. Perhaps they thought I might make the attempt; and before I had time to do more than think of it, they had shut the door and locked me in. I knew, from the quietness of the ship, that she was still at anchor, and I hoped that my friends might make inquiries about me that might lead to my discovery; and this idea kept me up. As I lay perfectly still I could hear the crew hoisting the remainder of the cargo out of the hold. The noise they made would have drowned my voice, even had I ventured to cry out. I guessed, also, that most of them knew of my imprisonment, and would not assist me. My only solace was the thought that Mr McTavish, who had been so friendly to me, would insist on searching the ship, and then I thought it probable a story would be told of my having fallen overboard. They would very likely say that I had got drunk with their wine, and been seen rolling along the deck, or something of that sort. I did not, indeed, altogether despair of making my escape. As I lay in the ill-odorous locker I thought and thought of all sorts of plans. In spite of the smells I was getting hungry, and I wished that the boatswain or Growles would return with the food they had promised. If only one came I made up my mind to seize him by the throat, put my fingers into his eyes, spring up past him, and try to gain the deck. It would be hazardous in the extreme; for, if he caught me, he would not let me go, and in the struggle I should certainly be overcome, when he would not fail to punish me severely--perhaps to deprive me of life. Still, anything was better than to have again to endure the sufferings I had gone through in the hold. I nerved myself up for the undertaking I proposed. All was again silent in the hold. The crew had, I concluded, knocked off work; whether to go to dinner or for the day I could not calculate. After some time I heard the sound as of some one moving near me, the door opened, and the light of a lantern fell on my face. There were two heads instead of one. It would be madness to attempt to spring past them, so I lay quiet. "Here's the food I promised you," said the voice of old Growles. "Eat it and be thankful; it's more than you deserve." It consisted of biscuit and meat, and a cooked root of some sort. He placed also a can of water by my side. "Don't capsize it; for you'll get no more," he said, drawing my attention to it. Wishing to soothe him and throw him off his guard, I answered and thanked him. Before I could finish the sentence he had shut to the door and left me to discuss my meal in the dark. I heard him and his companion go away. The air which had come in had revived my appetite, and I eagerly ate up the provisions and drank the water, supposing that I should have more in due time. As soon as I had finished my meal I tried to see if I could force open the door, but I could discover no tool of any description. I made up my mind therefore to wait patiently till the opportunity offered of getting out. Perhaps the next time old Growles or the boatswain would come alone, or they might send some one else; or, should my friends be searching the ship, I might make them hear me. While these thoughts were passing through my mind I again fell asleep. It might be found wearisome were I to describe my thoughts and sensations, my hopes and fears, while I was awake, or to say how often I slept. Day after day passed. Old Growles and the boatswain invariably came together; they seemed to divine that should only one come I might in my desperation attempt to pass him. As far as I could judge the crew were now taking cargo on board, as I could hear the bales descending into the hold. They consisted, I afterwards found, of skins and peltries. How much longer the ship would remain in harbour I could not tell, nor could I conjecture when I was to be set free. They would scarcely keep me a prisoner during the remainder of the voyage, as, shut up, I could do nothing, but if I were at liberty I could make myself useful. Drearily the time passed away. Fear still prevented me from shouting out; for, from the position I was in, I could certainly have made myself heard by the crew, although my voice would not have reached to the cabin. From the remarks that I had heard from the passengers, when we were approaching the Columbia River, I guessed that, having loaded with furs, we should cross the Pacific to China, where they would fetch a high price, and thence, as I knew beforehand, with the produce of that country, we should proceed to Australia, where we should load with wood for home. If I were kept a prisoner for the whole period I should lose my health, if not my life. How many days or nights I had been kept in confinement I could not calculate, when I heard the sounds of heaving up the anchor; a trampling of feet, as if sail was being made. Some time afterwards I was sensible of a movement in the ship, and presently she plunged into a heavy sea, and I could hear much rushing of water against her sides. Again she made a more furious plunge, and I guessed that we were crossing the bar. I knew that I was right, as shortly afterwards the ship glided on with a comparatively slight movement. All hope of being rescued by my friends was gone. I knew that we must have crossed the bar while it was light, but I was allowed to remain in prison for another night. At last the door was opened, and old Growles and the boatswain appeared. "You may go on deck now, youngster," said old Growles; "but remember, as you value your life, that you don't tell the captain or any one else who put you down here. You played the stowaway once, and you must say you did so again, 'cos you didn't want to go ashore and live among the injins. If he believes you or not, it doesn't much matter; only you stick to it, and, mind yer, you'll come to a bad end if you don't." I made no answer, for although I wished to get out of the locker and enjoy the fresh air once more, I could not make up my mind to tell a falsehood, notwithstanding the threats of the old ruffian. Neither he nor the boatswain seemed to expect an answer. Perhaps they thought it mattered very little whether or not I promised to do as they ordered me, not believing that I would keep my word if it suited my convenience to break it; for, without saying another word, they bound my eyes, and one of them dragged me along among bales and other articles of cargo, which I could feel as I passed by. "Stay here," said the boatswain, "till it strikes four bells. You may then find your way on deck as you best can, and spin any yarn you like to account for yourself being there, only mind you don't 'peach on us, or, as I said afore it'll be the worse for you." As he spoke he took the bandage off my eyes, and I heard the men retiring. I was still in total darkness, but I had been so often accustomed to find my way about under such circumstances that I was not very anxious on that account. I thought it prudent, however, to remain seated until I heard four bells strike, when on feeling about I was almost convinced that I was on the spar-deck. I could distinguish the tramp of feet overhead as if sail was being made, and shortly afterwards, the hatchway being lifted up, daylight streamed down upon me. Pining for fresh air, and desperately hungry, I lost no time in making my way on deck. There stood the captain and two mates. The ship was under all sail, gliding rapidly before a strong breeze over the ocean, while the blue outline of the land could dimly be seen astern. I stood irresolute whether to go at once up to the captain and get the worst over, or to run forward and ask the cook to give me something to eat. I was about to follow the latter course, when I heard the captain's voice shouting, "Halloa, youngster, where on earth do you come from?" "That's more than I can exactly say, sir," I answered. "Why, we thought you had gone overboard and been drowned, or had slipped ashore and been carried off by the Indians," he continued; "Mr McTavish and the other gentlemen were making a great ado about you. You have been playing your old trick again. For my part, I should have supposed you would have been glad enough to get out of the ship, as I understood they wished to take you with them." "Please sir, I hope you'll pardon me for what has happened," I said, an idea at that moment striking me. "I want to become a sailor, and I'll promise to try and do my duty, and learn to be one if you'll allow me." The captain, from what I said, at once took it for granted that I had again acted the stowaway, and I flattered myself that I had not spoken an untruth, while I had avoided saying anything which would offend him. I observed that old Growles had come aft, and was then within earshot. The captain seemed rather pleased than otherwise that I had not wished to leave the ship. "Go forward," he said, "and let me see that you do your duty." He was evidently in better humour than usual, having got a rich freight which he had not expected. Touching my cap, I hurried to the caboose. Caesar rolled his eyes and opened his mouth with astonishment when he saw me. "Where you been all dis time, Dick?" he asked. "That's more than I can tell you, Caesar. Do in mercy give me some grub, for I'm well-nigh starved," I answered. He gave me part of a mess he had been cooking for himself. "Dis curious ship," he said, as he remarked the ravenous way in which I devoured the food. "I no ask questions, you no tell lies, dat is it. Oh you wise boy." I suspected from this that Caesar had observed the visits of old Growles and the boatswain to the hold, and shrewdly guessed that I had been a prisoner. I could not understand, however, how the captain didn't make some fuss about it, unless he also was cognisant of the fact; but of that I was left in uncertainty. I had expected from the way he had first treated me that some change for the better would take place in my condition, but in this I was mistaken. I was at the beck and call of every one, having to do all the dirty work in the cabin, and being knocked about and bullied by the men just as much as before. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. My position does not improve--Another attempt at escape frustrated-- Becalmed off Japan--Macao--A fresh cargo--Extension of the voyage--Not dead yet--I gain some important information as to the future fate awaiting me, and I determine to quit the ship--A carouse--My escape, and how I accomplished it--Alone on the ocean--I sight land--The rock and my landing-place--My search for food--I meet with an accident--I lose my boat. I must pass rapidly over the voyage across the Pacific. Whatever better feelings the captain had at one time displayed towards me completely disappeared. I was treated by him and the officers and men as badly as ever. My spirit was not broken, and perhaps I may at times have shown too refractory a disposition to please them. I was compelled, however, to submit to and obey their orders, annoying and vexatious as they often were. I did not show my feelings so much by what I said as by my looks, and I often stopped to consider whether or no I would do as I was told. We fell in with a few ships--most of them whalers--the captains of which sometimes came on board, and I had hoped that I might be able to get off in one of them. I fancied that it would be impossible to change for the worse, but I in vain watched for an opportunity. One evening we were becalmed to the southward of Japan, not far off a South Sea whaler. The commander, who was an old acquaintance of Captain Longfleet, came aboard, and spent the evening with him in the cabin. I waited eagerly till it had become dark. The lights of the other ship could be seen in the distance, and I expected every instant that the captain would come on deck ready to take his departure. The boat's crew had come aboard, and were being entertained by our men. I thought if I could manage to slip down I might stow myself away under the foremost thwart, and should not be discovered till I had reached the other ship. I would then tell my story to the commander, who if he would not have compassion on me would probably not think it worth while to send me back that night, and before the morning a breeze might spring up and the ships be separated. I waited concealed under the long-boat stowed amidships till I fancied that there was no one near the side where the whale-boat lay. I then crept out and got into the main chains. I was just about to lower myself down when a huge hand was placed on my shoulder, and I heard a voice which I knew to be that of old Growles. "Come inboard, you young rascal!" he said; "you're not going to get off as easily as you fancy. It's lucky for you that you didn't get into the boat, for you would have been found to a certainty, and handed over to our skipper, who would have knocked the life out of you." "What's all this about? How did you know I wanted to get into the boat?" I asked, in a tone of assumed astonishment. "'Cos I've seen you watching ever since she came alongside," answered Growles; "so take that--and that,"--and hauling me inboard, he bestowed several blows with the end of a rope on my back. I ran forward to escape from him, and stowed myself away in my bunk, as it was my watch below. We at last reached Macao, where our cargo of furs was discharged, and for which I believe a very high price was obtained. I had no wish, from what I had heard of the Chinese, to go and live among them, and I therefore did not attempt to get on shore, although I had reason to believe that I was all the time narrowly watched by old Growles and the boatswain. Instead of the furs and skins we shipped a cargo of tea in chests, and other Chinese produce. Part of this was to be landed at Sydney, New South Wales, and the rest, if no market could be found there for it, was to be carried on to America. This would greatly prolong the voyage, and consequently my miseries. I had hitherto been supported by the expectation of soon reaching home and being emancipated from my bondage. I had no dislike to the sea; and had I been well treated even in my subordinate position I should have been contented to remain where I was, and to try and learn as much as I could; but to be kicked and beaten and knocked down every day of my life--to have the dirtiest of work and the worst of food--to be sworn at and abused at all hours--made me well-nigh weary of my life. I was one night standing just before the windlass, when I said something which offended Sam Dixon, one of the men. In return he struck me a blow on the head. I must have fallen immediately, and rolled down directly under the windlass. Perhaps fancying that he had killed me, Dixon walked away, without uttering anything to anybody as to what he had done. I probably lay there for some time in a state of unconsciousness--how long I could not tell. When I came to myself I heard some of my shipmates talking near me. I was about to crawl out when my own name caught my ears. "We have had enough of that youngster at present," said one; "he has 'peached once, and will ferret out what we're about, and 'peach again if he has the chance. I only wish we had dropped him overboard with a shot round his feet long ago." It was the boatswain who spoke. "I didn't think of the shot, as I suppose that would stop him from coming up again, and haunting the ship," remarked old Growles; "that's what I was afeered of." "Why, Gregory, you're always thinking of ghosts and spirits--they wouldn't do harm to you or any of us," remarked another fellow who was looked upon as the chief sceptic of the crew, though it is difficult to say what they did or did not believe, for considering their lives it might be supposed that they were all infidels together. They continued talking in low voices. Though I could not make out all they said, I gathered enough to be convinced that they had some plot or other which they intended soon to put into execution, and fearing lest I should get an inkling of it and inform the captain, they intended to do away with me. It was some satisfaction to discover that they had no immediate intention of executing their plans. I might have time to warn the officers or to make my escape. I for some time had had an idea in my head. We carried a small boat astern, generally called a dinghy. She could hold two or three people, and was useful for sending away to the shore, or for lowering at sea in calm weather when anything had to be picked up. If I could lower her into the water during the night when off the coast of some island, I might manage to escape to the shore before I was discovered. What I had heard made me resolve not to delay a moment longer than could be helped. That night nothing could be done, even should I find that the blow had not incapacitated me from exertion. I dare not move from my present uncomfortable position, for should I be discovered the men would not scruple to do away with me. I was thankful that the men at last got up and began to walk about the deck. I was fearful, however, that they might come by the windlass, when I must have been discovered. At last I heard the second mate, who was the officer of the watch, give the order to shorten sail, and they had to run to their stations; and as they did so, I crawled out and succeeded in reaching my bunk, into which I tumbled unperceived. I was far from comfortable, however, fearing that that very night they might smother me--the mode I fancied they would take to put me out of existence. I was not missed, I suppose, as no one called me, and when my watch on deck came round I turned out with the rest. My head ached, and I had a big lump on my forehead. In the morning, when the third mate saw me, he asked how I got that. I replied that it was the way I had got many another, that it was only what I expected, and had made up my mind to bear it. "You're a rum chap, and a bold one--more than I'd do," answered the mate, not troubling himself more about the matter. When I went aft to the cabin at breakfast, I heard one of the mates observe that we should make the coast of Australia that day. Then I thought to myself, "If I can get off I will." I had no intention of going without provisions. I knew that a good store was kept in the pantry, to which I had access. My intention was to tumble everything I could find into a cloth, to tie it up, and to carry it off, if I could, unperceived to the dinghy. How to lower that without being heard or seen by the watch on deck was the difficulty. The falls were so fitted that a single person might lower her, but then she would make a splash in the water. We made the land about four o'clock in the afternoon, but after standing on for some time till it was nearly dark, the captain ordered the ship's head to be put about, as he was not well acquainted with the coast, and there were dangerous reefs which ran off for a considerable distance. Night came on, and a very dark night it was, but the darkness would favour my design. Instead of being allowed to turn in when it was my watch below, I was sent aft by the cook with a dish of devilled biscuits to the cabin, where the captain and the first and second mates were taking supper, while the third mate had the watch on deck. I intended it to be the last time I would turn into my bunk. I had not been long in the cabin before I observed that the captain and mates had been drinking, and seemed disposed to continue their debauch. The devilled biscuits which I had placed before them still farther incited their thirst, and the captain ordered another bottle of rum. I noticed that the steward, when I told him, got out two bottles, one of which he kept in the pantry while he took the other into the cabin. "You'll do to attend on the officers, Dick," he said to me; "I'm going to enjoy myself." I stood ready to obey any orders I should receive. The conversation I heard was far from edifying, but I was too much engaged in thinking of my own project to attend to it. As I was standing at the far end of the cabin I heard a crash. One of the mates had knocked over a couple of tumblers, and I was sent into the pantry to obtain others. I found the steward fast verging into a state of unconsciousness. He had been pulling away at the rum-bottle at a great rate, for fear he should not have time to finish it. As I got the tumblers I cast my eyes round the pantry to see what articles of food I could most readily carry off. I saw the best part of a cold ham, an ample supply of biscuits and some pots of Chinese preserves, with several other things of less consequence. Returning to the cabin I placed the tumblers on the table, and retired beyond the reach of the officers, having been taught by experience that they might at any moment think fit to give me a box on the ear or to knock me down. I watched them with intense interest, lest they should knock off before they were completely drunk. The third mate came into the cabin apparently to report something to the captain, but, seeing the state his commander was in, uttering a loud whew! He turned on his heel, and went out again, seeing the importance of keeping sober himself. I confess that I wished he had sat down with the others, and left the ship to take care of herself. Soon afterwards, as I knew I should not be missed, I stole out of the cabin, and went into the pantry, where I quickly did up the provisions I intended to take with me. There was a jar of water, evidently quite full, which the steward kept ready for use. I now went on deck to ascertain what chance I had of carrying out my design. I could discover no one excepting the man at the helm, and the third mate had, I concluded, to take a look-out. I hurried back to get the jar and provisions, and unperceived placed them in the dinghy. I felt about in her, and found two oars and a boat-hook. The falls were, as I have said, so fitted that one person could lower the boat, but to do so without capsizing her when the ship was moving through the water was almost an impossible undertaking. The wind had previously been very light, and the vessel had scarcely any steerage way on her. To my intense satisfaction I noticed that it was now almost a stark calm. Now or never I must carry out my project. I thought not of the dangers to be encountered; the chances of being chased and overtaken; the savages on shore; the risk of starvation; the want of water; the current that might sweep me along; or the chances of a storm arising before I could gain the land. I had not a moment to lose. The mate remained forward; the man at the helm stood motionless, and, I hoped, was asleep. I slipped into the boat, and passing the slack of the falls under two thwarts, gently lowered myself down. I had, the day before, unobserved, thoroughly greased the blocks. My chief fear now was, that the splash the boat would make on reaching the water would be heard. I therefore eased away with the greatest care, and stood ready in a moment to cast off the aft-most fall. I cleared it in the nick of time, and the boat was towed slowly ahead. I quickly cleared the foremost fall, and was now adrift. I was conscious that a light splash had been made, but I hoped that if the mate heard it he would fancy that it was caused by some monster of the deep rising above the surface. Without waiting to ascertain whether this was the case or not, I seized the oars and pulled rapidly away from the stern of the vessel, the light from the cabin window assisting me to keep the course I desired to make towards the land. I congratulated myself at having accomplished my object before it was too late, for I felt a breeze fanning my ears as I pulled on. As I looked up at the tall masts, it seemed to me that the sails bulged out, and that the ship was rapidly increasing her distance from me. I was already a considerable way astern when I heard a loud hail. I recognised the voice of the mate, who had probably just discovered that the boat was gone. My fear was, that another would be lowered and sent in chase of me. This made me pull all the harder. My only idea was, to reach shore and escape from my persecutors. I dared not lose time by stopping even for a moment to listen for the sounds of a boat being lowered. I heard several other voices hail, but the ship stood on and gradually faded away in the gloom of night. I knew that being low in the water I could not be seen. Presently I saw the flash of a musket; then another and another; but no shots came near me, and from this I was convinced that the third mate, or some one else, was firing at random. Had the captain or the other mates been in their right senses the ship would probably have been hove-to and two boats, at least, have been sent in chase of me. The third mate was, I suspect, afraid of heaving to on account of the reefs. He kept the ship, therefore, before the wind. Whatever the cause, I was thankful I was not pursued, and I trusted that the breeze would blow stronger and carry the ship farther and farther away from me. Although, through there being no moon, the night was dark, and there was a mist which hung over the waters, yet I could observe overhead several stars, and as the lights from the cabin receded, I marked their position, and was thus able, with tolerable confidence, to continue my way towards the land. I fancied that I should be able to reach it early in the morning or during the next day. I at length began to grow weary, but as long as I could move my arms I determined to row on. The wind being off the land, the sea was perfectly calm. Scarcely a ripple disturbed the surface. I was too anxious to feel hunger or thirst. At the same time, the joy at having escaped kept up my spirits. Under other circumstances I do not think I could have accomplished what I did. I fancied that I was pulling at the rate of four miles an hour, and that I was nearing the shore. At length, however, my fatigue overcame me, and I felt that I could row no more. The moment I stopped I felt very sleepy, but had sense sufficient to take in my oars and place them by my side. I then lay down in the bottom of the boat, intending to rest for a few minutes, after which, I expected again to be able to pull on. As may be supposed, I was soon again fast asleep. My slumbers were peaceful and pleasant, rendered so, I presume, by the consciousness that I had escaped from the fate intended for me. I was awakened by a bright light flashing in my eyes. Opening them, I sprang up and found that the sun had just risen above the horizon. I looked eagerly around, dreading lest I should see the ship near me, but to my infinite relief she was not visible, nor was the land I had expected to see and so soon to reach. My little boat was the only object on the waste of waters. The coast, I knew, was to the westward, and as the rising sun would guide me, I took out my oars and began to row away in that direction. I had not rowed long before I began to feel very hungry. I therefore again laid in my oars and took a hearty meal off the provisions I had brought, washing it down with an ample draught of water. Then I once more turned to, but the heat soon became excessive, and I was streaming at every pore. Still, as long as my strength lasted I determined not to give in. I occasionally stopped to take a pull at my water-bottle. With very little rest beside, I continued to paddle on till it was again dark. This showed me what had not occurred to me before, that I might have been rowing part of the time along the coast, instead of towards it, and I supposed that the ship had been much farther off than I had previously imagined. I had been in a dreamy state all day, and unable to think much. This was produced by the heat which beat down on my head. I felt somewhat revived as the sun set, but after a time excessive drowsiness came over me, and once more taking in my oars, I lay down to sleep. I must have slept the whole night, for when I again woke, it was already dawn. I stood up and looked about me, when to my surprise I observed some rocks between myself in the boat and the bright light which heralded the rising sun. I must have been carried by a current inside them. I was about to row away to the westward, when as the light increased I saw what I at first thought was the mast of a small vessel or boat near them. Seizing my oars, I eagerly pulled towards the object. Again looking round I soon discovered it; it was not a mast, but a pole stuck in the rock with a cask or basket fixed on the top of it. This was a sign that some civilised inhabitants must be on the neighbouring shore, and that they had placed that beacon to warn mariners of the dangers of the rock. A number of sea-fowl circled over the rock, occasionally dipping their wings in the clear water. As the sun rose, I made out the land running in a long line to a far distance, as I concluded north and south. It was now time for breakfast. I had no intention of landing on the rock, for this would only cause delay. I took my ham out from the stern sheets, but as I did so, the horrible odour which saluted my nostrils made me certain that it would be impossible to eat it, and, except the dry biscuits, I had no other food. I managed with the aid of some water to masticate a fair quantity, but it might be a long time even now before I could gain the shore, and even then I might be disappointed in obtaining food. It then occurred to me that perhaps the sea-fowl made their nests on the rock, and that I might get some of their eggs, which would give me an ample supply of provisions for some time to come. As I had once upon a time lived upon raw rats, I was not very particular; and even should I not obtain any eggs, I might find some young birds, which, though perhaps fishy in taste, would enable me to support existence. I therefore rowed towards the rock which I saw was of considerable extent, although one part only on which the beacon was placed rose a few feet above the surface. The clearness of the atmosphere had deceived me as to the distance. I rowed on for some time before I reached it. Possibly also, there was a current against me, although that such was the case did not occur to me at the time. The sea-fowl shrieked loudly and wildly as I approached, as if to warn me off from their domain. Some sat on the rock, others darted off and circled round and round the boat, but I was not to be deterred from landing by their threatening cries and movements. At last I got close to the rock, and found an indentation or little bay, into which I ran my boat. Though several birds appeared, I found that they were merely resting on the rock, and that the water was too shallow to allow me to get close enough to step on shore. In many places the seaweed grew so thickly, and was so slimy, that I was afraid to venture on it, lest it offering a treacherous foothold I should slip back into the water. At last I saw a point some distance from the beacon where I thought I could land, and secure the boat's painter round a rough part of the coral rock. I succeeded in stepping on to it and making the rope fast; and confident that she would be secure, made my way along the rock with the assistance of the boat-hook. I found neither eggs nor young birds; indeed, on examining the rock, I knew that it must be covered occasionally, if not at every tide, by the water. Still I thought that I should find them at the higher part, near the beacon. I accordingly scrambled on as well as I could, but here and there I came to a lower part of the rock over which the water washed, and I saw that to reach the beacon I must wade through it. I had to proceed very cautiously, for it was full of hollows and slippery in the extreme, and a fall might involve serious consequences. The shriek of the birds, though it sounded rather pleasant at a distance, became almost deafening as I got nearer to them. After going some way, I had to stop and rest, supporting myself on the boat-hook. I now saw, on looking round, that the sky which at sunrise had been bright and clear, was becoming fast covered with clouds. The wind, too, blew with much greater force than before. Still, as it came off the land, I hoped that it might not cause such a sea as would prevent me from continuing my voyage. I was too eager, also, to obtain some eggs or young birds to allow the subject to trouble me. I therefore continued scrambling along over the rocks, hoping to find what I was in search of nearer the beacon. I was by this time nearly wet through up to the middle, but that did not matter, as the hot sun soon dried my clothes. Having got on some distance without an accident, I perhaps became more careless; for when leaping from one rock to another, my foot slipped and I came down with a force which I thought must have broken my arm. I lay clutching the rock with the other hand, unable to move from the pain, while my boat-hook slipped from my grasp, and gliding into the water was borne away from the rock. I now saw that a rapid current was passing the rock, the influence of which I must have felt when approaching it in the boat. Without the boat-hook I should find it still more difficult to get along; but I knew that I must not stay where I was for ever, and as soon therefore as the pain allowed me, I rose to my feet and endeavoured to continue my scramble over the rocks. I forgot that my return journey would be quite as difficult if not more so, as I should have no boat-hook, and at the same time should be loaded, I hoped, with eggs and birds. I went on and on, of course making very slow progress. At length I got close to the beacon, and great was my disappointment to find neither eggs nor young birds. I searched round and round the rock in all directions, and I at last came to the conclusion that if the birds lay their eggs there at all the hatching season must have passed, and the young birds grown strong on the wing, and have flown away. It was a great disappointment. As it was, I had had my difficult and tiring scramble for nothing, and had bruised my arm, though happily I had not broken it. I had also lost my boat-hook. I climbed to the higher part of the rock, and had a look at the land, which I judged was ten or twelve miles off at least. Still I hoped to accomplish that distance long before dark, and to find a harbour, as I supposed there was one, or it was not likely that the beacon could have been placed on the rock. I therefore, without further delay, began my return journey. As I went along, I found that some places where I had crossed had become much deeper. At length it occurred to me that the tide was rising. I had regained sight of my boat, which at a distance could not be distinguished from the black rocks, when it suddenly appeared to me that she was moving. I rushed on at the risk of breaking my legs. What was my dismay at seeing that she was already at a considerable distance from the rock where I had left her, and there seemed every probability that I should lose her altogether. In my terror I shouted and shrieked to her to stop. I was on the point of rushing into the water to try and overtake her when I saw a black fin glide by, followed by another, and the wicked eye of a shark glanced up at me, daring me to venture on the undertaking. My despair overcoming me, I sank down on the rock. CHAPTER NINETEEN. My adventures on the rock--My search for food, and what I found--The storm--Despite my perilous position, I marvel at the grandeur of the scene--The storm subsides--My search for clams, and further explorations on the rock--The darkest night must come to an end--A welcome wetting--My only refuge--Return of stormy weather--Perilous moments--I climb the beacon-post. I had gone through a few misadventures, but this was the most trying of all. After lying on the rock for a few minutes or more, I recovered sufficiently to recollect that the tide was rising, and that unless I could select a higher spot I should be swept off, and become a prey to the monsters I dreaded. I therefore got up, and trying to pull myself together again, endeavoured to reach the beacon, which would at all events afford me temporary shelter. When taking out the biscuits in the morning I had shoved several into my pocket, which would enable me to sustain existence until I could make signals to some passing boat or vessel. Having lost my boat-hook I made slower progress than before, and often with the greatest difficulty avoided falling. Two or three times I had to wade up to my middle, and I dreaded lest one of the sharks should have shoved his nose through the opening, and might snap me up. Still I went on. My anxiety made me forget the pain in my arm. Fortunately I was not indeed deprived of its use, and by degrees the pain went off. I was so much engaged, that I did not for some time observe how completely the weather had changed. The beacon on the rock was reached, and I sat down below it to rest myself after my exertions. I now saw that the sea, which had hitherto been so calm, had begun to heave. Sudden gusts blew across it, covering its surface with wavelets, which every moment increased in size. Dark clouds chased each other across the sky, and gathered in thick masses overhead. To my dismay I saw that a storm was rising. It rapidly came on, while the sea getting up with the same speed, completely swept over the lower part of the rock along which I had made my way. The lightning flashed, the thunder roared, and the seas began to beat with violence against the rock. Some of them came sweeping up to where I sat. I sprang to my feet, and stood gazing with awe and terror at the strife of the elements which raged around me. What hope, I thought, could I have of escaping. My boat gone; so far off from land that it was impossible I could be observed, while I could see no boats or vessels sailing over the whole expanse of ocean. Indeed had there been any coming from the shore, they would have put back into harbour when they saw the storm coming on. Still I was unharmed; I had biscuits enough in my pockets to keep soul and body together for a day or two longer, if I economised them as I intended to do. I might also find some shellfish; they would serve me for food for a much longer time, I therefore did not despair, but I was aware that at any moment the sea might sweep up and carry me off. With more calmness than I had given myself credit for possessing, I continued to survey the scene. I looked out again for my boat, thinking it possible that the current might drive her back to the rock, but she had been carried far beyond my ken. This made my heart sick. Knowing, however, that my life depended very much on my keeping up my courage, I endeavoured to muster all I possessed. I thought if I could climb up to the top of the rock and make a signal, it might be observed, should any boat when the storm was over come out from the shore, or should any vessel be passing. I could see no other rocks to the eastward; I supposed, therefore that this was the highest part of the reef, and that vessels acquainted with the coast might pass by within sight of it. I spent several hours, I can scarcely describe how. When my hunger became too ravenous to bear longer, I munched a small quantity of biscuit. At length, as I watched the seas, I observed that they did not approach so close to me, and I was convinced that the tide was again going down. I calculated, indeed, from the time I had been on the rock, that this must be the case, as it was already rising when I first landed, and I now hoped that I should be able to obtain some shellfish by going down to the lee-side, and cutting them off with my knife. The idea having once occurred to me, I lost no time in carrying it out. I had to be excessively cautious, for by a false step I might have slipped into the sea, and not have been able to regain my hold on the rock. After searching about for some time, I caught sight of a few clams, but they were not to be obtained without risk, as the sea surged up and recovered them. I fixed my eye on one, then rushing down, I cut it off and threw it up out of the reach of the water. I obtained two more in the same way; and in attempting to secure a fourth, the waves swept round the rock, almost covering me, and I had to cling on for my life, losing my clam and very nearly my life. This taught me to be more cautious than ever; but I managed notwithstanding to obtain three or four more, and as I could see none others above water, I had to content myself with those I had collected. Gathering those I had obtained together, I returned to the higher part of the rock, close under the beacon, where I was sheltered from the wind. I had no means of lighting a fire. There was no fuel on the rock to make one, and so I was compelled to eat the clams raw, with a little biscuit to make them more palatable. The whole day had passed away, and another night was coming on. I dreaded it, for I knew not what might happen during the hours of darkness. The storm had in no way abated, and I feared that when the tide again rose the sea might get still more over the rock. I had little idea, however, how fiercely it was about to do so. I have often spoken of my sleeping and waking, but thus our lives are spent. In spite of the storm raging around me, the seas thundering on the rock, and the wind whistling through the beacon, a drowsiness overpowered me, and I found myself dropping off to sleep. I was still conscious in some degree how I was situated. I felt all the time an overpowering sense of danger. Sometimes I was in my little boat, gliding calmly over the ocean; now I was suddenly chased by big waves, which threatened every instant to engulf me. Then I found myself cast upon the rock, my boat floating away, and tumbling and tossing till she disappeared. Now I was seated all alone, gazing out over the ocean, which rose and fell, and tossed before my eyes just as I had seen it in the daytime, only rising to a far greater height, and descending in a more furious fashion. This sort of confused dream continued while I was asleep. Now and then I awoke, only to hear the noises I have before described. The rock itself seemed quaking, as the seas with a thundering roar dashed against it. I could hear, too, the screams of the sea-birds as they swept round and round, disturbed from their usual resting-place, though many of them flew off, I suppose, to the far-away shores, or to other rocks perhaps higher out of the water. The night I had escaped from the "Emu" was very dark; but this was unfortunately darker, except when a flash of lightning darted from the sky and illumined the white foam which, lashed by the wind into spray, flew in sheets over the rock. I was soon wet to the skin. I felt chilly in the extreme. Even the most terrible night must come to an end. Morning broke, but cheerless as could well be. The sky was of one leaden hue, broken here and there by the clouds which hung lower down in the strata. The waves, when not covered by foam, were of the same tint. To sit where I was I found was impossible. I got up and walked about and stretched my legs. To my dismay I found that the rocks, which at the same hour the previous day were high out of the water, were now almost covered by the furious seas which rolled over them. I trembled to think what would be the case at high water. I should have liked to have got some more clams for breakfast, but I could see none, even after searching for them, and there was a great risk of being swept away, so I contented myself with taking one of those I had saved from the previous day, with a biscuit, for breakfast. I was already very thirsty, having had nothing to drink since I had left the boat, and would have welcomed a heavy shower from the dark clouds overhead. I continued to walk, or rather to climb about the rock, as there was but a very small level place on which I could walk. Then I sat down again, and with melancholy gaze watched the foaming seas, which I began to dread, as I saw them more and more frequently covering the rock, would prove my grave. At length I had to seek a higher and more exposed level, and as water occasionally surged up to the place where I had spent the night, and might at any moment sweep me off, I tried to nerve myself up to my fate. With difficulty I could restrain myself from drinking the sea-water. I was well aware of the danger of doing so, and resisted the temptation. At last, as I was looking up, I felt a drop fall on my face. It was not the spray of the sea. Another and another followed, and down came a copious shower. I opened my mouth, at the same time holding out my cap to the rain, hoping to get a little in it. I got but little, so I placed it on the rock and spread it open. I then took off my jacket, and held it out that it might be well wetted. I hoped also to find some hollow in the rock that might be rilled with fresh water. The rain came down, as it does in the tropics, in a perfect deluge. My jacket was wet through in a minute, and I was able to wring out of it a sufficient amount of fresh water to quench my burning thirst. After this I was able to eat some biscuits. It should be remembered that the tide reaches its height nearly three-quarters of an hour later every day. I watched with intense anxiety its rising this afternoon. Now it entirely covered the rocks where I had landed, then those over which I had made my way were concealed from view, and now it reached the base of the beacon-rock itself, against which the seas began to break with a fury surpassing that of the previous day. The spot on which I had been standing one minute was the next covered by the seething waters, when I retired to a higher level. Again and again a wave broke over the rock, and striking one of the almost perpendicular sides flew high into the air above my head. Every moment my hope of escape was becoming less and less. I cried to heaven for mercy. As I saw death drawing near, the desire to live increased. It seemed so terrible to have to die all alone away from friends and country. At last I was driven to the very foot of the beacon, and I clutched it as if it alone could afford me protection. I knew that I could not for a single moment stand upon the rock with the sea breaking over it, but the beacon itself withstood the furious waves. I had not as yet thought of climbing to it to see how it was fixed, but I now did so with intense anxiety. I found that the staff was of hard oak, and that it had been imbedded in a deep hole formed by art in the rock, and further secured by iron bars driven into it, and fastened round by iron hoops. This gave me some hopes that it would stand the fury of the seas should they rise high enough to strike it. That they would do this seemed every moment more probable. On every side around me they tossed and foamed and roared, as if eager to seize me. I frantically clutched the pole, which, from its size, I could with difficulty embrace. Even now, though my chance of escape seemed small indeed, I did not abandon all hope. A small line hung down through the bottom of the cask. I tried its strength. It would enable me, I found, to mount upwards, but I was unwilling to make the attempt, as I could not tell whether the cask was fixed securely enough to bear my weight. There I stood, my arms round the pole, clutching the rope with my hands, and awaiting my fate. That that ere long would come I was fully convinced. Though sea after sea broke on the rock, none actually touched me, though my feet occasionally were washed by the foam. To my surprise, and contrary to all my expectations, though the seas raged round me as fiercely as ever, the water sank, and as the sea rolled up it struck a lower level of the rock, and I began to hope once more that I should escape. Then I recollected that if the tides had not yet reached their extreme height, or the spring tides had not come on, the next day might prove fatal. Though the water had receded, I dare not leave the beacon-post, and kept clinging to it as my only comfort and friend. At length weary I sank down to rest, still grasping it in my arms. Thus hours passed away, even now too painful to think of. I ate the remainder of the biscuit, and then fell into a heavy slumber, which must have lasted many hours. I awoke to find that it was night, and that the tide was once more rising, as I knew by hearing the seas breaking on the rocks close to me. Already I was covered by the spray, which flew in showers over me. Had I slept on much longer I must have been swept away, and awakened only to find myself in the cruel grasp of the relentless waves. I might, however, now never see another sunrise. I prayed as I had never prayed before, and resolved to struggle to the last for life. Few have been placed in a more perilous position and escaped. I had the stout beacon to cling to. It had probably stood many a storm, but would it stand fast now? To that I held fast as before, but I feared that my strength would fail me, and that I might be torn away from it. I looked up at the cask above my head, wondering whether that would afford me an asylum I was unwilling, however, to exhaust my strength by attempting to climb the post. With increasing force the waves beat on the rock. Again and again it trembled from their blows, though I fancied, and almost expected, to find it washed away beneath my feet. I was wet through, and blinded by the spray. As I cleared my eyes, I could discern through the darkness the seas dancing up level with the rock on which I stood. Some appeared, as they rolled on meeting with no impediment, to be much higher. Then I saw one coming roaring and hissing along towards me. It broke with fearful force, and rushed over the rock higher than my knees. Had I not been firmly grasping the beacon-post, I should have been carried off my legs and washed helplessly away. I shrieked with terror as I saw another coming higher than the last. My cries were echoed by those of the wild sea-birds passing above. The foaming sea broke, and as I drew myself up the post, I found my legs floating behind me. A moment later, and my doom would have been sealed. I got up higher and higher. Now, as I looked down, I saw that I was surrounded by a tumultuous ocean, without a particle of rock on which to place the soles of my feet. I knew that all depended on my strength holding out. The beacon might stand fast, but I might be torn away. Had it been daylight I might better have endured the horrible position in which I was placed, but at night to be thus all alone, with the hungry waves leaping up and striving to snatch me from my holdfast, was truly dreadful. I wonder my senses did not give way. Sometimes I thought that it was only a dream, but I then knew it to be a fearful reality. With arms and legs clinging round the post, and my hands clutching the rope as I had never clutched rope before, I hung on. I was almost afraid to climb higher, lest my muscles failing me for a moment I should lose my grasp, and yet the cask was only a few feet above me. Suddenly I recollected that on board whalers casks are placed in the same manner as that was at the masthead, in order that the officers, protected in some degree, may in that position obtain a wide extended view in search of whales, and that they enter by a trap-door in the bottom. Should this beacon possess such a trap, I might get through it and obtain shelter and rest. But again a doubt crossed my mind whether I could climb up even thus far, without the risk of sliding down again into the sea. I looked down to see if the tide was once more receding, but the waves seemed still to be rising higher and higher. Some of their foam even sometimes now touched my feet as they swept over the rock. They might even cover the beacon itself; and if so, no human power could save me. After remaining quiet for some time, I felt as if I possessed sufficient strength, and resolved to make the attempt. With legs and arms and hands I worked my way up. I would have clung with my teeth to the rope could I have seized it. I was within a foot of the bottom of the cask, when I felt so exhausted that I thought I could get no higher. I looked down on the raging sea and then up at the only place which could afford me shelter. In the darkness I could not see whether or not there was a trap, and if there were one perhaps I might not be able to force it open, and, exhausted by the effort, might drop into the water. I dreaded the risk, but it must be run. Nerving myself up to the undertaking, I slowly and carefully began to work my way higher up. My head struck the cask. I put up my hand, the bottom yielded, and now exerting all my remaining strength I seized the edges and drew myself up, holding well on with my hands and feet until I had got my head and shoulders into the interior. Throwing myself on my chest, I felt round and discovered some beckets, evidently intended for the purpose of enabling a person situated as I was to draw himself up. I then, grasping the rope which hung from the top of the pole which passed through the cask, dragged myself up and placed my feet at the bottom. I pressed down the trap. I felt more secure than I had been for many hours. Had I not still had a post to cling to after the strain my muscles had so long endured, I could not have stood upright. Several cross-pieces secured the top of the cask to the post. I shoved my head through them, and could now look down on the wild and raging waters with which I was surrounded. Still I dare not quit my hold of the post, fancying that if I pressed on one side of the cask or the other, it might give way. Not that there was the slightest chance of that in reality. I did not long contemplate the fearful scene, but overcome by what I had gone through, I sank down to the bottom of the cask, and, wet and cold as I was, fell into a troubled slumber. CHAPTER TWENTY. In the beacon--The storm continues--The tide turns--I again seek for food--I meet with another accident--Brighter weather--A sail in sight--My hopes and fears--My signal--My rescue--A voice from the deep--Three old friends meet again--On board the "Falcon"--The good captain--Sydney harbour, and why I did not go ashore there--The homeward voyage--Mark and I learn navigation--My reception at Liverpool--Sad, sad news--My journey to Sandgate--I enter Mr Butterfield's office, and have had no cause to regret doing so. I awoke to find the storm still raging around me; but as I opened my eyes I was sensible that a faint light came in from the top of the cask. I was cramped with the uncomfortable position in which I had been sleeping. When I looked out over the edge of the cask, though the seas were tossing as wildly as before, I perceived that the rock below me was once more uncovered, owing, as I knew, to the tide having ebbed. At first I thought of descending; then I recollected that the waters might again rise to their former level, and I feared that I might not have strength to regain my sheltering-place. I therefore remained where I was. I shortly began to feel the pangs of hunger and thirst. I eagerly felt in my pocket for some biscuit, forgetting that I had consumed the last the night before. I found a few crumbs, and with difficulty got them down, having no water to moisten my dry mouth. Still, the wet state of my clothes prevented me from suffering so much from thirst as I should otherwise have done. The storm, I knew, would not last for ever. Should it continue much longer, however, I might succumb before I could possibly be relieved; but having been hitherto so mercifully preserved, I did not despair. Feeling weary of standing, I again crouched down at the bottom of the cask. I had reason to bless the persons who had placed it there. As I thus sat, half asleep and half awake, it seemed to me that the wind blew with less violence than it had done before. I got up to ascertain if this was the case. On looking round I felt confident that it was so. It appeared to me, also, that the seas were tumbling about with less violence than they had done on the previous day. If so, they might not again cover the rock. I was well accustomed to notice the tides on our own shore, and I remembered that, after the highest of the spring tides, they were said by the fishermen to "take off"--that is, to rise to a less elevation every subsequent day. Thus, even should the storm continue, the rock might not again be covered. This idea brought considerable relief to me. My hunger made me resolve to descend to search for clams. Perhaps I should find a fish thrown on the rock. The thought of obtaining some food made me get down at once. I opened the trap, and, grasping the rope, slid down with perfect ease. Already the rocks over which I had clambered from the boat were bare, for the tide had fallen rapidly. I knew that it would fall in proportion as it had risen. I went as close to the edge as I could venture without running the risk of being carried off. The rocks, which were washed by the fierce seas, were slippery in the extreme, and I feared that any clams clinging to them must have been washed away. Still, hunger urged me on. I made my way along the top of the coral reef. I observed several small pools ahead. There must be creatures of some sort within, which would enable me to satisfy the cravings of hunger. I had gone some little distance, when I slipped, and came down on the rock. In my weak state I felt unable again to rise for some minutes, though I was not seriously hurt. The clouds, some time before this, began to break, and suddenly the sun shone forth, his warm rays cheering me up. As I cast my eyes round, something glittered brightly just for a moment in one of the pools. Rising with renewed strength, I scrambled, faster than I had moved before, towards it, and great was my delight to see a good-sized fish floundering in the pool. It attempted to escape me, but I pounced down upon it as a sea-bird would have done, and, giving it a blow on the head, quickly despatched it. I was too hungry to wait even to partially prepare it by hanging it up in the sun, and, taking out my knife, quickly cut some slices from the thickest part of the body. I did not stop to consider whether it was wholesome, but ate it raw as it was. I looked about in the hope of finding another, and was successful; it was of the same species as the first. I could exist now without the clams; and, therefore, thinking it prudent not to run any risk in trying to obtain them, I returned to the beacon. By this time the wind had fallen to a moderate breeze, though the seas still continued rolling on with foaming crests, but far less wildly than before, and were evidently decreasing in height. The atmosphere having cleared, I was able to distinguish the distant shore, which had the appearance of a blue irregular line to the westward. Again and again I turned my eyes seaward, in hopes of seeing a passing ship, which might stand near enough to observe me. I was disappointed; not a sail came in sight, and another night approached. The waters covered some of the rocks, but only for a short time, when the tide again ran out. Still I was unwilling to sleep upon the cold rock, and, taking my second fish, having consumed the first to the bones, I climbed up again into the tub. Having coiled myself away round the bottom, I was soon fast asleep. My slumbers were peaceful and quiet. The gentle wind produced no sound round the cask; the roar of the surf on the rocks had ceased. I slept the whole night through, and not till the sun had risen out of the ocean did I wake. I at once stood up and looked round me. A light breeze from the northward sent the wavelets rippling against the rock. The sea was otherwise perfectly calm, and glowed in the rays of the bright orb of day. I looked landwards, in the expectation of seeing some vessels come out of the harbour, which, I thought, could not be far off, but none appeared. Then I gazed anxiously to the northward, and round the horizon in all directions. Presently I saw a spot appear of snowy whiteness, glittering in the rays of the sun. It rapidly increased in size. "A sail! A sail!" I shouted, though there was no one to hear me. I soon perceived that she was a large ship. First her topgallant sails, then her topsails, rose out of the water. I was so intently watching her that I forgot for a time to take my meal. As may be supposed, I turned many a look towards the ship. She was standing towards me, running before the wind along the coast. At last her courses, and then her hull, appeared, and I fancied that I could almost see the people moving on her deck. I was congratulating myself that I should have a speedy deliverance, when the thought came to me that she might be the "Emu." If I were discovered I should be worse treated than before. I had not so often seen the ship on which I had spent so many dreary months, to be certain about her appearance at a distance. I trembled lest I should be right, though she had been steering in a different direction. As the stranger approached, I became more and more convinced that she was not the "Emu." Still I felt a feeling of uncertainty on the subject. Should I make a signal, and try to attract the attention of those on board? The beacon would certainly be observed; perhaps they were looking out for it. Had I possessed a supply of water, I might have hesitated longer; but my perilous position determined me at all risks to make a signal. I watched till the ship came nearly abreast of the beacon, when, stripping off my shirt, I climbed as high as I could, until I reached the cask. I waved the shirt frantically. In my eagerness I shouted also, though I might have known that my puny voice could not be heard. For some time it appeared to me that I was waving in vain; and then, what was my dismay to see the ship's head turned away from the shore. I was deserted. Presently the sheets were let fly, the main-topsail was backed against the mast. She hove-to. I almost fell from my post with joy as I saw a boat lowered, which came rapidly pulling towards the rock. Putting on my shirt--it was now perfectly dry--I descended from my perch to the rock, and there stood eagerly watching the boat. Again a thought occurred to me, that she might, after all, be the "Emu," and in another few minutes I might be in the clutches of old Growles and the boatswain, and my other persecutors. But as I strained my eyes to discern their countenances. I became aware that none of the "Emu's" crew were there. As far as I could make out, they were all perfect strangers. The boat steered for the lee-side of the rock. I hurried down to meet them. "Why, my lad, who are you, and how came you here?" exclaimed one of the strangers. "Has your ship gone to the bottom?" "That's more than I can say," I answered; "I came in a boat. The boat floated away, and I have been left here." "What ship do you belong to?" asked the stranger. "The `Emu,'" I answered, thinking it was as well to acknowledge this much. "The `Emu!'" he exclaimed. "Why, who are you? Let me let me look at you. Don't you know me, Dick?" and he grasped my hand. I looked at him hard. "Why, if I didn't think you were at the bottom of the sea, I should have declared that you were Tom Trivett." "And so I am," he said, "though I'm not at the bottom of the sea, and right glad I am to find you, Dick, out of that dreadful ship. Come along, we mustn't stand talking here; we were sent to bring you off, and, judging by your looks, the sooner you're on board the better." "Yes, indeed," I answered, "for I find it a hard matter to speak from the dryness in my throat; I haven't tasted water for a couple of days, and if you had not come I don't suppose I should have held out much longer, with the hot sun shining down on my head." "Well, I am glad," cried Tom, as he, with the aid of another hand, who was the third mate of the ship, helped me into the boat. She immediately shoved off, and pulled towards the ship. "Who would have thought of finding you, Dick, all alone by yourself out on yonder rock?" said Tom, who was pulling stroke oar. "However, wonders never end. There's another old shipmate of yours on board, whom you'll be glad to see, I have a notion; and not a little surprised either, if you thought that he was left to perish on the Falkland Islands." "What! Do you mean Mark Riddle?" I asked. "Yes, Mark himself," he said. "He didn't die, or he wouldn't be on board the `Falcon.' We found him about ten days after. He had been pretty well worn out, but still with life enough in him to crawl down to the beach when we put in for water." "I am glad, I am glad!" I said, though I could say little more, and was unable to ask Tom how he had escaped. The mate put questions to me which I was unable to answer; indeed I was almost fainting before I was lifted up the side of the "Falcon." One of the first persons I set eyes on was Mark Riddle. He was much grown and bronzed. Had I not been aware that he was on board, I should not at first have known him; nor did he guess who I was till Tom told him, when he sprang to my side, and warmly grasped my hand. He forbore asking questions, as he saw that I was not in a state to reply. The first thing Tom did was to bring me a mug of water, which I eagerly drank. After that the captain ordered that I should be carried to a spare berth in the cabin. "We must have him there, that he may be properly looked after. He'll be better off than in the forepeak," he said. From this I guessed that he was a kind-hearted man, very different to Captain Longfleet. In a short time some broth and a fresh roll baked on board were brought to me, and I was not so far gone that I was prevented from thankfully swallowing the food. It revived me greatly, and when Captain Mason looked in on me shortly afterwards, I was able to answer all the questions he put to me. I confessed who I was, and how I had come to sea. When he heard that I was the son of a clergyman, and related to Mr Butterfield, he was even kinder than before; though he did not, I suspect, quite believe my account. "Truth should be adhered to, my lad, under all circumstances," he observed. "Are you quite sure that you did not run away?" "I thought of doing so, sir; but I was carried off exactly as I have told you, and I was very sorry for it afterwards." "You have been severely punished for it, and I am afraid have caused great anxiety and grief to your friends. You might have lost your life, though you have been preserved in God's good providence, and when you get home I hope you will make amends for your fault. It is all you can do," he observed. The state of the ship contrasted greatly with that of the "Emu." After a sound sleep, I was able the next day to get about, though I still remained somewhat sick and weak. Tom told me that the "Falcon" was the happiest ship he had ever been aboard. The crew were generally orderly and well behaved. Mark corroborated what Tom said. As soon as I was strong enough, I begged that I might be allowed to do duty on board, so that I might not pass my time idly. To this Captain Mason willingly agreed. I was separated more than I liked from Mark, but he told me that he was not jealous. "But I say, Dick," he said, "if you could teach me, when it's my watch below, some of the navigation and other things you're learning, I should be very much obliged." I willingly promised to do this; and, as he came down to the spar-deck, we at once set to work, and every day I imparted to him the knowledge I had obtained. One day the first mate, who was a very kind man, found us thus engaged. He said nothing at the time, but afterwards asked me if Riddle was very anxious to learn navigation. I told him that he was. He reported this to the captain, who told Mark that he could come into the cabin and study with the rest of us. Our studies were interrupted when the ship entered Sydney harbour. We lay there for some days, discharging our cargo, and taking on board bales of wool, which was now being produced in considerable quantities in that magnificent country, though the shipments of a whole year were not equal to what was afterwards exported in a month. As I knew that the "Emu" was bound for Sydney, I anxiously inquired whether she was there. She had not come in; but, as I thought she might possibly make her appearance, I was afraid to go on shore, lest I should encounter Captain Longfleet or the mates or the men. I felt sure, should they see me, that I should be captured, carried on board, and punished tremendously for stealing the boat. On returning on board, however, one day, Tom Trivett told me that he had heard a report that the "Emu" had been lost in a gale which had occurred some time before, as part of her stern had been picked up with her name upon it. This account having been confirmed, left no doubt on my mind as to her having been wrecked, and, as none of those on board ever appeared, that all had perished. I had thus still greater reason than ever to be thankful that I had made my escape from her when I did. But Captain Mason blamed me for the way in which I had done so. "You've done many things that were wrong, my lad," he said, "there's no doubt about that; but all I can urge you is to be heartily sorry for them." I confess I found it very difficult to be sorry that I had run away with the boat, since I had saved my life by so doing. Then I might afterwards have lost it on the rock; and the matter has been a very puzzling one to me ever since. We sailed with a fair wind, which carried us down the coast of Australia. The wind then shifted to the eastward, and we passed through Bass's Straits, between the mighty continent and Van Diemen's Land, as it was at that time called, the captain intending to go home by the Cape of Good Hope instead of across the Pacific and round Cape Horn, as ships of the present day generally do. I have few incidents to describe during our homeward voyage. I was far happier than I had been on board the "Emu." Somehow or other I had no longer that affection for a sea life which I fancied I possessed. I dreaded, however, the reception I should meet with, on my return home, from Aunt Deb and Mr Butterfield, and from my father and brothers and sisters. The only person who I knew would receive me affectionately was my mother. I was very certain of it. I was half inclined, from fear of the upbraiding that I should get from the rest of my family, to beg Captain Mason to let me remain on board, and to make another voyage with him, expecting that I should regain my love for the ocean. I at last mentioned the subject. "I would willingly do so, my lad, if your father and friends think it best you should become a sailor, but I cannot consent to act contrary to their wishes. You must at once, on landing, present yourself to Mr Butterfield; and as I am acquainted with him, I will accompany you and state how I have had the satisfaction of rescuing you from the perilous position in which you were placed." I thanked the captain very much for his offer, as I felt that I should have much more confidence in his presence than if I had gone alone. Still, as we ran up the Irish Channel and sighted the Welsh coast, I felt very nervous, and could scarcely attend to my duties. At length we entered the Mersey and dropped anchor off Liverpool. As soon as the ship had been taken into dock, and the captain was at liberty, he sent for me, and we walked together to Mr Butterfield's office, where we were at once shown into his private room. The old gentleman did not recognise me, I was so grown and altered. When Captain Mason said who I was, he started, and, eyeing me keenly, at last took my hand. "I'm thankful to see you again, my boy," he said; "but you have caused your aunt and me much anxiety, and trouble and sorrow to others of your family; but I won't say just now what has happened. Your aunt will tell you that, by-and-by. I am unwilling to grieve your heart on first landing on your native shore." I did not then understand what he meant; but as his manner was kind, I congratulated myself on escaping the upbraiding I expected from him, at all events. Captain Mason having much business to get through, rose to take his leave, when Mr Butterfield expressed his desire to repay him for the trouble and expense he had been put to on my account. "Pray don't speak of it, my kind sir," answered the worthy captain; "I am amply repaid by the satisfaction I feel at restoring the lad to his friends;" and shaking me warmly by the hand, he left the office. As it was late in the day, Mr Butterfield having signed a few letters, said he was ready to go home, and desired me to accompany him. As we walked along together, he questioned me about my adventures, seeming rather incredulous when I assured him that I had not intentionally run away to sea. "Well, well, Dick, we'll let by-gones be by-gones. I shall be glad to see you act rightly in future." I inquired if Aunt Deb was still with him. "She returned to your father soon after you disappeared, and has only lately come back to pay me another visit," he answered. I confess I wished she had stayed at home. However, I had to face her, though I felt very nervous about the interview. "I don't think she will recognise you, and I won't tell her who you are," he said, as I entered the house. We went into the drawing-room, where we found Aunt Deb seated in a high-backed chair. "Here's a young gentleman come from the sea. He's come to dine with us," said Mr Butterfield. Aunt Deb rose from her seat, gave me a stiff bow, and sank down again on her seat. "I have no affection for the sea, or generally for those whose profession it is to sail upon it," she said, looking hard at me. "There are exceptions to every rule, and I hope that this young gentleman will show that he doesn't possess the objectionable manners and customs of sailors." "I trust you will not be mistaken in the favourable opinion you form of me, Madam," I said, as stiffly as I could. "But I venture to think that you are prejudiced against seafaring men. Let me assure you, however, that there are many estimable persons among them, though there are some as bad as any to be found on shore. You once had a nephew who went away to sea. I hope that you don't class him among the bad ones." "I class him among the very worst," she exclaimed. "He ran off without leave, without wishing me, his kind aunt, farewell, or letting us know where he had gone, or what had become of him. He made us all very miserable, and broke his poor mother's heart." "My mother dead!" I exclaimed. "Oh, don't say that, don't say that! And I killed her." "Who are you?" cried Aunt Deb, starting up and looking me in the face. "Yes; I do believe that you are that graceless young monkey, Dick!" "I am indeed your nephew, Dick. I am indeed heartily sorry for all I have done, and shall never forgive myself if my conduct was the cause of my mother's death. Did I not mistake what you said? Oh, Aunt Deb, do tell me is she really dead?" and I grasped her hands and burst into tears. She was moved as I spoke more than I could have expected; and instead of further upbraiding me, tried to soothe the anguish I felt. I was indeed severely punished for my thoughtless conduct, to say the best of it. Mr Butterfield spoke to me more kindly than I expected or deserved, and when he again offered me a seat in his counting-house, and assured me that he would endeavour to further my interests and raise me according to my deserts, I thankfully accepted his proposal. Before, however, commencing my career as a merchant, he allowed me to go home and see my father, who, I need not say, received me according to the dictates of his affectionate heart, without uttering a word of blame. My brothers and sisters were never tired of hearing of my adventures while I remained with them. On my mother's grave I promised to do my duty to the best of my power in the new situation of life I was about to occupy. After my arrival at home I paid a visit to old Roger Riddle, and had the satisfaction of telling him that Mark had become a steady fellow, and as Captain Mason had promised to take him the next voyage in the "Falcon," and to continue his instructions in navigation, he had every prospect of becoming an officer. Tom Trivett entered the navy, and having lost a leg, became an out-pensioner of Greenwich Hospital. He used frequently to come and see me in after years, and nothing pleased him so much as to talk over the adventures of our early days, and to spin long yarns to my children about those he subsequently went through. After a week's stay at Sandgate, I returned to Liverpool, where I at once set to work in Mr Butterfield's office, and have every reason to be thankful that I was enabled to take my place on one of the high stools which I had formerly looked upon with such intense disgust. By diligence and perseverance, and strict attention to my duties, I gained my principal's good opinion, and ultimately, on his death, I became the head of the firm. THE END. 
25982	----	Transcriber's Note Bold text in the advertising material is marked =like this=. THRILLING NARRATIVES OF MUTINY, MURDER AND PIRACY, A WEIRD SERIES OF Tales of Shipwreck and Disaster, FROM THE EARLIEST PART OF THE CENTURY TO THE PRESENT TIME, WITH ACCOUNTS OF Providential Escapes AND HEART-RENDING FATALITIES. NEW YORK: HURST & CO., PUBLISHERS, 122 NASSAU ST. [Illustration] PREFACE. Shipwreck may be ranked among the greatest evils which man can experience. It is never void of danger, frequently of fatal issue, and invariably productive of regret. It is one against which there is the least resource, where patience, fortitude and ingenuity are in most cases, unavailing, except to protract a struggle with destiny, which, at length, proves irresistible. But amidst the myriads unceasingly swallowed up by the deep, it is not by the numbers that we are to judge of the miseries endured. Hundreds may at once meet an instantaneous fate, hardly conscious of its approach, while a few individuals may linger out existence, daily in hope of succor, and at length be compelled to the horrible alternative of preying on each other for the support of life. Neither is it by the Narratives about to be given that we are to calculate on the frequency of shipwreck. It is an event that has been of constant occurrence since a period long anterior to what the earliest records can reach. In England it is calculated that about 5000 natives of the British Isles yearly perish at sea. This perpetual exposure to peril, however, materially contributes to the formation of character, and hence are sailors preeminently distinguished by courage, endurance, and ready invention. Habituated to the instability of the ocean, they make little account of danger, and are invariably the first in matters of the most daring enterprise. Incessantly subjected to toil, they labor long and patiently without murmur, and the prompt and vigorous measures which are indispensable to their security, teach them the immediate application of whatever means are within their power. A natural desire to know the fate of their fellow creatures seems implanted in the breast of mankind, and the most powerful sympathies are excited by listening to the misfortunes of the innocent. To record some impressive examples of calamity, or unlooked for deliverance, is the object of these pages; and it will be seen of what astonishing advantage are the virtues of decision, temperance, perseverance and unwavering hope in moments of extreme peril and despair. CONTENTS. Page Adventures of Capt. Woodward and Five Seamen in the island of Celebes, 7 An Occurrence at sea, 14 Loss of H. B. M ship Phoenix, off Cuba, 16 An account of the Whale Fishery, with anecdotes of the dangers attending it, 30 Loss of the Brig Tyrrel, 49 Loss of the Peggy, 58 Loss of H. B. M. ship Litchfield, 64 Wreck of the Rothsay Castle Steamer, 74 Loss of the French ship Droits de L'Homme, 78 Loss of H. B. M. ship Queen Charlotte, 82 A Scene on the Atlantic Ocean, 84 Wreck of the French Frigate Medusa, on the Arguin Bank, 87 Loss of the Royal George, 146 Loss of the Æneas, transport, 148 The Absent Ship, 152 Loss of the Halsewell, East Indiaman, 155 An account of Four Russians, abandoned on the Island of East Spitzbergen, 166 Loss of the Amphitrite, Female Convict Ship, 173 The Mutineers, a Tale of the Sea, 176 Fate of Seven Sailors, left on the island of St. Maurice, 182 Seamen wintering in Spitzbergen, 185 A Man Overboard, 190 An Escape through the Cabin-Windows, 192 Tom Cringle's Log, 197 Loss of the Nautilus, Sloop of War, 201 Wreck of a Slave Ship, 212 The Wrecked Seamen, 213 Adventures of Philip Ashton, 219 Explosion of H. B. M. ship Amphion, 220 Loss of H. B. M. ship La Tribune, 245 Burning of the Prince, a French East Indiaman, 250 Wreck of the Schooner Betsey, 259 Early American Heroism, 262 Fingal's Cave, 264 Loss of H. B. M. ship Ramillies, 267 Preservation of Nine Seamen, 276 Capt. Ross's Expedition, 281 Loss of the Catharine, Venus, and Piedmont, transports, and three Merchant Ships, 288 Wreck of the Ship Sidney, 298 Loss of the Duke William, transport, 303 Commodore Barney, 320 Naval Battles of the United States, 324 Address to the Ocean, 336 THE BOOK OF THE OCEAN. ADVENTURES OF CAPTAIN WOODWARD AND FIVE SEAMEN IN THE ISLAND OF CELEBES. In the year 1791, Woodward sailed from Boston in the ship Robert Morris, Captain Hay, for the East Indies. On his arrival there he was employed in making country voyages until the 20th of January, when he sailed as chief-mate in an American ship from Batavia bound to Manilla. In passing through the straits of Macassar, they found the wind and current both against them, and after beating up for six weeks they fell short of provision. Captain Woodward and five seamen were sent to purchase some from a vessel about four leagues distant. They were without water, provisions, or compass,--having on board only an axe, a boat hook, two penknives, a useless gun and forty dollars in cash. They reached the ship at sunset, and were told by the captain that he had no provision to spare as he was bound to China and was victualled for only one month. He advised them to stay until morning, which they did. But when morning dawned, their own ship was out of sight even from the mast head, and with a fair wind for her to go through the straits of Macassar. Being treated coolly by the captain, they agreed with one voice to leave the ship in search of their own. On leaving the vessel, the captain gave them twelve musket cartridges and a round bottle of brandy, but neither water nor provision of any sort. They rowed till twelve o'clock at night, in hopes of seeing their own vessel, and then drawing near an island they thought it prudent to go there to get some fresh water.--They landed and made a large fire in hopes their ship might see it. But not being able to see any thing of her in the morning and finding no water or provisions on the island, they continued their course in the middle of the straits six days longer, without going on shore or tasting of any thing but brandy. They soon had the shore of Celebes in sight, where they determined to go in search of provisions and then to proceed to Macassar. As they approached the shore they saw two proas full of natives, who immediately put themselves in a posture of defence. The sailors made signs to them that they wanted provisions, but instead of giving it the Malays began to brandish their cresses or steel daggers. Three of the men jumped on board a proa to beg some Indian corn, and got three or four small ears. The chief seemed quite friendly and agreed to sell captain Woodward two cocoa nuts for a dollar, but as soon as he had received the money, he immediately began to strip him in search of more. Captain Woodward defended himself with a hatchet and ordered the boat to be shoved off, the chief levelled a musket at him, but fortunately it missed him. They then stood off, went round a point of land and landed out of sight of the proas, when they found a plenty of cocoa nut trees. Captain Woodward while engaged in cutting them down, heard the man whom he had left to take care of the boat, scream out in a most bitter manner. He ran immediately to the beach where he saw his own boat off at some distance full of Malays and the poor fellow who guarded it lying on his back with his throat cut, and his body stabbed in several places. They now fled immediately to the mountains, and finding that they had lost their boat, money, and most of their clothes, they concluded that their only chance of escape was to get to Macassar by land. Being afraid to travel in the day time they set out in the evening, taking a star for their guide bearing south. But they soon lost sight of the star and at daylight found themselves within a few rods of the place, where they had set out. They had travelled on the side of a mountain, and had gone quite round it instead of going straight over it. They started again and travelled by the sea shore six nights successively, living on berries and water found in the hollows of trees. On the sixth they arrived at a bay where they saw a party of the Malays fishing. Here Captain Woodward found some yellowish berries which were to him quite palatable, but his men not liking them eat some of the leaves. On the next day they concluded to make a raft and go to the small island on which they first landed, thinking that they might be taken off from it by some ship passing that way. But they were obliged to abandon this project, for in the evening the men who had eaten the leaves, were attacked with violent pains and were crying out in torture during the whole night.--Although they got better towards evening yet they were so weak and dejected that Captain Woodward was convinced that they could not reach the island and asked them if they were willing to surrender themselves to the Malays. On reflection they all thought this the best course which they could take; and forthwith proceeded to the bay where they had seen the Malays in the morning, in order at once either to find friends or to meet their fate. At first they saw no one, but Captain Woodward soon saw three of the natives approaching him; and ordering his men to keep quiet, he advanced alone until he had come within a short distance of them, where they stopped and drew out their cresses or knives.--Captain Woodward fell on his knees and begged for mercy. The Malays looked at him for about ten minutes with their knives drawn, when one of them came towards him, knelt in the same manner and offered both his hands. More natives now came up and stripped them of their hats and handkerchiefs and even the buttons on their jackets, which they took for money. They were now taken to Travalla and carried to the court-house or judgment hall, accompanied by a great concourse of people, including women and children who made a circle at some distance from them. The chief soon entered, looking as wild as a madman, carrying in his hand a large drawn cress or knife, the blade of which was two feet and half long and very bright. Captain Woodward approached so near to him as to place the foot of the chief on his own head, as a token that he was completely under his power and direction. The chief after holding a short consultation, returned to his house and brought out five pieces of betel nut, which he gave to the sailors as a token of friendship. They were now permitted to rest until about eight o'clock when they were carried to the Rajah's house, where they found a supper provided for them of sago-bread and peas, but in all hardly enough for one man. Their allowance afterwards was for each man a cocoa nut and an ear of Indian corn at noon, and the same at night. In this manner they lived about twenty days, but were not allowed to go out except to the water to bathe. The natives soon began to relax their vigilance over them, and in about four months, they were conveyed to the head Rajah of Parlow. They had not been there long when the head Rajah sent to a Dutch port called Priggia, which is at the head of a deep bay on the east side of the island and which is under the care of a commandant who was a Frenchman, and had been thirty years in the Dutch service. He arrived at Parlow and sent for Capt. Woodward. He wished him to go with him to Priggia where he resided, but Captain Woodward refused, being apprehensive that he should be forced into the Dutch service. The commandant then enquired where he intended to go. He answered to Batavia or Macassar and thence to Bengal. He did not offer Captain Woodward or his people either money, assistance, or clothes, but seemed quite affronted. The Rajah now gave him the liberty of returning to Travalla, taking care, however, to send him in the night for fear that he should get sight of Dungally, where there lived a Mahomedan priest called Juan Hadgee. This priest had been at Travalla, and offered a ransom for Captain Woodward and his men, but the natives were unwilling to take it, and were fearful that their captives would try to escape to the town where the priest lived. It happened however, that they were becalmed off Dungally, so that Captain Woodward could observe its situation. On arriving at Travalla, he attempted to escape alone by water, but the canoe being leaky, he came very near losing his life. But not discouraged, he started immediately for Dungally by land, and reached it just as the day dawned. Juan Hadgee received him kindly and provided him with food and clothing. In the course of three days the chief of Travalla learning that he had gone to Dungally, sent after him, but the old priest and the Rajah of Dungally refused to let him go. They told him that in the course of three months they would convey him to Batavia or Macassar, and also desired him to send for the four men he had left at Travalla.--This he did by means of a letter which he wrote with a pen of bamboo, and sent by the captain of a proa, who delivered it secretly. The men made their escape from Parlow at the time of a feast, early in the evening, and arrived at Dungally at twelve o'clock the next day. They were received with great rejoicing by the natives, who immediately brought them plenty of victuals. And this fortunate circumstance revived their hopes of reaching some European settlement, after many narrow escapes and difficulties. Juan Hadgee now informed Capt. Woodward that he should set off in about two months, but that he must first make a short voyage for provisions, which he did, leaving Captain Woodward in his house with his wife and two servants. They soon began to suffer exceedingly for the want of provisions, so that the natives were obliged to convey them up the country, there to be supplied by some of the same tribe, who regularly went from the village into the country at a certain season to cultivate rice and Indian corn. But the Rajah of Parlow making war on the Rajah of Dungally, because the latter would not deliver them up, they were soon brought back to Dungally. There was but one engagement, and then the men of Parlow were beaten and driven back to their own town. Provisions again growing scarce, Juan Hadgee was bound for another port called Sawyah, situated about two degrees north of the line. He gave Captain Woodward permission to accompany him, provided the Rajah was willing, but the latter refused, saying that he must stay there and keep guard. Captain Woodward now mustered his men, and taking their guns they went to the house of the Rajah and told him they would stand guard no longer for they wished to go to Macassar. He immediately replied that they should not. Being determined not to live longer in this manner, and finding no other means of escaping, Captain Woodward came to the resolution of stealing a canoe, to which all the men agreed. They were lucky enough to obtain one and seemed in a fair way to make their escape, but just as they were getting into it they were surrounded by about twenty natives and carried before the Rajah, who ordered them to account for their conduct. They told him that they could get nothing to eat, and were determined to quit the place on the first opportunity that offered. Nothing of consequence resulted from this.--Knowing the language and people they had now become fearless of danger. The Rajah refusing to let them go with Juan Hadgee they determined to run away with him, which they were enabled to do, as the old man set out at twelve o'clock at night, and there happened luckily to be a canoe on the beach near his own.--This they took and followed him as well as they could, but they soon parted from him, and in the morning discovered a proa close by them filled with Malays. They told them that they were bound with the old man to Sawyah. The Malays took them at their word and carried them there instead of to Dungally, which was a lucky escape to them for that time.--Whilst residing at Sawyah the old priest carried Captain Woodward to an island in the bay of Sawyah, which he granted to him, and in compliment called it Steersman's Island, steersman being the appellation by which Captain Woodward was distinguished by the natives. After staying some time in Sawyah and making sago, which they bartered for fish and cocoa-nuts, they left the place and proceeded to Dumpolis, a little to the southward of Sawyah. Juan Hadgee soon left the place for Tomboo about a day's sail south, where he had business. Here Captain Woodward and his men also followed him. The old priest was willing to assist them to escape from here, but was evidently unable to do it. Tomboo being under the direction of the Rajah of Dungally. Fortunately they succeeded in stealing a canoe in the night, and once more shoving off, they directed their course to a small island in the bay, where they landed at daybreak. Not being able to find water here as they expected, they landed at another point of land, which they knew to be uninhabited.--Having obtained water and repaired their canoe, they directed their course to Macassar, which was then about five degrees to the southward. After coasting along the island for the space of eight days, during which time they were twice very nearly taken by the Malays, they arrived at a part of the island of Celebes, which was very thickly inhabited. They passed many towns and saw many proas within the harbors. Having observed a retired place, they landed to procure some fresh water, but they had hardly got a draught each, when two canoes were seen coming to the very place where they were. They immediately shoved off and kept on their course all day. Just as the sun went down they discovered two canoes not far from them fishing. As soon as the natives saw them they made the best of their way to the shore. Captain Woodward wished to inquire the distance to Macassar, but not being able to stop them he made for one of two canoes which he saw at a distance lying at anchor. Being told that the captain was below and asleep he went down and awakened him. He came on deck with three or four men all armed with spears, and inquired where they were going. Captain Woodward told him to Macassar and inquired of him the distance to that place. He answered that it would take a month and a day to reach it. Captain Woodward told him it was not true and made the best of his way off. The Malays however made chase, but Captain Woodward and his men by putting out to sea and making great exertion, soon lost sight of them and were able again to stand in towards the land. At daylight they discovered a number of fishing canoes, two of which made towards them. They let them come alongside as there was only one man in each. One of them came on board and Captain Woodward put the same question to him respecting Macassar. He first said it would take thirty days to reach there and asked them to go on shore and see the Rajah. But they declined doing this, and he afterwards acknowledged that a proa could go there in two days. They then left the canoe and sailed along the coast. At evening they perceived a proa full of Malay men set off from the shore. It was soon along side, and four of them jumping into the boat nearly upset her, and thus Captain Woodward and his men were again prisoners of the Malays. They were carried to a town called Pamboon and then conducted to the Rajah's house. The Rajah demanded of them whence they came and whither they were going. Captain Woodward answered the same as before; he also told him that they must go immediately, and must not be stopped. They had now become so familiar with dangers and with captures, and were also so much nearer Macassar, than they could have expected after so many narrow escapes, that they became more and more desperate and confident, from the persuasion that they should at last reach their destined port. In the morning Captain Woodward again waited on the Rajah, and begged to be sent to Macassar; telling him that the Governor had sent for them, who would stop all his proas at Macassar if he detained them. After thinking on it a short time, he called the captain of a proa, and delivered the prisoners to him, telling him to carry them to Macassar, and if he could get anything for them to take it, but if not to let them go. The proa not being ready they stayed in the canoe three days, quite overcome by their many hardships and fatigues. Captain Woodward having had no shirt, the sun had burnt his shoulder so as to lay it quite bare and produce a bad sore. Here he caught cold, and was attacked with a violent fever, so that by the time the proa was ready to sail he was unable to stand. He was carried and laid on the deck without a mat or any kind of clothing. The cold nights and frequent showers of rain would without doubt have killed him, had he not been kept alive by the hopes of reaching Macassar, the thoughts of which kept up all their spirits. They landed at Macassar on the 15th of June 1795, after a voyage of about nineteen days from Tomboo, and after having been two years and five months in captivity; the reckoning which Captain Woodward kept during that time, being wrong only one day. AN OCCURRENCE AT SEA. In June, 1824, I embarked at Liverpool on board the Vibelia transport with the head-quarters of my regiment, which was proceeding to Halifax, Nova Scotia. Our passage across the Atlantic was smooth, though long and tedious. After passing over the great bank of Newfoundland, catching large quantities of codfish and halibut, and encountering the usual fogs, we were one morning, about the end of July, completely becalmed. All who have performed a voyage, know the feeling of listlessness to which a landsman abandons himself during a calm. The morning was slowly passed in looking for appearances of a breeze--whistling for a wind, and the other idle pursuits usual on such occasions. Towards noon, a sailor from aloft pointed out to our observation a vessel at a distance, also, of course, becalmed. All eyes and glasses were immediately directed towards her, but she was too far off for the most experienced to determine whether she was English or foreign, man-of-war or merchantman. After a time it occurred to me, that it was a favorable opportunity for breaking in upon the monotony of the day. My influence with our captain obtained permission for the small cutter to be lowered, but he would not allow a single seaman to leave the ship. I therefore became coxswain of the boat, and, accompanied by four of my brother officers as rowers, we pushed off, determined to pay a visit to the strange sail. To our landsmen's eyes and judgment, she had appeared to be about four miles from us, but we found ourselves very much out in our calculation--it was more than double that distance. The rowers, however, pulled on bravely--we neared the stranger, making her out to be a large American merchantman, and as he was approached, we observed a number of persons on deck reconnoitring us through glasses. At length we were alongside, and I passed on board, followed by three of my companions, one remaining in charge of the boat. On reaching the deck, we found it crowded with men, who seemed to regard us with wondering looks. I stepped forward and was received by the Captain, who acquainted me that his vessel was the American ship Cadmus, on her passage from Havre-de-grace to New York, with General the Marquis de Lafayette and suite as passengers. A noble, venerable looking veteran advanced from the poop towards us, and offered his greetings with the courtesy of the old French school. He was Lafayette. My explanation of who we were, and the motive of our visit, appeared to excite his surprise. That five officers of the land service, unaccompanied by a single sailor, should leave their vessel on the open ocean, and from mere curiosity, visit a strange sail at such a distance, was, he declared, most extraordinary. He said they had observed our ship early in the morning--had been occupied (like ourselves) in vain endeavors to make us out--had remarked an object, a mere speck upon the sea, leave the vessel and move towards them, and when at length it was made out to be a boat, the probable cause of such a circumstance had given rise to many surmises. I told him in mitigation of what he deemed our rashness, that we were, as a nation, so essentially maritime, that every man in England was more or less a sailor. At all events, I ventured to add if we had encountered some little risk, we had been amply repaid in seeing a man so celebrated, and of whom we had all heard and read. Our comrade being relieved by an American sailor in the care of the boat, we accepted the General's offer of refreshment, proceeded to the cabin, and passed a most agreeable hour. The fast approach of evening and appearances of a breeze springing up induced us to take leave. We separated from the old chief, not as the acquaintance of an hour, but with all the warmth--the grasp and pressure of hand--of old friends. As I parted from him at the gangway, he mentioned having caused a case of claret to be lowered into our boat, which he begged us to present to our Colonel and the other officers of our mess. We pulled cheerily back, but it was not until long after dark that we reached the 'Vibelia,' and which we perhaps could not have accomplished, but for their having exhibited blue lights every few minutes to point out her position. We found our comrades had been in great alarm for our safety. Various had been the surmises. That we had boarded a pirate, and been sacrificed, or made prisoners, was most prevalent, and a breeze was anxiously prayed for, that they might bear down, and release or revenge us. Half an hour after we returned to our ship, a light wind sprang up, which very shortly freshened into a gale, so that in the morning we had completely lost sight of the 'Cadmus.' ACCOUNT OF THE LOSS OF HIS MAJESTY'S SHIP PHOENIX. The Phoenix of 44 guns, Capt. Sir Hyde Parker was lost in a hurricane, off Cuba, in the West Indies, in the year 1780. The same hurricane destroyed the Thunderer, 74; Stirling Castle, 64; La Blanche, 42; Laurel, 28; Andromeda, 28; Deas Castle, 24; Scarborough, 20; Beaver's Prize, 16; Barbadoes, 14; Cameleon, 14; Endeavour, 14; and Victor, 10 guns. Lieut. Archer was first-lieutenant of the Phoenix at the time she was lost. His narrative in a letter to his mother, contains a most correct and animated account of one of the most awful events in the service. It is so simple and natural as to make the reader feel himself as on board the Phoenix. Every circumstance is detailed with feeling, and powerful appeals are continually made to the heart. It must likewise afford considerable pleasure to observe the devout spirit of a seaman frequently bursting forth, and imparting sublimity to the relation. At Sea, June 30, 1781. MY DEAR MOTHER, I am now going to give you an account of our last cruise in the Phoenix; and must premise, that should any one see it besides yourself, they must put this construction on it--that it was originally intended for the eyes of a mother, and a mother only--as, upon that supposition, my feelings may be tolerated. You will also meet with a number of sea-terms, which, if you don't understand, why, I cannot help you, as I am unable to give a sea description in any other words. To begin then:--On the 2d of August, 1780, we weighed and sailed for Port Royal, bound for Pensacola, having two store-ships under convoy, and to see safe in; then cruise off the Havana, and in the gulf of Mexico, for six weeks. In a few days we made the two sandy islands, that look as if they had just risen out of the sea, or fallen from the sky; inhabited, nevertheless, by upwards of three hundred English, who get their bread by catching turtle and parrots, and raising vegetables, which they exchange with ships that pass, for clothing and a few of the luxuries of life, as rum, &c. About the 12th we arrived at Pensacola, without any thing remarkable happening except our catching a vast quantity of fish, sharks, dolphins, and bonettos. On the 13th sailed singly, and on the 14th had a very heavy gale of wind at north, right off the land, so that we soon left the sweet place, Pensacola, at a distance astern. We then looked into the Havana, saw a number of ships there, and knowing that some of them were bound round the bay, we cruised in the track: a fortnight, however, passed, and not a single ship hove in sight to cheer our spirits. We then took a turn or two round the gulf, but not near enough to be seen from the shore. Vera Cruz we expected would have made us happy, but the same luck still continued; day followed day, and no sail. The dollar bag began to grow a little bulky, for every one had lost two or three times, and no one had won: this was a small gambling party entered into by Sir Hyde and ourselves; every one put a dollar into a bag, and fixed on a day when we should see a sail, but no two persons were to name the same day, and whoever guessed right first was to have the bag. Being now tired of our situation, and glad the cruise was almost out, for we found the navigation very dangerous, owing to unaccountable currents; we shaped our course for Cape Antonio. The next day the man at the mast head, at about one o'clock in the afternoon, called out: "A sail upon the weather bow! Ha! Ha! Mr. Spaniard, I think we have you at last. Turn out all hands! make sail! All hands give chase!" There was scarcely any occasion for this order, for the sound of a sail being in sight flew like wild fire through the ship and every sail was set in an instant almost before the orders were given. A lieutenant at the mast head, with a spy glass, "What is she?" "A large ship studding athwart right before the wind. P-o-r-t! Keep her away! set the studding sails ready!" Up comes the little doctor, rubbing his hands; "Ha! ha! I have won the bag." "The devil take you and the bag; look, what 's ahead will fill all our bags." Mast head again: "Two more sail on the larboard beam!" "Archer, go up, and see what you can make of them." "Upon deck there; I see a whole fleet of twenty sail coming right before the wind." "Confound the luck of it, this is some convoy or other, but we must try if we can pick some of them out." "Haul down the studding-sails! Luff! bring her to the wind! Let us see what we can make of them." About five we got pretty near them, and found them to be twenty-six sail of Spanish merchantmen, under convoy of three line of battle ships, one of which chased us; but when she found we were playing with her (for the old Phoenix had heels) she left chase, and joined the convoy; which they drew up into a lump, and placed themselves at the outside; but we still kept smelling about till after dark. O, for the Hector, the Albion, and a frigate, and we should take the whole fleet and convoy, worth some millions! About eight o'clock perceived three sail at some distance from the fleet; dashed in between them, and gave chase, and were happy to find they steered from the fleet. About twelve came up with a large ship of twenty-six guns. "Archer, every man to his quarters! run the lower deck guns out, and light the ship up; show this fellow our force; it may prevent his firing into us and killing a man or two." No sooner said than done. "Hoa, the ship ahoy, lower all your sails down, and bring to instantly, or I'll sink you." Clatter, clatter, went the blocks, and away flew all their sails in proper confusion. "What ship is that?" "The Polly." "Whence came you?" "From Jamaica." "Where are you bound?" "To New York." "What ship is that?" "The Phoenix." Huzza, three times by the whole ship's company. An old grum fellow of a sailor standing close by me: "O, d--m your three cheers, we took you to be something else." Upon examination we found it to be as he reported, and that they had fallen in with the Spanish fleet that morning, and were chased the whole day, and that nothing saved them but our stepping in between; for the Spaniards took us for three consorts, and the Polly took the Phoenix for a Spanish frigate, till we hailed them. The other vessel in company was likewise bound to New York. Thus was I, from being worth thousands in idea, reduced to the old 4s. 6d. a day again: for the little doctor made the most prize money of us all that day, by winning the bag, which contained between thirty and forty dollars; but this is nothing to what we sailors sometimes undergo. After parting company, we steered south-south-east, to go round Antonio, and so to Jamaica, (our cruise being out) with our fingers in our mouths, and all of us as green as you please. It happened to be my middle watch, and about three o'clock, when a man upon the forecastle bawls out: "Breakers ahead, and land upon the lee-bow;" I looked out, and it was so sure enough. "Ready about! put the helm down! Helm a lee!" Sir Hyde hearing me put the ship about, jumped upon deck. "Archer, what 's the matter? you are putting the ship about without my orders!" "Sir, 'tis time to go about! the ship is almost ashore, there 's the land." "Good God so it is! Will the ship stay?" "Yes, Sir, I believe she will, if we don't make any confusion; she's all aback--forward now?"--"Well," says he, "work the ship, I will not speak a single word." The ship stayed very well. "Then, heave the lead! see what water we have!" "Three fathom." "Keep the ship away, west-north-west."--"By the mark three." "This won't do, Archer." "No, Sir, we had better haul more to the northward; we came south-south-east, and had better steer north-north-west." "Steady, and a quarter three." "This may do, as we deepen a little." "By the deep four." "Very well, my lad, heave quick." "Five Fathom." "That 's a fine fellow! another cast nimbly." "Quarter less eight." "That will do, come, we shall get clear by and by."--"Mark under water five." "What 's that?" "Only five fathom, Sir." "Turn all hands up, bring the ship to an anchor, boy!" "Are the anchors clear!" "In a moment, Sir." "All clear!" "What water have you in the chains now!" "Eight, half nine." "Keep fast the anchors till I call you." "Ay, ay, Sir, all fast!" "I have no ground with this line." "How many fathoms have you out? pass along the deep-sea line!" "Ay, ay, Sir." "Come are you all ready?" "All ready, Sir." "Heave away, watch! watch! bear away, veer away, no ground Sir, with a hundred fathom." "That 's clever, come, Madam Phoenix, there is another squeak in you yet--all down but the watch; secure the anchors again; heave the main-top-sail to the mast; luff, and bring her to the wind!" I told you, Madam, you should have a little sea-jargon: if you can understand half of what is already said, I wonder at it, though it is nothing to what is to come yet, when the old hurricane begins. As soon as the ship was a little to rights, and all quiet again, Sir Hyde came to me in the most friendly manner, the tears almost starting from his eyes--"Archer, we ought all, to be much obliged to you for the safety of the ship, and perhaps of ourselves. I am particularly so; nothing but that instantaneous presence of mind and calmness saved her; another ship's length and we should have been fast on shore; had you been the least diffident, or made the least confusion, so as to make the ship baulk in her stays, she must have been inevitably lost." "Sir, you are very good, but I have done nothing that I suppose any body else would not have done, in the same situation. I did not turn all the hands up, knowing the watch able to work the ship; besides, had it spread immediately about the ship, that she was almost ashore, it might have created a confusion that was better avoided." "Well," says he, "'t is well indeed." At daylight we found that the current had set us between the Collarado rocks and Cape Antonio, and that we could not have got out any other way than we did; there was a chance, but Providence is the best pilot. We had sunset that day twenty leagues to the south-east of our reckoning by the current. After getting clear of this scrape, we thought ourselves fortunate, and made sail for Jamaica, but misfortune seemed to follow misfortune. The next night, my watch upon deck too, we were overtaken by a squall, like a hurricane while it lasted; for though I saw it coming, and prepared for it, yet, when it took the ship, it roared, and laid her down so, that I thought she would never get up again. However, by keeping her away, and clewing up every thing, she righted. The remainder of the night we had very heavy squalls, and in the morning found the mainmast sprung half the way through: one hundred and twenty-three leagues to the leeward of Jamaica, the hurricane months coming on, the head of the mainmast almost off, and at short allowance; well, we must make the best of it. The mainmast was well fished, but we were obliged to be very tender of carrying sail. Nothing remarkable happened for ten days afterwards, when we chased a Yankee man of war for six hours, but could not get near enough to her before it was dark, to keep sight of her; so that we lost her because unable to carry any sail on the mainmast. In about twelve days more made the island of Jamaica, having weathered all the squalls, and put into Montego Bay for water; so that we had a strong party for kicking up a dust on shore, having found three men of war lying there. Dancing, &c. &c. till two o'clock every morning; little thinking what was to happen in four days' time: for out of the four men of war that were there, not one was in being at the end of that time, and not a soul alive but those left of our crew. Many of the houses, where we had been so merry, were so completely destroyed, that scarcely a vestige remained to mark where they stood. Thy works are wonderful, O God! praised be thy holy Name! September the 30th weighed; bound for Port Royal, round the eastward of the island; the Bardadoes and Victor had sailed the day before, and the Scarborough was to sail the next. Moderate weather until October the 2d. Spoke to the Barbadoes off Port Antonio in the evening. At eleven at night it began to snuffle, with a monstrous heavy appearance from the eastward. Close reefed the top-sails. Sir Hyde sent for me: "What sort of weather have we, Archer!" "It blows a little, and has a very ugly look: if in any other quarter but this, I should say we were going to have a gale of wind." "Ay, it looks so very often here when there is no wind at all; however, don't hoist the top-sails till it clears a little, there is no trusting any country." At twelve I was relieved; the weather had the same rough look: however, they made sail upon her, but had a very dirty night. At eight in the morning I came up again, found it blowing hard from the east-north-east, with close-reefed top-sails upon the ship, and heavy squalls at times. Sir Hyde came upon deck: "Well, Archer, what do you think of it?" "O, Sir, 't is only a touch of the times, we shall have an observation at twelve o'clock; the clouds are beginning to break; it will clear up at noon, or else--blow very hard afterwards." "I wish it would clear up, but I doubt it much. I was once in a hurricane in the East Indies, and the beginning of it had much the same appearance as this. So take in the top-sails, we have plenty of sea-room." At twelve, the gale still increasing, wore ship, to keep as near mid-channel between Jamaica and Cuba, as possible; at one the gale increasing still; at two, harder yet, it still blows harder! Reefed the courses, and furled them; brought to under a foul mizen stay-sail, head to the northward. In the evening no sign of the weather taking off, but every appearance of the storm increasing, prepared for a proper gale of wind; secured all the sails with spare gaskets; good rolling tackles upon the yards; squared the booms; saw the boats all made fast; new lashed the guns; double breeched the lower deckers; saw that the carpenters had the tarpawlings and battens all ready for hatchways; got the top-gallant-mast down upon the deck; jib-boom and sprit-sail-yard fore and aft; in fact every thing we could think of to make a snug ship. The poor devils of birds now began to find the uproar in the elements, for numbers, both of sea and land kinds, came on board of us. I took notice of some, which happening to be to leeward, turned to windward, like a ship, tack and tack; for they could not fly against it. When they came over the ship they dashed themselves down upon the deck, without attempting to stir till picked up, and when let go again, they would not leave the ship, but endeavoured to hide themselves from the wind. At eight o'clock a hurricane; the sea roaring, but the wind still steady to a point; did not ship a spoonful of water. However, got the hatchways all secured, expecting what would be the consequence, should the wind shift; placed the carpenters by the mainmast, with broad axes, knowing, from experience, that at the moment you may want to cut it away to save the ship, an axe may not be found. Went to supper: bread, cheese, and porter. The purser frightened out of his wits about his bread bags; the two marine officers as white as sheets, not understanding the ship's working so much, and the noise of the lower deck guns; which, by this time, made a pretty screeching to people not used to it; it seemed as if the whole ship's side was going at each roll. Wooden, our carpenter, was all this time smoking his pipe and laughing at the doctor; the second lieutenant upon deck, and the third in his hammock. At ten o'clock I thought to get a little sleep; came to look into my cot; it was full of water; for every seam, by the straining of the ship, had began to leak. Stretched myself, therefore, upon deck between two chests, and left orders to be called, should the least thing happen. At twelve a midshipman came to me: "Mr. Archer, we are just going to wear ship, Sir!" "O, very well, I'll be up directly, what sort of weather have you got?" "It blows a hurricane." Went upon deck, found Sir Hyde there. "It blows damned hard Archer." "It does indeed, Sir." "I don't know that I ever remember its blowing so hard before, but the ship makes a good weather of it upon this tack as she bows the sea; but we must wear her, as the wind has shifted to the south-east, and we were drawing right upon Cuba; so do you go forward, and have some hands stand by; loose the lee yard-arm of the fore-sail, and when she is right before the wind, whip the clue-garnet close up, and roll up the sail." "Sir! there is no canvass can stand against this a moment; if we attempt to loose him he will fly into ribands in an instant, and we may lose three or four of our people; she'll wear by manning the fore shrouds." "No, I don't think she will." "I'll answer for it, Sir; I have seen it tried several times on the coast of America with success." "Well, try it; if she does not wear, we can only loose the fore-sail afterwards." This was a great condescension from such a man as Sir Hyde. However, by sending about two hundred people into the fore-rigging, after a hard struggle, she wore; found she did not make so good weather on this tack as on the other; for as the sea began to run across, she had not time to rise from one sea before another lashed against her. Began to think we should lose our masts, as the ship lay very much along, by the pressure of the wind constantly upon the yards and masts alone: for the poor mizen-stay-sail had gone in shreds long before, and the sails began to fly from the yards through the gaskets into coach whips. My God! to think that the wind could have such force! Sir Hyde now sent me to see what was the matter between decks, as there was a good deal of noise. As soon as I was below, one of the Marine officers calls out: "Good God Mr. Archer, we are sinking, the water is up to the bottom of my cot." "Pooh, pooh! as long as it is not over your mouth, you are well off; what the devil do you make this noise for?" I found there was some water between decks, but nothing to be alarmed at; scuttled the deck, and let it run into the well--found she made a good deal of water through the sides and decks; turned the watch below to the pumps, though only two feet of water in the well; but expected to be kept constantly at work now, as the ship labored much, with scarcely a part of her above water but the quarter-deck, and that but seldom "Come, pump away, my boys. Carpenters, get the weather chain-pump rigged." "All ready, Sir." "Then man it and keep both pumps going." At two o'clock the chain-pump was choked; set the carpenters at work to clear it; the two head pumps at work upon deck; the ship gained on us while our chain-pumps were idle; in a quarter of an hour they were at work again, and we began to gain upon her. While I was standing at the pumps, cheering the people, the carpenter's mate came running to me with a face as long as my arm: "O, Sir! the ship has sprang a leak in the gunner's room." "Go, then, and tell the carpenter to come to me, but don't speak a word to any one else." "Mr. Goodinoh, I am told there is a leak in the gunner's room; go and see what is the matter, but don't alarm any body, and come and make your report privately to me." In a short time he returned: "Sir, there 's nothing there, 'tis only the water washing up between the timbers that this booby has taken for a leak." "O, very well; go upon deck and see if you can keep any of the water from washing down below." "Sir, I have had four people constantly keeping the hatchways secure, but there is such a weight of water upon the deck that nobody can stand it when the ship rolls." The gunner soon afterwards came to me: "Mr. Archer, I should be glad if you would step this way into the magazine for a moment:" I thought some damned thing was the matter, and ran directly: "Well, what is the matter here?" "The ground-tier of powder is spoiled, and I want to show you that it is not out of carelessness in stowing it, for no powder in the world could be better stowed. Now, Sir, what am I to do? if you don't speak to Sir Hyde, he will be angry with me." I could not forbear smiling to see how easy he took the danger of the ship, and said to him: "Let us shake off this gale of wind first, and talk of the damaged powder afterwards." At four we had gained upon the ship a little, and I went upon deck, it being my watch. The second lieutenant relieved me at the pumps. Who can attempt to describe the appearance of things upon deck? If I was to write for ever I could not give you an idea of it--a total darkness all above, the sea on fire, running as it were in Alps, or Peaks of Teneriffe; (mountains are too common an idea); the wind roaring louder than thunder, (absolutely no flight of imagination), the whole made more terrible, if possible, by a very uncommon kind of blue lightning; the poor ship very much pressed, yet doing what she could, shaking her sides, and groaning at every stroke. Sir Hyde upon deck lashed to windward! I soon lashed myself alongside of him, and told him the situation of things below, saying the ship did not make more water than might be expected in such weather, and that I was only afraid of a gun breaking loose. "I am not in the least afraid of that; I have commanded her six years, and have had many a gale of wind in her; so that her iron work, which always gives way first, is pretty well tried. Hold fast! that was an ugly sea; we must lower the yards, I believe, Archer; the ship is much pressed." "If we attempt it, Sir, we shall lose them, for a man aloft can do nothing; besides their being down would ease the ship very little; the mainmast is a sprung mast; I wish it was overboard without carrying any thing else along with it; but that can soon be done, the gale cannot last for ever; 'twill soon be daylight now." Found by the master's watch that it was five o'clock, though but a little after four by ours; glad it was so near daylight, and looked for it with much anxiety. Cuba, thou art much in our way! Another ugly sea: sent a midshipman to bring news from the pumps: the ship was gaining on them very much, for they had broken one of their chains, but it was almost mended again. News from the pump again. "She still gains! a heavy lee!" Back-water from leeward, half-way up the quarter-deck; filled one of the cutters upon the booms, and tore her all to pieces; the ship lying almost on her beam ends, and not attempting to right again. Word from below that the ship still gained on them, as they could not stand to the pumps, she lay so much along. I said to Sir Hyde: "This is no time, Sir, to think of saving the masts, shall we cut the mainmast away?" "Ay! as fast as you can." I accordingly went into the weather chains with a pole-axe, to cut away the lanyards; the boatswain went to leeward, and the carpenters stood by the mast. We were all ready, when a very violent sea broke right on board of us, carried every thing upon deck away, filled the ship with water, the main and mizen masts went, the ship righted, but was in the last struggle of sinking under us. As soon as we could shake our heads above water, Sir Hyde exclaimed: "We are gone, at last, Archer! foundered at sea!" "Yes, Sir, farewell, and the Lord have mercy upon us!" I then turned about to look forward at the ship; and thought she was struggling to get rid of some of the water; but all in vain, she was almost full below "Almighty God! I thank thee, that now I am leaving this world, which I have always considered as only a passage to a better, I die with a full hope of the mercies, through the merits of Jesus Christ, thy son, our Saviour!" I then felt sorry that I could swim, as by that means I might be a quarter of an hour longer dying than a man who could not, and it is impossible to divest ourselves of a wish to preserve life. At the end of these reflections I thought I heard the ship thump and grinding under our feet; it was so. "Sir, the ship is ashore!" "What do you say?" "The ship is ashore, and we may save ourselves yet!" By this time the quarter-deck was full of men who had come up from below; and 'the Lord have mercy upon us,' flying about from all quarters. The ship now made every body sensible that she was ashore, for every stroke threatened a total dissolution of her whole frame; found she was stern ashore, and the bow broke the sea a good deal, though it was washing clean over at every stroke. Sir Hyde cried out: "Keep to the quarter-deck, my lads, when she goes to pieces, 't is your best chance!" Providentially got the foremast cut away, that she might not pay round broad-side. Lost five men cutting away the foremast, by the breaking of a sea on board just as the mast went. That was nothing; every one expected it would be his own fate next; looked for daybreak with the greatest impatience. At last it came; but what a scene did it show us! The ship upon a bed of rocks, mountains of them on one side, and Cordilleras of water on the other; our poor ship grinding and crying out at every stroke between them; going away by piecemeal. However, to show the unaccountable workings of Providence, that which often appears to be the greatest evil, proved to be the greatest good! That unmerciful sea lifted and beat us up so high among the rocks, that at last the ship scarcely moved. She was very strong, and did not go to pieces at the first thumping, though her decks tumbled in. We found afterwards that she had beat over a ledge of rocks, almost a quarter of a mile in extent beyond us, where, if she had struck, every soul of us must have perished. I now began to think of getting on shore, so stripped off my coat and shoes for a swim, and looked for a line to carry the end with me. Luckily could not find one, which gave me time for recollection. "This won't do for me, to be the first man out of the ship, and first lieutenant; we may get to England again, and people may think I paid a great deal of attention to myself and did not care for any body else. No, that won't do; instead of being the first, I'll see every man, sick and well, out of her before me." I now thought there was no probability of the ship's soon going to pieces, therefore had not a thought of instant death: took a look round with a kind of philosophic eye, to see how the same situation affected my companions, and was surprised to find the most swaggering, swearing bullies in fine weather, now the most pitiful wretches on earth, when death appeared before them. However, two got safe; by which means, with a line, we got a hawser on shore, and made fast to the rocks, upon which many ventured and arrived safe. There were some sick and wounded on board, who could not avail themselves of this method; we, therefore, got a spare top-sail-yard from the chains and placed one end ashore and the other on the cabin-window, so that most of the sick got ashore this way. As I had determined, so I was the last man out of the ship; this was about ten o'clock. The gale now began to break. Sir Hyde came to me, and taking me by the hand was so affected that he was scarcely able to speak "Archer, I am happy beyond expression, to see you on shore, but look at our poor Phoenix!" I turned about, but could not say a single word, being too full: my mind had been too intensely occupied before; but every thing now rushed upon me at once, so that I could not contain myself, and I indulged for a full quarter of an hour in tears. By twelve it was pretty moderate; got some nails on shore and made tents; found great quantities of fish driven up by the sea into the holes of the rocks; knocked up a fire, and had a most comfortable dinner. In the afternoon made a stage from the cabin-windows to the rocks, and got out some provisions and water, lest the ship should go to pieces, in which case we must all have perished of hunger and thirst; for we were upon a desolate part of the coast, and under a rocky mountain, that could not supply us with a single drop of water. Slept comfortably this night and the next day, the idea of death vanishing by degrees, the prospect of being prisoners, during the war, at the Havana, and walking three hundred miles to it through the woods, was rather unpleasant. However, to save life for the present, we employed this day in getting more provisions and water on shore, which was not an easy matter, on account of decks, guns and rubbish, and ten feet water that lay over them. In the evening I proposed to Sir Hyde to repair the remains of the only boat left, and to venture in her to Jamaica myself; and in case I arrived safe, to bring vessels to take them all off; a proposal worthy of consideration. It was, next day, agreed to; therefore got the cutter on shore, and set the carpenters to work on her; in two days she was ready, and at four o'clock in the afternoon I embarked with four volunteers and a fortnight's provision, hoisted English colors as we put off from the shore, and received three cheers from the lads left behind, which we returned, and set sail with a light heart; having not the least doubt, that, with God's assistance, we should come and bring them all off. Had a very squally night, and a very leaky boat, so as to keep two buckets constantly bailing. Steered her myself the whole night by the stars, and in the morning saw the coast of Jamaica distant twelve leagues. At eight in the evening arrived at Montego Bay. I must now begin to leave off, particularly as I have but half an hour to conclude; else my pretty little short letter will lose its passage, which I should not like, after being ten days, at different times, writing it, beating up with the convoy to the northward, which is a reason that this epistle will never read well; as I never set down with a proper disposition to go on with it; but as I knew something of the kind would please you, I was resolved to finish it; yet it will not bear an overhaul; so don't expose your son's nonsense. But to proceed--I instantly sent off an express to the admiral, another to the Porcupine man of war, and went myself to Martha Bray to get vessels; for all their vessels here, as well as many of their houses, were gone to Moco. Got three small vessels, and set out back again to Cuba, where I arrived the fourth day after leaving my companions. I thought the ship's crew would have devoured me on my landing; they presently whisked me up on their shoulders and carried me to the tent where Sir Hyde was. I must omit many little occurrences that happened on shore, for want of time; but I shall have a number of stories to tell when I get alongside of you; and the next time I visit you I shall not be in such a hurry to quit you as I was the last, for then I hoped my nest would have been pretty well feathered:--But my tale is forgotten. I found the Porcupine had arrived that day, and the lads had built a boat almost ready for launching, that would hold fifty of them, which was intended for another trial, in case I had foundered. Next day embarked all our people that were left, amounting to two hundred and fifty; for some had died of their wounds they received in getting on shore; others of drinking rum, and others had straggled into the country.--All our vessels were so full of people, that we could not take away the few clothes that were saved from the wreck; but that was a trifle since we had preserved our lives and liberty. To make short of my story, we all arrived safe at Montego Bay, and shortly after at Port Royal, in the Janus, which was sent on purpose for us, and were all honorably acquitted for the loss of the ship. I was made admiral's aid-de-camp, and a little time afterwards sent down to St. Juan's as captain of the Resource, to bring what were left of the poor devils to Blue Fields, on the Musquito shore, and then to Jamaica, where they arrived after three month's absence, and without a prize, though I looked out hard off Porto Bello and Carthagena. Found in my absence that I had been appointed captain of the Tobago, where I remain his majesty's most true and faithful servant, and my dear mother's most dutiful son, ----ARCHER [Illustration] [Illustration] AN ACCOUNT OF THE WHALE FISHERY WITH ANECDOTES OF THE DANGERS ATTENDING IT. Historians, in general, have given to the Biscayans the credit of having first practiced the fishery for the Whale; the English, and afterwards the Dutch are supposed to have followed in the pursuit. It was prosecuted by the Norwegians so early as the ninth century, and by the Icelanders about the eleventh. It was not till the seventeenth century however, that the whale fishery was engaged in by the maritime nations of Europe as an important branch of commerce. The crew of a whale ship usually consists of forty to fifty men, comprising several classes of officers, such as harpooners, boat-steerers, line-managers, &c. together with fore-mastmen, landmen and apprentices. As a stimulus to the crew in the fishery, every individual, from the master down to the boys, besides his monthly pay, receives either a gratuity for every size fish caught during the voyage, or a certain sum for every ton of oil which the cargo produces. Masters and harpooners receive a small sum before sailing, in place of monthly wages; and if they procure no cargo whatever, they receive nothing more for their voyage; but in the event of a successful fishing, their advantages are considerable. The crow's nest is an apparatus placed on the main-top-mast, or top-gallant-mast head, as a watch tower for the officer on the lookout. It is closely defended from the wind and cold, and is furnished with a speaking trumpet, a telescope and rifle. The most favorable opportunity for prosecuting the fishery in the Greenland seas, commonly occurs with north, north-west or west winds. At such times the sea is smooth, and the atmosphere, though cloudy and dark, is generally free from fog and snow. The fishers prefer a cloudy to a clear sky; because in very bright weather, the sea becomes illuminated, and the shadows of the whale-boats are so deeply impressed in the water by the beams of the sun that the whales are apt to take the alarm. Fogs are only so far unfavorable as being liable to endanger the boats by shutting out the sight of the ship.--A well constructed whale-boat floats lightly and safely on the water,--is capable of being rowed with great speed, and readily turned round,--it is of such capacity that it carries six or seven men, seven or eight hundred weight of whale-lines, and various other materials, and yet retains the necessary properties of safety and speed. Whale-boats being very liable to receive damage, both from whales and ice, are always carver-built,--a structure which is easily repaired. The instruments of general use in the capture of the whale, are the harpoon and lance. There is, moreover, a kind of harpoon which is shot from a gun, but being difficult to adjust, it is seldom used. Each boat is likewise furnished with a "jack" or flag fastened to a pole, intended to be displayed as a signal whenever a whale is harpooned. The crew of a whale-ship are separated in divisions, equal in number to the number of the boats. Each division, consisting of a harpooner, a boat-steerer, and a line-manager, together with three or four rowers, constitutes a "boats crew." On fishing stations, when the weather is such as to render the fishery practicable, the boats are always ready for instant service. The crow's nest is generally occupied by one of the officers, who keeps an anxious watch for the appearance of a whale. The moment that a fish is seen, he gives notice to the "watch upon deck," part of whom leap into a boat, are lowered down, and push off towards the place. If the fish be large, a second boat is despatched to the support of the other; and when the whole of the boats are sent out, the ship is said to have "a loose fall." There are several rules observed in approaching a whale to prevent the animal from taking the alarm. As the whale is dull of hearing, but quick of sight, the boat-steerer always endeavors to get behind it; and, in accomplishing this, he is sometimes justified in taking a circuitous rout. In calm weather, where guns are not used, the greatest caution is necessary before a whale can be reached; smooth careful rowing is always requisite, and sometimes sculling is practiced. It is a primary consideration with the harpooner, always to place his boat as near as possible to the spot in which he expects the fish to rise, and he conceives himself successful in the attempt when the fish "comes up within a start," that is, within the distance of about two hundred yards. Whenever a whale lies on the surface of the water, unconscious of the approach of its enemies, the hardy fisher rows directly upon it; and an instant before the boat touches it, buries his harpoon in his back. The wounded whale, in the surprise and agony of the moment, makes a convulsive effort to escape. Then is the moment of danger. The boat is subjected to the most violent blows from its head, or its fins, but particularly from its ponderous tail, which sometimes sweeps the air with such tremendous fury, that boat and men are exposed to one common destruction. The head of the whale is avoided, because it cannot be penetrated with the harpoon; but any part of the body, between the head and the tail, will admit of the full length of the instrument, without danger of obstruction. The moment that the wounded whale disappears, a flag is displayed; on sight of which, those on watch in the ship, give the alarm, by stamping on the deck, accompanied by shouts of "a fall."--At the sound of this, the sleeping crew are roused, jump from their beds, rush upon deck, and crowd into the boats. The alarm of "a fall," has a singular effect on the feelings of a sleeping person, unaccustomed to hearing it. It has often been mistaken as a cry of distress. A landsman, seeing the crew, on an occasion of a fall, leap into the boats in their shirts, imagined that the ship was sinking. He therefore tried to get into a boat himself, but every one of them being fully manned, he was refused. After several fruitless endeavors to gain a place among his comrades, he cried out, in evident distress, "What shall I do?--Will none of you take me in?" The first effort of a "fast-fish," or whale that has been struck, is to escape from the boat by sinking under water. After this, it pursues its course downward, or reappears at a little distance, and swims with great celerity, near the surface of the water. It sometimes returns instantly to the surface, and gives evidence of its agony by the most convulsive throes. The downward course of a whale is, however, the most common. A whale, struck near the edge of any large sheet of ice, and passing underneath it, will sometimes run the whole of the lines out of one boat. The approaching distress of a boat, for want of line, is indicated by the elevation of an oar, to which is added a second, a third, or even a fourth, in proportion to the nature of the exigence. The utmost care and attention are requisite, on the part of every person in the boat, when the lines are running out; fatal consequences having been sometimes produced by the most trifling neglect.--When the line happens to "run foul," and cannot be cleared on the instant, it sometimes draws the boat under water; on which, if no auxiliary boat, or convenient piece of ice, be at hand, the crew are plunged into the sea, and are obliged to trust to their oars or their skill in swimming, for supporting themselves on the surface. Captain Scoresby relates an accident of this kind, which happened on his first voyage to the whale fishery. A thousand fathoms of line were already out, and the fast-boat was forcibly pressed against the side of a piece of ice. The harpooner, in his anxiety to retard the flight of the whale, applied too many turns of the line round the bollard, which, getting entangled, drew the boat beneath the ice. Another boat, providentially was at hand, into which the crew had just time to escape. The whale, with near two miles length of line, was, in consequence of the accident, lost, but the boat was recovered. The average stay under water of a wounded whale is about thirty minutes. When it reappears, the assisting boats make for the place with their utmost speed, and as they reach it, each harpooner plunges his harpoon into its back, to the amount of three, four, or more, according to the size of the whale. It is then actively plied with lances, which are thrust into its body, aiming at its vitals. The sea to a great extent around is dyed with its blood, and the noise made by its tail in its dying struggle, may be heard several miles. In dying, it turns on its back or on its side; which circumstance is announced by the capturers with the striking of their flags, accompanied with three lively huzzas! Whales are sometimes captured, with a single harpoon, in the space of fifteen minutes. Sometimes they resist forty or fifty hours, and at times they will break three or four lines at once, or tear themselves clear off the harpoons, by the violence of their struggles. Generally the capture of a whale depends on the activity of the harpooner, the state of the wind and weather, or the peculiar conduct of the animal itself. Under the most favourable circumstances, the length of time does not exceed an hour. The general average may be stated at two hours. Instances have occurred where whales have been taken without being struck at all, simply by entangling themselves in the lines that had been used to destroy others, and struggling till they were drowned or died of exhaustion. The fishery for whales, when conducted at the margin of those wonderful sheets of ice, called fields, is, when the weather is fine, and the refuge for ships secure, the most agreeable, and sometimes the most productive of all other ways. When the fish can be observed "blowing" in any of the holes of a field, the men travel over the ice and attack it with lances to turn it back. As connected with this subject, Captain Scoresby relates the following circumstance, which occurred under his own observation. On the eighth of July, 1813, the ship Esk lay by the edge of a large sheet of ice, in which there were several thin parts, and some holes. Here a whale being heard blowing, a harpoon, with a line fastened to it, was conveyed across the ice, from a boat on guard, and the harpooner succeeded in striking the whale, at the distance of three hundred and fifty yards from the verge. It dragged out ten lines, (2400 yards,) and was supposed to be seen blowing in different holes in the ice. After some time it made its appearance on the exterior, and was again struck, at the moment it was about to go under the second time. About an hundred yards from the edge, it broke the ice where it was a foot thick, with its head, and respired through the opening. It then pushed forward, breaking the ice as it advanced, in spite of the lances constantly directed against it. At last it reached a kind of basin in the field, where it floated on the surface without any incumbrance from ice. Its back being fairly exposed, the harpoon struck from the boat on the outside, was observed to be so slightly entangled, that it was ready to drop out. Some of the officers lamented this circumstance, and wished that the harpoon might be better fast; at the same time observing that if it should slip out, either the fish would be lost, or they should be under the necessity of flensing it where it lay, and of dragging the blubber over the ice to the ship; a kind and degree of labor every one was anxious to avoid. No sooner was the wish expressed, and its importance explained, than a young and daring sailor stepped forward, and offered to strike the harpoon deeper. Not at all intimidated by the surprise manifested on every countenance at such a bold proposal, he leaped on the back of the living whale, and cut the harpoon out with his pocket knife. Stimulated by his gallant example, one of his companions proceeded to his assistance. While one of them hauled upon the line and held it in his hands, the other set his shoulder against the end of the harpoon, and though it was without a stock, contrived to strike it again into the fish more effectually than at first! The whale was in motion before they had finished. After they got off its back, it advanced a considerable distance, breaking the ice all the way, and survived this novel treatment ten or fifteen minutes. This daring deed was of essential service. The whale fortunately sunk spontaneously after it expired; on which it was hauled out under the ice by the line and secured without farther trouble. It proved a mighty whale; a very considerable prize. When engaged in the pursuit of a large whale, it is a necessary precaution for two boats at all times to proceed in company, that the one may be able to assist the other, on any emergency. With this principle in view, two boats from the Esk were sent out in chase of some large whales, on the 13th of June 1814. No ice was within sight. The boats had proceeded some time together, when they separated in pursuit of two whales, not far distant from each other; when, by a singular coincidence, the harpooners each struck his fish at the same moment. They were a mile from the ship. Urgent signals for assistance were displayed by each boat, and in a few minutes one of the harpooners was obliged to slip the end of his line. Fortunately the other fish did not descend so deep, and the lines in the boat proved adequate for the occasion. One of the fish being then supposed to be lost, five of the boats out of seven attended on the fish which yet remained entangled, and speedily killed it. A short time afterwards, the other fish supposed to be lost, was descried at a little distance from the place where it was struck;--three boats proceeded against it;--it was immediately struck, and in twenty minutes also killed. Thus were fortunately captured two whales, both of which had been despaired of. They produced near forty tons of oil, value, at that time £1400. The lines attached to the last fish were recovered with it. Before a whale can be flensed, as the operation of taking off the fat and whalebone is called, some preliminary measures are requisite. These consist in securing the whale to the boat, cutting away the attached whale-lines, lashing the fins together, and towing it to the ship. Some curious circumstances connected with these operations may be mentioned here. [Illustration] In the year 1816, a fish was to all appearance killed by the crew of the Esk. The fins were partly lashed, and the tail on the point of being secured, and all the lines excepting one, were cut away, the fish meanwhile lying as if dead. To the alarm, however, of the sailors, it revived, began to move, and pressed forward in a convulsive agitation; soon after it sunk in the water to some depth, and then died. One line fortunately remained attached to it, by which it was drawn to the surface and secured. A suspension of labor is generally allowed after the whale has been secured aside of the ship, and before the commencement of the operation of flensing. An unlucky circumstance once occurred in an interval of this kind. At that period of the fishery, (forty or fifty years ago,) when a single stout whale together with the bounty, was found sufficient to remunerate the owners of a ship for the expenses of the voyage, great joy was exhibited on the capture of a whale, by the fishers. They were not only cheered by a dram of spirits, but sometimes provided with some favorite "mess," on which to regale themselves, before they commenced the arduous task of flensing. At such a period, the crew of an English vessel had captured their first whale. It was taken to the ship, placed on the lee-side, and though the wind blew a strong breeze, it was fastened only by a small rope attached to the fin. In this state of supposed security, all hands retired to regale themselves, the captain himself not excepted. The ship being at a distance from any ice, and the fish believed to be fast, they made no great haste in their enjoyment. At length, the specksioneer, or chief harpooner, having spent sufficient time in indulgence and equipment, with an air of importance and self-confidence, proceeded on deck, and naturally turned to look on the whale. To his astonishment it was not to be seen. In some alarm he looked a-stern, a-head, on the other side, but his search was useless; the ship drifting fast, had pressed forcibly upon the whale, the rope broke, the fish sunk and was lost. The mortification of this event may be conceived, but the termination of their vexation will not easily be imagined, when it is known, that no other opportunity of procuring a whale occurred during the voyage. The ship returned home clean. Flensing in a swell is a most difficult and dangerous undertaking; and when the swell is at all considerable, it is commonly impracticable. No ropes or blocks are capable of bearing the jerk of the sea. The harpooners are annoyed by the surge, and repeatedly drenched in water; and are likewise subject to be wounded by the breaking of ropes or hooks of tackles, and even by strokes from each other's knives. Hence accidents in this kind of flensing are not uncommon. The harpooners not unfrequently fall into the whale's mouth, when it is exposed by the removal of a surface of blubber; where they might easily be drowned, but for the prompt assistance which is always at hand. One of the laws of the fishery universally adhered to, is, that whenever a whale is loose, whatever may be the case or circumstances, it becomes a free prize to the first person who gets hold of it. Thus, when a whale is killed, and the flensing is prevented by a storm, it is usually taken in tow; if the rope by which it is connected with the ship should happen to break, and the people of another ship should seize upon it while disengaged, it becomes their prize. The following circumstance, which occurred a good many years ago, has a tendency to illustrate the existing Greenland laws. During a storm of wind and snow several ships were beating to windward, under easy sail, along the edge of a pack. When the storm abated and the weather cleared, the ships steered towards the ice. Two of the fleet approached it, about a mile assunder, abreast of each other, when the crews of each ship accidentally got sight of a dead fish at a little distance, within some loose ice. Each ship now made sail, to endeavor to reach the fish before the other; which fish being loose, would be a prize to the first who could get possession of it. Neither ship could out sail the other, but each contrived to press forward towards the prize. The little advantage one of them had in distance, the other compensated with velocity. On each bow of the two ships, was stationed a principal officer, armed with a harpoon in readiness to discharge. But it so happened that the ships came in contact with each other, when within a few yards of the fish, and in consequence of the shock with which their bows met, they rebounded to a considerable distance. The officers at the same moment discharged their harpoons, but all of them fell short of the fish. A hardy fellow who was second mate of the leeward ship immediately leaped overboard and with great dexterity swam to the whale, seized it by the fin, and proclaimed it his prize. It was, however, so swollen, that he was unable to climb upon it, but was obliged to remain shivering in the water until assistance should be sent. His captain elated with his good luck, forgot, or at least neglected his brave second mate; and before he thought of sending a boat to release him from his disagreeable situation, prepared to moor his ship to an adjoining piece of ice. Meanwhile the other ship tacked, and the master himself stepped into a boat, pushed off and rowed deliberately towards the dead fish. Observing the trembling seaman still in the water holding by the fin, he addressed him with, "Well my lad, you have got a fine fish here,"--to which after a natural reply in the affirmative, he added, "but don't you find it very cold?"--"Yes," replied the shivering sailor, "I'm almost starved. I wish you would allow me to come into your boat until ours arrives." This favor needed no second solicitation; the boat approached the man and he was assisted into it. The fish being again loose and out of possession, the captain instantly struck his harpoon into it, hoisted his flag, and claimed his prize! Mortified and displeased as the other master felt at this trick, for so it certainly was, he had nevertheless no redress, but was obliged to permit the fish to be taken on board of his competitor's ship, and to content himself with abusing the second mate for want of discretion, and condemning himself for not having more compassion on the poor fellow's feeling, which would have prevented the disagreeable misadventure. Those employed in the occupation of killing whales, are, when actually engaged, exposed to danger from three sources, viz. from the ice, from the climate, and from the whales themselves. The ice is a source of danger to the fishers, from overhanging masses falling upon them,--from the approximation of large sheets of ice to each other, which are apt to crush or upset the boats,--from their boats being stove or sunk by large masses of ice, agitated by a swell,--and from the boats being enclosed and beset in a pack of ice, and their crews thus prevented from joining their ships. On the commencement of a heavy gale of wind, May 11th, 1813, fourteen men put off in a boat from the Volunteer of Whitby, with the view of setting an anchor in a large piece of ice, to which it was their intention of mooring the ship.--The ship approached on a signal being made, the sails were clewed up, and a rope fixed to the anchor; but the ice shivering with the violence of the strain when the ship fell astern, the anchor flew out and the ship went adrift. The sails being again set, the ship was reached to the eastward (wind at north,) the distance of about two miles; but in attempting to wear and return, the ship, instead of performing the evolution, scudded a considerable distance to the leeward, and was then reaching out to sea; thus leaving fourteen of her crew to a fate most dreadful, the fulfilment of which seemed almost inevitable. The temperature of the air was 15 or 16 of Fahr. when these poor wretches were left upon a detached piece of ice, of no considerable magnitude, without food, without shelter from the inclement storm, deprived of every means of refuge except in a single boat, which, on account of the number of men, and the violence of the storm, was incapable of conveying them to their ship. Death stared them in the face whichever way they turned, and a division in opinion ensued. Some were wishful to remain on the ice, but the ice could afford them no shelter to the piercing wind, and would probably be broken to pieces by the increasing swell: others were anxious to attempt to join their ship while she was yet in sight, but the force of the wind, the violence of the sea, the smallness of the boat in comparison to the number of men to be conveyed, were objections which would have appeared insurmountable to any person but men in a state of despair.--Judging, that by remaining on the ice, death was but retarded for a few hours, as the extreme cold must eventually benumb their faculties, and invite a sleep which would overcome the remains of animation,--they determined on making the attempt of rowing to their ship. Poor souls, what must have been their sensations at that moment,--when the spark of hope yet remaining was so feeble, that a premature death even to themselves seemed inevitable. They made the daring experiment, when a few minutes' trial convinced them, that the attempt was utterly impracticable. They then with longing eyes, turned their efforts towards recovering the ice they had left, but their utmost exertions were unavailing. Every one now viewed his situation as desperate; and anticipated, as certain, the fatal event which was to put a period to his life. How great must have been their delight, and how overpowering their sensations, when at this most critical juncture a ship appeared in sight! She was advancing directly towards them; their voices were extended and their flag displayed.--But although it was impossible they should be heard, it was not impossible they should be seen. Their flag was descried by the people on board the ship, their mutual courses were so directed as to form the speediest union, and in a few minutes they found themselves on the deck of the Lively of Whitby, under circumstances of safety! They received from their townsmen the warmest congratulations; and while each individual was forward in contributing his assistance towards the restoration of their benumbed bodies, each appeared sensible that their narrow escape from death was highly providential. The forbearance of God is wonderful. Perhaps these very men a few hours before, were impiously invoking their own destruction, or venting imprecations upon their fellow beings! True it is that the goodness of the Almighty extendeth over all his works, and that while 'Mercy is his darling attribute,'--'Judgment is his strange work.' The most extensive source of danger to the whale-fisher, when actively engaged in his occupation, arises from the object of his pursuit. Excepting when it has young under its protection, the whale generally exhibits remarkable timidity of character. A bird perching on its back alarms it; hence, the greater part of the accidents which happen in the course of its capture, must be attributed to adventitious circumstances on the part of the whale, or to mismanagement or foolhardiness on the part of the fishers. [Illustration] A harpooner belonging to the Henrietta of Whitby, when engaged in lancing a whale, into which he had previously struck a harpoon, incautiously cast a little line under his feet that he had just hauled into the boat, after it had been drawn out by the fish. A painful stroke of his lance induced the whale to dart suddenly downward; his line began to run out from beneath his feet, and in an instant caught him by a turn round his body. He had but just time to cry out, "clear away the line,"--"O dear!" when he was almost cut assunder, dragged overboard and never seen afterwards. The line was cut at the moment, but without avail. The fish descended a considerable depth, and died; from whence it was drawn to the surface by the lines connected with it, and secured. While the ship Resolution navigated an open lake of water, in the 81st degree of north latitude, during a keen frost and strong north wind, on the 2d of June 1806, a whale appeared, and a boat put off in pursuit. On its second visit to the surface of the sea, it was harpooned. A convulsive heave of the tail, which succeeded the wound, struck the boat at the stern; and by its reaction, projected the boat-steerer overboard. As the line in a moment dragged the boat beyond his reach, the crew threw some of their oars towards him for his support, one of which he fortunately seized. The ship and boats being at a considerable distance, and the fast-boat being rapidly drawn away from him, the harpooner cut the line with the view of rescuing him from his dangerous situation. But no sooner was this act performed, than to their extreme mortification they discovered, that in consequence of some oars being thrown towards their floating comrade, and others being broken or unshipped by the blow from the fish, one oar only remained; with which, owing to the force of the wind, they tried in vain to approach him. A considerable period elapsed, before any boat from the ship could afford him assistance, though the men strained every nerve for the purpose. At length, when they reached him, he was found with his arms stretched over an oar, almost deprived of sensation.--On his arrival at the ship, he was in a deplorable condition. His clothes were frozen like mail, and his hair constituted a helmet of ice. He was immediately conveyed into the cabin, his clothes taken off, his limbs and body dried and well rubbed, and a cordial administered which he drank. A dry shirt and stockings were then put upon him, and he was laid in the captain's bed. After a few hours sleep he awoke, and appeared considerably restored, but complained of a painful sensation of cold. He was, therefore, removed to his own birth, and one of his messmates ordered to lie on each side of him, whereby the diminished circulation of the blood was accelerated, and the animal heat restored. The shock on his constitution, however, was greater than was anticipated.--He recovered in the course of a few days, so as to be able to engage in his ordinary pursuits; but many months elapsed before his countenance exhibited its usual appearance of health. The Aimwell of Whitby, while cruising the Greenland seas, in the year 1810, had boats in chase of whales on the 26th of May. One of them was harpooned. But instead of sinking immediately on receiving the wound, as is the most usual manner of the whale, this individual only dived for a moment, and rose again beneath the boat, struck it in the most vicious manner with its fins and tail, stove it, upset it, and then disappeared. The crew, seven in number, got on the bottom of the boat; but the unequal action of the lines, which for sometime remained entangled with the boat, rolled it occasionally over, and thus plunged the crew repeatedly into the water.--Four of them, after each immersion, recovered themselves and clung to the boat; but the other three, one of whom was the only person acquainted with the art of swimming, were drowned before assistance could arrive. The four men on the boat being rescued and conveyed to the ship, the attack on the whale was continued and two more harpoons struck.--But the whale irritated, instead of being enervated by its wounds, recommenced its furious conduct. The sea was in a foam. Its tail and fins wore in awful play; and in a short time, harpoon after harpoon drew out, the fish was loosened from its entanglements and escaped. In the fishery of 1812, the Henrietta of Whitby suffered a similar loss. A fish which was struck very near the ship, by a blow of its tail, stove a small hole in the boat's bow. Every individual shrinking from the side on which the blow was impressed, aided the influence of the stroke, and upset the boat. They all clung to it while it was bottom up; but the line having got entangled among the thwarts, suddenly drew the boat under water, and with it part of the crew. Excessive anxiety among the people in the ship, occasioned delay in sending assistance, so that when the first boat arrived at the spot, two survivors only out of six men were found. During a fresh gale of wind in the season of 1809, one of the Resolution's harpooners struck a sucking whale. Its mother being near, all the other boats were disposed around, with the hope of entangling it. The old whale pursued a circular route round its cub, and was followed by the boats; but its velocity was so considerable, that they were unable to keep pace with it. Being in the capacity of harpooner on this occasion myself, I proceeded to the chase, after having carefully marked the proceedings of the fish. I selected a situation, in which I conceived the whale would make its appearance, and was in the act of directing my crew to cease rowing, when a terrible blow was struck on the boat. The whale I never saw, but the effect of the blow was too important to be overlooked. About fifteen square feet of the bottom of the boat were driven in; it filled, sunk, and upset in a moment. Assistance was providentially at hand, so that we were all taken up without injury, after being but a few minutes in the water. The whale escaped; the boat's lines fell out and were lost, but the boat was recovered. A remarkable instance of the power which the whale possesses in its tail, was exhibited within my own observation, in the year 1807. On the 29th of May, a whale was harpooned by an officer belonging to the Resolution. It descended a considerable depth; and, on its re-appearance, evinced an uncommon degree of irritation. It made such a display of its fins and tail, that few of the crew were hardy enough to approach it. The captain, (Captain Scoresby's father,) observing their timidity, called a boat, and himself struck a second harpoon. Another boat immediately followed, and unfortunately advanced too far. The tail was again reared into the air, in a terrific attitude,--the impending blow was evident,--the harpooner, who was directly underneath, leaped overboard,--and the next moment the threatened stroke was impressed on the centre of the boat, which it buried in the water. Happily no one was injured. The harpooner who leaped overboard, escaped certain death by the act,--the tail having struck the very spot on which he stood. The effects of the blow were astonishing. The keel was broken,--the gunwales, and every plank, excepting two, were cut through,--and it was evident that the boat would have been completely divided, had not the tail struck directly upon a coil of lines. The boat was rendered useless. Instances of disasters of this kind, occasioned by blows from the whale, could be adduced in great numbers,--cases of boats being destroyed by a single stroke of the tail, are not unknown,--instances of boats having been stove or upset, and their crews wholly or in part drowned, are not unfrequent,--and several cases of whales having made a regular attack upon every boat which came near them, dashed some in pieces, and killed or drowned some of the people in them, have occurred within a few years even under my own observation. The Dutch ship Gort-Moolen, commanded by Cornelius Gerard Ouwekaas, with a cargo of seven fish, was anchored in Greenland in the year 1660. The captain, perceiving a whale a-head of his ship, beckoned his attendants, and threw himself into a boat. He was the first to approach the whale; and was fortunate enough to harpoon it before the arrival of the second boat, which was on the advance. Jacques Vienkes, who had the direction of it, joined his captain immediately afterwards, and prepared to make a second attack on the fish, when it should remount again to the surface. At the moment of its ascension, the boat of Vienkes happening unfortunately to be perpendicularly above it, was so suddenly and forcibly lifted up by a stroke of the head of the whale, that it was dashed to pieces before the harpooner could discharge his weapon. Vienkes flew along with the pieces of the boat, and fell upon the back of the animal. This intrepid seaman, who still retained his weapon in his grasp, harpooned the whale on which he stood; and by means of the harpoon and the line, which he never abandoned, he steadied himself firmly upon the fish, notwithstanding his hazardous situation, and regardless of a considerable wound that he received in his leg in his fall along with the fragments of the boat. All the efforts of the other boats to approach the whale, and deliver the harpooner, were futile. The captain, not seeing any other method of saving his unfortunate companion, who was in some way entangled with the line, called to him to cut it with his knife, and betake himself to swimming. Vienkes, embarrassed and disconcerted as he was, tried in vain to follow this counsel. His knife was in the pocket of his drawers; and, being unable to support himself with one hand, he could not get it out. The whale, meanwhile, continued advancing along the surface of the water with great rapidity, but fortunately never attempted to dive. While his comrades despaired of his life, the harpoon by which he held, at length disengaged itself from the body of the whale. Vienkes being thus liberated, did not fail to take advantage of this circumstance; he cast himself into the sea, and by swimming, endeavored to regain the boats which continued the pursuit of the whale. When his shipmates perceived him struggling with the waves, they redoubled their exertions. They reached him just as his strength was exhausted, and had the happiness of rescuing this adventurous harpooner from his perilous situation. Captain Lyons of the Raith of Leith, while prosecuting the whale-fishery on the Labrador coast, in the season of 1802, discovered a large whale at a short distance from the ship. Four boats were dispatched in pursuit, and two of them succeeded in approaching it so closely together, that two harpoons were struck at the same moment. The fish descended a few fathoms in the direction of another of the boats, which was on the advance, rose accidentally beneath it, struck it with its head, and threw the boat, men, and apparatus about fifteen feet into the air. It was inverted by the stroke, and fell into the water with its keel upwards. All the people were picked up alive by the fourth boat, which was just at hand, excepting one man, who having got entangled in the boat, fell beneath it, and was unfortunately drowned. The fish was soon afterwards killed. The engraving on page 30, is illustrative of this remarkable accident. In 1822, two boats belonging to the ship Baffin went in pursuit of a whale. John Carr was harpooner and commander of one of them. The whale they pursued led them into a vast shoal of his own species; they were so numerous that their blowing was incessant, and they believed that they did not see fewer than an hundred. Fearful of alarming them without striking any, they remained for a while motionless. At last one rose near Carr's boat, and he approached, and fatally for himself, harpooned it. When he struck, the fish was approaching the boat; and, passing very rapidly, jerked the line out of its place over the stern, and threw it upon the gunwale. Its pressure in this unfavorable position so careened the boat, that the side was pulled under water, and it began to fill. In this emergency, Carr, who was a brave, active man, seized the line, and endeavored to relieve the boat by restoring it to its place; but, by some circumstance which was never accounted for, a turn of the line flew over his arm, dragged him overboard in an instant, and drew him under the water, never more to rise. So sudden was the accident, that only one man, who was watching him, saw what had happened; so that when the boat righted, which it immediately did, though half full of water, the whole crew on looking round inquired what had become of Carr. It is impossible to imagine a death more awfully sudden and unexpected. The invisible bullet could not have effected more instantaneous destruction. The velocity of the whale at its first descent is from thirteen to fifteen feet per second. Now as this unfortunate man was adjusting the line at the water's very edge, where it must have been perfectly tight, owing to its obstruction in running out of the boat, the interval between the fastening the line about him and his disappearance could not have exceeded the third part of a second of time, for in one second only he must have been dragged ten or twelve feet deep. Indeed he had not time for the least exclamation; and the person who saw his removal, observed that it was so exceeding quick that though his eye was upon him at the moment, he could scarcely distinguish his figure as he disappeared. [Illustration: INSTRUMENTS USED IN THE WHALE FISHERY. 1. A common Harpoon. 2. A Pricker. 3. A sharp Spade, used in cutting up a Whale. 4. A Harpoon which is fired from a gun. 5. A Lance, to kill the Whale after he has been harpooned.] As soon as the crew recovered from their consternation, they applied themselves to the needful attention which the lines required. A second harpoon was struck from the accompanying boat on the raising of the whale to the surface, and some lances were applied, but this melancholy occurrence had cast such a damp on all present, that they became timid and inactive in their subsequent duties. The whale when nearly exhausted was allowed to remain some minutes unmolested, till having recovered some degree of energy, it made a violent effort and tore itself away from both harpoons. The exertions of the crews thus proved fruitless, and were attended with serious loss. Innumerable instances might be adduced of the perils and disasters to which our whalemen are subject; of their never tiring fortitude and daring enterprise; but we believe the examples we have given alone will sufficiently convey a full and correct idea of the customs and dangers of the whale-fishery. [Illustration] THE NARWAL, OR SEA-UNICORN, Is a species of the Whale, and seldom exceeds twenty-two feet long. Its body is slenderer than that of the whale, and its fat not in so great abundance. But this great animal is sufficiently distinguished from all others of the deep, by its tooth or teeth, which stand pointing directly forward from the upper jaw, and are from nine to ten feet long. In all the variety of weapons with which nature has armed her various tribes, there is not one so large or so formidable as this.--This terrible weapon is generally found single; and some are of opinion that the animal is furnished with but one by nature; but there is at present the skull of a Narwal at the Stadthouse at Amsterdam, with two teeth. The tooth, or, as some are pleased to call it, the horn of the Narwal, is as straight as an arrow, about the thickness of the small of a man's leg, wreathed as we sometimes see twisted bars of iron; it tapers to a sharp point; and is whiter, heavier, and harder than ivory. It is generally seen to spring from the left side of the head directly forward in a straight line with the body; and its root enters into the socket above a foot and a half. Notwithstanding its appointments for combat, this long and pointed tusk, amazing strength, and matchless celerity, the Narwal is one of the most harmless and peaceful inhabitants of the ocean. It is seen constantly and inoffensively sporting among the other great monsters of the deep, no way attempting to injure them, but pleased in their company. The Greenlanders call the Narwal the forerunner of the whale; for wherever it is seen, the whale is shortly after sure to follow. This may arise as well from the natural passion for society in these animals, as from both living upon the same food. These powerful fishes make war upon no other living creature; and, though furnished with instruments to spread general destruction, are as innocent and as peaceful as a drove of oxen. The Narwal is much swifter than the whale, and would never be taken by the fishermen but for those very tusks, which at first appear to be its principal defence. These animals are always seen in herds of several at a time; and whenever they are attacked they crowd together in such a manner, that they are mutually embarrassed by their tusks. By these they are often locked together, and are prevented from sinking to the bottom. It seldom happens, therefore, but the fishermen make sure of one or two of the hindmost, which very well reward their trouble. LOSS OF THE BRIG TYRREL. In addition to the many dreadful shipwrecks already narrated, the following, which is a circumstantial account given by T. Purnell, chief mate of the brig Tyrrel, Arthur Cochlan, commander, and the only person among the whole crew who had the good fortune to escape, claims our particular attention. On Saturday, June 29th, 1759, they sailed from New York to Sandy Hook, and there came to an anchor, waiting for the captain's coming down with a new boat, and some other articles. Accordingly he came on board early the succeeding morning, and the boat cleared, hoisted in, stowed and lashed. At eight o'clock, A. M. they weighed anchor, sailed out of Sandy Hook, and the same day at noon, took their departure from the High Land Never Sunk, and proceeded on their passage to Antigua. As soon as they made sail, the captain ordered the boat to be cast loose, in order that she might be painted, with the oars, rudder and tiller, which job, he (Captain Cochlan) undertook to do himself. At four P. M. they found the vessel made a little more water, than usual; but as it did not cause much additional labour at the pump, nothing was thought of it. At eight, the leak did not seem to increase. At twelve it began to blow very hard in squalls, which caused the vessel to lie down very much, whereby it was apprehended she wanted more ballast. Thereupon the captain came on deck, being the starboard watch, and close reefed both top-sails. At four A. M. the weather moderated--let out both reefs:--at eight it became still more moderate, and they made more sail, and set top-gallant-sails; the weather was still thick and hazy. There was no further observation taken at present, except that the vessel made more water. The captain was now chiefly employed in painting the boat, oars, rudder and tiller. On Monday, June 30, at four P. M. the wind was at E. N. E. freshened very much, and blew so very hard, as occasioned the brig to lie along in such a manner as caused general alarm. The captain was now earnestly intreated to put for New York, or steer for the Capes of Virginia. At eight, took in top-gallant-sail, and close reefed both top-sails, still making more water. Afterwards the weather became still more moderate and fair, and they made more sail. July 1, at four A. M. it began to blow in squalls very hard, took in one reef in each top-sail, and continued so until eight A. M. the weather being still thick and hazy.--No observation. The next day she made still more water, but as every watch pumped it out, this was little regarded. At four P. M. took second reef in each top-sail,--close reefed both, and sent down top-gallant-yard; the gale still increasing. At four A. M. the wind got round to N. and there was no appearance of its abating. At eight, the captain well satisfied that she was very crank and ought to have had more ballast, agreed to make for Bacon Island Road, in North Carolina; and in the very act of wearing her, a sudden gust of wind laid her down on her beam-end, and she never rose again!--At this time Mr. Purnell was lying in the cabin, with his clothes on, not having pulled them off since they left land.--Having been rolled out of his bed (on his chest,) with great difficulty he reached the round-house door; the first salutation he met with was from the step-ladder that went from the quarter-deck to the poop, which knocked him against the companion, (a lucky circumstance for those below, as, by laying the ladder against the companion, it served both him and the rest of the people who were in the steerage, as a conveyance to windward); having transported the two after guns forward to bring her more by the head, in order to make her hold a better wind; thus they got through the aftermost gun-port on the quarter-deck, and being all on her broadside, every moveable rolled to leeward, and as the vessel overset, so did the boat, and turned bottom upwards, her lashings being cast loose, by order of the captain, and having no other prospect of saving their lives but by the boat, Purnell, with two others, and the cabin-boy (who were excellent swimmers) plunged into the water, and with difficulty righted her, when she was brim full, and washing with the water's edge. They then made fast the end of the main-sheet to the ring in her stern-post, and those who were in the fore-chains sent down the end of the boom-tackle, to which they made fast the boat's painter, and by which they lifted her a little out of the water, so that she swam about two or three inches free, but almost full. They then put the cabin-boy into her, and gave him a bucket that happened to float by, and he bailed away as quick as he could, and soon after another person got in with another bucket, and in a short time got all the water out of her.--They then put two long oars that were stowed in the larboard-quarter of the Tyrrel into the boat, and pulled or rowed right to windward; for, as the wreck drifted, she made a dreadful appearance in the water, and Mr. Purnell and two of the people put off from the wreck, in search of the oars, rudder and tiller. After a long while they succeeded in picking them all up, one after another. They then returned to their wretched companions, who were all overjoyed to see them, having given them up for lost. By this time night drew on very fast. While they were rowing in the boat, some small quantity of white biscuit (Mr. Purnell supposed about half a peck,) floated in a small cask, out of the round house; but before it came to hand, it was so soaked with salt water, that it was almost in a fluid state: and about double the quantity of common ship-biscuit likewise floated, which was in like manner soaked. This was all the provision that they had; not a drop of fresh water could they get; neither could the carpenter get at any of his tools to scuttle her sides, for, could this have been accomplished, they might have saved plenty of provisions and water. By this time it was almost dark; having got one compass, it was determined to quit the wreck, and take their chance in the boat, which was nineteen feet six inches long, and six feet four inches broad; Mr. Purnell supposes it was now about nine o'clock; it was very dark. They had run abut 360 miles by their dead reckoning, on a S. E. by E. course. The number in the boat was 17 in all; the boat was very deep, and little hopes were entertained of either seeing land or surviving long. The wind got round to westward, which was the course they wanted to steer; but it began to blow and rain so very hard, that they were obliged to keep before the wind and sea, in order to preserve her above water. Soon after they had put off from the wreck the boat shipped two heavy seas, one after another, so that they were obliged to keep her before the wind and sea; for had she shipped another sea, she certainly would have swamped with them. By sunrise the next morning, July 3, they judged that they had been running E. S. E. which was contrary to their wishes. The wind dying away, the weather became very moderate. The compass which they had saved proved of no utility, one of the people having trod upon, and broken it; it was accordingly thrown overboard. They now proposed to make a sail of some frocks and trowsers, but they had got neither needles nor sewing twine, one of the people however, had a needle in his knife, and another several fishing lines in his pockets, which were unlaid by some, and others were employed in ripping the frocks and trowsers. By sunset they had provided a tolerable lug-sail; having split one of the boat's thwarts, (which was of yellow deal,) with a very large knife, which one of the crew had in his pocket, they made a yard and lashed it together by the strands of the fore-top-gallant-halyards, that were thrown into the boat promiscuously.--They also made a mast of one of the long oars, and set their sails, with sheets and tacks made out of the top-gallant-halyards. Their only guide was the North star. They had a tolerable good breeze all night; and the whole of the next day, July 4, the weather continued very moderate, and the people were in as good spirits as their dreadful situation would admit. July 5, the wind and weather continued much the same, and they knew by the North star that they were standing in for the land. The next day Mr. Purnell observed some of the men drinking salt water, and seeming rather fatigued.--At this time they imagined the wind was got round to the southward, and they steered, as they thought by the North star, to the northwest quarter; but on the 7th, they found the wind had got back to the northward, and blew very fresh. They got their oars out the greatest part of the night, and the next day the wind still dying away, the people laboured alternately at the oars, without distinction. About noon the wind sprung up so that they laid in their oars, and, as they thought, steered about N. N. W. and continued so until about eight or nine in the morning of July 9, when they all thought they were upon soundings, by the coldness of the water.--They were, in general, in very good spirits. The weather continued still thick and hazy, and by the North star, they found that they had been steering about N. by W. July 10.--The people had drank so much salt water, that it came from them as clear as it was before they drank it; and Mr. Purnell perceived that the second mate had lost a considerable share of his strength and spirits; and also, at noon, that the carpenter was delirious, his malady increasing every hour; about dusk he had almost overset the boat, by attempting to throw himself overboard, and otherwise behaving quite violent. As his strength, however, failed him, he became more manageable, and they got him to lie down in the middle of the boat, among some of the people. Mr. Purnell drank once a little salt water, but could not relish it; he preferred his own urine, which he drank occasionally as he made it. Soon after sunset the second mate lost his speech. Mr. Purnell desired him to lean his head on him; he died, without a groan or struggle, on the 11th of July, being the 9th day they were in the boat. In a few minutes after, the carpenter expired almost in a similar manner. These melancholy scenes rendered the situation of the survivors more dreadful; it is impossible to describe their feelings. Despair became general; every man imagined his own dissolution was near. They all now went to prayers; some prayed in the Welch language, some in Irish, and others in English; then, after a little deliberation, they stripped the two dead men, and hove them overboard. The weather being now very mild, and almost calm, they turned to, cleaned the boat, and resolved to make their sail larger out of the frocks and trowsers of the two deceased men. Purnell got the captain to lie down with the rest of the people, the boatswain and one man excepted, who assisted him in making the sail larger, which they had completed by six or seven o'clock in the afternoon, having made a shroud out of the boat's painter, which served as a shifting back-stay.--Purnell also fixed his red flannel waistcoat at the mast-head, as a signal the most likely to be seen. Soon after this some of them observed a sloop at a great distance, coming, as they thought, from the land. This roused every man's spirits; they got out their oars, at which they laboured alternately, exerting all their remaining strength to come up with her; but night coming on, and the sloop getting a fresh breeze of wind, they lost sight of her, which occasioned a general consternation; however, the appearance of the North star, which they kept on their starboard-bow, gave them hopes that they stood in for land. This night one William Wathing died; he was 64 years of age, and had been to sea 50 years; quite worn out with fatigue and hunger, he earnestly prayed, to the last moment, for a drop of water to cool his tongue. Early the next morning Hugh Williams also died, and in the course of the day another of the crew: entirely exhausted,--they both expired without a groan. Early in the morning of July 13, it began to blow very fresh, and increased so much, that they were obliged to furl their sail, and keep the boat before the wind and sea, which drove them off soundings. In the evening their gunner died. The weather now becoming moderate and the wind in the S. W. quarter, they made sail, not one being able to row or pull an oar at any rate; they ran all this night with a fine breeze. The next morning (July 14) two more of the crew died, and in the evening they also lost the same number. They found they were on soundings again, and concluded the wind had got round to the N. W. quarter. They stood in for the land all this night, and early on July 12 two others died; the deceased were thrown overboard as soon as their breath had departed. The weather was now thick and hazy, and they were still certain that they were on soundings. The cabin-boy was seldom required to do any thing, and as his intellects, at this time, were very good, and his understanding clear, it was the opinion of Mr. Purnell that he would survive them all, but he prudently kept his thoughts to himself. The captain seemed likewise tolerably well, and to have kept up his spirits. On account of the haziness of the weather, they could not so well know how they steered in the day time as at night; for, whenever the North star appeared, they endeavored to keep it on their starboard bow, by which means they were certain of making the land some time or other. In the evening two more of the crew died, also, before sunset, one Thomas Philpot, an old experienced seaman, and very strong; he departed rather convulsed; having latterly lost the power of articulation, his meaning could not be comprehended. He was a native of Belfast, Ireland, and had no family. The survivors found it a difficult task to heave his body overboard, as he was a very corpulent man. About six or seven the next morning, July 16, they stood in for the land, according to the best of their judgment, the weather still thick and hazy. Purnell now prevailed upon the captain and boatswain of the boat to lie down in the fore-part of the boat, to bring her more by the head, in order to make her hold a better wind. In the evening the cabin-boy, who lately appeared so well, breathed his last, leaving behind, the captain, the boatswain and Mr. Purnell. The next morning, July 17, Mr. Purnell asked his two companions if they thought they could eat any of the boy's flesh; and having expressed an inclination to try, and the body being quite cold, he cut the inside of his thigh, a little above his knee, and gave a piece to the captain and boatswain, reserving a small piece for himself; but so weak were their stomachs that none of them could swallow a morsel of it, the body was therefore thrown overboard. Early in the morning of the 18th, Mr. Purnell found both of his companions dead and cold! Thus destitute, he began to think of his own dissolution; though feeble, his understanding was still clear, and his spirits as good as his forlorn situation could possibly admit. By the colour and coldness of the water, he knew he was not far from land, and still maintained hopes of making it. The weather continued very foggy. He lay to all this night, which was very dark, with the boat's head to the northward. In the morning of the 19th, it began to rain; it cleared up in the afternoon, and the wind died away; still Mr. Purnell was convinced he was on soundings. On the 20th, in the afternoon, he thought he saw land, and stood in for it; but night coming on, and it being now very dark, he lay to, fearing he might get on some rocks and shoals. July 21, the weather was very fine all the morning, but in the afternoon it became thick and hazy. Mr. Purnell's spirits still remained good, but his strength was almost exhausted; he still drank his own water occasionally. On the 22d he saw some barnacles on the boat's rudder, very similar to the spawn of an oyster, which filled him with greater hopes of being near land. He unshipped the rudder, and scraping them off with his knife, found they were of a salt fishy substance, and eat them; he was now so weak, the boat having a great motion, that he found it a difficult task to ship the rudder. At sunrise, July 23, he became so sure that he saw land, that his spirits were considerably raised. In the middle of this day he got up, leaned his back against the mast, and received succour from the sun, having previously contrived to steer the boat in this position. The next day he saw, at a very great distance, some kind of a sail, which he judged was coming from the land, which he soon lost sight of. In the middle of the day he got up, and received warmth from the sun as before. He stood on all night for the land. Very early in the morning of the 25th, after drinking his morning draught, to his inexpressible joy he saw, while the sun was rising, a sail, and when the sun was up, found she was a two-mast vessel. He was, however, considerably perplexed, not knowing what to do, as she was a great distance astern and to the leeward. In order to watch her motions better, he tacked about. Soon after this he perceived she was standing on her starboard tack, which had been the same he had been standing on for many hours. He saw she approached him very fast, and he lay to for some time, till he believed she was within two miles of the boat, but still to leeward; therefore he thought it best to steer larger, when he found she was a top-sail schooner, nearing him very fast.--He continued to edge down towards her, until he had brought her about two points under his lee-bow, having it in his power to spring his luff, or bear away. By this time she was within half a mile, and he saw some of her people standing forwards on her deck and waiving for him to come under their lee-bow. At the distance of about 200 yards they hove the schooner up in the wind, and kept her so until Purnell got alongside, when they threw him a rope, still keeping the schooner in the wind. They now interrogated him very closely; by the manner the boat and oars were painted, they imagined she belonged to a man of war, and that they had run away with her from some of his Majesty's ships at Halifax, consequently that they would be liable to some punishment if they took him up; they also thought, as the captain and boatswain were lying dead in the boat, they might expose themselves to some contagious disorder. Thus they kept Purnell in suspense for some time. They told him they had made the land that morning from the mast-head, and that they were running along shore for Marblehead, to which place they belonged, and where they expected to be the next morning. At last they told him he might come on board; which as he said, he could not without assistance, the captain ordered two of his men to help him.--They conducted him aft on the quarter deck, where they left him resting on the companion. They were now for casting the boat adrift, but Mr. Purnell told them she was not above a month old, built at New York, and if they would hoist her in, it would pay them well for their trouble. To this they agreed, and having thrown the two corpses overboard, and taken out the clothes that were left by the deceased, they hoisted her in and made sail. Being now on board, Purnell asked for a little water, Captain Castleman (for that was his name) ordered one of his sons, (having two on board) to fetch him some; when he came with the water, his father looked to see how much he was bringing him, and thinking it too much, threw some of it away, and desired him to give the remainder, which he drank being the first fresh water he had tasted for 23 days. As he leaned all this time against the companion, he became very cold, and begged to go below; the captain ordered two men to help him down to the cabin, where they left him sitting on the cabin-deck, leaning upon the lockers, all hands being now engaged in hoisting in and securing the boat. This done, all hands went down to the cabin to breakfast, except the man at the helm. They made some soup for Purnell, which he thought very good, but at present he could eat very little, and in consequence of his late draughts, he had broke out in many parts of his body, so that he was in great pain whenever he stirred. They made a bed for him out of an old sail, and behaved very attentive. While they were at breakfast a squall of wind came on, which called them all upon deck; during their absence, Purnell took up a stone bottle, and without smelling or tasting it, but thinking it was rum, took a hearty draught of it, and found it to be sweet oil; having placed it where he found it, he lay down. They still ran along shore with the land in sight, and were in great hopes of getting into port that night, but the wind dying away, they did not get in till nine o'clock the next night. All this time Purnell remained like a child; some one was always with him, to give him whatever he wished to eat or drink. As soon as they came to anchor, Captain Castleman went on shore, and returned on board the next morning with the owner, John Picket, Esq. Soon after they got Purnell into a boat, and carried him on shore; but he was still so very feeble, that he was obliged to be supported by two men. Mr. Picket took a very genteel lodging for him, and hired a nurse to attend him; he was immediately put to bed, and afterwards provided with a change of clothes. In the course of the day he was visited by every doctor in the town, who all gave him hopes of recovering, but told him it would be some time, for the stronger the constitution, the longer (they said) it took to recover its lost strength. Though treated with the utmost tenderness and humanity, it was three weeks before he was able to come down stairs. He stayed in Marblehead two months, during which he lived very comfortably, and gradually recovered his strength. The brig's boat and oars were sold for 95 dollars, which paid all his expenses, and procured him a passage to Boston. The nails of his fingers and toes withered away almost to nothing, and did not begin to grow for many months after. THE LOSS OF THE PEGGY. On the 28th of September, 1785, the Peggy, commanded by Capt. Knight, sailed from the harbor of Waterford, Ireland, for the port of New York, in America. Here it is necessary to observe, that the Peggy was a large unwieldy Dutch-built ship, about eight hundred tons burden, and had formerly been in the Norway, and timber trade, for which, indeed, she seemed, from her immense bulk, well calculated. There being no freight in readiness for America, we were under the necessity of taking in ballast: which consisted of coarse gravel and sand, with about fifty casks of stores, fresh stock, and vegetables, sufficient to last during the voyage; having plenty of room, and having been most abundantly supplied by the hospitable neighbourhood, of which we were about to take our leave. We weighed anchor, and with the assistance of a rapid tide and pleasant breeze, soon gained a tolerable offing: we continued under easy sail the remaining part of the day, and towards sunset lost sight of land. Sept. 29th, made the old head of Kingsale; the weather continuing favorable, we shortly came within sight of Cape Clear, from whence we took our departure from the coast of Ireland. Nothing material occurred for several days, during which time we traversed a vast space of the Western Ocean. Oct. 12th, the weather now became hazy and squally;--all hands turned up to reef top-sails, and strike top-gallant-yards.--Towards night the squalls were more frequent, indicating an approaching gale:--We accordingly clued, reefed top-sails, and struck top-gallant-masts; and having made all snug aloft, the ship weathered the night very steadily. On the 13th the crew were employed in setting up the rigging, and occasionally pumping, the ship having made much water during the night. The gale increasing as the day advanced, occasioned the vessel to make heavy rolls, by which an accident happened, which was near doing much injury to the captain's cabin. A puncheon of rum, which was lashed on the larboard side of the cabin, broke loose, a sudden jerk having drawn assunder the cleats to which it was fastened. By its velocity it stove in the state-rooms, and broke several utensils of the cabin furniture. The writer of this, with much difficulty, escaped with whole limbs; but not altogether unhurt, receiving a painful bruise on the right foot: having, however, escaped from the cabin, the people on deck were given to understand that the rum was broken loose. The word rum soon attracted the sailor's attention, and this cask being the ship's only stock, they were not tardy (as may be supposed) in rendering their assistance to double lash, what they anticipated--the delight, of frequently splicing the mainbrace therewith during their voyage. On the 14th the weather became moderate, and the crew were employed in making good the stowage of the stores in the hold, which had given way during the night;--shaking reefs out of the top-sails, getting up top-gallant-masts and yards, and rigging out studding-sails. All hands being now called to dinner, a bustle and confused noise took place on deck. The captain (who was below) sent the writer of this to discover the cause thereof, but before he could explain, a voice was crying out in a most piteous and vociferous tone. The captain and chief mate jumped on deck, and found the crew had got the cook laid on the windlass, and were giving him a most severe cobbing with a flat piece of his own fire wood. As soon as the captain had reached forward, he was much exasperated with them for their precipitate conduct, in punishing without his knowledge and permission, and having prohibited such proceedings in future cases, he inquired the cause of their grievance. The cook, it seems, having been served out fresh water to dress vegetables for all hands, had inadvertently used it for some other purpose, and boiled the greens in a copper of salt water, which rendered them so intolerably tough, that they were not fit for use; consequently the sailors had not their expected garnish, and a general murmur taking place, the above punishment was inflicted. A steady breeze ensuing, all sails filled and the ship made way, with a lofty and majestic air; and at every plunge of her bows, which was truly Dutch-built, rose a foam of no small appearance. During four days the weather continued favorable, which flattered the seamen with a speedy sight of land. On the 19th we encountered a very violent gale, with an unusual heavy sea:--The ship worked greatly, and took in much water through her seams:--the pumps were kept frequently going. At mid-day, while the crew were at dinner, a tremendous sea struck the ship right aft, which tore in the cabin windows, upset the whole of the dinner, and nearly drowned the captain, mate, and myself, who was at that time holding a dish on the table, while the captain was busily employed in carving a fine goose, which, much to our discomfiture, was entirely drenched by the salt-water. Some of the coops were washed from the quarter-deck, and several of the poultry destroyed. In consequence of the vessel shipping so great a quantity of water, the pumps were doubly manned, and soon gained on her. The gale had not in the least abated during the night. The well was plumbed, and there was found to be a sudden and alarming increase of water. The carpenter was immediately ordered to examine the ship below, in order to find the cause of the vessel's making so much water. His report was, she being a very old vessel, her seams had considerably opened by her laboring so much, therefore, could devise no means at present to prevent the evil. He also reported, the mizen-mast to be in great danger. The heel of the mizen-mast being stepped between decks (a very unusual case, but probably it was placed there in order to make more room for stowage in the after-hold) was likely to work from its step, and thereby might do considerable damage to the ship. The captain now held a consultation with the officers, when it was deemed expedient to cut the mast away without delay: this was accordingly put into execution the following morning, as soon as the day made its appearance. The necessary preparations having been made, the carpenter began hewing at the mast, and quickly made a deep wound. Some of the crew were stationed ready to cut away the stays and lanyards, whilst the remaining part was anxiously watching the momentary crash which was to ensue; the word being given to cut away the weather-lanyards, as the ship gave a lee-lurch, the whole of the wreck of the mast plunged, without further injury, into the ocean. The weather still threatening a continuance, our principal employ was at the pumps, which were kept continually going. The sea had now rose to an alarming height, and frequently struck the vessel with great violence. Towards the afternoon part of the starboard bulwark was carried away by the shock of a heavy sea, which made the ship broach-to, and before she could answer her helm again, a sea broke through the fore-chains, and swept away the caboose and all its utensils from the deck; fortunately for the cook he was assisting at the pumps at the time, or he inevitably must have shared the same fate as his galley. Notwithstanding the exertions of the crew, the water gained fast, and made its way into the hold, which washed a great quantity of the ballast through the timber-holes into the hull, by which the suckers of the pumps were much damaged, and thereby frequently choaked. By such delays the leaks increased rapidly. We were under the necessity of repeatedly hoisting the pumps on deck, to apply different means which were devised to keep the sand from entering, but all our efforts proved ineffectual, and the pumps were deemed of no further utility. There was now no time to be lost; accordingly it was agreed that the allowance of fresh water should be lessened to a pint a man; the casks were immediately hoisted from the hold, and lashed between decks. As the water was started from two of them, they were sawed in two, and formed into buckets, there being no other casks on board fit for that purpose; the whips were soon applied, and the hands began bailing at the fore and after hatchways which continued without intermission the whole of the night, each man being suffered to take one hour's rest, in rotation. The morning of the 22d presented to our view a most dreary aspect,--a dismal horizon encircling--not the least appearance of the gale abating--on the contrary, it seemed to come with redoubled vigor--the ballast washing from side to side of the ship at each roll, and scarce a prospect of freeing her. Notwithstanding these calamities, the crew did not relax their efforts. The main-hatchway was opened and fresh buckets went to work; the captain and mate alternately relieving each other at the helm. The writer's station was to supply the crew with grog, which was plentifully served to them every two hours. By the motion of the ship the buckets struck against the combings of the hatchways with great violence, and in casting them in the hold to fill, they frequently struck on the floating pieces of timber which were generally used as chocks in stowing the hold. By such accidents the buckets were repeatedly stove, and we were under the necessity of cutting more of the water casks to supply their place. Starting the fresh water overboard was reluctantly done, particularly as we now felt the loss of the caboose, and were under the necessity of eating the meat raw which occasioned us to be very thirsty. Night coming on, the crew were not allowed to go below to sleep; each man, when it came to his turn, stretched himself on the deck. Oct. 23. Notwithstanding the great quantity of water bailed from the vessel, she gained so considerably that she had visibly settled much deeper in the water. All hands were now called aft, in order to consult on the best measures. It was now unanimously resolved to make for the island of Bermudas, it being the nearest land. Accordingly we bore away for it, but had not sailed many leagues before we found that the great quantity of water in the vessel had impeded her steerage so much that she would scarcely answer her helm; and making a very heavy lurch, the ballast shifted, which gave her a great lift to the starboard, and rendered it very difficult to keep a firm footing on deck. The anchors which were stowed on the larboard bow were ordered to be cut away, and the cables which were on the orlop deck to be hove overboard in order to right her; but all this had a very trifling effect, for the ship was now become quite a log. The crew were still employed in baling; one of whom, in preventing a bucket from being stove against the combings, let go his hold, and fell down the hatchway; with great difficulty he escaped being drowned or dashed against the ship's sides. Having got into a bucket which was instantly lowered, he was providentially hoisted on deck without any injury. During the night the weather became more moderate, and on the following morning, (Oct. 25), the gale had entirely subsided, but left a very heavy swell. Two large whales approached close to the ship. They sported around the vessel the whole of the day, and after dusk disappeared. Having now no further use of the helm, it was lashed down, and the captain and mate took their spell at the buckets. My assistance having been also required, a boy of less strength, whose previous business was to attend the cook, now took my former station of serving the crew with refreshments. This lad had not long filled his new situation of drawing out rum from the cask, before he was tempted to taste it, and which having repeatedly done he soon became intoxicated, and was missed on deck for some time. I was sent to look for him. The spigot I perceived out of the cask, and the liquor running about, but the boy I could not see for some time; however looking down the lazeretto (the trap-door of which was lying open), I found him fast asleep. He had luckily fallen on some sails which were stowed there, or he must have perished. On the 26th and 27th of Oct. the weather continued quite clear, with light baffling winds. A man was constantly kept aloft to look out for a sail. The rest of the crew were employed at the whips. On the 28th the weather began to lower, and appeared inclined for rain. This gave some uneasiness, being apprehensive of a gale. The captain therefore directed the carpenter to overhaul the long-boat, caulk her, and raise a streak which orders were immediately complied with; but when he went to his locker for oakum, he found it plundered of nearly the whole of his stock--all hands were therefore set to picking, by which means he was soon supplied. It was totally clear on the 29th, with a fresh breeze, but the ship heeled so much that her gunwale at times was under water, and the crew could scarcely stand on deck. All hands were now ordered to assemble aft, when the captain in a short address, pointed out the most probable manner by which they could be saved. All agreed in opinion with him, and it was resolved that the long-boat should be hoisted out as speedily as possible, and such necessaries as could be conveniently stowed, to be placed in her. Determined no longer to labor at the buckets, the vessel, which could not remain above water many hours after we had ceased baling, was now abandoned to her fate. I now began to reflect on the small chance we had of being saved--twenty-two people in an open boat--upwards of three hundred miles from the land--in a boisterous climate, and the whole crew worn out with fatigue! The palms of the crew's hands were already so flayed it could not be expected that they could do much execution with the oars--while thus reflecting on our perilous situation, one of our oldest seamen, who at this moment was standing near me, turned his head aside to wipe away a tear--I could not refrain from sympathizing with him--my heart was already full;--the captain perceiving my despondency bade me be of good cheer, and called me a young lubber. The boat having been hoisted out, and such necessaries placed in her as were deemed requisite, one of the hands was sent aloft to lash the colors downwards to the main-top-mast shrouds; which having done, he placed himself on the crosstrees, to look around him, and almost instantly hallooed out,--"A sail."--It would be impossible to describe the ecstatic emotions of the crew: every man was aloft, in order to be satisfied; though, a minute before, not one of the crew was able to stand upright. The sail was on our weather-bow, bearing right down on us with a smart breeze. She soon perceived us, but hauled her wind several times, in order to examine our ship. As she approached nearer she clearly perceived our calamitous situation, and hastened to our relief. She proved to be a Philadelphia schooner, bound to Cape Francois, in St. Domingo. The captain took us all on board in the most humane and friendly manner, and after casting our boat adrift, proceeded on his voyage. When we perceived our ship from the vessel on which we were now happily on board, her appearance was truly deplorable. The captain of the schooner congratulated us on our fortunate escape, and expressed his surprise that the ship should remain so long on her beam ends, in such a heavy sea, without capsizing. We soon began to distance the wreck, by this time very low in the water, and shortly after lost sight of her. The evening began to approach fast, when a man loosing the main-top-sail, descried a sail directly in the same course on our quarter. We made sail for her, and soon came within hail of her. She proved to be a brig from Glasgow, bound to Antigua. It was now determined, between the captains, that half of our people should remain in the schooner, and the captain, mate, eight of the crew, and myself, should get on board the brig. On our arrival at Antigua we met with much kindness and humanity. LOSS OF HIS MAJESTY'S SHIP LITCHFIELD. The Litchfield, Captain Barton, left Ireland on the 11th of November, 1758, in company with several other men of war and transports, under the command of Commodore Keppel, intended for the reduction of Goree. The voyage was prosperous till the 28th, when at eight in the evening I took charge of the watch, and the weather turned out very squally with rain. At nine it was extremely dark, with much lightning, the wind varying from S. W. to W. N. W. At half past nine, had a very hard squall. Captain Barton came upon deck and staid till ten; then left orders to keep sight of the commodore, and to make what sail the weather would permit. At eleven, saw the commodore bearing south, but the squalls coming on so heavy, were obliged to hand the main-top-sail, and at twelve o'clock, were under our courses. November the 29, at one in the morning, I left the deck in charge of the first lieutenant; the light, which we took to be the commodore's right ahead, bearing S. wind W. S. W. blowing very hard; at six in the morning I was awakened by a great shock, and a confused noise of the men on deck. I ran up, thinking some ship had run foul of us, for, by my own reckoning, and that of every other person in the ship, we were at least 35 leagues distant from land; but, before I could reach the quarter-deck, the ship gave a great stroke upon the ground, and the sea broke all over her. Just after this, I could perceive the land, rocky, rugged and uneven, about two cables' length from us. The ship lying with her broadside to windward, the masts soon went overboard, carrying some men with them. It is impossible for any one but a sufferer to feel our distress at this time; the masts, yards, and sails hanging alongside in a confused heap; the ship beating violently upon the rocks; the waves curling up to an incredible height, then dashing down with such force as if they would immediately have split the ship to pieces, which we, indeed, every moment expected. Having a little recovered from our confusion, saw it necessary to get every thing we could over to the larboard side, to prevent the ship from heeling off, and exposing the deck to the sea. Some of the people were very earnest to get the boats out contrary to advice; and, after much intreaty, notwithstanding a most terrible sea, one of the boats was launched, and eight of the best men jumped into her, but she had scarcely got to the ship's stern, when she was whirled to the bottom, and every soul in her perished. The rest of the boats were soon washed to pieces on the deck.--We then made a raft of the davit, capstan-bars and some boards, and waited with resignation, for divine Providence to assist us. The ship soon filled with water, so that we had no time to get any provision up; the quarter-deck and poop were now the only place we could stand on with security, the waves being mostly spent by the time they reached us, owing to the fore part of the ship breaking them. At four in the afternoon, perceiving the sea to be much abated, one of our people attempted to swim, and got safe on shore. There were numbers of Moors upon the rocks ready to take hold of any one, and beckoned much for us to come ashore, which, at first we took for kindness, but they soon undeceived us, for they had not the humanity to assist any that was entirely naked, but would fly to those who had any thing about them, and strip them before they were quite out of the water, wrangling among themselves about the plunder; in the mean time the poor wretches were left to crawl up the rocks if they were able, if not, they perished unregarded. The second lieutenant and myself, with about sixty-five others, got ashore before dark, but were left exposed to the weather on the cold sand. To preserve ourselves from perishing of cold, were obliged to go down to the shore, and to bring up pieces of the wreck to make a fire. While thus employed, if we happened to pick up a shirt or handkerchief, and did not give it to the Moors at the first demand, the next thing was a dagger presented to our breast. They allowed us a piece of an old sail, which they did not think worth carrying off; with this we made two tents, and crowded ourselves into them, sitting between one another's legs to preserve warmth, and make room. In this uneasy situation, continually bewailing our misery, and that of our poor shipmates on the wreck, we passed a most tedious night, without so much as a drop of water to refresh ourselves, excepting what we caught through our sail-cloth covering. November the 30th, at six in the morning, went down with a number of our men upon the rocks, to assist our shipmates in coming ashore, and found the ship had been greatly shattered in the night. It being now low water, many attempted to swim ashore; some got safe, but others perished. The people on board got the raft into the water, and about fifteen men placed themselves upon it. They had no sooner put off from the wreck, than it overturned; most of the men recovered it again, but, scarcely were they on, before it was a second time overturned. Only three or four got hold of it again, and all the rest perished. In the mean time, a good swimmer brought with much difficulty a rope ashore, which I had the good fortune to catch hold of just when he was quite spent, and had thoughts of quitting it. Some people coming to my assistance, we pulled a large rope ashore with that, and made it fast round a rock. We found this gave great spirits to the poor souls upon the wreck, it being hauled taught from the upper part of the stern, made an easy descent to any who had art enough to walk or slide upon a rope, with a smaller rope fixed above to hold by. This was a means of saving a number of lives, though many were washed off by the impetuous surf, and perished. The flood coming on, raised the surf, and prevented any more from coming at that time, so that the ropes could be of no further use. We then retired from the rocks; and hunger prevailing, set about boiling some of the drowned turkeys, &c. which with some flour mixed into a paste, and baked upon the coals, constituted our first meal upon this barbarous coast. We found a well of fresh water about a half a mile off, which very much refreshed us. But we had scarcely finished this coarse repast, when the Moors, who were now grown numerous, drove us all down to the rocks to bring up empty iron bound casks, pieces of the wreck which had the most iron about them, and other articles. About three o'clock in the afternoon we made another meal on the drowned poultry, and finding this was the best provision we were likely to have; some were ordered to save all they could find, others to raise a larger tent, and the rest sent down to the rocks to look for people coming ashore. The surf greatly increasing with the flood, and breaking upon the fore-part of the ship, she was divided into three parts; the fore-part turned keel up, the middle part soon dashed into a thousand pieces; the fore-part of the poop likewise fell at this time, and about thirty men with it, eight of whom got ashore with our help, but so bruised, that we despaired of their recovery. Nothing but the after-part of the poop now remained above water, and a very small part of the other decks, on which our captain, and about 130 more remained, expecting every wave to be their last. Every shock threw some off; few or none of whom came on shore alive. During this distress the Moors laughed uncommonly, and seemed much diverted, when a wave larger than usual, threatened the destruction of the poor wretches on the wreck. Between four and five o'clock the sea was decreased with the ebb; the rope being still secure, the people began to venture upon it; some tumbled off and perished, but others reached the shore in safety. About five, we beckoned as much as possible for the captain to come upon the rope, as this seemed to be as good an opportunity as any we had seen; and many arrived in safety with our assistance. Some told us that the captain was determined to stay till all the men had quitted the wreck however, we still continued to beckon for him, and before it was dark, saw him come upon the rope. He was closely followed by a good able seaman, who did all he could to keep up his spirits and assist him in warping. As he could not swim, and had been so many hours without refreshment, with the surf hurling him violently along, he was unable to resist the force of the waves, had lost his hold of the great rope, and must inevitably have perished had not a wave thrown him within the reach of our ropes, which he had barely sufficient sense to catch hold of. We pulled him up, and after resting a short time on the rocks, he came to himself, and walked up to the tent, desiring us to continue to assist the rest of the people in coming on shore. The villains, (the Moors), would have stripped him, though, he had nothing on but a plain waistcoat and breeches, if we had not plucked up a little spirit and opposed them; upon which they thought proper to desist. The people continued to come ashore, though many perished in the attempt. The Moors, at length, growing tired with waiting for so little plunder, would not suffer us to remain on the rocks, but drove us all away. I then, with the captain's approbation, went, and by signs made humble supplication to the bashaw, who was in the tent, dividing the valuable plunder. He understood us at last, and gave us permission to go down, at the same time sending some Moors with us. We carried fire-brands down to let the poor souls on the wreck see that we were still there in readiness to assist them. About nine at night finding that no more men would venture upon the rope, as the surf was again greatly increased, we retired to the tent, leaving by the account of the last man arrived, between thirty and forty souls still upon the wreck. We now thought of stowing every body in the tent, and began by fixing the captain in the middle. Then made every man lie down on his side, as we could not afford them each a breadth; but, after all, many took easier lodging in empty casks. The next morning the weather was moderate and fair.--We found the wreck all in pieces on the rocks, and the shore covered with lumber. The people upon the wreck all perished about one in morning. In the afternoon we called a muster, and found the number of the survivors to be 220; so that 130 perished on this melancholy occasion. On the 2d of December, the weather still continued moderate. We subsisted entirely on the drowned stock, and a little pork to relish it, and the flour made into cakes; all of which we issued regularly and sparingly, being ignorant whether the Moors would furnish us with any thing, they being still very troublesome, and even wanting to rob us of the canvass which covered our tent. At two in the afternoon a black servant arrived, sent by Mr. Butler, a Dane, factor to the African Company at Saffy at the distance of about thirty miles, to inquire into our condition and to offer us assistance. The man having brought pens, ink and paper, the captain sent back a letter by him.--Finding there was one who offered us help, it greatly refreshed our afflicted hearts. In the afternoon of the following day, we received a letter from Mr. Butler, with some bread and a few other necessaries. On the 4th, the people were employed in picking up pieces of sails, and whatever else the Moors would permit them. We divided the crew into messes, and served the necessaries we received the preceding day. They had bread and the flesh of the drowned stock. In the afternoon we received another letter from Mr. Butler, and one at the same time from Mr. Andrews, an Irish gentleman, a merchant at Saffy. The Moors were not so troublesome now as before, most of them going off with what they had got. On the 5th the drowned stock was entirely consumed, and at low water the people were employed in collecting muscles. At ten in the morning, Mr. Andrews arrived, bringing a French surgeon with medicines and plaisters, of which, some of the men who had been dreadfully bruised, stood in great need.--The following day, we served out one of the blankets of the country to every two men, and pampooses, a kind of slippers, to those who were in most want of them. These supplies were likewise brought us by Mr. Andrews. The people were now obliged to live upon muscles and bread, the Moors, who promised us a supply of cattle, having deceived us, and never returned. The people on the 7th were still employed in collecting muscles and limpets. The Moors began to be a little civil to us, for fear the emperor should punish them for their cruel treatment to us. In the afternoon, a messenger arrived from the emperor at Sallee, with general orders to the people to supply us with provisions. They accordingly brought us some lean bullocks and sheep which Mr. Andrews purchased for us; but at this time we had no pots to make broth in, and the cattle were scarcely fit for any thing else. In the morning of the 10th, we made preparations for marching to Morocco, the emperor having sent orders for that purpose, and camels to carry the lame and necessaries. At nine, set off with about thirty camels, having got all our liquor with us, divided into hogsheads, for the convenience of carriage on the camels. At noon, joined the crews of one of the transports and a bomb-tender, that had been wrecked about three leagues to the northward of us. We were then all mounted upon camels, excepting the captain, who was furnished with a horse. We never stopped till seven in the evening, when they procured two tents only, which would not contain one third of the men, so that most of them lay exposed to the dew, which was very heavy, and extremely cold. We found our whole number to be 388, including officers, men, boys, three women and a child, which one of the women brought ashore in her teeth. On the 11th, continued our journey, attended by a number of Moors on horseback. At six in the evening we came to our resting place for that night, and were furnished with tents sufficient to cover all our men. At five in the morning of the 12th, we set out as before, and, at two in the afternoon, saw the emperor's cavalcade at a distance. At three, a relation of the emperor's, named Muli Adriz, came to us, and told the captain it was the emperor's orders, he should that instant write a letter to our governor at Gibraltar, to send to his Britanic Majesty to inquire whether he would settle a peace with him or not. Captain Barton immediately sat down upon the grass and wrote a letter, which, being given to Muli Adriz, he went and joined the emperor again. At six in the evening came to our resting place for the night, and were well furnished with tents, but very little provisions. We were, the following day, desired to continue on the same spot, till the men were refreshed, and this repose they greatly needed, and we received a better supply of provisions. That morning, Lieutenant Harrison commanding the soldiers belonging to Lord Forbes's regiment died suddenly in the tent. In the evening, while employed with his interment, the inhuman Moors disturbed us by throwing stones and mocking us. The next day we found that they had opened the grave and stripped the body. On the 16th, we continued our journey, came to our resting place at four in the afternoon, pitched the tents, and served out the provision. Here our people were ill-treated by the country Moors. As they were taking water from a brook, the Moors would always spit into the vessel before they would suffer them to take it away. Upon this some of us went down to inquire into the affair, but were immediately saluted with a shower of stones. We ran in upon them, beat some of them pretty soundly, put them to flight, and brought away one who thought to defend himself with a long knife. This fellow was severely punished by the officer who had the charge of conducting us. The two succeeding days continued our journey, and, at three in the afternoon of the 18th, arrived at the City of Morocco, without having seen a single habitation during the whole journey. Here we were insulted by the rabble, and, at five, were carried before the emperor, surrounded by five or six hundred of his guards. He was on horseback before the gate of his palace, that being the place where he distributes justice to his people. He told Captain Barton, by an interpreter, that he was neither at peace nor war with England, and he would detain us till an ambassador arrived from that country to conclude a permanent treaty. The captain then desired that we might not be treated as slaves. He answered hastily, that we should be taken care of. We were then immediately hurried out of his presence, conveyed to two old ruinous houses, shut up amidst dirt and innumerable vermin of every description. Mr. Butler being at Morocco on business, came and supplied us with victuals and drink, and procured liberty for the captain to go home with him to his lodgings. He likewise sent some blankets for the officers, and we made shift to pass the night with tolerable comfort, being very much fatigued. At nine in the morning of the 21st, the emperor sent orders for the captain and every officer to appear before him. We immediately repaired to his palace; we remained waiting in an outer yard two hours; in the mean time he diverted himself with seeing a clumsy Dutch boat rowed about in a pond by four of our petty officers. About noon we were called before him, and placed in a line about thirty yards from him. He was sitting in a chair by the side of the pond, accompanied only by two of his chief alcaides. Having viewed us some time, he ordered the captain to come forward, and after asking him a good many questions concerning our navy, and the destination of the squadron to which we had belonged, we were also called forward by two and three at a time as we stood according to our rank. He then asked most of us some very insignificant questions, and took some to be Portuguese because they had black hair, and others to be Swedes because their hair was light. He judged none of us to be English excepting the captain, the second lieutenant, the ensign of the soldiers, and myself. But assuring him we were all English, he cried Bonno, and gave a nod for our departure, to which we returned a very low bow, and were glad to return to our old ruined houses again. Our total number amounted to thirty. On the 25th, being Christmas-day, prayers were read to the people as usual in the church of England. The captain this day received a present of tea and loaves of sugar from one of the queens, whose grandfather had been an English renegado. In the afternoon of the 26th, we received the disagreeable intelligence, that the emperor would oblige all the English to work, like all the other Christian slaves, excepting the officers who were before him on the 21st. The next day this account was confirmed; for, at seven in the morning, an alcaide came and ordered all our people out to work, excepting the sick. Upon our application eight were allowed to stay at home every day to cook for the rest, and this office was performed by turns throughout the whole number. At four in the afternoon the people returned, some having been employed in carrying wood, some in turning up the ground with hoes, and others in picking weeds in the emperor's garden. Their victuals were prepared for them against their return. On the 28th all the people went to work as soon as they could see, and returned at four in the afternoon. Two of the soldiers received one hundred bastinadoes each, for behaving in a disrespectful manner while the emperor was looking at their work. On the 30th, Captain Barton received a kind message from the emperor, with permission to ride out or take a walk in his garden with his officers. From this time the men continued in the same state of slavery till the arrival, in April, of Captain Milbank, sent as an ambassador to the emperor. He concluded a treaty for the ransom of the crew of the Litchfield, together with the other English subjects in the emperor's power, and the sum stipulated to be paid for their release, was 170,000 dollars. Our people accordingly set out for Sallee, attended by a bashaw and two soldiers on horseback. On the fourth day of their march, they had a skirmish with some of the country Moors. The dispute began in consequence of some of our men in the rear stopping at a village to buy some milk, for which, after they had drank it, the Moors demanded an exorbitant price. This our men refused to give, on which the Moors had recourse to blows, which our people returned; and others coming to their assistance, they maintained a smart battle, till the enemy became too numerous. In the meantime some rode off to call the guard, who instantly came up with their drawn scimetars, and dealt round them pretty briskly. During this interval we were not idle, and had the pleasure to see the blood trickling down a good many of their faces. The guards seized the chief man of the village, and carried him before the bashaw, who was our conductor, and who having heard the cause dismissed him without further punishment, in consideration of his having been well drubbed by us. On the 22d of April, we arrived at Sallee, and pitched our tents in an old castle, whence we soon afterwards embarked on board the Gibraltar, which landed us at Gibraltar on the 27th of June. From that place the captain and crew were put on board the Marlborough store ship, prepared expressly for their reception, and arrived in England in the month of August, 1760. [Illustration] [Illustration] WRECK OF THE ROTHSAY CASTLE STEAMER. The Rothsay Castle was a steam packet which formerly traded on the Clyde. She belonged to the line of steamers which sailed from Liverpool to Beaumaris and Bangor, and was furnished with one engine only. She was commanded by Lieut. Atkinson. At ten o'clock on the -- of August, 1831 the vessel was appointed to sail from the usual place, George's Pierhead, but a casual delay took place in starting, and it was eleven o'clock before she had got every thing in readiness. Whilst taking passengers on board, a carriage arrived at the Pierhead for embarkation. It belonged to M. W. Foster, Esq. of Regent's park, London, who, with his wife and servant, were conveyed in it to the packet, and took their passage at the same time. They were all subsequently drowned, a little dog which accompanied them being the only survivor of this unfortunate group. When the steamer left the Pierhead her deck was thronged with passengers. The captain, crew, musicians, &c. amounted to fifteen, in addition to whom, it was supposed by persons who saw the vessel sail that one hundred and ten or one hundred and twenty souls were on board. The majority of the passengers consisted of holyday and family parties, chiefly from country places; and in one of these companies, who came on a journey of pleasure from Bury, the hand of death committed a merciless devastation. It consisted of twenty-six persons; in the morning, joyous with health and hilarity, they set out upon the waves, and when the shades of that evening approached, every soul but two saw his last of suns go down. The weather was not particularly boisterous at the time she sailed. A severe storm however, had raged in the morning and must have agitated the water on the Banks more than usual. The wind too, blew strongly from the north-west, and the vessel had to contend with the tide, which began to flow soon after she passed the rock. When the steamer arrived off the Floating-light, which is stationed about fifteen miles from Liverpool, the roughness of the sea alarmed many of the passengers.--One of the survivors stated, that Mr. Tarry, of Bury, who, with his family, consisting of himself, his wife, their five children, and servant, was on board, being, in common with others, greatly alarmed for his own safety and the safety of those dear to him, went down to the cabin, where the captain was at dinner, and requested him to put back. His reply was, "I think there is a great deal of fear on board, and very little danger. If we were to turn back with passengers, it would never do--we should have no profit." To another gentleman who urged him to put back, he is reported to have said very angrily, "I'm not one of those that turn back." He remained in the cabin two whole hours, and peremptorily refused to comply with the repeated requests made to him by the more timid of his passengers to return to Liverpool; observing that if they knew him, they would not make the request. Before dinner, his behavior had been unexceptionable; but, after he had dined, a very striking difference was observed in his conduct. He became violent in his manner, and abusive in his language to the men. When anxiously questioned by the passengers, as to the progress the vessel was making, and the time at which she was likely to reach her destination, he returned trifling, and frequently very contradictory answers. During the early part of the voyage, he had spoken confidently of being able to reach Beaumaris by seven o'clock; but the evening wore away, night came on, and the vessel was still a considerable distance from the termination of her voyage. It was near twelve o'clock when they arrived at the mouth of the Menai Strait, which is about five miles from Beaumaris. The tide, which had been running out of the strait, and which had, consequently, for some time previous retarded the steamer's progress towards her destination, was just on the turn. The vessel, according to the statement of two of the seamen and one of the firemen saved, had got round the buoy on the north end of the Dutchman's Bank, and had proceeded up the river as far as the tower on Puffin Island; when suddenly the steam got so low that the engine would not keep her on her proper course. When asked, why there was not steam on, the fireman said that a deal of water had been finding its way into the vessel all day, and that sometime before she got into the strait, the bilge-pumps were choked. The water in the hold then overflowed the coals; so that, in renewing the fires, a deal of water went in with the coals, and made it impossible to keep the steam up. It was the duty of the fireman to give notice of this occurrence; but he seems not to have mentioned it to the captain. The vessel, which had evidently come fair into the channel, though there was no light on the coast to guide her, now drifted, with the ebb tide and north-west wind, towards the Dutchman's Bank, on the north point of which she struck, her bows sticking fast in the sand. Lieut. Atkinson immediately ordered the man at the helm to put the helm a starboard. The man refused to do so; but put it to port. The mate, perceiving this, ran aft, took the helm from the man, and put it to starboard again.--In the meantime, the captain and some of the passengers got the jib up.--No doubt he did this intending to wear her round and bring her head to the northward; but in the opinion of nautical men, it could not make the least difference which way her head was turned, as she was on a lee shore, and there was no steam to work her off. The captain also ordered the passengers first to run aft, in the hope, by removing the pressure from the vessel's stem, to make her float: this failing to produce the desired effect, he then ordered them to run forward. All the exertions of the captain, the crew and passengers united were unavailing. The ill-fated vessel stuck still faster in the sands, and all gave themselves up for lost. The terror of the passengers became excessive. Several of them urged the captain to hoist lights, and make other signals of distress; but he positively refused to do so, assuring the passengers that there was no danger, and telling them several times, that the packet was afloat, and doing well, and on her way; when the passengers knew perfectly well that she was sticking fast in the sand, and her cabins rapidly filling with water. Doubtless the unfortunate man was perfectly aware of the imminence of the danger; but we may charitably suppose, that he held such language for the purpose of preventing alarm which might be fatal. The alarm bell was now rung with so much violence that the clapper broke, and some of the passengers continued to strike it for some time with a stone. The bell was heard, it is said, at Beaumaris, but, as there was no light hoisted on the mast of the steamer, (a fatal neglect!) those who heard the signal were, of course, ignorant whence it proceeded. The weather, at this awful moment, was boisterous, but perfectly clear. The moon, though slightly overcast, threw considerable light on the surrounding objects.--But a strong breeze blew from the north-west, the tide began to set in with great strength, and a heavy sea beat over the bank on which the steam packet was now firmly and immovably fixed. We cannot describe the scene which followed. Certain death seemed now to present itself to all on board, and the most affecting scenes were exhibited. The females, in particular, uttered the most piercing shrieks; some locked themselves in each others arms, while others, losing all self-command, tore off their caps and bonnets, in the wildness of despair. A Liverpool pilot, who happened to be in the packet, now raised his voice and exclaimed, "It is all over--we are all lost!" At these words there was a universal despairing shriek. The women and children collected in a knot together, and kept embracing each other, keeping up, all the time, the most dismal lamentations. When tired with crying they lay against each other, with their heads reclined, like inanimate bodies. The steward of the vessel and his wife, who was on board, lashed themselves to the mast, determined to spend their last moments in each other's arms. Several husbands and wives also met their fate locked in each other's arms; whilst parents clung to their beloved children,--several mothers it is said, having perished with their dear little ones firmly clasped in their arms. A party of the passengers, about fifteen or twenty, lowered the boat and crowded into it. It was impossible for any open boat to live in such a sea, even though not overloaded, and she immediately swamped and went to the bottom, with all who had made this last hopeless effort for self-preservation. For some time the vessel, though now irrecoverably lost, continued to resist the action of the waves, and the despairing souls on board still struggled with their doom. But hope had forever fled; the packet was beaten and tossed about by the tumultuous waters with a violence which threatened to dash her into fragments at every shock, and the sea now made a continual breach over her. The decks were repeatedly swept by the boiling ocean, and each billow snatched its victims to a watery grave. The unfortunate captain and his mate were among the first that perished. About thirty or forty passengers were standing upon the poop clinging to each other in hopeless agony, and occasionally uttering the most piteous ejaculations. Whilst trembling thus upon the brink of destruction, and expecting every moment to share the fate which had already overtaken so many of their companions in misery, the poop was discovered to give way; another wave rolled on with impetuous fury, and the hinder part of the luckless vessel, with all who sought safety in its frail support, was burst away from its shattered counterpart, and about forty wretched beings hurried through the foaming flood into an eternal world. "Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell, Then shrieked the timid, and stood still the brave." Those who retained any degree of sensibility endeavored to catch at whatever was floating within their reach, with the vain hope of prolonging their lives though it was certain that life could only lengthen their sufferings. Many grasped with frantic despair, at the slightest object they could find, but were either too weak to retain their hold, or were forced to relinquish their grasp by the raging of the surge. The rudder was seized by eight of the sinking creatures at the same time, and some of them, were ultimately preserved. The number of those who clung to the portion of the wreck which remained upon the bank gradually grew thinner and thinner, as they sunk under their fatigues, or were hurled into the deep by the remorseless waves. At length, about an hour and a half from the time when she struck, the remnant of the Rothsay Castle disappeared from the bosom of the ocean, and the remainder of her passengers and crew were precipitated into the foaming abyss. SHIPWRECK OF THE FRENCH SHIP DROITS DE L'HOMME. On the 5th of January, 1797, returning home on leave of absence from the West Indies, in the Cumberland letter of marque, for the recovery of my health, saw a large man of war off the coast of Ireland, being then within four leagues of the mouth of the river Shannon. She hoisted English colours, and decoyed us within gun-shot, when she substituted the tri-coloured flag, and took us. She proved to be les Droits de L'Homme, of 74 guns, commanded by the ci-devant baron, now citizen La Crosse, and had separated from a fleet of men of war, on board of which were twenty thousand troops, intended to invade Ireland. On board of this ship was General Humbert, who afterwards effected a descent into Ireland (in 1799) with nine hundred troops and six hundred seamen. On the 7th of January went into Bantry Bay to see if any of the squadron was still there, and on finding none, the ship proceeded to the southward. Nothing extraordinary occurred until the evening of the 13th, when two men of war hove in sight, which afterwards proved to be the Indefatigable and Amazon frigates. It is rather remarkable that the captain of the ship should inform me, that the squadron which was going to engage him was Sir Edward Pellow's, and declared, as was afterwards proved by the issue, "that he would not yield to any two English frigates, but would sooner sink his ship with every soul on board." The ship was then cleared for action, and we English prisoners, consisting of three infantry officers, two captains of merchantmen, two women, and forty-eight seamen and soldiers, were conducted down to the cabin tier at the foot of the fore-mast. The action began with opening the lower deck ports, which, however were soon shut again, on account of the great sea, which occasioned the water to rush in to that degree that we felt it running on the cables. I must here observe, that this ship was built on a new construction, considerably longer than men of war of her rate, and her lower-deck, on which she mounted thirty-two pounders French, equal to forty pounders English, was two feet and a half lower than usual. The situation of the ship, before she struck on the rocks, has been fully elucidated by Sir Edward Pellow, in his letter of the 17th of January, to Mr. Nepeau. The awful task is left for me to relate what ensued. At about four in the morning a dreadful convulsion, at the foot of the fore-mast, roused us from a state of anxiety for our fate, to the idea that the ship was sinking. It was the fore-mast that fell over the side; in about a quarter of an hour an awful mandate from above was re-echoed from all parts of the ship; Pouvores Anglais! Pouvores Anglais! Montez bien vite nous sommes tous perdus!--"poor Englishmen! poor Englishmen! come on deck as fast as you can, we are all lost!" Every one rather flew than climbed. Though scarcely able to move before, from sickness, yet I now felt an energetic strength in all my frame, and soon gained the upper deck, but what a sight! dead, wounded and living, intermingled in a state too shocking to describe; not a mast standing, a dreadful loom of the land, and breakers all around us.--The Indefatigable, on the starboard quarter, appeared standing off, in a most tremendous sea, from the Penmark rocks, which threatened her with instant destruction. To the great humanity of her commander, those few persons who survived the shipwreck, are indebted for their lives, for had another broadside been fired, the commanding situation of the Indefatigable must have swept off at least a thousand men. On the starboard side was seen the Amazon within two miles, just struck on the shore. Our own fate drew near. The ship struck and immediately sunk! Shrieks of horror and dismay were heard from all quarters, while the merciless waves tore from the wreck many early victims. Day-light appeared, and we beheld the shore lined with people who could render us no assistance. At low water, rafts were constructed, and the boats were got in readiness to be hoisted out. The dusk arrived, and an awful sight ensued. The dawn of the second day brought with it still severer miseries than the first, for the wants of nature could scarcely be endured any longer, having been already near thirty hours without any means of subsistence, and no possibility of procuring them. At low water a small boat was hoisted out, and an English captain and eight sailors succeeded in getting to the shore.--Elated at the success of these men all thought their deliverance at hand, and many launched out on their rafts, but, alas! death soon ended their hopes. Another night renewed our afflictions. The morning of the third, fraught with still greater evils, appeared; our continued sufferings made us exert the last effort, and we English prisoners, tried every means to save as many of our fellow creatures as lay in our power. Larger rafts were constructed, and the largest boat was got over the side. The first consideration was to lay the surviving wounded, the women and helpless men in the boat, but the idea of equality, so fatally promulgated among the French, destroyed all subordination, and nearly one hundred and twenty having jumped into the boat, in defiance of their officers, they sunk her.--The most dreadful sea that I ever saw seemed at that moment to aggravate our calamity; nothing of the boat was seen for a quarter of an hour, when the bodies floated in all directions; then appeared, in all their horrors, the wreck, the shores, the dying and the drowned! Indefatigable in acts of humanity, an adjutant general, Renier, launched himself into the sea, to obtain succours from the shore, and perished in the attempt. Nearly one half the people had already perished, when the horrors of the fourth night renewed all our miseries. Weak, distracted, and destitute of every thing, we envied the fate of those whose lifeless corpses no longer wanted sustenance.--The sense of hunger was already lost, but a parching thirst consumed our vitals. Recourse was had to urine and salt water, which only increased the wants; half a hogshead of vinegar indeed floated up, of which each had half a wine glass; it afforded a momentary relief, but soon left us again in the same state of dreadful thirst. Almost at the last gasp, every one was dying with misery, and the ship, now one third shattered away from the stern, scarcely afforded a grasp to hold by, to the exhausted and helpless survivors. The fourth day brought with it a more serene sky, and the sea seemed to subside, but to behold, from fore to aft, the dying in all directions, was a sight too shocking for the feeling mind to endure. Almost lost to a sense of humanity, we no longer looked with pity on those whom we considered only as the forerunners of our own speedy fate, and a consultation took place, to sacrifice some one to be food for the remainder. The die was going to be cast, when the welcome sight of a man of war brig renewed our hopes. A cutter speedily followed, and both anchored at a short distance from the wreck. They then sent their boats to us, and by means of large rafts, about one hundred, out of four hundred who attempted, were saved by the brig that evening.--Three hundred and eighty were left to endure another night's misery, when, dreadful to relate, above one half were found dead the next morning! I was saved about ten o'clock on the morning of the 18th, with my brother officers, the captain of the ship, and General Humbert. They treated us with great humanity on board the cutter, giving us a little weak brandy and water every five or six minutes, and after that a bason of good soup. I fell on the locker in a kind of trance for near thirty hours, and swelled to such a degree as to require medical aid to restore my decayed faculties. Having lost all our baggage, we were taken to Brest almost naked, where they gave us a rough shift of clothes, and in consequence of our sufferings, and the help we afforded in saving many lives, a cartel was fitted out by order of the French Government to send us home, without ransom or exchange. We arrived at Plymouth on the 7th of March following. To that Providence, whose great workings I have experienced in this most awful trial of human afflictions, be ever offered the tribute of my praise and thanksgiving. THE LOSS OF HIS MAJESTY'S SHIP, QUEEN CHARLOTTE. The Queen Charlotte was, perhaps, one of the finest ships in the British navy. She was launched in 1790, and her first cruise was with the fleet fitted out against Spain, in consequence of the dispute respecting Nootka Sound. Lord Howe, who was the commander and chief of the fleet, was then on board of her; and she also bore his lordship's flag on the first of June. After which she was sent to the Mediterranean, and was the flag-ship of the commander in chief on that station. In March, 1800, she was despatched by that nobleman to reconnoitre the island of Cabrera, about thirty leagues from Leghorn, then in the possession of the French, and which it was his lordship's intention to attack. On the morning of the 17th the ship was discovered to be on fire, at the distance of three or four leagues from Leghorn. Every assistance was promptly forwarded from the shore, but a number of boats, it appears, were deterred from approaching the wreck, in consequence of the guns, which were shotted, and which, when heated by the fire, discharged their contents in every direction. The only consolation that presents itself under the pressure of so calamitous a disaster is, that it was not the effect either of treachery or wilful neglect, as will appear by the following official statement of the carpenter:-- "Mr. John Braid, carpenter of the Queen Charlotte, reports, that twenty minutes after 6 o'clock in the morning, as he was dressing himself he heard throughout the ship a general cry of 'fire.' On which he immediately ran up the after-ladder to get upon deck, and found the whole half-deck, the front bulk-head of the admiral's cabin, the main-mast's coat, and boat's covering on the booms, all in flames; which, from every report and probability, he apprehends was occasioned by some hay, which was lying under the half-deck, having been set on fire by a match in a tub, which was usually kept there for signal guns.--The main-sail at this time was set, and almost entirely caught fire; the people not being able to come to the clue garnets on account of the flames. "He immediately went to the fore-castle, and found Lieut. Dundas and the boatswain encouraging the people to get water to extinguish the fire. He applied to Mr. Dundas, seeing no other officer in the fore-part of the ship (and being unable to see any on the quarter-deck, from the flames and smoke between them) to give him assistance to drown the lower-decks, and secure the hatches, to prevent the fire falling down. Lieut. Dundas accordingly went down himself, with as many people as he could prevail upon to follow him: and the lower-deck ports were opened, the scuppers plugged, the main and fore-hatches secured, the cocks turned, and water drawn in at the ports, and the pumps kept going by the people who came down, as long as they could stand at them. "He thinks that by these exertions the lower-deck was kept free from fire, and the magazines preserved for a long time from danger; nor did Lieut. Dundas, or he, quit this station, but remained there with all the people who could be prevailed upon to stay, till several of the middle-deck guns came through that deck. "About nine o'clock Lieut. Dundas and he, finding it impossible to remain any longer below, went out at the fore-mast lower deck port, and got upon the fore-castle; on which he apprehends there were then about one hundred and fifty of the people drawing water, and throwing it as far aft as possible upon the fire. "He continued about an hour on the fore-castle; and finding all efforts to extinguish the flames unavailing, he jumped from the jib-boom, and swam to an American boat approaching the ship, by which he was picked up and put into a Tartan then in the charge of Lieut. Stewart, who had come off to the assistance of the ship. (Signed) "JOHN BRAID." Leghorn, March 18, 1800. Capt. Todd remained upon deck, with his First Lieutenant, to the last moment, giving orders for saving the crew, without thinking of his own safety. Before he fell a sacrifice to the flames, he had time and courage to write down the particulars of this melancholy event, for the information of Lord Keith, of which he gave copies to different sailors, entreating them, that whoever should escape might deliver it to the admiral. Thus fell victims to perhaps a too severe duty, the captain and his first lieutenant, at a time when they still had it in their power to save themselves; but self-preservation is never a matter of consideration in the exalted mind of a British naval officer, when the safety of his crew is at stake. Lord Keith and some of the officers were providentially on shore, at Leghorn, when the dreadful accident occurred. Twenty commissioned and warrant officers, two servants and 142 seamen, are the whole of the crew that escaped destruction out of nearly 900 souls on board, that for nearly four hours exerted every nerve to avoid that dreadful termination which too surely awaited them. A SCENE ON THE ATLANTIC OCEAN. On the morning of the 5th of August, 1833, during a severe gale in lat. 46, lon. 31, Capt. Dempsey, of the ship Kingston, discovered at a short distance to leeward, a brig lying on her beam ends, with flag of distress waving. Capt. D. instantly bore down towards her, when she proved to be the Albion, of Cork, crowded with passengers. Having reached within hail of the unfortunate vessel, a heart-rending scene presented itself. "We beheld," says Capt. Dempsey, "the brig reeling ere she took the farewell plunge--witnessed the cool intrepidity of the sailors, even at such a moment--and listened, with feelings the most harrowing, to the piercing shrieks of the ill-fated passengers. The crew of the Kingston flung their best boat into the boiling Atlantic, but every exertion was vain--the angry ocean soon made her its prey. The Albion went down with every human soul on board." [Illustration: DEPARTURE OF THE FRENCH FRIGATE MEDUSA] SHIPWRECK OF THE FRENCH FRIGATE MEDUSA. _On the Western Coast of Africa. By MADAME DARD, one of the Sufferers._ In the year 1816, an expedition was fitted out by the French to go and resume possession of Senegal, which had been restored to them.--My father was reinstated in his place of resident attorney, and taking with him his family repaired immediately to Rochefort to embark on board the Medusa frigate. Early on the morning of the 12th of June, we were on our way to the boats that were to convey us on board the Medusa, which was riding at anchor off the island of Aix, distant about four leagues from Rochefort. The field through which we passed was sown with corn. Wishing before I left our beautiful France, to make my farewell to the flowers, and, whilst our family went leisurely forward to the place where we were to embark upon the Charente, I crossed the furrows, and gathered a few blue-bottles and poppies. We soon arrived at the place of embarkation, where we found some of our fellow passengers, who, like myself, seemed casting a last look to Heaven, whilst they were yet on the French soil.--We embarked, however and left these happy shores. In descending the tortuous course of the Charente, contrary winds so impeded our progress, that we did not reach the Medusa till the morrow, having taken twenty-four hours in sailing four leagues. At length we mounted the deck of the Medusa, of painful memory. When we got on board, we found our berths not provided for us, consequently were obliged to remain indiscriminately together till the next day. Our family, which consisted of nine persons, was placed in a berth near the main deck. As the wind was still contrary, we lay at anchor for seventeen days. On the 17th of June, at four in the morning, we set sail as did the whole expedition, which consisted of the Medusa frigate, the Loire store-ship, the Argus brig and the Echo corvette. The wind being favorable, we soon lost sight of the green fields of l'Aunis. At six in the morning, however, the island of Rhe still appeared above the horizon. We fixed our eyes upon it with regret, to salute for the last time our dear country. Now, imagine the ship borne aloft, and surrounded by huge mountains of water, which at one moment tossed it in the air, and at another plunged it into the profound abyss. The waves, raised by a stormy northwest breeze, came dashing in a horrible manner against the sides of our ship.--I knew not whether it was a presentiment of the misfortune which menaced us that had made me pass the preceding night in the most cruel inquietude. In my agitation, I sprang upon deck, and contemplated with horror the frigate winging its way upon the waters. The winds pressed against the sails with great violence, strained and whistled among the cordage; and the great bulk of wood seemed to split every time the surge broke upon its sides. On looking a little out to sea I perceived at no great distance on our right, all the other ships of the expedition, which quieted me very much. Towards ten in the morning the wind changed; immediately an appalling cry was heard, concerning which the passengers, as well as myself, were equally ignorant. The whole crew were in motion. Some climbed the rope ladders, and seemed to perch on the extremities of the yards; others mounted to the highest parts of the mast; these bellowing and pulling the cordages in cadence; those crying, swearing, whistling, and filling the air with barbarous and unknown sounds. The officer on duty, in his turn, roaring out these words, starboard, larboard, hoist, luff, tack, which the helmsman repeated in the same tone. All this hubbub, however, produced its effect; the yards were turned on their pivots, the sails set, the cordage tightened, and the unfortunate sea-boys having received their lesson descended to the deck. Every thing remained tranquil, except that the waves still roared, and the masts continued their creaking. However the sails were swelled, the wind less violent, though favorable, and the mariner, while he caroled his song, said we had a noble voyage. During several days we did indeed enjoy a delightful passage. All the ships of the expedition still kept together, but at length the breeze became changeable, and they all disappeared. The Echo, however, still kept in sight, and persisted in accompanying us, as if to guide us on our route. The wind becoming more favorable, we held due south, sailing at the rate of sixty-two leagues a day. The sea was so fine, and our journey so rapid, that I began to think it nearly as agreeable to travel by sea as by land; but my illusion was not of long duration. On the 28th of June, at six in the morning, we discovered the Peak of Teneriffe, towards the south, the summit of whose cone seemed lost in the clouds. We were then distant about two leagues, which we made in less than a quarter of an hour. At ten o'clock we brought to before the town of St. Croix. Several officers got leave to go on shore to procure refreshments. While these gentlemen were away, a certain passenger, member of the self-instituted Philanthropic Society of Cape Verd, suggested that it was very dangerous to remain where we were, adding that he was well acquainted with the country, and had navigated in all these latitudes. M. Le Roy Lachaumareys, captain of the Medusa, believing the pretended knowledge of the intriguing Richefort, gave him the command of the frigate. Various officers of the navy, represented to the captain how shameful it was to put such confidence in a stranger, and they would never obey a man who had no character as a commander. The captain despised these wise remonstrances; and, using his authority, commanded the pilots, and all the crew, to obey Richefort; saying he was king, since the orders of the king were, that they should obey him. Immediately the imposter, desirous of displaying his great skill in navigation, made them change the route, for no purpose, but that of showing his skill in manoeuvring the ship.--Every instant he changed the tack, went, came and returned, and approached the very reefs, as if to brave them; in short, he beat about so much, that the sailors at length refused to obey him, saying boldly that he was a vile imposter. But it was done. The man had gained the confidence of Captain Lachaumareys, who ignorant of navigation himself, was doubtless glad to get someone to undertake his duty. But it must be told, that this blind inept confidence was the sole cause of the loss of the Medusa frigate, as well as all the crimes consequent upon it. Towards three in the afternoon, those officers who went on shore in the morning, returned on board loaded with vegetables, fruits and flowers. They laughed heartily at the manoeuvres that had been going on during their absence, which doubtless did not please the captain, who flattered himself he had already found in his pilot Richefort, a good and able seaman; such were his words. At four in the afternoon we took a southerly direction. M. Richefort, then beaming with exultation for having, as he said, saved the Medusa from certain shipwreck, continued to give his pernicious counsels to the captain, persuading him he had been often employed to explore the shores of Africa, and that he was perfectly well acquainted with the Arguin Bank. The journals of the 29th and 30th afford nothing very remarkable. The hot winds from the desert of Sahara began to be felt, which told us we approached the tropic; indeed, the sun at noon seemed suspended perpendicularly above our heads, a phenomenon which few among us had ever seen. On the 1st of July, we recognised Cape Bojador, and then saw the shores of Sahara. Towards ten in the morning, they set about the frivolous ceremony which the sailors have invented for the purpose of exacting something from those passengers who have never crossed the line. During the ceremony, the frigate doubled Cape Barbas hastening to its destruction. Captain Lachaumareys very good humoredly presided at this species of baptism, while his dear Richefort promenaded the forecastle, and looked with indifference upon a shore bristling with dangers. However that may be, all passed on well; nay, it may even be said that the farce was well played off. But the route which we pursued soon made us forget the short lived happiness we had experienced. Every one began to observe the sudden change which had taken place in the color of the sea, as we ran upon the bank in shallow water. A general murmur arose among the passengers and officers of the navy;--they were far from partaking in the blind confidence of the captain. On the second of July, at five in the morning, the captain was persuaded that a large cloud, which was discovered in the direction of Cape Blanco, was that Cape itself. After this pretended discovery, they ought to have steered to the west, for about fifty leagues, to have gained sea room to double with certainty the Arguin Bank; moreover, they ought to have conformed to the instructions the Minister of Marine had given to the ships which set out for Senegal. The other part of the expedition, from having followed these instructions arrived in safety at their destination. During the preceding night, the Echo, which had hitherto accompanied the Medusa, made several signals, but being replied to with contempt, abandoned us. Towards ten in the morning, the danger which threatened us was again represented to the captain, and he was strongly urged, if he wished to avoid the Arguin Bank, to take a westerly course; but the advice was again neglected, and he despised the predictions. One of the officers of the frigate, from having wished to expose the intriguing Richefort, was put under arrest. My father, who had already twice made the voyage to Senegal, and who with various persons was persuaded they were going right upon the bank, also made his observations to the unfortunate pilot.--His advice was no better received than those of Messrs. Reynaud, Espiau, Maudet, &c. Richefort, in the sweetest tone, replied, 'My dear, we know our business; attend to yours, and be quiet. I have already twice passed the Arguin Bank; I have sailed upon the Red Sea, and you see I am not drowned.' What reply could be made to such a preposterous speech? My father, seeing it was impossible to get our route changed, resolved to trust to Providence to free us from our danger, and descended to our cabin, where he sought to dissipate his fears in the oblivion of sleep. At noon on the 2d of July, soundings were taken. M. Maudet, ensign of the watch, was convinced we were upon the edge of the Arguin Bank. The captain said to him, as well as to every one, that there was no cause of alarm. In the meanwhile, the wind blowing with great violence, impelled us nearer and nearer to the danger which menaced us.--A species of stupor overpowered all our spirits, and every one preserved a mournful silence, as if they were persuaded we would soon touch the bank. The color of the water entirely changed, a circumstance even remarked by the ladies. About three in the afternoon, being in 19 30 north latitude, and 19 45 west longitude, an universal cry was heard upon deck. All declared they saw sand rolling among the ripple of the sea. The captain in an instant ordered to sound.--The line gave eighteen fathoms; but on a second sounding it only gave six. He at last saw his error, and hesitated no longer on changing the route, but it was too late. A strong concussion told us the frigate had struck. Terror and consternation were instantly depicted on every face. The crew stood motionless; the passengers in utter despair. In the midst of this general panic, cries of vengeance were heard against the principal author of our misfortunes, wishing to throw him overboard; but some generous persons interposed, and endeavored to calm their spirits, by diverting their attention to the means of our safety. The confusion was already so great, that McPoinsignon, commandant of a troop, struck my sister Caroline a severe blow, doubtless thinking it was one of his soldiers. At this crisis my father was buried in profound sleep, but he quickly awoke, the cries and the tumult upon deck having informed him of our misfortunes. He poured out a thousand reproaches on those whose ignorance and boasting had been so disastrous to us. However, they set about the means of averting our danger. The officers, with an altered voice, issued their orders expecting every moment to see the ship go in pieces. They strove to lighten her, but the sea was very rough and the current strong. Much time was lost in doing nothing; they only pursued half measures and all of them unfortunately failed. When it was discovered that the danger of the Medusa was not so great as was at first supposed, various persons proposed to transport the troops to the island of Arguin, which was conjectured to be not far from the place where we lay aground. Others advised to take us all successively to the coast of the desert of Sahara, by the means of our boats, and with provisions sufficient to form a caravan, to reach the island of Saint Louis, at Senegal. The events which afterwards ensued proved this plan to have been the best, and which would have been crowned with success; unfortunately it was not adopted. M. Schmaltz, the governor, suggested the making of a raft of sufficient size to carry two hundred men, with provisions; which latter plan was seconded by the two officers of the frigate, and put in execution. The fatal raft was then begun to be constructed, which would, they said, carry provisions for every one. Masts, planks, boards and cordage were thrown overboard. Two officers were charged with the framing of these together.--Large barrels were emptied and placed at the angles of the machine, and the workmen were taught to say, that the passengers would be in greater security there, and more at their ease, than in the boats. However, it was forgotten to erect rails, every one supposed, and with reason, that those who had given the plan of the raft, had had no design of embarking upon it themselves. When it was completed, the two chief officers of the frigate publicly promised, that all the boats would tow it to the shore of the Desert; and, when there, stores of provisions and fire-arms would be given us to form a caravan to take us all to Senegal. Why was not this plan executed?--Why were these promises, sworn before the French flag, made in vain? But it is necessary to draw a veil over the past. I will only add, that if these promises had been fulfilled, every one would have been saved, and that, in spite of the detestable egotism of certain personages, humanity would not now have had to deplore the scenes of horror consequent on the wreck of the Medusa. On the 3d of July, the efforts were renewed to disengage the frigate, but without success. We then prepared to quit her. The sea became very rough, and the wind blew with great violence. Nothing now was heard but the plaintive and confused cries of a multitude, consisting of more than four hundred persons, who, seeing death before their eyes, deplored their hard fate in bitter lamentations. On the 4th, there was a glimpse of hope. At the hour the tide flowed, the frigate, being considerably lightened by all that had been thrown overboard, was found nearly afloat; and it is very certain, if on that day they had thrown the artillery into the water, the Medusa would have been saved; but M. Lachaumareys said, he would not thus sacrifice the king's cannon, as if the frigate did not belong to the king also.--However, the sea ebbed, and the ship sinking into the sand deeper than ever, made them relinquish that on which depended our last ray of hope. On the approach of night, the fury of the winds redoubled, and the sea became very rough. The frigate then received some tremendous concussions, and the water rushed into the hold in the most terrific manner, but the pumps would not work. We had now no alternative but to abandon her for the frail boats, which any single wave might overwhelm.--Frightful gulfs environed us; mountains of water raised their liquid summits in the distance. How were we to escape so many dangers? Whither could we go? What hospitable land would receive us on its shores? My thoughts then reverted to our beloved country. Then starting suddenly from my reverie, I exclaimed: 'O terrible condition! that black and boundless sea resembles the eternal night which will engulf us! All those who surround me seem yet tranquil, but that fatal calm will soon be succeeded by the most frightful torments. Fools, what had we to find in Senegal, to make us trust to the most perfidious of elements! Did France not afford every necessary for our happiness? Happy! yes, thrice happy, they who never set foot on a foreign soil! Great God! succor all these unfortunate beings; save our unhappy family!' My father perceived my distress, but how could he console me? What words could calm my fears, and place me above the apprehensions of those dangers to which we were exposed? How, in a word, could I assume a serene appearance, when friends, parents and all that was most dear to me were, in all human probability, on the very verge of destruction?--Alas! my fears were but too well founded. For I soon perceived that, although we were the only ladies, besides the Misses Schmaltz, who formed a part of the Governor's suit, they had the barbarity of intending our family to embark upon the raft, where were only soldiers sailors and planters of Cape Verd, and some generous officers who had not the honor (if it could be accounted one) of being considered among the ignorant confidants of MM. Schmaltz and Lachaumareys. My father, indignant at a proceeding so indecorous, swore we would not embark upon the raft, and that, if we were not judged worthy of a place in one of the six boats, he would himself, his wife and children, remain on board the wreck of the frigate. The tone in which he spoke these words, was that of a man resolute to avenge any insult that might be offered to him. The governor of Senegal, doubtless fearing the world would one day reproach him for his inhumanity, decided we should have a place in one of the boats. This having in some measure quieted our fears concerning our unfortunate situation, I was desirous of taking some repose, but the uproar among the crew was so great I could not obtain it. Towards midnight, a passenger came to inquire of my father if we were disposed to depart; he replied, we had been forbid to go yet. However, we were soon convinced that a great part of the crew and various passengers were secretly preparing to set off in the boats. A conduct so perfidious could not fail to alarm us, especially as we perceived among those so eager to embark unknown to us, several who had promised, but a little while before, not to go without us. M. Schmaltz, to prevent that which was going on upon deck, instantly rose to endeavor to quiet their minds; but the soldiers had already assumed a threatening attitude, and holding cheap the words of their commander, swore they would fire upon whosoever attempted to depart in a clandestine manner. The firmness of these brave men produced the desired effect, and all was restored to order. The governor returned to his cabin; and those who were desirous of departing furtively were confused and covered with shame. The governor, however, was ill at ease; and as he had heard very distinctly certain energetic words which had been addressed to him, he judged it proper to assemble a council.--All the officers and passengers being collected, M. Schmaltz, there solemnly swore before them not to abandon the raft, and a second time promised that all the boats would tow it to the shore of the Desert, where they would all be formed into a caravan. I confess this conduct of the governor greatly satisfied every member of our family; for we never dreamed he would deceive us, nor act in a manner contrary to what he had promised. About three in the morning, some hours after the meeting of the council, a terrible noise was heard in the powder room; it was the helm which was broken. All who were sleeping were roused by it. On going on deck every one was more and more convinced that the frigate was lost beyond all recovery. Alas! the wreck was for our family but the commencement of a horrible series of misfortunes. The two chief officers then decided with one accord, that all should embark at six in the morning, and abandon the ship to the mercy of the waves. After the decision, followed a scene the most whimsical, and at the same time the most melancholy that can be well conceived. To have a more distinct idea of it, let the reader transport himself in imagination to the midst of the liquid plains of the ocean: then let him picture to himself a multitude of all classes, of every age, tossed about at the mercy of the waves upon a dismasted vessel, foundered, and half submerged, let him not forget these are thinking beings with the certain prospect before them of having reached the goal of their existence. Separated from the rest of the world by a boundless sea, and having no place of refuge but the wreck of a grounded vessel, the multitude addressed at first their vows to heaven, and forgot, for a moment, all earthly concerns. Then suddenly starting from their lethargy, they began to look after their wealth, the merchandise they had in small ventures, utterly regardless of the elements which threatened them. The miser, thinking of the gold contained in his coffers, hastening to put it in a place of safety, either by sewing it into the lining of his clothes, or by cutting out for it a place in the waistband of his trowsers. The smuggler was tearing his hair at not being able to save a chest of contraband which he had secretly got on board, and with which he had hoped to have gained two or three hundred per cent. Another, selfish to excess, was throwing overboard all his hidden money, and amusing himself by burning all his effects. A generous officer was opening his portmanteau, offering caps, stockings, and shirts, to any who would take them. These had scarcely gathered together their various effects, when they learned that they could not take anything with them; those were searching the cabin and store-rooms to carry away everything that was valuable. Ship-boys were discovering the delicate wines and fine liquors, which a wise foresight had placed in reserve. Soldiers and sailors were penetrating even into the spirit-room, broaching casks, staving others and drinking till they fell exhausted. Soon the tumult of the inebriated made us forget the roaring of the sea which threatened to engulf us. At last the uproar was at its height; the soldiers no longer listened to the voice of the captain. Some knit their brows and muttered oaths; but nothing could be done with those whom wine had rendered furious. Next, piercing cries mixed with doleful groans were heard--this was the signal of departure. At six o'clock on the morning of the 5th, a great part of the military were embarked upon the raft, which was already covered with a large sheet of foam. The soldiers were expressly prohibited from taking their arms. A young officer of infantry, whose brain seemed to be powerfully affected, put his horse beside the barricadoes of the frigate, and then, armed with two pistols, threatened to fire upon any one who refused to go upon the raft. Forty men had scarcely descended when it sunk to the depth of about two feet. To facilitate the embarking of a greater number, they were obliged to throw over several barrels of provisions which had been placed upon it the day before. In this manner did this furious officer get about one hundred and fifty heaped upon that floating tomb; but he did not think of adding one more to the number by descending himself, as he ought to have done, but went peaceably away, and placed himself in one of the best boats. There should have been sixty sailors upon the raft, and there were but about ten. A list had been made out on the 4th, assigning each his proper place: but this wise precaution being disregarded, every one pursued the plan he deemed the best for his own preservation. The precipitation with which they forced one hundred and fifty unfortunate beings upon the raft was such, that they forgot to give them one morsel of biscuit. However, they threw towards them twenty-five pounds in a sack, while they were not far from the frigate; but it fell into the sea, and was with difficulty recovered. During this disaster, the governor of Senegal, who was busied in the care of his own dear self, effeminately descended in an arm-chair into the barge, where were already various large chests, all kinds of provisions, his dearest friends, his daughters and his wife. Afterwards the captain's boat received twenty-seven persons, among whom were twenty-five sailors, good rowers. The shallop, commanded by M. Espiau, ensign of the ship, took forty-five passengers, and put off. The boat, called the Senegal, took twenty-five; the pinnace thirty-three; and the yawl, the smallest of all the boats, took only ten. Almost all the officers, the passengers, the mariners and supernumeraries, were already embarked--all, but our weeping family, who still remained upon the boards of the frigate, till some charitable souls would kindly receive us into a boat. Surprised at this abandonment, I instantly felt myself roused, and, calling with all my might to the officers of the boats, besought them to take our unhappy family along with them. Soon after, the barge, in which were the governor of Senegal and all his family, approached the Medusa, as if still to take some passengers, for there were but few in it. I made a motion to descend, hoping that the Misses Schmaltz, who had, till that day, taken a great interest in our family, would allow us a place in their boat; but I was mistaken: those ladies, who had embarked in a mysterious incognito, had already forgotten us; and M. Lachaumareys, who was still on the frigate, positively told me they would not embark along with us. Nevertheless I ought to tell, what we learned afterwards, that the officer who commanded the pinnace had received orders to take us in, but, as he was already a great way from the frigate, we were certain he had abandoned us. My father however hailed him, but he persisted on his way to gain the open sea. A short while afterwards we perceived a small boat among the waves, which seemed desirous to approach the Medusa; it was the yawl. When it was sufficiently near, my father implored the sailors who were in it to take us on board, and to carry us to the pinnace, where our family ought to be placed. They refused. He then seized a firelock, which lay by chance upon deck, and swore he would kill every one of them if they refused to take us, adding that it was the property of the king, and that he would have advantage from it as well as another. The sailors murmured, but durst not resist, and received all our family, which consisted of nine persons, viz. four children, our step-mother, my cousin, my sister Caroline, my father and myself. A small box filled with valuable papers, which we wished to save, some clothes, two bottles of ratafia, which we had endeavored to preserve amidst our misfortunes, were seized and thrown overboard by the sailors of the yawl, who told us we would find in the pinnace everything we could wish for our voyage. We had then only the clothes which covered us, never thinking of dressing ourselves in two suits; but the loss which affected us most was that of several MSS, at which my father had been laboring for a long while. Our trunks, our linen and various chests of merchandize of great value, in a word, everything we possessed, was left in the Medusa. When we boarded the pinnace, the officer who commanded it began excusing himself for having set off without forewarning us, as he had been ordered, and said a thousand things in his justification. But without believing the half of his fine protestations, we felt very happy in having overtaken him; for it is most certain they had no intention of encumbering themselves with our unfortunate family. I say encumber, for it is evident that four children, one of whom was yet at the breast, were very indifferent beings to people who were actuated by a selfishness without all parallel. When we were seated in the long boat, my father dismissed the sailors with the yawl, telling them he would ever gratefully remember their services. They speedily departed, but little satisfied with the good action they had done. My father hearing their murmurs and the abuse they poured out against us, said, loud enough for all in the boat to hear, 'We are not surprised sailors are destitute of shame, when their officers blush at being compelled to do a good action.' The commandant of the boat feigned not to understand the reproaches conveyed in these words, and, to divert our minds from brooding over our wrongs, endeavored to counterfeit the man of gallantry. All the boats were already far from the Medusa, when they were brought to, to form a chain in order to tow the raft.--The barge, in which was the governor of Senegal, took the first tow, then all the other boats in succession joined themselves to that. M. Lachaumareys embarked, although there yet remained upon the Medusa more than sixty persons.--Then the brave and generous M. Espiau, commander of the shallop, quitted the line of boats, and returned to the frigate, with the intention of saving all the wretches who had been abandoned. They all sprung into the shallop; but as it was very much overloaded, seventeen unfortunates preferred remaining on board, rather than expose themselves as well as their companions to certain death. But alas! the greater part afterwards fell victims to their fears or their devotion.--Fifty-two days after they were abandoned, no more than three of them were alive, and those looked more like skeletons than men. They told that their miserable companions had gone afloat upon planks and hen-coops, after having waited in vain forty-two days, for the succor which had been promised them, and that all had perished. The shallop, carrying with difficulty all those she had saved from the Medusa, slowly rejoined the line of boats which towed the raft, M. Espiau earnestly besought the officers of the other boats to take some of them along with them; but they refused, alleging to the generous officer that he ought to keep them in his own boat, as he had gone for them himself. M. Espiau, finding it impossible to keep them all without exposing them to the utmost peril, steered right for a boat which I will not name. Immediately a sailor sprung from the shallop into the sea, and endeavored to reach it by swimming; and when he was about to enter it, an officer who possessed great influence pushed him back, and, drawing his sabre, threatened to cut off his hands, if he again made the attempt. The poor wretch regained the shallop, which was very near the pinnace, which we were in, my father supplicated M. Laperere, the officer of the boat, to receive him on board, and had his arms already out to catch him, when M. Laperere instantly let go the rope which attached us to the other boats, and tugged off with all his force. At the same instant every boat imitated our execrable example; and wishing to shun the approach of the shallop, which sought for assistance, stood off from the raft, abandoning, in the midst of the ocean, and to the fury of the waves, the miserable mortals whom they had sworn to land on the shores of the Desert. Scarcely had these cowards broken their oath, when we saw the French flag flying upon the raft. The confidence of those unfortunate persons was so great, that when they saw the first boat which had the tow removing from them, they all cried out the rope is broken! the rope is broken! but when no attention was paid to their observation, they instantly perceived the treachery of the wretches who had left them so basely.--Then the cries of Vive le Roi arose from the raft, as if the poor fellows were calling to their father for assistance; or, as if they had been persuaded that, at that rallying word, the officers of the boats would return, and not abandon their countrymen. The officers repeated the cry of Vive le Roi, without a doubt, to insult them; but, more particularly, M. Lachaumareys who, assuming a martial attitude, waved his hat in the air. Alas! what availed these false professions? Frenchmen, menaced with the greatest peril, were demanding assistance with the cries of Vive le Roi; yet none were found sufficiently generous nor sufficiently French, to go to aid them. After a silence of some minutes, horrible cries were heard; the air resounded with the groans, the lamentations, the imprecations of these wretched beings, and the echo of the sea frequently repeated, alas! how cruel you are to abandon us!!! The raft already appeared to be buried under the waves, and its unfortunate passengers immersed. The fatal machine was drifted by currents far behind the wreck of the frigate; without cable, anchor, mast, sail or oars; in a word, without the smallest means of enabling them to save themselves. Each wave that struck it, made them stumble in heaps on one another.--Their feet getting entangled among the cordage, and between the planks, bereaved them of the faculty of moving. Maddened by these misfortunes, suspended, and adrift upon a merciless ocean, they were soon tortured between the pieces of wood which formed the scaffold on which they floated.--The bones of their feet and their legs were bruised and broken, every time the fury of the waves agitated the raft; their flesh covered with contusions and hideous wounds, dissolved, as it were, in the briny waves, while the roaring flood around them was colored with their blood. As the raft, when it was abandoned, was nearly two leagues from the frigate, it was impossible these unfortunate persons could return to it; they were soon after far out to sea. These victims still appeared above their floating tomb; and, stretching out their supplicating hands towards the boats which fled from them, seemed yet to invoke, for the last time, the names of the wretches who had deceived them. O horrid day! a day of shame and reproach! Alas! that the hearts of those who were so well acquainted with misfortune, should have been so inaccessible to pity. After witnessing that most inhuman scene, and seeing they were insensible to the cries and lamentations of so many unhappy beings, I felt my heart bursting with sorrow. It seemed to me that the waves would overwhelm all these wretches, and I could not suppress my tears. My father, exasperated to excess, and bursting with rage at seeing so much cowardice and inhumanity among the officers of the boats, began to regret he had not accepted the place which had been assigned for us upon the fatal raft. 'At least,' said he, 'we would have died with the brave, or would have returned to the wreck of the Medusa; and not have had the disgrace of saving ourselves with cowards.' Although this produced no effect upon the officers, it proved very fatal to us afterwards; for, on our arrival at Senegal, it was reported to the Governor, and very probably was the principal cause of all those evils and vexations which we endured in that colony. Let us now turn our attention to the several situations of all those who were endeavoring to save themselves in the different boats, as well as to those left upon the wreck of the Medusa. We have already seen, that the frigate was half sunk when it was deserted, presenting nothing but a hulk and wreck.--Nevertheless, seventeen still remained upon it, and had food, which, although damaged, enabled them to support themselves for a considerable time; while the raft was abandoned to float at the mercy of the waves, upon the vast surface of the ocean. One hundred and fifty wretches were embarked upon it, sunk to the depth of at least three feet on its fore part, and on its poop immersed even to the middle. What victuals they had were soon consumed, or spoiled by the salt water; and perhaps some, as the waves hurried them along, became food for the monsters of the deep. Two only of all the boats which left the Medusa, and these with very few people in them, were provisioned with every necessary; these struck off with security and despatch. But the condition of those who were in the shallop was but little better than those upon the raft; their great number, their scarcity of provisions, their great distance from the shore, gave them the most melancholy anticipations of the future. Their worthy commander, M. Espiau, had no other hope but of reaching the shore as soon as possible. The other boats were less filled with people, but they were scarcely better provisioned; and as by a species of fatality, the pinnace, in which were our family, was destitute of everything. Our provisions consisted of a barrel of biscuit, and a tierce of water; and, to add to our misfortune, the biscuit being soaked in the sea, it was almost impossible to swallow one morsel of it. Each passenger in our boat was obliged to sustain his wretched existence with a glass of water, which he could get only once a day. To tell how this happened, how this boat was so poorly supplied, while there was abundance left upon the Medusa, is far beyond my power. But it is at least certain, that the greater part of the officers commanding the boats, the shallop, the pinnace, the Senegal boat, and the yawl, were persuaded, when they quitted the frigate, that they would not abandon the raft, but that all the expedition would sail together to the coast of Sahara; that when there, the boats would be again sent to the Medusa to take provisions, arms, and those who were left there; but it appears the chiefs had decided otherwise. After abandoning the raft, although scattered, all the boats formed a little fleet, and followed the same route. All who were sincere hoped to arrive the same day at the coast of the Desert, and that every one would get on shore; but MM. Schmaltz and Lachaumareys gave orders to take the route for Senegal. This sudden change in the resolutions of the chiefs was like a thunderbolt to the officers commanding the boats. Having nothing on board but what was barely necessary to enable us to allay the cravings of hunger for one day, we were all sensibly affected. The other boats, which, like ourselves, hoped to have got on shore at the nearest point, were a little better provisioned than we were; they had at least a little wine, which supplied the place of other necessaries. We then demanded some from them, explaining our situation, but none would assist us, not even the captain, who, drinking to a kept mistress, supported by two sailors, swore he had not one drop on board. We were next desirous of addressing the boat of the Governor of Senegal, where we were persuaded were plenty of provisions of every kind, such as oranges, biscuit, cakes, comfits, plums and even the finest liquors; but my father opposed it, so well was he assured we would not obtain anything. We will now turn to the condition of those on the raft, when the boats left them to themselves. If all the boats had continued dragging the raft forward, favored as we were by the breeze from the sea, we would have been able to have conducted them to the shore in less than two days. But an inconceivable fatality caused the generous plan to be abandoned which had been formed. When the raft had lost sight of the boats, a spirit of sedition began to manifest itself in furious cries. They then began to regard one another with ferocious looks, and to thirst for one another's flesh. Some one had already whispered of having recourse to that monstrous extremity, and of commencing with the fattest and youngest. A proposition so atrocious filled the brave Captain Dupont and his worthy Lieutenant M. L'Heureux with horror; and that courage which had so often supported them in the field of glory, now forsook them. Among the first who fell under the hatchets of the assassins, was a young woman who had been seen devouring the body of her husband. When her turn was come, she sought a little wine as a last favor, then rose, and without uttering a word threw herself into the sea. Captain Dupont, being prescribed for having refused to partake of the sacrilegious viands with which the monsters were feeding on, was saved by a miracle from the hands of the butchers. Scarcely had they seized him to lead him to the slaughter, when a large pole, which served in place of a mast, fell upon his body; and believing that his legs were broken, they contented themselves by throwing him into the sea. The unfortunate captain plunged and disappeared, and they thought him already in another world. Providence, however, revived the strength of the unfortunate warrior. He emerged under the beams of the raft, and clinging with all his might, holding his head above water, he remained between two enormous pieces of wood, while the rest of his body was hid in the sea. After more than two hours of suffering, Captain Dupont spoke in a low voice to his lieutenant, who by chance was seated near the place of his concealment. The brave L'Heureux, with eyes glistening with tears, believed he heard the voice, and saw the shade of his captain; and trembling, was about to quit the place of horror; O wonderful! he saw a head which seemed to draw its last sigh, he recognized it, he embraced it, alas! it was his dear friend! Dupont was instantly drawn from the water, and L'Heureux obtained for his unfortunate comrade again a place upon the raft. Those who had been most inveterate against him, touched at what Providence had done for him in so miraculous a manner, decided with one accord to allow him entire liberty upon the raft. The sixty unfortunates who had escaped from the first massacre, were soon reduced to fifty, then to forty, and at last to twenty-eight. The least murmur, or the smallest complaint, at the moment of distributing the provisions, was a crime punished with immediate death. In consequence of such a regulation, it may easily be presumed the raft was soon lightened. In the meanwhile the wine diminished sensibly, and the half-rations very much displeased a certain chief of the conspiracy. On purpose to avoid being reduced to that extremity, the executive power decided it was much wiser to drown thirteen people, and to get full rations, than that twenty-eight should have half rations. Merciful Heaven! what shame! After the last catastrophe, the chiefs of the conspiracy, fearing, doubtless of being assassinated in their turn, threw all the arms into the sea, and swore an inviolable friendship with the heroes which the hatchet had spared. On the 17th of July, in the morning, Captain Parnajon, commandant of the Argus brig, still found fifteen men on the raft. They were immediately taken on board, and conducted to Senegal. Four of the fifteen are yet alive, viz. Captain Dupont, residing in the neighborhood of Maintenon, Lieutenant L'Heureux, since Captain at Senegal, Savigny, at Rochefort, and Correard, I know not where. On the 5th of July, at ten in the morning, one hour after abandoning the raft, and three after quitting the Medusa, M. Laperere, the officer of our boat, made the first distribution of provisions. Each passenger had a small glass of water and nearly the fourth of a biscuit. Each drank his allowance of water at one draught, but it was found impossible to swallow one morsel of our biscuit, it being so impregnated with sea-water. It happened, however, that some was found not quite so saturated. Of these we eat a small portion, and put back the remainder for a future day. Our voyage would have been sufficiently agreeable, if the beams of the sun had not been so fierce. On the evening we perceived the shores of the Desert; but as the two chiefs (MM. Schmaltz and Lachaumareys) wished to go right for Senegal, notwithstanding we were still one hundred leagues from it, we were not allowed to land. Several officers remonstrated, both on account of our want of provisions and the crowded condition of the boats, for undertaking so dangerous a voyage. Others urged with equal force, that it would be dishonoring the French name if we were to neglect the unfortunate people on the raft, and insisted we should be set on shore, and whilst we waited there, three boats should return to look after the raft, and three to the wreck of the frigate, to take up the seventeen who were left there, as well as a sufficient quantity of provisions to enable us to go to Senegal by the way of Barbary. But MM. Schmaltz and Lachaumareys whose boats were sufficiently well provisioned, scouted the advice or their subalterns, and ordered them to cast anchor till the following morning. They were obliged to obey these orders, and to relinquish their designs. During the night, a certain passenger who was doubtless no doctor, and who believed in ghosts and witches, was suddenly frightened by the appearance of flames, which he thought he saw in the waters of the sea, a little way from where our boat was anchored. My father, and some others, who were aware that the sea is sometimes phosphorated, confirmed the poor credulous man in his belief, and added several circumstances which fairly turned his brain. They persuaded him the Arabic sorcerers had fired the sea to prevent us from travelling along their deserts. On the morning of the 6th of July, at five o'clock, all the boats were under way on the route to Senegal. The boats of MM. Schmaltz and Lachaumareys took the lead along the coast, and all the expedition followed. About eight, several sailors in our boat, with threats, demanded to be set on shore; but M. Laperere, not acceding to their request, the whole were about to revolt and seize the command; but the firmness of this officer quelled the mutineers. In a spring which he made to seize a firelock which a sailor persisted in keeping in his possession, he almost tumbled into the sea. My father fortunately was near him, and held him by his clothes, but he had instantly to quit him, for fear of losing his hat, which the waves were floating away. A short while after this slight accident, the shallop, which we had lost sight of since the morning, appeared desirous of rejoining us. We plied all hands to avoid her, for we were afraid of one another, and thought that that boat, encumbered with so many people, wished to board us to oblige us to take some of its passengers, as M. Espiau would not suffer them to be abandoned like those upon the raft. That officer hailed us at a distance, offering to take our family on board, adding, he was anxious to take about sixty people to the Desert. The officer of our boat, thinking that this was a pretence, replied, we preferred suffering where we were. It even appeared to us that M. Espiau had hid some of his people under the benches of the shallop. But alas; in the end we deeply deplored being so suspicious, and of having so outraged the devotion of the most generous officer of the Medusa. Our boat began to leak considerably, but we prevented it as well as we could, by stuffing the largest holes with oakum, which an old sailor had had the precaution to take before quitting the frigate. At noon the heat became so strong--so intolerable, that several of us believed we had reached our last moments. The hot winds of the Desert even reached us; and the fine sand with which they were loaded, had completely obscured the clearness of the atmosphere. The sun presented a reddish disk; the whole surface of the ocean became nebulous, and the air which we breathed, depositing a fine sand, an impalpable powder, penetrated to our lungs, already parched with a burning thirst. In this state of torment we remained till four in the afternoon, when a breeze from the northwest brought us some relief. Notwithstanding the privations we felt, and especially the burning thirst which had become intolerable, the cool air which we now began to breathe, made us in part forget our sufferings. The heavens began again to resume the usual serenity of those latitudes, and we hoped to have passed a good night. A second distribution of provisions was made; each received a small glass of water, and the eighth part of a biscuit. Notwithstanding our meagre fare, every one seemed content, in the persuasion we would reach Senegal by the morrow. But how vain were all our hopes, and what sufferings had we yet to endure! At half past seven, the sky was covered with stormy clouds. The serenity we had admired a little while before, entirely disappeared, and gave place to the most gloomy obscurity. The surface of the ocean presented all the signs of a coming tempest. The horizon on the side of the Desert had the appearance of a long hideous chain of mountains piled on one another, the summits of which seemed to vomit fire and smoke. Bluish clouds, streaked with a dark copper color, detached themselves from that shapeless heap, and came and joined with those which floated over our heads. In less than half an hour the ocean seemed confounded with the terrible sky which canopied us. The stars were hid. Suddenly a frightful noise was heard from the west, and all the waves of the sea rushed to founder our frail bark. A fearful silence succeeded to the general consternation. Every tongue was mute; and none durst communicate to his neighbor the horror with which his mind was impressed. At intervals the cries of the children rent our hearts. At that instant a weeping and agonized mother bared her breast to her dying child, but it yielded nothing to appease the thirst of the little innocent who pressed it in vain. O night of horrors! what pen is capable to paint thy terrible picture! How describe the agonizing fears of a father and mother, at the sight of their children tossed about and expiring of hunger in a small boat, which the winds and waves threatened to engulf at every instant! Having full before our eyes the prospect of inevitable death, we gave ourselves up to our unfortunate condition, and addressed our prayers to Heaven. The winds growled with the utmost fury; the tempestuous waves arose exasperated. In their terrific encounter a mountain of water was precipitated into our boat, carrying away one of the sails, and the greater part of the effects which the sailors had saved from the Medusa. Our bark was nearly sunk; the females and the children lay rolling in its bottom, drinking the waters of bitterness; and their cries, mixed with the roaring of the waves and the furious north wind, increased the horrors of the scene. My unfortunate father then experienced the most excruciating agony of mind. The idea of the loss which the shipwreck had occasioned to him, and the danger which still menaced all he held dearest in the world, plunged him into a swoon. The tenderness of his wife and children recovered him; but alas! his recovery was to still more bitterly deplore the wretched situation of his family. He clasped us to his bosom; he bathed us with his tears, and seemed as if he was regarding us with his last looks of love. Every soul in the boat was seized with the same perturbation, but it manifested itself in different ways. One part of the sailors remained motionless, in a bewildered state; the other cheered and encouraged one another; the children, locked in the arms of their parents, wept incessantly. Some demanded drink, vomiting the salt water which choked them; others, in short, embraced as for the last time, intertwining their arms, and vowing to die together. In the meanwhile the sea became rougher and rougher. The whole surface of the ocean seemed a vast plain furrowed with huge blackish waves fringed with white foam. The thunder growled around us, and the lightning discovered to our eyes all that our imagination could conceive most horrible. Our boat, beset on all sides by the winds, and at every instant tossed on the summit of mountains of water, was very nearly sunk in spite of our every effort in baling it, when we discovered a large hole in its poop. It was instantly stuffed with everything we could find:--old clothes, sleeves of shirts, shreds of coats, shawls, useless bonnets, everything was employed, and secured us as far as it was possible. During the space of six hours, we rowed suspended alternately between hope and fear, between life and death. At last towards the middle of the night, Heaven, which had seen our resignation, commanded the floods to be still. Instantly the sea became less rough, the veil which covered the sky became less obscure, the stars again shone out, and the tempest seemed to withdraw. A general exclamation of joy and thankfulness issued at one instant from every mouth. The winds calmed, and each of us sought a little sleep, while our good and generous pilot steered our boat on a still very stormy sea. The day at last, the day so desired, entirely restored the calm; but it brought no other consolation. During the night, the currents, the waves, and the winds had taken us so far out to sea, that, on the dawning of the 7th of July, we saw nothing but sky and water, without knowing whither to direct our course; for our compass had been broken during the tempest. In this hopeless condition, we continued to steer sometimes to the right and sometimes to the left, until the sun arose, and at last showed us the east. On the morning of the 7th of July, we again saw the shores of the Desert, notwithstanding we were a great distance from it. The sailors renewed their murmurings, wishing to get on shore, with the hope of being able to get some wholesome plants, and some more palatable water than that of the sea; but as we were afraid of the Moors, their request was opposed. However, M. Laperere proposed to take them as near as he could to the first breakers on the coast; and when there, those who wished to go on shore should throw themselves into the sea, and swim to land. Eleven accepted the proposal; but when we had reached the first waves, none had the courage to brave the mountains of water which rolled between them and the beach. Our sailors then betook themselves to their benches and oars, and promised to be more quiet for the future. A short while after, a third distribution was made since our departure from the Medusa; and nothing more remained than four pints of water, and one half dozen biscuits. What steps were we to take in this cruel situation? We were desirous of going on shore, but we had such dangers to encounter. However we soon came to a decision, when we saw a caravan of Moors on the coast. We then stood a little out to sea. According to the calculation of our commanding officer, we would arrive at Senegal on the morrow. Deceived by that false account, we preferred suffering one day more, rather than be taken by the Moors of the Desert, or perish among the breakers. We had now no more than a small half glass of water, and the seventh of a biscuit. Exposed as we were to the heat of the sun, which darted its rays perpendicularly on our heads, that ration, though small would have been a great relief to us; but the distribution was delayed to the morrow. We were then obliged to drink the bitter sea water, ill as it was calculated to quench our thirst. Must I tell it! thirst had so withered the lungs of our sailors, that they drank water salter than that of the sea. Our numbers diminished daily, and nothing but the hope of arriving at the colony on the following day sustained our frail existence. My young brothers and sisters wept incessantly for water. The little Laura, aged six years lay dying at the feet of her mother. Her mournful cries so moved the soul of my unfortunate father, that he was on the eve of opening a vein to quench the thirst which consumed his child; but a wise person opposed his design, observing that all the blood in his body would not prolong the life of his infant one moment. The freshness of the night wind procured us some respite. We anchored pretty near to the shore, and though dying of famine, each got a tranquil sleep. On the morning of the 8th of July, at break of day, we took the route for Senegal. A short while after the wind fell, and we had a dead calm.--We endeavored to row, but our strength was exhausted. A fourth and last distribution was made, and in the twinkling of an eye, our last resources were consumed. We were forty-two people who had to feed upon six biscuits and about four pints of water, with no hope of a farther supply. Then came the moment for deciding whether we were to perish among the breakers, which defended the approach to the shores of the Desert, or to die of famine in continuing our route.--The majority preferred the last species of misery. We continued our progress along the shore, painfully pulling our oars. Upon the beach were distinguished several downs of white sand and some small trees. We were thus creeping along the coast, observing a mournful silence, when a sailor suddenly exclaimed, behold the Moors! We did, in fact, see various individuals upon the rising ground, walking at a quick pace, and whom we took to be the Arabs of the Desert. As we were very near the shore, we stood farther out to sea, fearing that these pretended Moors, or Arabs, would throw themselves into the sea, swim out, and take us. Some hours after, we observed several people upon an eminence, who seemed to make signals for us. We examined them attentively, and soon recognized them to be our companions in misfortune. We replied to them by attaching a white handkerchief to the top of our mast. Then we resolved to land at the risk of perishing among the breakers, which were very strong towards the shore, although the sea was calm. On approaching the beach, we went towards the right, where the waves seemed less agitated, and endeavored to reach it, with the hope of being able more easily to land. Scarcely had we directed our course to that point, when we perceived a great number of people standing near to a little wood surrounding the sand-hills. We recognized them to be the passengers of that boat, which, like ourselves, were deprived of provisions. Meanwhile we approached the shore, and already the foaming surge filled us with terror. Each wave that came from the open sea, each billow that swept beneath our boat, made us bound into the air; so we were sometimes thrown from the poop to the prow, and from the prow to the poop. Then, if our pilot had missed the sea, we would have been sunk; the waves would have thrown us aground, and we would have been buried among the breakers. The helm of the boat was again given to the old pilot, who had already so happily steered us through the dangers of the storm. He instantly threw into the sea the mast, the sails, and everything that could impede our proceedings. When we came to the first landing point, several of our shipwrecked companions, who had reached the shore, ran and hid themselves behind the hills, not to see us perish; others made signs not to approach at that place, some covered their eyes with their hands; others, at last despising the danger, precipitated themselves into the waves to receive us in their arms. We then saw a spectacle that made us shudder. We had already doubled two ranges of breakers; but those which we had still to cross raised their foaming waves to a prodigious height, then sunk with a hollow and monstrous sound, sweeping along a long line of the coast.--Our boat sometimes greatly elevated, and sometimes engulfed between the waves, seemed, at the moment, of utter ruin. Bruised, battered and tossed about on all hands, it turned of itself, and refused to obey the kind hand which directed it.--At that instant a huge wave rushed from the open sea, and dashed against the poop; the boat plunged, disappeared, and we were all among the waves. Our sailors, whose strength had returned at the presence of danger, redoubled their efforts, uttering mournful sounds. Our bark groaned, the oars were broken; it was thought aground, but it was stranded; it was upon its side. The last sea rushed upon us with the impetuosity of a torrent. We were all up to the neck in water; the bitter sea-froth choked us. The grapnel was thrown out.--The sailors threw themselves into the sea; they took the children in their arms; returned, and took us upon their shoulders; and I found myself seated upon the sand on the shore, by the side of my step-mother, my brothers and sisters, almost dead. Every one was upon the beach except my father and some sailors; but that good man arrived at last, to mingle his tears with those of his family and friends. Instantly our hearts joined in addressing our prayers and praises to God. I raised my hands to heaven, and remained sometime immoveable upon the beach. Every one also hastened to testify his gratitude to our old pilot, who next to God, justly merited the title of our preserver. M. Dumege, a naval surgeon, gave him an elegant gold watch, the only thing he had saved from the Medusa. Let the reader now recollect all the perils to which we had been exposed in escaping from the wreck of the frigate to the shores of the Desert--all that we had suffered during our four days' voyage--and he will perhaps have a just notion of the various sensations we felt on getting on shore on that strange and savage land. Doubtless the joy we experienced at having escaped, as by a miracle, the fury of the floods, was very great; but how much was it lessened by the feelings of our horrible situation! Without water, provisions, and the majority of us nearly naked, was it to be wondered at that we should be seized with terror on thinking of the obstacles which we had to surmount, the fatigues, the privations, the pains and sufferings we had to endure, with the dangers we had to encounter in the immense and frightful Desert we had to traverse before we could arrive at our destination? Almighty Providence! it was in Thee alone I put my trust. After we had a little recovered from the fainting and fatigue of our getting on shore, our fellow-sufferers told us they had landed in the forenoon, and cleared the breakers by the strength of their oars and sails; but they had not all been so lucky as we were. One unfortunate person, too desirous of getting quickly on shore, had his legs broken under the shallop, and was taken and laid on the beach, and left to the care of Providence. M. Espiau, commander of the shallop, reproached us for having doubted him when he wished to board us to take our family along with him. It was most true he had landed sixty-three people that day. A short while after our refusal, he took the passengers of the yawl, who would infallibly have perished in the stormy nights of the 6th and 7th. The boat named the Senegal, commanded by M. Maudet, had made the shore at the same time with M. Espiau. The boats of MM. Schmaltz and Lachaumareys were the only ones which continued the route for Senegal, while nine-tenths of the Frenchmen intrusted to these gentlemen were butchering each other on the raft, or dying of hunger on the burning sands of Sahara. About seven in the morning, a caravan was formed to penetrate into the interior, for the purpose of finding some fresh water. We did accordingly find some at a little distance from the sea, by digging among the sand. Every one instantly flocked round the little wells, which furnished enough to quench our thirst. This brackish water was found to be delicious, although it had a sulphurous taste: its color was that of whey. As all our clothes were wet and in tatters, and as we had nothing to change them, some generous officers offered theirs. My step-mother, my cousin, and my sister, were dressed in them; for myself, I preferred keeping my own. We remained nearly an hour beside our beneficent fountain, then took the route for Senegal; that is, a southerly direction, for we did not know exactly where that country lay. It was agreed that the females and children should walk before the caravan, that they might not be left behind. The sailors voluntarily carried the youngest on their shoulders, and every one took the route along the coast. Notwithstanding it was nearly seven o'clock, the sand was quite burning, and we suffered severely, walking without shoes, having lost them while landing. As soon as we arrived on the shore, we went to walk on the wet sand, to cool us a little. Thus we traveled during all the night, without encountering anything but shells, which wounded our feet. On the morning of the 9th, we saw an antelope on the top of a little hill, which instantly disappeared, before we had time to shoot it. The Desert seemed to our view one immense plain of sand, on which was seen not one blade of verdure. However, we still found water by digging in the sand. In the forenoon, two officers of marine complained that our family incommoded the progress of the caravan. It is true, the females and the children could not walk so quickly as the men. We walked as fast as it was possible for us, nevertheless, we often fell behind, which obliged them to halt till we came up. These officers, joined with other individuals, considered among themselves whether they would wait for us, or to abandon us in the Desert. I will be bold to say, however, that but few were of the latter opinion. My father being informed of what was plotting against us, stepped up to the chiefs of the conspiracy, and reproached them in the bitterest terms for their selfishness and brutality. The dispute waxed hot. Those who were desirous of leaving us drew their swords, and my father put his hand upon a poignard, with which he had provided himself on quitting the frigate. At this scene, we threw ourselves in between them, conjuring him rather to remain in the Desert with his family, than seek the assistance of those who were, perhaps, less human than the Moors themselves. Several people took our part, particularly M. Begnere, captain of infantry, who quieted the dispute by saying to his soldiers, 'My friends, you are Frenchmen, and I have the honor of being your commander; let us never abandon an unfortunate family in the Desert, so long as we are able to be of use to them.' This brief, but energetic speech, caused those to blush who wished to leave us. All then joined with the old captain saying they would not leave us on condition we would walk quicker. M. Begnere and his soldiers replied, they did not wish to impose conditions on those to whom they were desirous of doing a favor; and the unfortunate family of Picard were again on the road with the whole caravan. About noon hunger was felt so powerfully among us, that it was agreed upon to go to the small hills of sand which were near the coast, to see if any herbs could be found fit for eating; but we only got poisonous plants, among which were various kinds of euphorbium. Convolvaluses of a bright green carpeted the downs; but on tasting their leaves we found them as bitter as gall. The caravan rested in this place, while several officers went farther into the interior. They came back in about an hour, loaded with wild purslain, which they distributed to each of us. Every one instantly devoured his bunch of herbage, without leaving the smallest branch: but as our hunger was far from being satisfied with this small allowance, the soldiers and sailors betook themselves to look for more. They soon brought back a sufficient quantity, which was equally distributed, and devoured upon the spot, so delicious had hunger made that food to us. For myself, I declare I never eat anything with so much appetite in all my life. Water was also found in this place, but it was of an abominable taste. After this truly frugal repast, we continued our route. The heat was insupportable in the last degree. The sands on which we trod were burning, nevertheless several of us walked on these scorching coals without shoes; and the females had nothing but their hair for a cap. When we reached the sea-shore, we all ran and lay down among the waves. After remaining there some time, we took our route along the wet beach. On our journey we met with several large crabs, which were of considerable service to us. Every now and then we endeavored to slake our thirst by sucking their crooked claws. About nine at night we halted between two pretty high sand hills. After a short talk concerning our misfortunes, all seemed desirous of passing the night in this place, notwithstanding we heard on every side the roaring of leopards. We deliberated on the means of securing ourselves, but sleep soon put an end to our fears. Scarcely had we slumbered a few hours when a terrible roaring of wild beasts awoke us, and made us stand on our defence. It was a beautiful moonlight night, and in spite of my fears and the horrible aspect of the place, nature never appeared so sublime to me before. Instantly something was announced that resembled a lion. This information was listened to with the greatest emotion. Every one being desirous of verifying the truth, fixed upon something he thought to be the object: one believed he saw the long teeth of the king of the forest; another was convinced his mouth was already open to devour us: several, armed with muskets, aimed at the animal, and advancing a few steps, discovered the pretended lion to be nothing more than a shrub fluctuating in the breeze. However, the howlings of ferocious beasts had so frightened us, being yet heard at intervals that we again sought the sea-shore, on purpose to continue our route towards the south. Some of our companions were desirous of making observations in the interior, and they did not go in vain. They instantly returned, and told us they had seen two Arab tents upon a slight rising ground. We instantly directed our steps thither. We had to pass great downs of sand very slippery, and arrived in a large plain streaked here and there with verdure; but the turf was so hard and piercing, we could scarcely walk over it without wounding our feet. Our presence in these frightful solitudes put to flight three or four Moorish shepherds, who herded a small flock of sheep and goats in an oasis. At last we arrived at the tents after which we were searching, and found in them three Mooresses and two little children, who did not seem in the least frightened by our visit. A negro servant, belonging to an officer of marine, interpreted between us; and the good women, who, when they had heard of our misfortunes, offered us millet and water for payment. We bought a little of that grain at the rate of thirty pence a handful; the water was got for three francs a glass; it was very good, and none grudged the money it cost. As a glass of water, with a handful of millet, was but a poor dinner for famished people, my father bought two kids, which they would not give him under twenty piastres. We immediately killed them, and our Mooresses boiled them in a large kettle. While our repast was preparing, my father, who could not afford the whole of the expense, got others to contribute to it, but an old officer of marine, who was to have been captain of the port of Senegal, was the only person who refused, notwithstanding he had about him nearly three thousand francs which he boasted of in the end. Several soldiers and sailors had seen him count it in round pieces of gold, on coming ashore on the Desert, and reproached him for his sordid avarice; but he seemed insensible to their reproaches, nor eat the less of his portion of the kid with his companions in misfortune. When about to resume our journey, we saw several Moors approaching us armed with lances. Our people instantly seized their arms, and put themselves in readiness to defend us in case of an attack. Two officers, followed by several soldiers and sailors, with our interpreter, advanced to discover their intentions. They instantly returned with the Moors, who said, that far from wishing to do us harm, they had come to offer us their assistance, and to conduct us to Senegal. This offer being accepted of with gratitude by all of us, the Moors, of whom we had been so afraid, became our protectors and friends, verifying the old proverb, there are good people everywhere! As the camp of the Moors was at some considerable distance from where we were, we set off altogether to reach it before night. After having walked about two leagues through the burning sands, we found ourselves again upon the shore. Towards night, our conductors made us strike again into the interior, saying we were near their camp which is called in their language Berkelet. But the short distance of the Moors was found very long by the females and the children, on account of the downs of sand which we had to ascend and descend every instant, also of prickly shrubs over which we were frequently obliged to walk. Those who were barefooted, felt most severely at this time the want of their shoes. I myself lost among the bushes various shreds of my dress, and my feet and legs were all streaming with blood. At length, after two long hours of walking and suffering, we arrived at the camp of that tribe to which belonged our Arab conductors. We had scarcely got into the camp, when the dogs, the children, and the Moorish women, began to annoy us. Some of them threw sand in our eyes, others amused themselves by snatching at our hair, on pretence of wishing to examine it. This pinched us, that spit upon us; the dogs bit our legs, whilst the old harpies cut the buttons from the officers coats, or endeavored to take away the lace. Our conductors, however, had pity on us, and chased away the dogs and the curious crowd, who had already made us suffer as much as the thorns which had torn our feet. The chiefs of the camp, our guides, and some good women, at last set about getting us some supper. Water in abundance was given us without payment, and they sold us fish dried in the sun, and some bowlsful of sour milk, at a reasonable price. We found a Moor in the camp who had previously known my father at Senegal, and who spoke a little French. As soon as he recognised him, he cried, 'Tiens toi Picard! ni a pas conneitre moi Amet?' Hark ye, Picard, know you not Amet? We were all struck with astonishment at these French words coming from the mouth of a Moor. My father recollected having employed long ago a young goldsmith at Senegal, and discovering the Moor Amet to be the same person, shook him by the hand. After that good fellow had been made acquainted with our shipwreck, and to what extremities our unfortunate family had been reduced, he could not refrain from tears; and this perhaps was the first time a Mussulman had ever wept over the misfortunes of a Christian. Amet was not satisfied with deploring our hard fate; he was desirous of proving that he was generous and humane, and instantly distributed among us a large quantity of milk and water free of any charge. He also raised for our family a large tent of the skins of camels, cattle and sheep, because his religion would not allow him to lodge with Christians under the same roof. The place appeared very dark, and the obscurity made us uneasy. Amet and our conductors lighted a large fire to quiet us; and at last, bidding us good night, and retiring to his tent, said, 'Sleep in peace; the God of the Christians is also the God of the Mussulman.' We had resolved to quit this truly hospitable place early in the morning; but during the night, some people who had probably too much money, imagined the Moors had taken us to their camp to plunder us. They communicated their fears to others, and pretending that the Moors, who walked up and down among their flocks, and cried from time to time to keep away the ferocious beasts, had already given the signal for pursuing and murdering us. Instantly a general panic seized all our people, and they wished to set off forthwith. My father, although he well knew the perfidy of the inhabitants of the Desert, endeavored to assure them we had nothing to fear, because the Arabs were too frightened for the people of Senegal, who would not fail to avenge us if we were insulted; but nothing could quiet their apprehensions, and we had to take the route during the middle of the night. The Moors being soon acquainted with our fears, made us all kinds of protestations; and seeing we persisted in quitting the camp, offered us asses to carry us as far as the Senegal. These beasts of burden were hired at the rate of 12 francs a day, for each head, and we took our departure under the guidance of those Moors who had before conducted us to the camp. Amet's wife being unwell, he could not accompany us, but recommended us strongly to our guides. My father was able to hire only two asses for the whole of our family; and as it was numerous, my sister Caroline, my cousin, and myself, were obliged to crawl along, whilst my unfortunate father followed in the suite of the caravan, which in truth went much quicker than we did. A short distance from the camp, the brave and compassionate Capt. Begnere, seeing we still walked, obliged us to accept of the ass he had hired for himself, saying he would not ride when young ladies exhausted with fatigue, followed on foot. The King afterwards honorably recompensed this worthy officer, who ceased not to regard our unfortunate family with a care and attention I will never forget. During the remainder of the night, we travelled in a manner sufficiently agreeable, mounting alternately the ass of Captain Begnere. At five in the morning of the 11th of July we regained the sea-shore. Our asses, fatigued with the long journey among the sand, ran instantly and lay down among the breakers, in spite of our utmost exertions to prevent them. This caused several of us to take a bath we wished not; I was myself held under my ass in the water, and had great difficulty in saving one of my young brothers who was floating away. But, in the end as this incident had no unfortunate issue, we laughed, and continued our route, some on foot and some on the capricious asses. Towards ten o'clock, perceiving a ship out at sea, we attached a white handkerchief to the muzzle of a gun, waiving it in the air, and soon had the satisfaction of seeing it was noticed. The ship having approached sufficiently near the coast, the Moors who were with us threw themselves into the sea and swam to it. It must be said we had very wrongfully supposed that these people had had a design against us, for their devotion could not appear greater than when five of them darted through the waves to endeavor to communicate between us and the ship, notwithstanding it was still a good quarter of a league distant from where we stood on the beach. In about half an hour we saw these good Moors returning, making float before them three small barrels. Arrived on shore, one of them gave a letter to M. Espiau from M. Parnajon. This gentleman was the captain of the Argus brig, sent to seek after the raft, and to give us provisions. This letter announced a small barrel of biscuit, a tierce of wine, a half tierce of brandy, and a Dutch cheese. O fortunate event! We were very desirous of testifying our gratitude to the generous commander of the brig, but he instantly set out and left us. We staved the barrels which held our small stock of provisions, and made a distribution.--Each of us had a biscuit, about a glass of wine, a half glass of brandy, and a small morsel of cheese. Each drank his allowance of wine at one gulp; the brandy was not even despised by the ladies. I however preferred quantity to quality, and exchanged my ration of brandy for that of wine. To describe our joy, while taking this repast, is impossible. Exposed to the fierce rays of a vertical sun; exhausted by a long train of suffering; deprived for a long while, the use of any kind of spirituous liquors, when our portions of water, wine and brandy mingled in our stomachs we became like insane people. Life, which had lately been a great burden, now became precious to us. Foreheads, lowering and sulky, began to unwrinkle; enemies became most brotherly; the avaricious endeavored to forget their selfishness and cupidity; the children smiled for the first time since our shipwreck; in a word, every one seemed to be born again from a condition, melancholy and dejected. I even believe the sailors sung the praises of their mistresses. This journey was the most fortunate for us. Some short while after our delicious meal, we saw several Moors approaching, who brought milk and butter, so that we had refreshments in abundance. It is true we paid a little dear for them; the glass of milk cost not less than three francs. After reposing about three hours, our caravan proceeded on its route. About six in the evening, my father finding himself extremely fatigued, wished to rest himself. We allowed the caravan to move on, while my step-mother and myself remained near him, and the rest of the family followed with their asses. We all three soon fell asleep. When we awoke we were astonished at not seeing our companions. The sun was sinking in the west. We saw several Moors approaching us, mounted on camels; and my father reproached himself for having slept so long. Their appearance gave us great uneasiness, and we wished much to escape from them, but my step-mother and myself fell quite exhausted. The Moors with long beards having come quite close to us, one of them alighted and addressed us in the following words. "Be comforted, ladies; under the costume of an Arab, you see an Englishman who is desirous of serving you. Having heard at Senegal that Frenchmen were thrown ashore upon these deserts, I thought my presence might be of some service to them, as I was acquainted with several of the princes of this arid country." These noble words from the mouth of a man we had at first taken to be a Moor, instantly quieted our fears. Recovering from our fright, we rose and expressed to the philanthropic Englishman the gratitude we felt. Mr. Carnet, the name of the generous Briton, told us that our caravan which he had met, waited for us at about the distance of two leagues. He then gave us some biscuit, which we eat; and we then set off together to join our companions. Mr. Carnet wished us to mount his camels, but my step-mother and myself, being unable to persuade ourselves we could sit securely on their hairy haunches, continued to walk on the moist sand, whilst my father, Mr. Carnet and the Moors who accompanied him, proceeded on the camels. We soon reached a little river, called in the country Marigot des Maringoins. We wished to drink of it, but found it as salt as the sea. Mr. Carnet desired us to have patience, and we should find some at the place where our caravan waited. We forded that river knee deep. At last, having walked about an hour, we rejoined our companions, who had found several wells of fresh water. It was resolved to pass the night in this place, which seemed less arid than any we saw near us. The soldiers, being requested to go and seek wood to light a fire, for the purpose of frightening the ferocious beasts which were heard roaring around us, refused; but Mr. Carnet assured us, that the Moors who were with him knew well how to keep all such intruders from our camp. In truth, during the whole of the night these good Arabs promenaded round our caravan, uttering cries at intervals like those we had heard in the camp of the generous Amet. We passed a very good night, and at four in the morning continued our route along the shore, Mr. Carnet left us to endeavor to procure some provisions. Till then our asses had been quite docile; but, annoyed with their riders so long upon their backs, they refused to go forward. A fit took possession of them, and all at the same instant threw their riders on the ground, or among the bushes. The Moors, however, who accompanied us, assisted to catch our capricious animals, who had nearly scampered off, and replaced us on the hard backs of these headstrong creatures. At noon the heat became so violent, that even the Moors themselves bore it with difficulty. We then determined on finding some shade behind the high mounds of sand which appeared in the interior; but how were we to reach them! The sands could not be hotter. We had been obliged to leave our asses on the shore, for they would neither advance nor recede. The greater part of us had neither shoes nor hats; notwithstanding we were obliged to go forward almost a long league to find a little shade. The heat reflected by the sands of the Desert could be compared to nothing but the mouth of an oven at the moment of drawing out the bread; nevertheless, we endured it; but not without cursing those who had been the occasion of all our misfortunes. Arrived behind the heights for which we searched, we stretched ourselves under the Mimos-gommier, (the acacia of the Desert), several broke branches of the asclepia (swallow-wort), and made themselves a shade. But whether from want of air, or the heat of the ground on which we were seated, we were nearly all suffocated. I thought my last hour was come. Already my eyes saw nothing but a dark cloud, when a person of the name of Berner, who was to have been a smith at Senegal, gave me a boot containing some muddy water, which he had had the precaution to keep. I seized the elastic vase, and hastened to swallow the liquid in large draughts. One of my companions equally tormented with thirst, envious of the pleasure I seemed to feel, and which I felt effectually, drew the foot from the boot, and seized it in his turn, but it availed him nothing. The water which remained was so disgusting, that he could not drink it, and spilled it on the ground. Captain Begnere, who was present, judging, by the water which fell, how loathsome must that have been which I had drank, offered me some crumbs of biscuit, which he had kept most carefully in his pocket. I chewed that mixture of bread, dust and tobacco, but I could not swallow it, and gave it all masticated to one of my young brothers, who had fallen from inanimation. We were about to quit this furnace, when we saw our generous Englishman approaching, who brought us provisions.--At this sight I felt my strength revive, and ceased to desire death, which I had before called on to release me from my sufferings. Several Moors accompanied Mr. Carnet, and every one was loaded. On their arrival we had water, with rice and dried fish in abundance. Every one drank his allowance of water, but had not ability to eat, although the rice was excellent. We were all anxious to return to the sea, that we might bathe ourselves, and the caravan put itself on the road to the breakers of Sahara. After an hour's march of great suffering, we regained the shore, as well as our asses, who were lying in the water. We rushed among the waves, and after a bath of half an hour, we reposed ourselves upon the beach. My cousin and I went to stretch ourselves upon a small rising ground, where we were shaded with some old clothes which we had with us. My cousin was clad in an officer's uniform, the lace of which strongly attracted the eyes of Mr. Carnet's Moors. Scarcely had we lain down, when one of them, thinking we were asleep, came to endeavor to steal it; but seeing we were awake, contented himself by looking at us very steadily. About three in the morning, a northwest wind having sprang up and a little refreshed us, our caravan continued its route; our generous Englishman again taking the task of procuring us provisions. At four o'clock the sky became overcast, and we heard thunder in the distance. We all expected a great tempest, which happily did not take place.--Near seven we reached the spot where we were to wait for Mr. Carnet, who came to us with a bullock he had purchased. Then quitting the shore, we went into the interior to seek a place to cook our supper. We fixed our camp beside a small wood of acacias, near to which were several wells or cisterns of fresh water. Our ox was instantly killed, skinned, cut to pieces and distributed. A huge fire was kindled, and each was occupied in dressing his meal. At this time I caught a smart fever; notwithstanding I could not help laughing at seeing every one seated round a large fire holding his piece of beef on the point of his bayonet, a sabre or some sharp-pointed stick. The flickering of the flames on the different faces, sun-burned and covered with long beards, rendered more visible by the darkness of the night, joined to the noise of the waves and the roaring of ferocious beasts, which we heard in the distance, presented a spectacle at once laughable and imposing. While these thoughts were passing across my mind, sleep overpowered my senses. Being awakened in the middle of the night, I found my portion of beef in the shoes which an old sailor had lent me for walking among the thorns; although it was a little burned and smelt strongly of the dish in which it was contained, I eat a good part of it, and gave the rest to my friend the sailor. That seaman, seeing I was ill, offered to exchange my meat for some which he had had the address to boil in a small tin-box. I prayed him to give me a little water if he had any, and he instantly went and fetched me some in his hat. My thirst was so great that I drank it out of his nasty hat without any repugnance. At nine o'clock we met upon the shore a large flock herded by young Moors. These shepherds sold us milk, and one of them offered to lend my father an ass for a knife which he had seen him take out of his pocket. My father having accepted the proposal, the Moor left his companion to accompany us as far as Senegal, from which we were yet two good leagues. Suddenly we left the shore. Our companions appearing quite transported with joy, some of us ran forward, and having gained a slight rising ground, discovered the Senegal at no great distance. We hastened our march, and for the first time since our shipwreck, a smiling picture presented itself to our view.--The trees always green, with which that noble river is shaded, the humming birds, the red birds, the paroquets, the promerops, &c. who flitted among their long yielding branches, caused in us emotions difficult to express. We could not satiate our eyes with gazing on the beauties of this place, verdure being so enchanting to the sight, especially after having travelled through the Desert. Before reaching the river we had to descend a little hill covered with thorny bushes. My ass stumbling threw me into the midst of one, and I tore myself in several places, but was easily consoled when I at length found myself on the banks of a river of fresh water. Every one having quenched his thirst, we stretched ourselves under the shade of a small grove, while the beneficent Mr. Carnet and two of our officers set forward to Senegal to announce our arrival, and to get us boats. In the meanwhile some took a little repose, and others were engaged in dressing the wounds with which they were covered. At two in the afternoon, we saw a small boat beating against the current of the stream with oars. It soon reached the spot where we were. Two Europeans landed, saluted our caravans, and inquired for my father. One of them said he came on the part of MM. Artigue and Laboure, inhabitants of Senegal, to offer assistance to our family; the other added, that he had not waited for the boats which were getting ready for us at the island of St. Louis, knowing too well what would be our need. We were desirous of thanking them, but they instantly ran off to the boat and brought us provisions, which my father's old friends had sent him.--They placed before us a large basket containing several loaves, cheese, a bottle of Madeira, a bottle of filtered water and dresses for my father. Every one, who, during our journey, had taken any interest in our unfortunate family, and especially the brave Captain Begnere, had a share of our provisions. We experienced a real satisfaction in partaking with them, and giving them this small mark of our gratitude. A young aspirant of marine, who had refused us a glass of water in the Desert, pressed with hunger, begged of us some bread; he got it, also a small glass of Madeira. It was four o'clock before the boats of the government arrived, and we all embarked. Biscuit and wine were found in each of them, and all were refreshed. That in which were our family was commanded by M. Artigue, captain of the port, and one of those who had sent us provisions. My father and he embraced as two old friends who had not seen one another for eight years, and congratulated themselves that they had been permitted to meet once more before they died. We had already made a league upon the river when a young navy clerk (M. Mollien) was suddenly taken ill. We put him ashore, and left him to the care of a negro to conduct him to Senegal when he should recover. It would be in vain for me to paint the various emotions of my mind at that delicious moment. I am bold to say all the colony, if we accept MM. Schmaltz and Lachaumareys, were at the port to receive us from our boats. M. Artigue going on shore first to acquaint the English governor of our arrival, met him coming to us on horseback, followed by our generous conductor Mr. Carnet, and several superior officers.--We went on shore carrying our brothers and sisters in our arms. My father presented us to the English governor, who had alighted; he appeared to be sensibly affected with our misfortunes, the females and children chiefly excited his commiseration. And the native inhabitants and Europeans tenderly shook the hands of the unfortunate people; the negro slaves even seemed to deplore our disastrous fate. The governor placed the most sickly of our companions in a hospital; various inhabitants of the colony received others into their houses; M. Artigue obligingly took charge of our family. Arriving at his house we there found his wife, two ladies and an English lady, who begged to be allowed to assist us. Taking my sister Caroline and myself, she conducted us to her house, and presented us to her husband, who received us in the most affable manner; after which she led us to her dressing-room, where we were combed, cleansed, and dressed by the domestic negresses, and were most obligingly furnished with linen from her own wardrobe, the whiteness of which was strongly contrasted with our sable countenances. In the midst of my misfortunes my soul had preserved all its strength; but this sudden change of situation affected me so much, that I thought my intellectual faculties were forsaking me. We were so confused by our agitation, that we scarcely heard the questions which were put to us, having constantly before our eyes the foaming waves and the immense tract of sand over which we had passed. * * * * * The following is the substance, abridged from MM. Correard and Savigny, of what took place on the raft during thirteen days before the sufferers were taken up by the Argus Brig. After the boats had disappeared, the consternation became extreme. All the horrors of thirst and famine passed before our imagination; besides, we had to contend with a treacherous element, which already covered the half of our bodies.--The deep stupor of the soldiers and sailors instantly changed to despair. All saw their inevitable destruction, and expressed by their moans the dark thoughts which brooded in their minds. Our words were at first unavailing to quiet their fears, which we participated with them, but which a greater strength of mind enabled us to dissemble. At last an unmoved countenance, and our proffered consolations, quieted them by degrees, but could not entirely dissipate the terror with which they were seized. When tranquility was a little restored, we began to search about the raft for the charts, the compass, and the anchor, which we presumed had been placed upon it, after what we had been told at the time of quitting the frigate. These things of the first importance, had not been placed upon our machine. Above all, the want of a compass the most alarmed us, and we gave vent to our rage and vengeance. M. Correard then remembered he had seen one in the hands of the principal workmen under his command; he spoke to the man, who replied, 'Yes, yes, I have it with me.' This information transported us with joy, and we believed that our safety depended upon this futile resource; it was about the size of a crown-piece, and very incorrect. Those who have not been in situations in which their existence was exposed to extreme peril, can have but a faint knowledge of the price one attaches then to the simplest objects--with what avidity one seizes the slightest means capable of mitigating the rigor of that fate against which they contend. The compass was given to the commander of the raft, but an accident deprived us of it forever; it fell and disappeared between the pieces of wood which formed our machine. We had kept it but a few hours, and, after its loss, had nothing to guide us but the rising and setting of the sun. We had all gone afloat without taking any food. Hunger beginning to be imperiously felt, we mixed our paste of sea-biscuit with a little wine, and distributed it thus prepared.--Such was our first meal, and the best we had, during our stay upon the raft. An order, according to our numbers, was established for the distribution of our miserable provisions. The ration of wine was fixed at three quarters a day. We will speak no more of the biscuit, it having been entirely consumed at the first distribution. The day passed away sufficiently tranquil. We talked of the means by which we would save ourselves; we spoke of it as a certain circumstance, which reanimated our courage; and we sustained that of the soldiers, by cherishing in them the hope of being able, in a short time, to revenge themselves on those who had abandoned us. This hope of vengeance, it must be avowed, equally animated us all; and we poured out a thousand imprecations against those who had left us a prey to so much misery and danger. The officer who commanded the raft being unable to move, M. Savigny took upon himself the duty of erecting the mast. He caused them to cut in two one of the poles of the frigate's masts, and fixed it with the rope which had served to tow us, and of which we made stays and shrouds. It was placed on the anterior third of the raft. We put up for a sail the main-top-gallant, which trimmed very well, but was of very little use, except when the wind served from behind; and to keep the raft in this course, we were obliged to trim the sail as if the breeze blew athwart us. In the evening, our hearts and our prayers, by a feeling natural to the unfortunate, were turned towards Heaven.--Surrounded by inevitable dangers, we addressed that invisible Being who has established, and who maintains the order of the universe. Our vows were fervent, and we experienced from our prayers the cheering influence of hope. It is necessary to have been in similar situations, before one can rightly imagine what a charm is the sublime idea of a God protecting the unfortunate to the heart of the sufferer. One consoling thought still soothed our imaginations. We persuaded ourselves that the little divisions had gone to the isle of Arguin, and that after it had set a part of its people on shore, the rest would return to our assistance; we endeavored to impress this idea on our soldiers and sailors, which quieted them. The night came without our hope being realized; the wind freshened, and the sea was considerably swelled. What a horrible night! The thought of seeing the boats on the morrow, a little consoled our men, the greater part of whom, being unaccustomed to the sea, fell on one another at each movement of the raft. M. Savigny, seconded by some people who still preserved their presence of mind amidst the disorder, stretched cords across the raft, by which the men held, and were better able to resist the swell of the sea; some were even obliged to fasten themselves. In the middle of the night the weather was very rough; huge waves burst upon us, sometimes overturning us with great violence. The cries of the men, mingled with the flood, whilst the terrible sea raised us at every instant from the raft, and threatened to sweep us away. This scene was rendered still more terrible, by the horrors inspired by the darkness of the night. Suddenly we believed we saw fires in the distance at intervals. We had had the precaution to hang at the top of the mast, the gunpowder and pistols which we had brought from the frigate. We made signals by burning a large quantity of cartridges; we even fired some pistols, but it seems the fire we saw, was nothing but an error of vision, or, perhaps, nothing more than the sparkling of the waves. We struggled with death during the whole of the night, holding firmly by the ropes which were made very secure.--Tossed by the waves from the back to the front, and from the front to the back, and sometimes precipitated into the sea; floating between life and death, mourning our misfortunes, certain of perishing; we disputed, nevertheless, the remainder of our existence, with that cruel element which threatened to engulf us. Such was our condition till daybreak. At every instant were heard the lamentable cries of the soldiers and sailors; they prepared for death, bidding farewell to one another, imploring the protection of Heaven, and addressing fervent prayers to God. Every one made vows to him, in spite of the certainty of never being able to accomplish them. Frightful situation! How is it possible to have any idea of it, which will not fall far short of the reality! Towards seven in the morning the sea fell a little, the wind blew with less fury; but what a scene presented itself to our view! Ten or twelve unfortunates, having their inferior extremities fixed in the openings between the pieces of the raft, had perished by being unable to disengage themselves; several others were swept away by the violence of the sea. At the hour of repast, we took the numbers anew; we had lost twenty men. We will not affirm that this was the exact number; for we perceived some soldiers who, to have more than their share, took rations for two, and even three; we were so huddled together that we found it absolutely impossible to prevent this abuse. In the midst of these horrors a touching scene of filial piety drew our tears. Two young men raised and recognized their father, who had fallen, and was lying insensible among the feet of the people. They believed him at first dead, and their despair was expressed in the most affecting manner. It was perceived, however, that he still breathed, and every assistance was rendered for his recovery in our power. He slowly revived, and was restored to life, and to the prayers of his sons, who supported him closely folded in their arms.--Whilst our hearts were softened by this affecting episode in our melancholy adventures, we had soon to witness the sad spectacle of a dark contrast. Two ship-boys and a baker feared not to seek death, and threw themselves into the sea, after having bid farewell to their companions in misfortune. Already the minds of our people were singularly altered; some believed that they saw land, others ships which were coming to save us; all talked aloud of their fallacious visions. We lamented the loss of our unfortunate companions. At this moment we were far from anticipating the still more terrible scene which took place on the following night; far from that, we enjoyed a positive satisfaction so well were we persuaded that the boats would return to our assistance. The day was fine, and the most perfect tranquility reigned all the while on our raft. The evening came and no boats appeared. Despondency began again to seize our men, and then a spirit of insubordination manifested itself in cries of rage. The voice of the officers was entirely disregarded. Night fell rapidly in, the sky was obscured by dark clouds; the wind which, during the whole day, had blown rather violently, became furious and swelled the sea, which in an instant became very rough. The preceding night had been frightful, but this was more so. Mountains of water covered us at every instant, and burst with fury into the midst of us. Very fortunately we had the wind from behind, and the strongest of the sea was a little broken by the rapidity with which we were driven before it. We were impelled towards the land. The men, from the violence of the sea, were hurried from the back to the front; we were obliged to keep to the centre, the firmest part of the raft, and those who could not get there almost all perished. Before and behind the waves dashed impetuously, and swept away the men in spite of all their resistance. At the centre the pressure was such, that some unfortunates were suffocated by the weight of their comrades, who fell upon them at every instant. The officers kept by the foot of the little mast, and were obliged every moment to call to those around them to go to the one or the other side to avoid the waves; for the sea coming nearly athwart us, gave our raft nearly a perpendicular position, to counteract which, they were forced to throw themselves upon the side raised by the sea. The soldiers and sailors, frightened by the presence of almost inevitable danger, doubted not that they had reached their last hour. Firmly believing they were lost, they resolved to soothe their last moments by drinking till they lost their senses. We had no power to oppose this disorder. They seized a cask which was in the centre of the raft, made a little hole in the end of it, and, with small tin cups, took each a pretty large quantity; but they were obliged to cease, for the sea water rushed into the hole they had made. The fumes of the wine failed not to disorder their brains, already weakened by the presence of danger and want of food. Thus excited, these men became deaf to the voice of reason. They wished to involve, in one common ruin, all their companions in misfortune. They avowedly expressed their intention of freeing themselves from their officers, who they said, wished to oppose their design; and then to destroy the raft, by cutting the ropes which united its different parts. Immediately after they resolved to put their plans into execution. One of them advanced upon the side of the raft with a boarding axe, and began to cut the cords. This was the signal of revolt. We stepped forward to prevent these insane mortals, and he who was armed with the hatchet, with which he even threatened an officer, fell the first victim; a stroke of a sabre terminated his existence. This man was an Asiatic, and a soldier in a colonial regiment. Of a colossal stature, short hair, a nose extremely large, an enormous mouth and dark complexion, he made a most hideous appearance. At first he had placed himself in the middle of the raft, and, at each blow of his fist, knocked down every one who opposed him; he inspired the greatest terror, and none durst approach him. Had there been six such, our destruction would have been certain. Some men anxious to prolong their existence, armed and united themselves with those who wished to preserve the raft; among this number were some subaltern officers and many passengers. The rebels drew their sabres, and those who had none armed themselves with knives. They advanced in a determined manner upon us; we stood on our defence; the attack commenced. Animated by despair, one of them aimed a stroke at an officer; the rebel instantly fell, pierced with wounds. This firmness awed them for an instant, but diminished nothing of their rage. They ceased to advance, and withdrew, presenting to us a front bristling with sabres and bayonets, to the back part of the raft to execute their plan.--One of them feigned to rest himself on the small railings on the sides of the raft, and with a knife began cutting the cords. Being told by a servant, one of us sprung upon him. A soldier, wishing to defend him, struck at the officer with his knife, which only pierced his coat; the officer wheeled round, seized his adversary, and threw both him and his comrade into the sea. There had been as yet but partial affairs; the combat became general. Some one cried to lower the sail; a crowd of infuriated mortals threw themselves in an instant upon the haulyards and the shrouds, and cut them. The fall of the mast almost broke the thigh of a captain of infantry, who fell insensible. He was seized by the soldiers, who threw him into the sea. We saved him, and placed him on a barrel, whence he was taken by the rebels, who wished to put out his eyes with a penknife. Exasperated by so much brutality, we no longer restrained ourselves, but pushed in upon them, and charged them with fury. Sword in hand we traversed the line which the soldiers had formed, and many paid with their lives the errors of their revolt. Various passengers, during these cruel moments, evinced the greatest courage and coolness. M. Correard fell into a sort of swoon; but hearing at every instant the cries, To Arms! with us comrades; we are lost! joined with the groans and imprecations of the wounded and dying, was soon roused from his lethargy. All this horrible tumult speedily made him comprehend how necessary it was to be upon his guard. Armed with his sabre, he gathered together some of his workmen on the front of the raft, and there charged them to hurt no one, unless they were attacked. He almost always remained with them; and several times they had to defend themselves against the rebels, who, swimming round to that point of the raft, placed M. Correard and his little troop between two dangers, and made their position very difficult to defend. At every instant he was opposed to men armed with knives, sabres and bayonets. Many had carabines which they wielded as clubs. Every effort was made to stop them, by holding them off at the point of their swords; but, in spite of the repugnance they experienced in fighting with their wretched countrymen, they were compelled to use their arms without mercy. Many of the mutineers attacked with fury, and they were obliged to repel them in the same manner. Some of the laborers received severe wounds in this action. Their commander could show a great number received in the different engagements. At last their united efforts prevailed in dispersing this mass who had attacked them with such fury. During this combat, M. Correard was told by one of his workmen who remained faithful, that one of their comrades, named Dominique, had gone over to the rebels, and that they had seized and thrown him into the sea. Immediately forgetting the fault and treason of this man, he threw himself in at the place whence the voice of the wretch was heard calling for assistance, seized him by the hair, and had the good fortune to restore him on board. Dominique had got several sabre wounds in a charge, one of which had laid open his head. In spite of the darkness we found out the wound, which seemed very large. One of the workmen gave his handkerchief to bind and stop the blood. Our care recovered the wretch; but, when he had collected strength, the ungrateful Dominique, forgetting at once his duty and the signal service which we had rendered him, went and rejoined the rebels. So much baseness and insanity did not go unrevenged; and soon after he found, in a fresh assault, that death from which he was not worthy to be saved, but which he might in all probability have avoided, if, true to honor and gratitude, he had remained among us. Just at the moment we finished dressing the wounds of Dominique, another voice was heard. It was that of the unfortunate female who was with us on the raft, and whom the infuriated beings had thrown into the sea, as well as her husband, who had defended her with courage. M. Correard in despair at seeing two unfortunates perish, whose pitiful cries, especially the woman's pierced his heart, seized a large rope which he found on the front of the raft, which he fastened round his middle, and throwing himself a second time into the sea, was again so fortunate as to save the woman, who invoked, with all her might, the assistance of our Lady of Land. Her husband was rescued at the same time by the head workman, Lavilette. We laid these unfortunates upon the dead bodies, supporting their backs with a barrel. In a short while they recovered their senses. The first thing the woman did was to acquaint herself with the name of the person who saved her, and to express to him her liveliest gratitude.--Finding, doubtless, that her words but ill expressed her feelings, she recollected she had in her pocket a little snuff, and instantly offered it to him,--it was all she possessed. Touched with the gift, but unable to use it, M. Correard gave it to a poor sailor, which served him for three or four days. But it is impossible for us to describe a still more affecting scene, the joy this unfortunate couple testified, when they had sufficiently recovered their senses, at finding that they were both saved. The rebels being repulsed, as it has been stated above, left us a little repose. The moon lighted with her melancholy rays this disastrous raft, this narrow space, on which were found united so many torturing anxieties, so many cruel misfortunes, a madness so insensate, a courage so heroic, and the most generous, the most amiable sentiments of nature and humanity. The man and wife, who had been but a little before stabbed with swords and bayonets, and thrown both together into a stormy sea, could scarcely credit their senses when they found themselves in one another's arms. The woman was a native of the Upper Alps, which place she had left twenty-four years before, and during which time she had followed the French armies in the campaigns in Italy, and other places, as a sutler. 'Therefore preserve my life,' said she to M. Correard, 'you see I am an useful woman. Ah! if you knew how often I have ventured upon the field of battle, and braved death to carry assistance to our gallant men. Whether they had money or not I always let them have my goods. Sometimes a battle would deprive me of my poor debtors; but after the victory, others would pay me double or triple for what they had consumed before the engagement. Thus I came in for a share of their victories.' Unfortunate woman! she little knew what a horrible fate awaited her among us! They felt, they expressed so vividly that happiness which they alas so shortly enjoyed, that would have drawn tears from the most obdurate heart. But in that horrible moment, when we scarcely breathed from the most furious attack,--when we were obliged to be continually on our guard, not only against the violence of the men, but a most boisterous sea, few among us had time to attend to scenes of conjugal affection. After this second check, the rage of the soldiers was suddenly appeased, and gave place to the most abject cowardice. Several threw themselves at our feet, and implored our pardon, which was instantly granted. Thinking that order was re-established, we returned to our station on the centre of the raft, only taking the precaution of keeping our arms. We, however, had soon to prove the impossibility of counting on the permanence of any honest sentiment in the hearts of these beings. It was nearly midnight; and after an hour of apparent tranquility, the soldiers rose afresh. Their mind was entirely gone; they ran upon us in despair with knives and sabres in their hands. As they yet had all their physical strength, and besides were armed, we were obliged again to stand on our defence. Their revolt became still more dangerous, as, in their delirium, they were entirely deaf to the voice of reason. They attacked us, we charged them in our turn, and immediately the raft was strewed with their dead bodies. Those of our adversaries who had no weapons endeavored to tear us with their sharp teeth. Many of us were cruelly bitten.--M. Savigny was torn on the legs and the shoulder; he also received a wound on the right arm which deprived him of the use of his fourth and little finger for a long while. Many others were wounded; and many cuts were found in our clothes from knives and sabres. One of our workmen was also seized by four of the rebels, who wished to throw him into the sea. One of them had laid hold of his right leg, and had bit most unmercifully the tendon above the heel; others were striking him with great slashes of their sabres, and with the butt end of their guns, when his cries made us hasten to his assistance. In this affair, the brave Lavilette, ex-serjeant of the foot artillery of the Old Guard, behaved with a courage worthy of the greatest praise. He rushed upon the infuriated beings in the manner of M. Correard, and soon snatched the workman from the danger which menaced him. Some short while after, in a fresh attack of the rebels, sub-lieutenant Lozach fell into their hands. In their delirium, they had taken him for Lieutenant Danglas, of whom we have formerly spoken, and who had abandoned the raft at the moment when we were quitting the frigate. The troop, to a man, eagerly sought this officer, who had seen little service, and whom they reproached for having used them ill during the time they garrisoned the Isle of Rhe. We believed this officer lost, but hearing his voice, we soon found it still possible to save him. Immediately MM. Clairet, Savigny, L'Heureux, Lavilette, Coudin, Correard, and some workmen, formed themselves into small platoons, and rushed upon the insurgents with great impetuosity, overturning every one in their way, and retook M. Lozach, and placed him on the centre of the raft. The preservation of this officer cost us infinite difficulty. Every moment the soldiers demanded he should be delivered to them, designating him always by the name of Danglas. We endeavored to make them comprehend their mistake, and told them that they themselves had seen the person for whom they sought return on board the frigate. They were insensible to everything we said; everything before them was Danglas; they saw him perpetually, and furiously and unceasingly demanded his head. It was only by force of arms we succeeded in repressing their rage, and quieting their dreadful cries of death. Horrible night! thou shrouded with thy gloomy veil these frightful combats, over which presided the cruel demon of despair. We had also to tremble for the life of M. Coudin. Wounded and fatigued by the attacks which he had sustained with us, and in which he had shown a courage superior to everything, he was resting himself on a barrel, holding in his arms a young sailor boy of twelve years of age, to whom he had attached himself. The mutineers seized him with his barrel, and threw him into the sea with the boy, whom he still held fast. In spite of his burden, he had the presence of mind to lay hold of the raft, and to save himself from this extreme peril. We cannot yet comprehend how a handful of men should have been able to resist such a number so monstrously insane. We are sure we were not more than twenty to combat all these madmen. Let it not, however, be imagined, that in the midst of all these dangers we had preserved our reason entire. Fear, anxiety, and the most cruel privations, had greatly changed our intellectual faculties. But being somewhat less insane than the unfortunate soldiers, we energetically opposed their determination of cutting the cords of the raft. Permit us now to make some observations concerning the different sensations with which we were affected. During the first day, M. Griffon entirely lost his senses. He threw himself into the sea, but M. Savigny saved him with his own hands. His words were vague and unconnected. A second time he threw himself in, but, by a sort of instinct, kept hold of the cross pieces of the raft, and was again saved. The following is what M. Savigny experienced in the beginning of the night. His eyes closed in spite of himself, and he felt a general drowsiness. In this condition the most delightful visions flitted across his imagination. He saw around him a country covered with the most beautiful plantations, and found himself in the midst of objects delightful to his senses. Nevertheless, he reasoned concerning his condition, and felt that courage alone could withdraw him from this species of non-existence. He demanded some wine from the master-gunner, who got it for him, and he recovered a little from this stupor. If the unfortunates who were assailed with these primary symptoms had not strength to withstand them, their death was certain. Some became furious; others threw themselves into the sea, bidding farewell to their comrades with the utmost coolness. Some said--'Fear nothing; I am going to get you assistance, and will return in a short while.' In the midst of this general madness, some wretches were seen rushing upon their companions, sword in hand, demanding a wing of a chicken and some bread to appease the hunger which consumed them; others asked for their hammocks to go, they said, between the decks of the frigate to take a little repose. Many believed they were still on the Medusa, surrounded by the same objects they there saw daily. Some saw ships, and called to them for assistance, or a fine harbor, in the distance of which was an elegant city. M. Correard thought he was travelling through the beautiful fields of Italy. An officer said to him--'I recollect we have been abandoned by the boats; but fear nothing. I am going to write to the governor, and in a few hours we shall be saved.' M. Correard replied in the same tone, and as if he had been in his ordinary condition.--'Have you a pigeon to carry your orders with such celerity?' The cries and the confusion soon roused us from this languor; but when tranquility was somewhat restored, we again fell into the same drowsy condition. On the morrow, we felt as if we had awoke from a painful dream, and asked our companions, if, during their sleep, they had not seen combats and heard cries of despair. Some replied, that the same visions had continually tormented them, and that they were exhausted with fatigue. Every one believed he was deceived by the illusions of a horrible dream. After these different combats, overcome with toil, with want of food and sleep, we laid ourselves down and reposed till the morrow dawned, and showed us the horror of the scene. A great number in their delirium had thrown themselves into the sea. We found that sixty or sixty-five had perished during the night. A fourth part at least, we supposed, had drowned themselves in despair. We only lost two of our own numbers, neither of whom were officers. The deepest dejection was painted on every face; each, having recovered himself, could now feel the horrors of his situation; and some of us, shedding tears of despair, bitterly deplored the rigor of our fate. A new misfortune was now revealed to us. During the tumult, the rebels had thrown into the sea two barrels of wine, and the only two casks of water which we had upon the raft. Two casks of wine had been consumed the day before, and only one was left. We were more than sixty in number, and we were obliged to put ourselves on half rations. At break of day, the sea calmed, which permitted us again to erect our mast. When it was replaced, we made a distribution of wine. The unhappy soldiers murmured and blamed us for privations which we equally endured with them. They fell exhausted. We had taken nothing for forty-eight hours, and we had been obliged to struggle continually against a strong sea. We could, like them, hardly support ourselves; courage alone made us still act. We resolved to employ every possible means to catch fish, and, collecting all the hooks and eyes from the soldiers, made fish-hooks of them but all was of no avail. The currents carried our lines under the raft, where they got entangled. We bent a bayonet to catch sharks, one bit at it, and straitened it, and we abandoned our project. Something was absolutely necessary to sustain our miserable existence, and we tremble with horror at being obliged to tell that of which we made use. We feel our pen fall from our hands: a mortal cold congeals all our members, and our hair bristles erect on our foreheads. Readers! we implore you, feel not indignant towards men already overloaded with misery. Pity their condition, and shed a tear of sorrow for their deplorable fate. The wretches, whom death had spared during the disastrous night we have described, seized upon the dead bodies with which the raft was covered, cutting them up by slices, which some even instantly devoured. Many nevertheless refrained. Almost all the officers were of this number. Seeing that this monstrous food had revived the strength of those who had used it, it was proposed to dry it, to make it a little more palatable. Those who had firmness to abstain from it, took an additional quantity of wine. We endeavored to eat shoulder-belts and cartouch-boxes, and contrived to swallow some small bits of them. Some eat linen; others the leathers of their hats, on which was a little grease or rather dirt. We had recourse to many expedients to prolong our miserable existence, to recount which would only disgust the heart of humanity. The day was calm and beautiful. A ray of hope beamed for a moment to quiet our agitation. We still expected to see the boats or some ships, and addressed our prayers to the Eternal, on whom we placed our trust. The half of our men were extremely feeble, and bore upon their faces the stamp of approaching dissolution. The evening arrived, and we found no help. The darkness of the third night augmented our fears, but the wind was still, and the sea less agitated. The sun of the fourth morning since our departure shone upon our disaster, and showed us ten or twelve of our companions stretched lifeless upon the raft. This sight struck us most forcibly, as it told us we would be soon extended in the same manner in the same place. We gave their bodies to the sea for a grave, reserving only one to feed those who, but the day before, had held his trembling hands, and sworn to him eternal friendship. This day was beautiful. Our souls, anxious for more delightful sensations, were in harmony with the aspect of the heavens, and got again a new ray of hope. Towards four in the afternoon, an unlooked for event happened which gave us some consolation. A shoal of flying fish passed under our raft, and as there were an infinite number of openings between the pieces which composed it, the fish were entangled in great quantities. We threw ourselves upon them, and captured a considerable number. We took about two hundred and put them in an empty barrel; we opened them as we caught them, and took out what is called their milt. This food seemed delicious: but one man would have required a thousand. Our first emotion was to give to God renewed thanks for this unhoped for favor. An ounce of gunpowder having been found in the morning, was dried in the sun during the day, which was very fine; a steel, gunflints, and tinder made also a part of the same parcel. After a good deal of difficulty we set fire to some fragments of dry linen. We made a large opening in the side of an empty cask, and placed at the bottom of it several wet things, and upon this kind of scaffolding we set our fire; all of which we placed on a barrel that the sea-water might not extinguish it. We cooked some fish and eat them with extreme avidity; but our hunger was such, and our portion so small, that we added to it some of the sacrilegious viands, which the cooking rendered less revolting. This some of the officers touched for the first time. From this day we continued to eat it; but we could no longer dress it, the means of making a fire having been entirely lost; the barrel having caught fire we extinguished it without being able to preserve anything to rekindle it on the morrow. The powder and tinder were entirely gone. This meal gave us all additional strength to support our fatigues. The night was tolerable, and would have been happy, had it not been signalized by a new massacre. Some Spaniards, Italians, and negroes, had formed a plot to throw us all into the sea. The negroes had told them that they were very near the shore, and that, when there, they would enable them to traverse Africa without danger. We had to take to our arms again, the sailors, who had remained faithful to us, pointing out to us the conspirators. The first signal for battle was given by a Spaniard, who, placing himself behind the mast, holding fast by it, made the sign of the Cross with one hand, invoking the name of God, and with the other held a knife. The sailors seized him and threw him into the sea. An Italian, servant to an officer of the troops, who was in the plot, seeing all was discovered, armed himself with the only boarding axe left on the raft, made his retreat to the front, enveloped himself in a piece of drapery he wore across his breast, and of his own accord threw himself into the sea. The rebels rushed forward to avenge their comrades; a terrible conflict again commenced; both sides fought with desperate fury; and soon the fatal raft was strewed with dead bodies and blood, which should have been shed by other hands, and in another cause. In this tumult we heard them again demanding, with horrid rage, the head of Lieut. Danglas! In this assault the unfortunate sutler was a second time thrown into the sea. M. Coudin, assisted by some workmen, saved her, to prolong for a little while her torment and her existence. In this terrible night Lavilette failed not to give proofs of the rarest intrepidity. It was to him and some of those who had survived the sequel of our misfortunes, that we owed our safety. At last, after unheard of efforts, the rebels were once more repulsed, and quiet restored. Having escaped this new danger, we endeavored to get some repose. The day at length dawned upon us for the fifth time. We were now no more than thirty in number. We had lost four or five of our faithful sailors, and those who survived were in the most deplorable condition. The sea-water had almost entirely excoriated the skin of our lower extremities; we were covered with contusions or wounds, which, irritated by the salt water, extorted from us the most piercing cries. About twenty of us only were capable of standing upright or walking. Almost all our fish was exhausted; we had but four days' supply of wine: in four days, said we, nothing will be left, and death will be inevitable. Thus came the seventh day of our abandonment. In the course of the day two soldiers had glided behind the only barrel of wine that was left; pierced it, and were drinking by means of a reed. We had sworn that those who used such means should be punished with death; which law was instantly put in execution, and the two transgressors were thrown into the sea. This same day saw the close of the life of a child named Leon, aged twelve years. He died like a lamp which ceases to burn for want of aliment. All spoke in favor of this young and amiable creature, who merited a better fate. His angelic form, his musical voice, the interest of an age so tender increased still more by the courage he had shown, and the services he had performed, for he had already made in the preceding year a campaign in the East Indies, inspired us all with the greatest pity for this young victim, devoted to so horrible and premature a death. Our old soldiers and all our people in general did everything they could to prolong his existence, but all was in vain. Neither the wine which they gave him without regret, nor all the means they employed, could arrest his melancholy doom, and he expired in the arms of M. Coudin, who had not ceased to give him the most unwearied attention. Whilst he had strength to move, he ran incessantly from one side to the other, loudly calling for his unhappy mother, for water and food. He trod indiscriminately on the feet and legs of his companions in misfortune, who, in their turn, uttered sorrowful cries, but these were very rarely accompanied with menaces; they pardoned all which the poor boy had made them suffer. He was not in his senses, consequently could not be expected to behave as if he had had the use of his reason. There now remained but twenty-seven of us. Fifteen of that number seemed able to live yet some days; the rest, covered with large wounds, had almost entirely lost the use of their reason. They still, however, shared in the distributions, and would, before they died, consume to thirty or forty bottles of wine, which to us were inestimable. We deliberated, that by putting the sick on half allowance was but putting them to death by halves: but after a counsel, at which presided the most dreadful despair, it was decided they should be thrown into the sea. This means, however repugnant, however horrible it appeared to us, procured the survivors six days wine. But after the decision was made, who durst execute it? The habit of seeing death ready to devour us; the certainty of our infallible destruction without this monstrous expedient; all, in short, had hardened our hearts to every feeling but that of self-preservation. Three sailors and a soldier took charge of this cruel business. We looked aside and shed tears of blood at the fate of these unfortunates. Among them were the wretched sutler and her husband. Both had been grievously wounded in the different combats. The woman had a thigh broken between the beams of the raft, and a stroke of a sabre had made a deep wound in the head of her husband. Every thing announced their approaching end. We consoled ourselves with the belief that our cruel resolution shortened but a brief space the term of their existence. Ye who shudder at the cry of outraged humanity, recollect, that it was other men, fellow-countrymen, comrades who had placed us in this awful situation! This horrible expedient saved the fifteen who remained; for when we were found by the Argus brig, we had very little wine left, and it was the sixth day after the cruel sacrifice we have described. The victims, we repeat, had not more than forty-eight hours to live, and by keeping them on the raft, we would have been absolutely destitute of the means of existence two days before we were found. Weak as we were, we considered it as a certain thing, that it would have been impossible for us to have lived only twenty-four hours more without taking some food. After this catastrophe, we threw our arms into the sea; they inspired us with a horror we could not overcome. We only kept one sabre, in case we had to cut some cordage or some piece of wood. A new event, for everything was an event to wretches to whom the world was reduced to the narrow space of a few toises, and for whom the winds and waves contended in their fury as they floated above the abyss; an event happened which diverted our minds from the horrors of our situation. All on a sudden a white butterfly, of a species common in France, came fluttering above our heads, and settled on our sails. The first thought this little creature suggested was, that it was the harbinger of approaching land, and we clung to the hope with a delirium of joy. It was the ninth day we had been upon the raft; the torments of hunger consumed our entrails; and the soldiers and sailors already devoured with haggard eyes this wretched prey, and seemed ready to dispute about it. Others looking upon it as a messenger from Heaven, declared that they took it under their protection, and would suffer none to do it harm. It is certain we could not be far from land, for the butterflies continued to come on the following days, and flutter about our sail. We had also on the same day another indication not less positive, by a Goeland which flew around our raft. This second visitor left us no doubt that we were fast approaching the African soil, and we persuaded ourselves we would be speedily thrown upon the coast by the force of the currents. This same day a new care employed us. Seeing we were reduced to so small a number, we collected all the little strength we had left, detached some planks on the front of the raft, and, with some pretty long pieces of wood, raised on the centre a kind of platform, on which we reposed. All the effects we could collect were placed upon it, and rendered to make it less hard; which also prevented the sea from passing with such facility through the spaces between the different planks, but the waves came across, and sometimes covered us completely. On this new theatre we resolved to meet death in a manner becoming Frenchmen, and with perfect resignation. Our time was almost wholly spent in speaking of our unhappy country. All our wishes, our last prayers, were for the prosperity of France. Thus passed the last days of our abode upon the raft. Soon after our abandonment, we bore with comparative ease the immersions during the nights, which are very cold in these countries; but latterly, every time the waves washed over us, we felt a most painful sensation, and we uttered plaintive cries. We employed every means to avoid it. Some supported their heads on pieces of wood, and made with what they could find a sort of little parapet to screen them from the force of the waves; others sheltered themselves behind two empty casks. But these means were very insufficient: it was only when the sea was calm that it did not break over us. An ardent thirst, redoubled in the day by the beams of a burning sun, consumed us. An officer of the army found by chance a small lemon, and it may be easily imagined how valuable such a fruit would be to him. His comrades, in spite of the most urgent entreaties, could not get a bit of it from him. Signs of rage were already manifested, and had he not partly listened to the solicitations of those around him, they would have taken it by force, and he would have perished the victim of his selfishness. We also disputed about thirty cloves of garlic which were found in the bottom of a sack. These disputes were for the most part accompanied with violent menaces, and if they had been prolonged, we might perhaps have come to the last extremities. There was found also two small phials, in which was a spirituous liquid for cleaning the teeth. He who possessed them kept them with care, and gave with reluctance one or two drops in the palm of the hand. This liquor which, we think, was a tincture of guiacum, cinnamon, cloves, and other aromatic substances, produced on our tongues an agreeable feeling, and for a short while removed the thirst which destroyed us. Some of us found some small pieces of powder, which made, when put into the mouth, a kind of coolness. One plan generally employed was to put into a hat a quantity of sea-water with which we washed our faces for a while, repeating it at intervals. We also bathed our hair and held our hands in the water. Misfortune made us ingenious, and each thought of a thousand means to alleviate his sufferings. Emaciated by the most cruel privations, the least agreeable feeling was to us a happiness supreme. Thus we sought with avidity a small empty phial which one of us possessed, and in which had once been some essence of roses; and every one as he got hold of it respired with delight the odor it exhaled, which imparted to his senses the most soothing impressions. Many of us kept our ration of wine in a small tin cup, and sucked it out with a quill. This manner of taking it was of great benefit to us, and allayed our thirst much better than if we had gulped it off at once. Three days passed in inexpressible anguish. So much did we despise life, that many of us feared not to bathe in sight of the sharks which surrounded our raft; others placed themselves naked upon the front of our machine, which was under water. These expedients diminished a little the ardor of their thirst. A species of molusca, known to seamen by the name of gatere, was sometimes driven in great numbers on our raft; and when their long arms rested on our naked bodies, they occasioned us the most cruel sufferings. Will it be believed, that amidst these terrible scenes, struggling with inevitable death, some of us uttered pleasantries which made us yet smile, in spite of the horrors of our situation? One, besides others, said jestingly, 'If the brig is sent to search for us, pray God it has the eyes of Argus,' in allusion to the name of the vessel we presumed would be sent to our assistance. This consolatory idea never left us an instant, and we spoke of it frequently. On the 16th, reckoning we were very near land, eight of the most determined among us resolved to endeavor to gain the coast. A second raft, of smaller dimensions, was formed for transporting them thither: but it was found insufficient, and they at length determined to await death in their present situation. Meanwhile night came on, and its sombre veil revived in our minds the most afflicting thoughts. We were convinced there were not above a dozen or fifteen bottles of wine in our barrel. We began to have an invincible disgust at the flesh which had till then scarcely supported us; and we may say, that the sight of it inspired us with feelings of horror, doubtless produced by the idea of our approaching destruction. On the morning of the 17th, the sun appeared free from clouds. After having addressed our prayers to the Eternal, we divided among us a part of our wine. Each, with delight, was taking his small portion, when a captain of infantry, casting his eyes on the horizon, perceived a ship, announced it to us by an exclamation of joy. We knew it to be a brig, but it was at a great distance; we could distinguish the masts. The sight of this vessel revived in us emotions difficult to describe. Each believed his deliverance sure, and we gave a thousand thanks to God. Fears, however, mingled with our hopes. We straightened some hoops of casks, to the ends of which we fixed handkerchiefs of different colors. A man, with our united assistance, mounted to the top of the mast, and waved these little flags. For more than half an hour, we were tossed between hope and fear. Some thought the vessel grew larger, and others were convinced its course was from us. These last were the only ones whose eyes were not blinded by hope, for the ship disappeared. From the delirium of joy, we passed to that of despondency and sorrow. We envied the fate of those whom we had seen perish at our sides; and we said to ourselves, 'When we shall be in want of everything, and when our strength begins to forsake us, we will wrap ourselves up as well as we can, we will stretch ourselves on this platform, the witness of the most cruel sufferings, and there await death with resignation.' At length, to calm our despair, we sought for consolation in the arm of sleep. The day before, we had been scorched by the beams of a burning sun: to-day, to avoid the fierceness of his rays, we made a tent with the main-sail of the frigate. As soon as it was finished, we laid ourselves under it; thus all that was passing without was hid from our eyes. We proposed then to write upon a plank an abridgement of our adventures, and to add our names at the bottom of the recital, and fix it to the upper part of the mast, in the hope it would reach the government and our families. After having passed two hours, a prey to the most cruel reflections, the master gunner of the frigate, wishing to go to the front of the raft, went out from below the tent. Scarcely had he put out his head, when he turned to us, uttering a piercing cry. Joy was painted upon his face; his hands were stretched towards the sea; he breathed with difficulty. All he was able to say was; 'SAVED! SEE THE BRIG UPON US!' and in fact it was not more than half a league distant having every sail set, and steering right upon us. We rushed from our tent; even those whom enormous wounds in their inferior extremities had confined for many days, dragged themselves to the back of the raft, to enjoy a sight of the ship which had come to save us from certain death. We embraced one another with a transport which looked much like madness, and tears of joy trickled down our cheeks, withered by the most cruel privations. Each seized handkerchiefs, or some pieces of linen, to make signals to the brig, which was rapidly approaching us. Some fell on their knees, and fervently returned thanks to Providence for this miraculous preservation of their lives. Our joy redoubled when saw we at the top of the fore-mast a large white flag, and we cried, 'It is then to Frenchmen we will owe our deliverance.' We instantly recognised the brig to be the Argus; it was then about two gunshots from us. We were terribly impatient to see her reef her sails, which at last she did, and fresh cries of joy arose from our raft. The Argus came and lay-to on our starboard, about half a pistol-shot from us. The crew, ranged upon the deck and on the shrouds, announced to us, by the waving of their hands and hats, the pleasure they felt at coming to the assistance of their unfortunate countrymen. In a short time we were all transported on board the brig, where we found the lieutenant of the frigate, and some others who had been wrecked with us. Compassion was painted on every face, and pity drew tears from every eye which beheld us. We found some excellent broth on board the brig, which they had prepared, and when they had perceived us they added to it some wine, and thus restored our nearly exhausted strength. They bestowed on us the most generous care and attention; our wounds were dressed, and on the morrow many of our sick began to revive. Some, however, still suffered much, for they were placed between decks, very near the kitchen, which augmented the almost insupportable heat of these latitudes. This want of space arose from the small size of the vessel. The number of the shipwrecked was indeed very considerable. Those who did not belong to the navy were laid upon cables, wrapped in flags, and placed under the fire of the kitchen. Here they had almost perished during the course of the night, fire having broken out between decks about ten in the evening; but timely assistance being rendered, we were saved for the second time. We had scarcely escaped when some of us became again delirious. An officer of infantry wished to throw himself into the sea, to look for his pocket book, and would have done it had he not been prevented. Others were seized in a manner not less frenzied. The commander and officers of the brig watched over us, and kindly anticipated our wants. They snatched us from death, by saving us from our raft; their unremitting care revived within us the spark of life. The surgeon of the ship, M. Renaud, distinguished himself for his indefatigable zeal. He was obliged to spend the whole of the day in dressing our wounds; and during the two days we were in the brig, he bestowed on us all the aid of his art, with an attention and gentleness which merit our eternal gratitude. In truth, it was time we should find an end of our sufferings; they had lasted thirteen days, in the most cruel manner. The strongest among us might have lived forty-eight hours or so, longer. M. Correard felt that he must die in the course of the day; he had, however a presentiment we would be saved. He said, that a series of events so unheard of would not be buried in oblivion; that Providence would at least preserve some of us to tell to the world the melancholy story of our misfortunes. Such is the faithful history of those who were left upon the memorable raft. Of one hundred and fifty, fifteen only were saved. Five of that number never recovered from their fatigue, and died at St. Louis. Those who yet live are covered with scars; and the cruel sufferings to which they have been exposed, have materially shaken their constitutions. THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE. On the 29th of August, 1782, it was found necessary that the Royal George, a line-of-battle ship of 108 guns, which had lately arrived at Spithead from a cruise, should, previously to her going again to sea, undergo the operation which seamen technically call a Parliament heel. In such cases the ship is inclined in a certain degree on one side, while the defects below the water-mark on the other side are examined and repaired. This mode of proceeding is, we believe at the present day, very commonly adopted where the defects to be repaired are not extensive, or where (as was the case with the Royal George) it is desirable to avoid the delay of going into dock. The operation is usually performed in still weather and smooth water, and is attended with so little difficulty and danger, that the officers and crew usually remain on board, and neither the guns nor stores are removed. The business was commenced on the Royal George early in the morning, a gang of men from the Portsmouth Dock-yard coming on board to assist the ship's carpenters. It is said that, finding it necessary to strip off more of the sheathing than had been intended, the men in their eagerness to reach the defect in the ship's bottom, were induced to heel her too much, when a sudden squall of wind threw her wholly on her side; and the gun-ports being open, and the cannon rolling over to the depressed side, the ship was unable to right herself, instantaneously filled with water, and went to the bottom. The fatal accident happened about ten o'clock in the morning. Admiral Kempenfeldt was writing in his cabin, and the greater part of the people were between decks. The ship, as is usually the case upon coming into port, was crowded with people from the shore, particularly women, of whom it is supposed there were not less than three hundred on board. Amongst the sufferers were many of the wives and children of the petty officers and seamen, who, knowing the ship was shortly to sail on a distant and perilous service, eagerly embraced the opportunity of visiting their husbands and fathers. The Admiral, with many brave officers and most of those who were between decks, perished; the greater number of the guard, and those who happened to be on the upper deck, were saved by the boats of the fleet. About seventy others were likewise saved. The exact number of persons on board at the time could not be ascertained; but it was calculated that from 800 to 1000 were lost. Captain Waghorn whose gallantry in the North Sea Battle, under Admiral Parker, had procured him the command of this ship, was saved, though he was severely bruised and battered; but his son, a lieutenant in the Royal George, perished. Such was the force of the whirlpool, occasioned by the sudden plunge of so vast a body in the water, that a victualler which lay alongside the Royal George was swamped; and several small craft, at a considerable distance, were in imminent danger. Admiral Kempenfeldt, who was nearly 70 years of age, was peculiarly and universally lamented. In point of general science and judgment, he was one of the first naval officers of his time; and, particularly in the art of manoeuvring a fleet, he was considered by the commanders of that day as unrivalled. His excellent qualities, as a man, are said to have equalled his professional merits. This melancholy occurrence has been recorded by the poet Cowper, in the following beautiful lines:-- Toll for the brave! The brave, that are no more: All sunk beneath the wave, Fast by their native shore. Eight hundred of the brave, Whose courage well was tried, Had made the vessel heel, And laid her on her side. A land-breeze shook the shrouds, And she was overset; Down went the Royal George, With all her crew complete. Toll for the brave! Brave Kempenfeldt is gone; His last sea-fight is fought; His work of glory done. It was not in the battle; No tempest gave the shock, She sprang no fatal leak; She ran upon no rock. His sword was in its sheath; His fingers held the pen, When Kempenfeldt went down, With twice four hundred men. Weigh the vessel up, Once dreaded by our foes! And mingle with our cup The tear that England owes. Her timbers yet are sound, And she may float again, Full charg'd with England's thunder And plough the distant main. But Kempenfeldt is gone, His victories are o'er; And he, and his eight hundred, Shall plough the wave no more. LOSS OF THE ÆNEAS TRANSPORT. The Æneas transport sailed with 347 souls on board, including a party of men belonging to the 100th regiment of foot, as also some officers, together with several women and children. About four in the morning of the 23d of Oct. 1805, the vessel struck violently on a rock, and received such damage that her total wreck soon became evident to all on board. For the first few minutes after this alarming occurrence, the women and children clung to their husbands and fathers; but in a short time, a prodigious wave swept not less than 250 of those miserable people into the ocean. The rock whereon the vessel had struck, speedily forced its way through the decks, and then it appears, from her parting, thirty-five of the survivors were driven on a small island before eight in the morning, about a quarter of a mile distant, but when she had entirely gone to pieces. The narrative of these events was collected from one of the survivors, a soldier of the 100th regiment, who could give no correct account of how he and the others got ashore, but he supposed they were floated in by part of the wreck. He remembered to have observed one of the boys endeavoring to save Major Bertram, whose arm was broken by some timber, and he was on the point of sinking; he held him up as long as his strength permitted; but to save his own life, was forced to let go his hold, and the Major perished. The thirty-five men who gained the shore, consisted of part of the regiment, two of whom were officers, Lieutenant Dawson and Ensign Faulkner, and seven sailors. Immediately on landing, the wind unfortunately changed, so that not an article of any kind was saved from the wreck. Mr. Faulkner was aware of the real situation they had reached, judging the main-land, which they saw about a mile distant, to be Newfoundland, and that they were about 300 miles distant from the town of St. John's. After passing one night on the little island, they constructed a raft, by means of which, thirty of them arrived on the main-land. Previous to this, however, four survivors of the shipwreck had died, among whom was the poor fellow who had endeavored to save Major Bertram. Another, who had both his legs broken, was missing, as he had crawled away from his comrades, that he might die in quiet. But eight days afterwards, he was found alive, though in a shocking state, as his feet were frozen off. Yet he survived all this, and reached Quebec at a future period. Most of the party set out, leaving three behind them, who were unable to walk from bruises, and directed their course towards the rising sun, but when the first day had elapsed, Lieutenant Dawson became incapable of keeping up with the remainder; and two soldiers staid to attend him. These three toiled onwards without any food, except the berries which they found; and Lieutenant Dawson was then unable to stand, unless supported.--On reaching the banks of a river, one of the soldiers attempted to carry him across on his back; but having waded up to the neck, he was obliged to return, and lay him down on the bank. There Mr. Dawson entreated his faithful attendants to make the best of their way, and leave him to his fate; and at the same time, affectionately squeezing their hands, he entreated them to inform his father of his melancholy end.--Here the soldier, who was one of them, and who related these affecting incidents, burst into a flood of tears before he could proceed. "We staid with him," said he, "until we did not know whether he was alive or dead." The two survivors continued wandering in a weak and feeble state for twelve days longer, making twenty-six in all from the period of their shipwreck, and subsisting on what they could find on a barren and inhospitable land. But after the first four or five days, they suffered no hunger, for, as they themselves said, their misfortunes were so great as to banish its influence, and to deprive them of the sense of feeling.--The snow besides was so deep during the last two days, as to prevent them from getting the berries as usual. At last they were found by a man belonging to a hunting party, who, little suspecting to see human beings in that desolate region, took them at a distance for deer, and had concealed himself behind a fallen tree, with his gun pointed towards one of them, when his dog, leaping towards them, began to bark, and shewed his error. When they related their shipwreck, and the sufferings they had endured, tears stole down the cheeks of the huntsman, and, taking the moccasins from his feet, gave them to the poor miserable creatures. He invited them to his hunting cabin, saying it was only a mile off, though the real distance was at least twelve miles; but, by degrees he enticed them to proceed, and at length they gained it. On approaching the hut, four or five men came out with long bloody knives in their hands, when the narrator, turning to his comrade, exclaimed, "After all we have escaped, are we brought here to be butchered and ate up?"--But they soon discovered their mistake, for the men had been cutting up some deer, the fruit of their chase; and the appearance of the unfortunate soldiers quickly exciting sentiments of pity in their breast, they produced a bottle of rum, wherewith they were refreshed. Every possible comfort was ministered by the hunters to the unfortunate wanderers, and, from the accounts and description given to them, they set out in quest of the others. They luckily succeeded in finding the man who remained the first day on the island, and also the other two who were unable to leave the shore. The two men who had accompanied Lieutenant Dawson, appeared to have made but little progress during twenty-six days of travelling, for they were discovered in a place not very remote from whence they set out. Thus, involved among the woods, they must have returned over the same ground that they had passed. Those who the huntsman first met endeavored to make them understand where they might find the remains of Lieutenant Dawson, and Ensign Faulkner and his party, but they could speak too vaguely of where they had themselves been, to give any pointed directions on the subject. But two of the latter were found by a man on another hunting excursion, about 90 miles distant, apparently lifeless; though on being carried to an adjacent settlement they recovered. Of the whole 35 who survived the wreck of the transport, accounts could be heard only of these five. Ensign Faulkner was a strong, active, enterprising man, and fully capable of adopting whatever means could be devised for preservation. Both he and Lieutenant Dawson, who was scarce more than 17 years of age, were of the greatest promise. While the transport lay about three miles from Portsmouth, they are said to have swam to the ship, when the former climbed up her side, but the latter was nearly exhausted. A brig from Port, which touched at Newfoundland, carried five of the survivors from thence to Quebec; and when they arrived there in the barrack square, a most affecting scene ensued. Men and women eagerly flocked around them, with anxious inquiries for some friend or brother who was on board the ill-fated vessel. But all they could answer was, "If you do not see him here, be assured he has perished; for, of 347 souls, we five Irish lads and two sailors are all that remain alive." The tears and exclamations following these words can scarce be described. THE ABSENT SHIP. Fair ship, I saw thee bounding o'er the deep, Thy white wings glancing in the morning ray And many a sparkling eye in vain did weep For the bold hearts that steer'd thee on thy way: Long days of grief have lingered into years: Return! return! and charm away their tears. I listen'd till the music and the song Died on the waters as she swept along; I watch'd her stately beauty, till it grew A fading shadow on the distant blue; Less, and still less--the waters are alone! Queen of the ocean! whither art thou gone? The wintry storm hath sighed itself to sleep, Yet still thou lingerest on the faithless deep; Have calmer seas, and skies of deeper blue, Charm'd thee to bid thine island home adieu! Long has yon dark-eye'd maiden wept in vain: Return! return! and bid her smile again. Long may'st thou weep, but never shalt thou see Thy fair-hair'd mariner return to thee, Clasp thy young beauty in a long embrace, And read his pardon in thy happy face; Thy gentle prayers, fair mourner, could not save! Thy sailor sleeps within the stormy wave. [Illustration: WRECK OF THE HALSEWELL, ON THE COAST OF ENGLAND] LOSS OF THE HALSEWELL. The catastrophe which is now about to be related made a deep impression on the public mind. The circumstances attending it were too aggravating not to excite the highest degree of commiseration, whether from the flattering prospects held forth in the outset of the voyage, or from a peculiar feeling towards the condition of the sufferers. The Halsewell East Indiaman, of 758 tons burthen, commanded by Captain Richard Pierce, was taken up by the directors of the East India Company to make her third voyage to Coast and Bay. On the 16th of November 1785, she fell down to Gravesend, where she completed her lading. Ladies and other passengers being taken on board at the Hope, she sailed through the Downs on Sunday the 1st of January 1786; and, when abreast of Dunnose next morning, the weather fell calm. This was one of the finest ships in the service, and judged to be in the most perfect condition for her voyage. Her commander was of distinguished ability and exemplary character; his officers of approved fidelity and unquestionable knowledge in their profession, and the crew not only as numerous as the East India establishment admits, but the best seamen that could be collected. To these were added a considerable body of soldiers, destined to recruit the forces of the East India Company in Asia. The passengers were seven ladies, two of whom were daughters to the captain, and other two his relations. Miss Elizabeth Blackburne, daughter of Captain Blackburne; Miss Mary Haggard, sister to an officer on the Madras establishment, and Miss Anne Mansel, a child of European parents residing in Madras, returning from her education in England. There was also Mr. John George Schutz, returning to collect part of his fortune, which he had left behind him in India. The ladies were equally distinguished by their beauty and accomplishments; the gentlemen of amiable manners, and of a highly respectable character. Mr. Burston, the chief mate, was also related to Captain Pierce's lady, and the whole formed a happy society united in friendship. Nothing could be more pleasing or encouraging than the outset of the voyage. On Monday the 2d of January, a breeze from the south sprung up at three in the afternoon, when the ship ran in shore to land the pilot. Very thick weather coming on in the evening, and the wind baffling, she was obliged to anchor, at nine o'clock, in eighteen fathom water. The topsails were furled, but the people could not furl the courses, the snow falling thick and freezing as it fell. Next morning at four a strong gale came on from east-north-east, and the ship shivering, they were obliged to cut the cables and run out to sea. At noon they spoke with a brig bound to Dublin, and, having put the pilot on board of her, immediately bore down channel. The wind freshening at eight in the evening, and coming round to the southward, such sails were reefed as were judged necessary. It blew a violent gale at ten o'clock from the south, whence they were obliged to carry a press of sail to keep the ship off shore.--In doing this, the hawse-plugs, which according to a late improvement, were put inside, were washed in, and the hawse-bags washed away, in consequence of which the vessel shipped a large quantity of water on the gun-deck. On sounding the well, and finding the ship had sprung a leak, and now had five feet water in the hold, the people clewed up the main-topsail, hauled up the mainsail, and immediately endeavored to furl both, but could not effect it. On discovering the leak all the pumps were set to work. At two in the morning of Wednesday the fourth, they tried to wear the ship, but without success, and judging it necessary to cut away the mizen-mast, this was immediately done, when another attempt made to wear her was equally fruitless as the former. The ship had now seven feet water in the hold which was gaining fast on the pumps, therefore, for her preservation it was considered expedient to cut away the mainmast, as she appeared to be in immediate danger of foundering. In the fall of the mast, Jonathan Moreton, coxswain, and four men, were either drawn along with the wreck, or fell overboard and were drowned. By eight in the morning the wreck was cleared, and the ship got before the wind, in which position she was kept two hours. Meantime the pumps reduced the water in the hold two feet, and the ship's head was brought to the eastward with the foresail only. At ten in the morning the wind abated considerably, but the ship labouring extremely, rolled the fore-topmast over on the larboard side, and, in the fall, the wreck went through the foresail, tearing it to pieces. At eleven the wind came to the westward, and the weather clearing up, the Berryhead was distinguishable, bearing north and by east, distant four or five leagues. Another foresail was now immediately bent, a jury-mainmast erected and a top-gallantsail set for a mainsail, under which sail Captain Pierce bore up for Portsmouth, and employed the remainder of the day in getting up a jury-mizen-mast. At two next morning, the wind came to the southward, blowing fresh, the weather being very thick. Portland was seen at noon, bearing north and by east, distant two or three leagues. At night, it blew a strong gale at south, at which time the Portland lights were then seen, bearing north-west, distant four or five leagues. The ship was then wore, and her head got round to the westward; but finding she lost ground on that tack, the captain wore her again, and kept stretching on to the eastward, in hopes to have weathered Peverel Point, in which case he intended to have anchored in Studland Bay. It cleared at eleven at night, and St. Alban's Head was seen a mile and a half to the leeward, on which, sail was instantly taken in, and the small bower anchor let go, which brought up the ship at a whole cable. She rode for about an hour, but then drove; the sheet anchor was now let go, and a whole cable wore away, and the ship rode for about two hours longer, when she drove again. While in this situation, the captain sent for Mr. Henry Meriton, the second mate, and asked his opinion as to the probability of saving the lives of those on board; to which he replied with equal calmness and candor, that he apprehended there was very little hope of it, as the ship was driving fast on shore, and might every moment be expected to strike. The boats were then mentioned, but it was agreed, that although at that time they could be of very little use, yet in case an opportunity of making them serviceable should present itself, it was proposed that the officers should be confidentially requested to reserve the long boat for the ladies and themselves; and this precaution was immediately taken. About two in the morning of Friday the sixth of January, the ship still driving, and approaching very fast to the shore, the same officer went again into the cuddy, where the captain then was. Another conversation taking place, Captain Pierce expressed extreme anxiety for the preservation of his beloved daughters, and earnestly asked the officer if he could devise any method of saving them. On his answering with great concern, that he feared it would be impossible, but that their only chance would be to wait for morning, the captain lifted up his hands in silent and distressful ejaculation. At this dreadful moment, the ship struck, with such violence as to dash the heads of those standing in the cuddy against the deck above them, and the shock was accompanied by a shriek of horror that burst at one instant from every quarter of the ship. Many of the seamen, who had been remarkably inattentive and remiss in their duty during a great part of the storm, now poured upon deck, where no exertions of the officers could keep them, while their assistance might have been useful.--They had actually skulked in their hammocks, leaving the working of the pumps and other necessary labours to the officers of the ship, and the soldiers, who had made uncommon exertions. Roused by a sense of their danger, the same seamen, at this moment, in frantic exclamations, demanded of heaven and their fellow sufferers, that succour which their own efforts timely made might possibly have procured. The ship continued to beat on the rocks, and soon bilging, fell with her broadside towards the shore. When she struck, a number of men climbed up the ensign-staff, under an apprehension of her immediately going to pieces. Mr. Meriton, the second mate, at this crisis offered to these unhappy beings the best advice which could be given; he recommended that all should come to the side of the ship lying lowest on the rocks, and singly to take the opportunities which might then offer, of escaping to the shore. Having thus provided to the utmost of his power, for the safety of the desponding crew, he returned to the round-house, where, by this time, all the passengers, and most of the officers had assembled. The latter were employed in offering consolation to the unfortunate ladies, and with unparalleled magnanimity, suffering their compassion for the fair and amiable companions of their misfortunes, to prevail over the sense of their own danger. In this charitable work of comfort, Mr. Meriton now joined, by assurances of his opinion, that the ship would hold together till the morning, when all would be safe. Captain Pierce observing one of the young gentlemen loud in his exclamations of terror, and frequently cry that the ship was parting, cheerfully bid him be quiet, remarking, that though the ship should go to pieces, he would not, but would be safe enough. It is difficult to convey a correct idea of the scene of this deplorable catastrophe, without describing the place where it happened. The Halsewell struck on the rocks near Seacombe, on the island of Purbeck, between Peverel Point and St. Alban's Head, at a part of the shore where the cliff is of vast height, and rises almost perpendicular from its base. But at this particular spot, the foot of the cliff is excavated into a cavern of ten or twelve yards in depth, and of breadth equal to the length of a large ship. The sides of the cavern are so nearly upright as to be of extremely difficult access; and the bottom is strewed with sharp and uneven rocks, which seem, by some convulsion of the earth, to have been detached from its roof. The ship lay with her broadside opposite to the mouth of this cavern, with her whole length stretched almost from side to side of it. But when she struck, it was too dark for the unfortunate persons on board to discover the real magnitude of their danger, and the extreme horror of such a situation.--Even Mr. Meriton entertained a hope that she might keep together till day-light; and endeavored to cheer his drooping friends, and in particular the unhappy ladies, with this comfortable expectation, as an answer to the captain's inquiries what he thought of their condition. In addition to the company already in the round-house, they had admitted three black women and two soldier's wives, who, with the husband of one of them, had been allowed to come in, though the seamen, who had tumultuously demanded entrance to get the lights, had been opposed and kept out by Mr. Rogers and Mr. Brimer, the third and fifth mates. The numbers there were therefore now increased to near fifty. Capt. Pierce sat on a chair, a cot or some other moveable, with a daughter on each side, whom he alternately pressed to his affectionate breast. The rest of the melancholy assembly were seated on the deck, which was strewed with musical instruments, and the wreck of furniture and other articles. Here also Mr. Meriton, after having cut several wax candles in pieces and stuck them up in various parts of the round-house, and lighted up all the glass lanthorns he could find, took his seat, intending to wait the approach of dawn; and then assist the partners of his danger to escape. But observing that the poor ladies appeared parched and exhausted, he brought a basket of oranges and prevailed on some of them to refresh themselves by sucking a little of the juice. At this time they were all tolerably composed, except Miss Mansel, who was in hysteric fits, on the floor of the deck of the round-house. But on Mr. Meriton's return to the company, he perceived a considerable alteration in the appearance of the ship; the sides were visibly giving way; the deck seemed to be lifting and he discovered other strong indications that she could not hold much longer together. On this account, he attempted to go forward to look out, but immediately saw that the ship had separated in the middle, and that the fore-part having changed its position, lay further towards the sea. In such an emergency, when the next moment might plunge him into eternity, he determined to seize the present opportunity, and follow the example of the crew and the soldiers, who were now quitting the ship in numbers, and making their way to the shore, though quite ignorant of its nature and description. Among other expedients, the ensign-staff had been unshipped, and attempted to be laid between the ship's side and some of the rocks, but without success, for it snapped assunder before it reached them. However, by the light of a lanthorn which a seaman handed through a sky-light of the round-house to the deck, Mr. Meriton discovered a spar which appeared to be laid from the ship's side to the rocks, and on this spar he resolved to attempt his escape. Accordingly lying down upon it, he thrust himself forward; however, he soon found that it had no communication with the rock; he reached the end of it and then slipped off, receiving a very violent bruise in his fall, and before he could recover his legs, he was washed off by the surge. He now supported himself by swimming, until a returning wave dashed him against the back part of the cavern. Here he laid hold of a small projection in the rock, but was so much benumbed that he was on the point of quitting it, when a seaman, who had already gained a footing, extended his hand, and assisted him until he could secure himself a little on the rock; from which he clambered on a shelf still higher, and out of the reach of the surf. Mr. Rogers, the third mate, remained with the captain, and the unfortunate ladies and their companions, nearly twenty minutes after Mr. Meriton had quitted the ship. Soon after the latter left the round-house, the captain asked what was become of him, to which Mr. Rogers replied, that he was gone on deck to see what could be done. After this, a heavy sea breaking over the ship, the ladies exclaimed, "O poor Meriton! he is drowned! had he staid with us he would have been safe!" and they all, particularly Miss Mary Pierce, expressed great concern at the apprehension of his loss. On this occasion Mr. Rogers offered to go and call in Mr. Meriton, but it was opposed by the ladies, from an apprehension that he might share the same fate. The sea was now breaking in at the fore-part of the ship, and reached as far as the mainmast. Captain Pierce gave Mr. Rogers a nod, and they took a lamp and went together into the stern-gallery, where, after viewing the rocks for some time, Captain Pierce asked Mr. Rogers if he thought there was any possibility of saving the girls; to which he replied, he feared there was none; for they could only discover the black face of the perpendicular rock, and not the cavern which afforded shelter to those who escaped. They then returned to the round-house, where Mr. Rogers hung up the lamp, and Captain Pierce sat down between his two daughters, struggling to suppress the parental tears which burst into his eyes. The sea continuing to break in very fast, Mr. Macmanus, a midshipman, and Mr. Schutz, asked Mr. Rogers what they could do to escape. "Follow me," he replied, and they all went into the stern gallery, and from thence to the upper-quarter-gallery on the poop. While there, a very heavy sea fell on board and the round-house gave way; Mr. Rogers heard the ladies shriek at intervals, as if the water reached them; the noise of the sea, at other times, drowning their voices. Mr. Brimer had followed him to the poop, where they remained together about five minutes; when on the breaking of this heavy sea, they jointly seized a hen-coop. The same wave which proved fatal to some of those below, carried him and his companion to the rock, on which they were violently dashed and miserably bruised. Here on the rock were twenty-seven, but it now being low water, and as they were convinced that on the flowing of the tide all must be washed off, many tried to get to the back or the sides of the cavern, beyond the reach of the returning sea. Scarcely more than six, besides Mr. Rogers and Mr. Brimer, succeeded; of the others, some shared the fate which they had apprehended, and others perished in their efforts to get into the cavern. Mr. Rogers and Mr. Brimer both reached it, however, and scrambled up the rock, on narrow shelves of which they fixed themselves. Mr. Rogers got so near his friend, Mr. Meriton, as to exchange mutual congratulations with him. A warm friendship, indeed, subsisted between these two gentlemen; they had made a long and painful voyage together, in another Indiaman, where they survived an uncommon mortality by which the crew were visited. They returned to England, and an interval of only twenty-five days elapsed, before they again embarked in the Halsewell. Mr. Rogers on gaining this station, was so nearly exhausted, that had his exertions been protracted only a few minutes longer, he must have sunk under them. He was now prevented from joining Mr. Meriton, by at least twenty men between them, none of whom could move without the imminent peril of his life. They found that a very considerable number of the crew, seamen, and soldiers, and some petty officers, were in the same situation as themselves, though many who had reached the rocks below, perished in attempting to ascend. They could yet discern some part of the ship, and in their dreary station solaced themselves with the hope of its remaining entire until day-break; for in the midst of their own distress, the sufferings of the females on board affected them with the most poignant anguish; and every sea that broke, inspired them with terror for their safety. But, alas, their apprehensions were too soon realized!--Within a very few minutes of the time that Mr. Rogers gained the rock, an universal shriek, which long vibrated in their ears, in which the voice of female distress was lamentably distinguished, announced the dreadful catastrophe. In a few moments all was hushed, except the roaring of the winds and the dashing of the waves; the wreck was buried in the deep, and not an atom of it was ever afterwards seen. The shock which this gave to the trembling wretches in the cavern was awful. Though themselves hardly rescued from the sea, and still surrounded by impending dangers, they wept for the destiny of their unhappy companions. But this was not all. Many who had gained a precarious station, weakened with injuries, benumbed and battered by the tempest, forsook their hold-fasts, and, tumbling on the rocks below, perished beneath the feet of their miserable companions. Their dying groans and exclamations for pity, only tended to awaken more painful apprehensions, and increase the terror of the survivors. At length after three hours, which appeared so many ages, day broke, but instead of bringing relief to the sufferers, it only served to disclose the horrors of their situation. They now found, that had the country been alarmed by the guns of distress which they had continued to fire for many hours before the ship struck, but which were not heard, owing to the violence of the storm, they could neither be observed by the people from above, nor could any boat live below. They were completely overhung by the cliff, so that no ropes let down could reach them; nor did any part of the wreck remain as a guide to their retreat. The only prospect of saving themselves, was to creep along the side of the cavern to its outward extremity, and on a ledge scarcely as broad as a man's hand, to turn the corner, and endeavor to clamber up the precipice, almost perpendicular, and nearly 200 feet high from the bottom.--And in this desperate effort some did succeed, while others, trembling with fear, and exhausted by the preceding conflict, lost their footing and perished in the attempt. The first who gained the top, were the cook and James Thompson, a quarter-master; the moment they reached it, they hastened to the nearest house and made known the condition of their comrades. This was Eastington, the habitation of Mr. Garland, steward to the proprietors of the Purbeck quarries. He immediately collected the workmen, and procuring ropes with all possible despatch, made the most humane and zealous exertions for the relief of the surviving people. Mr. Meriton made a similar attempt to that of the two others, and almost reached the edge of the precipice. A soldier who preceded him had his feet on a small projecting rock or stone on which also Meriton had fastened his hands to aid his progress. At this critical moment the quarrymen arrived, and seeing a man so nearly within their reach, they dropped a rope to him, of which he immediately laid hold; and in a vigorous effort to avail himself of this advantage, loosened the stone on which he stood, and which supported Mr. Meriton. It giving way, Mr. Meriton must have been precipitated to the bottom, had not a rope at that instant providentially been lowered to him, which he seized, when absolutely in the act of falling, and was safely drawn to the summit. But the fate of Mr. Brimer was peculiarly severe. Only nine days before the ship sailed, he had been married to a beautiful young lady, the daughter of Captain Norman of the royal navy, in which service he was a lieutenant, and now on a visit to an uncle at Madras; after getting ashore with Mr. Rogers and up the side of the cavern, he remained until morning, when he crawled out. A rope being thrown to him, he was either so benumbed with cold as to fasten it insecurely about his body, or from some other cause or agitation, to neglect doing it completely; at the moment when about to be rescued from his perilous stand, he fell and was dashed to pieces in the presence of his companions. More assistance was obtained as the day advanced; and as the efforts of the survivors permitted, they crawled to the extremities of the cavern and presented themselves to their preservers above, who stood prepared to assist them. The means of doing so, was by two men boldly approaching the very brink of the precipice, a rope being tied round them and fastened to a strong iron bar fixed in the ground; behind them were two more, the like number further back and so on. A strong rope also properly secured, passed round them, by which they might hold, and preserve themselves from falling. They then let down a rope with a noose ready made, below to the cavern, and the wind blowing hard, it was in some instances forced under the projecting rock, sufficiently for the sufferers to reach it, without creeping out. Whoever caught it, put the noose round his body, and was drawn up. The distance from the top of the rock to the cavern, was at least an hundred feet, and the rock projected about eight; ten feet formed a declivity to the edge, and the rest was perpendicular. Many, however, in attempting to secure themselves, shared the fate of Mr. Brimer, and, unable, from weakness or perturbation, to benefit by the assistance offered from above, they were at last precipitated from the cliff, and were either dashed to pieces on the rocks below, or perished in the waves.--Among those unhappy sufferers was one who being washed off the rock, or falling into the sea, was carried out by the return of the waves beyond the breakers, within which his utmost efforts could never again bring him, but he was always further withdrawn by the sea. He swam remarkably well, and continued to struggle in sight of his companions, until his strength being exhausted, he sunk to rise no more. It was late in the day before all the survivors gained the land; one indeed a soldier, remained in this precarious station until the morning of Saturday the 7th of January; exposed to the utmost danger and distress. When the officers, seamen and soldiers, were mustered at the house of Mr. Garland, they were found to amount to seventy-four; and these were the only persons saved out of rather more than two hundred and forty that were on board when the ship sailed through the Downs, including the passengers. It was supposed that above fifty of the remainder reached the rocks, but were then washed off or fell from the cliffs; and that fifty, or more, sunk with the captain and the ladies in the round-house, when the after-part went to pieces. An accurate account of the whole numbers in the ship could never be obtained, as the last returns dispatched from her did not arrive. The whole who reached the summit of the rock survived, excepting two or three who were supposed to have expired while drawing up, and a black who died soon afterwards; though many were severely bruised. Mr. Meriton and Mr. Rogers having been supplied with the necessary means of making their journey by Mr. Garland, set off for London to carry the tidings of this disaster to the India House, where they arrived at noon, on Sunday the 8th. On the way they acquainted the magistrates of the towns through which they passed, that a number of shipwrecked seamen would soon be on the road to the metropolis. This they did to avert any suspicions of their travelling for some other intent. It is truly deserving of communication, that the master of the Crown-Inn at Blandford, Dorsetshire, not only sent for all the distressed seamen to his house, where he liberally refreshed them, but presented each with half a crown on his departure. By this unfortunate shipwreck, all the passengers perished. The ladies were peculiarly endowed with beauty and accomplishments. The captain was a man of distinguished worth; humane and generous. (He left, besides those two daughters who suffered along with him, six other children and a widow to deplore his loss.) Most of the officers also perished; one of them, Mr. Thomas Jeane, a midshipman, who was under the immediate care of Captain Pierce, after gaining the rock was swept off by the waves. Swimming well he again reached it; but unable to support the weakness which assailed him, and the beating of the storm, he yielded his hold and perished in the sea. AN ACCOUNT OF FOUR RUSSIAN SAILORS, ABANDONED ON THE ISLAND OF EAST SPITZBERGEN. In the year 1743, a merchant of Mesen, in Russia, fitted out a vessel for the Greenland whale-fishery. She carried fourteen men, and was destined for Spitzbergen. For eight successive days after their sailing the wind was fair, but on the ninth it changed; so that instead of getting to the coast of Spitzbergen, the usual rendezvous of the Dutch ships, they were driven eastward, and after some days elapsed they found themselves near an island, called by the Russians Little Broun. Approaching within three versts, or two English miles of this island, the vessel was suddenly surrounded by ice and the crew were reduced to an extremely dangerous situation. In this alarming state, a council was held when the mate, Alexis Himkof, informed his comrades that some of the people of Mesen formerly intended wintering on this island, and for that purpose had carried timber hither, fit for building a hut, and actually erected one at some distance from the shore. The whole crew, therefore, concluded to winter there, if the hut, as they hoped, still existed, because they were exposed to imminent danger by remaining in the ship, and they would infallibly perish if they did so. Four of the crew were on that account, dispatched in search of it, or any other assistance they might meet with. The names of these four were, Alexis Himkof, Iwan Himkof, Stephen Scharapof and Feoder Weregin. Two miles of ice intervened between them and the shore, which being loose and driven together by the wind, rendered their approach difficult and dangerous. Providing themselves with a musket, a powder-horn containing twelve charges of powder, with as many balls, an axe, a kettle, about twenty pounds of flour, a knife, a tinder-box, some tobacco and each his wooden pipe, they soon arrived on the island. Their first employment was exploring the country, when they discovered the hut alluded to, about a mile and a half from the shore. It was thirty-six feet long, eighteen broad and eighteen high; and consisted of two chambers. Rejoicing greatly at their success, they passed the night in it; though having been built a considerable time, it had suffered much from the weather. Next morning the four men hastened to the shore, impatient to communicate their good fortune to their comrades; likewise designing to get such stores, ammunition and necessaries from the vessel, as to enable them to winter on the island. But the reader may conceive their sorrow and astonishment, when on reaching the place where they had landed nothing was to be seen but an open sea, instead of the ice which only the day preceding had covered it. Doubtless a violent storm, which arose during the night, had operated the change. It was not known, however, whether the vessel had been beat to pieces by the ice, or whether she had been carried by the current to the ocean; not an uncommon event in Greenland. Whatever accident befel her, certain it is they saw her no more; whence it is probable that she sunk, and that all on board perished. This unfortunate occurrence deprived them of the hope of ever being able to quit the island, and full of horror and despair, they returned to the hut. But their first attention was directed to the means of providing subsistence, and repairing their habitation. The twelve charges of powder procured them as many rein-deer, for the island, fortunately for them abounded with these animals. Though there were many crevices in the building, the wood of the hut was still sound and unimpaired, therefore the deficiency was supplied and done the more easily, because the lower class of Russians are expert carpenters. Here they had plenty of moss to assist them. The intense cold of the climate prevents the growth of vegetables, and no species of tree or shrub is found on the islands of Spitzbergen. The Russians, however, collected a quantity of wood on the shore, which at first consisted of the wrecks of vessels, and afterwards of whole trees with their roots, the produce of some more hospitable climate, though unknown. Fortunately they found several bits of old iron, some nails, five or six inches long, and an iron hook, on a few wooden boards washed in by the sea. They likewise found the root of a fir tree, bent and nearly fashioned into the shape of a bow. By the help of a knife, a bow was soon formed but wanting a string and arrows. Unable at present to procure either, they resolved to make two lances to defend themselves against the white bears. The iron hook was therefore fashioned into a hammer, by widening a hole which it happened to have about the middle, with one of the largest nails. A large pebble served for an anvil, and a couple of rein-deer horns served for the tongs. By means of such tools, two spear heads were made, which were tied fast with thongs to sticks about the thickness of a man's arm. Thus equipped, the Russians ventured to attack a white bear, and, after a most dangerous encounter, succeeded in killing it. This was a new supply of provisions; they relished the flesh exceedingly, and easily divided the tendons into filaments, which, besides other uses, served for strings to their bow. [Illustration] The Russians, in the next place, proceeded to forge some bits of iron into smaller pieces, resembling the head of spears; and these were fitted to arrows, by fastening them to fir rods. They had thus a complete bow and arrows, and were more easily enabled to obtain food. With these, during their abode on the island, they killed no less than two hundred and fifty rein-deer, and a great number of blue and white foxes. They fed on the flesh of the animals and used their skins for clothing. They killed only ten white bears during their residence, and that at the utmost hazard, for these creatures are amazingly strong, and defended themselves with surprising vigour and fury. The first was attacked intentionally; the other nine were killed in self-defence, for the animals even ventured to enter the outer room of the hut to devour them. Some, less ferocious than others, were repulsed on the first attempt, but a repetition of their attacks exposed the sailors to the continual apprehension of being destroyed. As they could not afford wood for a constant fire, they dried a portion of their provision in the open air, and afterwards hung it up in the hut, which was always full of smoke. Prepared in this way, they used it for bread, because they were under the necessity of eating their other flesh half raw. Unfortunately, one of the Russians was attacked by the scurvy. Iwan Himkof, who had wintered several times on the coast of West Spitzbergen, advised his companions to swallow raw and frozen meat in small pieces; to drink the blood of the rein-deer, as it flowed warm from the veins of the animal, and to eat scurvy-grass, although it was not very abundant. Those who followed his injunctions found an effectual antidote, but Feoder Weregin, being naturally of an indolent disposition, averse to drinking the rein-deer blood, and, unwilling to leave the hut when he could possibly avoid it, was soon seized with the scurvy. Under this afflicting distemper he passed nearly six years, enduring the greatest sufferings. At length he became so weak that he could not sit erect, nor even raise his hand to his mouth, so that his humane companions were obliged to attend on, and feed him like a new born infant, until the hour of his death. In the course of their excursions through the island, the seamen had met with a slimy loam, or kind of clay, of which they contrived to make a lamp, and proposed to keep it constantly burning with the fat of the animals they should kill.--Thus they filled it with rein-deer's fat, and stuck a bit of twisted linen for a wick. But, to their mortification, always as the fat melted, it not only was absorbed by the clay, but fairly run through it on all sides. On this account they formed another lamp, which they dried thoroughly in the air, and heated red hot. It was next quenched in their kettle, wherein they had boiled a quantity of flour down to the consistence of thin starch. When filled with melted fat, they found to their great joy that it did not leak. Encouraged by this attempt, they made another, that, at all events, they might not be destitute of light, and saved the remainder of their flour for similar purposes. Oakum thrown ashore, as also cordage found among the wrecks of vessels, served for wicks; and when these resources failed, they converted their shirts and drawers to the same purpose. By such means they kept a lamp burning from soon after their arrival on the island, until the day of their embarkation for their native country. Clothes, in so rigorous a climate, next became an object of necessity. The uses to which they had applied what they had brought with them exposed them still more to its severity. The skins of rein-deer and foxes had hitherto served for bedding. It was essential to devise some method of tanning them, the better to withstand the weather. This was accomplished, in a certain degree, by soaking the skins in water until the hair could be rubbed off, and then putting rein-deer fat upon them. The leather, by such a process, became soft and pliant. The want of awls and needles was supplied by bits of iron occasionally collected; of them they made a kind of wire, which, being heated red hot, was pierced with a knife, ground to a sharp point, which formed the eye of a needle.--The sinews of bears and rein-deer, split into threads, served for sewing the pieces of leather together, which enabled the Russians to procure jackets and trowsers for summer dress, and a long fur gown with a hood for their winter apparel. The wants of these unfortunate persons being thus provided for, the only reflections disturbing them were regret for those left behind at home, or the apprehensions of some one of them surviving all his companions, and then either famishing for want of food, or becoming a prey to wild beasts. The mate, Alexis Himkof, had a wife and three children, who were constantly in his mind, and he was unhappy from the dread of never seeing them more. Excepting white bears, foxes and rein-deer, with which the island abounds, no other animals inhabit it. A few birds are seen in summer, such as geese, ducks and other water-fowl. Whales seldom approach the shore; but there are great numbers of seals; other fish are scarce, and indeed their being in plenty would little avail the Russians, who were unprovided with the means of taking them. Sometimes they found the teeth and jaws of seals on the shore, but never an entire carcase; for when these animals die on land, the white bears immediately eat them. The common food of this ferocious creature, however, is the flesh of dead whales, which are frequently seen floating about in the polar regions, and are sometimes cast on shore. When this provision fails, they fall upon seals, devouring them and other animals sleeping on the beach. The island had many mountains and steep rocks of stupendous height, perpetually covered with snow and ice; not a tree nor even the poorest shrub was to be met with; neither is there any vegetable but scurvy-grass, although plenty of moss grows in every part. The Russians found no river; however, there were many small rivulets rising among the rocks and mountains, which afforded a quantity of water. They saw the sun moving for months together round the horizon during summer, and in winter they were an equal length of time in total darkness; but the Aurora Borealis, which was then frequent, contributed to lessen the gloominess of so long a night. Thick cloudy weather, great quantities of snow, and almost incessant rain at certain seasons, often obscured the stars. The snow totally covered the hut in winter, and left them no way of getting out of it, excepting by a hole which they had made in the roof of one of the chambers. When the unfortunate mariners had passed nearly six years in this dismal abode, Feoder Weregin, who had all along been in a languid state, died, after suffering the most excruciating pains. Though his companions were thus freed of the trouble of attending on him, and the grief of witnessing his misery, they were deeply affected by his death. They saw their number lessened, and each wished to be the next to follow him. Having died in winter, a grave as deep as possible was dug in the snow to receive his corpse, and the survivors then covered it over to the best of their power, to prevent the white bears from getting at it. While the melancholy reflections excited by Weregin's death were still fresh in the minds of his comrades, and while each expected to pay the like duties to the companions of his misfortunes that they had done to him, or to be himself the first to receive them, a Russian vessel unexpectedly came in view on the 15th of August 1749. This vessel belonged to a trader who had come to Archangel, and intended to winter in Nova Zembla; but fortunately it was proposed to him to winter at West Spitzbergen, to which, after many objections, he assented. Contrary winds on the passage prevented the ship from reaching the place of her destination, and drove her towards East Spitzbergen, directly opposite to the residence of the mariners. As soon as they perceived her, they hastened to light fires on the nearest hills, and then ran to the beach waving a flag made of a rein-deer's skin fastened to a pole. The people on board observing these signals, concluded there were men ashore imploring their assistance, and therefore came to an anchor near the island. To describe the joy of the unfortunate mariners at seeing the moment of their deliverance so near, is impossible.--They soon agreed with the master of the vessel to take them and all their riches on board, for which they should work during the voyage, and pay him eighty rubles on arriving in Russia. Therefore they embarked, carrying with them two thousand weight of rein-deer fat, many hides of the same animals, the skins of the blue and white foxes and bears they had killed. Neither did they neglect to carry away their spears, their knife and axe, which were almost worn out, or their awls and needles, which were carefully preserved in a box, very ingeniously made of bone. After spending six years and three months in this rueful solitude, they arrived safe at Archangel on the 25th of September, 1749. But the moment of landing was nearly fatal to the affectionate wife of Alexis Himkof, who happened to be present when the vessel came into port. Immediately recognizing her husband, she ran with such eagerness to embrace him, that she slipped into the water, and very narrowly escaped being drowned. All the three survivors were strong and healthy; having lived so long without bread, they could not be reconciled to the use of it; neither could they bear spirituous liquors, and drank nothing but water. As they were vassals of Count Schuwalow, who then had a grant of the whale fishery, M. Le Roy requested of him that they might be sent from Archangel to St. Petersburgh, where he could satisfy himself respecting their adventures.--Accordingly two of them arrived, Alexis Himkof, aged about fifty and Iwan Himkof about thirty. They brought some curious specimens of their workmanship, so neatly executed, that it was doubtful with what tools it could have been done. From their account, both to M. Klingstadt, auditor of the Admiralty at Archangel, and what they now communicated, M. Le Roy composed the preceding narrative. For centuries past Spitzbergen has been greatly resorted to on account of the profitable whale-fishery of the surrounding seas, and several shipwrecks, as well as incidents similar to the preceding, have occurred there, and in the vicinity.--Spitzbergen is a bleak and barren country, and received its name from the lofty pointed mountains by which it is covered; perpetual snow prevails, few plants spring from the soil, and it is destitute of wood. But to compensate in some measure for the scanty productions of nature by land, its seas, abundantly stored with fish, can afford a copious supply both of food and clothing to mankind. LOSS OF THE AMPHITRITE CONVICT SHIP. The following particulars of the loss of this vessel are copied from a letter dated Boulogne-sur-mer, Sept. 1, 1833. The shocking event which is announced by the title to this letter, has, I assure you, filled the town with dismay, and must lead to a most narrow and rigid investigation. I cannot attempt to describe the afflictions not only of the English, but the French, at this most distressing event, and I only express the general opinion when I say that the British public demands that an inquiry be instituted into the conduct of all parties concerned in this deplorable affair. The Amphitrite convict ship sailed for New South Wales from Woolwich on the 25th of August. Capt. Hunter was the commander; Mr. Forrester the surgeon; and there were 108 female convicts, 12 children and a crew of 16 persons. The captain was part owner of the vessel. When the ship arrived off Dungeness, the gale of the 29th began. On Friday morning the captain hove the ship to, the gale being too heavy to sail. The vessel was about three miles to the east from Boulogne harbor on Saturday at noon, when they made land.--The captain set the topsail and main-foresail in hopes of keeping her off shore. From three o'clock she was in sight of Boulogne, and certainly the sea was most heavy and the wind extremely strong; but no pilot boat went out to her, and no life-boats or other assistance were dispatched. I observed her from three o'clock till about half past four in the afternoon, when she came round into Boulogne harbor and struck on the sands. By four o'clock it was known that it was a British ship, but some said it was a brig; others said it was a merchant vessel, though all said it was English. It appears from the statement of three men who have been saved out of the crew--all the rest having perished, that the captain ordered the anchor to be let go, in hopes of swinging round with the tide. In a few minutes after the vessel had gone aground, multitudes rushed to the beach, and a brave French sailor, named Pierre Henin, who has already received the thanks of the Humane Society of London, addressed himself to the captain of the port, and said that he was resolved to go alone, and to reach the vessel, in order to tell the captain that he had not a moment to lose, but must, as it was low water, send all his crew and passengers on shore. You will recollect that up to the time of her running aground no measure was adopted, and the captain was not warned from shore of her danger. As soon as she had struck, however, a pilot-boat, commanded by Francois Heuret, who has on many occasions shown much courage and talent, was dispatched, and by a little after five came under her bows. The captain of the vessel refused to avail himself of the assistance of Heuret and his brave companions, and when a portion of the crew proposed going on shore the captain prevented them. Two of the men saved, state that they knew the boat was under the bows, but that the rest were below making up their bundles. The crew could then have got on shore, and all the unfortunate women and children. When the French boat had gone, the surgeon sent for Owen, one of the crew, and ordered him to get out the long boat. This was about half past five. The surgeon discussed the matter with his wife and with the captain. They were afraid of allowing the prisoners to go on shore. The wife of the surgeon is said to have proposed to leave the convicts there, and to go on shore without them. In consequence of this discussion, no long boat was sent out. Three of the convict women told Owen, that they heard the surgeon persuaded the captain not to accept the assistance of the French boat, on account of the prisoners who were on board. Let us now return to Pierre Henin. The French pilot-boat had been refused by the surgeon and captain--the long-boat had been put out, through a discussion as to saving the convicts--and it was now nearly six o'clock. At that time Henin went to the beach, stripped himself, took a line, swam naked for about three quarters of an hour or an hour, and arrived at the vessel at a little after seven. On reaching the right side of the vessel, he hailed the crew, and said, "Give me a line to conduct you on land, or you are lost, as the sea is coming in." He spoke English plain enough to be heard. He touched the vessel and told them to speak to the captain. They threw (that is, some of the crew, but not the surgeon or captain) two lines, one from the stern and one from the bow. The one from the stern he could not seize--the one from the bow he did. He then went towards the shore, but the rope was stopped. This was, it is believed, the act of the surgeon and captain. He (Henin) then swam back, and told them to give him more rope to get on shore. The captain and surgeon would not. They then tried to haul him in, but his strength failed and he got on shore. You perceive, then, that up to this moment also the same obstacle existed in the minds of the captain and surgeon.--They did not dare, without authority, to land the convicts, and rather than leave them on board, or land them without such authority, they perished with them. The female convicts, who were battened down under the hatches, on the vessel's running aground, broke away the half deck hatch, and frantic, rushed on deck. Of course they entreated the captain and surgeon to let them go on shore in the long-boat, but they were not listened to, as the captain and surgeon did not feel authorized to liberate prisoners committed to their care. At seven o'clock the flood tide began. The crew seeing that there were no hopes, clung to the rigging. The poor 108 women and 12 children remained on deck, uttering the most piteous cries. The vessel was about three quarters of a mile English from the shore, and no more. Owen, one of the three men saved, thinks that the women remained on deck in this state about an hour and a half. Owen and four others were on the spars, and thinks they remained there three quarters of an hour, but, seeing no hope of being saved, he took to swimming, and was brought in a state of insensibility to the hotel. Towsey, another of the men saved, was on a plank with the captain. Towsey asked who he was? He said "I am the captain," but the next moment he was gone. Rice, the third man, floated ashore on a ladder. He was in the aft when the other men took to the raft. When the French pilot-boat rowed away, after being rejected by the captain, he (Rice) saw a man waving his hat on the beach, and remarked to the captain that a gentleman was waving to them to come on shore. The captain turned away and made no answer.--At that moment the women all disappeared, the ship broke in two. These are the facts of this awful case. The French Marine Humane Society immediately placed hundreds of men on the beach; and the office, or lodging, being close to the shore, as soon as the corpses were picked up they were brought to the rooms, where I assisted many of my countrymen in endeavoring to restore them to life. Our efforts were fruitless except in the cases of the three men, Owen, Rice and Towsey. I never saw so many fine and beautiful bodies in my life. Some of the women were the most perfectly made; and French and English wept together at such a horrible loss of life in sight of--ay, and even close to, the port and town.--Body after body has been brought in. More than 60 have been found; they will be buried to-morrow. But alas! after all our efforts, only three lives have been saved out of 136. THE MUTINEERS, A TALE OF THE SEA. There is scarce any one, we apprehend, who is in any considerable degree conversant with the shifting scenes of human existence, who does not know that many of the plain narratives of common life possess an indescribable charm. These unvarnished details of human weal and human wo, coming right from the mint of nature, decline the superfluous embellishments of art, and, in the absence of all borrowed lustre, clearly demonstrate that they are "adorned the most when unadorned." They bear a most diametrical contrast to those figments of diseased fancy, that nauseating romance about virgins betrothed and lady love, which in so many instances elbow decency and common sense from the pages of our periodical literature as "unwelcome guests." It has frequently been said that sailors, above every other class of men, have irrepressible hankerings after the wild and wonderful. Certain it is, that he who will sit on a ship's forecastle of a bright moonlight evening, will hear of "hair-breadth escapes," and perilous adventures no less chivalrous and incredible than those which Cervantes and the biographer of Baron Munchausen have attributed to their respective heroes. Although the following incidents may excite no very thrilling interest, they have at least the merit of truth. The actors in this short drama are still on the stage, ready to testify to this narrative of facts. On the morning of the 14th of April, 1828, the ship Gold Hunter glided majestically out of the Liverpool docks, with fair wind and tide. The Mersey, from Liverpool to Black Rock, a distance of about three miles, was literally covered with vessels of every character and nation, which had taken advantage of the fair wind to clear the harbor. Here might be seen the little French lugger, carrying back to Bordeaux what its fruit and brandy had bought, as frisky in its motions as the nervous monsieur who commanded it. At a little distance, the square-shouldered Antwerper, sitting on the elevated poop of his galliot, was enjoying, with his crew, a glorious smoke. You could almost see them (and that, too, without very keen optics) put care into their tobacco-pipes, anxiety curled in fume over their heads. A not unfrequent sight was the star-spangled banner floating in beauty over the bosom of the wave. The serenity of the atmosphere, the ever-changing brilliancy of the scene, the tout ensemble, were well calculated to excite the most pleasurable emotions. Every thing seemed to give the most flattering assurances of a voyage of unruffled peacefulness. This large squadron continued comparatively unbroken until it reached Holyhead, where such vessels as were bound for Scotland, or the north of Ireland, bore away from those which were bound down the channel. The Gold Hunter, whose destination was a port in the United States, was, of course, in company with the latter class. Those on board of her very naturally felt great gratification in perceiving that she was not only the most splendid and graceful ship, but the swiftest sailor in sight. Before we proceed farther, however, we must in some measure acquaint the reader with the inmates of the Gold Hunter. Notwithstanding she was one of those floating palaces yclept "Liverpool packets," and the captain a finished gentleman and skilful navigator, there were, on this trip, but two cabin passengers,--an Irish gentleman (who had a short time before sold his lieutenancy in the British army) and his sister. The former had been engaged in some of England's fiercest battles, and won some of her brightest laurels. The reason which induced him to dispose of his commission, and forsake the hardships and honors of military life, was a desire to visit some near relations, who, at an early period, had emigrated to this country, and who were now enjoying respectability and a competence. It was for this object that Mr. Kelly and his sister had taken passage in the Gold Hunter, at the time of which we are now speaking. It need hardly be said, that they felt towards each other all that deep-toned and romantic affection which in so characteristic a manner pervades Irish relationships. The captain, who was a man of fine feeling and cultivated intellect, spent most of his leisure moments in their company; and many an evening, when the moon-beams played forth brightly on the rippling water, and the bellying of the canvass seemed to assure them they were hastening to the tender embraces of those they loved, would they sit together on the quarter-deck, while Miss Kelly enhanced the brilliancy of the scene by singing some of those wild, touching melodies which she had learned to warble on her own native hills. Thus, "time trod on flowers," and the incidental privations and inconveniences of a sea voyage were greatly mitigated. Nothing worthy of special notice occurred until about the 25th of April, when Mr. Kelly, who was walking on the weather side of the main deck, accidentally overheard the following conversation, between three or four of the crew, engaged in caulking the seams just under the lee of the long-boat. "I tell you, once for all, a cargo of silks and broadcloths aint a-going to do us any good without the ready cash." "Ready cash! why, man, how many times must I tell you that there is specie on board? the old man has two or three thousand dollars, and Kelly has a bag of sovereigns, or my eyes never saw salt water."--"And the girl," said a third voice, which Mr. Kelly knew to be the steward's--"and the girl did not jingle her bag for nothing the other day, when she walked by me: something there, or my head 's a ball of spun-yarn." Kelly was transfixed with utter horror and amazement; but fearful lest some one might perceive him, he crouched under the long-boat, which afforded him a partial concealment. In this situation, he listened with breathless anxiety, to the development of their plans, so murderous that his very blood ran cold in his veins. When the villains came to the blackest, most awful, portions of their scheme, their voices were instinctively hushed into almost a whisper; so that it was only the general outline that Kelly could gather. He found that it was their intention to wait until some dark, dismal night, when they would rush on the captain, himself and sister, and murder them in their beds, rifle them of their money, and take possession of the ship. It was their design to spare the life of the mate, whose services they needed as a navigator. After having done all this, they were to steer directly for the coast of Africa, where they hoped to dispose of the cargo to the negroes. If successful, they expected to carry thence to the West Indies a load of slaves--if not, to abandon the ship entirely, taking with them the specie, and whatever light articles of value they conveniently could. They anticipated no difficulty in introducing themselves into some of the settlements on the coast as shipwrecked mariners; and, as vessels frequently left the settlements for the United States, they supposed they might procure a passage without exciting any suspicion. Kelly was a man of such imperturbable self-command, that he found no difficulty in repressing every symptom which could indicate his knowledge of the diabolical conspiracy. It was no part of his intention, however, to conceal any thing from Capt. Newton; to the captain, therefore, he made an unreserved disclosure of all that had come to his knowledge. At first they were at a loss what measures to take: one thing they thought of the greatest importance, which was to keep Miss Kelly in entire ignorance of what was transpiring on board. Some uncurbed outbreaking of alarm would be almost certain, such was the excitability of her temperament. This, in their present situation, might be attended with the most disastrous consequences. The captain determined to eye with particular vigilance the motions of Harmon, who, from the part he took in the conversation alluded to above, appeared to be the ring-leader. Here, in order that the reader may fully understand the narrative, it becomes necessary for us to make a very short digression. The government of a ship is, in the strictest sense of the term, monarchical, the captain holding undivided and absolute authority. The relation he sustains to the sailor resembles very much that of the master to the slave. Consequently, in order that this relation be not severed by the sailor, even the faintest color of insubordination must be promptly quelled. If any master of a ship suffer a sailor to make an impertinent reply with impunity, he immediately finds his authority prostrate and trampled upon, and his most positive commands pertinaciously disregarded. The day after that on which Mr. Kelly had communicated the startling intelligence to the captain, was somewhat squally. The latter was standing on the weather side of the quarter-deck, giving directions to the man at the helm (who happened to be Harmon) respecting the steering of the ship: "Luff! luff! keep her full and by! Mind your weather helm, or she'll be all in the wind. Down with it, or she'll be off! I tell you, if you don't steer the ship better, I'll send you from the helm. You don't keep her within three points of her course either way!" All this was said, of course, in a pretty authoritative tone, and Harmon impudently replied, "I can steer as well as you, or any other man in the ship." Capt. Newton's philosophy was completely dashed by this daring answer, and he immediately gave Harmon a blow with his fist, which Harmon as promptly returned sprawling the captain on the deck. Harmon then deserted the helm, leaving the ship to the mercy of the tempest, and hurried forward to the forecastle, hoping there to intrench himself so firmly as to resist all attacks from without. The captain, as soon as he could recover from his amazement, went to the cabin door and cried out, "Mr. Kelly, our lives are in danger--will you assist me, my dear sir, to secure one of my men, that cut-throat Harmon. We must blow up this scheme in the outset, or we are gone." Kelly had too little coolness in his constitution to stop to discuss the matter, when he knew that the life of a dear sister might depend on the issue. He saw, in a moment, that the conspirators would take courage, unless they were immediately overpowered. He therefore instantly joined Capt. Newton, and they proceeded to the forecastle together. Threats and commands had not virtue enough to bring Harmon from his hiding-place. Some more effectual expedient must be resorted to. Accordingly, brimstone was introduced into the numerous crevices of the forecastle, and the atmosphere rendered insufferable. Frantic with suffocation, his eyes flashing with rage, he brandished savagely a huge case-knife:--"You, Newton! and you Kelly! I swear that, if I am obliged to leave this forecastle, I'll sheath this knife in your breasts, you infernal tormentors!" Like the chafed, wounded, maddened bull, which his pursuers have surrounded, and which is drawing close about him his dying strength, for one last furious charge, was Harmon, when Kelly, with most provoking coolness, said, "Harmon, you shall leave that forecastle, or die there." It soon became evident that he was making preparations to leave: they therefore planted themselves firmly near the gang way through which alone he could possibly come out. Soon he bolted furiously through, making, as he passed, a desperate plunge at Capt. Newton, with his enormous case-knife. Had not Mr. Kelly, at this moment, by a dexterous effort, struck Harmon's arm, one more immortal spirit would have been disencumbered of this "coil of mortality." Instead of this, the villain was disarmed, and his dangerous weapon danced about harmlessly on the top of the waves. Harmon was now powerless; and they found no difficulty in putting irons upon him. During the whole of this contest, his associates did not dare to offer him the least assistance: on the contrary, each stood silently apart, eyeing his neighbor with fear and distrust. When Mr. Kelly returned to the cabin, he found that his sister had fainted away through terror. Volatile salts, and the assurance that all her future fears would be entirely groundless, had the effect of restoring her very speedily. * * * On the morning of the 23d May, Charleston light-house was descried from the mast-head. Not a remnant of apprehension lurked behind; every pulse beat gladly; anticipated joys filled every bosom. It was not long before the revenue cutter, from which floats the stripes and the stars, was seen bounding over the billows towards the Gold Hunter. She was soon along side, and, after an interchange of salutations between the vessels, the commander of the revenue cutter boarded the ship. After many inquiries, Capt. Newton requested the United States officer to step into the cabin, where he laid open all the circumstances connected with the abortive conspiracy. "Capt. Morris," said he, "I shall be obliged to call on you for assistance in bringing these men to punishment." "Such as I can grant," replied Capt. M., "is at your service; but how shall we proceed?" "Put the men into irons, and then I consign them to your safe keeping." These intentions were announced on deck; and if ever consternation and rueful dismay were depicted in human countenances it was in the case of those who had entered into the conspiracy, but who, till now, had supposed that all their plans were enveloped in midnight secrecy. Manacles were put on them all without difficulty, and they soon found themselves securely lodged on board an United States vessel. At the fall term of the Supreme Court of South Carolina, four men were arraigned on an indictment of "mutiny on the high seas," on board the ship Gold Hunter. The evidence was so conclusive, that all the ingenuity of the prisoner's council, twist itself as it would, could effect nothing. The jury found a verdict of guilty, without leaving their seats. Harmon was sentenced to the penitentiary five years; the others four years each. Thus was a most dangerous indevotion frustrated. FATE OF SEVEN SAILORS, WHO WERE LEFT ON THE ISLAND OF ST. MAURICE. The Dutch who frequented the northern regions during the more favorable season of the year, in pursuit of the whale fishery, became desirous of ascertaining the state of different places while winter prevailed. Various opinions were entertained concerning this subject, and astronomers wished to have their sentiments regarding certain natural phenomena, either realized or controverted. Besides, a more important object was concealed under these ostensible reasons, namely, whether the establishment of permanent colonies in the most remote parts of Greenland was practicable. A proposal was therefore promulgated through the Greenland fleet, for seven seamen to offer to remain a winter in St. Maurice's Island, and also for other seven to winter in Spitzbergen. We are not acquainted with the inducements held forth; but it is probable that little hesitation ensued, for we find a party prepared to winter at the different places specified, nearly about the same period. Seven of the stoutest and ablest men of the fleet having accordingly agreed to be left behind, their comrades sailed from St. Maurice's Isle on the 26th of August 1633. The people, two days afterwards, shared half a pound of tobacco, to which they restricted themselves as a weekly allowance. At this time there was no night, and the heat of the sun so powerful through the day, that they pulled off their shirts, and sported on the side of a hill near their abode. Great abundance of sea-gulls frequented the island, and the seamen made a constant practice of seeking for vegetables growing there for salad. Towards the end of September, the weather began to be tempestuous, and in the earlier part of October, their huts were so much shaken by violent storms of wind, that their nightly rest was interrupted; but they did not resort to firing until the 9th of that month. About a week subsequent, two whales were cast ashore, and the seamen immediately endeavored to kill them with harpoons, lances, and cutlasses, but the tide flowing enabled them to escape. As winter advanced, bears became so numerous, that the people durst scarce venture abroad from their huts towards night; but in the day time some were occasionally killed, which they roasted. Several of these animals were so strong, however, that they would run off after being shot through. A great many gulls were also seen on the sea-side which retired every night to the mountains, their usual place of retreat. The first of January 1634, was ushered in with dark and frosty weather; the seamen, after wishing each other a happy new year, and good success in their enterprize, went to prayers. Two bears approached very near their huts, but the darkness of the day, and the depth of the snow, rendered it impossible to take them; not long afterwards the seamen were more successful, and, having shot one, dragged it into a hut, where they skinned it. From the 1st of February these animals became very shy, and were seldom seen. In the month of March all the people were attacked by scurvy, owing to the scarcity of fresh provisions, and their spirits sunk with the progress of the disease; only two were in health on the 3d of April, while the rest were extremely ill. Two pullets were at their request killed for them, no more being left; and as their appetites were pretty good, the others entertained hopes of their convalescence. The whole seldom left their hut to examine the appearance of the sea, or the surrounding country; but, on the 15th, they observed four whales in a neighboring bay. The clerk was now very ill, and died on the 16th, whereupon the surviving mariners invoked Heaven to have mercy on his soul, and also on themselves, for they suffered severely. No fresh provisions whatever were left, and they daily grew worse, partly from want of necessary articles, and partly from the excessive cold. Even when in health they could scarce keep themselves in heat by exercise; and when sick, and unable to stir from their huts, that remedy was at an end. Disease made rapid progress among these unfortunate people, so that on the 23d not more than one individual could give an account of the rest, which is done in these words of his journal: "We are by this time reduced to a deplorable state, none of my comrades being able to help himself, much less another; the whole burden, therefore, lies on my shoulders, and I shall perform my duty as well as I am able, so long as it pleases God to give me strength. I am just now about to assist our commander out of his cabin; he thinks it will relieve his pain, for he is struggling with death. The night is dark, and wind blowing from the south." Meantime the Dutch, who repaired in the summer season to Greenland, became impatient to learn the fate of the seven men left in the Isle of St. Maurice. Some of the seamen got into a boat immediately on their arrival, on the 4th of June 1634, and hastened towards the huts. Yet, from none of the others having come to the sea-side to welcome them, they presaged nothing good; and accordingly found that all the unfortunate men had breathed their last. The first, as has been seen, expired on the 16th of April 1634, and his comrades, having put his body in a coffin, deposited it in one of the huts. The remainder were conjectured to have died about the beginning of May, from a journal kept by them, expressing that, on the 27th of April, they had killed their dog for want of fresh provisions, and from its termination on the last of this month. Near one of the bodies stood some bread and cheese, on which the mariner had perhaps subsisted immediately preceding his decease; a box of ointment lay beside the cabin of another, with which he had rubbed his teeth and joints, and his arm was still extended towards his mouth. A prayer-book, which he had been reading, also lay near him. Each of the men was found in his own cabin. The Commodore of the Greenland fleet having got this melancholy intelligence, ordered the six bodies to be put into coffins, and, along with the seventh, deposited beneath the snow. Afterwards, when the earth thawed, they were removed, and interred, on St. John's day, under a general discharge of the cannon of the fleet. SEAMEN WINTERING IN SPITZBERGEN. On the 30th of August 1633, the Dutch fleet sailed from North-Bay, in Spitzbergen, leaving seven men behind, who had agreed to winter there. Immediately, on departure of the vessels, they began to collect a sufficient quantity of provisions to serve their necessities until their comrades should return in the subsequent year. Therefore, at different times, they hunted rein-deer with success, and caught many sea-fowl; and also occasionally got herbs, which proved very salutary. Excursions both by sea and land were frequently made when the weather would permit; and they endeavored to kill whales and narwhals in the different bays on the east coast of Spitzbergen. The extreme cold of the climate was announced by the disappearance of all the feathered tribe on the third of October, and from that time it gradually augmented. On the 13th their casks of beer were frozen three inches thick, and very soon afterwards, though standing within eight feet of the fire, they froze from top to bottom. The seamen had broke the ice on the sea, and disposed a net for catching fish below it; but the rigour of the weather constantly increasing, the ice formed a foot thick at the surface in the space of two hours. From the excessive cold, they remained almost constantly in bed, and, notwithstanding they had both a grate and a stove, they were sometimes obliged to rise and take violent exercise to keep themselves in heat. Beautiful phenomena appeared in the sky during winter, consisting of the Aurora Borealis, of surprising splendour and magnitude, and other meteors seeming to arise from the icy mountains. On the third of March the mariners had an encounter with a monstrous bear, in which one of them very nearly perished. The animal became furious from its wounds; leaping against a seaman, about to pierce it with his lance, it threw him down, and, but for the opportune interposition of another, would have torn him to pieces. At length, after suffering many hardships and privations the mariners were gladdened with the sight of a boat rowing into the bay, on the 27th of May 1634, announcing the return of a Dutch Greenlandman, which anchored there the same evening. The Dutch, encouraged by the safety of this party, proposed that other seven people, provided with all necessaries, should pass the following winter in their place; and, accordingly, Andrew Johnson, Cornelius Thysse, Jerome Carcoen, Tiebke Jellis, Nicholas Florison, Adrian Johnson, and Fettje Otters, offered to remain. The fleet, therefore, sailed for Holland on the 11th of September 1634, leaving these men behind. Numbers of whales were in sight of Spitzbergen on the same day, which the people made an unsuccessful attempt to catch. Towards the end of November, scurvy beginning to appear among them, they carefully sought for green herbs, but in vain; nor were they more fortunate in the pursuit of bears and foxes for fresh provisions. However, they drank some potions and took other antidotes against the disease, and then set traps for foxes. A bear being discovered on the 24th of November, three of the people eagerly proceeded to attack it, for their necessities were daily becoming greater. The animal, rising to receive them on its hind legs, was shot through the body, whereupon it began to bleed and roar most hideously, and fiercely bit a halbert. But, likely to be overpowered, it took to flight, and was anxiously pursued by the people a long way, carrying lanthorns, though unsuccessfully; and they were all much dispirited from the disappointment of fresh provision, which they so much required. [Illustration: Appearance of the Aurora Borealis from the Island of East Spitzbergen--_page 186_.] On the 14th of January, Adrian Johnson died. The whole of the rest were extremely ill. Fettje Otters died next day, and also Cornelius Thysse on the 17th, a man in whom his comrades rested their chief hope next to God. Notwithstanding the weakness of the survivors, who could scarce support themselves on their legs, they contrived to make three coffins for the deceased, and put their bodies into them. In the beginning of February they had the good fortune to catch a fox, an incident which afforded them much satisfaction, but at that time disease had gone too far to admit their deriving material benefit from the flesh. Many bears, even six or ten together were seen; but the people had not strength to manage their guns, nor, had it been otherwise, were they able to pursue them. Now they were seized with excruciating pains about the loins and belly, which were aggravated by cold. One spit blood, and another was afflicted with a bloody flux; yet Jerome Carcoen could still bring in fuel to keep up the fires. The sun had disappeared on the 20th of October, nor was he seen again until the 24th of February, when the mariners were so weak as to be constantly confined to their cabins. Two days after, they ceased to be able to write, at that time expressing themselves in a journal thus: "Four of us who still survive, lie flat on the floor of our hut. We think we could still eat, were there only one among us able to get fuel, but none can move for pain; our time is spent in constant prayer, that God, in his mercy, would deliver us from this misery; we are ready whenever he pleases to call us. Assuredly we cannot long survive without food or firing; we are unable to assist each other in our mutual afflictions, and each must bear his own burden." The seamen of the Dutch fleet arriving at Spitzbergen, in 1635, hastened to inquire after the fate of their comrades; and having found their hut all closed around as a protection against wild beasts, they broke open the back door. A man then entering, ran up stairs, where he discovered part of a dead dog on the floor, laid there to dry, and quickly descending, trod on the carcass of another dog also dead. Thence passing towards the front door, he stumbled in the dark over several dead bodies, which, after the door was opened, were seen lying together. Three were in coffins; Nicholas Florison and another, each in a cabin; and the other two on some sails covering the floor, lying with their knees drawn up to their chins. Therefore the whole of these unfortunate people had perished. Coffins were prepared for the four bodies wanting them, and all were buried under the snow, until the ground became more penetrable, when they were deposited in the earth beside each other, and stones laid on their graves, to preserve them from the ravenous beasts of prey. A MAN OVERBOARD. Sailors are men of rough habits, but their feelings are not by any means so coarse: if they possess little prudence or worldly consideration, they are likewise very free from selfishness; generally speaking, too, they are much attached to one another, and will make great sacrifices to their messmates or shipmates when opportunities occur. I remember once, when cruising off Terceira in the Endymion, that a man fell overboard and was drowned. After the usual confusion, and long search in vain, the boats were hoisted up, and the hands called to make sail. I was officer of the forecastle and on looking about to see if all the men were at their station, missed one of the fore-top men. Just at that moment I observed some one curled up, and apparently hiding himself under the bow of the barge, between the boat and the booms. 'Hillo!' I said, 'who are you? What are you doing there, you skulker? Why are you not at your station?' 'I am not skulking,' said the poor fellow, the furrows in whose bronzed and weatherbeaten cheek were running down with tears. The man we had just lost had been his messmate and friend, he told me, for ten years. I begged his pardon, in full sincerity, for having used such harsh words to him at such a moment, and bid him go below to his birth for the rest of the day--'Never mind, sir, never mind,' said the kind hearted seaman, 'it can't be helped. You meant no harm, sir. I am as well on deck as below. Bill's gone sir, but I must do my duty.' So saying, he drew the sleeve of his jacket twice or thrice across his eyes, and mustering his grief within his breast, walked to his station as if nothing had happened. In the same ship and nearly about the same time, the people were bathing along side in a calm at sea. It is customary on such occasions to spread a studding-sail on the water, by means of lines from the fore and main yard arms, for the use of those who either cannot swim, or who are not expert in this art, so very important to all seafaring people. Half a dozen of the ship's boys were floundering about in the sails, and sometimes even venturing beyond the leech rope. One of the least of these urchins, but not the least courageous of their number, when taunted by his more skilful companions with being afraid, struck out boldly beyond the prescribed bounds. He had not gone much further than his own length, however, along the surface of the fathomless sea, when his heart failed him, poor little man; and along with his confidence away also went his power of keeping his head above the water. So down he sank rapidly, to the speechless horror of the other boys, who of course, could lend the drowning child no help. The captain of the forecastle, a tall, fine-looking, hard-a-weather fellow, was standing on the shank of the sheet anchor with his arms across, and his well varnished canvass hat drawn so much over his eyes that it was difficult to tell whether he was awake or merely dozing in the sun, as he leaned his back against the fore-topmast backstay. The seaman, however, had been attentively watching the young party all the time, and rather fearing that mischief might ensue from their rashness, he had grunted out a warning to them from time to time, to which they paid no sort of attention. At last he desisted, saying they might drown themselves if they had a mind, for never a bit would he help them; but no sooner did the sinking figure of the adventurous little boy catch his eye, than, diver fashion, he joined the palms of his hands over his head, inverted his position in one instant, and urging himself into swifter motion by a smart push with his feet against the anchor, shot head foremost into the water. The poor lad sunk so rapidly that he was at least a couple of fathoms under the surface before he was arrested by the grip of the sailor, who soon rose again, bearing the bewildered boy in his hand, and calling to the other youngsters to take better care of their companion, chucked him right into the belly of the sail. The fore-sheet was hanging in the calm, nearly into the water, and by it the dripping seaman scrambled up again to his old birth on the anchor, shook himself like a great Newfoundland dog, and then jumping on the deck, proceeded across the forecastle to shift himself. At the top of the ladder he was stopped by the marine officer, who had witnessed the whole transaction, as he sat across the gangway hammocks, watching the swimmers, and trying to get his own consent to undergo the labor of undressing. Said the soldier to the sailor, "That was very well done of you, my man, and right well deserves a glass of grog. Say so to the gun-room steward as you pass; and tell him it is my orders to fill you out a stiff nor-wester." The soldier's offer was kindly meant, but rather clumsily timed, at least so thought Jack: for though he inclined his head in acknowledgment of the attention, and instinctively touched his hat when spoken to by an officer, he made no reply till out of the marine's hearing, when he laughed, or rather chuckled out to the people near him, "Does the good gentleman suppose I'll take a glass of grog for saving a boy's life." AN ESCAPE THROUGH THE CABIN-WINDOWS. In the year 18--, said Capt. M----, I was bound, in a fine stout ship of about four hundred tons burden, from the port of l'---- to Liverpool. The ship had a valuable cargo on board and about ninety thousand dollars in specie. I had been prevented, by other urgent business, from giving much of my attention to the vessel while loading and equipping for the voyage, but was very particular in my directions to the chief mate, in whom I had great confidence, he having sailed with me some years, to avoid entering, if possible, any but native American seamen. When we were about to sail, he informed me that he had not been able to comply with my directions entirely in this particular; but had shipped two foreigners as seamen, one a native of Guernsey, and the other a Frenchman from Brittany. I was pleased, however, with the appearance of the crew generally, and particularly with the foreigners. They were both stout and able-bodied men, and were particularly alert and attentive to orders. The passage commenced auspiciously and promised to be a speedy one, as we took a fine steady westerly wind soon after we lost soundings. To my great sorrow and uneasiness, I soon discovered in the foreigners a change of conduct for the worse. They became insolent to the mates and appeared to be frequently under the excitement of liquor, and had evidently acquired an undue influence with the rest of the men. Their intemperance soon became intolerable, and as it was evident that they had brought liquor on board with them, I determined upon searching the forecastle and depriving them of it. An order to this effect was given to the mates, and they were directed to go about its execution mildly and firmly, taking no arms with them as they seemed inclined to do, but to give every chest, birth and locker in the forecastle a thorough examination; and bring aft to the cabin any spirits they might find. It was not without much anxiety that I sent them forward upon this duty. I remained upon the quarter deck myself, ready to go to their aid, should it be necessary. In a few moments, a loud and angry dispute was succeeded by a sharp scuffle around the forecastle companion-way. The steward, at my call, handed my loaded pistols from the cabin, and with them I hastened forward. The Frenchman had grappled the second mate, who was a mere lad, by the throat, thrown him across the heel of the bowsprit, and was apparently determined to strangle him to death. The chief mate was calling for assistance from below, where he was struggling with the Guernsey man. The rest of the crew were indifferent spectators but rather encouraging the foreigners than otherwise. I presented a pistol at the head of the Frenchman, and ordered him to release the second mate, which he instantly did. I then ordered him into the fore top, and the others, who were near, into the maintop, none to come down under pain of death, until ordered. The steward had by this time brought another pair of pistols, with which I armed the second mate, directing him to remain on deck; and went below into the forecastle myself. I found that the chief mate had been slightly wounded in two places by the knife of his antagonist, who, however, ceased to resist as I made my appearance, and we immediately secured him in irons. The search was now made, and a quantity of liquor found and taken to the cabin. The rest of the men were then called down from the tops, and the Frenchman was made the companion of his coadjutor's confinement. I then expostulated, at some length, with the others upon their improper and insubordinate conduct, and upon the readiness with which they had suffered themselves to be drawn into such courses by two rascally foreigners, and expressed hopes that I should have no reason for further complaint during the rest of the voyage. This remonstrance I thought had effect, as they appeared contrite and promised amendment. They were then dismissed, and order was restored. The next day the foreigners strongly solicited pardon, with the most solemn promises of future good conduct; and as the rest of the crew joined in their request, I ordered that their irons should be taken off. For several days the duties of the ship were performed to my entire satisfaction; but I could discover in the countenances of the foreigners, expressions of deep and rancorous animosity to the chief mate, who was a prompt, energetic seaman, requiring from the sailors, at all times, ready and implicit obedience to his orders. A week perhaps had passed over in this way, when one night, in the mid watch, all hands were called to shorten sail. Ordinarily upon occasions of this kind, the duty was conducted by the mate, but I now went upon deck myself and gave orders, sending him upon the forecastle. The night was dark and squally; but the sea was not high, and the ship was running off about nine knots, with the wind upon the starboard quarter. The weather being very unpromising, the second reef was taken in the fore and main topsails, the mizen handed and the fore and mizen top gallant yards sent down. This done, one watch was permitted to go below, and I prepared to betake myself to my birth again, directing the mate, to whom I wished to give some orders, should be sent to me. To my utter astonishment and consternation, word was brought me, after a short time, that he was no where to be found. I hastened upon deck, ordered all hands up again, and questioned every man in the ship upon the subject; but they, with one accord, declared that they had not seen the mate forward. Lanterns were then brought, and every accessible part of the vessel was unavailingly searched. I then, in the hearing of the whole crew, declared my belief that he must have fallen overboard by accident, again dismissed one watch below, and repaired to the cabin, in a state of mental agitation impossible to be described. For notwithstanding the opinion which I had expressed to the contrary, I could not but entertain strong suspicions that the unfortunate man had met a violent death. The second mate was a protegee of mine; and, as I have before observed, was a very young man of not much experience as a seaman. I therefore felt that, under critical circumstances, my main support had fallen from me. It is needless to add, that a deep sense of forlornness and insecurity was the result of these reflections. My first step was to load and deposit in my state room all the fire arms on board, amounting to several muskets and four pairs of pistols. The steward was a faithful mulatto man, who had sailed with me several voyages. To him I communicated my suspicions, and directed him to be constantly on the alert: and should any further difficulty with the crew occur, to repair immediately to my state room and arm himself. His usual birth was in the steerage, but I further directed that he should, on the following morning, clear out and occupy one in the cabin near my own. The second mate occupied a small state room opening into the passage which led from the steerage to the cabin. I called him from the deck, gave him a pair of loaded pistols, with orders to keep them in his birth; and, during his night watches on deck, never to go forward of the mainmast, but to continue as constantly as possible near the cabin companion-way, and call me upon the slightest occasion. After this, I laid down in my bed, ordering that I should be called at four o'clock, for the morning watch. Only a few minutes had elapsed, when I heard three or four knocks under the counter of the ship, which is that part of the stern immediately under the cabin-windows. In a minute or two they were distinctly repeated. I arose--opened the cabin-window and called. The mate answered!--I gave him the end of a rope to assist him up, and never shall I forget the flood of gratitude which my delighted soul poured forth to that Being who had restored him to me uninjured. His story was soon told. He had gone forward upon being ordered by me, after the calling of all hands and had barely reached the forecastle, when he was seized by the two foreigners, and before he could utter more than one cry, which was drowned in the roaring of the winds and waves, was thrown over the bow. He was a powerful man and an excellent swimmer. The top-sails of the ship were clewed down to reef, and her way, of course, considerably lessened--and in an instant, he found the end of a rope, which was accidentally towing overboard, within his grasp, by which he dragged in the dead water or eddy, that is created under the stern of a vessel while sailing, particularly if she is full built and deeply laden, as was the case with this. By a desperate effort, he caught one of the rudder chains, which was very low, and drew himself by it upon the step or jog of the rudder where he had sufficient presence of mind to remain without calling out, until the light had ceased to shine through the cabin-windows, when he concluded that the search for him was over. He then made the signal to me. No being in the ship, but myself, was apprised of his safety, for the gale had increased and completely drowned the sounds of the knocking, opening the window, &c. before they could reach the quarter deck; and there was no one in the cabin but ourselves, the steward having retired to his birth in the steerage. It was at once resolved that the second mate only should be informed of his existence. He immediately betook himself to a large vacant state room, and, for the remainder of the passage, all his wants were attended to by me. Even the steward was allowed to enter the cabin as rarely as possible. Nothing of note occurred during the remainder of the voyage, which was prosperous. It seemed that the foreigners had only been actuated by revenge in the violence they had committed; for nothing further was attempted by them. In due season we took a pilot in the channel, and, in a day or two, entered the port of Liverpool. As soon as the proper arrangements were made, we commenced warping the ship into dock, and while engaged in this operation, the Mate appeared on deck, went forward, and attended to his duties as usual! A scene occurred which is beyond description: every feature of it is as vivid in my recollection as though it occurred but yesterday, and will be to my latest breath. The warp dropped from the paralysed hands of the horror-stricken sailors, and had it not been taken up by some boatmen on board, I should have been compelled to anchor again and procure assistance from the shore. Not a word was uttered; but the two guilty wretches staggered to the mainmast, where they remained petrified with horror, until the officer, who had been sent for, approached to take them into custody. They then seemed in a measure to be recalled to a sense of their appalling predicament, and uttered the most piercing expressions of lamentation and despair. They were soon tried, and upon the testimony of the mate capitally convicted and executed. TOM CRINGLE'S LOG. We had refitted, and been four days at sea, on our voyage to Jamaica, when the gun-room officers gave our mess a blow out. The increased motion and rushing of the vessel through the water, the groaning of the masts, the howling of the gale, and the frequent trampling of the watch on deck, were prophetic of wet jackets to some of us; still, midshipman-like, we were as happy as a good dinner and some wine could make us, until the old gunner shoved his weather beaten phiz and bald pate in at the door. "Beg pardon Mr. Splinter, but if you will spare Mr. Cringle on the forecastle an hour, until the moon rises."--("Spare," quotha, "is his majesty's officer a joint stool?")--"Why, Mr. Kennedy, why? here, man, take a glass of grog." "I thank you sir." "It is coming on a roughish night, sir; the running ships should be crossing us hereabouts; indeed, more than once I thought there was a strange sail close aboard of us, the scud is flying so low, and in such white flakes; and none of us have an eye like Mr. Cringle, unless it be John Crow, and he is all but frozen." "Well, Tom, I suppose you will go."--Anglice, from a first lieutenant to a mid-- "Brush instanter." Having changed my uniform for shag trowsers, pea-jacket and a south-west cap, I went forward and took my station, in no pleasant humor, on the stowed jib, with my arm around the stay. I had been half an hour there, the weather was getting worse, the rain was beating in my face, and the spray from the stern was splashing over me, as it roared through the waste of sparkling and hissing waters. I turned my back to the weather for a moment to press my hands on my straining eyes. When I opened them, I saw the gunner's gaunt and high-featured visage thrust anxiously forward; his profile looked as if rubbed over with phosphorus, and his whole person as if we had been playing at snap dragon. "What has come over you Mr. Kennedy? who's burning the blue light now?" "A wiser man than I must tell you that; look forward Mr. Cringle--look there; what do your books say to that?" I looked forth, and saw at the extreme end of the jib-boom, what I have read of, certainly, but never expected to see, a pale, greenish, glow-worm colored flame, of the size and shape of the frosted glass shade over the swinging lamp in the gun-room. It drew out and flattened as the vessel pitched and rose again, and as she sheered about, it wavered round the point that seemed to attract it, like a soap suds bubble blown from a tobacco-pipe, before it is shaken into the air; at the core it was comparatively bright, but faded into a halo. It shed a baleful and ominous light on the surrounding objects; the group of sailors on the forecastle looked like spectres, and they shrunk together, and whispered when it began to roll slowly along the spar where the boatswain was sitting at my feet. At this instant something slid down the stay, and a cold clammy hand passed around my neck. I was within an ace of losing my hold and tumbling overboard.--"Heaven have mercy on me what's that?" "It's that sky-larking son of a gun, Jem Sparkle's monkey, sir. You Jem, you'll never rest till that brute is made shark's bait of." But Jacko vanished up the stay again, chuckling and grinning in the ghastly radiance, as if he had been 'the spirit of the Lamp.' The light was still there, but a cloud of mist, like a burst of vapor from a steam boiler, came down upon the gale and flew past, when it disappeared. I followed the white mass as it sailed down the wind; it did not, as it appeared to me, vanish in the darkness, but seemed to remain in sight to leeward, as if checked by a sudden flaw; yet none of our sails were taken aback. A thought flashed on me. I peered still more intensely into the night. I was not certain.--"A sail, broad on the lee bow." The captain answered from the quarter-deck--"Thank you, Mr. Cringle. How shall we steer?" "Keep her away a couple of points, sir, steady." "Steady," sung the man at the helm; and a slow melancholy cadence, although a familiar sound to me, now moaned through the rushing wind, and smote upon my heart as if it had been the wailing of a spirit. I turned to the boatswain, who was now standing beside me, "is that you or Davy steering, Mr. Nipper? if you had not been there bodily at my side, I could have sworn that was your voice." When the gunner made the same remark, it started the poor fellow; he tried to take it as a joke, but could not. "There may be a laced hammock with a shot in it, for some of us ere morning." At this moment, to my dismay, the object we were chasing shortened,--gradually fell abeam of us, and finally disappeared. "The flying Dutchman." "I can't see her at all now."--"She will be a fore and aft rigged vessel that has tacked, sir." And sure enough, after a few seconds, I saw the white object lengthened and drew out again abaft our beam. "The chase has tacked, sir; put the helm down, or she will go to windward of us." We tacked also, and time it was we did so, for the rising moon now showed us a large schooner with a crowd of sail. We edged down on her, when finding her manoeuvre detected, she brailed up her flat sails and bore up before the wind. This was our best point of sailing, and we cracked on, the captain rubbing his hands--"It's my turn to be the big un this time." Although blowing a strong north-wester, it was now clear moonlight, and we hammered away from our bow guns, but whenever a shot told amongst the rigging, the injury was repaired as if by magic. It was evident we had repeatedly hulled her, from the glimmering white streaks across her counter and along her stern, occasioned by the splintering of the timber, but it seemed to produce no effect. At length we drew well upon her quarter. She continued all black hull and white sail, not a soul to be seen on deck, except a dark object which we took for the man at the helm. "What schooner is that?" No answer. "Heave to, or I'll sink you." Still all silent. "Serjeant Armstrong, do you think you can pick off that chap at the wheel?" The mariner jumped on the forecastle, and levelled his piece, when a musket-shot from the schooner crushed through his skull, and he fell dead. The old skipper's blood was up. "Forecastle there! Mr. Nipper, clap a canister of grape over the round shot in the bow gun, give it to him." "Ay, ay, sir!" gleefully rejoined the boatswain, forgetting the augury, and everything else, in the excitement of the moment. In a twinkling the square foresail--topgallant--royal and studding-sail haulyards, were let go on board the schooner, as if to round to. "Rake him, sir, or give him the stern. He has not surrendered. I know their game. Give him your broadside, sir, or he is off to windward of you, like a shot. No, no, we have him now; heave to Mr. Splinter, heave to!" We did so, and that so suddenly, that the studding sail booms snapped like pipe shanks short off by the irons. Notwithstanding, we had shot two hundred yards to the leeward, before we could lay our maintopsail to the mast. I ran to windward. The schooner's yards and rigging were now black with men, clustering like bees swarming, her square sails were being close furled, her fore and aft sails set, and away she was, dead to windward of us. "So much for undervaluing our American friends," grumbled Mr. Splinter. We made all sail in chase, blazing away to little purpose; we had no chance on a bowline, and when our 'Amigo' had satisfied himself of his superiority by one or two short tacks, he deliberately took a reef in his mainsail, hauled down his flying jib and gaff-topsail, triced up the bunt of his foresail, and fired his long thirty-two at us. The shot came in our third aftermost port on the starboard side, and dismounted the carronade, smashing the slide and wounding three men. The second missed, and as it was madness to remain to be peppered, probably winged, whilst every one of ours fell short, we reluctantly kept away on our course, having the gratification of hearing a clear well blown bugle on board the schooner play up "Yankee Doodle." As the brig fell off, our long gun was run out to have a parting crack at her, when the third and last shot from the schooner struck the sill of the midship port, and made the white splinters fly from the solid oak like bright silver sparks in the moonlight. A sharp, piercing cry rose in the air--my soul identified that death-shriek with the voice that I had heard, and I saw the man who was standing with the lanyard of the lock in his hand drop heavily across the breech, and discharge the gun in his fall. Thereupon a blood-red glare shot up in the cold blue sky, as if a volcano had burst forth from beneath the mighty deep, followed by a roar, and a scattering crash, and a mingling of unearthly cries and groans, and a concussion of the air and the water as if our whole broadside had been fired at once.--Then a solitary splash here, and a dip there, and short sharp yells, and low choking bubbling moans, as the hissing fragments of the noble vessel we had seen, fell into the sea, and the last of her gallant crew vanished forever beneath that pale broad moon. We were alone; and once more all was dark, wild and stormy. Fearfully had that ball sped fired by a dead man's hand. But what is it that clings, black and doubled, across the fatal cannon, dripping and heavy, and choking the scuppers with clotting gore, and swaying to and fro with the motion of the vessel, like a bloody fleece? "Who is it that was hit at the gun there?" "Mr. Nipper, the boatswain, sir, the last shot has cut him in two." LOSS OF THE NAUTILUS, SLOOP OF WAR, ON A ROCK IN THE ARCHIPELAGO. A misunderstanding having originated between the Court of Great Britain, and the Ottoman Porte, a powerful squadron was ordered to proceed to Constantinople, for the purpose of enforcing compliance with rational propositions. The object, however, proved abortive; and the expedition terminated in a way which did not enhance the reputation of these islands in the eyes of the Turks. Sir Thomas Louis, commander of the squadron sent to the Dardanelles, having charged Captain Palmer with dispatches of the utmost importance for England, the Nautilus got under weigh at daylight on the third of January 1807. A fresh breeze from N. E. carried her rapidly out of the Hellespont, passing the celebrated castles in the Dardanelles, which so severely galled the British. Soon afterwards she passed the island of Tenedos, off the north end of which, two vessels of war were seen at anchor; they hoisted Turkish colours, and in return the Nautilus showed those of Britain.--In the course of this day, many of the other islands abounding in the Greek Archipelago came in sight, and in the evening the ship approached the island of Negropont, lying in 38 30 north latitude, and 24 8 east longitude; but now the navigation became more intricate, from the increasing number of islands, and from the narrow entrance between Negropont and the island of Andros. The wind still continued to blow fresh, and as night was approaching, with the appearance of being dark and squally, the pilot, who was a Greek, wished to lie to until morning, which was done accordingly; and at daylight the vessel again proceeded. His course was shaped for the island of Falconera, in a track which has been so elegantly described by Falconer, in a poem as far surpassing the uncouth productions of modern times, as the Ionian temples surpassed those flimsy structures contributing to render the fame of the originals eternal. This island, and that of Anti Milo, were made in the evening, the latter distant fourteen or sixteen miles from the more extensive island of Milo, which could not then be seen, from the thickness and haziness of the weather. The pilot never having been beyond the present position of the Nautilus, and declaring his ignorance of the further bearings, now relinquished his charge, which was resumed by the captain. All possible attention was paid to the navigation, and Captain Palmer, after seeing Falconera so plainly, and anxious to fulfil his mission with the greatest expedition, resolved to stand on during the night. He was confident of clearing the Archipelago by morning, and himself pricked the course from the chart which was to be steered by the vessel. This he pointed out to his coxswain, George Smith, of whose ability he entertained a high opinion. Then he ordered his bed to be prepared, not having had his clothes off for the three preceding nights, and having scarce had any sleep from the time of leaving the Dardanelles. A night of extreme darkness followed, with vivid lightning constantly flashing in the horizon; but this circumstance served to inspire the captain with a greater degree of confidence; for being enabled by it to see so much further at intervals, he thought, that should the ship approach any land, the danger would be discovered in sufficient time to be avoided. The wind continued still increasing; and though the ship carried but little sail, she went at the rate of nine miles an hour, being assisted by a lofty following sea, which with the brightness of the lightning, made the night particularly awful. At half past two in the morning, high land was distinguished, which, those who saw it supposed to be the island of Cerigotto, and thence thought all safe, and that every danger had been left behind. The ship's course was altered to pass the island, and she continued on her course until half past four, at the changing of the watch, when the man on the look-out exclaimed, breakers ahead! and immediately the vessel struck with a most tremendous crash. Such was the violence of the shock, that people were thrown from their beds, and, on coming upon deck, were obliged to cling to the cordage. All was now confusion and alarm; the crew hurried on deck, which they had scarce time to do when the ladders below gave way, and indeed left many persons struggling in the water, which already rushed into the under part of the ship. The captain it appeared had not gone to bed, and immediately came on deck when the Nautilus struck; there having examined her situation, he immediately went round, accompanied by his second lieutenant, Mr. Nesbit, and endeavored to quiet the apprehensions of the people. He then returned to his cabin, and burnt his papers and private signals. Meantime every sea lifted up the ship, and then dashed her with irresistible force on the rocks; and in a short time, the crew were obliged to resort to the rigging, where they remained an hour, exposed to the surges incessantly breaking over them. There they broke out into the most lamentable exclamations, for their parents, children and kindred, and the distresses they themselves endured. The weather was so dark and hazy, that the rocks could be seen only at a very small distance, and in two minutes afterwards the ship had struck. At this time the lightning had ceased, but the darkness of the night was such, that the people could not see the length of the ship from them; their only hope rested in the falling of the main-mast, which they trusted would reach a small rock, which was discovered very near them. Accordingly, about half an hour before day-break, the main-mast gave way, providentially falling towards the rock, and by means of it they were enabled to gain the land. The struggles and confusion to which this incident gave birth, can better be conceived than described; some of the crew were drowned, one man had his arm broke, and many were cruelly lacerated; but Captain Palmer refused to quit his station, while any individual remained on board; and not until the whole of his people had gained the rock did he endeavor to save himself. At that time, in consequence of remaining by the wreck, he had received considerable personal injury, and must infallibly have perished, had not some of the seamen ventured through a tremendous sea to his assistance. The boats were staved in pieces; several of the people endeavored to haul in the jolly-boat, which they were incapable of accomplishing. The hull of the vessel being interposed, sheltered the shipwrecked crew a long time from the beating of the surf; but as she broke up, their situation became more perilous every moment, and they soon found that they should be obliged to abandon the small portion of the rock, which they had reached, and wade to another apparently somewhat larger. The first lieutenant, by watching the breaking of the seas, had got safely thither, and it was resolved by the rest to follow his example. Scarce was this resolution formed, and attempted to be put into execution, when the people encountered an immense quantity of loose spars, which were immediately washed into the channel which they had to pass; but necessity would admit of no alternative. Many in crossing between the two rocks were severely wounded; and they suffered more in this undertaking than in gaining the first rock from the ship. The loss of their shoes was now felt in particular, for the sharp rocks tore their feet in a dreadful manner, and the legs of some were covered with blood. Daylight beginning to appear, disclosed the horrors by which those unfortunate men were surrounded. The sea was covered with the wreck of their ill fated ship, many of their unhappy comrades were seen floating away on spars and timbers; and the dead and dying were mingled together without a possibility of the survivors affording assistance to any that might still be rescued. Two short hours had been productive of all this misery, the ship destroyed and her crew reduced to a situation of despair. Their wild and affrighted looks indicated the sensations by which they were agitated; but on being recalled to a sense of their real condition, they saw that they had nothing left but resignation to the will of heaven. The shipwrecked mariners now discovered that they were cast away on a coral rock almost level with the water, about three or four hundred yards long, and two hundred broad.--They were at least twelve miles from the nearest islands, which were afterwards found to be those of Cerigotto and Pera, on the north end of Candia, about thirty miles distant. At this time it was reported, that a small boat, with several men, had escaped; and although the fact was true, the uncertainty of her fate induced those on the rock to confide in being relieved by any vessel accidentally passing in sight of a signal of distress they had hoisted on a long pole; the neighboring islands being too distant. The weather had been extremely cold, and the day preceding the shipwreck ice had lain on the deck; now, to resist its inclemency, a fire was made, by means of a knife and a flint preserved in the pocket of one of the sailors; and with much difficulty, some damp powder, from a small barrel washed on shore, was kindled. A kind of tent was next made, with pieces of old canvass, boards, and such things as could be got about the wreck, and the people were thus enabled to dry the few clothes they had saved. But they passed a long and comfortless night, though partly consoled with the hope of their fire being descried in the dark, and taken for a signal of distress. Nor was this hope altogether disappointed. When the ship first struck, a small whale-boat was hanging over the quarter, into which, an officer, George Smith the coxswain, and nine men, immediately got, and, lowering themselves into the water, happily escaped. After rowing three or four leagues against a very high sea, and the wind blowing hard, they reached the small island of Pera. This proved to be scarce a mile in circuit, and containing nothing but a few sheep and goats, belonging to the inhabitants of Cerigo, who come in the summer months to carry away their young. They could find no fresh water, except a small residue from rain in the hole of a rock, and that was barely sufficient though most sparingly used. During the night, having observed the fire above mentioned, the party began to conjecture that some of their shipmates might have been saved, for until then they had deemed their destruction inevitable.--The coxswain impressed with this opinion, proposed again hazarding themselves in the boat for their relief, and, although some feeble objections were offered against it, he continued resolute to his purpose, and persuaded four others to accompany him. About nine in the morning of Tuesday, the second day of the shipwreck, the approach in the little whale-boat was descried by those on the rock; all uttered an exclamation of joy, and in return the surprise of the coxswain and his crew to find so many of their shipmates still surviving is not to be described. But the surf ran so high as to endanger the safety of the boat, and several of the people imprudently endeavored to get into it. The coxswain tried to persuade Captain Palmer to come to him, but he steadily refused, saying, "No, Smith, save your unfortunate shipmates, never mind me."--After some little consultation, he desired him to take the Greek pilot on board, and make the best of his way to Cerigotto, where the pilot said there were some families of fishermen, who doubtless would relieve their necessities. But it appeared as if Heaven had ordained the destruction of this unfortunate crew, for, soon after the boat departed, the wind began to increase, and dark clouds gathering around, excited among those remaining behind all their apprehensions for a frightful storm. In a about two hours it commenced with the greatest fury; the waves rose considerably, and soon destroyed the fire. They nearly covered the rock, and compelled the men to fly to the highest part for refuge, which was the only one that could afford any shelter. There nearly ninety people passed a night of the greatest horrors; and the only means of preventing themselves from being swept away by the surf, which every moment broke over them, was by a small rope fastened round the summit of the rock, and with difficulty holding on by each other. The fatigues which the people had previously undergone, added to what they now endured, proved too overpowering to many of their number; several became delirious; their strength was exhausted, and they could hold on no longer. Their afflictions were still further aggravated by an apprehension that the wind, veering more to the north, would raise the sea to their present situation, in which case a single wave would have swept them all into oblivion. The hardships which the crew had already suffered were sufficient to terminate existence, and many had met with deplorable accidents. One in particular, while crossing the channel between the rocks at an unsuitable time, was dashed against them so as to be nearly scalped, and exhibited a dreadful spectacle to his companions. He lingered out the night, and next morning expired. The more fortunate survivors were but ill prepared to meet the terrible effects of famine; their strength enfeebled, their bodies unsheltered and abandoned by hope. Nor were they less alarmed for the fate of their boat. The storm came on before she could have reached the intended island, and on her safety their own depended. But the scene which daylight presented was still more deplorable. The survivors beheld the corpses of their departed shipmates, and some still in the agonies of death. They were themselves altogether exhausted, from the sea all night breaking over them, and the inclemency of the weather, which was such, that many, among whom was the carpenter, perished from excessive cold. But this unfortunate crew had now to suffer a mortification, and to witness an instance of inhumanity, which leaves an eternal stain of infamy on those who merit the reproach.--Soon after day broke, they observed a vessel with all sail set, coming down before the wind, steering directly for the rock. They made every possible signal of distress which their feeble condition admitted, nor without effect, for they were at last seen by the vessel, which bore to and hoisted out her boat. The joy which this occasioned may be easily conceived, for nothing short of immediate relief was anticipated; and they hastily made preparation for rafts to carry them through the surf, confident that the boat was provided with whatever might administer to their necessities. Approaching still nearer, she came within pistol-shot, full of men dressed in the European fashion, who after having gazed at them a few minutes, the person who steered, waved his hat to them and then rowed off to his ship. The pain of the shipwrecked people at this barbarous proceeding was acute, and heightened even more by beholding the stranger vessel employed the whole day in taking up the floating remains of that less fortunate one which had so lately borne them. Perhaps the abandoned wretches guilty of so unfeeling an act may one day be disclosed, and it would surely excite little compassion to learn that they suffered that retribution which such inhuman conduct merits. That people dressed in the habit of Englishmen, though belonging to a different nation, could take advantage of misery instead of relieving it, will scarce seem creditable at the present day, were not some instances of a similar nature related elsewhere than in these volumes. After this cruel disappointment, and bestowing an anathema which the barbarity of the strangers deserved, the thoughts of the people were, during the remainder of the day, directed towards the return of the boat; and being disappointed there also, their dread that she had been lost was only further confirmed. They began to yield to despondency, and had the gloomy prospect of certain death before them. Thirst then became intolerable; and in spite of being warned against it by instances of the terrific effects ensuing, some in desperation resorted to salt water. Their companions had soon the grief of learning what they would experience by following their example; in a few hours raging madness followed, and nature could struggle no longer. Another awful night was to be passed, yet the weather being considerably more moderate, the sufferers entertained hopes that it would be less disastrous than the one preceding; and to preserve themselves from the cold, they crowded close together and covered themselves with their few remaining rags. But the ravings of their comrades who had drank salt water were truly horrible; all endeavors to quiet them were ineffectual, and the power of sleep lost its influence. In the middle of the night they were unexpectedly hailed by the crew of the whale-boat; but the only object of the people on the rock was water; they cried out to their shipmates for it, though in vain. Earthen vessels only could have been procured, and these would not bear being conveyed through the surf. The coxswain then said they should be taken off the rock by a fishing vessel in the morning, and with this assurance they were forced to be content. It was some consolation to know that the boat was safe, and that relief had so far been obtained. All the people anxiously expected morning, and, for the first time since being on the rock, the sun cheered them with its rays. Still the fourth morning came and no tidings either of the boat or vessel. The anxiety of the people increased, for inevitable death from famine, was staring them in the face. What were they to do for self-preservation? The misery and hunger which they endured, were extreme; they were not ignorant of the means whereby other unfortunate mariners in the like situation had protracted life, yet they viewed them with disgust. Still when they had no alternative, they considered their urgent necessities and found them affording some excuse. Offering prayers to Heaven for forgiveness of the sinful act, they selected a young man who had died the preceding night, and ventured to appease their hunger with human flesh. Whether the people were relieved is uncertain, for towards evening death had made hasty strides among them, and many brave men drooped under their hardships. Among these were the captain and first lieutenant, two meritorious officers: and the sullen silence now preserved by the survivors, shewed the state of their internal feelings. Captain Palmer was in the 26th year of his age; amidst his endeavors to comfort those under his command, his companions in misfortune, his personal injuries were borne with patience and resignation, and no murmurs escaped his lips; his virtuous life was prematurely closed by the overwhelming severities of the lamentable catastrophe he had shared. During the course of another tedious night, many suggested the possibility of constructing a raft which might carry the survivors to Cerigotto; and the wind being favorable, might enable them to reach that island. At all events, attempting this seemed preferable to remaining on the rock to expire of hunger and thirst. Accordingly, at daylight they prepared to put their plan in execution. A number of the larger spars were lashed together, and sanguine hopes of success entertained. At length the moment of launching the raft arrived, but it was only to distress the people with new disappointments, for a few moments sufficed for the destruction of a work on which the strongest of the party had been occupied hours. Several from this unexpected failure became still more desperate, and five resolved to trust themselves on a few small spars slightly lashed together, and on which they had scarce room to stand. Bidding their companions adieu, they launched out into the sea, where they were speedily carried away by unknown currents, and vanished forever from sight. Towards the same afternoon, the people were again rejoiced by the sight of the whale-boat, and the coxswain told them that he had experienced great difficulty in prevailing on the Greek fishermen of Cerigotto to venture in their boats, from dread of the weather. Neither would they permit him to take them unaccompanied by themselves; he regretted what his comrades had endured, and his grief at not being able yet to relieve them, but encouraged them with hopes, if the weather remained fine, that next day the boats might come. While the coxswain spoke this, twelve or fourteen men imprudently plunged from the rock into the sea, and very nearly reached the boat. Two indeed, got so far as to be taken in, one was drowned and the rest providentially recovered their former station. Those who thus escaped could not but be envied by their companions, while they reproached the indiscretion of the others, who, had they reached the boat, would without all doubt have sunk her, and thus unwittingly consigned the whole to irremediable destruction. The people were wholly occupied in reflections on the passing incidents; but their weakness increased as the day elapsed; one of the survivors describes himself as feeling the approach of annihilation, that his sight failed, and his senses became confused; that his strength was exhausted, and his eyes turned towards the setting sun, under the conviction that he should never see it rise again. Yet on the morning he survived, and he was surprised that Providence willed it should still be so, as several strong men had fallen in the course of the night. While the remainder were contemplating their forlorn condition, and judging this the last day of their lives, the approach of the boats was unexpectedly announced.--From the lowest ebb of despair, they were now elated with the most extravagant joy; and copious draughts of water, quickly landed, refreshed their languid bodies. Never before did they know the blessings which the single possession of water could afford; it tasted more delicious than the finest wines. Anxious preparations were made for immediate departure from a place, which had been fatal to so many unhappy sufferers. Of one hundred and twenty-two persons on board the Nautilus when she struck, fifty-eight had perished. Eighteen were drowned, it was supposed, at the moment of the catastrophe, and one in attempting to reach the boat, five were lost on the small raft, and thirty-four died of famine. About fifty now embarked in four fishing vessels, and landed the same evening at the island of Cerigotto, making altogether sixty-four individuals, including those who escaped in the whale-boat. Six days had been passed on the rock, nor had the people, during that time, received any assistance, excepting from the human flesh of which they had participated. The survivors landed at a small creek in the island of Cerigotto, after which they had to go to a considerable distance before reaching the dwellings of their friends. Their first care was to send for the master's mate, who had escaped to the island of Pori, and had been left behind when the whale-boat came down to the rock. He and his companions had exhausted all the fresh water, but lived on the sheep and goats, which they caught among the rocks, and had drank their blood. There they had remained in a state of great uncertainty concerning the fate of those who had left them in the boat. Though the Greeks could not aid the seamen in the care of their wounds, they treated them with great care and hospitality; but medical assistance being important, from the pain the sufferers endured, and having nothing to bind up their wounds but shirts which they tore into bandages, they were eager to reach Cerigo. The island of Cerigotto, where they had landed, was a dependency on the other, about fifteen miles long, ten broad, and of a barren and unproductive soil, with little cultivation. Twelve or fourteen families of Greek fishermen dwelt upon it, as the pilot had said, who were in a state of extreme poverty. Their houses, or rather huts, consisting of one or two rooms on the same floor, were, in general, built against the side of a rock; the walls composed of clay and straw, and the roof supported by a tree in the centre of the dwelling. Their food was a coarse kind of bread, formed of boiled pease and flour, which was made into a kind of paste for the strangers, with once or twice a bit of kid; and that was all which they could expect from their deliverers. But they made a liquor from corn, which having an agreeable flavour, and being a strong spirit, was drank with avidity by the sailors. Cerigo was about twenty-five miles distant, and there, it was also said, an English consul resided. Eleven days elapsed, however, before the crew could leave Cerigotto, from the difficulty of persuading the Greeks to adventure to sea, in their frail barks, during tempestuous weather. The wind at last proving fair, with a smooth sea, they bade a grateful adieu to the families of their deliverers, who were tenderly affected by their distresses, and shed tears of regret when they departed. In six or eight hours, they reached Cerigo, where they were received with open arms. Immediately on arrival, they were met by the English vice-consul, Signor Manuel Caluci, a native of the island, who devoted his house, bed, credit and whole attention to their service; and the survivors unite in declaring their inability to express the obligations under which he laid them. The governor, commandant, bishop and principal people, all shewed equal hospitality, care and friendship, and exerted themselves to render the time agreeable; insomuch that it was with no little regret that these shipwrecked mariners thought of forsaking the island. After the people had remained three weeks at Cerigo, they learnt that a Russian ship of war lay at anchor off the Morea about twelve leagues distant, being driven in by bad weather, and immediately sent letters to her commanding officer, narrating their misfortunes and soliciting a passage to Corfu.--The master of the Nautilus determining to make the most of the opportunity, took a boat to reach the Russian vessel; but he was at first so unfortunate as to be blown on the rocks in a heavy gale of wind, where he nearly perished, and the boat was staved in pieces. However, he luckily got to the ship, and after some difficulty, succeeded in procuring the desired passage for himself and his companions to Corfu. Her commander, to accommodate them, came down to Cerigo, and anchored at a small port called St. Nicholas, at the eastern extremity of the island. The English embarked on the 5th, but, owing to contrary winds, did not sail until the 15th of February, when they bade farewell to their friends. They next touched at Zante, another small island, abounding in currants and olives, the oil from the latter of which constitutes the chief riches of the people. After remaining there four days, they sailed for Corfu, where they arrived on the 2d of March 1807, nearly two months after the date of their shipwreck. WRECK OF A SLAVE SHIP. The following extract of a letter from Philadelphia, dated November 11th, 1762, gives an account of the melancholy disaster that befel the Phoenix, Capt. M'Gacher, in lat. 37 deg. N. and lon. 72 deg. W. from London, bound to Potomac, in Maryland, from the coast of Africa, with 332 slaves on board. "On Wednesday the 20th of October 1762, at six o'clock in the evening, came on a most violent gale of wind at south, with thunder and lightning, the sea running very high, when the ship sprung a leak, and we were obliged to lie-to under bare poles, the water gained on us with both pumps constantly working. 10 P. M. endeavored to put the ship before the wind to no purpose. At twelve the sand ballast having choked our pumps, and there being seven feet water in the hold, all the casks afloat, and the ballast shifted to leeward, cut away the rigging of the main and mizen masts, both of which went instantly close by the deck, and immediately after the foremast was carried away about twenty feet above. Hove overboard all our guns, upon which the ship righted a little. We were then under a necessity of letting all our slaves out of irons, to assist in pumping and baling. "Thursday morning being moderate, having gained about three feet on the ship, we found every cask in the hold stove to pieces, so that we only saved a barrel of flour, 10 lbs. of bread, twenty-five gallons of wine, beer, and shrub, and twenty-five gallons of spirits. The seamen and slaves were employed all this day in pumping and baling; the pumps were frequently choked, and brought up great quantities of sand. We were obliged to hoist one of the pumps up, and put it down the quarter deck hatchway. A ship this day bore down upon us, and, though very near, and we making every signal of distress, she would not speak to us. "On Friday, the men slaves being very sullen and unruly, having had no sustenance of any kind for forty-eight hours, except a dram, we put one half of the strongest of them in irons. "On Saturday and Sunday, all hands night and day could scarce keep the ship clear, and were constantly under arms. "On Monday morning, many of the slaves had got out of irons, and were attempting to break up the gratings; and the seamen not daring to go down in the hold to clear the pumps, we were obliged, for the preservation of our own lives, to kill fifty of the ringleaders and stoutest of them. "It is impossible to describe the misery the poor slaves underwent, having had no fresh water for five days. Their dismal cries and shrieks, and most frightful looks, added a great deal to our misfortunes; four of them were found dead, and one drowned herself in the hold. This evening the water gained on us, and three seamen dropped down with fatigue and thirst, which could not be quenched, though wine, rum, and shrub were given them alternately. On Thursday morning the ship had gained, during the night, above a foot of water, and the seamen quite worn out, and many of them in despair. About ten in the forenoon we saw a sail; about two she discovered us, and bore down; at five spoke to us, being the King George, of Londonderry, James Mackay, master; he immediately promised to take us on board, and hoisted out his yawl, it then blowing very fresh. The gale increasing, prevented him from saving any thing but the white people's lives, not even any of our clothes, or one slave, the boat being scarcely able to live in the sea the last trip she made. Capt. Mackay and some gentlemen, passengers he had on board, treated us with kindness and humanity." THE WRECKED SEAMEN. The annexed thrilling sketch is extracted from the "Life of a Sailor, by a Captain in the British Navy." It relates to the exposures of the crew of the Magpie, who had taken to the boat, after their shipwreck on the coast of Cuba. The boat was upset,--the storm continues:-- Even in this moment of peril, the discipline of the navy assumed its command. At the order from the lieutenant for the men on the keel to relinquish their position they instantly obeyed, the boat was turned over and once more the expedient was tried--but quite in vain; for no sooner had the two men begun to bail with a couple of hats, and the safety of the crew to appear within the bounds of probability, than one man declared he saw the fin of a shark. No language can convey an idea of the panic which seized the struggling seamen; a shark is at all times an object of horror to a sailor; and those who have seen the destructive jaws of this voracious fish, and their immense and almost incredible power--their love of blood and their bold daring to obtain it, alone can form an idea of the sensations produced in a swimmer by the cry of "a shark! a shark!" Every man now struggled to obtain a moment's safety. Well they knew that one drop of blood would have been scented by the everlasting pilot-fish, the jackalls of the shark; and that their destruction was inevitable, if one only of these monsters should discover this rich repast, or be led to its food by the little rapid hunter of its prey.--All discipline was now unavailing, the boat again turned keel up; one man only gained his security to be pushed from it by others and thus their strength begun to fail from long continued exertion. However, as the enemy so much dreaded did not make its appearance, Smith once more urged them to endeavor to save themselves by the only means left, that of the boat; but as he knew that he would only increase their alarm by endeavoring to persuade them that sharks did not abound in these parts, he used the wisest plan of desiring those who held on by the gun-wale, to keep splashing in the water with their legs, in order to frighten the monsters at which they were so alarmed. Once more had hope began to dawn:--the boat was clear to her thwarts, and four men were in her hard at work; a little forbearance and a little obedience, and they were safe. At this moment, when those in the water urged their messmates in the boat to continue bailing with unremitted exertion, a noise was heard close to them, and about fifteen sharks came right in amongst them. The panic was ten times more dreadful than before; the boat was again upset by the simultaneous endeavor to escape the danger; and the twenty-two sailors were again devoted to destruction.--At first the sharks did not seem inclined to seize their prey, but swam in amongst the men, playing in the water, sometimes leaping about and rubbing against their victims. This was of short duration, a loud shriek from one of the men announced his sudden pain; a shark had seized him by the leg, and severed it entirely from the body. No sooner had the blood been tasted than the long dreaded attack took place; another and another shriek proclaimed a loss of limbs; some were torn from the boat to which they vainly endeavored to cling; some, it was supposed, sunk from fear alone; all were in dreadful peril. Mr. Smith, even now, when of all horrible deaths the most horrible seemed to await him, gave his orders with clearness and coolness; and to the everlasting honor of the poor departed crew be it known, they were obeyed; again the boat was righted, and again two men were in her. Incredible as it may appear, still, however, it is true, that the voice of the officer was heard amidst the danger; and the survivors, actually as before, clung to the gun-wale, and kept the boat upright. Mr. Smith himself held to the stern, and cheered and applauded his men. The sharks had tasted the blood, and were not to be driven from their feast; in one short moment, when Mr. Smith ceased splashing as he looked into the boat to watch the progress, a shark seized both legs, and bit them off just above the knees. Human nature was not strong enough to bear the immense pain without a groan; but Mr. Smith endeavored to conceal the misfortune, nature, true to herself, resisted the endeavor, and the groan was deep and audible. The crew had long respected their gallant commander; they knew his worth and his courage:--on hearing him express his pain, and seeing him relinquish his hold to sink, two of the men grasped their dying officer, and placed him in the stern sheets. Even now in almost insupportable agony, that gallant fellow forgot his own sufferings, and thought only on rescuing the remaining few from the untimely grave which awaited them; he told them again of their only hope, deplored their perilous state, and concluded with these words; "if any of you survive this fatal night, and return to Jamaica, tell the admiral (Sir Lawrence Halstead) that I was in search of the pirate when this lamentable occurrence took place, tell him I hope I have always done my duty, and that I--" Here the endeavor of some of the men to get into the boat gave her a heel on one side; the men who were supporting poor Smith relinquished him for a moment, and he rolled overboard and was drowned. His last bubbling cry was soon lost amidst the shrieks of his former companions, he sunk to rise no more. At eight o'clock in the evening the Magpie was upset; it was calculated by the two survivors, that their companions had all died by nine. The sharks seemed satisfied for the moment, and they, with gallant hearts, resolved to profit by the precious time in order to save themselves; they righted the boat, and one getting over the bows, and the other over the stern, they found themselves although nearly exhausted, yet alive, and in comparative security, they began the work of bailing, and soon lightened the boat sufficiently not to be easily upset, when both set down to rest. The return of the sharks was a signal for their return to labor. The voracious monsters endeavored to upset the boat; they swam by its side in seeming anxiety for their prey, but after waiting sometime, they separated; the two rescued seamen, found themselves free from their insatiable enemies, and, by the blessing of God, saved.--Tired as they were, they continued their labor until the boat was nearly dry, when both lay down to rest, the one forward, and the other aft; so completely had fear operated on their minds, that they did not dare even to move, dreading that an incautious step might have capsized the boat. They soon, in spite of the horrors they had witnessed, fell into a sound sleep, and day had dawned before they awoke to horrible reflections, and apparently worse dangers. The sun rose clear and unclouded; the cool calm of the night was followed by the sultry calm of the morning, and heat, hunger, thirst and fatigue, seemed to settle on the unfortunate men, rescued by Providence and their own exertions from the jaws of a horrible death. They awoke and looked at each other, the very gaze of despair was appalling; far as the eye could reach, no object could be discerned; the bright haze of the morning added to the strong refraction of light; one smooth, interminable plain, one endless ocean, one cloudless sky and one burning sun, were all they had to gaze upon. The boat lay like the ark, in a world alone! They had no oar, no mast and no sail, nothing but the bare planks and themselves, without provisions or water, food or raiment. They lay upon the calm ocean, hopeless, friendless and miserable. It was a time of intense anxiety, their eyes rested upon each other in silent pity, not unmixed with fear. Each knew the dreadful alternative to which nature would urge them. The cannibal was already in their looks, and fearful would have been the first attack on either side, for they were both brave and stout men, and equals in strength and courage. It now being about half past six in the morning, the sun was beginning to prove its burning power, the sea was as smooth as a looking glass, and saving now and then, the slight cat's paw of air, which ruffled the face of the water for a few yards, all was calm and hushed. In vain they strained their eyes, in vain they turned from side to side to escape the burning rays of the sun; they could not sleep, for now anxiety and fear kept both vigilant and on their guard; they dared not to court sleep, for that might have been the last of mortal repose. Once they nearly quarrelled, but fortunately the better feelings of humanity overcame the bitterness of despair. The foremost man had long complained of thirst, and had frequently dipped his hand into the water, and sucked the fluid; this was hastily done, for all the horrors of the night were still before them, and not unfrequently the sharp fin of a shark was seen not very far from the boat. In the midst of the excruciating torments of thirst, heightened by the salt water, and the irritable temper of the bowman, as he stamped his impatient feet against the bottom boards, and tore his hair with unfeeling indifference, he suddenly stopped the expression of rage and called out--"a sail!" Whilst they stood watching in silence the approach of the brig, which slowly made her way through the water, and at the very instant that they were assuring each other that they were seen, and that the vessel was purposely steered on the course she was keeping, to reach them, the whole fabric of hope was destroyed in a second; the brig kept away about three points, and began to make more sail. Then was it an awful moment; their countenances saddened as they looked at each other; for in vain they hailed, in vain they threw their jackets in the air; it was evident they had never been seen, and that the brig was steering her proper course. The time was slipping away, and if once they got abaft the beam of the brig, every second would lessen the chance of being seen, besides, the sea breeze might come down, and then she would be far away, and beyond all hope in a quarter of an hour. Now was it, that the man who had been so loudly lamenting his fate, seemed suddenly inspired with fresh hope and courage, he looked attentively at the brig, then at his companion, and said "by heaven I'll do it, or we are lost!" "Do what?" said his shipmate. "Though," said the first man, "it is no trifle to do, after what we have seen and known; yet I will try, for if she passes us, what can we do? I tell you Jack, I'll swim to her, if I get safe to her, you are saved, if not, why I shall die without adding, perhaps, murder to my crimes." "What! jump overboard, and leave me all alone!" replied his companion, "look, look at that shark, which has followed us all night, why it is only waiting for you to get into the water to swallow you, as it did perhaps half of our messmates; no, no, wait, do wait, perhaps another vessel may come, besides, I cannot swim half the distance, and I should be afraid to remain behind, think, Tom, only think of the sharks and of last night." He jumped overboard with as much calmness as if he was bathing in security. No sooner had he began to strike out in the direction he intended, than his companion turned towards the sharks. The first had disappeared, and it was evident they had heard the splash, and would soon follow their prey. It is hard to say who suffered the most anxiety. The one left in the boat cheered his companion, looked at the brig, and kept waving his jacket, then turned to watch the sharks; his horror may be imagined when he saw three of these terrific monsters swim past the boat, exactly in the direction of his companion; he splashed his jacket in the water to scare them away, but they seemed quite aware of the impotency of the attack, and lazily pursued their course. The man swam well and strongly. There was no doubt he would pass within hail of the brig, provided the sharks did not interfere, and he, knowing that they would not be long in following him, kept kicking in the water and splashing as he swam. There is no fish more cowardly, and yet more desperately savage than a shark. I have seen one harpooned twice, with a hook in his jaws, and come again to a fresh bait, yet will they suffer themselves to be scared by the smallest noise, and hardly ever take their prey without it is quite still. Generally speaking, any place surrounded by rocks where the surf breaks, although there may be no passage for a ship, will be secure from sharks. It was not until a great distance had been accomplished, that the swimmer became apprized of his danger, and saw by his side one of the terrific creatures; still however, he bravely swam and kicked, his mind was made up for the worst, and he had little hope of success. In the meantime the breeze had gradually freshened, and the brig passed with greater velocity through the water; every stitch of canvas was spread. To the poor swimmer the sails seemed bursting with the breeze, and as he used his utmost endeavor to propel himself so as to cut off the vessel, the spray appeared to dash from the bow and the brig to fly through the sea. He was now close enough to hope his voice might be heard; but he hailed and hailed in vain, not a soul was to be seen on deck; the man who steered was too intent upon his avocation to listen to the call of mercy. The brig passed, and the swimmer was every second getting further in the distance, every hope was gone, not a ray of that bright divinity remained; the fatigue had nearly exhausted him, and the sharks only waited for the first quiet moment to swallow their victim. It was in vain he thought of returning towards the boat, for he never could have reached her, and his companion had no means of assisting him. In the act of offering up his last prayer ere he made up his mind to float and be eaten, he saw a man looking over the quarter of the brig; he raised both his hands, he jumped himself up in the water, and by the singularity of his motions, fortunately attracted notice. A telescope soon made clear the object; the brig was hove to, a boat sent, and the man saved. The attention of the crew was then awakened to the Magpie's boat; she was soon alongside, and thus through the bold exertions of as gallant a fellow as ever breathed, both were rescued from their perilous situation. ADVENTURES OF PHILIP ASHTON, WHO, AFTER ESCAPING FROM PIRATES, LIVED SIXTEEN MONTHS IN SOLITUDE ON A DESOLATE ISLAND. On Friday the 15th of June 1722, after being out some time in a schooner with four men and a boy, off Cape Sable, I stood in for Port Rossaway, designing to lie there all Sunday. Having arrived about four in the afternoon, we saw, among other vessels which had reached the port before us, a brigantine supposed to be inward bound from the West Indies. After remaining three or four hours at anchor, a boat from the brigantine came alongside, with four hands, who leapt on deck, and suddenly drawing out pistols, and brandishing cutlasses, demanded the surrender both of ourselves and our vessel. All remonstrance was vain; nor indeed, had we known who they were before boarding us, could we have made any effectual resistance, being only five men and a boy, and were thus under the necessity of submitting at discretion. We were not single in misfortune, as thirteen or fourteen fishing-vessels were in like manner surprised the same evening. When carried on board the brigantine, I found myself in the hands of Ned Low, an infamous pirate, whose vessel had two great guns, four swivels, and about forty-two men. I was strongly urged to sign the articles of agreement among the pirates, and to join their number, which I steadily refused, and suffered much bad usage in consequence. At length being conducted, along with five of the prisoners, to the quarter-deck, Low came up to us with pistols in his hand, and loudly demanded, "Are any of you married men?" This unexpected question, added to the sight of the pistols, struck us all speechless; we were alarmed lest there was some secret meaning in his words, and that he would proceed to extremities, therefore none could reply. In a violent passion he cocked a pistol, and clapping it to my head, cried out, "You dog, why don't you answer?" swearing vehemently at the same time that he would shoot me through the head. I was sufficiently terrified by his threats and fierceness, but rather than lose my life in so trifling a matter, I ventured to pronounce, as loud as I durst speak, that I was not married. Hereupon he seemed to be somewhat pacified, and turned away. It appeared that Low was resolved to take no married men whatever, which often seemed surprising to me until I had been a considerable time with him. But his own wife had died lately before he became a pirate; and he had a young child at Boston, for whom he entertained such tenderness, on every lucid interval from drinking and revelling, that, on mentioning it, I have seen him sit down and weep plentifully. Thus I concluded, that his reason for taking only single men, was probably, that they might have no ties, such as wives and children, to divert them from his service, and render them desirous of returning home. The pirates finding force of no avail in compelling us to join them, began to use persuasion instead of it. They tried to flatter me into compliance, by setting before me the share I should have in their spoils, and the riches which I should become master of; and all the time eagerly importuned me to drink along with them. But I still continued to resist their proposals, whereupon Low, with equal fury as before, threatened to shoot me through the head; and though I earnestly entreated my release, he and his people wrote my name, and that of my companions, in their books. On the 19th of June, the pirates changed the privateer, as they called their vessel, and went into a new schooner belonging to Marblehead, which they had captured. They then put all the prisoners, whom they designed sending home, on board of the brigantine, and sent her to Boston, which induced me to make another unsuccessful attempt for liberty; but though I fell on my knees to Low, he refused to let me go: thus I saw the brigantine depart, with the whole captives, excepting myself and seven more. Very short time before she departed, I had nearly effected my escape; for a dog belonging to Low being accidentally left on shore, he ordered some hands into a boat to bring it off. Thereupon two young men, captives, both belonging to Marblehead, readily leapt into the boat, and I considering, that if I could once get on shore, means might be found of effecting my escape, endeavored to go along with them. But the quarter-master, called Russel, catching hold of my shoulder, drew me back. As the young men did not return, he thought I was privy to their plot, and, with the most outrageous oaths, snapped his pistol, on my denying all knowledge of it. The pistol missing fire, however, only served to enrage him the more: he snapped it three times again, and as often it missed fire; on which he held it overboard, and then it went off. Russel on this drew his cutlass, and was about to attack me in the utmost fury, when I leapt down into the hold and saved myself. Off St. Michael's the pirates took a large Portuguese pink, laden with wheat, coming out of the road; and being a good sailor, and carrying 14 guns, transferred their company into her. It afterwards became necessary to careen her, whence they made three islands, called Triangles, lying about 40 leagues to the eastward of Surinam. In heaving down the pink, Low had ordered so many men to the shrouds and yards, that the ports, by her heeling, got under water, and the sea rushing in, she overset: he and the doctor were then in the cabin, and as soon as he observed the water gushing in, he leaped out of the stern port, while the doctor attempted to follow him. But the violence of the sea repulsed the latter, and he was forced back into the cabin. Low, however, contrived to thrust his arm into the port, and dragging him out, saved his life. Meanwhile, the vessel completely overset. Her keel turned out of the water; but as the hull filled, she sunk, in the depth of about six fathoms. The yard-arms striking the ground, forced the masts somewhat above the water; as the ship overset, the people got from the shrouds and yards, upon the hull, and as the hull went down, they again resorted to the rigging, rising a little out of the sea. Being an indifferent swimmer, I was reduced to great extremity; for, along with other light lads, I had been sent up to the main-top-gallant yard; and the people of a boat, who were now occupied in preserving the men refusing to take me in, I was compelled to attempt reaching the buoy. This I luckily accomplished, and as it was large secured myself there until the boat approached. I once more requested the people to take me in, but they still refused, as the boat was full. I was uncertain whether they designed leaving me to perish in this situation: however, the boat being deeply laden, made way very slowly, and one of my comrades, captured at the same time with myself, calling to me to forsake the buoy and swim towards her, I assented, and reaching the boat, he drew me on board. Two men, John Bell, and Zana Gourdon, were lost in the pink. Though the schooner in company was very near at hand, her people were employed mending their sails under an awning, and knew nothing of the accident until the boat full of men, got alongside. The pirates having thus lost their principal vessel, and the greatest part of their provisions and water, were reduced to great extremities for want of the latter. They were unable to get a supply at the Triangles, nor on account of calms and currents, could they make the island of Tobago. Thus they were forced to stand for Grenada, which they reached, after being on short allowance for sixteen days together. Grenada was a French settlement, and Low, on arriving, after having sent all his men, except a sufficient number to manoeuvre the vessel, below, said he was from Barbadoes; that he had lost the water on board, and was obliged to put in here for a supply. The people entertained no suspicion of his being a pirate, but afterwards supposing him a smuggler, thought it a good opportunity to make a prize of his vessel. Next day, therefore, they equipped a large sloop of 70 tons, and four guns, with about 30 hands, as sufficient for the capture, and came alongside, while Low was quite unsuspicious of their design. But this being evidently betrayed by their number and actions, he quickly called 90 men on deck, and, having 8 guns mounted, the French sloop became an easy prey. Provided with these two vessels, the pirates cruised about in the West Indies, taking seven or eight prizes, and at length arrived at the island of Santa Cruz, where they captured two more. While lying there, Low thought he stood in need of a medicine chest, and, in order to procure one, sent four Frenchmen, in a vessel he had taken, to St. Thomas's, about twelve leagues distant, with money to purchase it; promising them liberty, and the return of all their vessels, for the service. But he declared at the same time, if it proved otherwise, he would kill the rest of the men, and burn the vessels. In little more than twenty-four hours, the Frenchmen returned with the object of their mission, and Low punctually performed his promise by restoring the vessels. Having sailed for the Spanish American settlements, the pirates descried two large ships, about half way between Carthagena and Portobello, which proved to be the Mermaid, an English man-of-war, and a Guineaman. They approached in chase until discovering the man-of-war's great range of teeth, when they immediately put about, and made the best of their way off. The man-of-war then commenced the pursuit, and gained upon them apace, and I confess that my terrors were now equal to any that I had previously suffered; for I concluded that we should certainly be taken, and that I should no less certainly be hanged for company's sake: so true are the words of Solomon, "A companion of fools shall be destroyed." But the two pirate vessels finding themselves outsailed, separated, and Farrington Spriggs, who commanded the schooner in which I was, stood in for the shore. The Mermaid observing the sloop with Low himself to be the larger of the two, crowded all sail, and continued gaining still more, indeed until her shot flew over; but one of the sloop's crew shewed Low a shoal, which he could pass, and in the pursuit the man-of-war grounded. Thus the pirates escaped hanging on this occasion. Spriggs and one of his chosen companions dreading the consequences of being captured and brought to justice, laid their pistols beside them in the interval, and pledging a mutual oath in a bumper of liquor, swore, if they saw no possibility of escape, to set foot to foot, and blow out each other's brains. But standing towards the shore, they made Pickeroon Bay, and escaped the danger. Next we repaired to a small island called Utilla, about seven or eight leagues to leeward of the island of Roatan, in the Bay of Honduras, where the bottom of the schooner was cleaned. There were now twenty-two persons on board, and eight of us engaged in a plot to overpower our masters, and make our escape. Spriggs proposed sailing for New England, in quest of provisions, and to increase his company; and we intended on approaching the coast, when the rest had indulged freely in liquor, and fallen sound asleep, to secure them under the hatches, and then deliver ourselves up to government. Although our plot was carried on with all possible privacy, Spriggs had somehow or other got intelligence of it; and having fallen in with Low on the voyage, went on board his ship to make a furious declaration against us. But Low made little account of his information, otherwise it might have been fatal to most of our number. Spriggs, however, returned raging to the schooner, exclaiming, that four of us should go forward to be shot, and to me in particular he said, "You dog Ashton, you deserve to be hanged up at the yard-arm for designing to cut us off." I replied, "that I had no intention of injuring any man on board; but I should be glad if they would allow me to go away quietly." At length this flame was quenched, and, through the goodness of God, I escaped destruction. Roatan harbour, as all about the Bay of Honduras, is full of small islands, which pass under the general name of Keys; and having got in here, Low, with some of his chief men, landed on a small island, which they called Port Royal Key. There they erected huts, and continued carousing, drinking, and firing, while the different vessels, of which they now had possession, were repairing. On Saturday the 9th of March 1723, the cooper, with six hands, in the long-boat, was going ashore for water; and coming alongside of the schooner, I requested to be of the party. Seeing him hesitate, I urged that I had never hitherto been ashore, and thought it hard to be so closely confined, when every one besides had the liberty of landing as there was occasion. Low had before told me, on requesting to be sent away in some of the captured vessels which he dismissed, that I should go home when he did, and swore that I should never previously set my foot on land. But now I considered, if I could possibly once get on terra firma, though in ever such bad circumstances, I should account it a happy deliverance, and resolved never to embark again. The cooper at length took me into the long-boat, while Low, and his chief people, were on a different island from Roatan, where the watering place lay; my only clothing was an Osnaburgh frock and trowsers, a milled cap, but neither shirt, shoes, stockings, nor any thing else. When we first landed, I was very active in assisting to get the casks out of the boat, and in rolling them to the watering-place. Then taking a hearty draught of water, I strolled along the beach, picking up stones and shells; but on reaching the distance of a musket-shot from the party, I began to withdraw towards the skirts of the woods. In answer to a question by the cooper of whither I was going? I replied, "for cocoa nuts, as some cocoa trees were just before me;" and as soon as I was out of sight of my companions, I took to my heels, running as fast as the thickness of the bushes and my naked feet would admit. Notwithstanding I had got a considerable way into the woods, I was still so near as to hear the voices of the party if they spoke loud, and I lay close in a thicket where I knew they could not find me. After my comrades had filled their casks, and were about to depart, the cooper called on me to accompany them; however, I lay snug in the thicket, and gave him no answer, though his words were plain enough. At length, after hallooing loudly, I could hear them say to one another, "The dog is lost in the woods, and cannot find the way out again;" then they hallooed once more, and cried "he has run away and won't come to us;" and the cooper observed, that, had he known my intention, he would not have brought me ashore. Satisfied of their inability to find me among the trees and bushes, the cooper at last, to show his kindness, exclaimed, "If you do not come away presently, I shall go off and leave you alone." Nothing, however, could induce me to discover myself; and my comrades seeing it vain to wait any longer, put off without me. Thus I was left on a desolate island, destitute of all help, and remote from the track of navigators; but compared with the state and society I had quitted, I considered the wilderness hospitable, and the solitude interesting. When I thought the whole were gone, I emerged from my thicket, and came down to a small run of water, about a mile from the place where our casks were filled, and there sat down to observe the proceedings of the pirates. To my great joy, in five days their vessels sailed, and I saw the schooner part from them to shape a different course. I then began to reflect on myself and my present condition. I was on an island which I had no means of leaving; I knew of no human being within many miles; my clothing was scanty, and it was impossible to procure a supply. I was altogether destitute of provision, nor could tell how my life was to be supported. This melancholy prospect drew a copious flood of tears from my eyes; but as it had pleased God to grant my wishes in being liberated from those whose occupation was devising mischief against their neighbors, I resolved to account every hardship light. Yet Low would never suffer his men to work on the Sabbath, which was more devoted to play; and I have even seen some of them sit down to read in a good book. In order to ascertain how I was to live in time to come, I began to range over the island, which proved ten or eleven leagues long, and lay in about 16 deg north latitude. But I soon found that my only companions would be the beasts of the earth, and fowls of the air; for there were no indications of any habitations on the island, though every now and then I found some shreds of earthen ware scattered in a lime walk, said by some to be the remains of Indians formerly dwelling here. The island was well watered, full of high hills and deep vallies. Numerous fruit trees, such as figs, vines, and cocoa-nuts are found in the latter; and I found a kind larger than an orange, oval-shaped, of a brownish color without, and red within. Though many of these had fallen under the trees, I could not venture to take them, until I saw the wild hogs feeding with safety, and then I found them very delicious fruit. Stores of provisions abounded here, though I could avail myself of nothing but the fruit; for I had no knife or iron implement, either to cut up a tortoise on turning it, or weapons wherewith to kill animals; nor had I any means of making a fire to cook my capture, even if I were successful. Sometimes I entertained thoughts of digging pits, and covering them over with small branches of trees, for the purpose of taking hogs or deer; but I wanted a shovel and every substitute for the purpose, and I was soon convinced that my hands were insufficient to make a cavity deep enough to retain what should fall into it. Thus I was forced to rest satisfied with fruit, which was to be esteemed very good provision for any one in my condition. In process of time, while poking among the sand with a stick, in quest of tortoise eggs, which I had heard were laid in the sand, part of one came up adhering to it; and, on removing the sand, I found nearly an hundred and fifty, which had not lain long enough to spoil. Therefore, taking some, I ate them, and strung others on a strip of palmeto, which being hung up in the sun, became thick and somewhat hard; so that they were more palatable. After all, they were not very savoury food, though one, who had nothing but what fell from the trees, behoved to be content. Tortoises lay their eggs in the sand, in holes about a foot or a foot and a half deep, and smooth the surface over them, so that there is no discovering where they lie. According to the best of my observation, the young are hatched in eighteen or twenty days, and then immediately take to the water. Many serpents are on this and the adjacent islands; one, about twelve or fourteen feet long, is as large as a man's waist, but not poisonous. When lying at length, they look like old trunks of trees, covered with short moss, though they usually assume a circular position. The first time I saw one of these serpents, I had approached very near before discovering it to be a living creature; it opened its mouth wide enough to have received a hat, and breathed on me. A small black fly creates such annoyance, that even if a person possessed ever so many comforts, his life would be oppressive to him, unless for the possibility of retiring to some small quay, destitute of wood and bushes, where multitudes are dispersed by the wind. To this place then was I confined during nine months, without seeing a human being. One day after another was lingered out, I know not how, void of occupation or amusement, except collecting food, rambling from hill to hill, and from island to island, and gazing on sky and water. Although my mind was occupied by many regrets, I had the reflection that I was lawfully employed when taken, so that I had no hand in bringing misery on myself: I was also comforted to think that I had the approbation and consent of my parents in going to sea, and trusted that it would please God, in his own time and manner, to provide for my return to my father's house. Therefore, I resolved to submit patiently to my misfortune. It was my daily practice to ramble from one part of the island to another, though I had a more special home near the water-side. Here I built a hut to defend me against the heat of the sun by day, and the heavy dews by night. Taking some of the best branches which I could find fallen from the trees, I contrived to fix them against a low hanging bough, by fastening them together with split palmeto leaves; next I covered the whole with some of the largest and most suitable leaves that I could get. Many of these huts were constructed by me, generally near the beach, with the open part, fronting the sea, to have the better look-out, and the advantage of the sea-breeze, which both the heat and the vermin required. But the insects were so troublesome, that I thought of endeavoring to get over to some of the adjacent keys, in hopes of enjoying rest. However, I was, as already said, a very indifferent swimmer; I had no canoe, nor any means of making one. At length, having got a piece of bamboo, which is hollow like a reed, and light as cork, I ventured, after frequent trials with it under my breast and arms, to put off for a small key about a gun-shot distant, which I reached in safety. My new place of refuge was only about three or four hundred feet in circuit, lying very low, and clear of woods and brush; from exposure to the wind, it was quite free of vermin, and I seemed to have got into a new world, where I lived infinitely more at ease. Hither I retired, therefore, when the heat of the day rendered the insect tribe most obnoxious; yet I was obliged to be much on Roatan, to procure food and water, and at night on account of my hut. When swimming back and forward between the two islands, I used to bind my frock and trowsers about my head, and, if I could have carried over wood and leaves, whereof to make a hut, with equal facility, I should have passed more of my time on the smaller one. Yet these excursions were not unattended with danger. Once, I remember, when, passing from the larger island, the bamboo, before I was aware, slipped from under me; and the tide, or current, set down so strong, that it was with great difficulty I could reach the shore. At another time, when swimming over to the small island, a shovel-nosed shark, which, as well as alligators, abound in those seas, struck me in the thigh, just as my foot could reach the bottom, and grounded itself, from the shallowness of the water, as I suppose, so that its mouth could not get round towards me. The blow I felt some hours after making the shore. By repeated practice, I at length became a pretty dexterous swimmer, and amused myself by passing from one island to another, among the keys. I suffered very much from being barefoot; so many deep wounds were made in my feet from traversing the woods, where the ground was covered with sticks and stones, and on the hot beach, over sharp broken shells, that I was scarce able to walk at all. Often, when treading with all possible caution, a stone or shell on the beach, or a pointed stick in the woods, would penetrate the old wound, and the extreme anguish would strike me down as suddenly as if I had been shot. Then I would remain, for hours together, with tears gushing from my eyes, from the acuteness of the pain. I could travel no more than absolute necessity compelled me, in quest of subsistence; and I have sat, my back leaning against a tree, looking out for a vessel during a complete day. Once, while faint from such injuries, as well as smarting under the pain of them, a wild boar rushed towards me. I knew not what to do, for I had not strength to resist his attack; therefore, as he drew nearer, I caught the bough of a tree, and suspended myself by means of it. The boar tore away part of my ragged trowsers with his tusks, and then left me. This, I think, was the only time that I was attacked by any wild beast, and I considered myself to have had a very great deliverance. As my weakness continued to increase, I often fell to the ground insensible, and then, as also when I laid myself to sleep, I thought I should never awake again, or rise in life. Under this affliction I first lost count of the days of the week; I could not distinguish Sunday, and, as my illness became more aggravated, I became ignorant of the month also. All this time I had no healing balsam for my feet, nor any cordial to revive my drooping spirits. My utmost efforts could only now and then procure some figs and grapes. Neither had I fire; for, though I had heard of a way to procure it by rubbing two sticks together, my attempts in this respect, continued until I was tired, proved abortive. The rains having come on, attended with chill winds, I suffered exceedingly. While passing nine months in this lonely, melancholy, and irksome condition, my thoughts would sometimes wander to my parents; and I reflected, that, notwithstanding it would be consolatory to myself if they knew where I was it might be distressing to them. The nearer my prospect of death, which I often expected, the greater my penitence became. Sometime in November 1723, I descried a small canoe approaching with a single man; but the sight excited little emotion. I kept my seat on the beach, thinking I could not expect a friend, and knowing that I had no enemy to fear, nor was I capable of resisting one. As the man approached, he betrayed many signs of surprise; he called me to him, and I told him he might safely venture ashore, for I was alone, and almost expiring. Coming close up, he knew not what to make of me; my garb and countenance seemed so singular, that he looked wild with astonishment. He started back a little, and surveyed me more thoroughly; but, recovering himself again, came forward, and, taking me by the hand, expressed his satisfaction at seeing me. This stranger proved to be a native of North Britain; he was well advanced in years, of a grave and venerable aspect, and of a reserved temper. His name I never knew, he did not disclose it, and I had not inquired during the period of our acquaintance. But he informed me he had lived twenty-two years with the Spaniards who now threatened to burn him, though I know not for what crime; therefore he had fled hither as a sanctuary, bringing his dog, gun, and ammunition, as also a small quantity of pork, along with him. He designed spending the remainder of his days on the island, where he could support himself by hunting. I experienced much kindness from the stranger; he was always ready to perform any civil offices, and assist me in whatever he could, though he spoke little: and he gave me a share of his pork. On the third day after his arrival, he said he would make an excursion in his canoe among the neighboring islands, for the purpose of killing wild-hogs and deer, and wished me to accompany him. Though my spirits were somewhat recruited by his society, the benefit of the fire, which I now enjoyed, and dressed provisions, my weakness and the soreness of my feet, precluded me; therefore he set out alone, saying he would return in a few hours. The sky was serene, and there was no prospect of any danger during a short excursion, seeing he had come nearly twelve leagues in safety in his canoe. But, when he had been absent about an hour, a violent gust of wind and rain arose, in which he probably perished, as I never heard of him more. Thus, after having the pleasure of a companion almost three days, I was as unexpectedly reduced to my former lonely state, as I had been relieved from it. Yet through the goodness of God, I was myself preserved from having been unable to accompany him; and I was left in better circumstances than those in which he had found me, for now I had about five pounds of pork, a knife, a bottle of gunpowder, tobacco, tongs and flint, by which means my life could be rendered more comfortable. I was enabled to have fire, extremely requisite at this time, being the rainy months of winter. I could cut up a tortoise, and have a delicate broiled meal.--Thus, by the help of the fire, and dressed provisions, through the blessings of God, I began to recover strength, though the soreness of my feet remained. But I had, besides, the advantage of being able now and then to catch a dish of cray-fish, which, when roasted, proved good eating. To accomplish this I made up a small bundle of old broken sticks, nearly resembling pitch-pine, or candle-wood, and having lighted one end, waded with it in my hand, up to the waist in water. The cray-fish, attracted by the light, would crawl to my feet, and lie directly under it, when, by means of a forked stick, I could toss them ashore. Between two and three months after the time of losing my companion, I found a small canoe, while ranging along the shore. The sight of it revived my regret for his loss, for I judged that it had been his canoe; and, from being washed up here, a certain proof of his having been lost in the tempest. But, on examining it more closely, I satisfied myself that it was one which I had never seen before. Master of this little vessel, I began to think myself admiral of the neighboring seas, as well as sole possessor and chief commander of the islands. Profiting by its use, I could transport myself to the places of retreat more conveniently than by my former expedient of swimming. In process of time, I projected an excursion to some of the larger and more distant islands, partly to learn how they were stored or inhabited, and partly for the sake of amusement.--Laying in a small stock of figs and grapes, therefore, as also some tortoise to eat, and carrying my implements for fire, I put off to steer for the island of Bornacco, which is about four or five leagues long, and situated five or six from Roatan. In the course of the voyage, observing a sloop at the east end of the island, I made the best of my way to the west, designing to travel down by land, both because a point of rocks ran far into the sea, beyond which I did not care to venture in the canoe, as was necessary to come a-head of the sloop, and because I wished to ascertain something concerning her people before I was discovered. Even in my worst circumstances, I never could brook the thoughts of returning on board of any piratical vessel, and resolved rather to live and die in my present situation. Hauling up the canoe, and making it fast as well as I was able, I set out on the journey. My feet were yet in such a state, that two days, and the best part of two nights were occupied in it. Sometimes the woods and bushes were so thick that it was necessary to crawl half a mile together on my hands and knees, which rendered my progress very slow. When within a mile or two of the place where I supposed the sloop might be, I made for the water side, and approached the sea gradually, that I might not too soon disclose myself to view; however, on reaching the beach, there was no appearance of the sloop, whence I judged that she had sailed during the time spent by me in travelling. Being much fatigued with the journey, I rested myself against the stump of a tree, with my face towards the sea, where sleep overpowered me. But I had not slumbered long before I was suddenly awakened by the noise of firing.--Starting up in affright, I saw nine periaguas, or large canoes, full of men, firing upon me from the sea; whence I soon turned about and ran among the bushes as fast as my sore feet would allow, while the men, who were Spaniards, cried after me, "O Englishman, we will give you good quarter." However, my astonishment was so great, and I was so suddenly roused from my sleep, that I had no self-command to listen to their offers of quarter, which, it may be, at another time, in my cooler moments, I might have done. Thus I made into the woods, and the strangers continued firing after me, to the number of 150 bullets at least, many of which cut small twigs off the bushes close by my side. Having gained an extensive thicket beyond reach of the shot, I lay close several hours, until observing, by the sound of their oars, that the Spaniards were departing, I crept out. I saw the sloop under English colors sailing away with the canoes in tow, which induced me to suppose she was an English vessel which had been at the Bay of Honduras, and taken there by the Spaniards. Next day I returned to the tree, where I had been so nearly surprised, and was astonished to find six or seven shot in the trunk, within a foot or less of my head. Yet through the wonderful goodness of God, though having been as a mark to shoot at, I was preserved. After this I travelled to recover my canoe at the western end of the island, which I reached in three days, but suffering severely from the soreness of my feet, and the scantiness of provisions. This island is not so plentifully stored as Roatan, so that during the five or six days of my residence, I had difficulty in procuring subsistence; and the insects were, besides, infinitely more numerous and harassing than at my old habitation. These circumstances deterred me from further exploring the island; and having reached the canoe very tired and exhausted, I put off for Roatan, which was a royal palace to me, compared with Bonacco, and arrived at night in safety. Here I lived, if it may be called living, alone for about seven months, after losing my North British companion.--My time was spent in the usual manner, hunting for food, and ranging among the islands. Some time in June 1724, while on the small quay, whither I often retreated to be free from the annoyance of insects, I saw two canoes making for the harbor. Approaching nearer, they observed the smoke of a fire which I had kindled, and at a loss to know what it meant, they hesitated on advancing.--What I had experienced at Bonacco, was still fresh in my own memory, and loth to run the risk of such another firing, I withdrew to my canoe, lying behind the quay, not above 100 yards distant, and immediately rowed over to Roatan. There I had places of safety against an enemy, and sufficient accommodation for any ordinary number of friends. The people in the canoes observed me cross the sea to Roatan, the passage not exceeding a gun-shot over; and being as much afraid of pirates as I was of Spaniards, approached very cautiously towards the shore. I then came down to the beach, shewing myself openly; for their conduct led me to think that they could not be pirates, and I resolved before being exposed to the danger of their shot, to inquire who they were. If they proved such as I did not like, I could easily retire. But before I spoke, they, as full of apprehension as I could be, lay on their oars, and demanded who I was, and from whence I came? to which I replied, "that I was an Englishman, and had run away from pirates." On this they drew somewhat nearer, inquiring who was there besides myself? when I assured them, in return, that I was alone. Next, according to my original purpose, having put similar questions to them, they said they had come from the Bay of Honduras; their words encouraged me to bid them row ashore, which they accordingly did, though at some distance, and one man landed, whom I advanced to meet. But he started back at the sight of a poor ragged, wild, forlorn, miserable object so near him. Collecting himself, however, he took me by the hand, and we began embracing each other, he from surprise and wonder, and I from a sort of ecstacy of joy. When this was over, he took me in his arms, and carried me down to the canoes, when all his comrades were struck with astonishment at my appearance; but they gladly received me, and I experienced great tenderness from them. I gave the strangers a brief account of my escape from Low, and my lonely residence for sixteen months, all excepting three days, the hardships I had suffered, and the dangers to which I had been exposed. They stood amazed at the recital; they wondered I was alive, and expressed much satisfaction at being able to relieve me. Observing me very weak and depressed, they gave me about a spoonful of rum to recruit my fainting spirits; but even this small quantity, from my long disuse of strong liquors, threw me into violent agitation, and produced a kind of stupor, which at last ended in privation of sense. Some of the party perceiving a state of insensibility come on, would have administered more rum, which those better skilled among them prevented; and after lying a short time in a fit, I revived. Then I ascertained, that the strangers were eighteen in number, the chief of them named John Hope, an old man, called Father Hope, by his companions, and John Ford, and all belonging to the Bay of Honduras. The cause of their coming hither, was an alarm for an attack from the sea, by the Spaniards, while the Indians should make a descent by land, and cut off the Bay; thus they had fled for safety. On a former occasion, the two persons above named, had for the like reason, taken shelter among these islands, and lived four years at a time on a small one, named Barbarat, about two leagues from Roatan. There they had two plantations, as they called them; and now they brought two barrels of flour, with other provisions, fire-arms, dogs for hunting and nets for tortoises; and also an Indian woman to dress their provisions. Their principal residence was a small key, about a quarter of a mile round, lying near to Barbarat, and named by them the Castle of Comfort, chiefly because it was low and clear of woods and bushes, so that the free circulation of wind could drive away the pestiferous musquitoes and other insects. From hence they sent to the surrounding islands for wood, water and materials to build two houses, such as they were, for shelter. I now had the prospect of a much more agreeable life than what I had spent during the sixteen months past; for, besides having company, the strangers treated me with a great deal of civility in their way; they clothed me, and gave me a large wrapping gown as a defence against the nightly dews, until their houses were erected; and there was plenty of provisions. Yet after all, they were bad society; and as to their common conversation, there was but little difference between them and pirates. However, it did not appear that they were now engaged in any such evil design as rendered it unlawful to join them, or be found in their company. In process of time, and with the assistance afforded by my companions, I gathered so much strength as sometimes to be able to hunt along with them. The islands abounded with wild hogs, deer and tortoise; and different ones were visited in quest of game. This was brought home, where, instead of being immediately consumed, it was hung up to dry in smoke, so as to be a ready supply at all times. I now considered myself beyond the reach of danger from an enemy, for, independent of supposing that nothing could bring any one here, I was surrounded by a number of men with arms constantly in their hands. Yet, at the very time that I thought myself most secure, I was very nearly again falling into the hands of pirates. Six or seven months after the strangers joined me, three of them, along with myself, took a four oared canoe, for the purpose of hunting and killing tortoise on Bonacco. During our absence the rest repaired their canoes, and prepared to go over to the Bay of Honduras, to examine how matters stood there, and bring off their remaining effects, in case it were dangerous to return. But before they had departed, we were on our voyage homewards, having a full load of pork and tortoise, as our object was successfully accomplished. While entering the mouth of the harbor, in a moonlight evening, we saw a great flash, and heard a report much louder than that of a musket, proceed from a large periagua, which we observed near the Castle of Comfort. This put us in extreme consternation, and we knew not what to consider; but in a minute we heard a volley from eighteen or twenty small arms, discharged towards the shore, and also some returned from it.--Satisfied that an enemy, either Spaniards or pirates, was attacking our people, and being intercepted from them by periaguas lying between us and the shore, we thought the safest plan was trying to escape. Therefore, taking down our little mast and sail, that they might not betray us, we rowed out of the harbor as fast as possible, towards an island about a mile and a half distant, to retreat undiscovered. But the enemy either having seen us before lowering our sail, or heard the noise of the oars, followed with all speed, in an eight or ten oared periagua. Observing her approach, and fast gaining on us, we rowed with all our might to make the nearest shore. However, she was at length enabled to discharge a swivel, the shot from which passed over our canoe. Nevertheless, we contrived to reach the shore before being completely within the range of small arms, which our pursuers discharged on us while landing. They were now near enough to cry aloud that they were pirates, and not Spaniards, and that we need not dread them, as we should get good quarter; thence supposing that we should be the easier induced to surrender. Yet nothing could have been said to discourage me more from putting myself in their power; I had the utmost dread of a pirate, and my original aversion was now enhanced, by the apprehension of being sacrificed for my former desertion. Thus, concluding to keep as clear of them as I could, and the Honduras Bay men having no great inclination to do otherwise, we made the best of our way to the woods. Our pursuers carried off the canoe, with all its contents, resolving, if we would not go to them, to deprive us, as far as possible, of all means of subsistence where we were. But it gave me, who had known both want and solitude, little concern, now that I had company, and there were arms among us to procure provision, and also fire wherewith to dress it. Our assailants were some men belonging to Spriggs, my former commander, who had thrown off his allegiance to Low, and set up for himself at the head of a gang of pirates, with a good ship of twenty-four guns, and a sloop of twelve, both presently lying in Roatan harbor. He had put in for fresh water, and to refit, at the place where I first escaped; and, having discovered my companions at the small island of their retreat, sent a periagua full of men to take them. Accordingly they carried all ashore, as also a child and an Indian woman; the last of whom they shamefully abused. They killed a man after landing, and throwing him into one of the canoes containing tar, set it on fire, and burnt his body in it.--Then they carried the people on board of their vessels, where they were barbarously treated. One of them turned pirate however, and told the others that John Hope had hid many things in the woods; therefore, they beat him unmercifully to make him disclose his treasure, which they carried off with them. After the pirates had kept these people five days on board of their vessels, they gave them a flat of five or six tons to carry them to the Bay of Honduras, but no kind of provision for the voyage; and further, before dismissal, compelled them to swear that they would not come near me and my party, who had escaped to another island. While the vessels rode in the harbor, we kept a good look out, but were exposed to some difficulties, from not daring to kindle a fire to dress our victuals, lest our residence should be betrayed. Thus we lived for five days on raw provisions.--As soon as they sailed, however, Hope, little regarding the oath extorted from him, came and informed us of what had passed; and I could not, for my own part, be sufficiently grateful to Providence for escaping the hands of the pirates, who would have put me to a cruel death. Hope and all his people, except John Symonds, now resolved to make their way to the Bay. Symonds, who had a negro, wished to remain some time for the purpose of trading with the Jamaica-men on the main. But thinking my best chance of getting to New England was from the Bay of Honduras, I requested Hope to take me with him. The old man, though he would gladly have done so, advanced many objections, such as the insufficiency of the flat to carry so many men seventy leagues; that they had no provision for the passage, which might be tedious, and the flat was, besides ill calculated to stand the sea; as also, that it was uncertain how matters might turn out at the Bay; thus he thought it better for me to remain; yet rather than I should be in solitude, he would take me in. Symonds, on the other hand, urged me to stay and bear him company, and gave several reasons why I should more likely obtain a passage from the Jamaica-men to New England, than by the Bay of Honduras. As this seemed a fairer prospect of reaching my home, which I was extremely anxious to do, I assented; and, having thanked Hope and his companions for their civilities, I took leave of them, and they departed. Symonds was provided with a canoe, fire-arms and two dogs, in addition to his negro, by which means he felt confident of being able to provide all that was necessary for our subsistence. We spent two or three months after the usual manner, ranging from island to island, but the prevalence of the winter rains precluded us from obtaining more game than we required. When the season for the Jamaica traders approached, Symonds proposed repairing to some other island to obtain a quantity of tortoise-shell which he could exchange for clothes and shoes; and, being successful in this respect, we next proceeded to Bonacco, which lies nearer the main, that we might thence take a favorable opportunity to run over. Having been a short time at Bonacco, a furious tempest arose, and continued for three days, when we saw several vessels standing in for the harbor. The largest of them anchored at a great distance, but a brigantine came over the shoals opposite to the watering place, and sent her boat ashore with casks. Recognizing three people who were in the boat, their dress and appearance, for Englishmen, I concluded they were friends, and shewed myself openly on the beach before them. They ceased rowing immediately on observing me, and, after answering their inquiries of who I was, I put the same questions, saying they might come ashore with safety. They did so, and a happy meeting it was for me. I now found that the vessels were a fleet under convoy of the Diamond man-of-war, bound for Jamaica; but many ships had parted company in the storm. The Diamond had sent in the brigantine to get water here, as the sickness of her crew had occasioned a great consumption of that necessary article. Symonds, who had kept at a distance, lest the three men might hesitate to come ashore, at length approached to participate in my joy, though at the same time, testifying considerable reluctance at the prospect of my leaving him. The brigantine was commanded by Captain Dove, with whom I was acquainted, and she belonged to Salem, within three miles of my father's house. Captain Dove not only treated me with great civility, and engaged to give me a passage home, but took me into pay, having lost a seaman, whose place he wanted me to supply. Next day, the Diamond having sent her long-boat with casks for water, they were filled; and after taking leave of Symonds, who shed tears at parting, I was carried on board of the brigantine. We sailed along with the Diamond, which was bound for Jamaica, on the latter end of March 1725, and kept company until the first of April. By the providence of Heaven we passed safely through the Gulf of Florida, and reached Salem Harbor on the first of May, two years, ten months and fifteen days after I was first taken by pirates; and two years, and two months, after making my escape from them on Roatan island. That same evening I went to my father's house, where I was received as one risen from the dead. EXPLOSION OF HIS B. MAJESTY'S SHIP AMPHION. The Amphion frigate, Captain Israel Pellow, after having cruised some time in the North Seas, had at length received an order to join the squadron of frigates commanded by Sir Edward Pellow. She was on her passage, when a hard gale of wind occasioning some injury to the fore-mast, obliged her to put back into Plymouth, off which place she then was.--She accordingly came into the sound, anchored there on the 19th, and went up into harbor the next morning. On the 22d, at about half past four P. M. a violent shock, as of an earthquake, was felt at Stone-house, and extended as far off as the Royal Hospital and the town of Plymouth.--The sky towards the Dock appeared red, like the effect of a fire; for near a quarter of an hour the cause of this appearance could not be ascertained, though the streets were crowded with people running different ways in the utmost consternation. When the alarm and confusion had somewhat subsided, it first began to be known that the shock had been occasioned by the explosion of the Amphion. Several bodies and mangled remains were picked up by the boats in Hamoaze; and their alacrity on this occasion was particularly remarked and highly commended. The few who remained alive of the crew were conveyed, in a mangled state, to the Royal Hospital. As the frigate was originally manned from Plymouth the friends and relations of her unfortunate ship's company mostly lived in the neighborhood. It is dreadful to relate what a scene took place--arms, legs and lifeless trunks, mangled and disfigured by gunpowder, were collected and deposited at the hospital, having been brought in sacks to be owned. Bodies still living, some with the loss of limbs, others having expired as they were being conveyed thither; men, women and children, whose sons, husbands and fathers were among the unhappy number, flocking round the gates, intreating admittance. During the first evening nothing was ascertained concerning the cause of this event, though numerous reports were instantly circulated. The few survivors, who, by the following day, had, in some degree regained the use of their senses, could not give the least account. One man who was brought alive to the Royal Hospital, died before night, another before the following morning; the boatswain and one of the sailors appeared likely, with great care, to do well.--Three or four men who were at work in the tops, were blown up with them and falling into the water, were picked up with very little hurt. These, with the two before mentioned, and one of the sailors' wives, were supposed to be the only survivors, besides the captain and two of the lieutenants. The following particulars were, however, collected from the examination of several persons before Sir Richard King, the port-admiral, and the information procured from those, who saw the explosion from the Dock. The first person known to have observed any thing was a young midshipman in the Cambridge guard-ship, lying not far distant from the place where the Amphion blew up; who having a great desire to observe every thing relative to a profession into which he had just entered, was looking through a glass at the frigate, as she lay along side of the sheer-hulk, and was taking in her bowsprit. She was lashed to the hulk; and the Yarmouth, an old receiving ship, was lying on the opposite side, quite close to her, and both within a few yards of the Dock-yard jetty. The midshipman said, that the Amphion suddenly appeared to rise altogether upright from the surface of the water, until he nearly saw her keel; the explosion then succeeded; the masts seemed to be forced up into the air, and the hull instantly to sink. All this passed in the space of two minutes. The man who stood at the Dock-yard stairs, said, that the first he heard of it was a kind of hissing noise, and then followed the explosion, when he beheld the masts blown up into the air. It was very strongly reported that several windows were broken in the Dock by the explosion, and that in the Dock-yard much mischief was done by the Amphion's guns going off when she blew up; but though the shock was felt as far off as Plymouth, and at Stone-house, enough to shake the windows, yet it is a wonderful and miraculous fact, that surrounded as she was in the harbor, with ships close along side of the jetty, and lashed to another vessel, no damage was done to any thing but herself. It is dreadful to reflect, that owing to their intention of putting to sea the next day, there were nearly one hundred men, women and children, more than her complement on board, taking leave of their friends, besides the company who were at two dinners given in the ship, one of which was by the captain. Captain Israel Pellow, and Captain William Swaffield, of his Majesty's ship Overyssel, who was at dinner with him and the first lieutenant, were drinking their wine; when the first explosion threw them off their seats, and struck them against the carlings of the upper deck, so as to stun them. Captain Pellow, however, had sufficient presence of mind to fly to the cabin windows, and seeing the two hawsers, one slack in the bit and the other taut, threw himself with an amazing leap, which he afterwards said, nothing but his sense of danger could have enabled him to take, upon the latter, and by that means saved himself from the general destruction, though his face had been badly cut against the carlings, when he was thrown from his seat. The first lieutenant saved himself in the same manner, by jumping out of the window, and by being also a remarkable good swimmer; but Captain Swaffield, being, as it was supposed, more stunned, did not escape.--His body was found on the twenty-second of October, with his skull fractured, appearing to have been crushed between the sides of two vessels. The centinel at the cabin door happened to be looking at his watch; how he escaped no one can tell, not even himself. He was, however, brought on shore, and but little hurt; the first thing he felt was, that his watch was dashed out of his hands, after which he was no longer sensible of what happened to him. The boatswain was standing on the cat-head, the bowsprit had been stepped for three hours; the gammoning and every thing on; and he was directing the men in rigging out the jib-boom, when suddenly he felt himself driven upwards and fell into the sea. He then perceived that he was entangled in the rigging, and had some trouble to get clear, when being taken up by a boat belonging to one of the men of war, they found that his arm was broken. One of the surviving seamen declared to an officer of rank, that he was preserved in the following truly astonishing manner:--He was below at the time the Amphion blew up, and went to the bottom of the ship, he recollected that he had a knife in his pocket, and taking it out, cut his way through the companion of the gun-room, which was already shattered with the explosion; then letting himself up to the surface of the water, he swam unhurt to the shore. He shewed his knife to the officer, and declared he had been under water full five minutes. It was likewise said, that one of the sailors' wives had a young child in her arms; the fright of the shock made her take such fast hold of it, that though the upper part of her body alone remained, the child was found alive locked fast in her arms, and likely to do well. Mr. Spry, an auctioneer, who had long lived in great respectability at Dock, with his son and god-son, had gone on board to visit a friend, and were all lost. About half an hour before the frigate blew up, one of her lieutenants, and Lieutenant Campbell of the marines and some of the men got into the boat at the dock-yard stairs, and went off to the ship. Lieutenant Campbell had some business to transact at the Marine barracks in the morning, and continuing there some time, was engaged by the officers to stay to dinner and spend the evening with them. Some persons, however, who had, in the interval, come from the Amphion, informed Lieutenant Campbell that there were some letters on board for him. As they were some which he was extremely anxious to receive, he left the barracks about half an hour before dinner to fetch them, intending to return immediately; but while he was on board the ship blew up.--He was a young man universally respected end lamented by the corps, as well as by all who knew him. One of the lieutenants who lost his life was the only support of an aged mother and sister, who, at his death, had neither friend nor relation left to comfort and protect them. The number of people who were afterwards daily seen at Dock, in deep mourning for their lost relatives, was truly melancholy. Captain Pellow was taken up by the boats and carried to Commissioner Fanshaw's house in the dock-yard, very weak with the exertions he had made, and so shocked with the distressing cause of them, that he at first appeared scarcely to know where he was, or to be sensible of his situation. In the course of a day or two, when he was a little recovered, he was removed to the house of a friend, Dr. Hawker of Plymouth. Sir Richard King had given a public dinner in honor of the coronation. Captain Charles Rowley, of the Unite frigate, calling in the morning, was engaged to stay, and excused himself from dining, as he had previously intended, on board the Amphion. Captain Darby of the Bellerophon, was also to have dined with Captain Pellow, and had come round in his boat from Cawsand Bay; but having to transact some business concerning the ship with Sir Richard King, it detained him half an hour longer at Stone-house than he expected. He had just gone down to the beach and was stepping into the boat to proceed up to Hamoaze, when he heard the fatal explosion. Captain Swaffield was to have sailed the next day, so that the difference of twenty-four hours would have saved that much lamented and truly valuable officer. His brother Mr. J. Swaffield, of the Pay-Office, being asked to the same dinner, had set off with him from Stone-house, but before he had reached Dock a person came after him upon business, which obliged him to return, and thus saved him from sharing his brother's untimely fate. Many conjectures were formed concerning the cause of this catastrophe. Some conceived it to be owing to neglect, as the men were employed in drawing the guns, and contrary to rule, had not extinguished all the fires, though the dinners were over. This, however, the first lieutenant declared to be impossible, as they could not be drawing the guns, the key of the magazine hanging, to his certain knowledge, in his cabin at the time. Some of the men likewise declared that the guns were drawn in the Sound before they came up Hamoaze. It was also insinuated, that it was done intentionally, as several of the bodies were afterwards found without clothes, as if they had prepared to jump overboard before the ship could have time to blow up. As no mutiny had ever appeared in the ship, it seems unlikely that such a desperate plot should have been formed, without any one who survived having the least knowledge of it. It is, besides, a well known fact, that in almost every case of shipwreck where there is a chance of plunder, there are wretches so destitute of the common feelings of humanity as to hover round the scene of horror, in hopes, by stripping the bodies of the dead, and seizing whatever they can lay their hands on, to benefit themselves. It was the fore magazine which took fire; had it been the after one, much more damage must have ensued. The moment the explosion was heard, Sir Richard King arose from dinner, and went in his boat on board the hulk, where the sight he beheld was dreadful; the deck covered with blood, mangled limbs and entrails blackened with gunpowder, the shreds of the Amphion's pendant and rigging hanging about her, and pieces of her shattered timbers strewed all around. Some people at dinner in the Yarmouth, though at a very small distance, declared that the report they heard did not appear to be louder than the firing of a cannon from the Cambridge, which they imagined it to be, and had never risen from dinner, till the confusion upon deck led them to think that some accident had happened. At low water, the next day, about a foot and a half of one of the masts appeared above water; and for several days the dock-yard men were employed in collecting the shattered masts and yards, and dragging out what they could procure from the wreck. On the twenty-ninth, part of the fore-chains was hauled, shattered and splintered, also the head and cut-water. On the 3d of October an attempt was made to raise the Amphion, between the two frigates, the Castor and Iphigenia, which were accordingly moored on each side of her; but nothing could be got up, excepting a few pieces of the ship, one or two of her guns, some of the men's chests, chairs, and part of the furniture of the cabin. Some bodies floated out from between decks, and among the rest a midshipman's.--These, and all that could be found, were towed round by boats through Stone-house bridge up to the Royal Hospital stairs, to be interred in the burying ground. The sight for many weeks was truly dreadful, the change of tide, washing out the putrid bodies, which were towed round by the boats when they would scarcely hold together. Bodies continued to be found so late as the 30th of November, when the Amphion having been dragged round to another part of the dock-yard jetty to be broken up, the body of a woman was washed out from between decks. A sack was also dragged up, containing gunpowder, covered over at the top with biscuit, and this in some measure, confirmed an idea which had before gained ground, that the gunner had been stealing powder to sell, and had concealed what he could get out by degrees in the above manner; and that, thinking himself safe on a day when every one was entertaining his friends he had carelessly been among the gunpowder without taking the necessary precautions. As he was said to have been seen at Dock very much in liquor in the morning, it seems probable that this might have been the cause of a calamity as sudden as it was dreadful. LOSS OF H. B. M. SHIP LA TRIBUNE, OFF HALIFAX, NOVA SCOTIA. La Tribune was one of the finest frigates in his Majesty's navy, mounted 44 guns, and had recently been taken from the French by Captain Williams in the Unicorn frigate.--She was commanded by Captain S. Barker, and on the 22d of September, 1797, sailed from Torbay as convoy to the Quebec and Newfoundland fleets. In latitude 49 14 and longitude 17 22, she fell in and spoke with his Majesty's ship Experiment, from Halifax; and lost sight of all her convoy on the 10th of October, in latitude 74 16 and longitude 32 11. About eight o'clock in the morning of the following Thursday they came in sight of the harbor of Halifax, and approached it very fast, with an E. S. E. wind, when Captain Barker proposed to the master to lay the ship to, till they could procure a pilot. The master replied that he had beat a 44 gun ship into the harbor, that he had frequently been there, and there was no occasion for a pilot, as the wind was favorable. Confiding in these assurances, Captain Barker went into his cabin, where he was employed in arranging some papers which he intended to take on shore with him. In the mean time the master, placing great dependance on the judgment of a negro, named John Cosey, who had formerly belonged to Halifax, took upon himself the pilotage of the ship. By twelve o'clock the ship approached so near the Thrum Cap shoals that the master became alarmed, and sent for Mr. Galvin, master's mate, who was sick below. On his coming upon deck, he heard the man in the chains sing out, "by the mark five!" the black man forward at the same time crying "steady!" Galvin got on one of the carronades to observe the situation of the ship; the master ran in great agitation to the wheel, and took it from the man who was steering, with the intention of wearing the ship; but before this could be effected, or Galvin was able to give an opinion, she struck.--Captain Barker immediately went on deck and reproached the master with having lost the ship. Seeing Galvin likewise on deck, he addressed him and said "that, knowing he had formerly sailed out of the harbor, he was surprised he could stand by and see the master run the ship on shore," to which Galvin replied "that he had not been on deck long enough to give an opinion." Signals of distress were immediately made, and answered by the military posts and ships in the harbor, from which, as well as the dock-yard, boats immediately put off to the relief of the Tribune. The military boats, and one of those from the dock-yard, with Mr. Rackum, boatswain of the ordinary, reached the ship, but the wind was so much against the others, that, in spite of all their exertions, they were unable to get on board. The ship was immediately lightened by throwing overboard all her guns, excepting one retained for signals, and every other heavy article, so that about half past eight o'clock in the evening the ship began to heave, and at nine got off the shoals. She had lost her rudder about three hours before, and it was now found, on examination, that she had seven feet water in the hold. The chain-pumps were immediately manned, and such exertions were made that they seemed to gain on the leaks. By the advice of Mr. Rackum, the captain ordered the best bower anchor to be let go, but this did not bring her up. He then ordered the cable to be cut; and the jib and fore-top-mast stay-sail were hoisted to steer by. During this interval a violent gale, which had come on at S. E. kept increasing, and carrying the ship to the western shore. The small bower anchor which soon afterwards let go, at which time they found themselves in thirteen fathom of water, and the mizen-mast was then cut away. It was now ten o'clock, and as the water gained fast upon them, the crew had but little hope left of saving either the ship or their lives. At this critical period Lieutenant Campbell quitted the ship, and Lieutenant North was taken into the boat out of one of the ports. From the moment at which the former left the vessel all hopes of safety had vanished; the ship was sinking fast, the storm was increasing with redoubled violence, and the rocky shore which they were approaching, resounded with the tremendous noise of the rolling billows, presented nothing to those who might survive the loss of the ship but the expectation of a more painful death, by being dashed against precipices, which, even in the calmest day, it is impossible to ascend. Dunlap, one of the survivors, declared, that about half past ten, as nearly as he could conjecture, one of the men who had been below, came to him on the forecastle, and told him it was all over. A few minutes afterwards the ship took a lurch, like a boat nearly filled with water and going down; on which Dunlap immediately began to ascend the fore-shrouds, and at the same moment casting his eyes towards the quarter-deck, he saw Captain Barker standing by the gangway, and looking into the water, and directly afterwards he heard him call for the jolly-boat. He then saw the lieutenant of marines running towards the taffrel, to look, as he supposed, for the jolly-boat, which had been previously let down with men in her; but the ship instantly took a second lurch and sunk to the bottom, after which neither the captain nor any of the other officers were again seen. The scene, before sufficiently distressing, now became peculiarly awful. More than 240 men, besides several women and children, were floating on the waves, making the last effort to preserve life. Dunlap, who has been already mentioned, gained the fore-top. Mr. Galvin, the master's mate, with incredible difficulty, got into the main-top. He was below when the ship sunk, directing the men at the chain-pump, but was washed up the hatchway, thrown into the waist and from thence into the water, and his feet, as he plunged, struck against a rock. On ascending he swam to gain the main-shrouds, when three men suddenly seized hold of him. He now gave himself up for lost; but to disengage himself from them he made a dive into the water, which caused them to quit their grasp. On rising again he swam to the shrouds, and having reached the main-top, seated himself on an arm chest which was lashed to the mast. From the observations of Galvin in the main-top, and Dunlap in the fore-top, it appears that nearly one hundred persons were hanging a considerable time to the shrouds, the tops and other parts of the wreck. From the length of the night, and the severity of the storm, nature, however, became exhausted, and during the whole night they kept dropping off and disappeared. The cries and groans of the unhappy sufferers, from the bruises many of them had received, and their hopes of deliverance beginning to fail, were continued through the night, but as morning approached, in consequence of the few who then survived, they became extremely feeble. About twelve o'clock the main-mast gave way; at that time there were on the main-top and shrouds about forty persons. By the fall of the mast the whole of these unhappy wretches were again plunged into the water, and ten only regained the top, which rested on the main-yard, and the whole remained fast to the ship by some of the rigging. Of the ten who thus reached the top, four only were alive when morning appeared. Ten were at that time, alive on the fore-top, but three were so exhausted, and so helpless, that they were washed away before any relief arrived; three others perished, and thus only four were, at last, left alive on the fore-top. The place where the ship went down was barely three times her length to the southward of the entrance into Herring Cove. The inhabitants came down in the night to the point opposite to which the ship sunk, kept up large fires, and were so near as to converse with the people on the wreck. The first exertion that was made for their relief was by a boy thirteen years old, from Herring Cove, who ventured off in a small skiff by himself about eleven o'clock the next day. This youth, with great labor and extreme risk to himself, boldly approached the wreck, and backed in his little boat so near to the fore-top as to take off two of the men, for the boat could not with safety hold any more. And here a trait of generous magnanimity was exhibited, which ought not to pass unnoticed. Dunlap and another man, named Monro, had throughout this disastrous night, preserved their strength and spirits in a greater degree than their unfortunate companions, who they endeavored to cheer and encourage when they found their spirits sinking. Upon the arrival of the boat these two might have stepped into it, and thus have terminated their own sufferings; for their two companions, though alive, were unable to stir; they lay exhausted on the top, wishing not to be disturbed, and seemed desirous to perish in that situation. These generous fellows hesitated not a moment to remain themselves on the wreck, and to save their unfortunate companions against their will. They lifted them up, and with the greatest exertion placed them in the boat, the MANLY BOY rowed them triumphantly to the Cove, and immediately had them conveyed to a comfortable habitation. After shaming, by his example, older persons, who had larger boats, he again put off with his skiff, but with all his efforts he could not then approach the wreck. His example, however, was soon followed by four of the crew who had escaped in the Tribune's jolly-boat, and by some of the boats in the Cove. With their joint exertions, the eight men were preserved, and these with the four who had saved themselves in the jolly-boat, were the whole of the survivors of this fine ship's company. A circumstance occurred in which that cool thoughtlessness of danger, which so often distinguishes our British tars, was displayed in such a striking manner, that it would be inexcusable to omit it. Daniel Monro, had, as we have already seen, gained the fore-top. He suddenly disappeared, and it was concluded that he had been washed away like many others. After being absent from the top about two hours, he, to the surprise of Dunlap, who was likewise on the fore-top, raised his head through the lubber-hole; Dunlap inquiring where he had been, he told him he had been cruising for a better birth; that after swimming about the wreck for a considerable time, he had returned to the fore-shrouds, and crawling in on the catharpins, had actually been sleeping there more than an hour, and appeared greatly refreshed. [Illustration] BURNING OF THE PRINCE, A FRENCH EAST INDIAMAN. On the 19th of February 1752, a French East Indiaman, called the Prince, sailed from Port L'Orient on a voyage outward bound. But soon afterwards, a sudden shift of wind drove her on a sand bank, where she was exposed to imminent danger, and heeled so much that the mouths of the guns lay in the sea. By lightening the ship, however, accompanied by incessant and laborious exertions, she floated with the rise of the tide, and, being again carried into port, was completely unloaded, and underwent a thorough repair. The voyage was resumed on the 10th of June, with a favorable wind, and for several weeks, seemed to promise every success that could be desired. While in south latitude 8 30, and in 5 west longitude from Paris, M. de la Fond, one of the lieutenants of the ship, was, just at the moment of this observation, informed by a seaman, that smoke was issuing from the main hatchway. The first lieutenant, who had the keys of the hold, immediately ordered every hatchway to be opened to ascertain the truth. But the fact was too soon verified, and, while the captain hastened on deck from the great cabin, where he sat at dinner, Lieutenant de la Fond ordered some sails to be dipped in the sea, and the hatches to be covered with them in order to prevent the access of air, and thus stifle the fire. He had even intended, as a more effectual measure, to let in the water between decks to the depth of a foot, but clouds of smoke issued from the crevices of the hatchways, and the flames gained more and more by degrees. Meantime the captain ordered sixty or eighty soldiers under arms, to restrain any disorder and confusion which might probably ensue; and in this he was supported by their commander, M. de la Touche, who exhibited uncommon fortitude on the occasion. Every one was now employed in procuring water; all the buckets were filled, the pumps plied, and pipes introduced from them to the hold. But the rapid progress of the flames baffled the exertions to subdue them, and augmented the general consternation. The yawl lying in the way of the people, was hoisted out by order of the captain, and the boatswain, along with three others took possession of it. Wanting oars, they were supplied with some by three men who leaped overboard. Those in the ship, however, desired them to return, but they exclaimed, that they wanted a rudder, and desired a rope to be thrown out. However, the progress of the flames soon shewing them their only alternative for safety, they withdrew from the ship, and she from the effect of a breeze springing up, passed by. On board the utmost activity still prevailed, and the courage of the people seemed to be augmented by the difficulty of escape. The master boldly went down into the hold, but the intense heat compelled him to return, and, had not a quantity of water been dashed over him, he would have been severely scorched. Immediately subsequent to this period, flames violently burst from the main hatchway. At that time the captain ordered the boats to be got out, while consternation enfeebled the most intrepid. The long-boat had been secured at a certain height, and she was about to be put over the ship's side, when, unhappily, the fire ran up the main-mast, and caught the tackle; the boat fell down on the guns, bottom upwards, and it was vain to think of getting her righted. At length it became too evident that the calamity was beyond the reach of human remedy; nothing but the mercy of the Almighty could interpose; consternation was universally disseminated among the people; nothing but sighs and groans resounded through the vessel, and the very animals on board, as if sensible of the impending danger, uttered the most dreadful cries. The certainty of perishing in either element was anticipated by every human being here, and each raised his heart and hands towards Heaven. The chaplain, who was now on the quarter-deck, gave the people general absolution for their sins, and then repaired to the quarter-gallery to extend it yet further, to those miserable wretches, who, in hopes of safety, had already committed themselves to the waves. What a horrible spectacle! Self-preservation was the only object; each was occupied in throwing overboard whatever promised the most slender chance of escape, yards, spars, hen-coops and everything occurring, was seized in despair, and thus employed. Dreadful confusion prevailed. Some leaped into the sea, anticipating that death which was about to reach them; others, more successful, swam to fragments of the wreck; while the shrouds, yards and ropes, along the side of the vessel, were covered with the crew crowding upon them, and hanging there, as if hesitating which alternative of destruction to choose, equally imminent and equally terrible. A father was seen to snatch his son from the flames, fold him to his breast, and, then throwing him into the sea, himself followed, where they perished in each other's embrace. Meantime Lieutenant Fond ordered the helm to be shifted. The ship heeled to larboard, which afforded a temporary preservation, while the fire raged along the starboard from stem to stern. Lieutenant Fond had, until this moment, been engrossed by nothing but adopting every means to preserve the ship; now, however, the horrors of impending destruction were too conspicuously in view. His fortitude, notwithstanding, through the goodness of Heaven, never forsook him; looking around, he found himself alone on the deck, and he retired to the round-house. There he met M. de la Touche, who regarded the approach of death with the same heroism which, in India, had gained him celebrity. "My brother and friend," he cried, "farewell."--"Whither are you going?" asked Lieutenant Fond. "To comfort my friend, the captain," he replied. M. Morin, who commanded this unfortunate vessel, stood overwhelmed with grief for the melancholy state of his female relatives, passengers along with him. He had persuaded them to commit themselves to the waves on hen-coops, while some of the seamen, swimming with one hand, endeavored to support them with the other. The floating masts and yards were covered with men struggling with the watery element, many of whom now perished by balls discharged from the guns as heated by the fire, and thus presenting a third means of destruction, augmenting the horrors environing them. While anguish pierced the heart of M. de la Fond, he withdrew his eyes from the sea; and a moment after, reaching the starboard gallery, he saw the flames bursting with frightful noise through the windows of the round-house and of the great cabin. The fire approached, and was ready to consume him. Considering it vain to attempt the further preservation of the ship, or the lives of his fellow sufferers, he thought it his duty, in this dreadful condition, to save himself yet a few hours, that these might be devoted to Heaven. Stripping off his clothes, he designed slipping down a yard, one end of which dipped in the water; but it was so covered with miserable beings, shrinking from death, that he tumbled over them and fell into the sea. There a drowning soldier caught hold of him. Lieutenant Fond made every exertion to disengage himself, but in vain; he even allowed himself to sink below the surface, yet he did not quit his grasp. Lieutenant Fond plunged down a second time; still he was firmly held by the man, who then was incapable of considering that his death, instead of being of service, would rather hasten his own. At last, after struggling a considerable time, and swallowing a great quantity of water, the soldier's strength failed; and sensible that M. de la Fond was sinking a third time, he dreaded to be carried down along with him, and loosened his grasp, no sooner was this done, than M. de la Fond to guard against a repetition, dived below the surface, and rose at a distance from the place. This incident rendered him more cautious for the future; he even avoided the dead bodies, now so numerous, that to make a free passage, he was compelled to shove them aside with one hand, while he kept himself floating with the other; for he was impressed with the apprehension, that each was a person who would seize him, and involve him in his own destruction. But strength beginning to fail, he was satisfied of the necessity of some respite, when he fell in with part of the ensign-staff. He put his arm through a noose of the rope to secure it, and swam as well as he could; then perceiving a yard at hand, he seized it by one end. However, beholding a young man scarce able to support himself at the other extremity, he quickly abandoned so slight an aid, and one which seemed incapable of contributing to his preservation. Next the spritsail-yard appeared in view, but covered with people, among whom he durst not take a place without requesting permission, which they cheerfully granted. Some were quite naked, others in nothing except their shirts; the pity they expressed at the situation of M. de la Fond, and his sense of their misfortunes, exposed his feelings to a severe trial. Neither Captain Morin, nor M. de la Touche ever quitted the ship, and were most probably overwhelmed in the catastrophe by which she was destroyed. But the most dismal spectacle was exhibited on all sides; the main-mast, consumed below, had been precipitated overboard, killing some in the fall, and affording a temporary reception to others. M. de la Fond now observed it covered with people, driven about by the waves; and at the same time, seeing two seamen buoyed up by a hen-coop and some planks, desired them to swim to him with the latter; they did so, accompanied by more of their comrades, and each taking a plank, which were used for oars, they and he paddled along upon the yard, until gaining those who had secured themselves on the main-mast. So many alternations only presented new spectacles of horror. The chaplain was at this time on the mast, and from him M. de la Fond received absolution; two young ladies were also there, whose piety and resignation were truly consolatory; they were the only survivors of six, their companions had perished in the flames or in the sea. Eighty persons had found refuge on the main-mast, who, from the repeated discharge of cannon from the ship, according to the progress of the flames, were constantly exposed to destruction. The chaplain, in this awful condition, by his discourse and example, taught the duty of resignation. M. de la Fond observing him lose his hold on the mast, and drop into the sea, lifted him up. "Let me go," said he. "I am already half drowned, and it is only protracting my sufferings."--"No, my friend," the lieutenant replied, "when my strength is exhausted, not till then, we will perish together;" and in his pious presence he calmly awaited death. After remaining here three hours, he beheld one of the ladies fall from the mast and perish.--She was too remote to receive any assistance from him. But when least in expectation of it, he saw the yawl close at hand, at five in the afternoon. He cried to the men that he was their lieutenant, and requested to be allowed to participate in their fate. His presence was too necessary for them to refuse his solicitations, they needed a conductor who might guide them to the land; thus they permitted him to come on board, on condition that he should swim to the yawl. This was a reasonable stipulation; it was to avoid approaching the mast, else, the rest actuated by the same desire of self-preservation, would soon have overloaded the little vessel, and all would have been buried in a watery grave. M. de la Fond, therefore, summoning up all his strength and courage, was so happy as to reach the seamen. In a little time afterwards, the pilot and master, whom he had left on the mast, followed his example, and swimming towards the yawl were seen and taken in. The flames still continued raging in the vessel, and as the yawl was still endangered by being within half a league of her, she stood a little to windward. Not long subsequent to this, the fire reached the magazine; and then to describe the thundering explosion which ensued is impossible. A thick cloud intercepted the light of the sun, and amidst the terrific darkness nothing but pieces of flaming timber, projected aloft into the air, could be seen, threatening to crush to atoms in their fall, numbers of miserable wretches still struggling with the agonies of death. Nor were the party in the yawl beyond the reach of hazard; it was not improbable that some of the fiery fragments might come down upon them, and precipitate their frail support to the bottom. Though the Almighty preserved them from that shocking calamity, they were shocked with the spectacle environing them. The vessel had now disappeared; the sea, to a great distance, was covered with pieces of the wreck, intermingled with the bodies of those unhappy creatures who had perished by their fall. Some were seen who had been choked, others mangled, half consumed and still retaining life enough to be sensible of the accumulated horrors overwhelming them. The fortitude of M. de la Fond was still preserved, through the favour of Heaven, and he proposed approaching the wreck, to see whether any provisions or necessary articles might be picked up. He and his companions being totally devoid of every thing, were exposed to the hazard of a death even more painful than that which the others had suffered, in perishing of famine. But finding several barrels, which they hoped might contain something to relieve their necessities, they experienced great mortification, on ascertaining that they were part of the powder that had been thrown overboard during the conflagration of their unfortunate vessel. As night approached, they providentially discovered a cask of brandy, about fifteen pounds of salt pork, a piece of scarlet cloth, twenty yards of linen, a dozen of pipe staves, and a small quantity of cordage. When it became dark they durst not venture to retain their present station until day-light without being endangered by the wreck, from the fragments of which they had not then been able to disengage themselves. Therefore they rowed as quickly away as possible from among them, and bent all their care to the management of the yawl. The whole began to labor assiduously, and every article which could be converted to use was employed; the lining of the boat was tore up for the sake of the planks and nails; a seaman luckily had two needles, and the linen afforded whatever thread was necessary; the piece of scarlet cloth was substituted for a sail; an oar was erected for a mast, and a plank served for a rudder. The equipment of the boat was soon completed, notwithstanding the darkness of the night, at least as well as circumstances would allow. Yet a great difficulty remained, for wanting charts and instruments, and being nearly two hundred leagues from land, the party felt at a loss what course to steer. Resigning themselves to the Almighty, they offered up fervent prayers for his direction. At length the sail was hoisted, and a favorable breeze soon wafted M. de la Fond from amidst the bodies of his miserable comrades. Eight days and nights the adventurers advanced without seeing land; naked and exposed to the scorching heat of the sun by day, and to intense cold by night. But to relieve the thirst which parched them, they availed themselves of a shower of rain, falling on the sixth, and tried to catch a little of it in their mouths and with their hands. They sucked the sail, which was wet with the rain, but from being previously drenched with sea water, it imparted a bitterness to the fresh water which it received. However, they did not complain, for had the rain been heavier, it might have lulled the wind, in the continuance of which they rested their hopes of safety. In order to ascertain the proper course, the adventurers paid daily observance to the rising and setting of the sun and moon, and the position of the stars pointed out how they should steer. All their sustenance in the meantime was a small piece of pork once in twenty-four hours, and this they were even obliged to relinquish on the fourth day, from the heat and irritation it occasioned of their bodies. Their beverage was a glass of brandy taken from time to time, but it inflamed their stomachs without assuaging the thirst that consumed them. Abundance of flying fish were seen; the impossibility of catching any of which only augmented the pain already endured, though M. de la Fond and his companions tried to reconcile themselves to the scanty pittance that they possessed. Yet the uncertainty of their destiny, the want of subsistence, and the turbulence of the ocean, all contributed to deprive them of repose, which they so much required, and almost plunged them in despair. Nothing but a feeble ray of hope preserved them under their accumulated sufferings. The eighth night was passed by M. de la Fond at the helm; there he had remained above ten hours, after soliciting relief, and at last sunk down under fatigue. His miserable companions were equally exhausted, and despair began to overwhelm the whole. At last when the united calamities of hunger, thirst, fatigue and misery, predicted speedy annihilation, the dawn of Wednesday, the 3d of August, shewed this unfortunate crew the distant land. None but those who have experienced the like situation, can form any adequate idea of the change which was produced. Their strength was renovated, and they were aroused to precautions against being drifted away by the current. They reached the coast of Brazil, in latitude 6 south, and entered Tresson Bay. The first object of M. de la Fond and his companions was to return thanks for the gracious protection of Heaven; they prostrated themselves on the ground, and then in the transport of joy rolled among the sand. They exhibited the most frightful appearance; nothing human characterized them, which did not announce their misfortune in glaring colors. Some were quite naked; others had only shirts, rotten and torn to rags. M. de la Fond had fastened a piece of the scarlet cloth about his waist, in order to appear at the head of his companions. Though rescued from imminent danger, they had still to contend with hunger and thirst, and remained in ignorance whether they should meet men endowed with humanity in that region. While deliberating on the course they should follow, about fifty Portuguese of the settlement, there established, advanced and inquired the cause of their presence. Their misfortunes were soon explained, and the recital of them proved a sufficient claim for supplying their wants. Deeply affected by the account now given, the Portuguese congratulated themselves that it had fallen to their lot to relieve the strangers, and speedily led them to their dwellings. On the way the seamen were rejoiced at the sight of a river, into which they threw themselves, plunging in the water, and drinking copious draughts of it to allay their thirst. Afterwards frequent bathing proved one of the best restoratives of health, to which they all resorted. The chief man of the place next came, and conducted M. de la Fond and his companions to his house, about a half a league distant from the spot where they landed. He charitably supplied them with linen shirts and trowsers, and boiled some fish, the water of which was relished as delicious broth. Though sleep was equally necessary as this frugal fare, the survivors having learned that there was a church within half a league, dedicated to St. Michael, repaired thither to render thanks to Heaven for their miraculous preservation. The badness of the road induced such fatigue as compelled them to rest in the village where it stood, and there the narrative of their misfortunes, added to the piety which they exhibited, attracted the notice of the inhabitants, all of whom hastened to minister something to their necessities. After remaining a short interval they returned to their host, who at night kindly contributed another repast of fish. Something more invigorating, however, being required by people who had endured so much, they purchased an ox for a quantity of the brandy that had been saved from the wreck. Paraibo was distant fifteen leagues, and they had to set out barefoot, and with little chance of finding suitable provisions on the journey. Thus they smoke-dried their present store, and added a little flour to it. In three days they began to march, and, under an escort of three soldiers, advanced seven leagues the first day, when they were hospitably received by a person, and passed the night in his house. On the following evening, a serjeant and twenty-nine men arrived to conduct them to the commandant of the fortress, who gave them a friendly reception, afforded them supplies, and provided a boat to carry them to Paraibo. About midnight they reached the town, where a Portuguese captain attended to present them to the governor, from whom also they experienced the like attention. Being anxious to reach Fernambuc, to take advantage of a Portuguese fleet, daily expected to sail for Europe, the governor, in three days more, ordered a corporal to conduct the party thither. But at this time M. de la Fond's feet were so cruelly wounded, he was scarce able to stand, and on that account was supplied with a horse. In four days he arrived at Fernambuc, where, from different naval and military officers, he met with the utmost attention and consideration; he and all his companions got a passage to Europe in the fleet. M. de la Fond sailed on the 5th of October, and reached Lisbon in safety on the 17th of December; thence he procured a passage to Morlaix, where having rested a few days to recruit his strength, he repaired to Port L'Orient, with his health greatly injured by the calamities he had suffered, and reduced to a state of poverty, having after twenty-eight years service, lost all he had in the world. By this deplorable catastrophe, nearly three hundred persons perished. WRECK OF THE SCHOONER BETSEY, ON A REEF OF ROCKS. The Betsey, a small schooner of about 75 tons burden, sailed from Macao in China, for New South Wales, on the 10th of November, 1805. Her complement consisted of William Brooks, commander, Edward Luttrell, mate, one Portuguese seacunny, three Manilla and four Chinese Lascars. No incident worthy of commemoration happened from the 10th to 20th of November. Next day, when the vessel was going at the rate of seven knots and a half an hour, she struck on a reef of rocks at half past two in the morning, while in north latitude 9 48, and 114 14 east longitude. The boat was instantly let down, and a small anchor sent astern, but on heaving, the cable parted, and both were lost. The people next endeavored to construct a raft of the water casks, but the swell proved so great that they found it impossible to accomplish their purpose. At day-break they found that the vessel had forged four or five miles on the reef, which they now discovered extended nine or ten miles to the south, and four or five east and west; and there were only two feet water where she lay. During three days and nights, the utmost exertions were made to get her off without avail, and the crew had then become so weakened that they could scarce be persuaded to construct a raft. The vessel now had bulged on the starboard side. But a raft being made on the 24th, the people left her with the jolly-boat in company, and steered for Balambangan. Captain Brooks, the mate, the gunner and two seacunnies were in the latter, where their whole provision consisted of only a small bag of biscuit; and on the raft were the Portuguese, four Chinese and three Malays, but much better provided. The boat and the raft parted company on the same day, as a brisk gale arose from the westward, and the raft was never heard of more; but it was conjectured to have probably drifted on the island of Borneo, which then bore south-east. The gale continued from the north-west until the 28th of the month, accompanied by a mountainous sea, and then ceased. By this time the fresh water taken into the boat was completely expended, and all the biscuit that remained was wet with salt water. On the 29th at day-break, land came in view, which was supposed to be Balabac; the people were now nearly exhausted by rowing under a burning sun, and while a perfect calm prevailed; and they were besides reduced to such extremity as to drink their own urine. It blew so hard in the night that they were obliged to bear up for Bangay, the north-west point of which they discovered next morning at day-break. Going ashore they instantly made a search for fresh water, which they soon found, and considering what they had suffered from thirst, it is no wonder that they drank to excess. While rambling into the woods in quest of fruit, two Malays met them, to whom they made signs that they wanted food, and these being understood, the Malays went away, and in the afternoon returned with two cocoa-nuts and a few sweet potatoes, which they gave in exchange for a silver spoon. Night approaching, the people returned to their boat.--Next morning five Malays made their appearance, bringing some Indian corn and potatoes, which were exchanged for spoons as before. These people pointed to Balambangan, and endeavored to make the party comprehend that sometime ago the English had abandoned the settlement. A new supply of provision was promised next morning; therefore the party retired with their little stock, and attended at the appointed time to receive more. Eleven Malays then appeared on the beach; but after a little conversation on landing, one of them threw a spear at Captain Brooks, which penetrated his belly, another made a cut at Mr. Luttrell, who parried it off with a cutlass, and ran to the boat. Captain Brooks withdrew the spear from his body, and also ran a short distance, but the inhuman assassins followed him and cut off both his legs. The gunner also was severely wounded, and reached the boat covered with blood, while the party at the same time, saw the Malays stripping the dead body of Captain Brooks; and in about fifteen minutes afterwards the gunner expired. The survivors immediately made sail, and then examined into the state of their provisions, which they found consisted of ten cobs of Indian corn, three pumpkins, and two bottles of water. Trusting to the mercy of Providence, they with this, determined on shaping their course for the straits of Malacca. No particular occurrence happened in the course of the voyage from the fourth to the fourteenth of December; frequent showers had fortunately supplied them with fresh water, but they were nearly exhausted by constant watching and hunger. On the 15th they fell in with a group of islands, in 3 of north latitude, and about 100 degrees of east longitude, and approached the shore. But being descried by two Malay prows, they were immediately attacked, and one of the seacunnies was run through with a spear and died instantly, while the other was also wounded. Mr. Luttrell, the mate, had a very narrow escape from a spear piercing through his hat. The party being thus overpowered, the Malays took possession of their boat and immediately seized on all their property, a sextant, their log-book, some plate and clothes. They were themselves kept in a prow, without any covering, and exposed to the scorching heat of the sun, with an allowance of only a small quantity of sago during three days. After that time they were carried ashore to the house of a rajah, on an island called Sube, where they remained in a state of slavery, entirely naked, and subsisting on sago, until the 20th of April. The Rajah sailed on that day in a prow for Rhio, taking Mr. Luttrell and the two other survivors along with him, and arrived there nearly famished, after a tedious passage of twenty-five days. Here their distresses were alleviated by Mr. Koek of Malacca, who treated them in the kindest manner; and the ship Kandree, commanded by Captain Williamson, arriving next day, they obtained a passage in her for Malacca. EARLY AMERICAN HEROISM. During one of the former wars, between France and England, in which the then Colonies bore an active part, a respectable individual, a member of the society of Friends, of the name of ----, commanded a fine ship which sailed from an Eastern port, to a port in England. This vessel had a strong and effective crew, but was totally unarmed. When near her destined port, she was chased, and ultimately overhauled, by a French vessel of war. Her commander used every endeavor to escape, but seeing from the superior sailing of the Frenchman, that his capture was inevitable, he quietly retired below: he was followed into the cabin by his cabin boy, a youth of activity and enterprise, named Charles Wager: he asked his commander if nothing more could be done to save the ship--his commander replied that it was impossible, that every thing had been done that was practicable, there was no escape for them, and they must submit to be captured. Charles then returned upon deck and summoned the crew around him--he stated in a few words what was their captain's conclusion--then, with an elevation of mind, dictated by a soul formed for enterprise and noble daring, he observed, "if you will place yourselves under my command, and stand by me, I have conceived a plan by which the ship may be rescued, and we in turn become the conquerors." The sailors no doubt feeling the ardor, and inspired by the courage of their youthful and gallant leader, agreed to place themselves under his command. His plan was communicated to them, and they awaited with firmness, the moment to carry their enterprise into effect. The suspense was of short duration, for the Frenchman was quickly alongside, and grappled to the merchant ship. As Charles had anticipated, the exhilarated conquerors, elated beyond measure, with the acquisition of so fine a prize, poured into his vessel cheering and huzzaing; and not foreseeing any danger, they left but few men on board their ship. Now was the moment for Charles, who, giving his men the signal, sprang at their head on board the opposing vessel, while some seized the arms which had been left in profusion on her deck, and with which they soon overpowered the few men left on board; the others, by a simultaneous movement, relieved her from the grapplings which united the two vessels. Our hero now having the command of the French vessel, seized the helm, and placing her out of boarding distance, hailed, with the voice of a conqueror, the discomfited crowd of Frenchmen who were left on board of the peaceful bark he had just quitted, and summoned them to follow close in his wake, or he would blow them out of water, (a threat they well knew he was very capable of executing, as their guns were loaded during the chase.) They sorrowfully acquiesced with his commands, while gallant Charles steered into port, followed by his prize. The exploit excited universal applause--the former master of the merchant vessel was examined by the Admiralty, when he stated the whole of the enterprise as it occurred, and declared that Charles Wager had planned and effected the gallant exploit, and that to him alone belonged the honor and credit of the achievement. Charles was immediately transferred to the British navy, appointed a midshipman, and his education carefully superintended. He soon after distinguished himself in action, and underwent a rapid promotion, until at length he was created an Admiral, and known as Sir Charles Wager. It is said that he always held in veneration and esteem, that respectable and conscientious Friend, whose cabin boy he had been, and transmitted yearly to his OLD MASTER, as he termed him, a handsome present of Madeira, to cheer his declining days. [Illustration] FINGAL'S CAVE. The most magnificent of all known caverns, is that called Fingal's Cave, in the Isle of Staffa, on the western coast of Scotland. Its length is 370 feet; and the height at the entrance of the cave is 117 feet. Thousands of majestic columns of basalts support a lofty roof, under which the sea rolls its waves, while the vastness of the entrance allows the light of day to penetrate the various recesses of the cave. The mind, says Mr. Pennant, can hardly form an idea more magnificent than such a space, supported on each side by ranges of columns, and roofed by the bottom of those which have been broken off in order to form it, between the angles of which a yellow stalagmatic matter has exuded, which serves to define the angles precisely, and, at the same time, vary the color with a great deal of elegance. To render it still more agreeable, the whole is lighted from without, so that the farthest extremity is very plainly seen; and the air within, being agitated by the flux and reflux of the tides is perfectly wholesome, and free from the damp vapors with which caverns generally abound. [Illustration: THE RAMILLIES] THE LOSS OF THE RAMILLIES, IN THE ATLANTIC OCEAN. Admiral (afterwards Lord) Graves having requested leave to return to England in 1782, was appointed by Lord Rodney to command the convoy sent home with the numerous fleet of merchantmen from the West Indies in the month of July.--He accordingly hoisted his flag on board the Ramillies of 74 guns, and sailed on the 25th from Blue Fields, having under his orders the Canada and Centaur of 74 guns each, the Pallas frigate of 36 guns, and the following French ships, taken by Lord Rodney and Sir Samuel Hood, out of the armament commanded by the Count de Grasse, viz. the Ville de Paris, of 110 guns; the Glorieux and Hector, of 74 guns each; the Ardent, Caton and Jason, of 6 guns each. Those which were originally British ships had been in so many actions, and so long absent from England, as to have become extremely out of condition, while that of the prizes was still more deplorable, and the following authentic account of the various disasters which attended this distressed convoy will be found equally melancholy and interesting. Soon after the fleet had sailed, the officers of the Ardent united in signing such a representation of her miserable plight as induced Admiral Graves to order her back to Port Royal, and the Jason, by not putting to sea with the convoy, from want of water, never joined him at all. The rest proceeded, and after those vessels that were bound for New York had separated, the whole convoy was reduced to ninety-two or three sail. On the 8th of September the Caton springing a leak, made such alarming complaints, that the Admiral directed her and the Pallas, also become leaky, to bear away immediately, and keep company together, making for Halifax, which then bore North-North-West and was but eighty-seven leagues distant. The afternoon of the 16th of September shewing indications of a gale and foul weather from the south-east quarter, every preparation was made on board the flag-ship for such an event, not only on account of her own safety, but also as an example to the rest of the fleet. The Admiral collected the ships about six o'clock, and brought to under his main-sail on the larboard tack, having all his other sails furled, and his top-gallant yards and masts lowered down. The wind soon increasing, blew strong from the E. S. E. with a very heavy sea, and about three o'clock in the morning of the 17th flew suddenly round to the contrary point, blowing most tremendously, and accompanied with rain, thunder and lightning; the Ramillies was taken by the lee, her main-sail thrown back, her main-mast went by the board, and mizen-mast half way up; the fore-top mast fell over the starboard bow, the fore-yard broke in the slings, the tiller snapped in two, and the rudder was nearly torn off. Thus was this capital ship, from being in perfect order, reduced, within a few minutes to a mere wreck, by the fury of the blast and the violence of the sea, which acted in opposition to each other. The ship was pooped, the cabin, where the Admiral lay was flooded, his cot-bed jerked down by the violence of the shock and the ship's instantaneous revulsion, so that he was obliged to pull on his boots half leg deep in water, without any stockings, to huddle on his wet clothes, and repair upon deck. On his first coming thither, he ordered two of the lieutenants to examine into the state of the affairs below, and to keep a sufficient number of people at the pumps, while he himself and the captain kept the deck, to encourage the men to clear away the wreck, which, by its constant swinging backwards and forwards by every wave against the body of the ship, had beaten off much of the copper from the starboard side, and exposed the seams so much to the sea that the decayed oakum washed out, and the whole frame became at once exceedingly porous and leaky. At dawn of day they perceived a large ship lying under their lee, lying upon her side, water-logged, her hands attempting to wear her by first cutting away the mizen-mast, and then her main-mast; hoisting her ensign, with the union downwards in order to draw the attention of the fleet; but to no purpose, for no succour could be given, and she very soon went down head fore-most, the fly of her ensign being the last thing visible. This was the Dutton, formerly an East Indiaman, and then a store-ship, commanded by a lieutenant of the navy, who in his agitation, leaped from her deck into the sea; but, as might be expected, was very soon overwhelmed by its billows. Twelve or thirteen of the crew contrived, however, to slide off one of the boats, and running with the wind, first endeavored to reach a large ship before them, which, not being able to fetch, and afraid of filling if they attempted to haul up for the purpose, they made up for another ship more to the leeward, who fortunately descrying them, threw a number of ropes, by the help of which these desperate fellows scrambled up her sides, and fortunately saved their lives. Out of ninety-four or five sail, seen the day before, scarcely twenty could now be counted; of the ships of war, there were discerned the Canada, half hull down upon the lee-quarter, having her main-top-mast and mizen-mast gone, the main-top damaged, the main-yard aloft, and the main-sail furled; the Centaur was far to windward, without masts, bowsprit or rudder; and the Glorieux without fore-mast, bowsprit or main-top-mast. Of these the two latter perished with all their crews, excepting the captain of the Centaur, and a few of his people, who contrived to slip off her stern into one of the boats unnoticed, and thus escaped the fate of the rest of the crew. The Ville de Paris appeared to have received no injury, and was commanded by a most experienced seaman, who had made twenty-four voyages to and from the West Indies, and had, therefore, been pitched upon to lead the ship through the Gulf; nevertheless, she was afterwards buried in the ocean with all on board her, consisting of above eight hundred people. Of the convoy, besides the Dutton, before mentioned, and the British Queen, seven others were discovered without mast or bowsprit; eighteen lost masts and several others had foundered. In the course of this day the Canada crossed upon and passed the Ramillies; some of the trade attempted to follow the Canada, but she ran at such a rate that they soon found it to be in vain, and then returned towards the flag-ship; the Ramillies had at this time six feet water in her hold, and the pumps would not free her, the water having worked out the oakum, and her beams amid-ship being almost drawn from their clamps. The admiral, therefore, gave orders for all the buckets to be manned, and every officer to help towards freeing the ship; the mizen-top-sail was set upon the fore-mast, the main-top-gallant-sail on the stump of the mizen-mast, and the tiller shipped. In this condition, by bearing away, she scudded on at so good a rate that she held pace with some of the merchantmen. The day having been spent in bailing and pumping, without materially gaining on the water, the captain in the name of the officers, represented to the admiral the necessity of parting with the guns for the relief of the ship, but he objected, that there would then be left no protection for the convoy.--At length, however, after great difficulty, he consented to their disposing of the fore-castle and aftermost quarter-deck guns, together with some of the shot, and other articles of very great weight. The ensuing night was employed in bailing and endeavoring to make the pumps useful, for the ballast by getting into the well, had choked and rendered them useless, and the chains had broken every time they were repaired. The water had risen to seven feet in the hold. The wind from the westward drove a vast sea before it, and the ship being old, strained most violently. On the morning of the 18th nothing could be seen of the Canada, she having pushed on at her greatest speed for England. The frame of the Ramillies having opened during the night, the admiral was prevailed upon, by the renewed and pressing remonstrances of the officers, although with great reluctance, to let six of the forwardmost and four of the aftermost guns of the main-deck to be thrown overboard, together with the remainder of those on the quarter-deck; and the ship still continuing to open very much, he ordered tarred canvas and hides to be nailed fore and aft from under the sills of the ports on the main-deck under the fifth plank above, or within the water-ways, and the crew, without orders did the same on the lower deck. Her increasing complaints requiring still more to be done, the admiral directed all the guns on the upper deck, the shot, both on that and the lower deck, and various heavy stores to be thrown overboard; a leakage in the light room of the grand magazine having almost filled the ship forward, and there being eight feet water in the magazine, every gentleman was compelled to take his turn at the whips, or in handing the buckets. The ship was besides frapped from the fore-mast to the main-mast. Notwithstanding their utmost efforts the water still gained on them the succeeding night, the wind blowing very hard, with extremely heavy squalls, a part of the orlop deck fell into the hold; the ship herself seemed to work excessively, and to settle forward. On the morning of the 19th, under these very alarming circumstances, the admiral commanded both the bower anchors to be cut away, all the junk to be flung overboard, one sheet and one bower cable to be reduced to junk and served the same way, together with every remaining ponderous store that could be got at, and all the powder in the grand magazine (it being damaged;) the cutter and pinnace to be broken up and tossed overboard, the skids having already worked off the side; every soul on board was now employed in bailing. One of the pumps was got up, but to no purpose, for the shot-lockers being broken down, some of the shot, as well as the ballast, had fallen into the well; and as the weather moderated a little, every thing was made ready to heave the lower deck guns into the sea, the admiral being anxious to leave nothing undone for the relief of the ship. When evening approached, there being twenty merchant ships in sight, the officers united in beseeching him to go into one of them, but this he positively refused to do, deeming it, as he declared, unpardonable in a commander in chief to desert his garrison in distress; that his living a few years longer was of very little consequence, but that, by leaving his ship at such a time, he should discourage and slacken the exertions of the people, by setting a very bad example. The wind lulling somewhat during the night, all hands bailed the water, which, at this time, was six feet fore and aft. On the morning of the 20th the admiral ordered the spare and stream anchors to be cut away, and within the course of the day all the lower deck guns to be thrown overboard.--When evening came, the spirits of the people in general, and even of the most courageous, began to fail, and they openly expressed the utmost despair, together with the most earnest desire of quitting the ship, lest they should founder in her.--The admiral hereupon advanced and told them, that he and their officers had an equal regard for their own lives, and that the officers had no intention of deserting either them or the ship, that, for his part, he was determined to try one night more in her, he, therefore, hoped and intreated they would do so too, for there was still room to imagine, that one fair day, with a moderate sea, might enable them, by united exertions to clear and secure the well against the encroaching ballast which washed into it; that if this could be done, they might be able to restore the chains to the pumps, and use them; and that then hands enough might be spared to raise jury-masts, with which they might carry the ship to Ireland; that her appearance alone, while she could swim, would be sufficient to protect the remaining part of her convoy; above all, that as every thing that could be thought of had now been done for her relief, it would be but reasonable to wait the effect. He concluded with assuring them, that he would make the signal directly for the trade to lie by them during the night, which he doubted not they would comply with. This temperate speech had the desired effect; the firmness and confidence with which he spoke, and their reliance on his seamanship and judgment, as well as his constant presence and attention to every accident, had a wonderful effect upon them; they became pacified, and returned to their duty and their labors. Since the first disaster, the admiral had, in fact, scarcely ever quitted the deck; this they had all observed, together with his diligence in personally inspecting every circumstance of distress. Knowing his skill and experience they placed great confidence in them; and he instantly made, according to his promise, a signal for all the merchantmen. At this period, it must be confessed, there was great reason for alarm, and but little for hope; for all the anchors and guns, excepting one, together with every other matter of weight, had been thrown overboard, and yet the ship did not seem at all relieved. The strength of the people was, likewise, so nearly exhausted, having had no sleep since the first fatal stroke, that one half of the crew were ordered to bail and the other to repose; so that, although the wind was much abated, the water still gained upon them, in spite of all their efforts, and the ship rolled and worked most prodigiously in a most unquiet sea. At three in the morning of the 21st, being the fourth night, the well being quite broken in, the casks, ballast and remaining shot, rushed together and destroyed the cylinders of the pumps; the frame and carcase of the ship began to give way in every part, and the whole crew exclaimed that it was impossible to keep her any longer above water. In this extremity the admiral resolved within himself not to lose a moment in removing the people whenever day-light should arrive, but told the captain not to communicate any more of his design than that he intended to remove the sick and lame at day-break; and for this purpose he should call on board all the boats of the merchantmen. He, nevertheless, gave private orders to the captain, while this was doing, to have all the bread brought upon the quarter-deck, with a quantity of beef, pork and flour, to settle the best distribution of the people according to the number of the trade ships that should obey their signal, and to allow an officer to each division of them; to have the remaining boats launched, and as soon as the sick were disposed of, to begin to remove the whole of the crew, with the utmost despatch, but without risking too many in a boat. Accordingly at dawn, the signal was made for the boats of the merchantmen, but nobody suspected what was to follow, until the bread was entirely removed and the sick gone.--About six o'clock, the rest of the crew were permitted to go off, and between nine and ten, there being nothing further to direct and regulate, the admiral himself, after shaking hands with every officer, and leaving his barge for their better accommodation and transport, quitted forever the Ramillies, which had then nine feet water in her hold. He went into a small leaky boat, loaded with bread, out of which both him and the surgeon who accompanied him were obliged to bail the water all the way. He was in his boots, with his surtout over his uniform, and his countenance as calm and as composed as ever. He had, at going off, desired a cloak, a cask of flour and a cask of water, but could get only the flour, and he left behind all his stock, wines, furniture, books and charts, which had cost him upwards of one thousand pounds, being unwilling to employ even a single servant in saving or packing up what belonged to himself alone, in a time of such general calamity, as to appear better in that respect than any of the crew. The admiral rowed for the Belle, Captain Forster, being the first of the trade that had borne up to the Ramillies the preceding night in her imminent distress, and by his anxious humanity set such an example to his brother traders as had a powerful influence upon them--an influence which was generally followed by sixteen others. By three o'clock most of the crew were taken out, at which time the Ramillies had thirteen feet water in her hold, and was evidently foundering in every part, at half past four the captain, and first and third lieutenants, left her, with every soul excepting the fourth lieutenant, who staid behind only to execute the admiral's orders for setting fire to her wreck when finally deserted. The carcase burned rapidly, and the flames quickly reaching the powder, which was filled in the after magazine, and had been lodged very high, in thirty-five minutes the decks and upper works blew up with a horrid explosion and cloud of smoke, while the lower part of the hull was precipitated to the bottom of the ocean. At this time the admiral, in the Belle, stood for the wreck to see his last orders executed, as well as to succour any boats that might be too full of men, the swell of the sea being prodigious, although the weather had been moderate ever since noon of the foregoing day. There were, however, at intervals, some squalls, with threats of the weather soon becoming violent. It was not long before they were realized, for within two hours after the last of the crew were put on board their respective ships, the wind rose to a great height, and so continued, with intermission, for six or seven successive days, so that no boat could, during that time, have lived in the water. On such a small interval depended the salvation of more than six hundred lives! Indeed, during the four days immediately preceding this catastrophe, it blew such a strong gale, and such a heavy sea followed the Ramillies, that it was always necessary to keep her with the wind upon her quarter, with seldom more than the sprit-sail hoisted upon her fore-mast, and at times with no sail at all, in which state she would run at the rate of six miles an hour. Whenever the main-top-gallant-sail was set on the stump of the mizen-mast she commonly griped too much, so as to render the steerage very difficult, and yet this had been carried, whenever it could be, in order to keep pace with the merchantmen, the slowest of which went nearly as fast under their bare poles. Even in running thus the Ramillies rolled prodigiously, and as she grew lighter every day her motion became the more uneasy, so that the men could scarcely stand to their work, or keep their legs without something to lay hold by. There was no such thing as real repose for them when sitting or lying down upon deck, nor steadiness enough to eat or drink with any security; no meat could be dressed, nor did any man or officer go into bed. Until the afternoon of the 20th there was no venturing to bring her to, even for a boat to come on board; but, notwithstanding this desperate condition, when some were hourly dropping through fatigue and want of sleep, and the decks were covered with water, the whole of the crew behaved with the utmost obedience, attention and sobriety, and remitted no possible exertion for the preservation of the ship. Upon their separation taking place, the officers, who were distributed with portions of the crew among the Jamaica-men, had orders respectively to deliver them to the first man of war or tender they should meet with, and to acquaint the Secretary of the Admiralty, by the earliest opportunity, of their proceedings. A pendant was hoisted on board the Belle, by way of distinction, that she might, if possible, lead the rest. Some of the trade kept with her, and others made the best of their way, apprehensive lest they should soon fall short of provisions, as they had so many more to feed. The Silver Eel transport, which had sailed from Bluefields with the invalids of Sir George Rodney's fleet, and was under the command of a lieutenant of the navy, had been ordered to keep near the Ramillies. That ship was accordingly at hand on the 21st of September, the day of her destruction, and in consequence of several deaths on the passage had room enough for the reception of all who were now ailing or maimed, and was therefore charged with them, being properly fitted for their accommodation. The Silver Eel parted from the admiral in latitude 42 48 N. and longitude 45 19 W. after seeing the Ramillies demolished, and being ordered to make for the first port, ran into Falmouth the 6th of October, on the afternoon of which day, one of the trade ships, with a midshipman and sixteen of the crew of the Ramillies, reached Plymouth Sound. Another of the same convoy, having on board another part of the crew, with the captain and first lieutenant, anchored in the same place before day-light the next morning. The Canada, however, having exerted her utmost speed, had, prior to all these, on the 4th of the same month got to Portsmouth, where she spread the news of the dispersion of this miserable fleet, which being conveyed to France, her privateers immediately put to sea in hopes of making prizes of them. Some of the Jamaica-men, with part of the crew of the Ramillies, fell into their hands; two of the West Indiamen were captured in sight of the Belle, but she herself with the admiral and thirty-three of his crew, arrived safe, though singly, on the 10th of October in Cork harbor, where was the Myrmidon frigate. The admiral immediately hoisted his flag on board the latter, and sailing with the first fair wind, arrived, on the 17th, in Plymouth Sound, apparently in good health, but with a settled oppression upon his breast, from having been so long and so dreadfully exposed upon the deck of the Ramillies in the horrid night when she was first overtaken by the storm; nor could he remove that complaint for upwards of six months. He brought away with him nothing but a few of his private papers, the rest of his effects having shared the same fate as his ship. It was calculated that by the destruction of the fleet, upwards of twenty one thousand five hundred persons perished. The loss of property has been estimated by the British Government to be upwards of £20,000,000. The gale, which continued for six days, was the most tremendous one on record. PRESERVATION OF NINE MEN, IN A SMALL BOAT, SURROUNDED BY ISLANDS OF ICE. We sailed from Plymouth under convoy of H. B. Majesty's ship St. Alban's, and two other ships of war, together with a fleet of merchantmen bound to the Mediterranean, having a fresh gale at north-east. The wind still continuing, we kept company with the fleet until reaching 120 leagues to the westward; then judging ourselves clear of privateers, we proceeded on our voyage. But before gaining 300 leagues, on the 17th of March we came up with an English built ship of about 200 tons, carrying twelve guns, and sailing under a jury main-mast. On our approach she hoisted English colors; and, on being hailed, told us she belonged to London, and was now bound from Virginia homewards, which seemed probable, as many tame fowl were on board; and a red bird flew from her to us. Our captain seeing the vessel disabled, desired her to bring to; saying, if anything was wanted on board, we should hoist out our boat and carry it thither; but this was obstinately refused; the captain declared, that our boat should not approach, and unless we kept further off, he would fire into us. This induced suspicion on our part, wherefore we run up with the vessel, and commanded her to bring to. On this she fired, and engaged us from eleven in the morning until six in the evening; then, being much damaged, she struck, and called to us to save the lives of the crew. But this request came too late, for the wind increasing, raised a great sea, which forced our ship under a reefed main-sail, whence we could not hoist out our boat, without endangering our own lives. However, by means of a light which she carried, we kept close to her, intending to hoist the boat out when it became practicable. But towards midnight her light became very low; and by a loud cry, which was heard about one o'clock, we judged that she foundered. When the vessel struck she told us that she had fourteen Frenchmen on board, whence we conjectured her to be an English Virginia-man taken by the French; and that she had lost her main-mast in the engagement. We followed her, chasing and fighting, about thirty leagues; and when she struck we were in 45 50 north latitude. Our booty being thus lost, we made the best of our way to Newfoundland, being bound thither on a fishing voyage. One trouble, however, seldom comes alone, and so it happened to us; for, on the 26th of March, we saw some shattered ice, at four in the afternoon, which was supposed to be the harbor ice now broken up. We were now in 46 50 north latitude, and conceived ourselves 50 leagues, though it afterwards proved seventy, from the land. The wind being at east, the top-sails were handed; and we stood northward, under our courses, hoping to get clear of the ice before night. But finding rather more than less, we tacked to the Southward, which was found unproductive of any change. Therefore, for further security, the fore-sail was furled, and the ship brought to under the main-sail, as night approached, and as there was a dead wind, so that we could lie off on neither tack, we trusted if we should fall in with the greater ice, to meet with the less shocks. About eight or nine o'clock, we discovered a field of ice, of which we ran foul, notwithstanding our exertions to keep clear of it; and although we hung cables, coils of rope, hoops and such things, over the ship to defend her, she struck so hard, that at eleven she bilged, whence we had much difficulty to keep her afloat till day-light, by two pumps going, and bailing at three hatchways. At the approach of day our men were much fatigued, the water increased, and against noon the hold was half full.--No one knew what to advise another, and all began to despair of their lives: we continued pumping, though to little purpose, and concluded, that if now were our appointed time, we must submit patiently to it. But amidst this disaster, it pleased God to put it into the thoughts of some of us, that several might be preserved in the boat, whence the captain was entreated to hoist her out, and commit a few of us there. The captain answered, that, although God could work wonders, it was improbable that so small a boat should preserve us; that it was but living a few days longer in misery; and, seeing God had cast this calamity to his lot, he was resolved to take his chance and die with his men. Nevertheless, being much importuned, he ordered the boat out, and William Saunders and five others in her; and, that the men might not suspect their design, it was given out that the boat should go ahead to tow the ship clear of the ice.--How likely that was the reader may judge, there being but one oar, all the rest were broken by defending the ship from the ice. However, the purpose advanced. The boat being out, and finding no effect produced in towing the ship, fell a-stern, intending to take in the captain and as many as it could safely carry, while some were preparing necessaries for a miserable voyage. A compass, and other things ready, were conveyed into it. The captain, doctor and several others, having got out at the cabin windows and galleries, I, amongst the rest, endeavored to escape at the gallery, intending likewise, if possible, to get into the boat; but being discovered by the men, they took small arms, and kept off the boat, resolving, as she could not preserve all, that the whole should perish together. This design being frustrated, every one, except myself and William Langmead, got into the ship again; but we were so low that we could not recover ourselves. No person coming to relieve us, we were at length forced to let go our hold, and trust to the mercy of those in the boat, who seeing us swimming towards them, hove out a rope and took us in. We were now eight in number in the boat; and, willing to save our captain, lay hovering about the ship till night; but the men persisting in their resolution, fired at the boat and kept her off. We began to seek shelter as night approached; and, having gone among the shattered ice, made our boat fast to a small lump, and drove with it; and as we came foul of great ice, we removed and made fast to another piece, and so continued during the remainder of the night. Looking around in the morning, the ship was seen about three leagues to the eastward in the same position as we had left her, whereon a consultation was held whether or not we should return and make another attempt to save the captain, and as many more as possible. This proposal, however, was negatived, every one alleging that the men would either fire on us, or inconsiderately crowd into the boat and sink her; therefore, it was resolved to make the best of our way to the shore. But I, considering how little it would tend to my honor to save my life, and see my captain perish, endeavored to persuade them that the ship still swam buoyant, that I hoped the leak was stopped, and that we might proceed on our voyage; but this was unavailing. When I saw myself unable to prevail thus, I desired them to row up and set me on that part of the ice next the ship, whence I should walk to her, and die with my commander. This being unanimously agreed to, we rowed to the ice; but when we reached it, I was loth to go out. However, on calling the captain to us, Mr. John Maddick came first, and after him the doctor and some others, which the captain perceiving, came also. The captain having left the ship, the multitude crowded so eagerly after him that we had like to have spoiled all; but by chance the boat was got off, with twenty-one people in her and hanging to her sides. Some were forced to slip; others perished on the ice, not being able to return to the ship, where the rest were lost. On the 25th of March we took a miserable farewell of our distressed brethren, the heart of every one being so overloaded with his own misery as to have little room to pity another. Next, on considering what course to follow, we resolved to make for the shore. Our only provision was a small barrel of flour, and a five gallon rundlet of brandy, which had been thrown overboard, and was taken up by us. We also took up an old chest, which stood us in good stead, for having but one oar, and our ship's handspikes, and a hatchet being by chance in the boat, we could split the chest, and nail it to the handspikes, which were our oars. Nails we had only, by drawing them from different parts of the boat; and the rest of the chest was used to kindle a fire. It also happened that our main tarpaulin, which had been newly tarred, was put into the boat. Of it we made a main-sail; and of an old piece of canvas, that had been a sail to a yawl, we made a fore-sail. In this condition we turned towards the shore, and observing the surrounding ice lie north and south, we steered north, and in the morning were clear of it. Having now got into the ocean, and the wind being still easterly, we hoisted our sail, and steered west-north-west about fourteen leagues, when we fell in with another field of ice. Attempting to sail through it, we were enclosed by many great islands, which drove so fast together, that we were forced to haul up our boat on the ice, otherwise we should have perished. Here we lay eleven days without once seeing the sea. As the ice was thick, we caught as many seals as we chose, for they were in great abundance. Our fire hearth was made of the skin, and the fat melted so easily, that we could boil the lean with it. But by lying so long in this cold region, the men began to complain of their feet; and our boat being too small to afford room for all, there was always a hideous cry among us of hurting each other, though for this there was no remedy. We kept watch six and six, both for the convenience of room, and to guard against the ice breaking under our boat, which often happened, and then it was necessary to launch, or carry her to a place which we thought strong enough to bear her weight. In eleven days we saw the sea, and, with great difficulty, got out the boat. We sailed about ten or twelve leagues north-north-west as before, when we were again enclosed; and this was repeated five several times. The last ice, however, was worse than any before, and although it was so thick that we could not force the boat through it, yet it was not so solid as to bear the weight of a man; therefore, notwithstanding we daily saw enough of seals, we could take none of them. It fortunately happened, that when we parted from the hard ice, we had seven seals in store, and one that we took dead, which was consumed without consulting how it had died. We were next reduced to short allowance, having only one among us to serve two days, which, with about three ounces of flour, mixed with water, and boiled in the fat of the seal, was all our provision. At length we were obliged to share both feet and skin, each of us allowing a little fat to make a fire. But being constrained to eat the whole, skin and bone also, scarcely boiled, injured our stomachs so much, that some of our number died, and I myself suffered severely. On getting clear of the loose ice, if the wind was so adverse as to prevent our rowing, we made fast the boat to an island of ice until better weather. Although this sheltered us, we were often in great danger, from the islands driving foul of us, so that it was wonderful we escaped. We drank the ice mixed with brandy; and our provisions, with good management, lasted until our coming ashore, for it pleased God to save some of us by taking others to himself. Our companions began to die two or three in a day, until we were at last reduced to nine. The feet of several who died were bit in such a manner by the frost, that, on stripping them, which was done to give the clothes to the survivors, their toes came away with the stockings. The last who died was the boatswain, who lived until the day before we saw land. Our compass was broke by the last field of ice through which we passed, and soon after we lost our water bucket, which was used for bailing. Our course was directed by the sun in the day-time, and the stars by night. Though many other accidents befel us, it pleased the Lord to bring us safe to land, after passing twenty-eight days in the boat. On the 24th of April we arrived at Baccalew, and thence repaired to the Bay of Verds, in Newfoundland, where we found three men providing for a fishing voyage, who carried us to their house, and gave us such things as they had. But they being indifferently stored, and unable to maintain us, we determined to go to St. John's, notwithstanding some of us were so much frost-bit, as to be obliged to be carried to the boat. Before getting to Cape St. Francis, however, the wind veered to the south-west, which compelled us to row all night. In the morning we reached Portugal Cove, where to our unspeakable joy, some men were found preparing for the summer's fishing. They shewed us so much compassion as to launch a boat, and tow us over to Belleisle, and there we were courteously received. All were so weak that we were carried ashore on men's shoulders; and we were besides so disfigured with hunger, cold and the oil of seals, that people could hardly recognise us as men, except for the shape. At Belleisle we remained ten days, when, being somewhat recruited, we went to St. John's. Thus, in all this extremity, God miraculously preserved nine out of ninety-six that were in the ship. CAPTAIN ROSS'S EXPEDITION. In the year 1818 the British Government fitted out two expeditions to the North Pole. Captain Buchan, commanding the Trent and the Dorothy was directed to attempt a passage between Spitzbergen and Nova Zembla, over the Pole, into the Pacific, and Captain Ross, commanding the Isabella and the Alexander, to attempt the north-west passage from Davis' Straits and Baffin's Bay, into the Frozen Ocean, and thence into the Pacific. Ross reached 77 deg. 40 min. latitude, and more accurately determined the situation of Baffin's Bay, which until then was believed to extend 10 deg. further to the east than it actually does. Although he sailed up Lancaster Sound, he did not advance far enough to ascertain if it was open, not having arrived there until October 1st, when danger from the ice obliged him to quit the coast. Lieutenant Parry, who had accompanied Captain Ross, was sent, in conjunction with Captain Lyon, in the year 1819, on a second voyage into Baffin's Bay, and having penetrated as far as to gain the first prize offered by Parliament (£5000) and having made the most western point ever reached in the Polar seas, he was entrusted with the direction of the Hecla and Fury, on a similar expedition in 1821. These ships returned in October 1823, without achieving the principal object for which they were dispatched. In 1824 Parry and Lyon were again sent out for the discovery of a north-west passage, in the Hecla and Fury. After wintering in Prince Regent's Bay, the ships sailed southwardly, and, in consequence of storms and icebergs, it became necessary to abandon the Fury, and with her crew on board the Hecla, Captain Parry returned to England in October 1825. The Admiralty sent Parry, in the Hecla, in 1827, to reach, if possible, the North Pole. Having journeyed thirty-five days over the ice, beginning at 81 deg. 12 min. 15 sec. he was compelled to retrace his course. So far the exertions of the British Government. Piqued by the real, or supposed neglect of government, Captain Ross, in the spring of 1829, undertook an expedition on his own resources, with the view of effecting a passage into the Polar Sea, and to reach Behring's Straits along the northern coast of the American continent. The ship--the Victory--was lost in the first year out, and Ross and his crew had worn through the remaining time on board the wreck of the Fury. When picked up in Lancaster Sound, they were in four of the Fury's boats, which they had "found uninjured, and in the same condition in which they had been left." The following letter, addressed by the gallant Navigator to the Admiralty, puts us in possession of all the adventures and discoveries of this memorable expedition. On board the Isabella, of Hull, } Baffin's Bay, Sept. 1833. } Sir,--Knowing how deeply my Lords Commissioners, of the Admiralty are interested in the advancement of nautical knowledge, and particularly in the improvement of geography, I have to acquaint you, for the information of their Lordships, that the expedition, the main object of which is to solve, if possible, the question of a north-west passage from the Pacific to the Atlantic Ocean, particularly by Prince Regent's Inlet, and which sailed from England in May, 1829, notwithstanding the loss of the fore-mast and other untoward circumstances, which obliged the vessel to refit in Greenland, reached the beach on which his Majesty's late ship Fury's stores were landed, on the 13th of August. We found the boats, provisions, &c. in excellent condition, but no vestige of the wreck. After completing in fuel and other necessaries, we sailed on the 14th, and on the following morning rounded Cape Garry, where our new discoveries commenced, and, keeping the western shore close on board, ran down the coast in a S. W. and W. course, in from 10 to 20 fathoms, until we had passed the latitude of 72 north in longitude 94 west; here we found a considerable inlet leading to the westward, the examination of which occupied two days; at this place we were first seriously obstructed by ice, which was now seen to extend from the south cape of the inlet, in a solid mass, round by E. to E. N. E.; owing to this circumstance, the shallowness of the water, the rapidity of the tides, the tempestuous weather, the irregularity of the coast and the numerous inlets and rocks for which it is remarkable, our progress was no less dangerous than tedious, yet we succeeded in penetrating below the latitude of 70 north, in longitude 92 west, where the land, after having carried us as far east as 90, took a decidedly westerly direction, while land at the distance of 40 miles to southward, was seen extending east and west. At this extreme point our progress was arrested on the 1st of October by an impenetrable barrier of ice. We, however, found an excellent wintering port, which we named Felix Harbor. Early in January, 1830, we had the good fortune to establish a friendly intercourse with a most interesting consociation of natives, who, being insulated by nature, had never before communicated with strangers; from them we gradually obtained the important information that we had already seen the continent of America, that about 40 miles to the S. W. there were two great seas, one to the west, which was divided from that to the east by a narrow strait or neck of land. The verification of this intelligence either way, on which our future operations so materially depended, devolved on Commander Ross, who volunteered this service early in April, and accompanied by one of the mates, and guided by two of the natives, proceeded to the spot, and found that the north land was connected to the south by two ridges of high land, 15 miles in breadth, but, taking into account a chain of fresh water lakes, which occupied the valleys between, the dry land which actually separates the two oceans is only five miles. This extraordinary isthmus was subsequently visited by myself, when Commander Ross proceeded minutely to survey the sea coast to the southward of the isthmus leading to the westward, which he succeeded in tracing to the 99th degree, or to 150 miles of Cape Turnagain of Franklin, to which point the land, after leading him into the 70th degree of north latitude, ended directly; during the same journey he also surveyed 30 miles of the adjacent coast, or that to the north of the isthmus, which, by also taking a westerly direction, forming the termination of the western sea into a gulf. The rest of this season was employed in tracing the sea coast south of the isthmus leading to the eastward, which was done so as to leave no doubt that it joined, as the natives had previously informed us, to Ockullee, and the land forming Repulse Bay. It was also determined that there was no passage to the westward for 30 miles to the northward of our position. This summer, like that of 1818, was beautifully fine, but extremely unfavorable for navigation, and our object being now to try a more northern latitude, we waited with anxiety for the disruption of the ice, but in vain, and our utmost endeavors did not succeed in retracing our steps more than four miles, and it was not until the middle of November that we succeeded in cutting the vessel into a place of security, which we named "Sheriff's Harbor." I may here mention that we named the newly discovered continent to the southward "Boothia," as also the isthmus, the peninsula to the north, and the eastern sea, after my worthy friend, Felix Booth, Esq., the truly patriotic citizen of London, who, in the most disinterested manner, enabled me to equip this expedition in superior style. The last winter was in temperature nearly equal to the mean of what had been experienced on the four preceding voyages, but the winters of 1830 and 1831 set in with a degree of violence hitherto beyond record--the thermometer sunk to 92 degrees below the freezing point, and the average of the year was 10 degrees below the preceding; but notwithstanding the severity of the summer, we travelled across the country to the west sea by a chain of lakes, 30 miles north of the isthmus, when Commander Ross succeeded in surveying 50 miles more of the coast leading to the north-west, and by tracing the shore to the northward of our position, it was also fully proved that there could be no passage below the 71st degree. This autumn we succeeded in getting the vessel only 14 miles to the northward, as we had not doubled the Eastern Cape, all hope of saving the ship was at an end, and put quite beyond possibility by another very severe winter; and having only provisions to last us to the 1st of June, 1833, dispositions were accordingly made to leave the ship in present port, which (after her) was named Victory Harbor. Provisions and fuel being carried forward in the spring, we left the ship on the 28th of May, 1832, for Fury Beach, being the only chance left for saving our lives; owing to the very rugged nature of the ice, we were obliged to keep either upon or close to the land, making the circuit of every bay, thus increasing our distance of 200 miles by nearly one half; and it was not until the 1st of July that we reached the beach, completely exhausted by hunger and fatigue. A hut was speedily constructed, and the boats three of which had been washed off the beach, but providentially driven on shore again, were repaired during this month; and the unusual heavy appearance of the ice afforded us no cheering prospect until the 1st of August, when in three boats we reached the ill-fated spot where the Fury was first driven on shore, and it was not until the 1st of September we reached Leopold South Island, now established to be the N. E. point of America in latitude 73 56, and longitude 90 west. From the summit of the lofty mountain on the promontory we could see Prince Regent's Inlet, Barrow's Strait and Lancaster Sound, which presented one impenetrable mass of ice, just as I had seen it in 1818. Here we remained in a state of anxiety and suspense, which may be easier imagined than described. All our attempts to push through were vain; at length being forced by want of provisions and the approach of a very severe winter, to return to Fury Beach, where alone there remained wherewith to support life, there we arrived on the 7th of October, after a most fatiguing and laborious march, having been obliged to leave our boats at Batty Bay. Our habitation, which consisted of a frame of spars, 32 feet by 16, covered with canvas, was, during the month of November enclosed, and the roof covered with snow, from 4 to 7 feet thick, which being saturated with water when the temperature was fifteen degrees below zero, immediately took the consistency of ice, and thus we actually became the inhabitants of an iceberg during one of the most severe winters hitherto recorded; our sufferings aggravated by want of bedding, clothing and animal food, need not be dwelt upon. Mr. C. Thomas, the carpenter, was the only man who perished at this beach, but three others, besides one who had lost his foot, were reduced to the last stage of debility, and only thirteen of our number were able to carry provisions in seven journies of 62 miles each to Batty Bay. We left Fury Beach on the 8th of July, carrying with us three sick men, who were unable to walk, and in six days we reached the boats, where the sick daily recovered. Although the spring was mild, it was not until the 15th of August that we had any cheering prospect. A gale from the westward having suddenly opened a lane of water along shore, in two days we reached our former position, and from the mountain we had the satisfaction of seeing clear water across Prince Regent's Inlet, which we crossed on the 17th, and took shelter from a storm twelve miles to the eastward of Cape York. The next day, when the gale abated we crossed Admiralty Inlet, and were detained six days on the coast by a strong N. E. wind. On the 25th we crossed Navy Board Inlet, and on the following morning, to our inexpressible joy, we descried a ship in the offing, becalmed, which proved to be the Isabella of Hull, the same ship which I commanded in 1818. At noon we reached her, when her enterprising commander, who had in vain searched for us in Prince Regent's Inlet, after giving us three cheers, received us with every demonstration of kindness and hospitality, which humanity could dictate. I ought to mention also that Mr. Humphreys, by landing me at Possession Bay, and subsequently on the west coast of Baffin's Bay, afforded me an excellent opportunity of concluding my survey, and of verifying my former chart of that coast. I have now the pleasing duty of calling the attention of their lordships to the merit of Commander Ross, who was second in the direction of this expedition. The labors of this officer, who had the departments of astronomy, natural history and surveying, will speak for themselves in language beyond the ability of my pen; but they will be duly appreciated by their lordships and the learned bodies of which he is a member, and who are already well acquainted with his acquirements. My steady and faithful friend, Mr. William Thom of the royal navy, who was formerly with me in the Isabella, besides his duty as third in command, took charge of the meteorological journal, the distribution and economy of provisions, and to his judicious plans and suggestions must be attributed the uncommon degree of health which our crew enjoyed; and as two out of three who died in the four years and a half were cut off early in the voyage, by diseases not peculiar to the climate, only one man can be said to have perished. Mr. M'Diarmid the surgeon, who had been several voyages to these regions, did justice to the high recommendation I received of him; he was useful in every amputation and operation which he performed, and wonderfully so in his treatment of the sick; and I have no hesitation in adding, that he would be an ornament to his Majesty's service. Commander Ross, Mr. Thom and myself, have, indeed, been serving without pay; but in common with the crew have lost our all, which I regret the more, because it puts it out of my power adequately to remunerate my fellow sufferers, whose case I cannot but recommend for their lordships' consideration. We have, however, the consolation, that results of this expedition have been conclusive, and to science highly important, and may be briefly comprehended in the following words: The discovery of the Gulf of Boothia, the continent and isthmus of Boothia Felix, and a vast number of islands, rivers and lakes; the undeniable establishment that the north-east point of America extends to the 74th degree of north latitude; valuable observations of every kind, but particularly on the magnet; and to crown all, have had the honor of placing the illustrious name of our Most Gracious Sovereign William IV, on the true position of the magnetic pole. I cannot conclude this letter, sir, without acknowledging the important advantages we obtained from the valuable publications of Sir Edward Parry and Sir John Franklin, and the communications kindly made to us by those distinguished officers before our departure from England. But the glory of this enterprise is entirely due to Him, whose divine favor has been most especially manifested towards us, who guided and directed all our steps, who mercifully provided, in what we had deemed a calamity, His effectual means of our preservation; and who even after the devices and inventions of man had utterly failed, crowned our humble endeavors with complete success. I have, &c. JOHN ROSS, Captain, R. N. To Captain the Hon. George Elliot, &c. } Secretary Admiralty. } LOSS OF THE CATHARINE, VENUS AND PIEDMONT TRANSPORTS; AND THREE MERCHANT SHIPS. The miseries of war are in themselves great and terrible, but the consequences which arise indirectly from it, though seldom known and little adverted to, are no less deplorable.--The destruction of the sword sometimes bears only an inconsiderable proportion to the havoc of disease, and, in the pestilential climates of the western colonies, entire regiments, reared in succession, have as often fallen victims to their baneful influence. To prosecute the war with alacrity, it had been judged expedient to transport a strong body of troops on foreign service, but their departure was delayed by repeated adversities, and at length the catastrophe which is about to be related ensued. On the 15th of November 1795, the fleet, under convoy of Admiral Christian's squadron, sailed from St. Helens. A more beautiful sight than it exhibited cannot be conceived; and those who had nothing to lament in leaving their native country, enjoyed the spectacle as the most magnificent produced by the art of man, and as that which the natives of this island contemplate with mingled pride and pleasure. Next day, the wind continuing favorable, carried the fleet down channel; and as the Catharine transport came within sight of the isle of Purbeck, Lieutenant Jenner, an officer on board, pointed out to another person, the rocks where the Halsewell and so many unfortunate individuals had perished. He and Cornet Burns had been unable to reach Southampton until the Catharine had sailed, therefore they hired a boy to overtake her, and on embarking at St. Helens the former expressed his satisfaction, in a letter to his mother, that he had been so fortunate as to do so. On Tuesday the 17th, the fleet was off Portland, standing to the westward; but the wind shifting and blowing a strong gale at south-south-west, the admiral, dubious whether they could clear the channel, made a signal for putting into Torbay, which some of the transports were then in sight of.--However, they could not make the bay; the gale increased, and a thick fog came on; therefore the admiral thought it expedient to alter his design, and about five in afternoon made a signal for standing out to sea. Of the circumstances relative to the Catharine, a more detailed account has been preserved than respecting the other vessels of the fleet; and they are preserved by a female, with whose name we are unacquainted, in these words. "The evening of the 17th was boisterous and threatening; the master said he was apprehensive that we should have bad weather; and when I was desired to go on deck and look at the appearance of the sky, I observed that it was troubled and red, with great heavy clouds flying in all directions, and with a sort of dull mist surrounding the moon. On repeating this to the other passengers, two of whom had been at sea before, they said we should certainly have a stormy night, and indeed it proved so very tempestuous that no rest was to be obtained. Nobody, however, seemed to think that there was any danger, though the fog was so thick that the master could see nothing by which to direct his course; but he thought that he had sufficient sea-room. The fatigue I had suffered from the tossing of the ship, and the violence with which she continued to roll, had kept me in bed. It was about ten o'clock in the morning of the 18th, when the mate looked down into the cabin and cried, "save yourselves if you can!" The consternation and terror of that moment cannot be described; I had on a loose dressing gown, and wrapping it round me I went up, not quite on deck, but to the top of the stairs, from whence I saw the sea break mountain high against the shore. The passengers and soldiers seemed thunderstruck by the sense of immediate and inevitable danger, and the seamen, too conscious of the hopelessness of any exertion, stood in speechless agony, certain of meeting in a few moments that destruction which now menaced them. While I thus surveyed the scene around me in a kind of dread which no words can figure, Mr. Burns, an officer of dragoons, who had come up in his shirt, called to Mr. Jenner and Mr. Stains for his cloak; nobody, however, could attend to any thing in such a moment but self-preservation. Mr. Jenner, Mr. Stains and Mr. Dodd the surgeon, now passed me, their countenances sufficiently expressing their sense of the situation in which we all were. Mr. Burns spoke cheerfully to me; he bade me take good courage, and Mr. Jenner observed, there was a good shore near, and all would do well. These gentlemen then went to the side of the ship, with the intention, as I believe, of seeing whether it was possible to get on shore. The master of the vessel alone remained near the companion; when suddenly a tremendous wave broke over the ship, and struck me with such violence, that I was stunned for a moment, and, before being able to recover myself, the ship struck with a force so great as to throw me from the stairs into the cabin, the master being thrown down near me. At the same instant, the cabin, with a dreadful crash, broke in upon us, and planks and beams threatened to bury us in ruins. The master, however, soon recovered himself; he left me to go again upon deck, and I saw him no more. A sense of my condition lent me strength to disengage myself from the boards and fragments by which I was surrounded, and I once more got upon the stairs, I hardly know how. But what a scene did I behold! The masts were all lying across the shattered remains of the deck, and no living creature appeared on it; all was gone, though I knew not then that they were gone forever. I looked forward to the shore, but there I could see nothing except the dreadful surf that broke against it, while, behind the ship, immense black waves rose like tremendous ruins. I knew that they must overwhelm her, and thought that there could be no escape for me. Believing, then, that death was immediate and unavoidable, my idea was to regain my bed in the cabin, and there, resigning myself to the will of God, await the approaching moment. However, I could not reach it, and for a while was insensible; then the violent striking and breaking up of the wreck again roused me to recollection; I found myself near the cabin-windows, and the water was rising round me. It rapidly increased, and the horrors of drowning were present to my view; yet do I remember seeing the furniture of the cabin floating about. I sat almost enclosed by pieces of the wreck, and the water now reached my breast. The bruises I had received made every exertion extremely difficult, and my loose gown was so entangled among the beams and fragments of the ship, that I could not disengage it. Still the desire of life, the hope of being welcomed on shore, whither I thought my friends had escaped, and the remembrance of my child, all united in inspiring me with courage to attempt saving myself. I again tried to loosen my gown, but found it impossible, and the wreck continued to strike so violently, and the ruins to close so much more around me, that I now expected to be crushed to death. As the ship drifted higher on the stones, the water rather lessened as the waves went back, but on their return, continued to cover me, and I once or twice lost my breath, and, for a moment, my recollection. When I had power to think, the principle of self preservation still urged me to exertion. The cabin now broke more and more, and through a large breach I saw the shore very near. Amidst the tumult of the raging waves I had a glimpse of the people, who were gathering up what the sea drove towards them; but I thought they could not see me, and from them I despaired of assistance.--Therefore I determined to make one effort to preserve my life. I disengaged my arms from the dressing gown, and, finding myself able to move, I quitted the wreck, and felt myself on the ground. I attempted to run, but was too feeble to save myself from a raging wave, which overtook and overwhelmed me. Then I believed myself gone; yet, half suffocated as I was, I struggled very much, and I remember that I thought I was very long dying. The wave left me; I breathed again, and made another attempt to get higher upon the bank, but, quite exhausted, I fell down and my senses forsook me. By this time I was observed by some of the people on the bank, and two men came to my assistance. They lifted me up; I once more recovered some faint recollection; and, as they bore me along, I was sensible that one of them said the sea would overtake us; that he must let me go and take care of his own life. I only remember clinging to the other and imploring him not to abandon me to the merciless waves.--But I have a very confused idea of what passed, till I saw the boat, into which I was to be put to cross the Fleet water; I had then just strength to say, "For God's sake do not take me to sea again." I believe the apprehension of it, added to my other sufferings tended to deprive me of all further sensibility, for I have not the least recollection of any thing afterwards until roused by the remedies applied to restore me in a farm-house whither I was carried. There I heard a number of women around me, who asked a great number of questions which I was unable to answer. I remember hearing one say I was a French woman; another say that I was a negro, and indeed I was so bruised, and in such a disfigured condition, that the conjectures of these people are not surprising. When recovering some degree of confused recollection, and able to speak, I begged that they would allow me to go to bed. This, however, I did not ask with any expectation of life, for I was now in such a state of suffering, that my only wish was to be allowed to lie down and die in peace. Nothing could exceed the humanity of Mr. Abbot, the inhabitant of Fleet farm-house, nor the compassionate attention of his sister, Miss Abbot, who not only afforded me immediate assistance, but continued for some days to attend me with such kindness and humanity, as I shall always remember with the sincerest gratitude." The unfortunate sufferer who gives the preceding account, was tended with great humanity by Mr. Bryer, while a wound in her foot, and the dangerous bruises she had received, prevented her from quitting the shelter she first found under the roof of Mr. Abbot, at Fleet. As soon as she was in a condition to be removed to Weymouth, Mr. Bryer, a surgeon there, received her into his own house, where Mrs. Bryer assisted in administering to her recovery such benevolent offices of consolation as her deplorable situation admitted. Meantime the gentlemen of the south battalion of the Gloucester Militia, who had done every thing possible towards the preservation of those who were the victims of the tempest, now liberally contributed to alleviate the pecuniary distresses of the survivors. None seemed to have so forcible a claim on their pity as this forlorn and helpless stranger; and she alone, of forty souls, except a single ship-boy, survived the wreck of the Catharine. There perished, twelve seamen, two soldiers' wives, twenty-two dragoons and four officers, Lieutenant Stains, Mr. Dodd of the hospital-staff, Lieutenant Jenner, the representative of an ancient and respectable family in Gloucestershire, aged thirty-one and Cornet Burns, the son of an American loyalist of considerable property, who was deprived of every thing for his adherence to the British Government.--Having no dependence but on the promises of government to indemnify those who had suffered on that account he, after years of distress and difficulty, obtained a cornetcy in the 26th regiment of dragoons, then going to the West Indies, and was thus lost in his twenty-fourth year. This officer had intended embarking in another transport, and had actually sent his horse on board, when finding the Catharine more commodious, he gave her the preference, while the other put back to Spithead in safety. The mangled remains of Lieutenant Jenner were two days afterwards found on the beach, and interred with military honors. But the Catharine was not the only vessel which suffered in the tempest. Those who on shore had listened to it raging on the preceding evening, could not avoid feeling the most lively alarm for the consequences; and early on the morning of the 18th of November, several pilots and other persons assembled on the promontory called the Look-out at Weymouth. Thence they too evidently discovered the distress and danger of many of the transports. Soon after, a lieutenant of the navy, residing at Weymouth, applied to the major of a militia regiment, for a guard to be sent to the Chisell Bank, as a large ship, supposed to be a frigate, was on shore. This was immediately granted, and the major himself marched along with a captain's guard. The violence of the wind was so great, that the party could with difficulty reach the place of their destination. There they found a large merchantman, the Æolus, laden with timber for government, on shore. Lieutenant Mason of the navy, and his brother, a midshipman, perished in her, and a number of men who would probably have been saved had they understood the signals from shore. The men of Portland who crowded down to the scene of desolation, meant to express, by throwing small pebbles at them, that they should remain on board, to make them hear was impossible, because they foresaw the ship would drive high on the bank. Should that be the case, they might soon leave her without hazard; and accordingly those who continued on board were saved, though many of them were dreadfully bruised. Not far from the same place, the Golden Grove, another merchantman, was stranded, and in her Dr. Stevens and Mr. Burrows of St. Kitts, were lost. Lieutenant Colonel Ross, who was also there escaped on shore. These two vessels had struck against a part of the Passage-House, almost in the same spot where a French frigate, the Zenobia, had gone to pieces in 1763. But the scene of distress was infinitely greater about four miles to the westward, where, as already related, the Catharine was wrecked. Along with her, nearly opposite to the villages of Fleet and Chickerell, the Piedmont and Venus, two transports, and soon after the Thomas, a merchantman, shared the same fate. One hundred and thirty-eight soldiers of the 63d regiment, under the command of Captain Barcroft, were on board the Piedmont; also Lieutenant Ash and Mr. Kelly, surgeon of the same regiment. Of all these, only Serjeant Richardson, eleven privates, and four seamen, survived the catastrophe; all the rest perished. Captain Barcroft's life had passed in the service. While yet a very young man, he served in America during the war between England and her colonies; and being then taken prisoner, was severely treated. On commencement of the war which has so many years desolated Europe, he raised a company in his native country, and served with it on the Continent during the campaign of 1794. Under a heavy fire of the enemy, he was one of the last men who retreated with it along a single plank, knee-deep in water, from the siege of Nimeguen. In a few months after the disastrous retreat on the Continent, in the winter 1794, he was ordered to the West Indies, and, in the outset of his voyage, perished in the tempest. Of the few who reached the shore from the Piedmont, there was scarce one who was not dreadfully bruised, and some had their limbs broken. An unfortunate veteran of the 63d, though his leg was shockingly fractured, had sufficient resolution to creep for shelter under a fishing boat which lay inverted on the further side of the bank. There his groans were unheard until a young gentleman, Mr. Smith, a passenger in the Thomas, who had himself been wrecked, and was now wandering along the shore, discovered him. In this ship, the Thomas, bound to Oporto, the master, Mr. Brown, his son, and all the crew, except the mate, three seamen and Mr. Smith, were lost. The last was on his way to Lisbon; but his preservation was chiefly in consequence of his remaining on board after all the rest had left the ship, or were washed away by the waves. She had then drifted high on the bank, when he leaped out of her and reached the ground. Though weak and encumbered by his wet clothes, he gained the opposite side of the bank, but on gazing on the dreary beach around him, he considered himself cast away on an uninhabited coast. At length he observed a fishing-boat, and approaching it, heard the groans of the unfortunate old soldier, whom he attempted to relieve. But alone he found himself unable to fulfil his intention, and it was a considerable time before he observed any means of assistance near. At last, perceiving a man at some distance, he hastened to him, eagerly inquiring whether a surgeon could be procured for a poor creature with a broken limb, who lay under the boat. Probably the man showed little alacrity, for Mr. Smith found it necessary to purchase his good offices by a gift of half a-guinea, which he imagined would induce him to seek what was so much required. But the man, pocketing the half-guinea with the greatest composure, said he was a king's officer, and must see what bales of goods were driven on shore; then telling Mr. Smith there was a ferry about four miles off, by which he might get to Weymouth. The youth was thus disappointed of his humane design, and the soldier died in that deplorable condition before any other aid attained him. In the Thomas, the vessel to which Mr. Smith belonged, he witnessed scenes not less distressing. Mr. Brown, the master of the vessel, was carried away by an immense wave just as he was stripping off his clothes to endeavor to save himself. His son exclaiming, "Oh my father, my father! my poor father!" instantly followed. The bodies of both were afterwards found and interred at Wyke. Of ninety-six persons on board the Venus, only Mr. John Darley of the hospital staff, serjeant-major Hearne, twelve soldiers, four seamen and a boy were saved. Mr. Darley escaped by throwing himself from the wreck at a moment when it drifted high on the stones; he reached them without broken limbs, but, overtaken by the furious sea, he was carried back, not so far, however, that he was incapable of regaining the ground. Notwithstanding the weight of his clothes and his exhausted state, he got to the top of the bank, but there the power of farther exertion failed, and he fell. While lying in this situation, trying to recover breath and strength, a great many people from the neighboring villages passed him; they had crossed the Fleet water in the hopes of sharing the plunder of the vessels which the lower inhabitants of the coast are too much accustomed to consider their right. Mr. Darley seems to have been so far from meeting with assistance from those who were plundering the dead, without thinking of the living, that although he saw many boats passing and repassing the Fleet water, he found great difficulty in procuring a passage for himself and two or three fellow-sufferers who had now joined him. But having passed it he soon met with Mr. Bryer, to whose active humanity all the sufferers were eminently indebted. Before the full extent of this dreadful calamity was known at Weymouth, the officers of the South Gloucester Militia, with equal humanity, were devising how they might best succour the survivors, and perform the last duties to the remains of those who had perished. On the morning of the 19th of November, one of them, accompanied by Mr. Bryer of Weymouth, rode to the villages where those who had escaped from the various wrecks had found a temporary shelter. In a house at Chickerell, they found Serjeant Richardson and eleven privates of the 63d regiment; two of the latter had fractured limbs, and almost all the rest either wounds or bruises. In other houses the sufferers had been received, and were as comfortably accommodated as circumstances would admit. The gentlemen then crossed the Fleet water to the beach, and there, whatever idea was previously formed of it, the horror of the scene infinitely surpassed expectation; no celebrated field of carnage ever presented, in proportion to its size, a more awful sight than the Chisell Bank now exhibited. For about two miles it was strewed with the dead bodies of men and animals, with pieces of wreck and piles of plundered goods, which groups of people were carrying away, regardless of the sight of drowned bodies that filled the new spectators with sorrow and amazement. On the mangled remains of the unfortunate victims, death appeared in all its hideous forms. Either the sea or the people who had first gone down to the shore, had stripped the bodies of the clothes which the sufferers had wore at the fatal moment. The remnants of the military stock; the wristbands, or color of a shirt, or a piece of blue pantaloons, were all the fragments left behind. The only means of distinguishing the officers was the different appearance of their hands from those of men accustomed to hard labor; but some were known by the description given of them by their friends or by persons who were in the vessels along with them. The remains of Captain Barcroft were recognised by the honorable scars he had received in the service of his country; and the friends and relatives of him, and several more, had the satisfaction of learning that their bodies were rescued from the sea, and interred with military honors. Early in the morning of the 20th of November, a lieutenant of the militia regiment who had been appointed to superintend the melancholy office of interment, repaired to the scene of destruction. But from the necessary preliminaries of obtaining the authority of a magistrate to remove the bodies, not more than twenty-five were buried that day. The bodies of Captain Barcroft, Lieutenant Sutherland, Cornet Graydon, Lieutenant Ker and two women, were then selected to be put into coffins. Next day, those of Lieutenant Jenner and Cornet Burns, being found, were distinguished in the like manner. The whole number of dead found on the beach, amounted to two hundred and thirty-four; so that the duty of interment was so heavy and fatiguing, that it was not until the twenty-third that all the soldiers and sailors were deposited. Of these there were two hundred and eight, and they were committed to the earth as decently as circumstances would admit, in graves dug on the Fleet side of the beach, beyond the reach of the sea, where a pile of stones was raised on each, to mark where they lay. Twelve coffins were sent to receive the bodies of the women, but nine only being found, the supernumerary ones were appointed to receive the remains of the officers. Two waggons were next sent to the Fleet water to receive the coffins, in which the shrouded bodies of seventeen officers and nine women had been placed, and on the 24th were carried to the church-yard at Wyke, preceded by a captain, subaltern and fifty men of the Gloucester Militia, and attended by the young gentleman before mentioned, Mr. Smith as chief mourner. The officers were interred in a large grave, north of the church-tower, with military honors, and Lieutenant Ker in a grave on the other side of the tower. The remains of the nine women, which had been deposited in the church during the ceremony, were next committed to the earth. Two monuments have been erected in commemoration of the unfortunate sufferers, the first bearing the following inscription: To the memory of Captain Ambrose William Barcroft, Lieutenant Harry Ash and Mr. Kelly, surgeon of the 63d regiment of Light Infantry; of Lieutenant Stephen Jenner, of the 6th West India regiment; Lieutenant Stains of the 2d West India regiment and two hundred and fifteen soldiers and seamen and nine women, who perished by shipwreck on Portland Beach, opposite the villages of Langton, Fleet and Chickerell, on Wednesday the eighteenth day of November, 1795. On the second monument is inscribed, Sacred to the memory of Major John Charles Ker, Military Commandant of Hospitals in the Leeward Islands, and to that of his son, Lieutenant James Ker, of the 40th regiment of foot, who both departed this life on the 18th of November 1795, the first aged 40 and the latter 14 years. The fate of both was truly deplorable, and is a melancholy example of the uncertainty of human affairs. They were embarked in the Venus transport, and left Portsmouth the 15th of November, with a fleet full of troops, destined to the West Indies, under the command of General Sir Ralph Abercrombe. A storm having arisen on the 17th which lasted till the next day, many of the ships were lost, and the Venus wrecked on Portland Beach. The major's body could not be found, although it is possible it may have been among the many others which were driven ashore and buried in this church-yard. His son's corpse was ascertained, and lies interred under this stone, which was raised by his brother, John William Ker, Esq. WRECK OF THE BRITISH SHIP SIDNEY, ON A REEF OF ROCKS IN THE SOUTH SEA. The Sidney left Port Jackson, on the coast of New Holland, on the 12th of April, 1806, bound to Bengal. Intending to proceed through Dampier's Straits, her course was directed as nearly as possible in the track of Captain Hogan of the Cornwallis, which, as laid down in the charts, appeared a safe and easy passage. But, on the 20th of May, at one A. M. we ran upon a most dangerous rock, or shoal in 3 20 south latitude, and 146 50 east longitude, and as this reef is not noticed in any map or chart, it appears that we were its unfortunate discoverers. On Sunday 25 fathoms of water were found over the taffrail, and six fathoms over the larboard gangway; only nine feet on the starboard side, and 12 feet over the bows. One of the boats was immediately got out, with a bower-anchor; but on sounding, at the distance of ten fathoms from the ship, no ground could be found with sixty fathoms of line. When she struck it must have been high water, for at that time there was no appearance of any reef or breaker; but as the water subsided, the shoal began to show itself, with a number of small black rocks. The ship had been striking very hard, and began to yield forward. At three A. M. there were six feet water in the hold, and increasing rapidly; at five the vessel was setting aft, and her top sides parting from the floor-heads. Upon consultation with my officers, it was our unanimous opinion, that the ship was gone beyond recovery, and that no exertions could avail for her safety. We therefore employed all hands in getting the boats ready to receive the crew, who were 108 in number. Eight bags of rice, six casks of water and a small quantity of salted beef and pork, were put into the long-boat as provisions for the whole; the number of the people prevented us from taking a larger stock, as the three boats were barely sufficient to receive us all with safety. We remained with the Sidney until five P. M. on the twenty-first of May, when there were three feet of water on the orlop deck; therefore we now thought it full time to leave the ship to her fate, and to seek our safety in the boats. Accordingly, I embarked in the long-boat with Mr. Trounce, second officer, and 74 Lascars; Mr. Robson and Mr. Halkart with 16 Lascars, were in the cutter, and the jolly-boat was allotted to 15 Dutch Malays, and one Seapoy. Being desirous to ascertain the position of the reef, which could be done by making the Admiralty Islands, our course was shaped thither, steering north by east and half east. During the night, it blew fresh, and the long-boat having made much water, we were obliged to lighten her, by throwing a great deal of lumber, and two casks of water, overboard. The three boats kept close in company, the long-boat having the jolly-boat in tow. Finding at day-light that the cutter sailed considerably better, I directed Mr. Robson that the jolly-boat might be taken in tow by her. But the wind increasing as the morning advanced, and a heavy swell rising, the jolly-boat, while in tow by the cutter, sunk at ten o'clock, and all on board, to the number of 16, perished. It was lamentable to witness the fate of these unhappy men, and the more so, as it was not in our power to render them the smallest assistance. The Admiralty Islands were seen at noon of the 22d, bearing N. N. E. three or four leagues distant, and as we had run about fifty-eight miles in the boats, upon a N. by E. half E. course, the situation of the shoal where the Sidney struck was accurately ascertained, and will be found as above laid down. From the Admiralty Islands, we continued standing to the westward, and on the twenty-fifth, made a small island, on which, from its appearance, I was induced to land in quest of a supply of water. Therefore Mr. Robson, myself, and 20 of our best hands, armed with heavy clubs, brought from New Caledonia, (our fire-arms being rendered useless from exposure to the rain) landed through a high surf, to the utmost astonishment of the inhabitants. As far as might be judged, they had never before seen people of our complexion. The men were tall and well made, wearing their hair plaited and raised above the head; they had no resemblance to Malays or Caffres; and excepting their color, which was of a light copper, they had the form and features of Europeans. They were entirely naked. We also saw a number of women, who were well formed, and had mild and pleasing features. We were received on the beach by about twenty natives, who immediately supplied each of us with a cocoa-nut. We succeeded in making them understand that we wanted water, on which they made signs for us to accompany them to the interior of the island; on compliance, after walking about a mile, they conducted us into a thick jungle, and, as their number was quickly increasing, I judged it imprudent to proceed further. Thus returning to the beach, I was alarmed to find that 150, or more, of the natives had assembled, armed with spears eight or ten feet long. One of them, an old man of venerable appearance, and who seemed to be their chief, approached, and threw his spear at my feet, expressing as I understood, of his wish that we should part with our clubs in like manner. Perceiving at this time that a crowd of women had got hold of the stern-fast of the cutter, and were endeavoring to haul her on shore from the grapnel, we hastily tried to gain the boat. The natives followed us closely; some of them pointed their spears at us as we retreated, and some were thrown, though happily without effect; and to us they seemed to be very inexpert in the management of their weapons.--On my getting into the water, three or four of the natives followed me, threatening to throw their spears, and when I was within reach of the boat, one of them made a thrust, which was prevented from taking effect by Mr. Robson, who warded off the weapon. When we had got into the boat, and were putting off, they threw, at least, 200 spears, none of which struck, excepting one, which gave a severe wound to my cook, entering immediately above the jaw, and passing through his mouth. Having escaped this perilous adventure we pursued our course, and got as far as Dampier's Straits, in as favorable circumstances as our situation could well admit. But the Lascars, now being within reach of land, became impatient to be put on shore. It was in vain that I exhorted them to persevere; they would not listen to argument, and expressed their wish rather to meet with immediate death on shore, than to be starved to death in the boats. Yielding to their importunity, I at length determined to land them on the north-west extremity of the island of Ceram, from whence they might travel to Amboyna in two or three days. Being off that part of the island on the ninth of June, Mr. Robson volunteered to land a portion of the people in the cutter, to return to the long-boat, and the cutter to be then given up to such further portion of the crew as chose to join the party first landed.--Accordingly he went ashore with the cutter, but to my great mortification, after waiting two days, there was no appearance of his return or of the cutter. We concluded that the people had been detained either by the Dutch or the natives. Yet as the remaining part of the Lascars were desirous to be landed, we stood in with the long-boat, and put them on shore near the point where we supposed the cutter to have landed her people. Our number in the long-boat were now reduced to seventeen, consisting of Mr. Trounce, Mr. Halkart, myself and 14 Lascars and others. Our stock of provision was two bags of rice and one gang cask of water, with which we conceived we might hold out until reaching Bencoolen, whither we determined to make the best of our way. The allowance to each man we fixed at one tea-cupful of rice and a pint of water daily, but we soon found it necessary to make a considerable reduction. Proceeding through the straits of Bantam, we met in our course several Malay prows, none of which took notice of us excepting one, which gave chase for a day, and would have come up with us had we not got off under cover of a very dark night. Continuing onwards, we passed through the strait of Saypay, where we caught a large shark. Our spirits were much elated by this valuable prize, which we lost no time in getting on board; and having kindled a fire in the bottom of the boat, it was roasted with all expedition. Such was the keenness of our appetite, that although the shark must have weighed 150 or 160 pounds, not a vestige of it remained at the close of the day. But we were afflicted on the following day with the most violent complaint of the stomach and bowels, which reduced us exceedingly, and left us languid and spiritless, insomuch that we now despaired of safety. On the 2d of July I lost an old and faithful servant, who died from want of sustenance; and on the fourth we made Java head; at the same time catching two large boobies, which afforded all hands a most precious and refreshing meal. At midnight of the ninth, we came to off Pulo Penang, on the west coast of Sumatra; but at day-light, when endeavoring to weigh our anchor and run close in shore, we were so much exhausted that our united strength proved insufficient to get it up. On a signal of distress being made, a sanpan with two Malays came off, and as I was the only person in the long-boat who had sufficient strength to move, I accompanied them on shore. However, I found myself so weak on landing that I fell to the ground, and it was necessary to carry me to an adjacent house. Such refreshments as could be procured were immediately sent off to the long-boat, and we recruited so rapidly that in two days we found ourselves in a condition to proceed on our voyage. Having weighed anchor on the 12th of July, we set sail, and on the 19th arrived off the island of Bencoolen. Here I met with an old friend, Captain Chauvet of the Perseverance, whose kindness and humanity I shall ever remember and gratefully acknowledge. On the day subsequent to my arrival, I waited on Mr. Parr the resident, from whom I received every attention. Leaving Bencoolen on the 17th of August, in the Perseverance, I arrived at Penang on the 27th, where I was agreeably surprized to meet my late chief mate Mr. Robson, who, along with the Lascars, had landed at Ceram. They reached Amboyna in safety, where they were received by the Dutch governor, Mr. Cranstoun, with a humanity and benevolence that reflect honor on his character. He supplied them with whatever their wants required. Mr. Robson was accommodated at his own table, and, on leaving Amboyna, he furnished him money for himself and his people, for the amount of which he refused to take any receipt or acknowledgment. He also gave Mr. Robson letters to the governor-general of Batavia, recommending him to his kind offices. Such honorable conduct from the governor of a foreign country, and with which we were at war, cannot be too widely promulgated. From Amboyna, Mr. Robson embarked in the Pallas a Dutch frigate, for Batavia, which on the passage thither was captured by his Majesty's ships Greyhound and Harriet, and brought to Prince of Wales's island. From Penang I sailed to Bengal with the Paruna, Captain Denison, and arrived safely in Calcutta in the beginning of May, 1806. LOSS OF THE DUKE WILLIAM TRANSPORT. The Duke William Transport, commanded by Captain Nicholls, was fitted out by him with all possible expedition in the year 1758, and lay at Spithead to receive orders. At length he proceeded to Cork, under convoy of the York man-of-war to take in soldiers for America, but just on approaching the Irish coast, a thick fog came on whereby he lost sight of the ship, and as it began to blow hard that night and the next day, he was obliged to bear away for Waterford. When off Credenhead, guns were fired for a pilot; none, however, came off, and Captain Nicholls, being unacquainted with the harbor, brought the ship up, though the sea ran very high. A pilot at last came on board, but the transport broke from her anchor, and on getting under sail, it was almost dark. After running along for some time under the fore-topsail, triple-reefed, and scarce in sight of land, Captain Nicholls cast anchor; and next morning to his great surprise, found high rocks so close astern, that he durst not veer away a cable.--The sheet anchor had been let go in the night, and was the chief means of preservation; the yards and topmasts were now got down, a signal of distress hoisted, and many guns fired. A boat then came from the windward, and a man in her said, if Captain Nicholls would give him fifty pounds, he would come on board, which being promised, he ascended the stern ladder. But when he found the ship so near the rocks, he declared that he would not remain on board for all the ship was worth. However, Captain Nicholls told him, that having come off as a pilot acquainted with the harbor, he should stay and called to the people in the boat to hoist their sails, as he was going to cut her adrift, which he did accordingly. Meantime the pilot was in the greatest confusion; but the captain said it was in vain to complain, and if by cutting, or slipping the cables, he could carry the ship to a place of safety, he was ready to do it. The pilot replied, that he could neither take charge of her, nor venture to carry her in, for he apprehended the ship would be on shore, and dashed to pieces against the rocks, before she would veer; and if she did veer, that a large French East Indiaman had been lost upon the bar, which made the channel very narrow, and he did not know the marks, so as to carry her clear of the wreck. The ship now rode very hard, and it being Sunday a great many people were ready on shore to plunder her, should she strike. Of this Captain Nicholls entertained many apprehensions at low water, as she pitched so much; but fortunately, as the weather became more moderate, two English frigates which lay in the harbor, sent their boats to his assistance, and the custom-house smack arriving, he escaped, though very narrowly, from the threatened danger. The Duke William soon afterwards proceeded to Cork to receive soldiers, and sailed from thence with a fleet of transports to Halifax, where they arrived safe, and went to besiege Louisbourg. After landing the troops, the transports, and some of the men of war, went into Gabarus Bay, where the admiral allowed the captains of the former to land their men, being sickly, on a small peninsula, which they engaged to defend from the enemy. Four or five hundred people, therefore, immediately set to work, and cut a ditch, six feet wide and four feet deep, quite across the peninsula, as a protection against the Indians; they planted cannon, and also placed several swivels on the stumps of trees cut down for the purpose. Huts were next erected, gardens made, and the whole ground cleared and converted into pleasant arbours, from selecting portions of the shrubs and trees. Here the captains of the transports remained some time, during which the sick recovered surprisingly, and cures were operated by a remarkable expedient, called a ground-sweat. This was digging a hole in the ground, and, being put into it naked, the earth was thrown over the patient up to the chin, for a few minutes. At first the earth felt cold, but it quickly brought on a gentle perspiration, which cured the disorder.--No one person died who underwent such treatment. On the reduction of Louisbourg, the island of St. John, in the entrance of the Gulf of St. Lawrence, capitulated, and the inhabitants were to be sent to France in the English transports. They therefore left the peninsula, which the people had entrenched, and, after much bad weather, in which the Duke William parted her cable, and after a tedious passage, arrived at St. John's; but not without the whole fleet being in danger of shipwreck. A party of soldiers brought the inhabitants down the country to the different transports, and the Duke William, being the largest, the missionary priest, who was the principal man there, was ordered to go with Captain Nicholls. On his arrival, he requested permission for the other people who wished it, to come on board to be married, and a great many marriages followed, from an idea prevailing that all the single men would be made soldiers. Nine transports sailed in company; Captain Wilson with Lord Rollo and some soldiers, and Captain Moore also with soldiers, under convoy of the Hind sloop of war; the rest being cartels, had no occasion for convoy. Captain Moore's vessel was lost going through the Gut of Canso, by striking on a sunken rock, whence the soldiers whom she carried were put on board Captain Wilson's ship bound to Louisbourg. Captain Moore, his son, mate and carpenter, took a passage in the Duke William. Contrary winds obliged the fleet to lie in the Gut of Canso, where the French prisoners were permitted to go ashore frequently, and remain there all night, making fires in a wood to keep themselves warm, and some of them obtained muskets from Captain Nicholls for shooting game, as they were not afraid of meeting with the Indians. About three hours after departing, one of them came running back, and begged, for God's sake, that the Captain would immediately return on board with his people, as they had met with a party of Indians, who were coming down to scalp them. Captain Nicholls, with the other masters and sailors, hastily went off, and had scarce got on board when the Indians actually reached the place that they had left. Thus they had a very narrow escape of being murdered and scalped, had not the French been faithful, and Providence interposed. The fleet, in gaining the Gut of Canso, had been assailed by dangers. During a fine night, some of the transports, worked within the Gut, but Captain Nicholls, and Captain Johnson of the Parnassus, cast anchor without it. In the night a hard gale arose, and increased so much, that the latter let go three anchors, yet the ship drove ashore and was lost. Another ship, the Narcissus, also parted from her anchors, and was obliged to run ashore, and most of the rest suffered damage. When the weather became somewhat moderate, Captain Nicholls, found that all the French prisoners on board the Parnassus, had gained the land, and had made themselves large fires in the woods, on account of the cold showery weather which prevailed; and, on joining them there, he told them, to their great joy, that he would send boats to carry them off. This he did next morning, and, finding it impossible to save the hull of the Parnassus, though another ship was got off shore, every thing worth saving was taken out of her, and in particular one of the pumps, which was carried on board the Duke William to serve in case of emergency. On the 25th of November 1758, Captain Nicholls sailed from the Bay of Canso, leading other six transports, with a strong breeze at north-west. All the captains agreed to make the best of their way to France, and not to go to Louisbourg, as it was a bad time of the year to beat on that coast, and then took leave of the agent who was bound thither. The third day after being at sea, a storm blew in the night; being dark with thick weather and sleet, the Duke William parted company with three of the ships, and the storm still continuing, in a day or two parted with the rest. Nevertheless the ship remained in good condition, and, though the sea was mountains high, she went over it like a bird, and made no water. On the 10th of December, Captain Nicholls saw a sail, which proved to be one of the transports, the Violet, Captain Sugget. On coming up he asked how all were on board, to which Captain Sugget replied, "In a terrible situation. He had a great deal of water in the ship; her pumps were choked, and he was much afraid that she would sink before morning." Captain Nicholls begged him to keep up his spirits, and said, that, if possible, he would stay by him and spare him the pump he had got out of the Parnassus; he also told him that, as the gale had continued so long, he hoped that it would moderate after twelve o'clock. Unfortunately, however, it rather increased, and, on changing the watch at twelve, he found that he went fast a-head of the Violet, whence, if he did not shorten sail, he would be out of sight of her before morning. Captain Nicholls then consulted with Captain Moore and the mate, on what was most proper to be done, and all were unanimous, that the only means of saving the people in the Violet, was to keep company with her until the weather should moderate, and that the main-topsail should be taken in. Therefore, the main-topsail of the Duke William was taken in, and three pumps got out to be ready in case of necessity. The spare pump was forced down an after hatchway, and shipped in an empty butt, of which the French had brought several on board to wash in. Every thing was preparing, both for pumping and bailing, should it be required, and the people of the transport thought themselves secure against all hazards; they now believed that the Violet gained on them, and were glad to see her quite plain about four o'clock in the afternoon. On changing the watch they found the ship still tight and going very well, the carpenter assuring Captain Nicholls that there was no water to strike a pump. He, fatigued with walking the deck so long, designed going below to smoke a pipe of tobacco to beguile time, and desired the mate to acquaint him immediately should any alteration take place. The board next the lower part of the pump had been driven to see how much water was in the well; and every half hour, when the ball was struck, the carpenter went down. As he had hitherto found no water, Captain Nicholls felt quite comfortable in his situation in particular, and, on going below, ordered a little negro boy, whom he had as an apprentice, to get him a pipe of tobacco. Soon after filling and lighting his pipe, he was thrown from his chair, while sitting in his state-room, by a blow that the ship received from a terrible sea; on which he dispatched the boy to ask Mr. Fox, the mate, whether any thing was washed over. Mr. Fox returned answer, that all was safe, and he saw the Violet coming up fast. Captain Nicholls then being greatly fatigued, thought he would endeavor to procure refreshment from a little sleep, and, without undressing, threw himself on the side of his bed. But before his eyes were closed, Mr. Fox came to inform him that the carpenter had found the water above the kelson, and that the ship had certainly sprung a leak; he immediately rose and took the carpenter down to the hold along with him, when, to his infinite surprise, he heard the water roaring in dreadfully. On further examination, he found that a butt had started, and the more they endeavored to press any thing into it the more the plank forsook the timber. Therefore they went on deck, to encourage the people at the pumps, after making a mark with chalk to ascertain how the water gained upon them. Captain Nicholls, considering the case desperate, went to all the Frenchmen's cabins, begging them to rise; he said, that, although their lives were not in danger, their assistance was desired at the pumps, where it would be of the greatest service. They got up accordingly, and cheerfully lent their aid. By this time it was day-light, when, to the great surprise and concern of the Duke William's people, they saw the Violet on her broadside at a little distance, the fore yard broke in the slings, the fore-topsail set, and her crew endeavoring to free her of the mizen-mast; probably she had just then broached to by the fore-yard giving way. A violent squall came on, which lasted for ten minutes, and when it cleared up, they discovered that the unfortunate ship had gone to the bottom, with nearly four hundred souls. The stoutest was appalled by the event, especially as their own fate seemed to be approaching. All the tubs above mentioned were prepared, and gangways made; the Frenchmen assisted, and also the women, who behaved with uncommon resolution. The hatches were then opened, and as the water flowed fast into the hold, the tubs being filled, were hauled up and emptied on the upper deck, which, with three pumps constantly at work, and bailing out of the gun-room scuttle, discharged a great quantity of water. A seam would have done them little injury; but a butt's end was more than they could manage, though every method that could be deemed serviceable was tried. The spritsail was quilted with oakum and flax, and one of the top-gallant sails was prepared in the same manner, to see whether any thing would sink into the leak, but all in vain. In this dismal condition the transport continued three days; notwithstanding all the exertions of the people, she was full of water, and they expected her to sink every minute. They had already got the whole liquor and provisions. The hold now being full, and the ship swimming only by the decks from the buoyancy of empty casks below, the people, about six o'clock on the fourth morning, came to Captain Nicholls, declaring that they had done all that lay in their power, that the ship was full of water, and that it was in vain to pump any more. Captain Nicholls acknowledged the truth of what they said; he told them that he could not desire them to do more, that they had behaved like brave men, and must now trust in Providence alone, as there was no expedient left for saving their lives. He then acquainted the priest with their situation; that every method for saving the ship and the lives of the people had been adopted, but that he expected the decks to blow up every moment. The priest was stunned by the intelligence, but answered, that he would immediately go and give his people absolution for dying; "which he did," says Captain Nicholls; "and I think a more melancholy scene cannot be supposed than so many people, hearty, strong and in health, looking at each other with tears in their eyes, bewailing their unhappy condition. No fancy can picture the seeming distraction of the poor unhappy children clinging to their mothers, and the wives hanging over their husbands, lamenting their miserable fate:--Shocking situation! words cannot describe it." Captain Nicholls then called the men down the main-hatchway, along with him, to examine the leak in the hold. He told them they must be content with their fate; and as they were certain they had done their duty, they should submit to Providence with pious resignation. He walked on deck with Captain Moore, desiring him to devise any expedient to save them from perishing. With tears in his eyes, Captain Moore assured him that he knew of none, as all that could be thought of had been used. Providence, in Captain Nicholls' belief, induced him to propose attempting to hoist out the boats, so that if a ship should appear, their lives might be saved, as the gale was more moderate. But to this proposal, Captain Moore said it would be impossible, as every body would endeavor to get into them. Captain Nicholls, however, was of a different opinion, observing, that, under their severe trial, the sailors had behaved with uncommon resolution, and were very obedient to his commands, he flattered himself that they would all continue so; and all were sensible, that in case the ship broached to, the masts must be cut away, to prevent her from oversetting; when it would be beyond their power to hoist out the boats. He then called the mates, carpenters and men and proposed to get out the boats, at the same time acquainting them that it was to save every soul on board if possible, and declaring that if any person should be so rash as to insist on going into them, besides those he should think proper, that they should immediately be scuttled. But all solemnly maintained that his commands should be as implicitly obeyed as if the ship had been in her former good condition; thus setting an example which is rarely to be found. Captain Nicholls then went to acquaint the chief prisoner on board with what was about to be attempted. He was an hundred and ten years old, the father of the whole island of St. John's, and had a number of children, grand-children and other relations, in the ship. His observation was, that he was convinced Captain Nicholls would not do a bad action, for, by experience, he had found how much care he had taken of him and his friends, and likewise what endeavors had been used to save the ship and their lives; therefore they were ready to assist in any thing he should propose. Captain Nicholls assured him that he would not forsake them, but run an equal chance; this he thought the only means of saving their lives, should it please Providence to send any ship to their assistance, and it was their duty to use all means given to them. He next asked Mr. Fox and the carpenter whether they were willing to venture in the long-boat, to which they boldly answered in the affirmative, as, whether they perished on the spot, or a mile or two farther off, was a matter of very little consequence, and as there was no prospect but death in remaining, they would willingly make the attempt. Captain Moore, the carpenter and mate, also willingly agreed to his proposal to go in the cutter. The cutter was accordingly got over the side, and the ship lying pretty quiet, they cut the tackles, when she dropt very well into the water, and the penter brought her up. They next went to work with the long-boat, and day-light having fairly come in, gave them great spirits, as they flattered themselves, should it please God Almighty to send a ship, it would be in their power to save all their lives, the weather being now much more moderate than before. The mate and carpenter having cut the runners, the long-boat fell into the water as well as the cutter had done, and a proper penter being made fast, she brought up properly. People were stationed at the main and fore-topmast-heads to look out for a sail, when to the unspeakable joy of all on board, the man at the main-topmast cried out that he saw two ships right astern making after the transport. Captain Nicholls having acquainted the priest, and the old gentleman, with the good news, the latter took him in his aged arms, and wept for joy. The captain ordered the ensign to be hoisted to the main-topmast shrouds, and the guns to be got all clear for firing. The weather was very hazy, and the ships not far distant when first discovered; whenever the transport hoisted her signal of distress, they shewed English colors, and seemed to be West Indiamen; of about three or four hundred tons. Captain Nicholls continued loading and firing as fast as possible, when he perceived the two ships speak with each other, and setting their foresail and topsails, they hauled their wind, and stood off. Supposing that the size of his ship, and her having so many men on board, added to its being the time of war, might occasion distrust, he ordered the main-mast to be cut away to undeceive them. People had been placed in the shrouds to cut away in case of necessity; but one of the shrouds not being properly cut, checked the main-mast and made it fall right across the boats. On this Captain Nicholls hastily ran aft, and cut the penters of both the boats, otherwise they would have been staved to pieces, and sunk immediately. A dismal thing it was to cut away what could be the only means of saving the people's lives, and at the same time see the ships so basely leave them. No words can picture their distress; driven from the greatest joy to the utmost despair, death now appeared more dreadful. They had only the foresail hanging in the brails; and the braces of both penters being rendered useless by the fall of the main-mast, and the yard flying backward and forward by the rolling of the ship, rendered them apprehensive that she would instantly overset. The ship ran from the boats, until they remained just in sight; and finding they made no endeavor to join her, though each was provided with oars, foremast and foresail, Captain Nicholls consulted with the boatswain on what was most proper to be done in their dangerous condition. He said that he thought they should bring the ship to at all events, though he acknowledged it a dreadful alternative to hazard her oversetting; the boatswain agreed that it was extremely dangerous, as the vessel steered very well. However, Captain Nicholls finding that the men in the boat did not attempt to join him, called the people aft, and told them his resolution. They said it was desperate, and so was their condition, but they were ready to do whatever he thought best. But Captain Moore seemed to be quite against it. Captain Nicholls then acquainted the old gentleman, the priest and the rest of the people, who were pleased to say, let the consequence be what it might, they should be satisfied, he had acted for the best, and all were resigned to the consequences. He therefore ordered men to every fore shroud, and one with an axe to the foremast to cut it away should that measure become indispensable. But his own situation he declares to have been in the meantime dreadful; in reflecting that this alternative, though in his judgment right, might be the means of sending nearly four hundred souls to eternity. However, the Almighty endowed him with resolution to persevere, and he gave orders to bring the ship to. In hauling out the mizen, which had been greatly chafed, it split; a new staysail was then bent to bring the ship to, which had the desired effect after a considerable time, for a heavy sea striking on the starboard quarter, excited an apprehension that it would be necessary to cut away the mast. When the men in the yawl saw the ship lying to for them, they got up their foremast, and ran on board, holding the sheets in their hands on account of the wind; and as soon as they arrived some men were sent to row to the assistance of the long-boat. They soon joined her, got her foremast up, set the sail, as the cutter likewise did, and to the great joy of all, reached the ship in safety. Just as the boats came up, the people at the mast-head exclaimed, "A sail! a sail!" and the captain thought it better to let the ship lie, as by seeing the main-mast gone, it might be known that she was in distress. The weather was hazy, and he could see to no great distance, but the strange vessel was soon near enough to perceive and hear his guns. She had scarce hoisted her colors, which were Danish, when her main-topsail sheet gave way; on observing which, Captain Nicholls conceiving her main-topsail was to be clewed up, and she would come to his assistance, immediately imparted the good news to the priest and the rest. Poor deluded people, they hugged him in their arms, calling him their friend and preserver; but, alas! it was short lived joy, for as soon as the Dane had knotted, or spliced her topsail sheet, she stood away, and left them. "What pen is able," says Captain Nicholls, "to describe the despair that reigned in the ship!" The poor unhappy people wringing their hands, cried out, "that God had forsaken them." It was now about three in the afternoon; Captain Nicholls wore the ship, which she bore very well, and steered tolerably before the wind. Towards half an hour afterwards, the old gentleman came to him in tears, and taking him in his arms, said he came by desire of the whole people to request that he and his men would endeavor to save their lives in the boats, and as these were insufficient to carry more, they would by no means be accessory to their destruction; they were well convinced by their whole conduct that they had done every thing in their power for their preservation; but that God Almighty had ordained them to perish, though they trusted he and his men would get safe on shore. Such gratitude for only doing a duty in endeavoring to save the lives of the prisoners, as well as their own, astonished Captain Nicholls; he replied, that there was no hopes of life, and as all had embarked in the same unhappy voyage, they should all take the same chance. He thought that they ought to share the same fate. The old gentleman said that should not be, and if he did not acquaint his people with the offer he should have their lives to answer for. Accordingly the captain mentioned it to Captain Moore and the people. They said that they would with the greatest satisfaction remain, could any thing be devised for the preservation of the others; but that being impossible, they would not refuse to comply with their request. The people then thanking them for their great kindness, with tears in the eyes of all, hastened down the stern ladder. As the boats ranged up by the sea under the ships counter, those that went last cast themselves down, and were caught by the men in the boat. Captain Nicholls told them, he trusted to their honor that they would not leave him, as he was determined not to quit the ship until it was dark, in hopes that Providence would yet send something to their aid; the whole assured him that he should not be deserted. He had a little Norse boy on board, whom no entreaties could persuade to enter the boat until he himself had done so; but as it was growing dark, he insisted on the boy's going, saying he would immediately follow him. The boy obeyed, and got on the stern ladder, when a Frenchman whom the dread of death induced to quit his wife and children unperceived, made over the taffrail and trod on the Norse boy's fingers. The boy screamed aloud, which led Captain Nicholls to believe that some person was in danger, and on repairing to the place, followed by the old gentleman, they found to their great surprise, that the man, who had a wife and children on board, was attempting to get away and save himself. The old gentleman calling him by his name, said he was sorry to find him base enough to desert his family. He seemed ashamed of what he had done, and returned over the taffrail. By this time, the people of the boat begged the captain to come, as the blows she received from below the ship's counter, were like to sink her. Captain Nicholls seeing the priest stretching his arms over the rails in great emotion, and apparently under strong apprehensions of death, asked him whether he was willing to take his chance in the boat. He replied in the affirmative, if there was room; and on learning that there was, he immediately went and gave the people his benediction; and after saluting the old gentleman, tucked up his conical robes and forsook the vessel. Captain Nicholls saluted him likewise, and several others, and then left them praying for his safety. When he entered the boat he bid the sailors cast her adrift; it was very dark, and they had neither moon nor stars to direct them. "What a terrible situation!" he exclaims, "we were twenty-seven in the long-boat, and nine in the cutter, without victuals or drink." Uncertain of their distance from the English coast, they agreed to keep as close as possible to the ship. It began to blow very fresh, with sleet and snow; the people were fatigued to the uttermost, from working so long at the pumps, and after sitting in the wet and cold, they began to wish that they had staid in the ship and perished, as now they might die a lingering death. Either alternative was awful. Destitute of provision, it was most probable that one must be sacrificed by lot to keep the others alive; and their dismal situation, in arousing the most horrible anticipations, made them forbode the worst. The boats now began to make water, yet the men refused to bail them, they were in a state of such extreme weariness, and not having slept for four nights, became regardless of their fate. Captain Nicholls, nevertheless, prevailed on them to free the long-boat of water. Having a brisk gale, they soon ran a long way from their unfortunate ship, when to their great distress, it fell quite calm at ten in the morning. This threw the people in despair, their courage began to fail, and as they could not expect to live so long as to make the land, death seemed again staring them in the face. Some time after this unlucky party forsook the ship, four of the French prisoners let a small jolly-boat, which was still remaining, overboard, with two small paddles, and swam to her; and just as they left the vessel, her decks blew up with a report like a gun. She sunk in the ocean, and three hundred and sixty souls perished with her. Captain Nicholls, at length observing the water colored, asked whether they had any twine, on which one of them gave him a ball from his pocket; they knocked the bolts off the knees of the long-boat, wherewith to make a deep-sea lead, and sounding with it were rejoiced to find only 45 fathom water. But the people complaining greatly of hunger and thirst, Captain Nicholls said he was sorry to acquaint them that he had nothing for them to eat or drink, yet encouraged them to bear up with manly resolution, as by their soundings they were near Scilly, and he doubted not, if it cleared, that they should see the land. The little Norse boy, who had always kept close by the captain, now said that he had got some bread, and on taking it from the bosom of his shirt, it proved to be like baker's dough; however, it was bread, and very acceptable. The whole might amount to about four pounds; and Captain Nicholls having put it into his hat, distributed it equally, calling for those in the yawl to receive their share. But instead of being a relief, it increased their troubles, for being wet and clammy, it hung to the roof of their mouths, having nothing to wash it down. Mr. Fox had some allspice also, which was of little service; having been cut in pieces, the people forced it down their throats, which created some saliva, and by that means it was swallowed. About noon, a light air sprung up at south-west. Each boat had a foremast, foresail and oars; but owing to the boats having been foul of the main-mast, all the oars were washed away except two from each. Captain Nicholls was told, in answer to his inquiries concerning a noise among the crew, that two seamen were disputing about a couple of blankets, which one of them had brought from the ship. These blankets he ordered to be thrown overboard, rather than they should be suffered to breed any quarrel, as in their unhappy condition it was no time to have disputes. But on reflection having desired that they should be brought to him, he thought of converting them to use, by forming each into a main-sail. Therefore, one oar was erected for a main-mast, and the other broke to the breadth of the blankets for a yard. The people in the cutter observing what was done in the long-boat, converted a hammock which they had on board into a main-sail. At four in the afternoon it cleared up, when the adventurers descried a brig about two miles distant, to which Captain Nicholls ordered the cutter to give chase, as it being lighter than the long-boat, would sooner get up, and let her know their distress. But the brig, seeing the boats after their course, directly stood from them, owing, as Captain Nicholls supposed, to their odd appearance. For war then prevailing, they were probably taken for the French lugsail-boats, that used to frequent the lands off Scilly. The cutter, however, gained fast on the brig, when, having got about half way, a very thick fog came on, and neither the brig nor the cutter were again seen from the long-boat. Night fell, and the weather still continuing very foggy, the people, almost dead for want of sleep, reposed themselves, sitting half way in water, it being impossible for so many to find seats. Their captain, anxious for their lives and his own, strove to keep his eyes open, though it was the fifth night that he had taken no rest. About eleven o'clock, when every one was asleep but the helmsman and himself, he thought that he saw land. Yet he was determined not to call out land until he should be sure that it was so. He squeezed his eyelids together to let the water run out of his eyes, as he found them very dim. Again he thought he saw land very plain, and was convinced that he could not be deceived. By this time the man at the helm had dropped asleep, and he took the tiller himself.--Some space longer elapsed before he would disturb any body, but at last he awoke Captain Moore, telling him he thought he saw land. Captain Moore only answered that they should never see land again. Captain Nicholls then awoke Mr. Fox, who had obtained a sound sleep, and seemed quite refreshed. He immediately cried out that they were near land and close in with the breakers. Lucky it was that he had been awakened, otherwise, Captain Nicholls, from being absolutely unacquainted with them, was satisfied that all on board would have perished. At the word land every one awoke, and, with some difficulty, the boat cleared the rocks. At first the precise part of the English coast could not be ascertained, but, as it cleared more and more every moment, Captain Nicholls, on looking under the lee-leech of the blanket main-sail, discerned St. Michael's Mount in Mount's Bay. The boat would not fetch the land near Penzance, and, as she had no oars, it was determined to avoid steering round the Lizard and so for Falmouth, but to run her boldly on shore, whatever place she might chance to make. It was a fine night, and, after getting round the point, the people found the water very smooth; keeping the boat close to the wind, they made between Penzance and the point. Their joy at finding themselves in so favorable a situation, is not to be conceived; it gave them new life and strength.--Those who were forward, exclaimed that there were two rocks ahead, Captain Nicholls hastened before, and his sight having come well to him, he carried the boat between them without touching ground, and in a little time ran her ashore on a sandy beach. The seamen leapt into the water, and carried the priest and the captain ashore. The former, kneeling down, made a short prayer, and then coming to embrace Captain Nicholls, called him his preserver, and said that he had rescued him from death. Leaving the boat as she lay, all made the best of their way to the town of Penzance. But some of the people, with sleeping wet, were so much benumbed, that they could scarce get along; and captain Nicholls himself declares, that, from the time of the ship's springing a leak, until that hour, he had had no sleep, and very little sustenance. However, having fallen in with a run of fresh water on the road to Penzance, all were revived by drinking heartily of it. The party, reaching the town about three in the morning, made up to a tavern where they saw a light, and, as it had been a market day, the mistress of the house was still up.--When Captain Nicholls entered by the door, which was not locked, she was undressing, with her back to a fire, the light he had seen, and being greatly alarmed, screamed, "Murder! thieves!" The appearance of twenty-seven people at such an unseasonable hour, was certainly enough to create apprehension, especially from the condition which they were in. But the captain endeavoring to pacify her, requested she would call her husband or servants, as they were shipwrecked men, and give them some refreshment. The landlord soon came, and, having provided provisions, the people got into as many beds as were there, while the rest of them slept on the floor by the side of the fire. Next morning the captain, accompanied by the priest, went to the Mayor of the town to make a protest before a notary, and to see if he could get credit, as both he and the people were in want of every necessary, and it was many miles to London. The Mayor received him kindly, but told him that he was no merchant, and that he never supplied people in the condition that he was in, with money, but if he pleased, he would send a servant with him to Mr. Charles Langford, a merchant who generally supplied the masters of vessels in distress with necessaries. Mr. Langford received Captain Nicholls politely, but, in answer to his request for credit, said, that he had made a resolution not to supply with credit any man to whom he was an entire stranger, as he had been deceived by one very lately; and, though his might have been a large ship, to judge by the boat which was come on shore, he, the captain, might not be concerned in her, and, as he should want a great deal of money, he should beg to be excused.--Captain Nicholls answered, that he was partly owner of the ship, and Mr. Langford might be certain that his bills were duly honored. However, he said he could not do it. Captain Nicholls, grievously disappointed, returned to the inn, where several tradesmen had arrived to furnish the people with clothes and other necessaries. He told the latter he could get no credit, but that they must travel on as far as Exeter, where he was sure of obtaining relief, which was very unwelcome news, as most of the people wanted shoes. The captain next requested the landlord of the inn to get them some breakfast, but he desired to be excused, and wished to know if the captain could get no credit, how he was to be paid. Captain Nicholls was quite at a loss how to act; being denied both credit and victuals, he thought that he would pawn or sell his ring, watch, buckles and buttons. Accordingly, returning to Mr. Langford, he begged he would give him what he thought proper for these things. He took the ring from his finger, the watch from his pocket, and, with tears in his eyes was going to take the buckles from his shoes, when Mr. Langford prevented him, saying he should have credit for as much as he pleased, for he believed him to be an honest man, and saw that his people's distress touched him more, if possible, than his own misfortunes. He then gave what money the captain required. During these transactions, the second mate and the eight men belonging to the cutter arrived. They said it was so very thick they could not come up with the brig which they were in pursuit of, and that, seeing the Lands-End when it cleared, they got ashore. As nobody would buy the cutter, they had left her, and had inquired the way to Penzance, where, being in great distress, they rejoiced to meet their comrades. Captain Nicholls went to the inn and discharged what was owing; on account of the unkindness which he had experienced, he resolved to stay no longer, and repaired to another house to breakfast. He next procured the necessaries wanted by his people, and then went with his mates to make a protest. But, not choosing that the declaration should proceed from his own mouth, Mr. Langford's son acted as interpreter to the French priest, who was to make it. The priest accordingly made a strong and full affidavit, that Captain Nicholls and his people had tried every means to keep the ship above water; that they had used the French all the time they were on board, with the greatest kindness and humanity, and that Captain Nicholls had parted from them with the greatest reluctance, and even at their own desire went into the boat, after all hopes of life were gone. Having remained another day at Penzance to refresh the people, and getting credit for what was wanted, Captain Nicholls, Captain Moore and the officers set out in a carriage for Exeter, while the people, who had got a pass from the Mayor, walked on foot. At Redruth, a town in Cornwall, there were many French officers on parole, as also an English Commissary. Captain Nicholls accompanied the priest to the latter in quest of a pass to Falmouth, that he might embark in the first cartel for France; and here took leave of him. Captain Nicholls having reached London, was under the necessity of being examined at the Admiralty and Navy Office, about the loss of the people and the ship, she being a transport in the service of government. The Lords of the Admiralty and Commissioners of the Navy told him that he might say more than any man living, as he had brought ashore with him the first man of France, a priest, of course an enemy to both their religion and country: if his behaviour had not been good, he would not have attempted it; but at the same time, they acknowledged that without such a proof, they could not have believed, but finding all hopes gone, he and his people got away by some stratagem. They would pay they said to the hour that the ship foundered, and were very sorry that they could do no more. The four Frenchmen above mentioned, who had left the transport in the little boat subsequent to the departure of Captain Nicholls and his men, got into Falmouth within two days. So ended this dreadful and unfortunate voyage, with the loss of a fine ship and three hundred and sixty souls. COMMODORE BARNEY. No old Triton who has passed his calms under the bows of the long-boat could say of Joshua Barney that he came into a master's berth through the cabin windows. He began at the rudiments, and well he understood the science. All his predilections were for the sea. Having deserted the counting room, young Barney, at the age of twelve, was placed for nautical instruction in a pilot-boat at Baltimore, till he was apprenticed to his brother-in-law. At the age of fourteen, he was appointed second mate, with the approbation of the owners, and before he was sixteen he was called upon to take charge of his ship at sea, in which the master had died. This was on a voyage to Nice. The ship was in such a state that it was barely possible to make Gibraltar, where for necessary repairs he pledged her for £700, to be repaid by the consignee at Nice, who however declined, and called in the aid of the Governor to compel Barney to deliver the cargo, which he had refused to do. He was imprisoned, but set at large on some intimation that he would do as desired, but when he came on board, he struck his flag, and removed his crew, choosing to consider his vessel as captured. He then set out for Milan, to solicit the aid of the British Ambassador there, in which he succeeded so well that the authorities of Nice met him on his return to apologize for their conduct. The assignee paid the bond, and Barney sailed for Alicant, where his vessel was detained for the use of the great armada, then fitting out against Algiers, the fate of which was a total and shameful defeat. On his return home, his employer was so well satisfied with his conduct, that he became his firm friend ever after. He soon offered himself as second in command on board the sloop Hornet, of ten guns, one of two vessels then preparing for a cruise under Commodore Hopkins, for this was in the early part of the revolution. The sloop fell in with a British tender, which she might have captured, but for the timidity of the American captain. The tender, mistaking her enemy, ran alongside and exposed herself to much danger.--Barney stood by one of the guns as the enemy came near, and was about to apply the match, when the bold commander commanded him to desist. Barney, whose spirit revolted at such a cause, threw his match-stick at the captain, with such force that the iron point stuck in the door of the round-house. This, in a youth not seventeen, urged well for the pugnacity of the man. At the end of this cruise, he volunteered on board the schooner Wasp, in which he soon had a brush with the Roebuck and another frigate, and with the aid of some galleys in which he had a command, the enemy was forced to retreat, with more loss than honor. Barney for his good conduct in this affair, was appointed to the command of the sloop Sachem, with the commission of lieutenant before he was seventeen. Before the cruise, however, Captain Robinson took command of the Sachem, which soon had an action with a letter-of-marque of superior force and numbers. It was well contested, and nearly half the crew of the brig were killed or wounded. In about two hours the letter-of-marque struck.--The captors secured a valuable prize, in a cargo of rum, and also a magnificent turtle intended as a present to Lord North, whose name was marked on the shell. This acceptable West Indian, Lieutenant Barney presented to a better man than it had been designed for, for he gave it to the Hon. R. Morris. On the return of the Sachem, both officers were transferred to a fine brig of fourteen guns, the Andrew Doria, which forthwith captured the Racehorse, of twelve guns and a picked crew. This vessel was of the Royal Navy, and had been detached by the Admiral purposely to take the Doria. On this voyage a snow was captured, in which the Lieutenant went as prize master, making up the crew partly of the prisoners. Being hard by an enemy's ship, he discovered signs of mutiny among his crew, and shot the ringleader in the shoulder; a proceeding that offered so little encouragement to his comrades, that they obeyed orders, and made sail, but it was too late to escape. The purser of the frigate which captured him, was on a subsequent occasion, so much excited as to strike Barney, who knocked him down, and went further in his resentment than fair fighting permits, for he kicked him down the gangway. The commander obliged the purser to apologize to Barney. Having been captured in the Virginia frigate, which ran aground at the Capes, and was deserted by her commander, Barney, with five hundred other prisoners, was sent round, in the St. Albans frigate, to New York. As the prisoners were double in number to the crew, Barney, formed a plan of taking the ship, which was defeated or prevented by the treachery of a Frenchman. Barney was a prisoner at New York, for five months, after which he took the command of a schooner of two guns, and eight men, with a cargo of tobacco for St. Eustatia, for he was better pleased to do a little than to do nothing. He was however, taken, after a running fight, by boarding, by a privateer of four large guns and sixty men. His next cruise was with his friend Robinson, in a private ship of ten guns and thirty-five men, in which they encountered the British privateer Rosebud of sixteen guns and one hundred and twenty men. On the return, a letter-of-marque of sixteen guns and seventy men was captured. The Lieutenant had now prize money enough to be converted, on his return, into a large bundle of continental bills, which he stowed away in a chaise box, on taking a journey, but which he could not find when he arrived at his destination. He kept his own secret, however, and "went to sea again," second in command of the United States' ship Saratoga, of sixteen nine-pounders. The first prize was a ship of twelve guns, captured after an action of a few minutes. On the next day, the Saratoga hoisted English colors, and came along side a ship which had two brigs in company, then running up the American ensign, she poured in a broadside, while Lieutenant Barney, with fifty men, boarded the enemy. The immediate result was, the conquest of a ship of thirty-two guns and ninety men. The two brigs, one of fourteen and the other of four guns, were also captured. The division of prize money would have made the officers rich, but no division took place, for all but the Saratoga were captured by a seventy-four and several frigates. Lieutenant Barney was furnished with bed and board, on deck, and with him, bed and board were synonymous terms, but he was allowed to choose the softest plank he could find. In England he was confined in prison, from which he escaped, and, after various adventures, arrived at Beverly, Massachusetts, and, as soon as he landed, was offered the command of a privateer of twenty guns. On his arrival at Philadelphia, he accepted the command of one of several vessels, cruising against the enemies' barges, and the refugee boats, that infested the Delaware River and Bay. His ship was the Hyder Ally, a small vessel of sixteen six pounders. As a superior vessel of the enemy was approaching, Barney directed his steersman to interpret his commands by the rule of contraries. When the enemy was ranging alongside, Barney cried out, "Hard a-port." The helmsman clapt his helm the other way, and the enemy's jib-boom caught in the fore rigging, and held her in a position to be raked, and never was the operation of raking more suddenly or effectually performed. The British flag came down in less than half an hour, and the captors made little delay for compliments, for a frigate from the enemy was rapidly approaching. The prize was the General Marle, of the Royal Navy, with twenty nine pounders, and one hundred and thirty-six men; nearly double the force and metal of the captors. After the peace, Commodore Barney made a partial settlement in Kentucky, and became a favorite with the old hunters of that pleasant land. He was appointed Clerk of the District Court of Maryland, and also an auctioneer. He also engaged in commerce, when his business led him to Cape Francois during the insurrection, and where he armed his crew, and fought his way, to carry off some specie which he had secreted in barrels of coffee. On his return he was captured by a pirate, which called herself an English privateer. Barney, however, was a bad prisoner, and with a couple of his hands rose upon the buccaneers and captured their ship. In this situation it was no time for Argus himself to sleep, with more than an eye at a time. The Commodore slept only by day in an armed chair on deck, with his sword between his legs, and pistols in his belt, while his cook and boatswain, well armed, stood the watch at his side. On another occasion, he was captured in the West Indies, by an English frigate, where he received the usual British courtesies, and he was tried in Jamaica for piracy, &c. It is needless to say that, though in an enemy's country, he was acquitted by acclamation. This accusation originated with the commander of the frigate, who, however, prudently kept out of sight; though an officer in the same frigate, expressed at a Coffee House, a desire to meet Barney, without knowing that he was present, that he might have an opportunity to settle accounts with the rascal. The rascal bestowed upon the officer the compliments that were usual on such an occasion, and tweaked that part of his head that is so prominent in an elephant. We cannot follow the Commodore through his subsequent fortunes and adventures. In France he received the hug fraternal of the President of the Convention, and the commission of Captain of the highest grade in the Navy. He fitted out several vessels of his own to harass the British trade, in which he was very successful. He received the command of two frigates, which were almost wrecked in a storm, though he succeeded in saving them. In the last war, his services are more immediately in our memories. NAVAL BATTLES OF THE UNITED STATES. The depredations committed on American commerce in the Mediterranean, by the piratical corsairs of the Barbary powers, induced Congress, in 1794, to authorize the formation of a naval force for its protection. Four ships of forty-four guns each and two of thirty-six were ordered to be built.--Captain Thomas Truxton was one of the first six captains appointed by the President, at the organization of the naval establishment, in 1794. He was appointed to the command of the Constellation of thirty-six guns, and ordered to protect the commerce of the United States in the West Indies, from the ravages of the French. On the ninth of February, 1799, he captured the French frigate Insurgente, of which twenty-nine of the crew were killed and forty-four wounded. The Constellation had but one man killed and two wounded. In 1800, the Constellation engaged with the French frigate Vengeance of fifty-four guns, near Guadaloupe; but owing to the darkness of the night the latter escaped, after having thrice struck her colors and lost one hundred and sixty men in the engagement. The same year, the United States frigate Boston captured the French national corvette Le Berceau. In the month of August, 1801, Captain Sterrett of the United States schooner Enterprize, of twelve guns and ninety men, fell in, off Malta, with a Tripolitan cruiser of fourteen guns and eighty-five men. In this action the Tripolitans thrice hauled down her colors, and thrice perfidiously renewed the conflict. Fifty of her men were killed and wounded. The Enterprize did not lose a man. Captain Sterrett's instructions not permitting him to make a prize of the cruiser, he ordered her crew to throw overboard all their guns and powder, and to go and tell their countrymen the treatment they might expect from a nation, determined to pay tribute only in powder and ball. On her arrival at Tripoli, so great was the terror produced, that the sailors abandoned the cruisers then fitting out, and not a man could be procured to navigate them. The Tripolitan cruisers continuing to harass the vessels of the United States, Congress determined in 1803, to fit out a fleet that should chastise their insolence. The squadron consisted of the Constitution, 44 guns; the Philadelphia, 44; the Argus, 18; the Siren, 16; the Nautilus, 16; the Vixen, 16; and the Enterprize, 14. Commodore Preble was appointed to the command of this squadron, in May 1803, and on the 13th of August, sailed in the Constitution for the Mediterranean. Having adjusted the difficulties which had sprung up with the emperor of Morocco, he turned his whole attention to Tripoli. The season was, however, too far advanced for active operations. On the 31st of October, the Philadelphia, being, at nine o'clock in the morning, about five leagues to the westward of Tripoli, discovered a sail in shore, standing before the wind to the eastward. The Philadelphia immediately gave chase. The sail hoisted Tripolitan colors, and continued her course near the shore. The Philadelphia opened a fire upon her, and continued it, till half past eleven; when, being in seven fathoms water, and finding her fire could not prevent the vessel entering Tripoli, she gave up the pursuit. In beating off, she ran on a rock, not laid down in any chart, distant four and a half miles from the town. A boat was immediately lowered to sound. The greatest depth of water was found to be astern. In order to back her off, all sails were laid aback; the top-gallant-sails loosened; three anchors thrown away from the bows; the water in the hold started; and all the guns thrown overboard, excepting a few abaft to defend the ship against the attacks of the Tripolitan gun-boats, then firing at her. All this, however, proved ineffectual; as did also the attempt to lighten her forward by cutting away her foremast. The Philadelphia had already withstood the attack of the numerous gun-boats for four hours, when a large reinforcement coming out of Tripoli, and being herself deprived of every means of resistance and defence she was forced to strike, about sunset. The Tripolitans immediately took possession of her, and made prisoners of the officers and men, in number, three hundred. Forty-eight hours afterwards, the wind blowing in shore, the Tripolitans got the frigate off, and towed her into the harbor. On the 14th of December, Commodore Preble sailed from Malta, in company with the Enterprize, commanded by Lieutenant Stephen Decater. When the latter was informed of the loss of the Philadelphia, he immediately formed a plan of recapturing and destroying her, which he proposed to Commodore Preble. At first the commodore thought the projected enterprize too hazardous: but at length granted his consent. Lieutenant Decater then selected for the enterprise the ketch Intrepid, lately captured by him. This vessel he manned with seventy volunteers, chiefly of his own crew; and on the 3d of February sailed from Syracuse, accompanied by the brig Siren, lieutenant Stewart. After a tempestuous passage of fifteen days, the two vessels arrived off the harbor of Tripoli, towards the close of day.--It was determined that at ten o'clock in the evening the Intrepid should enter the harbor, accompanied by the boats of the Siren. But a change of wind had separated the two vessels six or eight miles. As delay might prove fatal, Lieutenant Decater entered the harbor alone about eight o'clock. The Philadelphia lay within half gun shot of the Bashaw's castle and principal battery. On her starboard quarter lay two Tripolitan cruisers within two cables length; and on the starboard bow a number of gun-boats within half gun shot. All her guns were mounted and loaded. Three hours were, in consequence of the lightness of the wind, consumed in passing three miles, when being within two hundred yards of the Philadelphia, they were hailed from her, and ordered to anchor on peril of being fired into. The pilot on board the Intrepid was ordered to reply, that all their anchors were lost. The Americans had advanced within fifty yards of the frigate, when the wind died away into a calm. Lieutenant Decater ordered a rope to be taken out and fastened to the fore-chains of the frigate, which was done, and the Intrepid warped alongside. It was not till then the Tripolitans suspected them to be an enemy; and their confusion in consequence was great. As soon as the vessels were sufficiently near, Lieutenant Decater sprang on board the frigate, and was followed by midshipman Morris. It was a minute before the remainder of the crew succeeded in mounting after them. But the Turks, crowded together on the quarter deck, were in too great consternation to take advantage of this delay. As soon as a sufficient number of Americans gained the deck they rushed upon the Tripolitans, who were soon overpowered; and about twenty of them were killed. After taking possession of the ship, a firing commenced from the Tripolitan batteries and castle, and from two cruisers near the ship; a number of launches were also seen rowing about in the harbor; whereupon Lieutenant Decater resolved to remain in the frigate, for there he would be enabled to make the best defence. But perceiving that the launches kept at a distance, he ordered the frigate to be set on fire, which was immediately done, and so effectually, that with difficulty was the Intrepid preserved. A favorable breeze at this moment sprung up, which soon carried them out of the harbor. None of the Americans were killed, and only four wounded. For this heroic achievement Lieutenant Decater was promoted to the rank of post captain. His commission was dated on the day he destroyed the Philadelphia. After the destruction of the Philadelphia frigate, commodore Preble was, during the spring and early part of the summer, employed in keeping up the blockade of the harbor of Tripoli, in preparing for an attack upon the town and in cruising. A prize that had been taken was put in commission, and called the Scourge. A loan of six gun-boats and two bomb-vessels, completely fitted for service, was obtained from the king of Naples. Permission was also given to take twelve or fifteen Neapolitans on board each boat, to serve under the American flag. With this addition to his force, the commodore on the 21st of July, joined the vessels off Tripoli. The number of men engaged in the service amounted to one thousand and sixty. On the Tripolitan castle and batteries, one hundred and fifteen guns were mounted, fifty-five of which were pieces of heavy ordnance, the others long eighteen and twelve pounders. In the harbor were nineteen gun-boats carrying each a long brass eighteen or twenty-four pounder in the bow, and two howitzers abaft; also two schooners of eight guns each, a brig of ten and two galleys of four guns each. In addition to the ordinary Turkish garrison, and the crews of the armed vessels, estimated at three thousand, upwards of twenty thousand Arabs had been assembled for the defence of the city. The weather prevented the squadron from approaching the city until the twenty-eighth, when it anchored within two miles and a half of the fortifications; but the wind suddenly shifting, and increasing to a gale, the commodore was compelled to return. On the 3d of August, he again approached to within two or three miles of the batteries. Having observed that several of the enemy's boats were stationed without the reef of rocks, covering the entrance, he made signal for the squadron to come within speaking distance, to communicate to the several commanders his intention of attacking the shipping and batteries. The gun-boats and bomb-ketches were immediately manned and prepared for action. The former were arranged in two divisions of three each. At half past one the squadron stood in for the batteries. At two, the gun-boats were cast off. At half past two, signal was made for the bomb-ketches and gun-boats to advance and attack.--At three quarters past two, the signal was given for a general action. It commenced by the bomb-ketches throwing shells into the town. A tremendous fire immediately commenced from the enemy's batteries and vessels, of at least two hundred guns. It was immediately returned by the American squadron, now within musket shot of the principal batteries. At this moment, Captain Decater, with the three gun-boats under his command, attacked the enemy's eastern division, consisting of nine gun-boats. He was soon in the midst of them. The fire of the cannon and musketry was immediately changed to a desperate attack with bayonet, spear and sabre. Captain Decater having grappled a Tripolitan boat, and boarded her with only fifteen Americans, in ten minutes her decks were cleared and she was captured. Three Americans were wounded. At this moment captain Decater was informed that the gun-boat commanded by his brother, had engaged and captured a boat belonging to the enemy; but that his brother, as he stepped on board was treacherously shot by the Tripolitan commander, who made off with his boat. Captain Decater immediately pursued the murderer, who was retreating within the lines; having succeeded in coming alongside, he boarded with only eleven men. A doubtful contest of twenty minutes ensued. Decater immediately attacked the Tripolitan commander, who was armed with a spear and cutlass. In parrying the Turk's spear, Decater broke his sword close to the hilt, and received a slight wound in the right arm and breast; but having seized the spear he closed; and, after a violent struggle, both fell, Decater uppermost. The Turk then drew a dagger from his belt, but Decater caught his arm, drew a pistol from his pocket and shot him. While they were struggling, the crew of both vessels rushed to the assistance of their commanders. And so desperate had the contest around them been, that it was with difficulty that Decater extricated himself from the killed and wounded that had fallen around him. In this affair an American manifested the most heroic courage and attachment to his commander. Decater, in the struggle, was attacked in the rear by a Tripolitan, who had aimed a blow at his head, which must have proved fatal, had not this generous minded tar, then dangerously wounded and deprived of the use of both his hands, rushed between him and the sabre, the stroke of which he received in his head whereby the scull was fractured. This hero, however, survived, and afterwards received a pension from his grateful country. All the Americans but four were wounded. Captain Decater brought both of his prizes safe to the American squadron. Two successive attacks were afterwards made upon Tripoli; and the batteries effectually silenced. The humiliation of this barbarous power was of advantage to all nations.--The Pope made a public declaration, that, "the United States, though in their infancy, had, in this affair, done more to humble the anti-christian barbarians on that coast, than all the European States had done for a long series of time." Sir Alexander Ball, a distinguished commander in the British navy, addressed his congratulations to Commodore Preble. After the junction of the two squadrons, Commodore Preble obtained leave to return home. This he did with the greater pleasure, as it would give the command of a frigate to Captain Decater. On his return to the United States, he was received and treated every where with that distinguished attention, which he had so fully merited. Congress voted him their thanks, and requested the President to present him with an emblematical medal. Our limits will only allow us to glance briefly at a few of the remaining victories of the American navy. A formal declaration of war against Great Britain was passed by Congress on the 18th of June, 1812. On the 19th of August, the memorable capture of the British frigate Guerriere by the Constitution under Captain Hull, took place. On the 19th of October the British sloop of war Frolic was taken by the Wasp, commanded by Captain Jacob Jones; before the latter could escape, however, with her prize, being in a very disabled state, she was captured by the British seventy-four, Poictiers. On the 25th of October, the United States under Commodore Decater, fell in with and captured, off the Western Isles, the British frigate Macedonian, mounting forty-nine guns and carrying three hundred and six men. The Macedonian had one hundred and six men killed and wounded. The United States five killed and seven wounded. The Victory of the Constitution over the Java, followed next, and was succeeded by that of the Hornet, commanded by Captain Lawrence, over the Peacock. The loss of this brave officer in the subsequent engagement between the Chesapeake and Shannon, was generally lamented by his countrymen. On the first of September, 1813, the British brig Boxer of 14 guns, was captured by the United States brig Enterprise, commanded by Lieutenant William Burrows, who fell in the engagement. We must close our notice of American naval history, by a brief sketch of some of the most interesting cruises and engagements. CRUISE OF THE WASP. On the first of May, 1814, the United States sloop of war Wasp, of eighteen guns and one hundred and seventy-four men, Captain Blakely, commander, sailed from Portsmouth, N. H. on a cruise, and on the 28th of June, in latitude 48 36 longitude 11 15, after having made several captures, she fell in with, engaged, and after an action of nineteen minutes, captured his Britanic Majesty's sloop of war Reindeer, William Manners, Esq. commander. The Reindeer mounted sixteen twenty-four pound carronades, two long six or nine pounders, and a shifting twelve pound carronade, with a complement on board of one hundred and eighteen men. She was literally cut to pieces in a line with her ports; her upper works, boats and spare spars were one complete wreck, and a breeze springing up the next day after the action, her fore-mast went by the board; when the prisoners having been taken on board the Wasp, she was set on fire and soon blew up. The loss on board the Reindeer was twenty-three killed and forty-two wounded, her captain being among the former. On board the Wasp five were killed and twenty-one wounded.--More than one half of the wounded enemy were, in consequence of the severity and extent of their wounds, put on board a Portuguese brig and sent to England. The loss of the Americans, although not so severe as that of the British, was owing, in a degree, to the proximity of the two vessels during the action, and the extreme smoothness of the sea, but chiefly in repelling boarders. On the 8th of July, the Wasp put into L'Orient, France, after capturing an additional number of prizes, where she remained until the 27th of August, when she again sailed on a cruise. On the 1st of September she fell in with the British sloop of war Avon, of twenty guns, commanded by Captain Abuthnot, and after an action of forty-five minutes, compelled her to surrender, her crew being nearly all killed and wounded. The guns were then ordered to be secured, and a boat lowered from the Wasp in order to take possession of the prize. In the act of lowering the boat, a second enemy's vessel was discovered astern and standing towards the Wasp.--Captain Blakely immediately ordered his crew to their quarters, prepared every thing for action, and awaited her coming up. In a few minutes after, two additional sails were discovered bearing down upon the Wasp. Captain Blakely stood off with the expectation of drawing the first from its companions; but in this he was disappointed. She continued to approach until she came close to the stern of the Wasp, when she hauled by the wind, fired her broadside, (which injured the Wasp but trifling,) and retraced her steps to join her consorts--Captain Blakely was now necessitated to abandon the Avon, which had by this time become a total wreck, and which soon after sunk, the surviving part of her crew having barely time to escape to the other vessels. On board of the Avon forty were killed and sixty wounded The loss sustained by the Wasp was two killed and one wounded. The Wasp afterwards continued her cruise, making great havoc among the English merchant vessels and privateers, destroying an immense amount of the enemies property.--From the 1st of May until the 20th of September, she had captured fifteen vessels, most of which she destroyed. HORNET AND PENGUIN. On the 23d of March, 1815, as the Hornet, commanded by Captain Biddle, was about to anchor off the north end of the island of Tristan d'Acuna, a sail was seen to the southward; which, at forty minutes past one, hoisted English colors, and fired a gun. The Hornet immediately luffed to, hoisted an ensign, and gave the enemy a broadside. A quick and well directed fire was kept up from the Hornet, the enemy gradually drifting nearer, with an intention, as Captain Biddle supposed, to board. The enemy's bowsprit came in between the main and mizen rigging on the starboard side of the Hornet, giving him an opportunity to board, if he had wished but no attempt was made. There was a considerable swell, and as the sea lifted the Hornet ahead, the enemy's bowsprit carried away her mizen shrouds, stern davits, and spanker boom, and hung upon her larboard quarter. At this moment an officer called out that they had surrendered. Captain Biddle directed the marines to stop firing and, while asking if they had surrendered, received a wound in the neck. The enemy just then got clear of the Hornet; and his foremast and bowsprit being both gone, and perceiving preparations to give him another broadside, he again called out that he had surrendered. It was with great difficulty that Captain Biddle could restrain his crew from firing into him again, as it was certain that he had fired into the Hornet after having surrendered. From the firing of the first gun to the last time the enemy cried out that he had surrendered, was exactly twenty-two minutes. The vessel proved to be the British brig Penguin, of twenty guns, a remarkable fine vessel of her class, and one hundred and thirty-two men, twelve of them supernumeraries from the Medway seventy-four, received on board in consequence of their being ordered to cruise for the privateer Young Wasp. The Penguin had fourteen killed and twenty-eight wounded. Among the killed was Captain Dickenson, who fell at the close of the action. As she was completely riddled, and so crippled as to be incapable of being secured, and being at a great distance from the United States, Captain Biddle ordered her to be scuttled and sunk. The Hornet did not receive a single round shot in her hull, and though much cut in her sails and rigging was soon made ready for further service. Her loss was one killed and eleven wounded. ALGERINE WAR. Immediately after the ratification of peace with Great Britain, in February 1815, Congress, in consequence of the hostile conduct of the regency of Algiers, declared war against that power. A squadron was immediately fitted out, under the command of Commodore Decater, consisting of the Guerriere, Constellation and Macedonian frigates, the Ontario and Epervier sloops of war, and the schooners Spark, Spitfire, Torch and Flambeau. Another squadron, under Commodore Bainbridge, was soon to follow this armament, on the arrival of which, it was understood, Commodore Decater would return to the United States in a single vessel, leaving the command of the whole combined force to Commodore Bainbridge. The force under Commodore Decater rendezvoused at New York, from which port they sailed the 20th day of May, 1815, and arrived in the Bay of Gibraltar in twenty-five days, after having previously communicated with Cadiz and Tangier. In the passage, the Spitfire, Torch, Firefly and Ontario, separated different times from the squadron in gales, but all joined again at Gibraltar, with the exception of the Firefly, which sprung her masts, and put back to New York to refit. Having learned at Gibraltar that the Algerine squadron, which had been out into the Atlantic, had undoubtedly passed up the straits, and that information of the arrival of the American force had been sent to Algiers by persons in Gibraltar, Commodore Decater determined to proceed without delay up the Mediterranean, in the hope of intercepting the enemy before he could return to Algiers, or gain a neutral port. On the 17th of June, off Cape de Gatt, he fell in with and captured the Algerine frigate Mazouda, in a running fight of twenty-five minutes. After two broadsides the Algerines ran below. The Guerriere had four men wounded by musketry, the Algerines had about thirty killed, according to the statement of the prisoners, who amounted to four hundred and six. In this affair, the famous Algerine admiral or Rais, Hammida, who had long been the terror of this sea, was cut in two by a cannon shot. On the 19th of June, off Cape Palos, the squadron fell in with and captured an Algerine brig of twenty-two guns. The brig was chased close to the shore, where she was followed by the Epervier, Spark, Torch and Spitfire, to whom she surrendered, after losing twenty-three men. No Americans were either killed or wounded. The captured brig, with most of the prisoners on board, was sent into Carthagena. From Cape Palos, the American squadron proceeded to Algiers, where it arrived the 28th of June. The treaty which Commodore Decater finally succeeded in negotiating with the Dey, was highly favorable. The principal articles were, that no tribute under any pretext or in any form whatever, should ever be required by Algiers from the United States of America, that all Americans in slavery should be given up without ransom, that compensation should be made for American vessels captured, or property seized or detained at Algiers, that the persons and property of American citizens found on board an enemy's vessel should be sacred, that vessels of either party putting into port should be supplied with provisions at market price, and if necessary to be repaired, should land their cargoes without paying duty, that if a vessel belonging to either party should be cast on shore, she should not be given up to plunder, or if attacked by an enemy within cannon shot of a fort, should be protected, and no enemy be permitted to follow her when she went to sea within twenty-four hours. In general, the rights of Americans on the ocean and land, were fully provided for in every instance, and it was particularly stipulated that all citizens of the United States taken in war, should be treated as prisoners of war are treated by other nations, and not as slaves, but held subject to an exchange without ransom. After concluding this treaty, so highly honorable and advantageous to this country, the commissioners gave up the captured frigate and brig, to their former owners. Commodore Decater despatched Captain Lewis in the Epervier, bearing the treaty to the United States, and leaving Mr. Shaler at Algiers, as consul-general to the Barbary states, proceeded with the rest of the squadron to Tunis, with the exception of two schooners under Captain Gamble, sent to convoy the Algerine vessels home from Carthagena. Having obtained from the bashaw of Tunis a full restoration in money for certain outrages which had been sustained by American citizens, the squadron proceeded to Tripoli, where Commodore Decater made a similar demand for a similar violation of the treaty subsisting between the United States and the bashaw, who had permitted two American vessels to be taken from under the guns of his castle by a British sloop of war, and refused protection to an American cruiser lying within his jurisdiction. Restitution of the full value of these vessels was demanded, and the money, amounting to twenty-five thousand dollars, paid by the bashaw into the hands of the American consul. After the conclusion of this affair, the American consular flag, which Mr. Jones, the consul, had struck, in consequence of the violation of neutrality above mentioned, was hoisted in the presence of the foreign agents, and saluted from the castle with thirty-one guns. In addition to the satisfaction thus obtained, for unprovoked aggressions, the commodore had the pleasure of obtaining the release of ten captives, two Danes and eight Neapolitans, the latter of whom he landed at Messina. After touching at Messina and Naples, the squadron sailed for Carthagena on the 31st of August, where Commodore Decater was in expectation of meeting the relief squadron, under Commodore Bainbridge. On joining that officer at Gibraltar, he relinquished his command, and sailed in the Guerriere for the United States, where he arrived on the 12th of November, 1815. Every thing being done previous to the arrival of the second division of the squadron, under Commodore Bainbridge, that gallant officer had no opportunity of distinguishing himself. Pursuant to his instructions he exhibited this additional force before Algiers, Tunis and Tripoli, where they were somewhat surprised at the appearance of the Independence seventy-four. Commodore Bainbridge sailed from Gibraltar thirty-six hours before the Guerriere, and arrived at Boston the 15th of November. ADDRESS TO THE OCEAN. Likeness of Heaven! Agent of power; Man is thy victim, Shipwreck thy dower! Spices and jewels From valley and sea, Armies and banners, Are buried in thee! What are the riches Of Mexico's mines, To the wealth that far down In thy deep waters shine? The proud navies that cover The conquering west-- Thou fling'st them to death With one heave of thy breast! From the high hills that view Thy wreck making shore, When the bride of the mariner Shrieks at thy roar, When like lambs in the tempest Or mews in the blast, On thy ridge broken billows The canvas is cast-- How humbling to one, With a heart and a soul, To look on thy greatness And list to its roll; To think how that heart In cold ashes shall be, While the voice of Eternity Rises from thee? * * * * * STUDIES IN ENGLISH SPELLING. FIRST LESSON. A wealthy young man had a yacht, Disfigured with many a spacht, SAPOLIO he tried, Which, as soon as applied, Immediately took out the lacht! SECOND LESSON. Our girl o'er the housework would sigh, Till SAPOLIO I urged her to trigh, Now she changes her tune, For she's done work at nune, Which accounts for the light in her eigh! THIRD LESSON. There's many a domestic embroglio-- To describe which would need quite a foglio, Might oft be prevented If the housewife consented To clean out the house with SAPOGLIO! FOURTH LESSON. Maria's poor fingers would ache, When the housework in hand she would tache, But her pains were allayed, When SAPOLIO'S aid, Her labor quite easy did mache! FIFTH LESSON. We have heard of some marvelous soaps, Whose worth has exceeded our hoaps. But it must be confest, That SAPOLIO'S the best For with grease spots it easily coaps! SIXTH LESSON. 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Including a vast range of Songs, Rounds, Duets and Choruses, arranged for the Piano and Organ. Price =15 cents=. =Copies of the above books, sent by mail post-paid to any address on receipt of price.= Address HURST & CO. 122 Nassau St. N. Y. THE CELEBRATED SOHMER Grand, Square and Upright [Illustration] PIANOS Are at present the most popular AND PREFERRED BY THE LEADING ARTISTS. The =SOHMER= Pianos are used in the following Institutions: Convent of the Sacred Heart, Manhattanville, N. Y. Vogt's Conservatory of Music. Arnold's Conservatory of Music, Brooklyn. Philadelphia Conservatory of Music. Villa de Sales Convent, Long Island. N. Y. Normal Conservatory of Music. Villa Maria Convent, Mont'l. Vassar College. Poughkeepsie. And most all the leading first-class theaters in NEW YORK and BROOKLYN. THE WONDERFUL BIJOU GRAND (lately patented) by =SOHMER= & CO., the =Smallest Grand= ever manufactured (length only 5 feet) has created a sensation among musicians and artists. The music loving public will find it in their interest to call at the warerooms of =SOHMER= & CO. and examine the various Styles of Grands, Uprights and Square Pianos. The original and beautiful designs and improvements in Grand and Upright Pianos deserve special attention. _Received First Prize Centennial Exposition, Philadelphia, 1876._ _Received First Prize at Exhibition, Montreal, Canada, 1881 and 1882._ SOHMER & CO., MANUFACTURERS OF GRAND, SQUARE AND UPRIGHT PIANOFORTES. WAREROOMS, 149, 151, 153, 155 EAST 14th ST., N. Y. Transcriber's Note This text contains a large amount of archaic and variable spelling (including British and American variations), and inconsistent hyphenation. This has been made consistent within individual articles, but is otherwise left as printed to reflect the diversity of sources. However, typographic errors, such as omitted or reversed characters, have been repaired, as have instances of omitted or erroneous punctuation. Archaic grammar--for example, the use of 'eat' rather than 'ate'--has also been preserved as printed. Spelling of proper names has been made consistent within articles; uncommon spellings have been retained--for example, Pellow instead of Pellew, Abercrombe for Abercrombie, and Abuthnot for Arbuthnot. Page 182 of the original book was damaged, so that the penultimate word of "The Mutineers" had to be inferred from the remaining letters and available space. The most likely reconstruction--indevotion--has been included in the main text. 
27906	----	The Voyage of the Aurora, by Harry Collingwood. CHAPTER ONE. INTRODUCES LUCY WALFORD. Those who have ever had occasion to reside for any length of time in Gosport are sure to be more or less acquainted with the little village of Alverstoke; because it lies near at hand, and the road leading thereto forms one of the most pleasant walks in the neighbourhood. But it may be that there are those, into whose hands this book will fall, who have never so much as heard the name of the place. For their benefit, then, it may be worth while to state that Alverstoke is pleasantly situated at a distance of about one mile from the above-mentioned town of Gosport, and within half a mile of the waters of the Solent. It is a very unimportant little place at the present day: it was even more so in the year 17--, the year in which this veracious history opens. It was unimportant, that is to say, in a _general_ sense; the public knew very little about it, and cared still less; but in a _particular_ sense, and to the officers of His Majesty's Customs, it was a very important place indeed, inasmuch as the inhabitants, animated by a spirit of enterprise and a love of adventure not to be satisfied by such very ordinary and humdrum pursuits as those of fishing and market-gardening, had, almost to a man--to say nothing of the women and children--added thereto the illegal but lucrative and exciting occupation of smuggling; to the great loss and damage of the king's revenues. The village consisted, at that time, of a single short, narrow street with a bend in the middle of it. Nearly one half of the north side of this street was occupied by the churchyard and church; the remaining portion, as well as the opposite side of the way, being composed of small low, two-story cottages with thatched roofs (and most of them having little projecting dormer-windows), a couple of public-houses, and a small grocery establishment. This constituted the village proper; but a little aloof from it--being in it but not of it, as it were--there were in all perhaps half a dozen residences of a somewhat more pretentious kind. There was the rectory, for instance, on the opposite side of the road, eastward of the church, built in the very centre of its extensive garden, and snugly surrounded on all sides by high stone walls. Then there was Stoke House, near the rectory, standing well back from the road, embowered in trees, and with a carriage-drive running straight up through its beautiful rose-garden to the front door. Nearer the beach, and on the opposite side of the valley, was "Verbena Cottage," the abode of Lieutenant Bobus, in command of the coast-guard; and still nearer the beach, some ten or a dozen yards back from the road, enclosed within a neat paling, sheltered by lofty trees, with a lovely flower-garden in front and an extensive fruit and kitchen-garden in the rear, stood "Sea View," a small but well-built house, in which resided the relict and daughter of the late "Cap'n" Walford. The late "Cap'n" Walford had been a wonderfully popular man in his day; and his memory was greatly esteemed and revered by the villagers. Manifesting, at an early age, a love of enterprise and excitement quite extraordinary even in an Alverstoke man, he had seized the first opportunity which offered to become the owner of a very fine fast-sailing lugger, in which, during his thirty years of devotion to maritime pursuits, he, by a rare combination of prudence and audacity, gradually acquired the reputation of being a most successful smuggler-- and the snug little fortune of some ten thousand pounds. The latter and more desirable portion of his acquirements he carefully invested, as it dribbled in bit by bit, in house-property in the neighbourhood; so that, when this estimable man's career was cut short at the comparatively early age of sixty years, by an unlucky cannon-shot fired from a revenue cutter, his disconsolate relict found herself the possessor of a comfortable income amounting to some five hundred pounds per annum, together with "Sea View" and--last, but by no means least--a daughter, fourteen years of age. This melancholy event occurred four years before the date at which this history opens; Lucy Walford was therefore about eighteen years old when the first of that train of events happened which it is herein proposed to record. Mrs Walford was wont to assert, just about this time, that Lucy was the very living picture of what she herself used to be when a girl. If this was indeed true, it was at once an evidence of that remarkable good taste which the late "cap'n" was said to have possessed, and of the extraordinary changes effected by the hand of Time, for no one could ever have suspected such a resemblance without Mrs Walford's assurance. The old lady was a sad and subdued personage, thin and angular of figure and face, with prominent cheek-bones, eye-brows, and chin, dark eyes, deeply sunk in their sockets, a broad forehead, ploughed with innumerable wrinkles, a long sharp aquiline nose, a large thin-lipped mouth, and a querulous temper. Lucy, on the other hand, was of medium height, slight, graceful figure, abounding in delicate curves, with small hands and feet, an exquisite complexion, a face, the sweet piquant loveliness of which set all the youth of Alverstoke--and Gosport too, for that matter--by the ears, a wealth of long silky golden hair, which persisted in twisting itself into a most distracting conglomeration of wavy curls, and a temper which nothing--not even her mother's querulousness--could ruffle. That Lucy should be fairly beset by suitors was only natural. There was not a single bold young smuggler of marriageable age in all the country round about who did not cherish in a greater or lesser degree the fond hope of one day making her his own, albeit most of them were--it is only just to say--dimly cognisant of the fact that she was much too good for the best of them. It was probably in consequence of this feeling that only one or two--the boldest of the bold of this dashing fraternity-- had, so far, mustered up the courage to approach the young lady with a distinct proposal of marriage; and these, it is hardly necessary to say, had been firmly, but as pleasantly as possible, sent to the right-about. This class of lovers gave Lucy no trouble whatever; bold as they might be in the pursuit of their lawless avocation, they were diffident to the verge of absurdity in the presence of beauty, if associated with dignity and refinement; they were painfully conscious of their uncouth bearing and manners; and Lucy had little difficulty in keeping them at a proper distance. But if these admirers gave her no trouble, there were others--notably two--who did; quite enough, in fact, to fully compensate for the ease with which she was able to manage all the rest. One of these was a certain Lieutenant Walford, a cousin of Lucy's; the other being Captain George Leicester, of the merchant schooner _Industry_. Edward Walford was the only son of a half-brother of the late Captain Walford. He was an orphan, twenty-three years of age, and held a commission in his Majesty's--foot, then quartered in Gosport. He was fairly well educated, tall, passably good-looking, of engaging manners, but--those who knew him best said--treacherous, unscrupulous, and a gamester. George Leicester, on the other hand, whilst perhaps quite as handsome as his rival, was simply a frank, honest, sturdy seaman, carrying his heart upon his sleeve; thoroughly master of his profession, but diffident and doubtful of himself in all other matters. The trouble with these two was, that Walford could not be made to see that his presence was distasteful to Lucy; whilst Leicester was provokingly blind to the fact that the fair girl loved him with all her pure, simple little heart. She had not given her love to him unsought, it must be understood--far from it; George Leicester had been one of the earliest, as he was one of her most constant and devoted, admirers; he was unremitting in his attentions to her whenever he was in port; but the simple fellow was so doubtful as to his prospects of success that he had never given Lucy the chance, which she would so gladly have welcomed, to say "Yes" to the momentous question which was ever hovering upon his lips, but had never yet been able to get beyond them. It was on a certain brilliant June afternoon that Lucy, as was her frequent custom, took a book in her hand and strolled down to the beach, where, making a little nest for herself in the shingle, she sat down to read or think, as the whim might take her. The ardent rays of the sun, streaming down out of a cloudless sky, gleamed and flashed and sparkled upon the waters of the Solent, which, ruffled by a gentle westerly breeze, shone like a sheet of liquid gold. On the further side of the strait, the Isle of Wight upreared its green and wooded slopes in fair perspective; its northern shore, from Nettlestone Point to Egypt, bounding the view. On Lucy's right lay the entrance to Southampton Water, with the further shore, about Stone Point and the mouth of the Beaulieu River, indistinctly seen through the quivering golden haze; whilst on the left, across the water, Southsea Castle stood boldly forward upon its low projecting point, a watchful sentinel over the magnificent anchorage of Spithead. Inland from the castle lay the little straggling town of Southsea; and beyond it again, still higher up the estuary, appeared the spires and roofs of Portsmouth, its harbour crowded with a perfect forest of masts. Some half a dozen men-o'-war lay at anchor at Spithead; and the waters of the Solent were dotted with the sails of craft of all sizes, from the stately frigate to the humble but enterprising bumboat. As Lucy sat there on the beach, basking in the sun, and far too idle to read, her listless gaze became fastened upon a trim, smart-looking little schooner which, under all the canvas she could possibly spread, was creeping slowly up from the westward before the light summer breeze. The glance of indifference with which the fair girl at first regarded the little craft, gradually changed to one of the greatest interest. Lucy, it must be remembered, was a sailor's daughter; nearly all her neighbours were interested almost solely in seafaring matters; the daily conversation of those by whom she was surrounded abounded in nautical technicalities; she had even made a trip upon one occasion in her father's lugger (the only occasion, by the bye, on which the hold of the said lugger was absolutely guiltless of contraband freight); and lastly, were not the walls of her home adorned with portraits of craft of various rigs passing Flushing or the Needles? All of which circumstances had combined to give Lucy a very fair knowledge of nautical matters and "a sailor's eye." She had not only learned the distinguishing characteristics of different rigs, but had also acquired the subtle power of recognising the individuality of different craft of the same rig whenever there happened to be anything to excite her interest in such craft. So now she first recognised the fact that the approaching vessel was a schooner, and, a little later on, when the schooner had drawn somewhat nearer, she became conscious that the schooner was well known to her. Drawing a small telescope from her pocket, she focussed it and pointed it at the vessel. Yes; there could be no doubt about it, it was the _Industry_; every little detail of canvas and rigging proclaimed the schooner's identity; and then, as though in order that there should be no possible room for doubt, and as though George Leicester had seen and recognised the charming girlish figure standing there on the beach (as possibly he had through his powerful marine glass), a white fluttering object gleamed out over the rail and, soaring aloft, streamed from the main-truck, a burgee with the name _Industry_ worked upon it in red letters. At the sight of this Lucy rapidly closed her little telescope and returned it to her pocket with a bright flush and a conscious, happy little laugh. "Dear George," she murmured; "how glad I am that he is back all safe; and how fervently I hope that he did not see me watching the schooner. I wonder whether he will walk over this evening." She then, uncomfortably conscious of the possibility that "dear George" might at that very moment have her accurately focussed in the field of his glass, sauntered along the beach with as much of an air of total abstraction as she could conveniently assume on the spur of the moment, and finally, after watching the schooner pass safely into Portsmouth Harbour and there come to an anchor, returned home. She found her mother suffering from a more than ordinarily severe attack of "the miserables," as that lady was wont to term her low spirits. It was one of Mrs Walford's peculiarities to be depressed in spirits in exact proportion to the brightness and exhilarating character of the weather--but Lucy was completely proof against it all just now; the sight she had so lately looked upon had sent a soft, dainty flush into her cheeks, a light into her eyes, and a song to her lips, which her mother's "miserables" were wholly powerless to drive away, and she went about the house filling it with the melody of her low, sweet voice. Tea was over; Mrs Walford was made comfortable in her wide arm-chair, with a huge volume of sermons in her lap; and Lucy was trying to settle down with composure to the execution of some trifle in the way of needle-work, when the sharp click of the gate-latch was heard; there was a crunching of feet upon the gravel walk, the front door was unceremoniously opened, and Lieutenant Edward Walford walked in. "How _do_, aunt? Lucy, fair coz, I hope I see you in a state of perfect salubrity?" was his nonchalant greeting. Mrs Walford replied that "she was as well as could be expected,"--she did not say under what adverse circumstances--and Lucy requested him not to make himself ridiculous. It was too bad, she decided; here she had been looking forward to a delightful visit from George Leicester, probably a whole evening spent in his society, and now this pestilent cousin of hers must needs take it into his perverse head to walk over from Gosport--to be found later on by "dear George" making fierce love to her, the unfortunate Lucy;--which would be quite sufficient, she felt sure, to choke the said George off for at least another voyage. But that should never be, she was quite resolved; she could not prevent her cousin coming to the house, since her mother not only tolerated, but rather encouraged his visits; but she could, and she _would_, prevent his making love to her. With this determination she sat down, and, resorting to the best means she could think of for keeping her cousin at arm's length, produced her writing-materials and proceeded to discharge a few of her epistolary debts. Being thus unmistakably shown that his presence was unwelcome to the younger lady, he turned his attention to the elder one, talking to her about the war--the then all-important and most interesting topic of the moment--and giving her such scraps of news as had come to hand during the day, but it was perfectly evident from the uneasy glances he shot at his cousin and the nervous way in which he tugged at his long auburn moustache, that his occupation was not to his liking. At last, abandoning all further effort to accomplish the almost impossible task of amusing the old lady, he stepped to Lucy's side, and said in a low whisper-- "Will you come into the garden with me for a few minutes, Lucy? I have something of the utmost importance to say to you, something which will brook no delay, for my regiment is ordered off to the West Indies, and I may not have another opportunity to see you." Lucy knew as well as possible what the "something" was which her cousin so anxiously desired to say to her; she was convinced that it was nothing less than a proposal of marriage; and her first impulse was to excuse herself. But that, she decided, would hardly be kind on the eve of his departure for foreign service; moreover, it might leave him in possession of a feeling that there was some hope for him, or possibly, after the many love-speeches he had made her, he might feel himself in some sort bound not to marry any one else until he had had a distinct refusal from her, and that must certainly be avoided; so she decided that she would grant him the desired interview, give him his dismissal as speedily and withal as kindly as possible, and get him out of the house without delay--it was still early in the evening, and who knew but that she might succeed in getting rid of her unwelcome suitor before the welcome one put in an appearance? So, laying aside her pen, she motioned him to follow her into the large garden at the back of the house, where they would be perfectly secure from observation, and herself led the way. She conducted her cousin to a little summer-house at the lower end of the garden, and, motioning him to a seat said-- "Now, Cousin Edward, what is this important communication which you have to make? Be as brief as possible, if you please, for I really cannot spare you much time." "I will," he said. Then, pausing for a moment, and making an unsuccessful attempt to gain possession of her hand, he remarked-- "I think you must have already guessed what it is that I have to say to you, Lucy. You cannot be ignorant of the feeling with which I regard you; you must have discovered long ago that I love you, Lucy, deeply, passionately, tenderly, as a man loves only once in his lifetime. We have not known each other _very_ long, it is true," he continued after a slight pause, during which he had vainly looked into her downcast face for some sign of encouragement, "but the time has been long enough for me to learn that all my hopes of future happiness depend on you; and I think it has also been long enough to enable you to judge whether you can entrust your happiness to me or not. I know I am by no means what I ought to be,"--here he made another pause, hoping for some word or sign of disclaimer, which, however, never came--"but I hope you will not judge me too harshly. I am an orphan, remember. Robbed at an early age of a mother's tender care and gentle training, I have been left pretty much to the mercy of strangers, who allowed me to grow up to manhood without an effort to check the development of those evil propensities which we all alike inherit from our first parents; and then, too, I have had the misfortune to be thrown--against my will, I honestly assure you--into evil companionship. But, in spite of all these disadvantages, I flatter myself that I am by no means a bad sort of fellow; and if you will only take me in hand, Lucy, I feel sure you could make a reformed character of me. And then, too, consider the society into which I could introduce you. Wearing his Majesty's uniform, as I do, I could--" "Pray say no more, Edward, I beg," interrupted Lucy. "I am grieved to be obliged to disappoint you--though I do not think the disappointment will be very great--but what you ask is quite impossible. In the first place I must frankly say that I do not love you; and in the second I must with equal frankness say that, though I might love ever so much, I would _never_ marry a man who needed that I should `take him in hand' to make a reformed character of him. You are my cousin, and, as such, I shall always regard you with friendly interest; but I shall never be able to entertain for you any warmer feeling." Walford, pale to the lips with surprise and chagrin, looked incredulously in the face of the fair girl by whose side he was seated. He was completely staggered. The idea of his being indifferent to his cousin had never for a single instant occurred to him. He had won for himself the reputation of being quite a "lady-killer;" and now this little country-bred girl had the impertinence to tell him coolly that she did not love him; nay, more--to hint pretty strongly that she regarded him with feelings not very far removed from contempt, because, forsooth, he had lived a somewhat fast life. Why, many of the girls he had met had positively _admired_ him for his rakishness--he did not pause to consider what manner of girls these were, though, by the bye. It was monstrous, it was positively insulting. Then, in addition to the severe wound to his _amour-propre_, there was the disappointment of his hopes of pecuniary aggrandisement; Lucy's fortune, modest though it was, would have been of the utmost service to him. It was true, he knew, that she would not have a penny of her own until her mother died, but that, he was firmly convinced, would not be a very long-postponed event; the "old fool"--as he called Mrs Walford in his heart--would doubtless be in her grave long enough before he returned from foreign service-- and, at all events, he was willing to risk that. But then Lucy had said she would not have him. Surely she could not mean it; she was only saying it to try him, or--stay--was it possible that she loved that sailor-fellow Leicester? He would find out. "Are you _quite sure_, Lucy, that you will never be able to love me?" he asked, infusing a very successful affectation of passionate entreaty into the tones of his voice. "Perhaps I have spoken too quickly; I have taken you by surprise, I have allowed my impatience to outrun my judgment; perhaps if I had waited a little longer--" "It would have been just the same; I could never have loved you," interrupted Lucy. "And now let us return to the house; this interview has lasted quite long enough. I am sincerely sorry if you are disappointed, Edward, but I could never give you any other answer, so please say no more about it." "One word more," exclaimed Walford. "Tell me--I have a right to know-- do you love any one else?" "I really do not see that you _have_ a right to know anything about my private affairs," answered Lucy with some hauteur, "but in order that you may fully understand the hopelessness of your own case, I will confess that--that there _is_--some one else." "Ah!" ejaculated Walford between his set teeth, "I suspected as much. And I can form a pretty shrewd guess as to who it is, too. It is that sneaking rascal Leicester, is it not?" "How dare you, sir, speak to me of my friends in that manner!" exclaimed Lucy, rising to her feet and stamping upon the ground in the excess of her indignation. "Go, sir, and never come near me again; I will never speak another word to you!" "You won't, eh?" was the sneering retort. "All right. I _will_ go; and I'll not come near you again. But I'll make you bitterly repent of your treatment of me yet, or my name is not Edward Walford." And rising to his feet, he walked rapidly up the garden, through the house, and straight out at the front door, without so much as pausing to bid his aunt good-bye. CHAPTER TWO. CAPTAIN LEICESTER HEARS BAD NEWS. In the meantime, the _Industry_ having come to an anchor in Portsmouth Harbour, Captain Leicester, waiting only to see the sails properly furled, jumped into the boat and hurried away to his owner's residence. Here he was detained for more than an hour, the individual he was desirous of seeing happening to be absent, "but expected back immediately," according to the statement of the solitary clerk who occupied the little front room which did duty as an office. The owner of the _Industry_ having at length turned up, her captain was instructed to haul alongside the wharf forthwith, in readiness to begin discharging her cargo the first thing next morning. So George Leicester, greatly to his disappointment, had to return on board once more; and it was not until the clocks were striking seven that, the schooner having been duly hauled alongside the wharf and securely moored thereto, her commander felt himself at liberty to leave her and set out upon a pilgrimage to Alverstoke. But for the delay thus occasioned, the events herein recorded would probably never have occurred, those of them at least which chiefly concern Captain Leicester. Let us take a good look at our hero as he stands for a moment in the golden evening light on the planks of the wooden structure which, supported by ricketty, worm-eaten piles, does duty as a wharf. Like a thorough seaman as he is, he is taking a last glance at the schooner before he leaves her, to see that everything is thoroughly "ship-shape and Bristol-fashion" on board her. She is a small and somewhat insignificant craft; but as George has sailed in her for the last four years of his life--two years as mate and two more as master--he has become attached to her, looking at her faults with a lenient eye, and striving to conceal them as much as possible from others. As he stands, with his hands lightly crossed behind him, his legs a trifle apart, and his eye wandering critically over the _Industry's_ hull and rigging, we see him to be a man of about five feet eight inches in height, with a well-knit figure, regular features, dark hair and eyes, the former surmounted by a jaunty crimson worsted cap with a silk tassel on its drooping end, and tied into a queue behind with a bow of very broad black silk ribbon, short black whiskers on each side of his face, with a clean-shaven upper lip and chin. He is clad in a wide-skirted coat of fine blue cloth, trimmed with large gilt buttons, and worn open to show the kerseymere waistcoat beneath, the long flaps of which are confined by a broad belt. He wears a white silk kerchief round his throat, lace ruffles at his wrists (in honour of his projected visit to his lady-love), and his nether man is encased in knee-breeches, white stockings, and shoes with large silver buckles. There is a frank, pleasant look in the keen dark eyes, and an expression of firmness about the closed lips which makes most people feel, when they look at him, that they would much rather have him for a friend than for an enemy. Altogether, as far as _physique_ is concerned, he certainly has the advantage of Lieutenant Walford. As to the comparative moral qualities of the two men, the reader will have abundant opportunity to judge for him--or her--self. Unfortunately, however, for his own and Lucy Walford's peace of mind, George Leicester is not only unaware of this superiority on his own part, but he strongly suspects it to be all on the other side. He has made Walford's acquaintance, having met him, perhaps, some half a dozen times in all, at "Sea View," and, despite his simplicity, he has had no difficulty in recognising in the lieutenant a would-be rival. And this is just where his own modesty and self-depreciation have played him a scurvy trick. He has noted Walford's easy, nonchalant bearing, and his two or three flashy accomplishments; he has noticed, too, that the lieutenant is not altogether devoid of good looks, and has jumped--all too hastily, as we are aware--at the conclusion that, where a woman is concerned, a plain, straightforward, honest sailor can have no chance against a dashing soldier like the lieutenant. At the same time, he has by no means given up the chase, nor ever will, so he tells himself, as long as Lucy is free. Over and over again has he been upon the point of speaking out and learning his fate, and over and over again has he hesitated and closed his lips, deeming the occasion unpropitious, or fearing to learn that which will make the remainder of his life a blank to him. But now he has resolved to delay no longer. He has been screwing up his courage to the sticking-place during the whole of the passage from Waterford to Gosport, and when he stepped from the rail of the _Industry_ on to the wharf, he was on his way to Alverstoke to learn his fate. Satisfied at last that everything was right on board the schooner, Leicester turned away and directed his steps up High Street, and thence out on to the Stoke Road. Alverstoke church-clock struck eight just as he came in sight of it; and the next moment he saw, far ahead of him, a man dart round the corner and come swinging along the road towards him at a tremendous pace. Distant as the man was, Captain Leicester had no difficulty in recognising in him his dreaded rival, Lieutenant Walford. He guessed at once that the lieutenant had been visiting at "Sea View;" but what struck him as strange was that Walford's appearance and bearing was that of a man in a towering passion. Almost immediately afterwards, however, he decided that he must have been mistaken in supposing this, for as Walford looked up and recognised him he stopped dead in the road for a moment, and then hurried towards the skipper with outstretched hand and a beaming face. "My _dear_ Leicester, how are you?" Walford exclaimed with effusion, as he grasped the seaman's hand and wrung it heartily. "How glad I am to see you. When did you arrive?" "This afternoon only," was the answer. "Have you been to `Sea View' lately? There is nothing wrong there, I hope?" "Wrong, my dear fellow! No. Why do you ask?" "Well, when you rounded the corner just now you were walking at such a terrific pace, and looked so much as though you were greatly upset about something, that I feared there had been an accident at `Sea View,' and that--" "That I was hurrying off for the nearest doctor, eh? Well, you may set your mind at rest, my dear boy; nothing _is_ the matter. I have just left Mrs Walford's, and both she and Lucy are in excellent health, I am glad to say. It is deuced kind of you, though, to take such a warm interest in them, and I thank you for it with all my heart. You are a prime favourite there, I can tell you, my lad; I have been frightfully jealous of you for a long time, but now I shall never be so any more. Lucy--darling girl that she is--has had pity upon me at last, and has condescended to set all my fears at rest; so you may congratulate me if you like." "Upon her having--accepted you as--as--her future husband?" gasped Leicester, white to the very lips. "Exactly; I _knew_ you would be glad to hear it, being an old friend of hers," was the reply. "But mum's the word for the present. Our regiment is ordered away to the West Indies at once, so Lucy wishes the engagement to be kept secret until I can return home to claim her. Well, I must be off; you are going to `Sea View,' I suppose? Don't mention our conversation there, please; I should not like Lucy to know that I have already been prating of the engagement; if she feels inclined to tell you of it herself, of course that is another thing." "All right, I'll not say a word about it, you may rest assured," answered Leicester, as he suffered his hand to be clasped in farewell; "in fact, I don't suppose I shall have an opportunity to mention it to them; I am not going to call there to-night, and I may not have time to call there at all, as I shall be very busy during the next few days. I--I am--thinking of giving up the _Industry_ and going--somewhere-- abroad, myself." "Are you?" ejaculated Walford with great heartiness. "Well done; I am glad to hear you say so. A fellow with your pluck and sinews was never intended to potter about in a trumpery little coaster. Well, good-bye." The two men separated; Walford to chuckle and exult over the complete success of his suddenly planned ruse, and Leicester, with all hope and brightness gone out of his face, to saunter despondently along the road and back to Gosport, by way of Haslar Common, avoiding "Sea View" altogether. So Lucy was lost to him! Well, after all, it was no more than he had dreaded all along; he had been a fool, and worse than a fool, to suppose that he, a plain, unpolished seaman, could possibly have a chance of success when pitted against a fellow like Walford--curse him! No--no, not that, he did not mean that; why should he curse the man to whom Lucy had given her young, fresh love? Still it was very hard to bear--very hard; he hoped the fellow would treat her well; if not, let him look to himself. But why should not Walford treat her well? Who could do otherwise? Who was there in the whole wide world who could find it in his heart to be anything but kind and loving and tender to her? And yet--Psha! Who was he--George Leicester--that he should judge another man? True, he had heard some very queer stories about this same Lieutenant Walford, but doubtless they were all fabrications; Lucy was not the girl to love a man of whom such things could possibly be true. And as to his (Leicester's) own feelings of distrust and dislike, why they were after all only the natural outcome of his jealousy, and were certainly not to be relied upon as indicating faultiness of character in his successful rival. Still, argue as he would, he had his doubts, and he could not dispel them, and--well, it was a hard blow, coming so suddenly, too; it was difficult to bear it patiently even _now_, and he had a shrewd suspicion that it would be still more difficult to bear by-and-by, when he fully realised the extent of his loss. But it was no use fretting over it; the question was, "What was now to be done?" He could not possibly live on the old humdrum life any longer. He must have excitement and activity, plenty of both, to keep his mind occupied, and to prevent his fretting over his disappointment. "Yes, that was a happy inspiration which had led him to tell Walford he intended giving up the _Industry_; that must be his first act. And after that? Well, after that he would look about him, and if he could pick up a tidy little vessel cheap; he would invest his savings in the purchase of her, sail in his own employ, and try to stifle all vain regrets by plunging into a more adventurous mode of existence." So ran George Leicester's thoughts as he made his way back to the _Industry_. Meanwhile, Lucy, having given one lover his _conge_ waited with loving impatience but in vain, for the appearance of the other. On the following day, the master of the _Industry_ waited upon his owner, a Mr Winter, and requested his discharge. Mr Winter was both surprised and chagrined at the news that he was to lose so well-tried and faithful a servant as George; but, finding our hero inflexible in his resolution, he could, of course, do nothing but accede to his request, which he did at last with a very good grace. "And now," said Mr Winter, when the accounts had all been gone through and squared up, "since you are quite determined to go your own wilful way, I suppose I must do what I can to help you. You will go to London, of course, to look out for this ship that you propose to purchase; and I will give you a letter to a Mr Roberts, a ship-broker and a friend of mine, who has an office in Great Saint Helen's. He is pretty sure to have or to know of something which will suit you; he is a thoroughly straightforward, honourable man, will do his best to suit you, and will charge you nothing; the seller is the man who will have to pay him his commission." George duly thanked Mr Winter for his kindness, received the letter, and on the following morning crossed over to Portsmouth, and booked himself to London on the "Highflyer" coach. The next day found our hero at an early hour in Leadenhall Street, seeking for the whereabouts of Great Saint Helen's. A clerk, going in that direction on his way to business, pointed out the place, and, turning into the narrow court, George soon found the office of which he was in search. Mr Roberts was busy perusing a large pile of papers when his visitor was shown in, and he begged to be excused for a moment whilst he completed his task. This was soon done, whereupon Mr Roberts rang two distinct strokes upon a small hand-bell, and a clerk entered in response. "Here, Wilson," said the ship-broker, handing over the pile of papers, "take these. You will find from the notes I have jotted down upon this sheet of paper what to do with them. Now, sir," turning to George, "what can I have the pleasure of doing for you?" George briefly explained his business, and handed over Mr Winter's letter of introduction, which Mr Roberts rapidly glanced through. Then the little bell was struck once, and another and much more substantial-looking clerk made his appearance. "Bring me List A, if you please," said Mr Roberts. "List A," a large leather-bound volume, was brought in and laid upon the table before the ship-broker, who at once opened it, and began to run his fingers slowly down an index. Then he rapidly turned up an entry in the book itself, and read out-- "`_Challenger_--brig; 450 tons; softwood built, iron-fastened, sheathed with zinc; nine years old; well found in sails, ground-tackle, and all necessary stores, ready for sea. Price 1800 pounds.' How will that do? She is really a very decent vessel of her kind, and exceedingly cheap at the price." "We might take a look at her," remarked George, "but her description does not sound very inviting." Another reference to the index, another turning up of an entry, and-- "Well, what do you think of this? `_Lucy_--brigantine; 520 tons; oak-built, coppered, and copper-fastened throughout; has only been to sea twice; excellent sea-boat, very fast and weatherly; fully found in every respect, and quite ready for sea. Price 2500 pounds.'" "That sounds very much better," answered Leicester, who, to tell the truth, was almost as much taken with the name as anything else; "but I don't particularly admire the rig." "Umph!" ejaculated Mr Roberts, pursing up his lips and referring to the index once more. "Um, um, _Maid of the Mist_--_Lizzie_--_Highland Lass_--_Enterprise_--ah! yes; perhaps this will do. `_Enterprise_-- brig; seven years old, oak-built, iron-fastened, 350 tons register, will carry 600 tons dead-weight; well found. Price 2200 pounds. Requires a few trifling repairs amounting to possibly 500 pounds.' How does that strike you?" "Not very favourably," was the reply. "Well, let's try again," remarked the ship-broker. "I _know_ I can suit you." Another reference to the index, then a sudden sharp closing of the book, with the muttered ejaculation, "The very thing! What a donkey I am not to have thought of her before." Then a single stroke on the bell, followed by the reappearance of the substantial-looking clerk. "Bring me in the inventory of the _Aurora_, if you please; that paper that was left here by Mr Sutton yesterday." The document was brought in, and Mr Roberts at once handed it over to his client with the remark-- "There, my dear sir, just run your eye over that; if the _Aurora_ won't suit you, _nothing_ will. She is a capital little ship; I know her well. Her owner, poor fellow--who is captain of her also--had the misfortune to lose his wife last voyage--washed overboard somehow in a gale of wind--and it has so upset him that he has resolved to cut the sea altogether and everything connected with it. He is even willing to sell at a great sacrifice, so as to get rid of the ship as soon as possible. Great bargain, captain; most extraordinary bargain; never get another such a chance." "That looks much more promising," said George, returning the paper. "Where is she, and when can I see her?" "London Docks--see her in an hour--I'll take you down on board at once," was the reply. And merely stopping to change his coat, and give some instructions to his clerks, Mr Roberts invited George to follow him; and, getting into the street, they hailed the first hackney-coach which passed, and in a few minutes were jolting along on their way to the London Docks. Dismissing the coach at the dock gates, Mr Roberts inquired of the gate-keeper where the _Aurora_ was to be found. "Inside ship, fourth berth, north side," answered the man, pointing out the direction they were to take. They soon found the vessel, and George, standing on the edge of the dock wall, saw before him a pretty little barque of some four hundred and odd tons, copper-bottomed, with a flush deck fore and aft, a fine set of spars, and such a shapely hull as set his eyes glistening. He walked away from her and knelt down so as to take a good look at her "run;" then went ahead of her to see what her bows were like; and finally, very much prepossessed in her favour already, went on board, accompanied by Mr Roberts. Here they were received by the ship-keeper, who at once led the way into the cabin. This proved to be an exceedingly snug and comfortable apartment, not very large, yet roomy enough, and very tastefully fitted up. Abaft this they found the captain's cabin, a room some twelve feet long, and the entire width of the ship, well lighted--there being both a skylight and stern-ports--and fitted up in a style which gave unmistakable evidence of the refined taste of the former captain's poor drowned wife. From the cabin they proceeded to the forecastle, and from thence into the hold, George all the time peering about everywhere for signs of weakness or bad workmanship, without finding any. Having at length satisfied himself as to the soundness of the hull, he went aloft and gave to the spars and rigging a careful examination. Here, too, everything was perfectly satisfactory; and when he at length stepped down out of the rigging on to the deck, he nodded approvingly to Mr Roberts and said-- "All right; I'll take her." "Glad to hear you say so, captain," was the cheery reply; "she is a capital little craft, and I'm sure you'll like her. Now--as it is nearly two o'clock--what say you, will you come and take dinner with me?" Leicester acquiescing, they made the best of their way to the eating-house which Mr Roberts patronised, and, while discussing the meal, made arrangements for the completion of the purchase. The meal ended, George wended his way back toward the dock, and, turning into Nightingale Lane, established himself in tolerably comfortable quarters in a boarding-house kept by a widow, whose husband had been what she called a "sea-captain." On the following day Captain Leicester paid over the full amount of the purchase-money, receiving in return the ship's register properly endorsed; and that same evening he found himself the undisputed owner of the _Aurora_. His next task was to secure a freight. This he had no difficulty in doing--in fact he had his choice of some half a dozen--and by noon he had accepted a charter for the conveyance of a general cargo to Kingston, Jamaica; to commence loading at once. Having completed the business, he hurried away to the shipping-office, and was fortunate enough to secure the services of a very promising-looking mate, who undertook to establish himself on board forthwith, so as to be on the spot in readiness to receive the cargo as it came down to the ship. George now found himself comparatively at leisure, and he had at one time serious thoughts of running down to Gosport, were it only for a day, just to see Lucy once more, and bid her good-bye. Well would it have been for both of them had he done so. But on reconsidering the matter, he arrived at the conclusion that no good could possibly come of any such proceeding, whilst the sight of Lucy would only too certainly increase the pangs of regret he already so keenly felt at his failure to win her; so he eventually decided to remain where he was, and occupy himself in watching the stowage of the cargo. CHAPTER THREE. A CAPTURE AND A RECAPTURE. A fortnight from the day on which Captain Leicester signed the charter-party saw the last package passed into the _Aurora's_ hold, and on the following day she sailed for Plymouth, there to join a fleet of merchant-ships which were to cross the Atlantic under convoy. Thanks principally to the exertions of his chief mate, Mr Bowen, George was fortunate enough to pick up a very good crew, comprising a second mate--who acted also as boatswain--a carpenter, a steward, a black cook, two able-seamen, four ordinary ditto, and two well-grown lads, who had already been a voyage or two in a coaster. This constituted a complement of fourteen men, all told; just sufficient to handle the barque comfortably. They sailed from the Thames with the wind at about west, and had a capital run as far as the South Foreland, the _Aurora_ showing herself to be such a smart vessel under her canvas that her commander was delighted with her. At this point, however, the wind, which still held from the westward, was dead against them, and it became a question whether they should anchor in the Downs to await a favourable change, or continue on and endeavour to beat a passage as far as Plymouth. Prudence dictated the adoption of the former course; it being well known that the Channel was just then swarming with French privateers--powerful luggers for the most part--the captains of which had an unpleasant habit of slipping out of harbour as the evening came on, and stretching across toward the English coast, on the lookout for our merchantmen, very often picking up a valuable prize and getting back into port the next morning. The weather, too, happened just then to be highly favourable for the operations of these gentry, the sky being overcast with frequent showers, and no moon. On the other hand, however, time was of the utmost importance; George had only five days left him in which to reach Plymouth, if he was to avail himself of the protection of convoy; so, after discussing the question with Mr Bowen, and carefully weighing it in his own mind, he finally decided to keep the ship moving, and to trust to fortune and a good lookout. The _Aurora_ accordingly proceeded, stretching over as far as mid-channel, when she went about; and on drawing in with the land again Leicester had the satisfaction of seeing that she would handsomely weather Beachy Head, which she did, tacking close in under the land about breakfast-time on the day following her departure from London. At 2 p.m., being at the time rather nearer to the French than to the English coast, George tacked again, in order to close the English shore toward nightfall. At 9 p.m., being abreast of Littlehampton, and about eight miles off the shore, the _Aurora_ went about once more, and stood over towards France, close-hauled on the starboard tack. The weather had cleared somewhat, the sun breaking through the clouds as the afternoon wore on, and flooding the whole western sky with splendour as he sank to rest. One by one, as the golden glory of the west faded into sober grey, the stars shone out, peeping shyly down upon the world from the softly dappled sky, and there was every prospect of its being a fine night in the Channel. George accordingly gave instructions for the ship to continue on the same tack until midnight, when she was to be hove about once more. Then, cautioning the second mate--who was in charge of the deck--to maintain a strict lookout and to call him in the event of a change of weather or the appearance of a suspicious-looking sail in their neighbourhood, he went below to snatch an hour or two of sleep, having had none so far from the moment of the vessel's sailing. Flinging off his clothes, he threw himself into his swinging cot, and instantly sank into a sound and dreamless slumber; to be awakened again with a start, and almost instantly, as it seemed to him, by the flapping of the ship's canvas in the wind. Starting up into a sitting posture, he heard the voice of the chief mate on deck giving the necessary orders for tacking ship. "Hillo!" he thought, "what is the meaning of this? Nothing wrong, I hope. No, that cannot be, or they would surely have called me. Perhaps it is a change of wind; I hope it is. Well, being awake, I may as well slip on deck and satisfy myself as to the meaning of it." He accordingly sprang out of his cot, and began to dress himself; the sounds on deck having meanwhile ceased, save for the monotonous tread overhead of the officer of the watch, and the occasional clank of the wheel-chains. The ship was heeling over to starboard, showing that she was on the port tack, and the rushing sound of the water along her sides seemed to indicate that she was moving pretty rapidly through it. As he opened his state-room door to pass into the main cabin, a heavy step was heard descending the companion-ladder, and the next moment the second mate appeared at its foot, in the act of turning into his own state-room. "Well, Mr Cross," said the skipper, "what is the news from the deck? You have tacked ship, it seems; is there a change of wind?" "No, sir," answered Cross; "the wind still holds steady at about west, though it seems a little inclined to back half a point or so to the south'ard, and it's clouded over again and gone very dark. We tacked at midnight, sir, according to your orders." "Midnight!" ejaculated George; "you surely do not mean to say it is midnight already, Cross?" "About a quarter after it, sir," answered the second mate with a smile. "You've slept sound, sir, I expect; and time has travelled fast with you." "I must have slept sound indeed," answered the skipper; "to me it seemed that I had hardly fallen asleep when I was awakened by the flapping of the canvas. Well, I'll not keep you from your bunk; I shall go on deck and take a look round before I turn in again. Good-night." "Good-night, sir," was the reply; and the second mate opened the door of his berth and passed in, whilst George sprang lightly up the companion-ladder and stepped out on deck. It was indeed, as the second mate had said, very dark; so much so that the skipper, having just left the cabin, where a lamp was dimly burning, was unable to see anything for a moment or two. Then, as his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, he caught first a glimpse of the man at the wheel, his form faintly illuminated by the binnacle light, then the figure of the mate, just turning near the taffrail to walk forward, and finally the dark, shadowy pile of canvas towering away aloft until it melted into the general obscurity. "It has gone very dark again, Mr Bowen," remarked the skipper, as the mate, becoming aware of George's presence on deck, joined him. "It _is_ dark, sir," answered the mate, "almost too dark to be poking about here in the Channel without lights." "It is rather risky, I admit," returned George; "still, I do not think it is so dangerous as showing our lights; that would simply be hanging out an invitation to those prowling French privateers to pounce down on us. How is her head?"--to the man at the wheel, George and the mate having by this time strolled aft together. "No'th, half west, sir," was the reply. "Come, that is not so bad," remarked George. "We shall fetch Plymouth yet in good time to join the convoy if all be--" "A sail broad on the weather bow!" broke in the lookout forward, with startling abruptness. Both George and the mate instantly directed their gaze in the direction indicated by the lookout; and presently a shapeless something like a blacker patch against the black background of the darkness loomed into view, about one point before the beam, showing by this rapid change in the respective positions of the two ships how near was the stranger. "Why!" exclaimed Leicester, "he is coming right down for us; he will be into us. Port, port hard; up with your helm smartly, my lad," to the man at the wheel. "Ship ahoy! Port your helm; can you not see us?" "Ay, ay; oh, yesh," was the response from the other vessel; and as it came floating down upon the wind the stranger took a broad sheer to port, showing herself to be a large lugger, and shot very neatly alongside the _Aurora_, the grappling-irons being cleverly hove into the barque's fore and main-rigging, as the two vessels touched. At the same moment some five-and-twenty Frenchmen, armed with cutlass and pistol, scrambled alertly in over the _Aurora's_ bulwarks, the leader singling out George, notwithstanding the darkness, and exclaiming, as he promptly presented a pistol at his head-- "Vat cheep dis is, eh?" "The _Aurora_, of London," was the answer, "Tres bien! My cheep, the _Belle Marie_, est un corsaire Francais, un--vat you call--privateere, et vous etes mes prisonniers. It is ze fortune of war, messieurs; my turn to-night--yours to-morrow, perhaps--ha, ha! Now, my dear sares, as there not moosh time is, permettez moi," and he flung open the companion-doors, motioning significantly to George and the mate to go below. Poor George glanced swiftly round the deck, only to see that it was in complete possession of the Frenchmen, one of whom was already at the wheel. So, turning to Mr Bowen, and murmuring, "There is no help for it, I suppose," he signed to the mate to lead the way, and then followed, dejectedly, the doors being smartly slammed-to after them, and the next moment they heard the sound of some heavy body being dragged up to and banged against the companion entrance, thus precluding the possibility of their stealing on deck again, and effecting a counter surprise. The whole thing had been done so rapidly that it was not until he found the ship being once more hove about, with her head pointing toward the French coast, that Captain Leicester fully realised his situation. In less than ten minutes his ship had been taken from him, and himself confined in his own cabin, a prisoner. Had he not been on deck at the time of the occurrence, he would certainly have considered it an avoidable misfortune, to be accounted for only by the most gross carelessness; but as it was, he was fully able to understand that it was entirely due to the extreme darkness of the night, and the circumstance of the lugger and the barque stumbling over each other, as it were. But that made matters no better for him; he had lost his ship--his all--and now there loomed before him the immediate prospect of a dreary confinement--for many years perhaps--in a French prison. The thought goaded him almost to madness, and he sprang impatiently to his feet, and began to pace moodily to and fro over the narrow limits of the cabin floor. Meanwhile the second mate--who had started out of his berth at the first shock of contact between the two vessels, and had made a rush for the deck, only to be confronted and driven back by a Frenchman with a drawn cutlass--was seated on the lockers alongside Mr Bowen, listening to that individual's gloomy recital of the details of the capture. The low murmur of the two men's voices annoyed George in his then irritable frame of mind, and, to avoid it, he retired into his own state-room. The night being close and sultry, all the stern-ports were open, and as he entered the cabin the sound of a hail from to leeward came floating in through the ports. It was answered from the deck, and, kneeling upon the sofa-locker and thrusting his body well out of the port, the skipper became aware that the lugger was parting company, and that the hail he had heard was the voice of the French captain shouting his parting instructions to the officer he had left in charge of the prize. Looking away to leeward, in the direction from which the sounds had come, he was just able to distinguish the dark outline of the lugger, as she bore up and pursued her _way once more to_ the eastward. After this a considerable amount of excited jabbering took place on deck, the word "Cherbourg" being so often repeated that George had no doubt it was to that port that the barque was to be taken; but in about half an hour all this died away, and perfect silence reigned on board once more. From the moment that the lugger parted company a confused idea as to the possibility of retaking the barque had been gradually attaining definite shape in George's mind. It was rather a desperate attempt to make, it is true, with himself and the two mates shut up there in the cabin aft, while the crew were doubtless confined in the forecastle, and with no possibility of effecting a junction with them. Still, if Bowen and Cross were willing to run the risk of assisting him, it might be worth while to try it. Thinking thus, he drew his head inside the stern-port, and made his way back into the main cabin, where he found the two mates, with their arms crossed upon their chests, and their heads bowed upon their breasts, asleep. Giving them a gentle shake apiece, to arouse them, he sat down beside them and asked them bluntly if they felt disposed to run a little risk in an attempt to retake the barque, and so avoid a French prison. "You may reckon on me for one, sir, if you've hit upon anything likely in the shape of a plan," heartily answered the chief mate; "and Cross here, I know, won't hold back either, unless I'm greatly mistaken in him." "Never fear," said Cross; "if you give the word, sir, and the ship is to be retook, we'll have her. But how do you propose to do it?--it'll have to be a surprise, I s'pose?" "Listen," said George. "What I propose is this. The stern-ports are all open; and I believe that, by assisting each other, we may manage to creep out through them on to the main-brace boom-iron, and thence make our way along the ship's side, _outside_ the bulwarks, forward, when, by watching our opportunity, we may possibly manage to overpower the guard on the forecastle, throw off the hatch, and release our own lads, and then we must just make a fight for it. We may perhaps--we three--manage to take along with us a cutlass and a brace of pistols each; but the men must do the best they can with hand-spikes, belaying-pins, and, in short, anything they can lay their hands upon." "A very promising plan indeed, sir," answered the chief mate. "The next question is, when are we to set about it?" "The sooner the better," answered George; "so go at once, please, for your pistols; load them carefully; take a cutlass each from the rack; and then we will proceed to business." In a very _few_ minutes the trio were ready. Going softly into George's state-room, they paused for a minute or two to listen for any sounds which might furnish them with a clue to the condition of affairs on deck; but nothing was to be heard, save the occasional clank of the wheel-chains, and the low humming of a song by the helmsman. "It is all curiously quiet on deck," whispered George to his two companions; "I can't quite make it out; it undoubtedly means one of two things, however--either they are keeping a very strict and careful watch, or none at all; we shall soon see which. Now, Cross, stand by to give me a hoist, if I seem to require it; I will go first, and as soon as I am fairly out of the way, Mr Bowen can follow." Kicking off his boots and stockings, the skipper thereupon, without further ado, mounted the lockers, and passing his body cautiously out of the weathermost stern-port, held on by the edge of the port with one hand, whilst he reached out and felt for the brace-iron with the other. This he soon found, and grasping it firmly with his right hand, began to work himself cautiously towards it. The task he had set himself proved, however, to be much more difficult than he had expected; the rake of the ship's stern so greatly interfering with his freedom of motion that at first he feared he would be obliged to abandon the attempt altogether, as he foresaw that, the moment he released his hold upon the edge of the port, he must infallibly swing off backwards, and, unless he could manage to retain his grasp of the iron, drop overboard. So he slipped in through the port again, to explain this difficulty to the mates, and to caution them to be careful when it came to their turn, and then resumed his attempt. Once more securing a firm grasp upon the brace-iron, he watched the roll of the ship, and, seizing the first favourable opportunity, boldly swung himself off into the air, where he hung suspended by one arm, with his feet almost touching the water. In another moment he had both hands upon the iron, and, giving himself a vigorous upward swing, he was soon able to throw his feet over the tautly-strained main-brace. To scramble up and place himself astride the brace-block was now an easy task, and, settling himself firmly there, he prepared to assist the chief mate, when he should make his appearance. He had not long to wait. Hardly was he comfortably established in his comparatively safe position, when a hand appeared from behind the quarter-piece in search of the iron. George promptly seized and guided it to the object of its search, then firmly grasped the wrist with one hand, keeping the other ready to render further assistance. "Look out, sir, I'm coming," he heard the chief mate mutter, and then, with a tremendous swing, Mr Bowen's body came into view. Quick as thought George leaned over and caught the disengaged hand, placed it too upon the iron, and then, rising to his feet and exerting his strength to the utmost, he proceeded to drag his chief mate up alongside himself. "Now," he whispered, as soon as he had got him there, "I shall begin to work my way forward at once, so as to be out of your way; but you had better stay and lend Cross a hand. I shall wait for you both in the fore-chains." So saying, he stepped off the brace-iron, planting his feet firmly on the broad beading which ran along the top edge of the sheer-strake, and leaning his body against the bulwarks, whilst he grasped the outer edge of the rail to steady himself, he speedily and easily reached the mizzen-chains. Here, availing himself of the partial shelter and cover afforded by the lanyards and dead-eyes of the rigging, he cautiously raised his head above the level of the bulwarks, to survey the state of the deck inboard. The first object which met his view was the figure of the helmsman, rendered visible by the light of the binnacle-lamps as they beamed dimly out upon him and feebly lighted up his figure. He was leaning negligently against the wheel, with one arm thrown carelessly over it, and his eyes were vacantly fixed upon the cloudy heavens above him, with his thoughts evidently far away. Not another soul was visible, either forward or aft; but George thought he could make out the indistinct outline of something resembling a human figure seated on the bench to windward of the cabin companion. He continued so long his earnest gaze upon this object that he was quite startled to find his first and second mates beside him; and he came at last to the conclusion that, if it were indeed a human figure at all, it must be that of the prize-master--sound asleep. Turning his glances from this object forward, he saw that the galley-door to windward was shut, whilst on the lee-side it was open, the reflection of a light inside shining pretty strongly upon the lee bulwarks and showing the shadows of men evidently in the act of eating and drinking. "Do you see that?" whispered George to his two companions. "Nothing could possibly be more favourable to our plans. We will work our way forward as far as the main-rigging, when, I think, we may venture to slip over the bulwarks, and in on deck. Then we must creep very cautiously forward, find out the whereabouts of the watchman, or lookout, or whatever he is, and overpower him, if possible, without raising an alarm. That done, we will set free our own lads, and I have no fear whatever as to the result." The three adventurers then moved noiselessly forward until they came to the main-rigging, when they slipped in on deck, and, crouching low in the deep shadow of the weather bulwarks, crept along until they were within a dozen feet of the fore-scuttle. Here they paused, and began to peer anxiously about for the man they expected to find on watch on the forecastle. "There he is, just forward of the cat-head," whispered the second mate; and hastily snatching a heavy iron belaying-pin from the rail, he stole, crouching and noiseless as a cat, upon his unconscious enemy. Six seconds later a dull heavy blow was heard, followed by a faint groan, the dark object near the cat-head vanished, and Cross, returning to the skipper's side, whispered-- "_He's_ all right; knocked the senses clean out of him, and then laid him quietly out on deck. I reckon he won't come to hisself again for the next half-hour. Now, what's the next move, cap'n?" "The next thing," answered George, "is to open the fore-scuttle, and quietly get our own lads on deck. I am surprised that they have not attempted to steal up of their own accord before this." On going to the forecastle hatch, however, they soon discovered the reason why the men were content to remain so quietly below, a large mooring hawser having been coiled down on the top of the hatch, thus effectually preventing the imprisoned men from raising it. "We shall never be able to move this without giving the alarm," said George. "We must contrive somehow to shut those fellows up in the galley, and keep them there." "That is easily done," whispered the chief mate. "`Cookey' has a lot of firewood stowed away in the eyes of the long-boat; we must get hold of a piece, cut half a dozen wedges from it, and one of us must then slide-to the door on the lee-side, and wedge it tight with three of the wedges, whilst another of us at the same time wedges up the door to windward." He then glided away to the long-boat, and soon returned with a small piece of wood in his hand. "Here we are," he whispered; "now we'll soon have them boxed up so tight that they won't get out until we open the doors for 'em." Whilst speaking he had produced his knife from his pocket, and, notwithstanding the intense darkness, soon hacked out the half-dozen wedges, which, though very roughly shaped, were still good enough for the purpose. "Now, sir," said he in a low tone to George, "you take these three, let Cross go with you and slide-to the lee-door with a slam, and then you slip in the wedges and jam them tight home, while I will do the same to wind'ard, as soon as I hear Cross close the lee-door." George took the wedges, and, accompanied by Cross crept noiselessly up to the galley-door to leeward, Mr Bowen meanwhile making his way to the corresponding door on the weather side. There was a loud slam, a moment of silence, then a tremendous outcry, accompanied by the sound of heavy battering from inside the galley, and the three adventurers met again at the forecastle hatch. "Now, then," cried George, "we haven't a moment to lose, so let us capsize the hawser bodily. Are you ready? Then, one--two--three, Heave!" By exerting their whole strength to the utmost the heavy hawser was rolled off the hatch, and the hatch itself raised, just as two figures came rushing forward from the quarterdeck with loud and angry outcries. "Tumble up, my lads!" shouted George down the scuttle; "tumble up smartly, and help us to retake the ship." "Ay, ay, sir," was the eager answer from below, and then the skipper, drawing his cutlass and pistol, turned to meet the prize-master and the helmsman, who had both hurried forward to learn the meaning of the disturbance in the galley. "Surrender, or you are a dead man!" exclaimed George, thrusting the muzzle of his pistol into the face of the as yet only half-awake prize-master. "Oui, oui, m'sieu; oh, yais, I surrendaire," exclaimed the poor fellow, as he felt the firm pressure of the cold pistol-barrel against his forehead; and hastily unbuckling his cutlass, he thrust it into George's hand. The chief mate, in the meantime, had incontinently felled the other man to the deck with a single blow from his fist, and had then left Cross to secure him with a rope's end. The barque's crew had meanwhile made their way on deck, and were now clustered about their officers, anxious to know what they were to do, whilst the _Aurora_, left to herself, had shot up into the wind's eye, and was now lying stationary, with all her square canvas aback, and the rest of her sails fluttering loudly in the wind. "One hand to the wheel, and jam it hard up," commanded George; "the rest of you to your stations. Mr Bowen and Mr Cross, you will mount guard over the galley-doors, if you please, until we have got the ship round. Raise tacks and sheets, round with the main-yard, and flatten in forward. Well, there, with the main-braces. Now swing your fore-yard, board the fore and main-tacks, and haul over the head-sheets. Right your helm, my lad; give her a spoke or two, if _you find_ she wants it, as she gathers way, and then keep her `full and by.' Now, lads, never mind about coiling up just now; you can do that after we have attended to the prisoners; come forward and open the weather galley-door, and as the Frenchmen pass out, seize them and lash their hands and heels together." These orders were promptly executed, the discomfited Frenchmen being permitted to pass out of the galley only one at a time. Cross's burly form, drawn cutlass and conspicuously displayed pistol, supported by the appearance of the barque's crew in his immediate background, proving an effectual deterrent to any attempt on the part of the privateersmen to make a rush for freedom, and in something like a couple of hours from the time of her capture, the _Aurora_, was once more in the undisputed possession of her rightful owner. CHAPTER FOUR. THE DEPARTURE OF THE CONVOY. About daybreak the wind veered round and blew a fine, fresh, steady breeze from the northward, enabling the barque to lay her course with flowing sheets; and sunset found her safely anchored in Plymouth Sound, one of a fleet of nearly two hundred merchantmen, which had assembled there for the purpose of being convoyed across the Atlantic. The convoy was to sail on the following day but one; the men-o'-war which constituted their escort were already in the Sound, along with several other ships of the royal navy; and as the cable smoked out through the _Aurora's_ hawse-pipe that evening, when she dropped her anchor, George fondly hoped his troubles were at an end. But he was mistaken. As soon as the canvas was furled, Captain Leicester manned a boat, and, proceeding on board the admiral's ship reported the circumstance of the capture and recapture of his vessel, requesting at the same time to be relieved as soon as possible of the custody of his prisoners. This was speedily arranged. By the admiral's orders an armed boat's crew was at once despatched to the _Aurora_, the prisoners were released from their bonds, passed into the man-o'-war's boat, and in little more than an hour from their arrival in the Sound safely lodged on board a prison-hulk. So far, so good. But George had yet to learn that there was one inconvenient result generally attendant upon a request to a man-o'-war for assistance. The boat, after conveying the Frenchmen to the prison-hulk, duly returned to the admiral's ship; but, instead of the crew at once passing out of her, they were ordered to remain where they were, the lieutenant in charge alone going on deck and holding a short conference with the captain, after which he re-entered the boat, and she proceeded once more alongside the _Aurora_. George saw her coming, and wondered what could possibly be her errand. He was not left long in doubt. "I am very sorry to trouble you," remarked the lieutenant, as he encountered George at the gangway, whither the latter had repaired to meet him, "but I must ask you to kindly muster your men." George knew only too well then what this visit boded, but he was quite helpless; so, putting the best face he could upon the matter, he answered as cheerfully as he could, and directed that all hands should be summoned on deck. "I hope, however," he remarked to the officer, "that you will not deprive me of any of my crew. I have shipped only just sufficient men to handle her, and I assure you that even with the fine weather we have had in our trip down Channel I have found that we have not a hand too many for the efficient management of the ship." "Ah, yes," answered the lieutenant with a laugh; "all you merchant-skippers tell the same story; but we shall see--we shall see. They must be exceptionally good men, however, or you would never have succeeded in recovering possession of your ship. Ah! here they are, and a fine smart crew they look, too. Upon my word I must congratulate you, Mr--a--um--a, upon your good luck in securing so many fine fellows; why, they look capable of taking care of a ship twice your size. I really _must_ relieve you of one or two of them; it would be nothing short of treason to his most gracious Majesty to allow you to keep them all, when the navy is in such urgent want of men." The crew were by this time assembled on deck, and a very disconcerted and disgusted-looking set of men they were; they had submitted to weeks of voluntary imprisonment in crimps' houses for the sole purpose of escaping impressment into the navy, and now, when their voyage had actually begun, here was a man-o'-war's boat alongside, to force them into the service they regarded with so great an abhorrence. No wonder that they looked and felt disgusted. The men were drawn up in line along the deck, in single file, and the lieutenant sauntered leisurely along the line, critically examining each man as he came to him, but without, as George had anticipated, ordering any of them into the boat alongside. At length he reached the last individual in the line, one of the lads, and Leicester was beginning to breathe freely once more, hoping that he was, after all, not to be robbed of any of his crew, when the officer returned to the head of the line, and, touching the second mate lightly on the chest with his finger, said-- "You were evidently born to become a man-o'-war's man, my fine fellow; get your traps together and pass them and yourself into the boat alongside as soon as you have received your wages." "Excuse me," said George, "I really must ask you not to take that man; he is my second mate." "Your second mate!" exclaimed the officer with well-feigned astonishment. "You surely do not mean to say you carry a second mate on board such a cock-boat as this?" "Certainly I do," retorted George somewhat tartly; "why not, pray?" "Simply, my good man, because such an individual is wholly unnecessary. You can take charge of one watch, yourself, you know, and your mate will of course command the other, so that you can have no possible use for a second mate. Why, a smart, active young fellow like you ought to be ashamed of such an act of laziness as the carrying of a second mate. Pay the man his wages, if you please, and let him pass into the boat." "I owe him no wages," answered George; "on the contrary, he--and every other man of the crew, for that matter--has drawn a month's advance, and owes me three weeks' service yet before we shall be square. Who is to reimburse me for that loss?" "I am sorry to say I am quite unable to answer that question," was the reply; "but, giving it--mind you, strictly as my private opinion--I am afraid you will have to suffer the loss. For my part I have never been able to understand why you masters of merchantmen _will_ persist in so risky a policy as the payment of a month's wages in advance, when you can never tell what may occur to prevent the men from working out their time. But this is not business; I must bear a hand and finish my work, or I shall get severely rapped over the knuckles." Then, turning once more to the men, he ordered the carpenter to get his things ready, and go into the boat. "No," said George, by this time thoroughly exasperated, "_that_ I will _not_ permit. This man is the ship's carpenter, and I forbid you, sir, to impress him at your peril." "You _forbid_, eh?" said the lieutenant, turning angrily upon George. "Take care what you are saying, my fine fellow, or I may perhaps find ways and means of impressing _you_ before you sail." Then, suddenly realising that he had allowed his temper to outrun his discretion, he added in a conciliatory tone-- "Well, since you say that this man is the carpenter, I will spare him; but you should have explained that fact to me at first; and as to impressing _you_, why, I daresay you know the old joke about impressing a ship-master, and will understand I was only jesting; you are a capital fellow, and have behaved very well over this business, so I will let you off as easily as I can. But of course I must do my duty and take another man or two from you; if I did not, some of the other ships would be sending on board you and leaving you really short-handed." With that he picked out with unerring eye the two able-seamen, and then, turning to George with a great show of generous forbearance, announced that he would leave him all the rest, though he could hardly reconcile it to his conscience to _go away_ with only three men out of so strong and smart a crew as that belonging to the _Aurora_. Cross was by this time with his chest on deck; the other two impressed men soon followed, and the disconsolate trio passed down the ship's side in moody silence, unmoved alike by the commiserating looks of their late shipmates or the jocular and more than half-ironical congratulations of the man-o'-war's men in the boat upon their entry into so promising a service as that of the British navy. On the departure of the boat, George held a short consultation with Mr Bowen, the result of which was a very wise determination to "grin and bear it," rather than risk fresh annoyance by an effort--which he very strongly suspected would be utterly useless--to obtain redress and the restitution of his men. This determination come to, the carpenter was summoned aft, and installed into the duties and the berth of the unfortunate Cross; George thus finding his crew reduced to three men, the officers included, and one lad in each watch, the cook and steward of course being "idlers," and their services in the working of the ship only to be demanded on occasions of exceptional urgency. On the day but one following that of the impressment of the _Aurora's_ men, a gun was fired at sunrise by the commodore, blue-peter was hoisted at the fore-royal-mastheads, and the fore-topsails were loosed on board the ships of the convoying squadron, and the still morning air immediately began to resound with the songs of seamen and the clanking of windlass-pawls, as the fleet of merchantmen constituting the convoy began to get under weigh. There was a considerable amount of emulation displayed among the merchant-skippers--those of them, at least, whose ships or crews had any pretensions to smartness, and in half an hour a good many of the craft were under weigh and standing out to sea with a light air of wind from the eastward. The old _Tremendous_, 74, led the van, closely followed by the _Torpid_, 50; while the frigates _Andromeda_ and _Vixen_, each of 32 guns, assisted by the _Dasher_, _Grampus_, _Throstle_, and _Mallard_, 10-gun-brigs, cruised round and round the laggards, making signals, firing guns, and generally creating a great deal of fuss, noise, and excitement. The leading portion of the fleet was hove-to, hull-down, at sea, before the last craft in the convoy had succeeded in getting her anchor and making a start; but by noon the whole of the fleet was fairly in the Channel, when the _Tremendous_ made the signal to fill, and away they all went, bowling along to the southward and westward, the dull sailers under every rag they could spread to the wind--now settled into a fine steady royal-breeze from east-south-east, while the smarter craft were compelled to show only such a spread of canvas as would enable the dullards to keep pace with them. The _Tremendous_ and _Torpid_, under double-reefed topsails, led the way about two miles apart; the frigates were posted, one to windward and one to leeward of the merchant-fleet, and the brigs brought up the rear, it being their duty to whip-in the stragglers, urge on the slow-coaches, and keep a sharp lookout for prowling privateers. The English coast was still faintly visible, like a light grey cloud, on the horizon astern, when a strange sail was sighted on the port beam, steering west, a course which brought her gradually nearer to the convoy. She was brig-rigged, and she continued to approach until she had reached a point some six miles from the fleet; when she suddenly hauled her wind, and, without showing any colours, stood away to the southward and eastward, close-hauled, under a heavy press of canvas. There had been a considerable amount of signalling going on between the various men-o'-war from the moment of her first appearance, and now there was still more; but it soon ceased; the last string of flags displayed by the _Tremendous_ was acknowledged by the _Andromeda_, the weathermost frigate, and the excitement appeared to be at an end. "I'm afraid that means trouble for some of us, unless the men-o'-war keep a good sharp lookout," observed Mr Bowen to George, jerking his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the rapidly receding brig, as the two men walked the deck together, criticising the appearance and sailing powers of the various craft in company. "Ah, indeed?" remarked George. "I see you have come to the same conclusion as myself with regard to the stranger, which is that she is a French privateer." "Just that, sir, and nothing else," was the reply. "She is French all over; no need for her to show her colours; her rig speaks her nationality plain enough for a blind man to read it. She's been on the watch for this fleet for the last week or more, you may depend on it, and now she has gone back to report the news to her consorts that the West India convoy has sailed. Mark my words, sir; we shall all have to keep a good sharp lookout, or a few of us will be snapped up yet, in spite of the men-o'-war, before we sight the next land." "Well," said George, "we must take care that the _Aurora_ is not one of the few, that is all. Luckily, we are not exactly the dullest sailer in the fleet; and we must manage to keep well in the body of it. It is the outsiders that will run the greatest risk." For the next three or four days an unusual amount of vigilance was observable on board the men-o'-war, especially the frigates and gun-brigs, all of which kept well in the offing during the day, evidently on the lookout for prowling picaroons, and closing in again upon the convoy at night; but nothing was seen to keep alive suspicion; no ships of any description were encountered, save a couple of English frigates, each of which replied to the private signal and exchanged numbers with the _Tremendous_; and on the evening of the tenth day out the lofty, precipitous cliffs of the Azores were sighted and passed. Another week sped away without the occurrence of any incident worthy of record; the wind continued fair and steady; and the convoy, though its rate of travelling was rather slow, made very good progress. On the afternoon of the eighteenth day out from Plymouth, the fleet being at the time in latitude 32 degrees North, longitude 44 degrees 30 minutes West, or about half-way to Jamaica, the wind fell light; the sky, which had hitherto been clear, became overcast, heavy masses of dark, thunderous cloud slowly gathering in the south-western quarter and gradually spreading athwart the sky until the whole of the visible heavens were obscured. The barometer dropped slightly, indicating, in conjunction with the aspect of the sky, a probable change of wind and a consequent interruption to their hitherto highly satisfactory progress. As evening fell, flashes of sheet-lightning were occasionally to be seen along the southern horizon; and Captain Leicester, anticipating a thunder-storm and a probable heavy downfall of rain, made preparations for the refilling of his water-casks. But, though the atmosphere appeared to be heavily charged with electricity, the thunder held off, and when night closed down upon the convoy, the moon being then in her third quarter and rising late, it became as dark as a wolf's mouth. Lights were of course displayed on board each ship; and the convoy having become somewhat scattered in consequence of the failure of the breeze, the effect was very singular and striking. This being George's first voyage across the Atlantic, he was naturally a little anxious; and on the night in question he resolved to remain on deck until the weather should have assumed some more decided aspect. There was fortunately still a gentle breeze from about east-south-east fanning the convoy along at a speed of some two knots in the hour, just giving the ships steerage-way; and they were consequently able to keep out of each other's way, and thus avoid collision, always a great element of danger when a large number of craft happen to be sailing in company. About two bells in the middle watch, George being seated at the time near the companion, smoking a meditative pipe, and thinking somewhat ruefully about Lucy Walford, the carpenter, who was in charge of the deck, approached him and said-- "Unless I am greatly mistaken, sir, here's a large craft without any lights creeping up on our larboard quarter." "Indeed," said George, rousing himself and stepping aft to the taffrail with the carpenter; "whereabouts is she?" The carpenter looked intently astern for a moment, then stretched out his arm, saying-- "There, sir--ah! now you can see her, she is just about to shut out the first of those four lights that you can see all close together. There! now she has shut it out." "I see her!" said George. "Whatever does the fellow mean by being without lights on such a pitch-dark night as this; it would serve him right to report him to the commodore in the morning. He has a smart vessel under his feet, though; see how she is overhauling us. Why, it must surely be one of the gun-brigs, judging from her spread of canvas and her lofty spars. But what can she be doing here, in the very middle of the fleet, and without lights, too?" The stranger was by this time little more than a couple of cables' lengths from the _Aurora_, drawing up to her fast, and apparently intending to pass her very closely. George glanced anxiously at his stern light, thinking it might possibly have gone out, but no, it was burning brightly and must be distinctly visible to those on board the other craft. Gradually the dark, mysterious fabric drew closer and still closer up on the port quarter of the _Aurora_, not the faintest glimmer of light being visible from stem to stern, and not a sound of any kind to be heard on board her. George began to feel a trifle nervous as he watched the silent, stealthy approach of the stranger; and fetching his speaking-trumpet from the beckets in the companion-way, where it always hung in company with the telescope, he stepped aft to the taffrail and hailed-- "Ship ahoy!" "Hillo!" was the response, in a tone of voice pitched so low that, though it was distinctly audible to those on board the _Aurora_, it would not penetrate the sluggish atmosphere to any great distance. "What ship is that?" inquired George. "His Britannic Majesty's brig--" (name unintelligible). "What ship is that?" "The _Aurora_, of London. Why are you out of your station, and without lights, sir? Is there anything wrong?" "Yes," was the reply, "but don't hail any more; there are enemies at hand. I will sheer alongside you presently, and tell you what to do." "Enemies at hand, eh!" muttered George. "What can it mean, I wonder? And if there _are_ enemies, by which, I suppose, they mean Frenchmen, in our neighbourhood, those man-o'-war fellows must have eyes like owls to be able to see them in the dark. Just step down into the cabin, if you please, Mr Ritson, and give the mate a call; I don't half like this." In little more than a minute Mr Bowen was on deck and listening to George's statement of what had already passed, and of his uneasiness. George had just finished speaking, when there was a sound as of a falling handspike, or something of the kind, on board the stranger, followed by a loud ejaculation of-- "_Sacr-r-r-r-re nom de_--" The remainder of the exclamation was promptly suppressed, but it was enough; George's suspicions were now fully aroused, and he whispered to the two men standing by him-- "She is French, beyond a doubt; they intended to surprise us, and very nearly they did it, too. But we will not be caught quite so easily this time. Ritson, go forward, rouse the men, and tell them to creep aft under the shelter of the bulwarks; let not one of them show so much as a hair of his head above the rail; and tell them to look lively. And you, Mr Bowen, be good enough to go below and bring up a cutlass apiece for all hands." CHAPTER FIVE. "CHOPPEE FOR CHANGEE--A BLACK DOG FOR A BLUE MONKEY." By the time that the _Aurora's_ crew were on deck, crouching behind the bulwarks aft on the port side, armed, and instructed by George as to what he required of them, the strange sail was within a dozen fathoms of the _Aurora's_ port quarter. She could now be seen with tolerable distinctness, the outline of the hull and of the lofty canvas showing black as ebony against the dark background of sea and sky; and any doubts which Captain Leicester might have still entertained concerning her, were completely set at rest as he glanced at the cut of her canvas. It was French all over. Foot by foot the brig--for such she was--crept up to the _Aurora_, until her bows were in a line with the barque's stern and not more than twenty feet distant. George stood by the main-rigging, watching her, cutlass in hand, calm and determined, his plans already formed for action in the event of his suspicions proving correct. In the ordinary course of things the two craft were now quite near enough to each other for any communication, however confidential in its nature, to be made without the possibility of its being overheard; but, though George could see that a figure stood on the brig's rail by the main-rigging, not a word was uttered. Keeping his gaze steadfastly fixed upon the brig, Captain Leicester saw that her helm had suddenly been ported, for she was sheering strongly in toward his own vessel. "Brig ahoy!" he hailed. "What is it you have to say to me? Do not come too close, sir, or you will be into us." "Never fear," answered in perfect English the dark figure on board the brig, "we will not carry away so much as a rope-yarn belonging to you. But I must be on board you before I can venture to give you your instructions." "Oh! very well," said George. "If you intend boarding us, you had better do so by way of our fore-rigging, or you may get a nasty fall; we are very much littered up here abaft with spars and so on." "Ah, thank you very much; I will take your advice," was the reply. George saw the man motion with his arm, and the brig's course was altered sufficiently to put her alongside with her gangway even with the _Aurora's_ fore-mast. Another second or two, and the ships gently jarred together, the brig's quarter dropping alongside the barque at the same moment. "_Enfans, allons-nous-en_!" exclaimed the voice of the stranger forward, followed by the sound of a leap on to the barque's deck, and a scramble among the spars which littered it there. "Now is your time, lads; jump for your lives!" exclaimed George in a low, excited tone; and, setting his men the example, he forthwith sprang from his own ship's bulwarks to those of the brig; and dashing at the helmsman, cut him down with his cutlass before the fellow could recover sufficiently from his astonishment to utter a cry. Then, without a moment's pause, he seized the wheel and exerting all his strength, sent it with a single twirl spinning hard over to starboard, where he lashed it. The shock of collision, slight as it was, caused the two vessels to recoil from each other, and they were barely alongside when they separated again; George's manipulation of the brig's wheel, and a similar manipulation of the _Aurora's_ helm at the last moment before the touching of the two vessels, greatly expediting the separation. By the time, therefore, that George had looked about him, and satisfied himself that the whole of his crew were safely with him on the brig's deck, the two vessels were a dozen feet apart and increasing their distance every second; their bows diverging from each other at almost a right angle. The Frenchmen, on boarding the _Aurora_, divided into two parties, one of which rushed forward to secure the crew, while the other made a similar rush aft, for the purpose of overpowering the officers and helmsman. In their astonishment and perplexity at finding the decks deserted, they paused for a moment irresolutely, then hurriedly searched the cabin and forecastle, only to find that the ship was utterly deserted. Then, for the first time, a glimmering of the truth presented itself to the mind of the French leader, and his suspicions were instantly confirmed; for Captain Leicester, having at that moment rallied his crew, led them forward, and, finding that, as he had expected, the Frenchmen had boarded the _Aurora_ with all their available strength, leaving only some five-and-twenty men on board the brig to handle her, he, after a short, sharp tussle, drove these men below and secured complete possession of the brig. The party on board the _Aurora_ distinctly heard the sounds of the conflict, and waited in breathless expectancy for its termination. They had not long to wait; in little over a couple of minutes Captain Leicester's voice was heard giving the order to shift the helm--the brig having in the meantime gone round until she was head to wind with her canvas flat aback--and to trim over the head-sheets. Then a chorus of curses, both loud and deep, from the deck of the _Aurora_, proclaimed the chagrin of the Frenchmen on board her at the--to them--extraordinary and unforeseen result of the adventure. But their captain was a man of indomitable pluck, energy, and readiness of resource, and by no means given to a tame and immediate acceptance of defeat. He realised the situation in a moment, and, determining to make the best of a bad bargain, promptly ordered sail to be crowded upon the _Aurora_, in the hope of effecting his escape. The night being dark, however, and his men new to the ship, the work went on but slowly; and by the time that the topgallantsails were sheeted home, his own brig was once more alongside, with two red lights hoisted to her gaff-end (the alarm-signal), her ports open, guns run out, and the men standing by them ready to open fire. As she drew up abreast the _Aurora_, George hailed-- "Barque ahoy! Let fly your sheets and halliards at once, and surrender, or I will fire into you!" "All right," was the reply from the French captain; "you have won the game, monsieur, so I will not attempt to rob you of the credit of victory. You managed the affair exceedingly well, _mon ami_, and have taught me a lesson I shall remember for the rest of my life. You may come on board and take possession as soon as you like." He then gave the necessary orders in French to his crew; the halliards and sheets were let fly on board the _Aurora_, George reducing sail at the same time in the brig, and the two vessels, losing way, began gradually to drop into the rear portion of the convoy. Captain Leicester did not, however, accept the French captain's invitation to go on board and take possession once more of his own ship; that proceeding would have been just a trifle too risky. He had the game in his own hands, and intended to keep it there; so he quietly waited until one of the men-o'-war should come alongside, as he knew would soon be the case, in response to his signal. In a short time another brig was seen approaching under a perfect cloud of sail, an unmistakably English gun-brig this time, however. Sweeping up on the port quarter of George's prize, an officer sprang into the main-rigging, and hailed-- "Brig ahoy! What brig is that?" "The _Jeune Virginie_, French privateer," answered George. "She managed, somehow, to slip in among the fleet unobserved in the darkness, and threw a heavy boarding-party in on the deck of my vessel--the _Aurora_ I suspected her designs just in time, however, and as her crew boarded me, I boarded her, and succeeded in taking possession; the two ships separating immediately and thus preventing the return of the French to their own craft." "Ah, I see," remarked the officer. "You effected an exchange of ships--`choppee for changee--a black dog for a blue monkey,' eh? And now you want us to get your own ship back for you?" "Not exactly," answered George with a laugh; "I have already forced her to surrender; that is the craft--the barque immediately under my lee. But I shall feel obliged if you will take charge of the prisoners, and lend me sufficient men to navigate my prize into port." "Um; well, I really do not quite know about that. I will man your prize for you to-night; but you must see the commodore about the matter in the morning; if he will authorise me to lend you a prize-crew, of course I shall be very happy. By the way, where did the Frenchman come from?" "When I saw the craft first, she was about a couple of cables' lengths directly astern of us," answered Leicester. "She was, eh!" remarked the officer. "Well, there will be a pretty row to-morrow about her being allowed to slip in undetected. I will send a boat on board your own ship at once, to remove the prisoners; and, that done, I will tell off a crew to man your prize for you." This was accordingly done, and an hour after the arrival of the _Throstle_ upon the scene, George and his crew were once more comfortably established on board their own ship. On the following morning the affair was officially reported to the commodore, who put himself into a tremendous passion about it, declaring that such an occurrence reflected indelible disgrace upon the whole British navy, and that he would bring to court-martial every one of the officers belonging to the convoying ships;--which, however, seeing that at bottom he was a fine, good-hearted old fellow, he never did. And after abusing everybody else, he sent for George, complimented him upon his gallantry publicly on the quarterdeck of the _Tremendous_, offered to obtain a commission for him (an offer which our hero was foolish enough to decline), and gave his hearty consent to the proposed borrowing of a prize-crew. But the affair did not by any means end here; for on the following night, which was almost as dark as the preceding one, three ships belonging to the merchant-fleet under convoy gave an unusual and altogether extraordinary amount of trouble to the captains of the gun-brigs by their persistent straggling; and, suspicion being at length aroused, they were all found to be in the hands of French prize-crews, having been surprised and captured by the _Jeune Virginie_ immediately prior to her unsuccessful attempt upon the _Aurora_. Had they been only a little less anxious to effect their escape, they might, as the event proved, have accomplished it without the slightest difficulty. About 2 p.m. on the day following the recapture of these three vessels, the weather being at the time stark calm, with an overcast sky, the signal to "shorten sail and prepare for bad weather," was exhibited on board the commodore's ship--the old _Tremendous_. It was very difficult to make out the signal, the flags hanging from the masthead in such close, motionless folds that it was almost impossible to identify them; so, after a long and anxious scrutiny of them through his telescope, George, thinking he must surely have misinterpreted the message, dived below to take a look at his barometer. A single glance at it was sufficient to show him that he was not mistaken, the mercury having fallen a full inch in little more than two hours. When he returned to the deck again, which he did immediately, the various ships were lying with their heads all round the compass, the merchantmen showing no signs that they understood the signal; but on board the men-o'-war the crews were seen to be very busy reefing topsails; the topgallant and royal-masts and yards being already sent down on deck. Captain Leicester lost no time in following their example, as far as he was able. To send down on deck any of his top-hamper, with his limited crew, was of course quite out of the question, but he called all hands, and, hurrying them aloft, set them to work, first to furl all the light upper canvas, and then to close-reef both topsails. This done, he ordered them to furl the main and fore courses, which were already clewed up. Part of the crew were already on the main-yard, and the remainder, having completed the reefing of the fore-topsail, had descended from aloft forward and were on their way up the main-rigging to assist in the stowing of the main-sail, when a heavy black, threatening-looking cloud-bank, which lay stretched along the western horizon, was seen to suddenly burst open, revealing a broad copper-tinted rent, which widened with alarming rapidity. George's quick eye detected the change in an instant, and knowing what it meant, and that there was no time to lose, hailed the crew with a loud shout of-- "Now then, my lads, look alive aloft there, and toss up that main-sail smartly. If you are quick about it, you may yet get the gaskets round it before the gale strikes us; if you are not, we shall lose the sail, and very probably some of you, too." The men answered with a cheery "Ay, ay, sir," and set to work with a will, Leicester and the chief mate springing aft to the wheel at the same moment. In the meantime the broad yellow rent in the clouds to the westward had spread very considerably, the vapour overhead had gathered way, and was scudding rapidly across the sky in an easterly direction, and already, upon the western horizon, a long, rapidly advancing line of white foaming water gave unmistakable indications of the close proximity of the hurricane. The old _Tremendous_ now did what she could to hurry up the laggards, by firing rapid signal-guns; and the crews of the several ships, waking up at last, were seen swarming aloft, when it was too late, to shorten sail. The _Aurora_ was lying with her head pointed to the southward, with her starboard broadside presented square to the wind, when the gale first struck her. Her skipper, anxious to save his canvas, if possible, kept his men aloft as long as he dared, urging and encouraging them with his voice to exert themselves to their utmost; but when he saw the old _Tremendous_ bow under the first stroke of the blast as though she meant to "turn the turtle" altogether, he thought it was high time to look to the safety of his crew. "Make fast, and come down at once, lads," he shouted; "down with you, for your lives; the canvas must take care of itself now." Startled by the anxious sharpness of the hail, the men hurriedly knotted the gaskets, just as they were, and scuttled in off the yard like so many frightened squirrels. They were all in the main-rigging when the hurricane burst upon the ship. With a terrific, unearthly streaming roar it rushed upon her, and the barque, as if conscious of her utter inability to withstand its tremendous strength, instantly went over on her beam-ends, with her lower yard-arms dipping into the water. The men in the lee-rigging were almost completely sheltered by the hull of the ship, and they had therefore but little difficulty in holding on. But they were obliged to remain where they were, the lower portion of the shrouds being buried some eight feet deep in water, thus precluding the possibility of the men descending to the deck; whilst to go aloft again and endeavour to descend to windward, was as much as their lives were worth. They had a practical illustration of this in the fact that two of the men in the weather shrouds were actually torn from their hold, and dashed with such violence against the main-top that one man had his arm, and the other, three of his ribs broken. Captain Leicester, on seeing the near approach of the hurricane, had, after hailing his men to come down from aloft, lashed the wheel hard-a-starboard, and then, accompanied by Mr Bowen, he hurried away to the foot of the main-mast, where they cast off the starboard fore-braces and hauled in upon the larboard until they had braced the topsail as sharp up as it was possible for two men to get it. The result of this manoeuvre was that, when the gale struck the _Aurora_, her main-topsail, which was a-shiver, was blown clean out of the bolt-ropes in an instant, as also was the foresail and the partially-stowed main-sail; whilst the fore-topsail was strongly filled at once, and being luckily a new sail, and standing the strain upon it bravely, it quickly began to drag the ship through the water. As soon as she gathered way, her bows began to pay off, and presently she recovered her upright position with a jerk which snapped both her topgallant-masts close off by the caps. The wheel was now righted, and away the _Aurora_ went, scudding dead before it, under her close-reefed fore-topsail only. The crew now made the best of their way down on deck, the head-yards were squared, and an effort was made to clear away the wreck, two of the men volunteering for, and succeeding in, the dangerous task of going aloft to cut away the fore and main-topgallant rigging. George now had time to look about him a little, and observe the state of affairs prevailing outside his own ship. On all sides were to be seen ships--men-o'-war as well as merchantmen--scudding, like his own, before the irresistible fury of the gale. Nearly every ship had suffered damage of some sort, either to sails, spars, or rigging; and out of them all, very few had come better out of the first buffet than the _Aurora_. Here was to be seen a craft with topgallant-masts and jib-boom gone, and her canvas hanging from her yards in long tattered streamers; there another with nothing standing above her lower mastheads; here a barque with her main-yard carried away; there a stately ship with her mizzenmast and all attached still towing astern, and the _crew_ busy cutting away at the rigging which held the shattered spar; here another fine ship, totally dismasted; and there, now far astern, more than one dark object lying low in the water, and but imperfectly seen through the flying spindrift, which George Leicester knew only too well were the hulls of ships which had capsized, and whose crews would be left to perish miserably, since no human power could possibly save them in an hour like that. It soon became evident to the crew of the _Aurora_, that though they had so far escaped with comparatively slight damage, they could certainly not regard their ship as by any means free from peril so long as they remained in the company of the rest of the fleet. So many ships scudding together almost helplessly before the fury of the gale could not but prove a very great source of danger to each other, now that it was no longer possible to regulate their rate of sailing; and George soon found himself confronted with a new anxiety, that of being in danger of a collision. The sea was rising with extraordinary rapidity, and the various craft soon began to steer wildly, sheering so rankly, first to one side and then to the other, that many of them threatened to broach-to altogether. The _Aurora_ was a very smart little vessel under her canvas, as she now proved by keeping pace with two large ships, one of which lay on her port-bow, and the other on her starboard beam. So even was the rate of sailing of the three that neither of them, anxious as each was to accomplish the feat, could draw away from the others; and the strength of the gale was such that it was equally impossible for them either to make or to reduce sail. There they remained, therefore, maintaining exactly the same relative position to each other, now sheering uncontrollably inwards, so that each man held his breath and braced himself for the shock which seemed inevitable, and which, under such circumstances, must result in the total destruction of both ships; and, anon, surging as wildly off in opposite directions. To add still further to Captain Leicester's embarrassments, the trio of ships were rapidly overhauling a fourth, which was wallowing along dead ahead of the _Aurora_. She was a large craft, apparently of about eight hundred tons measurement; her three topmasts were carried away close off by the caps; the wreckage was all lying inboard, cumbering up her decks; her courses and staysails were blown to ribbons; and she was steering so badly that it was difficult to say _where_ she was going, except that her general direction was to leeward. George saw that, should he overtake this vessel before getting clear of the two which already hampered him so seriously, a catastrophe was inevitable, and he speedily made up his mind that the _Aurora's_ speed _must_ be sufficiently reduced to allow of her dropping astern and into the wake of one or the other of his present consorts. The only means by which, under the circumstances, this could be accomplished was by sacrificing the fore-topsail; and he accordingly called for a volunteer to assist him in the task. Mr Bowen and the carpenter both proffered their services, and, selecting the latter, and requesting the chief mate to take charge of the deck and superintend the conning of the ship, George went forward, followed by the carpenter, and led the way aloft. Now that they were scudding before it, the strength of the wind was no longer felt to its full extent; it was still powerful enough, however, to make the journey aloft full of peril, and the two adventurers were compelled to make frequent pauses on their way, in order to avoid being blown out of the rigging. At length, however, they reached the yard, and, producing their knives, began to work their way outwards from the mast, one toward each yard-arm, cutting the seizings as they came to them. Their task was soon accomplished; for when half the seizings were cut, the wind saved them all further trouble by carrying away the remainder; the sail gave one terrific flap--which sprung the fore-yard--and then, tearing out of its bolt-ropes, went soaring away ahead of them, like a flake of cloud. Thus relieved, the _Aurora's_ speed sensibly diminished and by the time that George was once more down on deck, they were able, by watching their opportunity, to sheer in under the stern of the ship which had before lain upon their port-bow, and thus place the _Aurora_ comparatively out of harm's way. They were only just in time. The ship ahead was overtaken, and, in sheering into her new position, the _Aurora_ was compelled to shave close past the stranger's stern. Glancing up at her as they shot past, with a feeling of deep gratitude at their escape, George saw a little crowd of passengers huddled together upon her poop, like frightened sheep. They were all looking at the _Aurora_, evidently fully aware of the danger from which they had so narrowly escaped; and among them George suddenly recognised a face which he had more than half hoped he would never see again--the face of his successful rival, as he believed him to be, Lieutenant Walford. George waved his hand in recognition, the salutation was half reluctantly returned, and then the two craft separated; but not before George had had time to read the name painted on her stern--the _Princess Royal_, of London. CHAPTER SIX. THE MUTINY ON BOARD THE "PRINCESS ROYAL." It now becomes necessary that we should for a short time forsake the _Aurora_, and follow the fortunes of the _Princess Royal_. At the moment of our making the acquaintance of this vessel a very unsatisfactory state of affairs happened to prevail on board her. She was, as we have already seen, a large ship, as ships went at that time, being of 870 tons register, and capable of carrying close upon 1200 tons dead-weight. She had saloon accommodation for forty passengers, and carried an armament of twelve 9-pounders upon her main-deck, the intention of her owners being that she should fight her own way, if necessary, to and fro across the ocean, and so be independent of convoy. But on her present voyage this plan had to be abandoned, the activity of the press-gangs, and the consequent scarcity of seamen being such that she cleared out of the port of London with only thirty men in her forecastle; a crew wholly inadequate to successfully defend a ship of her size in the extremely likely event of her encountering an adversary. She was therefore compelled, like many others, to avail herself of the protection of convoy. Upon her arrival at Plymouth, she, like the _Aurora_, received a visit from a man-o'-war's boat, which carried off four of her best men, reducing her number of seamen to twenty-six. It will thus be seen that, when she finally sailed out of English waters, she was very short-handed. Now, as Jack is to this day, so he ever has been--an inveterate grumbler; he _will_ find _something_ to growl about. It is not to be wondered at, therefore, that, with such good cause, there should be constant dissatisfaction in the _Princess Royal's_ forecastle. But though Jack _is_, and always has been, such a grumbler, and though probably nothing on earth will ever cure him of this habit--for habit only it is--yet, even where there is good and sufficient cause for discontent, a little judicious management, forbearance, and sympathy will prevent the mischief from going any further. Unfortunately, however, for the _Princess Royal_ and all connected with her, the measures adopted by those in authority on board her for the suppression of this quickly-discovered spirit of discontent were the extreme opposite of judicious. The master--as is sometimes the case with masters of very fine ships--was haughty and overbearing, possessed of a highly-exaggerated opinion of his own importance, turning a deaf ear to all the complaints of his crew, and treating them with an impatience and superciliousness of manner which made him heartily detested. The chief mate, an arrant sycophant, taking his cue from his superior officer imitated him to the utmost extent of his ability, with a like result; while the second mate was a blustering bully, whose great pride and boast it was that he could always make one man do the work of two. Hence, from the very commencement of the voyage, the quarterdeck and the forecastle, instead of pulling together and making an united effort to overcome the difficulties of their position, rapidly grew to regard each other with mutual feelings of enmity and distrust. Matters had consequently, as might be expected, been steadily growing from bad to worse, from the first moment of sailing; and on the day before the gale a very unpleasant incident had occurred on board. It arose in this way. On the second mate's watch being called, one of the men remained in his hammock, sending word by one of his shipmates to the officer of the watch that he was ill and unfit for duty. The second mate, instead of reporting the circumstance to the master, and having it inquired into, as was the proper course, jumped at once to the conclusion that the man was merely feigning sickness, in order to avoid the performance of his proper share of work; and, taking the matter into his own hands, he proceeded to the forecastle, armed with a "colt," and, dragging the unhappy seaman out of his hammock, drove him on deck, abusing him roundly the while in no measured terms, and setting him to work to grease the main-mast, from the truck downward. The poor fellow, who was really ill, procured a pot of grease and started up the rigging, but, finding himself wholly unequal to the task of going aloft, descended again, and proceeding aft to the poop went up to the captain, who happened to be standing conversing with some of the passengers, and requested to be released from duty, repeating his plea of illness. The second mate had, however, in the meantime mentioned the matter to the captain, putting his own construction upon it; the request was therefore harshly and hastily refused, the refusal being accompanied by the assertion that the pleader was a mean, skulking, mutinous rascal, not worth his salt. Lieutenant Walford happened to be one of the passengers standing near at the moment, and, as the dissatisfied seaman turned away, Walford turned to the captain and said-- "We in the army have a very short and simple method of dealing with fellows like that--we flog them; and, I assure you, it proves a never-failing cure." The sick man heard this remark, so did the man at the wheel, and from that moment Walford was a marked man. The captain turned round sharply. "Do you?" said he. "Then by Jove I'll see if it will prove equally efficacious here. Mr Thomson, have that man seized up to a grating, and give him two dozen; I'll be bound he'll be well enough to go aloft after that; if he isn't, he shall have another couple of dozen." Thomson, the second mate, at once sprang upon the man, and, seizing him by the collar, ordered the boatswain to call all hands. This was done. The men were drawn up in the waist of the ship on the lee-side, the sick seaman was seized up at the lee gangway, and in the presence of all on board (except the ladies, who retired to the saloon in indignation and disgust) the unhappy man received his two dozen. But here a further widening of the breach between the officers and the crew of the ship took place. The individual appointed to administer the flogging was the boatswain's mate, a great brawny Cornishman, named Talbot. This individual, when all was ready, bared his muscular right arm to the shoulder, and, grasping the cat firmly, measured his distance accurately with his eye; then stood waiting the command to begin. The captain, the mates, Walford, and one or two more of the on-lookers smiled their satisfaction as they witnessed these elaborate preparations for the infliction of a severe flogging; and the captain, willing to prolong the man's suffering as much as possible, allowed a long pause to ensue before giving the word. At length he nodded to Talbot, who at once took a step back, and, giving the tails of the cat a mighty flourish in the air, brought them down upon the man's naked shoulders so gently that an audible laugh broke spontaneously from the entire crew at the ludicrous sight. The captain turned livid with fury. "You!" he gasped; "what do you mean by that, you lubber? Lay it on, sir; lay it on hot and heavy, or by Jove I'll have _you_ seized up, and will give you five dozen myself." "Ay, ay, sir," was the imperturbable reply; and the second stroke was administered with even more threatening preliminaries than the first, but with, if possible, even less effect. "Put that fellow in irons at once!" shouted the captain, "and let him have no food except bread and water until further orders. You hear, steward? If he has anything more, I will make you responsible for it. I will teach him--and everybody else--that when I give an order, I will have it obeyed. Now, Rogers," to the boatswain, "take the cat, and give that skulking rascal at the grating the two dozen he so richly deserves." The boatswain stepped forward, and, without removing his jacket or making any other preparation, sullenly took the cat in his hand. The chief mate meanwhile went off for a pair of handcuffs, and, returning, slipped them on the wrists of the rebellious boatswain's mate. The second mate, who was still looking on, noticing the behaviour of the boatswain, and the ill-concealed triumph of the crew at Talbot's conduct, now turned to the captain and said-- "Let _me_ play bo'sun's mate for once sir; I'll be bound I'll give the sneaking lubber his proper 'lowance; he'll never get it from any of his shipmates, I can see." "Very well, do so," said the captain; "let him have it hot and strong; it will show those mutinous scoundrels that we have it in our power to punish them yet." The second mate waited for no more, but, whipping off his coat and rolling up his shirt-sleeves, snatched the cat out of Rogers' hand, and began at once to administer the punishment. His first stroke drew blood and forced a shriek of anguish from the quivering lips of his victim, a sound which extorted a laugh of fiendish glee from the captain. A second, third, fourth, and fifth lash followed in slow, deliberate succession, stripping off shreds of skin, and lacerating the back of the sufferer until it presented a sickening sight. At the sixth stroke the shrieks ceased, and the man's head dropped upon his breast. At this sight the second mate seemed somewhat startled, and looked up inquiringly at the captain. "Go on," said the latter, with an encouraging nod of the head; "go on and finish the dose; he's only shamming. Put a little more strength into your blows, man; I'll be bound you can fetch another howl or two out of him yet, if you feel inclined." Thus incited, the second mate actually proceeded with and completed his fiendish task, at the end of which the perspiration poured in a stream down his face, so great had been his exertions. But not another cry could he wring from his victim, in spite of all his efforts--the poor fellow was insensible, and in that condition was cast off from the grating, and taken below to his hammock. There was no doctor on board, so the unfortunate seaman was left to the clumsy though well-meant ministrations of his shipmates, who did the best they could for him, the captain refusing to supply salve, lint, or in fact anything else with which to dress his wounds. At dinner that evening the captain was urged by some of the passengers to represent to the commodore of the convoying squadron the insubordinate condition of the crew, and to request his assistance. This, however, he positively refused to do, roundly asserting his ability to command his own ship; but, as a matter of fact, the only reason for his reluctance to take this step arose out of the conviction that an inquiry would certainly follow as to the causes of the insubordination, from which inquiry, as he was very well aware, he and his officers could hope for nothing but a complete revelation of their own culpability. At the moment that this course was being urged upon the captain in the saloon, the incident of the flogging, and, indeed, the whole question of their treatment by their officers, was being discussed on the forecastle by the men; and, singular to relate, although Talbot was believed by his officers to be at that instant in irons below, if either of them had walked forward just then, they would have found him snugly seated on deck, free, on the fore-side of the windlass, taking an active part in the discussion. By the time that eight bells had struck, they had fully made up their minds as to their course of action, and the assembly quietly dispersed. The next day was that on which the gale burst upon the fleet. On the signal being made by the _Tremendous_ to "Shorten sail and prepare for bad weather," the _Princess Royal_ was one of the first to manifest signs of obedience. She was at the time under every stitch of canvas she could spread, not because she was a sluggish sailer, for she was the reverse of that, but because, there being a flat calm, it mattered not how much or how little canvas was set, it could make no possible difference in the movements or position of the vessel; and the captain, seeing here a fine opportunity to impose upon his crew--"by way of punishment," as he put it to himself and his officers--a great deal of unnecessary work, ordered all sail, even to the studding-sails, to be set, for the purpose, as he averred, of giving them an airing. The first thing to be done in the way of shortening sail, therefore, was to take in the studding-sails, which the crew, not being then aware of the danger which threatened the ship, proceeded to do in a very leisurely and deliberate fashion. Their next task was to haul down the smaller staysails, then to clew up and furl royals and topgallantsails. They were all aloft, in the act of stowing these sails, when the hurricane burst upon them. They fortunately saw its approach in time to save themselves, and, leaving the canvas drooping loose from the yards, hurriedly descended to the deck by way of the backstays, and were scarcely there when, with the first furious rush of the wind, the three topmasts went, one after the other in quick succession, the wreckage falling on deck and lumbering it fore and aft. The crew regarded the mishap with stolid satisfaction. The delay which it would occasion in the prosecution of the voyage was nothing to them; the ship was stripped of everything above her lower mastheads, leaving so much the less canvas for her crew to handle, and that was all they cared about at the moment. A little later on in the day they saw that if the gale lasted--of which there was every prospect--the loss of her spars would result in her separation from the remainder of the fleet, and as they remarked upon this to each other, the men smiled grimly, and exchanged certain short pithy remarks which, had they been heard by the occupants of the saloon, would have produced a feeling of grave uneasiness. The crew were, of course, at once set to work to clear away the wreck, and this they forthwith proceeded to do, for their own sakes, however, rather than out of respect to the captain's orders, the heavy spars dashing about the deck with the roll of the ship in a manner which made it positively dangerous to be there at all. By nightfall the rest of the fleet had passed out of sight to the eastward, scattered like chaff before the angry breath of the hurricane, and the _Princess Royal_ was left to fight out her battle alone. By dint of almost superhuman exertions, the shattered spars had been secured, the main-sail cut away from the yard, and such other dispositions made as would allow of her being kept dead before the wind, and out of the trough of the sea during the coming night; and when the captain took his seat at the head of the saloon-table at dinner that evening, he was full of boastful exultation over the prompt obedience of his crew, frequently congratulating his passengers upon their being on board a ship in charge of such capable officers as himself and his mates. Of course he did not actually say this in so many words, but the burden of his remarks amounted to it, and nothing less. The second mate had the middle watch on that eventful night, and just after he had struck four bells, and the wheel had been relieved, he was inexpressibly scandalised by hearing above the howling of the gale loud sounds of singing and jocularity on the forecastle. Such sounds were of so very unusual a character on board the _Princess Royal_ that, coupled with the circumstance of their being uttered in the middle watch of all times in the world, he was at first so astonished as to be quite unable to believe his own ears. Very soon, however, they were repeated, one of the men actually breaking into a rollicking song, the burden of which was an invocation to "Let us all be jolly, boys," under every conceivable combination of circumstances. "Jolly! The scoundrels! How dare they so much as think of such a thing at a time when they were living under the ban of their officers' severe displeasure? And the ship a perfect wreck aloft, too!" It was simply monstrous; the second mate's righteous anger blazed up into full fury at once, and, advancing to the break of the poop, he roared out in stentorian tones-- "Silence, there, for'ard! What do you mean, you unmannerly swabs, by disturbing the ship fore and aft with your infernal howling at this time of night?" Either the "unmannerly swabs" had not heard him, or they were so utterly lost to all sense of the respect due to their officer as to pay no attention to his polite adjuration, for the song was continued, with some attempt at a chorus. The second mate was not in the habit of speaking twice to those under him, and he did not attempt to do so now. Drawing his knotted "colt" out of his pocket, he descended the poop-ladder, and hurried forward as fast as the heavy rolling of the ship would permit, determined to teach the "howling thieves" a lesson they would not readily forget. Meanwhile, though he was blissfully ignorant of the fact, sharp eyes had been watching his motions for some time; and his foot was scarcely on the top step of the poop-ladder when Jim Martin, the owner of a pair of the aforesaid sharp eyes, exclaimed-- "Hurrah, my bullies! Keep it up; here he comes. The shark has bolted the bait without so much as smelling at it." The group of men clustered on the forecastle made a slight restless movement, as men sometimes will when they are conscious of the approach of a great crisis in their lives, and the voice of the singer quavered the merest trifle. Another moment, and the second mate was among them, his eyes flashing with anger and his colt uplifted to strike. "What the deuce?" Before he could utter another word, his legs were cut from under him by the sweeping blow of a handspike, and he fell with a crash to the deck, the back of his head striking so violently on the planking as to momentarily stun him. In an instant a belaying-pin was thrust between his teeth and secured there with a lashing of spun-yarn; and then, before he had sufficiently recovered to realise his position, he was turned over on his face, his arms drawn behind him, and his wrists and ankles firmly lashed together. "Very neatly managed," remarked Talbot approvingly, as his gaze rested on the prostrate figure on the deck. "Now, mates, what's the next move? Come, Ned," to the boatswain, "you're to be our new skipper, you know; give us your orders, cap'n, and we'll be `yours obejently.'" "Well, then, if you're all agreed upon that, shipmates, my first order is for one of you--you Tom--to go aft into the saloon and knock at the `old man's' door [Note 1], and ask him to come on deck at once, as Mr Thomson have met with a haccident. Two more of you'll wait for him outside the door, and when he steps out 'pon deck sarve him the same as you've sarved our respected friend here. Then do the same with Mr Nicholls (the chief mate)." These orders were so skilfully executed, that in a quarter of an hour the mutineers had the captain and his two _aides_ prisoners--bound and helpless in their hands, without the slightest alarm having been given to the other occupants of the saloon. The larboard watch was then called; and from their first eager questions when aroused it became evident that the seizure of the ship was a carefully planned affair, of which all in the forecastle were fully cognisant. The seamen having paraded on deck, and been, with the aid of a lantern, carefully inspected by the boatswain to ascertain that there were no recreant spirits among them now that the crisis had arrived, each man-- excepting a half-dozen left in charge of the deck--was provided with a short length of well-stretched ratline, carrying which, they proceeded in a body to the saloon, and, entering the state-rooms, surprised in their sleep and secured without difficulty the whole of the male passengers, pinioned them firmly, and then, after depriving them of such weapons as they happened to possess, locked them up in their own cabins. The ladies were only disturbed so far as was necessary to make them acquainted with the fact that the ship had changed hands, and that, if they had only the good sense to acquiesce in the arrangement, they would be perfectly unmolested. The cook and stewards were also called, and, having been left in ignorance of the proposed mutiny lest they should inadvertently let the secret slip, addressed in somewhat similar terms; whereupon they at once declared their readiness to throw in their lot with the mutineers, and were forthwith sworn in. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note 1. The master of a merchant-ship is frequently spoken of by his crew as "the old man," whether his years happen to be few or many. CHAPTER SEVEN. LIEUTENANT WALFORD FINDS HIMSELF IN AN EXCEEDINGLY UNPLEASANT POSITION. On the morning following the seizure of the _Princess Royal_ by her misguided crew, the day broke tardily, revealing to the mutineers a wild, threatening sky, a high and increasing sea, the curling foam-crests of which raced after the ship menacingly, and an unbroken horizon all round. Not a solitary sail of any description was visible; they were alone, at the mercy of the towering mountain-surges, and of the gale which howled deafeningly past them. The sight which on that morning presented itself from the poop of the crippled ship was one to make the stoutest heart quail, to impress the onlooker with an overpowering sense of his own insignificance compared with Him who holds the ocean in the hollow of His hand, and of the blasphemous arrogance of those who would presume to take upon themselves one of the functions of the Almighty, and, in the blindness of their anger, attempt to mete out to their fellow-men that justice which it is His alone to repay. Yet no such idea presented itself to the mutineers; or, if it did, each man was careful to conceal it from all the rest. They had been systematically down-trodden and ill-treated from the commencement of the voyage; their lives had been made a burden to them; and now--having at last been provoked into the throwing off of their yoke of insupportable bondage--they thirsted for revenge upon the authors of their miseries. As might be expected, the whole internal economy of the ship was upset from the moment that she fell into the hands of the mutineers. Their first act, on the morning in question, was to transfer the male passengers from the cabin to the forecastle, and to remove their own belongings aft into the state-rooms thus rendered vacant. The ladies, of whom, fortunately, there were only half a dozen on board, were permitted for the present to retain possession of their state-rooms, being given to understand, however, that it was only upon the express condition that they were to make no attempt whatever to meddle with the arrangements of the mutineers, nor to communicate in any way with the male passengers confined in the forecastle. These arrangements completed, Rogers ordered the steward to prepare and serve to the mutineers in the saloon the best breakfast that the resources of the ship would allow; the passengers in the forecastle to be served with such a meal as ordinarily fell to the lot of the seamen; while the deposed captain and the two mates were to be left entirely without food of any kind. These orders were carried out to the letter; the unfortunate ladies being compelled to take their seats as usual at the breakfast table, and share the meal of the mutineers. This being over, the table was cleared; spirits and tobacco were called for, and Rogers, from his seat at the head of the saloon-table, gave orders that the captain and the two mates should be brought aft, and put upon their trial before a court of the whole crew. "There's one more as I votes we try at the same time, and that's the sodger-officer as got poor Dicky Rudd his flogging," observed one of the men. "Very well," assented Rogers, "bring him along, too, mates; I intended to take him by hisself, but it don't matter; bring the whole four of 'em." In a few minutes Captain Arnold, Nicholls the chief mate, and Thomson the second mate, with Lieutenant Walford, were ushered into the saloon, handcuffed, and guarded by eight armed mutineers. "The prisoners is before the court," announced Talbot, in a loud voice, anxious to make the proceedings partake as much of the character of a ceremonial as possible. The four men were then ordered to range themselves in line at the foot of the table, an order which, after a little hesitation, they sullenly obeyed. Meanwhile, the mutineers, having been served with tobacco and brandy, had lighted their pipes and provided themselves, each man, with a stiff rummer of grog. A cursory observer would possibly have thought the scene grotesque; but the four men ranged at the foot of the table speedily detected in the countenances of their self-constituted judges, an expression of stern determination which caused their hearts to sink and their cheeks to blanch with sudden fear. A low-toned consultation now ensued between Rogers and those nearest him, in which Talbot was summoned to take part. At its conclusion the latter withdrew a little apart, and Rogers, turning to the captain, said-- "Robert Arnold, yours is the first case. Who is the prosecutor?" "I am," answered Talbot, "on behalf of the whole crew." "Very good," acquiesced Rogers. "Benjamin Talbot, state y'ur case." Upon this, Talbot stepped up to the cabin-table and said-- "On behalf of the whole crew of this here ship--the _Princess Royal_--I charges Robert Arnold, late skipper of the same, with havin' treated all hands before the mast in a most onjustifiable manner. As you're fully aweer, shipmates, we was short-handed when we left London; and at Plymouth the men-o'-war robbed us of four of our best hands, makin' us more short-handed still. Very well. Now what's the dooty of a skipper to his crew under such sarcumstances as this here? Why, I say his dooty is to make things as easy as possible for 'em. Instead o' which this here Robert Arnold, the prisoner as we're tryin', he goes and expects us to do as much work, and to do it as smartly, as if the ship was fully manned. And because we couldn't do it--as it stands to reason we couldn't--he goes and makes _extra_ work for us by way of punishment; he robs us of our a'ternoon watch below; he stops our grog; he tyrannises over us in every imaginable way; he treats us like dogs and not like men, abusin' and bullyin' us, and goin' out of his way to hurt our feelin's; he refuses to listen to our just complaints; he encourages the first and second mates to sarve out to us the same sort of treatment as he gives us hisself, instead of takin' our part and treatin' us with justice; and he does all this not once in a way only, but from the very commencement of the v'yage. And, lastly, he orders a sick man to be flogged; laughs at the poor chap's sufferin's; and refuses to sarve out the necessaries to dress his wounds a'terwards. That, shipmates, is the charge I brings against Robert Arnold." "You hears the charge agin the prisoner, shipmates all?" observed Rogers, glancing round the table. "Ben Talbot brings this here charge in the name of all hands; so, if there's any of yer as disagrees with what he've said, just stand up like men and say so." A profound silence followed, no man making the slightest sign or token of dissent. "Very well," resumed Rogers; "nobody don't seem to have anything to say agin the charge. Now, you that _agrees_ with Talbot, and thinks as he've stated the case fairly, hold up y'ur hands." Every hand was at once and unhesitatingly raised at arm's length. "Unanermous," pronounced Rogers. "Now, Robert Arnold, you've heard what's been charged agin yer, and you've seen that all hands of us agrees that the charge is just. What have yer got to say in y'ur defence?" "Nothing," answered the captain; "except that I utterly disclaim your right to sit in judgment upon me or to criticise my actions in any manner whatsoever. Your conduct is in the last degree illegal and unjustifiable. You are a pack of mutinous scoundrels; and I warn you that a terrible punishment will surely overtake you if you persist in your defiance of my authority. If, however, you will return to your duty and deliver up to us, your duly appointed officers, the ringleaders in this disgraceful mutiny, I will undertake to overlook this most serious offence, so far as the rest of you are concerned." "You hear what the prisoner says, shipmates," observed Rogers calmly. "Do you consider as he've made good his defence? Is it your opinion as he've justified hisself? Them as thinks he have, hold up their hands. Them as thinks he haven't, stand up." The self-constituted judges with one accord rose to their feet. "That'll do; you may sit down agin," remarked Rogers. "The prisoner is found _guilty_. The next question to be settled is the matter of punishment. Now, there's a many ways of punishing a man, some on 'em more severe than others. The most severest as I knows is _death_; death by hangin' from the yard-arm. Them as thinks the prisoner Arnold deservin' of this punishment, hold up their hands." Two or three hands were hesitatingly raised, and, after a slight pause, lowered again. "Do I understand as _everybody_ thinks hangin' too severe?" inquired Rogers, glancing slowly round the table. "I do,"--as no hands were shown. "Well then, let's try something else. Perhaps, shipmates, some of yer's got a hidee as you'd like to put afore the court? If so, let's hear what it is." "I thinks as it would be no more nor he desarves if we was to treat him for the rest of the v'yage as he've treated us from the beginnin' of it. He'd know then what it's like, and if he lives long enough to get the command of another ship, maybe he'll then know better how to treat his crew," observed one of the men. "Not at all a bad idee," commented Rogers. "You've heard what Phil says; what d'ye think on't?" "I thinks it's a capical notion," remarked one. "I'm agreeable," intimated another. "Ay; let's see how he likes that sort of thing hisself," remarked a third. And so on; all hands intimating their concurrence in the suggestion. "Wery good," remarked Rogers, when all had spoken. Then, turning to the captain, he said-- "Robert Arnold, the sentence of this here court is that you'm to be turned for'ard and conwerted into a `hordinary seaman,' to do a hordinary seaman's dooties, and to receive just exactly the same treatment as you've sarved out to the hands since this here ship sailed from Hold England, namely, more kicks than ha'pence. And the Lord have mercy on yer miserable carcase!" He paused for a moment on concluding this--in his opinion--impressive address, and then ordered that Arnold should be removed to the forecastle, and the chief mate brought forward. This was done, and as Nicholls, the chief mate, stepped forward in answer to his name, his ashy pale face, his trepidation of manner, and his imperfect articulation all showed him to be labouring under a very agony of fear. The charge against him was also preferred by Talbot in pretty much the same language as was used by that individual in his charge against the captain; the accusation in the present case, however, being to the effect that Nicholls, occupying as he did the influential post of chief mate, had, instead of using his influence with the captain to make matters as agreeable as possible for the men, countenanced, aided, abetted, and encouraged his superior in the adoption of a harsh and tyrannical course of conduct. Upon this charge he was found guilty; and his sentence was similar to that of the captain's, with the addition that he was to receive at the gangway twenty-five lashes, well laid on. Thomson, the second mate, was now called forward; and the yell of fiendish delight which greeted him as the bully staggered up to the cabin-table, fairly caused his teeth to chatter with affright. The charge against him was made by Talbot, who plunged eagerly into his task with a manifest gusto which had been well suppressed in the previous cases. The indictment was very similar to that preferred against Nicholls; but, in addition to all that the latter had been charged with, Talbot rapidly enumerated a long list of wanton cruelties and petty tyrannies which had sprung spontaneously and unprompted as it were from the second mate's own evil nature. At the conclusion of Talbot's address the men, without waiting for Rogers to formally charge them, sprang eagerly to their feet and clamorously declared the prisoner guilty. The question of punishment was then referred to by Rogers; and the moment that he ceased to speak, the shout of "Death! Death! Hanging from the yard-arm," rang through the cabin. "And let him have five dozen at the gangway before he's strung up, just by way of payin' off Dicky Rudd's debt with interest," added a voice. The suggestion was carried by acclamation; and the miserable man was informed that the sentence against him would be carried into effect at the conclusion of the trial of the fourth prisoner, Lieutenant Walford, who was now commanded to stand forward. Walford stepped up to the cabin-table with an assumption of firmness which was completely belied by the ghastly pallor of his countenance and the convulsive twitching of his white lips. Grasping the table with both hands, he said in a voice which he in vain attempted to render steady-- "Before you proceed any further in this matter I wish to remind you that I am merely a _passenger_ on board this ship, and that I have nothing whatever to do with any quarrel which may exist between you and your officers. I have heard the charges which you have preferred against them, and I am wholly at a loss to understand in what way you associate me with them; you can scarcely suppose, I imagine, that the passengers would regard themselves as called upon to interfere in the management or discipline of the ship; for my own part, I have always considered you quite able to manage your own affairs, and quite capable of putting a stop to any injustice to which you might be subjected; you never appealed to me for help, and you therefore ought not to be surprised if I have held aloof." He paused here for a moment and glanced anxiously round the table to note the effect of his address, and seeing, by the stern expression on the faces of the men seated at the table, that he had wholly failed to make a favourable impression, he hastily proceeded to add-- "Furthermore, let me remind you that I am an officer and a gentleman, the wearer of his Most Gracious Majesty's uniform, and in virtue of that fact I may claim--I _do_ claim--to be in some sort his Majesty's representative, on board this ship. Any violence or indignity offered to me, therefore, is tantamount to offering the same to the king himself; and, as you are all fully aware, to offer indignity or violence to the king's person is high treason, a crime punishable with death. I hope, therefore, that you will pause and consider well the consequences of any hasty action which your present temporary assumption of power might betray you into, and that, before it is too late, and before you have too deeply inculpated yourselves, you will see the advisability of restoring to me my freedom." If he expected this appeal to be of any benefit to him he was sorely disappointed, for the gloomy, repellent expression on the faces of his judges, was only deepened by his ill-advised address. A moment or two of complete silence followed the utterance of his closing words; and then Rogers, looking him straight in the face, said-- "Well, pris'ner, have yer quite finished?" "Surely I have said sufficient to demonstrate to you the impolicy, as well as the injustice, of making me suffer for the faults of others?" exclaimed Walford. "Glad you think so," replied Rogers, with a sardonic grin. "Howsoever," he continued, "you may keep y'ur mind easy about one thing; we ain't goin' to make yer `suffer for the faults of others,' as you calls it; you'll only be made to suffer for faults of y'ur own; and bad enough you'll find that, I reckon. Now, Ben, what's the charge agin this one?" "I charges him," answered Talbot, "with havin' wilfully spoke the words what got poor Dicky Rudd two dozen lashes at the gangway, when the poor feller was 'most too sick to stand upright. If he hadn't spoke as likely as not the skipper had never ha' thought of it, and, so far as that goes, I believes that all hands of us is agreed that he wouldn't. Therefore I charges this here pris'ner with bein' the man what acshully got poor Dicky his floggin'." "You hears, pris'ner, what the crew has against yer; what have yer got to say to it?" interrogated Rogers. Walford had evidently either forgotten all about his ill-advised suggestion, or had believed the crew to be ignorant of it: he seemed to have thought that the utmost extent of the mutineers' complaint against him would be that he had not interfered in their behalf. When therefore he heard the charge against him, and realised the fact that he was wholly in their power, and utterly at their mercy, his courage--which at the best of times was only of a very flimsy and unreliable character-- utterly gave way; he involuntarily turned his eyes for a moment upon the miserable second mate; recalled the fact that the wretched man had been doomed to a speedy and degrading death by the same individuals who were now sitting in judgment upon him; and a shameful panic took possession of him. An uncontrollable shivering fit seized his frame, he was obliged to clench his teeth together, to prevent them from chattering audibly; he glanced wildly round him as if seeking for some means of escape; and, after two or three ineffectual efforts to speak, he managed to gasp out brokenly through his clenched teeth and quivering lips-- "I--I--I give you--my--my sacred word of honour, gen-gentlemen, that I was o-only in--jest. I nev-never believed for a--a moment that Cap-t-tain Arnold would t-take my remark seriously, or I as-sure you I would n-n-ever have uttered it. And besides, I re-real-ly believed that your--friend R-R-udd was--was only sh-h--er--ah--I beg your pardon gentlemen, I sc-scarcely know what I am saying, but--oh, gentlemen I don't be hard upon me--have mercy upon me, for God's sake! Spare my life, and you may do with me what you will." He ceased, from sheer physical inability to utter another word, and, sinking upon his knees, stretched forth his quaking hands in a mute appeal for mercy. This disgraceful exhibition of cowardice was _almost_ successful in winning for Walford an ignominious release. The mutineers were so unutterably disgusted that, for a moment, their impulse was to kick him out of the cabin like a craven hound and henceforward ignore his existence. But this impulse lasted only for a moment; they recalled to mind the insolent arrogance with which this same cowering creature had treated them when he deemed himself secure from retaliation; and they determined that, while his miserable life was not worth the taking, he should still receive so salutary a lesson as should effectually deter him from any repetition of the offence for the remainder of his life. "Well, shipmates," exclaimed Rogers, breaking the painful silence which had followed Walford's shameful appeal, "what d'ye think? Is the pris'ner guilty or not guilty?" "_Guilty_!" was the unanimous declaration of the assembly. "Guilty? In course he is. And what's the punishment to be? Death?" "Oh, no! Not death--not death, gentlemen. For the love of God, spare my life; I am not fit to die; I am not indeed. You see how young a man I am; why, I have never yet thought about dying. Mercy! mercy!" shrieked the miserable wretch as he grovelled on his knees before them, and sought to clasp the knees of the man nearest him--an attempt which was repulsed with an oath, a look of unutterable loathing, a kick, and a brutal blow on the mouth. "Come, lads, speak up," urged Rogers, wholly unmoved by the interruption, "say what the punishment's to be, and let's have done with it. I'm sick of this here, I am." "Well," said Talbot, stepping forward, "I wotes that the prisoner be first made to go and axe poor Dicky's pardon. If he can't get it, why, let's string him up at the yard-arm to balance t'other one. But if Dicky likes to forgi'e him, well, we'll spare his life and redooce his punishment to two dozen at the gangway--same as he got for Rudd--and make him do Rudd's dooty 'til the poor chap's better; arter which the prisoner can be set to do all the dirty work o' the ship. How's that, shipmates?" "Ay, ay, Ben; that'll do, bo', that'll do fust-rate. And he may thank his lucky stars at bein' let off so precious easy," was Rogers' reply; in which the remainder of the men laughingly acquiesced. "Then you'd better step this way at once, young feller," remarked Talbot to the miserable Walford, "and see what you can do with poor Dicky. If he won't forgive yer, mind, it's all up with yer." So saying he opened the door of the state-room in which Rudd was lying, thrust his victim into the apartment, and closed the door upon him. The state-room into which Walford was thus unceremoniously ushered was divided from the saloon by a bulkhead with a door in it, the upper panel of which was fitted with sloping slats like those of the Venetian window-blinds of the present day; it was perfectly easy, therefore, for an occupant of the state-room to hear all that passed in the saloon, and _vice versa_. As a matter of fact, Rudd, who was lying in his berth, broad awake, _had_ heard every word uttered during the course of the trial, and shrewdly suspecting that his shipmates were more anxious to thoroughly frighten than to actually hurt their fourth prisoner, and having, moreover, a trifling personal grudge against the man who had secured for him his flogging, he determined to have a little amusement at Walford's expense before according to him the pardon which he knew his shipmates expected of him. When, therefore, Walford staggered up to the side of the berth, and began eagerly and incoherently to stammer forth the most abject apologies and the wildest prayers for forgiveness, Rudd simply growled forth an oath and impatiently flung himself over in the berth with his back to the petitioner. This had the intended effect of causing Walford's apologies and prayers to be reiterated with increased eagerness and incoherence, to the hearty amusement of the men in the saloon. At length Talbot opened the state-room door, and, thrusting in his head, said roughly-- "Here, come out of that, mister; you've worried poor Dicky quite long enough. If he won't forgive yer, why, he _won't_, and that settles it. You've had a fair chance to see what you could do with him, and you've failed; we decided to give yer a quarter of a hour, and the time's up; so out you comes; d'ye hear?" The next moment Walford was seized by the collar, and was being dragged roughly enough out of the state-room, when Rudd, pretending to relent, called out-- "There, take him away, Ben; but don't be too hard on him; I forgives him just this once, and I hopes he won't never do it again." Walford, upon hearing these words, which seemed to him a reprieve from the very jaws of death, broke away from Talbot's grasp, and, rushing back to the side of the berth, seized Rudd's hand, kissed it wildly, and burst into an uncontrollable passion of tears, in the midst of which he was hustled unceremoniously out on deck. CHAPTER EIGHT. A DOUBLE TRAGEDY. A moment or two in the open air sufficed to settle in some measure Walford's disordered faculties and to restore to him his reason, of which he had been pretty nearly bereft by the terror of the preceding half-hour. He found himself in the midst of the--by this time--more than half-intoxicated seamen, none of whom appeared to be paying much attention to him, for they were all talking loudly together, discussing and arranging the details of the punishment of those whom they chose to regard as the two chief offenders. The men were all greatly excited by the potations in which they had freely indulged during the mockery of a trial in the saloon, and their differences of opinion on some points were so strong that at one moment the proceedings seemed more than likely to be diversified by a pitched battle. Rogers, however, whose head seemed capable of resisting the effects of almost any amount of liquor, interposed between the belligerents, and by a determined exercise of his newly-acquired authority, and by most frightful threats of the chastisement which he personally would inflict on the first man who ventured to disobey him, succeeded at length in restoring some semblance of order. This achieved, he ordered a grating to be rigged in the larboard gangway, and that, when this was done, the chief mate should be seized thereto. His orders were speedily carried out; and when the man Nicholls, stripped to the waist, was firmly lashed to the grating in readiness to receive his punishment, Rogers ordered that the second mate should be brought to him. The miserable Thomson was thereupon led before him, and a more wretched spectacle than this man presented it would be difficult to find. His old blustering, bullying, overbearing manner had completely deserted him; the fear of death was upon him; and he shivered like a man in an ague-fit. "You Thomson," said Rogers, addressing him in a calm matter-of-fact tone of voice, as if what he was about to say had reference only to some trifling everyday affair, "you was present at the trial of that man Nicholls as stands seized up to yonder grating, and you knows the punishment as it was decided for to give him. It was five and twenty lashes, well laid on; you hears that, _well laid on_. Wery good. Now, this here same man Nicholls, it seems to me, is in a sort o' way to blame for getting _you_ into your trouble. If he'd been a proper sort of man, understandin' that he owed a dooty to the _crew_ as well as to the owners of the ship, instead of encouraging you in your goin's-on agin us, he'd have took you o' one side, and he'd ha' said to you, `Look here, Thomson, my good feller, you mustn't be too hard upon them poor sailor-men for'ard; you knows as they don't muster a full-handed crew, and so it don't stand to reason as they can do so much as if they _was_ full-handed; they're a decent enough willin' lot of men, and we mustn't axe too much from 'em. Just keep that in mind, and make things as easy as you can for 'em.' If he'd been a proper sort of man, I say, he'd have said some'at of that sort to you, now wouldn't he? And you'd have listened to him, and then you wouldn't have been in this here precious scrape as you're in now, would you?" "You're right, Rogers; I should not," eagerly exclaimed Thomson, his eyes lighting up with a gleam of fresh hope, as he thought he detected in the boatswain's speech some signs of relenting. "If Mr Nicholls had only put the matter to me as you have just now put it, I should never have given a single man of you the slightest reason for complaint against me. But he never did anything of the kind; on the contrary, both he and Captain Arnold encouraged me to believe you an idle, worthless lot of scamps, and to treat you as such. And that is the plain, simple truth, I swear it." "Wery good," commented Rogers. "Then, you see, Thomson, you and us thinks alike, namely, that Nicholls in a kind of a sort of a way led you into this here miserable scrape. That bein' the case, we thinks it'll be only fair if _you_ gives him the twenty-five lashes--_well laid on_-- that the court have condemned him to receive." Thomson looked eagerly into the face of the boatswain, hoping that in this proposal he saw a commutation of his death-sentence. Rogers returned the gaze with a look of grim satisfaction, which the second mate mistook for a half-drunken leer of benevolence; and, anxious above all things to propitiate this man, who undoubtedly held the power of life and death in his hands, he excitedly exclaimed-- "I'll do it! Give me the cat, and you shall have _no_ cause to complain of the way in which I will execute your sentence." "All right; that's a bargain," agreed Rogers. Then, turning to the rest of the mutineers, he ordered them to fetch all hands on deck to witness punishment, "All hands exceptin' the ladies, I mean; they'd be shocked at the sight, pretty dears, and we must take care as they don't see nor hear nothin' as'd shock 'em, sweet, delicate creeturs," he added with a contemptuous laugh, which was echoed by his comrades as they staggered forward to drag the male passengers on deck. In a few minutes these were all mustered, Walford contriving, seemingly without attracting attention, to mingle with them and take up an unobtrusive position, from which he intended, if possible, to quietly effect a retreat at the first convenient opportunity. When all was at length ready, the scene which presented itself was a sufficiently curious one. The chief object of the picture was, of course, the figure of the unhappy chief mate, who, naked to the waist, stood firmly lashed to the grating, with arms and legs wide spread in the orthodox attitude of a man about to be flogged. Opposite him, and some four or five feet distant, stood Thomson, his coat and vest laid aside, his shirt-sleeves rolled above his elbows, and the cat in his hand, with the knotted tails prone upon the deck. Around these two figures, in a compact ring, stood the gentlemen passengers and the captain of the ship, a group of unwilling spectators of the outrage about to be inflicted; whilst outside them again, and completely hemming them in beyond all possibility of escape, crowded the half-drunken mutineers, armed to the teeth, and bandying brutal and obscene jests back and forth. Then there was the huge bulk of the disabled ship, surging madly forward like a hunted creature dizzy and reeling with terror, her spacious decks knee-deep in the water which was incessantly pouring in over her bulwarks as she rolled gunwale-under; and for a background the mountainous seas careering swiftly past, with their lofty crests towering high and menacingly all round the ship, and the leaden-hued, stormy sky. The deep and painful silence which prevailed was broken by Rogers' harsh voice remarking-- "Now, Thomson, you knows your dooty, which is to give the pris'ner on the gratin' five and twenty lashes, _well laid on_. So go ahead, my man, and let's see if you can't make him yell a bit louder than you did poor Dicky Rudd." Thomson glanced at the speaker and nodded. The hope which he entertained of an eventual escape from death had thrown him into a state of terrible excitement, bordering almost upon madness; his ghastly pallor had vanished, and was now superseded by a deep purplish tinge, resulting from the violent rush of blood to the head; the veins upon his forehead stood out like cords, his eyes glowed like those of a wild animal, and his jaws were flecked with foam streaked with blood, which trickled from a wound in his lower lip, where in his terrible excitement he had unconsciously bitten it through. This frenzied creature nodded his comprehension of Rogers' command, and, gathering himself up like an animal about to make a spring, he drew the tails of the cat slowly through his closed left hand, measured his distance carefully, and, making a quick bound forward, brought the nine knotted lashes down upon the mate's naked shoulders with a demoniac strength which seemed to literally bury them in the quivering flesh. The mate responded to this with a sharp yell, which was greeted by the mutineers with mocking laughter, Rogers remarking to Thomson that, "That was pretty well; but, you know, you can do a deal better'n that." The second stroke--but why go further with the description of the sickening scene? Let it suffice to say that when the inanimate body of the mate was cast loose from the grating, it bore the appearance of having been mangled by the teeth and claws of some savage beast rather than by a human being. "So far, so good," observed Rogers. "That ends act the first. Now, Thomson, it's your turn, you know. Strip, my boy, without makin' any bones about it; and let's see if you can take y'ur punishment any better'n your superior hossifer." The man spoke in a rallying tone of such geniality that Thomson grew more sanguine than ever as to the remission of the more serious part of his sentence, and, with a ghastly grin in response to Rogers' patronising smile, he began to slowly strip. He even, after drawing his shirt over his head, summoned the courage to walk up to the grating, and, leaning his body upon it, to spontaneously stretch out his arms and legs to the proper position. When the wretched man was securely "spread-eagled" on the grating, Talbot and another man were ordered to step forward and administer the flogging, which they did, relieving each other at the completion of every dozen lashes, until the entire fifty had been inflicted. The punishment was terribly severe; but the intense excitement under which the second mate laboured enabled him to retain his consciousness throughout, and even to stand without assistance on being cast loose. A stiff "reviver" of grog was administered to him by Rogers' order, and he was then told to dress himself. The critical moment was now at hand when the miserable Thomson's state of torturing suspense was to cease, when he would know for certain whether these men were actually relentless, or whether, having already wreaked an ample vengeance upon him, they would be content to ignore the remainder of his sentence; which, after all, he was more than half-inclined to believe was nothing but a cruel hoax, arranged beforehand for the purpose of giving him a good fright. Hopeful as he was, however, upon this score, he could not help feeling terribly anxious; and it was with the utmost difficulty that he controlled his quaking nerves sufficiently to replace his clothing without assistance. During the time that he was thus engaged, the circle which hemmed him in was maintained unbroken; the mutineers watching his motions with strong interest, and indulging freely in jocular comments and jeering encouragement as he winced and shrank at the chafe of his clothing on his lacerated back and shoulders. At length he stood once more before them, fully clothed, his eyes glowing like carbuncles, his visage blanched, and his whole frame quivering with pain and the tensity of excitement and suspense. "Wery good, Thomson; wery good indeed," remarked Rogers approvingly; "you've showed a great deal more pluck than any of us have ever give you credit for--so far. If you only behaves as well for the next ten minutes, we shall feel quite a respec' for y'ur mem'ry. Now, shipmates, and pris'ners all, for'ard we goes, to carry out the second part of the sentence." At the word, two of the mutineers stepped forward, and, placing themselves one on each side of the second mate, linked their arms in his and led him forward, halting him just beneath the fore-yard; the remainder of the crowd following in a body and forming in a circle round him as before. Then, at Rogers' command, one of the mutineers separated himself from the main body, and in the course of a minute or two was seen leisurely ascending the fore-rigging with a tail-block in one hand and the end of a coil of light line in the other. Thomson glanced upward at this man, and like a lightning-stroke the conviction flashed upon him that his doom _was_ indeed sealed--that the death-sentence passed upon him was no grim and ghastly piece of jocularity, no hoax practised upon him to test his courage, but that it was spoken in cruel and bitter earnest. For a second or two his heart stood still, his head swam, his sight failed him, and a feeling of horrible nausea oppressed him. He realised at last that he was about to die; that, standing there on that reeling deck as he did in the full strength and prime of lusty manhood, with all his energies mental and physical at their best, the sands of his life had so nearly run out that the few last grains were even now falling in the hour-glass of his fate. Then, in a single instant, the whole of his past life rose up before him, with every thought, word, and deed clearly and sharply reproduced. And, as it did so, the present world and all its concerns, its petty aspirations, ambitions, hopes, and strivings, dwindled away into the most contemptible insignificance; his mental vision cleared; he saw how full had been his life of great and noble possibilities--as are the lives of all of us, would we but allow ourselves to see that it is so-- and he saw, too, how completely he had missed his mark; how very far his own evil passions had led him astray from the narrow and seldom-trodden path which, faithfully followed, leads to that highest possible attainment of humanity--True Goodness. Ah! how bitterly he repented him then of all his lost, or rather his cast-away, opportunities. From his earliest youth he had chosen to follow evil rather than good; he had turned persistently away from the right; and now there was neither time nor opportunity left him for reparation. The utter blankness and uselessness of his life stood revealed to him as one long, unbroken, unanswerable accusation; and, in his mad despair, he suddenly dashed aside the two men who held him in their custody, sprang with a single bound to the rail, and, placing his hands upon the top of the topgallant-bulwark, vaulted clear over it before a single hand could be outstretched to restrain him, and with a yell which evermore rang in the ears of those who heard it, threw up his hands and vanished for ever into the dark and terrible depths of his ocean-grave. The little crowd of spectators stood for a few moments silent and almost stupefied at this sudden and tragic disappearance of the second mate from their midst. The occurrence was so totally unexpected that it in a measure sobered the mutineers, who regarded each other with some such expression as that of a group of school-boys terrified at the sudden occurrence of some disaster, the result of their own mischievous acts, and each anxious to shift the blame and responsibility from his own shoulders to those of the others. The first to recover his self-possession was Rogers, who exclaimed with an obviously forced laugh-- "Well, curse me if that ain't a good un! What, in the name of all that's foolish, made the man do that? He might ha' _knowed_ as we was only goin' to frighten him a bit. You'll bear me out, shipmates, that we was all agreed to go no further than the frightenin' of him a bit, and meant to let him off arter we'd made fast the rope, and let him stand with it round his neck a minute or two. Now, ain't them there the facts o' the case?" "Ay, ay, Ned; you're right, bo'; that's just exactly how't was," was the reply. "Nevertheless," answered Captain Arnold sternly, "you are as much murderers, every one of you, as if you had hanged the man--as you seemed about to do--or had taken him up and flung him over the side with your own hands. You _drove_ him to his death; his blood is upon your hands; and you will individually be called upon to answer for your accursed deed, if not in this world, certainly in the next." The men cowered like whipped hounds before the captain's denunciation, which they knew in their inmost souls to be just; for an instant they stood appalled before the awful conviction that they were indeed _murderers_, none the less guilty because their crime was unintentional; and, but for the swift intervention of Rogers, they would there and then, in their horror and remorse, have yielded up possession of the ship, and returned to their duty. But the boatswain, taking in at a glance the critical state of affairs, and fully realising his own perilous position as the ring-leader in the mutiny, rallied his men by exclaiming-- "There now, belay all that, you Arnold; we wants none of _your_ preachin', and, what's more, we won't have it. And, shipmates, don't you take no notice of what he says; we never _meant_ to take the second mate's life; we'd ha' stopped him from drownin' hisself if we could; and so it's just all gammon to talk about our bein' his--his--murderers. Now march the pris'ners down into the fo'c's'le again; clap the bilboes on 'em; shut down the scuttle upon 'em; and then come aft into the cabin, all hands, and we'll `freshen the nip.'" This proposal to "freshen the nip"--or take another glass or two of grog--was eagerly welcomed by the mutineers, who felt that they _must_ have something to dispel those qualms of conscience which so greatly disturbed them; and in another quarter of an hour they were all--with the exception of two men at the wheel and one on the poop, who was supposed to be acting as lookout--once more assembled round the saloon-table, busily endeavouring to drown their sense of guilt in a flood of liquor. The ladies--who had long before effected a retreat to their own state-rooms, where they had locked themselves in--were for some time allowed to remain unmolested; but when the libations in which the mutineers liberally indulged had at last achieved their desired effect, and the spirits of the men began to rise, one of the most reckless of them proposed that the ladies should be invited to grace the revel with their presence. The proposal was received with acclamation, and the unhappy women were forthwith ordered into the saloon. The poor terrified creatures at first made no response, hoping that if no notice were taken of them the intoxicated mutineers would forget all about them, and leave them in peace. But this hope was of short duration, for the mutineers, drinking deep and rapidly, soon grew excited, and, finding their repeated demands of no avail, staggered to their feet, and, breaking open the state-room doors, dragged forth their victims, compelling them to seat themselves at the same table and partake with them of the liquor with which it was bountifully supplied. The scene which followed is simply too shameful for detailed description. The men, inflamed by drink and rendered reckless by a feeling which none of them could entirely shake off--that they had already offended past all forgiveness--speedily grew more and more outrageous in their behaviour, until the orgie became one of such unbridled licence that one of the ladies--the young and lovely wife of one of the passengers imprisoned in the forecastle--in her desperation drew a pistol from the belt of the man nearest her, and, quickly cocking it, placed the muzzle to her breast, pulled the trigger, and sank upon the saloon floor a corpse, shot through the heart. This second fatality, more sudden if possible than the first, brought the unholy revel to an abrupt conclusion; the mutineers, thoroughly horrified at the occurrence, notwithstanding their drunken condition, staggering to their feet with one accord, and making the best of their way out on deck, where they sought to sober themselves by plunging their heads into buckets of water. Having to some extent succeeded in this endeavour, they next bethought themselves of the desirability of putting the ship to rights. It was still blowing very heavily, and the sea was higher than ever-- dangerously so indeed, as the ship had more than once narrowly escaped being pooped--but the sky looked a trifle less wild than before, and the glass was rising. Rogers therefore determined, as a first step, to get up a new foresail, bend, and set it. The sail-room was accordingly opened, and then, in pursuance of their resolution to do as little work as possible themselves, the prisoners in the forecastle were brought up on deck, and ordered, first to rouse out the sail, and then to go aloft and bend it. This the unfortunate passengers, aided and directed by the captain, at length accomplished, though it was at the imminent risk of their lives, the violent motion of the ship momentarily threatening to send them--unaccustomed as they were to such work--whirling off the yard into the sea. The sail being bent, it was loosed and set, close-reefed; after which the disabled ship not only steered more easily, but also became more steady; all further danger, too, of being pooped was at an end. The spare spars were next cast adrift, and preparations made for getting new topmasts on end as soon as the weather should moderate sufficiently; and thus passed that eventful day. Walford was soon found to be so exceedingly timid when aloft, that he was not only of no use there, he was absolutely a clog and hindrance to the efforts of the others; he was accordingly relegated to the ignominious post of cook's mate, in which an abundance of the dirtiest work was carefully provided for him. On the second day after his assumption of his new duties, this unfortunate individual, while engaged in the task of getting up coals from the fore-peak, was unlucky enough to capsize the lamp which he was using, and so set the ship on fire. Instead of giving the alarm instantly, as he ought to have done, he rushed on deck with the intention of getting some buckets of water, and endeavouring to extinguish the fire unaided. No sooner, however, did he make his appearance than he was hustled peremptorily off by the cook upon another errand; and when he returned, a quarter of an hour later, the forecastle was all ablaze, and the smoke just beginning to curl up through the scuttle. Then indeed he shouted "Fire!" with all his might, and at the terrible cry all hands rushed forward, to find the alarm only too true. In the first mad hurry and confusion, no one seemed to think of inquiring how the fire had originated; and Walford was beginning to congratulate himself that, whatever happened, his complicity would not be suspected, when Talbot, happening to run up against him, stopped abruptly, and exclaimed-- "Ha! you lubber, I saw _you_ creeping up and down the forecastle ladder just now, as gingerly as a cat walking upon hot bricks--you ought to know something about this job--and by Jove you do, too; I can see it by the blink of your eyes--so out with it, you long-shore lantern-jawed son of a baked monkey." To this elegant adjuration Walford began to stammer out an exculpatory explanation, which, however, was abruptly nipped in the bud by the boatswain's mate exclaiming-- "There, belay all that and coil up the slack of your jawing-tackle; there's no time to talk now; tail on there and try to make yourself useful. But look out, my lad if this fire gets the upper hand of us; curse me, if we don't leave you to roast in it." A vigorous attack upon the fire was speedily organised, Rogers and Talbot each taking command of a separate party, which they were careful so to arrange that there should be no possibility of their prisoners concerting together in a successful attempt to retake the ship. So far, however, as the passengers were concerned, they appeared to be far too anxious to subdue the flames to have time for any other thought or consideration. All through the ensuing night this curiously-constituted party laboured in their efforts to get the upper hand of the fire; but it had been allowed to obtain too firm a hold upon the ship before the alarm was given; much of the cargo was of a highly combustible nature, and though, by the zeal and energy with which all hands worked, they succeeded to some extent in retarding the progress of the flames, when day at length broke, it became apparent to all that the ship was doomed. When at last they were compelled, from sheer exhaustion, to desist for a time from their long-continued and fatiguing efforts, the fact--which had hitherto escaped their notice--became apparent that, happily, the gale had blown itself out; the wind had already dropped considerably, and the sea, though it was still very high, no longer broke in its former dangerous and menacing fashion. Upon seeing this, Rogers at once came to the determination not to waste any further labour in the useless endeavour to save the ship, but to devote all his energies to the getting of the boats safely into the water. The mutineers were by this time perfectly sober once more, and having shaken off with their intoxication the recklessness which it had engendered, they felt keenly anxious to escape the responsibility of any further waste of human life. But, as usual in such cases, their own escape, not only from the danger of being burnt with the ship, but also from the punishment due to their misdeeds, was of paramount importance with them. Before commencing, therefore, upon the difficult task of launching the boats, Rogers informed his unfortunate prisoners that he was willing to give them a couple of boats, with all necessary provisions and water, if they would individually take a solemn oath never to reveal any of the circumstances connected with the mutiny, nor to say or do anything which would place the mutineers within the power of the law. If they would do this, they might have the boats; if not, he informed them that they would be left on board the burning ship, and that the mutineers would take such measures as would effectually preclude any possibility of escape. Under the circumstances the prisoners had no alternative but to comply, which they did, and the launching of the boats was then vigorously proceeded with. This task, after an immense amount of difficulty, and two or three exceedingly narrow escapes from the accident of having the boats stove or swamped, was at length satisfactorily accomplished; after which no time was lost in provisioning and manning them. As soon as the boats were ready to receive them, the ladies were summoned from the saloon to take their places therein. The poor creatures could hardly be persuaded, in their terror and distraction, to leave even such inefficient protection as the saloon afforded them, so great was their horror and repugnance at the idea of being brought once more, even though it might be for ever so short a time, into the presence and propinquity of the mutineers. And when at length they emerged from the saloon, and, standing upon the wet and slippery deck, glanced first aloft at the splintered spars, the tattered remains of the sails, and the ends and bights of rope streaming in the wind, then at the great tongues of flame and clouds of smoke which enwrapped the forepart of the ship, and, lastly, over the side at the boats tossing like egg-shells upon the mountainous seas which swept hissing past, their courage entirely failed them; and it was not until Rogers, growing impatient at the delay, strode up to them and gave them the choice of going instantly and without further ado over the side and into the boats, or of being left behind altogether, that they could be persuaded to essay the dangerous adventure. At length, however, by the exercise of great care and circumspection on the part of all concerned, the trans-shipment of the ladies was safely effected, and then the gentlemen were ordered to go. The husband of the unhappy lady who had been so cruelly driven to suicide had been for some time eagerly looking about for his wife, and, not seeing her, he at last made inquiry of the other ladies as to her whereabouts. His grief, when the dreadful news of her death was gradually broken to him with all that gentleness of which a woman's tender, loving heart alone is capable, was something pitiful to witness; he rushed into the saloon, and entering the state-room in which the poor lady's inanimate body had been reverently deposited by her companions in misfortune, flung himself upon his knees by the side of the berth, and uttered alternately the wildest prayers that heaven would pardon her act of desperation, and the bitterest curses upon the heads of those who had driven her to it. It was with the utmost difficulty that he was at last persuaded by Captain Arnold to bid an eternal farewell to the beloved remains, and to join the rest of the party in the boats allotted to them. On hearing the order given for the gentlemen to pass down into the boats, Walford mingled with the group and pressed quietly forward to the gangway, having a vivid remembrance of Talbot's terrible threat, and not caring to remind him of it by a too obtrusive exhibition of his anxiety to escape. But in consequence of the still heavy run of the sea, several of the mutineers--both Rogers and Talbot being among them--were assisting at the transfer; and when Walford's turn came to pass down over the side, he was summarily ordered back by the boatswain's mate, who gruffly exclaimed, as his eye fell upon the quaking lieutenant-- "Here, you! stand back, will yer? Your turn ain't come yet." Walford at once fell back, in a state of most painful trepidation, but still hopeful that he would be allowed to go with the rest. When all the passengers but himself, however, had passed down the side, the order was given for them to cast off, which they at once did, ignorant or forgetful of the fact that one of their number still remained behind. Walford was about to rush to the gangway, and hail the fast receding boat, when the ever-watchful Talbot caught him by the collar, and flung him from him with an "Ah! would yer," and a kick which sent the unfortunate officer sprawling upon the deck. It was now the turn of the mutineers to take to the boats, and it was not long before they stood in the gangway, each with the bag containing his few belongings in his hand, waiting to be passed in turn down over the side. Rogers rapidly ran his eye over them, satisfied himself that everybody was present, and then began to call out their names in the order in which they were to leave the ship. When one boat had received its complement and shoved off, Walford once more pressed forward, half wild with anxiety now, and begged in piteous terms that he might not be left on board, as now seemed to be the actual determination of the mutineers. Upon this Talbot lost all patience with him, and, seizing him once more by the collar, thrust him before him into the saloon, exclaiming as he did so-- "Now look here, you meddlesome young jackanapes, there's been enough blood spilt on board this ship already--chiefly in consekence of your havin' shoved in your oar where it weren't wanted, and advisin' the skipper to flog a sick man--and I don't want to have to shed any more, you understand? Wery well, then; you stay in here until that there clock have marked off a good half-hour; arter that you may come out and do the best you can for yourself; there's plenty o' spars knockin' about the decks here, which you can lash together, and make a tip-top raft out of 'em, upon which you can go for a cruise on your own account; but if you shows your ugly head outside this here cabin before the half-hour's out, damn me if I won't lash your neck and heels together, and heave you into the middle of the fire there for'ard. Comprenny?" So saying, he coolly shifted the key from the inside to the outside of the saloon-door, slammed the latter, turned the key, and then the wretched Walford heard the heavy tramp of his footsteps upon the deck rapidly growing fainter and more faint as he walked away. CHAPTER NINE. DRIVEN TO MADNESS. As the key turned in the lock, Walford sank down in a state of semi-stupefaction upon one of the saloon sofas, listening like one in a dream to the distant sound of the men's voices and the occasional tramp of feet, as the mutineers passed, one by one, down the ship's side into the boats. A few minutes more and these sounds ceased. He lifted up his head, listening eagerly; but he could hear nothing, save the dismal creaking of the bulkheads, the moaning of the wind, the monotonous _swish, swish_ of the water washing across the deck outside with the roll of the ship, and the dull hum and crackling of the flames as they slowly ate their destructive way further and further into the heart of the doomed craft. "Were they actually gone?" he asked himself. "Was it possible that he was left alone, absolutely _alone_ on that burning wreck, thousands of miles from the nearest land, drifting he knew not whither at the mercy of wind and wave, with no hope of rescue and with the certainty that in a day or two at most the fabric which bore him would be so completely enveloped in the flames kindled by his own clumsiness that it would no longer be tenable, and the only alternative open to him would be that of perishing in the fire or flinging himself into the sea, there to battle despairingly for an extra hour or two of life?" He could not believe it, he _would_ not believe it possible that men could be found so inhuman as to leave a fellow-mortal in so desperate a strait; they were only trying him, as they had tried that poor fellow Thomson; and if he would but have patience to wait until the stipulated half-hour had passed, he would find them still there, waiting to receive him into the boat. He laughed aloud, as he thought what a fool he had been to allow himself to be terrified even for a moment, but the laugh was so utterly the reverse of mirthful, so harsh and ghastly, that he stopped abruptly, startled by the hideous strangeness of the sounds. Then he rose and crept on tip-toe towards the saloon-door, and, on reaching it, crouched down and applied first his eye and then his ear to the key-hole. The key had been removed from the lock and the shield had fallen down over the opening outside, so that he was unable to see anything; neither could he detect any sounds indicative of the presence of others on board. Once or twice indeed he _thought_ he caught the sound of whispered voices just outside the door, but he could not be sure about the matter; and in an agony of uncertainty he crept back to the sofa to watch the lagging minute-hand of the clock, and wait for the expiration of the half-hour. Oh! what a weary time was that for the lonely watcher, as he sat there with his hands tightly locked together, his frame quivering with anxiety and apprehension, and his eyes fixed upon that inexorable minute-hand, which would not hasten its movement, though his life might be dependent on it. What if the men should grow weary of waiting? A thousand horrible fancies crowded in upon him, until in his distraction he groaned aloud. The suspense became unendurable; and in his anguish he started up to burst open the saloon-door and learn the worst at once, but (remembering Talbot's threat, and more than half-believing him to be capable of carrying it into execution) turned back again and fell to pacing rapidly to and fro the whole length of the saloon instead. At last! at last! the half-hour of penance was over, and he was free once more. He dashed at the locked saloon-door, and, frantically hammering upon it with his clenched firsts until his knuckles streamed with blood, shouted eagerly-- "Talbot! Talbot! the half-hour is up; so open the door, please, and let me out, there's a good fellow." Then he applied his ear to the key-hole, listening eagerly for the first sound of approaching footsteps. Five seconds--ten seconds--twenty--thirty--a minute; why did they not come? Was it possible that they had not heard him? He applied his mouth to the joint between the door and its jamb, and again shouted, "Talbot! _Talbot_! _Talbot_!" until his voice cracked with the strain he put upon it. Still no answer, no sound save the wail of the wind, the wash of the water, and the creaking of the ship's timbers. "Good God! were they really gone? _Was_ he, after all, actually left there to die alone?" He seized the handle of the door and tugged at it, fiercely, desperately, with the strength of a madman; but the stout lock stood firm, defying his utmost efforts. Then he suddenly remembered that the captain's cabin was situated on the other side of the ship, with one door opening into the saloon and the other out on deck. With a single bound and a wild cry he crossed the saloon, and laying his hand upon the handle of the door of the captain's cabin, turned it; the door swang open. Another bound and he was at the outer door; was it locked? No; a twist of the handle, and he stepped out on deck, with the water surging and splashing over his feet. But what cared he then for such a trifle; he was not even conscious of it. Swiftly his gaze swept round the decks: they were empty. In an instant he was at the gangway and peering over the side. No boats there; nothing but the empty tackles of the quarter-boats alternately swinging in the air and trailing in the water with the roll of the ship. "_Where_ were the boats? Ha! towing astern, of course, it would simply mean destruction to them if they attempted to remain alongside in so heavy a sea." In frantic haste he scrambled up the poop-ladder and rushed aft. _The boats were gone_! "Then it was an absolute fact that he was left there alone and powerless, doomed to watch with a horrible fascination the steady relentless approach of the Grim Enemy in his most terrible form, and to suffer the while in imaginative anticipation all the agonies of a thousand fiery deaths. Oh, God! it was too much. Mercy! mercy!" And with a demoniac yell he stood clutching and tugging at his hair with both hands, his teeth clenched, his eyes fixed and almost bursting from their sockets, foam bubbling from his lips--_a raving madman_! This terrible state of distraction endured for nearly an hour, and then a species of numbness seized upon his faculties, his anxiety vanished, and he found his thoughts straying away and fixing themselves upon the veriest trivialities, conjuring up again before his mental vision acts and words which had never recurred to him since the day on which they had been done or said, mischievous practical jokes played off upon some unlucky school-fellow, mess-room jests and tattle, and a thousand other absurdities, at which he laughed aloud. Then disconnected words and phrases rushed helter-skelter through his seething brain, having no meaning, yet causing him the keenest annoyance, because he believed he had heard them before, and was anxious to connect them with the circumstances of their utterance. There was one in particular which especially tormented him. "Go for a cruise on your own account; go for a cruise on your own account," his brain reiterated with merciless pertinacity. What did it mean? Where had he heard those words before, and who had uttered them? He felt absolutely certain that at some time or other he had heard that phrase spoken, and that it had some intimate connection with himself, that it somehow concerned him vitally. "There was something else, too, said at the same time--something about--about-- what was it? Something about--ah! yes--spars and a raft--`spars--raft-- go for a cruise on your own account.' What could it mean?" Finally a gleam of reason returned to his clouded mind, and he realised dimly that it was of the utmost importance that he should construct a raft and "go for a cruise on his own account." Having at last grasped this idea, he rose from the seat upon which he had flung himself, and upon which he seemed to himself to have been sitting as long as ever he could remember, and proceeded to carry it out. Sauntering leisurely off the poop, he descended to the waist of the ship, repeating eagerly over and over again the words "spars--raft," lest he should forget them. There were several spare spars of various sizes, ranging from topmasts down to studding-sail booms, lashed to the deck on each side of the main-hatchway, and these he deliberately set to work to cast adrift. With considerable difficulty he at length succeeded in accomplishing this task, the result being that the spars were set rolling athwart the deck with the roll of the ship. Nothing daunted by this, however, he dashed recklessly in among them, and escaping, heaven knows how, from the incessant danger of fractured limbs, managed to drag out, one after the other, and launch overboard several of the lighter spars. Having commenced the work, he now toiled persistently on, allowing himself neither pause nor rest until he had disposed of every spar which his unaided strength would allow him to move. Then, panting, breathless, and reeking with perspiration, he walked to the side and peered over. The spars were nowhere to be seen; in his madness it had never occurred to him to secure them with ropes, and they had consequently drifted astern, and were of course tossing, some of them miles away, in the wake of the ship. Somehow the loss of the spars caused him no distress; indeed, as a matter of fact, he had again forgotten all about the raft, and had continued to labour on, merely because it had not occurred to him to stop. Now that he had stopped, however, he began to be conscious not only of fatigue, but also of hunger, for he had tasted no food for nearly twenty-four hours, and had been working hard all through the night; so he made his way by instinct into the saloon and thence to the steward's pantry, where he found an abundance of food, which he attacked ravenously. He then, after satisfying his hunger, bent his steps in the direction of his own state-room, and, entering, flung himself upon the bed, and soon sank into an uneasy and restless sleep. Meanwhile the wind had been steadily dropping, the sea going down at the same time, and when, just before sunset, the glorious orb burst through and dispersed the curtain of storm-tattered clouds which had for so long a time overspread the sky, his golden rays fell upon the _Princess Royal_, now no longer rolling gunwale-under, but swinging with a slow stately motion over the long swell, and still drifting lazily to the eastward; her bows heading now this way, now that; her fore-mast burned through and towing over the side; and the flames in complete possession of her as far aft as the main-mast. Walford's sleep, if such it could be called, lasted all through the night and until just before the dawn. Then the overpowering heat and smoke, the loud crackling roar of the flames, and the fierce ruddy light streaming into the saloon and through the open state-room door aroused him. Sitting up in his berth, he looked around him in a bewildered way, passing his hand impatiently over his brow repeatedly, as if striving to recall distinctly the remembrance of something vaguely haunting his memory, but ever eluding his mental grasp. Glancing vacantly around him, the red glare of the flames fascinated his gaze, and he turned to watch the leaping, flickering flashes of light as they came and went with the sway and roll of the ship. "Red," he began to mutter, "red as blood. Blood? Who said that I had been the cause of bloodshed? Who dares to say that it is my hand which has splashed those walls--that floor--with such hideous stains? Ha! see how they leap and dance, rise and fall; the place is full of them. Horrible! horrible! Are they there to taunt me, to reproach me, to accuse me? I say I did _not_ do it; I am not to blame. How could I know that--that--what was it? Let me think. `His blood is upon your hands.' Whose hands? Not mine, I swear; I could not do it; I have not the nerve, the courage for it. `His blood is upon your hands.' Who said that? It was not said to _me_. But stay--_was_ I to blame--_was_ it my fault? Ugh! what a terrible thing it was to see him standing there with the rope round his neck, to know that they were going to take away his life for a fault which perhaps he would never have committed but for _me_, and to feel that I had not the courage to intercede in his behalf; to stand there quaking with fear whilst _he_ was driven to his death. No, no; _I_ did not drive him to it; it was they; and I had no control over them--but--but--ah! I never tried to save him. Yes, yes, I am coming. Is that you, Thomson? Are you calling _me_?" He sprang out of his berth, and, making his way through the captain's cabin, passed out on deck. The first faint rays of the approaching dawn were lighting up the eastern horizon; but he saw them not; they were effectually hidden from his sight by the dazzling brightness of the flames and the dense clouds of smoke which went rolling heavily to leeward before the now scanty wind. The fire had made steady progress during the night, the hull forward being burned down nearly to the waters' edge; while aft, the flames had extended to the after hatchway, and the main-mast, burnt through at its heel, had gone by the board and fallen forward into the fiercest of the fire, where it was rapidly consuming. Luckily for the wretched Walford, the ship was once more dead before the wind, and the flames were fanned forward; had her head been in the opposite direction, his retreat would have been effectually cut off. As it was, the heat was so intense that he instinctively avoided it by springing up the poop-ladder and making his way as far aft as possible. Arrived at the extreme end of the poop, he stood gazing intently down into the black water, and presently he began muttering again. "Yes," he said, pointing down into the hollow of the swell as it came creeping up after the ship, "that is the spot where he went down; I saw him; I was standing near the bulwarks, and when he sprang my eyes followed him; I heard his dying cry; and I saw his last agonised upward look of despair as he went down with a plunge into the hollow between the waves, and the waters closed over his head for ever. For ever? Yes, surely--and yet--what is that white gleaming object there now, glaring up at me from beneath the water? It is--it _is_ the face of the dead man. Ha! see he is beckoning to me. Then it _was_ his voice I heard calling to me. Listen--what was that? Did you call, Thomson? He will not answer; he is tired of calling; but the white ghastly face is still there, and--see--there too is the beckoning hand. It is my summons, and I must obey." At that moment the weird plaintive scream of a sea-bird came floating down out of the grey shadows of the dawn, and Walford, starting violently, stood for a moment in an attitude of rapt attention. The cry was repeated; he glared wildly round him for an instant, and then, screaming hoarsely "I come--I come!" sprang over the guard-rails and into the sea. CHAPTER TEN. A STRANGE RENCONTRE. We left the _Aurora_, as the reader will remember, at the moment when, by the merest hair's breadth, she was enabled to avoid what must have been a terribly disastrous collision with the ill-fated _Princess Royal_ on the day when the hurricane burst with such destructive effect upon the outward-bound fleet. Deprived of her fore-topsail, the little barque was soon left astern by her two unwelcome neighbours, and--the fleet rapidly dispersing, now that it was no longer possible to regulate the speed of the several craft which composed it--by nightfall her crew found themselves, comparatively speaking, alone, there being only some twenty sail in sight from the deck. That night was a most anxious one for Captain Leicester, the gale being heavier and the sea considerably higher than he had ever before witnessed; the _Aurora_, however, proved to be a capital little sea-boat, riding over the great liquid hills light and dry as a gull; and when at length the morning broke, revealing only two sail in sight, George felt so easy in his mind that he did not hesitate to go below and seek in his comfortable berth an hour or two of that rest which he so greatly needed. The first stroke of the hurricane had been, as is generally the case, the worst; for about half an hour it had blown with frightful and disastrous fury, as has already been described, after which it lulled somewhat, and then had again steadily increased. Accordingly, when Captain Leicester went on deck at noon, he found the gale still gathering strength, the sea higher than ever, and the sky looking more threatening than he remembered to have ever before seen it. The ship was scudding under bare poles, and behaving capitally, too; but George saw that if the sea rose much higher there would be great danger of being "pooped;" so he--like the people on board the unfortunate _Princess Royal_--roused out a new foresail and, with very great difficulty, got it bent and set, reefed. This sail dragged the little barque along at a tremendous pace; and from that time there was no further danger of her being "pooped" or overrun by the sea. On the third day the gale broke; and by sundown the weather had so far moderated as to permit of the _Aurora_ being brought to the wind and hove-to, a manoeuvre which George was most anxious to accomplish, since the ship had, for over seventy-two hours, been running to the eastward, or directly away from her port, at the rate of some ten knots an hour, giving her over seven hundred miles of extra distance to make up. The _Aurora_ remained hove-to during the whole of that night; but at eight bells next morning she made sail under single-reefed topsails and courses; stretching away to the northward and westward on the port tack. She continued on this tack all day; and went about at the end of the second dog-watch, George's object being to work his way back to the spot, as nearly as possible, where the fleet had separated, and there wait two or three days if need be, in the hope of falling in with the bulk of them again. Captain Leicester had of course taken full advantage of the return of fine weather to repair damages; the crew had been busy during the whole day getting two new topgallant-masts aloft and rigging them, bending new sails in place of those split or blown away, and so on; the _Aurora_ was consequently, when night fell, all ataunto once more; and a stranger looking at her, would, except for the _new_ look of some of the spars and canvas, never have suspected that she had had her wings clipped. At nightfall she was standing to the southward and westward on the port tack, under every stitch of canvas that would draw; the wind was failing fast; the sea had long since ceased to break; there was now only an occasional white fleecy comb to be seen on the crests of the waves; and the ship was gliding gently along, with a slow, steady, rhythmical rising-and-falling motion over the long heavy swell, at the rate of some five knots in the hour. The skipper was in excellent spirits at having escaped so well and so cheaply from the fury of the hurricane; and he remained on deck until midnight, chatting with Mr Bowen, the chief mate. The relief-watch had just been called, and George was waiting to accompany the mate below when his attention was suddenly attracted by a curious appearance in the sky to windward. It was still cloudy; and, low down on the horizon and about two points on the weather bow, he noticed that the clouds were lighter and brighter in tint than anywhere else. "Look, Bowen," he exclaimed, "do you see that peculiar-looking cloud away there on the horizon, just over our cat-head? What is the meaning of it?" The mate looked in the direction indicated; and his more mature experience at once suggested an explanation. "Looks to me," he said, "as if there was something afire over there. Here, you Tom," to a lad belonging to the relief-watch, who had just come on deck, "slip up as far as the fore-topmast cross-trees, and see if you can see anything out of the common away there on the weather bow." "Ay, ay, sir," answered the lad; and in another moment he was dancing nimbly up the fore-rigging; his form just dimly discernible in the dark shadow of the sails. Presently he hailed from the cross-trees, "I can't _see_ nothing, sir; but the sky away over there looks uncommon bright, and it seems to _flicker_ now and then, as if there was a big fire burning under it." "That'll do; you can come down again," answered the chief mate. Then, turning to George, he said-- "Depend upon it, sir, there's a ship afire away over there. Well, we're steering a course as'll take us pretty close to her, if so be as there _is_ one; and I suppose, sir, you'll feel like giving of her a overhaul, won't you?" "Most certainly," answered George earnestly. "We will at least ascertain whether there are any human beings on board her. Mr Ritson,"--to the carpenter, who since Cross's impressment had acted in the capacity of second mate--"steer your present course, please, as long as the wind will allow you; crack on all you can; and, as soon as the burning ship--or whatever it is--is fairly in sight, give me a call." He then descended to his cabin, and in another five minutes had fallen into a state of blissful oblivion. At eight bells (or four o'clock a.m.) Ritson knocked at George's state-room door, after calling the chief mate, and said-- "We can see the flames and smoke from the deck, sir, though the ship herself is still hull-down. I've been up in the fore-top, howsoever, with the glass, and make her out to be a large ship--close upon a thousand tons, I should say--but I can't see any people on board of her, nor I can't make out no sign of boats. She's all ablaze from for'ard right aft as far as the main-mast, which toppled over and fell for'ard while I was lookin' at her. I fancy the people must ha' left her, sir." "All right, Ritson," answered George, "I'll be on deck in a minute or two." Within the stipulated time Captain Leicester made his appearance on deck, and proceeded at once to the fore-top, where, with the aid of his glass, he made a careful inspection of the burning ship. "Well, Mr Bowen," he said, when he had completed his examination, and was once more down on deck, "it is as Ritson says: there is no sign of any human being on board her; I have looked long and carefully at her, and am quite sure I should have seen the people moving about, had there been any. We will stand on as we are going, however, and cross her stern; we shall then perhaps get a chance to make out her name. Somehow, she has a familiar look with her, as though I had seen her before; I wonder if she was in the fleet?" "Like enough, sir," answered Bowen; "we're right in the track of 'em; and maybe this is one of the slow-coaches as we run away from." "Possibly," answered George abstractedly; and then the two fell to pacing slowly fore and aft, from the main-mast to the taffrail, in that persevering way which is so characteristic of seamen. The _Aurora_ was now sliding gently along at a speed of about four knots, with every sail set that would draw; and gradually she crept up closer and closer to the burning ship, which, meanwhile, was slowly drifting to leeward. The watch on deck were clustered together in a body, forward, watching the unusual sight; the ship being now about a point on the lee bow and about half a mile distant. Suddenly there was a loud shout from them, followed by the cry-- "There's somebody still aboard the burning ship sir!" George and the mate, who at the moment were walking towards the taffrail, with their backs towards the burning ship, turned quickly at the cry, and the former, hastily seizing the telescope which lay ready to hand on the skylight, swiftly brought it to bear. There, sure enough, standing right aft on the raised poop, could be distinctly seen a solitary figure, apparently that of a man. He seemed to be gazing intently into the water astern, pointing and gesticulating, and was evidently wholly unaware of the approach of the _Aurora_. "Yes," said George, "truly enough there _is_ a man on board; and he does not seem to have seen us yet; perhaps the glare of the flames has dazzled his eyes. Just step down into the cabin, Mr Bowen, if you please, and bring up a couple of muskets; we will fire them, one after the other, and the reports will call his attention to the fact of our presence." The mate turned away to do George's bidding, and he had hardly disappeared down the companion-ladder when the skipper, who had the telescope once more at his eye, saw the figure start--look behind him, as though he had heard some alarming sound--and then spring, in apparent terror, into the sea. "He's jumped overboard, sir!" reported the men forward, who were now eagerly watching the actions of the stranger. "Ay, ay," answered Leicester, "I see he has. One of you call the watch below; the rest of you lay aft here and clear away the starboard gig, cast off her lashings, and get her ready for rousing off the gallows and into the water." The gig which had been hanging at the davits ever since the _Aurora_ cleared out of the docks at London, had been destroyed when the ship was thrown on her beam-ends in the hurricane; and the men had been so busy on apparently more important duties that they had had no opportunity of getting another boat ready for service; hence there was now a considerable amount of delay in the launching of the boat which George intended to despatch in search of the swimmer. Mr Bowen soon returned to the deck with the muskets, and handing one to George and retaining the other himself, they fired them one after the other in rapid succession, hoping by this means to attract the unfortunate man's attention and show him that help was near. George then sprang into the mizzen-rigging and looked anxiously out over the glittering surface of the sea, in the effort to catch a glimpse of the man, should he happen to be still above water. It was not, however, until the _Aurora_ was fairly crossing the wake of the burning ship-- which by this time had drifted a considerable distance to leeward--that he was successful. Then, indeed, he did for an instant detect a small dark object on the crest of a sea, standing out in bold relief against the bright ruddy reflection of the flames in the water beyond it. Almost at the instant that he caught sight of it, he lost it again as it disappeared in the hollow of the swell, then once more it rose into view, clearly and unmistakably the head of a man. "All right, I see him," he exclaimed. "Now then, Mr Bowen, is the boat ready? I am going to that poor fellow's assistance, so back the main-topsail, if you please, and send the boat after us as quickly as you can." As the last words left George's mouth his hands rose above his head, his body curved itself over towards the water, and in an instant he shot downward out of the rigging swiftly as a sea-bird making its swoop, and entered the water without a splash. On coming to the surface, Captain Leicester struck vigorously out at once in the direction of the burning ship, knowing that the man he sought was exactly in line with her, but that he would probably not see him until he was close upon him. He swam steadily on, not hurrying himself, but husbanding his strength as much as possible, and in about ten minutes he caught sight of the object of which he was in search. But the manner in which that object presented itself to his view was so startling that George's first impulse was to turn round and swim back towards the _Aurora_ with all speed, an impulse which, however, was only felt to be instantly overcome. The man was suddenly revealed, within some six feet or so of George's grasp, as the latter rose upon the crest of a sea; but, instead of swimming as George expected he would be, the unfortunate creature was lying on his back, his ghastly white face upturned to the sky, and his eyes fixed and staring, with that terrible indescribable expression in them which tells at once and unmistakably the dreadful tale of _madness_. Very naturally, our hero felt a little doubtful as to the expediency of placing himself within the grasp of a madman; he therefore, before closing with him, exclaimed in a loud, cheery voice-- "Hillo, there! are you tired? If so, just say the word, and I'll drop alongside and lend you a hand." For all the visible effect this speech had on the stranger he might as well have been stone-deaf, for he vouchsafed not the slightest notice. George shouted again, with a like result, and then--still feeling very doubtful as to the best mode of proceeding--he struck out, and swam quietly round the ghastly floating figure. A stroke or two sufficed to place him in such a position as enabled him at last to get a clear and distinct view of the stranger's features, fully illumined by the glare of the flames, and instant recognition followed. "Walford!" he exclaimed. Then, without another moment's hesitation, he dashed up and, throwing himself upon his back, seized his rival by the hair and drew him into such a position as permitted of his taking Walford's head upon his shoulder and supporting it high enough above the surface to prevent the sea washing over it and so suffocating him. Walford offered no resistance, and gave not the faintest sign of being aware of George's presence; and there the two lay, quietly floating on the bosom of the long heaving swell, until the boat came to their assistance and conveyed them both on board the _Aurora_. On reaching the ship, George had his rival promptly stripped, rubbed vigorously down, and comfortably bestowed in his own berth, well and warmly wrapped up in blankets, with Tom Price--one of the forecastle hands, and a very smart, intelligent young fellow--to watch over him. After which, the skipper gave a little attention to his own comfort, and finally went on deck once more, it being by that time too late to think of turning in again. By the time that George regained the deck, the _Aurora_ had crept to a distance of about four miles from the _Princess Royal_. The unfortunate craft was by that time blazing fiercely fore and aft, the fire having at last reached her store-room, in which there was a considerable quantity of highly inflammable material; and half an hour afterwards her powder-magazine (almost every ship of any size in those days was provided with a magazine) exploded; and the charred fragments of half-consumed timber, which were widely scattered over the now sleepily heaving surface of the sea, alone remained as relics of the once noble and stately ship, the destruction of which had been the last link in a chain of disastrous occurrences resulting primarily from the overbearing, tyrannical, and imprudent behaviour of her officers. With the appearance of the sun above the horizon the clouds gradually disappeared, the wind dropped, the surface of the ocean became like heaving oil; and the _Aurora_, losing steerage-way, rolled almost gunwale-to, with her canvas flapping loudly and monotonously against her masts. About two bells (or nine o'clock) one of the hands, upon being sent aloft to "grease down," reported a sail in the southern quarter, and on the usual inquiry being put to him, as to what he made her out to be, he replied that she was a small topsail-schooner. "A small topsail-schooner!" muttered George. "I wonder what she can be; I cannot remember having seen any such craft in the fleet. Ritson,"--to the carpenter who had charge of the deck,--"do you remember having seen a topsail-schooner among the fleet?" "No, sir; can't say as I do," answered Ritson. "Don't believe there _was_ any such craft, sir; the smallest, as I remembers was that purty little brig painted all white down to her water-line; perhaps you recollects her, sir?" "Yes," said Leicester, "I recollect the craft perfectly well; and, as far as my memory serves me, she _was_, as you say, the smallest craft in company." The conversation here dropped for a time, George resuming the somewhat dejected saunter fore and aft from the main-mast to the taffrail, and the half-unconscious whistling for a wind, in which he had before been indulging. His pursuit of this monotonous and uninteresting occupation was interrupted by the steward, who requested him to step down into the cabin, "to take a look at the man as was picked up this morning; as he seems to be took a bit worse, sir." George at once went below, and found Walford sitting up in the berth, muttering to himself disconnectedly and occasionally addressing with great earnestness the watchful Tom, whose horror-stricken face plainly revealed that his patient's random observations had been of a somewhat startling character. On entering the state-room, Leicester at once addressed Walford, asking him whether he felt better; and the unfortunate man glanced for a moment in George's face with an air of semi-recognition; but this immediately passed away, and the incoherent mutterings went on again as before. "That's just how he've been goin' on for the last half-'our," explained Tom; "talkin' about `murder' and `hangin',' and being left to burn in the ship; it's enough to give one the 'orrors to listen to him." George sat down by the side of the cot and listened patiently for nearly an hour to Walford's rambling talk; and, although he was unable to make out from it a clearly-connected story, he heard enough to give him a shrewd idea of the truth, and to convince him that a terrible tragedy of some kind had occurred on board the ill-fated _Princess Royal_. The patient at length grew calm once more, and, lying back upon his pillow, seemed inclined to sleep, upon which George quietly rose and went on deck again to see how matters were proceeding there. As he meditatively made his way up the companion-ladder, he could not help thinking of the singularity of this last meeting between him and his rival, and comparing it with the one which had occurred on that lovely June evening, on the road to Stoke. As the two men stood there on the white dusty road, with the rays of the declining sun darting down upon them through the foliage of the overhanging trees, and as Walford told the story of his just concluded engagement to Lucy, how little, thought George, could either of them suspect that, when they next came into such close contact, it would be literally on the bosom of the broad Atlantic, up-borne by nothing save its restless waters. Poor Leicester was greatly disturbed by this singular and unconscious claim upon his hospitality which had so recently arisen. He was as generous-hearted a man as the sun ever shone upon, ever ready to give liberally and ungrudgingly to any one who seemed to be in need; but somehow he wished that in the present instance it had fallen to the lot of some one else than himself to play the part of rescuer and benefactor, or that the rescued individual had been any one rather than Walford. The fact was that he wanted to forget, if possible, the keen and bitter pain of his disappointment: and now the presence of his unhappy guest had brought it all back to him and would keep it in poignant remembrance as long as they two should remain together. Then, he bethought himself how selfish a feeling he had been allowing himself to indulge; how utterly he had forgotten that the matter was one with which Lucy's happiness must be inseparably connected; and that fate--or Providence, rather, as he reverently corrected himself--had in a very great measure confided that happiness to his keeping, by delivering into his care the man upon whom she had bestowed the priceless treasure of her heart's best love. And as he thought this, he solemnly vowed that he would honestly strive to prove worthy of the trust; that he would be to Lucy's lover a brother-- ay, _more_ than a brother; that he would nurse and tend him, restore to him his reason if God willed it, and, in any case, watch over and protect him--at the cost of his own life even, if need were--until he could restore him to the arms of the woman who was impatiently awaiting at home his safe return. "His well-being has been confided to me as a sacred trust," he murmured in conclusion, "and, please God, I will prove myself worthy of it." With this resolution he dismissed the subject temporarily from his thoughts, and turned his attention once more to the affairs of the ship. Glancing aloft, and then all round the horizon, he observed that it had fallen a flat calm, and that moreover there was no immediate prospect of a breeze. The sky was a clear deep blue in the zenith, merging by imperceptible gradations into a delicate warm grey at the horizon. The water was absolutely without a ripple, there was not so much as the faintest suggestion of a "cat's-paw" on all its glassy surface; and save for the long sluggish sweep and heave of the swell which, as it undulated past the ship, caught and reflected the varying tints of the sky, it would have been difficult to detect the presence of water at all at a distance of more than a few yards from the ship. The _Aurora_ was still rolling sluggishly on the sleepy swell; her dazzling white canvas flapping and the slings and trusses of the yards creaking with the roll; the men, rendered languid by the heat, were making such show as they were able of being busy on various odd jobs about the decks or aloft; and the man at the wheel had lashed it and was leaning upon it more than half-asleep. Ritson, apparently for want of something better to do, was seated on the main-topmast cross-trees, with the ship's telescope in his hand, scrutinising the motions of the distant schooner, whose tiny "royal" was now visible from the deck, gleaming white as snow on the extreme verge of the horizon. Noting all these things at a glance, George turned to saunter aft, thinking that on such a perfectly calm day, and with such still water, he might, by leaning well out over the taffrail, get a glimpse of the ship's bottom and see whether it had fouled at all, or whether the copper showed any signs of wrinkling. Arrived at the taffrail, he leaned well out over it, and peered down into the water. The first thing which attracted his notice was the deep, pure, beautiful ultramarine tint of the water, as he gazed far down into its unfathomable depths; the next was, the presence of a long greyish-brown object under the ship's counter, which had escaped his notice at first in consequence of its being in the deepest shadow of the hull. A moment sufficed to satisfy him that it was a huge shark; and as the creature caught sight of him, and with a barely perceptible movement of its fins, backed out a foot or two from under the ship, as if in preparation to make a dart at him in case he should fall into the water, George shuddered at the thought of what might have been his or Walford's fate, had the monster been in the neighbourhood of the ship a few hours earlier. Sliding his body gently inboard again, Leicester turned to the dozing helmsman, and exclaimed-- "Here, you Ned; rouse up, man. There's a big shark under the counter, so get out the shark-hook, ask the cook for a piece of good fat pork, and muster the watch aft in readiness to haul him inboard, in case we can coax him into swallowing the bait." CHAPTER ELEVEN. A SUSPICIOUS SAIL. The man hurried away joyously to do George's bidding, hailing his comrades aloft to "knock off work and come shark-fishing, all you sea-dogs aloft there," as soon as he had placed a sufficiently respectful distance between himself and his skipper. There is no sport or pastime in which sailors will engage more eagerly than in the attempt to capture a shark; they regard the creature as their worst and most relentless enemy, and never willingly let slip an opportunity to catch and destroy one, frequently venting their hatred upon the unfortunate fish, when caught, in the utmost refinement of cruelty. Accordingly, no sooner was Ned's hail heard than, dropping incontinently whatever work they happened to be engaged on, the whole watch, Ritson included, hurried down on deck and aft to the taffrail, to take a share in the sport Ritson, by virtue of his superior rank, assumed the lead at once, and as a matter of course. Taking the hook with its swivel and chain attached, and a piece of fat pork, some three or four pounds in weight, from the now lively and wide-awake Ned, he called out for "a bit of stoutish line," busying himself meanwhile in burying the hook cunningly in the bait, in order that the shark might not see it--for it is a well-established fact that these monsters, unless very hungry, are acute enough to refuse a bait if the hook is not well hidden. The line, in the shape of the gaff-topsail halliard-fall, hastily unrove for the occasion, was soon forthcoming, and the hook, being at last baited to the second mate's satisfaction, bent on to the chain. "Now stand clear," commanded Ritson, as he prepared to pitch the bait overboard, "stand clear all of yer; and when I gives the word to `haul in,' walk away for'ard with the line and bring his head out of water." A long steady pendulum-like swing or two of the bait followed, and then away it went out over the stern and into the water with a splash. Leicester who was leaning over the taffrail and watching the proceedings with the greatest interest, saw the great fish turn like a flash and rush to the spot where the bait had fallen, turning himself over on his side as he did so. "Hurrah! He bites; he's got it," shouted one of the men eagerly. But he spoke rather too soon; Jack Shark was not to be caught quite so easily. Instead of opening his great jaws and swallowing the bait, hook and all, at a gulp, as was expected, he stopped dead in his rush, and began to poke the bait about suspiciously with the point of his shovel-shaped nose; and finally, with a contemptuous whisk of his tail, left it, and resumed his former position under the ship's quarter. Great was the disappointment of the younger hands at this failure. "He ain't hungry," explained one. "Ain't he?" contemptuously retorted another. "Just you drop overboard and try him, bo'; why he'd take you--sou'wester, water-boots, and all-- down that main-hatchway of his'n without winking, and then come back and axe for more. No, no; 'taint that, mates; he's _waiting_ for somebody, most likely for the poor chap as the skipper picked up this mornin'!" "Come, stow all that rubbish!" exclaimed the second mate; "how do you expect we're going to catch the brute if you all stand there palavering like so many fish-wives? It's enough to frighten him away altogether. Clap a stopper on your jaw-tackles now, all of you; and give me a chance to play him a bit." The speaker thereupon, by sundry dexterous movements of the wrist, imparted a gentle wriggling motion to the line, which in its turn conveyed a corresponding motion to the bait, the latter being slowly drawn through the water at the same time. This was too much for the shark's equanimity; and he made another dash at the bait, still refusing to swallow it however. The second mate then tried the virtue of a few quick jerks upon the bait, as though drawing it away from the creature, which had the effect of causing him to turn once more on his side, and make a snap at it, actually taking it into his mouth. Still he would neither swallow it nor close his jaws upon it, but unresistingly suffered it to be jerked out of his mouth again. "We'll have him yet, boys," Ritson exclaimed. "Pay out the line to its bare end." This was done, the shark keeping close to the bait, turning it over and over with his nose, but persistently refusing to take it. "Now walk away steadily for'ard with your line, and stand by for a surge," was the next command. Away went the men, dragging the line after them, and towing the bait through the water. The shark followed it closely up; and at last, just as the pork was being dragged out of the water altogether, he made a determined jump at it, swallowing it and the hook together; and the next moment the men were brought-up "all standing" by the tremendous strain on the line as the hook buried its barbed point in the creature's body, while the water was lashed into foam and splashed clear in over the barque's taffrail in the fish's frantic efforts to free itself. "Hurrah!" exclaimed Ritson. "_Now_ you have him, lads. Hold on every inch of line, or he'll break away from you yet. Bear a hand here, one of you. Take the spanker-sheet and throw a running-bowline round the line, so's we can get it down over his fins. That's your sort, Ned; don't let him get it into his jaws. Cleverly done; haul taut. _Now_ we have him safe. Lead the sheet for'ard, let all hands tail on to it, and we'll run him up out of the water and in on deck." The bowline in the end of the sheet having been successfully passed over the fish's shoulders and under his fins, the rope was laid along the deck, and the watch, leaving one by one the line to which the hook was attached, got hold of the sheet, and then with a joyous shout of "Stamp and go, boys; walk away with him," they dragged the monster, still struggling furiously, up out of the water and in on deck over the taffrail. For a moment the huge fish lay perfectly still, then he began to plunge about and lash right and left with his tail in a manner which caused the whole ship to resound with the terrific blows; rousing the watch below, and causing them to "tumble up" _en masse_ to ascertain the nature of the disturbance. "'Ware tail," exclaimed the second mate warningly. "If any of you chaps catches a smack with it across your shins it'll snap 'em like pipe-stems. Where's the cook's axe?" The question was promptly answered by the appearance of cookie himself, his sable visage beaming and his eyeballs rolling with delight as he danced nimbly about the deck, dodging the strokes of that terrible tail, with his gleaming axe upraised in readiness to deal a blow at the first opportunity. At length there was a momentary pause in the tremendous struggles, a pause of which Snowball (all black cooks who go to sea seem to be dubbed "Snowball") promptly availed himself. A quick flash of his axe-blade in the sun, a dull crunching thud, and the back-bone was severed at the junction of the tail with the body; a lightning-like stroke of his long keen knife followed, and the severed tail was flung quivering aside as a long thin jet of blood spouted out from the body, broadly staining the snow-white deck-planks. But the shark had plenty of fight left in him still, as one of the men speedily discovered when, on thrusting a handspike into the great jaws, the strong, stout wooden bar was promptly bitten in two. "Here, lay hold, two or three of you, and capsize him," ordered Ritson; "we must make an end of the beast, or some of yer'll get hurted yet, I can see. Now then," as three of the men seized the shark by his enormous fins, "one, two, three, and over with him!" With a cry of "Yo, heave he!" and a hearty drag the great fish was turned over on his back; and then Snowball, stepping forward once more, placed himself astride the creature and, with a quick, powerful stroke of his knife, slit open its belly, and so put an end to its sufferings. But so tenacious of life was it that even after the removal of the vital organs the heart was seen to be still expanding and contracting, which it continued to do for fully five minutes after being taken out of the fish. The head was next cut off and the back-bone removed for preservation as "curios," after which the mutilated carcass was thrown overboard and the decks washed down. Ritson did not wait for the completion of this operation, but, leaving its superintendence to Mr Bowen (who, like the rest of the watch below, had come on deck to see what was the cause of the unusual tumult), retired once more with the telescope to his former post in the main-topmast cross-trees, and resumed his scrutiny of the strange schooner. George noticed this, and vaguely wondering what had so greatly excited his second mate's curiosity, glanced in the direction to which the telescope was pointing, to find to his surprise that the upper half of the stranger's topsail was visible from the deck. "Why, Ritson," he hailed, "the schooner must have a little air of wind, surely; she is nearing us perceptibly." Ritson, entirely contrary to nautical etiquette, made no reply to the skipper's hail, but remained with his eye immovably glued to the tube for a full minute longer, when he gently closed the instrument and descended slowly to the deck. Arrived there, he walked up to Captain Leicester, and first glancing cautiously round to make sure that no one was within ear-shot, murmured in a low voice-- "She's heading as straight for us as she can steer, sir, _with six sweeps out_--_three of a side_. That means, sir, that her skipper wants so badly to get alongside of us, that he's noways particular about the trouble he takes to bring him here." George gave a low involuntary whistle of astonishment. "That is queer news indeed," he remarked after a contemplative pause. "And you think then, Ritson, that the craft is a--" "A rover, sir; neither more nor less," answered the second mate. "She ain't French, I'm certain; she ain't got the look of it; besides, the Johnnies wouldn't ventur so far as this in a craft of that size--why she ain't more than about a hundred and twenty tons at the very outside. No; she's a rover, that's what _she_ is; a craft with a low beamy hull painted all black, tremendous long spars, and canvas with just no end of a h'ist to it." "Give me the glass," said George; "I'll go as far as the cross-trees and take a look at her myself." The second mate handed over the telescope, and the skipper, proceeding aloft, soon saw quite enough to satisfy him that Ritson's conjectures as to the character and intentions of the schooner were only too likely to prove correct. Descending once more to the deck, he held a hurried consultation with his two officers, the result of which was a determination to fight to the last gasp, if the crew were only willing to stand by them. It would be necessary to ascertain their feeling upon the subject before anything could be done; so, it being then within a quarter of an hour of noon, George and the chief mate went below for their quadrants, took the sun's meridian altitude, and, on the bell being struck to denote the hour of noon and the termination of the morning watch, Captain Leicester gave the word for all hands to muster aft. "My lads," said George, when the men were all standing before him in obedience to his summons, "I have called you here in order that I may communicate to you a very disagreeable piece of intelligence. Briefly, it is this. The strange schooner yonder is a very suspicious-looking craft; Mr Ritson and I, who have both carefully examined her through the glass, are quite of the same opinion about her, namely, that she is _a pirate_. She has all the look of one; and her conduct tends greatly to confirm us in our suspicions, for she has rigged out half a dozen sweeps and is sweeping as straight down for us as she can come. Now, lads, I want to know what you propose to do in the event of our suspicions proving correct. Will you allow her to come alongside and throw her bloodthirsty crew in on our deck to cut our throats as if we were so many sheep! Or will you fight for your lives, and take your chance of being able to beat her off?" There was a few minutes of anxious consultation among the men; and then Ned stepped forward as spokesman of the party, and asked-- "What would you advise us to do, sir? What do you think of doin' yourself, sir, if we may make so bold as to axe?" "Mr Bowen, Mr Ritson, and I have resolved to fight as long as we can raise a hand in self-defence," answered George; "and my advice to you is to do the same. Alone, we three men cannot hope to do much; but with your aid I certainly should not despair of beating off yonder schooner, even though she be full of men. And if the worst comes to the worst and we find that we _must_ die, it will be far better to do so with swords in our hands, than to be slaughtered in cold blood." "Yes, yes; that's true; none o' that for me, thank'ee," and sundry other exclamations of concurrence followed the conclusion of the skipper's speech; then came another very brief consultation; and finally Ned once more stepped forward and said-- "We've agreed, sir, as you're in the rights of it about the fightin'; and we're quite ready to stand by yer--all hands of us--and do our best." "Very well," said George. "Then we will lose no time in making ready for our defence. Mr Bowen, we will have up that brass long nine-pounder which is down below; I provided it for just such an emergency as this." "Ay, ay, sir," answered the mate, in a cheery tone of voice which spoke volumes as to his confidence in their ability to beat off the pirate, if such the schooner should prove to be. Then, turning to the men, he continued-- "Now then, some of you, whip the tarpaulin off this after hatchway, and lift off the hatches. Mr Ritson, will you be good enough to rouse out a couple of fourfold tackles and get them made fast aloft? We shall require a chain strop also. That's right, lads; off with those hatches; we'll soon have the old barkie in fighting trim." Inspired by the mate's cheery manner, the men worked with hearty good-will; and in less than an hour they had the long nine-pounder on deck, mounted on its carriage, its tackles hooked on, the gun loaded, cutlasses and pistols distributed, boarding-pikes cast loose, and everything ready for a stubborn resistance. These preliminaries arranged, George and the chief mate made their way aloft as far as the main-top to watch the approach of the suspected schooner, which had by this time crept up to within about nine miles of the _Aurora_. She was still heading straight for the barque; and the telescope enabled them to see that her six sweeps were being vigorously plied; their long steady swing and the perfect time which was maintained in the working of them conclusively showing that they were being handled by a strong gang of men. "Why, she must be full of men, or those long, heavy sweeps could never be kept going for so great a length of time," remarked George to the mate. "We shall have to devote all our attention to those sweeps in the first instance, I can see. If we are only fortunate enough to knock away two or three of them, it will at least _delay_ their approach; and if a breeze would only spring up, smart as that schooner looks, I should not despair of being able to show her a clean pair of heels." "Ay," answered Bowen, "and we're going to have a breeze by-and-by; just the way we wants it, too. I can make out the upper edge of a cloud-bank rising now above the horizon to the east'ard there; and if we can only keep yonder cut-throat crew at arm's length until we get the wind, and if it'll only come down upon us pretty fresh when it _does_ come, I think, as you say, sir, we may give them handsomely the slip." With the view of getting a still clearer idea as to the possible advent of the desired breeze, Mr Bowen forthwith undertook a journey as far as the main-royal yard, upon which he comfortably established himself, with one arm round the royal-pole, whilst he carefully studied the aspect of the weather, and as carefully scrutinised the horizon to see whether there were any other craft in their immediate neighbourhood. No other sail excepting the schooner, however, was in sight in any direction; and having at length formed a tolerably clear opinion with regard to the weather, he descended again to the main-top, and remarked to George-- "That schooner must be coming up at the rate of about three knots, by the look of her." "Yes; about that," answered George. "And she's about eight miles off now, I should say," continued Bowen. "Yes; about eight miles," returned George, with his eye still peering through the telescope. "Then," remarked the mate, "it will take her a matter of some two hours and forty minutes, or thereabouts, to get alongside. And by that time, unless I am greatly mistaken, the first of the breeze will have reached us. I hope we shall get it _before_ then; because in light winds I don't doubt but what that craft could sail round and round us; but only let it come strong enough to oblige us to stow our royals, and I'll bet my old hat that we can walk away from her. I'm afraid we sha'n't scrape clear without finding out the weight of the shot she can pitch at us; but if our lads are only steady when the powder-burning begins, I sha'n't feel noways very greatly concerned." With which summing up of the case Mr Bowen dropped into a sitting posture alongside his commander, and, letting his legs dangle down over the outer edge of the top, filled his pipe, and proceeded to regale himself with what he chose to term "two whiffs and a half." CHAPTER TWELVE. A MARINE DUEL--AND ITS RESULT. The two occupants of the main-top maintained their position therein, keeping a watchful eye upon the movements of the schooner, until that craft had approached to within about three miles of the _Aurora_, when they descended to the deck; Captain Leicester remarking to the mate, as the latter swung himself down off the rail-- "I think, Mr Bowen, we may as well run up our ensign; perhaps the schooner will return the compliment and oblige us with a sight of the colour of her bunting." "Ay, ay, sir," answered the mate; and he walked aft, got out the ensign, bent it on to the halliards, and ran it up to the mizzen peak, where it hung in drooping folds, swaying listlessly with the sleepy roll of the ship. For some time there was no response on the part of the schooner, which held steadily on her way straight for the barque, her six long sweeps plying as vigorously as ever, and churning up the glassy water into a long line of miniature whirlpools, which gradually diminished until they finally subsided on each side of her gleaming wake. "The breeze, the breeze; here it comes at last, thank God!" ejaculated Bowen, who had been for some time anxiously regarding the rising bank of greyish cloud to the eastward. As he spoke, a faint, barely perceptible breath of cool air fanned the faces of the anxious watchers on the deck of the _Aurora_, and was gone again; a "cat's-paw" or two momentarily ruffled the surface of the water here and there, only to leave it as glassy as before; then came another puff, which lasted just long enough to trail out the ensign for an instant and to rustle the royals; and then away on the extreme verge of the eastern horizon, the gleaming water assumed a light blue tint, which gradually spread, creeping slowly down towards the two vessels, the blue on the horizon insensibly darkening all the while, and conveying the thrice welcome intelligence that the breeze was slowly but steadily freshening. "Yes," said George, "here it comes, sure enough; and in a few hours we shall have plenty of it, by the look of the sky. Stand by the braces, lads; let go, and haul the yards round, and be lively about it; we cannot spare the time to be taken aback just now; that's right, men; well there with the fore-braces; well with the main; brail in the mizzen and stow it; haul down the mizzen-topmast staysail. Now she feels the breeze. Hard up with your helm, my man, and let her wear short round. Let go your lee main-braces and round in to windward--gently now; not too quick; that's well; catch a turn with your after-braces and then square the fore-yard; well with the fore-braces; belay all and coil up. Ah! I expected that." The latter exclamation was evoked by the boom of a gun from the schooner; and, turning his eyes in her direction, George saw the white smoke floating lazily away from her to leeward, and then a white jet of water started up as the shot came flying towards the barque, then another--another--and another, and finally a scurrying splash as the iron messenger swept along the surface of the water and sank, falling short by about a hundred yards. At the same moment the heavy sweeps were laid in; the schooner's sails were trimmed as if by magic to the coy breeze; her head paid off; and as she swept gracefully round upon a course which would enable her to intercept the _Aurora_, a tiny ball went soaring aloft to her main-topmast-head and, breaking abroad as it reached the truck, a square _black_ flag fluttered threateningly out, a fit emblem of the character of those who sailed beneath it. "Not quite close enough, Mr Rover," remarked Bowen, cheerfully, as the shot sank into the placid depths of the ocean, now gently ruffled by the increasing breeze. "Shall we return the compliment, sir?" "Not just yet," answered George; "she is still a long way off; and we cannot afford to waste a single ounce of powder or shot. But it is time that we should have everything ready to carry on the fight in earnest, so I must ask _you_, Mr Bowen--as the most reliable man I have on board--to go below and see to the passing up of the powder; it will never do to run the risk of having an explosion in the powder-magazine." "Very well, sir; I'd have greatly preferred to have been on deck, to take my fair share in the fighting; but I'm ready to do my duty wherever you may choose to order me," said the chief mate, as he walked away aft with a rather rueful face, on his way below to the magazine. The schooner, finding that she was not yet within range, remained silent for the next five minutes; and then George, who was keenly watching her, saw another flash, another puff of white fleecy smoke, and once more the ball came bounding over the water, straight for the barque. "It will reach us this time," thought the skipper; and he was right, the shot striking the water about forty feet from the side of the _Aurora_ and then bounding harmlessly over her, except for a hole which it punched in the main try-sail in its passage. "Now, lads," said George, "it's our turn. Mr Ritson, run out the gun, if you please, and show us what you can do in the way of shooting." "Ay, ay, sir," answered Ritson gleefully, "the water's smooth, the ship's steady, and altogether it's a capital day for this kind of work. Man the tackles, there; run out; muzzle to the right, a trifle; not too much; so, well there; elevate the muzzle a _leetle_ more; there, that'll do; I'll try that. Now then, Snowball, let's have that `loggerhead.' Ned, just freshen that priming a bit. Now stand clear, lads, and you, Tom, touch her off when I give the word." Then, stooping down, he glanced along the sights for an instant or two, and finally gave the word "Fire!" At the word Tom promptly applied the loggerhead; there was a ringing report; and as the smoke cleared off the shot was seen to strike the water close alongside the schooner, and the next instant a white scar in her bulwarks attested Ritson's skill as a marksman and showed that the shot had taken effect. A hearty cheer from the _Aurora's_ crew manifested their elation at this lucky hit; and George, who was watching the schooner through his telescope, quietly remarked-- "Thank you, Ritson; that was capitally aimed; you must have done some execution among the crew of that craft, too, for there is a great deal of confusion among them on deck, I see. Ah! there they fire again." Once more the shot came flying straight for the barque; and once more it whistled harmlessly over her, just touching the main-mast as it passed, but inflicting no injury on the spar. "Capital practice on both sides," remarked the skipper coolly; "six inches further to the right, gentlemen, and you would have plumped that shot right into our main-mast. Now try again, Ritson, and aim for his spars; the sooner we can cripple him the better will be out chances of getting clear of him without loss to ourselves." Again the _Aurora's_ long nine rang out its sharp report; but for some reason, probably from over-eagerness on the part of the second mate, the shot flew wide, passing some twenty yards astern of the schooner. "Bad luck to it!" exclaimed the discomfited Ritson impatiently. "Run in the gun, lads; and be smart with it; that's your sort; sponge it well out; that'll do; now in with the cartridge; three strokes with the rammer; now home with the shot; run out the gun again; bear a hand with the priming-iron, you Ned; muzzle to the left--a little more yet; well with that. Now Tom, stand by--Fire!" Both vessels fired at precisely the same moment; the schooner's shot passing in through the _Aurora's_ bulwarks close to the gun, and making the splinters fly in all directions, one of the latter grazing Captain Leicester's cheek, and drawing blood; but, very fortunately, beyond this no further damage was done. On the other hand, the _Aurora's_ shot, much better aimed this time, cut the weather whisker-stay on board the schooner, and compelled her to at once keep dead away before the wind in order to prevent the loss of her jib-boom. "Well shot!" exclaimed George enthusiastically. "Fore and main-braces, lads; port your helm, my man,"--to the helmsman--"and let her come up `full and by;' round in upon the port-braces, fore and aft; board the fore and main-tacks; aft with the sheets, cheerily, my lads; if we are smart we may get out of gun-shot before they can repair that damage. Well there of all. Now to your gun again, lads, and let's treat them to another dose of the same sort." The men sprang about the decks like wild-cats, and, in their elation and excitement, did the work of at least three men each; the yards were braced up almost as soon as the ship could luff to the wind; the tacks were seized and boarded with irresistible strength and energy, the sheets flattened in; and in considerably less than five minutes the _Aurora_ was rushing along on a bowline with her lee covering-board nearly awash, and a clear, glassy surge spouting up on each side of her cutwater, and foaming away from her sharp bows with a hissing roar which was sweetest music just then to the ears of her delighted crew. "_Now_ the old barkie travels," exclaimed the exultant Ritson. "Unhook the gun-tackles, you sea-dogs, and rush the gun aft; we'll try a shot out through the stern-ports this time." At this moment the boom of another gun from the schooner was heard; and next moment the shot came flying through the _Aurora's_ rigging, cutting the main-brace pennant, and passing through the head of the foresail. The lee main-yard-arm at once flew forward, throwing the main-sail aback, and of course seriously interfering with the barque's flight. "Up with your helm and keep her away until the main-sail fills again," commanded George; "haul inboard the brace, and one hand get a marlinespike and jump aloft to make the splice. Be smart, lads; there's no great harm done." Ritson was, in the meantime, busy aft with the gun; and presently he fired again, pitching the shot fairly on the schooner's forecastle, where some of her crew were busy with the cut stay. On board the _Aurora_ the main-brace was very soon spliced; after which Captain Leicester had the mizzen, gaff-topsail, and, in short, every stitch of canvas that would draw, set to the freshening breeze; then, inquiry having elicited the fact that tea--or supper, as the men termed it--was ready, he ordered the crew to knock off and take the meal whilst they had the opportunity. George and the two mates had their meal served on deck, the top of the skylight doing duty for a table; and they were about half-way through with it when the pirate schooner was seen to once more haul her wind in pursuit. This, however, gave them no immediate apprehension, as she was far out of gun-shot; the breeze was still steadily freshening, and the _Aurora_ was plunging along at a racing pace over the short sea which had already been raised, with the wind humming merrily through her rigging, and a great foaming surge hissing and buzzing under her lee bow and streaming out in a long trail of bubbling froth behind her. "We're going to have a fresh breeze to-night, I think, sir," remarked the chief mate, as he helped himself to another slab of salt junk, "and, if it'll only come fresh enough to oblige us to stow our royals, I think that, on an easy bowline--our best point of sailing--we shall be able to fairly run away from that chap." "Yes," said George, "I believe we shall. And if we can only get weather which will give us the advantage over her in the matter of speed, I shall feel very much inclined to turn the tables on her, and give her a good wholesome lesson. It struck me that our gun threw its shot considerably further than hers did." "I'm _sure_ it did," emphatically corroborated Ritson; "and it'd be doin' a real service to give the piccarooning rascals a thorough good drubbing." It appeared, however, as though the fortuitous combination of circumstances hinted at by Captain Leicester was not to be; for before long it became evident that the schooner, notwithstanding the freshening breeze and the increasing sea, was slowly but steadily gaining on the barque. But "a stern chase is a long chase," and the schooner, while repairing damages, had not only been left astern, but had also been compelled to run a considerable distance to leeward. So that, when the sun set, and the short brilliant tropical twilight faded out of the sky, she was still some six miles distant, broad on the _Aurora's_ lee quarter. With the setting of the sun there came a still further freshening of the breeze, laying the barque down upon her side until her lee covering-board was buried, and the water, spouting up through the scuppers, was washing the deck on the lee-side almost up to the coamings of the main-hatchway. The wind was making weird, wild music as it swept through the tautly-strained rigging; and the topgallant and royal-masts were whipping and bending like fishing-rods with every pitch and 'scend of the ship, while the straining canvas, towering away aloft toward the dusky heavens, stood as firm and steady as though moulded in iron. The watch below were in their hammocks, enjoying the repose which they had earned by a day of unusual exertion; and the watch on deck were also, by George's express command, snatching such a weazel-like sleep as could be obtained consistently with the holding of themselves ready for a prompt call in case of emergency. The night wore slowly on; the young moon, which had been hanging like a silver crescent low in the western sky, sank beneath the horizon; and the spangled heavens became almost wholly obscured by the broadening masses of dusky vapour which swept rapidly athwart them. There was light enough, however, to render the schooner easily distinguishable with the aid of the night-glass; and George, after attentively watching her for more than half an hour, came to the conclusion that the _Aurora_ was at length holding her own. "We will clew up and furl the royals, if you please Mr Ritson," said he to the officer of the watch; "I am getting uneasy about those sticks; and it would be most unfortunate to lose them just now. I believe we shall do just as well without the royals as with them in this fresh breeze. How is she steering? Pretty easily?" to the man at the wheel. "No, sir," was the reply; "she's `gripin'' awful; it takes a half-turn of the wheel to keep her out of the wind." "Then we'll take in the gaff-topsail and mizzen-topmast staysail as well," said George. "All that weather-helm must make at least half a knot difference in her sailing." Sail was accordingly shortened, the result proving the justice of Captain Leicester's surmise, for there was no perceptible diminution in the speed of the barque; on the contrary, in another half-hour both the skipper and his second mate were convinced that the _Aurora_ was gradually creeping away from her pursuer. The spread of canvas was then further reduced by the hauling down of the main-topgallant-staysail, and the furling of the fore-topgallant-sail; and finally the flying-jib and main-topgallant-sail were stowed, after which the two craft appeared to maintain, as nearly as possible, an equal speed all through the remainder of the night. The next morning dawned with a coppery-red tint in the eastern sky, and a streaky look in the clouds, which was a presage of a windy day. The schooner was about six miles distant, bearing three points on the barque's lee quarter. Her royal, topgallant-sail, and flying-jib were stowed; but by the way in which she was lying over to the breeze, and the dense showers of spray which were incessantly flying in over her weather bow, it was evident that she was still carrying all the canvas she could stagger under. "Now," said George to the first mate, when the latter came on deck to take charge at eight bells, "I think we have that fellow in our power, and can do pretty nearly what we like with him. In this breeze and with this sea we can outsail him; and with all that water pouring in upon his forecastle it will be difficult for him to work his long-gun to advantage, which I believe, unlike ourselves, he has fixed there on a pivot; so I propose to let him creep up within gun-shot astern of us, and fight him there, where all the advantage will be on our side." Accordingly, as soon as the crew had taken their breakfast, Captain Leicester ordered the jib and fore-topmast staysail-sheets to be hauled over to windward in order that the barque's speed might be reduced without shortening sail and so exciting any suspicion in the minds of the pirates of a desire on the part of the _Aurora_ to renew the action. This manoeuvre had the desired effect; and shortly before noon the schooner once more opened fire, the shot flying past the _Aurora_, and at some distance to leeward of her. This was doubtless in consequence of the violent motion of the schooner, which, being a much smaller vessel than the barque, was much more lively in the sea-way. This gave the _Aurora_ another advantage over the schooner, as was at once apparent when Ritson recommenced his gun-practice; his first shot passing through the schooner's topsail in close proximity to the mast. The firing soon became pretty animated on both sides, the _Aurora_ having, however, a decided advantage over her antagonist both in rapidity and precision of fire. Thus, while at the end of half an hour only one of the schooner's shot had touched the barque, and that without doing any material damage, her own sails and rigging were pretty well cut up, several shot-holes being visible in her canvas, whilst a number of ends and bights of ropes were seen streaming to leeward in the wind. At length a lucky shot from the _Aurora_ struck the schooner's fore-mast just below the eyes of the rigging, wounding the spar so badly that it almost immediately afterwards went, carrying away the main-topmast with it, and in an instant the whole of the pirate's top-hamper was towing to leeward, causing tremendous confusion on board, and placing the craft almost completely at the mercy of her antagonist. A hearty cheer burst from the lips of the _Aurora's_ crew at the sight of this disaster on board their adversary, a disaster of which George was determined to take the fullest advantage. "Now, lads," he exclaimed, "she is at our mercy, and we will inflict on her a lesson she is not likely to speedily forget. Clew up the courses, then let go the topsail-halliards, and double-reef the fore and main-topsails, and, as you come down, stow the courses." The men sprang aloft with alacrity to execute these duties; and, on their return to the deck, sail was further shortened, until the barque was under double-reefed topsails and fore-topmast staysail only; when she wore round and stood directly for the disabled pirate schooner, the long-gun being run forward and pointed out of the foremost port on the lee-side, and the firing resumed. In a very short time she was close to the schooner, round and round which George proceeded deliberately to sail, maintaining a steady fire upon her meanwhile. The pirate schooner, however, though disabled, was by no means rendered harmless, as Captain Leicester soon discovered to his cost; for, as he was sailing past her to windward, at a distance of about fifty yards, to his very great surprise, her crew suddenly threw open three ports in her weather bulwarks, and the next moment three six-pounder shots came whistling through the _Aurora's_ rigging, cutting a rope or two, but happily missing the spars and all gear connected with the canvas which was set. At the same moment Ritson fired his nine-pounder, and struck the schooner (which was listing over to leeward with the weight of her wreckage) exactly between wind and water. Now that the two vessels were so close together, it became apparent that Captain Leicester had been perfectly correct in his estimate as to the strength of the schooner's crew; for whilst a strong gang could be seen hard at work clearing away the wreckage of the spars, a sufficient number of men were still available to work the broadside guns to windward, which they did with great animation as long as it was possible for one of them to be pointed at the _Aurora_. This was not for long, however, for the barque, holding on her way, wore round as soon as she was out of musket-shot, and, passing across the schooner's stern, swept up again to leeward, Ritson all the while keeping up an animated fire from the long-nine, and evidently doing tremendous execution among the thickly-clustering men on the schooner's deck, who, whilst the barque was to leeward, were unable, in consequence of the wreckage, to return more than a very ineffectual fire. At length, after an hour of this work, the black flag, which had fallen with the main-topmast, was exhibited above the bulwarks of the schooner for a moment, lashed to a boat's oar, and was then dropped again, in token of surrender. "That means that they've struck, sir, you may depend on't," exclaimed Ritson, walking aft as if for further instructions. "Yes, I have no doubt it does," replied Captain Leicester; "but if they expect that the fact of their striking will be of any benefit to them, they are woefully mistaken. We are altogether too short-handed to attempt to take possession of her as a prize; and as to leaving her alone, in order that she may repair damages and have the opportunity of renewing her depredations, it is not to be thought of. She is not entitled to any of the privileges of an ordinary enemy, nor shall I extend any such to her. She is simply _a pirate_, one of those pests of the high seas which it is the duty of any honest man to destroy, if he have the opportunity. And that," he concluded grimly, "is what I intend to do. Keep up your fire, sir, and aim so as to strike her between wind and water if possible. I'll sink her before I've done with her." Ritson accordingly returned forward, and, communicating the captain's determination to the crew, they resumed work at the gun, with the stern set faces of men who recognised that they had a very terrible and disagreeable duty to perform, from the responsibility of which they dared not shrink. As soon as the schooner's crew discovered that their surrender had not been accepted, they reopened fire as well as they could from their own guns, and a man was seen to jump into the main-rigging and run aloft with something rolled up under his arm, which proved in another minute to be the black flag. Ascending as high as the lower masthead, he coolly climbed up on the cross-trees, and, standing there, deftly and rapidly lashed it to the masthead, after which he deliberately descended the rigging again, defiantly shaking his fist at the _Aurora_ as he did so. About ten minutes after the occurrence of this incident there followed another of an infinitely more thrilling and startling character. The _Aurora_ had worn round, and was once more passing the schooner; and Ritson was in the act of glancing along the sights of the gun, preparatory to giving the order to fire, when, without the slightest warning or premonition of the dreadful tragedy about to take place, a dazzling flash of light was seen on board the schooner, her spars, her deck, and all that was upon it went soaring in fragments high into the air, her sides were rent open, and in a tremendous cloud of smoke, and with a deafening report, the devoted craft disappeared. The barque's whole frame jarred, her canvas flapped violently, and she careened perceptibly under the terrific concussion; a dead silence seemed suddenly to have fallen upon the scene of strife, and then came the _splash, splash_ of the falling fragments into the water around, accompanied by the heavy thud of others descending upon the barque's deck; the water seethed and leaped madly for a few seconds on the spot where the schooner had a minute before been floating, then subsided once more into the long, steady, regular run and heave of the sea, and all was over. Whether the explosion was the result of accident, or the deliberate act of her desperate and reckless commander, it was of course impossible to ascertain; very probably it was the latter; but, whatever the cause of it, the pirate schooner was no more; a few rent and blackened timbers, with here and there the mangled remains of what had a few minutes before been a human being, floating on the surface of the heaving waters, was all that remained of her and her crew. George Leicester's grim deed of retribution was complete. CHAPTER THIRTEEN. SURPRISED. "A Terrible ending to a sin-stained career," murmured the skipper of the _Aurora_ with white set lips, when the first shock of surprise and consternation had passed away sufficiently to allow him to speak. "Up with your helm, my man," he continued to the seaman at the wheel; "up with your helm, and keep her away upon a west and by south course; we'll get away from this accursed spot as soon as possible. Man the braces, fore and aft, if you please, Mr Ritson, square the yards, secure the long-gun, and then let all hands make sail." Then, going to the companion, he passed the word below for Mr Bowen to close the magazine and come on deck. Five minutes later the chief mate emerged from the companion, and, walking up to George, observed-- "Well, sir, you've managed to make a pretty effectual end of the buccaneer, I see." "Yes," answered George gravely. "The schooner struck; but we are much too short-handed to take and retain possession of such a craft as that, so, as I did not feel justified in leaving them at liberty to resume their nefarious business, I continued to fire into the schooner, intending to sink her; and I am of opinion that her captain, recognising the fact that escape was hopeless, blew her up with his own hand, hoping to involve us in the destruction also. It was a terrible thing, Mr Bowen, to cause the loss of so many lives, but I am convinced that I only did my duty. And now, as there seems to be no immediate prospect of our falling in with the fleet again, I propose to take full advantage of this fine fair wind, and proceed upon my voyage; so please pack on the ship everything that will draw; then let the men clear up the decks, and knock off work; they have had two very fatiguing days, and have fought well; let them get all the rest they possibly can between this and to-morrow morning." When the sun set that evening, the _Aurora_ was flying to the southward and westward (as if instinct with life and thrilling with horror at her terrible achievement) before the freshening gale at the rate of fully twelve knots per hour, with studding-sails set on both sides, alow and aloft; while her crew, assembled on the forecastle, discussed in low tones the incidents of the fight, and her skipper, with hands clasped behind him, bent head, and furrowed brow, held solemn self-communion upon the same subject. George Leicester now found himself at liberty to attend to his guest, and he spent almost the whole of his leisure time by the side of Walford's cot. For the first week after the arrival of the latter on board the _Aurora_ very little change or improvement could be detected in him; his mental faculties seemed to be almost paralysed; and he would lie in his cot for hours at a time, with wide-opened eyes, staring into vacancy, the blank, expressionless look upon his face betraying the utter inactivity of his mind. Then there would occur a short period, during which it seemed that memory was struggling to re-assert itself; he would glance vacantly round the cosy sleeping-cabin in which he found himself, a look of mild surprise would overspread his features, and he would pass his hand over his brow with the action of one who is trying to remember something; then would recur another vacant period. During all this time he never expressed a wish or uttered a single coherent word; only occasionally, when the memory was struggling to regain its seat, he would mutter a few incoherent words, that of "murder" being sometimes repeated, in low tones of suppressed horror, half-a-dozen times together. His appetite appeared to be good, since he ate and drank freely whatever was offered him; but if the food was withheld, as it sometimes was, by way of experiment, at Captain Leicester's order, he never asked for it, or evinced any surprise or uneasiness at its non-appearance. About the tenth day, however, after the one on which he had been picked up, George thought he detected signs of improvement. The periods of thinking were more frequent and more prolonged, and once during that day, when the skipper entered the cabin, Walford noticed the opening of the door, and, turning his eyes in that direction, regarded George for some moments with a steadfast inquiring look; but the recognition, if such there was, was momentary only, the hand was pressed meditatively to the forehead the next instant, and then the blank look returned. The next day witnessed a recurrence of the same symptoms, added to which there seemed to be a vague sort of semi-recognition of George's voice; for, whenever the latter spoke, Walford would look up with an anxious questioning glance, as though he had an idea that he had heard the voice before. Finally, on that same evening, when George and Mr Bowen were in the saloon together, chatting over the tea-table, the after-cabin door being open, so as to insure a current of air through the apartment, Walford, who had been asleep, suddenly started up in his cot with the exclamation-- "Surely that is Leicester's voice?" George heard the ejaculation, and, springing to his feet, stepped eagerly into the sleeping-cabin, saying-- "Of course it is, my dear fellow. How do you feel now? Better?" "Better?" repeated Walford. "I haven't been ill, have I? Where am I? How did I come here? And where did _you_ come from?" "What a string of questions!" said George with a laugh. "But don't worry yourself by trying to guess the answers to any of them just now, you have been ill; but, thank God, you are getting better again. When you are well enough to listen, I will tell you all I know; until then you must be satisfied with the assurance that you are as safe as a man can be in a tight little ship, with fine weather and plenty of sea-room." "Safe!" ejaculated Walford. "Ah! but _am_ I safe? I have a horrible feeling of dread upon me--a sensation of some frightful danger hovering over me--a feeling that unless I can do something, I know not what, a hideous disaster will happen." He shuddered violently as these words left his lips; then, turning suddenly to George, he grasped him convulsively by the arm, and exclaimed in agitated tones-- "Oh, Leicester! tell me what is it that threatens? What have I to guard against? If you know what it is--" "There," said George soothingly, "do not worry about it any more. I did not intend to say a word about it for some time to come; but, since I find that you remember something about it, I will tell you this much. You _have_ been in very great danger indeed, but all that is long past; you are now on board my ship, more than a thousand miles away from the danger which threatened you, and as safe as a man can be in mid-ocean." "Thanks, thanks! I believe you," muttered Walford with a sigh of ineffable relief, as he sank back upon his pillow. "So I am in your ship, eh? That's strange; I can't imagine--but, there, I shall not worry myself any more about the matter; you'll look after me, I know; you're a thorough good fellow, Leicester, and I'm almost sorry now that I--that I--um! what _was_ it, now? Well, I dare say I shall remember it further on. I say, old fellow, what time is it? Nearly dinner-time, I should think, for I feel most confoundedly hungry." "It _is_ nearly dinner-time," answered George, delighted to find so great an improvement in the man he had vowed to protect and restore. "If you can hold out for another half-hour, I think I may promise you a decent meal by that time. Will that do?" "Yes, oh, yes, I dare say I can manage to survive until then," murmured Walford. Whereupon the skipper hurried away and took counsel with the steward; the result of which was that in little more than the stipulated half-hour Walford was served with the best meal which the _Aurora's_ resources could furnish. From that time he grew steadily better, and in another day or two he was able to leave his cot and to indulge in a bath, a clean shave, and an hour or so on deck, half-sitting, half-reclining in a hammock which the skipper had ordered to be slung for him from the spanker-boom. He suffered from extreme bodily weakness, doubtless the result of his frenzied exertions on board the ill-fated _Princess Royal_; but that was, of course, an evil which rest and nourishing food would speedily remedy. But he did not recover the use of his reasoning faculties for some time after the period now referred to, and then the recovery was only partial. As for Captain Leicester, he was in high spirits; the breeze lasted fresh for four full days after his encounter with the pirate schooner, so fresh indeed that once or twice he was obliged to furl his royals, in order to save the sticks; and the barque, no longer compelled to moderate her pace to that of the slowest sailer in a large fleet, maintained a steady speed of twelve knots during the whole of that time, thus fully making up, in the skipper's opinion, for the time and ground lost during the gale, and encouraging him to look forward hopefully to the accomplishment of a quick passage. But such a state of things was too good to last. On the fifth day the wind fell light, and on the sixth it failed them altogether, leaving the _Aurora_ helpless in the "doldrums," she being at that time about a thousand miles from Cape Haytien, and six hundred from the island of Saint Thomas. This was particularly vexatious, because Captain Leicester considered that, had the breeze continued fresh and favourable for only twenty-four hours longer, it would in all probability have run him fairly into the North-East trades, and he would then have been able to calculate the duration of the remainder of the voyage with almost mathematical exactness, and, what was still more to the purpose, would have been sure of a breeze, and that a fair one, for the remainder of the way. However, there was no help for it, they had to take the wind and weather as it came, and the crew had a busy time of it "box-hauling" the yards, now this way, now that; trimming the sails to every passing breath of the capricious air, and, after all their trouble, accomplishing only some half-a-dozen miles during the whole day. On the next day it was the same, excepting that the proceedings were varied by a tremendously heavy thunder-storm, followed by, instead of the wind which Captain Leicester so earnestly hoped for, a perfect deluge of rain, which lasted for rather more than an hour. It was a regular tropical downpour; the water descended, not in separate detached drops, but in _sheets_, which splashed down on the decks as if from a cataract. Advantage was taken of this copious downfall of pure fresh water to refill all the water-casks; after which the scuppers were plugged, wash-deck tubs filled, and all hands, stripping to the skin, indulged in the unwonted luxury of a thorough ablution in the warm soft water, finishing up by rousing out all their "wash clothes," and treating them to the same beneficial process. The storm cleared away as rapidly as it had worked up, leaving the sky absolutely cloudless, and the water thrashed down by the rain until it was smooth as a polished mirror. The heat was intense, and the men, notwithstanding their refreshing bath, went about their work languidly, perspiring at every pore. It was a positive relief to them to see the sun at last go down behind the gleaming horizon, and a greater relief still when, an hour later, a faint breeze from the eastward came creeping over the water, and, barely filling the _Aurora's_ light upper sails, gave her just sufficient way through the water to allow of her head being kept in the right direction. At eight o'clock that evening Mr Bowen retired to his cabin, it being then his watch below, and at nine the skipper followed his example. The ship was then stealing along through the water at a speed of about two knots, the royals, topgallantsails, and more lofty staysails just "asleep," the topsails alternately filling out and flapping again to the masts with the barely perceptible swing of the ship over the low, long, sleepy heave of the swell, and the courses drooping heavily and uselessly from the yards. The sky was "as clear as a bell," to use a favourite metaphor of Ritson's, not a trace of cloud being visible in any part of the vast sapphire vault which stretched overhead, spangled here and there with a few stars of the first magnitude, and with the moon, nearly at the full, hanging in the midst like a disc of burnished silver, her pure soft light flooding the sea with its dazzling radiance, and causing the sails to stand out like sheets of ivory against the deep dark blue of the sky. There seemed to be no immediate prospect of any change in the weather, but George was thankful that the ship was really at last moving once more--though ever so slowly--in the right direction; and, fervently hoping that the breeze would last long enough to run him into the "trades," he went below with an easy mind, after giving Ritson the usual stereotyped order to call him should any untoward event occur. After the overpowering heat of the day the comparative coolness of the night was unspeakably refreshing, and with all the doors, the skylight, and the stern-windows open, and a thorough circulation of fresh air through the cabins, their several occupants were soon wrapped in a sound and dreamless slumber. It was even more pleasant on deck than it was below, for the hull of the ship had, during the long scorching day, absorbed a considerable amount of heat, which it gave off again during the night, causing the cabins and forecastle to be unpleasantly warm even after all possible means had been adopted for their thorough ventilation, whilst on deck the full benefit of the breeze, what there was of it, was to be obtained. Such, at all events, was Mr Ritson's opinion, as he sauntered listlessly fore and aft, between the taffrail and the main-mast, glancing now aloft at the all but idle canvas, then into the binnacle, then over the side at the tiny bubbles creeping lazily past the ship's side, and finally forward, to where the man on the lookout could be seen seated upon the rail, facing ahead, with his arms folded and his back leaning against the great wooden stock of one of the anchors, his form showing black as that of an ebony statue against the brilliant silvery sheen of the moonlight on the water. The remainder of the crew were dimly visible seated on the deck in the black shadow of the bulwarks, a tiny red spark or two indicating that some of them were solacing the idle hours with a whiff or two of the fragrant weed. Officers who were strict disciplinarians would have forbidden smoking in the watch on deck, and would have insisted on the whole watch keeping constantly on the move, as a safeguard against dozing; but Ritson was not a strict disciplinarian; he liked to spare the men all unnecessary labour of every kind, and, as there was no sail-trimming to be done, he just allowed them to rest their weary bodies as much as they could. He would have liked greatly to rest his own weary body, too, for indeed he felt it to be almost a torture to be pacing ceaselessly to and fro there on the deck, hour after hour. He pulled out his watch, the hands indicated that it was ten minutes to ten; it would be full two hours more before he would be relieved. There was a most inviting-looking chair standing on deck near the skylight, which Captain Leicester had been using during the day, and poor Ritson thought how pleasant it would be to rest his tired limbs in it for a few minutes. Then he took a stroll round the decks, just to wile away the time, and to make sure that the watch--and especially the lookout--was not "caulking." The shadowy figures scrambled somewhat hurriedly to their feet on his approach, giving rise to just the faintest suspicion that perhaps after all they _might_ have been "shutting their eyes to keep them warm;" but the lookout man seemed unconscious of his presence, and was humming, scarcely above his breath, the air of a homely song as Ritson passed him, his gaze resting on a brig ahead, which had been in sight all day, and which, from the fact that she was steering in the same direction as the _Aurora_, was thought to belong, like themselves, to the dispersed fleet. When Ritson again reached the quarterdeck, it was ten o'clock, so he struck "four bells" sharply; the wheel and lookout were relieved, and then everybody settled down once more, to pass away the remaining two hours of the watch. As has been already hinted, Ritson was not so strict a disciplinarian as to forbid smoking by the watch on deck, so long, of course, as the smoking was not allowed to interfere with the duty of the ship. Nay, more; he sometimes allowed himself the luxury of a pipe under similar circumstances, and he thought he might safely do so on the present occasion. So, seating himself in the skipper's chair, he drew out his pipe, tobacco, and knife, and prepared to enjoy his whiff. Oh! how comfortable a chair that was! How great a relief to sit in it, even for the minute or two during which he was cutting up his tobacco and filling his pipe! This work, though performed with great deliberation, was at length accomplished; his steel and tinder-box furnished him with a light; and he began to smoke. Somehow he forgot to get up out of the chair again when his pipe was lighted, but, leaning back restfully in it instead, watched the little rings and wreaths of smoke which issued from it and went floating lazily away until they vanished in the soft cool air of the night. Then, by association of ideas, Ritson's thoughts strayed away to the little flaxen, curly-haired urchin at home, his one-year-old son, who used to be so delighted to watch the wreathing smoke issue from his father's pipe, that he would crow and jump and kick upon his mother's knee, until the good woman had hard work to hold him. He fancied he could see the young rascal still, his fat, dimpled cheeks wreathed with smiles of delight, his blue eyes sparkling, and his fat chubby arms and legs flourishing in the air as he made frantic grasps at the little blue smoke-rings floating toward him. Yes; and he could hear Anna's, his wife's voice, half-jestingly, half in earnest, scolding the happy father for keeping the child awake. And, letting his thoughts have free play on _so_ pleasant a theme, he could recall the same voice crooning a soothing lullaby to the little fellow as, later on, he nestled into his mother's breast, tired out with his romp, and softly sank to sleep. Very soothing was that lullaby--very soothing indeed--yes--it was-- very--a--very--soothing--little--song--and--and-- And Ritson's head sank upon his breast, as he, too, yielded to the seductive influence of sleep. A _few_ feet away stood or rather lolled the helmsman, his body drooping over the wheel, on the upper rim of which he had crossed his arms for the sake of the welcome support. On taking charge of the wheel he had been given the course, and, glancing into the binnacle, he found that the barque was heading in the required direction; upon which, like a good helmsman, he at once selected a star to steer by, a star which was just a finger's breadth clear of the main-royal yard-arm. By the time that he had been at the wheel a quarter of an hour he discovered that the ship was steering herself, and he accordingly relaxed his vigilance, allowing his thoughts to travel away whithersoever they would. Gradually his weary eyelids closed, and a short period--perhaps a minute or so--of forgetfulness followed, from which he would suddenly start guiltily and glance first aloft at the star, and then at the motionless figure of Ritson. This glance of inquiry showing that the star still occupied its proper position, and that the second mate had not observed his dereliction of duty, the eyelids again closed, and a longer period of forgetfulness would ensue, which of course ended, as it was sure to do, in the man falling soundly asleep as he stood. As for the man on the lookout, he was notorious for his somnolent powers. He made no pretence of an effort to keep awake. There was no reason, he argued, why he should. It was a fine night, as light as day; there was nothing in sight but the brig ahead, and, although the _Aurora_ was clearly gaining on her, there was no likelihood of her running over her in _his_ watch; therefore to keep a lookout just then was quite a useless formality. Besides, there was the officer of the watch, who would keep all the lookout required on such a brilliantly fine night. And, arguing thus, he settled himself comfortably into the position vacated by his predecessor, and, folding his arms across his breast, tranquilly composed himself to sleep. The remainder of the watch had settled down to sleep, as a matter of course; _they_ had not the lookout; and they were within call of the officer of the watch, should their services be required; that, they considered, was all that was just then expected of them; and they closed their eyes, and yielded to their feelings of drowsiness without a shadow of compunction. Thus, by half-past ten o'clock that night, the entire ship's company of the _Aurora_, fore and aft, were fast asleep. Whilst all hands were thus wrapped in peaceful oblivion a small object gradually merged into view immediately ahead of the _Aurora_. Had the lookout man been broad awake--instead of fast asleep, as he was--he would certainly not have noticed this object until it was within a mile of the ship--unless his gaze had happened to have been attracted by an occasional momentary flashing gleam of silvery light--because its colour so artfully matched the delicate steely blue grey of the gently-rippled sea that it was absolutely invisible beyond that distance. Even at the distance of _half_ a mile a cursory careless glance ahead might have easily missed it. But when a quarter of a mile only intervened between it and the barque the look out man, had he been wide-awake and with all his wits about him, would suddenly have become conscious that a large boat, painted grey, and full of men, was pulling swiftly and noiselessly toward the ship. On she swept, silently as a dream; not a word was uttered on board her; there was no warning roll and rattle of the oars in the rowlocks to apprise the sleeping crew of the approach of danger; there was not even the plashing sound of the oar-blades dipping into the water, they rose and fell silently as the misty oars of a phantom boat; and when at length she swept up alongside the _Aurora_, a _sign_ was all that was needed to convey the orders of the officer in charge to his crew: his right hand was gently raised, the oars were noiselessly lifted from the rowlocks and laid in without a sound upon the padded thwarts, the boat sheered alongside, without absolutely touching, the painter was made fast to the _Aurora's_ fore-chains, and sixteen armed figures climbed noiselessly as ghosts over the bulwarks, leaving two in charge of the boat. CHAPTER FOURTEEN. SOLD INTO SLAVERY. When George Leicester retired to his cabin that night, it was with the full intention to at once retire to his cot. Instead, however, of doing this, he flung himself down on the sofa, to indulge in a few minutes of entirely undisturbed thought, and there sleep overtook him. From this he was abruptly startled into complete wakefulness by a sudden cry, immediately followed by a confused sound of struggling on deck, and of a dull crunching blow, a cry of "Oh, God! have mercy upon my dear--" another blow, a heavy fall on the planking overhead, a deep groan, and then a splash in the water alongside. Conscious at once that something terrible had happened, he sprang to his feet, buckled on his cutlass, and, snatching up a pistol in one hand and a lamp in the other, hurriedly stepped out of the cabin to investigate. He was just in time to encounter at the foot of the companion-ladder a motley crowd of swarthy-skinned strangers, who, with bared daggers and sword-blades, were making their way down to the cabin. That they were enemies was so instantly apparent that George unhesitatingly levelled his pistol at the foremost man and fired. The bullet struck the man in the shoulder, shattering the bone, and he staggered to one side,--only to make way for others, however, who, pressing upon George, disarmed and overpowered him before he had opportunity to do further harm. Mr Bowen, who had dashed out of his cabin just behind George, was similarly disarmed and overpowered; and then the crowd pressed on into the cabin, where they found and secured Walford and the lad Tom. Having made a thorough search of the various state-rooms, the strangers--who were evidently Spaniards--hurried their prisoners on deck. Here a single glance sufficed to show Captain Leicester that his ship had been taken from him by a clever surprise, aided--or rather rendered possible--by terrible carelessness on the part of those left in charge of the deck. The crew, as he found on rapidly counting heads, were all present--with one exception--securely bound hand and foot, and huddled together under the bulwarks. The exception--the missing man-- was Ritson; and the overturned and broken chair, the blood-spattered deck in its immediate vicinity, and the heavy splash into the water alongside, which George had heard, rendered the whole story as plain and clear as the moon which rode so serenely in the heavens above. Poor Ritson! he had paid with his life the penalty of his disastrous lapse of duty. And the drowsy helmsman--who had obviously awakened in time to spring to the assistance of his superior--was lying near the skylight, white and ghastly in the moonlight, with his skull cloven, and a great black pool of blood slowly spreading on the planking beneath his head. The brig ahead, now hove-to and evidently awaiting the approach of the _Aurora_, told George from whence his enemies had sprung; and--now that it was all too late--he bitterly reproached himself for his lack of caution with regard to her. The individuals who had thus cleverly gained possession of the barque were as ruffianly a set of scoundrels as could well be met with on the high seas. Their leader, a brawny, thick-set Spaniard, with a skin tanned to the hue of well-seasoned mahogany, his ragged black locks bound round with a filthy red silk handkerchief, and surmounted by a broad-brimmed straw hat, his body clad in a red and yellow striped worsted shirt, confined at the waist by a cutlass-belt, into which a long-barrelled pistol was thrust, and his legs encased in sea-boots reaching nearly to the thigh, was a particularly truculent-looking ruffian; and a powerful negro, somewhat similarly clad, who seemed to be his chief _aide_, was little if anything better. That they were pirates there could be no possible doubt, and poor George Leicester expected nothing less than that he and his ship's company would all have their throats cut, and then be unceremoniously pitched overboard, to keep poor Ritson company. It soon appeared, however, that his career was not to be thus summarily brought to an end, for after a few words between the leader and the negro, George and his crew were, after their bonds had been looked to and made more secure, distributed about the deck, and chained to the ring-bolts in the bulwarks and elsewhere. The _Aurora_, under the influence of a slightly freshening breeze, soon joined company with the brig, from which a boat then put off, bringing on board the barque a tall handsome man, whose features were, however, spoiled by the expression of cunning and cruelty legibly imprinted on them. He said a few words to the Spaniard in charge, glanced round the deck at the helpless prisoners, made a jesting remark or two, at which of course everybody dutifully laughed, gave George--who unfortunately happened to be nearest him--a playful kick in the mouth with his heavy boot, and then sauntered leisurely down into the cabin, where, from the repeated loud bursts of laughter, and the singing which soon arose, a carouse seemed to have been promptly entered upon. The sky to the eastward was brightening with the approach of dawn, when the revellers at last staggered once more on deck. Here the handsome man--who seemed to be the chief of the pirate crew--paused for a moment, apparently to reiterate and emphasise certain commands already laid upon his subordinate, after which he went down the side into his boat, and some five minutes afterwards the two craft filled away once more upon their former course. It would be impossible to convey to the reader, without going into the most shocking and disgusting details, any clear idea of the sufferings and indignities to which the unfortunate captain and crew of the _Aurora_ were subjected during the next three weeks. Suffice it to say that during the whole of that time they were _never_ released from the ring-bolts to which they were chained; that they lay there on the hard planking day and night, alternately scorched by the fierce rays of the noonday sun, and chilled by the heavy dews of night; that they were sparingly and irregularly fed--and then only upon the coarsest and most loathsome of food--and still more sparingly and irregularly supplied with water; that they were the recipients of incessant abuse and brutality from the wretches who were in possession of the ship; and some slight conception can be formed of their dreadful state of body and mind during that interminable three weeks. At the end of that time the land was made, and late at night both ships glided into an anchorage, where they brought-up, the canvas was furled in a slovenly fashion which drove poor Bowen--in spite of all that he had suffered--half-distracted, the boats were lowered, and preparations were at once made for the transport of the prisoners to the shore. This operation, under the direction of the truculent-looking and ruffianly Spaniard already mentioned as the head of the gang in possession of the _Aurora_, was speedily effected. The prisoners, handcuffed with their hands behind them, were sent down into one of the boats lowered for their reception, and there secured to a length of heavy chain, so that where one went, the rest were compelled to go also; and, thus yoked together, they were transferred to the shore. A glance at the star-lit sky, in which the pole-star hung, only some twenty to twenty-five degrees above the horizon, told poor Leicester that they were landing upon a shore open to the northward, and that, from the position of Polaris in the sky, they were somewhere within about twenty-five degrees of the equator; but, beyond that, he was just then unable to learn anything further concerning their whereabouts. As the boat's keel grated upon the beach, the prisoners were ordered by sufficiently significant gestures--none of them understanding a single word of Spanish--to climb over the side and make their way up the beach. The Spaniard in charge pointed significantly with a long whip which he carried to a break in the dense growth of trees which clustered close to the water's edge and then, with an ominous flourish of the lash, gave the word for the miserable band to move forward. A toilsome march of some four or five miles along a track of heavy sand then commenced; a march which, fatiguing enough in itself, after the long period of close confinement to which they had been subjected, was rendered trebly so by the constraint of the heavy chain to which they were secured. Staggering, reeling, and stumbling forward, conscious of nothing beyond their dreadful state of misery and suffering, it took them over three hours to perform that horrible journey, urged on though they were by the incessant application of the cruel whip; and then they found themselves outside an enclosure formed of heavy slabs of planking some nine feet in height. A narrow door gave admittance to the place, and, this being unlocked, the prisoners were driven in, and after the door had been again securely fastened, they were released from the chain, and, still with their hands secured behind them, allowed to stretch their exhausted bodies upon the ground, and take such repose as was possible under the circumstances. The first definite idea to take possession of George Leicester's mind, after he had fully realised the calamity of his capture, was escape. Whilst chained immovable to a ring-bolt on his own vessel's deck, this was clearly a simple impossibility; and as he now glanced round the enclosure in which he found himself, he recognised the fact that it was still equally so. It was true that the place was open to the sky, and that the scaling of the barricade would be, to a strong, active, _free_ man, simply a pleasant gymnastic exercise; but he was _not_ free; his hands were shackled behind him; a sentinel, armed with cutlass and gun, was promptly placed on guard over the wretched group of captives; and last, but not least, the three weeks of confinement, exposure, and privation to which he had been subjected had left their mark upon him; he could no longer call himself a strong and active man. Besides this, there was Walford. George's vow to watch over and protect this man, and, if possible, to restore him to Lucy's arms, was ever present to him, and he recognised from the very first that, if ever he should be so fortunate as to escape, Walford must certainly accompany him. When Leicester contemplated the additional difficulties which this necessity forced upon him, his courage _almost_--though not quite--failed him; for since the capture of the _Aurora_ Walford had, under the influence of the sufferings to which he, in common with the rest, had been subjected, relapsed into a state of almost complete imbecility; so that, so far as assisting in the matter of his own escape was concerned, he was helpless as an infant There was, however, one point in Leicester's favour; and it was this. Walford still _knew_ him, and appeared to recognise, in spite of the mists which obscured his intellect, the fact that George was keenly interested in him; and he was always passively obedient to any injunction which the latter laid upon him. The unfortunate crew of the _Aurora_ were kept confined in this enclosure four days, during which their condition was somewhat ameliorated by the administration of a better quality and a more liberal quantity of food than before, and also by the permission--or rather, the command--to exercise their cramped and stiffened limbs by a daily-increasing amount of exercise. The cause for this altered treatment soon became apparent. On the morning of the fifth day--by which time their haggard, half-starved, and feeble appearance had to some slight extent passed away, and they were once more able to keep upon their feet for an hour or so without dropping exhausted to the ground--the Spaniard who had charge of them made his appearance in the enclosure, still arrayed in the filthy habiliments which he wore on board the _Aurora_, and armed as usual with whip, cutlass, and pistol; and, flourishing the former threateningly in the air, roughly bade them rise to their feet. This command being obeyed, a chain was produced--somewhat lighter than the one before used--the prisoners were secured to it, and then the negro who acted as the Spaniard's _aide_ or chief mate, unlocked the door, and the whole party marched out. The route on this occasion, as on the last, was along a narrow bridle-path of heavy sand, which led through a dense growth of tropical trees and plants. Following this path for about a mile, the party emerged upon a road crossing the path at right angles, into which they turned, when, at a distance of about two miles, a straggling town of low, white, flat-roofed houses became visible, with blue water beyond, just beginning to be ruffled by the sea-breeze. A toilsome march, of about an hour's duration, along the glaring white road, during which they were scorched by the fierce rays of the sun, and nearly blinded by the whirling clouds of fine dust, and they entered the town. Passing along a number of narrow sandy streets--deserted, save for the presence of a few negroes and miserable-looking Spaniards, ragged and dirty, bearing barrels of water strapped upon their shoulders, and a goat-herd or two driving his flock of milch goats from door to door--they emerged at last into a large open square, in the centre of which stood a tall, ugly stone fountain, from which more negroes and Spaniards were filling their barrels. From the wide basin of this fountain George and his companions in misery were allowed to slake their thirst, and then they were conducted to a large open shed which stood on one side of the square, and, under the welcome shade of its wide shingled roof, ordered to sit down. They had not been here long when another gang of unfortunates--negroes this time--were driven into the square and under the shed; then another, and another; making in all some four hundred human beings huddled together there, like cattle in a pound. Then, for the first time, the full horror of their position burst upon George and his wretched companions; they were in a slave-market, and were about to be sold as slaves. The conviction that this was actually to be their fate fell upon them like a thunder-bolt; it was almost too much for even George's courage to bear up against; and as for poor Bowen, for a moment it seemed that he would go out of his senses altogether; he prayed; he cursed himself and everybody else; he swore solemnly that he would kill the man who dared to buy him, and finally, in a paroxysm of mad fury, started to his feet, dragging at the chain and exerting such an extraordinary amount of strength--in spite of all his recent sufferings--in his efforts to break away, that for a moment it seemed almost possible that he would succeed. A cruel lash across the face from the Spaniard's whip--a lash which tore away the skin and left a livid bloody weal on both cheeks--only maddened him the more; seeing which, the negro who, with the Spaniard, was in charge of the party, sprang upon him, and, gripping him by the throat, hurled him to the ground with such brutal force that the poor fellow lay there, for a time stunned. At about nine o'clock the square gradually began to fill, a large number of Spanish gentlemen arriving upon the scene; some on horseback, and others in gigs drawn by a pair of horses driven tandem-fashion. They all smoked incessantly, and nearly all of them, on reaching the square, proceeded at once to the shed, and, walking up and down its entire length, examined with the utmost minuteness every individual beneath its roof, frequently stopping to make some inquiry of those who had the poor wretches in charge. At ten o'clock a small shrivelled-up specimen of a Spaniard, dressed entirely in white, made his appearance in the square, followed by four negroes bearing a couple of chairs and a lightly-constructed rostrum, and accompanied by a sallow cadaverous-looking individual, with a large book under his arm, a pen behind his ear, and a silver-mounted ink-horn at his button-hole. Selecting a suitable spot for the purpose, the negroes placed the rostrum on the ground, with one chair in and the other in front of it; the shrivelled-up Spaniard mounted into position, his clerk seated himself in front, a negro perambulated the square, ringing a large hand-bell, and the sale began. The blacks were offered first, and of these a large proportion had evidently been landed very recently from a slaver. For the most part they were a tall, fine-looking set of men and women; that is to say, they _had_ been; but disease and privation had done almost their worst upon them; and as they took their places upon the block, one by one, their forms showed gaunt and spare as so many skeletons. In spite, however, of their poor condition, competition ran high; the bidding was brisk, and they were rapidly "knocked down," one after the other, until the whole of the cargo was cleared. Then came a gang of negroes--slaves already--belonging to the estate of a tobacco planter, recently deceased, whose heir was disposing of everything prior to a trip to Europe. Most of these poor wretches had been born on the estate; others had been on it long enough to form family connections upon it; and now husbands and wives, parents and children, were in many cases about to be ruthlessly torn from each other for ever. It was pitiful--it was heart-breaking--to those unaccustomed to such a scene to witness the expression of utter despair on the faces of these poor creatures. Then, as the sale proceeded, this expression would sometimes give way to one of feverish hope as the purchaser of a husband or parent would become a bidder for the wife or child. In one or two rare cases the hope was realised; and as husband and wife, or parent and child, found themselves once more reunited--once more the property of the same man--their joy was enough to wring tears from the heart of a stone. But in most cases the families were utterly broken up, no two members becoming the property of the same purchaser; and then their dreadful misery, their heart-broken anguish, was simply indescribable, and must be left to the imagination of the reader. At length it came to the turn of the _Aurora's_ crew, and Mr Bowen was selected as the first man to be "put up." On being released from the chain, instead of at once stepping up on the block, as he was signed to do, he turned to George, whose arms were still bound behind him, and, extending his hand, touched the latter lightly on the head by way of farewell, exclaiming-- "Well, cap'n, the moment of parting's come at last, and a sorrowful enough parting it is! Battle, storm, fire, or shipwreck I _was_ prepared for; but when we sailed out of London, I never dreamed that I was on the highway to _slavery_. Well, God's will be done! Here we are, and I s'pose we must make the best of it while it lasts, which won't be a minute longer than either of us can help, if I know anything of you or myself. If I get clear first, I vow never to steer to the east'ard until you've joined company; and if _you_ should happen to be off first, I hope--" An impatient exclamation from the Spaniard in charge of the party, with a savage lash of the whip, and a gesture of command to mount the block at once, here cut short the rest of poor Bowen's farewell speech. The mate fairly reeled under the force of the blow, but he steadied himself in an instant, and turned upon his assailant with eyes literally blazing with fury; the veins on his forehead stood out like cords, the muscles of his arms and legs swelled, as he gathered himself together, and his body quivered like that of a tiger crouching to the leap. In another instant he would have had the presumptuous Spaniard in a death-grip, but a cry from Leicester stopped him just in time. "Steady, Bowen!" exclaimed George eagerly; "steady, dear old friend; resistance is _worse_ than useless just now. It is their turn to-day; but ours will come, it _shall_ come, some day; and then we will repay them with interest for all our present sufferings." "Right you are, cap'n," was Bowen's reply, as he stepped quietly up on the block; "but," turning to the Spaniard, "if ever you and I meet on blue water--well, you shall rue this day, that's all." This incident, being of a somewhat exciting and novel character, seemed to afford great gratification to the crowd of buyers gathered round the spot, who eagerly remarked to each other upon the courage and indomitable spirit of the British seaman, and dwelt upon the pleasure it would afford them to quell that courage and humble that proud spirit to the dust. The result of it all was a keen competition for the possession of the man, and Bowen was at length "knocked down" to a tall man with thin aquiline features, the expression of which was pretty evenly made up of pride, resolution, and relentless cruelty. Walford was next put up, but the miserable condition of the unfortunate man, and his vacant look of imbecility, excited nothing but laughter and ridicule, and no one would make a bid for him. Seeing that it would be impossible to sell this "lot" alone, the Spaniard with the whip ordered George to be released and placed upon the block also, stepping forward at the same time and whispering eagerly in the ear of the auctioneer. The latter thereupon explained to the crowd that while the first of the two men offered was undoubtedly valueless of himself and alone, he could be made very useful if purchased along with the second, who had been found to have great influence over him, and could, in fact, persuade him to do anything which might be required; and so on, and so on. A little brisk bidding then ensued for the two on the part of the more speculative among the buyers, who were willing to risk a little possible loss on the chance of obtaining two slaves for a trifle more than the price of one; and finally they were purchased by a man who had all the appearance of being an overseer on some extensive estate. The lad Tom, who was next put up, was also bought by the same purchaser; and in a few minutes the three white men--now slaves--found themselves chained to a gang of negroes--men and women--who had also fallen into the hands of the same owner. Half an hour afterwards the gang was put in motion, and, with the overseer (for such he eventually proved to be) at their head, and three other men, mounted--one riding on each side and one in the rear--as a guard, took their way through the town (which George at last ascertained was Havana), out into the country, and inland toward the hills, along a fairly good road, well shaded for the most part with a dense growth of tropical verdure. A wearisome tramp along this road for a distance of some ten miles brought them late in the afternoon to the plantation which was to be their future home, or prison; and George, Walford, and the lad Tom, with an old negro who possessed a slight smattering of English, were installed into a small, but fairly comfortable, wooden hut, thatched with sugar-cane-leaves. Here the clothing which they had been wearing when purchased was taken from them, and they were supplied instead with short drawers and jumpers of blue dungaree; a plentiful meal of ground maize with a little salt was served out to them, and they were left for the remainder of the day to recover themselves and prepare for the labours which awaited them on the morrow. CHAPTER FIFTEEN. A DASH FOR FREEDOM. To find one's self sold into slavery must be a thoroughly unpleasant experience; yet when George Leicester that night found himself actually a slave, the tenant of a slave-cabin, and with slaves only for his future companions and associates, he felt by no means discouraged. There was no oppressive feeling of despair weighing down his heart and crushing his spirit into utter hopelessness; on the contrary, he had the feeling as if a great load of care and anxiety had been lifted from off his heart; he now knew the worst of what was to befall him; he fully recognised that the life before him was to be one of unrequited hardship at least, and, it might be, also of suffering and bitter tyranny; but he braced himself to meet it all, whatever it might be, with unflinching fortitude, sustained by the steadfast, inextinguishable hope of eventual escape. This hope indeed of eventual escape rose high within his breast, now that he had actually arrived upon the spot from which it must be made. The estate of which he was now one of the chattels was that of a tobacco and sugar planter. Of its extent he could at present form no opinion; but he saw that it was of considerable size, the whole of the cultivated ground within sight being the property of his owner. It was situated upon a tolerably level plain, with a road running through it, from the main road along which they had recently travelled, up to the planter's house, a wide straggling stone structure, with a thatched roof and a verandah all round, occupying the summit of a slight eminence nearly in the middle of the estate. Behind the house, at a distance of some twenty yards, stood another building, which George rightly guessed to be the stables; the slave-huts, of which there were thirty-four, were built, at a distance of about a quarter of a mile from the house, on a gentle slope, at the foot of which stood the boiling-house and sugar-mill, the store-houses, the tobacco factory, etcetera; and just beyond them, again, ran a tiny sparkling stream, from which was obtained the power for driving the crushing machinery. The slave-cabins were wholly unenclosed, and George had not failed to notice on his arrival upon the estate that, though it was certainly fenced in, the fencing consisted of nothing more than a common rough post-and-rail fence, evidently intended merely to keep out cattle, and in his innocence he began to think that escape from such a place would prove a very easy matter, after all. "What, indeed," he asked himself, "was to prevent his rising from his bed upon the very first favourable night which should arrive, and quietly walking off the estate?" What, indeed? But escape was far too precious a thing to be risked by being undertaken in ignorance of whatever perils might attend the attempt, so he resolved that for the present he would not attempt to frame any plans whatever; he felt pretty certain that, as a new acquisition, he would be closely watched for some time to come by those who might have the more immediate charge of him, and his first task, he told himself, must be to disarm any suspicion which might exist in their minds as to an intention on his part to escape. The time necessary to the accomplishment of this might also be profitably employed in acquiring a knowledge of Spanish, without which he fully realised that his attempt must inevitably fail; and he believed that, by the time he had thus paved the way for the great attempt, his ingenuity would have proved sufficient to gain without suspicion from his fellow-slaves a tolerably accurate idea of the perils and difficulties with which he would have to contend. He took the lad Tom into his confidence at once, intending, of course, that the poor boy should, if he were willing to incur the risk, go with him and Walford, and share with them at least the _chance_ of freedom; and so, from the very first day of their thraldom, there were two keen, intelligent brains incessantly at work, diligently clearing the way to recovered liberty. To Walford George said nothing whatever of his purpose; the unfortunate wretch could not possibly aid them, and there was the possibility that he _might_ unwittingly betray them. At six o'clock next morning the great bell at the engine-house rang, this being the signal for the slaves to turn out and get breakfast. Half an hour was allowed for this, and at half-past six they were formed into gangs, and marched off to the fields in charge of the overseers. George and Walford were handed a hoe apiece, and attached to one of the gangs detailed for work in the tobacco-fields. The lad Tom was attached to another gang, and he spent his first day of slave-labour among the sugar-cane. The tobacco was fast ripening, and was just then at one of its many critical stages, the plants requiring individually almost as much care and attention as a new-born child. Each plant required that the earth should be hoed up round its stalk with almost mathematical accuracy to a certain height and no more; and every leaf had to be tenderly and scrupulously examined twice or thrice daily, to guard against the ruinous attack of the tobacco-grubs. It was exhausting, back-breaking labour, particularly for those unaccustomed to it, and the drivers' whips were freely used to stimulate the sluggards or those who exhibited any signs of a _tendency_ to shirk the work; but George soon saw--and congratulated himself upon the circumstance--that the rule was evidently a mild one on this particular plantation, the whip being rarely used without provocation. It is scarcely necessary to say that Leicester was quite resolved to save himself from the indignity of the lash, if hard work would do it; and he was fortunate enough to return to his hut on that first day without the whip having once been raised against him. Thus passed day after day, and week after week; the only variation being that, when the tobacco was in proper condition, the fields had to be gone through with the utmost care, and those leaves which were sufficiently ripe were then picked, and laid in little heaps in the sun to "sweat" and cure, this process being repeated daily until the entire crop was gathered in. Then followed the "cleaning" of the fields and their preparation for another crop, and so on, upon all of which it is unnecessary to dwell. George and Tom devoted the whole of their brief leisure after the work of the day was over to the cultivation of a knowledge of Spanish, being fortunate enough, in their pursuit of this acquirement, to make the acquaintance of a young and very intelligent negro, who had been for many years valet to his master, but, being unlucky enough to incur that gentleman's displeasure, had been sent in disgrace into the field-gang. With him as a tutor their progress was rapid, and in little over six months they were able to converse in Spanish with tolerable fluency. When at length George found that he was fairly master of the language, he began cautiously to touch on the subject of escape, a topic upon which Pedro, his tutor, was luckily always ready to enlarge. This gentleman, regarding himself as an injured individual, was always threatening--among his fellow-slaves, of course--to run away; and George was once on the point of declaring to the fellow his own intention of doing the same thing, but luckily his discretion stepped in and prevented his committing so great an imprudence, the reflection occurring to him just in time, that a man who _talked_ so much about the matter was, after all, very unlikely to _act_ to any purpose. One night, however, Pedro entered George's cabin, looking very gloomy and sulky; and, flinging himself down on a stool, he announced that he had called to say farewell, as he was fully determined not to submit any longer to such base treatment. "Why, what has happened now, Pedro?" exclaimed George, when he heard this announcement. "I will tell you, friend George," answered Pedro. "You may possibly have observed that miserable piece of insolence called Juan, who has been promoted to the post from which I was so unjustly expelled? Well, this wretched ape must needs send--_send_, mind you, not come down and himself ask, but _send_--for a man to move some furniture up at the house there. I have no doubt he specially named _me_, as I was ordered to go; and I--I refused; I declined to be subjected to such an indignity, and for this I was at once flogged. I have been humiliated, disgraced, dishonoured, and I am resolved not to bear it any longer; I shall fly to-night." "Well," said George, "I hope you will get off clear; I see no reason why you should not." "You do not?" exclaimed Pedro. "Ah! my good friend, that is because you are new to this wretched country. Are you not aware, then, that the master keeps quite a pack of bloodhounds for the purpose of hunting runaway slaves, and that these bloodhounds are turned loose every night to scour the estate? They have been trained to watch over us and prevent our escape. If I should happen to encounter one to-night, I shall be compelled to abandon the attempt; for he will follow me about, and, should I attempt to pass the fencing, spring upon and hold me until his baying brings the overseers to the spot. Have you never encountered any of these fiends of dogs?" "Never," answered George, his heart sinking at the startling news. "This is the first I have heard of them. Then is it quite impossible to walk about the estate at night without being pounced upon by a bloodhound?" "Oh, dear no," was the reply. "They are so trained that they will not molest you so long as you keep within the boundaries of the estate; but they will watch and follow you until you return to your cabin. And, of course, as there is only a dozen of the dogs in all, you _may_ perchance get away without encountering one of them. But if you do, your prospects of escape are still small, for you would be missed in the morning, the dogs would at once be put upon your track, and a regular slave-hunt would then begin. A slave-hunt is rare sport, I promise you--for everybody but the slave." "Then it seems," remarked George, "that, even in the event of your getting clear of the estate, you have very little hope of escape, after all?" "None," was the reply, "none whatever--unless you happen to possess a certain secret, the secret of _hiding the scent_, so that the dogs cannot follow your trail. Then, indeed, you _may_ hope to escape, but not otherwise. _I_ am fortunate enough to possess this secret, and as we have been good friends--you and I--I do not mind letting you into it--provided that if you make one in the hunt to-morrow--they take slaves to help sometimes--you will aid my escape in any way you can." "Agreed!" exclaimed George joyously. "In any case I would do that. Still, the secret is a valuable one, and I should like to be made acquainted with it." "You shall, _amigo_," said Pedro. And, placing his hand inside the bosom of his shirt, he produced a handful of leaves. "Do you see these?" he asked. George intimated that he did. "Take particular notice of them, so that you may recognise them again with certainty whenever you see them," urged Pedro. "Note their shape, their exact colour; note their peculiar odour; and, above all, note their taste; for there are other plants, quite worthless for the purpose, closely resembling this one; but the _taste_ will at once tell you when you have found the right one." George eagerly took a quantity of the leaves in his hand, and carefully examined them, noting that, though they varied in size, they were all of exactly the same shape and hue; then he held them to his nostrils and inhaled their odour until he thought he had become fully acquainted with it. And finally he put one in his mouth, and masticated it. The juice had a very peculiar flavour indeed, so peculiar that he felt sure he should never forget it. "And how do you use these leaves?" asked George. "If," answered Pedro, "you have an opportunity to gather them only a few hours before you wish to use them, so that they are perfectly fresh, all that you have to do is to bruise and crush them, so that their juice shall be free to escape, and then rub them well all over your feet. This imparts the odour of the plant to the skin, and so `hides the scent' that the dogs are quite unable to follow it. But if the leaves have been gathered so long that they have become dry, you must put them in water to soak until they become soft once more; then first wash your feet in the water, and afterwards rub them thoroughly with the leaves. Only, in the latter case, you will require a much larger quantity of leaves." "Thanks, Pedro, I shall remember that," answered George. "One more question, and I have done. Where is this plant to be found?" "Ah! now you have given me a puzzle," exclaimed the black. "The plant is very scarce, and is growing daily more so, for the reason that the slave-owners carefully root it up and destroy it wherever they find it. They are fully acquainted with its peculiar properties, they know that it has freed many a persecuted slave from the bondage of a cruel and tyrannical master, and that, if allowed to flourish, it would free many more; so it is carefully sought out, and ruthlessly dug up when found. Notwithstanding which, a plant is to be found here and there by diligently searching after it. It grows generally in wet or marshy ground, and in such spots you will have to seek for it, if ever you need it. Now, I must go; it is close upon the time for the head overseer to go his rounds, and I want him to see me in my own cabin. As soon as he is once more fairly out of the way I shall be off. Good-night--and good-bye." "Good-bye," answered George, grasping the negro's proffered hand; "good-bye, and thank you for your valuable secret. I heartily wish you good luck; and if they get up a hunt, and take me to help, I'll do what I can to throw them off the scent. Which way do you go?" "You had better know nothing about that," answered Pedro cautiously. "All I ask is, that if you catch sight of me, or observe any sign of my having passed, you will simply keep quiet about it. And now, once more, good-bye." Ten minutes later the head overseer, going his rounds, on looking into Pedro's cabin, found that individual apparently fast asleep on the floor, with his back against the wall, and such an utterly fagged, worn-out look pervading his entire personality that the man was almost betrayed into a momentary feeling of pity for "the poor boy." His surprise was therefore proportionally great when, on the following morning, it became apparent that Pedro had succeeded, in spite of the dogs, in making good his escape from the estate. A slave-hunt was at once organised, and about nine o'clock, as George was hard at work in the fields, he saw the hunters--some half a dozen in number, mounted, and accompanied each by a bloodhound--pass down the main road through the estate and out on to the open ground beyond. Here the party divided, half going in one direction, and half in the other, to encircle the estate, and endeavour to pick up the trail. They were absent the whole day, but when they returned at about midnight, the unfortunate Pedro was with them, handcuffed, and secured by a rope round his neck to the saddle of one of the horsemen. It afterwards transpired that he had been perfectly successful, not only in evading the dogs during his actual escape from the estate, but also in "hiding the scent" from them; and his capture was due to the unfortunate circumstance of his having been met by a friend of his master's who, an hour afterwards, encountered the party in pursuit of him, and so put them upon his track. Next morning the unhappy wretch was "made an example of," by being flogged so severely in the presence of all the other slaves belonging to the plantation that at first it seemed doubtful whether he would ever recover from the effects of it; and, though he did eventually, it was nearly three months before he was again fit for work. This incident of Pedro's escape and its unfortunate failure was naturally the chief topic of conversation among the slaves for a long time afterwards, and George heard so much of the many difficulties attending such attempts, that he often felt upon the very brink of despair. The obstacles were so great as to be almost insurmountable when those who made the attempt were strong, healthy, thoroughly inured to fatigue, and had all their faculties about them; but when it came to not only making good one's own escape, but also that of a feeble and weakly companion of unsettled reason, the task seemed so utterly hopeless, so thoroughly impracticable, that it appeared almost worse than madness to dream of undertaking it. Yet, in spite of all this, and notwithstanding the terrible example which had been made of the unhappy Pedro, George clung tenaciously to the idea, and never let slip an opportunity to do anything which in ever so slight a degree might contribute to his success when the time should come for the effort to be made. As time passed on, and his knowledge of the Spanish language became perfected, his uniform industry and good conduct procured him many little indulgences; such as a few hours of release from field-labour now and then, in order that he might instead be despatched, duly provided with a "pass," on some errand or message, either to a neighbouring plantation or to Havana itself. These little journeys not only afforded him an opportunity--of which he made the most--of studying the physical geography of the island, but also of hunting for the precious plant by means of which he hoped to successfully hide his trail; and in this latter quest he was so far fortunate that he found at different times as many as eight of them, five of which he successfully transplanted to a favourable spot on the estate itself in such an out-of-the-way locality that he fervently hoped they would escape discovery. The next task which he set himself--and Tom--was that of propitiating and making friends with the dogs which nightly guarded the estate; but in this they were wholly unsuccessful; the creatures had been too well trained, and they absolutely refused all overtures from men who wore the detested garb of slavery. The circumstance, however, that they were of white instead of negro blood was a point in our adventurers' favour, and George accidentally made the discovery that, probably in consequence of this circumstance, when he was able by any means to conceal the uniform he usually wore, the hounds, though still suspicious, were puzzled and undecided how to behave towards him. In the meantime, whilst steadily cultivating the favour of the overseers by his unvarying industry and good conduct, he as sedulously cultivated the good-will and friendship of his fellow-slaves; and by the exercise of great tact and circumspection he gradually won from them, without exciting their slightest suspicion, such a mass of valuable information as quite decided him, when the time should come, to make his way inland and to the southward, rather than to the northward, the latter route, though that which would soonest enable him to reach the coast, being chiefly, in consequence of that circumstance, by far the most perilous one. The next matter requiring attention, was the acquisition of arms of some description, with which the party could defend themselves in the event of their being pursued and overtaken. These, by a lucky chance, he was at length enabled to procure, in the shape of three cane-knives, weapons closely resembling a cutlass as regards the length and curve of the blade, but provided merely with a wooden handle, instead of the metal guard usually fitted to the latter weapon. The same lucky chance which enabled him to secure these cane-knives--namely, the finding of a gold five-dollar piece on the road during one of his excursions into Havana-- also supplied him with the means of purchasing three coarse canvas jackets, such as were commonly worn by the Cuban coasting seamen at that time, and with these he hoped to sufficiently disguise himself and his companions to avoid any inconvenient questioning on the road, when the time for the great attempt should arrive. The auspicious moment arrived, as such moments frequently do, quite unexpectedly, and it came about in the following manner. When George and his comrades had been in slavery a trifle over a year, a message reached the estate to the effect that a ship had that day arrived from Europe, in the cargo of which there were certain household articles that had been ordered expressly for the use of the planter's wife, and that, as they happened to be stowed on the top, and the ship had already begun to discharge, it was desirable that they should be sent for at once, in order that they might escape damage. This message reached the estate quite late in the evening, in fact it was within half an hour of the time for knocking off work for the night; but so impatient was the lady to see her new possessions, that she insisted upon their being sent for at once, and George, as the most trustworthy slave on the plantation, was ordered to take the mule-waggon and a couple of companions, and proceed into town forthwith to fetch them, so that they might be at the house and all ready for unloading by the first thing next morning. He was instructed that, as it would probably be very late, or rather, early next morning, before he returned, he was to drive the waggon down to the engine-house, and place it under the shed there for the remainder of the night, instead of driving up to the house, so that he might not disturb the occupants by the noise of his arrival. Leicester at once saw that this errand would afford him probably the best opportunity he would ever have for the attempted escape; he therefore mentioned to the overseer that he thought Tom and Walford would be the most handy men he could take with him as helpers, and at once went off in an unconcerned manner, but with a well-assumed air of imperfectly concealed dissatisfaction at the prospect of his night journey, to harness up the mules. On his way to the stables he sought out Walford and the lad Tom, bidding them both be ready to go with him, and imparting to the latter his determination to take advantage of this opportunity to attempt their joint escape. This done, he hurried away to the spot where he had concealed his treasured plants, and arrived there, only to find that they were gone. Whether they had been discovered and destroyed by the overseers, or had been found and appropriated by some fellow-slave acquainted with their valuable properties, it was impossible to tell; the one indisputable fact was that the plants had vanished. This was a most unfortunate circumstance, but George would not allow it to dishearten him; the fugitives would have several hours' start before the pursuit would commence, and then there was always the possibility that other specimens of the plant might be found. Thinking thus, he slowly wended his way to the stable, where he harnessed up the mules, threw into the waggon a quantity of grass and cane-leaves, together with a canvas cover and rope, supposed to be required for packing and protecting the articles, and then drove to the hut, where Tom and Walford awaited him. The former, a very shrewd and intelligent young fellow, had immediately, upon being apprised by George of his intention, hurried off to prepare "supper," recognising the great importance of a good substantial meal before starting, especially in view of the uncertainty as to when they would be able to secure another; and when George reached the hut, this meal was just ready. The trio partook of this, their last meal in slavery, as they hoped, with great deliberation, George being most anxious not to start until darkness should so far have settled down upon the scene as to allow of his smuggling the cane-knives and canvas jackets in under the grass in the waggon without detection. This was at length successfully managed, and, first taking a careful look all round the hut, to see that they were leaving nothing behind them which might possibly prove useful, they clambered into the cart, and drove slowly off. Night had by this time fairly set in; the stars were just beginning to peep out from the deepening blue of the cloudless vault above them, and the moon, in her first quarter, and hanging almost in the zenith, was already flooding the scene with her soft silvery radiance. It promised to be a magnificent night for their enterprise, though excessively close and hot; and as they turned into the main road leading into Havana, and left the estate fairly behind them, George and the lad Tom felt their spirits rising and their pulses bounding with joyous anticipation of a speedy return to freedom. Whilst harnessing the mules, Leicester had rapidly turned over in his mind the _pros_ and _cons_ of the situation, and had come to the conclusion that it would be necessary in the first instance to proceed some three or four miles on the road toward Havana. This necessity arose from the circumstance that the planter's house stood upon a slight eminence commanding a perfect view of the road for that distance, and as Leicester could not possibly be sure that some one might not be idly watching, from the verandah, the progress of the waggon as long as it remained in view, he deemed it only common prudence to keep to the road until he had passed completely out of the range of any such chance watchers. This done, he intended to turn sharp off and make the best of his way southward, utilising the waggon and mules for as great a distance as possible, and then abandoning them and pressing forward on foot. The distance which they would have to travel was not very great, the island being, according to such information as had been available to him, only some twelve and a half Spanish leagues, or about thirty English miles wide at that part. Thus, if they were fortunate in their choice of a route, so as to be able to use the waggon for the whole distance, they might succeed in reaching the southern shore of the island before their escape was so much as suspected. George explained all this to Tom as the mules trotted cheerily along the road, and by the time that the plan of escape had been fully elucidated, they had reached a point where they might with perfect safety branch off and make their way to the southward. This they did at once, branching square off to the westward in the first instance, until they were about a mile distant from the road, and completely hidden by the bush from the observation of any one upon it, and then turning in a southerly direction. A dense belt of forest then lay before them, at a distance of some six miles, with a lofty hill-top rising behind it, and toward this latter object George now headed the mules as straight as the scattered clumps of bush would permit. The soil was very light and sandy, but it was covered with a thick growth of grass, which prevented the mules' feet or the waggon-wheels from sinking, so that the travelling was nearly, if not quite as rapid as it had been along the road. A sharp lookout was maintained for signs indicative of their approach to the neighbourhood of plantations, and two or three bridle-paths, evidently leading to such, were crossed; but at length they reached the welcome skirts of the forest without having had the least cause to suppose that they had been observed. In the meantime, however, a heavy bank of thundercloud had been observed rapidly gathering on the southern horizon, and the runaways had scarcely plunged a mile into the forest before the heavens were obscured, and it at once became so pitch-dark that it was utterly impossible for them to proceed. The mules were consequently pulled up, and the three adventurers made what few preparations were possible for their protection from the coming storm. Soon the low threatening rumble of the thunder was heard, and then, as it rapidly increased in volume of sound, bright flashes of light were seen blazing out beyond the interweaving branches of the trees. The storm, as in all tropical countries, quickly gathered force and intensity, and very soon it was raging in all its fury above and around them. The loud reverberating roll of the thunder was incessant, the lightning flashed with ever-increasing rapidity, and at last the entire atmosphere seemed to be in one continued tremulous glare of unearthly light. The mules started and quivered, as the lightning-flashes grew more rapid and intense; and finally they became so terrified that George had as much as he could do to restrain them from bolting, and so dashing themselves, the waggon, and its occupants to pieces against the trees. The storm was at its fiercest when suddenly the party found themselves enveloped in a blinding blaze of greenish-blue light; simultaneously there came a terrific rattling crash, as though the universe had burst asunder; the occupants of the waggon--blinded, and deafened by the dazzling brilliancy of the flash and the tremendous report which accompanied it--felt themselves hurled violently to the earth, and then followed oblivion. CHAPTER SIXTEEN. THE PURSUIT. When George Leicester at last awoke from his stupor, and had sufficiently recovered his scattered senses to remember where he was, the strength and fury of the storm had passed, the lightning-flashes being much less vivid, and coming at considerably longer intervals. But the rain was descending in a perfect deluge, and, notwithstanding the shelter of the thick overhanging foliage, the ground was already so completely flooded that George at first thought he was lying in the bed of some shallow watercourse. He staggered to his feet, chill and dripping wet, and, taking advantage of the intermittent light afforded by the lightning, looked around him to ascertain, if possible, what had actually happened; and he then saw that an immense tree close by had been shivered from top to bottom by the lightning, and, falling across their path, had killed both mules, and completely wrecked the waggon. His own escape and that of his companions, if indeed they _had_ escaped, had been simply miraculous, a huge branch having struck the waggon only about one foot behind the seat upon which they had been sitting. The ground was littered with splinters, and encumbered with the spreading branches of the fallen tree, and among these he proceeded to search for Tom and Walford. A low moaning sound some short distance on his right told him that in that direction he would probably find one of the missing, and, groping his way cautiously to the spot, he found the unfortunate Walford lying on his back, with the water surging round him like a mill-race, and a large branch of the fallen tree lying across his breast and pinning him down. By exerting his whole strength, George managed to bear up the branch sufficiently for Walford to work his way from underneath it, and then he helped the poor wretch to his feet, inquiring at the same time if he had received any serious hurt. Unfortunately one of the apathetic fits which occasionally seized Walford had come upon him, and George was quite unable to gain anything like an intelligible answer from him; but he was scarcely able to stand, and his continued moaning and the constant pressure of his hands upon his breast showed that he was evidently suffering great pain. Seating the unfortunate man at the foot of a tree, where he would be beyond the reach of the water, and making him as comfortable as was possible, George then went in search of the lad Tom, whom he found standing bewildered over the wreck of the waggon, with a thin stream of blood slowly trickling down his face from a scalp-wound, probably inflicted by a blow from one of the branches of the tree as it fell. "Ha! Tom, is that you?" exclaimed George joyously. "I was just coming to look for you. How have you fared in the general smash?" "Is that you, cap'n?" answered Tom. "Well, I'm very glad to find you've turned up all right. It _has_ been a smash, and no mistake; a total wreck, and no insurance, I'll be bound. Well, it's unfort'nate; but it can't be helped; it might ha' been much worse. I got a whack on the skull that knocked the senses out of me for a while, but I don't feel very much the worse for it a'ter all. Where's poor Mr Walford, sir? What's become of him?" "He is close by," answered George; "but a big branch fell across his chest, and I am afraid he is very much hurt." "Let's have a look at him," said Tom. And the two men groped and stumbled their way without more ado to the place where Walford was still seated, with his back resting against the giant bole of the tree. A few trials were sufficient to establish the fact that the poor fellow was practically helpless, for the time at least; and it then became a question of what it would be best to do under the circumstances. The first idea was that George and Tom should each take an arm of the injured man over their shoulders, and so assist him along; but he moved with such great difficulty that it was soon apparent some other plan would have to be adopted. "I have it!" exclaimed George, as a bright idea struck him; and hurrying away to the waggon, he secured the canvas and rope which had been thrown into it, together with the cane-knives, canvas jackets, and other trifling belongings, and hurried back to the tree. "Now, Tom," he said, "look about you, my lad, and see if you can find a nice light handy branch, tolerably straight, and about ten feet long, and bring it here as quickly as you can." "Ay, ay, sir," answered Tom, starting off on his errand at once. Whilst he was gone, George spread out the canvas upon the ground, and, with the aid of a pocket-knife, which he had seen lying about in the stable that evening, and had taken the liberty of appropriating, proceeded to roughly shape a hammock out of the material, leaving enough canvas at each end to form, with the rope, an eye, through which to pass the branch from which he intended it to be slung. He had hardly finished his preparations when Tom reappeared with the waggon-pole, which he had found fortunately unbroken. "Will this do, sir?" asked Tom. "The very thing," was George's delighted reply. "Now, Walford," he continued, "lie down on that canvas, old fellow, and we'll soon have you slung comfortably in your hammock between us, where you will travel without much pain to your poor chest. That's it; now, Tom, pass the end of the pole through this eye; capital! now through the other; that's your sort! Now I'll take the fore end of the pole and you the after end; lift handsomely; have you got your end on your shoulder? Then off we go. We have not such a very great distance to travel--only some twenty miles or so--but we must get over the ground as quickly as possible; for when once nine o'clock to-morrow morning has passed, we may make certain that they'll be after us; so we must reach the coast by that time, or soon after it, if we wish to get clear off." And in this manner, with Walford slung in his impromptu hammock between them, George and Tom set off upon the wearisome journey which lay before them, and which, they fondly hoped, was to end in the absolute recovery of their liberty. _Tramp, tramp; splash, splash_; on they trudged,--stumbling over the roots of trees, tripping over the long, tough, straggling creepers which crossed their path, sometimes brought-up "all standing" and half-strangled by the cord-like _llianas_ which hung festooned from tree to tree, their naked feet and legs torn by thorns and stabbed by the spines of the wild cactus--in thick impenetrable darkness for a couple of hours, and then the clouds suddenly vanished away on the wings of the land-breeze, the stars reappeared, the soft silvery rays of the moon streamed down once more through the gaps in the foliage, and the weary fugitives flung themselves down upon the sodden ground for a short breathing-space. George was of opinion that, from the time they had been tramping through the forest, they ought to have very nearly reached its southern skirts; but as far as the eye could penetrate, in the uncertain moonlight, through the sylvan vistas, there was no sign of break or opening of any kind; nothing but an apparently endless succession of trees and dense undergrowth. Seeing this, Leicester began to feel uneasy. He knew that they had been travelling through the timber in anything but a straight line--indeed, to do so would have been simply a physical impossibility-- and he began to fear that, in spite of all his efforts to avoid such a misfortune, they had been journeying along the arc of a circle, instead of progressing steadily in a southerly direction. The wanderers were beginning to feel thoroughly fatigued, what with their day's work in the fields, their exposure during the storm, and their painful tramp afterwards; but George felt that, fatigued or not, they must push on; liberty _must_ be secured first; when that was won, they could afford time to rest, but not until then. The first thing to be done, however, was to get a definite idea of whereabouts they were; it was obviously useless to continue plodding on, they knew not whither; besides, it was frightfully fatiguing and painful work, this marching through the forest, and George felt that it would be a positive advantage even to deviate somewhat from their direct course, if by so doing they could earlier gain the open ground once more. So, looking around him, he picked out the most lofty tree he could find, and, leaving Tom to keep watch by Walford's side, nimbly scrambled up its trunk, and was soon among its topmost branches. A single glance around sufficed to show him that his suspicions were correct; they were only about half a mile from the _northern_ edge of the timber; and, consequently, rather worse off than if they had never left the wrecked waggon at all. And, worse still, George found that, after all their travelling, they were little more than three miles from the estate, the whole of which was distinctly visible from his lofty stand-point. This was rather discouraging, but there was no help for it; he now knew exactly where they were, and how much greater than even he had imagined was the necessity for immediate action; so he turned his glances in a southerly direction, and sought to discover the most direct road out of their unpleasant predicament. Here he met with an ample reward for his trouble in climbing the tree, for he saw that, if they pursued their way due south--as they could now do, directing their course by the moon--they would have to travel through at least seven miles of forest; whilst by heading in a south-westerly direction, keeping the moon a little on their left hand, they would only have to traverse some two miles of forest, after which there seemed to be tolerably open ground as far as the eye could reach. About three miles East-South-East of him he detected the gleaming white walls of a number of buildings, which he judged to be a portion of the town of Santiago; beyond it rose a curiously-shaped, double-coned mountain; away on his right lay the table-land of Mariel; and--joyous sight--through a break in the rising ground to the southward he caught a glimpse of the sea, with, far away on the utmost verge of the horizon, an appearance of land, which he conjectured must be the Isle of Pines. Noting all these matters carefully, and making a rough mental sketch of "the lay of the land," George rapidly descended to where he had left Tom and Walford, and rapidly detailed to the former the result of his observations. "We must be off at once," he explained, "for we have no time to spare; we have lost nearly three good hours blundering about here blindly in this wood; it must be now nearly or quite midnight; and, if so, it leaves us only ten hours at most to reach the sea, if we are to do so without being overtaken." Accordingly, weary and stiff as they were, they again shouldered the pole from which Walford in his hammock was slung, and once more set out upon their journey, which, now that they were favoured by the light of the moon, they hoped would be of a somewhat more prosperous character than it had hitherto been. Another painful and toilsome tramp of a couple of hours and they emerged, to their unbounded joy, from the southern side of the forest on to comparatively open ground. Trees and dense straggling clumps of bush were still abundant enough--far too much so, in fact--but there were wide patches of grass-land between, over which their progress was tolerably rapid. Once clear of the thick timber, George again shaped his course due south, intending to pass through the break in the rising ground which he had seen from his lofty lookout; but somehow they missed it, and this involved a great deal of toilsome climbing. At length they plunged once more into a belt of timber which stretched, seemingly for miles, across their path; and here exhausted nature gave out; Tom declared his utter inability to walk another yard, George felt scarcely better than his companion, and so, notwithstanding the terrible loss of precious time which it involved, they selected the first suitable spot they could find, and flinging themselves upon the ground, one on each side of Walford, gave themselves up to the sweetest sleep which had ever sealed their eyelids. George was the first of the trio to awaken, and when he did so, he found, to his dismay, that the sun was already several hours high in the heavens. He immediately aroused the lad Tom, and, greatly refreshed by their sleep, the pair once more shouldered poor helpless Walford and his hammock, and resumed their flight. They were as hungry as healthy men usually are after great exertion and a fast of several hours' duration, but they had not a particle of food with them, so they were compelled to subsist for the present upon hope, the hope that ere long they would meet with something more substantial. They felt no particular anxiety upon this score, as George knew that wild fruits of several kinds were tolerably plentiful on the island, and about half an hour after they had started they were fortunate enough to fall in with a wild plantain, the fruit of which was just in the right condition for eating. No time was lost in securing a goodly bunch of this very nutritious fruit, upon which they feasted, as they went along, until their appetites were completely satisfied. After trudging manfully along for about a couple of hours, they found themselves upon the crest of a range of low hills, from which they caught, through a break in the scrub, a glimpse of the sea, sparkling invitingly under the noonday sun. They also caught a glimpse of something, by no means so pleasant--namely, a town of considerable dimensions immediately before them and only about two miles distant. To avoid this they were compelled to make a wide detour, and much valuable time was lost in this way and in reconnoitring; for they knew there would be several plantations in immediate proximity to so important a place, and through these they would have, as it were, to run the gauntlet. And, notwithstanding all their caution, they failed to effect their passage entirely unobserved through this dangerous district; it unfortunately happening that, just as they emerged from the bush, and were about to cross a high-road, which they had been watching for nearly half an hour, a vehicle appeared in sight, suddenly wheeling into the road close to them from a bush-path which they had failed to observe. This vehicle was occupied by two persons, a white man and a negro driver; and as it was utterly impossible to avoid the observation of these two persons, George told Tom, in a few low hasty words, to continue moving, to carefully conceal all appearance of chagrin, and to leave him to answer any questions which might be put to them. As the vehicle approached the fugitives, its owner signed to his driver to pull up, but he immediately changed his mind and passed on, contenting himself with a careful and prolonged scrutiny of the travellers. This disagreeable incident caused George and his companion to push on with renewed vigour, and it was with sincerely thankful hearts that they at last plunged into a shallow ravine, which promised to lead them directly down to the sea, then not more, in Leicester's opinion, than some four or five miles distant. The sun was by this time sinking low in the heavens and the travellers, unutterably weary as they were, pressed eagerly forward, hoping to reach the coast before nightfall, and to discover a craft of some kind which they could appropriate, and in which, later on, when the night was well advanced, and they could hope to do so unobserved, they might venture to put to sea. This was the only effectual method of escape which George could devise--to put to sea upon the chance of being picked up by some passing vessel. He knew that, when once the fact of their escape became established, the news would travel faster than they possibly could; the whole country for many miles round, would be apprised of their number and appearance, and recapture would be certain. To get afloat, therefore, as speedily as possible was their first object; after that they must trust to chance--or Providence, rather--for their ultimate rescue. As they advanced along the ravine, it grew deeper, whilst its sides became steeper and more rugged, until at last the place assumed quite the appearance of a mountain-gorge or defile, with rocky, precipitous sides, to which a few scattered shrubs clung here and there. At length, in the deep silence of the breathless evening, the thrice welcome sound of the sea breaking upon the shore came faintly to their ears. It was the merest, faintest murmur, it is true, but their experienced ears told them in a moment what it was; they were within the sound of the sea, and in a few short hours at most, please God, they would be safe from pursuit. A bend in the defile was before them, about a quarter of a mile distant, and toward this they eagerly pressed believing that when they had passed it they would find themselves face to face with the sea. In their eagerness they broke into a run, notwithstanding their terrible state of fatigue, and soon rounded the bend--to find themselves in a _cul-de-sac_, with a perpendicular wall of cliff in front of them nearly two hundred feet high. With a groan of bitter anguish and disappointment they deposited Walford in his hammock on the ground, and turned to ask each other what should be done in the face of this new difficulty. As they did so, the deep bay of a dog smote upon their ears from the higher end of the ravine. The sound was instantly repeated again and again, in a slightly different key, proving that the cries were uttered not by one, but by several animals. "The dogs! _The dogs_!" exclaimed Tom. "They are after us, by Jove; and here we are, caught like rats in a trap." George glanced eagerly about him, up and down the ravine. To go back was simply to throw themselves into the arms of their pursuers, for that they _were_ pursued he did not for an instant doubt; to hide, even if a hiding-place could be found, was impossible, with those keen-scented brutes upon their tracks; and to remain where they were was to await inevitable capture. Could they go _forward_? That meant scaling that terrible wall of rock. As George glanced despairingly up the lofty perpendicular cliff, he thought that an active man, unencumbered, _might_ possibly accomplish the feat; at all events, were he so circumstanced, he would try it. And what he could do, he knew the lad Tom could do also; but there was Walford, unable to walk, much less to scale that awful precipice. As he stood thus, the baying of the dogs again came floating down the ravine; and how much nearer and clearer were now the sounds! The brutes must be coming down after them at a run, as of course they easily could upon a red-hot scent. The sounds decided George to make one more desperate effort for freedom. "Look here, Tom," said he; "after coming thus far, we must not be taken for want of a little extra effort. If we _are_, you may be sure we shall never be allowed to make a second attempt. Now our only chance is to scale that cliff; we _must_ do it, and we _can_ do it, if we only go resolutely to work. It will be difficult, fatiguing, and awfully dangerous, for we must take poor Walford with us; but _liberty_ awaits us at the top; the sea is not half a mile off, I know, by the sound of it; and we can reach it before those fellows can ride round to intercept us; so let us set to with a will, my lad, and we shall scrape clear yet, you take my word for it. Now out with your cane-knife, and cut away at the grass; we must well pad poor Walford all round with it, so that he may not be hurt by bumping against those rocks; then we'll lash him hard and fast in the canvas, lash ourselves one to each end of him, and away aloft we go." CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. ON THE FACE OF THE PRECIPICE. The cane-knives were speedily at work; the grass was long and abundant, and as the two men were working for liberty--nay, probably for life itself--they were not long in cutting a sufficient quantity for their purpose. Walford was then lifted carefully out upon the ground, the grass was thickly and evenly distributed over the inner side of the hammock, and then the invalid was again deposited within it, and securely lashed up, his head only being left free. This done, two lanyards were securely attached to the extempore hammock, one at its head, and the other at its foot. "Well done; that's capital!" exclaimed George, as the last turn was taken, making all secure. "Now slip the bight over your--ah! here come the dogs, by all that's unfortunate. We must defend ourselves with the cane-knives. I'll tackle the first one, you take the next, and--mind-- we have no time to waste; luckily there are only three of the brutes as yet; we must kill them, and be up out of reach before the others or their masters arrive. Keep steady, Tom, my lad, and strike so that one blow shall be sufficient. Now then--come on, you devils!" As George finished speaking, the dogs--three superb specimens of the Cuban bloodhound--dashed up to within about ten feet of the fugitives, and there stopped, not attacking them, as they had expected, but merely baying loudly. "This will not do," exclaimed George; "if we turn our backs upon them for a single instant, they will seize us; and we cannot afford the time to stand looking at them. I will take the dark one, you attack the light fellow, and mind what you are about, for they are as strong and active as tigers. _Now_!" At the word both men sprang forward with uplifted cane-knives, and made a slash at the dogs. The creatures tried to dodge the blows, and one of them--the one attacked by Tom--succeeded. George, however, was more fortunate; he made a feint, and as the dog sprang aside, he followed him up, recovering his weapon smartly at the same time, and bringing it down in another second on the creature's head with such strength and effect that the skull was cloven open, and the poor brute, with a yell of agony, rolled over dead. Tom, meanwhile, was battling ineffectually with the dog he had attacked, and George turned just in time to see the hound spring savagely at the lad's throat, and hurl him to the ground. With a single bound Leicester reached Tom's side, and raising the cane-knife above his head, and grasping the handle with both hands, he brought it down with all his strength across the dog's neck, taking care to avoid the thick leather collar which protected it. The blow clove through skin and bone, dividing the spine and nearly severing the head from the body; but even then it was difficult to free poor Tom from the iron jaws which had seized him. With a vigorous wrench, however, this was effected, and George then dragged the lad to his feet. "Are you hurt?" panted Leicester. "No," gasped Tom. "The beast only seized me by the collar of my jacket, and--" "Then come on at once," interrupted George; "the third dog has turned tail, like a craven, luckily for us. Now slip the bight of the lanyard over your neck, and follow me. Leave the cane-knives; they will only encumber us, and perhaps throw us down the face of the precipice. Now, look out, I'm going to start." As George spoke, he approached the face of the precipice, and, taking advantage of whatever projections he could find, began the task of scaling it, Tom following behind, and Walford slung in his make-shift hammock between the two. They worked desperately, these two men, knowing how much depended upon the next few minutes, and an onlooker would have been astounded at the progress they made, encumbered as they were with the weight and bulk of their helpless companion. In one minute from the time of starting they had gained a height of forty feet, and then the sudden trampling of horses' hoofs, and the loud shouts of their pursuers told them that the latter had rounded the bend, and that they were seen. In a few seconds the sounds ceased at the foot of the cliff, and in another instant the voice of the head overseer was heard shouting to them-- "Hola there! Giorgio--you miscreant--come down, or I will fire!" "Keep steady, Tom," gasped George. "Let them fire; the chances are ten to one that they will miss us. Do you feel nervous, lad?" "Not I," answered Tom; "never felt steadier in my life, cap'n. This rope _is_ cutting into my shoulders awful bad, though." "So it is into mine," returned George; "but we must grin and bear it now, until we get to the top. And--whatever you do--look up, boy; if you look down, you'll grow dizzy, and, likely enough, slip; then down we must all inevitably go." "Are you coming down, you rascals?" shouted the overseer. "It don't look much like it, I reckon, senhor," chuckled Tom to himself, hoisting himself over the edge of a good broad ledge of rock as he spoke, a ledge some ten feet in width. "Now!" exclaimed Leicester, as he helped the lad up, "we'll rest here a minute or two, and recover our breath. They may blaze away at us as long as they like now; we're as safe from their bullets as if they were a dozen miles away." The overseer and his companions, however, seemed to think differently, for the fugitives had scarcely settled themselves comfortably, when a regular fusillade was opened upon them; but, as George and Tom were completely sheltered by the projecting ledge, none of the shot came near them. They were now about half-way up the cliff, and from this position an excellent view presented itself for some distance up the ravine which they had just left; but both George and Tom, now that they were sitting quietly down, and had leisure to think about it, felt the sense of empty space immediately before them, and of the sheer precipice which they knew lay beyond that narrow ledge, to be exceedingly trying to the nerves. Presently the clatter of horses' hoofs came ringing upward to them from the bottom of the ravine, and, peering cautiously over the edge of the rock, George saw that the party of man-hunters, accompanied by four bloodhounds, had started off at a gallop on their way back to the entrance of the _cul-de-sac_. He at once guessed that their intention was to ride round over the hills, and endeavour to pick up the trail again at the top of the cliff. The act of looking downward from so great an elevation, and the sight of the sheer precipice, on the very edge of which he was hanging, with absolutely nothing to prevent him from falling over and going whirling headlong down to the bottom, produced in George a sudden attack of vertigo. The whole landscape appeared to rock to and fro; the ledge upon which he was standing seemed to sway suddenly forward over the abyss and threaten to launch him into space; he felt himself wavering upon the very brink, and an almost uncontrollable impulse seized him to spring off and take that terrible downward flight. Another glance downward, and the impulse became irresistible. He drew back a step, braced himself for the terrible leap, flung his arms above his head, and, uttering a piercing cry, was in the very act of launching himself forward over the edge, when Tom, happening to glance at him, and to detect his suicidal determination just in time, sprang up, and, with a cry of amazement and horror, dragged him forcibly back against the wall of rock behind. "Why, cap'n!" exclaimed the lad, as soon as he had sufficiently recovered from his astonishment to speak,--"why, cap'n, whatever's the matter with yer? What was you goin' to do?" For the moment poor George was too unnerved to speak. The instant that he was dragged back from the ledge, the horrible fascination lost its hold upon him; he suddenly realised in its fullest extent the frightful peril from which he had been so providentially snatched, and, covering his face with his hands, as the revulsion of feeling came upon him, he shook and quivered like an aspen-leaf. A minute or two more and this dreadful feeling also passed away, his calmness and self-possession returned to him, and, placing himself upon his knees, there on that narrow ledge of rock he humbly returned his hearty thanks to God for his preservation, and prayed for help and deliverance for himself and his companions in their present sore need. Then, turning to Tom, he said-- "Thank you, Tom; you have saved my life as surely as ever man's life has been saved by a fellow-creature in this world. I was in the very act of springing off the rock when you dragged me back, and, but for you, my body would at this moment be lying mangled and lifeless a hundred feet below. I do not know how it was, but when I looked down over the edge, I turned giddy and sick all in a moment, and then I felt that I _must_ fling myself down the precipice. Let this be a warning to us both, my lad; for it shows that, steady as are our heads aloft at sea, they are not to be too much depended upon when climbing precipices on shore. But, come! it is high time that we should be moving again; those fellows are half-way to the head of the valley by this time, and if we are not smart, they will have us yet. Do you feel sufficiently rested to tackle the other half of this cliff?" "Ay, ay, cap'n, I'm ready," answered Tom; "but, for the Lord's sake, sir, and for all our sakes, don't you go for to look down and get tempted to jump off again. Perhaps I mightn't be able to stop you next time, you know." "All right, Tom, never fear," answered George; "I'll take care not to run such an awful risk again, you may be sure. Now are you ready? Then take your end of this poor fellow, and let us be moving." But, now that they were ready to resume their ascent, another terrible difficulty presented itself. On looking upward for a projection by which to raise himself, Leicester for the first time became aware that the ledge on which they stood marked a change of strata. Below them it was all hard rock; above the ledge he could see nothing but a vertical unbroken face, some twenty feet in height, of soft crumbling sandstone, so soft indeed that it scarcely merited the name of stone at all, but might be more fitly described as solidly compressed red sandy soil, of such slight tenacity that it was possible to scrape it away with the naked finger. To climb this smooth crumbling face, even with the aid of a ladder, George at once saw would have been utterly impossible; for, though it has been spoken of as vertical, it was not strictly so; it inclined slightly forward, so as actually to overhang them, and a ladder would therefore not have stood against the face; how, then, could they hope, encumbered as they were, to surmount it? The task was an obvious impossibility, and George saw that it would be necessary to seek for a practicable place elsewhere. Accordingly Walford was once more laid upon the rock, with Tom to watch him and guard against any possible mishap, whilst George went off upon an exploring expedition. He first tried to the left, passing along the ledge very cautiously, with his face turned to the wall, so that he might not again be exposed to the terrible temptation from which he had so recently escaped. At first he had great hopes of success, the ledge beginning to slope upward as he passed along it to the eastward; but when he had traversed some fifty yards or so, it suddenly narrowed away to nothing under a projecting angle of the superimposed sandstone, and in endeavouring to get a glimpse round this angle, the soft material crumbled in George's grasp, he lost his hold, staggered, reeled, struggled ineffectually to recover his balance, and fell. For a single instant he gave himself up as lost, and suffered in anticipation all the agonies of a frightful death; but he had not fallen more than six feet, when his outstretched hand encountered a long, stout, flexible twig, or rather a young tree, shooting out from an interstice in the rocks. He grasped it with the iron grip of a drowning man, grasped it with both hands, and, though it bent double with his weight, it held out bravely, and enabled him to regain his footing on the face of the precipice. In another moment he had scrambled once more on to the ledge, where he lay panting, breathless, with torn and bleeding hands, but safe. The appalling peril from which he had thus a second time so narrowly escaped, inflicted a terrible shock on George's nerves, and it was some time before he could find courage to once more raise his head and look about him. The reflection, however, that two men, one of them utterly helpless, were in the same perilous situation as himself--having indeed been brought directly into it by him--helped him to once more recover the command of his nerves, and, somewhat ashamed of their unexpected weakness, he scrambled to his feet and set out to explore in the opposite direction. By the time that he had once more reached the point where Tom sat patiently awaiting him, the dusk was closing down upon the landscape with all the rapidity peculiar to the tropics, and, shrouded as they were in the deep shadow of the precipice, it was already difficult for them to see each other clearly. This meant still another danger added to those which already confronted them, and George felt that, unless a way of escape could quickly be found, they would be compelled to remain where they were all night, a prospect which involved so many horrible contingencies that he dared not allow his mind to dwell upon it, but, turning his attention strictly to the matter in hand, hurried away on his quest to the westward. In this direction he was more successful, the ledge, at a distance of some thirty yards, running into a steep earthy slope, some ten or a dozen yards in height, above which the precipice again rose sheer to the top. And, as far as he could see in the quick-gathering darkness, this precipice again presented a rocky face, up the inequalities of which it might be possible for them to climb. But a single glance was enough to assure George that the most perilous portion of their journey still lay before them. In the first place, the slope was frightfully steep, rising at an angle of fully fifty degrees from the horizontal; and, in the next place, it was covered with a long thick growth of grass, rendering its face almost as slippery as ice. And its lower edge terminated abruptly in a vertical overhanging face, similar to that which towered above the place where he had left Tom and Walford, so that, should either of them slip in traversing this dangerous part of their journey, they must all, lashed together as they were, inevitably slide and roll helplessly down and over the edge into the depths below. As George contemplated the fearful dangers attending their further progress, the idea occurred to him that perhaps, after all, now that their pursuers had gone, and the ground was left clear below, it would be better to retrace their steps and endeavour to find another and more practicable way out of the ravine. But a few seconds' consideration of this plan convinced Leicester of its utter impracticability. They had, by superhuman exertions, succeeded in climbing _up_ the precipice; but he knew that they could never get Walford safely _down_ again. There was nothing for it, then, but to go on, and _upward_, even though they should find their pursuers awaiting them at the top, a contingency which so much lost time rendered only too probable. Before going back, however, and attempting the passage up that awful slope, encumbered with Walford's helpless body, George thought it would be prudent to essay the passage alone, so that he might learn, from actual experience, the full extent of the danger, and thus be the better able to guard against disaster. Accordingly down he went upon hands and knees, and forthwith began the ascent. His first attempt proved to him that he had in no wise magnified the perils of the journey, for his knees slipped helplessly from under him the moment that they touched the grass, and it was only by clinging desperately with his hands to the long tough herbage that he escaped being shot down to the bottom and over the edge. Returning once more to the friendly ledge, which, after the dangers he had so recently passed through, seemed to afford a position of absolute safety, George began to cast about in his mind for some means of overcoming this new difficulty, and at last he hit upon the idea of making a narrow pathway up the slope by pulling up the grass by the roots. This, however, he soon found would be a work of considerable time; but he also discovered that it would be possible, without any great difficulty, to remove small patches of just sufficient size to give a precarious, but comparatively secure, foothold, and this he at once proceeded to do. Half an hour of arduous labour in this direction enabled him to safely reach the top of the slope, where, to his great gratification, he discovered another platform of rock, about six feet wide. Passing along this, he came suddenly upon an irregular fissure in the rocky face of the precipice. This fissure was about four feet wide at the bottom, the walls sloping inwards, like a roof, until they met at a height of seven or eight feet from the ground. George at once unhesitatingly entered the opening, and found that it widened somewhat as it receded from the face of the rock, until at a distance of some five and twenty feet inwards it abruptly terminated in a small, cave-like aperture, some six feet in height, and perhaps twelve in diameter, being, as nearly as he could ascertain, by the sense of touch only, roughly of a circular form. George was inexpressibly thankful that he had been guided to this place of refuge, for here, he resolved, the party should pass the night, as they easily could, with the most perfect safety. It was by this time far too dark to attempt the awful risk of a passage up the precipice, and he felt sure that, even could they succeed in safely reaching the top, their pursuers would be found there, awaiting them. But this cavernous fissure afforded them the very shelter they required; its existence was, in all probability, absolutely a secret; and, even were it not so, it was inaccessible to all but those who chose to risk their necks in an effort to reach it; and, lastly, they could seek in it the rest they so absolutely needed, without the haunting fear of rolling over the precipice in their sleep. Thinking thus, Leicester rapidly, but cautiously, made his way back to Tom, whom he found in a state of the greatest mental perturbation, owing to his prolonged absence. Hastily describing to the lad the fortunate discovery which he had made, George made what few preparations were required for the short but dangerous journey before them, and then the two resumed their load, and with cautious steps wended their way along the ledge to the treacherous slope, it was by this time as dark as it would be throughout the night; but this circumstance rather lessened than increased their peril, for it prevented their realising as fully as in broad daylight the giddy height of the narrow path along which they were travelling; whilst the brilliant light from the stars overhead was sufficient to enable them to pick their steps, and find the bare patches in the grass, in which it was so imperatively necessary for them to plant their footsteps. At last, after nearly a quarter of an hour's arduous labour, and several narrow escapes from a disastrous accident, the welcome shelter of the cave-like fissure was reached, and, feeling their way cautiously into it, they laid Walford down, released him from his uncomfortable bonds, and hungry, thirsty, and utterly fagged out as they were with the arduous labours of the day, threw themselves down beside him, and, with a half-unconscious thanksgiving for their preservation trembling upon their lips, fell at once into a profound slumber. Their sleep lasted until late on in the following day, the sun being already low in the heavens when George was awakened by Walford with a querulous demand for food and drink. He at once rose, and, proceeding to the mouth of the fissure, effected a cautious reconnaissance, the result of which was the establishment of the satisfactory circumstance that no one was visible in the ravine below. The next point to be ascertained was, whether his pursuers--any or all of them--were still maintaining a watch for them on the cliff above. George had not the slightest doubt but that, when he saw them riding up the valley on the previous evening, they had resolved to ride round and intercept the fugitives, or pick up their trail at the cliff-top, if possible; the question to be settled was, whether, having failed in both these objects, they would establish a watch upon that part of the cliff at which the fugitives might be expected to make their appearance; or whether, believing that pursuit had been baffled, and an escape effected, they would return discomfited to the estate. Leicester was of opinion that, failing to detect any sign of the fugitives, and the dogs being unable to pick up the scent, a suspicion might occur to the minds of the pursuers that their prey was still lurking in some precarious resting-place on the face of the precipice, and, in that case, no doubt a strict watch would be maintained for some hours; but as to how long it would be before the patience of the watchers became exhausted, or before the conviction should thrust itself upon them that the fugitives had escaped, he could of course form no opinion. But, having thus far evaded capture, he thought it would be only prudent to make sure that the coast was clear before proceeding further in the prosecution of their flight. Having come to this conclusion, he returned to the inner recesses of the cave, acquainted Tom with his intention to make a trip of exploration as far, if necessary, as the top of the cliff, and forthwith set out upon his mission. George's first act, on issuing from the fissure, was to cast a look aloft, in order that he might judge of the nature of the task still before them. The sight was anything but encouraging, the task of climbing that vertical face--perfectly smooth, to all intents and purposes, the projections and inequalities being so slight as to be barely distinguishable beyond a height of twenty or five-and-twenty feet--seeming to him, even after his recent experience of cliff-climbing, a sheer impossibility. To climb it, even unencumbered as he then was, was a task not to be lightly entered upon, and he determined that, before attempting it, he would seek further, and endeavour to discover a somewhat less difficult path to the summit. With this object in view, he continued his way along the rocky platform upon which he was then standing, until he rounded a sharp angle, where it abruptly came to an end, and gave place to a rough, jagged, and broken face, very similar to that which they had ascended on the previous evening. Casting his eye over and up this uneven face, in an effort to pick out the most suitable path, his gaze was arrested by the sight of a bush growing out of the face of the rock. The bush was only some ten feet distant, and he was therefore close enough to it, not only to see that it was evidently a species of wild raspberry, but also to discern the very welcome circumstance that it was literally bending beneath its weight of ripe fruit. He was not long in making his way to the spot where it stood, and then, removing his jacket, and knotting the sleeves round his neck, he, with a seaman's readiness of invention, converted it into a sort of bag, which he rapidly filled to its utmost capacity with the cool, ripe, refreshing juicy fruit. With this he hurried back to the inmates of the cave, and, laying it before them, bade them eat freely, returning himself to the bush, since it lay exactly in the way he intended to take, to satisfy the cravings of his own appetite. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. THE FUGITIVES MAKE GOOD THEIR ESCAPE. Having partaken of as much of the fruit as he deemed prudent, George at once betook himself to the task of climbing the precipice, and was agreeably surprised at the rapidity and ease with which he accomplished the ascent. Now that he was unencumbered with Walford's weight, and was free from the horrible dread which had before haunted him--that a false step on Tom's part might precipitate all hands to the bottom--his confidence in his own powers enabled him to coolly approach and successfully surmount obstacles which, under less favourable conditions, he would have dreaded to face, and in a few minutes he was within a foot or two of the top. Here he deemed it prudent to pause for a moment and survey the path by which he had ascended, so that, in the event of danger, he might be able to effect a rapid retreat. The glance downward which he permitted himself to take, though only momentary, brought on again, though happily only in a mitigated degree, the same feeling of vertigo and nausea from which he had before suffered; and he was obliged to close his eyes for a short time, clinging convulsively to the rock meanwhile, to avoid falling headlong to the bottom. Having at length once more recovered his steadiness, he rose cautiously higher and higher, until his head was level with the top edge of the precipice, and then he ventured to raise his head rapidly, cast a flying glance round, and dip it again. But the latter precaution was needless; the ground still sloped upward, so that he could see for a distance of some forty yards only, but all the visible space was perfectly clear; there was no human eye to detect his presence there. Once more raising his head, and this time taking a more leisurely and deliberate glance round, to make assurance doubly sure, he proceeded to make his way up over the edge on to the comparatively level ground at the top. This was a task demanding the utmost caution, for a depth of some eighteen inches of light soil crowned the rock, thickly covered with long rank grass, which, owing to the lightness of the soil, afforded but a very precarious and uncertain hold. The soil itself, too, crumbled away immediately beneath his touch, so that at the very top of the precipice he was unable to find anything to which he could safely hold. For a short time it almost seemed as if these apparently trifling obstacles were about to baffle him altogether, and it was not until he had actually laid bare the rock immediately in front of him, as far as his arm could reach, that he accomplished his object, and stood safely on the top of the cliff. He now threw himself flat on the ground in the long grass, thus effectually concealing himself from the view of any chance passer-by, and crawled to the crest of the hill, where he again peered cautiously about him. The ground, from the spot whereon he knelt, declined pretty steeply to the sea, only a quarter of a mile distant; slightly to his right there lay a valley, with a tiny river flowing through it into the sea; and on either bank of this stream there stood two or three crazy wattle-huts, scarcely worthy the name of human habitations, with a net or two spread behind them on poles in the sun to dry. Three or four fishing-canoes and a boat--a ship's boat, which looked as though it had been picked up derelict--were moored in the stream; but human beings, there were none visible. In line with the river, commencing at a distance of about two miles from the shore, and extending right out to the horizon, there lay a group of islets, some forty or more in number; and far away beyond them, lying like a thin grey cloud of haze on the water, he could see the Isle of Pines. "So far, so good," thought George. The spot was evidently a lonely one, inhabited by a few fishermen only; there was no sign of any watch being maintained on the chance of the runaways putting in an appearance, so the chase had doubtless by this time been abandoned as hopeless; there was a capital boat--which, in his urgent necessity, he felt he need not scruple to appropriate--lying in the stream below, and everything promised favourably for a successful escape from the island. But though the scene below looked so quiet and deserted, and though the boat lay there so temptingly within sight, Leicester felt that the evening would be the most suitable time for making their final effort; they were in no immediate hurry now, and it was scarcely worth while to risk detection by putting off in broad daylight. Besides, the sea-breeze was blowing half a gale, and in their exhausted condition they would scarcely be able to drive the boat ahead against it; whilst, by waiting until sundown, they would have it calm to start with, and the breeze, when it came, would be off the land and in their favour. Thus arguing the matter with himself, he rose to his feet, and sauntered leisurely back to the cliff-edge on his return journey. He was surprised and greatly disconcerted now to discover how easy it was to miss the spot at which he had made his ascent. The strong breeze, sweeping over the grass, had obliterated every trace of his recent passage through it, but he confidently walked in what he believed to be the right direction--only to find himself mistaken. The bare patch of rock which he had cleared to facilitate his passage over the edge was of course, when once found, an unmistakable landmark; but he was quite five minutes walking to and fro on the cliff-edge before he hit upon it, and quite long enough to have insured his capture had he been surprised and closely pursued. Having at last found it, however, he forthwith began his descent; and here again he was disagreeably reminded of the much greater difficulty which is experienced in the _descent_ than in the _ascent_ of a cliff. His difficulties began with his first attempt to lower himself over the cliff-edge; and, notwithstanding his utmost care, he several times found himself in positions of the most appalling peril. He, however, got down safely to the cavern at last, and, after detailing to Tom the result of his observations, threw himself down on the rocky floor, to recover in sleep, if possible, the strength and nerve necessary for their final ascent. When George awoke, the sun was within about an hour of setting. There was, therefore, time for him to go out and secure for his companions and himself another meal of the wild raspberries, which he accordingly did. The fugitives had all their preparations complete in good time, and, when everything was quite ready, Leicester went out and stood at the entrance to the fissure, watching the shadows creep gradually higher and higher up the eastern side of the ravine as the sun declined toward the horizon. At length the last golden gleam vanished, the entire landscape assumed a hue of rich purple-grey, rapidly deepening in tone as the darkness of the tropical night settled swiftly down; and the supreme moment had arrived. Returning at once to the interior of the cave, George briefly announced that it was time to start; Walford, already securely lashed in his hammock, was at once hoisted up between George and Tom as before, and, issuing from the mouth of the fissure, the fugitives forthwith began the last and most perilous part of the ascent. They had scarcely risen a couple of yards when rapid hoof-beats were heard in the valley below, and, pausing for a moment to glance down, George saw a mounted figure galloping rapidly up the valley. He recognised it at once as one of their former pursuers, and saw in a moment how completely these pertinacious man-hunters had outwitted him. It immediately became clear to him that, failing to pick up the trail at the top of the precipice, these fellows had jumped to the conclusion that, improbable as it might seem, their prey must still be lurking hidden somewhere on the face of the precipice, and, doubtless during the previous night, the individual just seen had returned, and, secreting himself among the bushes below, had maintained an untiring watch on the face of the cliff. There could be no doubt that he had seen George's ascent of the cliff that morning, and, observing him to be alone, had rightly concluded that the journey up the cliff had been made for the purpose of a reconnaissance, and had therefore remained _perdu_, satisfied that before long his patience would be rewarded, as it had been, by witnessing the attempted flight of the whole party. These reflections flashed like lightning through George's brain, and helped him to an instant decision. "We _must_ go on _now_!" he exclaimed to Tom. "They have discovered our hiding-place, and if we were to return to it, they would simply blockade the top and bottom of the precipice, knowing that, sooner or later, we must inevitably fall into their hands; and, in addition to that, they would spread the information of our position all over the country, and perhaps offer a reward for our capture, in which case we should have perhaps a hundred watching for us instead of half-a-dozen. We have a chance yet; for it will take them fully twenty minutes to ride round, by which time, if we are fortunate, we can reach the boat. Now, Tom, my lad, do your utmost; in twenty minutes we shall either have won our freedom or relapsed into slavery for ever." Not another word was now said by either of them until that awful climb was over and they had, after countless hair-breadth escapes, safely reached the top of the cliff. When at last they once more stood on comparatively level ground, they felt as though their limbs had no strength to carry them another yard upon their way, so exhausting had been the superhuman efforts which they had put forth. But there was no pause--no rest for them yet; onward they must still press at their topmost speed, or all that they had hitherto endured would be in vain. The short journey from the top of the precipice to the summit of the rising ground was a cruel one; the slope, gentle though it was, telling upon them terribly as they staggered forward over the long slippery grass, panting, breathless, staggering and stumbling at every step, and dreading every moment to hear the triumphant shout announcing the arrival of their pursuers upon the scene. But, so far, save that of their own laboured breathing, not a sound of any kind broke in upon the deep stillness of the evening hour; and, when at last they surmounted the crest of the hill, the scene below was one of peaceful solitude. "Now one more--one _supreme_ effort, Tom, and in five minutes we shall be free," gasped George. "Muster all your courage and resolution, and let us make a run for it. Can you do it?" "Ay, ay, sir, I'll try," was the scarcely articulate reply, and without more ado they set off down the slope at a run. A run? Well, yes, it was a run, if it was anything at all; but such a run! Their limbs felt like lead, and Walford's weight seemed to them enough to drag them down to the very centre of the earth. Every individual blade of grass seemed to be invested with the toughness of a hempen cable, and to trail directly across their path for the express purpose of retarding their progress and tripping them up. Their breath was gone; their mouths were open and gasping; their hearts were beating like sledge-hammers against their ribs, and pumping the blood in a great red-hot tide up into their heads; their brains reeled; their sight began to fail them; and what little of the scene was still perceptible to their disordered vision was apparently whirling in a mad dance up and down, round and round them, until they could not tell whether they were going right or wrong. Yet on they still staggered and stumbled, first one, then the other, falling prone to the earth, but up again in an instant, and on once more. At last they were at the base of the hill; another half-a-dozen yards, and they would be beside the stream; another twenty, and they would be in the boat. Hark! what sound is that? The dull thud of horses' hoofs upon the turf! With what headlong speed the riders are pressing forward! And--ha! there is the exultant shout which tells that the prey is in sight. "Thank God, there are no dogs with them," thinks George. "Are there not?" Then what means that deep, sonorous baying sound which breaks with such startling distinctness on his frenzied ear? "On! on! for the love of God, press on!" gasps George; and with something almost like renewed effort the fugitives once more spring forward. Hark! now you can hear the deep panting of those hell-hounds as they lunge forward at a gallop, silent now that their prey is in sight, their flaming eyes fixed upon the flying men in front of them, and their jaws champing in horrible anticipation. One more bound, and the boat is reached. Poor Walford is tumbled unceremoniously into her; George and Tom follow, the latter wrenching from the foetid mud the stake to which the rotting painter is attached, whilst the former, with a last desperate effort, sends the crazy craft into the middle of the stream. As he rolls in over the gunwale a heavy splash is heard, and some cumbrous body scurries from the slimy bank into the water, whilst at the same moment the foremost hound, a magnificent creature, as big and as lithe as a panther, springs boldly after the receding boat. He _almost_ reaches her, not quite, his front paws catch upon the gunwale, but the rest of his body falls short and drops into the water. A thrust from one of the oars sends him clear of the boat, and, with a baffled howl, he turns and swims for the shore. He is within three feet of the bank when a something, which looks like a log of charred timber, rises to the surface behind him, two gleaming eyes glare at him, and, with a horrid snap, a pair of serrated jaws close upon his hind quarters, and he is dragged back and under, to furnish a meal to the terrible _cayman_. But the fugitives have no time for more than the merest superficial glance at this canine tragedy, for their human pursuers are now close at hand. The thowl-pins, luckily, are already in their places, left there by the fishermen, who have been too lazy to remove and stow them snugly away; the oars are therefore hastily caught up and tossed into their places, the boat is spun round like a top until her head points seaward, and, with vigorous strokes, the two men send her foaming out along the narrow river-channel toward the sea. The pursuers rein up upon the bank, and with one accord draw their pistols, and open a fusillade upon the flying boat. Fortunately it is a harmless one; one bullet lodges in the stern transom, a second chips a shaving off the loom of George's oar, a third passes harmlessly through the planking of the boat's bow and skims a few yards along the surface of the water beyond, and the remainder fly wide. But, after _so long_ and persevering a hunt, these men are not disposed to sit still tamely and witness the escape of those whom they have sworn to take back with them, dead or alive, to the plantation; so, after a few minutes of hurried consultation, three of them dismount, and, hauling one of the canoes to the bank, enter her and start in chase. The way in which they handle the paddles and send the light craft surging down the river in the wake of the boat proves that they are no novices in the boatman's art, but neither are the two of whom they are in chase. George and Tom have already nearly forgotten their terrible fatigue; they are fast recovering their wind; their legs--the members in which they suffered most severely--are now comparatively at rest, an entirely new set of muscles is brought into action, and, as they are perfect masters of the art of handling an oar, they are getting a surprising rate of speed out of the old boat without very much effort. In a couple of minutes they are clear of the river's mouth, through the rollers which are breaking on the miniature bar, and heading fairly out to sea. But human endurance has its limits, and after they had been tugging away for half an hour at the clumsy, ill-made oars, their exertions began to tell upon them. Their strength began to flag, and the canoe, which they had hitherto contrived to keep at a distance, began slowly to gain on them, though how much they could not well tell, as it was by this time quite dark, and they could only distinguish her as a small, dark, shapeless blot on the surface of the water, with a tiny luminous ripple under her bow. They were just beginning to discuss their probabilities of success, should it come to a hand-to-hand fight with those three armed and unfatigued men, when a faint puff of warm air fanned their faces. "Thank God!" exclaimed George fervently, "thank God! there is the first puff of the land-breeze." With that he began to fumble with one hand at the lashings of the sail which lay stretched fore and aft along the thwart beside him, working his oar with the other hand meanwhile, and after a little difficulty the knot which secured them was cast loose, and the turns partially thrown off. "Now, Tom, you must finish the job," exclaimed George; "you can reach and throw off the rest of the turns where you sit; the sail is a lug by the feel of it--at all events, here is a yard of some sort lying alongside the mast--and when you have cast off the lashings and are ready to step the mast, say the word, and lay in your oar; then I'll scull the boat, whilst you step the mast and hoist the sail. Hurrah! here comes the breeze, hot and strong; get the canvas on her, and at last we shall be able to enjoy a rest. If those fellows are wise now, they'll 'bout ship at once, and make for the shore, five minutes hence it will be blowing fresh, and, if they don't look out, they'll be blown off the land altogether. Are you ready? Then in oars, step the mast, and sway away upon the halliards." So said, so done; Tom tossed in his oar, seized the mast, and stepped it. The halliards were already bent to the yard--laziness again, the fishermen evidently having been too indolent to cast them adrift, knowing that they would only have to bend them on again when next they wanted to use the sail--and in another minute Tom had the sail mastheaded, the tack lashed down, and the sheet aft in George's hand; whilst the latter, sinking down in the sternsheets with a sigh of ineffable relief, and too tired yet to ship the rudder, steered the boat with the oar which he had used for sculling, whilst Tom was busied in the operation of making sail. The canoe, meanwhile, had crept up to within her own length of the chase, and oaths and exclamations of mutual encouragement were freely mingled with peremptory orders to the fugitives to surrender, and threats of the punishment awaiting them when caught; but no sooner was the sail set than the boat drew rapidly away, and in ten minutes more the canoe, with its occupants still paddling furiously out to sea, was invisible. George confidently expected to be saluted with a parting shower of bullets, but he was agreeably disappointed, owing possibly to the circumstance that in the hurry of pursuit the crew of the canoe had omitted to bring their ammunition with them. For the first four hours of their flight the voyagers were sailing continuously among the group of low islets which George had seen from the top of the hill; but about midnight, as nearly as they could guess, the last rock was passed, and they found themselves in open water. And now the want of a chart made itself disagreeably manifest. George was quite seaman enough to be able to steer a tolerably straight course, using the stars as a guide by night and the sun by day; but unfortunately, having nothing but his memory to go by, he had only a very vague notion of the proper course to steer, and of the distance which they would have to travel. His plans, moreover, were by no means fixed. One of his ideas was, to stand boldly out to sea in a south-easterly direction, in the hope of hitting Jamaica, where they would at once find themselves among friends able and willing to help them. But against this plan there were several grave objections, the chief of which was his uncertainty as to the exact position of the island and the consequent probability that, from its small size, they would miss it altogether. Then, again, they were absolutely without food or water. It is true, there were a few scraps of putrid fish in the boat, and Tom had found a fishing-line under the bottom-boards forward, so that, having a line and the wherewithal to bait it, they might possibly succeed in catching a _few_ fish. But then it would obviously not do to rely on such a mere chance as that. Another idea was to get into the open water southward of the Isle of Pines, and look out for either an English frigate--one of which would be pretty certain to be cruising in that direction--or an eastward-bound merchantman from Honduras. This plan seemed to George the most feasible under the circumstances, and in favour of it he finally decided. The first matter to which they devoted themselves, on finding that they had no longer anything to fear from the canoe, was Walford's comfort. The poor fellow made no complaint--indeed he had scarcely opened his mouth to utter a word since the moment when he received his injury,--but it had for the last two days been growing increasingly apparent to George that his unfortunate rival was rapidly sinking into a very critical condition. Under the combined effects of the injury, exposure, and want, he was wasting visibly away; his strength was so completely gone that he was quite unable to move without assistance; and George had once or twice asked himself the question, whether he was justified in involving this poor weak demented creature in the sufferings which there was only too much reason to believe still awaited them. Would it not have been truer kindness, he asked himself, to have left Walford in some sheltered spot where there would be a certainty of his being speedily found and taken care of? But reflection satisfied him that it would not. To have left him in the hands of the Spaniards would have been to leave him in slavery for the remainder of his life; and, judging by himself, Leicester felt that death itself would be preferable to such a fate. Then, again, there was the possibility--a slender one, it is true, but still a possibility--of their speedy rescue; in which case, with the care and nursing which he would be sure to receive, there was no reason why Walford should not recover both his health and his intellect. So, comforting himself with the reflection that he was doing the best he could for the unfortunate man, George arranged a comfortable berth for him in the sternsheets of the boat, and deposited him thereon, still lashed up in his canvas hammock, the grass packing of which formed a comparatively soft and comfortable support to his emaciated frame. CHAPTER NINETEEN. DEATH CLAIMS A VICTIM. The breeze continued fresh until about midnight, after which it lessened a trifle, and came off from the larboard quarter. Daybreak found the boat off the north-eastern extremity of the Isle of Pines, and about five miles distant from that curious chain of islets called by the Spaniards the Islas de Mangles, which curves out like a breakwater across the northern face of the island. Their hunger, which had to some extent been appeased by their last plentiful meal of wild raspberries, and which had been altogether forgotten in the excitement of their subsequent flight now returned to them in full force, and, the breeze failing them, George determined to put the line overboard and try for a few fish. He was successful beyond his most sanguine expectations, half-a-dozen fine but grotesque-looking fish speedily rewarding his efforts. The idea of devouring them raw was rather repulsive, but as there was no possible means of cooking them, they had either to do that or go without breakfast; so, selecting the most tempting-looking, they cut it up, and, after making a wry face over the first mouthful or two, managed to satisfactorily dispose of it. That is to say, George and Tom did; but poor Walford, on being offered a share, shook his head, murmured that he was not hungry, and closed his eyes again in patient suffering. The balance of the catch was carefully cleaned and strung up on the yard, in the hope that it would dry in the sun. Their great want now was _water_. Their hunger being satisfied, thirst began to assert itself, and George would have landed upon the Isle of Pines and endeavoured to find fresh water, but for the fact that he caught sight of several people on the shore, who appeared to be watching the boat with pertinacious curiosity. In this strait he tried the plan of dipping his shirt into the sea, and putting it on again dripping wet; and, to his great delight, he found that this proceeding had a very sensible effect in mitigating thirst. Upon this, Tom tried the same plan, with equally beneficial results, and then they well soused poor Walford with sea-water, hoping that it would, to some extent, revive and refresh him. By mid-day the Isle of Pines was broad on their starboard quarter, the last _Cay_ on the "Jardines" shoal had been passed, and they were fairly at sea and in deep water. They might now reasonably look out for a frigate at any moment; but, as it would not do to depend upon this source of rescue alone, George continued to stand boldly to the southward and eastward, hoping that by so doing he would not only improve his prospects of falling in with a British frigate, but that he would also--failing the frigate--meet with a friendly merchantman. By sunset they were fairly out of sight of land, but, so far, nothing in the shape of a sail had greeted their longing eyes. Once or twice a white speck on the horizon had temporarily raised their hopes, but it had vanished the next moment, being probably nothing more than the sunlight flashing upon a sea-bird's wing. George was hourly growing more and more anxious for a speedy rescue, not so much on his own account as for Walford's sake, the condition of the latter being such as to give rise to the liveliest apprehension. He had eaten nothing since the previous day, pleading want of appetite, and as the sun went down he watched its gradual disappearance beneath the purple waves with wistful eagerness, murmuring, "The last time, the last time!" Then as the solemn darkness swept down over the sea, and the stars came out one by one in the great blue vault above, the little consciousness of his surroundings which he hitherto retained left him, and he fell to murmuring snatches of songs, mingled with babblings of his childhood's days. The word "mother" was frequently upon his lips, and once he burst into a passion of hysterical tears, murmuring, child-like, that "he was very sorry; and that, if she would forgive him, he would be a good boy for the future, and would never do it again." This state of things gravely alarmed George, who began to fear that the last great solemn change was at hand. It was therefore with a feeling of intense relief that he heard a hail of "Sail, ho!" from Tom, whose sharp eyes had at last caught sight of a genuine and unmistakable sail broad on the boat's lee bow. There was nothing, however, to be done but to carefully watch the helm of the boat; she was already under canvas and steering the best course possible for intercepting the stranger; the only thing, therefore, was to steer _straight_, otherwise the chances were that the ship would be missed, after all. The strange sail was steering about east-south-east, being close-hauled on the larboard tack, and, from her position, George thought it just possible that he might intercept her, or, at all events, near her sufficiently to permit of her crew hearing his hail as they passed. As the night deepened, the breeze freshened, and by the time that the strange sail had been in sight half an hour it was blowing so fresh that it was as much as they could do to keep the lee gunwale above water. Yet they dared not shorten sail, for the breeze which was threatening at every moment to capsize them was also hurrying the stranger more rapidly along, and consequently lessening their chances of intercepting her. Thick clouds, too, began to gather in the sky, threatening more wind, and, by obscuring the light of the moon, rendering it just so much the more unlikely that the crew of the approaching vessel would see them. At last a heavy squall burst about a mile to windward of them, and George was reluctantly compelled to order Tom forward to shorten sail. Unfortunately the halliards had somehow got jammed aloft in the sheave, and the sail would not come down. Tom tugged and tugged at it desperately, but all to no purpose; there it stuck, with the squall rushing down upon them like a race-horse. "Cast off the tack, Tom, and let the sail fly!" shouted George, and the lad had scarcely time to obey the order when the squall burst furiously upon them. The sail streamed out in the wind like a great banner from the top of the mast, lashing furiously, and shaking the boat to her keel. The crazy craft careened gunwale-to, notwithstanding that George had put his helm promptly up, and in another moment she would undoubtedly have gone over with them; but just as the water was beginning to pour in over the gunwale, _crack_! went the mast and the thwart with it over the side. The boat was nearly half full of water, and in their anxiety to free her, and get her before the wind, the mast and sail parted company from the boat, and they never saw them again. The squall lasted about five minutes, and then passed off, leaving only a gentle breeze behind it. As soon as this was the case, they had a look round for the strange sail, and made her out--a topsail-schooner-- about a mile and a half distant. George saw that there was still a chance for them, so they out oars and pulled vigorously. All was going well, when, to their intense surprise, the craft, after approaching to within little more than a quarter of a mile of them, suddenly put up her helm, and, wearing round, stood away upon a south-westerly course. With one accord George and Tom started to their feet and shouted lustily and repeatedly, "Ship ahoy! _Ship ahoy_! Ship ahoy!" until their throats were so strained that their voices failed them, and they became unable to utter another sound. It was all to no purpose; their cries attracted not the slightest notice; the schooner ran rapidly away from them and at last George in despair laid in his oar, flung himself down in the sternsheets, and covered his eyes with his hands, to shut out the tantalising sight. Half an hour afterwards the reason for this extraordinary conduct on the part of the schooner became apparent, the upper canvas of a large ship under a heavy press of sail appearing in the south-east quarter. That this ship was a man-o'-war was evident at a glance, from the cut of her sails; and the course which she was steering, together with her large spread of canvas, showed that she was in pursuit of the schooner. The first impulse of those in the boat was to out oars and pull toward her, but five minutes' work sufficed to show them that their chance was almost hopeless; the frigate would pass them at a distance of about six miles, and with every eye on board her intently fixed upon the chase, what prospect was there, in that uncertain light, of so small an object as the boat being seen at so great a distance? Nevertheless, they toiled on with dogged perseverance, and did not abandon their efforts until the frigate had passed them, and her topsails had sunk below the horizon. Then indeed they laid in their oars, and directed their whole attention to Walford, whose condition became more alarming every moment. Not that he made any complaint. The poor fellow indeed seemed to be quite unconscious of his pain and weakness; but his ghastly pallor, his laboured breathing, and the convulsive shudders which agitated his frame from time to time were to George a tolerably clear indication that dissolution was near at hand. He was still quite light-headed, his mind wandering in feverish haste from scene to scene of his boyhood, as was evident from the rapid disjointed sentences which poured uninterruptedly from his lips. George was able to gather pretty clearly from them that, even as a lad, Walford had been wilful, headstrong, and obstinate, prone to go his own way without much consideration for the wishes of others, and there were occasional wild words and broken exclamations which seemed to indicate that, even whilst little more than a mere child, he had allowed himself to be betrayed into actual crime. And as he lay there, gasping his life away, the follies of boyhood and the graver offences of more recent days seemed to be in some way jumbled up hopelessly in his disordered mind with a confused idea of the urgent necessity for speedy repentance of both. There could be no doubt that, notwithstanding the disordered state of the unhappy man's intellect, conscience was busily at work with him; that he was already beginning to dimly see the error of his ways and the hollowness--the utter unprofitableness--of his past life, and possibly also the critical nature of his position. But the mind was too completely shattered to avail itself of these promptings, and the remorse and regret which had tardily come to him found expression only in the simple pleadings for pardon which a child offers to its grieved parent. This distressing state of things lasted at intervals all through the night and well into the following day, when the dying man, utterly exhausted, sank into a fitful, troubled sleep. The pangs of hunger and--still worse--of thirst again making themselves felt, George once more put the fishing-line over the side, and, after waiting patiently for nearly an hour, had the satisfaction of feeling a smart tug at it. He gave a sharp jerk, to strike the hook firmly into his fish, and at once began to haul smartly in, but he had only gathered in a foot or so of the line when there came a terrific pull at it, which sent the cord flying through his fingers in spite of all his efforts to hold it. He promptly called Tom to his assistance, but even with this aid he was unable to hold the fish; and, as a last resource, he threw a couple of turns round one of the thowl-pins. The result was disastrous; the line snapped short off at the pin, and when they came to investigate further, they found that they had lost the whole of it, except a bare fathom, which still remained in the boat. This was a misfortune indeed, as it deprived them of their only means of obtaining that sustenance which was now becoming so urgent a necessity to them. But sailors are not easily disheartened, and they forthwith set to work to manufacture a new line out of the rope which they still had in the boat; Tom carefully unlaying the strands and jointing the yarns, whilst George tried his best to manufacture a hook out of a nail drawn from the gunwale of the boat. This task occupied them for the remainder of the day, and when it was completed the hook and line together constituted such a very make-shift, hopeless-looking affair that George, in spite of his hunger, could not repress an incredulous smile at the idea of any fish with his wits about him being beguiled by it. They tried it, however, but it was an utter failure; they could not secure even the barren encouragement of a nibble; and at last the attempt was given up in despair. Shortly before sunset Walford once more opened his eyes, and began to stare blankly about him. For a minute or two there was a look in his eyes which encouraged George to hope that reason was returning to her abandoned throne, but the look quickly passed away, and the incoherent mutterings recommenced. The sun went down, night's mantle of darkness once more descended upon the sea, and then the full moon in all her queenly beauty rolled slowly into view above the horizon, flooding the scene with her silvery light, and investing it with a magical beauty which was not without its influence even on those poor famine-stricken creatures, who were watching with such sympathetic solicitude beside their dying companion. Suddenly Walford's mutterings ceased, an expression of joyous surprise lighted up his ghastly wasted features, he seized George's hand with a firm clasp in one of his, and, raising the other, exclaimed-- "Hark! what was that?" "I heard nothing, Ned," answered George tremulously; he knew instinctively now that the last dread moment was close at hand,--"I heard nothing; what was it?" "My mother," answered Walford,--"my mother calling to me as she used to call me, when I was a little innocent child, when she--ha! there it is again. It is her own dear, well-remembered voice. She is calling me to go to her; I must not stay out at play any longer; I did so last night, you know, and it grieved her. She said I was a naughty, disobedient boy, and I made her cry. But she forgave me and kissed me after I had said my prayers, and--and--`Our Father which art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth as it is done in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread; _and forgive us our trespasses_.'" As the first words of this simple, beautiful prayer issued from Walford's dying lips, George and Tom threw themselves upon their knees in the bottom of the boat, their hands clasped, their heads bent, and their hearts earnestly uplifted to Him who was thus mercifully taking the poor sufferer to Himself. The first sentence was spoken with child-like simplicity, but, after that, every word was uttered with increasing fervour and an evident conception of its momentous import, until the clause was reached, "and forgive us our trespasses," which was breathed forth with a solemn intensity that thrilled the very souls of the listeners. Then the voice suddenly ceased, and as George looked up with startled eyes he saw Walford's lips tremble, a radiant smile parted them for an instant, and he sank heavily back on the boat's thwart-- dead. George gazed long and earnestly in the face of the dead man, his thoughts travelling rapidly back to that eventful evening when they two met--the one going humbly and doubtingly to declare his love, the other hurrying triumphantly away from a successful wooing; and Leicester grieved, as he pictured the sorrow of that loving woman's heart, when the news should be taken to her of the sad event just past. He thought, too, of the strange meeting in mid-ocean, of the helpless state in which Walford had remained since then, of his own vow, and all that it had cost him, and as he reverently gathered the folds of canvas about the lifeless form he felt comforted with the reflection that, though he had failed, he had honestly done his best to keep that vow. He did what he could to dispose the corpse decently and to prepare it for its last long sleep beneath the waves; it was not much that he was able to do, but he did what he could, "for Lucy's sake," as he kept on muttering to himself; and when all was ready he turned to Tom. The poor lad, utterly worn-out, had sunk down in the bottom of the boat, and, with one arm supporting his head on the thwart, was fast asleep. "Well, better so," thought George to himself; "he is enjoying at least a temporary respite from his miseries; I will not disturb him;" and, murmuring a short but earnest prayer, he raised the body in his arms, lifted it over the side of the boat, and allowed it to pass gently away from his grasp into the peaceful depths below. "God have mercy on his soul," he murmured, and with clasped hands stood and watched the shrouded form passing slowly out of sight for ever. CHAPTER TWENTY. MR BOWEN UNEXPECTEDLY REAPPEARS. About an hour afterwards a fine breeze sprang up from the north-east, and, putting the boat before it, George seated himself in the stern, tiller in hand, and steered as near a southerly course as the boat, without canvas, would go. Very gloomy and despondent were his thoughts as he sat there, idly watching the crisp-curling waves racing past. One of the trio had passed away, and, without food or water, without mast or sail, with their strength rapidly ebbing away, the situation of the remaining two was hourly growing more critical. Had they not had the misfortune to lose both mast and sail, George would have endeavoured to return to the Isle of Pines; but to do so with the oars alone, now that they had scarcely strength to use them, was impossible. There was no alternative, therefore, but to wait patiently, and hope that they might be picked up before it should be too late. The boat drifted on hour after hour, the sun rose, the wave-crests sparkled and glanced under his cheering rays, and still the horizon remained sail-less. At last Tom, after stirring uneasily, awoke from his stupor, glanced with eager, haggard eyes around him, and uttered a groan of despair. "Then it is _not_ true, after all," he gasped; and George noticed with consternation the difficulty with which the poor fellow articulated,--"it is _not_ true; it was only a dream." "What was a dream, Tom?" asked George, and he started at the hollow sepulchral tones of his own voice. "I dreamt that a noble ship had hove in sight and was bearing down upon us under stunsails. She was painted white from her truck down to her water-line; her canvas was white as snow; she was flying a great white flag from her main-royal-masthead, and the people on board her were all dressed in white. It was a grand sight to see her sweeping down toward us, with the cool clear water flashing up under her sharp bows, and there was--ah! see, it was no dream, after all; hurrah! she comes--_she comes_!" And the poor fellow pointed away to where the rays of the sun fell upon the water in a broad white dazzling glare. "Merciful Heaven!" muttered George, "this is horrible; the lad is out of his senses, gone mad with hunger and thirst. Sit down, Tom," said he coaxingly, "sit down, there's a good fellow; I can see no ship. What you see is only the glare of the sun on the water. But if we are only patient, please God, a ship _will_ come and pick us up before long. But we must be cool and steady, and keep a sharp lookout, so that when she heaves in sight we may be ready to signal to her." Tom passed his hand wearily over his forehead, shaded his eyes with his hand, again peered long and anxiously over the gleaming sea, and shook his head despondingly. The bright vision had vanished, and he sank moodily down in the bottom of the boat, his arms resting upon the thwart, and his head bowed upon them. Oh! that terrible time of _waiting_; with the sun beating mercilessly down upon their uncovered heads and scorching up their brains; with the hellish tortures of hunger and thirst, already unendurable, momentarily increasing in intensity; with a horrible feeling of deadly weakness fast paralysing their energies and dragging like leaden weights upon their aching limbs, what wonder that each moment lagged until it seemed an hour, each minute a day, and that the hours stretched themselves out into eternities of overwhelming anguish! At last George feebly felt, with a curious mingling of despair and relief, that his own senses were leaving him. Soon the boat was--to his disordered vision--no longer drifting helplessly upon a lonely sea; she was tranquilly gliding under silken sails up the winding reaches of a gently flowing stream, the crystal waters of which flowed over golden sands and between banks of richest flowery verdure, with overshadowing trees whose boughs drooped beneath their load of blushing fruit; whilst, in the distance, palaces of whitest marble gleamed amid the many-tinted foliage, and all the air was musical with the songs of birds. He no longer felt the agonies of hunger or the fiery torment of thirst; he plucked the ripe fruit as the boat swept gently past, and his pangs were assuaged; he no longer suffered from the scorching rays of the sun, for a silken awning floated over his head, and the cool breeze crept refreshingly beneath it and gently fanned his aching brow; and he no longer suffered from weariness, for his body reclined upon cushions of the softest down, and he felt himself gradually sinking into a luxurious slumber under the soothing influence of the most entrancing melodies. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Ou ay; he'll do weel eneuch, he's comin' roun' brawly; it's joost a plain common case o' starvation an' exposure; there's naething complicatit about it at a'; pairfect rest and a guid nourishing diet 'll set him on his pins again in less than a week." Such were the words which fell upon George Leicester's ear as he once more became feebly conscious of the fact of his own existence. The words came to him mingled with other sounds, to wit--the creaking of bulkheads, the rattling of cabin doors hooked back to allow the free passage of fresh air, the grinding of a rudder and the clank of rudder-chains, the sonorous hum of the wind through a ship's rigging, the flapping of a sail, the distant subdued murmur of men's voices, and the soft plashing of water. He at the same time became conscious of a gentle swaying and pitching motion, such as is felt on board a ship close-hauled, with a moderate breeze and a correspondingly moderate sea. For a minute or two George felt languidly puzzled as to his whereabouts, but he was by no means anxious for enlightenment upon the subject; he was in a state of blissful comfort, and he was quite content to remain in passive enjoyment of the same, to feel the gentle current of air softly fanning his brow, to yield himself to the easy, luxurious swing of the cot in which he was lying, and to listen dreamily to the soothing sough of the wind and the plash and gurgle of the water along the ship's side. It was whilst he remained in this semi-conscious state of beatitude that another voice broke in, in cheery response to the words of the first speaker, with-- "That's capital news, doctor; I heartily congratulate you on the successful result of your efforts. And the other one is also likely to do well, you say?" "Ou ay; he'll do weel eneuch, too; though--mind ye--the puir laddie has had a narrow escape. But they're a' richt the noo; I ken richt weel what tae do wi' baith noo that I hae succeedit in bringin' back some signs o' life in them. And noo, captain, if ye'll excuse me, I'll--eh, weel! hoo's a' wi' ye the noo, my mon?" This exclamation was elicited by the circumstance that George had at last mustered sufficient resolution to open his eyes and look curiously about him. And this is what he saw. He saw that he was the occupant of a snow-white canvas cot, which hung suspended from the beams of a ship's roomy after-cabin, the situation of the apartment being manifested by the presence of stern-ports fitted with glazed sashes, all of which were open. There were also two side-ports, one on each side of the cabin, out of which grinned a couple of eighteen-pound carronades, the carriages of which, as well as the whole of the gun inside the port, were painted white. The walls of the cabin, the deck-beams, and the underside of the deck were also painted white with gilt mouldings; a few pictures--one of which was the portrait of a lady--were securely fastened to the walls; the floor was covered with fine matting, and a large writing-table with three or four solid, substantial-looking chairs completed the furnishing of the apartment. But the chief objects of attraction to George were two figures, which stood beside his cot. One of these was a tall, lanky individual, clad entirely in white, with red hair, prominent cheek-bones, and a pair of piercing grey eyes surmounted by shaggy eye-brows. The other was a shorter, stouter man, light-haired and blue-eyed, a genuine Saxon all over, his fair complexion tanned to a rich ruddy-brown hue, and with a hearty, kindly, genial expression of countenance which won George's heart in an instant. This individual was also in white, his clothing being reduced to a shirt and a pair of white duck trousers supported at the waist by a belt. George had no difficulty in deciding that he was on board one of his Majesty's frigates, and that the persons who stood beside him were her captain and the medico. "Hoo's a' wi' ye the noo, my mon?" repeated the doctor, placing his fingers upon George's pulse. "I--I--scarcely know," stammered George drowsily. "I feel all right and very comfortable. Is anything the matter? And--and _where am I_?" "Ye feel a' richt, do ye?" returned the doctor, ignoring George's question. "Ye're no' hungry--nor thirsty, eh?" "Not particularly," answered George. "And yet I think I could take some breakfast, if it would not be troubling--" "Brackfast! Hear til him; brackfast! why, mon,"--drawing out a huge, turnip-like silver watch--"it's nearly sax o'clock p.m. Will a bite o' dinner no' serve ye as weel? Hech, hech," and the queer, grumpy-looking visage of the really genial-hearted doctor beamed into a smile, as his lips uttered the strange sounds which with him passed for laughter. Doctor Pearson's laughter was infectious, perhaps because of its singularity. George smiled in response, and Captain Singleton smiled too; then, turning to the doctor, the latter said-- "My dinner will be served in a few minutes, doctor. If you think it would not injure your patient, I will send him in something from my table." "Weel," responded the doctor with the caution characteristic of his countrymen, "I'll no' commit mysel' by any positeeve statement just; I'll wait and see, since ye've been so vera kind as to ask me to dine wi' ye. But I think I may venture to say that a wee drappie o' soup will no' hurt the chiel. And noo, wi' your leave, captain, I'll just tak' the sma' leeberty o' turnin' ye oot o' your ain cabin, as there's been an ample suffeecency o' conversation for the present." The captain laughed good-naturedly, and turned, with a friendly nod to George, to leave the cabin. Doctor Pearson also turned to go, but paused for an instant to once more feel George's pulse, and then, with an amiable grunt of satisfaction, he also walked out, saying as he went-- "Never fash your brains, my mon, by wonderin' whaur ye are. Ye're in guid han's, ye may tak' my word for it, and in guid time, when ye're strong eneuch to talk, you'll be told everything. Noo lie still, and keep your 'ees open for a few minutes, and I'll see that ye hae a decent bit of dinner sent in til ye." The worthy doctor was as good as his word; a substantial basin of nourishing soup, with a small quantity of fresh, white, wholesome cabin-biscuit broken into it--"soft tack" was a comparatively unknown luxury at sea in those days--and a glass of port wine being brought in to George by the captain's steward about ten minutes later; and, having demolished these, the patient once more dropped off to sleep, and passed a comfortable night. Three days more of Doctor Pearson's skilful treatment sufficed to put both George and Tom upon their pins once more, and then, and not until then, Captain Singleton asked of the former an account of the circumstances which had resulted in placing them in the desperate situation in which they had been found. "Well," said the captain at the conclusion of George's story, "I heartily sympathise with you, Mr Leicester, in all that you have suffered, and I as heartily congratulate you on your plucky escape. It was rather a clever trick, the way in which those rascals took your ship from you, I _must_ say that. It is a wrinkle which, possibly, I may some day play off in turn upon their own countrymen. By your description of them, I should say that the fellows were undoubtedly pirates; the sea swarms with them all round about here--indeed, we are now cruising for the purpose of putting a stop to their depredations, and were returning from an unsuccessful chase after a very suspicious-looking schooner when we picked you up. There is one craft in particular--a barque of undoubtedly English build--which we are most anxious to lay our hands upon; her crew are a peculiarly bloodthirsty set of ruffians, and have perpetrated an unusually large number of atrocities. By-the-bye, did you not say that your vessel was barque-rigged and a fast sailer? I should not be at all surprised to find that she is the identical craft we are so anxious to get hold of. Would you mind giving me a particular description of the _Aurora_?" George, of course, readily acceded to this request, detailing with seaman-like fidelity every peculiarity of hull and rigging. When he had finished, Captain Singleton said-- "Thank you. The set of the spars and rigging, and the cut of the canvas, does not coincide with the description with which I have been furnished; but your description of the _hull_ tallies with mine in every particular, and I have not a doubt that it is the same vessel. And now, to turn to other matters, what do you propose to do with yourself when we land you at Kingston?" "Well," said George, "I scarcely know; but I suppose I shall endeavour to get a berth on board a homeward-bound ship, or work my passage home. There is nothing else that I can do, for I am absolutely penniless." "Well," said Captain Singleton, "if a sufficient sum to defray the expenses of your passage home would be of any service to you, I dare say I could manage to raise such an amount, and you shall be heartily welcome to it." "Thank you, very much," returned George; "but I could not possibly accept your exceedingly kind offer, even as a loan, for I could not be certain of ever being in a position to repay it. No, I shall have to get a berth of some kind." Four days after the above conversation the cruise of the _Hebe_ terminated, and on the day following George and Tom found themselves cast adrift, as it were, in the sandy streets of Kingston. They were not absolutely penniless, however; for, in addition to a good serviceable suit of clothes apiece out of the slop-chest, Captain Singleton had insisted upon George's accepting a ten-pound note, to meet their more immediate needs, and, being in a friendly port now, the two seamen had very little doubt of getting employment of some kind or other before long. Their idea was first to make the round of the various shipping agents' offices, and endeavour to obtain a berth on a homeward-bound ship. If that failed, then George thought they might possibly, aided by Captain Singleton's influence, obtain work in the dockyard at Port Royal; and, if the worst came to the worst, they could always depend with absolute certainty upon being received on board a man-o'-war. In pursuance of the first-mentioned plan, they were wending their way along the street, when, as they passed the entrance to a large general store, they were violently jostled by a man who was making his exit from the place with considerable precipitation. "Beg pardon, shipmates, no damage done, I hope. I ought to have kept a better lookout when crowding sail to the extent--why--why--no, it _can't_ be; and yet--hang me if it _ain't_, after all. Well, this _is_ a pleasant surprise, and no mistake. Cap'n, how are ye? And you, Tom, how did them damned slave-drivers treat you?" It was Mr Bowen, the late chief mate of the _Aurora_. He was dressed in the somewhat rough garb of the mate of a coasting schooner, but was looking well and hearty nevertheless, and certainly had nothing of the appearance of a man who had recently been suffering the horrors of slavery. George and Tom both shook hands heartily with their old friend, and then Mr Bowen--who seemed to be pretty well acquainted with the town--led the way into a quiet, respectable tavern near the water-side. Having called for some sangaree in honour of the unexpected and very agreeable meeting, George, at his friend's request, proceeded to recount all that had happened since the eventful morning when they were separated (for life, as each then feared) in the square at Havana. When he had finished the story, he added-- "And now, Bowen, my dear old friend, let us know how _you_ fared among the Dons." "Badly enough, cap'n, badly enough," was the reply. "But you shall hear the whole story, such as 'tis. Maybe you happen to remember the chap as bought me--a tall, thin feller, with a nose like the beak of an eagle, and a wicked look in his glittering black eyes. Well, as soon as this here Don Christoval--that was his name--as soon as he'd bought all the slaves he wanted, we was all chained together, and started on a march to the south'ard. We travelled the whole width of that cursed island, taking two days over the trip, and was then shipped across in a little flat-bottomed sailin'-boat to the Isle de Pinos, where this here Christoval had a big 'baccy plantation. It took us a whole day, after we'd landed on the Isle of Pines, to reach the place, and on the following morning we were set to work. "As it happened, I was the only white slave on the plantation, and, whether 'twas on this account, or whether 'twas because I was an Englishman, I can't tell, but I soon found out that all hands, from Don Christoval downwards, had a special spite against me, and seemed determined to make the place as hot as they could for me. I was put to all the heaviest and dirtiest work about the place, and if there was a job that had to be done after knockin'-off time, I was the man that had to do it. "There was nothing but Spanish spoke about the place, so I very soon got acquainted with the lingo, whether I liked it or not; and almost the first thing I understood was that Mr Don Christoval had boasted that, fierce as I was, he'd tame me so that in six months I wouldn't dare to say my soul was my own. "Well, you may be sure that my temper hadn't grown much more amiable from being made a slave of, and this palaver about _taming_ just made me worse than ever. I vowed by all that was holy I _wouldn't_ be tamed, let 'em do what they would, and a pretty miserable time of it this stupid vow and my own obstinacy brought me. They used to amuse themselves by seein' what they could do to rouse me; the overseers, as they were riding by, would pull up and begin to abuse and scoff at me, flicking at me with their whips all the time, and I dare say you know pretty well how clever those same overseers are with their whips-- they'll hit a fly twenty feet off. And when they'd see my eyes begin to sparkle, they'd just let out with the infernal whip, fetching me a regular `stinger' across the shoulders, and gallop off, laughing. I can tell you, they made a regular devil of me before all was done. "Well, one morning there was a regular rumpus on the estate. Don Christoval had sold some cattle the day before, and had been paid for 'em. The money was stowed carefully away by him when he turned in that night, and next morning 'twas gone--somebody'd crept into the house during the night, and had stole it. Well, as there was nobody about the estate but the regular hands, it was clear enough that some of these must have got hold of the cash, and the lying scoundrels had the impudence to say that I was the thief. They came down, two of the overseers did, and searched my hut fore and aft, from deck to keelson; but, of course, they didn't find it, for the simple reason that I hadn't took it. Hows'ever, they would insist that I knew where 'twas, and at last they dragged me up to the house, and told the Don that I'd took it, but that they couldn't find it because I'd hid it away somewhere. "The Don happened to be just starting off for a ride, and was mounted on a splendid black horse. He sat there in the saddle and listened to all that the overseers had to say, and when they'd finished, he spurred his horse at me, and swearing that he'd get the secret out of me, if he had to cut my heart out to find it, raised his heavy riding-whip, and made a slash at me. "Well, cap'n, and Tom, old shipmate, you needn't be told that I had already been made pretty savage by all this business, and when this hawk-nosed Don Christoval struck out at me, why, it just roused all the devil there was in me. I put up my hand--so--as if to ward off the stroke, and as the whip came down, I caught it in my hand, wrenched it out of the Don's grasp, and, as quick as lightning, returned the blow with all my strength, lashing him fair across the face and cutting his cheek open. He reeled backwards in his saddle, and I, first letting out right and left at the two overseers, who stood one on each side of me, and bowling them over like a couple of ninepins, sprang upon him, seized him by the collar, and dragged him out of his saddle, and, leaping upon the frightened horse's back, gave the poor brute a lash across the flank, which sent him flying down the road, through the 'baccy plants, and out upon the open country like a shot out of a shovel. "Well, I don't know that I'd ever been on horseback in my life before, but somehow I managed to stick to the saddle, it didn't seem at all difficult, and on I went, straight ahead, as fast as the horse could gallop, for an hour or more, and then we fetched up somewhere on the shore. There was a schooner in the offing with the British flag flying at her gaff-end, and, as luck would have it, I'd just managed to hit the spot where a boat's crew belonging to her were ashore, filling up their fresh water. I told the middy in charge who and what I was, and he shoved off at once with me, took me aboard, and told the lieutenant in command all about me; and, after knocking about with 'em for a fortnight, I landed here, just six months ago. And that ends my yarn." "And what have you been doing since then?" asked George, after congratulating Bowen on his escape. "Well, cap'n," was the reply, "I never once forgot the promise I made to you the day we were separated in Havana. I felt certain that you'd manage to get away somehow some day; and I felt just as certain that, sooner or later, you'd turn up here in Kingston. So, as soon as I was landed here, I made inquiries, and, not being able to learn that anything had been heard of you, I just looked about me a bit, and got a berth on board a little coaster, so's to be on the spot whenever you might happen to turn up. I'd told our story pretty freely here in Kingston, so that, even if I'd happened to have been at sea at the time, there's plenty of people that would have taken you in tow, and provided you with the needful until I came in again. Now that you've put in an appearance, of course I shall throw up my berth, and we'll all sink or swim together." "Thanks, Bowen, thanks; that's just like your disinterestedness," answered George; "but what are we to do? The only thing I can see for it is to get berths, if possible, on board some homeward-bounder." "Homeward-bounder?" exclaimed Bowen with contemptuous emphasis, "why-- but there, I suppose you don't know anything about it, or you wouldn't talk like that." "About what?" asked George, completely mystified. "Why, about our prize that we took that dark night on the passage out-- the privateer brig--the _Jeune Virginie_. She's lying down there at Port Royal, safe and sound, with a British crew on board her; and all you've got to do, cap'n, is to make your claim, and establish your identity, and the ship or her value will be handed over to you." "Is it possible?" exclaimed George. "Then we are lucky indeed. But you must explain the whole affair to me." "That's easy enough," answered Bowen. "The very first time I entered Port Royal harbour I saw the craft lying there, and knew her again at once. Thinks I to myself, `Now, Dick Bowen, my lad, your first duty is to recover possession of that prize on behalf of the skipper.' So off I goes to the admiral, stated my case, and made my claim. "`That's all very well, my fine fellow,' says he, `and I don't doubt but what you're telling the truth; but, you see,' says he, `you can't _prove_ it. Now I _must_ have something beyond your bare word before I give up possession of the brig. When you can bring me something in the shape of proof that what you say is true, come to me again, and I'll see what can be done in the matter.' "Of course that was all right and straight-for'ard enough, so I went away, and troubled no more about it. The craft is safe enough; they've been using her as a cruiser, and taking care of her, and I don't doubt but what she's in just as good order as she was on the night when we took her. And now, all we've got to do is to go to the admiral again, and make our claim. There's _three_ of us this time, so that there'll be no difficulty at all in getting her delivered over to us." CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. THE "AURORA" TURNS UP AGAIN. That same day George waited upon the admiral and formally laid claim to the _Jeune Virginie_. He was very well received, his statement patiently listened to, and--to make a long story short--in about three weeks afterwards the claim was actually allowed, and the vessel handed over to her rightful owners. George was agreeably surprised, for--notwithstanding Bowen's implicit confidence--he fully anticipated that there would be some trouble over the matter. Legal possession once obtained, Leicester had no difficulty in raising money by means of a bottomry bond, and with this he provisioned the brig for six months, intending to take out letters of marque, and endeavour to make good his losses--a resolution in which he was cordially seconded by Bowen. But, though all this gave him plenty of occupation, he had not forgotten his old crew, and he found--or rather took--time, not only to prepare a complete list of the names and a full description of all those who were still--so far as he knew--in a state of slavery, but also to put it into the hands of the proper authorities, with such an urgent representation of their probable sufferings, that the matter was at once taken up; and he had the satisfaction of knowing, before he sailed, that negotiations were already in progress for their discovery and deliverance. Considerable difficulty was experienced in obtaining a crew for the brig, good men being scarce; but at last this was overcome, and on a bright September morning the anchor was hove up, and the _Virginie_ started upon her cruise. The shoals outside the harbour were cleared in due time, the brig working like a top, and sailing like a witch, to the unbounded delight of all hands; and then George hauled sharp up on the port tack, his intention being to cruise for a few days in the Windward and Caycos Passages before shaping a course for home. For the first five days of their cruise they were singularly unlucky, seeing nothing but a man-o'-war schooner, which, on speaking, they found had been equally as unfortunate as themselves. On the morning of the sixth day, however, being then in the neighbourhood of the Hogsties, the lookout aloft reported at daybreak a couple of sail dead to windward, hove-to close together. On the usual inquiries being made, the lookout further reported that one of the strangers was a barque; the rig of the other, which happened to be lying end-on, he could not clearly make out, but, from her size, he judged her to be a ship. Mr Bowen, whose watch it was, at once went below and informed George of this circumstance, and then, leaving him to don the most indispensable portions of his attire, returned to the deck, and proceeded thence aloft to have a look at the strangers for himself. By the time that he had seen all that it was then possible to see, and had descended again to the deck, George was awaiting him there. "Well, Bowen, what do you make of them?" was Leicester's first inquiry. "Well, there's two of 'em there, sure enough, close together--a good deal too close together to be up to any good, to my thinking," was the reply. "What do you think they are, then?" asked George. "One of 'em is a privateer--or a pirate; and t'other is her prize, in my opinion," answered Bowen. "Then we'll make their further acquaintance," said George. "Perhaps if we trim the canvas a bit slovenly, and act as though we had not seen these craft, we may coax down towards us the privateer, or whatever she is." "That'll be the best plan, no doubt," acquiesced the chief mate; and he proceeded forthwith on a tour round the decks, easing up a brace here, and a halliard there, with a touch also at the sheets and bowlines, by way of insuring an agreeable and harmonious result. When he had finished, the brig looked like a collier, and her speed had decreased from eight to a little over five knots. "There," said Bowen to George, with an admiring glance aloft at his own handiwork, "I think that'll do pretty well; we look helpless enough now for anything. Masthead, ahoy!"--to the lookout aloft--"what about the strangers now?" "They've dropped alongside one another, sir," was the reply. "Very well; keep your eye upon them, and let us know when you see any change in their movements." The stereotyped "Ay, ay," by way of reply, was duly given, and then George and Bowen, side by side, and with hands folded behind them, began to trudge fore and aft, from the main-mast to the taffrail, patiently awaiting the course of events. About a quarter of an hour elapsed, and then the lookout hailed again-- "On deck, there! The barque has cast off, and is standing down towards us. They're busy getting the stunsails upon her now, sir." "All right; stay where you are, and let's hear, if you see anything worth reporting," replied Bowen. A few minutes later another report was made to the effect that the other sail--a full-rigged ship--had filled, and was standing to the northward under all plain sail. That was the last news from either of the vessels, and, the barque shortly afterwards becoming visible from the deck, orders were given to clear the brig for action, and the lookout was ordered down on deck. There was a capital working breeze, and not much sea; it was, consequently, not very long before the barque had raised her hull above the horizon. As soon as she was fairly in view, George brought his telescope to bear upon her, and ten minutes' careful scrutiny sufficed to satisfy him that, though her spars were heavier, and she now showed a wider spread of canvas than of old, she was undoubtedly, as he had suspected, his own old ship, the _Aurora_. He further noted that she was not very deep in the water, being in fact just in her very best sailing-trim; and, remembering her former capabilities, he was not long in making up his mind that, if her present crew happened to become suspicious of the character of the _Virginie_, and shunned an engagement, it would be a very difficult matter to bring the _Aurora_ to action. But if those in possession of the barque entertained any misgivings, they certainly gave no visible indication of them: on the contrary, they came sweeping down upon the _Virginie_ under a perfect cloud of canvas, and in a manner so obviously threatening, that, in order to maintain the illusion to the last, George thought it advisable to exhibit some slight signs of uneasiness, and he accordingly ordered the royals to be loosed and set, and edged away a point or two off his course, at the same time, however, checking his weather braces to such an extent that the brig's speed was not very greatly improved by the manoeuvre. In the meantime the decks had been cleared, the guns loaded, and the crew fully armed with cutlass, pike, and pistol. The port-lids however, were kept carefully closed, so that the presence of the guns on board might not be revealed until an action should have become inevitable. Mr Bowen had, in the midst of all his work, been watching the approach of the _Aurora_ with grim satisfaction, gradually developing into a condition of supreme exhilaration. He rubbed his hands gleefully, laughed softly to himself, and exhibited, in short, all the outward characteristics of a thoroughly gratified man. Then he would draw a pistol from his belt, and carefully inspect the priming, pass his thumb meditatively along the edge of his cutlass, or casually test with his finger the sharpness of a pike-head, and at these times the expression of his countenance boded no good to the approaching enemy. The _Virginie's_ crew were kept carefully out of sight, except some three or four hands, who were ostentatiously posted on the forecastle, with orders to assume an appearance of deep interest in the approach of the barque; but Bowen had carefully placed each man exactly where he wanted him, and as the _Aurora_ came sweeping down upon the brig, invisible hands on board the latter gradually tautened up halliard, brace, tack, sheet, and bowline, until by the time that the two ships were within a mile of each other, every trace of slovenliness on board the _Virginie_ had vanished, every sail was standing as flat as a board, and the brig was once more in a condition to be worked to the best advantage. This done, the men were ordered to their guns, and all was ready for the commencement of the struggle. When within a distance of about three-quarters of a mile from the brig, the studding-sails of the _Aurora_ were seen to suddenly collapse, and in a few seconds they had entirely disappeared, being taken in, all at once, man-o'-war fashion. This showed George, not only that his old craft was heavily manned, but also that she was in the command of a man who knew how to handle her. But the sight did not greatly disturb him; he had had time to discover that his own crew was a good one; he had studied the brig, and mastered her little peculiarities; and he awaited with perfect calmness the conflict which was now inevitable. As the _Aurora's_ studding-sails fluttered out of sight, she sheered broadly to port; a flash, accompanied by a puff of white smoke, issued from her side, and in another instant a nine-pound shot skipped along the water and across the _Virginie's_ bow. George decided to take no notice of this hint, and the brig held steadily on her course. Another shot followed, with a like result; and the pirates then decided apparently to waste no more powder and shot upon so contumacious a craft, but to make short work of the affair by simply running alongside and taking possession. The _Aurora_ was accordingly steered in such a way as would admit of her making a wide sweep and shooting up alongside on the brig's weather quarter. She was handled magnificently, there was no doubt of that; and presently, with a graceful sweep, she came surging up alongside, with the water spouting up in a clear transparent sheet under her sharp bows, her yards swinging simultaneously to meet her change of course, her white canvas gleaming in the brilliant sunlight, six long nine-pounders grinning through her bulwarks, and her deck crowded with men, as fair, yet as evil, a sight of its kind as the eye of man ever rested upon. At the same moment a blood-red flag streamed out over the taffrail and soared away aloft, until it fluttered out from the gaff-end--a fit emblem of rapine and murder. "Red this time, by way of a change," remarked Bowen to George, in allusion to their encounter with the pirate schooner, which fought under a _black_ flag. "Well, a change is good sometimes," he added philosophically. "Shall we give her a taste of our quality now, cap'n; she's just shooting into the right position to get the full benefit of the dose of `round' and `grape' I've prepared for her?" "Yes, give it her," answered George, drawing his cutlass with one hand, and a pistol with the other. "Throw open your ports, lads!" commanded Bowen; and at the word the port-lids flew apart, six twelve-pounders were run out on each side, and, as the barque was in the very act of sheering alongside, the _Virginie's_ starboard broadside was poured into her with murderous effect, as was evidenced by the frightful outburst of yells, groans, and imprecations which at once arose on board her. The broadside was returned, but without inflicting much damage, the pirates evidently having been taken completely by surprise by the sudden and unexpected unmasking of the brig's guns. The next moment the two vessels collided with a crash. "Now look alive with your grappling-irons, and _heave_! Boarders, follow me!" cried George, dashing to the rail, and making a spring thence in upon the _Aurora's_ deck, Mr Bowen at the same time leading his detachment on board by way of the fore-rigging. The Englishmen were met by a very formidable party, which had evidently been told off to board the brig, and in an instant a fierce and sanguinary _melee_ arose on the _Aurora's_ deck. The Spaniards--for such they proved to be--though taken by surprise, and greatly disconcerted by the unexpectedly warm reception which they had met with from the brig, fought with the fury and desperation of demons, and for perhaps five minutes the crew of the _Virginie_ had all their work cut out to maintain their position on the deck of the barque. The pirates, with that sanguinary symbol floating over their heads, and believing that they had been entrapped into attacking a man-o'-war, felt that the halter was already about their necks, and that there was literally no alternative but victory or death for them; and they pressed forward with such recklessness and ferocity that the deck speedily assumed the aspect of a human shambles, and the planking grew so slippery with blood that it became difficult to retain one's footing upon it. There was one Spaniard in particular who appeared to possess the gift of ubiquity; he seemed to be in all parts of the ship at the same time, notwithstanding the crowded state of the confined space wherein the fight was raging, and in him George speedily recognised the truculent-looking individual who had led the pirates on the eventful night of the _Aurora's_ capture, and who had so brutally ill-used poor Bowen on the morning of the sale in the square at Havana. There could be no possible doubt as to his identity. There was the same ferocious cast of countenance, the same mahogany-brown skin, even the same filthy red handkerchief--now more filthy than ever--bound about his ragged locks, apparently the same broad-brimmed straw hat, in short, every mark of identification; nothing was wanting. This individual dashed from point to point, apparently by a mere effort of his will, encouraging here, chiding there, and helping everywhere. The mere fact of his presence, the mere sound of his voice, appeared to endue the pirates with renewed life and courage, and George speedily saw that there would be little hope of victory until this man could be placed _hors de combat_. He therefore pressed in toward him, plying his cutlass vigorously with one hand, and laying manfully about him with the butt of his empty pistol with the other, and calling upon the fellow by every despicable epithet he could think of to turn and meet him. He had very nearly reached him--there were only some half-a-dozen people between the two--when another voice, that of Bowen, was heard, and the next instant the chief mate, his eyes literally blazing with fury, appeared, forcing his way into the thickest of the throng. With the strength of a madman he seized and dashed aside all who ventured to bar his path, and in a single moment, so it seemed to George, forced himself within reach of his especial enemy. "At last--at last--you bloodthirsty scoundrel--you white-livered coward--you who were not ashamed to strike a chained man--at last we meet again, as I told you we should!--and the time has come for me to pay off part of the debt I owe you--no, you don't,"--skilfully guarding a savage down-stroke from the Spaniard's cutlass, "and take that," he added, launching out a terrific blow with his left fist, catching the Spaniard fairly between the eyes, and felling him to the deck senseless, as neatly as a butcher fells an ox. In another moment George was at Bowen's side, and, placing themselves back to back, these two managed to successfully defend themselves until the crew of the _Virginie_, inspired by their leader's example, had pressed in to their assistance, when the pirates, becoming scattered, were driven irresistibly to opposite ends of the ship, and some were actually driven overboard. Then recognising that they were defeated, and suddenly losing heart, they threw down their weapons, and cried for quarter. But the worst passions of the _Virginia's_ crew were by this time fully aroused; they thought of nothing but the fact that their enemies _were pirates_, men steeped to the lips in crime of the vilest description, and guilty of unnumbered deeds of blood-curdling atrocity, and many of the Spaniards were ruthlessly slaughtered before George and Bowen could induce them to stay their hands. Then, when order and authority were once more restored, heads were counted, and it was found that, out of a crew of over eighty, twenty-three pirates only--their leader included--remained alive, and these were promptly clapped in irons and bundled unceremoniously below. Strange to say, notwithstanding the desperate character of the fighting, the _Virginie's_ crew had suffered but slightly in comparison--nine killed and thirteen wounded being the total of the casualties. A short breathing-space was allowed the men to recover themselves after their extraordinary exertions, and then all hands set to work to clear the decks of the sickening evidences of the contest; the crew were next divided equally between the two ships, and, with Mr Bowen in command of the _Aurora_, both craft then made sail to windward in company. The third craft--the full-rigged ship--meanwhile was still in sight from aloft, dodging about under easy canvas, and evidently waiting for the _Aurora_ to rejoin. There could be little doubt, therefore, that she was in the possession of a prize-crew of the pirates, and George earnestly hoped he might be able to reach her in time to save the lives of some at least of those to whom she rightfully belonged. A couple of hours later they were alongside--the _Virginie_ on the weather and the _Aurora_ on the lee quarter--with ports open, guns run out, and the English ensign flying at the peak, the red flag having been allowed to remain aloft on board the _Aurora_ until ranging alongside the strange ship, when it was hauled down, and the English flag run up on board the barque and the brig simultaneously. The pirates in possession were completely paralysed by the turn events had taken; they had evidently been under the impression that the _Aurora_, and not the _Virginie_ had proved victorious; and now that they found themselves under the guns of both ships their mistake was past rectification. Accordingly, at George's order, they backed the main-yard and hove-to the ship, upon which a strong party, armed to the teeth, proceeded on board and took possession. The ship proved to be the _Vulcan_, of and from Liverpool, bound to Kingston with a valuable general cargo and several passengers. She was a noble ship, being of nearly a thousand tons register, and a regular clipper. On boarding her, George found the state of affairs pretty much what it had been on board the _Aurora_ after her capture by these same pirates, her crew and the male passengers being discovered scattered about the deck, lashed helplessly neck and heels together, or chained to ring-bolts in the deck and bulwarks, whilst the pirates had taken possession of the cabin and had held a regular saturnalia there, in the progress of which the unfortunate lady passengers had been subjected to the vilest outrages, and one poor little child had been cruelly murdered before its distracted mother's face. The captain and the chief mate of the ship were both found in the cabin in a dying condition, they having been mutilated in a most cruel and horrible manner in an ineffectual effort to wring from them the secret of the hiding-place of a large amount of specie which the pirates had somehow ascertained was on board. A tall and burly negro, the identical one who had acted as lieutenant to the Spaniard in charge of the _Aurora_ on the occasion of her first capture, was at the head of the gang, and had been the instigator and chief perpetrator in the many outrages which had followed the capture of the _Vulcan_. No time was lost in freeing the passengers and crew from their exceedingly unpleasant situation; and this done, the pirates, ten in number, heavily ironed, were transferred to the _Virginie_ and stowed carefully away below. The _Vulcan_ then proceeded on her voyage, in charge of her second mate, by whom George forwarded a letter to the admiral at Jamaica, informing him of the capture of the now notorious _Aurora_. George now felt that, with two ships and so many desperate men to look after, he had his hands full, and he therefore decided to make the best of his way to England forthwith. He accordingly hailed Bowen, requesting him to give the _Aurora's_ stores an overhaul, and to ascertain whether her provisions and water were sufficient in quantity to justify them in making a push across the Atlantic. In about an hour an answer was returned to the effect that not only was there an abundance of everything, but that the ship herself was more than half full of a varied and very rich cargo, the spoils, doubtless, from many a missing vessel. Upon the receipt of this intelligence, orders were at once given for both ships to fill and make the best of their way to the northward in company, and by nightfall they were clear of the Caycos Passage and standing to the northward on a taut bowline under a heavy press of canvas. The _Virginie_ and _Aurora_ made an excellent passage across the Atlantic. They stood to the northward until the Trades were cleared, when they fell in with fresh westerly winds, which carried them all the way across; and, as the weather was fine, they had no difficulty in keeping each other in sight during the whole passage, the two craft regulating their spread of canvas so that neither should outsail the other. The passage was consequently an uneventful one, nothing worthy of note occurring until they were in the chops of the Channel. Then, indeed, an adventure befell them, which proved George to have been wise in his determination that the two vessels should make the voyage in company. It was the last week in October. They had just struck soundings, when the two craft ran into a dense, raw fog, which compelled all hands to seek warmth and comfort in their thickest jackets, and necessitated, as a matter of prudence, the immediate shortening of sail. The fog lasted a couple of hours, and when it cleared up the _Aurora_ was discovered about two miles astern of the brig, and a large ship was at the same moment made out directly ahead. The stranger was hove-to under single-reefed topsails, with her head to the northward, her topsail-yards being just visible from the deck. The fact of her being hove-to in such a position seemed to point to the conclusion that she was a man-o'-war, and this supposition was confirmed when George took a look at her through his glass from the fore-topgallant-yard. She was a frigate, and French apparently, from the cut of her canvas; but of course it was quite possible that she might be in English hands, the English often taking French prizes into their own navy, and sending them to sea again with little or no alteration. Still, George thought it best to be on the safe side, and he accordingly at once ordered the _Virginie_ to clear for action, the _Aurora_ being signalled to do the same, his intention being to attack the frigate, if an enemy, since, as far as he could make out, she carried only twenty-four guns. In the meantime, however, the brig and the barque had been discovered by the frigate, which at once made sail, and manoeuvred in such a manner as to intercept them. Bowen, on the other hand, guessing at once what was in the wind, crowded sail upon the _Aurora_, and soon recovered his position alongside the _Virginie_, approaching the latter vessel within hailing distance, in order the better to concert plans for the possible coming engagement. These were soon arranged, but not before it had become pretty evident, from the comparatively clumsy handling of the stranger, that she was indeed French. Their doubts, such as they were, were set at rest when the frigate had approached within a mile of them, by her hoisting a tricolour at her gaff-end, and soon afterwards she sent a shot across their fore-foot as a polite intimation that they would oblige her by heaving-to. They, however, did nothing of the kind; a piece of discourtesy which _so_ preyed upon the French captain's mind that, without more ado, he bore down upon them, and opened fire from his starboard broadside. The three ships at that moment formed the three angles of a nearly equilateral triangle, the sides of which measured each about a quarter of a mile; the _Virginie_ and the _Aurora_ occupying, as it were, the two ends of the base, and the Frenchman being at the apex. This allowed both English ships to attack their enemy on the same side--the starboard--and compelled the Frenchman to fight them both with only half his battery. He soon saw how great a disadvantage he laboured under by this arrangement, and did all he could to get between them. But it was all to no purpose; George and Bowen were fully as wide-awake as he was, and they successfully defeated every effort of his in this direction, principally, it must be confessed, by some lucky shooting on their part, whereby the Frenchman's spars and rigging were so cut up that the craft soon became practically unmanageable. At length, after a brisk fight of about twenty minutes, the Frenchman's fore and main-topmasts both went simultaneously over the side, the frigate luffed into the wind, and obstinately remained there, and she was at George's mercy. The _Virginie_ at once made sail and took up a position across the enemy's bows, the _Aurora_ placed herself across his stern, and from these two advantageous positions a raking fire was opened, which, in less than five minutes, caused the Frenchman to haul down his flag and surrender. The prize--which proved to be the twenty-four-gun frigate _Cigne_--was at once taken possession of by boats from both the _Virginie_ and the _Aurora_, her crew secured, and her damages repaired; and about midnight the three vessels made sail in company, arriving without further adventure at Spithead on the day but one following. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. "ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL." The anchors were no sooner on the bottom than George found himself a busy man. There were certain authorities to be communicated with as to the disposal of the French prisoners, other authorities to be consulted as to the disposal of the pirates, and still others, again, to be seen and arranged with as to the disposal of the prizes. Then there were the owners of the _Vulcan_ to be dealt with in the matter of the salvage of that vessel, so that, altogether, he was kept going to and fro from morning until night. Then there was Lucy to be called upon. But knowing--or thinking he knew--that the sad news he had to communicate would go far toward breaking the heart of the poor girl, he eagerly availed himself of every excuse which offered, to defer his visit; and so it happened that whilst Lucy--who had heard, with astonishment and joy unspeakable, the news of his strange reappearance and good fortune--waited impatiently for the longed-for visit, George was postponing it day after day, until nearly a fortnight had passed. And in truth he was so worried and harassed with unexpected difficulties that, even if he could have found the time, he lacked the heart for such a call. To his intense surprise, he learned that, though he had arrived at Spithead with three ships, neither of them belonged to him. To begin with, the _Virginie_, having been captured whilst her captors were under the protection of a convoying squadron, was claimed as being actually the prize of that squadron, though not one of the ships belonging to it had fired a shot or struck a blow to aid in the capture. Then, as to the _Aurora_, having not only bought and paid, but _also fought_, for her, George was strongly of opinion that _she_ at least was his. But, here again, it appeared that he was mistaken. She had been taken from him by pirates, and had been out of his possession more than twenty-four hours: she was therefore, _de facto_, a pirate, and the lawful prize of the _Virginie_, or rather, of the _Virginie's_ owners, namely, the convoying fleet aforesaid. And the same reasoning applied with equal effect to the _Cigne_. The naval authorities certainly were good enough to admit that George and his crew were, in virtue of their having been the actual captors of these vessels, entitled to a certain moderate share of the prize-money accruing therefrom, but further than that they would not go. But if George found himself a busy man, he also found himself--outside the circle ruled by official jealousy--famous. The story, not only of his gallant achievements, but also of his misfortunes, leaked out, as such stories will; and he soon found himself a much-sought-after man, quite a lion, in fact. To such an extent, indeed, was this the case, that even the curiosity of royalty itself was aroused, and in the very midst of all his perplexities Leicester received a summons to present himself at court. This summons George of course dutifully and promptly obeyed, and whilst there not only told the whole story of his adventures, but also laid before his most gracious Majesty the grievances from which he considered himself to be suffering. He was well rewarded for his pains; for, when the king came to be fully informed of the details of the case, he took the matter in hand himself, with the result that a speedy and, on the whole, fairly satisfactory settlement was arrived at. He was also offered a commission in the navy, his Majesty sagely remarking that so good a man ought to be serving his country in some better way than by commanding a mere merchant-ship, and this time George was sensible enough to accept the offer. At his suggestion a commission was also offered to and accepted by Bowen. All this business being at length satisfactorily concluded, George had no further excuse for shunning Sea View, and accordingly, on the first opportunity, he set out with considerable perturbation of spirit for Alverstoke. It was about seven o'clock in the evening, and quite dark when George reached the house, and, passing through the gate, strode up the well-remembered pathway, and administered a sounding _rat-tat_ at the door. A smart, fresh-looking maid-servant answered the summons, and, on his inquiry for Miss Walford, showed him into the familiar parlour, and asked for his name. "Captain Leicester," answered George. "Yes, sir, certainly, sir," said the girl, eyeing George with such undisguised curiosity and admiration as showed that she had undoubtedly heard some portion at least of his story. "Missus 'll be down in a minute, sir. Please to take a seat, sir." George settled himself comfortably in a chair near the fire, and, looking round at the well-remembered pictures and "curios" which still adorned the room, fell into a reverie in which his mind travelled backward and took him again in imagination through all that had happened to him since he last sat in that room. From this he was brought back abruptly to the present by the opening of the door and the entrance of Lucy. Ah! how George's heart leapt within his bosom as he looked at her. She was just the same charming girl as when he had seen her last, and yet there was a subtle difference. She was a trifle more womanly, her form was more fully developed, and if she was a shade paler, it only made her loveliness more distractingly bewitching than ever. "Lucky Ned!" thought George. "To have been the chosen lover of such a woman as this--ay, though only for a few short hours, how willingly would I change places with you!" "So you have come at last, captain," said Lucy, offering her delicate little hand. "I was beginning to think that, with all the honours which have been showered upon you, you had quite forgotten your former friends." "No, Lucy, I have not," answered George; "I have not forgotten one of them--least of all have I forgotten you. Forgotten! Why, I have never ceased to remember you; I do not believe a single waking hour has passed over my head since we last met, that I have not thought of you." Lucy laughed blithely; she saw by the earnestness of his manner that he was speaking the literal truth; he had _not_ forgotten her, and all would yet be well. "Fie, fie, captain," said she, "it is easily to be seen that you have been to court; you have learned so thoroughly the art of flattery." "Ha!" exclaimed George, "have you heard of my visit to his Majesty, then?" "Yes, indeed," answered Lucy, "I have heard not only that, but, I believe, your whole story. Is it possible you are ignorant of the fact that your name is in everybody's mouth, and that your story is public property?" "So you have heard _all_ about me?" remarked George. "Then I hope to Heaven that you have also already heard the sad news which I came over to break to you this evening. I see you are in black." "Yes," said Lucy, growing very grave at once, "I am in mourning for poor mother; she died nearly a year ago. But what is the sad news of which you have to speak to me?" "You have _not_ heard, then?" said George. "Well, it is about your cousin Edward. I regret to say that I bring you bad news of him." "Are you referring to his death?" asked Lucy with just the faintest suspicion of a tremor in her voice. "Because, if so, I have already heard of it, and of all your noble, self-sacrificing behaviour on his behalf. And as a relative, as indeed his _only_ surviving relative, let me here and now thank you, George, in all earnestness and sincerity, for your devotion to my unfortunate cousin." "By Jove, she bears it well; she can't have cared so _very_ much for him, after all," thought George. "No thanks are necessary, I assure you," was the reply. "I only did for him what I would have done with equal readiness for a stranger. But I had vowed that I would be a protector to him, and that I would--if God willed it--restore him to your arms; and I am grieved that I failed to keep my vow. Believe me, it was through no fault of mine that I failed, Lucy; I did the best I could, but God willed it otherwise." "Yes--yes," answered Lucy in a dazed sort of way; "yes, God willed it otherwise. But--whatever do you mean, George, by talking about restoring him to my arms? Any one would think, to hear you speak, that I was married to him." "Well," said George, "betrothal _is_ a sort of marriage, is it not?" "Betrothal!" exclaimed Lucy, looking more bewildered than ever. "Pray explain yourself, Captain Leicester; I assure you I have not the _slightest_ idea of what you mean." It was now George's turn to look mystified. "No idea of what I mean?" he stammered. "Why--why--you were engaged to your cousin, Edward Walford, _were you_ not?" A new light suddenly flashed into Lucy's mind. All along she had been convinced that there was some reason for George's failure to visit her on the occasion of his previous arrival in port, and now the matter was assuredly on the eve of explanation. So she looked up into George's face, and said quietly-- "No, George, I never was engaged to my cousin. He proposed to me, but I refused him, explicitly and in most unmistakable terms." "You did?" panted George, his heart throbbing tumultuously. "When was that?" "On the evening of the day when you last arrived in Portsmouth harbour in the _Industry_." Then, all in a moment, a suspicion of the truth dawned upon George. "And it was on that same evening that I met him out there, close to the church, and he confided to me, as a great secret, the circumstance that you had just accepted him." "You were so near as that, and yet you never called? For shame, George!" exclaimed Lucy. "Well, you see--I--that is--in fact I could not. The--the plain truth is that I--I was on my way to you at the time, to try my own fortune with you, and when I was told that you had accepted your cousin, I-- well, I felt that I couldn't meet you just then," stammered George with desperate energy. "Poor George!" murmured Lucy. "How well my cousin understood your unsuspicious character! He _knew_ it would never occur to you to doubt his word, and he told you that tale to keep you away from--from--" "From what? from whom?" asked George. "Oh Lucy! is it possible that, if I had carried out my original resolution that night, you would have accepted me?" "Yes, George, I would indeed," was the murmured reply. "I have loved you, and you only, for a long time. But not longer than you have loved me," she added roguishly, as George took her in his arms and-- But, avast there! whither are we running? It is high time that we should 'bout ship and haul off on the opposite tack, if we would not be regarded as impertinent intruders. Love-making is a most delightful pastime, particularly when it comes in at the end of a long period of suffering, hardship, and misunderstanding; but it loses all its piquant charm if it has to be performed in the presence of strangers, no matter how sympathetic. So we will leave it to the lively imagination of the intelligent reader to picture for him, or herself, according to his, or her, particular fancy, the way in which the remainder of the evening was spent, merely mentioning that the lovers found time to come to a thoroughly and mutually satisfactory understanding, and that, when George left Sea View that evening, he was--to make use of a somewhat hackneyed expression--"the happiest of men." My story is now ended, or nearly so, the intelligent reader aforesaid having doubtless already anticipated the little that remains to be told. The pirates were tried, found guilty, and executed, as a matter of course; the evidence of the crew of the _Virginie_ alone being sufficient to insure their conviction. Captain Bowen went, at considerable personal inconvenience, to witness the execution, being desirous, as he said, of assuring himself with his own eyes that the wretches were so effectually dealt with as to render any further trouble from them an absolute impossibility. George Leicester did not accompany his friend, being, in fact, more agreeably engaged at the time in spending with Mrs Leicester--_nee_; Walford--a brief honeymoon in London, prior to taking command of the frigate _Cigne_, which had been purchased into the navy, and was then undergoing the process of refitting at Portsmouth. In this ship, and in others, George afterwards fought many gallant actions, greatly distinguishing himself, and eventually retiring from the service, at an advanced age, with a wooden leg, a baronetcy, and the title of rear-admiral. His wife Lucy, with most commendable liberality, presented him with no fewer than seven sons, all of whom grew up to be fine stalwart fellows, and, entering the navy one after the other, followed worthily in the footsteps of their gallant father. THE END.